愛(ài)倫·坡的長(zhǎng)詩(shī)《烏鴉》發(fā)表于1845年。詩(shī)作發(fā)表之后引起轟動(dòng)，有出版商請(qǐng)著名的插畫(huà)家Gustave Doré為這首長(zhǎng)詩(shī)創(chuàng)作了25幅插畫(huà)。
愛(ài)倫·坡(Edgar Allan Poe) ，生于1809年，他27歲時(shí)與自己14歲的表妹弗吉尼亞·克萊姆結(jié)婚。他們婚后的生活窮困潦倒。1847年，愛(ài)倫·坡的妻子被病魔奪去了生命。兩年后，他也死于飲酒過(guò)度。他的悲傷就如詩(shī)中失去至愛(ài)的主人公。他的靈魂，如詩(shī)中那團(tuán)在地板上漂浮的陰暗被擢升，且永不復(fù)還！與譯作比，我更喜歡英文版的詩(shī)。詩(shī)中的“Nevermore”是無(wú)法翻譯的憂(yōu)傷和絕望。
我收集了一些漂亮的貼出來(lái)和大家分享。因沒(méi)看到過(guò)這個(gè)版本原書(shū)，所以圖是我按畫(huà)面與詩(shī)的內(nèi)容放置的，可能與書(shū)中的有所不同。
烏鴉
作者：愛(ài)倫·坡 1845 插畫(huà)：Gustave Doré
譯者：曹明倫
從前一個(gè)陰郁的子夜，我獨(dú)自沉思，慵懶疲竭，
沉思許多古怪而離奇、早已被人遺忘的傳聞——
當(dāng)我開(kāi)始打盹，幾乎入睡，突然傳來(lái)一陣輕擂，
仿佛有人在輕輕叩擊，輕輕叩擊我的房門(mén)。
“有人來(lái)了，”我輕聲嘟喃，“正在叩擊我的房門(mén)——
唯此而已，別無(wú)他般。”
哦，我清楚地記得那是在蕭瑟的十二月；
每一團(tuán)奄奄一息的余燼都形成陰影伏在地板。
我當(dāng)時(shí)真盼望翌日；——因?yàn)槲乙呀?jīng)枉費(fèi)心機(jī)
想用書(shū)來(lái)消除悲哀——消除因失去麗諾爾的悲嘆——
因那被天使叫作麗諾爾的少女，她美麗嬌艷——
在這兒卻默默無(wú)聞，直至永遠(yuǎn)。
那柔軟、暗淡、颯颯飄動(dòng)的每一塊紫色窗布
使我心中充滿(mǎn)前所未有的恐怖——我毛骨驚然；
為平息我心兒停跳．我站起身反復(fù)叨念
“這是有人想進(jìn)屋，在叩我的房門(mén)——。
更深夜半有人想進(jìn)屋，在叩我的房門(mén)；——
唯此而已，別無(wú)他般。”
很快我的心變得堅(jiān)強(qiáng)；不再猶疑，不再彷徨，
“先生，”我說(shuō)，“或夫人，我求你多多包涵；
剛才我正睡意昏昏，而你來(lái)敲門(mén)又那么輕，
你來(lái)敲門(mén)又那么輕，輕輕叩擊我的房門(mén)，
我差點(diǎn)以為沒(méi)聽(tīng)見(jiàn)你”——說(shuō)著我拉開(kāi)門(mén)扇；——
唯有黑夜，別無(wú)他般。
凝視著夜色幽幽，我站在門(mén)邊驚懼良久，
疑惑中似乎夢(mèng)見(jiàn)從前沒(méi)人敢夢(mèng)見(jiàn)的夢(mèng)幻；
可那未被打破的寂靜，沒(méi)顯示任何跡象。
“麗諾爾？”便是我囁嚅念叨的唯一字眼，
我念叨“麗諾爾！”，回聲把這名字輕輕送還，
唯此而已，別無(wú)他般。
我轉(zhuǎn)身回到房中，我的整個(gè)心燒灼般疼痛，
很快我又聽(tīng)到叩擊聲，比剛才聽(tīng)起來(lái)明顯。
“肯定，”我說(shuō)，“肯定有什么在我的窗欞；
讓我瞧瞧是什么在那里，去把那秘密發(fā)現(xiàn)——
讓我的心先鎮(zhèn)靜一會(huì)兒，去把那秘密發(fā)現(xiàn)；——
那不過(guò)是風(fēng)，別無(wú)他般！”
我猛然推開(kāi)窗戶(hù)，。心兒撲撲直跳就像打鼓，
一只神圣往昔的健壯烏鴉慢慢走進(jìn)我房間；
它既沒(méi)向我致意問(wèn)候；也沒(méi)有片刻的停留；
而以紳士淑女的風(fēng)度，棲在我房門(mén)的上面——
棲在我房門(mén)上方一尊帕拉斯半身雕像上面——
棲坐在那兒，僅如此這般。
于是這只黑鳥(niǎo)把我悲傷的幻覺(jué)哄騙成微笑，
以它那老成持重一本正經(jīng)溫文爾雅的容顏，
“雖然冠毛被剪除，”我說(shuō)，“但你肯定不是懦夫，
你這幽靈般可怕的古鴉，漂泊來(lái)自夜的彼岸——
請(qǐng)告訴我你尊姓大名，在黑沉沉的冥府陰間！”
烏鴉答日“永不復(fù)還。”
聽(tīng)見(jiàn)如此直率的回答，我驚嘆這丑陋的烏鴉，
