英语翻译The love Song Of J.Alfred Prufrock的翻译

英语翻译
The love Song Of J.Alfred Prufrock的翻译

The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock
S’io credesse che mia risposta fosse
A persona che mai tornasse al mondo,
Questa fiamma staria senza piu scosse.
Ma perciocche giammai di questo fondo
Non torno vivo alcun, s’i’odo il vero,
Senza tema d’infamia ti rispondo.
Let us go then, you and I,
When the evening is spread out against the sky
Like a patient etherized upon a table;
Let us go, through certain half-deserted streets,
The muttering retreats
Of restless nights in one-night cheap hotels
And sawdust restaurants with oyster-shells:
Streets that follow like a tedious argument
Of insidious intent
To lead you to an overwhelming question ...
Oh, do not ask, “What is it?“
Let us go and make our visit.
In the room the women come and go
Talking of Michelangelo.
The yellow fog that rubs its back upon the window-panes,
The yellow smoke that rubs its muzzle on the window-panes,
Licked its tongue into the corners of the evening,
Lingered upon the pools that stand in drains,
Let fall upon its back the soot that falls from chimneys,
Slipped by the terrace, made a sudden leap,
And seeing that it was a soft October night,
Curled once about the house, and fell asleep.
And indeed there will be time
For the yellow smoke that slides along the street,
Rubbing its back upon the window-panes;
There will be time, there will be time
To prepare a face to meet the faces that you meet;
There will be time to murder and create,
And time for all the works and days of hands
That lift and drop a question on your plate;
Time for you and time for me,
And time yet for a hundred indecisions,
And for a hundred visions and revisions,
Before the taking of a toast and tea.
In the room the women come and go
Talking of Michelangelo.
And indeed there will be time
To wonder, “Do I dare?“ and, “Do I dare?“
Time to turn back and descend the stair,
With a bald spot in the middle of my hair--
(They will say: “How his hair is growing thin!“)
My morning coat, my collar mounting firmly to the chin,
My necktie rich and modest, but asserted by a simple pin--
(They will say: “But how his arms and legs are thin!“)
Do I dare
Disturb the universe?
In a minute there is time
For decisions and revisions which a minute will reverse.
For I have known them all already, known them all:
Have known the evenings, mornings, afternoons,
I have measured out my life with coffee spoons;
I know the voices dying with a dying fall
Beneath the music from a farther room.
So how should I presume?
And I have known the eyes already, known them all--
The eyes that fix you in a formulated phrase,
And when I am formulated, sprawling on a pin,
When I am pinned and wriggling on the wall,
Then how should I begin
To spit out all the butt-ends of my days and ways?
And how should I presume?
And I have known the arms already, known them all--
Arms that are braceleted and white and bare
(But in the lamplight, downed with light brown hair!)
Is it perfume from a dress
That makes me so digress?
Arms that lie along a table, or wrap about a shawl.
And should I then presume?
And how should I begin?
Shall I say, I have gone at dusk through narrow streets
And watched the smoke that rises from the pipes
Of lonely men in shirt-sleeves, leaning out of windows? ...
I should have been a pair of ragged claws
Scuttling across the floors of silent seas.
And the afternoon, the evening, sleeps so peacefully!
Smoothed by long fingers,
Asleep ... tired ... or it malingers,
Stretched on the floor, here beside you and me.
Should I, after tea and cakes and ices,
Have the strength to force the moment to its crisis?
But though I have wept and fasted, wept and prayed,
Though I have seen my head (grown slightly bald) brought in upon a platter,
I am no prophet--and here抯 no great matter;
I have seen the moment of my greatness flicker,
And I have seen the eternal Footman hold my coat, and snicker,
And in short, I was afraid.
And would it have been worth it, after all,
After the cups, the marmalade, the tea,
Among the porcelain, among some talk of you and me,
Would it have been worth while,
To have bitten off the matter with a smile,
To have squeezed the universe into a ball
To roll it toward some overwhelming question,
To say: “I am Lazarus, come from the dead,
Come back to tell you all, I shall tell you all“--
If one, settling a pillow by her head,**
Should say: “That is not what I meant at all;
That is not it, at all.“
And would it have been worth it, after all,
Would it have been worth while,
After the sunsets and the dooryards and the sprinkled streets,
After the novels, after the teacups, after the skirts that trail along the floor--
And this, and so much more?--
It is impossible to say just what I mean I
But as if a magic lantern threw the nerves in patterns on a screen:
Would it have been worth while
If one, settling a pillow or throwing off a shawl,
And turning toward the window, should say:
“That is not it at all,
That is not what I meant, at all.“
No I am not Prince Hamlet, nor was meant to be;
Am an attendant lord, one that will do
To swell a progress, start a scene or two,
Advise the prince; no doubt, an easy tool,
Deferential, glad to be of use,
Politic, cautious, and meticulous;
Full of high sentence, but a bit obtuse;
At times, indeed, almost ridiculous--
Almost, at times, the Fool.
