试译 Wordsworth 的 “ Ode to Immortality ” ( 永生颂 )

yuanxiang · 2010-11-21 21:49:45Z

试译 Wordsworth 的 “ Ode to Immortality ” ( 永生颂 )简介

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我和犀利诗友在万维诗坛上有些交流。我现在把我以前草译的英国的著名浪漫主义诗人华兹沃斯的《永生颂》找出来修改后发表于此，作为对他的纪念。右军有云：“死生乃大，” 所以我觉得这是首非常合适的纪念犀利兄的诗歌。它的主要思想可以概括为 :

1. 不思死焉为生？

2. 诗人的创造力来自模仿，而儿童最善于感知和模仿外界，所以成年的父亲是童年。这里的模仿不是对某个事物或者某个诗人的文笔或者意境的模仿，而是对美好的生活，对来源于柏拉图的最高真理之创造能力的模仿。

颂诗：从回顾童年到悟及永生

曾几何时，溪流、树林和草原

大地和所有景象 ,

对我而言

都像穿上了明亮的天裳，

梦一样明媚新鲜。

如今再也不像过去，

无论我走到哪里，

无论黑天白日，

我再也找不到以往目睹的证据。

来去匆匆出彩虹，

玫瑰情意浓。

月亮笑颜开

环顾四周之清天，

星夜之海

美丽又璀璨。

然后阳光生育出明亮 ,

可是无论我走到哪里，

大地都没了往日的荣光。

小鸟在欢乐的歌唱，

幼小的羊羔

踏着鼓点蹦跳，

可是我心头涌起一丝悲哀：

叹口气放松胸怀，

我的心又变得刚强。

瀑布吹起号角在深渊回响，

我再也不怪时令让我心伤，

我听到了回声鸣响在山谷中，

沉睡的田野朝我吹来阵阵风，

全世界都洋溢着喜气，

海洋与陆地，

都在纵情嬉戏，

五月的性情让所有的牲畜

都在欢快地庆祝；——

你呀幸福的牧童，你呀欢乐的少年，

请你喊一喊，让我听听你对羊群的呼唤。

你们有福的生灵啊，我已听到

你们相互间的呼叫，

看到九天与你们同笑，

我戴着喜庆的桂冠，

从心里出席你们的欢乐盛宴，

你们的幸福，我在感受，全都感受了。

要是我还不愉快，这时光怎不难堪！

可是这是个甜蜜的五月的早上，

大地她在为自己打扮梳妆，

孩子们从四面八方，

无远弗届

到山谷中来将鲜花摘采，

这时侯阳光暖照，

婴儿在母亲的怀抱里蹦跳。

我听呵，我听呵，我高兴地听着，

可是有颗树，许多树中的一株，

还有我曾熟悉的田野一处，

都在诉说着什么失去；

雏菊在我的脚下

也重复着同样的说法：

都跑哪儿去了呢视野中的亮光？

如今都在哪，光荣与梦想？

我们的出生不过是遗忘与睡梦一场，

和我们同时醒来的灵魂，我们的生命的流星，

来自远方，

自有其殒落的历程：

并非全都忘记，

也非赤裸无系，

我们驾着云彩吉祥

来自上帝，我们的家乡，

天国庇护我们的童年梦想！

随着儿童成长，牢狱般的黑暗

开始将他收监，

但是他看得到光和光明的前景，

眼中有欢乐的光辉；

青年虽背朝东愈行愈远，

仍是祭司在神庙里崇敬自然，

因此上才看得到光彩辉煌，

在人生的旅途上享受关照，

这眼光在成年中逐渐消散，

淡入庸俗的时光里面。

大地母亲有她自己的欢乐；

这欢乐并非只是付出毫无所得，

而是种母性的希望，

像舍不得儿女一般，

好一位家庭主妇

她收养儿童作她的囚徒，

要他遗忘他所熟悉的荣光，

要他忘却他所离开的帝阙。

瞧，那位让清新福气笼罩的儿童，

六岁大的亲亲，小大人的体形，

看，即使是躺着他的手也动个不停，

摆摆手对着母爱的亲吻频送，

摇摇头看着父爱的眼神轻放，

再看看他脚边的表格和图画，

那都是人生的梦想，

都是他用双小手作好的计划

无论是喜庆还是成亲，

无论是出席葬礼还是抚慰他人，

他都知晓不差，

还能哼出自己的歌，

学着用嘴巴

模仿大人的恋爱、争吵与商磋。

过一会儿后这位小演员

刚把学会的忘却，

就会快乐又自豪

演起另一角色了。

在他的“逗人”的人生舞台上，

搬弄着人生的道具，

将生命的各个时期，

甚至憔悴的老年，滑稽地演完。

似乎他的终生奔忙，

就是无穷无尽的摹仿。

你呀，你如此善于模仿的外观

不正宣示着灵魂的伟大？

你是最好的哲学家，

你继承着真传，

是盲者的亮眼，

聋子和哑巴的观察，

察看永恒的心驻守着的永恒深渊。

你是伟大的预言家，

有福的先知，

我们终生劳累而寻觅，

在黑暗无边，无边黑暗

中寻找的真理不就在你身边；

你呀，你的永生好比是白日孵化生命，

主人卫护仆人，

蹲孵在你上边，这影响怎能弃之不管；

你呀，年幼的儿童，天赋的自由

之光闪烁在你的身前身后，

为什么你得经历艰辛和痛苦，

惹恼岁月给你戴上桎梏，

盲目地与你的福气争锋？

你的灵魂不久将承载尘世的负重，

生活的重担将压在你身上

生命一样深，严霜一样浓！

啊！欢乐！在此生的余烬中

确实还剩下点儿活泼，

虽然难觅行踪

但性情仍能记妥！

当我回想以往的细节

就有获得了永福的感觉，

不是因为快乐和自由，

这个最该延续的福祚，

这个童年的信念，无论繁忙还是工休，

如今仍满怀新生的希望蹦跳在胸口： --

也并非因为如此才让我

唱出感恩的赞歌，

而是因为那些执着的查询，

对感觉和现象的反复提问，

突然消逝，现于一瞬，

所有生灵都回答不出，

恍兮惚兮如隔世的爱心，

我们的生命有限的本性与之相逢

就会像罪人样突然惊起的高级本能，

正因为有这第一次的情爱

才能将往昔回忆起来

不管是什么，

都是光亮之泉在我们的日子中流过，

都是光亮之主照亮我们的全部视角，

抬举我们、惦记我们、也能使我们的喧嚣岁月

成为永恒沉寂中的短暂一刻，

都是让人警醒的真理，

永不消亡，

无论是行为懒惰还是疯狂，

无论是成人还是小伙，

无论敌视欢乐的是什么，

都不能把这真理取消或击破。

因此上在这天气平和的季节

我们虽然身处内陆遥迢，

灵魂仍朝那永生之海远眺，

它带我们来到这边，

也能很快带我们奔向彼岸，

去看童年在海滩上嬉戏，

去听浩瀚的海浪翻滚不息。

那么，唱吧，飞鸟，唱起欢乐的歌，

那么，跳吧，幼小的羔羊

快踏着牧人的鼓响！

你呀牧笛，你呀吹笛的牧人，

你们呀，你们今天所有用心

感受着欢乐的五月的人们，

我们的思想与你们同乐。

