艾略特荒原中英对照

(一)艾略特是中国现代朦胧诗歌的鼻祖 在网上，很多对中国现代诗歌(包括朦胧诗歌)起源和继承的评论是似是而非 的。这可能是由于一些国内不懂外文的评论家的错误导向所致，也有可能是由于 自己就没有理解好中国的现代诗歌，而混枭了自己的观点，也误人子弟。中国的 现代诗歌，究其源泉是由于五四时期由胡适等人发起的白话文运动，白话诗也就 应运产生。一个很有意思的现象是，很多著名的作家严肃的学者并没有留下多少 白话诗歌，只有一些类似嘻皮士的文人们，象刘半农，徐志摩等等，为了和女人 的打情骂俏而留下过一首半首。 中国早期的现代诗歌应该是继承于欧洲而不是美洲。这得益于一些留学欧洲 学人的推荐和传播。象卞之琳，徐志摩，李金发等等，所写的诗歌继承了欧洲维 多利亚式的风格，并没有多少的创新，节奏的和谐和词澡的华丽是其主要的特点， 但并没有什么心灵的震动，是沃斯瓦斯和波尔莱特在中国的翻版，甚至从中可以 看到雪莱和拜伦的影子。从中很少看到美洲惠特曼的影子，大概惠诗歌中的自然 和平民的形象和这些留学欧洲的没落贵族的口吻不太合适所致。很多人把这几个 人归结为现代朦胧诗歌的起源。其实是不当的。这时候的诗歌还只能是现代诗歌 而不是朦胧诗歌，当然，相对于旧体诗歌意象和词汇的运用已经有了朦胧的感觉。 中国诗歌在七十年代末八十年代初期，有一个特别辉煌的复兴时期。一批经 过文革，上过山下过乡的知识青年们用在煤油灯下的知识积累，带着对生活的感 性体验，在马可雅夫斯基和莱蒙托夫的指引下开始中国诗歌的新一轮革命。这期 间杰出的诗人有北岛，舒婷等。在八十年代的中末期，中国诗坛终于迎来了大爆 炸的时期。在理论领袖谢冕的指引下，一批批锐意的具有现代意识的中国诗人们 以严辰主编的诗歌报为阵地，纷纷打出旗号，成立山头，一时间中国的诗歌流派 竟然有几十家之多。所写的诗歌讦曲骜牙，常人难以读懂。这就是后来广被非议 的现代朦胧诗。 为什么称为现代朦胧诗？这是为了区别于以唐朝李商隐为代表的古体朦胧诗 歌。中国的现代朦胧诗直接继承于艾略特，Pound等人的诗风,摈弃了近代诗歌徐 志摩等人所提倡的维多利亚的模式。(EzraPound是和T.S.Eliot同一时代的诗人。 他有一首特别著名的诗【在一个地铁站口】，短短两句，却成为美国60年代诗歌 革命的启动之作)。对艾略特,国内的文学史书鲜有介绍，他们多数倾向于介绍19 世纪末和20世纪初的文学大家和诗人。记得有一本人民文学出版社出版的【外国 诗】，好象是收录了艾略特的【荒原】，没有什么介绍，似乎国内对他的地位不 是特别的推崇。因此，不揣简陋，在此将T.S.Eliout介绍一番，并将其长诗“ The Waste Land" 翻译一部份。 (二)T.S.Eliot简介 在诗歌和文学评论上，作为一个诗人，Thomas Stearns Eliot占据着独一无 二的地位。他不仅仅是靠写作来表现自己的情感，对定义所谓的现代派的风格和 趣味也有着莫大的帮助。他们摈弃了叙述性的方式及贵族式的维多里压风格，代 之于精确聚焦而又让人惊奇的意象来表达，那种圆滑的充满诱惑而又有讽刺韵味 的语言对美国现代诗歌有着巨大的影响。当然这种影响不是直接正式的而是从思 想和哲学的高度来影响的。他的作品中弥漫着一种寻求人生意义的味道；这种对 意义的寻求使得他在1922年创作了形容现代文化为一种荒原的著名作品：“The Waste Land."在此诗中，他把各种意象进行了对比排列：过去的高贵和现代的腐 烂，远期和近期的文明，并用圣经的，神话的以及佛教的幻象去呼唤一个复杂焦 灼而又脆弱的现代灵魂。作为一战后表现文化危机的里程碑式的作品,Eliot在这 首诗歌中采用的对精神的内视及在形式上的创新成为符号主义诗人们 (是视觉艺 术家和手工艺艺术家合而为一的人)的传统特征。 英国和美国都声称艾略特是他们国家文化的一部份。1888年 9月26日他生于 St.Louis的一个书香世家，在Harvard University接受了他的本科和研究生教育 ，并于1915年移民英国，1927年获得公民身份。在哈佛大学期间，他受反浪漫主 义的人类学家，哲学家和美学家的影响较大，并撰写了博士论文去研究F.H. Bradley的”表象和现实“。1908年后，他接触了法国的符号主义艺术,对其采用 的幻象，潜意识及似是而非的语言倍加推崇，并把他们实践于自己的诗歌作品中 。搬到英国后，他继续他的诗人生涯，并开始写评论，散文，和戏剧，同时还再 作编辑。1948年他获得了Nobel Prize. 【荒原】是艾略特最著名的一首长诗。他是把他献给Erza Pound的，因为他 帮他修改了手稿。在诗歌中，他用典的范围极广，从Shakespear，到但丁，波特 莱尔，瓦格纳等。还引用了佛经，民歌以及许多人类学家的作品。在【荒原】中 ，他描写了处于精神和文化危机中的现代社会以及从现代社会中寻求到的支离破 碎的经验和相对稳定的文化遗产的的冲突。从这方面说，【荒原】是一部寻求精 神上的家园的诗歌，并使得艾略特斐声中外。 说到【荒原】，就不能不说说其技术上的创新。断句的技巧让人感叹，并故 意地运用了一些承转起合的段落和语言以期读者自己想象从而把这些话所隐含的 意思构成一个整体的图画。在诗歌中，他摈弃了直来直去的写法，采用了突然的 断句并在此加入一些完全迥异的场景的介绍或者解释，可能是优美的描写突然转 到一种酒吧式的交谈，可能是从爱丽莎白的古典突然转到当代的场景，也有可能 是从正式的书面语言转到了口语。这些帮助他表现了诗歌所要表现的文化的不完 整性，使得他可以探讨符号主义或者幻象所承载的意义上的重担--吸引注意力到 其本身，并昭示现代艺术家的自我表现和自我意识。 (三)【荒原】(TheWasteLand)译文 【荒原】共有五节，分别是： I. The Burial of The Dead II. A Game of Chess III. The Fire Sermon IV. Death by Water V. What the Thunder Said NAM sibyllam quidem Cuimis egō ipse oculis meis vidi in ampulla pendere，et cum illi pueri dicerent: ∑ιβνλλατιθελειζ; repondebat illa: áπóθαν εινθελ ω." （“是的，我自己亲眼看见古米的西比尔吊在一个笼子里。孩子们在 问她：西比尔，你要什么的时候，她回答说，我要死。”） For Ezra Pound il miglior fabbro. （献给埃兹拉?庞德 · 最卓越的匠人） 艾略特《荒原 The Waste Land.》（原文及译本） 作者: T.S. Eliot (1888–1965). The Waste Land. 1922. 　　　　　　The Waste Land I. THE BURIAL OF THE DEAD 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 5 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, And went on in sunlight, into the Hofgarten, 10 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, 15 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 Out of this stony rubbish? Son of man, 20 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, 25 (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; I will show you fear in a handful of dust. 30 Frisch weht der Wind Der Heimat zu. Mein Irisch Kind, Wo weilest du? 