Dover Beach诗歌欣赏

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Dover Beach诗歌欣赏

　　诗歌欣赏：Dover Beach

Dover Beach诗歌欣赏

　　by Matthew Arnold

　　The sea is calm tonight．

　　The tide is full， the moon lies fair

　　Upon the straits； on the French coast， the light

　　Gleams and is gone； the cliffs of England stand，

　　Glimmering and vast， out in the tranquil bay．

　　Come to the window， sweet is the night－air！

　　Only， from the long line of spray

　　Where the sea meets the moon－blanched land，

　　Listen！ you hear the grating roar

　　Of pebbles which the waves draw back， and fling，

　　At their return， up the high strand，

　　Begin， and cease， and then again begin，

　　With tremulous cadence slow， and bring

　　The eternal note of sadness in．

　　Sophocles long ago

　　Heard it on the Aegean， and it brought

　　Into his mind the turbid ebb and flow

　　Of human misery； we

　　Find also in the sound a thought，

　　Hearing it by this distant northern sea．

　　The Sea of Faith

　　Was once， too， at the full， and round earth's shore

　　Lay like the folds of a bright girdle furled．

　　But now I only hear

　　Its melancholy， long， withdrawing roar，

　　Retreating， to the breath

　　Of the night－wind， down the vast edges drear

　　And naked shingles of the world．

　　Ah， love， let us be true

　　To one another！ for the world， which seems

　　To lie before us like a land of dreams，

　　So various， so beautiful， so new，

　　Hath really neither joy， nor love， nor light，

　　Nor certitude， nor peace， nor help for pain；

　　And we are here as on a darkling plain

　　Swept with confused alarms of struggle and flight，

　　Where ignorant armies clash by night．

　　Of the elder dead．

　　Winds of summer fields

　　Recollect the way，——

　　Instinct picking up the key

　　Dropped by memory．

　　一百年以后

　　在一百年以后，

　　没有人知道这个地方——

　　极度的痛苦，命名了那里，

　　安宁如同静寂。

　　杂草得意洋洋地蔓延，

　　陌生的人们漫步，拼读

　　那死亡接骨木的

　　孤独正字表。

　　夏日田地的风

　　追忆起那条道路——

　　直觉挖掘出那答案

　　在记忆的点滴里。

　　Wild Nights－Wild Nights！

　　Wild nights！ Wild nights！

　　Were I with thee

　　Wild nights should be

　　Our luxury！

　　Futile－the winds

　　To a heart in port—

　　Done with the compass

　　Done with the chart！

　　Rowing in Eden

　　Ah， the sea！

　　Might I but moor－To－night

　　In thee！

　　暴风雨夜－暴风雨夜

　　暴风雨夜！暴风雨夜！

　　我若和你同在一起，

　　暴风雨夜就是

　　豪奢的喜悦！

　　风，无能为力——

　　心，已在港内——

　　罗盘，不必！

　　海图，不必！

　　泛舟在伊甸园——

　　啊，海！

　　但愿我能，今夜

　　泊在你的水城！（江枫译）

　　暴风雨夜——暴风雨夜！（另一个翻译版本）

　　暴风雨夜——暴风雨夜！

　　我若和你在一起

　　暴风雨夜该是

