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071008 Crane poems
哈特·克莱恩的三首诗 Sunday Morning Apples To William Sommer Hart Crane The leaves will fall again sometime and fill The fleece of nature with those purposes That are your rich and faithful strength of line. But now there are challenges to spring In that ripe nude with head reared Into a realm of swords, her purple shadow Bursting on the winter of the world From whiteness that cries defiance to the snow. A boy runs with a dog before the sun, straddling Spontaneities that form their independent orbits, Their own perennials of light In the valley where you live (called Brandywine). I have seen the apples there that toss you secrets,--- Beloved apples of seasonable madness That feed your inquiries with aerial wine. Put them again beside a pitcher with a knife, And poise them full and ready for explosion--- The apples, Bill, the apples! 星期天早晨的苹果 致William Sommer 哈特·克莱恩 树叶不久将再次飘落，又要为 大自然的金羊毛添满种种用心， 作为你线条中丰富而忠实的力量。 但是现在春天面临许多挑战， 来自那成熟的裸女 翘首于 一个长剑耸立的王国，她紫色背影 爆裂在这个世界的冬季，从白色中 跳出来，一任它对雪挑衅地呼叫。 一个男孩迎着太阳带着狗跑，骑着空马， 自发的姿势，沿着他们自定的轨道， 他们自带的光经年不灭， 在你住的那片山谷 （叫做白兰地酒）。 我看见过那儿的苹果都摇晃着你的秘密—— 可爱的苹果带着合乎时节的疯癫， 喂饱了你带着空气般的酒气对它们的探究。 将它们摆放在瓦罐旁，放一把刀子， 平衡好，令它们涨满而随时爆开—— 苹果啊，哥儿们，那些苹果啊！ 这是诗人哈特·克莱恩（Hart Crane 1899-1932，介绍见10月7日的帖子《克莱恩：我外婆的情书》）对于画家威廉·索默的环境和画作的描述。首先，诗中描绘了那个叫做“白兰地酒”的山谷的四季变换，然后描绘了这位画家朋友的另一个常见的静物画物体。这首将景物、人物和果实融会在一起的诗篇，送给朋友，令人读来感到非常温暖（这首诗最后一行中的Bill比尔是威廉的昵称，我翻译成哥儿们了）。威廉·索默(William Sommer 1867-1949)画风显然很受法国画家赛尚的影响。顺便再翻译两首。 Garden Abstract Hart Crane The apple on its bough is her desire,--- Shining suspension, mimic of the sun. The bough has caught her breath up, and her voice, Dumbly articulate in the slant and rise Of branch on branch above her, blurs her eyes. She is prisoner of the tree and its green fingers. And so she comes to dream herself the tree, The wind possessing her, weaving her young veins, Holding her to the sky and its quick blue, Drowning the fever of her hands in sunlight. She has no memory, nor fear, nor hope Beyond the grass and shadows at her feet. 果园抽象画 那苹果在树枝上是她的欲望—— 悬吊着的闪耀，对太阳的模拟。 树枝扼止了她的呼吸，而她的嗓音 在她上方交错着斜插向上的树枝之间 无声地诉说，令她的双眼朦胧。 她是树的囚徒，是它的绿色手指。 于是她便将开始梦想，梦想自己是树， 风儿缠着自己，编织她年轻的脉络， 将它撑起，送入天空和那敏锐的蓝色， 将她双手的恐惧淹没在阳光中。 她没有了记忆、没有恐惧，也没有 希望，除了脚下的青草与阴影。 Pastorale Hart Crane No more violets, And the year Broken into smoky panels. What woods remember now Her calls, her enthusiasms. That ritual of sap and leaves The sun drew out, Ends in this latter muffled Bronze and brass. The wind Takes rein. If, dusty, I bear An image beyond this Already fallen harvest, I can only query, "Fool--- Have you remembered too long; Or was there too little said For ease or resolution--- Summer scarcely begun And violets, A few picked, the rest dead?" 田园曲 不再有紫罗兰， 一年碎了 碎成烟雾袅袅的画板。 树林所能记得的 是她的呼唤、她的热情。 树汁与叶子的仪式， 被太阳展开， 结束于这闷声的晚来的 青铜色管乐。而风 抓住了缰绳。 假若我能忍眼 看这幅满是灰尘的景象 滞留在沉沦的收获之后， 我只能试问：痴愚的人啊—— 你记得的也记得太久了； 或者，为了安心或决心， 说出的话都只是太少—— 夏天几乎没有开始 而紫罗兰 被摘了几朵，留下的都枯死？ 配画的原帖 http://www.poemlife. |
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