2016年3月30日 星期三

"I Wandered Lonely As A Cloud (Daffodils)" by William Wordsworth

"When all at once I saw a crowd,
A host, of golden daffodils..."
It seems okay to quote an English poet when these beauties are in bloom wink 表情符號



2016.3
張玉芸 
2月26日漢清講堂 (台北)
《走!我們去看風景》 張玉芸

2016.3.22 :10天前,張玉芸女士就從英國跟我們報春:

春天來了! 春天真的來了! 黃色的水仙花大聲宣佈。

"園藝專家指出,水仙花對氣溫十分敏感,在經歷攝氏2到10度的低溫後,會開始慢慢開花,近來倫敦天氣雖然仍寒冷,但白天氣溫最高可達攝氏13度,綻放的鮮黃與白色水仙花,在寒風中搖曳,預告春天即將到來。"--倫敦公園水仙花盛開 春天腳步近中央社 2016/03/21 07:50(1天前)(中央社記者黃貞貞倫敦20日專電)



2015.12

"I Wandered Lonely As A Cloud (Daffodils)" by William Wordsworth

I wandered lonely as a cloud
That floats on high o'er vales and hills,
When all at once I saw a crowd,
A host, of golden daffodils;
Beside the lake, beneath the trees,
Fluttering and dancing in the breeze.


Continuous as the stars that shine
And twinkle on the milky way,
They stretched in never-ending line
Along the margin of a bay:
Ten thousand saw I at a glance,
Tossing their heads in sprightly dance.

The waves beside them danced; but they
Out-did the sparkling waves in glee:
A poet could not but be gay,
In such a jocund company:
I gazed- and gazed- but little thought
What wealth the show to me had brought:

For oft, when on my couch I lie
In vacant or in pensive mood,
They flash upon that inward eye
Which is the bliss of solitude;
And then my heart with pleasure fills,
And dances with the daffodils.


*
Of all the lasting innovations that William Wordsworth (1770-1850) brought to our literature, it is his discovery of nature and his fresh vision of human lives in the context of nature that have most influenced our cultural climate. Here, collected in this volume, are Wordsworth’s finest works, some of the most beautiful poems ever written: from the famous lyrical ballads, including “The Tables Turned” and “Lines Composed a Few Miles Above Tintern Abbey,” to the sonnets and narrative poems, to excerpts from his magnum opus, The Preludes. By turning away from mythological subjects and artificial diction toward the life and language around him, Wordsworth acquired for poetry the strength and new sources of inspiration that have allowed it to survive and flourish in the modern world.

2016年3月23日 星期三

Chamber Music by James Joyce; 談傅譯、嚴譯Bid Adieu to Girlish Days



讀兩首James Joyce的詩


 http://ebooks.adelaide.edu.au/j/joyce/james/chamber-music/

Chamber Music, by James Joyce - Project Gutenberg

www.gutenberg.org/files/2817/2817-h/2817-h.htm
The Project Gutenberg EBook of Chamber Music, by James Joyce This eBook is ....Begin thou softly to unzone Thy girlish bosom unto him And softly to undo the  ...
Contents with First Lines - ‎CHAMBER MUSIC - ‎I - ‎II




請欣賞"歌聲":Bid Adieu to Girlish Days - James Joyce Music in Ulysses
柔情的告別青春之歌。


"Ode to the West Wind" by Percy Bysshe Shelley (1792-1822)


中國有雪萊全集
 Ode to the West Wind"
 Everyman's Library
"Ode to the West Wind" by Percy Bysshe Shelley (1792-1822) 可能有十來版本譯文。

I
O wild West Wind, thou breath of Autumn’s being,
Thou, from whose unseen presence the leaves dead
Are driven, like ghosts from an enchanter fleeing,
Yellow, and black, and pale, and hectic red,
Pestilence-stricken multitudes: O thou,
Who chariotest to their dark wintry bed
The wingèd seeds, where they lie cold and low,
Each like a corpse within its grave, until
Thine azure sister of the Spring shall blow
Her clarion o’er the dreaming earth, and fill
(Driving sweet buds like flocks to feed in air)
With living hues and odours plain and hill:
Wild Spirit, which art moving everywhere;
Destroyer and Preserver; hear, O hear!

