T. S.Eliot
Let us go then, you and I,
When the evening is spread out against the sky
Like a patient etherized upon a table;
Let us go, through certain half-deserted streets,
The muttering retreats
Of restless nights in one-night cheap hotels
And sawdust restaurants with oyster shells:
Streets that follow like a tedious argument
Of insidious intent
To lead you to an overwhelming question……
Oh, do not ask,“What is it?”
Let us go and make our visit.
In the room the women come and go
Talking of Michelangelo.
The yellow fog that rubs its back upon the window panes,
The yellow smoke that rubs its muzzIe on the window panes
Licked its tongue into the corners of the evening,
Lingered upon the pools that stand in drains,
Let fall upon its back the soot that falls from chimneys,
Slipped by the terrace, made a sudden leap,
And seeing that it was a soft October night,
Curled once about the house, and fell asleep.
And indeed there will be time
For the yellow smoke that slides along the street,
Rubbing its back upon the window panes;
There will be time, there will be time
To prepare a face to meet the faces that you meet;
There will be time to murder and create,
And time for all the works and days of hands
That lift and drop a question on your plate;
Time for you and time for me,
And time yet for a hundred indecisions,
And for a hundred visions and revisions,
Before the taking of a toast and tea.
In the room the women come and go
Talking of Michelangelo.
And indeed there will be time
To wonder,“Do I dare?”and,“Do I dare?”
Time to turn back and descend the stair,
With a bald spot in the middle of my hair—
[They will say,“How his hair is growing thin!”]
My morning coat, my collar mounting firmly to the chin,
My necktie rich and modest, but asserted by a simple pin—
[They will say,“But how his arms and legs are thin!”]
Do I dare
Disturb the universe?
In a minute there is time
For decisions and revisions which a minute will reverse.
For I have known them all already, known them all—
Have known the evenings, mornings, afternoons,
I have measured out my life with coffee spoons;
I know the voices dying with a dying fall
Beneath the music from a farther room.
So how should I presume?
And I have known the eyes already, known them all—
The eyes that fix you in a formulated phrase,
And when I am formulated, sprawling on a pin,
When I am pinned and wriggling on the wall,
Then how should I begin
To spit out all the butt-ends of my days and ways?
And how should I presume?
And I have known the arms already, known them all—
Arms that are braceleted and white and bare
[But in the lamplight, downed with light brown hair!]
Is it perfume from a dress
That makes me so digress?
Arms that lie along a table, or wrap about a shawl.
And should I then presume?
And how should I begin?
……
Shall I say, I have gone at dusk through narrow streets
And watched the smoke that rises from the pipes
Of lonely men in shirt-sleeves, leaning out of windows?……
I should have been a pair of ragged cIaws
Scuttling across the floors of silent seas.
……
And the afternoon, the evening, sleeps so peacefully!
Smoothed by long fingers,
Asleep……tired……or it malingers,
Stretched on the floor, here beside you and me.
Should I, after tea and cakes and ices
Have the strength to force the moment to its crisis?
But though I have wept and fasted, wept and prayed,
Though I have seen my head[grown slightly bald]brought in
upon a platter
I am no prophet—and here's no great matter;
I have seen the moment of my greatness flicker,
And I have seen the eternal Footman hold my coat, and snicker,
And in short, I was afraid.
And would it have been worth it, after all,
After the cups, the marmalade, the tea,
Among the porcelain, among some talk of you and me,
Would it have been worth while,
To have bitten off the matter with a smile,
To have squeezed the universe into a ball
To roll it toward some overwhelming question,
To say,“I am Lazarus, come from the dead
Come back to tell you all, I shall tell you all”—
If one, settling a pillow by her head,
Should say:“That is not what I meant at all.
That is not it, at all.”
And would it have been worth it, after all,
Would it have been worth while,
After the sunsets and the dooryards and the sprinkled streets,
After the novels, after the teacups, after the skirts that trail
along the
floor-
And this, and so much more?—
It is impossible to say just what I mean!
But as if a magic lantern threw the nerves in patterns on a
screen:
Would it have been worth while
If one, settling a pillow or throwing off a shawl,
And turning toward the window, should say:
“That is not it at all,
That is not what I meant, at all.”
