詩歌視覺化 — 題目/譯文合集

消息

关于地球文明,我们将说些什么?

它是用浅蓝色玻璃铸成的鲜艳球体,
有一条保持卷曲和舒展的闪亮而清澈的细线。

或者说它是一排旭日图案的宫殿
巨大的门在苍穹急遽升起
它的后面走着一个没有面孔的怪物。

于是每天都在抽签,无论谁抽中
将作为祭品走过那里:老人,孩子,年轻的少男和少女。

或者我们可以用另外一种方式说:我们生活在金羊毛里,
在一片虹的网里,在一片云茧中
悬挂在一棵银河树的枝干上。
而我们的网用符号织成,
作用于耳目的神秘符号,爱情的指环。
一种在内心回响的声音,塑造我们的时代,
我们的轻快,颤动而婉转的语言。

我们根据什么才能编织成界限
在内与外,在光明与黑暗之间,
如果不是根据我们自己,我们温暖的呼吸,
以及唇膏,薄纱和棉布,
根据寂静得使世界死亡的心跳?

或许我们对地球文明无话可说。
因为没人真正知道它是什么。

Tidings

Of earthly civilization, what shall we say?

That it was a system of colored spheres cast in smoked glass,
Where a luminescent liquid thread kept winding and unwinding.

Or that it was an array of sunburst palaces
Shooting up from a dome with massive graves
Behind which walked a monstrosity without a face.

That every day lots were cast, and that whoever drew low
Was marched there as sacrifice: old men, children, young boys and young girls.

Or we may say otherwise: that we lived in a golden fleece,
In a rainbow net, in a cloud cocoon
Suspended from the branch of a galactic tree.
And our net was woven from the stuff of signs,
Hieroglyphs for the eye and ear, amorous rings.
A sound reverberated inward, sculpturing our time,
The flicker, flutter, twitter of our language.

For from what could we weave the boundary
Between within and without, light and abyss,
If not from ourselves, our own warm breath,
And lipstick and gauze and muslin,
From the heartbeat whose silence makes the world die?

Or perhaps we’ll say nothing of earthly civilization.
For nobody really knows what it was.

Czesław Miłosz PL / EN


十四行詩第十八首

我怎么能够把你来比作夏天?
你不独比它可爱也比它温婉:
狂风把五月宠爱的嫩蕊作践,
夏天出赁的期限又未免太短:
天上的眼睛有时照得太酷烈,
它那炳耀的金颜又常遭掩蔽:
被机缘或无常的天道所摧折,
没有芳艳不终于雕残或销毁。
但是你的长夏永远不会凋落,
也不会损失你这皎洁的红芳,
或死神夸口你在他影里漂泊,
当你在不朽的诗里与时同长。
  只要一天有人类,或人有眼睛,
  这诗将长存,并且赐给你生命。

Sonnet 18

Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day?
Thou art more lovely and more temperate.
Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May,
And summer’s lease hath all too short a date.
Sometime too hot the eye of heaven shines,
And often is his gold complexion dimmed;
And every fair from fair sometime declines,
By chance, or nature’s changing course, untrimmed;
But thy eternal summer shall not fade,
Nor lose possession of that fair thou ow’st,
Nor shall death brag thou wand’rest in his shade,
When in eternal lines to Time thou grow’st.
    So long as men can breathe, or eyes can see,
    So long lives this, and this gives life to thee.

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