艾略特荒原

艾略特《荒原The Waste Land.》（原文及译文） 作者: T.S. Eliot (1888–1965). The Waste Land. 1922. 　　　　　　The Waste Land I. THE BURIAL OF THE DEAD APRIL is the cruellest month, breeding Lilacs out of the dead land, mixing Memory and desire, stirring Dull roots with 艾略特《荒原The Waste Land.》（原文及译文） 作者: T.S. Eliot (1888–1965). The Waste Land. 1922. 　　　　　　The Waste Land I. THE BURIAL OF THE DEAD APRIL is the cruellest month, breeding Lilacs out of the dead land, mixing Memory and desire, stirring Dull roots with spring rain. Winter kept us warm, covering 5 Earth in forgetful snow, feeding A little life with dried tubers. Summer surprised us, coming over the Starnbergersee With a shower of rain; we stopped in the colonnade, And went on in sunlight, into the Hofgarten, 10 And drank coffee, and talked for an hour. Bin gar keine Russin, stamm' aus Litauen, echt deutsch. And when we were children, staying at the archduke's, My cousin's, he took me out on a sled, And I was frightened. He said, Marie, 15 Marie, hold on tight. And down we went. In the mountains, there you feel free. I read, much of the night, and go south in the winter. What are the roots that clutch, what branches grow Out of this stony rubbish? Son of man, 20 You cannot say, or guess, for you know only A heap of broken images, where the sun beats, And the dead tree gives no shelter, the cricket no relief, And the dry stone no sound of water. Only There is shadow under this red rock, 25 (Come in under the shadow of this red rock), And I will show you something different from either Your shadow at morning striding behind you Or your shadow at evening rising to meet you; I will show you fear in a handful of dust. 30 Frisch weht der Wind Der Heimat zu. Mein Irisch Kind, Wo weilest du? 'You gave me hyacinths first a year ago; 35 'They called me the hyacinth girl.' —Yet when we came back, late, from the Hyacinth garden, Your arms full, and your hair wet, I could not Speak, and my eyes failed, I was neither Living nor dead, and I knew nothing, 40 Looking into the heart of light, the silence. Od' und leer das Meer. Madame Sosostris, famous clairvoyante, Had a bad cold, nevertheless Is known to be the wisest woman in Europe, 45 With a wicked pack of cards. Here, said she, Is your card, the drowned Phoenician Sailor, (Those are pearls that were his eyes. Look!) Here is Belladonna, the Lady of the Rocks, The lady of situations. 50 Here is the man with three staves, and here the Wheel, And here is the one-eyed merchant, and this card, Which is blank, is something he carries on his back, Which I am forbidden to see. I do not find The Hanged Man. Fear death by water. 55 I see crowds of people, walking round in a ring. Thank you. If you see dear Mrs. Equitone, Tell her I bring the horoscope myself: One must be so careful these days. Unreal City, 60 Under the brown fog of a winter dawn, A crowd flowed over London Bridge, so many, I had not thought death had undone so many. Sighs, short and infrequent, were exhaled, And each man fixed his eyes before his feet. 65 Flowed up the hill and down King William Street, To where Saint Mary Woolnoth kept the hours With a dead sound on the final stroke of nine. There I saw one I knew, and stopped him, crying 'Stetson! 'You who were with me in the ships at Mylae! 