……
No!I am not Prince Hamlet, or was meant to be;
Am an attendant lord one that will do
To swell a progress, start a scene or two,
Advise the prince;no doubt, an easy tool,
Deferential, glad to be of use,
Politic, cautious, and meticulous;
Full of high sentence, but a bit obtuse
At times, indeed, almost ridiculous—
Almost, at times, the Fool.
I grow old……I grow old……
I shall wear the bottoms of my trousers rolled.
Shall I part my hair behind?Do I dare to eat a peach?
I shall wear white flannel trousers, and walk upon the beach.
I have heard the mermaids singing, each to each.
I do not think that they will sing to me.
I have seen them riding seaward on the waves
Combing the white hair of the waves blown back
When the wind blows the water white and black.
We have lingered in the chambers of the sea
By sea-girls wreathed with seaweed red and brown
Till human voices wake us, and we drown.
T·S·艾略特
那么我們走吧,我們一起,
此時黃昏正在延展,傭向天際
像麻醉的病人躺在手術臺上;
我們走吧,穿過一些半冷清的街,
那兒休憩的場所正人聲喋喋;
有夜夜不寧的便宜歇夜旅店
露天的餐館里牡蠣殼遍地,
街連著街,好像一場冗長的爭議
懷著陰險的目的
要把你引向一個重大的問題……
噢,別問“是什么?”
讓我們去走訪一遍。
客廳里女人來來回回穿梭,
正在談論著米開朗琪羅
黃色的霧在窗玻璃上擦著它的背,
黃色的煙在窗玻璃上擦著它的嘴,
它的舌頭伸進黃昏的角落,舔過以后
就在干涸的水池上面徘徊。
讓煙囪里的煙灰落在它的脊背,
滑過斜坡地,驀然一躍,
發(fā)現正值溫柔的十月夜晚,
于是在房屋附近蜷伏起來,安然睡覺。
呵,確實地,總會有時間
看黃色的煙沿著街滑行,
在窗玻璃上擦著它的背;
總會有時間,總會有時間
準備一副面容去會見你見的那個人;
總會有時間去謀殺,去創(chuàng)新,
有時間去做天天的手頭活計;
在你的茶盤上提起或放下一個問題;
有的是時間,無論你,無論我,
還有的是時間猶疑一百遍,
有時間幻想一百遍,修正一百遍,
然后再去吃茶點。
客廳里女人來來回回穿梭,
正在談論著米開朗琪羅
呵,確實地,總還有時間
來疑問,“我可有勇氣?”“我可有勇氣?”
總還有時間來轉身走下樓梯,
把一塊禿頂暴露給人去注意——
(她們會說:“他的頭發(fā)長得真稀?。?/p>
我的晨禮服,挺立到下巴的衣領,
我的領帶雅致而多彩,用簡樸別針固定——
(她們會說;“但他的手臂和腿瘦骨伶仃!”)
我可有勇氣
攪亂這個宇宙?
在一分鐘里總還有時間
決定和變卦,過一分鐘還可推翻。
因為我已經熟悉了她們,并且了如指掌——
熟悉了那些黃昏,和上下午的情景,
我是用咖啡匙子量出了我的生命;
我知道每當隔壁響起了音樂
話聲就逐漸低微而至停歇。
所以我怎么敢提出?
而且我已熟悉那些眼睛,熟悉了一切——
那些用一句公式化的成語把你釘住的眼睛,
當我被公式化了,在釘針下趴伏,
當我被釘著在墻壁上掙扎,
那么我將如何開始
吐出我一生歲月習慣中所有的殘渣?
因此我該怎樣冒昧提起?
而且我已經熟悉那些胳膊,熟悉了一切——
那些胳膊戴著鐲子,又袒露又白凈
(可是在燈光下,顯得淡褐色毛茸茸!)
是否由于衣裙的香氣
使得我這樣話離本題?
那些手臂橫放在桌上,或用披巾卷起。
那時候我該提出嗎?
可是我怎么開口?
……
我是否說,黃昏時穿過幾條小街,
看到孤獨的男子只穿著襯衫
倚在窗口,煙斗里冒著裊裊的煙?……
我倒不如做一對粗俗的蟹爪
匆匆爬過靜寂的海底。
……
啊,那下午,那黃昏,睡得多平靜!
