一些花儿枯萎，一些快乐消失
花园里紫罗兰力殆筋疲
散发出东印度式的衰气
炽热烧白着天空，阵阵嘶嘶
但在平静的湖河中，自爽自足，
犹如繁星盛放在新的天都，
白百合们泛浮着，咸自矜持
任残酷的天神喷吐射线
百合花视其无耻的炫目如无物
任惨淡的薄云不能分享雨露
百合花没有焦渴，没有忌惮
昂起她的头颅，若女王之无冕
啜饮着活水，美丽娇妩
Some flowers are withered and some joys have died;
The garden reeks with an East Indian scent
From beds where gillyflowers stand weak and spent;
The white heat pales the skies from side to side;
But in still lakes and rivers, cool, content,
Like starry blooms on a new firmament,
White lilies float and regally abide.
In vain the cruel skies their hot rays shed;
The lily does not feel their brazen glare.
In vain the pallid clouds refuse to share
Their dews, the lily feels no thirst, no dread.
Unharmed she lifts her queenly face and head;
She drinks of living waters and keeps fair.
[ 本帖最后由 一秋壑 于 2015-7-30 19:29 编辑 ]
最新回复
这是组诗中的一首吧？
July
SOME flowers are withered and some joys have died;
The garden reeks with an East Indian scent
>From beds where gillyflowers stand weak and spent;
The white heat pales the skies from side to side;
But in still lakes and rivers, cool, content,
Like starry blooms on a new firmament,
White lilies float and regally abide.
In vain the cruel skies their hot rays shed;
The lily does not feel their brazen glare.
In vain the pallid clouds refuse to share
Their dews, the lily feels no thirst, no dread.
Unharmed she lifts her queenly face and head;
She drinks of living waters and keeps fair.
Helen Hunt Jackson
感觉译的节奏和原文不是很吻合。
[ 本帖最后由 黄尘滚滚 于 2015-7-30 21:59 编辑 ]
从这首七月搜到了点有趣的东西，英国诗人Edward Thomas也写过首七月，个人觉得出版的两个版本的翻译相去甚远，有人作出了以下的对比：
英国诗人爱德华。托马斯的诗《七月》之翻译比较并其他
文/aodaly
关于《七月》的翻译注意到两个版本，即〈英美名诗一百首〉(1987年孙梁编选。中国对外翻译出版公司和香港商务印书馆出版)和〈英美十人诗选〉（2003年周伟弛译，河北教育出版社出版）中都选有英国现代重要诗人爱德华。托马斯（Edward Thmars。1878—1917）的《七月》，便做了其翻译的对照。因时代的差异和所处文化背景的不同，感到有明显的翻译差别。其中文辞的运用，细节的展现，诗意的转呈均有可圈点之处。《英美名诗一百首》中的〈七月〉是我国的翻译前辈宗白先生所译，而《英美十人诗选》中的《七月》是由当代诗人兼留美学者周伟弛先生翻译的。因〈英美名诗一百首〉中为英汉对照版本，故可将原文及其译诗呈现以为大家作出相应判定。
July
Edward Thomas
Naught moves but clouds,and in the glassy lake
Their doubles and shadow of boat
The boat itself stirs only when I break
This drowse of heat solitude afloat
To prove if what I see be bird or mote,
Or learn if the shore woods be awake.
Long hours since dawn grew,—spresd,—and passed on high
And deep below,—I have watched the cool reeds hung
Over images more cool in imaged sky:
Nothing there was worth thingking of so long;
All that the ring-dove say,far leaves among,
Brims my mind with contrnt thus still to lie.
