黑蓝论坛

标题: 论坛朋友找资料专贴 [打印本页]

作者: 王敖 时间: 2007-8-4 13:05
标题: 论坛朋友找资料专贴
想找某方面资料的朋友, 都可在此跟贴.
版主和朋友们都可帮忙.

这是今天的:
"

inker 的 The Language Instinct，你能下着么？多谢"

作者: 虚坻 时间: 2007-8-4 13:05
想看金斯伯格的英文诗歌。有吗？

作者: ye 时间: 2007-8-4 13:05
《微精神分析》网上哪里能找到吗？

作者: 王敖 时间: 2007-8-4 13:05
金斯伯格的东西网络上有的是, 自己GOOGLE即可.

作者: 王敖 时间: 2007-8-4 13:05
Pinker的书这里有部分, 但似乎暂时打不开

http://www.ling.upenn.edu/courses/ling001/schedule.html

作者: 曾园 时间: 2007-8-4 13:05
贡布罗维奇的《费迪杜克》有耶鲁版英译本，序言是苏珊·桑塔格的。序言有没有？

作者: 王敖 时间: 2007-8-4 13:05

以下是引用曾园在2004-2-25 9:20:01的发言：
贡布罗维奇的《费迪杜克》有耶鲁版英译本，序言是苏珊·桑塔格的。序言有没有？

我去找一下, 已经找到的是一些关于改变剧本的相关资料. 参考一下.

Seconding Gombrowicz
A Translator\'s Introduction to Teatr Provisorium & Kompania Teatr\'s Ferdydurke
Allen J. Kuharski
[Figures]

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Witold Gombrowicz\'s first novel Ferdydurke, originally published in Warsaw in 1937, remains one of his most effective acts of literary provocation, in a career devoted to calculated impetuousness and profound insouciance. That the mind of a playwright was also at work in the novel is clear in its first passages, which freely jump between narrative prose and the dialogue of a play script. But Gombrowicz\'s histrionic and dramatic sensibility permeates Ferdydurke in more profound ways, as well. The motif that provides the inner logic to the novel\'s fragmented and collage-like structure is that of the duel. Just as the characters challenge and provoke each other in ways both startling and revealing, the novel itself is designed to have the same effect on the reader. Like an impudent suitor, Gombrowicz demands attention, at times out of ardor and others out of mockery. To keep things interesting, he does not make it easy to judge his motives on this score.

To respond to Gombrowicz\'s attentions, whether to reject or to join him, is but the beginning of the game. To join forces with him is immediately to seek another quarry for either seduction or mockery—an object that can extend to society at large. Gombrowicz\'s duels, however, are not dualistic in nature. Their objective is in fact to release both parties from a polarized relationship by pushing it to an inevitable extreme, and literally or figuratively to change or die in the process. Linked to the polarity of a duel, however, is a second motif of entropy, of a breaking down of existing structures, as creative rebellion, and ultimately as a means to more meaningful action and expression. Of course misdirected entropy can also be destructive, leading to a grave rather than a new beginning—so the stakes of Gombrowicz\'s theatrical and existential gambits are not petty ones. Like Nietzsche before him, Gombrowicz\'s ultimate objective was a more creative life for both the individual and the collective. The collective part of this equation always led him to the theatre and to questions of the innate theatricality of off-stage life.

To adapt Gombrowicz\'s Ferdydurke for the stage is to become one of the playwright\'s seconds in a duel with the world that began in Poland 1937. The novel began and remains his manifesto as a writer, an invitation to join what he himself dubbed the "Ferdydurkists." The duel that the novel seeks to provoke both reflects a given time [End Page 63] and culture (interwar Poland) and a more archetypal set of themes that have carried the work in both novelistic and theatrical forms across the barriers of time and culture.

Gombrowicz\'s gift for provocation and theatrical temperament, however, are inseparable from his talent and originality as a writer, as a master and innovator in the expressive use of the Polish language. His undiminished appeal and influence in Poland is in equal parts due to the spirit of his work and the extraordinary language in which he wrote. His contribution to the literary evolution of Polish in the twentieth century was no less profound than the country\'s celebrated poets such as Czeslaw Milosz, Wislawa Szymborska, Zbigniew Herbert, or Adam Zagajewski. The wittiness of Gombrowicz\'s language is among his most important attributes, which could be compared to that of Oscar Wilde or Joe Orton in English. Gombrowicz\'s language in Ferdydurke looks both forward and backward, on the one hand generating neologisms and on the other mischievously mixing erudite literary allusions, quotations, and parody with schoolyard slang. One particular challenge to the translation of Gombrowicz into English is the fact that his linguistic play is often structural, involving gender, diminutives, and case constructions that have no counterpart in English grammar. That he was also a playwright makes his contribution distinct on another score. He considered his play The Marriage (1944) his most important work, and the heightened poetic language of the play in Polish is as original and daunting to translate as Ferdydurke or (perhaps most extraordinarily) the neo-baroque Polish of his second novel Trans-Atlantyk. Gombrowicz\'s combination of sophisticated language, farcical action, and social critique in works such as Ivona, Princess of Burgundia or Ferdydurke places him in the tradition of high comedy that began with Aristophanes and Molière. With the significant exception of Ivona, Princess of Burgundia (which is available in an excellent translation by Krystyna Griffith-Jones and Catherine Robins), the greatest barrier to the successful theatrical production of Gombrowicz\'s works in English to date may indeed be that of the translation.

