叶芝诗9首
Vacillation
I
Between extremities
Man runs his course；
A brand，or flaming breath，
Comes to destroy
All those antinomies
Of day and night；
The body calls it death，
The heart remorse.
But if these be right
What is joy？
II
A tree there is that from its topmost bough
Is half all glittering flame and half all green
Abounding foliage moistened with the dew；
And half is half and yet is all the scene；
And half and half consume what they renew，
And he that Attis’image hangs between
That staring fury and the blind lush leaf
May know not what he knows，but knows not grief.
III
Get all the gold and silver that you can，
Satisfy ambition，or animate
The trivial days and ram them with the sun，
And yet upon these maxims meditate：
All women dote upon an idle man
Although their children need a rich estate；
No man has ever lived that had enough
Of children’s gratitude or woman’s love.
No longer in Lethean foliage caught
Begin the preparation for your death
And from the fortieth winter by that thought
Test every work of intellect or faith，
And everything that your own hands have wrought，
And call those works extravagance of breath
That are not suited for such men as come
Proud，open-eyed and laughing to the tomb.
IV
My fiftieth year had come and gone，
I sat，a solitary man，
In a crowded London shop，
An open book and empty cup
On the marble table-top.
While on the shop and street I gazed
My body of a sudden blazed；
And twenty minutes more or less
It seemed，so great my happiness，
That I was blessèd and could bless.
V
Although the summer sunlight gild
Cloudy leafage of the sky，
Or wintry moonlight sink the field
In storm-scattered intricacy，
I cannot look thereon，
Responsibility so weighs me down.
Things said or done long years ago，
Or things I did not do or say
But thought that I might say or do，
Weigh me down，and not a day
But something is recalled，
My conscience or my vanity appalled.
VI
A rivery field spread out below，
An odour of the new-mown hay
In his nostrils，the great lord of Chou
Cried，casting off the mountain snow，
‘Let all things pass away.’
Wheels by milk-white asses drawn
Where Babylon or Nineveh
Rose；some conqueror drew rein
And cried to battle-weary men，
‘Let all things pass away.’
From man’s blood-sodden heart are sprung
Those branches of the night and day
Where the gaudy moon is hung.
What’s the meaning of all song？
‘Let all things pass away.’
VII
The Soul. Seek out reality，leave things that seem.
The Heart. What，be a singer born and lack a theme？
The Soul. Isaiah’s coal，what more can man desire？
The Heart. Struck dumb in the simplicity of fire！
The Soul. Look on that fire，salvation walks within.
The Heart. What theme had Homer but original sin？
VIII
Must we part，Von Hügel，though much alike，for we
Accept the miracles of the saints and honour sanctity？
The body of Saint Teresa lies undecayed in tomb，
Bathed in miraculous oil，sweet odours from it come，
Healing from its lettered slab. Those self-same hands perchance
Eternalised the body of a modern saint that once
Had scooped out Pharaoh’s mummy. I—though heart might find relief
Did I become a Christian man and choose for my belief
What seems most welcome in the tomb—play a predestined part.
Homer is my example and his unchristened heart.
The lion and the honeycomb，what has Scripture said？
So get you gone，Von Hügel，though with blessings on your head.