I grow old ... I grow old ...
I shall wear the bottoms of my trousers rolled.
Shall I part my hair behind? Do I dare to eat a peach?
I shall wear white flannel trousers, and walk upon the beach.
I have heard the mermaids singing, each to each.
I do not think that they will sing to me.
I have seen them riding seaward on the waves
Combing the white hair of the waves blown back
When the wind blows the water white and black.
We have lingered in the chambers of the sea
By sea-girls wreathed with seaweed red and brown
Till human voices wake us, and we drown.
下面是查良铮的译文：
J·阿尔弗瑞德·普鲁弗洛克的情歌
假如我认为,我是回答
一个能转回阳世间的人,
那么,这火焰就不会再摇闪.
但既然,如我听到的果真
没有人能活着离开这深渊,
我回答你就不必害怕流言.
那么我们走吧,你我两个人,
正当朝天空慢慢铺展着黄昏
好似病人麻醉在手术桌上；
我们走吧,穿过一些半清冷的街,
那儿休憩的场所正人声喋喋；
有夜夜不宁的下等歇夜旅店
和满地蚌壳的铺锯末的饭馆；
街连着街,好象一场讨厌的争议
带着阴险的意图
要把你引向一个重大的问题……
唉,不要问,“那是什么?”
让我们快点去作客.
在客厅里女士们来回地走,
谈着画家米开朗基罗.
黄色的雾在窗玻璃上擦着它的背,
黄色的烟在窗玻璃上擦着它的嘴,
把它的舌头舐进黄昏的角落,
徘徊在快要干涸的水坑上；
让跌下烟囱的烟灰落上它的背,
它溜下台阶,忽地纵身跳跃,
看到这是一个温柔的十月的夜,
于是便在房子附近蜷伏起来安睡.
呵,确实地,总会有时间
看黄色的烟沿着街滑行,
在窗玻璃上擦着它的背；
总会有时间,总会有时间
装一副面容去会见你去见的脸；
总会有时间去暗杀和创新,
总会有时间让举起问题又丢进你盘里的
双手完成劳作与度过时日；
有的是时间,无论你,无论我,
还有的是时间犹豫一百遍,
或看到一百种幻景再完全改过,
在吃一片烤面包和饮茶以前.
在客厅里女士们来回地走,
谈着画家米开朗基罗.
呵,确实地,总还有时间
来疑问,“我可有勇气?”“我可有勇气?”
总还有时间来转身走下楼梯,
把一块秃顶暴露给人去注意——
（她们会说：“他的头发变得多么稀!”）
我的晨礼服,我的硬领在腭下笔挺,
我的领带雅致而多彩,用一个简朴的别针固定——
（她们会说：“可是他的胳膊腿多么细!”）
我可有勇气
搅乱这个宇宙?
在一分钟里总还有时间
决定和变卦,过一分钟再变回头.
因为我已经熟悉了她们,熟悉了她们所有的人——
熟悉了那些黄昏,和上下午的情景,
我是用咖啡匙子量走了我的生命；
我熟悉每当隔壁响起了音乐
话声就逐渐低微而至停歇.
所以我怎么敢开口?
而且我已熟悉那些眼睛,熟悉了她们所有的眼睛——
那些眼睛能用一句成语的公式把你盯住,
当我被公式化了,在别针下趴伏,
那我怎么能开始吐出
我的生活和习惯的全部剩烟头?
我又怎么敢开口?
而且我已经熟悉了那些胳膊,熟悉了她们所有的胳膊——
那些胳膊带着镯子,又袒露又白净
（可是在灯光下,显得淡褐色毛茸茸!）
是否由于衣裙的香气
使得我这样话离本题?
那些胳膊或围着肩巾,或横在案头.
那时候我该开口吗?
可是我怎么开始?
是否我说,我在黄昏时走过窄小的街,
看到孤独的男子只穿着衬衫
倚在窗口,烟斗里冒着袅袅的烟?……
那我就会成为一对蟹螯
急急爬过沉默的海底.
啊,那下午,那黄昏,睡得多平静!
