Preludes

Preludes
-- T. S. Eliot
作者：爱略特
译者：万宽
Ⅰ
The winter's evening settles down
With smells of steaks in passageways.
Six o'clock.
The burnt-out ends of smoky days.
And now a gusty shower wraps
The grimy scraps
Of withered leaves across your feet
And newpapers from vacant lots;
The showers beat
On empty blinds and chimney-pots,
And at the corner of the street
A lonely cab-horse steams and stamps.
And then the lighting of the lamps.
序曲
一
黄昏在冬日里安静下来，
烤牛排的味道弥散在走廊里。
六点钟。
烟雾缭乱的白天残留的烟蒂。
此刻，骤雨倏至
枯萎的落叶裹挟
脚边夹杂着空地吹来的报纸。
阵雨敲打着
破败的窗帘和烟囱管子，
在街道的拐角
一匹孤独的御马正冒着热气刨蹄。
然后街灯一路亮起。
Ⅱ
The morning comes to consciousness
Of faint stale smells of beer
From the sawdust-trampled street
With all its muddy feet that press
To early coffee-stands.
With the other masquerades
That time resumes,
One thinks of all the hands
That are raising dingy shades
In a thousand furnished rooms.
二
清晨逐渐苏醒
隐隐嗅到发霉的混浊啤酒味
在被践踏了锯末的街道上
留下零乱的足印
走向早间咖啡亭。
一张张面具的来临
随时间恢复了情景，
有人想起无数的手影
正卷起脏乱的帘屏
在无数装饰一新的寓厅。
Ⅲ
You tossed a blanket from the bed,
You lay upon your back, and waited;
You dozed, and watched the night revealing
The thousand sordid images
Of which your soul was constituted;
They flickered against the ceiling.
And when all the world came back
And the light crept up between the shutters,
And you heard the sparrows in the gutters,
You had such a vision of the street
As the street hardly understands;
Sitting along the bed's edge, where
You curled the papers from your hair,
Or clasped the yellow soles of feet
In the palms of both soiled hands.
三
你将一条毯子从床上掀下了，
你仰面躺着，等待着：
你打起盹，守着夜晚呈现
无数斑驳的画面
那是构成你灵魂的碎片：
它们在天花板隐约闪现。
当整个世界回过头
当光线悄悄从百叶窗缝爬进，
当你听到屋檐下麻雀的唧喳声，
你所保留的街道印象
本身却难以理解：
你坐在床沿，
卷起从头发上撂下的纸片，
不时拽紧黄色的脚板
用你那脏乎乎的手掌。
Ⅳ
His soul stretched tight across the skies
That fade behind a city block,
Or trampled by insistent feet
At four and five and six o'clock
And short square fingers stuffing pipes,
And evening newspapers, and eyes
Assured of certain certainties,
The conscience of a blackened street
Impatient to assume the world.
I am moved by fancies that are curled
Around these images, and cling:
The notion of some infinitely gentle
Infinitely suffering thing.
Wipe your hand across your mouth, and laugh;
The worlds revolve like ancient women
Gathering fuel in vacant lots.
他的灵魂蜷缩着飘过天际
苍穹隐没在高楼的背后，
不断地被蹂躏
在四点，五点或者六点的时候
笨拙的手指在为烟斗装着烟丝，
晚间的报纸，眸子
确定着那些被证实的事，
昏暗街道的良知
已经厌倦去设想这世界。
我被幻觉惊动于错叠
萦绕的意象，产生了依恋：
某种无限温柔
永远承受着痛苦的感觉。
用你的手擦拭你的嘴，抿笑：
世界旋转如远去的妇人。