弗罗斯特（Robert Frost）诗译 by 徐淳刚 我见过的最好的译本

弗罗斯特（Robert Frost）诗译 by 徐淳刚 Robert Frost（1874－1963），美国的，作品以朴素、深邃著称。 □ 不深也不远 人们走上沙滩 转身朝着一个方向。 他们背对着陆地 整日凝望海洋。 当一只船从远处过来 船身便不断升高； 潮湿的沙滩像明镜 映出一只静立的鸟。 也许陆地变化更多； 但无论真相在哪边—— 海水涌上岸来， 人们凝望着海洋。 他们望不太深。 他们望不太远。 但有什么能够遮挡 他们凝望的目光？ Neither Out Far Nor In Deep The people along the sand All turn and look one way. They turn their back on the land. They look at the sea all day. As long as it takes to pass A ship keeps raising its hull; The wetter ground like glass Reflects a standing gull The land may vary more; But wherever the truth may be-- The water comes ashore, And the people look at the sea. They cannot look out far. They cannot look in deep. But when was that ever a bar To any watch they keep? □ 进来 当我走到树林边， 鸫鸟的音乐——听啊！ 如果这时外面还亮点， 里面已是黑暗。 树林太黑暗，对一只鸟 它用翅膀的灵活 改善夜晚栖息的法则， 不过它依然要唱歌。 落日最后的一丝光线 正在西天死去， 却仍残活下来倾听着 鸫鸟胸中的歌。 　　　　 远在那隐约的黑暗中 鸫鸟的歌声还在—— 几乎像一声“进来” 带着黑暗和悲哀。 想得美，我出来看星星； 才不“进来”呢。 就是邀请我也不； 何况没请我。 Come In As I came to the edge of the woods, Thrush music -- hark! Now if it was dusk outside, Inside it was dark. Too dark in the woods for a bird By sleight of wing To better its perch for the night, Though it still could sing. The last of the light of the sun That had died in the west Still lived for one song more In a thrush's breast. Far in the pillared dark Thrush music went -- Almost like a call to come in To the dark and lament. But no, I was out for stars; I would not come in. I meant not even if asked; And I hadn't been. □ 雪夜林边停歇 这是谁家的林子我清楚。 他就住在那边的村里头； 他不会知道我停在这儿 望着他的树林积满白雪。 我的小马准抱着个疑团： 干嘛停在树林和冰库间？ 附近既看不到一户人家 又是一年中最黑的夜晚。 他摇了摇脖子上的铃铛 好像在问出了什么差错。 除此之外，只听见微风 吹拂着毛绒绒的雪花响。 树林真好看，又黑又幽深， 但我说话要算数， 睡觉前还要赶多少路啊， 睡觉前还要赶多少路。 Stopping by Woods on a snowy Evening Whose woods these are I think I know. His house is in the village, though; He will not see me stopping here To watch his woods fill up with snow. My little horse must think it queer To stop without a farmhouse near Between the woods and frozen lake The darkest evening of the year. He gives his harness bells a shake To ask if there is some mistake. The only other sound's the sweep Of easy wind and downy flake. The woods are lovely, dark and deep, But I have promise to keep, And miles to go before I sleep, And miles to go before I sleep. □ 未选择的路 金黄的树林里分出两条路， 可惜我不能都去走。 我这个过客，久久的站在那儿， 向着一条极目望去 不知道它在丛林中伸向何处； 而我选择了另一条，或许这样才公平， 说不定还有更好的理由： 因为它长满青草，召唤我去踩踏； 尽管就这一点来说，两条路 好像没什么不同。而且， 那天清晨，两条路都铺满了 落叶，未经脚印污染。 哦，就把第一条留待来日吧！ 但一想到条条道路相连接， 恐怕我难以再回来。 也许多年以后在某个地方 我会轻声叹息着说起这件事： 树林中分出两条路，而我—— 而我选择了人迹少的那一条， 这，就造成了天大的不同。 The Road Not Taken Two roads diverged in a yellow wood, And sorry I could not travel both And be one traveler,long I stood And looked down one as far as I could To where it bent in the undergrowth; Then took the other,as just as fair, And having perhaps the better claim, Because it was grassy and wanted wear Though as for that the passing there Had worn them really about the same, And both that morning equally lay In leaves no step had trodden black. Oh,Ikept the first for another day! Yet knowing how way leads on to way, Idoubted if I should ever come back. Ishall be telling this with a sgih Somewhere ages and ages hence: Two roads diverged in a wood,and I-- Itook the one less traveled by, And that has made all the difference. □ 柴垛 阴天，我走在冰冻的沼泽中 停下脚步，心想：打这儿往回走吧； 不，我要再走远点儿，这样就看到了。 