卡瓦菲斯 ^(试发表)

Tomb of Iasis I, Iasis, lie here -famous for my good looks in this great city. The wise admired me, so did common, superficial people. I took equal pleasure in both. But from being considered so often a Narcissus and Hermes, excess wore me out, killed me. Traveller, if you're an Alexandrian, you won't blame me. You know the pace of our life -its fever, its absolute devotion to pleasure. 亚西斯之墓 我，亚西斯，躺在这里——我因美貌而闻名于 这座伟大的城市里。 智者仰慕我，凡夫俗子也一样。 它们让我感到同样的愉快。 但是，常常被当作纳喀索斯和赫耳墨斯， 这使我筋疲力尽，将我杀死。旅行者， 如果你是一个亚历山大人，你就不会责备我。 你知道我们生命的步调——它的狂热，它对于快乐的绝对虔诚。 Grey While looking at a half-grey opal I remembered two lovely grey eyes; it must be twenty years ago I saw them . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . We were lovers for a month. Then he went away to work, I think in Smyrna, and we never met again. Those grey eyes will have lost their charm -if he's still alive; that lovely face will have spoiled. Memory, keep them the way they were. And, memory, whatever you can bring back of that love, whatever you can, bring back tonight. 灰色 望着一块半灰的蛋白石， 我想起两只可爱的灰色眼睛： 我一定是二十年前看到了它们…… ……………………………………………… 我们做了一个月的情人， 然后他离开，去工作了，我想是在士麦拿， 我们再也没有见面。 那对灰色的眼睛也许已失去魅力——如果他还活着； 那张可爱的脸也许已经毁了； 记忆，请将它们原样留住。 还有，记忆，不管能从那爱情中能带回什么， 不管是什么，今夜就带回来。 To Sensual Pleasure My life's joy and incense: recollection of those hours when I found and captured pleasure as I wanted it. My life's joy and incense: that I refused all indulgence in routine love affairs. 致感官快乐 我生命里的欢乐和香味：我回忆起那些时光， 那时，我曾找到、抓住自己想要的快乐。 我生命里的欢乐和香味：我拒绝 沉溺于一切常规的恋爱关系。 In The Evening It wouldn't have lasted long anyway- years of experience make that clear. But Fate did put an end to it a bit abruptly. It was soon over, that wonderful life. Yet how strong the scents were, what a magnificent bed we lay in, what pleasures we gave our bodies. An echo from my days of indulgence, an echo from those days came back to me, something from the fire of the young life we shared: I picked up a letter again, read it over and over till the light faded. Then, sad, I went out on to the balcony, went out to change my thoughts at least by seeing something of this city I love, a little movement in the streets, in the shops. 晚上 无论如何，这不会持续很久—— 多年的经验使我很清楚这一点。 但是命运还是将它终止得有点突然。 它很快就结束了，那个美妙的生命。 然而，那个气味是多么强烈， 我们躺在一张多么出色的床上， 赋予我们肉体的是何等的快乐。 我那放荡岁月的回声， 那些岁月的回声又来到我身边， 从我们分享过的年轻生命的火焰中而来的某种东西： 我再次拣起一封信， 一读再读，直到光线暗去。 然后，我伤心地走向外面的阳台， 走到外面，至少可以转移一下注意力： 看看我所热爱的这座城市里的一些事物， 街上、商店里的一点儿动静。 For Ammonis, who died at 29, in 610 Raphael, they're asking you to write a few lines as an epitaph for the poet Ammonis: something very tasteful and polished. You can do it, you're the one to write something suitable for the poet Ammonis, our Ammonis. Of course you'll speak about his poems- but say something too about his beauty, about that subtle beauty we loved. Your Greek is always elegant and musical. But we want all your craftsmanship now. Our sorrow and our love move into a foreign language. Pour your Egyptian feeling into the Greek you use. Raphael, your verses, you know, should be written so they contain something of our life within them, so the rhythm, so every phrase clearly shows that an Alexandrian is writing about an Alexandrian. 献给阿蒙尼斯，他死于610年，29岁 拉斐尔，他们请你写上几行， 作为诗人阿蒙尼斯的墓志： 要非常别致而精练。你办得到的， 你是最适合的人选，来为诗人阿蒙尼斯、 我们的阿蒙尼斯，写点得体的东西。 当然，你会提到他的诗—— 但关于他的美也要说点什么， 关于我们热爱的那妙不可言的美。 你的希腊语总是优雅而悦耳。 但是我们要你拿出全部的技艺。 我们的忧伤和我们的爱都移进了一种外国语言。 请把你的埃及情感注入你所使用的希腊语。 拉斐尔，你知道，你的诗篇应该写得 让我们生命中的某些东西也包含在它们里面， 让那韵律，让每一个短语都能清楚地表明 这是一个亚历山大人在写一个亚历山大人。 