艾略特诗12首

The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock

S'io credessi che mia risposta fosse

A persona che mai tornasse al mondo,

Questa fiamma staria senza piu scosse.

Ma perciocche giammai di questo fondo

Non torno vivo alcun, s'i'odo il vero,

Senza tema d'infamia ti rispondo.

Let us go then, you and I,

When the evening is spread out against the sky

Like a patient etherized upon a table;

Let us go, through certain half-deserted streets,

The muttering retreats

Of restless nights in one-night cheap hotels

And sawdust restaurants with oyster-shells:

Streets that follow like a tedious argument

Of insidious intent

To lead you to an overwhelming question...

Oh, do not ask, "What is it?"

Let us go and make our visit.

In the room the women come and go

Talking of Michelangelo.

The yellow fog that rubs its back upon the windowpanes,

The yellow smoke that rubs its muzzle on the window-panes,

Licked its tongue into the corners of the evening,

Lingered upon the pools that stand in drains,

Let fall upon its back the soot that falls from chimneys,

Slipped by the terrace, made a sudden leap,

And seeing that it was a soft October night,

Curled once about the house, and fell asleep.

And indeed there will be time

For the yellow smoke that slides along the street,

Rubbing its back upon the window-panes;

There will be time, there will be time

To prepare a face to meet the faces that you meet;

There will be time to murder and create,

And time for all the works and days of hands

That lift and drop a question on your plate;

Time for you and time for me,

And time yet for a hundred indecisions,

And for a hundred visions and revisions,

Before the taking of a toast and tea.

In the room the women come and go

Talking of Michelangelo.

And indeed there will be time

To wonder, "Do I dare?" and, "Do I dare?"

Time to turn back and descend the stair,

With a bald spot in the middle of my hair—

(They will say: "How his hair is growing thin!")

My morning coat, my collar mounting firmly to the chin,

My necktie rich and modest, but asserted by a simple pin—

(They will say: "But how his arms and legs are thin!")

Do I dare

Disturb the universe?

In a minute there is time

For decisions and revisions which a minute will reverse.

For I have known them all already, known them all:

Have known the evenings, mornings, afternoons,

I have measured out my life with coffee spoons;

I know the voices dying with a dying fall

Beneath the music from a farther room.

So how should I presume?

And I have known the eyes already, known them all—

The eyes that fix you in a formulated phrase,

And when I am formulated, sprawling on a pin,

When I am pinned and wriggling on the wall,

Then how should I begin

To spit out all the butt-ends of my days and ways?

And how should I presume?

And I have known the arms already, known them all—

Arms that are braceleted and white and bare

(But in the lamplight, downed with light brown hair!)

Is it perfume from a dress

That makes me so digress?

Arms that lie along a table, or wrap about a shawl.

And should I then presume?

And how should I begin?

*　*　*　*

Shall I say, I have gone at dusk through narrow streets

And watched the smoke that rises from the pipes

Of lonely men in shirt-sleeves, leaning out of windows?...

I should have been a pair of ragged claws

Scuttling across the floors of silent seas.

*　*　*　*

And the afternoon, the evening, sleeps so peacefully!

Smoothed by long fingers,

Asleep... tired... or it malingers,

Stretched on the floor, here beside you and me.

Should I, after tea and cakes and ices,

Have the strength to force the moment to its crisis?

But though I have wept and fasted, wept and prayed,

Though I have seen my head (grown slightly bald) brought in upon a platter,

I am no prophet—and here's no great matter;

I have seen the moment of my greatness flicker,

And I have seen the eternal Footman hold my coat, and snicker,

And in short, I was afraid.

And would it have been worth it, after all,

After the cups, the marmalade, the tea,

Among the porcelain, among some talk of you and me,

Would it have been worth while,

To have bitten off the matter with a smile,

To have squeezed the universe into a ball

To roll it toward some overwhelming question,

To say: "I am Lazarus, come from the dead,

Come back to tell you all, I shall tell you all"—

If one, settling a pillow by her head,

Should say: "That is not what I meant at all;

That is not it, at all."

And would it have been worth it, after all,

Would it have been worth while,

After the sunsets and the dooryards and the sprinkled streets,

After the novels, after the teacups, after the skirts that trail along the floor—

And this, and so much more?—

It is impossible to say just what I mean!

But as if a magic lantern threw the nerves in patterns on a screen:

Would it have been worth while

If one, settling a pillow or throwing off a shawl,

And turning toward the window, should say:

"That is not it at all,

That is not what I meant, at all."

*　*　*　*

No! I am not Prince Hamlet, nor was meant to be;

Am an attendant lord, one that will do

To swell a progress, start a scene or two,

Advise the prince; no doubt, an easy tool,

Deferential, glad to be of use,

Politic, cautious, and meticulous;

Full of high sentence, but a bit obtuse;

At times, indeed, almost ridiculous—

Almost, at times, the Fool.

I grow old... I grow old...

I shall wear the bottoms of my trousers rolled.

Shall I part my hair behind? Do I dare to eat a peach?

I shall wear white flannel trousers, and walk upon the beach.

I have heard the mermaids singing, each to each.

I do not think that they will sing to me.

I have seen them riding seaward on the waves

Combing the white hair of the waves blown back

When the wind blows the water white and black.

We have lingered in the chambers of the sea

By sea-girls wreathed with seaweed red and brown

Till human voices wake us, and we drown.

1917

房间里女人来去如梭，

老是在谈米开朗琪罗。

黄雾在窗子上蹭背，

黄烟在窗子上蹭嘴，

舌头舔着夜晚的四角，

在干涸的水坑上徘徊，

烟囱掉出的煤灰落在它背上，

它从阳台边溜过，突然跳起，

但它看到这是温柔的十月之夜，

又蜷缩在房子周围，沉沉入睡。

确实有个时间 

让黄烟沿街滑行

在窗子上蹭背；

有个时间，有个时间，

准备一张脸去面对你会见的脸；

有个时间，用来杀人，用来创造，

让那些举起问题又丢进你盘里的手

去完成工作，结束一天天日子。

有个时间给你，有个时间给我，

有个时间先来一百个犹豫，

先来一百个观察，一百个修正，

然后再去吃茶点。

房间里女人来去如梭，

老是在谈米开朗琪罗。

确实总有个时间，

问一声：“我敢不敢？”“我敢不敢？”

总有个时间转身走下楼梯，

头发夹带了一个秃斑——

（人们会说：“他头发越来越稀！”）

我的晨礼服，顶住下巴，领子笔挺，

我的领结华丽又文静，只用一个简朴的扣针固定，

（人们会说：“他的手臂和腿可真细！”）

我敢不敢

把宇宙扰乱？

一分钟内就必须做出

决定和修正，过一分钟再推翻。

我早就熟悉她们每个人，全都熟悉，

我已经熟悉晚上、下午、早晨，

我已经用咖啡匙量过我的一生；

我熟悉远处房间传来的音乐声里

那渐渐变轻而终于消失的人声，

可我哪敢冒昧行事？

我早就熟悉这些眼睛，全都熟悉——

它们把你固定在一句程式化的短语中，

当我被程式化，趴在一根针下，

当我被钉在墙上，四肢扭动，

那时我如何才能吐出

我平日生活方式的烟蒂？

我哪敢冒昧行事？

我早就熟悉这些手臂，全都熟悉——

那戴手镯的白洁的裸臂，

（而灯光映出淡棕色的绒毛！）

是从衣衫上传来的香味

使我如此语无伦次？

是搁在桌上的，或裹着纱巾的手臂。

难道我必须冒昧行事？

叫我如何开始？

*　*　*　*

我该不该说，在暮色中我穿过狭窄的街道

看到没穿外套的孤独者倚在窗边

他的烟斗中升起缕缕白烟？……

我想必是一双褴褛的爪子

在宁静的海底乱窜。

*　*　*　*

而这下午，这夜晚，睡得多安宁！

细长的手指抚摸着它，

睡着了……倦了……要不就是装病，

在你我身边，在地板上伸展四肢。

难道我在用过茶点和冷食之后

就有力量把时间推上紧要关头？

尽管我哭着斋戒过，哭着祈祷过，

尽管我见到我的脑袋（有些秃顶）放在盘里端来  ，

我也不是先知——而这也并无大碍；

我已经见到我的伟大时刻闪闪摇摇，

我见到永生的男仆  拿着我的大衣向我冷笑，

一句话，我怕。

归根到底，这是否值得一做？

端杯喝茶，吃过果酱，

在杯盘之间，在你我闲谈时，

是否值得面带微笑

把这事情一口咬掉？

是否值得把宇宙挤成一个球

滚向一个叫人无法回答的问题，

是否值得说：“我是拉撒路  ，来自阴间，

我回来告诉你们一切，我要告诉你们一切”——

万一此人，在头边放个枕垫，

竟然说：“我根本无此意，

根本不是这么回事。”

归根到底，这是否值得一做？

是否值得，

经过庭院、洒水的街道、多次日落，

经过小说、茶杯、曳地长裙，

经过这个那个，还经过那么多事——

简直没法说出我想说的意思！

但就像魔灯把神经图案映到幕上：

是否还值得一做

万一此人，放下枕头，甩开纱巾，

朝窗子扭过脸，竟然说：

“完全不是这么回事，

我完全无此意，根本没这意思。”

*　*　*　*

不！我不是哈姆雷特王子，生来不是，

我只是个扈从的廷臣，我的工作

只是让王家行列壮观些，念念开场白，

给王子出主意；当然，是驯顺的工具，

唯唯诺诺，很高兴终得一用，

处世小心，事事谨慎；

满嘴高调，却颇为颟顸，

有时候，确实，近乎可笑——

有时，几乎是小丑。 

我老了……我老了……

我得翻卷裤脚。

我脑后头发要不要两边分？  我敢不敢吃桃子？

我要穿白色呢裤，在海滨漫步，

我听到了美人鱼对唱的歌声。

我想她们不会是唱给我听。

我见到她们骑在浪尖向大海驰去，

梳理着波浪被风吹起的长鬃，

这时风把海水扰得黑白相混。

我们在大海的宫室里流连忘返，

海女们给我们戴上红棕色海草花环，

一旦被人声唤醒，我们就得淹死。

1917

Preludes

I

The winter evening settles down

With smell of steaks in passageways.

Six o'clock.

The burnt-out ends of smoky days.

And now a gusty shower wraps

The grimy scraps

Of withered leaves about your feet

And newspapers from vacant lots;

The showers beat

On broken blinds and chimney-pots, And at the corner of the street

A lonely cab-horse steams and stamps.

And then the lighting of the lamps.

1917

1917

La Figlia Che Piange

O quam te memorem virgo…

Stand on the highest pavement of the stair—

Lean on a garden urn—

Weave, weave the sunlight in your hair—

Clasp your flowers to you with a pained surprise—

Fling them to the ground and turn

With a fugitive resentment in your eyes:

But weave, weave the sunlight in your hair.

So I would have had him leave,

So I would have had her stand and grieve,

So he would have left

As the soul leaves the body torn and bruised,

As the mind deserts the body it has used.

I should find

Some way incomparably light and deft,

Some way we both should understand,

Simple and faithless as a smile and a shake of the hand.

She turned away, but with the autumn weather

Compelled my imagination many days,

Many days and many hours:

Her hair over her arms and her arms full of flowers.

And I wonder how they should have been together!

I should have lost a gesture and a pose.

