惠特曼诗13首
By the city dead-house by the gate,
As idly sauntering wending my way from the clangor,
I curious pause, for lo, an outcast form, a poor dead prostitute brought,
Her corpse they deposit unclaim'd, it lies on the damp brick pavement,
The divine woman, her body, I see the body, I look on it alone,
That house once full of passion and beauty, all else I notice not,
Nor stillness so cold, nor running water from faucet, nor odors morbific impress me,
But the house alone—that wondrous house—that delicate fair house—that ruin!
That immortal house more than all the rows of dwellings ever built!
Or white-domed capitol with majestic figure surmounted, or all the old high-spired cathedrals,
That little house alone more than them all—poor, desperate house!
Fair, fearful wreck—tenement of a soul—itself a soul,
Unclaim'd, avoided house—take one breath from my tremulous lips,
Take one tear dropt aside as I go for thought of you,
Dead house of love—house of madness and sin, crumbled, crush'd,
House of life, erewhile talking and laughing—but ah, poor house, dead even then,
Months, years, an echoing, garnish'd house—but dead, dead, dead.
我好奇地站住了,因为看哪,一个被抛弃的人,一个可怜的死去了的妓女被带进来了,
但只有那所房子——那所奇妙的房子——那所精致美好的房子——那倒塌的房子!
或那座白色圆顶的国会大厦,装修着高大的人像,或所有那些古老的尖顶高耸的大教堂,
美好的、可怕的破屋——一个灵魂的住所——它本身就是一个灵魂,
生命的房子,不久前还在说笑着——但是,啊,可怜的房子,即使在那时也已经死去,
成年累月,一座响着回声、装饰得很美的房子——但是死了,死了,死了。
Where the city's ceaseless crowd moves on the livelong day,
Withdrawn I join a group of children watching, I pause aside with them.
By the curb toward the edge of the flagging,
A knife-grinder works at his wheel sharpening a great knife,
Bending over he carefully holds it to the stone, by foot and knee,
With measur'd tread he turns rapidly, as he presses with light but firm hand,
Forth issue then in copious golden jets,
The scene and all its belongings, how they seize and affect me,
The sad sharp-chinn'd old man with worn clothes and broad shoulder-band of leather,
Myself effusing and fluid, a phantom curiously floating, now here absorb'd and arrested,
The group, (an unminded point set in a vast surrounding,)
The attentive, quiet children, the loud, proud, restive base of the streets,
The low hoarse purr of the whirling stone, the light-press'd blade,
Diffusing, dropping, sideways-darting, in tiny showers of gold,
用有节奏的踩踏,他飞快地旋转着轮子,手的压力是那样轻灵又坚定,
我自己是在缓缓流动,像液体,像一个离奇的漂游着的幽灵,在这里被吸引住,停住了脚步,
这些全神贯注、不出一声的孩子,那边吵闹、骄傲、骚动着的街道,
My Picture-Gallery
In a little house keep I pictures suspended, it is not a fix'd house,
It is round, it is only a few inches from one side to the other;
Yet behold, it has room for all the shows of the world, all memories!
Here the tableaus of life, and here the groupings of death;
Here, do you know this? this is cicerone himself,
With finger rais'd he points to the prodigal pictures.
我的画廊
在一所小小房子里我悬挂着画,它不是一所固定的房子, ①
它是圆形的,一边到另一边只有几英寸;
然而看哪,它能够容纳世界上的一切表演,一切回忆!
这里是生活的画面,这里是死亡的各种组合;
这里,你知道这个吗?这里是那导游者本人,
他举着手指在指点那些丰富多彩的图画。
Whispers of Heavenly Death
Whispers of heavenly death murmur'd I hear,
Labial gossip of night, sibilant chorals,
Footsteps gently ascending, mystical breezes wafted soft and low,
Ripples of unseen rivers, tides of a current flowing, forever flowing,
(Or is it the plashing of tears? the measureless waters of human tears?)
I see, just see skyward, great cloud-masses,
Mournfully slowly they roll, silently swelling and mixing,
With at times a half-dimm'd sadden'd far-off star,
Appearing and disappearing.