Passing Through The things he timidly imagined as a schoolboy are openly revealed to him now. And he walks the streets， stays out all night, gets involved. And as is right (for our kind of art) his blood -fresh and hot- offers itself to pleasure. His body is overcome by forbidden erotic ecstasy; and his young limbs give in to it completely. In this way a simple boy becomes something worth our looking at, for a moment he too passes through the exalted World of Poetry, the young sensualist with blood fresh and hot. 穿越 他在学校里胆怯地想象过的事情， 现在都对他公开展现。而他在街头游荡， 整夜呆在外面，卷入其中。就像应有的那样（对我们这门艺术来说） 他的血液——新鲜而热切—— 把自己献给了快乐。他的肉体臣服于 那违禁的情欲迷狂；而他年轻的四肢 向它彻底投降。 就这样，一个单纯的男孩 变成了某种值得一看的东西，有那么一刻， 他也穿越了那高贵的诗歌世界， 这个有着新鲜热烈血液的年轻的感官主义者。 In A Town of Osroini Yesterday, around midnight, they brought us our friend Remon, who'd been wounded in a taverna fight. Through the windows we left wide open, the moon cast light over his beautiful body as it lay on the bed. We're a mixture here: Syrians, immigrant Greeks, Armenians, Medes. Remon is one of these too. But last night, when the moon shone on his sensual face, our thoughts went back to Plato's Charmidis. 在奥斯罗尼的一个镇上 昨天，午夜前后，他们带来了我们的朋友雷蒙， 他在一次小酒馆的打斗中受了伤。 透过我们任其敞开的窗户， 月亮把光洒向他那躺在床上的美丽身体。 我们在这里混为一体：叙利亚人、希腊移民、亚美尼亚人、米提亚人。 雷蒙也是其中的一员。但是昨夜， 当月亮照耀着他那性感的面孔， 我们缅想起了柏拉图的查米迪斯。 Before The Statue of Endymion I've come from Miletos to Latmos on a white chariot drawn by four snow-white mules, all their trappings silver. I sailed from Alexandria in a purple trireme to perform secret rites- sacrifices and libations- in honour of Endymion. And here is the statue. I now stare at Endymion's famous beauty in wonder. My slaves empty baskets of jasmine and auspicious tributes revive the pleasure of ancient days. 在恩底弥翁的雕像前 我从米勒托斯到拉特莫斯， 坐着四匹雪白的骡子拉的车子， 它们的装饰全都是银色。 我乘着一艘紫色的大船从亚历山大驶来， 去举行秘密的仪式—— 献牲，祭酒——以纪念恩底弥翁。 这里就是那座雕像。现在，我惊奇地 凝视着恩底弥翁那著名的美貌。 我的奴隶们倒空了篮里的茉莉， 吉祥的贡品恢复了古老时日里的欢乐。 In The Street His attractive face a bit pale, his brown eyes looking tired, dazed, twenty-five years old but could be taken for twenty, with something of the artist in the way he dresses -the colour of his tie, shape of his collar- he drifts aimlessly down the street, as though still hypnotized by the illicit pleasure, the very illicit pleasure he's just experienced. 在街上 他迷人的面孔有点苍白， 他赫色的双眼看起来疲倦而茫然， 二十五岁，但是会被当作二十岁， 他的衣穿风格有点像艺术家 ——他领带的颜色；他衣领的形状—— 他漫无目的地在街上逛着， 仿佛还沉迷于那不正当的快乐， 他刚刚体验过的非常不正当的快乐。 When They Come Alive Try to keep them, poet, those erotic visions of yours, however few of them there are that can be stilled. Put them, half-hidden, in your lines. Try to hold them, poet, when they come alive in your mind at night or in the noonday brightness. 当它们活跃起来 尽力保存它们，诗人， 你那些情欲的幻象， 无论它们之中能留下的是多么的少。 把它们半隐半现地写入你的诗句。 尽力把握它们，诗人， 当它们在夜里或是正午的亮光里， 在你的心里活跃起来。 Pictured I love my work, and I'm very careful about it. But today I'm discouraged by how slowly it's going. The day's had a bad effect on me: it grows darker and darker. Endless wind and rain. I'm more in the mood for looking at things than for speaking. In this picture I'm now gazing at, a handsome boy is lying down close to a spring, maybe exhausted from running. What a handsome boy; what a heavenly noon has caught him up in sleep. I sit and gaze like this for a long time, recovering through art from the effort of creating it. 画 我喜爱我的工作，我非常小心地对待它。 但是今天，缓慢的进度让我沮丧。 这一天对我产生了一种不良的影响： 它越来越暗。无尽的风雨。 我更有心情去观看事物而不是说话。 我凝视着这副画，画里，一个英俊的少年 躺在一座喷泉旁边， 也许是跑得累极了。 多么英俊的少年；多么神圣的正午 在睡眠里将他攫住。 我坐着，这样凝视了好长时间， 通过艺术而从创造它的辛劳中恢复回来。 Morning Sea Let me stop here. Let me, too, look at nature awhile. The brilliant blue of the morning sea, of the cloudless sky, the shore yellow; all lovely, all bathed in light Let me stand here. And let me pretend I see all this (I actually did see it for a minute when I first stopped) and not my usual day-dreams here too, my memories, those sensual images. 早晨的大海 让我在这里停住。