Sometimes these cogitations still amaze

The troubled midnight, and the noon's repose.

1917

痛苦而惊奇，你把花抓起

扔到地上，转过身

眼中含着难以猜透的怒意：

但是织呵，在你的头发里编织阳光。

因此我但愿他走开，

因此我但愿她站着忧伤，

因此他但愿自己不在

好像灵魂离开遍体鳞伤的肉体，

好像理智把用旧的肉体抛弃。

我得找到

一种方法，无比轻捷巧妙，

一种方法，我俩都能理解，

简单，不确定，像握手，像微笑。

她转身走了，但随着这秋日天气，

好多天，追逼我的想象，

好多天，好多时光：

她臂上披着头发，手里抱着鲜花。

我真不明白他们怎能在一起！

怕是我丢失了一个姿态，一个手势。

有时这些想法仍然能惊起

苦恼的半夜与安宁的正午。

1917

Morning at the Window

They are rattling breakfast plates in basement kitchens,

And along the trampled edges of the street

I am aware of the damp souls of housemaids

Sprouting despondently at area gates.

The brown waves of fog toss up to me

Twisted faces from the bottom of the street,

And tear from a passer-by with muddy skirts

An aimless smile that hovers in the air

And vanishes along the level of the roofs.

1917

在大门口沮丧地冒出嫩芽。

晨雾的黄色波浪从街道底上

向我抛来一个个扭歪的面孔，

从穿脏裙子的路人脸上撕下

一个无目的的笑，让它飘在空中

沿着屋檐的水平方向渐渐消失。

1917

Aunt Helen

Miss Helen Slingsby was my maiden aunt,

And lived in a small house near a fashionable square

Cared for by servants to the number of four.

Now when she died there was silence in heaven

And silence at her end of the street.

The shutters were drawn and the undertaker wiped his feet—

He was aware that this sort of thing had occurred before.

The dogs were handsomely provided for,

But shortly afterwards the parrot died too.

The Dresden clock continued ticking on the mantelpiece,

And the footman sat upon the dining-table

Holding the second housemaid on his knees—

Who had always been so careful while her mistress lived.

1917

现在她死了，天堂一片宁静，

她住的那个街头也是寂然无声。

百叶窗关了，殡仪馆老板掸掸鞋灰——

他很明白这种事情远非第一回。

狗的供应照常是相当丰盛，

但是不多久鹦鹉却也死去。

德累斯顿壁钟仍在炉架上滴答，

此时跟班却坐到餐桌边上，

把第二个侍女搂在膝盖上——

女主人生前她却是一贯谨慎。

1917

The Hippopotamus

The broad-backed hippopotamus

Rests on his belly in the mud;

Although he seems so firm to us

He is merely flesh and blood.

Flesh-and-blood is weak and frail,

Susceptible to nervous shock;

While the True Church can never fail

For it is based upon a rock.

The hippo's feeble steps may err

In compassing material ends,

While the True Church need never stir

To gather in its dividends.

The 'potamus can never reach

The mango on the mango-tree;

But fruits of pomegranate and peach

Refresh the Church from over sea.

At mating time the hippo's voice

Betrays inflexions hoarse and odd,

But every week we hear rejoice

The Church, at being one with God.

The hippopotamus's day

Is passed in sleep; at night he hunts;

God works in a mysterious way—

The Church can sleep and feed at once.

I saw the 'potamus take wing

Ascending from the damp savannas,

And quiring angels round him sing

The praise of God, in loud hosannas.

Blood of the Lamb shall wash him clean

And him shall heavenly arms enfold,

Among the saints he shall be seen

Performing on a harp of gold.

He shall be washed as white as snow,

By all the martyr'd virgins kist,

While the True Church remains below

Wrapt in the old miasmal mist.

1920

血肉总是脆弱疲软，

易受神经冲动影响。

而真正教会从来不垮，

基础建在岩石之上。

河马会脚软，会闪跌，

当他要争取物质目的，

真正教会不必动弹，

就可坐收红利债息。

河马向来没法够着

树上长的累累芒果，

而海外运来石榴、鲜桃，

真正教会尝得快活。

在交配时河马的嗓子

吼出沙哑古怪的曲折，

但是教会每个周末

跟上帝结合多么欢乐。

河马在睡梦中

打发白天，夜里觅食，

而上帝行事相当神秘：

真正教会边睡边吃。

我看到河马飞升起来，

离开那卑湿的草原。

一群天使围护着他

齐唱着把上帝礼赞。

羔羊的血会把他洗净

怀抱着他的是神圣的手，

他将站在天使中间

把黄金的竖琴弹奏。

他将被洗得雪一样白

殉难的处女将他亲吻，

而真正教会留在下界

被古老的瘴雾妖氛笼罩。

1920

Whispers of Immortality (Excerpts)

Webster was much possessed by death

And saw the skull beneath the skin;

And breastless creatures under ground

Leaned backward with a lipless grin.

Daffodil bulbs instead of balls

Stared from the sockets of the eyes!

He knew that thought clings round dead limbs

Tightening its lusts and luxuries.

Donne, I suppose, was such another

Who found no substitute for sense;

To seize and clutch and penetrate,

Expert beyond experience,

He knew the anguish of the marrow

The ague of the skeleton;

No contact possible to flesh

Allayed the fever of the bone.

1920

水仙的球根代替了眼珠，

从眼窝里朝外凝视！

他懂得思想缠住死人手足

收紧了它的淫欲和奢侈！

邓恩  ，我觉得，也是如此，

他认为无物能把感觉替代，

会抓捕，会掐紧，会穿透，

独具只眼，远在经验之外。

他了解骨髓的痛楚，

以及骨架的痉挛颤抖，

无论怎样去接触肉体

都无法医治发烧的骨头。

1920

Sweeney Among the Nightingales

ὤμοι, πέπληγμαι καιρίαν πληγὴν ἔσω.

Apeneck Sweeney spreads his knees

Letting his arms hang down to laugh,

The zebra stripes along his jaw

Swelling to maculate giraffe.

The circles of the stormy moon

Slide westward toward the River Plate,

Death and the Raven drift above

And Sweeney guards the horned gate.

Gloomy Orion and the Dog

Are veiled; and hushed the shrunken seas;

The person in the Spanish cape

Tries to sit on Sweeney's knees

Slips and pulls the table cloth

Overturns a coffee-cup,

Reorganized upon the floor

She yawns and draws a stocking up;

The silent man in mocha brown

Sprawls at the window-sill and gapes;

The waiter brings in oranges

Bananas figs and hothouse grapes;

The silent vertebrate in brown

Contracts and concentrates, withdraws;

Rachel née Rabinovitch

Tears at the grapes with murderous paws;

She and the lady in the cape

Are suspect, thought to be in league;

Therefore the man with heavy eyes

Declines the gambit, shows fatigue,

Leaves the room and reappears

Outside the window, leaning in,

Branches of wistaria

Circumscribe a golden grin;

The host with someone indistinct

Converses at the door apart,

The nightingales are singing near

The Convent of the Sacred Heart,

And sang within the bloody wood

When Agamemnon cried aloud,

And let their liquid siftings fall

To stain the stiff dishonoured shroud.

1920

预示风暴的一圈圈月晕，

向西，朝拉普拉塔河  滑行，

死神和乌鸦星在空中飘浮，

斯威尼守卫着角门  。

阴郁的猎户座和天狼星

暗淡了，吓静了退缩的大海；

穿着西班牙斗篷的人

想坐上斯威尼的膝盖。

滑倒了，又拖下了桌布

翻倒杯子，倾洒咖啡，

她在地板上整顿一番，

打呵欠，把袜子拉上腿；

穿咖色上衣的男人一声不吭

张着大口扒在窗前。

侍者送进橘子，还有

那些无花果、香蕉和葡萄干；

穿棕衣的脊椎动物一声不吭

畏畏缩缩，往后退开；

而拉契尔，娘家姓拉比诺维契

伸出爪子把葡萄撕碎；

她和那个披斗篷的太太

有嫌疑，看来勾结一气；

因此那个眼色沉重的男人

装出疲倦样子，拒绝开局，

离开房间，却在窗外，

重新出现，身子往里探，

那紫藤树的枝枝叶叶

把金色的狂笑团团围环；

主人与一个难辨认的人，

在打开的窗口交谈，

在圣心修道院近旁

有夜莺歌喉婉转，

它们在血污的树丛歌唱

当阿伽门农大声号啕， 

它们让血液滴滴筛下

弄脏僵硬的可耻尸袍。

1920

Gerontion

Thou hast nor youth nor age

But as it were an after dinner sleep

Dreaming of both.

Here I am, an old man in a dry month,

Being read to by a boy, waiting for rain.

I was neither at the hot gates

Nor fought in the warm rain

Nor knee deep in the salt marsh, heaving a cutlass,

Bitten by flies, fought.

My house is a decayed house,

And the jew squats on the window sill, the owner,

Spawned in some estaminet of Antwerp,

Blistered in Brussels, patched and peeled in London.

The goat coughs at night in the field overhead;

Rocks, moss, stonecrop, iron, merds.

The woman keeps the kitchen, makes tea,

Sneezes at evening, poking the peevish gutter.

I an old man,

A dull head among windy spaces.

Signs are taken for wonders. "We would see a sign":

The word within a word, unable to speak a word,

Swaddled with darkness. In the juvescence of the year

Came Christ the tiger

In depraved May, dogwood and chestnut, flowering judas,12

To be eaten, to be divided, to be drunk

Among whispers; by Mr. Silvero

With caressing hands, at Limoges

Who walked all night in the next room;

By Hakagawa, bowing among the Titians;

By Madame de Tornquist, in the dark room

Shifting the candles; Fräulein von Kulp

Who turned in the hall, one hand on the door.

Vacant shuttles

Weave the wind. I have no ghosts,

An old man in a draughty house

Under a windy knob.

After such knowledge, what forgiveness? Think now

History has many cunning passages, contrived corridors

And issues, deceives with whispering ambitions,

Guides us by vanities. Think now

She gives when our attention is distracted

And what she gives, gives with such supple confusions

That the giving famishes the craving. Gives too late

What's not believed in, or if still believed,

In memory only, reconsidered passion. Gives too soon

Into weak hands, what's thought can be dispensed with

Till the refusal propagates a fear. Think

Neither fear nor courage saves us. Unnatural vices

Are fathered by our heroism. Virtues

Are forced upon us by our impudent crimes.

These tears are shaken from the wrath-bearing tree.

The tiger springs in the new year. Us he devours.

Think at last

We have not reached conclusion, when I

Stiffen in a rented house. Think at last

I have not made this show purposelessly

And it is not by any concitation

Of the backward devils

I would meet you upon this honestly.

I that was near your heart was removed therefrom

To lose beauty in terror, terror in inquisition.

I have lost my passion: why should I need to keep it

Since what is kept must be adulterated?

I have lost my sight, smell, hearing, taste and touch:

How should I use them for your closer contact?

These with a thousand small deliberations

Protract the profit of their chilled delirium,

Excite the membrane, when the sense has cooled,

With pungent sauces, multiply variety

In a wilderness of mirrors. What will the spider do,

Suspend its operations, will the weevil

Delay? De Bailhache, Fresca, Mrs. Cammel, whirled

Beyond the circuit of the shuddering Bear

In fractured atoms. Gull against the wind, in the windy straits

Of Belle Isle, or running on the Horn,

White feathers in the snow, the Gulf claims,

And an old man driven by the Trades

To a sleepy corner.