II
Thou on whose stream, ‘mid the steep sky’s commotion,
Loose clouds like Earth’s decaying leaves are shed,
Shook from the tangled boughs of Heaven and Ocean,
Angels of rain and lightning: there are spread
On the blue surface of thine airy surge,
Like the bright hair uplifted from the head
Of some fierce Maenad, even from the dim verge
Of the horizon to the zenith’s height,
The locks of the approaching storm. Thou dirge
Of the dying year, to which this closing night
Will be the dome of a vast sepulchre
Vaulted with all thy congregated might
Of vapours, from whose solid atmosphere
Black rain, and fire, and hail will burst: O hear!

III
Thou who didst waken from his summer dreams
The blue Mediterranean, where he lay,
Lulled by the coil of his crystalline streams,
Beside a pumice isle in Baiae’s bay,
And saw in sleep old palaces and towers
Quivering within the wave’s intenser day,
All overgrown with azure moss and flowers
So sweet, the sense faints picturing them! Thou
For whose path the Atlantic’s level powers
Cleave themselves into chasms, while far below
The sea-blooms and the oozy woods which wear
The sapless foliage of the ocean, know
Thy voice, and suddenly grow grey with fear,
And tremble and despoil themselves: O hear!

IV
If I were a dead leaf thou mightest bear;
If I were a swift cloud to fly with thee;
A wave to pant beneath thy power, and share
The impulse of thy strength, only less free
Than thou, O Uncontrollable! If even
I were as in my boyhood, and could be
The comrade of thy wanderings over Heaven,
As then, when to outstrip thy skiey speed
Scarce seemed a vision; I would ne’er have striven
As thus with thee in prayer in my sore need.
Oh! lift me as a wave, a leaf, a cloud!
I fall upon the thorns of life! I bleed!
A heavy weight of hours has chained and bowed
One too like thee: tameless, and swift, and proud.

V
Make me thy lyre, even as the forest is:
What if my leaves are falling like its own!
The tumult of thy mighty harmonies
Will take from both a deep, autumnal tone,
Sweet though in sadness. Be thou, Spirit fierce,
My spirit! Be thou me, impetuous one!
Drive my dead thoughts over the universe
Like withered leaves to quicken a new birth!
And, by the incantation of this verse,
Scatter, as from an unextinguished hearth
Ashes and sparks, my words among mankind!
Be through my lips to unawakened Earth
The trumpet of a prophecy! O Wind,
If Winter comes, can Spring be far behind?
*
Percy Bysshe Shelley (1792-1822) was perhaps the most intellectually adventurous of the great Romantic poets. A classicist, a headlong visionary, a social radical, and a poet of serene artistry with a lyric touch second to none, Shelley personified the richly various—and contradictory—energies of his time. This compact yet comprehensive collection showcases all the extraordinary facets of Shelley’s art. From his most famous lyrical poems (“Ozymandias,” “The Cloud”) to his political and philosophical works (”The Mask of Anarchy,” “Hymn to Intellectual Beauty”) to excerpts from his remarkable dramatic and narrative verses (“Alastor,” “Prometheus Unbound”), Shelley’s words gave voice to English romanticism's deepest aspirations.

2016年3月19日 星期六

Wilfred Edward Salter Owen







The British Library


Wilfred Owen was born ‪#‎onthisday‬ in 1893. He wrote ‘Dulce et Decorum est’ in the trenches of the First World War sometime between 1917 and 1918. He lost his life in action on 4 November 1918. Tragically, the news of his death reached his parents on 11 November, Armistice Day. bit.ly/21GVgSl





"Dulce et Decorum est" is a poem written by Wilfred Owen during World War I, and published posthumously in 1920. The Latin title is taken from the Roman poet Horace and means "it is sweet and honorable...", followed by pro patria mori, which means "to die for one's country".