被纤长的手指轻轻抚爱,
睡了……倦慵的……或者它装病,
躺在地板上,就在你我脚边伸开.
是否我,在用过茶、糕点和冰食以后,
有魄力把这一刻推到紧要的关头?
然而,尽管我曾哭泣和斋戒,哭泣和祈祷,
尽管我看见我的头（有一点秃了）用盘子端了进来,
我不是先知——这也不值得大惊小怪；
我曾看到我伟大的时刻闪烁,
我曾看到那永恒的“侍者”拿着我的外衣暗笑,
一句话,我有点害怕.
而且,归根到底,是不是值得
当小吃、果子酱和红茶已用过,
在杯盘中间,当人们谈着你和我,
是不是值得以一个微笑
把这件事情一口啃掉,
把整个宇宙压缩成一个球,
使它滚向某个重大的问题,
说道：“我是拉撒路,从冥界
来报一个信,我要告诉你们一切.”——
万一她把枕垫放在头下一倚,
说道：“唉,我意思不是要谈这些；
不,我不是要谈这些.”
那么,归根到底,是不是值得,
是否值得在那许多次夕阳以后,
在庭院的散步和水淋过街道以后,
在读小说以后,在饮茶以后,在长裙拖过地板以后,——
说这些,和许多许多事情?——
要说出我想说的话绝不可能!
仿佛有幻灯把神经的图样投到幕上：
是否还值得如此难为情,
假如她放一个枕垫或掷下披肩,
把脸转向窗户,甩出一句：
“那可不是我的本意,
那可绝不是我的本意.”
不!我并非哈姆雷特王子,当也当不成；
我只是个侍从爵士,为王家出行,
铺排显赫的场面,或为王子出主意,
就够好的了；无非是顺手的工具,
服服帖帖,巴不得有点用途,
细致,周详,处处小心翼翼；
满口高谈阔论,但有点愚鲁；
有时候,老实说,显得近乎可笑,
有时候,几乎是个丑角.
呵,我变老了……我变老了……
我将要卷起我的长裤的裤脚.
我将把头发往后分吗?我可敢吃桃子?
我将穿上白法兰绒裤在海滩上散步.
我听见了女水妖彼此对唱着歌.
我不认为她们会为我而唱歌.
我看过她们凌驾波浪驶向大海,
梳着打回来的波浪的白发,
当狂风把海水吹得又黑又白.
我们留连于大海的宫室,
被海妖以红的和棕的海草装饰,
一旦被人声唤醒,我们就淹死.

下面是汤永宽的译文：
J.阿尔弗雷德·普罗弗洛克的情歌
如果我认为我是在回答
一个可能回到世间去的人的问题,
那么这火焰就将停止闪烁,
人说从未有谁能活着离开这里,
如果我听到的这话不假,
那我就不怕遗臭万年来回答你.
那么就让咱们去吧,我和你,
趁黄昏正铺展在天际
像一个上了麻醉的病人躺在手术台上；
让咱们去吧,穿过几条行人稀少的大街小巷,
到那临时过夜的廉价小客店
到满地是锯屑和牡蛎壳的饭店
那夜夜纷扰
人声嘈杂的去处：
街巷接着街巷像一场用心诡诈冗长乏味的辩论
要把你引向一个令人困惑的问题……
“那是什么?”哦,你别问,
让咱们去作一次访问.
房间里的女人们来往穿梭
谈论着米凯朗琪罗.
黄色的雾在窗玻璃上蹭着它的背,
黄色的烟在窗玻璃上擦着鼻子和嘴,
把舌头舔进黄昏的各个角落,
在阴沟里的水塘上面流连,
让烟囱里飘落的烟炱跌个仰面朝天,
悄悄溜过平台,猛地一跳,
眼见这是个温柔的十月之夜,
围着房子绕了一圈便沉入了睡乡.
准会有足够的时间
让黄色的烟雾溜过大街
在窗玻璃上蹭它的背脊；
准会有时间,准会有时间
准备好一副面孔去会见你要会见的那些面孔；
会有时间去干谋杀和创造,
也会有时间去让那些在你的盘子里
拿起或放上一个疑问的庄稼汉干活和过节；
有你的时间,也有我的时间,
还有让你犹豫不决一百次的时间,
一百次想入非非又作出修正的时间,
在你吃一片烤面包和喝茶之前.
房间里的女人们来往穿梭
谈论着米凯朗琪罗
准会有时间
让你怀疑,“我敢吗?”“我敢吗?”
