本帖最后由 雨荷风 于 2015-10-7 14:42 编辑
本·琼森诗选
吕志鲁译
本·琼森(1572~1637) 英国诗人
(一)
还要更体面
还要更体面,还要再装扮,
就像即将赴盛宴;
还要擦纷脂,还要撒香水,
女士,人们总会想当然:
尽管做作掩盖原因看不清,
并非都甜蜜,并非都稳健稳僵
让我看看你的脸,
露出你的真容颜,
长裙放纵飞,秀发任飘散,
妩媚疏忽更加惹人怜;
搔首弄姿有何用,
我的眼缭乱,我的心不乱。
Still to be Neat
Still to be neat, still to be drest,
As you were going to a feast;
Still to be powder'd, still perfum'd:
Lady, it is to be presum'd,
Though art's hid causes are not found,
All is not sweet, all is not sound.
Give me a look, give me a face,
That make simplicity a grace;
Robes loosely flowing, hair as free:
Such sweet neglect more taketh me
Than all th'adulteries of art.
They strike mine eyes, but not my heart.
(二)
赠西丽亚
用你的眼神作酒邀我干杯,
我定会用同样的酒请你作陪;
或许只须把你的唇印留在杯中,
即使无酒我也沉醉。
我的灵魂深处确实焦渴,
想把神圣的美酒品味;
可是与爱神的神酒相比,
你的酒无以替换,我更珍贵。
我刚刚送你一只花环,
那些花朵全是玫瑰;
是表示敬仰更是给你希望,
让它在你身边永不枯萎;
可是你仅仅只是嗅闻一下,
然后随手把它给我退回;
我断定就是你这起因,
它从此成活,永远散发香味。
Song To Celia
Drink to me only with thine eyes,
And I will pledge with mine;
Or leave a kiss but in the cup,
And I'll not look for wine.
The thirst that from the soul doth rise
Doth ask a drink divine,
But might I of Jove's nectar sup,
I would not change for thine.
I sent thee late a rosy wreath,
Not so much honoring thee
As giving it a hope that there
It could not withered be.
But thou theron didst only breathe,
And sent'st it back to me;
Since when, it grows, and smells, I swear,
Not of itself, but thee.
(三)
尽管我还太过年轻
尽管我还太过年轻,
爱与死的真谛无法辨认,
只听说两者都有利刃,
矛头所指就是人们的心。
据说它们都会带来伤害,
死亡用严寒,爱情用高温;
只怕看似两个极端,
结果却会造成相同的伤痕。
把它称做废墟中的余烬,
还是飘落地面的灰尘;
或者走向人生终点之路,
发出短暂电闪,涌动最后波纹;
如刀似箭的爱情之火,
如死亡冷酷的魔掌同样杀人;
只是爱情之火有一种威力,
能让坟墓中的冰霜远远逃遁。
Though I Am Young and Cannot Tell
Though I am young, and cannot tell
Either what Death or Love is well,
Yet I have heard they both bear darts,
And both do aim at humane hearts.
And then again, I have been told,
Love wounds with heat, as Death with cold;
So that I fear they do but bring
Extremes to touch, and mean one thing.
As in a ruin we it call
One thing to be blown up, or fall;
Or to our end, like way may have,
By a flash of lightning, or a wave;
So Love's inflamed shaft or brand,
May kill as soon as Death's cold hand;
Except Love's fires the virtue have
To fright the frost out of the grave.
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