70 'That corpse you planted last year in your garden, 'Has it begun to sprout? Will it bloom this year? 'Or has the sudden frost disturbed its bed? 'Oh keep the Dog far hence, that's friend to men, 'Or with his nails he'll dig it up again! 75 'You! hypocrite lecteur!—mon semblable,—mon frère!' II. A GAME OF CHESS THE Chair she sat in, like a burnished throne, Glowed on the marble, where the glass Held up by standards wrought with fruited vines From which a golden Cupidon peeped out 80 (Another hid his eyes behind his wing) Doubled the flames of sevenbranched candelabra Reflecting light upon the table as The glitter of her jewels rose to meet it, From satin cases poured in rich profusion; 85 In vials of ivory and coloured glass Unstoppered, lurked her strange synthetic perfumes, Unguent, powdered, or liquid—troubled, confused And drowned the sense in odours; stirred by the air That freshened from the window, these ascended 90 In fattening the prolonged candle-flames, Flung their smoke into the laquearia, Stirring the pattern on the coffered ceiling. Huge sea-wood fed with copper Burned green and orange, framed by the coloured stone, 95 In which sad light a carvèd dolphin swam. Above the antique mantel was displayed As though a window gave upon the sylvan scene The change of Philomel, by the barbarous king So rudely forced; yet there the nightingale 100 Filled all the desert with inviolable voice And still she cried, and still the world pursues, 'Jug Jug' to dirty ears. And other withered stumps of time Were told upon the walls; staring forms 105 Leaned out, leaning, hushing the room enclosed. Footsteps shuffled on the stair. Under the firelight, under the brush, her hair Spread out in fiery points Glowed into s, then would be savagely still. 110 'My nerves are bad to-night. Yes, bad. Stay with me. 'Speak to me. Why do you never speak? Speak. 'What are you thinking of? What thinking? What? 'I never know what you are thinking. Think.' I think we are in rats' alley 115 Where the dead men lost their bones. 'What is that noise?' The wind under the door. 'What is that noise now? What is the wind doing?' Nothing again nothing. 120 'Do 'You know nothing? Do you see nothing? Do you remember 'Nothing?' I remember Those are pearls that were his eyes. 125 'Are you alive, or not? Is there nothing in your head?' But O O O O that Shakespeherian Rag— It's so elegant So intelligent 130 'What shall I do now? What shall I do?' 'I shall rush out as I am, and walk the street 'With my hair down, so. What shall we do to-morrow? 'What shall we ever do?' The hot water at ten. 135 And if it rains, a closed car at four. And we shall play a game of chess, Pressing lidless eyes and waiting for a knock upon the door. When Lil's husband got demobbed, I said— I didn't mince my words, I said to her myself, 140 HURRY UP PLEASE IT'S TIME Now Albert's coming back, make yourself a bit smart. He'll want to know what you done with that money he gave you To get yourself some teeth. He did, I was there. You have them all out, Lil, and get a nice set, 145 He said, I swear, I can't bear to look at you. And no more can't I, I said, and think of poor Albert, He's been in the army four years, he wants a good time, And if you don't give it him, there's others will, I said. Oh is there, she said. Something o' that, I said. 150 Then I'll know who to thank, she said, and give me a straight look. HURRY UP PLEASE IT'S TIME If you don't like it you can get on with it, I said. Others can pick and choose if you can't. But if Albert makes off, it won't be for lack of telling. 