雖說(shuō)它的回答不著邊際——與提問(wèn)幾乎無(wú)關(guān)；
因?yàn)槲覀儾坏貌怀姓J(rèn)，從來(lái)沒(méi)有活著的世人
曾如此有幸地看見(jiàn)一只鳥(niǎo)棲在他房門(mén)的面——
鳥(niǎo)或獸棲在他房間門(mén)上方的半身雕像上面，
有這種名字“永不復(fù)還。”
但那只獨(dú)棲于肅穆的半身雕像上的烏鴉只說(shuō)了
這一句話(huà)，仿佛它傾瀉靈魂就用那一個(gè)字眼。
然后它便一聲不吭——也不把它的羽毛拍動(dòng)——
直到我?guī)缀跏遣覆缸哉Z(yǔ)“其他朋友早已消散——
明晨它也將離我而去——如同我的希望已消散。”
這時(shí)那鳥(niǎo)說(shuō)“永不復(fù)還。”
驚異于那死寂漠漠被如此恰當(dāng)?shù)幕卦?huà)打破，
“肯定，”我說(shuō)，“這句話(huà)是它唯一的本錢(qián)，
從它不幸動(dòng)主人那兒學(xué)未。一連串無(wú)情飛災(zāi)
曾接踵而至，直到它主人的歌中有了這字眼——
直到他希望的挽歌中有了這個(gè)憂(yōu)傷的字眼
‘永不復(fù)還，永不復(fù)還。’”
但那只烏鴉仍然把我悲傷的幻覺(jué)哄騙成微笑，
我即刻拖了張軟椅到門(mén)旁雕像下那只鳥(niǎo)跟前；
然后坐在天鵝絨椅墊上，我開(kāi)始冥思苦想，
浮想連著浮想，猜度這不祥的古鳥(niǎo)何出此言——
這只猙獰丑陋可怕不吉不祥的古鳥(niǎo)何出此言，
為何聒噪‘永不復(fù)還。”
我坐著猜想那意見(jiàn)但沒(méi)對(duì)那鳥(niǎo)說(shuō)片語(yǔ)只言。
此時(shí)，它炯炯發(fā)光的眼睛已燃燒進(jìn)我的心坎；
我依然坐在那兒猜度，把我的頭靠得很舒服，
舒舒服服地靠在那被燈光凝視的天鵝絨襯墊，
但被燈光愛(ài)慕地凝視著的紫色的天鵝絨襯墊，
她將顯出，啊，永不復(fù)還！
接著我想，空氣變得稠密，被無(wú)形香爐熏香，
提香爐的撒拉弗的腳步聲響在有簇飾的地板。
“可憐的人，”我呼叫，“是上帝派天使為你送藥，
這忘憂(yōu)藥能中止你對(duì)失去的麗諾爾的思念；
喝吧如吧，忘掉對(duì)失去的麗諾爾的思念！”
烏鴉說(shuō)“永不復(fù)還。”
“先知！”我說(shuō)“兇兆！——仍是先知，不管是鳥(niǎo)還是魔！
是不是魔鬼送你，或是暴風(fēng)雨拋你來(lái)到此岸，
孤獨(dú)但毫不氣餒，在這片妖惑鬼崇的荒原——
在這恐怖縈繞之家——告訴我真話(huà)，求你可憐——
基列有香膏嗎？——告訴我——告訴我，求你可憐！”
烏鴉說(shuō)“永不復(fù)還。”
“先知！”我說(shuō)，“兇兆！——仍是先知、不管是鳥(niǎo)是魔！
憑我們頭頂?shù)纳n天起誓——憑我們都崇拜的上帝起誓——
告訴這充滿(mǎn)悲傷的靈魂。它能否在遙遠(yuǎn)的仙境
擁抱被天使叫作麗諾爾的少女，她纖塵不染——
擁抱被天使叫作麗諾爾的少女，她美麗嬌艷。”
烏鴉說(shuō)“永不復(fù)還。”
“讓這話(huà)做我們的道別之辭，鳥(niǎo)或魔！”我突然叫道——
“回你的暴風(fēng)雨中去吧，回你黑沉沉的冥府陰間！
別留下黑色羽毛作為你的靈魂謊言的象征！
留給我完整的孤獨(dú)！——快從我門(mén)上的雕像滾蛋！
從我心中帶走你的嘴；從我房門(mén)帶走你的外觀！”
烏鴉說(shuō)“永不復(fù)還。”
那鳥(niǎo)鴉并沒(méi)飛去，它仍然棲息，仍然棲息
在房門(mén)上方那蒼白的帕拉斯半身雕像上面；
而它的眼光與正在做夢(mèng)的魔鬼眼光一模一樣，
照在它身上的燈光把它的陰影投射在地板；
而我的靈魂，會(huì)從那團(tuán)在地板上漂浮的陰暗
被擢升么——永不復(fù)還！
注：插畫(huà)作者是古斯塔夫·多雷（Gustave Doré）(1832-1883)，德國(guó)著名的插畫(huà)家。他為愛(ài)倫·坡的這首詩(shī)配了25幅插畫(huà)。我保留了其中比較漂亮的畫(huà)。
英文版
THE RAVEN
by Edgar Allan Poe (1845)
Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered, weak and weary,
Over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore,
