[转帖]试译W.H.奥登《纪念西格蒙德·弗洛伊德》

李丽琴 · 发表于 2005-12-1 22:33:23

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> 试译W.H.奥登《纪念西格蒙德·弗洛伊德》 舶良指玄翻译 
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>纪念西格蒙德·弗洛伊德
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>W.H.奥登
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> 当如许的事情需要我们哀悼， 当悲痛变得如此公然，暴露于 整个时代的批评话语 我们良心的脆弱和谁人的痛苦，
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>我们将要诉说？一日一日为我们 谋过福祉的人，在我们当中死去， 他们知道永无足日，却 仍渴望用生活带来稍许的改进。
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>这医生就如此：他愿在耄耋之年 仍以他的不羁思考我们的生活 如许虚妄的年幼的未来 带着威胁与谄媚要我们服从，
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>但他的愿望拒绝了他：他阖上了双眼 在那最后的照片，对我们全然平凡， 像亲戚聚会样的问题 困惑并嫉妒我们的垂死。 他的一切最终仍如他 所思考过的，夜间的畜群， 阴影仍等待着进入 他荣誉的光环
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>转向别处，伴着他 被带离终生所爱的失落 回到伦敦的土壤， 一位重量级的犹太人死于放逐中。
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>只有恨才是快乐，欲扩充 他的实践于当下，而他阴暗的主顾 以为杀戮可以将他们治愈 将灰烬覆满花园。
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>他们仍旧活着，却是在因他 无错悔的回首就改变的世界； 他做的一切将被老人般铭记 又如孩子般诚实。
他压根不聪明：他只是要那 不幸的现时如诗歌课样 细述那过去，直到 它终将踌躇着来到许久前 
那谴责起始的一线， 并因它的分析者而顿悟， 生命曾是多么丰饶又多么愚蠢， 被生命宽恕，更加微贱，
能够像个友人般接近未来 没有任何藉口织就的戏服，没有 那惯有的正直的面具，或是 那过于熟悉的窘人的姿态。
无怪远古文明的狂想 存于他那无定的预知术 王子们的沉沦，有利的 范式挫败并崩溃：
如果他赢了，为何，那普世的生命 将变得无稽，一国的丰碑 将被打碎，阻止 复仇者的联合。
他们当然会去找上帝，可他已下临人世 到如但丁那样的迷失者中间，下临 到恶臭的沟渠，那里伤残者 引导着被弃者那败坏的生活，
并展示给我们什么是恶，不像我们所想象， 是必遭惩罚的行为，而是我们信仰的缺失， 我们不诚实的易去否定的情境， 还有那压迫者的淫欲。
如果那些独裁姿态留下的踪迹， 他质疑的父亲的严厉，仍 粘附于他的举止言辞乃至相貌， 那就是保护色
对一个在敌人中生活了许久的人： 如果他总是犯错，时不时地错得荒谬 对我们他就不再是个人 而是整一阵观念的气候
在那之下我们过着各异的生活 就像天气他只能捣乱或是帮忙 骄傲的仍可以骄傲却发现 有一点困难，暴君试图
设法应付他却也对他并不怎么关注 他静静地围绕着我们所有成长的习惯 又将它们延伸，直到疲倦已在 哪怕最遥远的悲惨的公国 都已从骨子里感到那变化并欣喜 直到孩子，不幸在他的小国， 在那些自由被拒斥的家庭， 以恐惧与烦忧为蜜的巢，
现在感到些平静又莫名地决意逃离 当他们躺卧在我们疏漏的草丛中 如许被久久遗忘的事物 以他们不灭的光泽向我们显露 
又回到我们身边，珍贵如已往 我们成长中曾以为必须丢弃的游戏 我们怯于嘲笑的微弱的喧闹 无人注视时我们扮过的鬼脸
他对我们所愿却远多于此。自由 常意味着孤寂。他将要联合 那已破裂的不等的两份 用我们自身的公正与善念，
将智慧与意愿复归大份 小份也将重获物有权，但却只可用于 沉闷的争论，将归还 给儿子母亲丰繁的感受：
但他将让我们记住大部分 热情地度过那夜晚 不只为那惊奇的感觉 本身需要献出，亦
因它需要我们的爱。那些愉人的生物 睁着悲伤的大眼睛仰视，默默地 乞求我们让他们跟随： 他们在放逐中，渴望着未来
活在我们的权威中，如果允许他们 像他一样为教化效劳，他们也将欣喜， 即使去忍受我们“犹大的眼泪”， 像他曾经做的，而谁都必须忍受它的效劳者
理性之声喑哑。在他的坟墓之上 那冲动力的家庭悲悼着一个深爱着的人： 厄洛斯，城市的建造者哀伤， 而不羁的阿芙洛狄忒哭泣。 
2005-11-8~2005-11-9 舶良指玄试译
In Memory of Sigmund Freud by W. H. Auden 
When there are so many we shall have to mourn, when grief has been made so public, and exposed to the critique of a whole epoch the frailty of our conscience and anguish,
of whom shall we speak? For every day they die among us, those who were doing us some good, who knew it was never enough but hoped to improve a little by living.
Such was this doctor: still at eighty he wished to think of our life from whose unruliness so many plausible young futures with threats or flattery ask obedience,
but his wish was denied him: he closed his eyes upon that last picture, common to us all, of problems like relatives gathered puzzled and jealous about our dying. 
For about him till the very end were still those he had studied, the fauna of the night, and shades that still waited to enter the bright circle of his recognition
turned elsewhere with their disappointment as he was taken away from his life interest to go back to the earth in London, an important Jew who died in exile.
Only Hate was happy, hoping to augment his practice now, and his dingy clientele who think they can be cured by killing and covering the garden with ashes.
They are still alive, but in a world he changed simply by looking back with no false regrets; all he did was to remember like the old and be honest like children.
He wasn't clever at all: he merely told the unhappy Present to recite the Past like a poetry lesson till sooner or later it faltered at the line where
long ago the accusations had begun, and suddenly knew by whom it had been judged, how rich life had been and how silly, and was life-forgiven and more humble,