The theatricality of works such as Ferdydurke, The Marriage, and History,attracted no less of an artist than Tadeusz Kantor, and indeed Ferdydurke was among the inspirations for Kantor\'s most celebrated work, The Dead Class, first performed in 1975. The visual, musical, and choreographic brilliance of Kantor\'s work, however, belied the complex verbal play of Gombrowicz\'s theatre, no less for Polish than for foreign audiences. Within a year of the premiere of The Dead Class, Teatr Provisorium of Lublin presented their first stage adaptation of Ferdydurke, in their debut as one of the brightest stars in Poland\'s vibrant student theatre movement in the 1970s. This first stage adaptation of the novel per se marked the beginning of a remarkable tradition of stage adaptations of the novel in Poland and elsewhere. Over two dozen stage adaptations of Ferdydurke have been produced in a half-dozen countries to date, in addition to Jerzy Skolimowski\'s lavish but ill-fated British-Polish film version in 1991. Teatr Provisorium\'s second adaptation of the text (produced after their merger with Kompania Teatr in 1996) premiered in Lublin in 1998, and to date hasbeen performed in Polish more than 200 times in over a dozen [End Page 64] [Begin Page 66] countries, winning numerous festival prizes along the way, as well as shown on Polish television.

The English-language version of the text was first commissioned for performance at Swarthmore College in February, 2000, and has since been performed over fifty times in the United States, Scotland, Egypt, and Poland. In January 2001, the English-language version was nominated in Warsaw for the prestigious "

assport" Award in theatre, roughly Poland\'s equivalent to the Pulitzer Prize. In August 2001, the English-language version was given a Fringe First Award at the Edinburgh Fringe Festival, where it received wide coverage in the Scottish and British press. The production has just completed its third tour of the United States in as many years, including a three-week run at La MaMa in New York City in November, 2001. The company\'s performances in the United States and Great Britain marked the first tour by a professional Polish company performing Gombrowicz in the English-speaking world. That the company was prepared to perform in both Polish and English has made the potential impact of this first contact all the greater. In fact, Teatr Provisorium & Kompania Teatr was the first Polish company to attempt such a bilingual tour in the United States since the days of Helena Modjeska\'s celebrated bilingual performances of Shakespeare a century ago.

Danuta Borchardt\'s award-winning translation of the novel provided the foundation for our work on the English-language version of Teatr Provisorium & Kompania Teatr\'s stage adaptation. The company and I worked for a period of almost six months on adapting Borchardt\'s text to the specific needs of the project and rehearsing the four actors in English, whose knowledge of the language at the beginning ran the gamut from almost complete ignorance to complete fluency. The acting style of the production is extremely physical and rhythmically precise. The comic effect throughout is, as always in comedy or farce, dependent on split-second timing. Many of the changes we made in Borchardt\'s text were done in the name of preserving the rhythmic integrity of the performance already established in the Polish version. The work on the text was ultimately a collective effort between the actors and myself, and I now strongly believe that such a bilingual "committee" provides the ideal circumstances for any theatrical or literary translation. The luxury of having four superb actors and two talented and erudite directors as "partners" in the translation process was a rare privilege and pleasure.

The physical comedy is of course combined with Gombrowicz\'s verbal playfulness, which for the adolescent schoolyard world of the play demands a very specific cultural-historical "voice" for the jokes to work. The truest test of achieving a native speaker\'s knowledge of a second language may in fact be the mastery of the idioms of the grade school playground, which of course are also generational markers. As dramaturg for the English-language version of the piece, I proposed an "American" voice for the text that went beyond Borchardt\'s version, in part because it was the voice I felt I could place with greatest precision. The linguistic milieu for the play\'s action became an elite Catholic prep school in Chicago in the 1930s, a world where [End Page 66] adolescent Polish-American boys would plausibly speak with the same accents as the actors performing in English. The immediacy of this American voice has played well on this side of the Atlantic, especially among bilingual Polish émigrés, as well as in Poland itself. It initially caused some anxiety with the company\'s backers and promoters for the Edinburgh Fringe Festival, who feared a negative reaction to this unexpected mix of American and Polish voices from British audiences and critics. To our great relief and satisfaction, the popular and critical response to the production in Edinburgh was consistently positive, with the Fringe First citation acknowledging the text in particular.

