高塔 翻譯 1948年諾貝爾文學獎得主 艾略特T. S. Eliot的 荒原
荒原
BY T. S. ELIOT
高塔譯 2015
給 埃茲拉 龐德⋯⋯
大匠師
I. 葬禮
四月是最殘酷的一月，蕃息
紫丁香，從不毛之地
掺揉記憶和欲望，奮起
萎頓的根，以春霏
冬天保我們暖，覆被
大地於無憂的雪，哺育
小生命，以乾脯的塊莖
夏嚇我們，以越過史坦博格湖
雨陣；我們歇於廊柱
並在驕陽下續行，步入霍夫花園
啜飲咖啡，聊一小時
我不是俄國人，來自立陶宛，我是德國人
小時，我們待過奧國大公
我堂兄的家，他坐雪車，帶我出門
我嚇壞，他說，瑪麗
瑪麗，抓緊。我們下去
山上，我們何其自由
大半夜，我閱讀，並於冬天南下
什麼根在抓？什麼枝枒
從嶙峋廢物堆裡蹦出，人子
你說或猜不出，因你僅知
一堆破碎意象，在此，太陽直曝
枯枝無蔭，蟋蟀不安
石頭乾掉水聲，僅
這紅岩下有蔭
(來，鑽入這紅岩下)
我將為你指出，異於早晨昂步你身後的影子
或黃昏起身迎你的影子是啥
我將為你指出恐懼，於一掬塵土
清風徐拂
故鄉
我的愛爾蘭，孩子
此時，你在何處
「你一年前初次給我風信子
他們遂叫我風信子姑娘」
－然而，當我們稍後回來，從風信子
花園
你的臂滿，你的髮濕，我說
不出，且我的眼花，我
非生非死，我了無所知
一眼看穿光心，靜
茫茫，蕩蕩大海
莎莎特莉絲夫人，知名女占師
雖重感冒，卻是
周知，歐洲最睿智的女人
手握一把惡牌。當下，她說
你的牌，是不是遭溺的腓尼基水手
(瞧，他的眼睛是真珠)
這是美女阿朵娜，岩女
狀況百出的女士
此人握有三杖，這是轉輪
且這是獨眼商人，這張牌
空白，他攜在背上
我不准看，我未發現
被吊死的人，謹防因水而死
我看到一群人，環行
謝謝，若你看到艾奇彤女士
請告訴她，我親自帶來占星圖
這幾天得小心
幻城
在冬天拂曉的褐霧下
一群人漫過倫敦橋，如此之眾
未料，死亡未打理的，如此之眾
嘆息，偶而短吁
每一個人凝目腳前
泛上坡，泛下威廉國王大街
直至聖瑪麗兀兒諾教堂
最後一敲九點，以沉沉鐘聲
在那裡我遇到一個熟人，叫住他
「史帖臣」
「你在麥剌與我同船」
「去年你種在花園的屍體」
「開始發芽？今年會不會開花」
「抑或，乍來霜降打亂它的花床」
「把狗攆得遠遠地，牠友於人」
「抑或，以他的指甲，他又向上掘挖」
「你，偽君子讀者！貌似我，我的兄弟」(待續)
The Waste Land
BY T. S. ELIOT
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,
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,
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.
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,
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.
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(The blank card is “The Fool”; he carries a purse over his back (he doesn’t see it) at the end of a stick. The Fool card in Tarot is unnumbered, or blank.),
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,
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!
“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!”(to be continued)
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BY T. S. ELIOT
高塔譯 2015
給 埃茲拉 龐德⋯⋯
大匠師
I. 葬禮
四月是最殘酷的一月，蕃息
紫丁香，從不毛之地
掺揉記憶和欲望，奮起
萎頓的根，以春霏
冬天保我們暖，覆被
大地於無憂的雪，哺育
小生命，以乾脯的塊莖
夏嚇我們，以越過史坦博格湖
雨陣；我們歇於廊柱
並在驕陽下續行，步入霍夫花園
啜飲咖啡，聊一小時
我不是俄國人，來自立陶宛，我是德國人
小時，我們待過奧國大公
我堂兄的家，他坐雪車，帶我出門
我嚇壞，他說，瑪麗
瑪麗，抓緊。我們下去
山上，我們何其自由
大半夜，我閱讀，並於冬天南下
什麼根在抓？什麼枝枒
從嶙峋廢物堆裡蹦出，人子
你說或猜不出，因你僅知
一堆破碎意象，在此，太陽直曝
枯枝無蔭，蟋蟀不安
石頭乾掉水聲，僅
這紅岩下有蔭
(來，鑽入這紅岩下)
我將為你指出，異於早晨昂步你身後的影子
或黃昏起身迎你的影子是啥
我將為你指出恐懼，於一掬塵土
清風徐拂
故鄉
我的愛爾蘭，孩子
此時，你在何處
「你一年前初次給我風信子
他們遂叫我風信子姑娘」
－然而，當我們稍後回來，從風信子
花園
你的臂滿，你的髮濕，我說
不出，且我的眼花，我
非生非死，我了無所知
一眼看穿光心，靜
茫茫，蕩蕩大海
莎莎特莉絲夫人，知名女占師
雖重感冒，卻是
周知，歐洲最睿智的女人
手握一把惡牌。當下，她說
你的牌，是不是遭溺的腓尼基水手
(瞧，他的眼睛是真珠)
這是美女阿朵娜，岩女
狀況百出的女士
此人握有三杖，這是轉輪
且這是獨眼商人，這張牌
空白，他攜在背上
我不准看，我未發現
被吊死的人，謹防因水而死
我看到一群人，環行
謝謝，若你看到艾奇彤女士
請告訴她，我親自帶來占星圖
這幾天得小心
幻城
在冬天拂曉的褐霧下
一群人漫過倫敦橋，如此之眾
未料，死亡未打理的，如此之眾
嘆息，偶而短吁
每一個人凝目腳前
泛上坡，泛下威廉國王大街
直至聖瑪麗兀兒諾教堂
最後一敲九點，以沉沉鐘聲
在那裡我遇到一個熟人，叫住他
「史帖臣」
「你在麥剌與我同船」
「去年你種在花園的屍體」
「開始發芽？今年會不會開花」
「抑或，乍來霜降打亂它的花床」
「把狗攆得遠遠地，牠友於人」
「抑或，以他的指甲，他又向上掘挖」
「你，偽君子讀者！貌似我，我的兄弟」(待續)
The Waste Land
BY T. S. ELIOT
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,
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,
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.
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,
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.
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(The blank card is “The Fool”; he carries a purse over his back (he doesn’t see it) at the end of a stick. The Fool card in Tarot is unnumbered, or blank.),
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,
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!
“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!”(to be continued)
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