以往的光明与璀璨，

如今再也看不到又能怎么办？

虽然再也找不回青草晶莹、

花儿鲜亮的已逝风景，

但是我们决不悲伤，我们仍将寻找，

从生出同情并且同情永葆

的原始情苗；

从忍受苦难中升华

的同情根芽；

从看穿死亡的意义的信仰；

从孕育出哲理的岁月漫长；

找到仍存的力量。

你呀，流泉、树林、小山和草原，

请别预报你将割断我们的情缘！

我的心中之心感受着你们的伟岸，

我不过是换了种欢乐和爱好，

以接受更合乎你们的习惯的调教。

我仍深爱溪水沿着水沟奔跑，

胜过我当初同样活泼的蹦跳；

新一天的所有明媚和嫩幼，

我仍旧爱不够。

可是朝着落日汇聚的云彩，

在关注生命有限的眼睛看来

确实粘染上了忧郁的暮霭；

比赛已经赛完，也赢了些比赛，

搭帮让我们活着为人的人心，

搭帮人心中的恐惧、欢乐和温存，

哪怕是朵最卑微的鲜花跟风将就，

都让我思绪弥深泪水浇也浇不透。

Ode
Intimations of Immortality from Recollections of Early Childhood

THERE was a time when meadow, grove, and stream,
The earth, and every common sight,
To me did seem
Apparell'd in celestial light,
The glory and the freshness of a dream.	5
It is not now as it hath been of yore; —
Turn wheresoe'er I may,
By night or day,
The things which I have seen I now can see no more.
The rainbow comes and goes,	10
And lovely is the rose;
The moon doth with delight
Look round her when the heavens are bare;
Waters on a starry night
Are beautiful and fair;	15
The sunshine is a glorious birth;
But yet I know, where'er I go,
That there hath pass'd away a glory from the earth.
Now, while the birds thus sing a joyous song,
And while the young lambs bound	20
As to the tabor's sound,
To me alone there came a thought of grief:
A timely utterance gave that thought relief,
And I again am strong:
The cataracts blow their trumpets from the steep;	25
No more shall grief of mine the season wrong;
I hear the echoes through the mountains throng,
The winds come to me from the fields of sleep,
And all the earth is gay;
Land and sea	30
Give themselves up to jollity,
And with the heart of May
Doth every beast keep holiday; —
Thou Child of Joy,
Shout round me, let me hear thy shouts, thou happy	35
Shepherd-boy!
Ye bless è d creatures, I have heard the call
Ye to each other make; I see
The heavens laugh with you in your jubilee;
My heart is at your festival,	40
My head hath its coronal,
The fulness of your bliss, I feel — I feel it all.
O evil day! if I were sullen
While Earth herself is adorning,
This sweet May-morning,	45
And the children are culling
On every side,
In a thousand valleys far and wide,
Fresh flowers; while the sun shines warm,
And the babe leaps up on his mother's arm: —	50
I hear, I hear, with joy I hear!
— But there's a tree, of many, one,
A single field which I have look'd upon,
Both of them speak of something that is gone:
The pansy at my feet	55
Doth the same tale repeat:
Whither is fled the visionary gleam?
Where is it now, the glory and the dream?
Our birth is but a sleep and a forgetting:
The Soul that rises with us, our life's Star,	60
Hath had elsewhere its setting,
And cometh from afar:
Not in entire forgetfulness,
And not in utter nakedness,
But trailing clouds of glory do we come	65
