查看完整版本: 奥登诗选---阿喀琉斯之盾等

ououmama 2011-12-17 12:33

奥登诗选---阿喀琉斯之盾等

威斯坦·休·奥登(1907-1973)英国出生的美国诗人。是继托马斯·艾略特之后最重要的英语诗人。毕业于牛津大学。30年代崭露头角,成为新一代诗人代表和左翼青年作家领袖。1939年去美国定居,后入美国籍并皈依基督教。前期创作多涉及社会和政治题材,后期转向宗教。以能用从古到今各种诗体写作著称。代表作有《西班牙》、《新年书信》、《忧虑的时代》等。
上个世纪五、六十年代,奥登的诗歌创作进入了最后一个高峰,其中《阿基里斯之盾》被认为是奥登战后最为感人的诗集,获国家图书奖。1967年,获国家文学奖。奥登和艾略特是二十世纪英语诗歌的两位巨人,可以说是大西洋两岸最负盛名的英语诗人。  美籍英国诗人 威·休·奥登(W. H. Auden, 1907 -1973)1947出版的的《焦虑的时代》(The Age of Anxiety:A Baroque Eclogue)被选入20世纪末纽约市图书馆评选出的175本世纪之书,当代文学的里程碑(Landmarks of Modern Literature) 24种 之一。

[[i] 本帖最后由 ououmama 于 2011-12-18 21:16 编辑 [/i]].

ououmama 2011-12-17 12:34

悼念叶芝三首

(死于1939年1月)
1

他在严寒的冬天消失了:
小溪已冻结,飞机场几无人迹
积雪模糊了露天的塑像;
水银柱跌进垂死一天的口腔。
呵,所有的仪表都同意
他死的那天是寒冷而又阴暗。

远远离开他的疾病
狼群奔跑过常青的树林,
农家的河没受到时髦码头的诱导;
哀悼的文辞
把诗人的死同他的诗隔开。

但对他说,那不仅是他自己结束,
那也是他最后一个下午,
呵,走动着护士和传言的下午;
他的躯体的各省都叛变了,
他的头脑的广场逃散一空,
寂静侵入到近郊,
他的感觉之流中断:他成了他的爱读者。

如今他被播散到一百个城市,
完全移交给陌生的友情;
他要在另一种林中寻求快乐,
并且在迥异的良心法典下受惩处。
一个死者的文字
要在活人的腑肺间被润色。

但在来日的重大和喧嚣中,
当交易所的兼客像野兽一般咆哮,
当穷人承受着他们相当习惯的苦痛,
当每人在自我的囚室里几乎自信是自由的
有个千把人会想到这一天,
仿佛在这天曾做了稍稍不寻常的事情。
呵,所有的仪表都同意,
他死的那天是寒冷而又阴暗。

2

你像我们一样蠢;可是你的才赋
却超越这一切:贵妇的教堂,肉体的
衰颓,你自己;爱尔兰刺伤你发为诗歌,
但爱尔兰的疯狂和气候依旧,
因为诗无济于事:它永生于
它辞句的谷中,而官吏绝不到
那里去干预;“孤立”和热闹的“悲伤”
本是我们信赖并死守的粗野的城,
它就从这片牧场流向南方;它存在着,
是现象的一种方式,是一个出口。

3

泥土呵,请接纳一个贵宾,
威廉·叶芝己永远安寝:
让这爱尔兰的器皿歇下,
既然它的诗已尽倾洒。

时间对勇敢和天真的人
可以表示不能容忍,
也可以在一个星期里,
漠然对待一个美的躯体,

却崇拜语言,把每个
使语言常活的人部宽赦,
还宽赦懦弱和自负.
把荣耀都向他们献出。

时间以这样奇怪的诡辩
原谅了吉卜林和他的观点,
还将原谅保尔·克劳德,
原谅他写得比较出色。

黑略的恶梦把一切笼罩,
欧洲所有的恶犬在吠叫,
尚存的国家在等待,
各为自己的恨所隔开;

智能所受的耻辱
从每个人的脸上透露,
而怜悯底海洋已歇,
在每只眼里锁住和冻结。

跟去吧,诗人,跟在后面,
直到黑夜之深渊,
用你无拘束的声音
仍旧劝我们要欢欣;

靠耕耕一片诗f田
把诅咒变为葡萄园,
在苦难的欢腾中
歌唱着人的不成功;

从心灵的一片沙漠
让治疗的泉水喷射,
在他的岁月的监狱里
教给自由人如何赞誉。

(查良铮译)


In Memory Of W.B. Yeats
W.H. Auden
I

He disappeared in the dead of winter:
The brooks were frozen, the airports almost deserted,
The snow disfigured the public statues;
The mercury sank in the mouth of the dying day.
What instruments we have agree
The day of his death was a dark cold day.

Far from his illness
The wolves ran on through the evergreen forests,
The peasant river was untempted by the fashionable quays;
By mourning tongues
The death of the poet was kept from his poems.

But for him it was his last afternoon as himself,
An afternoon of nurses and rumours;
The provinces of his body revolted,
The squares of his mind were empty,
Silence invaded the suburbs,
The current of his feeling failed; he became his admirers.

Now he is scattered among a hundred cities
And wholly given over to unfamiliar affections,
To find his happiness in another kind of wood
And be punished under a foreign code of conscience.
The words of a dead man
Are modified in the guts of the living.

But in the importance and noise of to-morrow
When the brokers are roaring like beasts on the floor of the Bourse,
And the poor have the sufferings to which they are fairly accustomed,
And each in the cell of himself is almost convinced of his freedom,
A few thousand will think of this day
As one thinks of a day when one did something slightly unusual.
What instruments we have agree
The day of his death was a dark cold day.

II

You were silly like us; your gift survived it all:
The parish of rich women, physical decay,
Yourself. Mad Ireland hurt you into poetry.
Now Ireland has her madness and her weather still,
For poetry makes nothing happen: it survives
In the valley of its making where executives
Would never want to tamper, flows on south
From ranches of isolation and the busy griefs,
Raw towns that we believe and die in; it survives,
A way of happening, a mouth.

III

Earth, receive an honoured guest:
William Yeats is laid to rest.
Let the Irish vessel lie
Emptied of its poetry.

In the nightmare of the dark
All the dogs of Europe bark,
And the living nations wait,
Each sequestered in its hate;

Intellectual disgrace
Stares from every human face,
And the seas of pity lie
Locked and frozen in each eye.

Follow, poet, follow right
To the bottom of the night,
With your unconstraining voice
Still persuade us to rejoice.