Teatr Provisorium & Kompania Teatr\'s adaptation is a radical cutting of the novel, on paper consisting of roughly six percent of the original text. Nevertheless, every word spoken on stage is taken verbatim from Gombrowicz, with the exception only of a spontaneous expletive or two. The most significant departures from Gombrowicz\'s text are contained in the production\'s two dumb shows, which paraphrase or expand upon themes and images in the novel without always having a specific referent. The stage directions includedhere are my contribution, transcribed from the action of the finished production and not based on Gombrowicz\'s text. The actors and directors carry these specifications in their memories, and had never considered recording them in writing until I asked to do so. At some point in the near future, we plan to translate the stage directions into Polish as well, completing the circle of the text\'s journey from Polish to English and back again.

To translate Gombrowicz is to second him in two senses of the word: to join his side in his often quixotic (and now posthumous) duel with the world and to assume the role of his literary and theatrical stand-in. I have never been more acutely aware of the curious conjunction between the work of the actor and that of the translator as virtual voices for an absent author. To translate Gombrowicz is also an attempt to perform Gombrowicz in its own way as immediate as the actor playing the writer\'s self-portrait in Ferdydurke, the narrator/protagonist Joseph. As Gombrowicz the playwright certainly understood, however, the dramatic text always seeks the body and voice of a talented actor no less avidly than such an actorseeks a great text.

Janusz Oprynski, the production\'s co-director with Witold Mazurkiewicz, calls the production\'s acting and dramaturgy "biological" in approach. If my work with Teatr Provisorium & Kompania Teatr has succeeded in embodying Gombrowicz\'s theatre in English, of bringing text and actor\'s body together into an expressive whole across the barriers of time, language, and culture, then our common work has accomplished its mission. I can only hope that the experience of reading the following script apart from the actual performance evokes something of the play of eloquent voices and suffering and ecstatic bodies that Gombrowicz\'s novel has inspired.

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Allen J. Kuharski is the Director of the Theatre Studies Program at Swarthmore College. He has previously translated (with Dariusz Bukowski) Witold Gombrowicz\'s posthumous play History (published inPAJ 58). His translation of Ionesco\'s Rhinoceros (done in collaboration with George Moskos) has been produced in Washington, DC, Philadelphia, Salt Lake City, and Boston, and was staged by the Berkeley Repertory Theatre earlier this year. With Helena M. White, he has also translated the screenplay for Agnieszka Holland\'s forthcoming film Hanemann.

Ferdydurke. By Witold Gombrowicz. Adapted by Allen J. Kuharski. Teatr Provisorium and Kompania Teatr, La MaMa E.T.C., New York. 10 November 2001.
Two strands dominate Polish theatre tradition: the poetic, sacred strand, exemplified by nineteenth-century Romantic playwrights such as Adam Mickiewicz and Juliusz Slowacki; and the grotesque, satiric strand, exemplified by twentieth-century playwrights such as Stanislaw Ignacy Witkiewicz and Slawomir Mrozæek. The Polish theatre practitioner best known in the United States, Jerzy Grotowski, brought the first tradition into the twentieth century by adapting the works of the Polish Romantics and making the theatre itself a place where something "sacred" took place. A figure far less well known in this country but tremendously influential in his native land, Witold Gombrowicz (1904-1969) embodied the second tradition—the tradition of the grotesque—in his novels, diary, and plays. Gombrowicz, who lived in self-imposed exile in Argentina and France for thirty years, wrote scathingly satirical works that might be called absurdist, were it not for the fact that many of them predated absurdism. Among them was his 1937 novel Ferdydurke, which concerns a thirty-year-old writer who is kidnapped by a former teacher and sent back to high school. In a joint production, two theatre companies from Lublin, Poland—Provisorium and Kompania—bring the hilarity, satire, and grotesquerie of this novel to the stage, using a highly physical, extreme form of comic acting that is nonetheless akin to that in the seriously sacred theatre of Grotowski.

Ferdydurke, a nonsense word in Polish meaning something like "fiddle-faddle," celebrates the adolescent in all of us. The production opens with Joseph, played by Witold Mazurkiewicz (who also co-directed, along with Janusz Oprynski), sitting on a bench. He is wearing a suit, and appears dignified; soon, however, he is picking things off his head and out of his nose and then wiping his fingers on his jacket. He is joined by two schoolboys in uniform—the bullying Mientus (Jaroslaw [End Page 301] Tomica) and the virtuous Siphon (Michal Zgiet)—both of whom he eyes rapaciously. The three characters wordlessly enact a kind of homoerotic quarrel, grunting and making comically ugly faces at each other until their teacher, Professor Pimko (Jacek Brzezinski), joins them, placing a long desk in front of the bench and turning the set into a schoolroom.

