本帖最后由 戴盛莲 于 2015-11-29 16:07 编辑
临风译诗
《一》
谁曾见过风
克里斯蒂娜·乔治娜·罗赛蒂(Christina Gabriel Rossetti 1830—1894)英国女诗人
点评
无形依托有形，显示“虚无”的存在。对原作“谁曾见过风？”这个问句的回答，依照原作，可以直译为“你不曾我不曾”和“我不曾你不曾”。这个版本意译为“无影又无形”和“无形又无影”。这种意译表面看似与原作大相径庭，但原作是主观直述，而译作为客体白描，两者实则有异曲同工之妙。
谁曾见过风？
无影又无形，
草叶频点头，
风过留行踪。
谁曾见过风？
无形又无影，
树枝忙弯腰，
风去急匆匆。
Who Has Seen the Wind?
Who has seen the wind?
Neither I nor you.
But when the leaves hang trembling,
The wind is passing through.
Who has seen the wind?
Neither you nor I.
But when the trees bow down their heads,
The wind is passing by.
《二》
西风颂
珀西•比希•雪莱Percy Bysshe Shelley
点评
雪莱是浪漫的诗人、亢奋的革命者和乐观的预言家，高唱西风对残年摧枯拉朽，为新春播撒生命。原作采取连环韵式歌颂西风，恰似狂潮阵阵高涨；译作则选用一韵到底的诗风对译，有如巨浪层层推进。
一
啊，狂野的西风，把大地席卷，
你是秋神的气息，无形之中令草木枯干，
让它们如着魔的鬼魂四处逃串；
枯黄、猩红、苍白、暗淡，
满目无数染上瘟疫的叶片！
啊，你在冬日之床把插翅的种子撒满；
让它们躺在地下，冰凉、黑暗，
如同坟墓中的尸体一般，
等待你的妹妹那湛蓝的春天；
等待春的号角把梦中的世界呼唤，
催动芬芳的花朵争奇斗妍，
让生命的色彩、气息洋溢山岗、平原：
狂野的精灵，你八方吹遍，
听啊，听啊，你维护，你催残！
二
你穿过纷乱的空际，驾御气旋，
有如大地上枯萎的落叶，碎云飘散，
有如海天之间大树的枝条，云层震颤；
你是信使，预告风暴与雷鸣电闪！
散落在波涛汹涌的蓝色海面，
恰似暴躁的酒神祭司盛怒的容颜；
从地平线朦胧的边缘，
一直延伸到天穹的顶端，
她为风暴的来临把头发披散。
西风唱起挽歌送走残年，
你聚集神力把乱云驱赶，
摆出圆顶坟墓巨大的造型，就在岁末的夜晚。
听啊，从那郁积、浓重的云团，
即将爆发暗黑的雨柱、冰雹、火焰！
三
安躺的地中海一片碧蓝，
水晶般的浪花摧送入眠，
是你，猛然惊醒它夏日的梦幻。
浮石岛旁，巴亚海湾，
它梦见古老的塔楼、宫殿，
在天光明亮的波浪中摇撼。
青苔、花朵四处铺满，
如痴如醉，谁能描绘那芬芳灿烂！
为你开路，大西洋波浪滔天；
大海裂开，如深渊巨潭，
海底花草翻滚，泥中树丛纷乱，
枝叶如霜打雷劈，肃杀凄惨，
你的呼啸让他们脸色突变，
听啊，他们瑟瑟发抖，魂飞魄散！
四
如果我是枯叶，我要陪你飞旋，
如果我是行云，我会随你飘散，
如果我是浪花，我将在你神威下气吁喘喘；
我愿把你强大的脉搏分担，
只是难比你的自由、毫无羁绊，
我也不再是青春少年；
否则我会遨游太空，与你相伴，
即使超出你的疾驰也不希罕，
我也不至于如此情急心烦。
祈求你满足我想要腾飞的心愿，
请你把我托起，如浪花、云朵、叶片！
让我跌落生活的荆棘，血迹斑斑！
戴上岁月沉重的铁链，
与你如此相似，桀骜不驯、机敏、傲慢。
五
让我做你的竖琴，如树林等你奏弹：
哪怕只剩下无叶的枝干，
你定能奏响激昂的和弦！
凭借秋天深沉的意蕴，甜蜜、伤感；
愿你化作我的灵魂，威猛、强悍，
你我合而为一，气吞河山！
把僵化的思潮扫出人间，
如落叶催促生命重新回还！
也让我这诗句如符咒叨念；
如不灭的炉火金光飞溅，
我的词语是余烬和火花在世上流传，
经由我的双唇把大地呼唤；
啊，西风，这嘹亮的号角发出预言！
如果冬天来了，难道春天还会遥远？
Ode to the West Wind
I
O WILD West Wind, thou breath of Autumn's being
Thou from whose unseen presence the leaves dead
Are driven like ghosts from an enchanter fleeing,
Yellow, and black, and pale, and hectic red,
Pestilence-stricken multitudes! O thou
Who chariotest to their dark wintry bed
The wingèd seeds, where they lie cold and low,
Each like a corpse within its grave, until
Thine azure sister of the Spring shall blow
Her clarion o'er the dreaming earth, and fill
(Driving sweet buds like flocks to feed in air)
With living hues and odours plain and hill;
Wild Spirit, which art moving everywhere;
Destroyer and preserver; hear, O hear!
II
Thou on whose stream, 'mid the steep sky's commotion,
Loose clouds like earth's decaying leaves are shed,