'You gave me hyacinths first a year ago; 35 'They called me the hyacinth girl.' —Yet 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 Living nor dead, and I knew nothing, 40 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, 45 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, The lady of situations. 50 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. 55 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. Unreal City, 60 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. 65 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! 'You who were with me in the ships at Mylae! 70 '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! 75 'You! hypocrite lecteur!—mon semblable,—mon frère!' 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 From which a golden Cupidon peeped out 80 (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; 85 In vials of ivory and coloured glass Unstoppered, lurked her strange synthetic perfumes, Unguent, powdered, or liquid—troubled, confused And drowned the sense in odours; stirred by the air That freshened from the window, these ascended 90 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, 95 In which sad light a carvèd 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 So rudely forced; yet there the nightingale 100 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 105 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 Glowed into words, then would be savagely still. 110 '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 115 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?' Nothing again nothing. 120 'Do 'You know nothing? Do you see nothing? Do you remember 'Nothing?' I remember Those are pearls that were his eyes. 125 'Are you alive, or not? Is there nothing in your head?' But O O O O that Shakespeherian Rag— It's so elegant So intelligent 130 '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. 135 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— I didn't mince my words, I said to her myself, 140 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, 145 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. Oh is there, she said. Something o' that, I said. 150 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. 155 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. (She's had five already, and nearly died of young George.) 160 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 165 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— HURRY UP PLEASE IT'S TIME HURRY UP PLEASE IT'S TIME Goonight Bill. Goonight Lou. Goonight May. Goonight. 170 Ta ta. Goonight. Goonight. Good night, ladies, good night, sweet ladies, good night, good night. III. THE FIRE SERMON 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. 175 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. And their friends, the loitering heirs of city directors; 180 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 185 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 On a winter evening round behind the gashouse 190 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. 195 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 And on her daughter 200 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. 205 Tereu Unreal City Under the brown fog of a winter noon Mr. Eugenides, the Smyrna merchant Unshaven, with a pocket full of currants 210 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 215 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 At the violet hour, the evening hour that strives 220 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, 225 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— I too awaited the expected guest. 