Professor Pimko proceeds to indoctrinate them in the beauties of Latin declensions and the Romantic poetry of Juliusz Slowacki. "Great poetry, being great and being poetry, cannot help but enrapture us," Pimko bellows pedantically. "But I don\'t understand," Mientus bravely speaks up, "how I can be enraptured when I\'m not enraptured!" The climax of this section of the play occurs when Mientus and Siphon—who have been quarreling over whether boys should be called "guys" or "lads"—have a duel of grimaces, in which they fight solely by making grotesque faces and gestures at each other. Joseph escapes this school and goes to his lodgings, where he voyeuristically watches a bedtime conversation between his landlord and landlady, Mr. and Mrs. Young (Zgiet and Brzezinski), whom we see only as two pairs of naked legs in a window frame. Later Joseph meets up with Mientus and runs away to the country, where Mientus falls violently in love with a stableboy (Zgiet), with whom he attempts to fraternize, but who only understands that upper-class intellectual types like Mientus and Joseph are extremely peculiar.

The four actors in the production perform at an exceptionally high level of energy and with extraordinary precision. Two of the actors (Tomica and Zgiet) worked with Gardzienice, another Polish alternative theatre troupe from the Lublin area, whose work is heavily influenced by Grotowski [End Page 302] and is physical in a way that we seldom see in American theatre. In addition, they and actor and co-director Mazurkiewicz worked in the professional puppet theatre before quitting to form their own company, so it is not surprising that a puppet-theatre aesthetic informs all the performances here. The actors\' movements, gestures, and facial expressions are broadly comic; even the staging, particularly in the part where the schoolboys are seated behind the long desk, recalls a Punch and Judy show. This antic physicality seems especially appropriate to Ferdydurke, which as a novel and a stage adaptation stubbornly insists that the shameful, embarrassing, low, and physical aspects of life are the most natural ones.

Indeed, Gombrowicz anticipated the vulgar humor of, say, the movies of the Farrelly brothers, by some six decades. His writings, although now so much part of the canon in Poland that they are studied in high school, continue to provoke by poking fun at such Polish sacred cows as Catholicism and Romanticism. Although we in America might find Gombrowicz less shocking than the Poles, many of his notions (such as his idea that a human personality changes its nature radically depending on whom or what the person interacts with, which is dramatized even more strikingly in his play The Marriage) are even today seldom explored outside of his works. This production of Ferdydurke is particularly fascinating because, despite the economy of its appearance (a framed cube, within which everything takes place), it is strikingly visual. Such a simplicity of means, as well as the way the actors throw themselves into their roles with so much physical and vocal abandon, recalls Grotowski in his "poor theatre" days. Ferdydurke, however, rejects Grotowski\'s aspirations to holiness for his theatre—it is defiantly irreverent. In this it finds a direct lineage with the other great Polish experimentalist of the twentieth century: it was one of the source materials for Tadeusz Kantor\'s masterpiece The Dead Class. The Provisorium/Kompania production, with its puppet-theatre sensibility and a simplicity alloyed with transgressiveness, can stand with the best of Kantor\'s—and Gombrowicz\'s—other works.

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Kathleen Cioffi
Kingston, NJ

作者: 傻了 时间: 2007-8-4 13:05
求助那里有下蓝色轻骑兵中文版的谢谢

作者: shengyu66 时间: 2007-8-4 13:05
哪里有药学方面的论文，论文网上没有。谢谢。

作者: 曾园 时间: 2007-8-4 13:05
阿里斯托芬的中文作品。谢谢！

作者: 王敖 时间: 2007-8-4 13:05
关于中文资料，大家的网络资源都是一样的，请多用各种搜索引擎，比如google.

作者: 曾园 时间: 2007-8-4 13:05
唉，不一样啊。你的IP地址访问台湾香港网站就不一样。我的就不行，基本上是什么也上不去。

作者: 王敖 时间: 2007-8-4 13:05
OK!

作者: Homework 时间: 2007-8-4 13:06
钱锺书的学位论文《十七世纪英国文学里的中国》。

如果有，请另开一贴。

作者: 萼别 时间: 2007-8-4 13:09
艾略特的原文诗歌。
尤其是《荒原》，英文的

作者: 风露清愁 时间: 2007-8-4 13:09
借斑竹地推荐几个网站：
这个是原版的诗歌http://www.poemhunter.com
这个是灵石岛的资料库http://www.poesy.name/index1.html
国学网站http://www.guoxue.com/index.htm
红楼梦的奈何馆，资料不是很全，但有很多好看的图片http://cuixiping.myetang.com/honglou

作者: 萼别 时间: 2007-8-4 13:09
呜呜呜，谁能帮我找到英文的《荒原》？

作者: 萼别 时间: 2007-8-4 13:09

以下是引用风露清愁在2004-6-5 23:10:17的发言：
借斑竹地推荐几个网站：
这个是原版的诗歌http://www.poemhunter.com
这个是灵石岛的资料库http://www.poesy.name/index1.html
国学网站http://www.guoxue.com/index.htm
红楼梦的奈何馆，资料不是很全，但有很多好看的图片http://cuixiping.myetang.com/honglou