　　我们的欢娱！

　　徒劳——这狂风——

　　对着一颗泊港的心——

　　不用罗盘——

　　不用海图！

　　荡浆伊甸园——

　　啊，大海！

　　今夜——但愿我泊在

　　你的胸怀里！

　　I never saw a moor

　　I never saw a Moor——

　　I never saw the Sea——

　　Yet know I how the Heather looks

　　And what a Billow be．

　　I never spoke with God

　　Nor visited in Heaven——

　　Yet certain am I of the spot

　　As if the Checks were given——

　　我从未看过荒原

　　我从未看过荒原——

　　我从未看过海洋——

　　可我知道石楠的容貌

　　和狂涛巨浪。

　　我从未与上帝交谈

　　也不曾拜访过天堂——

　　可我好像已通过检查

　　一定会到那个地方．（金舟译）

　　Compensation

　　For each ecstatic instant

　　We must an anguish pay

　　In keen and quivering ratio

　　To the ecstasy．

　　For each beloved hour

　　Sharp pittances of years，

　　Bitter contested farthings

　　And coffers heaped with tears．

　　补偿

　　为每一个狂喜的瞬间

　　我们必须偿以痛苦至极，

　　刺痛和震颤

　　正比于狂喜。

　　为每一个可爱的时刻

　　必偿以多年的微薄薪饷，

　　辛酸争夺来的半分八厘

　　和浸满泪水的钱箱。（金舟译）

　　I heard a fly buzz——when I died ——

　　I heard a Fly buzz —— when I died ——

　　The stillness in the Room

　　Was like the stillness in the Air ——

　　Between the Heaves of Sotrm ——

　　The Eyes around —— had wrung when them dry ——

　　And breaths were gathering firm

　　For that last Onset —— when the King

　　Be witnessed —— in the Room ——

　　I willed my keepsakes ——Signed away

　　What portion of me be

　　Assignable —— and then it was

　　There interposed a Fly ——

　　With Blue —— uncertain stumbling Buzz ——

　　Between the light —— and me ——

　　And the the windows failed ——and then

　　I could not see to see ——

　　我听到苍蝇的嗡嗡声——当我死时

　　房间里，一片沉寂

　　就像空气突然平静下来——

　　在风暴的间隙

　　注视我的眼睛——泪水已经流尽—

　　我的呼吸正渐渐变紧

　　等待最后的时刻——上帝在房间里

　　现身的时刻——降临

　　我已经分掉了——关于我的

　　所有可以分掉的

　　东西——然后我就看见了

　　一只苍蝇——

　　蓝色的——微妙起伏的嗡嗡声

　　在我——和光——之间

　　然后窗户关闭——然后

　　我眼前漆黑一片——

　　How happy is the little Stone

　　That rambles in the Road alone，

　　And doesn't care about Careers

　　And Exigencies never fears ——

　　Whose Coat of elemental Brown

　　A passing Universe put on，

　　And independent as the Sun

　　Associates or glows alone

　　Fulfilling absolute Decree

　　In casual simplicity ——

　　这颗小石何等幸福

　　独自在路旁漫步

　　它不汲汲于功名

　　也从不为变故担心

　　变幻的宇宙

　　也得被它质朴的棕色外衣

　　它独立不羁如太阳

　　与众辉煌

　　或独自闪光

　　它顺应天意

　　单纯

　　一味自然

　　诗歌欣赏：Emily Dickinson 《After a hundred years》

　　I'm nobody！ Who are you?

　　Are you nobody， too?

　　Then there's a pair of us － don't tell！

　　They're banish us， you know！

　　How dreary to be somebody！

　　How public， like a frog

　　To tell your name the livelong day

　　To an admiring bog！

　　我是无名之辈！你是谁?

　　你也是无名之辈?