Tenants of the house,

Thoughts of a dry brain in a dry season.

1920

等着下雨，让个男孩念书给我听。

我既不是站在热门  前，

也不是在暖雨中挣扎，

也没有陷进盐沼，被虻虫叮咬

挥舞短剑做殊死一斗。

我的房子行将倾圮

而犹太人，那房东，蹲在窗台上，

在安特卫普一家小酒馆下子儿，

在布鲁塞尔长水泡，在伦敦脱皮、贴膏药，

半夜山羊在上面的田野里咳嗽， 

岩石、苔藓、景天、铁、粪便。

女人掌厨，准备茶点，

晚上打喷嚏，挑旺乖戾的火。

我只是个老人

刮风的空间中一个愚钝的头脑。

征兆被当作奇迹。“我们要看神迹”  ：

言词中之言词，说不出言词

裹在黑暗中的言词。在大地还春之时

来了基督，那老虎 

在腐烂的五月，有山茱萸和栗子，有开花的紫荆，

可以分给大家在悄声低语中吃喝， 

分吃的人有西尔维罗先生，

他的手很温柔，在利摩日 

整夜在隔壁房间徘徊；

还有冢川先生，他在提香的画之间鞠躬

还有董魁斯特夫人，在黑房间里

换蜡烛；冯·库尔普小姐

走向大厅，一手搭在门上。

空无所有的梭子

编织着风。我没见鬼，

一个老人坐在有穿堂风的房子里

头上是刮风的山丘。

知道了这种事，还有何谅宥可言？我想到

历史有许多诡秘的通道，精心安排的走廊

和出口，她用鬼鬼祟祟的野心欺骗我们

用虚荣引诱我们。想一想吧，

我们没留意时她塞东西给我们

而她给的东西都是混乱不堪

反使人更加心馋。给得太晚的东西

已没人相信，即使相信

也只是在回忆里，在重新唤起的激情中。而给得太早的东西

软弱的手接过来，却觉得可有可无

直到拒绝使人害怕。想一想吧

无论恐惧和勇气都救不了我们。我们的罪孽，

靠我们的英雄主义培育。

而我们厚颜的劣迹，却强加给我们美德。

这些眼泪都是从长着愤怒之果的树上摇下来的。

老虎在新的一年跃起，吞吃我们。 

最后想一想吧

我们还没得出结论，而我已经

在租来的房子里全身僵直。最后再想一想吧

我并不是毫无目的出乖露丑，

这也不是后退的魔鬼们

搞出来的一场虚惊。

我将正大光明地与你们谈这问题。

我的心原先离你那么近，现在被拉远。

在恐怖中失去美，在寻求中失去恐怖。

我丧失了热情，我又何必要保存热情，

既然保存的东西全得掺假？

我失去了视觉、嗅觉、听觉、味觉和触觉：

我还能用什么感觉与你接触？

这些，还有成千细枝末节的考虑

延长了他们冻僵了的梦呓的好处

当感觉已冷却，它们用刺鼻的酱油

来刺激黏膜，无数的镜子

添出各种映象。蜘蛛将干什么？

它会暂时停止行动？象鼻虫会不会

逡巡踌躇？  德·培拉希，弗雷斯卡

和卡墨尔太太  越过大熊星的圈子，

在破裂的原子中旋转。而海燕

在狂风呼啸的贝尔岛  海峡或合恩角  上空疾飞，

海湾索求雪中的白羽毛，

信风吹送一个老人

送他到安睡的角落。

屋子的住户，

干燥季节干枯头脑里的思想。

1920

The Waste Land

"Nam Sibyllam quidem Cumis ego ipse oculis meis vidi in ampulla pendere, et cum illi pueri dicerent: Σιβиλλα

τι θελεις; respondebat illa: αποθανειν θελω."

for Ezra Pound

il miglior fabbro.

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

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 arch-duke'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

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,

(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;

"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.

Oed' 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,

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.

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.

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!

"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 seven branched 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—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,

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

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

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.

"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.

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 ITS 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.

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 ITS 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.

(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 ITS 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—

HURRY UP PLEASE ITS TIME

HURRY UP PLEASE ITS 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.

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

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.

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.

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

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,

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,

The meal is ended, she is bored and tired,

Endeavors 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

And walked among the lowest of the dead.)

Bestows one 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,

And puts a record on the gramophone.

"This music crept by me upon the waters"

And along the Strand, up Queen Victoria Street.

260

O City city, I can sometimes hear

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

Red sails

270

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

Beating oars

280

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

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."

"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."

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

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

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

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

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

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?

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

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

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

Waited for rain, while the black clouds

Gathered far distant, over Himavant.

The jungle crouched, humped in silence.

Then spoke the thunder

DA

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

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

DA

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

Revive for a moment a broken Coriolanus

DA

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?

London Bridge is falling down falling down falling down

Poi s'ascose nel foco che gli affina

Quando fiam uti chelidon —O swallow swallow

Le Prince d'Aquitaine à la tour abolie

These fragments I have shored against my ruins

430

Why then Ile fit you. Hieronymo's mad againe.

Datta. Dayadhvam. Damyata.

Shantih shantih shantih

1922

NOTES

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 . 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 recognise in the poem certain references to vegetation ceremonies.

I. The Burial of the Dead

Line 20 Cf. Ezekiel II, i.

23. Cf. Ecclesiastes XII, v.

31. V. Tristan und Isolde , I, verses 5–8.

42. Id. III, verse 24.

46. I am not familiar with the exact constitution of the Tarot pack of cards, from which I have obviously departed to suit my own convenience. The Hanged Man, a member of the traditional pack, fits my purpose in two ways: because he is associated in my mind with the Hanged God of Frazer, and because I associate him with the hooded figure in the passage of the disciples to Emmaus in Part V. The Phoenician Sailor and the Merchant appear later; also the "crowds of people," and Death by Water is executed in Part IV. The Man with Three Staves (an authentic member of the Tarot pack) I associate, quite arbitrarily, with the Fisher King himself.

60. Cf. Baudelaire:

"Fourmillante cité, cité pleine de rêves,

"Où le spectre en plein jour raccroche le passant."

63. Cf. Inferno , III. 55–57:

"si lunga tratta

di gente, ch'io non avrei mai creduto

che morte tanta n'avesse disfatta."

64. Cf. Inferno , IV. 25–27:

"Quivi, secondo che per ascoltare,

"non avea pianto, ma' che di sospiri,

"che l'aura eterna facevan tremare."

68. A phenomenon which I have often noticed.

74. Cf. the Dirge in Webster's White Devil .

76. V. Baudelaire, Preface to Fleurs du Mal .

II. A Game of Chess

77. Cf. Antony and Cleopatra , II., ii. l. 190.

92. Laquearia. V. Aeneid , I, 726.

98. Sylvan scene. V. Milton, Paradise Lost , IV. 140.

99. V. Ovid, Metamorphoses , VI, Philomela.

100. Cf. Part III, l. 204.

115. Cf. Part III, l. 195.

118. Cf. Webster: "Is the wind in that door still?"

126. Cf. Part I, l. 37, 48.

138. Cf. the game of chess in Middleton's Women beware Women .

III. The Fire Sermon

176. V. Spenser, Prothalamion .

192. Cf. The Tempest , I, ii.

196. Cf. Marvell, To His Coy Mistress .

197. Cf. Day, Parliament of Bees :

"When of the sudden, listening, you shall hear,

"A noise of horns and hunting, which shall bring

"Actaeon to Diana in the spring,

"Where all shall see her naked skin..."

199. I do not know the origin of the ballad from which these lines are taken: it was reported to me from Sydney, Australia.

202. V. Verlaine, Parsifal .

210. The currants were quoted at a price "carriage and insurance free to London"; and the Bill of Lading, etc., were to be handed to the buyer upon payment of the sight draft.

218. Tiresias, although a mere spectator and not indeed a "character", is yet the most important personage in the poem, uniting all the rest. Just as the one-eyed merchant, seller of currants, melts into the Phoenician Sailor, and the latter is not wholly distinct from Ferdinand Prince of Naples, so all the women are one woman, and the two sexes meet in Tiresias. What Tiresias sees , in fact, is the substance of the poem. The whole passage from Ovid is of great anthropological interest:

"...Cum Iunone iocos et maior vestra profecto est

Quam, quae contingit maribus', dixisse, 'voluptas'.

Illa negat; placuit quae sit sententia docti

Quaerere Tiresiae: venus huic erat utraque nota.

Nam duo magnorum viridi coeuntia silva

Corpora serpentum baculi violaverat ictu

Deque viro factus, mirabile, femina septem

Egerat autumnos; octavo rursus eosdem

Vidit et 'est vestrae si tanta potentia plagae,'

Dixit 'ut auctoris sortem in contraria mutet,

Nunc quoque vos feriam!' percussis anguibus isdem

Forma prior rediit genetivaque venit imago.

Arbiter hic igitur sumptus de lite iocosa

Dicta Iovis firmat; gravius Saturnia iusto

Nec pro materia fertur doluisse suique

Iudicis aeterna damnavit lumina nocte,

At pater omnipotens (neque enim licet inrita cuiquam

Facta dei fecisse deo) pro lumine adempto

Scire futura dedit poenamque levavit honore."

221. This may not appear as exact as Sappho's lines, but I had in mind the "longshore" or "dory" fisherman, who returns at nightfall.

253. V. Goldsmith, the song in The Vicar of Wakefield .

257. V. The Tempest , as above.

264. The interior of St. Magnus Martyr is to my mind one of the finest among Wren's interiors. See The Proposed Demolition of Nineteen City Churches (P. S. King & Son, Ltd.).

266. The Song of the (three) Thames-daughters begins here. From line 292 to 306 inclusive they speak in turn. V. Götterdämmerung , III, i: the Rhine-daughters.

279. V. Froude, Elizabeth , Vol. I, ch. iv, letter of De Quadra to Philip of Spain:

"In the afternoon we were in a barge, watching the games on the river. (The queen) was alone with Lord Robert and myself on the poop, when they began to talk nonsense, and went so far that Lord Robert at last said, as I was on the spot there was no reason why they should not be married if the queen pleased."

293. Cf. Purgatorio , V. 133:

"Ricorditi di me, che son la Pia;

"Siena mi fe', disfecemi Maremma."

307. V. St. Augustine's Confessions : "to Carthage then I came, where a cauldron of unholy loves sang all about mine ears."

308. The complete text of the Buddha's Fire Sermon (which corresponds in importance to the Sermon on the Mount) from which these words are taken, will be found translated in the late Henry Clarke Warren's Buddhism in Translation (Harvard Oriental Series). Mr. Warren was one of the great pioneers of Buddhist studies in the occident.

309. From St. Augustine's Confessions again. The collocation of these two representatives of eastern and western asceticism, as the culmination of this part of the poem, is not an accident.

V. What the Thunder Said

In the first part of Part V three themes are employed: the journey to Emmaus, the approach to the Chapel Perilous (see Miss Weston's book) and the present decay of eastern Europe.

357. This is Turdus aonalaschkae pallasii , the hermit-thrush which I have heard in Quebec County. Chapman says (Handbook of Birds in Eastern North America ) "it is most at home in secluded woodland and thickety retreats... Its notes are not remarkable for variety or volume, but in purity and sweetness of tone and exquisite modulation they are unequaled." Its "water-dripping song" is justly celebrated.