(Some parturition rather, some solemn immortal birth;
On the frontiers to eyes impenetrable,
Some soul is passing over.)
神圣的死亡的低语
我听见神圣的死亡的喃喃低语,
黑夜里唇音的连篇闲话,齿音的合唱歌曲,
脚步轻轻地攀登,神秘的微风轻柔而低声地吹动,
看不见的河水的细浪,一股潮水在流,永远在流,
(还是泼溅的泪花?人类眼泪弹不完的水花?)
我看见,就在天边,巨大的云块,
它们忧伤地缓缓在翻滚,默默在增大,又融合在一起,
有时有一颗半明半灭的悲愁的远星,
出现了,又不见了。
(也许是某种新生,某种庄严而不朽的诞生,
在边远地带,为目力所不及,
某个灵魂正在路过。)
Of Him I Love Day and Night
Of him I love day and night I dream'd I heard he was dead,
And I dream'd I went where they had buried him I love, but he was not in that place,
And I dream'd I wander'd searching among burial-places to find him,
And I found that every place was a burial-place;
The houses full of life were equally full of death, (this house is now,)
The streets, the shipping, the places of amusement, the Chicago, Boston, Philadelphia, the Mannahatta, were as full of the dead as of the living,
And fuller, O vastly fuller of the dead than of the living;
And what I dream'd I will henceforth tell to every person and age,
And I stand henceforth bound to what I dream'd,
And now I am willing to disregard burial-places and dispense with them,
And if the memorials of the dead were put up indifferently every-where, even in the room where I eat or sleep, I should be satisfied,
And if the corpse of any one I love, or if my own corpse, be duly render'd to powder and pour'd in the sea, I shall be satisfied,
Or if it be distributed to the winds I shall be satisfied.
我日夜爱着的他
我在梦中听说我日夜爱着的他死了,
我梦见我走向我爱的他下葬的地方,但是他不在那里,
我在梦中为找他,去到墓葬的地方到处搜索,
我发现处处都是墓地;
那些充满生命的房屋也同样充满死亡,(这所房子现在就是,)
街道,船舶,游乐场所,芝加哥,波士顿,费拉德尔菲亚,曼纳哈塔,都充满了死人,像充满活人一样,
而且更多,啊,死人比活人多得多;
我今后将把梦中所见告诉每个人,每个时代,
我今后会受到梦中所见的约束,
现在我很愿意不去注意墓地,把它们置于脑后,
如果死者的纪念物随处可见,甚至也出现在我吃或睡的屋子里,我会感到满意,
如果我爱的任何人的尸体,或者如果我自己的尸体被及时磨成细粉倾倒在大海里,我会感到满意,
如果被抛撒在风里,我会感到满意。
A Noiseless Patient Spider
A noiseless patient spider,
I mark'd where on a little promontory it stood isolated,
Mark'd how to explore the vacant vast surrounding,
It launch'd forth filament, filament, filament, out of itself,
Ever unreeling them, ever tirelessly speeding them.
And you O my soul where you stand,
Surrounded, detached, in measureless oceans of space,
Ceaselessly musing, venturing, throwing, seeking the spheres to connect them,
Till the bridge you will need be form'd, till the ductile anchor hold,
Till the gossamer thread you fling catch somewhere, O my soul.
一只沉默而坚韧的蜘蛛
一只沉默而坚韧的蜘蛛,
我注意到它孤立地停落在一个小小的海岬上,
我注意到它怎样在空阔的四周探索,
从自己体内吐出一缕一缕又一缕的细丝,
不断地抽出丝来,不知疲倦地加快抽吐。
而你呢,啊,我的灵魂,你落脚的地方,
被空间的无边海洋包围着,隔离着,
你不断地沉思着,试探着,投送着,在各个范畴里搜索着以便把它们连接起来,
直到你需要的桥梁形成,直到那顺手的铁锚固定住,
直到你抛出的游丝搭住了某个去处,啊,我的灵魂!