让我也看一看大自然。 早晨的大海、无云的天空那明亮的蓝色， 那黄色的沙滩；都很可爱， 全都沐浴在光中。 让我站在这里。让我假装自己看见了这一切 （在我最初停下的片刻，我的确看到了它们） 而那些感官印象，不是我在这里又 做起的白日梦和我的回忆。 One Night The room was cheap and sordid, hidden above the suspect taverna. From the window you could see the alley, dirty and narrow. From below came the voices of workmen playing cards, enjoying themselves. And there on that ordinary, plain bed I had love's body, knew those intoxicating lips, red and sensual, red lips so intoxicating that now as I write, after so many years, in my lonely house, I'm drunk with passion again. 一天夜里 那个房间又便宜又破， 隐藏在可疑的小酒馆上面。 从窗口可以看见外面的小巷， 又脏又窄。下面 传来工人们 玩牌作乐的声音。 而在那里，在那张普通的简陋的床上， 我拥有了爱情的肉身，见识了那些消魂的嘴唇， 红色的，肉感的， 如此消魂的红唇， 以至于此刻，在我写作时，这么多年以后， 在我寂寞的房子里，我再一次因激情而迷醉。 He Swears He swears every now and then to begin a better life. But when night comes with its own counsel, its own compromises and prospects-- when night comes with its own power of a body that needs and demands, he returns, lost, to the same fatal pleasure. 他发誓 他常常发誓要开始一种更好的生活。 但是当夜晚来临，带着它自己的建议、 它自己的妥协方案和前景—— 当夜晚来临，带着它自己的力量， 影响着一个有需有求的肉体， 他便迷茫地回头走向原来那种致命的快乐。 At The Cafe Door Something they said beside me made me look toward the cafe door, and I saw that lovely body which seemed as though Eros in his mastery had fashioned it, joyfully shaping its well-formed limbs, moulding its tall build, shaping its face tenderly, and leaving, with a touch of the fingers, a particular impression on the brow, the eyes, the lips. 在咖啡店门口 他们在我身边说的某件事 使我向咖啡店门里望去， 我看见那可爱的身体，仿佛是 爱神用他的高超技巧设计而成， 他快乐地塑造出它优美的四肢， 浇铸出它高大的体格， 温柔地塑造出它的脸， 最后，五个手指一碰， 在眉、眼、唇上留下了特别的印记。 But The Wise Perceive Things About To Happen For the gods perceive things in the future, ordinary people things in the present, but the wise perceive things about to happen. Philostratos, Life of Apollonios of Tyana, viii, 7 Ordinary mortals know what's happening now, the gods know what the future holds because they alone are totally enlightened. Wise men are aware of future things just about to happen. Sometimes during moments of intense study their hearing's troubled: the hidden sound of things approaching reaches them, and they listen reverently, while in the street outside the people hear nothing whatsoever. 但是智者感知即将发生的事情 诸神感知未来的事情， 一般人感知现在的事情， 但是智者感知即将发生的事情。 菲罗斯特拉托斯，《蒂安那人阿波罗尼奥传》viii, 7 一般的凡人知道什么正在发生， 诸神知道将来会怎样， 因为只有他们受到了完全的启发。 智者意识到未来的 即将发生的事情。 有时，在认真研究之际， 他们的听力受到干扰：临近之事 那隐秘的声音传到了他们身上， 他们虔敬地聆听着，而在外面的大街上， 人们什么也听不见。 Long Ago I'd like to speak of this memory, but it's so faded now -as though nothing's left- because it was so long ago, in my adolescent years. A skin as though of jasmine... that August evening -was it August?- I can still just recall the eyes: blue, I think they were... Ah yes, blue: a sapphire blue. 很久以前 我想说一说这片记忆， 但现在它是如此模糊——仿佛什么也没有留下—— 因为那是在很久以前，在我的青春岁月。 一种茉莉般的皮肤…… 那个八月的晚上——是八月吗？—— 我还能回想起那双眼睛：蓝色的，我想它们是…… 啊是的，蓝色的：一种宝石蓝。 Chandelier In a room -empty, small, four walls only, covered with green cloth- a beautiful chandelier burns, all fire; and each of its flames kindles a sensual fever, a lascivious urge. In the small room, radiantly lit by the chandelier's hot fire, no ordinary light breaks out. Not for timid bodies the lust of this heat. 枝形吊灯 在一个又空又小、只有四面墙， 铺着绿墙布的房间里， 点着美丽的枝形吊灯，灯光大亮； 每一团火焰都燃起 一种情欲的狂热，一种淫荡的冲动。 在这个被枝形吊灯的热火 熊熊照亮的小房间里， 不会冒出普通的灯光。 这些羞怯的身体里也不会冒出 这么热烈的欲望。 Tomb of Evrion In his tomb -ornately designed, the whole of syenite stone, covered by so many violets, so many lilies- lies handsome Evrion, an Alexandrian, twenty-five years old. On his father's side, he was of old Macedonian stock, on his mother's side, descended from a line of magistrates. He studied philosophy with Aristokleitos, rhetoric with Paros, and at Thebes the sacred scriptures. He wrote a history of the province of Arsinoites. That at least will survive. But we've lost what was really precious: his form- like a vision of Apollo. 