by Wallace Stevens
She sang beyond the genius of the sea.
The water never formed to mind or voice,
Like a body wholly body, fluttering
Its empty sleeves; and yet its mimic motion
Made constant cry, caused constantly a cry,
That was not ours although we understood,
Inhuman, of the veritable ocean.
The sea was not a mask. No more was she.
The song and water were not medleyed sound
Even if what she sang was what she heard.
Since what she sang was uttered word by word.
It may be that in all her phrases stirred
The grinding water and the gasping wind;
But it was she and not the sea we heard.
For she was the maker of the song she sang.
The ever-hooded, tragic-gestured sea
Was merely a place by which she walked to sing.
Whose spirit is this? we said, because we knew
It was the spirit that we sought and knew
That we should ask this often as she sang.
If it was only the dark voice of the sea
That rose, or even colored by many waves;
If it was only the outer voice of sky
And cloud, of the sunken coral water-walled,
However clear, it would have been deep air,
The heaving speech of air, a summer sound
Repeated in a summer without end And sound alone.
But it was more than that,
More even than her voice, and ours, among
The meaningless plungings of water and the wind,
Theatrical distances, bronze shadows heaped
On high horizons, mountainous atmospheres
Of sky and sea.
It was her voice that made
The sky acutest at its vanishing.
She measured to the hour its solitude.
She was the single artificer of the world In which she sang.
And when she sang, the sea,
Whatever self it had, became the self
That was her song, for she was the maker.
Then we, As we beheld her striding there alone,
Knew that there never was a world for her
Except the one she sang and, singing, made.
Ramon Fernandez, tell me, if you know,
Why, when the singing ended and we turned
Toward the town, tell why the glassy lights,
The lights in the fishing boats at anchor there,
As night descended, tilting in the air,
Mastered the night and portioned out the sea,
Fixing emblazoned zones and fiery poles,
Arranging, deepening, enchanting night.
Oh! Blessed rage for order, pale Ramon,
The maker's rage to order words of the sea,
Words of the fragrant portals, dimly-starred,
And of ourselves and of our origins,
In ghostlier demarcations, keener sounds.
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The Idea of Order at Key West- Poets.org - Poetry, Poems, Bios & More 有朗誦
www.poets.org/viewmedia.php/prmMID/15749The Idea of Order at Key West. by Wallace Stevens. She sang beyond the genius of the sea. The water never formed to mind or voice, Like a body wholly body, ...
The Idea of Order at Key West - Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia
這首有幾種翻譯
網路上有名家的
就用它
史蒂文斯 《基韋斯特的秩序意念》The Idea of Order at Key West
張曼儀譯
基韋斯特的秩序意念
她的歌唱超越了大海之靈。
海水從不在腦際或聲音裏成形，
像身體之為身體，飄拂著
虛袖；可它模擬的動作
時刻在呼叫，無時無刻不引起呼叫，
雖然叫人聽懂，卻不屬於我們，
不是人類的，是真確的海洋之音哪。
大海不是一個面具，她也入詩。
歌曲和水聲並不是駁雜無章
即使她聽到什麼唱什麼，
因為她一字一句唱出口。
也許字裏行間翻動著
翻轉的水和呼嘯的風；
入耳的可是她的歌，不是海濤。
她唱的歌曲是她創造的。
蒙頭遮臉、呼天搶地的海洋
只是她沿岸漫步低唱的地方。
這是誰的神靈？深知那是
我們追尋的神靈才有此一問，
她一邊唱，還得以此一再相問。
假如只是大海陰沉的聲音
升起，或是甚至給千萬波濤渲染；
假如只是沉珊瑚給水牆圍著，
與及穹蒼白雲的天外之音，
儘管清越，也只是深沉氣流，
籲氣呼呼的風之言語，綿綿無盡的
長夏裏重複長夏的聲音，而且
只是聲音而已。可是不止這樣吧，
不止她的聲音，我們的聲音，
在海和風無聊的奔躍之間，
戲劇性的距離，青銅影子重疊於
高高的地平線，嶺色山嵐
縈繞天和海。
是她的聲音叫
天光消退時顯得最鮮明，
給時日量度暗換的寂寥。
她是她歌中之境的唯一
塑造者。她歌唱的時候，海洋，
不管有我無我，變成了
她歌中之我，因為她是創造者。於是
我們目睹她獨個兒怡然舉步，
領悟到她心中一無所有，只有
歌中之境，締造於歌唱之中。
雷蒙弗南戴，你知道就告訴我吧，
為什麼一曲既終，我們轉過身
面向城裏，告訴我為什麼閃爍的燈火
——停泊這裏的漁船上的燈火，
夜幕低垂以後，在空中傾斜——
雄踞了黑夜，平分了海洋，
厘定了明亮的地帶和熾熱的兩級，
擺佈著、深化著、魅惑著黑夜。
可憐的雷蒙，尋求秩序天賜的狂熱啊！
創造者的狂熱，為了把海的字句，
芬芳之門、星光隱約的字句排成秩序，
為了給我們自己、我們的出處，