一棵树从树梢开始
便一半是赤焰，一半是绿妆，
葱郁的枝叶沾满了露珠；
两半泾渭分明而又是一道风光，
两半叠加复合又耗尽共生，
有人把阿提斯的形象
挂在了怒目与无知的茂叶之间，
他不知其所知，犹其而不知何为忧伤。
人们不是竭力获取财富
以满足雄心，就是想着
要激励平凡的日子能充满阳光，
但总会因轻率而铸错：
女人不考虑什么虎父生虎子，
总会选择一个蠢货，
男人的生活也很难兼顾到
既有美丽的爱情而又结出灿烂的硕果。
不要陷入忘川的树丛间，
要及早准备末日降临，
只要活到第四十个年头这不惑之年，
你就要考虑检验每一件心神
及双手创作的东西，
若谓这些劳动徒然浪费光阴，
那么这对那些昂首大笑
高傲挺入坟墓的人就不值一文。
我的第五十个年头天命之年
来了又走，在伦敦一家
拥挤的商店里，我独坐静窥，
石桌上一本打开的书
与一只空杯。
我凝视店内和店外的大街，
突感全身如火如荼；
大约二十分钟，
我感到极大的幸福，
我得福了，而且也能够祝福。
虽然夏日的阳光镀云彩金辉
若茂叶熠熠闪亮，
虽然冬季的月光陷大地斑驳
若风暴掠过的乱疮，
可我已无心去看，
责任沉重，压在我的心上。
多年前说过做过的事情，
多年前想说想做的
而到头来未说未做的事情，
都重重压在我的心上，
无日不想起某事，
使我的良心或虚荣心感到惊慌。
河流纵横的原野一望无际，
新割牧草散发的清馨
扑面而来，伟大的周公高声喝叱，
顿使山雪飞崩，
“让一切逝去。”
白毛驴拉车前行，
拉出巴比伦和尼尼微的兴盛，
征服者勒住缰绳
对疲惫的士兵高声喝叱，
“让一切逝去。”
昼夜之枝
从人一腔热血的心中长出，
挂着一轮明月。
千歌万曲有何意？
“让一切逝去。”
灵魂，寻找真实，遗弃表面；
心，生为歌手而没有自己的旋律，这会是什么？
灵魂，除接近以赛亚的燃煤，还期望什么？
心，在纯烈的火中瞠目结舌！
灵魂，凝视着烈火，等待着拯救。
心，除了原罪，荷马还唱出了什么？
再见吧，冯•许戈尔，尽管我们有共识，
都接受圣徒的奇迹，并尊敬圣洁；
圣女特丽莎在坟墓里的遗体不腐，
浸渍于神奇的油中，散发出馨香，
从刻字的棺板中得救。
或许曾经挖出法老木乃伊的那同一双手
也能使现代圣徒的遗体永恒不朽。
虽然我觉得可以得到解脱，
假如成为基督徒并选择天国最受欢迎的教义作为信则，
可我仍扮演着命中注定的角色。
荷马及其未受洗礼的心是我的楷模。
雄师和蜂巢，圣经上怎么说？
再见吧，冯•许戈尔，祝你一路快乐。
Leda and the Swan
A sudden blow：the great wings beating still
Above the staggering girl，her thighs caressed
By the dark webs，her nape caught in his bill，
He holds her helpless breast upon his breast.
How can those terrified vague fingers push
The feathered glory from her loosening thighs?
And how can body，laid in that white rush，
But feel the strange heart beating where it lies?
A shudder in the loins engenders there
The broken wall，the burning roof and tower
And Agamemnon dead. Being so caught up，
So mastered by the brute blood of the air，
Did she put on his knowledge with his power
Before the indifferent beak could let her drop?
身体躺在草地遭赤裸地强暴，
痛苦眩晕的心怎能不感到被激忿震骇？
腰股间的一阵的颤栗导致了
墙崩垣裂，楼宇庭堂灰飞烟灭，
及阿伽门农之死。如此被抓住，
如此被从天而降的野种擒获以厌其欲，
在冷酷的蹼爪扁喙放开她之前，
她是否已经从暴力中学到了暴力？
Among School Children
I
I walk through the long schoolroom questioning；
A kind old nun in a white hood replies；
The children learn to cipher and to sing，
To study reading-books and histories，
To cut and sew，be neat in everything
In the best modern way—the children’s eyes
In momentary wonder stare upon
A sixty-year-old smiling public man.
II
I dream of a Ledaean body，bent
Above a sinking fire. A tale that she
Told of a harsh reproof，or trivial event
That changed some childish day to tragedy—
Told，and it seemed that our two natures blent
Into a sphere from youthful sympathy，
Or else，to alter Plato’s parable，
Into the yolk and white of the one shell.
III
And thinking of that fit of grief or rage
I look upon one child or t’other there
And wonder if she stood so at that age—
For even daughters of the swan can share
Something of every paddler’s heritage—
And had that colour upon cheek or hair，
And thereupon my heart is driven wild:
She stands before me as a living child.
IV
Her present image floats into the mind—
Did Quattrocento finger fashion it
Hollow of cheek as though it drank the wind
And took a mess of shadows for its meat?
And I though never of Ledaean kind
Had pretty plumage once—enough of that，
Better to smile on all that smile，and show
There is a comfortable kind of old scarecrow.