From God, who is our home:
Heaven lies about us in our infancy!
Shades of the prison-house begin to close
Upon the growing Boy,
But he beholds the light, and whence it flows,	70
He sees it in his joy;
The Youth, who daily farther from the east
Must travel, still is Nature's priest,
And by the vision splendid
Is on his way attended;	75
At length the Man perceives it die away,
And fade into the light of common day.
Earth fills her lap with pleasures of her own;
Yearnings she hath in her own natural kind,
And, even with something of a mother's mind,	80
And no unworthy aim,
The homely nurse doth all she can
To make her foster-child, her Inmate Man,
Forget the glories he hath known,
And that imperial palace whence he came.	85
Behold the Child among his new-born blisses,
A six years' darling of a pigmy size!
See, where 'mid work of his own hand he lies,
Fretted by sallies of his mother's kisses,
With light upon him from his father's eyes!	90
See, at his feet, some little plan or chart,
Some fragment from his dream of human life,
Shaped by himself with newly-learn è d art;
A wedding or a festival,
A mourning or a funeral;	95
And this hath now his heart,
And unto this he frames his song:
Then will he fit his tongue
To dialogues of business, love, or strife;
But it will not be long	100
Ere this be thrown aside,
And with new joy and pride
The little actor cons another part;
Filling from time to time his 'humorous stage'
With all the Persons, down to palsied Age,	105
That Life brings with her in her equipage;
As if his whole vocation
Were endless imitation.
Thou, whose exterior semblance doth belie
Thy soul's immensity;	110
Thou best philosopher, who yet dost keep
Thy heritage, thou eye among the blind,
That, deaf and silent, read'st the eternal deep,
Haunted for ever by the eternal mind, —
Mighty prophet! Seer blest!	115
On whom those truths do rest,
Which we are toiling all our lives to find,
In darkness lost, the darkness of the grave;
Thou, over whom thy Immortality
Broods like the Day, a master o'er a slave,	120
A presence which is not to be put by;
To whom the grave
Is but a lonely bed without the sense or sight
Of day or the warm light,
A place of thought where we in waiting lie;	125
Thou little Child, yet glorious in the might
Of heaven-born freedom on thy being's height,
Why with such earnest pains dost thou provoke
The years to bring the inevitable yoke,
Thus blindly with thy blessedness at strife?	130
Full soon thy soul shall have her earthly freight,
And custom lie upon thee with a weight,
Heavy as frost, and deep almost as life!
O joy! that in our embers
Is something that doth live,	135
That nature yet remembers
What was so fugitive!