　　那咱俩就成了一对－别出声！

　　他们会把咱们排挤－要小心！

　　多无聊－身为赫赫显要！

　　多招摇－不过像只青蛙

　　向一片仰慕的泥沼

　　整日里炫耀自己的名号！

　　After a hundred years

　　Nobody knows the place，——

　　Agony that enacted there，

　　Motionless as peace．

　　Weeds triumphant ranged，

　　Strangers strolled and spelled

　　At the lone orthography

　　Of the elder dead．

　　Winds of summer fields

　　Recollect the way，——

　　Instinct picking up the key

　　Dropped by memory．

　　一百年以后

　　在一百年以后，

　　没有人知道这个地方——

　　极度的痛苦，命名了那里，

　　安宁如同静寂。

　　杂草得意洋洋地蔓延，

　　陌生的人们漫步，拼读

　　那死亡接骨木的

　　孤独正字表。

　　夏日田地的风

　　追忆起那条道路——

　　直觉挖掘出那答案

　　在记忆的点滴里。

　　Wild Nights－Wild Nights！

　　Wild nights！ Wild nights！

　　Were I with thee

　　Wild nights should be

　　Our luxury！

　　Futile－the winds

　　To a heart in port—

　　Done with the compass

　　Done with the chart！

　　Rowing in Eden

　　Ah， the sea！

　　Might I but moor－To－night

　　In thee！

　　暴风雨夜－暴风雨夜

　　暴风雨夜！暴风雨夜！

　　我若和你同在一起，

　　暴风雨夜就是

　　豪奢的喜悦！

　　风，无能为力——

　　心，已在港内——

　　罗盘，不必！

　　海图，不必！

　　泛舟在伊甸园——

　　啊，海！

　　但愿我能，今夜

　　泊在你的水城！（江枫译）

　　暴风雨夜——暴风雨夜！（另一个翻译版本）

　　暴风雨夜——暴风雨夜！

　　我若和你在一起

　　暴风雨夜该是

　　我们的欢娱！

　　徒劳——这狂风——

　　对着一颗泊港的心——

　　不用罗盘——

　　不用海图！

　　荡浆伊甸园——

　　啊，大海！

　　今夜——但愿我泊在

　　你的胸怀里！

　　I never saw a moor

　　I never saw a Moor——

　　I never saw the Sea——

　　Yet know I how the Heather looks

　　And what a Billow be．

　　I never spoke with God

　　Nor visited in Heaven——

　　Yet certain am I of the spot

　　As if the Checks were given——

　　我从未看过荒原

　　我从未看过荒原——

　　我从未看过海洋——

　　可我知道石楠的容貌

　　和狂涛巨浪。

　　我从未与上帝交谈

　　也不曾拜访过天堂——

　　可我好像已通过检查

　　一定会到那个地方．（金舟译）

　　Compensation

　　For each ecstatic instant

　　We must an anguish pay

　　In keen and quivering ratio

　　To the ecstasy．

　　For each beloved hour

　　Sharp pittances of years，

　　Bitter contested farthings

　　And coffers heaped with tears．

　　补偿

　　为每一个狂喜的瞬间

　　我们必须偿以痛苦至极，

　　刺痛和震颤

　　正比于狂喜。

　　为每一个可爱的时刻

　　必偿以多年的微薄薪饷，

　　辛酸争夺来的半分八厘

　　和浸满泪水的钱箱。（金舟译）

　　I heard a fly buzz——when I died ——

　　I heard a Fly buzz —— when I died ——

　　The stillness in the Room

　　Was like the stillness in the Air ——

　　Between the Heaves of Sotrm ——

　　The Eyes around —— had wrung when them dry ——

　　And breaths were gathering firm

　　For that last Onset —— when the King

　　Be witnessed —— in the Room ——

　　I willed my keepsakes ——Signed away

　　What portion of me be

　　Assignable —— and then it was

　　There interposed a Fly ——

　　With Blue —— uncertain stumbling Buzz ——

　　Between the light —— and me ——

　　And the the windows failed ——and then

　　I could not see to see ——

　　我听到苍蝇的嗡嗡声——当我死时

　　房间里，一片沉寂

　　就像空气突然平静下来——

　　在风暴的间隙

　　注视我的眼睛——泪水已经流尽—

　　我的呼吸正渐渐变紧

　　等待最后的时刻——上帝在房间里

　　现身的时刻——降临

　　我已经分掉了——关于我的

　　所有可以分掉的

　　东西——然后我就看见了

　　一只苍蝇——

　　蓝色的——微妙起伏的嗡嗡声

　　在我——和光——之间

　　然后窗户关闭——然后

　　我眼前漆黑一片——

　　How happy is the little Stone

　　That rambles in the Road alone，

　　And doesn't care about Careers

　　And Exigencies never fears ——

　　Whose Coat of elemental Brown

　　A passing Universe put on，

　　And independent as the Sun

　　Associates or glows alone

　　Fulfilling absolute Decree

　　In casual simplicity ——

　　这颗小石何等幸福

　　独自在路旁漫步

　　它不汲汲于功名

　　也从不为变故担心

　　变幻的宇宙

　　也得被它质朴的棕色外衣

　　它独立不羁如太阳

　　与众辉煌

　　或独自闪光

　　它顺应天意

　　单纯

　　一味自然

　　诗歌欣赏：California Plush

　　by Frank Bidart

　　The only thing I miss about Los Angeles

　　is the Hollywood Freeway at midnight， windows down and

　　radio blaring

　　bearing right into the center of the city， the Capitol Tower

　　on the right， and beyond it， Hollywood Boulevard

　　blazing

　　——pimps， surplus stores， footprints of the stars

　　——descending through the city

　　fast as the law would allow

　　through the lights， then rising to the stack

　　out of the city

　　to the stack where lanes are stacked six deep

　　and you on top； the air

　　now clean， for a moment weightless

　　without memories， or

　　need for a past．

　　The need for the past

　　is so much at the center of my life

　　I write this poem to record my discovery of it，

　　my reconciliation．

　　It was in Bishop， the room was done

　　in California plush： we had gone into the coffee shop， were told

　　you could only get a steak in the bar：

　　I hesitated，

　　not wanting to be an occasion of temptation for my father

　　but he wanted to， so we entered

　　a dark room， with amber water glasses， walnut

　　tables， captain's chairs，

　　plastic doilies， papier－m?ché bas－relief wall ballerinas，

　　German memorial plates "bought on a trip to Europe，"