大雪把我困住，就一只脚 不时还能挪动。那些细高细高的树 将视野全划成了直上直下的线条 以致没有什么能标明我是在哪儿 说不准究竟我是在这儿 还是在别处：反正离家很远就是了。 一只小鸟在我面前飞。当他 飞落时总小心地跟我隔着一棵树 什么也不说，不告诉我他是谁 而我却傻傻地想着他在想什么。 他以为，我走在他后头是为了根儿毛吧—— 他尾巴上白色的那根；好像一个 把什么东西都说成是自己的人。 其实，他只要飞到外面就全明白了。 然后是一垛柴，于是我就 把他给忘了，就让它那小小的恐惧 随他走吧，走那条我要走的路 我都没有对它说一声晚安。 为了获得最后的立足地，他绕到后头。 那是一堆枫木， 已经劈好、剁好 很整齐地堆着， 四乘四乘八。 像这样的柴垛，我没看到第二个。 在它周围的雪地上 ，没有任何奔跑过的痕迹。 这垛柴，想必不是今年砍的 更不用说去年、前年。 柴已经变成灰色 ，皮也都剥落了 整个柴垛稍微有些下陷 。铁丝 一圈一圈牢牢扎着，像是个打好的包裹。 柴垛的一头，是还在生长的小树 支撑着，另一头是斜桩和竖桩 几乎快要倒了。 我只是想 ： 一定是谁要干别的事情， 才把自己 忙活好些天的东西给忘了。 费那么大劲儿砍下，没丢进炉子里烧火 却远远地留在这儿 ，让它慢慢地腐烂 无烟地燃烧，温暖这冰冻的沼泽 或许这样更好点。 The Wood-Pile Out walking in the frozen swamp one grey day I paused and said, "I will turn back from here. No, I will go on farther--and we shall see." The hard snow held me, save where now and then One foot went down. The view was all in lines Straight up and down of tall slim trees Too much alike to mark or name a place by So as to say for certain I was here Or somewhere else: I was just far from home. A small bird flew before me. He was careful To put a tree between us when he lighted, And say no word to tell me who he was Who was so foolish as to think what he thought. He thought that I was after him for a feather-- The white one in his tail; like one who takes Everything said as personal to himself. One flight out sideways would have undeceived him. And then there was a pile of wood for which I forgot him and let his little fear Carry him off the way I might have gone, Without so much as wishing him good-night. He went behind it to make his last stand. It was a cord of maple, cut and split And piled--and measured, four by four by eight. And not another like it could I see. No runner tracks in this year's snow looped near it. And it was older sure than this year's cutting, Or even last year's or the year's before. The wood was grey and the bark warping off it And the pile somewhat sunken. Clematis Had wound strings round and round it like a bundle. What held it though on one side was a tree Still growing, and on one a stake and prop, These latter about to fall. I thought that only Someone who lived in turning to fresh tasks Could so forget his handiwork on which He spent himself, the labour of his axe, And leave it there far from a useful fireplace To warm the frozen swamp as best it could With the slow smokeless burning of decay. □ 补墙 有一种东西，可能不喜欢墙， 它在墙根下的冻土中鼓起来， 大白天的把墙上的石头摇得滚下来； 墙裂了大口子，两人并肩都能走过。 打猎的来了又是另个样子： 他们搬开一块块石头，总不放回原处， 我只好跟在他们后头不停地修补， 他们还要把兔子从藏身的地儿撵出来， 为了讨好汪汪的狗。那么大的口子 怎么有的，谁也没看见，谁也没听见 可到了春天补墙时，就在那里了。 我给住在山那边的邻居捎话说了； 有一天我们在墙下见了面，四处看了看， 在我们两家中间重新把墙补垒起来。 我们走的时候，中间隔着一道墙， 石头落在谁那边，就由谁去收拾。 它们有的像面包，有的圆得像球。 或许得念个咒才能把它们放稳当： “老实呆着！在我们转身之前别掉下来！” 搬弄这些东西，我们的手指都磨粗了。 哦，这不过是另一种户外游戏， 一个人站一边。此外没有别的用处： 在墙那块儿，我们根本不需要墙： 他那边儿全是松树，我这边儿是苹果。 我的苹果树永远也不会翻墙过去 在他的松树底下吃松果，我就这么说。 他只是说，“好篱笆才有好邻家。” 春天让我心里挺谋乱，我就想 能不能让他顺着我的思路想： “为什么好篱笆才有好邻家？是不是说 有牛的人家？可我们这里哪有牛。 其实，在垒墙之前，我就应该知道， 围进来的是什么，围出去的是什么， 而且我会得罪谁，歪着谁。 有一种东西，可能不喜欢墙， 它总想让墙塌。”我会对他说那是“妖精”。 但也不完全是妖精吧，我想还是 由他自己去判断。我看见他在那边 搬一块石头，两只手紧紧抓住， 像一个用石器武装自己的野蛮人。 我觉着，他是在黑暗中摸索， 这黑暗不只是来自树木和树影。 他不去推敲人老几辈说过的东西 他一想起来就感觉对着呢， 于是又说，“好篱笆才有好邻家”。 