本帖最后由 雨荷风 于 2015-10-7 14:47 编辑
阿尔杰农·查尔斯·斯温伯恩诗选
吕志鲁译
阿尔杰农·查尔斯·斯温伯恩(Algernon Charles Swinburne 1837–1909) 英国诗人
(一)
舞台之爱
帷幕拉开,他们登台演戏两人联袂,
男演国王女演王后最为般配;
泪水化作笑声,笑声却柔如泪水,
这本是她多年的梦想,不料会充满伤悲。
欢乐中唇焦舌燥,痛苦里夜不能寐,
长久的欢乐有刺痛伴随;
当她与半真的情人表演半假的爱情,
她对此一无所知毫无体会。
尽管脚本最后要他们又哭又笑,
让他今天织网明天又去扯碎,
伤害他,作弄他,叫他去死,
他在剧中真的死去,落幕后他满脸热泪。
时光易逝时光无限谁能品出真味?
爱情怎样滋长、欢笑、痛哭又消退?
这一切她开始懂得,开始用心思量,
当取悦一位男士的演出到此收尾。
Stage Love
When the game began between them for a jest,
He played king and she played queen to match the best;
Laughter soft as tears, and tears that turned to laughter,
These were things she sought for years and sorrowed after.
Pleasure with dry lips, and pain that walks by night;
All the sting and all the stain of long delight;
These were things she knew not of, that knew not of her,
When she played at half a love with half a lover.
Time was chorus, gave them cues to laugh or cry;
They would kill, befool, amuse him, let him die;
Set him webs to weave to-day and break to-morrow,
Till he died for good in play, and rose in sorrow.
What the years mean; how time dies and is not slain;
How love grows and laughs and cries and wanes again;
These were things she came to know, and take their measure,
When the play was played out so for one man’s pleasure.
(二)
爱在海上
登上爱的航船,
我们要去何方?
爱人啊,去还是留,
扬帆还是划桨?
风来八面,前路茫茫,
只有五月才是大好时光;
今天,落入爱的手掌,
我们要去何方?
岸边的风是临死的呼吸,
带着亲吻的悲伤,
欢乐成为以往;
且用玫瑰比喻船舱;
天晓得前路何在,
一心随爱飘荡。
今天,我们落入爱的手掌--
水手是爱神插上翅膀,
桅杆是鸽子的尖嘴刺向天堂,
甲板由纯金打造,
缆绳如逝去的少女发辫长长,
储备是爱情之箭,
各式各样,无比精良。
今天,我们落入爱的手掌--
爱人,我在何处送你登岸?
是在异国他乡,
还是在故园近旁?
是迎着礼花绽放,
还是朝着雪花飘扬?
或者面对浪花激荡?
今天,我们落入爱的手掌--
爱人说,让我登岸,在那有爱的地方,
只要箭与鸽子,
手与心脏,
亲爱的,这样的海岸,
没有青年驾船出港,
也没有登岸的姑娘。
Love at Sea
Imitated from Théophile Gautier
WE are in love’s land to-day;
Where shall we go?
Love, shall we start or stay,
Or sail or row?
There ’s many a wind and way,
And never a May but May;
We are in love’s hand to-day;
Where shall we go?
Our landwind is the breath
Of sorrows kiss’d to death
And joys that were;
Our ballast is a rose;
Our way lies where God knows
And love knows where.
We are in love’s hand to-day—
Our seamen are fledged Loves,
Our masts are bills of doves,
Our decks fine gold;
Our ropes are dead maids’ hair,
Our stores are love-shafts fair
And manifold.
We are in love’s land to-day—
Where shall we land you, sweet?
On fields of strange men’s feet,
Or fields near home?
Or where the fire-flowers blow,
Or where the flowers of snow
Or flowers of foam?
We are in love’s hand to-day—
Land me, she says, where love
Shows but one shaft, one dove,
One heart, one hand,—
A shore like that, my dear,
Lies where no man will steer,
No maiden land.
|