美国诗歌

美国诗歌

There Was a Child Went Forth【王琪】

By Walt Whitman

THERE was a child went forth every day;

And the first object he look’d upon, that object he became;

And that object became part of him for the day, or a certain part of the day, or for many years, or stretching cycles of years.

The early lilacs became part of this child,

And grass, and white and red morning-glories, and white and red clover, and the song of the phoebe-bird,

And the Third-month lambs, and the sow’s pink-faint litter, and the ma re’s foal, and the cow’s calf,

And the noisy brood of the barn-yard, or by the mire of the pond-side,

And the fish suspending themselves so curiously below there—and the beautiful curious liquid,

And the water-plants with their graceful flat heads—all became part of him.

The field-sprouts of Fourth-month and Fifth-month became part of him;

Winter-grain sprouts, and those of the light-yellow corn, and the esculent roots of the garden, And the apple-trees cover’d with blossoms, and the fruit afterward, a nd wood-berries, and the commonest weeds by the road;

And the old drunkard staggering home from the out-house of the tavern, whence he had lately risen,

And the school-mistress that pa ss’d on her way to the school,

And the friendly boys that pass’d—and the quarrelsome boys,

And the tidy and fresh-cheek’d girls—and the barefoot negro boy and girl,

And all the changes of city and country, wherever he went.

His own parents,

He that had father’d him, and she that had conceiv’d him in her womb, and birth’d h im,

They gave this child more of themselves than that;

They gave him afterward every day—they became part of him.

The mother at home, quietly placing the dishes on the supper-table;

The mother with mild words—clean her cap and gown, a wholesome odor falling off her person and clothes as she walks by;

The father, strong, self-sufficient, manly, mean, anger’d, unjust;

The blow, the quick loud word, the tight bargain, the crafty lure,

The family usages, the language, the company, the furniture—the yearning and swelling heart,

Affection that will not be gainsay’d—the sense of what is real—the thought if, after all, it

should prove unreal,

The doubts of day-time and the doubts of night-time—the curious whether and how,

Whether that which appears so is so, or is it all flashes and specks?

Men and women crowding fast in the streets—if they are not flashes and specks, what are they?

The streets themselves, and the fa?ades of houses, and goods in the windows,

Vehicles, teams, the heavy-plank’d wharves—the huge crossing at the ferries,

The village on the highland, seen from afar at sunset—the river between,

Shadows, aureola and mist, the light falling on roofs and gables of white or brown, three miles off,

The schooner near by, sleepily dropping down the tide—the little boat slack-tow’d astern, The hurrying tumbling waves, quick-broken crests, slapping,

The strata of color’d clouds, the long bar of maroon-tint, away solitary by itself—the spread of purity it lies motionless in,

The horizon’s edge, the flying sea-crow, the fragrance of salt marsh and shore mud;

These became part of that child who went forth every day, and who now goes, and will always go forth every day.