Shook from the tangled boughs of heaven and ocean,
Angels of rain and lightning! there are spread
On the blue surface of thine airy surge,
Like the bright hair uplifted from the head
Of some fierce M?nad, even from the dim verge
Of the horizon to the zenith's height,
The locks of the approaching storm. Thou dirge
Of the dying year, to which this closing night
Will be the dome of a vast sepulchre,
Vaulted with all thy congregated might
Of vapours, from whose solid atmosphere
Black rain, and fire, and hail, will burst: O hear!
III
Thou who didst waken from his summer dreams
The blue Mediterranean, where he lay,
Lull'd by the coil of his crystàlline streams,
Beside a pumice isle in Bai?'s bay,
And saw in sleep old palaces and towers
Quivering within the wave's intenser day,
All overgrown with azure moss, and flowers
So sweet, the sense faints picturing them! Thou
For whose path the Atlantic's level powers
Cleave themselves into chasms, while far below
The sea-blooms and the oozy woods which wear
The sapless foliage of the ocean, know
Thy voice, and suddenly grow gray with fear,
And tremble and despoil themselves: O hear!
IV
If I were a dead leaf thou mightest bear;
If I were a swift cloud to fly with thee;
A wave to pant beneath thy power, and share
The impulse of thy strength, only less free
Than thou, O uncontrollable! if even
I were as in my boyhood, and could be
The comrade of thy wanderings over heaven,
As then, when to outstrip thy skiey speed
Scarce seem'd a vision—I would ne'er have striven
As thus with thee in prayer in my sore need.
O! lift me as a wave, a leaf, a cloud!
I fall upon the thorns of life! I bleed!
A heavy weight of hours has chain'd and bow'd
One too like thee—tameless, and swift, and proud.
V
Make me thy lyre, even as the forest is:
What if my leaves are falling like its own?
The tumult of thy mighty harmonies
Will take from both a deep autumnal tone,
Sweet though in sadness. Be thou, Spirit fierce,
My spirit! Be thou me, impetuous one!
Drive my dead thoughts over the universe,
Like wither'd leaves, to quicken a new birth;
And, by the incantation of this verse,
Scatter, as from an unextinguish'd hearth
Ashes and sparks, my words among mankind!
Be through my lips to unawaken'd earth
The trumpet of a prophecy! O Wind,
If Winter comes, can Spring be far behind?
来自圈子: 新诗潮 |
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发表于 2015-11-6 13:47:08