水清沙白

《荒原》--艾略特(英文版)part2

水清沙白

英文版《荒原》part1:http://www.iyangcong.com/GroupController/topic_detail/657

Unreal City

  Under the brown fog of a winter noon

  Mr. Eugenides, the Smyrna merchant

  Unshaven, with a pocket full of currants

  C.i.f. London: documents at sight,

  Asked me in demotic French

  To luncheon at the Cannon Street Hotel

  Followed by a weekend at the Metropole.

  At the violet hour, when the eyes and back

  Turn upward from the desk, when the human engine waits

  Like a taxi throbbing waiting,

  I Tiresias, though blind, throbbing between two lives,

  Old man with wrinkled female breasts, can see

  At the violet hour, the evening hour that strives

  Homeward, and brings the sailor home from sea,

  The typist home at teatime, clears her breakfast, lights

  Her stove, and lays out food in tins.

  Out of the window perilously spread

  Her drying combinations touched by the sun\'s last rays,

  On the divan are piled (at night her bed)

  Stockings, slippers, camisoles, and stays.

  I Tiresias, old man with wrinkled dugs

  Perceived the scene, and foretold the rest -

  I too awaited the expected guest.

  He, the young man carbuncular, arrives,

  A small house agent\'s clerk, with one bold stare,

  One of the low on whom assurance sits

  As a silk hat on a Bradford millionaire.

  The time is now propitious, as he guesses,

  The meal is ended, she is bored and tired,

  Endeavours to engage her in caresses

  Which still are unreproved, if undesired.

  Flushed and decided, he assaults at once;

  Exploring hands encounter no defence;

  His vanity requires no response,

  And makes a welcome of indifference.

  (And I Tiresias have foresuffered all

  Enacted on this same divan or bed;

  I who have sat by Thebes below the wall

  And walked among the lowest of the dead.)

  Bestows one final patronising kiss,

  And gropes his way, finding the stairs unlit . . .

  She turns and looks a moment in the glass,

  Hardly aware of her departed lover;

  Her brain allows one half-formed thought to pass:

  "Well now that\'s done: and I\'m glad it\'s over."

  When lovely woman stoops to folly and

  Paces about her room again, alone,

  She smoothes her hair with automatic hand,

  And puts a record on the gramophone.

  "This music crept by me upon the waters"

  And along the Strand, up Queen Victoria Street.

  O City city, I can sometimes hear

  Beside a public bar in Lower Thames Street,

  The pleasant whining of a mandoline

  And a clatter and a chatter from within

  Where fishmen lounge at noon: where the walls

  Of Magnus Martyr hold

  Inexplicable splendour of Ionian white and gold.

  The river sweats

  Oil and tar

  The barges drift

  With the turning tide

  Red sails

  Wide

  To leeward, swing on the heavy spar.

  The barges wash

  Drifting logs

  Down Greenwich reach

  Past the Isle of Dogs.

  Weialala leia

  Wallala leialala

  Elizabeth and Leicester

  Beating oars

  The stern was formed

  A gilded shell

  Red and gold

  The brisk swell

  Rippled both shores

  Southwest wind

  Carried down stream

  The peal of bells

  White towers

  Weialala leia

  Wallala leialala

  "Trams and dusty trees.

  Highbury bore me. Richmond and Kew

  Undid me. By Richmond I raised my knees

  Supine on the floor of a narrow canoe."

  "My feet are at Moorgate, and my heart

  Under my feet. After the event

  He wept. He promised \'a new start\'.

  I made no comment. What should I resent?"

  "On Margate Sands.

  I can connect

  Nothing with nothing.

  The broken fingernails of dirty hands.

  My people humble people who expect

  Nothing."

  la la

  To Carthage then I came

  Burning burning burning burning

  O Lord Thou pluckest me out

  O Lord Thou pluckest

  burning

  IV. DEATH BY WATER

  Phlebas the Phoenician, a fortnight dead,

  Forgot the cry of gulls, and the deep sea swell

  And the profit and loss.

  A current under sea

  Picked his bones in whispers. As he rose and fell

  He passed the stages of his age and youth

  Entering the whirlpool.