To a Locomotive in Winter
Thee for my recitative,
Thee in the driving storm even as now, the snow, the winter-day declining,
Thee in thy panoply, thy measur'd dual throbbing and thy beat convulsive,
Thy black cylindric body, golden brass and silvery steel,
Thy ponderous side-bars, parallel and connecting rods, gyrating, shuttling at thy sides,
Thy metrical, now swelling pant and roar, now tapering in the distance,
Thy great protruding head-light fix'd in front,
Thy long, pale, floating vapor-pennants, tinged with delicate purple,
The dense and murky clouds out-belching from thy smoke-stack,
Thy knitted frame, thy springs and valves, the tremulous twinkle of thy wheels,
Thy train of cars behind, obedient, merrily following,
Through gale or calm, now swift, now slack, yet steadily careering;
Type of the modern—emblem of motion and power—pulse of the continent,
For once come serve the Muse and merge in verse, even as here I see thee,
With storm and buffeting gusts of wind and falling snow,
By day thy warning ringing bell to sound its notes,
By night thy silent signal lamps to swing.
Fierce-throated beauty!
Roll through my chant with all thy lawless music, thy swinging lamps at night,
Thy madly-whistled laughter, echoing, rumbling like an earthquake, rousing all,
Law of thyself complete, thine own track firmly holding,
(No sweetness debonair of tearful harp or glib piano thine,)
Thy trills of shrieks by rocks and hills return'd,
Launch'd o'er the prairies wide, across the lakes,
To the free skies unpent and glad and strong.
致冬天的一个火车头
你给我提供了一首朗诵诗,
你,就像现在这样,在急骤的风暴中,下着雪,冬日的黄昏时分,
你穿着铁甲,你那规则的双声在跳动着,还有你那痉挛性的节拍,
你那黑色圆柱形的身体,黄金般的铜和白银般的钢,
你那笨重的旁杆,平行而起连接作用的摇杆,在你身边旋转着,穿梭似地向前推进着,
你的韵律,时而增强了,便喘着气吼叫,时而又消失在远方,
你那巨大隆起的照明灯牢牢在前面固定着,
你那长而灰色的漂浮着的汽体构成的三角旗,微带浅紫色,
浓黑的云雾从你那烟囱里一阵阵冒出,
你那结实的体格,你的弹簧和阀门,你那些轮盘发出的微微颤抖的闪光,
你后面拖着的列车,顺从又欢乐地跟随着,
不管是大风还是无风,时而快速,时而缓慢,总是不停地奔驰着,
现代式的典型——运动与力量的象征——大陆的脉搏,
至少为诗人的灵感服务了一次,并融化在诗句中,就像我在这里看到你时那样,
伴随着风暴和阵阵狂风和飘落着的雪,
白天里你敲响了震耳的警钟,
黑夜里你摇晃着沉默的信号灯。
喉音尖亮的美人!
让你那无法无天的全部音乐在我的颂歌里滚动,晚上是你那些晃动着的灯盏,
你那放肆地呼啸着的笑声像地震那样发出隆隆回响,惊醒着众人,
你自己就是全部律法,坚定地掌握着你自己的轨道,
(你没有那带着哭腔的竖琴式的轻松与甜美,或流畅的钢琴声的轻灵,)
岩石和丘陵送回了你尖叫声的颤音,
径奔广袤的草原,跨越湖泊,
直上毫无拘束的自由天空,欢快而健壮。
Mannahatta
I was asking for something specific and perfect for my city,
Whereupon lo! upsprang the aboriginal name.