1、宗白先生译：
七月
万物宁谧，惟有流云，晶莹的湖泊，
云影缓移，浮泛着舟影。
扁舟轻荡，我用桨儿划破
沉沉的炎热，和迷离的寂寞，
为了辨认：望见的是鸟和纤尘。
为了探明：湖畔树林是否苏醒。
晨曦早已微明——弥漫——飘向晴空
又溶于碧波；我久久凝视冷冷的芦苇
影入云天毵毵的水中，凉意更浓；
在这悠悠的时光，物我两忘
远处树丛，斑尾鸽禺禺细语，
我静卧啼听，恍惚置身仙境。
2、周伟弛译：
七月
移动的只有云，在如镜的湖面
它们的分身，以及我的船影。
我听任船儿自己走，偶尔
举浆打破这昏沉沉的闷热，和飘荡的孤寂
好弄清我看见的是鸟还是灰尘，
岸边的树林是不是还清醒。
好久了，自从黎明破晓——伸展——升高
低沉，——我见到冷冷的芦苇斜倚
在倒映天空里更冷的影子上：
那里没有什么值得长久地思想；
远方树叶里，斑尾鸽所说的一切。
静静地溢满了我的心房。
*******************************************************************************
针对以上两种版本的译法，现从客观角度来作粗浅分析。首先，从字面上可以较明显地看出，两首诗的翻译所采用语言的辞格构式是不同的。宗白先生用的是五四语言改革运动后流行起来的白话文，明显带着文言辞格形式，修饰语很重，但也更接近原诗的意象与情态，歧义的可能性少，这样在较好地剔除翻译痕迹的前提下，便于当时的国人阅读。而周伟弛先生的翻译便是用符合当代国人诗写所用的语言形式了，那就是口语化的直白、简洁、流畅，为致整体韵势的统一协调，为阅读顺畅的可能性，语言也为达此目的而服务；如第一句，按原文表达应是周先生的更忠实一些，即“移动的只有云”。而宗白先生加上“万物宁谧”，却为整体语言的节奏与辞彩协调而致；其次是翻译技巧和细节的处理。宗白先生的翻译基本采用意译法，力求用中文范式和韵律将其改造成一首接近于原诗内容和意味的汉诗，故在细节处理上采取的是增加法，尽管语言凝练，却有多处补充和增加。而周伟弛先生的翻译采用直译法，行文依照诗句的内节奏脉络的缓急铺展，微呈缩略的架式，故而意蕴内涵便与原诗有了局部的游离。如最后一句：“远方树叶里，斑尾鸽所说的一切。静静地溢满了我的心房。”对照原文，此翻译在文法和内容上是遵照原文字表意象的;但宗白先生的翻译却更大程度减少了“因翻译带来的损失”，即：“远处树丛，斑尾鸽禺禺细语，我静卧谛听，恍惚置身仙境。”除用词“禺禺”来表示鸟儿讲话的情态与上文的时光对应外，最后又在“我静静的谛听”后，把诗中暗示的意蕴即“恍惚置身仙境”作为补语示出，由此结尾点出了全诗的朦胧意象之核，那就是七月的美景与仙境媲美，一切似梦如幻。虽然在语式与阅读上，周先生的更轻巧，更符合当代人的阅读习惯，但诗歌原生状态的可能展示，我想还在于是否有能力善于从作者语言之外发现诗歌本身的秘密,我想这方面宗白先生做得更到位。最后关于该诗质与形的问题上，两种翻译因采用不同的内在节奏即情绪节奏或旋律节奏而呈现了不同的外在形式，而由此带来的分行和跨行在节点的选择上也有了不同。如宗白先生译诗的第一节的第三行开始：扁舟轻荡，我用桨儿划破/沉沉的炎热，和迷离的寂寞，/为了辨认：望见的是鸟和纤尘。/为了探明：湖畔树林是否苏醒。显然，宗先生是以声韵来控制节奏的，前两句均以韵母O来决定了句子的分行；后两句则以对仗的设问语气的情韵节奏安排了分行。而周先生的翻译则更倾向于作者所展开的情韵节奏在自由诗中的运用，显得随意。而因用语的散落，使形式在节奏的推动下呈自然开合状态。却也不能说这样的节奏并无美感，只是痕迹淡化罢了。这在第二节的第二句后,两者的翻译在节奏上亦看出分别。周先生的翻译：低沉，——我见到冷冷的芦苇斜倚/在倒映天空里更冷的影子上：/那里没有什么值得长久地思想；这里是以客体运势来推拉节奏的：我见到——（冷冷的）芦苇——斜倚/在——倒映天空里——更冷的影子上——那里没有什么——值得长久地——思想。而宗先生却以主观情态掌握节奏：又溶于碧波；我久久凝视冷冷的芦苇/影入云天毵毵的水中，凉意更浓；/在这悠悠的时光，物我两忘。期间人在其中的运力一直存在，声韵节奏和情韵节奏（三行最后字：苇、浓、忘）一同控制形式的走向。
鉴于以上分析，对诗的多角度理解和多侧面的技巧展示是翻译诗歌的重要手段，是让作者以外的人更有机会进入作者提供的精神状貌与生活环境中，从而顺畅赏析作者心与思的异质灵动,同时以期达到与作者的共舞同吟。而不同时代、不同修学背景的人的翻译之实质差异的确是有很多令人深思的地方。当然，我们不能要求翻译均在意蕴节奏和诗意建构上给予神奇展现，但诗之翻译的可能性和“诗就是在翻译中失去的东西”两种理论的并存给很多力图于这方面工作的诗人、翻译家带来契机也带来更大的压力和挑战。毕竟诗的隐藏意义和诗意暗示的技能需求在母语世界里存在艺术上更高质的赏玩意义，而翻译者对该语言的研习与熟悉程度和对诗歌的感悟能力却是决定其对一首诗翻译成功与否的重要条件。这也是很多人包括本人一直不敢轻易译诗的一大障碍。而现代诗歌源于欧美，我们又焦渴地需要学习和借鉴国外新诗的成果，这又十分需要大批这方面的翻译人才，在此矛盾问题前面，我们需要认真思考和面对的还有很多,但积极努力前行并克服必然的困难，力求形成诗歌再现的构建模式却是译诗路上唯一重要的出路。
[ 本帖最后由 黄尘滚滚 于 2015-7-31 12:38 编辑 ]