V
What youthful mother，a shape upon her lap
Honey of generation had betrayed，
And that must sleep，shriek，struggle to escape
As recollection or the drug decide，
Would think her son，did she but see that shape
With sixty or more winters on its head，
A compensation for the pang of his birth，
Or the uncertainty of his setting forth?
VI
Plato thought nature but a spume that plays
Upon a ghostly paradigm of things；
Solider Aristotle played the taws
Upon the bottom of a king of kings；
World-famous golden-thighed Pythagoras
Fingered upon a fiddle-stick or strings
What a star sang and careless Muses heard:
Old clothes upon old sticks to scare a bird.
VII
Both nuns and mothers worship images，
But those the candles light are not as those
That animate a mother’s reveries，
But keep a marble or a bronze repose.
And yet they too break hearts—O Presences
That passion，piety or affection knows，
And that all heavenly glory symbolise—
O self-born mockers of man’s enterprise；
VIII
Labour is blossoming or dancing where
The body is not bruised to pleasure soul，
Nor beauty born out of its own despair，
Nor blear-eyed wisdom out of midnight oil.
O chestnut-tree，great-rooted blossomer，
Are you the leaf，the blossom or the bole?
O body swayed to music，O brightening glance，
How can we know the dancer from the dance?
我梦到一个丽达那样的身影
屈身俯就在奄奄欲熄的炉火边，
她讲起童年一次为件鸡毛蒜皮的事
受到严厉的责备，这造成她心灵悲剧的一天，
我听到后，我们两颗年轻的心
仿佛出于同情而融进了一个空间，
或者改一下柏拉图那个比喻，
像蛋壳里的蛋黄蛋白粘连成了一丸。
想起了那一阵的忧伤或愤怒，
我再仔细端详这里的每一个儿童，
猜想她当年是否也应有这样的神情——
虽然说天鹅的女儿不会忘丟
遗传来的那些翻飞浮水的天性——
也应有这样的颜色的头发和面容，
这么一想，我的心就狂蹦乱跳，
她活现在我的面前，变成了一个毛丫头。
我的脑海飘进了她现在的形象，
很像是文艺复兴时的造型，
已经瘦骨嶙峋，两颊深陷，
似乎整日啜饮风雾，吞咽形影。
我虽然与丽达不是一个品种，
没有长过美丽的羽毛——不必再嘲讽了，
逢人最好还是用微笑报微笑，
表示出老叟的日子过得很高兴。
年轻的母亲——膝上抱着孩子，
那就是“生殖之蜜”养育的生命，
根据记忆或是药物的决定，
他必须要睡觉、哭叫、挣扎着求生——
她会怎样看她的儿子，要是她看到儿子
已经走过了六十个春夏秋冬，
是否就认为他报答了生他的痛苦，
及对他前途未卜的忧心忡忡？
柏拉图认为自然不过是个泡沫，
在理念模子的框定里嬉闹；
亚理士多德更加地坚定严肃，
他竟然挥舞鞭子抽打皇帝的皮膏；
毕达哥拉斯闻名四海，长着金股骨，
他弹拉起琴来，琴声飘摇，
会使不在意的诗神听到是一颗星在歌唱：
搭在拐杖上的破披风只是吓唬小鸟。
修女和母亲，都崇拜形象，
可是烛光照亮的形象并不是激起
痴情的母亲所梦想的栩栩如生的形象，
而是让石像及铜像去沉默安息。
这多么叫人心碎——啊，大千世界的存在，
倾注了激情、虔诚、仁慈的爱意，
这是伟大、光荣、骄傲的象征——
竟成了自生的对人类事业的嘲讥！
劳作本身就是开花、舞蹈，
只要躯体不为取悦精神而自侮，
希望里就能放飞香艳秀逸，
夜阑人静的苦读就能炼出醍醐。
栗树愈是把根扎的深，就愈把花开的美，
你究竟是叶子，花朵，还是木株？
英姿伴乐曲摇曳，目光炯炯，
我们怎能将舞者从舞蹈中分出？
Spilt Milk
We that have done and thought，
That have thought and done，
Must ramble，and thin out
Like milk spilt on a stone.
Coole Park and Ballylee，
Under my window-ledge the waters race，
Otters below and moor-hens on the top，
Run for a mile undimmed in Heaven’s face
Then darkening through‘dark’Raftery’s‘cellar’drop，
Run underground，rise in a rocky place
In Coole demesne，and there to finish up
Spread to a lake and drop into a hole.
