英文诗原版
Eidolons
Walt Whitman
Passing the hues and objects of the world,
The fields of art and learning, pleasure, sense,
To glean eidolons.
No more the puzzling hour nor day, nor segments, parts, put in,
Put first before the rest as light for all and entrance-song of all,
That of eidolons.
Ever the growth, the rounding of the circle,
Ever the summit and the merge at last, (to surely start again,)
Eidolons! eidolons!
Ever materials, changing, crumbling, re-cohering,
Ever the ateliers, the factories divine,
Issuing eidolons.
Or woman, man, or state, known or unknown,
We seeming solid wealth, strength, beauty build,
But really build eidolons.
The substance of an artist's mood or savan's studies long,
Or warrior's, martyr's, hero's toils,
To fashion his eidolon.
(The units gather'd, posted, not a thought, emotion, deed, left out,)
The whole or large or small summ'd, added up,
In its eidolon.
Based on the ancient pinnacles, lo, newer, higher pinnacles,
From science and the modern still impell'd,
The old, old urge, eidolons.
America's busy, teeming, intricate whirl,
Of aggregate and segregate for only thence releasing,
To-day's eidolons.
Of vanish'd lands, of all the reigns of kings across the sea,
Old conquerors, old campaigns, old sailors' voyages,
Joining eidolons.
Strata of mountains, soils, rocks, giant trees,
Far-born, far-dying, living long, to leave,
Eidolons everlasting.
The visible but their womb of birth,
Of orbic tendencies to shape and shape and shape,
The mighty earth-eidolon.
(The stars, the terrible perturbations of the suns,
Swelling, collapsing, ending, serving their longer, shorter use,)
Fill'd with eidolons only.
The infinite oceans where the rivers empty,
The separate countless free identities, like eyesight,
The true realities, eidolons.
Nor these the universes, they the universes,
Purport and end, ever the permanent life of life,
Eidolons, eidolons.
Beyond thy telescope or spectroscope observer keen, beyond all mathematics,
Beyond the doctor's surgery, anatomy, beyond the chemist with his chemistry,
The entities of entities, eidolons.
Ever shall be, ever have been and are,
Sweeping the present to the infinite future,
Eidolons, eidolons, eidolons.
Shall yet maintain themselves, in higher stages yet,
Shall mediate to the Modern, to Democracy, interpret yet to them,
God and eidolons.
Joys, ceaseless exercises, exaltations,
Thy yearning amply fed at last, prepared to meet,
Thy mates, eidolons.
The body lurking there within thy body,
The only purport of the form thou art, the real I myself,
An image, an eidolon.
No special strains to sing, none for itself,
But from the whole resulting, rising at last and floating,
A round full-orb'd eidolon.
网上的中文版如下:
幻象
作者:瓦尔特·惠特曼
我遇见一位先知,
他在世界的万象万物前徜徉,
涉猎艺术、学问、乐趣和官能的领域,
为了要捡拾幻象。
他说不要再采纳
那些费解的时辰或日子,或者是部分、碎片,
首先要采纳幻象,如普照的光,如开场的乐曲,
要把幻象纳入你的诗篇。
永远是混沌初开,
永远是周期循环,是成长,
永远是顶点和最终的融台(当然要重新开始,)
是幻象,是幻象!
永远是可变的。
永远是物质,变化着,碎裂着,又重新粘合,
永远是画室,是神圣的工厂,
生产着幻象。
瞧,我或你,
或者女人、男人,或者国家,无论有无名望,
我们好像在建造真正的财富、力量和美,
但实际是建造幻象。
外表是转瞬即逝的,
一个艺术家的心境或学者的研究其实质却能久长,
或者是战士的、先烈的、英雄的劳绩,
在塑造他的幻象。
每一个人类生命,
(所有的元件都已收集、安排,包括每一思想、感情和行为,)
无论大小,全部归总,加在一起,
都在它的幻象里。
那老而又老的欲望,
建立在古代的尖峰,以及较新和更高的尖峰上,
如今更为科学和现代所怂恿,
那老而又老的欲望,那些幻象。
如今,在此时此地,
是美国的热闹、多产而复杂的繁忙,
这包括集体和个别的,因为只能从那里
释放出今天的幻象。
这些与过去的那些,
属于已消失的国家和大洋对岸所有的王朝,
属于古代征服者、古代战役和古代的海航,
都是彼此连接的幻象。
密集,生长,外观,
层迭的山峦,岩石,乔木,土壤,
远古诞生的、早在死亡的、长命的、要走的,
是连绵不绝的幻象。
高兴的,狂喜的,着迷的,
看得见的只是它们的环形倾向,
在孕育的子宫里不断地形成形成,
那宏伟的地球幻象。
所有的空间,所有的时间,
(那些星球,无数个太阳的可怕的紊乱,
膨胀,崩溃,完结,为了它们或长或短的用场,)
只不过充满了幻象。
那无声无息的万象,
百川倾注的无边无际的海洋,
像视线般分散的无数自由的个体,
是真的现实,是幻象。
这个并不是世界,
这些也并非宇宙;它们才是宇宙
是生命的永恒生命,目的和意向,
这些幻象,这些幻象。
超出你博学教授的演讲,
超出你精明观察者的望远镜和分光镜,
超越于一切的数学之上,
超出医生的外科手术和解剖学,超出化学家和他的化学,
实体的实体,是幻象。
没有固定而又固定了的,
总是将要发生、总是已经发生的和现存的,
将现今迅猛地刮进无限未来的,
是幻象,幻象,幻象。
预言家和诗人,
还要保持自己,在更高的历史舞台上,
要向现代、向民主介绍,还要为他们讲解上帝和幻象。
而你,我的灵魂,
在不停的锻炼、喜悦和得意中,
你的向往已终于满足,已准备停当,
去会见你的伙伴,幻象。
你的躯体是永久的,
那躯体在你的身躯内潜藏,
它是你那形态的唯一要旨,真正的自我,
一个肖像,一个幻象。
你的真正的歌并不在你的歌里,
没有特别的曲调可唱,也不为自己而唱,
但是从那整体终于产生着,上升和飘浮着,
一个完满而滚圆的幻象。