Mending Wall Something there is that doesn't love a wall, That sends the frozen ground-swell under it, And spills the upper bowlders in the sun; And makes gaps even two can pass abreast. The work of hunters is another thing: I have come after them and made repair Where they have left not one stone on a stone, But they would have the rabbit out of hiding, To please the yelping dogs. The gaps I mean, No one has seen them made or heard them made, But at spring mending-time we find them there. I let my neighbor know beyond the hill; And on a day we meet to walk the line And set the wall between us once again. We keep the wall between us as we go. To each the bowlders that have fallen to each. And some are loaves and some so nearly balls We have to use spell to make them balance: “Stay where you are until our backs are turned!” We wear our fingers rough with handling them. Oh, just another kind of outdoor game, One on a side. It comes to little more: There where it is we do not need the wall: He is all pine and I am apple-orchard. My apple trees will never get across And eat the cones under his pines, I tell him. He only say, “Good fences make good neighbors.” Spring is the mischief in me, and I wonder If I could put a motion in his head: “Why do they make good neighbors? Isn't it Where there are cows? But here there are no cows. Before I built a wall I'd ask to know What I was walling in or walling out, And to whom I was like to give offense. Something there is that doesn't love a wall, That wants it down!” I could say “elves” to him, But it's not elves exactly, and I'd rather He said it for himself. I see him there, Bringing a stone grasped firmly by the top In each hand, like an old-stone savage armed. He moves in darkness, as it seems to me, Not of woods only and the shade of trees. He will not go behind his father's saying. And he likes having thought of it so well He says again, “Good fences make good neighbors.” □ 指令 离开现在难以对付的世界， 返回到一个质朴纯真的年代 破败、颓废、断裂 如同墓园中饱受日晒雨淋的石像， 这里有间不再是房子的房子 它在一座不再是农场的农场上 不再是城镇的城镇中。 通往那里的路回环曲折， 就是有人引领你也照样会迷路， 或许老城本是一个采石场—— 裸露着巨石的膝盖 早就放弃了掩埋村庄的愿望。 关于它一部书记载着一个故事： 除大石上铁轮马车留下的道道辙印， 突兀的岩石上条条纹路撑开延伸， 这是巨大的冰川留下的杰作 它曾把双脚蹬在北极上。 你不必在意它的某种寒意 到现在还徘徊在豹山的这边； 也不必在意来自四十个窟窿的监视， 像四十只小木桶张开的眼睛， 这并不是什么严酷的考验。 至于树林中的一阵喧哗，响起 一阵沙沙声，急匆匆地传给自己的叶子， 这喧哗仅仅出自莽撞与无知。 二十多年前，这片树林在哪里呢？ 现在它们却过多地思考 把几棵婆娑的老苹果树完全遮掩。 就亲手写一首动听的歌吧， 歌唱这曾是某人下班回家的小路， 他或许正好空手走在你前头， 或者推着一辆吱吱呀呀着粮食的小推车。 冒险的终点就是思想的起点， 两种乡村文明早先在这里 交汇，而今已看不到踪迹。 如果你现在迷失方向找不到自我， 就请你紧紧跟随脚下的梯级小路， 竖一块关闭的标牌拒绝世人但除了我。 于是你就感到舒适、自由。 如今剩下的地盘只有这么一小块。 从前这里是孩子们搭起的小屋， 里面堆放着的玩具 不过是些松树下摔碎的盘子。 叹息吧，这些小玩意居然使他们幸福！ 后来这房子不再是一间房子， 只剩下一个长满紫丁香的窟窿， 合拢之后像面团上的一个小洞。 这不是玩具房子，而是真正的房子。 你的目的地连同命运 正是这间房子里的溪水池， 它像冰冷的泉水刚刚离开泉眼， 山高路远难以走远。 （我知道山谷下奔流的溪水 会在荆枝上绽开朵朵水花） 我还保存着一只坏了的高脚酒杯， 埋在水边的一棵老树底下， 像受了符咒的圣杯使坏人找不到， 如圣马可所说：他们因此不能得救。 （这酒杯是我从玩具房子里偷的） 这就是你的溪水你的沐浴地， 喝一口你将超越混乱，重新醒来。 Directive Back out of all this now too much for us, Back in a time made simple by the loss Of detail, burned, dissolved, and broken off Like graveyard marble sculpture in the weather, There is a house that is no more a house Upon a farm that is no more a farm And in a town that is no more a town. The road there, if you'll let a guide direct you Who only has at heart your getting lost, May seem as if it should have been a quarry – Great monolithic knees the former town Long since gave up