What’s water but the generated soul?
Upon the border of that lake’s a wood
Now all dry sticks under a wintry sun，
And in a copse of beeches there I stood，
For Nature’s pulled her tragic buskin on
And all the rant’s a mirror of my mood:
At sudden thunder of the mounting swan
I turned about and looked where branches break
The glittering reaches of the flooded lake.
Another emblem there! That stormy white
But seems a concentration of the sky；
And，like the soul，it sails into the sight
And in the morning’s gone，no man knows why；
And is so lovely that it sets to right
What knowledge or its lack had set awry，
So arrogantly pure，a child might think
It can be murdered with a spot of ink.
Sound of a stick upon the floor，a sound
From somebody that toils from chair to chair；
Beloved books that famous hands have bound，
Old marble heads，old pictures everywhere；
Great rooms where travelled men and children found
Content or joy；a last inheritor
Where none has reigned that lacked a name and fame
Or out of folly into folly came.
A spot whereon the founders lived and died
Seemed once more dear than life；ancestral trees，
Or gardens rich in memory glorified
Marriages，alliances and families，
And every bride’s ambition satisfied.
Where fashion or mere fantasy decrees
We shift about—all that great glory spent—
Like some poor Arab tribesman and his tent.
We were the last romantics—chose for theme
Traditional sanctity and loveliness；
Whatever’s written in what poets name
The book of the people；whatever most can bless
The mind of man or elevate a rhyme；
But all is changed，that high horse riderless，
Though mounted in that saddle Homer rode
Where the swan drifts upon a darkening flood.
岩石间涌出，漫入湖里，
最后又从一个洞穴流走。
这流水是否有灵，能繁衍生息？
在湖边上的那片树林，
早已被冬日的阳光剪得光秃，
我站在山毛榉树丛中间，
望着大自然在表演她的残酷，
山呼海啸的怒吼折射出我的心境：
天鹅振翅高飞，一声惊呼，
令我蓦然回首，只见树杈劈裂断击湖水，
溅起粼粼碧波，如泣如诉。
那又是一个象征！那风暴的白色
仿佛就是天空凝聚的一团，
像是灵魂，它驶入了视野，
清晨又消失了，没人能究其缘；
它是那样的美丽，它纠正了
知识或知识不足造成的偏见，
它是那样的纯洁高贵，会使儿童好奇，
觉得能用一滴墨水把它污染。
地板上有拐杖戳出的声音，
桌椅间有人辛勤工作的声音；
精湛手工装订的鸿篇巨著，
悠久的雕塑和绘画，这些随处可寻；
游人和儿童在高堂大殿里找到了满足和快乐；
新的继承人又继承了家业权柄，
他若不能继承勇敢和睿智，
那就会继承昏庸和愚蠢。
创业建基者生于斯死于斯，
视功勋比生命更高贵；世系传垂，
枝繁叶茂，追祖忆宗，
为盘根错节的门阀大族增添着光辉，
每个新娘都心满意足。
但是风尚及奇思异想要我们扫除陈物旧辈，
扫除所有昔日的伟大的荣耀，
就像扫除阿拉伯部落里的一个穷鬼。
我们是最后的浪漫主义者，
我们选择传统的神圣和美好来鸣奏；
只要我们歌唱，我们歌唱的
就是人民的心声；只要我们才高八斗，
我们就语不惊人死不冥；
但是风云突变，骏马没有了骑手，
虽然爬上了荷马的坐鞍，
却见那天鹅在暗潮上漂流。
Byzantium
The unpurged images of day recede；
The Emperor’s drunken soldiery are abed；
Night resonance recedes，night-walkers’song
After great cathedral gong；
A starlit or a moonlit dome disdains
All that man is，
All mere complexities，
The fury and the mire of human veins.
Before me floats an image，man or shade，
Shade more than man，more image than a shade；
For Hades’bobbin bound in mummy-cloth
May unwind the winding path；
A mouth that has no moisture and no breath
Breathless mouths may summon；
I hail the superhuman；
I call it death-in-life and life-in-death.
Miracle，bird or golden handiwork，
More miracle than bird or handiwork，
Planted on the star-lit golden bough，
Can like the cocks of Hades crow，
Or，by the moon embittered，scorn aloud
In glory of changeless metal
Common bird or petal
And all complexities of mire or blood.