QUOTE:
.说得好。
O WINTER! frozen pulse and heart of fire,
What loss is theirs who from thy kingdom turn
Dismayed, and think thy snow a sculptured urn
Of death! Far sooner in midsummer tire
The streams than under ice. June could not hire
Her roses to forego the strength they learn
In sleeping on thy breast. No fires can burn
The bridges thou dost lay where men desire
In vain to build.
O Heart, when Love's sun goes
To northward, and the sounds of singing cease,
Keep warm by inner fires, and rest in peace.
Sleep on content, as sleeps the patient rose.
Walk boldly on the white untrodden snows,
The winter is the winter's own release.
February
STILL lie the sheltering snows, undimmed and white;
And reigns the winter's pregnant silence still;
No sign of spring, save that the catkins fill,
And willow stems grow daily red and bright.
These are days when ancients held a rite
Of expiation for the old year's ill,
And prayer to purify the new year's will:
Fit days, ere yet the spring rains blur the sight,
Ere yet the bounding blood grows hot with haste,
And dreaming thoughts grow heavy with a greed
The ardent summer's joy to have and taste;
Fit days, to give to last year's losses heed,
To recon clear the new life's sterner need;
Fit days, for Feast of Expiation placed!
March
MONTH which the warring ancients strangely styled
The month of war,--as if in their fierce ways
Were any month of peace!--in thy rough days
I find no war in Nature, though the wild
Winds clash and clang, and broken boughs are piled
As feet of writhing trees. The violets raise
Their heads without affright, without amaze,
And sleep through all the din, as sleeps a child.
And he who watches well may well discern
Sweet expectation in each living thing.
Like pregnant mother the sweet earth doth yearn;
In secret joy makes ready for the spring;
And hidden, sacred, in her breast doth bear
Annunciation lilies for the year.
April
NO days such honored days as these! While yet
Fair Aphrodite reigned, men seeking wide
For some fair thing which should forever bide
On earth, her beauteous memory to set
In fitting frame that no age could forget,
Her name in lovely April's name did hide,
And leave it there, eternally allied
To all the fairest flowers Spring did beget.