With the farming of a verse
Make a vineyard of the curse,
Sing of human unsuccess
In a rapture of distress.

In the deserts of the heart
Let the healing fountains start,
In the prison of his days
Teach the free man how to praise

另一译文
悼念叶芝
I
静静地,他走了
在这寒风刺骨的冬天
溪水悲痛欲绝
将哀伤的泪水化作水晶挽联
机场为他节哀  全城的人都去与他告别
雪花满含敬意
轻轻地,用洁白无暇的伤服装点世界
低沉的哀乐送他上路
他走的时候
披着黄昏 戴着严寒

病重期间
兽群在森林中为孽
河流无法拒绝往来的艳船
灵堂之前
吊唁者谈论的不是诗人的离去
而是他生前留下的诗篇

临走前的那个下午
他挣扎在护士们紧绷的心弦
关切自己生死的话语充斥耳间
弥留之际
听到寂静轰然关闭了世界
而后 飘然若飞
去追随曾经敬仰的先贤

现在,他正在大城小镇游转
全然一副异样的感官
寻找自己另类的乐园
不过,也受到异域人文的批判
死人的文字
任由活人去改删

然而,喧闹的明天
当掮客们在交易所里野兽般狂喊
当穷人们忍受着早已习惯的交迫饥寒
当墓穴中的阴灵们享受着自由无边
无数的人会认为今天异样不凡
低沉的哀乐送他上路
他走的时候
披着黄昏 戴着严寒
II

您曾与我们一样平凡
天赋和勤奋使您才艺卓绝
教区富女  身衰色残
而您,疯狂爱尔兰的愤怒将您领入诗的圣殿
如今 爱尔兰疯狂依旧 风雨依然
诗作无力 何以回天
她只能在当局不愿干预的山谷中成篇
只能在远离牧场和伤痛连连的南方流传
只能在我们忠爱、甘愿为之献身的乡村把激情点燃
诗歌的沃土上 勤奋耕耘
把理想和热望 口口相传


大地,在为新来的贵宾摆宴 庆典
威廉 叶芝 安然长眠
爱尔兰的巨匠啊 敬请安歇
诗歌留给我们续写

深夜 梦魇
全欧洲的狗 狂吠如癫
活下来的种族等待着
仇恨带来的彼此隔绝

耻辱显得理智
朝着对方窥探
每双眼睛流露出
同情 宽容 理解

去吧,大师, 您放心去吧
去您想去的那个世界
带好您的自由的喉咙
激励我们打造幸福和谐

在诗歌的牧场
培育“文战”的葡萄园
用哀伤的曲调
宣扬人类生存的艰难

心灵的荒漠
复苏的绿洲无限伸延
服囚的岁月里
曾鼓励自由者高扬赞美的旗杆

[[i] 本帖最后由 ououmama 于 2012-1-5 08:54 编辑 [/i]].

ououmama 2011-12-17 12:35

阿喀琉斯之盾

她从他肩上看过去
寻找葡萄和橄榄、
大理石、秩序井然的城市、
深红色大海上的船帆;
但是,在闪闪发光的金属上
他的双手放下的却是
像铅块一样的天空
和人造的荒凉的空地。

毫无特色的平原,发黑、光秃,
没一片草叶,没有邻居的足迹,
没东西进餐,没地方就坐;
然而在那空寂的荒地
难以理解的众人却在聚集,
百万只眼睛,百万双靴子,
没有表情,列队等待着一个标记。
没人露面的声音从空中飘出,
统计资料表明,有些原因。
说出来像这块地方一样干燥、平板;
不愉悦任何人物,不讨论任何事情,
一队接着一队,迎着云雾般的灰尘,
他们齐步走开,忍受着一个信仰:
他们结果必然会在某处遭难。

她从他肩上看过去
寻找宗教仪式上的虔诚、
戴上了花环的白衣姑娘、
奠酒以及别的祭品;
但是,在闪闪发光的金属上
本来应该是祭坛,
可是在他那摇曳的炉火下,
她看到的却是另一番景象。

有刺的铁丝困住了专横的地方,
烦躁的官员们躺在那儿(说着趣闻),
天气炎热,哨兵们汗流浃背;
一群正派的普通百姓,
从外面观看,既不移步也不出声。
就像三个暗淡的图像,
笔直地绑在钉于地上的木桩。
这个世上的群众和帝王,
都有着分量,而且分量始终一样,
但都躺在别人的手上;他们渺小,
不能期待帮助,也没有人肯来帮忙;
他们敌人想做的一切已经做完;
他们的羞耻无与伦比;失去自尊,
在肉体死亡之前,灵魂就不再生存。

她从他肩上看过去
寻找比赛中的运动队员,
寻找扭动腰肢的男男女女,
甜甜蜜蜜地起舞翩翩,
快速、快速地合着音乐的节奏;
但是,在闪闪发光的盾牌上,
他的双手布置的不是舞厅,
而是布满枯草的田地的荒凉。

一个衣着褴褛的顽童,
在那空地漫无目的地独自闲逛;
一只乌儿从真实的石头上溜之大吉;
两个姑娘遭到强奸,两个少年残杀第三,
这就是他看到的公理,他从未听见,
任和世界会信守诺言,
或任何人因别人痛哭而呜咽。

锻造武器的赫准斯托斯,
长着薄嘴唇,离去时蹒蹒跚跚;
胸膛闪闪发光的忒提斯——
灰心丧气地大声哭喊,
责怪上帝迁就她的儿子——
力大无比的阿喀琉斯,
他铁石心肠,残忍地杀人,
但他已经无法永生。


    The Shield Of Achilles
         W.H. Auden
     She looked over his shoulder
       For vines and olive trees,
     Marble well-governed cities
       And ships upon untamed seas,
     But there on the shining metal
       His hands had put instead
     An artificial wilderness
       And a sky like lead.

A plain without a feature, bare and brown,
  No blade of grass, no sign of neighborhood,
Nothing to eat and nowhere to sit down,
  Yet, congregated on its blankness, stood
  An unintelligible multitude,
A million eyes, a million boots in line,
Without expression, waiting for a sign.

Out of the air a voice without a face
  Proved by statistics that some cause was just
In tones as dry and level as the place:
  No one was cheered and nothing was discussed;
  Column by column in a cloud of dust
They marched away enduring a belief
Whose logic brought them, somewhere else, to grief.

     She looked over his shoulder
       For ritual pieties,
     White flower-garlanded heifers,
       Libation and sacrifice,
     But there on the shining metal
       Where the altar should have been,
     She saw by his flickering forge-light
       Quite another scene.