被纖長的手指輕輕撫愛,
睡了……疲倦了……或者佯裝有病,
躺在地板上,就在你我腳邊伸開。
是否我,在用過茶、糕點和冷飲以后,
我是否有勇氣把這一刻推向緊要關頭?
然而,盡管我曾哭泣齋戒,哭泣祈禱,
盡管我看見我的頭(有點禿頂)用盤子端過來,
我不是先知——這也不值得大驚小怪;
我曾看到我偉大的時刻在動搖,
我曾看到那永恒的“侍者”拿著我的外衣暗笑,
簡而言之,我感到害怕。
而且,歸根到底,那是否值得,
在用過茶點,吃過果醬以后,
在杯盤中間,當人們談著你和我,
是不是值得以一個微笑
把這件事情一口啃掉,
把整個宇宙壓縮成一個球,
使它滾向一個重大的問題,
說道:“我是拉撒路,從死人那里
來報一個信,我要告訴你們一切”——
萬一她拿個枕頭墊在腦下,
竟然說:“那根本不是我的意思。
不是的,那根本不是?!?/p>
那么,歸根到底,是不是值得,
是否值得在那許多次夕陽以后,
在庭院的散步和水淋過街道以后,
在讀小說以后,在飲茶以后,在長裙拖過地板以后——
說這些,和許多許多事情?——
但不可能真正說出我的意圖!
仿佛有盞神燈把神經活動圖投射到屏幕上:
是否值得,假如
她在頭下墊個枕頭,脫去披風,
把頭轉向窗戶,說道:
“不是的,根本不是,
那根本不是我的意思?!?/p>
……
不!我不是哈姆雷特王子,也無此意;
我只是個侍從爵士,能逢場作戲,
能為一兩個景開場,或為王子出主意,
就夠好的了;無非是順手的工具,
恭恭敬敬,樂于聽人使喚,
彬彬有禮,小心翼翼,仔仔細細;
滿口高調,但有點愚鈍不靈利;
有時,幾乎實在滑稽可笑——
有時,近乎一個丑角。
呵,我變老了……我變老了……
我將要把我的褲腳邊卷起。
我是否把頭發(fā)從后面分開?我可敢吃桃?
我將要穿上白色法蘭絨褲,去海濱漫步。
美人魚在對歌,她們的歌聲我已聽到。
但我想她們不是唱給我聽。
我已經看到她們乘著波浪游向海里,
梳理著被沖回的浪濤白頭,
當海風把海水刮得黑白交加。
我們在海宮中流連忘返,
水仙子用紅褐水草把大海裝飾如此美麗,
一旦被人聲喚醒,我們就淹死。
實戰(zhàn)提升
背景知識
T·S·艾略特(T.S.Eliot),英國著名現代派詩人和文藝評論家。1888年9月26日生于美國密蘇里州。1906年入哈佛大學學哲學,續(xù)到英國上牛津大學,后留英教書和當職員。1908年開始創(chuàng)作。代表作《荒原》,表達了西方一代人精神上的幻滅,被認為是西方現代文學中具有劃時代意義的作品。1948年因“革新現代詩,功績卓著的先驅”,獲諾貝爾文學獎。
詩人通過詩中的主人公普魯弗洛克的無望的虛幻的求愛過程,描述了一種普遍存在的病態(tài)世象,從而唱響了精神癱瘓、文明衰退,到處充滿意志消沉、無所事事的“活死人”的黃昏世界的哀歌。
單詞注解
etherize['i:θ?raiz]麻醉
retreat[ri'tri:t]僻靜,安靜
tedious['ti:di?s]冗長乏味的;使人厭煩的
muzzIe['m?zl]動物的口鼻部
cIaw[kl?:]爪,腳爪
名句誦讀
And the afternoon, the evening, sleeps so peacefully!Smoothed by long fingers, Asleep……tired……or it malingers, Stretched on the floor, here beside you and me.
l grow old……l grow old……l shall wear the bottoms of my trousers rolled.
We have lingered in the chambers of the sea By sea-girls wreathed with seaweed red and brown Till human voices wake us, and we drown.