　　Puritan crosshatch green－yellow wallpaper，

　　frilly shades， cowhide

　　booths——

　　I thought of Cambridge：

　　the lovely congruent elegance

　　of Revolutionary architecture， even of

　　ersatz thirties Georgian

　　seemed alien， a threat， sign

　　of all I was not——

　　to bode order and lucidity

　　as an ideal， if not reality——

　　not this California plush， which

　　also

　　I was not．

　　And so I made myself an Easterner，

　　finding it， after all， more like me

　　than I had let myself hope．

　　And now， staring into the embittered face of

　　my father，

　　again， for two weeks， as twice a year，

　　I was back．

　　The waitress asked us if we wanted a drink．

　　Grimly， I waited until he said no……

　　Before the tribunal of the world I submit the following

　　document：

　　Nancy showed it to us，

　　in her apartment at the model，

　　as she waited month by month

　　for the property settlement， her children grown

　　and working for their father，

　　at fifty－three now alone，

　　a drink in her hand：

　　as my father said，

　　"They keep a drink in her hand"：

　　Name Wallace du Bois

　　Box No 128 Chino， Calif．

　　Date July 25 ，19 54

　　Mr Howard Arturian

　　I am writing a letter to you this afternoon while I'm in the

　　mood of writing． How is everything getting along with you these

　　fine days， as for me everything is just fine and I feel great except for

　　the heat I think its lot warmer then it is up there but I don't mind

　　it so much． I work at the dairy half day and I go to trade school the

　　other half day Body & Fender， now I am learning how to spray

　　paint cars I've already painted one and now I got another car to

　　paint． So now I think I've learned all I want after I have learned all

　　this． I know how to straighten metals and all that． I forgot to say

　　"Hello" to you． The reason why I am writing to you is about a job，

　　my Parole Officer told me that he got letter from and that you want

　　me to go to work for you． So I wanted to know if its truth． When

　　I go to the Board in Feb． I'll tell them what I want to do and where

　　I would like to go， so if you want me to work for you I'd rather have

　　you sent me to your brother John in Tonapah and place to stay for

　　my family． The Old Lady says the same thing in her last letter that

　　she would be some place else then in Bishop， thats the way I feel

　　too．and another thing is my drinking problem． I made up my mind

　　to quit my drinking， after all what it did to me and what happen．

　　This is one thing I'll never forget as longs as I live I never want

　　to go through all this mess again． This sure did teach me lot of things

　　that I never knew before． So Howard you can let me know soon

　　as possible． I sure would appreciate it．

　　P．S From Your Friend

　　I hope you can read my Wally Du Bois

　　writing． I am a little nervous yet

　　——He and his wife had given a party， and

　　one of the guests was walking away

　　just as Wallace started backing up his car．

　　He hit him， so put the body in the back seat

　　and drove to a deserted road．

　　There he put it before the tires， and

　　ran back and forth over it several times．

　　When he got out of Chino， he did，

　　indeed， never do that again：

　　but one child was dead， his only son，

　　found with the rest of the family

　　immobile in their beds with typhoid，

　　next to the mother， the child having been

　　dead two days：

　　he continued to drink， and as if it were the Old West

　　shot up the town a couple of Saturday nights．

　　"So now I think I've learned all I want

　　after I have learned all this： this sure did teach me a lot of things

　　that I never knew before．

　　I am a little nervous yet．"

　　It seems to me

　　an emblem of Bishop——

　　For watching the room， as the waitresses in their

　　back－combed， Parisian， peroxided， bouffant hairdos，

　　and plastic belts，

　　moved back and forth

　　I thought of Wallace， and

　　the room suddenly seemed to me

　　not uninteresting at all：

　　they were the same． Every plate and chair

　　had its congruence with

　　all the choices creating

　　these people， created

　　by them——by me，

　　for this is my father's chosen country， my origin．

　　Before， I had merely been anxious， bored； now，

　　I began to ask a thousand questions……

　　He was， of course， mistrustful， knowing I was bored，

　　knowing he had dragged me up here from Bakersfield

　　after five years

　　of almost managing to forget Bishop existed．

　　But he soon became loquacious， ordered a drink，

　　and settled down for

　　an afternoon of talk……

　　He liked Bishop： somehow， it was to his taste， this

　　hard－drinking， loud， visited－by－movie－stars town．

　　"Better to be a big fish in a little pond．"

