《致云雀》----译五言----日志（一）

致云雀 05/21/2022 

噫至乐精灵 /异千千飞禽/ 羽扬及天岭/垂翼天之云/心纯若天音/乘未琢之灵
渐高渐远循/浑地跃天心 /若流火之云 /携寂蓝之行 /奋翔旋乐音   
沐万丈金光 /倚沉暮之阳 /闪浮云之亮 /伊展翅翱翔 /借无形之欢 /启奋飞之航  
亦飞亦熔光 /流光托紫环/辰日天星闪 /仙艺未所望 /飞溅喜若狂   
敏若箭之芒 /银涛射苍茫 /明灯一线光 /晨暮清黎暗/不辨却有望   
尘扬及天象 /彼音高且昂 /忽闻夜渐凉 /孤云疑自赏 /清月散雨芒 /流光溢满堂  
君知吾未知 /何与君相似 /雨虹未曾泻 /水晶亮如斯 /君现若甘霖/倾洒韵如诗   
诗者存于世 /今夕隐于思 /即兴起赞歌 /亦望亦悲思 /人世意迟迟   
高楼有佳人/苦恋情意痴 /深阁人未知 /起歌如爱乐/清辉满闺室   
若泛金流萤 /穿幽谷之荫 /跃清霜露凝 /散浮光色影 /共花遮草隐  
若绿叶玫瑰 /且倚枝静退 /得暖风摧萎 /载清香之蕊 /容飞贼沉醉   
春霖淋漓声 /雨催醒花泪 /群草共灼灼 /且乐且纯澈 /如露亦如电 /未及乐之美  
智乎精卫鸟/至甜君思缈 /吾生未闻道 /挚爱醇酒谣 /亦归圣乐潮   
诵婚歌桃夭 /凯旋赞宝刀 /比君歌声处 /空空且寂寥   
何物为欢源/何事化甘泉 /何地为旷野 /何处起波涟/何者开山涧 /何形蟒如天/
何象若平原 /爱者同宗处 /于痛可绝缘   
彼情至真切/ 懈怠未曾现 /忧烦掺苦影 /一刻未近前 /君拥一生爱 /深爱免悲哀   
或醒或酣睡 /视死或如归 /人间晓梦处 /弦弦思华年 /真深均不解/唯君起圣乐 /剔透亦涌泻
吾瞻前顾后 /皆庸人自扰 /纵挚纯微笑 /亦为苦所恼 /求至甜歌飘 /却神伤意绕  
求惧畏可表 /盼骄傲全抛 /望生而无泪 /吾无从知晓 /怎近观其妙   
比众律缥缈 /超书华所描 /如诗篇纯巧 /视尘土若藐   
求赐半心悦 /余者或有缘 /君思吾亦思 /君知吾未知 /君声出吾唇 /悠悠世长痴 *********************************

初中的时候我就迷上了雪莱这首诗，当时家里有的是江枫的译本。其实彼时该译本全诗我只能背诵我最喜欢的几句。刚到美国的时候，我凭着记忆把英文诗再按照江枫的版本写下来，加上自己的翻译。但是我一直很遗憾，因为找不到江枫的原译本了。很神奇的是，2001年打印的诗和我那时候用铅笔按记忆记下来的江枫的版本我还留着，纸张边沿都泛黄了，铅笔字却都还很清晰。最近我突然想起这首诗来，在网上谷歌搜，居然第一条就是江枫的译本。真是真金不怕火炼，虽然这个版本当初没能上网，但是美丽的翻译一定会被大数据翻出来，翘居榜首。  

  过了20年了，我之所以起意重新想看这首诗，是因为最近发现如果使用文言体裁翻译或演绎英文诗，虽然不能严格遵从英文的原文，但是更有助于把诗歌本身的灵动表达出来。诗歌和其他文学体裁非常不一样的地方，就是它能给读者带来的无边的想象力和美好的画面，让读者的思潮能够一层一层地蔓延，无拘无束地跳跃。英文这个语言，较中文而言，本身其实更富于逻辑和澎湃的韵律，而不像中文那样简约且有张力。直译英文诗为中文，就会往往会在安排词句排比和设计逻辑结构的时候陷入尴尬无比的境地。但是如果抛开按字按句的翻译，使用古文，反而就能跳出需要同时照顾词句和逻辑的陷阱。  

  所以我先起意想尝试使用四言或五言来翻译这首《致云雀》。与我而言，四言还是太短，很难把诗人内心磅礴的感情以及对生活至深的思考表达出来，所以我不得不求助于五言。尽管我已经尽力，但是我还是很遗憾，因为五言翻译还是失去了雪莱最后篇章里那些非常有哲理的短挫的句子里的深意。 