有个孩子在一天天长大

他第一眼看到的东西，他就成了它

那东西在后来的一天时光里

或几年的岁月里

又成了他的一部分

早先见到的丁香花成了这孩子的一部分

还有草，红红白白的牵牛花，红红白白的

三叶草，还有那翁鸟的歌声

还有那三月的羊羔和粉红的

猪仔还有那驴崽和牛犊

还有仓库边或是池塘旁的叽叽喳喳的一窝鸟

还有那池塘里浮游于水中的鱼

还有那澄澈的水

还有那叶顶扁平的漂亮的水草，都成了

他的一部分

四五月的禾苗成了他的一部分

越冬的禾苗，浅黄的玉米，还有那

园中可食的草根

还有那满树繁花的苹果树和随后的

果实还有那路边的野草和木莓

还有那从小酒店的厕所解完手的酒徒

回转家门

还有到学校去路上的女教师

还有那路过的友善的和不友善的男孩

还有那穿着整齐面颊红润的姑娘和赤脚的

黑人男孩和女孩

还有她所过之处的城乡的变化

还有他的亲生父母，养育他的父亲的和怀胎十月并生下他的母亲

他们不但生了它还抚养他长大

他们为他每日辛劳，他们成了他的一部分

母亲在家默默无闻地把菜摆上了饭桌

母亲言语温和，衣帽整洁

她走过的时候，她的身体和衣裳发出好闻的气味父亲，强壮，傲慢，果断，小心，气闷，偏执

打骂，斤斤计较，狡诈

那家里的习惯，那语言，那玩伴，那家具

那渴望和高涨的心情

不可否认的情感，那真实的感觉

那最终证明是不真实的思虑

那对白昼的怀疑，对夜晚的疑惑，还有

那萦绕心头的是否是否如何如何的问题

是不是出现的是什么就是什么？还有它们-

一闪而过，无足轻重

男男女女在街上挤成一团，如果他们不是

过眼烟云芸芸众生又是什么？

那街道，那当街的铺面，那橱窗里的货物

那车辆，牲口，那铺了厚板的码头，那人群

如织的渡口

那日落时看到的高原村落，中间

夹了一条河

那两英里外的阴影，晕轮和薄雾，那落在

白色的和棕色的屋顶和尖塔的光线

那潮水旁轻眠的纵帆船

那朝后返拖的小船

那怒卷的大海，拍打后迅速跌下的浪峰

那重重云霞横在西天，孤独的栖在哪里

长天蔚蓝如洗，一片宁静

那天边，那飞翔的海鸟，

那芬芳的盐池温地

和海岸泥土

这些都成了天天长大的孩子的一部分，

他现在在长大，将来一直要天天长大。

O Captain! My Captain!【田野】

By Walt Whitman

https://www.360docs.net/doc/e24002263.html,/p-728897214.html

O Captain！My Captain！

啊，船长！我的船长！

Walt Whitman （瓦尔特.惠特曼）

O Captain!My Captain!Our fearful trip is done,

啊！船长！我的船长！可怕的航程已完成；

The ship has weather'd every rack, the prize we sought is won,

这船历尽风险，企求的目标已达成。

The port is near, the bells I hear, the people all exulting,

港口在望，钟声响，人们在欢欣。

While follow eyes the steady keel, the vessel grim and daring;

千万双眼睛注视着船——平稳，勇敢，坚定。

But O heart!heart!heart!

但是痛心啊！痛心！痛心！

O the bleeding drops of red!

瞧一滴滴鲜红的血！

Where on the deck my Captain lies,

甲板上躺着我的船长，

Fallen cold and dead.

他倒下去，冰冷，永别。

O Captain! my Captain!rise up and hear the bells;

啊，船长！我的船长！起来吧，倾听钟声；

Rise up -for you the flag is flung -for you the bugle trills,

起来吧，号角为您长鸣，旌旗为您高悬：

For you bouquets and ribbon'd wreaths-for you the shores crowding, 迎接您，多少花束花圈——候着您，千万人峰拥岸边；

For you they call, the swaying mass, their eager faces turing;

他们向您高呼，拥来挤去，仰起殷切的脸；

Here, Captain!dear father!

啊，船长！亲爱的父亲！

This arm beneath your head;

我的手臂托着您的头！

It is some dream that on the deck

莫非是一场梦：在甲板上

You 've fallen cold and dead.

您倒下去，冰冷，永别。

My Captain does not answer, his lips are pale and still,

我的船长不作声，嘴唇惨白，毫不动弹；

My father does not feel my arm , he has no pulse nor will;

我的父亲没感到我的手臂，没有脉搏，没有遗言；

The ship is anchor'd safe and sound, its voyage closed and done;

船舶抛锚停下，平安抵达；船程终了；

From fearful trip the victor ship comes in with object won;

历经难险返航，夺得胜利目标。

Exult, O shores!and ring, O bells!

啊，岸上钟声齐鸣，啊，人们一片欢腾！

But I,with mournful tread,

但是，我在甲板上，在船长身旁，

Walk the deck my captain lies,

心悲切，步履沉重；

Fallen cold and dead.[1]

因为他倒下去，冰冷，永别。[2]

The River-Merchant’s Wife: A Letter【徐孝云】

By Ezra Pound

While my hair was still cut straight across my forehead

I played about the front gate, pulling flowers.