Barbed wire enclosed an arbitrary spot
  Where bored officials lounged (one cracked a joke)
And sentries sweated for the day was hot:
  A crowd of ordinary decent folk
  Watched from without and neither moved nor spoke
As three pale figures were led forth and bound
To three posts driven upright in the ground.

The mass and majesty of this world, all
  That carries weight and always weighs the same
Lay in the hands of others; they were small
  And could not hope for help and no help came:
  What their foes like to do was done, their shame
Was all the worst could wish; they lost their pride
And died as men before their bodies died.

     She looked over his shoulder
       For athletes at their games,
     Men and women in a dance
       Moving their sweet limbs
     Quick, quick, to music,
       But there on the shining shield
     His hands had set no dancing-floor
       But a weed-choked field.

A ragged urchin, aimless and alone,
  Loitered about that vacancy; a bird
Flew up to safety from his well-aimed stone:
  That girls are raped, that two boys knife a third,
  Were axioms to him, who'd never heard
Of any world where promises were kept,
Or one could weep because another wept.

     The thin-lipped armorer,
       Hephaestos, hobbled away,
     Thetis of the shining breasts
       Cried out in dismay
     At what the god had wrought
       To please her son, the strong
     Iron-hearted man-slaying Achilles
       Who would not live long.

[[i] 本帖最后由 ououmama 于 2012-1-5 08:22 编辑 [/i]].

ououmama 2011-12-17 12:35

一天傍晚,当我走出屋外,
在布里斯托尔大街独自闲荡,
人行道上聚集的人群,
宛若收割的麦田的景象。

在涨满了潮水的河岸,
在铁路拱桥的下方,
我听列一个情郎正在讴歌:
“爱情之歌没有终端。

“我爱你,亲爱的,我爱你,
一直爱到中国与非洲相撞,
爱到大河跳上了山顶。
鲑鱼来到大街上歌唱。

“我爱你,直至海洋被关进栅栏,
为了晒干而被人倒挂;
直至七颗星星粗声喊叫,
就像空中出现了鹅鸭。

“岁月将像兔子一样奔跑,
因为我以自己的心坎,
紧紧搂住时代的花朵
以及大干世界的初恋。”

这时,城市里所有的大钟
开始呼呼地敲出声响:
“哦,莫让时间把你欺骗,
你没有法子征服时间。

“在恶梦的洞穴里面
住着赤身裸体的正义
你一亲吻,时间就咳嗽,
它从阴影中把你窥视

“在头痛和焦虑的时刻,
生活浑噩地渗漏而光
不是明天就是今日,
时间会有自己的幻想。

“令人震惊的鹅毛大雪,
向许多绿色的溪谷漂动
时间打破了交织的舞蹈,
和潜水者的美妙的鞠躬。

“唉,把你双手放入水中
一直浸到手的腕部;
凝视吧,紧紧凝视水盆,
弄清你失去了何物。

“冰川敲打在食品橱内,
沙漠叹息在这张床铺,
茶杯上的裂缝已经打开
一条通往死亡之自的狭路。

“乞丐在那儿出售钞票,
巨人以魔法迷惑男孩,
百合般纯洁的少年是个歹徒,
少女沉重地走下山来。

“噢,看吧,看一看镜子,
噢,看一看你的痛苦;
生活成了一种幸事,
尽管你自己不能赐福。

“唤,站住,站在镜子旁边,
就像眼泪烫痫、受惊;
你应以弥那颗扭曲的心,
去爱你的扭曲的近邻。”

夜已经很深,很深,
情人们早就无影无踪;
大钟也已停止了敲打,
深深的河水却继续滚动。.

ououmama 2011-12-17 12:36

美术馆

关于苦难他们总是很清楚的,
这些古典画家:他们多么深知它在
人心中的地位,甚至痛苦会产生,
当别人在吃,在开窗,或正作着无聊的散步的时候 ;
甚至当老年人热烈地、虔敬地等候
神异的降生时,总会有些孩子
并不特别想要他出现,而却在
树林边沿的池塘上溜着冰。
他们从不忘记:
即使悲惨的殉道也终归会完结
在一个角落,乱糟糟的地方,
在那里狗继续过着狗的生涯,而迫害者的马
把无知的臀部在树上摩擦。

在勃鲁盖尔的《伊卡鲁斯》里,比如说;
一切是多么安闲地从那桩灾难转过脸:
农夫或许听到了堕水的声音和那绝望的呼喊,
但对于他,那不是了不得的失败;
太阳依旧照着白腿落进绿波里;
那华贵而精巧的船必曾看见
一件怪事,从天上掉下一个男孩,
但它有某地要去,仍静静的航行。


Musée des Beaux Arts  
  by W.H. Auden (1907 - 1973)
[font=Times New Roman, Times, serif][size=3]About suffering they were never wrong,
The Old Masters: how well they understood
Its human position; how it takes place
While someone else is eating or opening a window or just walking dully along;
How, when the aged are reverently, passionately waiting  
For the miraculous birth, there must always be
Children who did not specially want it to happen, skating
On a pond at the edge of the wood:
They never forgot  
That even the dreadful martyrdom must run its course
Anyhow in a corner, some untidy spot
Where the dogs go on with their doggy life and the torturer's horse
Scratches its innocent behind on a tree [/size][/font]

[font=Times New Roman, Times, serif][size=3]
[/size][/font]
[font=Times New Roman, Times, serif][size=3][font=Times New Roman, Times, serif][size=3]In Brueghel's Icarus, for instance: how everything turns away
Quite leisurely from the disaster; the ploughman may
Have heard the splash, the forsaken cry,
But for him it was not an important failure; the sun shone
As it had to on the white legs disappearing into the green
Water; and the expensive delicate ship that must have seen
Something amazing, a boy falling out of the sky,
Had somewhere to get to and sailed calmly on. [/size][/font]
[/size][/font]

[[i] 本帖最后由 ououmama 于 2012-1-5 08:38 编辑 [/i]].