While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping,
As of some one gently rapping, rapping at my chamber door.
“‘Tis some visitor,” I muttered, “tapping at my chamber door-
Only this, and nothing more.”
Ah, distinctly I remember it was in the bleak December,
And each separate dying ember wrought its ghost upon the floor.
Eagerly I wished the morrow;- vainly I had sought to borrow
From my books surcease of sorrow- sorrow for the lost Lenore-
For the rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name Lenore-
Nameless here for evermore.
And the silken sad uncertain rustling of each purple curtain
Thrilled me- filled me with fantastic terrors never felt before;
So that now, to still the beating of my heart, I stood repeating,
“‘Tis some visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door-
Some late visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door;-
This it is, and nothing more.”
Presently my soul grew stronger; hesitating then no longer,
“Sir,” said I, “or Madam, truly your forgiveness I implore;
But the fact is I was napping, and so gently you came rapping,
And so faintly you came tapping, tapping at my chamber door,
That I scarce was sure I heard you”- here I opened wide the door;-
Darkness there, and nothing more.
Deep into that darkness peering, long I stood there wondering, fearing,
Doubting, dreaming dreams no mortals ever dared to dream before;
But the silence was unbroken, and the stillness gave no token,
And the only word there spoken was the whispered word, “Lenore!”
This I whispered, and an echo murmured back the word, “Lenore!”-
Merely this, and nothing more.
Back into the chamber turning, all my soul within me burning,
Soon again I heard a tapping somewhat louder than before.
“Surely,” said I, “surely that is something at my window lattice:
Let me see, then, what thereat is, and this mystery explore-
Let my heart be still a moment and this mystery explore;-
‘Tis the wind and nothing more.”