你这个图象是黛玉了？

作者: kurt 时间: 2007-8-4 13:22
策兰的英译本.谢谢

作者: doubleJade 时间: 2007-8-4 13:22
想找霍夫曼<胡桃夹子与鼠王>的中文版

作者: 曾园 时间: 2007-8-4 13:22
胡桃夹子：
http://www.fairydream.net/cgi-bin/luntan/topic.cgi?forum=8&topic=1044&show=0

作者: 耗子 时间: 2007-8-4 13:26
有严文井的书吗？

作者: 6437 时间: 2007-8-4 13:27
布罗茨基《从彼得堡到斯德哥尔摩》中英文都可以谢谢

作者: violetsolo 时间: 2007-8-4 13:28
找英文版的《失乐园》和《复乐园》

作者: 曾园 时间: 2007-8-4 13:28
https://scholarsbank.uoregon.edu/dspace/handle/1794/767
pdf文档，下载。

作者: 曾园 时间: 2007-8-4 13:28
荒原：
APRIL is the cruellest month, breeding
Lilacs out of the dead land, mixing
Memory and desire, stirring
Dull roots with spring rain.
Winter kept us warm, covering
Earth in forgetful snow, feeding
A little life with dried tubers.
Summer surprised us, coming over the Starnbergersee
With a shower of rain; we stopped in the colonnade,
10 And went on in sunlight, into the Hofgarten,
And drank coffee, and talked for an hour.
Bin gar keine Russin, stamm\' aus Litauen, echt deutsch.
And when we were children, staying at the archduke\'s,
My cousin\'s, he took me out on a sled,
And I was frightened. He said, Marie,
Marie, hold on tight. And down we went.
In the mountains, there you feel free.
I read, much of the night, and go south in the winter.

What are the roots that clutch, what branches grow
20 Out of this stony rubbish? Son of man,
You cannot say, or guess, for you know only
A heap of broken images, where the sun beats,
And the dead tree gives no shelter, the cricket no relief,
And the dry stone no sound of water. Only
There is shadow under this red rock,
(Come in under the shadow of this red rock),
And I will show you something different from either
Your shadow at morning striding behind you
Or your shadow at evening rising to meet you;
30 I will show you fear in a handful of dust.
            Frisch weht der Wind
            Der Heimat zu.
            Mein Irisch Kind,
            Wo weilest du?
\'You gave me hyacinths first a year ago;
\'They called me the hyacinth girl.\'
梇et when we came back, late, from the Hyacinth garden,
Your arms full, and your hair wet, I could not
Speak, and my eyes failed, I was neither
40 Living nor dead, and I knew nothing,
Looking into the heart of light, the silence.
Od\' und leer das Meer.

Madame Sosostris, famous clairvoyante,
Had a bad cold, nevertheless
Is known to be the wisest woman in Europe,
With a wicked pack of cards. Here, said she,
Is your card, the drowned Phoenician Sailor,
(Those are pearls that were his eyes. Look!)
Here is Belladonna, the Lady of the Rocks,
50 The lady of situations.
Here is the man with three staves, and here the Wheel,
And here is the one-eyed merchant, and this card,
Which is blank, is something he carries on his back,
Which I am forbidden to see. I do not find
The Hanged Man. Fear death by water.
I see crowds of people, walking round in a ring.
Thank you. If you see dear Mrs. Equitone,
Tell her I bring the horoscope myself:
One must be so careful these days.

60 Unreal City,
Under the brown fog of a winter dawn,
A crowd flowed over London Bridge, so many,
I had not thought death had undone so many.
Sighs, short and infrequent, were exhaled,
And each man fixed his eyes before his feet.
Flowed up the hill and down King William Street,
To where Saint Mary Woolnoth kept the hours
With a dead sound on the final stroke of nine.
There I saw one I knew, and stopped him, crying \'Stetson!
70 \'You who were with me in the ships at Mylae!
\'That corpse you planted last year in your garden,
\'Has it begun to sprout? Will it bloom this year?
\'Or has the sudden frost disturbed its bed?
\'Oh keep the Dog far hence, that\'s friend to men,
\'Or with his nails he\'ll dig it up again!
\'You! hypocrite lecteur!梞on semblable,梞on fr鑢e!\'

II. A GAME OF CHESS

THE Chair she sat in, like a burnished throne,
Glowed on the marble, where the glass
Held up by standards wrought with fruited vines
80 From which a golden Cupidon peeped out
(Another hid his eyes behind his wing)
Doubled the flames of sevenbranched candelabra
Reflecting light upon the table as
The glitter of her jewels rose to meet it,
From satin cases poured in rich profusion;
In vials of ivory and coloured glass
Unstoppered, lurked her strange synthetic perfumes,
Unguent, powdered, or liquid梩roubled, confused
And drowned the sense in odours; stirred by the air
90 That freshened from the window, these ascended
In fattening the prolonged candle-flames,
Flung their smoke into the laquearia,
Stirring the pattern on the coffered ceiling.
Huge sea-wood fed with copper
Burned green and orange, framed by the coloured stone,
In which sad light a carv鑔 dolphin swam.
Above the antique mantel was displayed
As though a window gave upon the sylvan scene
The change of Philomel, by the barbarous king
100 So rudely forced; yet there the nightingale
Filled all the desert with inviolable voice
And still she cried, and still the world pursues,
\'Jug Jug\' to dirty ears.
And other withered stumps of time
Were told upon the walls; staring forms
Leaned out, leaning, hushing the room enclosed.
Footsteps shuffled on the stair.
Under the firelight, under the brush, her hair
Spread out in fiery points
110 Glowed into words, then would be savagely still.