ououmama 2011-12-17 12:37

太亲热,太含糊了

如果讲爱情
只凭着痴心
照定义而行,
那就隔着墙壁,
从“是”走到“不”
就通不过去,
因为“不”不是爱,“不”是“不”,
是关一道门户,
是绷紧了下颚,
能意识到的难过。
说“是”吧,把爱情
变为成功,
凭栏看风景,
看到陆地和幸福,
一切都很肯定,
沙发压出吱扭声。
如果这是一切,爱情
就只是颊贴着颊,
亲热话对亲热话。
声音在解释
爱的欢欣,爱的痛苦,
还轻拍着膝,
无法不同意,
等待心灵的吐诉
象屏息等待的攻击,
每种弱点原封不动,
相同对着相同;
爱情不会在那里
爱情已移到另一个座椅。
已经知道了
谁挨近着你,
不感到为难,
也不会昏眩,
就会有礼貌地
离开北方自得其所,
而不会集合起
另一个对另一个,
这是设计自己的不幸,
预言自己的死亡和变心。.

ououmama 2011-12-17 12:38

暗藏的法律

暗藏的法律并不否认
我们的或然性规律,
而是把原子、星辰和人
都照其实际情况来对待,
当我们说谎是它就不理。

这是唯一的理由:何以
没有一个政府能把它编集
语言的定义必然会伤害
暗藏的法律。

它极端的耐心不会阻止,
如果我们要去找死;
当我们坐上汽车想逃避它,
当我们在酒馆里想忘记它:
这就是暗藏的法律要惩罚
我们的方法。



查良铮 译.

ououmama 2011-12-17 12:39

小说家

装在各自的才能里象穿了制服,
每一位诗人的级别总一目了然;
他们可以象风暴叫我们沭目,
或者是早夭,或者是独居多少年。

他们可以象轻骑兵冲前去:可是他
必须挣脱出少年气盛的才分
而学会朴实和笨拙,学会做大家
都以为全然不值得一顾的一种人。

因为要达到他的最低的愿望,
他就得变成了绝顶的厌烦,得遭受
俗气的病痛,象爱情;得在公道场

公道,在龌龊堆里也龌龊个够;
而在他自己脆弱的一身中,他必须
尽可能隐受人类所有的委屈。.

ououmama 2011-12-17 12:40

名人志

一先令传记会给你全部的事实:
他父亲怎样揍他,他怎样出走,
少年作什么奋斗,是什么事迹
使得他在一代人物里最出风头:

他怎样打仗,钓鱼,打猎,熬通宵,
头晕着攀新峰;命名了新海一个:
最晚的研究家有的甚至于写到
爱情害得他哭鼻子,就象你和我。

他名满天下,却朝思暮想着一个人,
惊讶的评论家说那位就住在家中,
就在屋子里灵巧的做一点细活,
不干别的;能打打唿哨;会静坐,
会在园子里东摸摸西掏掏,回几封
他大堆出色的长信,一封也不保存。.

ououmama 2011-12-17 12:41

罗马的秋天

(for Cyril Connolly)

波涛拍击码头;
荒野上大雨
抽打一辆废弃的火车;
歹徒们挤满了山洞。

幻觉遍布夜礼服;
国库代理人穿过
偏僻小镇的下水道
追赶着潜逃的抗税者。

魔法的秘密仪式催促
寺院里的娼妓入睡;
所有的文人学者
都有一个假想的朋友。

崇高而激动人心的卡多
可能赞美古老的纪律,
但肌肉僵硬的海兵叛乱
则是为了食物和薪水。

凯撒的双人床多暖和
当一个微不足道的办事员
在一张粉红的正式表格里
写下“我不喜欢我的工作”。

财富或怜悯未被赠予,
红腿的小鸟,
蹲在它们带斑点的蛋上,
注视着每座流感肆虐的城市。

在一起移向别处,无数
成群结队的驯鹿横穿
一片又一片金黄苔藓,
沉默而迅捷。
1940年

罗马之秋
The piers are pummelled by the waves;
In a lonely field the rain
Lashes an abandoned train;
Outlaws fill the mountain caves.
白浪如怒向码头,弃龙长哀卧荒洲;
秋雨向龙扬鞭密;逃犯成群匿山沟。

Fantastic grow the evening gowns;
Agents of the Fisc pursue
Absconding tax-defaulters through
The sewers of provincial towns.
侦探紧裹晚礼服,满身滑稽两袖流;
因抓潜逃偷税犯,钻遍城郭污水沟。

Private rites of magic send
The temple prostitutes to sleep;
All the literati keep
An imaginary friend.
佛堂做法施巫术,僧侣买嫖淫乱处;
文人清者清自清,梦中长思断肠路。

Cerebrotonic Cato may
Extol the Ancient Disciplines,
But the muscle-bound Marines
Mutiny for food and pay.
怪僻加图大将军,长歌古俗同旧礼。
船头揭杆皆水兵,待遇薪金为权维。

Caesar's double-bed is warm
As an unimportant clerk
Writes I DO NOT LIKE MY WORK
On a pink official form.
恺撒帝床温如故,卑卑雇员递辞书;
“吾欲辞职别君去。”呈书庄严戴红头。

Unendowed with wealth or pity,
Little birds with scarlet legs,
Sitting on their speckled eggs,
Eye each flu-infected city.
可怜小鸟无人依,伤腿疤痕似斑泥;
身虚坚守怀中卵,目向瘟城愁泪垂。

Altogether elsewhere, vast
Herds of reindeer move across
Miles and miles of golden moss,
Silently and very fast.
侧目稍稍向别川,族族驯鹿举家移;
黄滩漫漫难隔阻,静如秋风驰如疾。

[[i] 本帖最后由 ououmama 于 2012-1-5 09:05 编辑 [/i]].

ououmama 2011-12-17 12:42

布鲁塞尔的冬天

寒冷的街道缠结如一团旧绳
喷泉也在霜下噤不作声
走来走去,看不请这城市的面容
它缺少自称"我乃实物"的品性

只有无家可归和真正卑微的人们
才像确切知道他们身在何处
他们的凄惨集中了一切命运
冬天紧抱着他们,像歌剧院的石柱

阔人们的公寓耸立在高地
几处窗子亮着灯光,犹如孤立的田庄
一句话像一辆卡车,满载着意义

一个眼光包含着人的历史
只要五十法郎,陌生人就有权利
让这无情义的城市送上温暖的胸膛

王佐良 译.

ououmama 2011-12-17 12:43

一位暴君的墓志铭

他追求一种尽善尽美,
他创造的诗歌简单易懂;
他对人类的愚蠢了如指掌,
而且醉心于自己的舰艇和军队;
他笑时,可敬的臣子也爆出大笑,
他哭时,小孩们则死在街头。

(范倍译).

