In Memory of Major Robert Gregory

I

Now that we’re almost settled in our house
I’ll name the friends that cannot sup with us
Beside a fire of turf in th’ ancient tower,
And having talked to some late hour
Climb up the narrow winding stair to bed:
Discoverers of forgotten truth
Or mere companions of my youth,
All, all are in my thoughts to-night being dead.

II

Always we’d have the new friend meet the old
And we are hurt if either friend seem cold,
And there is salt to lengthen out the smart
In the affections of our heart,
And quarrels are blown up upon that head;
But not a friend that I would bring
This night can set us quarrelling,
For all that come into my mind are dead.

III

Lionel Johnson comes the first to mind,
That loved his learning better than mankind,
Though courteous to the worst; much falling he
Brooded upon sanctity
Till all his Greek and Latin learning seemed
A long blast upon the horn that brought
A little nearer to his thought
A measureless consummation that he dreamed.

IV

And that enquiring man John Synge comes next,
That dying chose the living world for text
And never could have rested in the tomb
But that, long travelling, he had come
Towards nightfall upon certain set apart
In a most desolate stony place,
Towards nightfall upon a race
Passionate and simple like his heart.

V

And then I think of old George Pollexfen,
In muscular youth well known to Mayo men
For horsemanship at meets or at racecourses,
That could have shown how pure-bred horses
And solid men, for all their passion, live
But as the outrageous stars incline
By opposition, square and trine;
Having grown sluggish and contemplative.

VI

They were my close companions many a year,
A portion of my mind and life, as it were,
And now their breathless faces seem to look
Out of some old picture-book;
I am accustomed to their lack of breath,
But not that my dear friend’s dear son,
Our Sidney and our perfect man,
Could share in that discourtesy of death.

VII

For all things the delighted eye now sees
Were loved by him; the old storm-broken trees
That cast their shadows upon road and bridge;
The tower set on the stream’s edge;
The ford where drinking cattle make a stir
Nightly, and startled by that sound
The water-hen must change her ground;
He might have been your heartiest welcomer.

VIII

When with the Galway foxhounds he would ride
From Castle Taylor to the Roxborough side
Or Esserkelly plain, few kept his pace;
At Mooneen he had leaped a place
So perilous that half the astonished meet
Had shut their eyes; and where was it
He rode a race without a bit?
And yet his mind outran the horses’ feet.

IX

We dreamed that a great painter had been born
To cold Clare rock and Galway rock and thorn,
To that stern colour and that delicate line
That are our secret discipline
Wherein the gazing heart doubles her might.
Soldier, scholar, horseman, he,
And yet he had the intensity
To have published all to be a world’s delight.

X

What other could so well have counselled us
In all lovely intricacies of a house
As he that practised or that understood
All work in metal or in wood,
In moulded plaster or in carven stone?
Soldier, scholar, horseman, he,
And all he did done perfectly
As though he had but that one trade alone.

XI

Some burn damp faggots, others may consume
The entire combustible world in one small room
As though dried straw, and if we turn about
The bare chimney is gone black out
Because the work had finished in that flare.
Soldier, scholar, horseman, he,
As ’twere all life’s epitome.
What made us dream that he could comb grey hair?

XII

I had thought, seeing how bitter is that wind
That shakes the shutter, to have brought to mind
All those that manhood tried, or childhood loved
Or boyish intellect approved,
With some appropriate commentary on each;
Until imagination brought
A fitter welcome; but a thought
Of that late death took all my heart for speech.

纪念罗伯特·格雷戈里少校

一

既然在新居我们差不多已住下，
我就要提起那些无法在这古塔
烧泥炭的壁炉边与我们共进晚餐，
畅谈到深夜间，然后登攀
狭窄的螺旋楼梯去睡觉的友朋：
遗忘已久的真理的发现者
或只是我青年时代的同伙，
都已故，今夜都在我的思绪中。

二

我们总愿让新朋与老友相见，
若一方显得冷淡我们就伤情面，
而且还有带刺的话语会延续
我们内心情感中的痛楚，
于是争吵就爆发在那人头上；
但今夜我要召请的朋友
没一位能挑起我们争斗，
因来到我头脑之中的都已死亡。

三

莱奥内尔·约翰逊最先来到头脑里：
他虽然对最坏的人也彬彬有礼，
但爱学问胜过爱人类；身体
大坏，他沉思起圣哲道理，
直到他所有希腊语和拉丁语之学
似号角的一声悠长劲吹，
把他所梦想的无限终极
朝他的思想稍稍拉近了一些。