  Gentile or Jew

  O you who turn the wheel and look to windward,

  Consider Phlebas, who was once handsome and tall as you.

  V. WHAT THE THUNDER SAID

  After the torchlight red on sweaty faces

  After the frosty silence in the gardens

  After the agony in stony places

  The shouting and the crying

  Prison and palace and reverberation

  Of thunder of spring over distant mountains

  He who was living is now dead

  We who were living are now dying

  With a little patience

  Here is no water but only rock

  Rock and no water and the sandy road

  The road winding above among the mountains

  Which are mountains of rock without water

  If there were water we should stop and drink

  Amongst the rock one cannot stop or think

  Sweat is dry and feet are in the sand

  If there were only water amongst the rock

  Dead mountain mouth of carious teeth that cannot spit

  Here one can neither stand nor lie nor sit

  There is not even silence in the mountains

  But dry sterile thunder without rain

  There is not even solitude in the mountains

  But red sullen faces sneer and snarl

  From doors of mudcracked houses

  If there were water

  And no rock

  If there were rock

  And also water

  And water

  A spring

  A pool among the rock

  If there were the sound of water only

  Not the cicada

  And dry grass singing

  But sound of water over a rock

  Where the hermit-thrush sings in the pine trees

  Drip drop drip drop drop drop drop

  But there is no water

  Who is the third who walks always beside you?

  When I count, there are only you and I together

  But when I look ahead up the white road

  There is always another one walking beside you

  Gliding wrapt in a brown mantle, hooded

  I do not know whether a man or a woman

  - But who is that on the other side of you?

  What is that sound high in the air

  Murmur of maternal lamentation

  Who are those hooded hordes swarming

  Over endless plains, stumbling in cracked earth

  Ringed by the flat horizon only

  What is the city over the mountains

  Cracks and reforms and bursts in the violet air

  Falling towers

  Jerusalem Athens Alexandria

  Vienna London

  Unreal

  A woman drew her long black hair out tight

  And fiddled whisper music on those strings

  And bats with baby faces in the violet light

  Whistled, and beat their wings

  And crawled head downward down a blackened wall

  And upside down in air were towers

  Tolling reminiscent bells, that kept the hours

  And voices singing out of empty cisterns and exhausted wells.

  In this decayed hole among the mountains

  In the faint moonlight, the grass is singing

  Over the tumbled graves, about the chapel

  There is the empty chapel, only the wind\'s home.

  It has no windows, and the door swings,

  Dry bones can harm no one.

  Only a cock stood on the rooftree

  Co co rico co co rico

  In a flash of lightning. Then a damp gust

  Bringing rain

  Ganga was sunken, and the limp leaves

  Waited for rain, while the black clouds

  Gathered far distant, over Himavant.

  The jungle crouched, humped in silence.

  Then spoke the thunder

  DA

  Datta: what have we given?

  My friend, blood shaking my heart

  The awful daring of a moment\'s surrender

  Which an age of prudence can never retract

  By this, and this only, we have existed

  Which is not to be found in our obituaries

  Or in memories draped by the beneficent spider

  Or under seals broken by the lean solicitor

  In our empty rooms

  DA

  Dayadhvam: I have heard the key

  Turn in the door once and turn once only

  We think of the key, each in his prison

  Thinking of the key, each confirms a prison

  Only at nightfall, aetherial rumours

  Revive for a moment a broken Coriolanus

  DA

  Damyata: The boat responded

  Gaily, to the hand expert with sail and oar

  The sea was calm, your heart would have responded

  Gaily, when invited, beating obedient

  To controlling hands

  I sat upon the shore

  Fishing, with the arid plain behind me

  Shall I at least set my lands in order?

  London Bridge is falling down falling down falling down

  Poi s\'ascose nel foco che gli affina

  Quando fiam ceu chelidon - O swallow swallow

  Le Prince d\'Aquitaine a la tour abolie

  These fragments I have shored against my ruins

  Why then Ile fit you. Hieronymo\'s mad againe.

  Datta. Dayadhvam. Damyata.

  Shantih shantih shantih

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