360. The following lines were stimulated by the account of one of the Antarctic expeditions (I forget which, but I think one of Shackleton's): it was related that the party of explorers, at the extremity of their strength, had the constant delusion that there was one more member than could actually be counted.

366–76. Cf. Hermann Hesse, Blick ins Chaos :

"Schon ist halb Europa, schon ist zumindest der halbe Osten Europas auf dem Wege zum Chaos, fährt betrunken im heiligem Wahn am Abgrund entlang und singt dazu, singt betrunken und hymnisch wie Dmitri Karamasoff sang. Ueber diese Lieder lacht der Bürger beleidigt, der Heilige und Seher hört sie mit Tränen."

401. "Datta, dayadhvam, damyata" (Give, sympathise, control). The fable of the meaning of the Thunder is found in the Brihadaranyaka-Upanishad , 5, 1. A translation is found in Deussen's Sechzig Upanishads des Veda , p. 489.

407. Cf. Webster, The White Devil , V, vi:

"...they'll remarry

Ere the worm pierce your winding-sheet, ere the spider Make a thin curtain for your epitaphs."

411. Cf. Inferno , XXXIII, 46:

"ed io sentii chiavar l'uscio di sotto all'orribile torre."

Also F. H. Bradley, Appearance and Reality , p. 346.

"My external sensations are no less private to myself than are my thoughts or my feelings. In either case my experience falls within my own circle, a circle closed on the outside; and, with all its elements alike, every sphere is opaque to the others which surround it... In brief, regarded as an existence which appears in a soul, the whole world for each is peculiar and private to that soul."

424. V. Weston, From Ritual to Romance ; chapter on the Fisher King.

427. V. Purgatorio , XXVI, 148.

"'Ara vos prec, per aquella valor

'que vos guida al som de l'escalina,

'sovegna vos a temps de ma dolor.'

Poi s'ascose nel foco che gli affina."

428. V. Pervigilium Veneris . Cf. Philomela in Parts II and III.

429. V. Gerard de Nerval, Sonnet El Desdichado .

431. V. Kyd's Spanish Tragedy .

433. Shantih. Repeated as here, a formal ending to an Upanishad. "The Peace which passeth understanding" a feeble translation of the content of this word.

冬天使我们温暖，用健忘的雪

把大地覆盖，用干瘪的根茎

喂养微弱的生命。

夏天使人吃惊，它越过施坦贝格湖

带来暴雨；我们在柱廊里躲了一阵

天晴了继续朝前走，进了皇家花园，

（10）

我们喝咖啡，聊了一小时，

我不是俄国女人，我生在立陶宛，真正的德国人

我们小时候，在表哥，

大公爵家里小住，他带我坐雪橇，

我胆战心惊。他说，玛丽，

玛丽，抓紧，于是我们往下滑。

在山里，你感到自由。

我看书常到深夜，冬天我去南方。

什么树根在紧攫？什么树枝

从石头垃圾中长出？人子啊，

（20）

你说不出，猜不着，因为你只认识

一大堆破碎的形象，那里赤日炎炎，

死树下没有阴凉，虫鸣不让人轻松，

干石头上没有淙淙泉音，只有

这块红石投下的阴影，

（到这阴影中来吧）

我会给你看个东西，既不同于

早晨在你身后阔步的影子，也不同于

晚上升起来迎接你的影子；

我给你看一捧尘土中的恐惧。

（30）

清凉的风啊

吹我回家乡，

我的爱尔兰姑娘

你流连在何方？

“一年前你第一次给我玉簪花；

他们叫我玉簪女郎。”

——可是当我们从玉簪花园晚归，

你满抱着花，头发沾湿，我却口舌

难言，两眼模糊，不死

也不活，一无所知，

（40）

窥看着光芒中心那一片寂静。

茫茫沧海一望空阔。

索索特利斯太太，出名的相士

伤风挺厉害，然而却是

全欧洲最睿智的女人，

有一副绝妙的纸牌。她说这一张

就是你的牌，淹死的腓尼基水手，

（这两颗珍珠是他的眼睛变的。瞧！）

这是颠茄花，礁岩美女，

随机应变的女人。

（50）

这是带三根手杖的人，这是舵轮，

这是独眼商人，而这张

空白的牌，他扛在背上的东西

是不许我看的。我找不到

“倒吊人”那张牌。当心死在水里。

我看到一群群人绕圈儿走。

谢谢。你见到依奎东太太

就告诉她天宫图我自己带去，

这年头真得事事小心。

虚幻的城市

（60）

冬晨的棕色烟雾下

人群涌过伦敦桥，那么多人，

我想不到死神毁了那么多人，

时而吐出短促的叹息，

每个人眼睛看定脚前，

涌上山，沿着威廉国王大街，

走向圣玛丽·乌尔诺斯教堂敲钟的地方，

钟敲九点，最后的一声死气沉沉。

我见到一个熟人，我拦住他喊道：“斯特曾！

在迈利我们俩在一条舰上！

（70）

去年你在花园里种下的尸体

开始抽芽了吗？今年能开花？

来得突然的寒霜没冻毁它的床？

哦，别让狗靠近，他是人的朋友，

要不然它会用爪子把尸体挖出来！

你！虚伪的读者！——我的同类！——我的兄弟！”

二、一局棋

她坐的椅子，像擦亮的王座，

在大理石台基上闪闪发光，镜子的

支座上雕着串串累累的葡萄，

后面有个金色的小爱神探头探脑，

（80）

（另一个用翅膀遮住眼睛，）

镜子使七枝烛架倍添光焰，

把光线反射在桌面上，

而她的缎衬首饰匣里涌出的

珠光宝气迎着烛光升起；

开着盖子的象牙和彩色玻璃

小瓶里，藏着她奇异的合成香料，

香膏、香粉、香水——扰乱了嗅觉，

把它淹没在各种香味里，而窗外扑进

新鲜空气，吹动香气，它们上升

（90）

吹旺了拉长的烛焰，

把烟抛上镶嵌天花板，

模糊了天花板的方格，

海水浸过的柴，撒着铜粉，

闪出绿色橙色的光，而在惨戚的光里

彩色石框中游着雕刻的海豚。

在古色古香的壁炉架上

好像窗子对着山林景色

费洛美拉变了形，被野蛮的国王

如此残暴地蹂躏；但是夜莺

（100）

仍在用不可凌辱的声音填满荒漠，

她仍在向着肮脏的耳朵喊着

“啾，啾”，而世界今天还在追逼。

其他枯萎的时间的残株

在墙上写下标记；雕像瞪着眼

探身，向前，要关着的房间保持静穆。楼梯上传来拖着脚走的声音。

在灯光下，在刷子下，她的头发

闪着火一般的光点铺展开来

燃烧成话语，又变成野蛮的沉静。

（110）

“今夜我情绪不好。真的，很不好。留下陪我。

跟我说话。为什么你老不开口？说呀！

你在想什么？想什么？什么？

我老是不明白你在想什么。想吧。”

我想我们正在老鼠的巷子里，

这里死人连骨头都剩不下来。

“这是什么声音？”

门下有风。

“这又是什么声音？风在干吗？”

没什么，什么也没有。

（120）

“你真的

什么也不知道？什么也没看见？

什么也不记得？”

我记得

这两颗珍珠是他的眼睛变的。

“你还活着？还是死了？你头脑里什么也没有？”

可是

哦哦哦哦这莎士比亚式的爵士乐

如此雅致

如此机灵

（130）

“我现在有什么事可做？有什么事可做？

我就这样冲出去，走到街上，

头发披散，就这样。明天我们干什么？

我们究竟能干什么？”

上午十点来热水。

要是下雨，四点钟会来辆有篷的汽车。

我们将下一局棋，

按着没眼皮的眼睛，等着敲门声。

莉尔的丈夫退伍时，我说过——

我一点不含糊，亲口对她说的，

（140）

请赶紧点，时间到了

阿尔伯特快回来了，你要打扮得俏一些。

他会问给你的那些镶牙的钱

是怎么用掉的。他给了你钱，我在场。

把牙全换了吧，莉尔，换副漂亮的，

的的确确，他说过我受不了你这模样，

我也看不下去，我说，要为可怜的阿尔伯特着想，

他在军队里干了四年，现在想痛快一下，

你不给他痛快，别人会给，我说。

哦，是吗？她说。我说，就是这么回事。

（150）

她说，那我就知道该谢谁了，她白了我一眼。

请赶紧点，时间到了

你不乐意，可以就这么混下去，我说。

别人能挑挑拣拣，你可不行。

要是阿尔伯特找了别人，我可是警告过你的。

你看上去这么老，我说，真不害臊。

（她才三十一岁）

没法子，她说，拉长了脸，

全是那些打胎药片，她说。

（她已经有过五次，差点死在小乔治手里）

（160）

药店老板说没事，可我觉得再不如从前。

你是个标准笨蛋，我说。

好吧，要是阿尔伯特不放过你，这事又会来，

你不想要孩子又何必结婚？

请赶紧点，时间到了

星期天，阿尔伯特到了家，他们大吃热火腿，

还叫我去吃饭，趁那热劲儿——

请赶紧点，时间到了

请赶紧点，时间到了

明儿见，比尔。明儿见，露。明儿见，梅。明儿见。

（170）

回见。明儿见，明儿见。

明儿见，太太们，明儿见，好太太，明儿见，明儿见。

三、火诫

河的帐篷已破：树叶临终的手指

揪紧着，陷入潮湿的河岸。而风

无人觉察，掠过棕黄色的大地。仙女们走了，

可爱的泰晤士河静静地流，直到我唱完歌。

河上看不见空瓶、三明治纸包、

绸手绢、纸匣、烟头，

看不到夏夜留下的痕迹。仙女们已离去，

她们的朋友，市政要员懒散的继承人

（180）

也走了，没留下地址。

在莱芒的岸边，我坐下来哭泣……

可爱的泰晤士河，静静地流，直到我唱完歌，

可爱的泰晤士河，静静地流，我不大声，也不多说。

可是在我背后，冷风骤起，我听到

骨头咔咔嗒嗒碰响，拉开大嘴的冷笑。

一只老鼠轻声从草丛中爬过，

黏糊糊的肚子在河岸上拖着，

而我却在一个冬夜，绕到煤气厂背后，

在死沉沉的运河中垂钓，

（190）

我沉思，想着我那做国王的兄弟覆舟遇难，

又想起在他之前，我的父王死去，

惨白的尸体赤裸地躺在潮湿的洼地上，

骨头却扔进了低矮干燥的阁楼，

年复一年，只有老鼠踢响骨头。

但是在我背后，我每隔一会就听到

喇叭声和马达声，在春天

这声音把斯威尼带到波特太太那儿去。

哦，月光朗照在波特太太身上，

朗照在她的女儿身上

（200）

她们在苏打水里洗脚

哦这些孩子的歌声，在教堂里唱！

啼啼啼

啾啾啾啾啾啾

如此粗暴地蹂躏

忒流

虚幻的城市

冬日正午的黄雾下

士麦那商人尤金尼德斯先生

满脸胡子茬，袋里装着

（210）

“到岸价运伦敦，见票即付”的葡萄干

一口粗俗的法语，请我

在卡农街饭店吃午饭

再到“大都会”度周末。

在紫色的黄昏，眼睛和背脊

从桌上抬起来，人体发动机等着

就像出租汽车马达跳着在等，

我，梯雷西亚斯，虽然眼瞎，心却跳在两个生命之间

我是个长着萎瘪女人乳房的老头，我能见到

在紫色的时辰，夜晚大步

（220）

往家里走，从大海带回来水手。

打字员回家喝茶，洗早餐碗盘，点燃

她的炉子，拿出罐头食品。

而窗外，惊险地展开

她晾的连裤亵衣，被残阳触摸着。

沙发（夜里当床）上面堆着

袜子、拖鞋、背心、乳罩。

我，梯雷西亚斯，乳房萎瘪的老头

看到这一切，也预告了下文——

我也在等那将要来的客人。

（230）

那满脸粉刺的青年人来了，

房产公司的小职员，眼光却十分大胆，

一个下流角色，心里装着自信，

就像丝绒帽子戴在布拉德福德百万富翁头上。

他估计此刻时机绝佳，

打字员刚吃完饭，正感到腻烦，疲倦，

他使出功夫来与她亲热，

没挨骂，但也没受鼓励，

涨红了脸，下了决心，他立即进攻；

试探的手没有遇到阻挡；

（240）

他的自大使他不需要对方响应，

他反而喜欢这种冷漠的态度。

（而我，梯雷西亚斯，早就吃过这苦，

我就在这张沙发兼床上演过这出戏；

我曾在底比斯城墙下坐过，

也曾在最卑贱的死人中走过。）

他恩赐给她最后的一吻，

摸索着走出来，发现楼梯没点灯……

她翻过身，朝镜子里看了一阵，

根本没去想那已经走掉的情人；

（250）

她脑子里只闪过一个半截子念头：

“总算完了。完了就好。”