Dulce et Decorum est - Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Dulce_et_Decorum_est









Benjamin Britten's "War Requiem"/ Wilfred_Owen‎








Wilfred Edward Salter Owen MC (18 March 1893 – 4 November 1918) was an English poet and soldier, one of the leading poets of the First World War. His shocking, realistic war poetry on the horrors of trenches and gas warfare was heavily influenced by his friend Siegfried Sassoon and stood in stark contrast to both the public perception of war at the time, and to the confidently patriotic verse written by earlier war poets such as Rupert Brooke. Among his best-known works – most of which were published posthumously – are "Dulce et Decorum Est", "Insensibility", "Anthem for Doomed Youth", "Futility" and "Strange Meeting".


http://www.gutenberg.org/cache/epub/1034/pg1034.txt


From Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia

"Apologia Pro Poemate Meo" is a poem by Wilfred Owen. It deals with the atrocities of World War I. The title means "in defence of my poetry" and is often viewed as a rebuttal to a remark in Robert Graves' letter "for God's sake cheer up and write more optimistically - the war's not ended yet but a poet should have a spirit above wars."[1]
Alternatively, the poem is seen as a possible response to "Apologia Pro Vita Sua".
The poem describes some of the horrors of war and how this leads to a lack of emotion and a desensitisation to death. However the key message of the poem is revealed in the final two stanzas criticizing "you" at home (contemporary readers) for using war propaganda and images as a form of entertainment "These men are worth/ Your tears. You are not worth their merriment".

The full poem is as follows:
I, too, saw God through mud -    
The mud that cracked on cheeks when wretches smiled.    
War brought more glory to their eyes than blood,    
And gave their laughs more glee than shakes a child.

Merry it was to laugh there -    
Where death becomes absurd and life absurder.    
For power was on us as we slashed bones bare    
Not to feel sickness or remorse of murder.

I, too, have dropped off fear -    
Behind the barrage, dead as my platoon,    
And sailed my spirit surging, light and clear    
Past the entanglement where hopes lay strewn;

And witnessed exultation -    
Faces that used to curse me, scowl for scowl,    
Shine and lift up with passion of oblation,    
Seraphic for an hour; though they were foul.

I have made fellowships -    
Untold of happy lovers in old song.    
For love is not the binding of fair lips    
With the soft silk of eyes that look and long,

By Joy, whose ribbon slips, -    
But wound with war's hard wire whose stakes are strong;    
Bound with the bandage of the arm that drips;
Knit in the welding of the rifle-thong.

I have perceived much beauty    
In the hoarse oaths that kept our courage straight;   
Heard music in the silentness of duty;    
Found peace where shell-storms spouted reddest spate.

Nevertheless, except you share    
With them in hell the sorrowful dark of hell,    
Whose world is but the trembling of a flare,    
And heaven but as the highway for a shell,

You shall not hear their mirth:   
You shall not come to think them well content    
By any jest of mine. These men are worth    
Your tears: You are not worth their merriment.

References[edit]

  1. Jump up^ Wilfred Owen, Collected Letters, edited by Harold Owen and John Bell - London, 1967.



楊憲益翻譯過以下兩首
Anthem for Doomed Youth



     What passing-bells for these who die as cattle?
        Only the monstrous anger of the guns.
        Only the stuttering rifles' rapid rattle
     Can patter out their hasty orisons.
     No mockeries for them; no prayers nor bells,
     Nor any voice of mourning save the choirs,--
     The shrill, demented choirs of wailing shells;
     And bugles calling for them from sad shires.

     What candles may be held to speed them all?
        Not in the hands of boys, but in their eyes
     Shall shine the holy glimmers of goodbyes.
        The pallor of girls' brows shall be their pall;
     Their flowers the tenderness of patient minds,
     And each slow dusk a drawing-down of blinds.

Exposure



         I

     Our brains ache, in the merciless iced east winds that knife us . . .
     Wearied we keep awake because the night is silent . . .
     Low drooping flares confuse our memory of the salient . . .
     Worried by silence, sentries whisper, curious, nervous,
             But nothing happens.

