Nineteen Hundred and Nineteen

I

Many ingenious lovely things are gone
That seemed sheer miracle to the multitude.
Protected from the circle of the moon
That pitches common things about. There stood
Amid the ornamental bronze and stone
An ancient image made of olive wood—
And gone are Phidias’ famous ivories
And all the golden grasshoppers and bees.

We too had many pretty toys when young;
A law indifferent to blame or praise,
To bribe or threat; habits that made old wrong
Melt down, as it were wax in the sun’s rays;
Public opinion ripening for so long
We thought it would outlive all future days.
O what fine thought we had because we thought
That the worst rogues and rascals had died out.

All teeth were drawn, all ancient tricks unlearned,
And a great army but a showy thing;
What matter that no cannon had been turned
Into a ploughshare? Parliament and king
Thought that unless a little powder burned
The trumpeters might burst with trumpeting
And yet it lack all glory; and perchance
The guardsmen’s drowsy chargers would not prance.

Now days are dragon-ridden, the nightmare
Rides upon sleep: a drunken soldiery
Can leave the mother, murdered at her door,
To crawl in her own blood, and go scot-free;
The night can sweat with terror as before
We pieced our thoughts into philosophy,
And planned to bring the world under a rule,
Who are but weasels fighting in a hole.

He who can read the signs nor sink unmanned
Into the half-deceit of some intoxicant
From shallow wits; who knows no work can stand,
Whether health, wealth or peace of mind were spent
On master-work of intellect or hand,
No honour leave its mighty monument,
Has but one comfort left: all triumph would
But break upon his ghostly solitude.

But is there any comfort to be found?
Man is in love and loves what vanishes,
What more is there to say? That country round
None dared admit, if such a thought were his.
Incendiary or bigot could be found
To burn that stump on the Acropolis,
Or break in bits the famous ivories
Or traffic in the grasshoppers or bees.

II

When Loie Fuller’s Chinese dancers enwound
A shining web, a floating ribbon of cloth,
It seemed that a dragon of air
Had fallen among dancers, had whirled them round
Or hurried them off on its own furious path;
So the Platonic Year
Whirls out new right and wrong,
Whirls in the old instead;
All men are dancers and their tread
Goes to the barbarous clangour of a gong.

III

Some moralist or mythological poet
Compares the solitary soul to a swan;
I am satisfied with that,
Satisfied if a troubled mirror show it,
Before that brief gleam of its life be gone,
An image of its state;
The wings half spread for flight,
The breast thrust out in pride
Whether to play, or to ride
Those winds that clamour of approaching night.

A man in his own secret meditation
Is lost amid the labyrinth that he has made
In art or politics;
Some Platonist affirms that in the station
Where we should cast off body and trade
The ancient habit sticks,
And that if our works could
But vanish with our breath
That were a lucky death,
For triumph can but mar our solitude.

The swan has leaped into the desolate heaven:
That image can bring wildness, bring a rage
To end all things, to end
What my laborious life imagined, even
The half-imagined, the half-written page;
O but we dreamed to mend
Whatever mischief seemed
To afflict mankind, but now
That winds of winter blow
Learn that we were crack-pated when we dreamed.

IV

We, who seven years ago
Talked of honour and of truth,
Shriek with pleasure if we show
The weasel’s twist, the weasel’s tooth.

V

Come let us mock at the great
That had such burdens on the mind
And toiled so hard and late
To leave some monument behind,
Nor thought of the levelling wind.

Come let us mock at the wise;
With all those calendars whereon
They fixed old aching eyes,
They never saw how seasons run,
And now but gape at the sun.

Come let us mock at the good
That fancied goodness might be gay,
And sick of solitude
Might proclaim a holiday:
Wind shrieked—and where are they?

Mock mockers after that
That would not lift a hand maybe
To help good, wise or great
To bar that foul storm out, for we
Traffic in mockery.

VI

Violence upon the roads: violence of horses;
Some few have handsome riders, are garlanded
On delicate sensitive ear or tossing mane,
But wearied running round and round in their courses
All break and vanish, and evil gathers head:
Herodias’ daughters have returned again,
A sudden blast of dusty wind and after
Thunder of feet, tumult of images,
Their purpose in the labyrinth of the wind;
And should some crazy hand dare touch a daughter
All turn with amorous cries, or angry cries.
According to the wind, for all are blind.
But now wind drops, dust settles; thereupon
There lurches past, his great eyes without thought
Under the shadow of stupid straw-pale locks,
That insolent fiend Robert Artisson
To whom the love-lorn Lady Kyteler brought
Bronzed peacock feathers, red combs of her cocks.

