叶芝诗11首
He Tells of the Perfect Beauty
O cloud-pale eyelids, dream-dimmed eyes,
The poets labouring all their days
To build a perfect beauty in rhyme
Are overthrown by a woman's gaze
And by the unlabouring brood of the skies：
And therefore my heart will bow, when dew
Is dropping sleep, until God burn time,
Before the unlabouring stars and you.
He Wishes for the Cloths of Heaven
Had I the heavens'embroidered cloths,
Enwrought with golden and silver light,
The blue and the dim and the dark cloths
Of night and light and the half-light,
I would spread the cloths under your feet：
But I, being poor, have only my dreams;
I have spread my dreams under your feet;
Tread softly because you tread on my dreams.
The Fiddler of Dooney
When I play on my fiddle in Dooney,
Folk dance like a wave of the sea;
My cousin is priest in Kilvarnet,
My brother in Mocharabuiee.
I passed my brother and cousin：
They read in their books of prayer;
I read in my book of songs
l bought at the Sligo fair.
When we come at the end of time
To Peter sitting in state,
He will smile on the three old spirits,
But call me first through the gate;
For the good are always the merry,
Save by an evil chance,
And the merry love the fiddle,
And the merry love to dance：
And when the folk there spy me,
They will all come up to me,
With‘Here is the fiddler of Dooney!'
And dance like a wave of the sea.
都尼的提琴手
当我在都尼拉响了提琴，
人们便如浪潮般舞起；
我的表兄是基尔瓦内的牧师，
在莫卡拉比有我的兄弟。
我顺道拜访他们两个，
他们正埋头读着祷文；
我也在埋头读着
斯莱戈集市上买来的歌本。
当世界末日，我们一同
站在圣彼得的座前，
他会对我们微微而笑，
却叫我最先跨过门槛。
因为善良的人才总是快乐的样子，
除非遇上意外的烦恼；
快乐的人喜爱提琴，
快乐的人喜爱舞蹈。
见我进来，那些天国的人
马上在我身边围拢；
喊着“都尼的提琴手来了！”
便如浪潮般开始起舞。
The Arrow
I thought of your beauty, and this arrow,
Made out of a wild thought, is in my marrow.
There's no man may look upon her, no man,
As when newly grown to be a woman,
Tall and noble but with face and bosom
Delicate in colour as apple blossom.
This beauty's kinder, yet for a reason
I could weep that the old is out of season.
箭
以往我一想起你的美，这支箭——
这支狂乱思绪铸造的箭——就刺入骨髓。
可再没有男人的目光了，
不像当日里青春的时刻，
迷人、幽雅，
纤美如淡淡的苹果花。
如今益发美了，而我，却为了某个缘故
哭泣。往日不再。
The Withering of the Boughs
I cried when the moon was murmuring to the birds：
‘Let peewit call and curlew cry where they will,
I long for your merry and tender and pitiful words,
For the roads are unending, and there is no place to my mind.'
The honey-pale moon lay low on the sleepy hill,
And I fell asleep upon lonely Echtge of streams.
No boughs have withered because of the wintry wind;
The boughs have withered because I have told them my dreams.
I know of the leafy paths that the witches take
Who come with their crowns of pearl and their spindles of wool,
And their secret smile, out of the depths of the lake;
I know where a dim moon drifts, where the Danaan kind
Wind and unwind dancing when the light grows cool
On the island lawns, their feet where the pale foam gleams.
No boughs have withered because of the wintry wind;
The boughs have withered because I have told them my dreams.
I know of the sleepy country, where swans fly round
Coupled with golden chains, and sing as they fly.
A king and a queen are wandering there, and the sound
Has made them so happy and hopeless, so deaf and so blind
With wisdom, they wander till all the years have gone by;l know, and the curlew and peewit on Echtge of streams.
No boughs have withered because of the wintry wind;
The boughs have withered because I have told them my dreams.