ououmama 2011-12-17 12:43

无名的公民

(献给JS/07 M 378该大理石纪念碑为本州所立)
他被统计局发现是
一个官方从未指摘过的人,
而且所有有关他品行的报告都表明:
用一个老式词儿的现代含义来说,他是个圣徒,
因为他所作所为都为一个更大的社会服务。
除了战时,直到退休
他都在一家工厂干活,从未遭到辞退,
而且他的雇主——福济汽车公司始终满意。
他并不拒绝加入工会,观点也不怪奇,
因为他的工会认为他会按期缴费,
(关于他所属工会我们的报告显示是可信的)
我们的社会心理学工作者发现
他很受同事欢迎,也喜欢喝上几杯。
新闻界深信他每天买份报纸
并且对那上面的广告反映正常。
他名下的保险单也证明他已买足了保险,
他的健康证上写着住过一次院,离开时已康复。
生产者研究所和高级生活部都宣称
他完全了解分期付款购物的好处
并拥有一个现代人必需的一切:
留声机,收音机,小汽车,电冰箱。
我们的舆论研究者甚感满意,
他能审时度势提出恰当的看法:
和平时拥护和平,战时就去打仗。
他结了婚,为全国人口添了五个孩子,
我们的优生学家说这对他那一代父母正好合适。
我们的教师报告也说他从不干预子女教育。
他自由吗?他幸福吗?这个问题太可笑:
如果真有什么错了,我们当然知道。

(范倍译)
The Unknown Citizen
   by W. H. Auden
He was found by the Bureau of Statistics to be
One against whom there was no official complaint,
And all the reports on his conduct agree

That, in the modern sense of an old-fashioned word, he was a
   saint,
For in everything he did he served the Greater Community.
Except for the War till the day he retired
He worked in a factory and never got fired,
But satisfied his employers, Fudge Motors Inc.
Yet he wasn't a scab or odd in his views,
For his Union reports that he paid his dues,
(Our report on his Union shows it was sound)
And our Social Psychology workers found
That he was popular with his mates and liked a drink.
The Press are convinced that he bought a paper every day
And that his reactions to advertisements were normal in every way.
Policies taken out in his name prove that he was fully insured,
And his Health-card shows he was once in a hospital but left it cured.
Both Producers Research and High-Grade Living declare
He was fully sensible to the advantages of the Instalment Plan
And had everything necessary to the Modern Man,
A phonograph, a radio, a car and a frigidaire.
Our researchers into Public Opinion are content
That he held the proper opinions for the time of year;
When there was peace, he was for peace:  when there was war, he went.
He was married and added five children to the population,
Which our Eugenist says was the right number for a parent of his
   generation.
And our teachers report that he never interfered with their
   education.
Was he free? Was he happy? The question is absurd:
Had anything been wrong, we should certainly have heard.

[[i] 本帖最后由 ououmama 于 2012-1-5 08:48 编辑 [/i]].

ououmama 2011-12-17 12:44

安眠曲

我的爱.见把你凡人的头
枕着我不忠的手臂安眠;
心怀忧思的青春之年
经不住时间和热病烧焚,
终将烧尽个体的美色
坟墓将证明她蜉蝣薄命。
但此刻啊,直到黎明前,
且让这尤物睡在我的臂弯
她只是个有罪的凡人哪,
在我眼中却美丽非凡。

灵魂与肉体间并无界线:
维纳斯的绿茵宽容而销魂,
躺在这绿茵上的恋人们
在惯常的昏眩中醉酣,
维纳斯便向他们揭示
超自然契合的庄严幻象,
揭示伟大的泛爱和希望;
而在冰川与岩石之间
修士却通过抽象的悟性
获得一种肉欲的迷狂。

坚贞的品质、爱的忠实
随着子夜的钟声敲响
随着震荡的音波消逝;
时髦的狂人们卖弄着学识,
发出令人腻烦的叫嚣:
每张牌都预言着凶兆,
每一分代价都必须清偿!
但今宵的每一句语丝、
每一种心思、每一瞥目光
和每个吻,全都不会丢失。

美和子夜、幻象一齐消亡;
当黎明时辰和风送爽,
在你安眠的头上吹拂,
但愿它显示美好的白昼,
让目光和心跳能为它祝福
并为这凡世感到满足;
枯燥的午时使你饱尝,
不由自主之力的控制,
但当你把粗野的夜消度,
任何凡人之爱都把你守护。
(飞白译)


Lullaby - W.H. Auden (Poetry)

Lay Your Sleeping head, my love,
Human on my faithless arm:
Time and fevers burn away
Individual beauty from
Thoughtful children, and the grave
Proves the child ephemeral:
But in my arms till break of day
Let the living creature lie,
Mortal, guilty, but to me
The entirely beautiful.

Soul and body have no bounds:
To lovers as they lie upon
Her tolerant enchanted slope
In their ordinary swoon,
Grave the vision Venus sends
Of supernatural sympathy,
Universal love and hope;
While an abstract insight wakes
Among the glaciers and the rocks
The hermit's carnal ecstacy,

Certainty, fidelity
On the stroke of midnight pass
Like vibrations of a bell
And fashionable madmen raise
Their pedantic boring cry:
Every farthing of the cost.
All the dreaded cards foretell.
Shall be paid, but from this night
Not a whisper, not a thought.
Not a kiss nor look be lost.


Beauty, midnight, vision dies:
Let the winds of dawn that blow
Softly round your dreaming head
Such a day of welcome show
Eye and knocking heart may bless,
Find our mortal world enough;
Noons of dryness find you fed
By the involuntary powers,
Nights of insult let you pass
Watched by every human love.

另一译文
催眠曲
W.H.奥汀

睡吧,睡吧,亲爱的宝贝
将困倦的头 枕着我的胳臂
请你谅解 我的花心
痴狂会随时间 渐渐烧退
童贞和坟墓 告诉我们
青春短暂 容易消逝

当明天的朝霞 拥抱旭日
臂湾中的宝贝 仍在恬睡
死亡和罪恶 对我来说也很美丽

灵魂和肉体无间无隙
情侣们着魔一般 相拥相依
欲生欲死 如醉如痴
这是爱神超自然的眷顾
这是上苍的关怀和恩赐
冰川和大地也通了人性
山隐道士们也肉欲勃起

是啊,宝贝
当午夜的钟声洪然敲起
另类的狂人 
如同被撞击的铜钟 
振奋铿锵 精力充沛
他们造作地向世人鼓吹:
"哪怕东西一文不值
哪怕抽到了下下签子
所有的一切 都须付费
但今夜除外
随便你与谁亲昵私语
随便你打谁人的主意
随便你与谁人疯狂亲吻
随便你与谁调情 色眼眯眯"