四

那好问的约翰·辛格其次到来：
他濒死却选择活生生人世做题材，
在坟墓里也永远不会休息安稳，
而是，长久旅行，近黄昏，
来到一个极荒凉的多石之处，
遇见了一群不寻常的人，
近黄昏遇见了像他的心
一样热情而单纯的一个种族。

五

然后我想起老乔治·波莱克斯芬——
在肌肉强健的青年，闻名于梅约人，
因为在围猎或赛马中骑术精纯，
那能够显示纯种马和壮士们，
不论多么有激情，也不过活得
像狂放的星星纷纷衰落，
形成冲、矩象和三分一对座——
已变得迟钝懒散，深思沉默了。

六

他们是我多年的亲密友人，
可说是我心灵和生命的一部分，
如今他们无生气的面孔好像
从一本旧画册里向外张望；
我已经习惯了他们缺乏生气，
但还不习惯我挚友的爱子，
我们的完人和我们的锡德尼，
竟会同当死亡的那粗暴无礼。

七

欣悦的目光现在所见的万物
都曾为他所热爱：把荫影散布
在道路桥梁上的风暴吹折的老树；
筑建在溪流岸边的碉堡；
那里有前来饮水的牛群在深夜
哗哗搅动，惊扰得雌鷭
不得不搬迁挪窝的浅滩；
他本来可以是你最热诚的接待者。

八

从前他常常带着戈尔韦猎狐犬
纵马从泰勒堡奔驰到罗克斯镇边缘
或埃色凯利平原，少有人跟得上；
在穆宁，他跃过一个地方，
险象惊人，竟使得半数围猎者
闭起了眼睛；那又是在何处，
他跑完赛程竟不用马具？
然而他的心思比马蹄更敏捷。

九

我们曾梦想一位大画家已诞生
来描绘克莱尔和戈尔韦的岩石棘荆，
描绘那严酷的色彩和那精致的线条——
那些是我们的秘密律条，
凝视的心在其中倍增力量。
军人、学者、骑手，他，
而且他还有激情，足以把
一切都公开，供给世人欣赏。

十

就住宅所有美好的室内装饰，
谁能给我们提那么好的建议？
谁能像他那样操作过或通晓
金属或木头，模塑的石膏
或雕刻的石头为材料的所有工艺？
军人、学者、骑手，他，
他所做一切都完美无瑕，
好像他只是专攻那一门手艺。

十一

有人烧湿柴，别的人可能会在
小房间里消耗整个可燃的世界，
就好像烧干草；我们若把头转过，
那光秃的烟囱就会熄火，
因为工作已在那火焰中完成。
军人、学者、骑手，他，
可谓人生浓缩的精华。
我们怎会梦他梳理白发的情景？

十二

眼看那摇撼窗扇的风多酷烈，
我原先以为都已回忆过那些
成年曾考验，或童年曾欢喜
或少年的智力赞赏过的人士，
而且对每位都有恰当的品鉴；
直到想象力送来一份
更合适的欢迎辞；但最近的死讯
占据了我全部心思，我无法言传。

傅浩　译

附

smart：sharp physical pain.

情感：原文"affections"。

但还不习惯我挚友的爱子：这句似乎应用倒装理解。

维护者注——

格雷戈里夫人的独生子罗伯特·格雷戈里（1881—1918）在英国皇家空军服役，于1918年1月23日第一次世界大战期间在意大利前线阵亡。此诗作于1918年6月14日。

新居：见《碉楼》一诗叶芝原注。

莱奥内尔·约翰逊：见《灰岩》一诗注。

约翰·米灵顿·辛格（1871—1909）：爱尔兰剧作家、叶芝好友，曾到爱尔兰西部阿兰群岛土著人中间采风。

乔治·波莱克斯芬（1839—1910）：叶芝的舅父、占星学爱好者。

梅约：爱尔兰西部一郡名。

冲、矩象和三分一对座：占星学术语，分别指天体以180°、90°和120°组合。

菲利普·锡德尼（1554—86）：英国作家、政治家、军人。

泰勒堡：在戈尔韦郡，泰勒家族的住处。

罗克斯镇：在戈尔韦郡，格雷戈里夫人童年的家居所在地。

埃色凯利平原：在戈尔韦郡境内。

穆宁：与埃色凯利毗邻的地区。

克莱尔：爱尔兰西南部一郡名。

叶芝诗集（增订本） 2018 ——