     Watching, we hear the mad gusts tugging on the wire.
     Like twitching agonies of men among its brambles.
     Northward incessantly, the flickering gunnery rumbles,
     Far off, like a dull rumour of some other war.
             What are we doing here?

     The poignant misery of dawn begins to grow . . .
     We only know war lasts, rain soaks, and clouds sag stormy.
     Dawn massing in the east her melancholy army
     Attacks once more in ranks on shivering ranks of gray,
             But nothing happens.

     Sudden successive flights of bullets streak the silence.
     Less deadly than the air that shudders black with snow,
     With sidelong flowing flakes that flock, pause and renew,
     We watch them wandering up and down the wind's nonchalance,
             But nothing happens.


         II

     Pale flakes with lingering stealth come feeling for our faces--
     We cringe in holes, back on forgotten dreams, and stare, snow-dazed,
     Deep into grassier ditches.  So we drowse, sun-dozed,
     Littered with blossoms trickling where the blackbird fusses.
             Is it that we are dying?

     Slowly our ghosts drag home:  glimpsing the sunk fires glozed
     With crusted dark-red jewels; crickets jingle there;
     For hours the innocent mice rejoice:  the house is theirs;
     Shutters and doors all closed:  on us the doors are closed--
             We turn back to our dying.

     Since we believe not otherwise can kind fires burn;
     Nor ever suns smile true on child, or field, or fruit.
     For God's invincible spring our love is made afraid;
     Therefore, not loath, we lie out here; therefore were born,
             For love of God seems dying.

     To-night, His frost will fasten on this mud and us,
     Shrivelling many hands and puckering foreheads crisp.
     The burying-party, picks and shovels in their shaking grasp,
     Pause over half-known faces.  All their eyes are ice,
             But nothing happens.




Wilfred Owen - Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia

en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Wilfred_Owen
Wilfred Edward Salter Owen MC (18 March 1893 – 4 November 1918) was an English poet and soldier, one of the leading poets of the First World War.

2016年3月18日 星期五

When You Are Old by William Butler Yeats




When You Are Old by William Butler Yeats  ,這首詩,1971年
我們的【大一英文】課本有選入。當時,竟然沒將全詩翻譯,只選幾行當情詩。 (2016.2.22)
記得聽說過或讀過,這首詩受到 P. de Ronsard  (龍沙)的"等你老態龍鍾"的影響。
今天(2016.3.18) 讀施穎洲先生的譯文,的確如此:
等你老態龍鍾,夜晚在燭影裏,
坐在爐火旁邊,抽絲紡線,吟詠
我的詩篇,沉思之間,你會說明:
"龍沙歌頌過我,當時我還美麗。"
......
你將成為爐邊一個傴僂老婦,
追惜我的多情,痛悔你的傲慢,
生活吧,信我的話,別等待明天,
趁今天將生命的玫瑰花折取。



「既然要我說」
-翻譯真的靠招牌嗎?
關於“When You Are Old by William Butler Yeats”中的“the glowing bars”
高塔2016
當妳老時
高塔譯於2008年3月23日
當妳老時,髮斑、惺忪
傍爐火直盹,不如取卷
閒讀入夢,雙眸曾柔
身影深濃
多少人愛妳,當時愉悅華采
愛妳的美,以假以真
獨此一人,愛你的專志冰心
愛妳頻改容顏,帶的憂傷
對熊熊爐火,扶腰喃喃
傷去我何急,才相辭
已踏山遠
容顏隱入,星與星間 
             
When You Are Old
By William Butler Yeats 1865-1939 
William Butler Yeats 1865-1939
When you are old and grey and full of sleep,
And nodding by the fire, take down this book,
And slowly read, and dream of the soft look
Your eyes had once, and of their shadows deep,
    
How many loved your momments of glad grace,
And loved your beauty with love false or true,
But one man loved the pilgrim soul in you,
And loved the sorrows of your changing face,
And bending down beside the glowing bars,
Murmur, a little sadly, how love fled
And paced upon the mountains overhead
And hid his face amid a crowd of stars.
以下係楊牧教授版本:
當你老了
當你老了, 灰黯, 沉沉欲眠,
在火爐邊瞌睡, 取下這本書,
慢慢讀, 夢回你眼睛曾經;
有過的柔光, 以及那深深波影;
多少人戀愛你喜悅雍容的時刻,
戀愛你的美以真以假的愛情,
祇有一個人愛你朝山的靈魂內心,
愛你變化的面容有那些怔忡錯愕.
並且俯身閃爍發光的鐵欄杆邊,
嚅囁, 帶些許優傷, 愛如何竟已
逸去了並且在頭頂的高山跺蹀
復將他的臉藏在一群星星中間.