And when fair Aphrodite passed from earth,
Her shrines forgotten and her feasts of mirth,
A holier symbol still in seal and sign,
Sweet April took, of kingdom most divine,
When Christ ascended, in the time of birth
Of spring anemones, in Palestine.
May
O Month when they who love must love and wed!
Were one to go to worlds where May is naught,
And seek to tell the memories he had brought
From earth of thee, what were most fitly said?
I know not if the rosy showers shed
From apple-boughs, or if the soft green wrought
In fields, or if the robin's call be fraught
The most with thy delight. Perhaps they read
Thee best who in the ancient time did say
Thou wert the sacred month unto the old:
No blossom blooms upon thy brightest day
So subtly sweet as memories which unfold
In aged hearts which in thy sunshine lie,
To sun themselves once more before they die.
June
O MONTH whose promise and fulfilment blend,
And burst in one! it seems the earth can store
In all her roomy house no treasure more;
Of all her wealth no farthing have to spend
On fruit, when once this stintless flowering end.
And yet no tiniest flower shall fall before
It hath made ready at its hidden core
Its tithe of seed, which we may count and tend
Till harvest. Joy of blossomed love, for thee
Seems it no fairer thing can yet have birth?
No room is left for deeper ecstacy?
Watch well if seeds grow strong, to scatter free
Germs for thy future summers on the earth.
A joy which is but joy soon comes to dearth.
July
SOME flowers are withered and some joys have died;
The garden reeks with an East Indian scent
>From beds where gillyflowers stand weak and spent;
The white heat pales the skies from side to side;
But in still lakes and rivers, cool, content,
Like starry blooms on a new firmament,
White lilies float and regally abide.
In vain the cruel skies their hot rays shed;
The lily does not feel their brazen glare.
In vain the pallid clouds refuse to share
Their dews, the lily feels no thirst, no dread.
Unharmed she lifts her queenly face and head;
She drinks of living waters and keeps fair.
August
SILENCE again. The glorious symphony
Hath need of pause and interval of peace.
Some subtle signal bids all sweet sounds cease,
Save hum of insects' aimless industry.
Pathetic summer seeks by blazonry
Of color to conceal her swift decrease.
Weak subterfuge! Each mocking day doth fleece
A blossom, and lay bare her poverty.
Poor middle-aged summer! Vain this show!
Whole fields of Golden-Rod cannot offset
One meadow with a single violet;
And well the singing thrush and lily know,
Spite of all artifice which her regret
Can deck in splendid guise, their time to go!
September
O GOLDEN month! How high thy gold is heaped!
The yellow birch-leaves shine like bright coins strung
On wands; the chestnut's yellow pennons tongue
To every wind its harvest challenge. Steeped
In yellow, still lie fields where wheat was reaped;
And yellow still the corn sheaves, stacked among
The yellow gourds, which from the earth have wrung
Her utmost gold. To highest boughs have leaped
The purple grape,--last thing to ripen, late
By very reason of its precious cost.
O Heart, remember, vintages are lost
If grapes do not for freezing night-dews wait.
Think, while thou sunnest thyself in Joy's estate,
Mayhap thou canst not ripen without frost!
October
THE month of carnival of all the year,
When Nature lets the wild earth go its way,
And spend whole seasons on a single day.
The spring-time holds her white and purple dear;
October, lavish, flaunts them far and near;
The summer charily her reds doth lay
Like jewels on her costliest array;
October, scornful, burns them on a bier.
The winter hoards his pearls of frost in sign
Of kingdom: whiter pearls than winter knew,
Oar empress wore, in Egypt's ancient line,
October, feasting 'neath her dome of blue,
Drinks at a single draught, slow filtered through
Sunshiny air, as in a tingling wine!
November
THIS is the treacherous month when autumn days
With summer's voice come bearing summer's gifts.
Beguiled, the pale down-trodden aster lifts
Her head and blooms again. The soft, warm haze
Makes moist once more the sere and dusty ways,
And, creeping through where dead leaves lie in drifts,
The violet returns. Snow noiseless sifts
Ere night, an icy shroud, which morning's rays
Willidly shine upon and slowly melt,
Too late to bid the violet live again.