良辰美景悄然渐逝
晓风轻拂你的发丝
当黎明掰开你的睡眼
你会发现:
心跳铿锵 自己仍旧活在人世
燥热的中午 还须进食
昨夜的风流 已随风而去
周围的眼睛 向你送来浓浓爱意

[[i] 本帖最后由 ououmama 于 2012-1-5 08:58 编辑 [/i]].

ououmama 2012-1-5 08:06

战争时代(选四)  

   十四

  是的,我们要受难,就在此刻;
  天空像高烧的前额在悸动,痛苦
  是真实的;探照灯突然显示了
  一些小小的自然使我们痛哭。

  我们从来不相信他们会存在,
  至少不存在我们这里。它们突地
  像丑恶的、久已忘却的记忆涌来,
  所有的炮像良心一样都在抗击。

  在每个爱社交、爱家庭的眼睛后
  一场私下的屠杀在进行摧毁
  一切妇女,犹太人,富翁和人类。

  山峦审判不了我们,若我们说了谎。
  我们是地面的居民;大地听从着
  智慧的邪恶者直到他们死亡。

    十八

  他被使用在远离文化中心的地方,
  又被他的将军和他的虱子所遗弃,
  于是在一件棉袄里他闭上眼睛
  而离开人世。人家不会把他提起。

  当这场战役被整理成书的时候,
  没有重要的知识会在他的头壳里丧失。
  他的玩笑是陈腐的,他沉闷如战时,
  他的名字和模样都将永远消逝。

  他不知善,不择善,却教育了我们,
  并且像逗点一样加添上意义;
  他在中国变为尘土,以便在他日
  我们的女儿得以热爱这人间,
  不再为狗所凌辱;也为了使有山、
  有水、有房屋的地方,也能有人烟。

    二十

  他们携带恐怖像怀着一个钱包,
  又畏惧地平线仿佛它是一门炮,
  所有的河流和铁路像逃避诅咒,
  都从近邻的情谊像各方逃跑。

  他们紧紧拥聚在这新的灾祸中,
  像刚入学的儿童,轮流地哭叫;
  因为空间有些规则他们学不会,
  时间讲的语言他们也掌握不了。

  我们活在这里,在“现在”的未打开的
  悲哀中;它的范围就是我们的内容。
  是否囚人应该宽恕它的囚居,

  是否未来的时代能远远逃避开
  但仍感到它源于每件发生过的事情,
  甚至源于我们?甚至觉得这也不坏?

    二一

  人的一生从没有彻底完成过,
  豪迈和闲谈将会继续存在;
  但是,有如艺术家感到才尽,
  这些人行走世间,自知已经失败。

  有些人既难忍,又驯服不了青年,
  不禁悼念那曾治世的的受了伤的神话,
  有些人失去了他们从未理解的世界,
  有些人很清楚人一生应受的惩罚。

  “丧失”是他们的影子和妻子,“焦虑”
  像一个大饭店接待他们,但只要
  他们有所悔恨,那也是无可规避;

  他们的一生就是听禁城的召唤,
  看陌生人注视他们,愉快而好奇,
  而“自由”则在每家每棵树上为敌。

    二三

  当所有用以报告消息的工具
  一齐证实我们的敌人的胜利;
  我们在棱堡被突破,军队在退却,
  “暴行”风靡象一种新的疫疠,

  “邪恶”是一个妖精,到处受欢迎;
  当我们悔不该生于此世的时份:
  且记起一切似已被遗弃的孤灵。
  今夜在中国让我来追念一个人,

  他经过十年的沉默,工作而等待,
  直到在谬佐显出了全部的魄力,
  一举而让什么都有了个交代:

  于是带了“完成者”所怀的感激,
  他在冬天的夜里走出去抚摩
  那座小堡,象一个庞然大物。

  查良铮译.

ououmama 2012-1-5 08:07

散步

  当我要散布一件丑闻,
  或者向路另一头的某人
  归还工具,出借书籍,
  我选择此路,从这里走到那里。

  之后返回,即使
  与来时的脚印相遇,
  那路看上去却全然若新
  我打算做的现在已经做成。

  但我避开它,当我作为
  一个散步者散步只为散步;
  其中所涉及的重复
  提出了它自身不可解答的疑处。

  什么样的天使或恶魔
  命令我恰好停止在那一刻?
  假如再向前走一公里
  又会发生什么?

  不,当灵魂里的骚动
  或者积雨云约请一次漫步,
  我挑选的路线转弯抹角
  在它出发的地方结束。

  这蜿蜒足迹,带我回家,
  我不必向后转,
  也不必回答
  究竟要走多远,

  却让行为成为规范,
  以满足某种道德需求,
  因为,当我重返家门
  我早已经把罗盘装进盒子。

  心,害怕离开她的外壳。
  一如在我的私人住宅
  和随便哪条公共道路之间
  都要求有一百码的距离,

  当它也被增加,就使得
  直线成“T”,圆形为“Q”。
  让我无论晴天雨天
  都称这两样散步全然属已。

  一条无人旅经的乡间小径,
  那里的印痕并不合我的鞋,
  它十分像我所爱的人留下,
  而且,在寻找着我。

  (范倍译).

ououmama 2012-1-5 08:29

W. H. Auden - Under Which Lyre

W. H. Auden - Under Which Lyre  

A REACTIONARY TRACT FOR THE TIMES
(Phi Beta Kappa Poem, Harvard, 1946)

Ares at last has quit the field,
The bloodstains on the bushes yield
     To seeping showers,
And in their convalescent state
The fractured towns associate
     With summer flowers.

Encamped upon the college plain
Raw veterans already train
     As freshman forces;
Instructors with sarcastic tongue
Shepherd the battle-weary young
     Through basic courses.

Among bewildering appliances
For mastering the arts and sciences
     They stroll or run,
And nerves that steeled themselves to slaughter
Are shot to pieces by the shorter
     Poems of Donne.

Professors back from secret missions
Resume their proper eruditions,
     Though some regret it;
They liked their dictaphones a lot,
T hey met some big wheels, and do not
     Let you forget it.

But Zeus' inscrutable decree
Permits the will-to-disagree
     To be pandemic,
Ordains that vaudeville shall preach
And every commencement speech
     Be a polemic.

Let Ares doze, that other war
Is instantly declared once more
    'Twixt those who follow
Precocious Hermes all the way
And those who without qualms obey
     Pompous Apollo.