树枝的枯萎
月亮对鸟儿低语的时候，我喊着：
“让田凫和麻鹬在它们喜爱的地方鸣唱，
我渴望你欢快的、温柔的、悲悯的词句，
因为道路无尽，却没有放置我心灵的地方。”
淡淡的月儿垂在睡意沉沉的山坡，
我在孤独的艾赫奇溪地睡去。
树枝不会因为寒风而枯萎，
树枝的枯萎是因我讲出了我的梦境。
我清楚女巫们走过的林间小路，
她们戴着珠冠，带着纺锤，
带着神秘的笑，来自湖水深处；
我知道阴晦的月亮何处漂泊，妲南她们
在何处交缠脚步，当岛上的草地光线变冷，
她们舞蹈在浪花的苍白的光彩里。
树枝不会因为寒风而枯萎，
树枝的枯萎是因我讲出了我的梦境。
我知道那寂静的国度，天鹅盘旋歌飞
在金色锁链的捆绑之下。
漫游的国王与王后因那歌声而快乐，而绝望，而盲聋，
与智慧优游，直到时日销尽。
我知道，田凫和麻鹬也都知道，
树枝不会因为寒风而枯萎，
树枝的枯萎是因我讲出了我的梦境。
Adam's Curse
We sat together at one summer's end,
That beautiful mild woman, your close friend,
And you and I, and talked of poetry.
I said,‘A line will take us hours maybe;
Yet if it does not seem a moment's thought,
Our stitching and unstitching has been naught.
Better go down upon your marrow-bones
And scrub a kitchen pavement, or break stones
Like an old pauper, in all kinds of weather;
For to articulate sweet sounds together
Is to work harder than all these, and yet
Be thought an idler by the noisy set
Of bankers, schoolmasters, and clergymen
The martyrs call the world.'
And thereupon
That beautiful mild woman for whose sake
There's many a one shall find out all heartache
On finding that her voice is sweet and low
Replied,‘To be born woman is to know—
Although they do not talk of it at school—
That we must labour to be beautiful.'
I said,‘It's certain there is no fine thing
Since Adam's fall but needs much labouring.
There have been lovers who thought love should be
So much compounded of high courtesy
That they would sigh and quote with learned looks
Precedents out of beautiful old books;
Yet now it seems an idle trade enough.'
We sat grown quiet at the name of love;
We saw the last embers of daylight die,
And in the trembling blue-green of the sky
A moon, worn as if it had been a shell
Washed by time's waters as they rose and fell
About the stars and broke in days and years.
I had a thought for no one's but your ears：
That you were beautiful, and that I strove
To love you in the old high way of love;
That it had all seemed happy, and yet we'd grown
As weary-hearted as that hollow moon.
亚当的诅咒
那个美丽温柔的女子，你的密友，
还有你我，谈诗论艺；
我说“一个诗行要消磨掉漫长的时间，
如若不似天成偶得，
再多的推敲都是枉然。
“若那样，还不如去
擦洗厨房的瓷砖，或者敲碎石块，
像一个老丐那般，无论天气好坏；
因为连缀美妙的音色
难于所有的一切，却还要被
那些聒噪的银行家、校长与牧师等等
认作游手好闲。”
那美丽温柔的女子作答，
她低低的甜美的声音
触痛过许多颗敏感的心：
“尽管学校里不会谈论，
但生为女人就会知道，
我们该努力去追求美丽。”
我说：“是啊，从亚当堕落以来，
所有美好的东西都要人耗费精力，
恋人们曾经认为，爱情
该伴以高尚的礼仪，
他们以博学的表情
从漂亮的古书里引征，
如今看来，却全属无益。”
话题触到爱情，我们突然无语，
坐看夕阳燃尽，白昼消隐；
在晦暗的天空，月亮如一只残落的贝壳，
在时间的潮汐中，在星辰的明灭中，
日渐消损。
有个念头只能说给你听，
你那般美，而我，曾竭力爱你
以古代恋人的高贵方式。
那似曾是幸福的，而如今
我们倦怠的心正如此刻残落的月轮。
His Dream
I swayed upon the gaudy stern
The butt-end of a steering-oar,
And saw wherever I could turn
A crowd upon a shore.