可爱的女人屈身做了蠢事，

一个人在房间里来回踱步，

她用手机械地理理头发，顺手

在留声机上放张唱片。

“这音乐从我身边的水面上漂过”

沿着河滨街，穿过维多利亚女王街。

啊城市，城市，我有时能听见

在下泰晤士街一家酒馆旁

（260）

曼陀林琴声如怨如诉，

酒店里杯盘叮当，人声骚然，

是渔夫们中午在闲逛：就在那儿，殉道者教堂

墙壁上有一种难以解释的

白色与金色混杂的爱奥尼亚光华。

大河蒸腾着

焦油和沥青

潮水回头时

驳船顺水而去

红色的帆

（270）

张开着

顺风直下，在沉重的桅杆上摇晃。

驳船漂流

（280）

船尾的水花

像一枚镀金的贝壳红色、金色

船冲起迅跑的波

拍上河岸

西南风吹来

阵阵钟响

白色的塔

带到下游

威啊啦啦列依啊

（290）

威啦啦列依啊啦

“电车，蒙满灰尘的树。

海伯里养育了我，里士满和基尤

害了我。在里士满我抬起双膝

仰卧在小舟的舱板上。”

“我的脚在莫尔门，我的心

却在脚底。事情过后

他哭了。他保证‘重新做人。’

我无话可说，我有什么可怨？”

“在马盖特的沙滩

（300）

我能把

虚无与虚无联结起来。

脏手的破指甲。

我们，卑贱的人，毫无

指望。”

啦啦

于是我来到迦太基

燃烧　燃烧　燃烧　燃烧

哦上帝你把我拔出来

哦上帝你拔

（310）

燃烧

四、死在水中

腓尼基人富勒巴斯，死了两星期，

他已忘了海鸥狂鸣，深海浪涌，

也忘了利润与亏损。

海底的潮流

悄悄低语，捡拾他的骨头。在他漂上沉下之际

他度过了老年和青春岁月

进入了漩涡。

不问你是基督徒还是犹太人

哦你转过舵轮迎风而上的人，

（320）

想想富勒巴斯吧，他当年和你一样高大英俊。

五、雷声说的话

曾有火炬照红流汗的脸

曾有果园里严霜冻出的宁静

曾有巉岩崚嶒之处的痛苦

而现在，是呼喊的号叫的

监狱和殿堂，是春雷

在遥远的山那边回荡

那个曾经活着的人现在死了

我们曾经活着现在正在死去

稍有一点耐心

（330）

这里没有水，只有岩石

只有岩石，没有水，一条砂路

蜿蜒而上，绕进群山

山里只有岩石，没有水

假如有水，我们就会停下来喝

但在岩石中无法停步，无法思考

汗干了，脚也陷在沙里

要是岩石中有水就好了

死亡的山，满口龋齿，吐不出口水

在这儿人没法站、没法躺、没法坐

（340）

群山中甚至没有寂静

只有干枯的不生育的雷鸣，没有雨

群山中甚至找不到独处的地方

在泥墙干裂的房子门口

阴沉的红脸在冷笑，在号叫

要是这里有水

而没有岩石

要是这里有岩石

但也有水

有水

有泉

（350）

山岩中有个水潭

要是这里有涧水的响声

而没有蝉噪

没有干枯的草在唱

只有涧水在岩石上流淌的声音

而松林中画眉的歌声

滴滴答答滴滴答答

可是实际上没有水

那总是在你身边走的第三个人是谁？

我点数时，只有咱们两人

（360）

但当我向前看那白色的道路

我总是看到有个人走在你身边

穿着棕色大氅，戴着风帽，步履轻捷

我不知是男人还是女人

——到底你那边是什么人？

什么声音在高空响

是母亲悲哀的低语

那些人是谁，戴着帽兜，成群地漫过

无边的平原，在坼裂的土地上跌跌绊绊

只有地平线才是人群的边际

（370）

山那边是座什么城市

在紫色的暮气中开裂、重建、爆炸

尖塔倒倾

耶路撒冷、雅典、亚历山大

维也纳、伦敦

虚幻

一个女人揪紧她的黑长发

当作琴弦，奏出耳语般的音乐

长着孩子脸的蝙蝠在紫色的光中

飕飕地飞，拍击着翅膀

（380）

头朝下，爬进黑暗的墙根

而尖塔也在空中倒挂着

敲响引人回忆的钟，报着时辰

空水槽里、枯井里，有声音歌唱。

在山间这个坍落的洞穴中

在淡淡的月光下，在殿堂四周

倒塌的墓上，野草在歌唱

这儿只有空无一物的殿堂，只有风居住。

没有窗子，门悬晃着，

干枯的骨头害不了人。

（390）

只有一只公鸡站在屋脊上

咯咯依咯，咯咯依咯

电光一闪，然后一阵潮湿的风

带来了雨

恒河干瘪了，萎软的叶子

在等着雨，而乌云

却在远方，在喜马万特山上聚集。

丛林倦起身子，静静地佝偻着。

然后，雷声说话了

DA

（400）

Datta：我们舍予过些什么？

我的朋友，血震撼我的心

瞬间的奉献要有凛然大勇

毕生的谨慎也无法把它收回

靠它，只有靠它，我们才活了下来

但这种奉献在我们的讣告里

在慈悲的蜘蛛覆盖起来的记忆里

在我们的空房间中被那瘦律师

拆开的封套里，都不见提起

DA

（410）

Dayadhvam：我听见钥匙

在门里转了一下，只转了一下

我们想着钥匙，每个人在各自的监狱里想着钥匙，每个人守住一个监狱

只有在薄暮时，缥缈地传来的声音

才使破碎的柯莱奥兰努斯复活一阵子

DA

Damyata：在驾船行家的手里

船对他的驾驶欢乐地作出反应

海多么宁静，你的心也欢乐地

（420）

作出反应，当你被邀请，你的心

会甘心在控制的手中跳动

我坐在岸上

垂钓，背后是荒瘠的平原

我是否至少应把这土地收拾一下？

（430）

The Hollow Men

Mistah Kurtz—he dead.

A penny for the Old Guy

I

We are the hollow men

We are the stuffed men

Leaning together

Headpiece filled with straw. Alas!

Our dried voices, when

We whisper together

Are quiet and meaningless

As wind in dry grass

Or rats' feet over broken glass

In our dry cellar

Shape without form, shade without colour,

Paralysed force, gesture without motion;

Those who have crossed

With direct eyes, to death's other Kingdom

Remember us—if at all—not as lost

Violent souls, but only

As the hollow men

The stuffed men.

II

Eyes I dare not meet in dreams

In death's dream kingdom

These do not appear:

There, the eyes are

Sunlight on a broken column

There, is a tree swinging

And voices are

In the wind's singing

More distant and more solemn

Than a fading star.

Let me be no nearer

In death's dream kingdom

Let me also wear

Such deliberate disguises

Rat's coat, crowskin, crossed staves

In a field

Behaving as the wind behaves

No nearer—

Not that final meeting

In the twilight kingdom

III

This is the dead land

This is the cactus land

Here the stone images

Are raised, here they receive

The supplication of a dead man's hand

Under the twinkle of a fading star.

Is it like this

In death's other kingdom

Waking alone

At the hour when we are

Trembling with tenderness

Lips that would kiss

Form prayers to broken stone.

IV

The eyes are not here

There are no eyes here

In this valley of dying stars

In this hollow valley

This broken jaw of our lost kingdoms

In this last of meeting places

We grope together

And avoid speech

Gathered on this beach of the tumid river

Sightless, unless

The eyes reappear

As the perpetual star

Multifoliate rose

Of death's twilight kingdom

The hope only

Of empty men.

V

Here we go round the prickly pear

Prickly pear, prickly pear

Here we go round the prickly pear

At five o'clock in the morning.

Between the idea

And the reality

Between the motion

And the act

Falls the Shadow

For Thine is the Kingdom

Between the conception

And creation

Between the emotion

And the response

Falls the Shadow

Life is very long

Between the desire

And the spasm

Between the potency

And the existence

Between the essence

And the descent

Falls the Shadow

For Thine is the Kingdom

For Thine is

Life is

For Thine is the

This is the way the world ends

This is the way the world ends

This is the way the world ends

Not with a bang but a whimper.

1925

靠在一起

脑袋瓜装一包草。唉！

当我们窃窃私语

我们干涩的嗓音

平静而无意义

像风吹干草

或是干燥的地窖里

耗子在碎玻璃上跑

有形无式，有影无色，

瘫痪的力量，不动的姿势；

那些眼光直朝前地

跨进死亡的另一个国土的人

万一——记得我们——不要像迷路的

狂暴的灵魂，而仅仅

是空心人

填塞起来的人。

二

在梦中，在死亡的梦幻之国

我不敢遇见的眼睛

并没有出现：

在那里，眼睛只是

破碎的圆柱上的阳光

在那里，是摇曳的树

而嗓音混合在

风的歌声中

比渐渐暗淡的星

更加遥远，更加庄严。

让我别再走近

死神的梦幻之国

让我也穿起

这些特意的伪装

老鼠外套，乌鸦皮，交叉的棍子

在田野里

跟风一样行动

不能再走近——

不是在暮光世界

那最后的相会

三

这是死去的土地

这是仙人掌的土地

在这里竖立着

石头雕像，在渐渐暗淡的

星光之中，他们接受

死人手臂的哀求。

就像这样

在死亡的另一个国度

独自醒来时

正值我们

因柔情而战栗

那准备接吻的双唇

说出了对破碎石头的祈祷。

四

眼睛不在这里

眼睛不在这里

这星星死亡的山谷

这空虚的山谷

我们失去了的天国的破牙床

在这最后一个相会地点

我们摸索到一齐

一言不发

会集在这涨水的河流岸边

一无所见，除非

眼睛重新出现

好像永恒的星辰

好像死亡的晦冥之国里

那复瓣的玫瑰

那是空心人的

唯一希冀。

五

在这里我们围绕着多刺的梨

多刺的梨，多刺的梨

在这里我们围绕着多刺的梨

在大清早五点 。 

就在思想

和现实之间

就在行动

和动作之间

落下了影子

因为天国属于你

就在概念

和创造之间

就在情绪

和反应之间

落下了影子

生命可真长

就在愿望

和痉挛之间

就在潜力

和存在之间

就在本质

和后果之间

落下了影子

因为天国属于你

因为是你的

生命是

因为是你的这

世界正如此告终

世界正如此告终

世界正如此告终

没有一声轰隆  ，只剩一声唏嘘。

1925

Journey of the Magi

'A cold coming we had of it,

Just the worst time of the year

For a journey, and such a long journey:

The ways deep and the weather sharp,

The very dead of winter.'