　　And he was： when they came to shoot a film，

　　he entertained them； Miss A——， who wore

　　nothing at all under her mink coat； Mr． M——，

　　good horseman， good shot．

　　"But when your mother

　　let me down" （for alcoholism and

　　infidelity， she divorced him）

　　"and Los Angeles wouldn't give us water any more，

　　I had to leave．

　　We were the first people to grow potatoes in this valley．"

　　When he began to tell me

　　that he lost control of the business

　　because of the settlement he gave my mother，

　　because I had heard it

　　many times，

　　in revenge， I asked why people up here drank so much．

　　He hesitated． "Bored， I guess．

　　——Not much to do．"

　　And why had Nancy's husband left her?

　　In bitterness， all he said was：

　　"People up here drink too damn much．"

　　And that was how experience

　　had informed his life．

　　"So now I think I've learned all I want

　　after I have learned all this： this sure did teach me a lot of things

　　that I never knew before．

　　I am a little nervous yet．"

　　Yet， as my mother said，

　　returning， as always， to the past，

　　"I wouldn't change any of it．

　　It taught me so much． Gladys

　　is such an innocent creature： you look into her face

　　and somehow it's empty， all she worries about

　　are sales and the baby．

　　her husband's too good！"

　　It's quite pointless to call this rationalization：

　　my mother， for uncertain reasons， has had her

　　bout with insanity， but she's right：

　　the past in maiming us，

　　makes us，

　　fruition

　　is also

　　destruction：

　　I think of Proust， dying

　　in a cork－linked room， because he refuses to eat

　　because he thinks that he cannot write if he eats

　　because he wills to write， to finish his novel

　　——his novel which recaptures the past， and

　　with a kind of joy， because

　　in the debris

　　of the past， he has found the sources of the necessities

　　which have led him to this room， writing

　　——in this strange harmony， does he will

　　for it to have been different?

　　And I can't not think of the remorse of Oedipus，

　　who tries to escape， to expiate the past

　　by blinding himself， and

　　then， when he is dying， sees that he has become a Daimon

　　——does he， discovering， at last， this cruel

　　coherence created by

　　"the order of the universe"

　　——does he will

　　anything reversed?

　　I look at my father：

　　as he drinks his way into garrulous， shaky

　　defensiveness， the debris of the past

　　is just debris——； whatever I reason， it is a desolation

　　to watch……

　　must I watch?

　　He will not change； he does not want to change；

　　every defeated gesture implies

　　the past is useless， irretrievable……

　　——I want to change： I want to stop fear's subtle

　　guidance of my life——； but， how can I do that

　　if I am still

　　afraid of its source?

　　诗歌欣赏：Dora Diller

　　by Jack Prelutsky

　　"My stomach's full of butterflies！"

　　lamented Dora Diller．

　　Her mother sighed． "That's no surprise，

　　you ate a caterpillar！"

　　诗歌欣赏：Dream and Poem

　　All are common experiences，

　　All are ordinary images，

　　Once they happen to come into dreams，

　　What novelties they can make！

　　All are ordinary feelings，

　　All are common words，

　　Once a poet happens to catch them，

　　What magic poetry they can create！

　　One never knows how strong is the wine

　　Until drunk，

　　One never knows how deep is the feeling

　　Until loved，

　　You are not able to write my poems，

　　As I cannot dream your dreams．

　　梦与诗

　　都是平常经验，

　　都是平常影象，

　　偶然涌到梦中来，

　　变幻出多少新奇花样！

　　都是平常情感，

　　都是平常言语，

　　偶然碰着个诗人，

　　变幻出多少新奇诗句！

　　醉过才知酒浓，

　　爱过才知情重，

　　你不能做我的诗，

　　正如我不能做你的梦！

　　诗歌欣赏：Drinking With Someone In The

　　As the two of us drink

　　together， while mountain

　　flowers blossom beside， we

　　down one cup after the other

　　until I am drunk and sleepy

　　so that you better go！

　　Tomorrow if you feel like it

　　do come and bring your lute

　　along with you！

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