Now I see what there is in a name, a word, liquid, sane, unruly, musical, self-sufficient,
I see that the word of my city is that word from of old,
Because I see that word nested in nests of water-bays, superb,
Rich, hemm'd thick all around with sailships and steamships, an island sixteen miles long, solid-founded,
Numberless crowded streets, high growths of iron, slender, strong, light, splendidly uprising toward clear skies,
Tides swift and ample, well-loved by me, toward sundown,
The flowing sea-currents, the little islands, larger adjoining islands, the heights, the villas,
The countless masts, the white shore-steamers, the lighters, the ferry-boats, the black sea-steamers well-model'd,
The down-town streets, the jobbers' houses of business, the houses of business of the ship-merchants and money-brokers, the river-streets,
Immigrants arriving, fifteen or twenty thousand in a week,
The carts hauling goods, the manly race of drivers of horses, the brown-faced sailors,
The summer air, the bright sun shining, and the sailing clouds aloft,
The winter snows, the sleigh-bells, the broken ice in the river, passing along up or down with the flood-tide or ebb-tide,
The mechanics of the city, the masters, well-form'd, beautiful-faced, looking you straight in the eyes,
Trottoirs throng'd, vehicles, Broadway, the women, the shops and shows,
A million people—manners free and superb—open voices—hospitality—the most courageous and friendly young men,
City of hurried and sparkling waters! city of spires and masts!
City nested in bays! my city!
曼纳哈塔
我在为我那城市追求某种特殊而恰到好处的东西,
于是看哪!跳出了那个土著的名字。
现在我明白一个名字可能意味着什么,一个词是液体似的,理智的,控制不住的,有音乐性的,自己本身已足够的,
我意识到我城市的那个词是一个早就存在的词,
因为我意识到那个词隐藏在许多水湾的怀抱里,非常优美,
丰富,到处围满了帆船和轮船,一个十六英里长的岛屿,根基稳固,
数不清的拥挤的街道,铁制的,苗条的,强有力的,轻重量的高建筑物,辉煌地直升到那晴朗的天空,
潮水飞速而宽广,是我十分喜爱的,在快要日落的时候,
那些流动着的海的水流,那些小小的岛屿,稍大些的附近岛屿、山峦、别墅,
那些数不清的桅杆,那些白色的岸边汽船、驳船、渡船、造型美观的黑色海轮,
商业区的街道、批发商的店铺、船舶业和代办短期借款的商号、傍河的街道,
正在到来的移民,每周一万五千到两万,
正在拖拉货物的二轮马车,矫健的赶马的马夫,晒黑了脸的水手,
夏天的空气,明亮的太阳在照耀着,正在高空浮游的云彩,
冬天的雪、雪车上的铃铛、河里的碎冰块随着潮水的涨落而起伏着漂过,
城里的机械工、那些老板,他们体格健美,英俊的脸对你坦率地望着,
拥挤的人行道、车辆、百老汇、妇女们、店铺和各种展览品,
一百万人——仪态潇洒而优美——响亮的人声——好客——最为勇敢而友好的青年人,
忙忙碌碌而波光粼粼的滨水的城市!尖顶和桅杆的城市!
偎依在水湾的怀里的城市!我的城市!
A Clear Midnight
This is thy hour O Soul, thy free flight into the wordless,
Away from books, away from art, the day erased, the lesson done,
Thee fully forth emerging, silent, gazing, pondering the themes thou lovest best,
Night, sleep, death and the stars.
The First Dandelion
Simple and fresh and fair from winter's close emerging,
As if no artifice of fashion, business, politics, had ever been,
Forth from its sunny nook of shelter'd grass—innocent, golden, calm as the dawn,
The spring's first dandelion shows its trustful face.
从它那受遮蔽的草丛中那向阳的一角那里——天真,金黄色,像黎明一样宁静,
春天的第一朵蒲公英露出了它那对谁都相信的面庞。
The Voice of the Rain
And who art thou? said I to the soft-falling shower,
Which, strange to tell, gave me an answer, as here translated:
I am the Poem of Earth, said the voice of the rain,
Eternal I rise impalpable out of the land and the bottomless sea,
Upward to heaven, whence, vaguely form'd, altogether changed, and yet the same,
I descend to lave the drouths, atomies, dust-layers of the globe,
And all that in them without me were seeds only, latent, unborn;
And forever, by day and night, I give back life to my own origin, and make pure and beautify it;
(For song, issuing from its birth-place, after fulfilment, wandering,
Reck'd or unreck'd, duly with love returns.)