pretense of keeping covered. And there's a story in a book about it: Besides the wear of iron wagon wheels The ledges show lines ruled southeast-northwest, The chisel work of an enormous Glacier That braced his feet against the Arctic Pole. You must not mind a certain coolness from him Still said to haunt this side of Panther Mountain. Nor need you mind the serial ordeal Of being watched from forty cellar holes As if by eye pairs out of forty firkins. As for the woods' excitement over you That sends light rustle rushes to their leaves, Charge that to upstart inexperience. Where were they all not twenty years ago? They think too much of having shaded out A few old pecker-fretted apple trees. Make yourself up a cheering song of how Someone's road home from work this once was, Who may be just ahead of you on foot Or creaking with a buggy load of grain. The height of the adventure is the height Of country where two village cultures faded Into each other. Both of them are lost. And if you're lost enough to find yourself By now, pull in your ladder road behind you And put a sign up CLOSED to all but me. Then make yourself at home. The only field Now left's no bigger than a harness gall. First there's the children's house of make-believe, Some shattered dishes underneath a pine, The playthings in the playhouse of the children. Weep for what little things could make them glad. Then for the house that is no more a house, But only a belilaced cellar hole, Now slowly closing like a dent in dough. This was no playhouse but a house in earnest. Your destination and your destiny's A brook that was the water of the house, Cold as a spring as yet so near its source, Too lofty and original to rage. (We know the valley streams that when aroused Will leave their tatters hung on barb and thorn.) I have kept hidden in the instep arch Of an old cedar at the waterside A broken drinking goblet like the Grail Under a spell so the wrong ones can't find it, So can't get saved, as Saint Mark says they mustn't. (I stole the goblet from the children's playhouse.) Here are your waters and your watering place. Drink and be whole again beyond confusion. □ 丝绸帐篷 她，犹如田野中的一顶丝绸帐篷 当晴朗夏日的中午，一阵和煦的微风 吹干了露珠，根根丝带变得柔和， 她便抓住丝线，自由自在，轻轻飘动 支撑她的，是中央那杆雪松， 那伸向广袤天宇的，高高的篷顶 那显示灵魂存在的，确切见证 他，仿佛无牵无挂， 任何一根丝线都不能约束 被无数爱和思想的丝带，松松牵动 沿着指南针的旋转，与世间万物相连， 唯有当一根丝线，微微拉紧 在夏日变幻莫测的气流中， 它，才感觉到最轻微的，一丝束缚。 The Silken Tent She is as in a field a silken tent At midday when a sunny summer breeze Has dried the dew and all its ropes relent, So that in guys it gently sways at ease SAnd its supporting central cedar pole, That is its pinnacle to heavenward And signifies the sureness of its soul Seems to owe naught to any single cord, But strictly held by none, is loosely bound By countless silken ties of love and thought To everything on earth the compass round, And only by one's going slightly taut In the capriciousness of summer air, Is the slightest bondage made aware. □ 无人重视 他们任我们往这边走， 好像很肯定我们走错了路， 我们这才有机会坐在路边角落里， 一脸孩子样、漂泊样、天使样， 看看是不是被抛弃。 In Neglect They leave us so to the way we took, As two in whom them were proved mistaken, That we sit sometimes in the wayside nook, With mischievous, vagrant, seraphic look, And try if we cannot feel forsaken.