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莫笑愚de午夜驪歌

一個人de獨舞——在文字構築的視覺花園。

 
 
 

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一个孤独的旅人,一个人生的探险者,一个人间过客。从东半球到西半球,从城市到城市,从落日到落日,流浪、行走、品味生活。在命运之河驾一叶扁舟,用虔诚的朝圣者灵魂,赞美荆棘、爱和死亡。

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【原创译文】弗里德里希.尼采的诗:《正午之歌》  

2013-11-20 07:56:53|  分类: 莫笑译诗 |  标签: |举报 |字号 订阅

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【原创译文】弗里德里希.尼采的诗:《正午之歌》 - 莫笑愚 - 莫笑愚de午夜骊歌

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

     正午之歌

  【德】弗里德里希.尼采
             莫笑愚    译


哦,生命的正午!庆祝的时刻!
哦, 夏日的花园!
躁动不安的幸福伫立,凝望,等待:——
我等候朋友们,等候,在白昼和夜晚。
你这朋友,你在哪里?来吧!是时候了!是时候了!

 

难道不是为了你,灰色的冰川
今天才缀满了玫瑰?
河流在追寻你,清风和流云
满怀渴望,在今天,把自己推到更高缈的蓝天
寻找你,从最高远处鸟瞰。

 

为你,我将桌子置于最高处。
(除了你)谁能住得如此靠近星汉?
谁会如此靠近最遥远的荒凉的深渊?
我的王国——什么王国延伸得如此遥远?
而我的蜂蜜——谁品嚐过? ....

 

原来你在这里,我的朋友!唉,我不是那个人,
不是你要找的人?
你犹疑,你讶异!啊,你愤怒更好!
我不再是他吗?我的手变了,步履和脸变了?
我是什么——我不再是你的朋友?

 

我成了另一个人?一个自己的陌生人?
我逃离自己了吗?
一个经常战胜自己的摔跤手?
如此频繁地战胜他自己的力量,
用累累伤痕验证对自己的胜利?

 

我目睹了风最热情地往哪里吹送?
我学会了生活
在无人居住的荒漠,在冰封的土地,
忘记了人类和上帝,诅咒与祈祷?
成为一个幽灵,在冰川潜行?

 

——你这老朋友们!看哪!现在,你目光苍白,
充满爱和恐惧!
不!走吧!别怒火中烧!你不能住在这里:
这最遥远的冰与岩石之间的王国
在这里,你必须成为一个猎人,像一只羚羊。

 

我已成为一个邪恶的猎人!瞧,我的弓
绷得多么紧!
只有最强壮的人才能拉满弓——
你将大祸临头!我的箭头危险——
喜欢没有箭头——离开这里!为了你自己!...

 

你真要转身离开?——哦,心啊,别再欺骗,
你的希望依然执着:
为了新朋友,敞开你的大门!
让旧的灰飞烟灭!让记忆消隐!
你曾经年轻,现在,你更加年轻!

 

从前,是什么将我们拉近,一条希望的纽带——
谁会读出那些迹象,
爱曾被蚀刻——而今仍然苍白?
我将它比作羊皮纸,而手
不敢去触摸——仿佛它被漂白,被焚烧。

 

不再是朋友——他们是... ...但我该怎样为其命名?——
只是友好的幽灵!
它在夜晚敲击我的窗户我的心灵,
看着我说,“但我们曾是朋友?”——
——哦,枯萎的辞藻,曾经如玫瑰般芳香!

 

哦,青春的渴望常常误解它自己!
那些向往过的,
我幻想过的人已变成我自己的同类,
他们垂垂老矣,放逐了自己。
只有那已经改变的人保持着与我的联系。

 

哦,生命的正午!第二次青春之时光!
哦,夏日的花园!
躁动不安的幸福伫立,凝望,等待!
我等候朋友们,等候,无论白天还是夜晚。
你这朋友,你在哪里?来吧!是时候了!是时候了

 

这首歌已经结束——这甜蜜的哭泣般向往
死在我的嘴里:
是魔术师干的,一个朋友在对的时刻,
一位正午时分的朋友!——不,不要问他是谁——
在正午时候,一个人变成了两个....

 

现在,让我们庆祝,胜利明白无误,团圆,
欢宴之欢宴:
朋友查拉图斯特拉来了,这客人之客人!
现在世界欢笑,恐怖之帘拉开,
婚礼为着光明与黑暗而来......

 

(莫笑愚译,2013-11-20于北京)

 

 

附英译本原文:

          Aftersong       

        By Friedrich Nietzsche

 


O noon of life! A time to celebrate!
Oh garden of summer!
Restless happiness in standing, gazing, waiting:—
I wait for friends, ready day and night.
You friends, where are you? Come! It's time! It's time!

 

Was it not for you that the glacier's grayness
today decked itself with roses?
The stream is seeking you, and wind and clouds
with yearning push themselves higher into the blue today
to look for you from the furthest bird's eye view.

 

For you my table has been set at the highest point.
Who lives so near the stars?
Who's so near the furthest reaches of the bleak abyss?
My realm—what realm has stretched so far?
And my honey—who has tasted that? ...

 

There you are, my friends! —Alas, so I'm not the man,
not the one you're looking for?
You hesitate, surprised! —Ah, your anger would be better!
Am I no more the one? A changed hand, pace, and face?
And what am I—for you friends am I not the one?

 

Have I become another? A stranger to myself?
Have I sprung from myself?
A wrestler who overcame himself so often?
Too often pulling against his very own power,
wounded and checked by his own victory?

 

I looked where the wind blows most keenly?
I learned to live
where no one lives, in deserted icy lands,
forgot men and god, curse and prayer?
Became a ghost that moves over the glaciers?

 

—You old friends! Look! Now your gaze is pale,
full of love and horror!
No, be off! Do not rage! You can't live here:
here between the furthest realms of ice and rock—
here one must be a hunter, like a chamois.

 

I've become a wicked hunter! See, how deep
my bow extends!
It was the strongest man who made such a pull—
Woe betide you! The arrow is dangerous—
like no arrow—away from here! For your own good! ...

 

You're turning around? —O heart, you deceive enough,
your hopes stayed strong:
hold your door open for new friends!
Let the old ones go! Let go the memory!
Once you were young, now—you are even younger!

 

What bound us then, a band of one hope—
who reads the signs,
love once etched there—still pale?
I compare it to parchment which the hand
fears to touch—like that discolored, burned.

 

No more friends—they are... But how can I name that? —
Just friendly ghosts!
That knocks for me at night on my window and my heart,
that looks at me and says, 'But we were friends? '—
—O shriveled word, once fragrant as a rose!

 

O youthful longing which misunderstands itself!
Those yearned for,
whom I imagined changed to my own kin,
they have grown old, have exiled themselves.
Only the one who changes stays in touch with me.

 

O noon of life! A second youthful time!
O summer garden!
Restless happiness in standing, gazing, waiting!
I wait for friends, ready day and night.
You friends, where are you? Come! It's time! It's time

 

The song is done—the sweet cry of yearning
died in my mouth:
A magician did it, a friend at the right hour,
a noontime friend—no! Do not ask who it might be—
it was at noon when one turned into two....

 

Now we celebrate, certain of victory, united,
the feast of feasts:
friend Zarathustra came, the guest of guests!
Now the world laughs, the horror curtain splits,
the wedding came for light and darkness....




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