And the camels galled, sore-footed, refractory,

Lying down in the melting snow.

There were times we regretted

The summer palaces on slopes, the terraces,

And the silken girls bringing sherbet.

Then the camel men cursing and grumbling

And running away, and wanting their liquor and women,

And the night-fires going out, and the lack of shelters,

And the cities hostile and the towns unfriendly

And the villages dirty and charging high prices:

A hard time we had of it.

At the end we preferred to travel all night,

Sleeping in snatches,

With the voices singing in our ears, saying

That this was all folly.

Then at dawn we came down to a temperate valley,

Wet, below the snow line, smelling of vegetation;

With a running stream and a water-mill beating the darkness,

And three trees on the low sky,

And an old white horse galloped away in the meadow.

Then we came to a tavern with vine-leaves over the lintel,

Six hands at an open door dicing for pieces of silver,

And feet kicking the empty wine-skins.

But there was no information, and so we continued

And arrived at evening, not a moment too soon

Finding the place; it was (you may say) satisfactory.

All this was a long time ago, I remember,

And I would do it again, but set down

This set down

This: were we lead all that way for

Birth or Death? There was a Birth, certainly,

We had evidence and no doubt. I have seen birth and death,

But had thought they were different; this Birth was

Hard and bitter agony for us, like Death, our death.

We returned to our places, these Kingdoms,

But no longer at ease here, in the old dispensation,

With an alien people clutching their gods.

I should be glad of another death.

1927

正是岁晚寒深。”

那些骆驼皮肉擦伤，脚掌疼痛，倔强难制，

躺倒在融化的雪中。

有时我们真想念

山坡上的夏宫，那凉台，

穿丝绸衣服的女郎送来冰果汁。

然而赶骆驼的人咒骂着，抱怨着，

离队逃走，去寻找酒和女人，

篝火也灭了，无处蔽身，

城市敌视外人，小镇板起面孔

村庄肮脏不堪，又漫天要价：

这一路真够受的。

最后我们情愿整夜赶路

断断续续打盹，

有声音在耳边唱，说是

这实在是一桩蠢事。

黎明时我们走进一个温暖的山谷

雪线以下气候湿润，充满花草的芬芳，

涧水涓涓，水磨捶打着黑暗

低垂的夜空中有三棵树，

一匹白色的老马奔过草地。

然后我们走到一个旅店，葡萄叶长满窗楣，

六个汉子坐在开着的门前，掷骰赌钱，

脚踢着倒空的酒囊。

问不出什么情况，我们再往前走，

晚上才到达，正赶上，

找到这里；可以说总算不错。

这都是很久前的事了，我记得，

我愿意重走一次，但先记下来，

先把这些记下来：

我们一路而来，是为了

阿柏斯部落和朱布亚部落——达赫斯和埃布拉战争：阿柏斯和朱布亚两个部落是叔伯关系，同属埃脱方大部落。他们毗邻生活，在战争中，特别是在他们与阿密尔·本·沙尔沙尔部落的战争中互相支援。然而随着时间的推移，他们却分裂了，他们之间终于爆发了一场战争。起因是一场打赌赛马。阿柏斯部落首领盖斯·本·祖海尔有一匹公马叫达赫斯，朱布亚部落的法扎尔部族首领侯宰法·本·巴德尔有一匹母马叫埃布拉。侯宰法布置人暗中阻碍达赫斯，于是埃布拉首先到达目的地。侯宰法要赌押品（一百只骆驼），遭到盖斯拒绝，因他认为得胜的应是他的公马。于是爆发了一场称为“赛马之战或达赫斯和埃布拉之战”的战争，朱布亚部落成了阿柏斯部落，也成了阿密尔部落的敌人，于是朱布亚部落与泰米姆部落和阿萨德部落结盟。这场战争持续了四十年，其英雄人物中有无敌骑士昂泰拉。

希拉王国和迦萨尼王国：在这些互相争战的贝督因人附近，还有希拉国王和迦萨尼国王，他们长期竞相扩充影响和势力。前者为波斯诸王萨珊人服务，后者为罗马人效劳。这一竞争和两个王国间的战争持续了一百多年，只是到了伊斯兰扩张时才告终结。迦萨尼人不止一次战胜希拉人，特别是在干土林附近的“哈里迈战日”（554年）和“阿因·艾巴呃战日”（570年）中，在580年还消灭了希拉王国。尽管如此，希拉人还是用在战争中抢掠来的钱财，过着按波斯人的方式建立起来的优裕生活。那时基督教在王国中很流行，一些蒙泽尔人也信奉了基督教。希拉王国遭受屈辱后，努尔曼·本·蒙泽尔企图重振基业，打击迦萨尼人，削弱他们的影响。他在阿拉伯人中传播自己的主张，并招募诗人为自己服务。当时诗人是最重要的宣传因素之一，他们从遥远地区和不同方向前来，他给予他们丰厚的赏赐，他们则把希拉王国及其宫廷的最好名声传遍远近。

迦萨尼王国是一个信奉基督教的国家，由于和罗马结盟，其高度发达的文化带有希腊色彩。它的先进的文明集中表现在宫殿建筑和生活方式上。

迦萨尼王国和朱布亚部落：半岛上的阿拉伯人与这两个王国都有联系，并受其影响。当朱布亚人居住的沙漠地区严重干早，土地变得贫瘠时，他们便侵袭迦萨尼王国的边境，在那里的水草丰沛的地区放牧，或是掠夺迦萨尼人的畜群，因此彼此常常发生战争。希拉王国的支持者阿萨德人援助朱布亚人，双方时有胜负。朱布亚人和阿萨德人常常落在迦萨尼人手中成为俘虏。

那时，有一个阿拉伯人，他既与希拉宫廷有深交，又与迦萨尼宫廷有厚谊，并得到两国国王的宠幸。他把他的一生献给了自己的部落，为他们的灾祸和战事操心。他在主题不同、内容丰富的诗歌中记录下了当时的战争、侵袭以及发生在他的部落和别的部落间的政治、谋略等重大事件，这个人就是纳比埃·朱布亚尼。

文学地位

奥斯派。凡研究过一些蒙昧时期诗人作品的人，都会知道有一个姆德里的诗歌派别，它包括几个姆德里诗人，他们的贝督因特点极为明显。由于近邻关系，他们也受城市居民巴克尔人的影响，同时也受到波斯的某些影响。波斯人为了确保与也门和东非的联系，为了保护从贝督因人地区通过的商队的安全，不得不对他们表示亲善。这一诗歌派别是在奥斯·本·哈吉尔的风格和他的艺术主张的影响下形成的。

奥斯·本·哈吉尔是泰米姆部落努美尔部族诗人，曾和阿慕尔·本·杏德国王结交并写诗颂扬过他。他的诗歌和沙漠生活紧密相连，沙漠为他提供了贝督因人的生活内容，激发了他的想象，使他的诗有粗犷的色彩。奥斯的诗歌想象意境有一种特殊的倾向，直观的倾向，这可能也是沙漠的产物。他的想象力和感觉紧紧连在一起，诗中的描写是直观的，描摹的特点十分突出。他诗中模仿的倾向也很明显，他模仿前人，特别是模仿乌姆鲁勒·盖斯，许多诗人都模仿盖斯，在这方面，他比别人更为明显。

奥斯派是现实主义的，想象和感觉紧密结合。它的艺术美乞灵于直观的自然现象，而不是深入内心世界，也不是分析其内含本质，尽管时而有几句关于心理、思想和哲理方面的诗句，但也是用直观的方式加以表现。奥斯派的诗歌倾向于稳重，不随着感情而跳动，而是在从容深思中求得某种艺术美。因此，这一派的诗人多用比喻、隐喻、借喻、转喻等类艺术修辞方法。但这一修辞方法和乌姆鲁勒·盖斯的比喻方法是不同的。“迷茫君王”的比喻仅仅是初步的，它主要是对比喻的频繁运用；随着奥斯派的发展，它迈出了第二步，造作的成分增多了，而且变得复杂化，这是由于将诗歌作为谋利手段造成的，也是由于文明发展造成的。

蒙昧时期奥斯派的重要诗人，除了它的创始人奥斯·本·哈吉尔外，还有纳比埃·朱布亚尼、祖海尔·本·艾比·苏勒玛和侯特埃。

生平诗人名叫艾布：乌玛迈·齐亚德·本·穆阿威叶·朱布亚尼，由于他诗作丰富，极有才华和善于创新，获得了“纳比埃” [4] 的绰号。除他曾爱过一个名叫玛薇娅的姑娘这件事外，我们几乎不能在史籍中找到有关他青少年时代的一点有用资料。尽管他容貌端庄，但可能在获得玛薇娅的爱情上失败了，因为哈泰姆·塔依 [5] 和他竞争，于是姑娘归属了后者。

诗人后来到希拉宫廷并结识了阿慕尔·本·杏德国王（570年），向他呈献了祝贺他继承王位的诗篇。以后他与杏德国王的继承者们也有交往，一直持续到580年。照伊本·古太柏的话说，他在希拉国王那里“是备受尊崇的”。同时，他还经常前往迦萨尼国王宫廷，写诗赞颂迦萨尼国王。

当蒙泽尔四世之子努尔曼·艾布·嘎布斯登上希拉王国王位时，对纳比埃更加亲近，把他当作酒友，赐予他金钱和骆驼等厚礼，据说他使用的餐具全是用金银制成的。诗人对其恩主报以赤诚的赞颂。然而奇怪的是，在这段时间里，诗人除了用他很少的诗句，如在描写努尔曼妻子穆泰扎莉黛的《达勒韵基诗》中提到努尔曼外，并没有专门为他写过颂诗。

但是，纳比埃在努尔曼宫廷，他所受的恩宠和享有的崇高地位，引起了一阵嫉恨的风暴。妒忌者们羡慕他的地位，对他诽谤中伤，终于引起了国王对他的恼怒，于是在国王和诗人间发生了不明原因的疏远。他的诗中有中伤者对他进行诽谤的证明，他提到，他们把一些讽刺国王的诗歌归之于他，一个可恶的人——可能是穆那赫勒·叶什库里——把一些丑事归罪于诗人，从而为自己开脱，这些丑事中可能就有诗人对努尔曼妻子穆泰扎莉黛的过分描写。诗人还力图为曾赞颂过迦萨尼国王而请求努尔曼的谅解。前面提到的一些情况，特别是最后一个原因，已足够引起国王的恼怒，并决意杀掉纳比埃。但努尔曼的侍从阿沙姆向诗人透露了消息，于是诗人逃回部落，之后又投奔到迦萨尼王国。