埃弗里翁之墓 他的墓——那设计华丽的 整块的黑花岗岩， 覆盖着这么多紫罗兰和百合—— 里面躺着英俊的埃弗里翁， 一个亚历山大人，二十五岁。 按他的父系，他有着古老的马其顿血统， 按他的母系，则是数代法官的后代。 他跟阿里斯托莱托斯学习哲学， 跟帕洛斯学习修辞，又在底比斯 学习神圣的经文。他写了一部 阿思诺特斯省的历史。它至少会留存下来。 但是我们失去了那真正可贵的：他的体形—— 仿佛阿波罗的一个化影。 Tomb of the Grammarian Lysias In the Beirut library, just to the right as you go in, we buried wise Lysias, the grammarian. The spot is beautifully chosen. We put him near those things of his that he remembers maybe even there: notes, texts, commentaries, variants, voluminous studies of Greek idioms. Also, this way, as we go to the books, we'll see, we'll honour his tomb. 语法学家利西亚斯之墓 在贝鲁特图书馆，一进来，就在右边， 我们埋葬了智慧的利西亚斯，那位语法学家。 这个地点选得很美。 我们让他靠近他的那些东西， 也许他在那里也还记得它们： 笔记、原文、注释、异文、 关于希腊方言的长篇论文。 而且，这样，当我们去找那些书时， 我们会看见他的墓，并且向它致敬。 I Went I didn't restrain myself. I gave in completely and went, went to those pleasures that were half real, half wrought by my own mind, went into the brilliant night and drank strong wine, the way the champions of pleasure drink. 我走了 我不压抑自己。我彻底放弃了，我走了， 走向那些半是真的、 半是我自己的头脑制造出的快乐， 我走向那辉煌的夜晚， 喝着烈酒， 像快乐战士们那样喝。 For The Shop He wrapped them up carefully, neatly, in expensive green silk. Roses of rubies, lilies of pearl, violets of amethyst: according to his taste, his will, his vision of their beauty -- not as he saw them in nature or studied them. He'll leave them in the safe, examples of his bold, his skilful work. Whenever a customer comes into the shop, he brings out other things to sell -- first class ornaments: bracelets, chains, necklaces, rings. 为商店而作 他用昂贵的绿丝绸 把它们小心、整齐地包好。 红宝石做的玫瑰、珍珠做的百合、 紫晶做的紫罗兰：出自他的品味、他的意愿、 他对它们的审美眼光——不是他的本性所见， 也非他的研究所得。他把它们放在保险箱里， 他的这些大胆、精巧的样品。 每当客人走进商店， 他就拿出别的东西来卖——一流的装饰品： 手镯、链条、项圈、戒指。 As Much As You Can Even if you can't shape your life the way you want, at least try as much as you can not to degrade it by too much contact with the world, by too much activity and talk. Do not degrade it by dragging it along, taking it around and exposing it so often to the daily silliness of social relations and parties, until it comes to seem a boring hanger-on. 尽你所能 即使你不能让生活塑造成你希望的那样， 至少也要尽你所能 不要降低它： 跟世界接触太多， 太多的活动和谈话。 尽量不要降低它：一直拖着它 带着它走来走去，让它如此频繁地 陷入社交和宴会 这些日常的蠢行， 直到它变得像个无聊的食客。 Very Seldom An old man -- used up, bent, crippled by time and indulgence-- slowly walks along the narrow street. But when he goes inside his house to hide the shambles of his old age, his mind turns to the share in youth that still belongs to him. His verse is now quoted by young men. His visions come before their lively eyes. Their healthy sensual minds, their shapely taut bodies, stir to his perception of the beautiful. 非常少见 一个老人——筋疲力尽，驼着背， 时间与纵欲把他变成了瘸子—— 慢慢走过狭窄的街道。 但是当他走进他的屋子，藏起 他那年老的蹒跚脚步，他的头脑 就转向了那仍然属于他的一份青春。 现在，他的诗被青年人引用。 他的幻想在他们热烈的眼前出现。 他们健康而耽于感官的头脑， 他们匀称而紧绷的肉体， 激起了他的审美直觉。 In Church I love the church: its labara, its silver vessels and candleholders, the lights, the ikons, the pulpit. When I go there, into a church of the Greeks, with its aroma of incense, its liturgical chanting and harmony, the majestic presence of the priests, dazzling in their ornate vestments, the solemn rhythm of their gestures-- my thoughts turn to the great glories of our race, to the splendour of our Byzantine heritage. 在教堂里 我热爱那座教堂：它的教旗， 它的银制器皿，它的烛台， 那些灯光、圣像、讲坛。 当我走到那里，走进一座希腊大教堂， 它熏香的芬芳， 它那礼拜礼上的圣歌与和声 牧师们庄严的风度， 他们那令人目眩的华丽法衣， 他们手势中的神圣韵味—— 这一切，让我的思想转向我们民族的伟大荣耀， 转向我们拜占庭传统的光辉。 Come Back Come back often and take hold of me, sensation that I love, come back and take hold of me -- when the body's memory revives and an old longing again passes through the blood, when lips and skin remember and hands feel as though they touch again. Come back often, take hold of me in the night when lips and skin remember... 