Open here I flung the shutter, when, with many a flirt and flutter,
In there stepped a stately raven of the saintly days of yore;
Not the least obeisance made he; not a minute stopped or stayed he;
But, with mien of lord or lady, perched above my chamber door-
Perched upon a bust of Pallas just above my chamber door-
Perched, and sat, and nothing more.
Then this ebony bird beguiling my sad fancy into smiling,
By the grave and stern decorum of the countenance it wore.
“Though thy crest be shorn and shaven, thou,” I said, “art sure no craven,
Ghastly grim and ancient raven wandering from the Nightly shore-
Tell me what thy lordly name is on the Night’s Plutonian shore!”
Quoth the Raven, “Nevermore.”
Much I marvelled this ungainly fowl to hear discourse so plainly,
Though its answer little meaning- little relevancy bore;
For we cannot help agreeing that no living human being
Ever yet was blest with seeing bird above his chamber door-
Bird or beast upon the sculptured bust above his chamber door,
With such name as “Nevermore.”
But the raven, sitting lonely on the placid bust, spoke only
That one word, as if his soul in that one word he did outpour.
Nothing further then he uttered- not a feather then he fluttered-
Till I scarcely more than muttered, “other friends have flown before-
On the morrow he will leave me, as my hopes have flown before.”
Then the bird said, “Nevermore.”
Startled at the stillness broken by reply so aptly spoken,
“Doubtless,” said I, “what it utters is its only stock and store,
Caught from some unhappy master whom unmerciful Disaster
Followed fast and followed faster till his songs one burden bore-
Till the dirges of his Hope that melancholy burden bore
Of ‘Never- nevermore’.”
But the Raven still beguiling all my fancy into smiling,
Straight I wheeled a cushioned seat in front of bird, and bust and door;
Then upon the velvet sinking, I betook myself to linking
Fancy unto fancy, thinking what this ominous bird of yore-
What this grim, ungainly, ghastly, gaunt and ominous bird of yore
Meant in croaking “Nevermore.”
This I sat engaged in guessing, but no syllable expressing
To the fowl whose fiery eyes now burned into my bosom’s core;
This and more I sat divining, with my head at ease reclining
On the cushion’s velvet lining that the lamplight gloated o’er,
But whose velvet violet lining with the lamplight gloating o’er,
She shall press, ah, nevermore!
Then methought the air grew denser, perfumed from an unseen censer
Swung by Seraphim whose footfalls tinkled on the tufted floor.
“Wretch,” I cried, “thy God hath lent thee- by these angels he
hath sent thee
Respite- respite and nepenthe, from thy memories of Lenore!
Quaff, oh quaff this kind nepenthe and forget this lost Lenore!”
Quoth the Raven, “Nevermore.”
“Prophet!” said I, “thing of evil!- prophet still, if bird or devil!
Whether Tempter sent, or whether tempest tossed thee here ashore,
Desolate yet all undaunted, on this desert land enchanted-
On this home by horror haunted- tell me truly, I implore-
Is there- is there balm in Gilead?- tell me- tell me, I implore!”
Quoth the Raven, “Nevermore.”
“Prophet!” said I, “thing of evil- prophet still, if bird or devil!
By that Heaven that bends above us- by that God we both adore-
Tell this soul with sorrow laden if, within the distant Aidenn,
It shall clasp a sainted maiden whom the angels name Lenore-
Clasp a rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name Lenore.”
Quoth the Raven, “Nevermore.”
“Be that word our sign in parting, bird or fiend,” I shrieked, upstarting-
“Get thee back into the tempest and the Night’s Plutonian shore!
Leave no black plume as a token of that lie thy soul hath spoken!
Leave my loneliness unbroken!- quit the bust above my door!
Take thy beak from out my heart, and take thy form from off my
door!”
Quoth the Raven, “Nevermore.”
And the Raven, never flitting, still is sitting, still is sitting
On the pallid bust of Pallas just above my chamber door;
And his eyes have all the seeming of a demon’s that is dreaming,
And the lamplight o’er him streaming throws his shadow on the
floor;
And my soul from out that shadow that lies floating on the floor
Shall be lifted- nevermore!
聯(lián)系客服