  我是边看纸张上打出来的英文，边在手机上打字，边切换屏幕看江枫的原译本。整个翻译的过程，我感觉到那样无穷的快乐和欣喜，那样无边的振奋和激昂，激动到让我自己泪水满眶。而我自己，就仿佛是那只向天而冲的云雀，向上，向上（higher still and higher)，一直在飞翔。我时而觉得自己仿佛就站立在那月光的清辉之中，时而觉得自己就是那流萤，是那玫瑰，此刻在那佳人旁边沉醉。唯有此刻，我如云雀般，完全没有瞻前顾后的苦恼和带着忧虑的真挚的微笑。我真的深深的希望，你能在读到这首诗时，能感受到那无边的浪漫和蓬勃若最美青春的云彩。愿这世间的最美，时时能在云雀的身边与你作伴。 

 ****************************** 

  视频里的照片是我的朋友蕊清拍摄的各样鸟儿的照片。我们在讨论她拍的照片的时候，她有一句话深得我心。“如果照片不能打动我，也就不能打动别人。” 为了追求这片刻的打动，她常常花很长的时间为了一张照片的拍摄以及后期处理下巨大的功夫。欣赏她的照片，和听她说拍照时候的故事，常常让我有莫名的感动，是一种感动到心悸的感觉(我对伯牙子期的关系的理解，虽然我并不拍照)。她拍过很多鸟儿的照片。而我每次看，都特别为鸟儿静止的飞态而感动。因此我特地和她要到了这些照片做了这个视频。需要注解的是，视频里大部分照片是蜂鸟，并不是云雀。

  人生里时时刻刻各个瞬间的感动，是一种永恒的美。愿人类的感动和纯美共享，和永恒共存。

*******************************

To a Skylark

Hail to thee, blithe Spirit!
Bird thou never wert,
That from Heaven, or near it,
Pourest thy full heart
In profuse strains of unpremeditated art.

Higher still and higher
From the earth thou springest
Like a cloud of fire;
The blue deep thou wingest,
And singing still dost soar, and soaring ever singest.

In the golden lightning
Of the sunken sun,
O'er which clouds are bright'ning,
Thou dost float and run;
Like an unbodied joy whose race is just begun.

The pale purple even
Melts around thy flight;
Like a star of Heaven,
In the broad day-light
Thou art unseen, but yet I hear thy shrill delight,

Keen as are the arrows
Of that silver sphere,
Whose intense lamp narrows
In the white dawn clear
Until we hardly see, we feel that it is there.

All the earth and air
With thy voice is loud,
As, when night is bare,
From one lonely cloud
The moon rains out her beams, and Heaven is overflow'd.

What thou art we know not;
What is most like thee?
From rainbow clouds there flow not
Drops so bright to see
As from thy presence showers a rain of melody.

Like a Poet hidden
In the light of thought,
Singing hymns unbidden,
Till the world is wrought
To sympathy with hopes and fears it heeded not:

Like a high-born maiden
In a palace-tower,
Soothing her love-laden
Soul in secret hour
With music sweet as love, which overflows her bower:

Like a glow-worm golden
In a dell of dew,
Scattering unbeholden
Its aëreal hue
Among the flowers and grass, which screen it from the view:

Like a rose embower'd
In its own green leaves,
By warm winds deflower'd,
Till the scent it gives
Makes faint with too much sweet those heavy-winged thieves:

Sound of vernal showers
On the twinkling grass,
Rain-awaken'd flowers,
All that ever was
Joyous, and clear, and fresh, thy music doth surpass.

Teach us, Sprite or Bird,
What sweet thoughts are thine:
I have never heard
Praise of love or wine
That panted forth a flood of rapture so divine.

Chorus Hymeneal,
Or triumphal chant,
Match'd with thine would be all
But an empty vaunt,
A thing wherein we feel there is some hidden want.

What objects are the fountains
Of thy happy strain?
What fields, or waves, or mountains?
What shapes of sky or plain?
What love of thine own kind? what ignorance of pain?

With thy clear keen joyance
Languor cannot be:
Shadow of annoyance
Never came near thee:
Thou lovest: but ne'er knew love's sad satiety.

Waking or asleep,
Thou of death must deem
Things more true and deep
Than we mortals dream,
Or how could thy notes flow in such a crystal stream?

We look before and after,
And pine for what is not:
Our sincerest laughter
With some pain is fraught;
Our sweetest songs are those that tell of saddest thought.

Yet if we could scorn
Hate, and pride, and fear;
If we were things born
Not to shed a tear,
I know not how thy joy we ever should come near.

Better than all measures
Of delightful sound,
Better than all treasures
That in books are found,
Thy skill to poet were, thou scorner of the ground!

Teach me half the gladness
That thy brain must know,
Such harmonious madness
From my lips would flow
The world should listen then, as I am listening now.