Brutal like all Olympic games,
Though fought with smiles and Christian names
     And less dramatic,
This dialectic strife between
The civil gods is just as mean,
     And more fanatic.

What high immortals do in mirth
Is life and death on Middle Earth;
     Their a-historic
Antipathy forever gripes
All ages and somatic types,
     The sophomoric

Who face the future's darkest hints
With giggles or with prairie squints
     As stout as Cortez,
And those who like myself turn pale
As we approach with ragged sail
     The fattening forties.

The sons of Hermes love to play
And only do their best when they
     Are told they oughtn't;
Apollo's children never shrink
From boring jobs but have to think
     Their work important.

Related by antithesis,
A compromise between us is
     Impossible;
Respect perhaps but friendship never:
Falstaff the fool confronts forever
      The prig Prince Hal.

If he would leave the self alone,
Apollo's welcome to the throne,
     Fasces and falcons;
He loves to rule, has always done it;
The earth would soon, did Hermes run it,
     Be like the Balkans.

But jealous of our god of dreams,
His common-sense in secret schemes
      To rule the heart;
Unable to invent the lyre,
Creates with simulated fire
     Official art.

And when he occupies a college,
Truth is replaced by Useful Knowledge;
     He pays particular
Attention to Commercial Thought,
Public Relations, Hygiene, Sport,
     In his curricula.

Athletic, extrovert and crude,
For him, to work in solitude
     Is the offence,
The goal a populous Nirvana:
His shield bears this device: Mens sana
     Qui mal y pense.

Today his arms, we must confess,
From Right to Left have met success,
     His banners wave
From Yale to Princeton, and the news
From Broadway to the Book Reviews
     Is very grave.

His radio Homers all day long
In over-Whitmanated song
     That does not scan,
With adjectives laid end to end,
Extol the doughnut and commend
     The Common Man.

His, too, each homely lyric thing
On sport or spousal love or spring
     Or dogs or dusters,
Invented by some court-house bard
For recitation by the yard
     In filibusters.

To him ascend the prize orations
And sets of fugal variations
     On some folk-ballad,
While dietitians sacrifice
A glass of prune-juice or a nice
     Marsh-mallow salad.

Charged with his compound of sensational
Sex plus some undenominational
     Religious matter,
Enormous novels by co-eds
Rain down on our defenceless heads
     Till our teeth chatter.

In fake Hermetic uniforms
Behind our battle-line, in swarms
    That keep alighting,
His existentialists declare
That they are in complete despair,
    Yet go on writing.

No matter; He shall be defied;
White Aphrodite is on our side:
    What though his threat
To organize us grow more critical?
Zeus willing, we, the unpolitical,
    Shall beat him yet.

Lone scholars, sniping from the walls
Of learned periodicals,
    Our facts defend,
Our intellectual marines,
Landing in little magazines
    Capture a trend.

By night our student Underground
At cocktail parties whisper round
    From ear to ear;
Fat figures in the public eye
Collapse next morning, ambushed by
    Some witty sneer.

In our morale must lie our strength:
So, that we may behold at length
    Routed Apollo's
Battalions melt away like fog,
Keep well the Hermetic Decalogue,
    Which runs as follows:--

Thou shalt not do as the dean pleases,
Thou shalt not write thy doctor's thesis
    On education,
Thou shalt not worship projects nor
Shalt thou or thine bow down before
    Administration.

Thou shalt not answer questionnaires
Or quizzes upon World-Affairs,
    Nor with compliance
Take any test. Thou shalt not sit
With statisticians nor commit
    A social science.

Thou shalt not be on friendly terms
With guys in advertising firms,
    Nor speak with such
As read the Bible for its prose,
Nor, above all, make love to those
    Who wash too much.

Thou shalt not live within thy means
Nor on plain water and raw greens.
    If thou must choose
Between the chances, choose the odd;
Read The New Yorker, trust in God;
    And take short views..

ououmama 2012-1-5 08:30

Law Like Love

W.H. Auden
Law, say the gardeners, is the sun,
Law is the one
All gardeners obey
To-morrow, yesterday, to-day.

Law is the wisdom of the old,
The impotent grandfathers feebly scold;
The grandchildren put out a treble tongue,
Law is the senses of the young.

Law, says the priest with a priestly look,
Expounding to an unpriestly people,
Law is the words in my priestly book,
Law is my pulpit and my steeple.

Law, says the judge as he looks down his nose,
Speaking clearly and most severely,
Law is as I've told you before,
Law is as you know I suppose,
Law is but let me explain it once more,
Law is The Law.

Yet law-abiding scholars write:
Law is neither wrong nor right,
Law is only crimes
Punished by places and by times,
Law is the clothes men wear
Anytime, anywhere,
Law is Good morning and Good night.

Others say, Law is our Fate;
Others say, Law is our State;
Others say, others say
Law is no more,
Law has gone away.

And always the loud angry crowd,
Very angry and very loud,
Law is We,
And always the soft idiot softly Me.

If we, dear, know we know no more
Than they about the Law,
If I no more than you
Know what we should and should not do
Except that all agree
Gladly or miserably
That the Law is
And that all know this
If therefore thinking it absurd
To identify Law with some other word,
Unlike so many men
I cannot say Law is again,

No more than they can we suppress
The universal wish to guess
Or slip out of our own position
Into an unconcerned condition.
Although I can at least confine
Your vanity and mine
To stating timidly
A timid similarity,
We shall boast anyway:
Like love I say.

Like love we don't know where or why,
Like love we can't compel or fly,
Like love we often weep,
Like love we seldom keep..

ououmama 2012-1-5 08:30

As I Walked Out One Evening

W. H. Auden -

As I walked out one evening,
  Walking down Bristol Street,
The crowds upon the pavement
  Were fields of harvest wheat.

And down by the brimming river
  I heard a lover sing
Under an arch of the railway:
  "Love has no ending.

"I'll love you, dear, I'll love you
  Till China and Africa meet,
And the river jumps over the mountain
  And the salmon sing in the street,

"I'll love you till the ocean
  Is folded and hung up to dry
And the seven stars go squawking
  Like geese about the sky.

"The years shall run like rabbits,
  For in my arms I hold
The Flower of the Ages,
  And the first love of the world."

But all the clocks in the city
  Began to whirr and chime:
"O let not Time deceive you,
  You cannot conquer Time.

"In the burrows of the Nightmare
  Where Justice naked is,
Time watches from the shadow
  And coughs when you would kiss.

"In headaches and in worry
  Vaguely life leaks away,
And Time will have his fancy
  To-morrow or to-day.