诗人急忙跑到迦萨尼王国，那是在587年之后。他拜见哈莱斯六世的小儿子阿慕尔（597年），用大量诗句赞颂他，其中有著名的《巴依韵基诗》。迦萨尼人对诗人极为尊重，把他奉为上宾，享乐与共。阿慕尔死后，努尔曼六世艾布·库尔布继位，他是一个酷好战争的勇士。诗人的部落是倾向希拉王国的，它常常侵越迦萨尼王国辖区的牧场，掠夺它的畜群。诗人想在他的部落和艾布·库尔布之间进行调解。由于他的机智和影响，他为其部落取得了谅解。当艾布·库尔布于600年在一次战斗中身亡后，纳比埃写了一首著名的长诗悼念他。

然而，纳比埃在迦萨尼人那里所获得的崇高地位和丰裕生活，并未抹去他对希拉国王努尔曼和在他庇护下享受的舒适生活的怀念。他寻求机会讨好努尔曼，向他道歉，为自己赞颂迦萨尼人开脱，因为他在那里受到兄弟般的款待，理应表示感谢。一当他看到返回努尔曼·艾布·嘎布斯那里的时机已经成熟，并了解到国王乐意接待他后，便离开迦萨尼王国，和自己的部落一道倒向希拉王国，企望重新获得往昔在宫廷中拥有的金钱和地位。他的这一行动，据猜测，是在迦萨尼国王艾布·库尔布的继位者和诗人不和谐，这里的气氛已经变得不适合诗人继续待下去之后采取的。

关于纳比埃是如何回到希拉王国的，传说不一。比较多的说法是，纳比埃竭力向努尔曼赔礼道歉，为自己受到的指责进行开脱，而努尔曼亦希望他重新回来，因此便允许了他。为了进一步讨好国王，诗人请求法扎尔部落的两个人陪伴他，这两个人和努尔曼有着良好关系。据说，诗人写了一首《达勒韵基诗》，通过一个歌女的演唱传到努尔曼耳中。其时努尔曼正和那两个法扎尔人在歌舞厅，纳比埃就藏匿在两个人之中。当努尔曼听到诗句后即说：“以真主之名起誓，这一定是纳比埃写的诗”，因此便问起他的情况，于是诗人站了出来，从此又受到国王的庇护和宠爱。

波斯国王终于不满其代理人努尔曼，下令囚禁并杀死了他。那是约在602年，努尔曼被大象踩死。纳比埃离开希拉宫廷，回到部落，度过自己的晚年。在经历了充满巨大事件的漫长岁月后，约于604年去世。

纳比埃的心理特性纳比埃是部落的显贵人物之一。他在任何时候都保持着贵族的特点：一方面挥霍享受，一方面洁身自好。为保持尊严，他避不接触下层，不写诗颂扬他们，也不学习他们的品质。他也不干有失身份的事情，尽管在这方面流传着不同的说法。此外，他还极为持重。聪慧敏捷，睿智练达，具有准确的见解和健全的鉴赏力。他观察细致，理解力强，经验丰富，在所有这些方面他都达到了完美的境地。只是在政治和谋利需要时，他才会根据政治和事变的要求，根据不同情况和策略需要而伪装忠诚。但这种策略并不会使诗人和暴虐者同流合污，而是始终维护正义，强烈反对暴虐和侵略。所有这些特性，使他在其部落和国王那里享受着崇高的地位，使他具备了在欧卡日市场进行裁决的条件。在那里专为他搭起一个皮革圆棚，他对诗人们进行评判，决定谁的诗歌最好。他的意见总是受到尊重。他说一句话，会在达官显贵们心中引起反响。然而，富足并未使他得意忘形，地位也并未使他失去尊严和大度。

作品纳比埃有一部诗集，开初是艾绥玛依收集的，共二十四首；后来图西（9世纪）又补充了另外几首，苏克里（902）也曾把它和乌姆鲁勒·盖斯及祖海尔两个人的诗集编在一起。东方学家威廉·本·沃尔德于1870年出版了包括纳比埃在内的六名诗人的诗集；艾尔赖姆·珊特麦里（1083）和艾布·伯克尔·巴特留斯（1100）都曾对他的诗集进行过注释；东方学家戴伦保尔曾将其译成法文。诗集在开罗和贝鲁特印行过多次。

他最著名的诗是《巴依韵基诗》，其次是悬诗，再其次是《拉依韵基诗》，有些人说这首诗是悬诗，而不是前者，但这种说法缺乏根据，不足取。

悬诗是诗人在努尔曼对他恼怒前夕，作为一种讨好手段而吟作的。其内容是：

悼念遗址（1-6行）。

描写骆驼，野牛（7-20行）。

赞颂努尔曼（21-36行），为自己开脱。

请求宽恕（37行到完）。

纳比埃的诗集中确实掺有伪作。塔哈·侯赛因是这样分析的：诗人属奥斯派，凡与奥斯派不符的，皆非出自纳比埃之手；此外，他认为归于纳比埃的诗有许多不属于他，因为这些诗紊乱不一，语言拙劣，内容荒诞，与蒙昧时期精神相去甚远。在他看来，赞颂诗和求恕诗中，比反映纯粹贝督因生活的诗中更多伪作，因为后一类诗毕竟具有诸如雄浑、恬静、简练的奥斯派特点，例如他断言，描写穆泰扎莉黛的《达勒韵基诗》大部分是伪作，而另一些人也断言，在悬诗中对苏莱曼的描写（21-27行）也是伪作。塔哈·侯赛因博士的话尽管武断，但还是不乏某些事实根据。

纳比埃的诗可分为三大类：对希拉国王的赞颂诗和向他们求恕的诗；对迦萨尼国王的赞颂诗和悼念诗，称为《迦萨尼亚特》；有关纳季德各部落及他们间的战争与和平事务的政治诗。纳比埃诗中描写甚多，同时还有某些情诗和讽刺诗。

纳比埃因其谋利和求恕是宫廷诗人；因其在希拉和迦萨尼两个王国间的周旋，并关心部落和部落同盟的事务而是政治诗人和智谋诗人。总之，他是描写诗人和叙事诗人，按照奥斯派的原则创作，他的诗中有值得注意的历史价值。

宫廷诗人纳比埃纳比埃被宫廷诱惑，使他失去了那种热爱自由、摈弃奢靡生活的阿拉伯贝督因品格。他是第一个受宫廷之害，把自己关在金囚笼里的阿拉伯诗人，也是第一个在相当数量诗歌中不涉及部落，从歌颂部落荣耀中解脱出来，使诗歌不受部落束缚的阿拉伯诗人。

纳比埃把诗歌看作通向荣耀和富足的途径，因为阿拉伯国家的王公贵族都喜欢诗，并因此厚待他，赐给他大量金钱和双峰驼。开始，纳比埃可能出于感恩的高尚动机而歌功颂德，但当他尝到获利的甜头后，便得陇望蜀，在能使他增加收益和加强在国王面前地位的诗歌上下功夫。他不厌其详地重复可以获得恩赐的内容，使用能讨得统治者欢心的辞句。正像伊本·拉西格在《阿姆达》中所说：诗歌在曾经作为“诗人的一种乐趣或为报答恩主而不得不使用的一种感恩戴德的手段”后，变成了一种谋利的职业。

纳比埃的谋利目的在诗中表现非常明显，他对馈赠和施舍大加赞扬，甚至公开伸手而无顾忌，如他说：

我怀揣着被猜疑的恐惧，

日夜兼程赶着骆驼投靠你；

衣衫褴褛两手空空，

告诉你是为了求助你。

你是消灾的攻毒药，

你是救难的及时雨。

他在对迦萨尼国王努尔曼的赞颂中公开宣称，他的一切都是努尔曼赠予的，在努尔曼死后，他的生活将毫无意义。

纳比埃歌颂或悼念的人物，通常是赏识他的贵族化倾向的国王和王子，除他们外，他只颂扬过一个名叫努尔曼·本·朱拉哈的人，他是迦萨尼人中哈里斯·本·艾比·舍玛拉部落的首领。一次，这个部落对朱布亚人发动进攻，抓获一些俘虏，俘虏中有纳比埃的女儿阿格莱布。当他知道后对她说：“向主起誓，没有谁比你父亲对我们更尊贵，也没有谁比他在国王那儿对我们更有利，”然后为她准备好行装把她放走，随后又说道：“向主起誓，纳比埃不会仅仅为此对我们表示满意的。”于是，他释放了所有俘虏，归还了一切战利品。这一豪爽气概很使纳比埃钦佩，于是写诗颂扬他，同时又为颂扬这位既非国王，又非王子的人进行解释。他还颂扬过一个名叫浩扎·本·艾比·阿慕尔·欧兹利的人，据说人们把他叫做希贾兹的主人。除这两个人外，除希拉国王，特别是努尔曼·艾布·嘎布斯，迦萨尼国王，以及本部落的某些人外，我们几乎看不到纳比埃还赞颂过别的人。其次我们看到，纳比埃的颂诗根据不同对象分为三类：纯粹的赞颂，如对迦萨尼人；感谢善行，如对本·朱拉哈；赞颂夹带求恕，如对努尔曼·本·蒙泽尔。

赞颂内容大多是地位崇高、权势显赫、慷慨、勇敢、激情、虔信、明智及其他。纳比埃赞颂诗的特点很多，大多出自诗人取悦被颂者，谋求利益的愿望。赞颂中最突出的是与国王身份相称的雄壮色彩。我们看到他的颂诗在风格、诗律、辞句、声韵方面都很雄浑，很有气魄，前面冠之以情诗和其他内容，以及对把主人驮到被颂者跟前的骆驼的精彩的、充满比喻的反复描述。诗人站在被颂者面前，立即向他投以在此种场合应说的各种赞美之词。诗中充满夸张之辞，国王们都喜欢这一套，还打比喻，用格言来使人信服。例如，在他的诗中，努尔曼一下子成了使群星黯然失色的太阳，一下子又成了笼罩一切的黑夜，谁也逃不出他权势的罗网。一下子，迦萨尼人具有真主不曾赋予别人的崇高品质；一下子，被颂者在权力和至尊方面像宽阔的海洋，威严而好施。

对纳比埃颂诗中有所指责的是，他有时在被颂者还活着时就对他进行哀悼，在他死之前就悲挽他。这种方法为我们今天的鉴赏所不取，为进化了的文明所不习惯，虽然蒙昧时期的鉴赏标准并不否定它。

纳比埃受到中伤后，失去了在努尔曼希拉宫廷中的舒适生活，而跑到希拉人的敌人迦萨尼人那里去，并写诗赞扬他们。为了重新取得努尔曼的欢心，便请求他的宽恕，争取得到他的同情，以便再次获得丰厚的财富和体面的地位。为此他写了许多诗，最著名的有三首：《巴依韵基诗》《达勒韵基诗》和《阿因韵基诗》。