上至天堂,在那里模糊地成形,完全变了样,然而还是同一样东西,
我降下来冲洗旱象、尘埃、地球的层层泥沙,
它们没有了我就只能是种子,潜伏着,长不出来;
我不分昼夜永远把生命还给我自己的诞生地,并使它净化、美化:
(作为诗歌,来自它的出生地,完成任务后又开始漫游,
有心还是无心,迟早总会带着爱的感情回来。)
To the Sun-Set Breeze
Ah, whispering, something again, unseen,
Where late this heated day thou enterest at my window, door,
Thou, laving, tempering all, cool-freshing, gently vitalizing
Me, old, alone, sick, weak-down, melted-worn with sweat;
Thou, nestling, folding close and firm yet soft, companion better than talk, book, art,
(Thou hast, O Nature! elements! utterance to my heart beyond the rest—and this is of them,)
So sweet thy primitive taste to breathe within—thy soothing fingers on my face and hands,
Thou, messenger-magical strange bringer to body and spirit of me,
(Distances balk'd—occult medicines penetrating me from head to foot,)
I feel the sky, the prairies vast—I feel the mighty northern lakes,
I feel the ocean and the forest—somehow I feel the globe itself swift-swimming in space;
Thou blown from lips so loved, now gone—haply from endless store, God-sent,
(For thou art spiritual, Godly, most of all known to my sense,)
Minister to speak to me, here and now, what word has never told, and cannot tell,
Art thou not universal concrete's distillation? Law's, all Astronomy's last refinement?
Hast thou no soul? Can I not know, identify thee?
你,沐浴着、缓和着一切,凉爽、温柔地重新把活力给了我,老迈、孤独、患着病,给汗水弄得疲软无力;
你,偎依着我,贴近而坚定地包围着我,然而又柔和,是一个比谈话、书本、艺术更好的同伴,
(大自然啊!你有各种要素!你对我内心说的话超过一切——而这是其中的一句,)
在吸进时你那纯朴的滋味是多么甜蜜——你那些带来安宁的手指就在我脸上和手上,
你,奇异地给我的肉体和灵魂带来了魔术般的信息,
(距离无效了——神秘的药物从头到脚渗透了我,)
我感到了天空、广袤的草原——我感到了威力无穷的北国大湖,
我感到了海洋和森林——不知怎么我感到了地球本身迅速地在空间运行;
你从亲密的嘴唇那里吹来,现在离开了——也许是从无穷的库藏中上帝派来的,
(因为你是属于精神的,具有神性,主要是我的意识对你很熟悉,)
此时此地像是神遣地和我说话,是辞句未说过又不能说的含义,
你不是那普遍的实体所提炼的精华吗?你不是规律的、一切天文学的最后净化吗?
你没有灵魂吗?我不能认识、说出你的特点吗?
Good-Bye My Fancy!
Good-bye my Fancy!
Farewell dear mate, dear love!
I'm going away, I know not where,
Or to what fortune, or whether I may ever see you again,
So Good-bye my Fancy.
Now for my last—let me look back a moment;
The slower fainter ticking of the clock is in me,
Exit, nightfall, and soon the heart-thud stopping.
Long have we lived, joy'd, caress'd together;
Delightful! —now separation—Good-bye my Fancy.
Yet let me not be too hasty,
Long indeed have we lived, slept, filter'd, become really blended into one;
Then if we die we die together, (yes, we'll remain one,)
If we go anywhere we'll go together to meet what happens,
May-be we'll be better off and blither, and learn something,
May-be it is yourself now really ushering me to the true songs, (who knows?)
May-be it is you the mortal knob really undoing, turning—so now finally,
因此再见吧,我的想象力。
现在作为最后一举——让我回顾片时,
我怀里那钟摆在愈来愈慢愈轻地滴答着,
离开舞台,黑夜到来,不久心跳就停止了。
我们同住,同欢乐,互相抚爱已经很久了,
多么愉快!——现在是分离——再见吧,我的想象力。
也许是你自己在真正拧开那人世的门钮,在转动着它——因此现在是最后了,
尼·斯·古 米 廖 夫
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