回来吧 经常回来并占有我吧， 我所热爱的感觉，回来并且占有我吧—— 当肉体的记忆复苏， 一种古老的渴望流过血液， 当嘴唇和皮肤想起 而双手仿佛感到又在触摸。 经常回来，在夜里占有我 当嘴唇和皮肤在想起…… ITHAKA As you set out for Ithaka hope your road is a long one, full of adventure, full of discovery. Laistrygonians, Cyclops, angry Poseidon - don't be afraid of them: you'll never find things like that one on your way as long as you keep your thoughts raised high, as long as a rare excitement stirs your spirit and your body. Laistrygonians, Cyclops, wild Poseidon - you won't encounter them unless you bring them along inside your soul, unless your soul sets them up in front of you. Hope your road is a long one. May there be many summer mornings when, with what pleasure, what joy, you enter harbours you're seeing for the first time; may you stop at Phoenician trading stations to buy fine things, mother of pearl and coral, amber and ebony, sensual perfumes of every kind - as many sensual perfumes as you can; and may you visit many Egyptian cities to learn and go on learning from their scholars. Keep Ithaka always in your mind. Arriving there is what you're destined for. But don't hurry the journey at all. Better if it lasts for years, so you're old by the time you reach the island, wealthy with all you've gained on the way, not expecting Ithaka to make you rich. Ithaka gave you the marvellous journey. Without her you wouldn't have set out. She has nothing left to give you now. And if you find her poor, Ithaka won't have fooled you. Wise as you will have become, so full of experience, you'll have understood by then what these Ithakas mean 伊法基 当你启程前往伊法基， 愿你的道路漫长， 充满冒险，充满发现。 莱斯特律戈涅斯巨人、独眼巨人、 愤怒的波赛冬——不要害怕他们： 你绝不会在途中发现这样的东西， 只要你让自己的思想继续高高扬起， 只要一种少有的兴奋， 激发着你的精神和肉体。 莱斯特律戈涅斯巨人、独眼巨人、 野蛮的波赛冬——你不会遇到他们， 除非你把他们一直带入了你的灵魂， 除非你的灵魂把他们竖立在你的面前。 愿你的道路漫长。 愿那里有很多夏天的早晨， 当你如此愉快，如此喜悦地 进入第一次见到的海港； 但愿你在腓尼基人的集市停步， 购买精美的物件， 珍珠母和珊瑚，琥珀和黑檀， 各式各样诱人的香水—— 这诱人的香水你想要多少就有多少； 愿你参观众多的埃及城市， 向他们的学者学习、继续学习。 让伊法基一直在你心中， 抵达那里是你预定的目标。 但不必匆忙赶路。 最好让它持续几年； 这样等你上了岛，你就老了， 一路所得已经让你财物丰饶， 不再期望伊法基让你变得富有。 伊法基给了你美妙的旅行， 没有她你不会启程， 她没有什么东西还可以给你。 如果你发现她很穷，伊法基没有愚弄你。 既然你将会变得很聪明，如此富有经验， 那时你一定已经明白这些伊法基意味着什么。 1911 Ionic That we've broken their statues, that we've driven them out of their temples, doesn't mean at all that the gods are dead. O land of Ionia, they're still in love with you, their souls still keep your memory. When an August dawn wakes over you, your atmosphere is potent with their life, and sometimes a young ethereal figure indistinct, in rapid flight, wings across your hills. 爱奥尼亚式的 我们打碎了他们的塑像， 我们将他们赶出了他们的神庙， 这并不意味着诸神已死。 哦，爱奥尼亚的土地，他们仍然爱你， 他们的灵魂依然保留着对你的记忆。 当一个八月的黎明从你的上空醒来， 你的空气可以增强他们的生命， 有时，一个年轻而飘渺的形象， 模糊不清，急速飞翔， 双翅掠过你的山冈。 Things Ended Engulfed by fear and suspicion, mind agitated, eyes alarmed, we try desperately to invent ways out, plan how to avoid the obvious danger that threatens us so terribly. Yet we're mistaken, that's not the danger ahead: the news was wrong (or we didn't hear it, or didn't get it right). Another disaster, one we never imagined, suddenly, violently, descends upon us, and finding us unprepared -there's no time now- sweeps us away。 事物终结 被恐惧和猜疑吞噬， 心神不宁，双眼恐慌， 我们拼命地想找到出路， 计划着如何躲开 那明摆着的危险，它如此可怕地威胁着我们。 但是我们错了，那不是前方的危险： 消息是假的 （要么我们没听见，要么没搞清楚）。 我们从未设想过的另一场灾难， 突然，猛地降临到我们头上， 趁我们没准备——现在没有时间了—— 将我们卷走。 