The thought of our past years in me doth breed
Perpetual benediction: not indeed
For that which is most worthy to be blest —	140
Delight and liberty, the simple creed
Of childhood, whether busy or at rest,
With new-fledged hope still fluttering in his breast: —
Not for these I raise
The song of thanks and praise;	145
But for those obstinate questionings
Of sense and outward things,
Fallings from us, vanishings;
Blank misgivings of a Creature
Moving about in worlds not realized,	150
High instincts before which our mortal Nature
Did tremble like a guilty thing surprised:
But for those first affections,
Those shadowy recollections,
Which, be they what they may,	155
Are yet the fountain-light of all our day,
Are yet a master-light of all our seeing;
Uphold us, cherish, and have power to make
Our noisy years seem moments in the being
Of the eternal Silence: truths that wake,	160
To perish never:
Which neither listlessness, nor mad endeavour,
Nor Man nor Boy,
Nor all that is at enmity with joy,
Can utterly abolish or destroy!	165
Hence in a season of calm weather
Though inland far we be,
Our souls have sight of that immortal sea
Which brought us hither,
Can in a moment travel thither,	170
And see the children sport upon the shore,
And hear the mighty waters rolling evermore.
Then sing, ye birds, sing, sing a joyous song!
And let the young lambs bound
As to the tabor's sound!	175
We in thought will join your throng,
Ye that pipe and ye that play,
Ye that through your hearts to-day
Feel the gladness of the May!
What though the radiance which was once so bright	180
Be now for ever taken from my sight,
Though nothing can bring back the hour
Of splendour in the grass, of glory in the flower;
We will grieve not, rather find
Strength in what remains behind;	185
In the primal sympathy
Which having been must ever be;
In the soothing thoughts that spring
Out of human suffering;
In the faith that looks through death,	190
In years that bring the philosophic mind.
And O ye Fountains, Meadows, Hills, and Groves,
Forebode not any severing of our loves!
Yet in my heart of hearts I feel your might;
I only have relinquish'd one delight	195
To live beneath your more habitual sway.
I love the brooks which down their channels fret,
Even more than when I tripp'd lightly as they;
The innocent brightness of a new-born Day
Is lovely yet;	200
The clouds that gather round the setting sun
Do take a sober colouring from an eye
That hath kept watch o'er man's mortality;
Another race hath been, and other palms are won.
Thanks to the human heart by which we live,	205
Thanks to its tenderness, its joys, and fears,
To me the meanest flower that blows can give
Thoughts that do often lie too deep for tears.