The treachery, at last, too late, is plain;
Bare are the places where the sweet flowers dwelt.
What joy sufficient hath November felt?
What profit from the violet's day of pain?
December
THE lakes of ice gleam bluer than the lakes
Of water 'neath the summer sunshine gleamed:
Far fairer than when placidly it streamed,
The brook its frozen architecture makes,
And under bridges white its swift way takes.
Snow comes and goes as messenger who dreamed
Might linger on the road; or one who deemed
His message hostile gently for their sakes
Who listened might reveal it by degrees.
We gird against the cold of winter wind
Our loins now with mighty bands of sleep,
In longest, darkest nights take rest and ease,
And every shortening day, as shadows creep
O'er the brief noontide, fresh surprises find.
Helen Hunt Jackson
这个月历组诗，工程有点大哟。
QUOTE:
。。。。。。。。333.jpg
一想到世上不得不存在“译作”这种二逼货，就感到无比地蛋疼。根据《圣经》的记载，上帝要对此负99.99%的责任。
两位请继续～
QUOTE:
这个……或许有道理，毕竟译文好不好一遛就见高下的（原文不去评介），宗白韵没全押确实是瑕疵，且私货也确实过了，不去洗。对比这两文，秋壑兄不觉得周译对于营造意蕴内涵很无力吗？你有把握跳出这种无力（其它不去说)？[ 本帖最后由 黄尘滚滚 于 2015-8-1 04:29 编辑 ]
QUOTE:
这个说到点子上了。现代诗有且只有这三首能看看：卞之琳的《断章》、徐志摩的《再别康桥》和戴望舒的《雨巷》。原因就在于它们的节奏感和音乐性与其它的拉得太开了。
诗歌者，可歌也，竟然没几个人懂，哎……
QUOTE:
喜欢看到秋壑兄象<沁园春·雪>般的意气风发指点译诗，就事论事来说，这么点改进有用吗？
我很赞同某坛友说起<四部四重奏>时说的话，大意是说就算用本土语言也说不清这诗。其实这种情形在唐诗宋词中比比皆是，很多时候后人连接近点的机会都不大，何况是要去用另一种语言?
象宇文所安就明说喜爱李贺，原因很简单，他再奇诞的想象其实还是很直观的，智商没问题的话相对很好翻译。而去翻译杜甫等就不一样了，你要把文字后面的世界弄懂就不错了，翻译的话很难很难。
象唐诗宋词，其实里边的各位文豪的风格相去甚远，今人就是想翻译的话，不是那个风格的强来，估计和莱科宁去开WＲＣ或罗西开F１一样，看着行，较真就很下风了。
那么，我们去翻译外国诗呢？有没想过这个问题？孙梁敢编选〈英美名诗一百首〉，我相信肯定有他的自信，秋壑兄所说的会不会是风格等的原因呢？而当去实在的面对一首诗时是匆忙上阵还是先去读懂在说呢?
我说下我的经历，曾很喜爱某首诗想去译，如周般译出来不知所云，就该用宗般去译，不仅合诗面意连后边的内涵也很象个样子（古文在营造意象方面强太多去了），后觉得确实中英对着读不成样子，又试着回现代文，水准当然如我的文笔一般差，可是我的用词及那种想去表达内涵的意图与最初相去之远是表露无疑的。所以我感到，译诗并不是有什么恒定的标准，合不合口味或许更为重要，如网上的调侃：泥泞路上的奔驰比不过吉利。
能找到能对应的风格的话，其译诗当然是风采夺人。这首<七月>在两者间我投宗白一票。
你说的译诗并不是有什么恒定的标准，很对，但还漏掉一个方面：选择。有的有译的冲动，有的毫无。也都是很个性化口味的问题。
看来你是个赛车迷。我不看赛车节目，实在欣赏不了。
.
同样混论坛，有人是为了发帖，有人是为了把水搞脏。
同样是发帖，有人是为了表达观点，有人是为了领铜板。
.