\'My nerves are bad to-night. Yes, bad. Stay with me.
\'Speak to me. Why do you never speak? Speak.
\'What are you thinking of? What thinking? What?
\'I never know what you are thinking. Think.\'

I think we are in rats\' alley
Where the dead men lost their bones.

\'What is that noise?\'
                  The wind under the door.
\'What is that noise now? What is the wind doing?\'
120                      Nothing again nothing.
                                          \'Do
\'You know nothing? Do you see nothing? Do you remember
\'Nothing?\'
  I remember
Those are pearls that were his eyes.
\'Are you alive, or not? Is there nothing in your head?\'
                                                      But
O O O O that Shakespherian Rag?/h5>
It\'s so elegant
130 So intelligent
\'What shall I do now? What shall I do?\'
\'I shall rush out as I am, and walk the street
\'With my hair down, so. What shall we do to-morrow?
\'What shall we ever do?\'
                        The hot water at ten.
And if it rains, a closed car at four.
And we shall play a game of chess,
Pressing lidless eyes and waiting for a knock upon the door.

When Lil\'s husband got demobbed, I said?/h5>
140 I didn\'t mince my words, I said to her myself,
HURRY UP PLEASE IT\'S TIME
Now Albert\'s coming back, make yourself a bit smart.
He\'ll want to know what you done with that money he gave you
To get yourself some teeth. He did, I was there.
You have them all out, Lil, and get a nice set,
He said, I swear, I can\'t bear to look at you.
And no more can\'t I, I said, and think of poor Albert,
He\'s been in the army four years, he wants a good time,
And if you don\'t give it him, there\'s others will, I said.
150 Oh is there, she said. Something o\' that, I said.
Then I\'ll know who to thank, she said, and give me a straight look.
HURRY UP PLEASE IT\'S TIME
If you don\'t like it you can get on with it, I said.
Others can pick and choose if you can\'t.
But if Albert makes off, it won\'t be for lack of telling.
You ought to be ashamed, I said, to look so antique.
(And her only thirty-one.)
I can\'t help it, she said, pulling a long face,
It\'s them pills I took, to bring it off, she said.
160 (She\'s had five already, and nearly died of young George.)
The chemist said it would be alright, but I\'ve never been the same.
You are a proper fool, I said.
Well, if Albert won\'t leave you alone, there it is, I said,
What you get married for if you don\'t want children?
HURRY UP PLEASE IT\'S TIME
Well, that Sunday Albert was home, they had a hot gammon,
And they asked me in to dinner, to get the beauty of it hot?/h5>
HURRY UP PLEASE IT\'S TIME
HURRY UP PLEASE IT\'S TIME
170 Goonight Bill. Goonight Lou. Goonight May. Goonight.
Ta ta. Goonight. Goonight.
Good night, ladies, good night, sweet ladies, good night, good night.

An eBook edition of \'The Wasteland\' is included on Mystic Realms - the CD
III. THE FIRE SERMON

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THE river\'s tent is broken: the last fingers of leaf
Clutch and sink into the wet bank. The wind
Crosses the brown land, unheard. The nymphs are departed.
Sweet Thames, run softly, till I end my song.
The river bears no empty bottles, sandwich papers,
Silk handkerchiefs, cardboard boxes, cigarette ends
Or other testimony of summer nights. The nymphs are departed.
180 And their friends, the loitering heirs of city directors;
Departed, have left no addresses.
By the waters of Leman I sat down and wept...
Sweet Thames, run softly till I end my song,
Sweet Thames, run softly, for I speak not loud or long.
But at my back in a cold blast I hear
The rattle of the bones, and chuckle spread from ear to ear.

A rat crept softly through the vegetation
Dragging its slimy belly on the bank
While I was fishing in the dull canal
190 On a winter evening round behind the gashouse
Musing upon the king my brother\'s wreck
And on the king my father\'s death before him.
White bodies naked on the low damp ground
And bones cast in a little low dry garret,
Rattled by the rat\'s foot only, year to year.
But at my back from time to time I hear
The sound of horns and motors, which shall bring
Sweeney to Mrs. Porter in the spring.
O the moon shone bright on Mrs. Porter
200 And on her daughter
They wash their feet in soda water
Et, O ces voix d\'enfants, chantant dans la coupole!