会有时间掉转身子走下楼去,
带着我头发中央那块秃斑——
（他们准会说：“瞧他的头发变得多稀!”）
我的大礼服,我的硬领紧紧地顶着我的下巴,
我的领带又贵重又朴素,但只凭一根简朴的别针表明它的存在----
（他们准会说：“可是他的胳膊和大腿多细!”）
我敢惊扰
这个世界吗?
一分钟里有足够的时间
作出一分钟就会变更的决定和修正.
因为我对它们这一切早已熟悉,熟悉它们这一切——
熟悉这些黄昏,晨朝和午后,
我用咖啡勺把我的生命作了分配；
我知道从远远的那个房间传来的音乐下面
人语声随着那渐渐消沉的节奏正渐趋消寂.
所以我还该怎样猜测?
我早已领教过那些眼睛,领教过所有那些眼睛——
那些说一句客套话盯着你看的眼睛,
等我被客套制住了,在墙上挣扎扭动,
那我该怎样开始
把我的日子和习惯的残余一古脑儿吐个干净?
我还该怎样猜测?
我早已熟悉那些臂膀,熟悉它们一切——
那戴着手镯的臂膀,赤裸而白皙
（可是在灯光下,长满了层浅棕色的软毛!）
是衣衫上飘来的芳香
弄得我这样离题万里?
那些搁在桌边,或者裹着围巾的臂膀.
我还该怎样猜测?
我又该怎样开始?
…… ……
要我说,在黄昏时分我已走遍了小街狭巷
也观看了那些穿着衬衫在窗口探出身子的孤独的男人
从他们的烟斗里冒出的烟?……
我真该变成一副粗厉的爪子
急匆匆穿过静寂的海底.
…… ……
而且这午后,这黄昏,睡得多安静!
让修长的手指抚慰着,
睡熟了……倦极了……或者是在装病,
张开身子躺在地板上,在这儿,在你和我身边.
喝过茶,吃过糕点和冰淇淋,难道我就会
有力气把这瞬间推向一个转折点
尽管我哭过了也斋戒过了,哭过了也祈祷过了,
尽管我已经看见我的头颅（稍微有点秃了）给放在盘子里端了进来,
我可不是先知——这一点在这儿无关紧要；
我已经看到我的伟大的时刻在忽隐忽现地闪烁,
我也看到了那永恒的男仆拿着我的上衣在暗暗窃笑,
总之一句话,我害怕.
那么到底值不值得,
喝过了酒,吃过了果酱和茶以后,
在杯盘之间,在人们对你和我的闲聊之间,
值不值得带着微笑
把这件事就此一口啃掉,
把这世界捏成一个球
然后把它滚向一个使人窘困的问题,
说：“我是拉撒路,从死去的人们那儿来,
我回来告诉你们一切,我要告诉你们一切.”——
要是有个人,她一面把枕头往头边一塞,
却说：“那压根儿不是我的意思.
不是那个意思,压根儿不是.”
到底值不值得这样,
值不值得为此破费功夫,
经过多少次日落,多少个庭园和多少微雨迷蒙的大街小巷,
经过多少部小说,多少只茶杯和多少条裙裾曳过地板以后——
还要来这一套,还有那么多吗?-----
要说出我真想说的意思根本不可能!
可是仿佛有一盏幻灯把神经变成图案投射在屏幕上；
这值不值得破费功夫
如果有个人,放上一只枕头或者甩下一条头巾,
一面向窗子转过身去,却说；
“那压根儿不是,
那压根儿不是我的意思.”
…… ……
不!我不是哈姆雷特子,也不想成为王子；
我是侍从大臣,一个适合给帝王公侯出游
炫耀威风的人,发一两次脾气,
向王子提点忠告；毫无疑问,是个随和的爪牙,
恭顺谦虚,以对别人有用而感到高兴,
精明,细心而又慎微谨小；
满脑子高超的判断,只是稍微有些迟钝；
有时,的确,近乎荒唐可笑——
有时,差不多是个丑角.
我老啦……我老啦……
我要穿裤腿卷上翻边的裤子.
要不要把我的头发在后脑分开?我敢吃下一只桃子吗?
我要穿上白法兰绒的长裤,在海滨散步.
我听到美人鱼在歌唱,一个对着一个唱.
我可不想她们会对我歌唱.
我看见她们乘着波浪向大海驰去
一面梳理着风中向后纷披的波浪的白发
当大风乍起把海水吹成黑白相间的时候.
我们因海底的姑娘而逗留在大海的闺房
她们戴着红的和棕色的海草编成的花环
直到人类的声音把我们唤醒,我们便溺水而亡.
余光中的译文我至今还没见过.