You came by on bamboo stilts, playing horse,

You walked about my seat, playing with blue plums.

And we went on living in the village of Chokan:

Two small people, without dislike or suspicion.

At fourteen I married My Lord you.

I never laughed, being bashful.

Lowering my head, I looked at the wall.

Called to, a thousand times, I never looked back.

At fifteen I stopped scowling,

I desired my dust to be mingled with yours

Forever and forever and forever.

Why should I climb the look out?

At sixteen you departed,

You went into far Ku-to-yen, by the river of swirling eddies,

And you have been gone five months.

The monkeys make sorrowful noise overhead.

You dragged your feet when you went out.

By the gate now, the moss is grown, the different mosses,

Too deep to clear them away!

The leaves fall early this autumn, in wind.

The paired butterflies are already yellow with August

Over the grass in the West garden;

They hurt me. I grow older.

If you are coming down through the narrows of the river Kiang,

Please let me know beforehand,

And I will come out to meet you

As far as Cho-fu-Sa.

这首诗是庞德根据我国唐代诗人李白的《长干行》改写的

李白原诗《长干行》

妾发初覆额，折花门前剧。

郎骑竹马来，绕床弄青梅。

同居长干里，两小无嫌猜。

十四为君妇，羞颜未尝开。

低头向暗壁，千唤不一回。十五始展眉，愿同尘与灰。常存抱柱信，岂上望夫台。十六君远行，瞿塘滟滪堆。五月不可触，猿声天上哀。门前迟行迹，一一生绿苔。苔深不能扫，落叶秋风早。八月蝴蝶黄，双飞西园草。感此伤妾心，坐愁红颜老。早晚下三巴，预将书报家。相迎不道远，直至长风沙。

After Apple-Picking【马力】

By Robert Lee Frost https://www.360docs.net/doc/e24002263.html,/s/blog_6290544c0100t2h4.html

My long two-pointed ladder’s st icking through a tree

Toward heaven still,

And there’s a barrel that I didn’t fill

Beside it, and there may be two or three

Apples I didn’t pick upon some bough.

But I am done with apple-picking now.

Essence of winter sleep is on the night,

The scent of apples: I am drowsing off.

I cannot rub the strangeness from my sight

I got from looking through a pane of glass

I skimmed this morning from the drinking trough

And held against the world of hoary grass.

It melted, and I let it fall and break.

But I was well

Upon my way to sleep before it fell,

And I could tell

What form my dreaming was about to take.

Magnified apples appear and disappear,

Stem end and blossom end,

And every fleck of russet showing clear.

My instep arch not only keeps the ache,

It keeps the pressure of a ladder-round.

I feel the ladder sway as the boughs bend.

And I keep hearing from the cellar bin

The rumbling sound

Of load on load of apples coming in.

For I have had too much

Of apple-picking: I am overtired

Of the great harvest I myself desired.

There were ten thousand thousand fruit to touch,

Cherish in hand, lift down, and not let fall.

For all

That struck the earth,

No matter if not bruised or spiked with stubble,

Went surely to the cider-apple heap

As of no worth.

One can see what will trouble

This sleep of mine, whatever sleep it is.

Were he not gone,

The woodchuck could say whether it’s like his

Long sleep, as I describe its coming on,

Or just some human sleep.