他曾赞颂过迦萨尼人。他在向努尔曼请求宽恕时，反复地解释说，迦萨尼人把他当成兄弟，挥霍享受与共，他就像受努尔曼款待的人感谢努尔曼那样感谢迦萨尼人。在讨好方面，纳比埃首先希望通过否认对他的指控来达到目的。为此，他驳斥诽谤者，赌咒发誓地为自己辩解，说如果他有罪的话，愿受真主惩罚。他还描述努尔曼的伟大，他的国土的辽阔和权势的显赫，描写他的宽容、公正，同时赞扬他的高尚、慷慨，这种慷慨犹如水满四溢的幼发拉底河一一纳比埃在他的求恕诗中一直念念不忘于此，似乎是要表达他获取馈赠的强烈愿望。随后，他描写自己在这位权势显赫、慷慨大方的愤怒的国王面前时的心境，他如何因巨大的过失而局促不安，如何因国王的愤怒和威吓而诚惶诚恐，如何日夜不宁，如芒刺在背，或如伴蛇豸。纳比埃因描写恐惧之夜而出名，甚至有“纳比埃之夜”之说。他描写夜晚的主要特点是：详细叙述某一个夜晚和心中增添的愁绪，因为白昼之愁和夜晚之愁合而为一，其中充满了强烈的内心活动，于是接着回顾导致这一状况的原因，只不过是一系列接踵而来的诽谤中伤，他因此而被痛苦地抛在局外，而那些坏人和恶人反而得宠于宫廷，他这个无辜者倒代人受过。他为自己开脱，却又发现仍不免遭受到不公平的待遇，于是他陷入痛苦的失望之中。

纳比埃在讨好中还委婉地向努尔曼提出忠告，希望他三思而行，体察下情，重视证据，以便使自己不成为暴君。为此，他给努尔曼举了一个例子：一只隼鹰能正确作出判断而不犯错误，是因它能敏锐地发现鸽子。诗人为达目的不惜卑躬屈节，这对酷爱自由的阿拉伯人来说是前所未有的。他把自己作为努尔曼的奴仆，愉快地接受高贵主人的惩处，并等待赦宥。

纳比埃的求恕诗论据充分，在陈述论据和求赦时表现出机诈。他使用的是圆通的律师式的逻辑。人情世故教会了他善变，善于利用形势和环境。当他在部落剑戟的庇翼下，或在迦萨尼军队的保护下便表现出十足的威风。他还善于做作感情，在表现灾祸、恐惧、忧愁，以及努尔曼的权势方面极尽夸张之能事。在求恕诗中，纳比埃表现出对人类心理的了解和对诗歌内容的创新，用诗歌打动人心方面的巨大能力。他开创了政治责怨诗这门艺术。

政治诗人纳比埃纳比埃的思维特征，他的聪慧和狡黠，使他成了一个老练的政治人物和经验丰富的调解人。他的政治态度使他在部族内外享有引人注目的崇高地位。他的话行之有效，他的调停总是被接受，连希拉国王和迦萨尼国王也不忽视他的这种有助于他的扩充影响的地位，因而竞相笼络他。纳比埃深知自己的价值，他总是为自己部族的利益考虑，无论何时何地，始终头脑清醒而说话算数；他利用希拉人和迦萨尼人的矛盾，以无比的机智往返于两座宫廷之间。他称得上是一位密切观测动向，让人们提高警觉，鼓励人们的热情，并将这一切成功地记录下来的“新闻记者”。

纳比埃的政治诗分为两类：部落政治和宫廷政治。

纳比埃极为关心部落事务。部落政治及部落战争在他的思想和诗歌中占很大比重。关于这一主题，他写有若干首诗，主要的有：《拉依韵基诗》，这是在朱勒阿·本·阿慕尔·本·胡威利德在欧卡日市场碰到他，劝他放弃和阿萨德人结盟并对他进行恫吓后所作；《米姆韵基诗》，中心思想是关于部落联盟和坚定不移地维护这一联盟；《努努韵基诗》，是对欧耶奈的回答——他想使阿萨德人脱离和朱布亚部落的联盟；《拉依韵基诗》，是对穆拉人的指责，因为他们结盟反对他和他的部落。纳比埃在部落政治中的目的，是使他的部落免遭伤害，并加强其地位。他用以达到这一目的的手段是：

1.引导：纳比埃以导师的面貌出现，他时而出面制止战争，时而发号施令进行战争。阿柏斯和朱布亚两部落发生分歧之前，他力图平息引起争端的因素，并为制造和睦气氛而努力。

2.号召联合：特别是在达赫斯和埃布拉战争中是这样做的。在这场战争中，他一直密切地注视他的部族及盟友，希望他们面对自己的敌人。他为自己的部族保持同盟者而奔波不息，特别是对阿萨德人，他因从迦萨尼人手中拯救过他们的俘虏而对他们积有功德。为此，他运用他在国王们中间的影响，歌颂自己的盟友，赞扬他们的勇敢，描写他们的装备，他们进行的战争和表现出的英雄气概，他还攻击自己的敌人，因为他们力图破坏他的部落和盟友间的关系。虽然如此，我们没有看见他攻击阿柏斯人，因为他们和他同属一个大部落，尽管在他们之间发生了战争。

3.调停：纳比埃尽可能使他对部族的忠诚和讨好迦萨尼人的愿望获得成功。我们看到他提出忠告，劝诫部族停止对迦萨尼王国边境的不断侵扰。他警告部族说，狮子正雄视而踞，并以震慑民族感情的方式描写自由妇女被俘获驱赶的情景；同时，设法减弱迦萨尼人人侵自己部落的决心。他警告国王本人说，他的部族的盟友人人骁勇善战，与他们发生冲突，是不会有好结果的。他有时也为自己的部族求恕。一旦自己的部族战败，畜群被掠，他就向迦萨尼人求情，以拯救他们。

纳比埃在希拉人和迦萨尼人那里都很有地位。他希望利用两个王国间的竞争和矛盾，而两个王国亦力图利用他的诗歌，因而问题比部落政治更复杂、更微妙、更重大。诗人把自己分身于两个王国，在两者之间行事，使得他们竞相提高他的地位，而不管他究竟倾向于哪一边。他的这一行为需要高度的机巧、圆滑和老练。他通过这种政治活动为自己获得了金钱和地位，为部族和盟友求得了宽恕，特别是在迦萨尼人那里。他在政治上表现出了巨大的能力，在论战中表现出了灵活的风格。

描写和叙事诗人纳比埃纳比埃富于想象，善于观察，是一个技巧高超的描写家。贝督因生活和文明生活使他的想象丰富而清晰，观察细致而深刻。他长于描写，他的所有诗作——颂诗、情诗、求恕诗，都具有描写的特色。描写人，如穆泰扎莉黛；描写动物，如野牛；描写事物，如幼发拉底河和自然现象。然而这大多是手段不是目的，诗人在对它们的反复描述中使赞颂和求恕的内容得到加强。他的描写首先建立在奥斯派特有的现实主义基础上，是一种直观的，来源于感官并直接作用于感官的描写。诗人的现实主义是按众所周知的古阿拉伯人的方式，通过描写事物的细节实现的。他选用那些使图景璀璨夺目的明畅语句，使它在形式上臻于完美。尽管诗人具有言简意赅的特点，但有时仍追求夸张，对同一内容进行反复描绘，以便达到对图景的完美表达，使之更符合本来面貌。如他对蛇的描写就是这样。他对穆泰扎莉黛的头发作了精细优美的比喻：

由于纳比埃注重细节描写和广泛运用比喻，常常给想象提供了广阔天地，任其驰骋，有时不免离开主题。他只是通过各种比喻、或思想中原有的打算才把这些驰骋的想象和主题联系起来，如在悬诗中，其主要目的是求恕，但他先描写遗址；然后转而描写把他驮到努尔曼处的骆驼，把它比喻为野牛，设想它大发脾气时的情景，描写它和群犬厮斗；然后请求努尔曼三思，为此给他打了隼鹰的比喻，接着描写鸽子；随后把努尔曼比喻为幼发拉底河，接着描写幼发拉底河……一首诗的大部分诗句都离开了主题。

纳比埃的描写还根据不同情况而变化。描写游猎，则出现蒙昧时期的奇异景象；描写国王，则出现都会的庄重豪华；描写自然，则更见艺术和精妙；描写妇女，则情意绵绵，愈见柔美。然而，纳比埃的描写有时显得呆板。他很少把自己跟描写对象融为一体，也很少在自然中发现打动他内心深处的东西。在一定程度上来说，他在他所描写的景物面前是僵滞的。他把用眼睛看到的景物，用耳朵听到的声音记录下来，很少有如同我们在乌姆鲁勒·盖斯诗歌中所感受到的那种内心的和感情的冲动。但他用使所描写的事物充满运动来弥补此种不足，不少时候具有很强的叙事性。他还喜欢在诗歌中动用典故。蒙昧时期诗歌中有不少曾经流传在人们口头的神话和传说，也有《旧约》中的故事。如阿迪·本·宰德曾在诗中写过蛇欺骗亚当的故事，伍麦叶·本·艾比·绥勒特在诗中讲述过罗得和所多玛被毁的故事 [6] ，还叙述了亚伯拉罕将以撒作祭献品的传说。纳比埃用讲故事的方法来达到赞颂、求恕、忠告或劝导的目的。讲鹰的故事，旨在劝诫国王要仔细观察事物，三思而后行；讲野牛和猎犬厮斗的故事，旨在描写他乘坐的骆驼的力量和速度；讲蛇的故事——这蛇被它援救过的盟友背弃，并幸免在其斧下丧生，它从而醒悟，在它的盟友背信弃义后再也不与之结盟——旨在用这个例子责备穆拉人结盟反对他和他的部族。这蛇的故事，开了以动物作主人公的寓言的良好先例，这种形式只是在阿拔斯时代《卡里莱和笛木乃》一书出现后才广为流传，尽管这类故事在蒙昧时期的人们口头上曾经十分流行，这也可以用纳比埃的诗歌作证：

蛇被朋友背弃的寓言，

很快在人们口中流传。

纳比埃的艺术纳比埃属奥斯派，诗歌创作严肃认真，不粗制滥造，由于反复推敲，因而诗中雕琢痕迹明显。他的遣词用句都经严格挑选，绝无使人感到厌烦的堆砌，其诗歌结构也十分严密。他的诗中迸发出优美的音律，这是由于字母和词句组合得当，善于选择诗律和韵脚。这一音律常和内容共鸣，激烈处显得激烈，柔和时变得柔和，然而间或也有某种不谐之音，如对字母“嘎夫”的连续使用。

纳比埃诗歌艺术的基础是比喻。他想模仿乌姆鲁勒·盖斯，大量使用具体事物作比喻。但总的说，在这方面他并未达到“迷茫君王”的水平。他还采用其他修辞和隐喻手段，甚至有人对他使用借喻、转喻等方面的情况作过专门统计。他诗中最优美的修辞之一，是在责怨时的几句赞颂：

只是他们的宝剑，

在杀敌后留下缺口，

此外他们再没有缺陷。

纳比埃的影响纳比埃在阿拉伯文学史上享有崇高地位，他的诗歌除具有很强的表现力和艺术美外，还具有很高的历史价值，它使我们了解到希拉王国和迦萨尼王国间的竞争——在他们后面分别是波斯萨珊人和罗马人；它还使我们了解到蒙泽尔人和迦萨尼人的传统习俗，贝督因各部落的生活，他们之间的战争、他们的武装力量、盟邦、战斗装备等情况。在诗歌风格方面，他也有着深远的影响，这种影响在以后的伍麦叶王朝诗人艾赫塔勒身上表现得特别突出。

推荐阅读：

响落层云里 阴浮万树端 幽怀一以惬 合是使君滩