The City You said: "Ill go to another country, go to another shore, find another city better than this one. Whatever I try to do is fated to turn out wrong and my heart -like something dead- lies buried. How long can I let my mind moulder in this place? Wherever I turn, wherever I look, I see the black ruins of my life, here, where Ive spent so many years, wasted them, destroyed them totally." You wont find a new country, wont find another shore. This city will always pursue you. Youll walk the same streets, grow old in the same neighbourhoods, turn grey in these same houses. Youll always end up in this city. Dont hope for things elsewhere: theres no ship for you, theres no road. Now that youve wasted your life here, in this small corner, youve destroyed it everywhere in the world. 城市 你说：“我要去另一个国家，另一片海岸， 去寻找比这里更好的另一个城市。 我做的一切都注定事与愿违。 我的心被埋葬，像死掉的东西一样。 在这个地方，我能让我的头脑再分裂多久？ 无论我转向哪里，无论我瞧向哪里， 我都看见我生命的黑色废墟，在这里， 我度过了这么多年，把它们全部荒废、毁掉。” 你不会找到一个新的国家，不会找到另一片海岸。 这个城市会永远跟着你。 你会走过同样的街道，在同样的 街区里变老，在同样的屋子里头发转白。 你将永远结束于这个城市。不要期待别处的东西： 那里没有载你的船，也没有路。 既然你已经在这里，在这小小的角落浪费了你的生命 你就已经在世界上的任何一个地方将它毁掉。 That's The Man Unknown -a stranger in Antioch- the man from Edessa writes and writes. And at last, there, the final canto's done. That makes eighty-three poems in all. But so much writing, so much versifying, the intense strain of phrasing in Greek, has worn the poet out, and now everything has gone stale. But a thought suddenly brings him out of his dejection: the sublime "That's the man" which Lucian once heard in his sleep. 就是那个人 默默无闻——安提克的一个陌生人——这个来自伊德沙的人， 写了又写。最后，瞧， 最后的篇章完成了。它一共包含 八十三首诗。但是写了这么多， 作了这么多诗，因为用希腊语措辞 而带来的高度紧张，让诗人疲惫不堪， 而现在一切都失去了原味。 但是突然一个念头使他摆脱了他的沮丧： 琉善曾在梦里听见的 那句崇高的“就是那个人”， Monotony One monotonous day follows another identically monotonous. The same things will happen to us again and again, the same moments come and go. A month passes by, brings another month. Easy to guess what lies ahead: all of yesterday's boredom. And tomorrow ends up no longer like tomorrow. 单调 单调的日子一个接着一个， 单调得一模一样。同样的事情 在我们身上一次又一次地发生， 同样的时刻来了又去。 一个月过去了，带来另一个月， 很容易猜出前面还藏着什么： 全都是昨日的无聊。 而明天结束时将不再像明天。 Longings Like the beautiful bodies of those who died before growing old, sadly shut away in sumptuous mausoleum, roses by the head, jasmine at the feet -- so appear the longings that have passed without being satisfied, not one of them granted a single night of pleasure, or one of its radiant mornings. 渴望 就像那些在变老之前就死去者的美丽身体， 悲哀地被关在豪华的陵墓里， 玫瑰在头边，茉莉在脚上—— 渴望似乎也是这样，没有得到满足 就消逝了，它们之间没有谁曾得到过 哪怕一个快乐的夜晚，或者一个灿烂的早晨。 Voices Loved, idealized voices of those who have died, or of those lost for us like the dead. Sometimes they speak to us in dreams; sometimes deep in thought the mind hears them. And, with their sound, for a moment return sounds from our life's first poetry - like distant music fading away at night. 声音 那些已经死去的，或是对我们来说， 像死人一样失踪了的人的 可爱的、理想化的声音， 有时，它们在梦中对我们说话； 有时，心灵在沉思中会听到它们。 伴随着它们的声音，那一刻， 我们生命中第一首诗的声音回来了—— 像远处的音乐在夜里渐渐逝去。 Waiting For The Barbarians -What are we waiting for, assembled in the forum? The barbarians are due here today. -Why isn't anything going on in the senate? Why are the senators sitting there without legislating? Because the barbarians are coming today. What's the point of senators making laws now? Once the barbarians are here, they'll do the legislating. -Why did our emperor get up so early, and why is he sitting enthroned at the city's main gate, in state, wearing the crown? Because the barbarians are coming today and the emperor's waiting to receive their leader. He's even got a scroll to give him, loaded with titles, with imposing names. -Why have our two consuls and praetors come out today wearing their embroidered, their scarlet togas? Why have they put on bracelets with so many amethysts, rings sparkling with magnificent emeralds? Why are they carrying elegant canes beautifully worked in silver and gold? Because the barbarians are coming today and things like that dazzle the barbarians. -Why