1919

一九一九年

一

许多精巧可爱的东西已逝去——
以往在大众看来简直是奇迹——
避开了那把平庸的事物到处
抛掷的月亮轨迹。就在那里，
一个古老形象用橄榄木造出，
曾在青铜和石头饰物间站立——
如今菲狄亚斯的著名牙雕品
及所有金蝗和蜜蜂都已无存。

小时我们也有许多漂亮玩具；
一种漠然不屑于责备或夸赞，
贿赂或威胁的律法；使往日冤屈
像阳光下的蜡一般融化的习惯；
酝酿那么久，我们以为比所有
未来日子都长寿的公众意见。
我们有过多美好的想法啊，因为
我们以为最坏的恶棍流氓已绝迹。

所有牙都拔掉，所有老技巧都忘掉，
一支大军不过是供炫耀的东西；
那又怎么样？即使不曾有大炮
被铸成犁铧。国王和议会一致
认为，如果不燃放一点儿火药，
号手们也许就会吹炸了肚皮，
可是那会大煞风景；也可能
卫士们瞌睡的坐骑不愿跃腾。

如今的日子恶龙横行，梦魇
骑在睡眠上：一伙喝醉的军爷
能够撇下那母亲——被杀在门边，
在自己鲜血中爬行——而不受惩戒；
黑夜可能因惊恐而出汗，像从前
我们把我们的思想拼成哲学，
设想把世界置于一条规则下——
我们不过是黄鼠狼在洞里打架。

能识读那符号又不会沉溺于来自
浅薄才子的某种麻醉品的半欺惑
而成为废人者；明知无论是耗费
健康、财富还是心力于智能或
手工杰作，都没有作品能久立，
没有什么荣誉能留下丰碑者，
只剩有一份慰藉：一切胜利
都只会忽然光临鬼域般孤寂。

但是有什么可以找到的慰藉？
人深陷爱欲，喜爱易逝的东西，
还有什么可说的？举国上下
无人敢承认，假如他有这心思，
就能够找到煽动者或盲信者
去焚毁雅典卫城上那截残肢，
或把著名的牙雕砸成碎块，
或拿蝗虫或蜜蜂做非法买卖。

二

当洛伊·富勒的中国舞者缠绕出
一张闪光网，一条飘扬的绸带时，
就好像一条飞龙自云间
落入舞者间，把她们卷起旋舞
或者驱赶上它自己狂暴的路子；
就这样柏拉图之年
卷出新的是与非，
转而把旧的卷入；
人人都是舞者，他们的舞步
踏着铜锣的野蛮铿锵的节拍。

三

某个道德学家或神话学诗人
把孤独的灵魂比做一只天鹅；
我对此满意，欣赏，
假如趁生命的短暂闪光未泯，
一面浑浊的镜子会为它映射
状态的一个影像；
双翅半展欲飞升，
胸脯骄傲地挺出，
不论是要去嬉戏，还是去乘御
那欢呼夜晚临近的阵阵长风。

沉溺在自己秘密冥想中的人
迷失于他在艺术或政治之中
制造的迷宫中间；
某位柏拉图主义者断言，在我们
应抛弃肉体和技艺的地位之中，
粘着古老的习惯；
只要我们的作品
能与呼吸俱消亡，
那就是幸运的死亡，
因成就只会把我们的孤寂毁损。

那天鹅已经跃入荒凉的天国：
那影像能带来狂野，带来狂暴
以终结万物，以终结
我辛劳一生所想象的东西，甚或
想象了一半，写作了一半的文稿；
呵，可我们曾梦想除却
似乎折磨人类的
任何不幸，但现在
既然寒风吹起来，
才得知我们做梦时是精神崩溃的。

四

我们——曾经在七年以前
谈论荣誉以及真理——
欢叫，假如我们展现
黄鼠狼的扭动，黄鼠狼的牙齿。

五

咱们来嘲笑伟人：
他们有如此负担在心中，
劳作到晚且艰辛，
在身后要留下什么碑铭，
却不顾那扫荡的风。

咱们来嘲笑智士：
他们酸痛的老眼曾端详
所有那些万年历，
却从未见四季循环实况，
如今只呆呆看太阳。

咱们来嘲笑善人：
他们曾幻想积善会愉快，
由于孤寂的难忍，
也许会宣布过一个节日：
风呼啸——他们今何在？

然后嘲笑嘲笑者：
他们也许不愿意举起手
帮善人、伟人或智者
把恶劣风暴关在门外头，
因我们互换着嘲笑。

六

道路之上的狂暴：马匹的狂暴；
少数几匹有英俊的骑手，精致
敏感的耳朵或飞扬鬃毛上挂花环，
但是厌倦了一圈又一圈地赛跑，
全衰败消亡，而邪恶聚集起势力：
海若迪亚斯的女儿们又重新回返，
一阵骤来的扬尘大风，随后是
响若雷鸣的脚步声，形影憧憧，
她们在风的迷宫之中的目的；
疯狂的手若胆敢摸一个女儿，
全都会发出含情或愤怒的喊声，
循风向转身，因为全都是瞎子。
可是现在风住了，尘落了；于是
那蛮横魔鬼阿提子罗伯特从那里
踉跄走过，愚蠢的干草色头发
遮掩之下，大眼睛茫然若失；
害着相思病的凯特勒夫人给他
带来镶铜的孔雀翎、公鸡的红冠子。

1919年

傅浩　译

附

“The country people see at times certain apparitions whom they name now ‘fallen angels,’ now ‘ancient inhabitants of the country,’ and describe as riding at whiles ‘with flowers upon the heads of the horses.’ I have assumed in the sixth poem that these horsemen, now that the times worsen, give way to worse. My last symbol, Robert Artisson, was an evil spirit much run after in Kilkenny at the start of the fourteenth century. Are not those who travel in the whirling dust also in the Platonic Year?”