Twit twit twit
Jug jug jug jug jug jug
So rudely forc\'d.
Tereu

Unreal City
Under the brown fog of a winter noon
Mr. Eugenides, the Smyrna merchant
210 Unshaven, with a pocket full of currants
C.i.f. London: documents at sight,
Asked me in demotic French
To luncheon at the Cannon Street Hotel
Followed by a weekend at the Metropole.

At the violet hour, when the eyes and back
Turn upward from the desk, when the human engine waits
Like a taxi throbbing waiting,
I Tiresias, though blind, throbbing between two lives,
Old man with wrinkled female breasts, can see
220 At the violet hour, the evening hour that strives
Homeward, and brings the sailor home from sea,
The typist home at teatime, clears her breakfast, lights
Her stove, and lays out food in tins.
Out of the window perilously spread
Her drying combinations touched by the sun\'s last rays,
On the divan are piled (at night her bed)
Stockings, slippers, camisoles, and stays.
I Tiresias, old man with wrinkled dugs
Perceived the scene, and foretold the rest?/h5>
230 I too awaited the expected guest.
He, the young man carbuncular, arrives,
A small house agent\'s clerk, with one bold stare,
One of the low on whom assurance sits
As a silk hat on a Bradford millionaire.
The time is now propitious, as he guesses,
The meal is ended, she is bored and tired,
Endeavours to engage her in caresses
Which still are unreproved, if undesired.
Flushed and decided, he assaults at once;
240 Exploring hands encounter no defence;
His vanity requires no response,
And makes a welcome of indifference.
(And I Tiresias have foresuffered all
Enacted on this same divan or bed;
I who have sat by Thebes below the wall
And walked among the lowest of the dead.)
Bestows on final patronising kiss,
And gropes his way, finding the stairs unlit...

She turns and looks a moment in the glass,
250 Hardly aware of her departed lover;
Her brain allows one half-formed thought to pass:
\'Well now that\'s done: and I\'m glad it\'s over.\'
When lovely woman stoops to folly and
Paces about her room again, alone,
She smoothes her hair with automatic hand,
And puts a record on the gramophone.

\'This music crept by me upon the waters\'
And along the Strand, up Queen Victoria Street.
O City city, I can sometimes hear
260 Beside a public bar in Lower Thames Street,
The pleasant whining of a mandoline
And a clatter and a chatter from within
Where fishmen lounge at noon: where the walls
Of Magnus Martyr hold
Inexplicable splendour of Ionian white and gold.

   The river sweats
   Oil and tar
   The barges drift
   With the turning tide
270    Red sails
   Wide
   To leeward, swing on the heavy spar.
   The barges wash
   Drifting logs
   Down Greenwich reach
   Past the Isle of Dogs.
         Weialala leia
         Wallala leialala

   Elizabeth and Leicester
280    Beating oars
   The stern was formed
   A gilded shell
   Red and gold
   The brisk swell
   Rippled both shores
   Southwest wind
   Carried down stream
   The peal of bells
   White towers
290          Weialala leia
         Wallala leialala

\'Trams and dusty trees.
Highbury bore me. Richmond and Kew
Undid me. By Richmond I raised my knees
Supine on the floor of a narrow canoe.\'
\'My feet are at Moorgate, and my heart
Under my feet. After the event
He wept. He promised "a new start".
I made no comment. What should I resent?\'
300 \'On Margate Sands.
I can connect
Nothing with nothing.
The broken fingernails of dirty hands.
My people humble people who expect
Nothing.\'
   la la

To Carthage then I came

Burning burning burning burning
O Lord Thou pluckest me out
310 O Lord Thou pluckest

burning

IV. DEATH BY WATER

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PHLEBAS the Phoenician, a fortnight dead,
Forgot the cry of gulls, and the deep seas swell
And the profit and loss.
                        A current under sea
Picked his bones in whispers. As he rose and fell
He passed the stages of his age and youth
Entering the whirlpool.
                        Gentile or Jew
320 O you who turn the wheel and look to windward,
Consider Phlebas, who was once handsome and tall as you.

V. WHAT THE THUNDER SAID

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AFTER the torchlight red on sweaty faces
After the frosty silence in the gardens
After the agony in stony places
The shouting and the crying
Prison and place and reverberation
Of thunder of spring over distant mountains
He who was living is now dead
We who were living are now dying
330 With a little patience

Here is no water but only rock
Rock and no water and the sandy road
The road winding above among the mountains
Which are mountains of rock without water
If there were water we should stop and drink
Amongst the rock one cannot stop or think
Sweat is dry and feet are in the sand
If there were only water amongst the rock
Dead mountain mouth of carious teeth that cannot spit
340 Here one can neither stand nor lie nor sit
There is not even silence in the mountains
But dry sterile thunder without rain
There is not even solitude in the mountains
But red sullen faces sneer and snarl
From doors of mudcracked houses
                              If there were water
  And no rock
  If there were rock
  And also water
  And water
350 A spring
  A pool among the rock
  If there were the sound of water only
  Not the cicada
  And dry grass singing
  But sound of water over a rock
  Where the hermit-thrush sings in the pine trees
  Drip drop drip drop drop drop drop
  But there is no water

Who is the third who walks always beside you?
360 When I count, there are only you and I together
But when I look ahead up the white road
There is always another one walking beside you
Gliding wrapt in a brown mantle, hooded
I do not know whether a man or a woman
桞ut who is that on the other side of you?