關於“the glowing bars” ,經查Longman Dictionary of Contempory English中glow的例句: The iron bars was heated until it glowed. 以及fireplace的構件grate: the bars and frame which hold the coal. wood, et., in a fireplace.
我問過曾為淡江英文系主任的紀秋郎教授,我錯了嗎?
 
旅居澳洲的同學Lily回信如下, 等於代答。.......


******

葉芝名詩《當你老了》的十二種譯本
[ 2008-11-07 15:33 ]

原文:When you are old
When you are old and grey and full of sleep,
And nodding by the fire, take down this book,
And slowly read, and dream of the soft look
Your eyes had once, and of their shadows deep;
How many loved your moments of glad grace,
And loved your beauty with love false or true,
But one man loved the pilgrim Soul in you,
And loved the sorrows of your changing face;
And bending down beside the glowing bars,
Murmur, a little sadly, how Love fled
And paced upon the mountains overhead
And hid his face amid a crowd of stars.
譯文:
一、當你年老時傅浩譯
當你年老,鬢斑,睡意昏沉,
在爐旁打盹時,取下這本書,
慢慢誦讀,夢憶從前你雙眸
神色柔和,眼波中倒影深深;
多少人愛你風韻嫵媚的時光,
愛你的美麗出自假意或真情,
但唯有一人愛你靈魂的至誠,
愛你漸衰的臉上愁苦的風霜;
彎下身子,在熾紅的壁爐邊,
憂傷地低訴,愛神如何逃走,
在頭頂上的群山巔漫步閒遊,
把他的面孔隱沒在繁星中間。

二、當你老了    袁可嘉譯
當你老了,頭白了,睡意昏沉,
爐火旁打盹,請取下這部詩歌,
慢慢讀,回想你過去眼神的柔和,
回想它們昔日濃重的陰影;
多少人愛你青春​​歡暢的時辰,
愛慕你的美麗,假意或真心,
只有一個人愛你那朝聖者的靈魂,
愛你衰老了的臉上痛苦的皺紋;
垂下頭來,在紅光閃耀的爐子旁,
淒然地輕輕訴說那愛情的消逝,
在頭頂的山上它緩緩踱著步子,
在一群星星中間隱藏著臉龐。

三、當年華已逝 LOVER譯
當年華已逝,你兩鬢斑白,沉沉欲睡,
坐在爐邊慢慢打盹,請取下我的這本詩集,
請緩緩讀起,如夢一般,你會重溫
你那脈脈眼波,她們是曾經那麼的深情和柔美。
多少人曾愛過你容光煥發的楚楚魅力,
愛你的傾城容顏,或是真心,或是做戲,
但只有一個人!他愛的是你聖潔虔誠的心!
當你洗盡鉛華,傷逝紅顏的老去,他也依然深愛著你!
爐裡的火焰溫暖明亮,你輕輕低下頭去,
帶著淡淡的淒然,為了枯萎熄滅的愛情,喃喃低語,
此時他正在千山萬壑之間獨自遊蕩,
在那滿天凝視你的繁星後面隱起了臉龐。

四、當你年老陳黎(台灣) 譯
當你年老,花白,睡意正濃,
在火爐邊打盹,取下這本書,
慢慢閱讀,夢見你眼中一度
發出之柔光,以及深深暗影;
多少人愛你愉悅丰采的時光,
愛你的美,以或真或假之情,
祇一個人愛你朝聖者的心靈,
愛你變化的容顏蘊藏的憂傷;
並且俯身紅光閃閃的欄柵邊,
帶點哀傷,喃喃低語,愛怎樣
逃逸,逡巡於頭頂的高山上
且將他的臉隱匿於群星之間。