155 You ought to be ashamed, I said, to look so antique. (And her only thirty-one.) I can't help it, she said, pulling a long face, It's them pills I took, to bring it off, she said. (She's had five already, and nearly died of young George.) 160 The chemist said it would be alright, but I've never been the same. You are a proper fool, I said. Well, if Albert won't leave you alone, there it is, I said, What you get married for if you don't want children? HURRY UP PLEASE IT'S TIME 165 Well, that Sunday Albert was home, they had a hot gammon, And they asked me in to dinner, to get the beauty of it hot— HURRY UP PLEASE IT'S TIME HURRY UP PLEASE IT'S TIME Goonight Bill. Goonight Lou. Goonight May. Goonight. 170 Ta ta. Goonight. Goonight. Good night, ladies, good night, sweet ladies, good night, good night. III. THE FIRE SERMON THE river's tent is broken: the last fingers of leaf Clutch and sink into the wet bank. The wind Crosses the brown land, unheard. The nymphs are departed. 175 Sweet Thames, run softly, till I end my song. The river bears no empty bottles, sandwich papers, Silk handkerchiefs, cardboard boxes, cigarette ends Or other testimony of summer nights. The nymphs are departed. And their friends, the loitering heirs of city directors; 180 Departed, have left no addresses. By the waters of Leman I sat down and wept... Sweet Thames, run softly till I end my song, Sweet Thames, run softly, for I speak not loud or long. But at my back in a cold blast I hear 185 The rattle of the bones, and chuckle spread from ear to ear. A rat crept softly through the vegetation Dragging its slimy belly on the bank While I was fishing in the dull canal On a winter evening round behind the gashouse 190 Musing upon the king my brother's wreck And on the king my father's death before him. White bodies naked on the low damp ground And bones cast in a little low dry garret, Rattled by the rat's foot only, year to year. 195 But at my back from time to time I hear The sound of horns and motors, which shall bring Sweeney to Mrs. Porter in the spring. O the moon shone bright on Mrs. Porter And on her daughter 200 They wash their feet in soda water Et, O ces voix d'enfants, chantant dans la coupole! Twit twit twit Jug jug jug jug jug jug So rudely forc'd. 205 Tereu Unreal City Under the brown fog of a winter noon Mr. Eugenides, the Smyrna merchant Unshaven, with a pocket full of currants 210 C.i.f. London: documents at sight, Asked me in demotic French To luncheon at the Cannon Street Hotel Followed by a weekend at the Metropole. At the violet hour, when the eyes and back 215 Turn upward from the desk, when the human engine waits Like a taxi throbbing waiting, I Tiresias, though blind, throbbing between two lives, Old man with wrinkled female breasts, can see At the violet hour, the evening hour that strives 220 Homeward, and brings the sailor home from sea, The typist home at teatime, clears her breakfast, lights Her stove, and lays out food in tins. Out of the window perilously spread Her drying combinations touched by the sun's last rays, 225 On the divan are piled (at night her bed) Stockings, slippers, camisoles, and stays. I Tiresias, old man with wrinkled dugs Perceived the scene, and foretold the rest— I too awaited the expected guest. 