don't our distinguished orators turn up as usual to make their speeches, say what they have to say? Because the barbarians are coming today and they're bored by rhetoric and public speaking. -Why this sudden bewilderment, this confusion? (How serious people's faces have become.) Why are the streets and squares emptying so rapidly, everyone going home lost in thought? Because night has fallen and the barbarians haven't come. And some of our men who have just returned from the border say there are no barbarians any longer. Now what's going to happen to us without barbarians? Those people were a kind of solution. 等待那些野蛮人 ——我们聚集到这个广场上来，要等待什么？ 野蛮人今天应该会到这里。 ——为什么元老院里什么事也没有？ 为什么那些议员们做在那里不立法？ 因为野蛮人今天要来。 议员们现在立法又有什么意义？ 野蛮人一到这里，他们就会去立法。 ——为什么我们的皇帝起得这么早， 为什么他坐在宝座上，在城市的大门口， 庄重地戴着皇冠？ 因为野蛮人今天要来， 皇帝正等待着接见他们的领袖。 他甚至带了一个名册给他， 上面写着头衔和显赫的名字。 ——为什么我们的两位执政官和那些司法官今天出来时 穿着他们镶边的、猩红的袍子？ 为什么他们戴上了饰有这么多紫晶的手镯、 闪烁着华丽翡翠的戒指？ 为什么他们带着制作精美、 金银制成的雅致的手杖？ 因为野蛮人今天要来， 而那样的东西会使野蛮人眼花缭乱。 ——为什么我们杰出的演说家们不出来 像平时那样发表他们的演讲，说说他们不得不说的话？ 因为野蛮人今天要来， 而他们讨厌华丽的公开演说。 ——为什么会有这种突然的迷乱、这种惶惑？ （人们的脸变得多么严肃。） 为什么那些街道和广场这么快就空了， 每个回家的人都陷入沉思？ 因为夜晚已经降临，野蛮人还没来。 一些刚从边境回来的自己人说 那里再也没有野蛮人了。 现在，没了野蛮人，什么将要发生在我们身上？ 那些人曾经是一种解答。 The Windows In these dark rooms where I live out empty days, I wander round and round trying to find the windows. It will be a great relief when a window opens. But the windows aren't there to be found - or at least I can't find them. And perhaps it's better if I don't find them. Perhaps the light will prove another tyranny. Who knows what new things it will expose? 窗子 在这些黑暗的房间，我度过了空虚的日子， 我在其中踱来踱去， 努力想找到窗子。 一扇窗子打开，将是一个巨大的安慰。 但是这里找不到窗子—— 至少，我找不到它们。也许， 我找不到它们更好。 也许光亮将会显出另一种暴政。 谁知道它将暴露出什么新的事物？ Che fece...Il gran rifiuto. For some people the day comes when they have to declare the great Yes or the great No. It's clear at once who has the Yes ready within him; and saying it, he goes from honour to honour, strong in his conviction. He who refuses does not repent. Asked again, he would still say no. Yet that no - the right no - drags him down all his life. 对于某些人来说，那一天到来时， 他们就得郑重地大声说“是” 或者大声说“不”。那个心里早已有个“是” 并且把它说出来的人，立刻就清白了， 他从荣耀走向荣耀，对他的信念坚定不移。 那个拒绝的人并不后悔。再问一次， 他还是会说不。然而那个不——那个正确的不—— 使他拖累终生。 The title is borrowed from Dante's Inferno, iii, 60, and means "Who made . . . the great refusal." Cavafy deliberately omitted the words "per vilta"' (i.e., "because of cowardice"). 注释：标题引自但丁《地狱篇》，意思是“那个……大声拒绝的人”。卡瓦菲斯故意隐去了中间的“因为怯弱而”。 The Souls Of Old Men Inside their worn, tattered bodies sit the souls of old men. How unhappy the poor things are and how bored by the pathetic life they live. How they tremble for fear of losing that life, and how much they love it, those befuddled and contradictory souls, sitting -half comic and half tragic- inside their old, threadbare skins. 老人的灵魂 在他们那衣衫褴褛的身体里面， 坐着老人的灵魂。 这些可怜的东西多么不快乐， 他们所过的悲惨生活又让他们多么厌烦。 他们怎么因担心失去那种生活而颤抖，他们 多么热爱它，这些糊涂而矛盾的灵魂， 坐在——又像喜剧又像悲剧—— 他们衰老、破旧的皮肤里。 The First Step The young poet Evmenis complained one day to Theocritos: "I've been writing for two years now and I've composed only one idyll. It's my single completed work. I see, sadly, that the ladder of Poetry is tall, extremely tall; and from this first step I'm standing on now I'll never climb any higher." Theocritos retorted: "Words like that are improper, blasphemous. Just to be on the first step should make you happy and proud. To have reached this point is no small achievement: what you've done already is a wonderful thing. Even this first step is a long way above the ordinary world. To stand on this step you must be in your own right a member of the city of ideas. And it's a hard, unusual thing to be enrolled as a citizen of that city. Its councils are full of Legislators no charlatan can fool. To have reached this point is no small achievement: what you've done already is a wonderful thing." 