五、當你老了裘小龍譯
當你老了,頭髮灰白,滿是睡意,
在爐火旁打盹,取下這一冊書本,
緩緩地讀,夢到你的眼睛曾經
有的那種柔情,和它們的深深影子;
多少人愛你歡樂美好的時光,
愛你的美貌,用或真或假的愛情,
但有一個人愛你那朝聖者的靈魂,
也愛你那衰老了的臉上的哀傷;
在燃燒的火爐旁邊俯下身,
淒然地喃喃說,愛怎樣離去了,
在頭上的山巒中間獨步踽踽,
把他的臉埋藏在一群星星中。

六、當你老了楊牧譯
當你老了,灰黯,沉沉欲眠,
在火爐邊瞌睡,取下這本書,
慢慢讀,夢迴你眼睛曾經
有過的柔光,以及那深深波影;
多少人戀愛你喜悅雍容的時刻,
戀愛你的美以真以假的愛情,
有一個人愛你朝山的靈魂內心,
愛你變化的面容有那些怔忡錯愕。
並且俯身閃爍發光的鐵欄杆邊,
嚅囁,帶些許憂傷,愛如何竟已
逸去了並且在頭頂的高山踱蹀
復將他的臉藏在一群星星中間。

七、當你老了飛白譯
當你老了,白髮蒼蒼,睡意朦朧,
在爐前打盹,請取下這本詩篇,
慢慢吟誦,夢見你當年的雙眼
那柔美的光芒與青幽的暈影;
多少人真情假意,愛過你的美麗,
愛過你歡樂而迷人的青春,
唯獨一人愛你朝聖者的心,
愛你日益凋謝的臉上的衰戚;
當你佝僂著,在灼熱的爐柵邊,
你將輕輕訴說,帶著一絲傷感:
逝去的愛,如今已步上高山,
在密密星群裡埋藏它的赧顏。
八、當你老了冰心譯
當你老了,頭髮花白,睡意沉沉,
倦坐在爐邊,取下這本書來,
慢慢讀著,追夢當年的眼神
那柔美的神采與深幽的暈影。
多少人愛過你青春的片影,
愛過你的美貌,以虛偽或是真情,
惟獨一人愛你那朝聖者的心,
愛你哀戚的臉上歲月的留痕。
在爐柵邊,你彎下了腰,
低語著,帶著淺淺的傷感,
愛情是怎樣逝去,又怎樣步上群山,
怎樣在繁星之間藏住了臉。
九、當你老了艾梅譯
當你老了,兩鬢斑白,睡意沉沉,
倦坐在爐邊時,取下這本書來,
慢慢讀起,追憶那當年的眼神,
神色柔和,倒影深深。
多少人曾愛慕你青春嫵媚的身影,
愛過你的美貌出自假意或者真情,
而惟獨一人愛你那朝聖者的心,
愛你日漸衰老的滿面風霜。

十、當你老了李立瑋譯
當你老了,頭髮花白,睡意沉沉,
倦坐在爐邊,取下這本書來,
慢慢讀著,追夢當你的眼神
那柔美的神采與深幽的暈影。
多少人愛過你青春的片影,
愛過你的美貌,以虛偽或是真情,
唯獨一人愛你那朝聖者的心,
愛你哀戚的臉上歲月的留痕。
在爐柵邊上,你彎下了腰,
低語著,帶著淺淺的傷感,
愛情是怎樣逝去,又怎樣步上群山,
怎樣在繁星之間藏起了臉。

十一、無名氏譯
當你年老白了頭,
睡意稠,爐旁打盹;
請記取詩一首。
漫回憶,你也曾眼神溫柔,
眼角里,幾重陰影濃幽幽;
多少人,愛慕你年輕漂亮的時候,
真假愛,不過給你的美貌引誘。
只一人,從內心深處愛你靈魂的聖潔,
也愛你,衰老的臉上泛起痛苦的紋溝。
在烘紅的爐旁,悄然回首,
淒然地,訴說愛情怎樣溜走,
如何跑到上方的山巒,
然後把臉龐藏在群星裡頭。