摘罢苹果

长梯穿过树顶，竖起两个尖端

刺向沉静的天穹。

梯子脚下，有一只木桶，

我还没给装满，也许

还有两三个苹果留在枝头

我还没摘下。不过这会儿，

我算是把摘苹果这活干完了。

夜晚在散发着冬眠的气息

——那扑鼻的苹果香；

我是在打磕睡啦。

我揉揉眼睛，

却揉不掉眼前的奇怪——

这怪景像来自今天早晨，

我从饮水槽里揭起一层冰——

像一块窗玻璃，隔窗望向

一个草枯霜重的世界。

冰溶了，我由它掉下．碎掉。

可是它还没落地，我早就

膘膘肪脆，快掉进了睡乡。

我还说得出，我的梦

会是怎么样一个形状。

膨胀得好大的苹果，忽隐忽现，

一头是梗枝，一头是花儿，

红褐色的斑点，全看得请。

好酸疼哪．我的脚底板．

可还得使劲吃住梯子档的分量，

我感到那梯子

随着弯倒的树枝，在摇晃。

耳边只听得不断的隆隆声——

一桶又一捅苹果往地窖里送。

摘这么些苹果，

尽够我受了；我本是盼望

来个大丰收，可这会儿已累坏了，有千千万万的苹果你得去碰，

得轻轻地去拿，轻轻地去放．

不能往地上掉。只要一掉地，

即使没碰伤，也没叫草梗扎破，

只好全都堆在一边，去做苹果酒，算是不值一钱。

你看吧，打扰我睡一觉的是什么，且不提这算不算睡一觉。

如果土拨鼠没有走开，

听我讲睡梦怎样来到我身边，那它就可以说，

这跟它的冬眠倒有些像，

或者说，这不过是人类的冬眠。（方平译）

The Road Not Taken【吴红阳】

By Robert Lee Frost https://www.360docs.net/doc/e24002263.html,/programs/view/kvYgdMD7vEU/

Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,

And sorry I could not travel both

And be one traveler, long I stood

And looked down one as far as I could

To where it bent in the undergrowth;

Then took the other, as just as fair,

And having perhaps the better claim,

Because it was grassy and wanted wear;

Though as for that the passing there

Had worn them really about the same,

And both that morning equally lay

In leaves no step had trodden black.

Oh, I kept the first for another day!

Yet knowing how way leads on to way,

I doubted if I should ever come back.

I shall be telling this with a sigh

Somewhere ages and ages hence:

Two roads diverged in a wood, and I—

I took the one less traveled by,

And that has made all the difference.

一条未走的路

（美）弗罗斯特方平译

深黄的林子里有两条岔开的路，

很遗憾，我，一个过路人，

没法同时踏上两条征途，

伫立好久，我向一条路远远望去，

直到它打弯，视线被灌木丛挡住。

于是我选了另一条，不比那条差，

也许我还能说出更好的理由，

因为它绿草茸茸，等待人去践踏——

其实讲到留下了来往的足迹，

两条路，说不上差别有多大。

那天早晨，有两条路，相差无几，

都埋在还没被踩过的落叶底下。啊，我把那第一条路留给另一天！可我知道，一条路又接上另一条，将来能否重回旧地，这就难言。

隔了多少岁月，流逝了多少时光，我将叹一口气，提起当年的旧事：林子里有两条路，朝着两个方向，而我——我走上一条更少人迹的路，于是带来完全不同的一番景象。

Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening【张望根】

By Robert Lee Frost Whose woods these are I think I know.

His house is in the village though;

He will not see me stopping here

To watch his woods fill up with snow.

My little horse must think it queer

To stop without a farmhouse near

Between the woods and frozen lake

The darkest evening of the year.

He gives his harness bells a shake

To ask if there is some mistake.

The only other sound’s the sweep

Of easy wind and downy flake.

The woods are lovely, dark and deep.

But I have promises to keep,

And miles to go before I sleep,

And miles to go before I sleep.

雪夜观林

Robert Frost著长风译

我想我知道这片森林的领主，

不过他在村庄居住，

不会知道我在此驻足

观看雪落林木。

马驹一定觉得异样，

因为我没有停留农庄，

反而在一年最漫长的冬夜，

驻足森林和冻湖之间的路上。

它摇动马套上的响铃，

仿佛询问出了什么事情。

四周出奇地安静，

只有微风和雪花飘落的声音。

森林迷人，幽暗，茂密，

但使命催我离去，

在入睡之前还要马不停蹄，

马不停蹄。