第一级 年轻诗人尤梅利斯 有一天向忒奥克里斯托斯诉苦： “我现在已经写了两年， 但是我只作了一首田园诗。 这是我唯一完成的作品。 我看到，真可被，诗歌的 梯子很高，太高了； 从我现在站着的第一级 我再也无法爬得更高。” 忒奥克里斯托斯驳斥说：“这种话 不太像样，亵渎神明。 能够站在第一级 应该让你觉得快乐而骄傲。 能够到达这个点，已是不小的成就： 你所做到的，已经是件了不起的事情。 即使是这第一级， 也远远高于那凡俗的世界。 能够站在这一级， 你一定靠着自己的资格 成了理想城中的一员。 但是，登记成为那座城中的一个公民， 是件困难而不同寻常的事情。 它的议会里充满了立法者， 江湖骗子愚弄不了他们。 能够到达这个点，已是不小的成就： 你所做到的，已经是件了不起的事情。” Candles Days to come stand in front of us, like a row of burning candles - golden, warm, and vivid candles. Days past fall behind us, a gloomy line of burnt-out candles; the nearest are still smoking, cold, melted, and bent. I don't want to look at them: their shape saddens me, and it saddens me to remember their original light. I look ahead at my burning candles. I don't want to turn, don't want to see, terrified, how quickly that dark line gets longer, how quickly one more dead candle joins another. 蜡烛 未来的日子站在我们面前， 像一排燃烧的蜡烛—— 金黄、温暖、明亮的蜡烛。 过去的日子落在我们身后， 一溜阴沉的烧完的蜡烛； 靠得最近的还在冒烟， 冷却，融化，弯曲。 我不想看它们：它们的形状让我伤心， 想起他们原来的光亮让我伤心， 我朝前看着我那些燃烧的蜡烛。 我不想转过身去，我感到害怕，不想看见 那个黑暗的行列如何迅速拉长， 又一根熄灭的蜡烛如何迅速地连上另外一根。 Prayer A sailor drowned in the sea's depths.-- Unaware, his mother goes and lights a tall candle before the ikon of our Lady praying that he'll come back quickly, that the weather may be good -- her ear cocked always to the wind. While she prays and supplicates, the ikon listens, solemn, sad, knowing the son she waits for never will come back. 祈祷 一个水手淹死在大海深处—— 他的母亲不知道，还走去 在圣母画像前点亮一只长蜡烛 祈祷他能早点回来，祈祷天气好—— 当她祈祷、恳求时， 她的耳朵总是迎风竖起。 画像听着，庄严，忧愁， 知道她所等待的儿子永远也回不来了。 An Old Man At the noisy end of the café, head bent over the table, an old man sits alone, a newspaper in front of him. And in the miserable banality of old age he thinks how little he enjoyed the years when he had strentgh, and wit, and looks. He knows he's very old now: sees it, feels it. Yet it seems he was young just yesterday. The time's gone by so quickly, gone by so quickly. And he thinks how Discretion fooled him, how he always believed, so stupidly that cheat who said: "Tomorrow. You have plenty of time." He remembers impulses bridled, the joy he sacrificed. Every chance he lost now mocks his brainless prudence. But so much thinking, so much remembering makes the old man dizzy. He falls asleep, his head resting on the café table. 一个老人 在吵闹的咖啡馆的最里面，头垂在 桌子上，一个老人，独自坐着， 一张报纸放在他面前。 在这可怜的老年呆境里， 他想起当年拥有力量、机智和外貌时， 自己享受得是如何之少。 他知道现在他已经很老：看得到，感觉得到。 但是仿佛昨天他还年轻。 时间过得这么快，过得这么快。 他想起“判断力”是如何玩弄他， 他如何，那么愚蠢地一直相信 那个骗子，他说什么：“明天。你还有足够的时间。” 他想起那些受到约束的冲动、他牺牲掉 的快乐。他失去的每一个机会 现在都嘲笑起他那无知的谨慎。 但是，这么多思考，这么多回忆， 让这个老人感到头晕。他睡着了， 他的头靠在咖啡桌上。 Walls With no consideration, no pity, no shame, they have built walls around me, thick and high. And now I sit here feeling hopeless. I can't think of anything else: this fate gnaws my mind - because I had so much to do outside. When they were building the walls, how could I not have noticed! But I never heard the builders, not a sound. Imperceptibly they have closed me off from the outside world. 墙 毫无体谅，毫无同情，毫无羞愧地， 他们在我周围砌起这些又厚又高的墙。 现在我坐在这里，感到绝望。 我无法思考别的事情：这命运啃着我的心—— 因为在外面，我有那么多事情要做。 他们砌墙的时候，我怎么没有留意！ 但我根本没听到砌墙者，没听到一点声音。 不知不觉，他们已将我与外面的世界隔开。 Long Ago Id like to speak of this memory, but its so faded now -as though nothings left- because it was so long ago, in my adolescent years. A skin as though of jasmine... that August evening -was it August?- I can still just recall the eyes: blue, I think they were... Ah yes, blue: a sapphire blue. 很久以前 我愿意谈一谈这段记忆， 但现在它是如此模糊——仿佛什么也没有留下—— 因为那是在很久以前，在我的青春岁月。 一种茉莉般的皮肤…… 那个八月的晚上——是八月吗？—— 我还能回想起那双眼睛：蓝色的，我想它们是…… 啊是的，是蓝色的：一种宝石蓝。 1914（作者时年51岁）