230 He, the young man carbuncular, arrives, A small house agent's clerk, with one bold stare, One of the low on whom assurance sits As a silk hat on a Bradford millionaire. The time is now propitious, as he guesses, 235 The meal is ended, she is bored and tired, Endeavours to engage her in caresses Which still are unreproved, if undesired. Flushed and decided, he assaults at once; Exploring hands encounter no defence; 240 His vanity requires no response, And makes a welcome of indifference. (And I Tiresias have foresuffered all Enacted on this same divan or bed; I who have sat by Thebes below the wall 245 And walked among the lowest of the dead.) Bestows on final patronising kiss, And gropes his way, finding the stairs unlit... She turns and looks a moment in the glass, Hardly aware of her departed lover; 250 Her brain allows one half-formed thought to pass: 'Well now that's done: and I'm glad it's over.' When lovely woman stoops to folly and Paces about her room again, alone, She smoothes her hair with automatic hand, 255 And puts a record on the gramophone. 'This music crept by me upon the waters' And along the Strand, up Queen Victoria Street. O City city, I can sometimes hear Beside a public bar in Lower Thames Street, 260 The pleasant whining of a mandoline And a clatter and a chatter from within Where fishmen lounge at noon: where the walls Of Magnus Martyr hold Inexplicable splendour of Ionian white and gold. 265 The river sweats Oil and tar The barges drift With the turning tide Red sails 270 Wide To leeward, swing on the heavy spar. The barges wash Drifting logs Down Greenwich reach 275 Past the Isle of Dogs. Weialala leia Wallala leialala Elizabeth and Leicester Beating oars 280 The stern was formed A gilded shell Red and gold The brisk swell Rippled both shores 285 Southwest wind Carried down stream The peal of bells White towers Weialala leia 290 Wallala leialala 'Trams and dusty trees. Highbury bore me. Richmond and Kew Undid me. By Richmond I raised my knees Supine on the floor of a narrow canoe.' 295 'My feet are at Moorgate, and my heart Under my feet. After the event He wept. He promised "a new start". I made no comment. What should I resent?' 'On Margate Sands. 300 I can connect Nothing with nothing. The broken fingernails of dirty hands. My people humble people who expect Nothing.' 305 la la To Carthage then I came Burning burning burning burning O Lord Thou pluckest me out O Lord Thou pluckest 310 burning IV. DEATH BY WATER PHLEBAS the Phoenician, a fortnight dead, Forgot the cry of gulls, and the deep seas swell And the profit and loss. A current under sea 315 Picked his bones in whispers. As he rose and fell He passed the stages of his age and youth Entering the whirlpool. Gentile or Jew O you who turn the wheel and look to windward, 320 Consider Phlebas, who was once handsome and tall as you. V. WHAT THE THUNDER SAID AFTER the torchlight red on sweaty faces After the frosty silence in the gardens After the agony in stony places The shouting and the crying 325 Prison and place and reverberation Of thunder of spring over distant mountains He who was living is now dead We who were living are now dying With a little patience 