十二、愛殤-完全意譯版
韶華逝矣,雲鬢成灰,睡意將臨。
吾愛,請執此卷趁爐火未熄而讀吧,
請緩緩,駕此章,夢迴往昔——
正明眸,顧盼長。
真心或假意,彼人曾慕你艷容飛揚,
曾為你的美麗灼傷;
惟斯人為另一個你所惑,那小小的元嬰
以慘烈之燔獻鑄成你聖女的臉龐!
吾愛,焰苗升騰,哀傷無形,
把頭再低些吧,呢喃,說你知道:
真相思不熄,那是我送你的星群
嬉戲在微傾的玉山之上。
(來源:中青網英語角英語點津姍姍編輯)

2016年3月17日 星期四

Requiescat BY MATTHEW ARNOLD 安魂辭

每個人都不同,故事也相差很多,詩不同於散文,文化與時空殊異。志峰的散文能夠表達與詩不同的情感和滋味。
Requiescat BY MATTHEW ARNOLD 安魂辭
施穎洲譯:安魂辭,收入【古典名詩選譯】台北:皇冠,1986第3版,pp.128-29
Requiescat
BY MATTHEW ARNOLD⋯⋯
更多
一個秋天的故事,在冬天裡寫出,在春天的時候刊登出來,原本只想在臉書上寫,不料越寫越長,竟寫成了一篇長文,謝謝聯合副刊的採用.謝謝請我吃秋刀魚的朋友,在他們家神奇的餐桌上,我總遇見我以為不可能會認識的各路豪傑,這篇文章寫的,不是感傷的記憶,只是一種人生的滋味罷了。
秋天開始的時候,接到友人邀請共進晚餐的短訊,當然不只是晚餐,還有事商談。很難拒絕,因為邀請的內容很動人,短訊上寫著:今天老爺到菜市場買了秋刀魚,晚上來家裡吃秋刀魚吧。我想,很少人會拒絕這樣的邀請。
HTTP://UDN.COM/NEWS/STORY/7048/1570834|由聯合新聞網上傳



施穎洲譯:安魂辭,收入【古典名詩選譯】台北:皇冠,1986第3版,pp.128-29

Requiescat

BY MATTHEW ARNOLD
Strew on her roses, roses,
       And never a spray of yew!
In quiet she reposes;
       Ah, would that I did too!

Her mirth the world required;
       She bathed it in smiles of glee.
But her heart was tired, tired,
       And now they let her be.

Her life was turning, turning,
       In mazes of heat and sound.
But for peace her soul was yearning,
       And now peace laps her round.

Her cabin'd, ample spirit,
       It flutter'd and fail'd for breath.
To-night it doth inherit
       The vasty hall of death.


requiescat - Wiktionary

https://en.wiktionary.org/wiki/requiescat

First word of the Latin phrase requiēscat in pāce (“may he/she rest in peace”). The Latin word requiēscat means "he may rest"

When all the others were away at Mass by Seamus Heaney

When all the others were away at Mass by Seamus Heaney has been named Ireland’s best-loved poem from the past century. It was chosen from ballots cast by the public, and announced by Irish President Michael D. Higgins. The third of eight sonnets in “Clearances,” a series dedicated to the poet’s mother, Margaret Kathleen McCann, the poem is featured in the recently published Selected Poems 1966–1987one of two new editions of Heaney’s work that were arranged by the Nobel laureate himself.

3
When all the others were away at Mass
I was all hers as we peeled potatoes.
They broke the silence, let fall one by one
Like solder weeping off the soldering iron:
Cold comforts set between us, things to share
Gleaming in a bucket of clean water.
And again let fall. Little pleasant splashes
From each other’s work would bring us to our senses.
So while the parish priest at her bedside
Went hammer and tongs at the prayers for the dying
And some were responding and some crying
I remembered her head bent towards my head,
Her breath in mine, our fluent dipping knives –
Never closer the whole rest of our lives.