“乡下人有时看见某些幽灵，他们时而名之为‘堕落的天使’，时而称之为‘乡间远古的居民’，把它们描述为时常骑着‘头上挂着花的马’。我在第六首诗里假定，既然时代变坏了，这些骑士便让位给更坏的。我的最后一个象征，阿提之子罗伯特，是一个十四世纪初在基尔肯尼经常有人遇到的邪恶精灵。难道那些乘涡旋的尘土而行者不也在柏拉图年之中吗？”

Yeats’s Notes in The Collected Poems, 1933—

unmanned: not carrying or done by a person. -- Webster Advanced Learners (2013).

leave: to cause (something or someone) to be or remain in a specified condition or position.

没有什么荣誉能留下丰碑者：这句花费了维护者较长时间理解，最后结论是傅浩译法没有什么问题，但是不清楚为何加「者」，原文为"mighty monument"，理应就译为「丰碑」。丰碑比喻前文的"work"，结合"no work can stand"这句强调荣誉也不可使得"work"持久。

光临鬼域般孤寂：这句似乎翻译错了，"break upon"韦氏词典给的含义只有"interrupt"。个人理解是「一切胜利都只会忽然打扰他的鬼域孤寂」，他代指一开始的"He".

crack-pated: "pate: the top of a person's head." 比起“精神崩溃”更像是“脑子坏掉”.

维护者注——

1919年间，在英国控制下的爱尔兰傀儡政府与爱尔兰共和军之间的武装冲突空前频繁。此诗乃诗人有感于在戈尔韦郡郭特乡发生的英军屠杀平民的“一些恐怖事件”而作，初题为《对世界现状的思考》。

古老形象：可能指雅典卫城上的雅典守护神殿（建于前421—前407）中的帕拉斯·雅典娜的橄榄木雕像。

菲狄亚斯：菲狄亚斯（前490—前432？）：古希腊雅典著名雕刻家。

金蝗和蜜蜂：在《伯罗奔尼撒战争史》中，古希腊历史学家修昔底德提到当时雅典的一种时尚：“用一枚蝗虫形的发卡别住她们挽起的发髻。”蜜蜂则可能源自瓦尔特·佩特的《古希腊研究》（麦克米伦，1895），其中提到“代达路斯的金色蜂巢”。

洛伊·富勒（1862—1928）：美国舞蹈家，以擅长蛇舞著称。她的舞蹈团其实是由日本人而非中国人组成的。

柏拉图之年：叶芝在1934年的《复活》序言里解释说：“托勒密认为分点岁差每百年移动一度，在大约基督或恺撒时代分点太阳回到了其在星座中的初始位置，结束并重新开始那三万六千年，或柏拉图所谓的‘原人’的百年一度的三百六十次轮回再生。迄今为止几乎每个哲学家都有某种不同的对‘大年’的测量尺度，但是这被称为‘柏拉图之年’的很快取代了其他尺度……”

把孤独的灵魂比做一只天鹅：珀西·比舍·雪莱在《解放了的普罗米修斯》（1820）中有句云：“我的灵魂像一艘中了魔的小舟，／像一只睡着的天鹅，漂浮／在你甜美歌唱的银波之上。……”（第2幕第5场第72—74行）。

某位柏拉图主义者：新柏拉图主义哲学家泼尔菲瑞（232/233—305）在《关于山林女仙的洞府》一文中解释说：去世的灵魂渡过冥河之后，“它们完全不知它们早先在地上的生活……然而，借助血，离世的鬼魂便能认出物质形体，回忆起它们先前在地上的状况”。

海若迪亚斯的女儿们：见《希神的集结》一诗叶芝自注。

艾丽丝·凯特勒夫人是十四世纪基尔肯尼的大户人家之女，1324年6月2日被判定是女巫。据说她用巫术先后残害了四个丈夫。阿提之子罗伯特是与她交通的魔鬼。她向魔鬼献祭的牺牲包括九只红公鸡和九只孔雀的眼睛。

叶芝诗集（增订本） 2018 ——

ploughshare: cf. Isaiah 2.4: “And they shall beat their swords into plowshares, and their spears into pruninghooks; nation shall not lift up sword against nation, neither shall they learn war any more.”

Acropolis: the most important section of ancient Athens was the Acropolis, a hill with a flat oval top;
stump: the statue mentioned in "An ancient image made of olive wood".

The Collected Works of W. B. Yeats, Volume I—