level 5
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2008年09月21日 11点09分
level 5
level 0
level 5
U·L
楼主
The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock S’io credesse 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 etherised upon a table; Let us go, through certain half-deserted streets, The muttering retreats 5 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 … 10 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 window-panes, 15 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, 20 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; 25 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; 30 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 35 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— 40 [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 45 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, 50 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?
2008年09月22日 11点09分
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level 5
U·L
楼主
And I have known the eyes already, known them all— 55 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? 60 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!] It is perfume from a dress 65 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 70 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! 75 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? 80 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, 85 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, 90 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”— 95 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, 100 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: 105 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.” . . . . . 110 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, 115 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 … 120 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. 125 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 130 Till human voices wake us, and we drown.
2008年09月22日 11点09分
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level 5
U·L
楼主
汤永宽的译文： J.阿尔弗雷德•普罗弗洛克的情歌 如果我认为我是在回答 一个可能回到世间去的人的问题， 那么这火焰就将停止闪烁， 人说从未有谁能活着离开这里， 如果我听到的这话不假， 那我就不怕遗臭万年来回答你。 那么就让咱们去吧，我和你， 趁黄昏正铺展在天际 像一个上了麻醉的病人躺在手术台上； 让咱们去吧，穿过几条行人稀少的大街小巷， 到那临时过夜的廉价小客店 到满地是锯屑和牡蛎壳的饭店 那夜夜纷扰 人声嘈杂的去处： 街巷接着街巷像一场用心诡诈冗长乏味的辩论 要把你引向一个令人困惑的问题…… “那是什么？”哦，你别问， 让咱们去作一次访问。 房间里的女人们来往穿梭 谈论着米凯朗琪罗。 黄色的雾在窗玻璃上蹭着它的背， 黄色的烟在窗玻璃上擦着鼻子和嘴， 把舌头舔进黄昏的各个角落， 在阴沟里的水塘上面流连， 让烟囱里飘落的烟炱跌个仰面朝天， 悄悄溜过平台，猛地一跳， 眼见这是个温柔的十月之夜， 围着房子绕了一圈便沉入了睡乡。 准会有足够的时间 让黄色的烟雾溜过大街 在窗玻璃上蹭它的背脊； 准会有时间，准会有时间 准备好一副面孔去会见你要会见的那些面孔； 会有时间去干谋杀和创造， 也会有时间去让那些在你的盘子里 拿起或放上一个疑问的庄稼汉干活和过节； 有你的时间，也有我的时间， 还有让你犹豫不决一百次的时间， 一百次想入非非又作出修正的时间， 在你吃一片烤面包和喝茶之前。 房间里的女人们来往穿梭 谈论着米凯朗琪罗 准会有时间 让你怀疑，“我敢吗？”“我敢吗？” 会有时间掉转身子走下楼去， 带着我头发中央那块秃斑—— （他们准会说：“瞧他的头发变得多稀！”） 我的大礼服，我的硬领紧紧地顶着我的下巴， 我的领带又贵重又朴素，但只凭一根简朴的别针表明它的存在---- （他们准会说：“可是他的胳膊和大腿多细！”） 我敢惊扰 这个世界吗？ 一分钟里有足够的时间 作出一分钟就会变更的决定和修正。 因为我对它们这一切早已熟悉，熟悉它们这一切—— 熟悉这些黄昏，晨朝和午后， 我用咖啡勺把我的生命作了分配； 我知道从远远的那个房间传来的音乐下面 人语声随着那渐渐消沉的节奏正渐趋消寂。 所以我还该怎样猜测？ 我早已领教过那些眼睛，领教过所有那些眼睛—— 那些说一句客套话盯着你看的眼睛， 等我被客套制住了，在墙上挣扎扭动， 那我该怎样开始 把我的日子和习惯的残余一古脑儿吐个干净？ 我还该怎样猜测？ 我早已熟悉那些臂膀，熟悉它们一切—— 那戴着手镯的臂膀，赤裸而白皙 （可是在灯光下，长满了层浅棕色的软毛！） 