230 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, 235 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; Exploring hands encounter no defence; 240 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 245 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, Hardly aware of her departed lover; 250 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, 255 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 Beside a public bar in Lower Thames Street, 260 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. 265 The river sweats Oil and tar The barges drift With the turning tide Red sails 270 Wide To leeward, swing on the heavy spar. The barges wash Drifting logs Down Greenwich reach 275 Past the Isle of Dogs. Weialala leia Wallala leialala Elizabeth and Leicester Beating oars 280 The stern was formed A gilded shell Red and gold The brisk swell Rippled both shores 285 Southwest wind Carried down stream The peal of bells White towers Weialala leia 290 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.' 295 '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?' 'On Margate Sands. 300 I can connect Nothing with nothing. The broken fingernails of dirty hands. My people humble people who expect Nothing.' 305 la la To Carthage then I came Burning burning burning burning O Lord Thou pluckest me out O Lord Thou pluckest 310 burning IV. DEATH BY WATER 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 315 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 O you who turn the wheel and look to windward, 320 Consider Phlebas, who was once handsome and tall as you. V. WHAT THE THUNDER SAID 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 325 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 With a little patience 330 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 335 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 Here one can neither stand nor lie nor sit 340 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 345 And no rock If there were rock And also water And water A spring 350 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 355 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? When I count, there are only you and I together 360 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 —But who is that on the other side of you? 365 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 Ringed by the flat horizon only 370 What is the city over the mountains Cracks and reforms and bursts in the violet air Falling towers Jerusalem Athens Alexandria Vienna London 375 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 Whistled, and beat their wings 380 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 385 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, Dry bones can harm no one. 390 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 395 Waited for rain, while the black clouds Gathered far distant, over Himavant. The jungle crouched, humped in silence. Then spoke the thunder D A 400 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 405 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 D A 410 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 415 Revive for a moment a broken Coriolanus D A Damyata: The boat responded Gaily, to the hand expert with sail and oar The sea was calm, your heart would have responded 420 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? 425 London Bridge is falling down falling down falling down Poi s'ascose nel fo