What is that sound high in the air
Murmur of maternal lamentation
Who are those hooded hordes swarming
Over endless plains, stumbling in cracked earth
370 Ringed by the flat horizon only
What is the city over the mountains
Cracks and reforms and bursts in the violet air
Falling towers
Jerusalem Athens Alexandria
Vienna London
Unreal

A woman drew her long black hair out tight
And fiddled whisper music on those strings
And bats with baby faces in the violet light
380 Whistled, and beat their wings
And crawled head downward down a blackened wall
And upside down in air were towers
Tolling reminiscent bells, that kept the hours
And voices singing out of empty cisterns and exhausted wells.

In this decayed hole among the mountains
In the faint moonlight, the grass is singing
Over the tumbled graves, about the chapel
There is the empty chapel, only the wind\'s home.
It has no windows, and the door swings,
390 Dry bones can harm no one.
Only a cock stood on the rooftree
Co co rico co co rico
In a flash of lightning. Then a damp gust
Bringing rain

Ganga was sunken, and the limp leaves
Waited for rain, while the black clouds
Gathered far distant, over Himavant.
The jungle crouched, humped in silence.
Then spoke the thunder
400 D A
Datta: what have we given?
My friend, blood shaking my heart
The awful daring of a moment\'s surrender
Which an age of prudence can never retract
By this, and this only, we have existed
Which is not to be found in our obituaries
Or in memories draped by the beneficent spider
Or under seals broken by the lean solicitor
In our empty rooms
410 D A
Dayadhvam: I have heard the key
Turn in the door once and turn once only
We think of the key, each in his prison
Thinking of the key, each confirms a prison
Only at nightfall, aetherial rumours
Revive for a moment a broken Coriolanus
D A
Damyata: The boat responded
Gaily, to the hand expert with sail and oar
420 The sea was calm, your heart would have responded
Gaily, when invited, beating obedient
To controlling hands

                  I sat upon the shore
Fishing, with the arid plain behind me
Shall I at least set my lands in order?

London Bridge is falling down falling down falling down

Poi s\'ascose nel foco che gli affina
Quando fiam ceu chelidon桹 swallow swallow
Le Prince d\'Aquitaine ?la tour abolie
430 These fragments I have shored against my ruins
Why then Ile fit you. Hieronymo\'s mad againe.
Datta. Dayadhvam. Damyata.

         Shantih shantih shantih


Not only the title, but the plan and a good deal of the incidental symbolism of the poem were suggested by Miss Jessie L. Weston\'s book on the Grail legend: From Ritual to Romance (Macmillan). Indeed, so deeply am I indebted, Miss Weston\'s book will elucidate the difficulties of the poem much better than my notes can do; and I recommend it (apart from the great interest of the book itself) to any who think such elucidation of the poem worth the trouble. To another work of anthropology I am indebted in general, one which has influenced our generation profoundly; I mean The Golden Bough; I have used especially the two volumes Adonis, Attis, Osiris. Anyone who is acquainted with these works will immediately recognize in the poem certain references to vegetation ceremonies.  T. S. Eliot

作者: 萼别 时间: 2007-8-4 13:28
OK,下载保存

作者: 陈卓 时间: 2007-8-4 13:28
哪位朋友帮忙找一下纳博科夫的“Pale Fire”这首英文原诗和Ada, or Ardor : A Family Chronicle，谢谢。

作者: 曾园 时间: 2007-8-4 13:28
下面就有。
Ada恐怕难找。

作者: 陈卓 时间: 2007-8-4 13:28
多谢。

作者: 高原 时间: 2007-8-4 13:33
有没有雷蒙德·卡佛的英文书？谢谢。

作者: 曾园 时间: 2007-8-4 13:35
<

>阿达已找到，需要者跟我联系。</P>
<

>卡弗正在找……</P>

作者: henry_arsenal 时间: 2007-8-4 13:41
国王的人马英文版本，哪里有？

作者: 非文 时间: 2007-12-3 16:44
<div class="msgheader">QUOTE:</div><div class="msgborder"><b>以下是引用<i>kurt</i>在2007-08-04 13:22:50的发言：</b><br />策兰的英译本.谢谢</div><p> </p>

作者: fyin 时间: 2007-12-16 13:41
<p>sylvia plath : the bell jar</p><p>english  verse<br />thanks</p>

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