And though I would have hushed the crowd,
There was no mother's son but said,
‘What is the figure in a shroud
Upon a gaudy bed?'
And after running at the brim
Cried out upon that thing beneath
‘It had such dignity of limb'
By the sweet name of Death.
Though I'd my finger on my lip,
What could I but take up the song?
And running crowd and gaudy ship
Cried out the whole night long,
Crying amid the glittering sea,
Naming it with ecstatic breath,
Because it had such dignity,
By the sweet name of Death.
他的梦
我在那华美的船尾
摇橹，
希图避开
岸上的人群。
我本该，使大家安静下来，
但无人不在议论着：
“有华美的尸衾铺在船板的床上
那尸衾下面藏着什么？”
沿着岸边奔跑啊，
对那尸衾下威严的形体
高声呼叫
甜蜜的死神的名号。
我的手指虽然抑住了唇，
但还是唱出了这首歌谣。
而奔跑的人群和华丽的船儿
整个夜晚都不住地喊叫，
喊叫在海浪的粼光里，
喊叫在狂热的气息里，
在那威严的形体之前
喊叫死神的甜美的名字。
A Woman Homer Sung
If any man drew near
When I was young,
I thought,‘He holds her dear,'
And shook with hate and fear.
But O!'twas bitter wrong
If he could pass her by
With an indifferent eye.
Whereon I wrote and wrought,
And now, being grey,
I dream that I have brought
To such a pitch my thought
That coming time can say,
‘He shadowed in a glass
What thing her body was.'
For she had fiery blood
When I was young,
And trod so sweetly proud
As'twere upon a cloud,
A woman Homer sung,
That life and letters seem
But an heroic dream.
荷马歌唱过的女人
在我年轻的时候
如果哪个男人走近她，
我会想：“他喜欢她，”
便陷于恼火、恐惧。
可是啊，若他无动于衷地
走过她的身边，
却是件更糟的事呢。
于是我开始写作，
从青春写到老去，
我梦到我的诗笔
达到了那样的高度，
足以让后来人说出：
“他像一面镜子
记下了她的美。”
因为，在我年轻的时候，
她美得火焰般热烈，
翩然而高贵的脚步
在一朵云彩上行走。
那个荷马歌唱过的女人
生活中，或是文字里，
都是一场英雄的梦。
Words
I had this thought a while ago,
‘My darling cannot understand
What I have done, or what would do
In this blind bitter land.'
And I grew weary of the sun
Until my thoughts cleared up again,
Remembering that the best I have done
Was done to make it plain;
That every year I have cried,‘At length My darling understands it all,
Because I have come into my strength,
And words obey my call'；
That had she done so who can say
What would have shaken from the sieve?
I might have thrown poor words away And been content to live.
文字
我突然有了这样的念头：
“我的爱人不会理解
我所做的，或将做的，
在这片盲聋的大地上。”
于是我厌倦了太阳
直到我的想法重新理清，
记起我做过的最好的事情
就是曾经向你坦诚。
每年里我都曾呼喊：“终于，
你会明白我的一切，
因为我已尽了全力，
我的文字也听从我的差遣。”
若她理解了又当如何？
筛子里会漏下些什么？
我也许终会抛开无益的文字，
去安于实际的生活。
Reconciliation
Some may have blamed you that you took away
The verses that could move them on the day
When, the ears being deafened, the sight of the eyes blind
With lightning, you went from me, and I could find
Nothing to make a song about but kings,
Helmets, and swords, and half-forgotten things
That were like memories of you—but now
We'll out, for the world lives as long ago;
And while we're in our laughing, weeping fit,
Hurl helmets, crowns, and swords into the pit.
But, dear, cling close to me;since you were gone,
My barren thoughts have chilled me to the bone.
A Drinking Song
Wine comes in at the mouth
And love comes in at the eye;
That's all we shall know for truth
Before we grow old and die.
I lift the glass to my mouth,
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