At midnight on the Emperor’s pavement flit
Flames that no faggot feeds，nor steel has lit，
Nor storm disturbs，flames begotten of flame，
Where blood-begotten spirits come
And all complexities of fury leave，
Dying into a dance，
An agony of trance，
An agony of flame that cannot singe a sleeve.
Astraddle on the dolphin’s mire and blood，
Spirit after spirit! The smithies break the flood，
The golden smithies of the Emperor!
Marbles of the dancing floor
Break bitter furies of complexity，
Those images that yet
Fresh images beget，
That dolphin-torn，that gong-tormented sea.
我面前飘过一个幻影，人或幽灵，
比人更像是幽灵，比幽灵更像是幻影；
死神的线轴就是抽绕人生之旅
去织裹尸的衣绫；
一张嘴，失去水分，停止呼吸，
仍似能唤雨呼风；
我欢呼超人；
我称它为生中之死，死中之生。
多么别样，一只手工金制的鸟，
然而更加让人感到别样的，
是这只鸟栖息在星光下的金枝上，
能像死神的雄鸡啼唱，
或者，被月亮惹怒，
遂以永不磨灭的金辉，趾高气扬，
嘲笑寻常的花鸟
以及人冲动困惑的杂乱无章。
午夜，宫廷驰道上掠过焰火，
焰火不是用火镰点燃柴薪而燃焚，
焰火自生自燃，风暴扑不灭，
烧出血肉之躯的灵魂，
烧灭躁怒的杂乱无章，
将熄于舞的眩晕，
那是昏厥的挣扎，
那是焰火不能烧焦衣袖的迸喷。
骑着海豚冲动的困惑，
智慧接踵而至！金匠决开洪流激荡，
这些宫廷的金匠！
大理石铺就的舞场
打碎了狂暴躁怒的杂乱，
幻影依旧彷徨，
并生出新的幻影，
是被海豚撕扯、钟声搅动的海洋。
A Woman Young ang Old
I
Father and Child
She hears me strike the board and say
That she is under ban
Of all good men and women，
Being mentioned with a man
That has the worst of all bad names；
And thereupon replies
That his hair is beautiful，
Cold as the March wind his eyes.
II
Before the World was Made
If I make the lashes dark
And the eyes more bright
And the lips more scarlet，
Or ask if all be right
From mirror after mirror，
No vanity’s displayed:
I'm looking for the face I had
Before the world was made.
What if I look upon a man
As though on my beloved，
And my blood be cold the while
And my heart unmoved?
Why should he think me cruel
Or that he is betrayed?
I’d have him love the thing that was
Before the world was made.
于是随口应和，
他一头秀发，
眼波清冷像三月的风波。
创世之前
若我把睫毛画黑，
把眼睛弄得更亮，
把嘴唇涂得更红，
反复对着镜子梳妆，
看都是否妥帖，
那不是为了显摆漂亮，
其实我这是在寻找
创世之前的容样。
若我看上一个人
就像看我的情郎，
可我却非常冷淡，
毫不动心，这是何状？
他会谓我是无情，
狠心把他抛忘？
可我是在想让他爱那
创世之前的容样。
III
A First Confession
I admit the briar
Entangled in my hair
Did not injure me；
My blenching and trembling，
Nothing but dissembling，
Nothing but coquetry.
I long for truth，and yet
I cannot stay from that
My better self disowns，
For a man’s attention
Brings such satisfaction
To the craving in my bones.
Brightness that I pull back
From the Zodiac，
Why those questioning eyes
That are fixed upon me?
What can they do but shun me
If empty night replies?
我渴求真理，
但是对诱惑
又总是欲罢不能，
因一个男人的秋波
荡起了心底
那热望的欢乐。
这是我从天上
得到的光亮，
那些怀疑的眼睛
为何紧盯在我身上？
除了躲闪我而得
空夜作答又能怎样？
IV
Her Triumph
I did the dragon’s will until you came
Because I had fancied love a casual
Improvisation，or a settled game
That followed if I let the kerchief fall:
Those deeds were best that gave the minute wings
And heavenly music if they gave it wit；
And then you stood among the dragon-rings.
I mocked，being crazy，but you mastered it
And broke the chain and set my ankles free，
Saint George or else a pagan Perseus；
And now we stare astonished at the sea，
And a miraculous strange bird shrieks at us.
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