是衣衫上飘来的芳香 弄得我这样离题万里？ 那些搁在桌边，或者裹着围巾的臂膀。 我还该怎样猜测？ 我又该怎样开始？ …… …… 要我说，在黄昏时分我已走遍了小街狭巷 也观看了那些穿着衬衫在窗口探出身子的孤独的男人 从他们的烟斗里冒出的烟？…… 我真该变成一副粗厉的爪子 急匆匆穿过静寂的海底。 …… …… 而且这午后，这黄昏，睡得多安静！ 让修长的手指抚慰着， 睡熟了……倦极了……或者是在装病， 张开身子躺在地板上，在这儿，在你和我身边。 喝过茶，吃过糕点和冰淇淋，难道我就会 有力气把这瞬间推向一个转折点 尽管我哭过了也斋戒过了，哭过了也祈祷过了， 尽管我已经看见我的头颅（稍微有点秃了）给放在盘子里端了进来， 我可不是先知——这一点在这儿无关紧要； 我已经看到我的伟大的时刻在忽隐忽现地闪烁， 我也看到了那永恒的男仆拿着我的上衣在暗暗窃笑， 总之一句话，我害怕。 那么到底值不值得， 喝过了酒，吃过了果酱和茶以后， 在杯盘之间，在人们对你和我的闲聊之间， 值不值得带着微笑 把这件事就此一口啃掉， 把这世界
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成一个球 然后把它滚向一个使人窘困的问题， 说：“我是拉撒路，从死去的人们那儿来， 我回来告诉你们一切，我要告诉你们一切。”—— 要是有个人，她一面把枕头往头边一塞， 却说：“那压根儿不是我的意思。 不是那个意思，压根儿不是。” 到底值不值得这样， 值不值得为此破费功夫， 经过多少次日落，多少个庭园和多少微雨迷蒙的大街小巷， 经过多少部小说，多少只茶杯和多少条裙裾曳过地板以后—— 还要来这一套，还有那么多吗？----- 要说出我真想说的意思根本不可能！ 可是仿佛有一盏幻灯把神经变成图案投射在屏幕上； 这值不值得破费功夫 如果有个人，放上一只枕头或者甩下一条头巾， 一面向窗子转过身去，却说； “那压根儿不是， 那压根儿不是我的意思。” …… …… 不！我不是哈姆雷特王子，也不想成为王子； 我是侍从大臣，一个适合给帝王公侯出游 炫耀威风的人，发一两次脾气， 向王子提点忠告；毫无疑问，是个随和的爪牙， 恭顺谦虚，以对别人有用而感到高兴， 精明，细心而又慎微谨小； 满脑子高超的判断，只是稍微有些迟钝； 有时，的确，近乎荒唐可笑—— 有时，差不多是个丑角。 我老啦……我老啦…… 我要穿裤腿卷上翻边的裤子。 要不要把我的头发在后脑分开？我敢吃下一只桃子吗？ 我要穿上白法兰绒的长裤，在海滨散步。 我听到美人鱼在歌唱，一个对着一个唱。 我可不想她们会对我歌唱。 我看见她们乘着波浪向大海驰去 一面梳理着风中向后纷披的波浪的白发 当大风乍起把海水吹成黑白相间的时候。 我们因海底的姑娘而逗留在大海的闺房 她们戴着红的和棕色的海草编成的花环 直到人类的声音把我们唤醒，我们便溺水而亡。
2008年09月22日 11点09分
8
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成一个球 然后把它滚向一个使人窘困的问题， 说：“我是拉撒路，从死去的人们那儿来， 我回来告诉你们一切，我要告诉你们一切。”—— 要是有个人，她一面把枕头往头边一塞， 却说：“那压根儿不是我的意思。 不是那个意思，压根儿不是。” 到底值不值得这样， 值不值得为此破费功夫， 经过多少次日落，多少个庭园和多少微雨迷蒙的大街小巷， 经过多少部小说，多少只茶杯和多少条裙裾曳过地板以后—— 还要来这一套，还有那么多吗？----- 要说出我真想说的意思根本不可能！ 可是仿佛有一盏幻灯把神经变成图案投射在屏幕上； 这值不值得破费功夫 如果有个人，放上一只枕头或者甩下一条头巾， 一面向窗子转过身去，却说； “那压根儿不是， 那压根儿不是我的意思。” …… …… 不！我不是哈姆雷特王子，也不想成为王子； 我是侍从大臣，一个适合给帝王公侯出游 炫耀威风的人，发一两次脾气， 向王子提点忠告；毫无疑问，是个随和的爪牙， 恭顺谦虚，以对别人有用而感到高兴， 精明，细心而又慎微谨小； 满脑子高超的判断，只是稍微有些迟钝； 有时，的确，近乎荒唐可笑—— 有时，差不多是个丑角。 我老啦……我老啦…… 我要穿裤腿卷上翻边的裤子。 要不要把我的头发在后脑分开？我敢吃下一只桃子吗？ 我要穿上白法兰绒的长裤，在海滨散步。 我听到美人鱼在歌唱，一个对着一个唱。 我可不想她们会对我歌唱。 我看见她们乘着波浪向大海驰去 一面梳理着风中向后纷披的波浪的白发 当大风乍起把海水吹成黑白相间的时候。 我们因海底的姑娘而逗留在大海的闺房 她们戴着红的和棕色的海草编成的花环 直到人类的声音把我们唤醒，我们便溺水而亡。
level 5
level 5
U·L
楼主
对了...这里有个观点,仅供借鉴...---------------------------------引用阮一峰的文章（http://www.ruanyifeng.com/blog/2006/01/j.html）表达部分观点——第5行到第7行是一句完整的句子，这里查译和汤译都把意思译错了。“retreats”是整句话的谓语动词，作者为了压韵，将其提前了。完整的句子应该是 The muttering of restless nights in one-night cheap hotels and sawdust restaurants with oyster-shells retreats 。
正确的
译法应该是：在下等旅馆与满地锯屑和牡蛎壳的饭店里传出的嘈杂夜声正在退却（在那些小餐馆里，地上洒锯末是为了吸收客人漏到地上的啤酒。整个这一句表明，随着夜色降临，外界纷纷扰扰的嘈杂开始消退了，普鲁弗洛克内心的声音慢慢发出来了。）
2008年09月22日 11点09分
10
正确的
译法应该是：在下等旅馆与满地锯屑和牡蛎壳的饭店里传出的嘈杂夜声正在退却（在那些小餐馆里，地上洒锯末是为了吸收客人漏到地上的啤酒。整个这一句表明，随着夜色降临，外界纷纷扰扰的嘈杂开始消退了，普鲁弗洛克内心的声音慢慢发出来了。）
level 5
U·L
楼主
引文的英译:If I thought that my reply would be to one who would ever return to the world, this fame would stay without further movement; but since none has ever returned alive from this depth,if what I hear is true, I answer you without fear of infamy.Dante, Inferno XXVII, Chapter 27, Line 61-66.
2008年09月22日 11点09分
11
level 1
这个你不觉得那故事已经够凄凉了吗？爱丽舍又何苦要再节选些悲凉的句子来烘托呢？节选些美好的句子来反衬一下，效果也不差。再说，不也让我们从悲凉的故事中看到了一丝温暖和希望吗？
2008年09月22日 20点09分
12
level 6
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level 1
level 14
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