330 Here is no water but only rock Rock and no water and the sandy road The road winding above among the mountains Which are mountains of rock without water If there were water we should stop and drink 335 Amongst the rock one cannot stop or think Sweat is dry and feet are in the sand If there were only water amongst the rock Dead mountain mouth of carious teeth that cannot spit Here one can neither stand nor lie nor sit 340 There is not even silence in the mountains But dry sterile thunder without rain There is not even solitude in the mountains But red sullen faces sneer and snarl From doors of mudcracked houses If there were water 345 And no rock If there were rock And also water And water A spring 350 A pool among the rock If there were the sound of water only Not the cicada And dry grass singing But sound of water over a rock 355 Where the hermit-thrush sings in the pine trees Drip drop drip drop drop drop drop But there is no water Who is the third who walks always beside you? When I count, there are only you and I together 360 But when I look ahead up the white road There is always another one walking beside you Gliding wrapt in a brown mantle, hooded I do not know whether a man or a woman —But who is that on the other side of you? 365 What is that sound high in the air Murmur of maternal lamentation Who are those hooded hordes swarming Over endless plains, stumbling in cracked earth Ringed by the flat horizon only 370 What is the city over the mountains Cracks and reforms and bursts in the violet air Falling towers Jerusalem Athens Alexandria Vienna London 375 Unreal A woman drew her long black hair out tight And fiddled whisper music on those strings And bats with baby faces in the violet light Whistled, and beat their wings 380 And crawled head downward down a blackened wall And upside down in air were towers Tolling reminiscent bells, that kept the hours And voices singing out of empty cisterns and exhausted wells. In this decayed hole among the mountains 385 In the faint moonlight, the grass is singing Over the tumbled graves, about the chapel There is the empty chapel, only the wind's home. It has no windows, and the door swings, Dry bones can harm no one. 390 Only a cock stood on the rooftree Co co rico co co rico In a flash of lightning. Then a damp gust Bringing rain Ganga was sunken, and the limp leaves 395 Waited for rain, while the black clouds Gathered far distant, over Himavant. The jungle crouched, humped in silence. Then spoke the thunder D A 400 Datta: what have we given? My friend, blood shaking my heart The awful daring of a moment's surrender Which an age of prudence can never retract By this, and this only, we have existed 405 Which is not to be found in our obituaries Or in memories draped by the beneficent spider Or under seals broken by the lean solicitor In our empty rooms D A 410 Dayadhvam: I have heard the key Turn in the door once and turn once only We think of the key, each in his prison Thinking of the key, each confirms a prison Only at nightfall, aetherial rumours 415 Revive for a moment a broken Coriolanus D A Damyata: The boat responded Gaily, to the hand expert with sail and oar The sea was calm, your heart would have responded 420 Gaily, when invited, beating obedient To controlling hands I sat upon the shore Fishing, with the arid plain behind me Shall I at least set my lands in order? 