able to approach the Future as a friend without a wardrobe of excuses, without a set mask of rectitude or an embarrassing over-familiar gesture.
No wonder the ancient cultures of conceit in his technique of unsettlement foresaw the fall of princes, the collapse of their lucrative patterns of frustration:
if he succeeded, why, the Generalised Life would become impossible, the monolith of State be broken and prevented the co-operation of avengers.
Of course they called on God, but he went his way down among the lost people like Dante, down to the stinking fosse where the injured lead the ugly life of the rejected,
and showed us what evil is, not, as we thought, deeds that must be punished, but our lack of faith, our dishonest mood of denial, the concupiscence of the oppressor.
If some traces of the autocratic pose, the paternal strictness he distrusted, still clung to his utterance and features, it was a protective coloration
for one who'd lived among enemies so long: if often he was wrong and, at times, absurd, to us he is no more a person now but a whole climate of opinion
under whom we conduct our different lives: Like weather he can only hinder or help, the proud can still be proud but find it a little harder, the tyrant tries to
make do with him but doesn't care for him much: he quietly surrounds all our habits of growth and extends, till the tired in even the remotest miserable duchy
have felt the change in their bones and are cheered till the child, unlucky in his little State, some hearth where freedom is excluded, a hive whose honey is fear and worry,
feels calmer now and somehow assured of escape, while, as they lie in the grass of our neglect, so many long-forgotten objects revealed by his undiscouraged shining
are returned to us and made precious again; games we had thought we must drop as we grew up, little noises we dared not laugh at, faces we made when no one was looking.
But he wishes us more than this. To be free is often to be lonely. He would unite the unequal moieties fractured by our own well-meaning sense of justice,
would restore to the larger the wit and will the smaller possesses but can only use for arid disputes, would give back to the son the mother's richness of feeling:
but he would have us remember most of all to be enthusiastic over the night, not only for the sense of wonder it alone has to offer, but also
because it needs our love. With large sad eyes its delectable creatures look up and beg us dumbly to ask them to follow: they are exiles who long for the future
that lives in our power, they too would rejoice if allowed to serve enlightenment like him, even to bear our cry of 'Judas', as he did and all must bear who serve it.
One rational voice is dumb. Over his grave the household of Impulse mourns one dearly loved: sad is Eros, builder of cities, and weeping anarchic Aphrodite.(来源:诗生活)

[此贴子已经被作者于2005-12-1 22:40:59编辑过]

马永波 · 发表于 2006-2-6 08:46:59

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>丽琴，开始翻东西了？好事啊！
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>我有项目时，有兴趣可以帮我啦！

李丽琴 · 发表于 2006-2-6 10:55:18

很高兴在这里看见你!合作愉快,还要向你多学习啊.

马永波 · 发表于 2006-2-8 17:54:35

丽琴，在山东文艺策划了一套儿童冒险经典译丛,合同快到了,不知是否有兴趣,稿费很一般,书是好书。往我信箱里发个信，有具体事情好研究。伊迪斯·华顿的项目快批下来了，4卷。不怕累不嫌钱少就行，呵呵。我干不过来。现在手里在做百花文艺的“自然散文”4卷，惠特曼的《典型的日子》已基本翻完，大棒！另一本也开始做了。论文马上还开题，忙死了。多多帮忙哦。另，再次感谢你对愚兄诗歌的评论。我都收集着，准备临死前出一本朋友砸我的书玩

李丽琴 · 发表于 2006-2-8 18:00:31

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>谢谢!我Email: <a href="mailto:liliqin72@163.com" target="_blank" >liliqin72@163.com</A>
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>要是时间不是很紧迫,可以试试.

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