"Into many a green valley
  Drifts the appalling snow;
Time breaks the threaded dances
  And the diver's brilliant bow.

"O plunge your hands in water,
  Plunge them in up to the wrist;
Stare, stare in the basin
  And wonder what you've missed.

"The glacier knocks in the cupboard,
  The desert sighs in the bed,
And the crack in the tea-cup opens
  A lane to the land of the dead.

"Where the beggars raffle the banknotes
  And the Giant is enchanting to Jack,
And the Lily-white Boy is a Roarer,
  And Jill goes down on her back.

"O look, look in the mirror?
  O look in your distress:
Life remains a blessing
  Although you cannot bless.

"O stand, stand at the window
  As the tears scald and start;
You shall love your crooked neighbour
  With your crooked heart."

It was late, late in the evening,
  The lovers they were gone;
The clocks had ceased their chiming,
  And the deep river ran on.

布里斯托漫步

横披夕阳
独自在布里斯托街头徜徉
暮归的人群熙熙攘攘
谈笑间碎话着如何扩建粮仓

独立在波光鳞鳞的河岸
远处铁路桥边
谁人在动情地唱着情歌
如此忧伤 如此悠长
“爱你到永远
哪怕它地老天荒


“我爱你,深爱着你吆
今生今世 只与你比翼
来世来生 还与君成双
任凭它桑田变沧海
哪怕它盘古重开疆

“海枯石烂 我心不改
天崩地裂 也要守在你的身旁

“纵然时光如梭 转瞬即逝
也要天天牵着你的手
陪你走过人生的坎坎坷坷
纵然人生如花 花事易殇
也要日日挽着你的手
陪你走过人生的沟沟壑壑

"依稀听到了时光的脚步
那么急促 那么匆忙
你在哪里啊,我的人儿
别再跟我说
有情人不在朝朝暮暮
亲亲昵昵来日方长
谁不知道时光的倔强
我们根本无法说服他
返回到今天早上

“现实如此残酷
这份至纯至烈的真爱
根本无法展开腾飞的翅膀
你看它多么不解人意
总是在我们触唇的瞬间
蓦然跳出来
把你夺去
幸福的吻花怎能绽放?

“为何总是聚短离长
你可知道
没有你的日子
我的生活没有一缕阳光
到处都是惆怅 处处都是忧伤
不过,我相信
你正在归来的路上
与君重逢
不在今夜
就在明天早上

“我的郁郁葱葱的世界
顷刻之间突然白雪茫茫
时空凝滞
欢舞者变成美丽的雕塑
潜水者化为躬姿的石像

“伸出双手感受水的脉搏
再深一些
直到水儿环住腕窝
惊奇发现
原来连手儿也是成对成双

“我的房间冷如南极的冰窝
床铺荒如千年大漠  阴冷凄凉
一件件家俱破败不堪…….
这一切好象是直通地狱的走廊

“仿佛看到
乞丐在那头开心地数着一捆捆的钞票
歌王为了讨好杰克
卖力地吟唱
清纯的帅哥欢心地吼叫
吉尔娇柔地躺在草上

“对镜而视
发现已是满目秋霜
虽然对生活不敢奢望
今后的日子也不应该再有 离愁别怅

“独立西窗
泪流成行
我愿永远依偎在你的胸膛
听那与我一起变老的心的跳动
享受着眼前的
子孙满堂”
.........

夜已深沉 沉寂如僵
情侣尽去 去影成双
时光停息
唯有河水在静静地流淌.

[[i] 本帖最后由 ououmama 于 2012-1-5 08:51 编辑 [/i]].

ououmama 2012-1-5 08:31

Funeral Blues

(The poem made famous in "Four weddings and a Funeral")

Funeral Blues

Stop all the clocks, cut off the telephone,
Prevent the dog from barking with a juicy bone.
Silence the pianos and with muffled drum
Bring out the coffin, let the mourners come.


Let aeroplanes circle moaning overhead
Scribbling on the sky the message He is Dead,
Put crépe bows round the white necks of the public doves,
Let the traffic policemen wear black cotton gloves.


He was my North, my South, my East and West,
My working week and my Sunday rest,
My noon, my midnight, my talk, my song,
I thought that love would last forever: 'I was wrong'


The stars are not wanted now, put out every one;
Pack up the moon and dismantle the sun;
Pour away the ocean and sweep up the wood.
For nothing now can ever come to any good.


Copyright: WH Auden: Twelve Songs IX

葬礼上的忧伤
时光啊,你停住脚步
电话啊,我扯断你的线路
讨厌的狗,别再吵了
给你,去啃这些丰美的骨头
钢琴啊,别再哀啼
住口吧,烦人的大鼓
快来啊,吊唁人们
我已经为他妆点好了灵柩

飞机啊,我命你在头顶悲旋
用尾气写份悼词替我把哀伤倾诉
白鸽啊,快披上黑纱
你要在半空中不停地示哀、叩首
交警,还不快换上黑色的手套
让那些无理的车子为前来吊唁的朋友让路

你是我的一切
你是我的全部
我的事业生活都是为了你
你走也把我带走

你是我花前月下的亲昵
你是我林间幽境的温柔
与你一起的时光,
总是无法按捺幸福的歌喉
曾相信能够与你地老天荒
谁知道你的离去却如此仓促
………..
星星,快闭上骗人的眼睛
月亮,还不快滚到山的背后
去死吧,讨厌的太阳
从此别出现在我的宇宙

快给我干枯,大海
消失吧,所有的草木

你们这一切的一切
必须陪葬我心爱的人儿
伴他安睡在他的坟墓



奥登的情诗——《葬礼蓝调》
   
    停止所有的时钟,切断电话,
  给狗一块浓汁的骨头,让他别叫,
  黯哑了钢琴,随着低沉的鼓,
    抬出灵柩,让哀悼者前来。
  
    让直升机在头顶悲旋,
  在天空狂草着信息他已逝去,
  把黑纱系在信鸽的白颈,
  让交通员戴上黑色的手套。
  
    他曾经是我的东,我的西,我的南,我的北,
  我的工作天,我的休息日,
  我的正午,我的夜半,我的话语,我的歌吟,
  我以为爱可以不朽,我错了。
  不再需要星星,把每一颗都摘掉,
  把月亮包起,拆除太阳,
  倾泻大海,扫除森林,
  因为什么也不会,再有意味。
  

[[i] 本帖最后由 ououmama 于 2012-1-5 08:46 编辑 [/i]].

大小双的妈妈 2012-1-5 14:42

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