425 London Bridge is falling down falling down falling down Poi s'ascose nel foco che gli affina Quando fiam ceu chelidon—O swallow swallow Le Prince d'Aquitaine à la tour abolie These fragments I have shored against my ruins 430 Why then Ile fit you. Hieronymo's mad againe. Datta. Dayadhvam. Damyata. Shantih shantih shantih 查良铮译《荒原》 荒原 “因为我在古米亲眼看见西比尔吊在笼子里。孩子们问她：你要什么，西比尔？ 她回答道：我要死。” 献给艾兹拉·庞德 更卓越的巧匠 一、死者的葬礼 四月最残忍，从死了的 土地滋生丁香，混杂着 回忆和欲望，让春雨 挑动着呆钝的根。 冬天保我们温暖，把大地 埋在忘怀的雪里，使干了的 球茎得一点点生命。 夏天来得意外，随着一阵骤雨 到了斯坦伯吉西；我们躲在廊下， 等太阳出来，便到郝夫加登 去喝咖啡，又闲谈了一点钟。 我不是俄国人，原籍立陶宛，是纯德国种。 我们小时侯，在大公家做客， 那是我表兄，他带我出去滑雪撬， 我害怕死了。他说，玛丽，玛丽， 抓紧了呵。于是我们冲下去。 在山中，你会感到舒畅。 我大半夜看书，冬天去到南方。 这是什么根在抓着，是什么树杈 从这片乱石里长出来？人子呵， 你说不出，也猜不着，因为你只知道 一堆破碎的形象，受着太阳拍击， 而枯树没有阴凉，蟋蟀不使人轻松， 干石头发不出流水的声音。只有 一片阴影在这红色的岩石下， （来吧，请走进这红岩石下的阴影） 我要指给你一件事，它不同于 你早晨的影子，跟在你后面走 也不象你黄昏的影子，起来迎你， 我要指给你恐惧是在一撮尘土里。 　　风儿吹得清爽， 　　吹向我的家乡， 　　我的爱尔兰孩子， 　　如今你在何方？ “一年前你初次给了我风信子， 他们都叫我风信子女郎。” ——可是当我们从风信子花园走回，天晚了， 你的两臂抱满，你的头发是湿的， 我说不出话来，两眼看不见，我 不生也不死，什么也不知道， 看进光的中心，那一片沉寂。 荒凉而空虚是那大海。 索索斯垂丝夫人，著名的相命家， 患了重感冒，但仍然是 欧洲公认的最有智慧的女人， 她有一副鬼精灵的纸牌。这里，她说， 你的牌，淹死的腓尼基水手， （那些明珠曾经是他的眼睛。看！） 这是美女贝拉磨娜，岩石的女人， 有多种遭遇的女人。 这是有三根杖的人，这是轮盘， 这是独眼商人，还有这张牌 是空白的，他拿来背在背上， 不许我看见。我找不到。 那绞死的人。小心死在水里。 我看见成群的人，在一个圈里转。 谢谢你。如果你看见伊奎通太太， 就说我亲自把星象图带过去： 这年头人得万事小心呵。 不真实的城， 在冬天早晨棕黄色的雾下， 一群人流过伦敦桥，呵，这么多 我没有想到死亡毁灭了这么多。 叹息，隔一会短短地嘘出来， 每个人的目光都盯着自己的脚。 流上小山，流下威廉王大街， 直到圣玛丽·乌尔诺教堂，在那里 大钟正沉沉桥着九点的最后一响。 那儿我遇到一个熟人，喊住他道： “史太森！你记得我们在麦来船上！ 去年你种在你的花园里的尸首， 它发芽了吗？今年能开花吗？ 还是突然霜冻搅乱了它的花床？ 哦，千万把狗撵开，那是人类之友， 不然他会用爪子又把它掘出来！ 你呀，伪善的读者——我的同类，我的兄弟！” 二、 一局棋戏 她所坐的椅子，在大理石上 象王座闪闪发光；有一面镜子， 镜台镂刻着结葡萄的藤蔓， 金黄的小爱神偷偷向外窥探， （还有一个把眼睛藏在翅膀下） 把七枝蜡的烛台的火焰 加倍反射到桌上；她的珠宝 从缎套倾泻出的灿烂光泽， 正好升起来和那反光相汇合。 在开盖的象牙瓶和五彩玻璃瓶里 暗藏着她那怪异的合成香料， 有油膏、敷粉或汁液——以违乱神智， 并把感官淹没在奇香中；不过 受到窗外的新鲜空气的搅动， 它们上升而把瘦长的烛火加宽， 又把烛烟投到雕漆的梁间， 使屋顶镶板的图案模糊了。 巨大的木器镶满了黄铜 闪着青绿和橘黄，有彩石围着， 在幽光里游着一只浮雕的海豚。 好象推窗看到的田园景色， 在古老的壁炉架上展示出 菲罗美的变形，是被昏王的粗暴 逼成的呵；可是那儿有夜莺的 神圣不可侵犯的歌声充满了荒漠， 她还在啼叫，世界如今还在追逐， “唧格，唧格”叫给脏耳朵听。 还有时光的其它残骸断梗 在墙上留着；凝视的人像倾着身， 倾着身，使关闭的屋子默默无声。 脚步在楼梯上慢慢移动着。 在火光下，刷子下，她的头发 播散出斑斑的火星 闪亮为语言，以后又猛地沉寂。 “我今晚情绪不好。呵，很坏。陪着我。 跟我说话吧。怎么不说呢？说呵。 你在想什么？什么呀？ 我从不知你想着什么。想。” 我想我们是在耗子洞里， 死人在这里丢了骨头。 “那是什么声音？” 　　　　是门洞下的风。 “那又是什么声音？风在干什么？” 　　　　虚空，还是虚空。 　　　　　　“你 什么也不知道？什么也没看见？什么 也不记得？” 　　我记得 那些明珠曾经是他的眼睛。 “你是活是死？你的头脑里什么也没有？” 　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　可是 呵呵呵呵那莎士比希亚小调—— 这么文雅 这么聪明 “如今我做什么好？我做什么好？” “我要这样冲出去，在大街上走， 披着头发，就这样。我们明天干什么？ 我们究竟干什么？” 　　　　十点钟要热水。 若是下雨，四点钟要带篷的车。 我们将下一盘棋， 揉了难合的眼，等着叩门的一声。 丽尔的男人退伍的时候，我说—— 我可是直截了当，我自己对她说的， 快走吧，到时候了 艾伯特要回来了，你得打扮一下。 他要问你他留下的那笔镶牙的钱 是怎么用的。他给时，我也在场。 把牙都拔掉吧，丽尔，换一副好的。 他说，看你那样子真叫人受不了。 连我也受不了，我说，你替艾伯特想想， 他当兵四年啦，他得找点乐趣， 如果你不给他，还有别人呢，我说。 呵，是吗，她说。差不多吧，我说。 那我知道该谢谁啦，她说，直看着我。 快走吧，到时候了 你不爱这种事也得顺着点，我说。 要是你不能，别人会来接你哩。 等艾伯特跑了，可别怪我没说到。 你也不害臊，我说，弄得这么老相。 （论年纪她才三十一岁）。 没有法子，她说，愁眉苦脸的， 是那药丸子打胎打的，她说。 （她已生了五个，小乔治几乎送了她的命。） 医生说就会好的，可是我大不如从前了。 你真是傻瓜，我说。 要是艾伯特不肯罢休，那怎么办，我说。 你不想生孩子又何必结婚？ 快走吧，到时候了 对，那礼拜天艾伯特在家，做了熏火腿， 他们请我吃饭，要我乘热吃那鲜味—— 快走吧，到时候了 快走吧，到时候了 晚安，比尔。晚安，娄。晚安，梅。晚安。 再见。晚安。晚安。 晚安，夫人们，晚安，亲爱的，晚安，晚安。 三、火的说教 河边缺少了似帐篷的遮盖，树叶最后的手指 没抓住什么而飘落到潮湿的岸上。风 掠过棕黄的大地，无声的。仙女都走了。 温柔的泰晤士，轻轻地流，等我唱完我的歌。 河上不再漂着空瓶子，裹夹肉面包的纸， 绸手绢，硬纸盒子，吸剩的香烟头， 或夏夜的其它见证。仙女都走了。 还有她们的朋友，公司大亨的公子哥们， 走了，也没有留下地址。 在莱芒湖边我坐下来哭泣…… 温柔的泰晤士，轻轻地流，等我唱完我的歌。 温柔的泰晤士，轻轻地流吧，我不会大声，也说不多。 可是在我背后的冷风中，我听见 白骨在碰撞，得意的笑声从耳边传到耳边。 一只老鼠悄悄爬过了草丛 把它湿粘的肚子拖过河岸， 而我坐在冬日黄昏的煤气厂后， 对着污滞的河水垂钓， 沉思着我的王兄在海上的遭难。 和在他以前我的父王的死亡。 在低湿的地上裸露着白尸体， 白骨抛弃在干燥低矮的小阁楼上， 被耗子的脚拨来拨去的，年复