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爱尔兰诗人叶芝的《1916年复活节》
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爱尔兰诗人叶芝的《1916年复活节》
武夷山
祝大家节日愉快！
过这个节，说那个节。
此节彼节两不挨，
生拉硬拽到一起来。
Journal of Management Inquiry（管理探究杂志）2006年第1期发表James G. March的文章“Poetry and the Rhetoric of Management, Easter, 1916”（诗歌与管理修辞，1916年复活节）。James G. March是美国斯坦福大学名誉教授，在经管与教育学院和政治学系两边都任教。这篇文章说：
叶芝的这首诗，共80行，430个单词。它叙述、歌颂了1916年的爱尔兰起义。
诗中的英雄们受自己付出的牺牲所引导，用对自己的朴素信仰的一根筋信念代替了对人类真实经历之复杂性的明智理解。他们的行动，对世界之美和世界之柔性做出了贡献，但他们自身并不美，也缺乏灵活性（柔性）。
诗中有两句：
Too long a sacrifice
Can make a stone of the heart
（拙译：旷日持久的牺牲
造就冷酷的心灵）
博主：中国百姓说，冤冤相报何时了。为什么血仇会持续下去？因为每一方都付出了巨大的牺牲，报起仇来就毫不留情，于是，血仇代代相传。当年的十字军东征是这样，如今的巴以冲突也是这样。这样的事，谁有解决方案？双方真能“相逢一笑泯恩仇”吗？
我以前翻译过叶芝的一首诗，见http://www.sciencenet.cn/m/user_content.aspx?id=11883。
Easter， 1916原诗如下：
I HAVE met them at close of day
Coming with vivid faces
From counter or desk among grey
Eighteenth-century houses.
I have passed with a nod of the head
Or polite meaningless words,
Or have lingered awhile and said
Polite meaningless words,
And thought before I had done
Of a mocking tale or a gibe
To please a companion
Around the fire at the club,
Being certain that they and I
But lived where motley is worn:
All changed, changed utterly:
A terrible beauty is born.
That woman's days were spent
In ignorant good-will,
Her nights in argument
Until her voice grew shrill.
What voice more sweet than hers
When, young and beautiful,
She rode to harriers?
This man had kept a school
And rode our winged horse;
This other his helper and friend
Was coming into his force;
He might have won fame in the end,
So sensitive his nature seemed,
So daring and sweet his thought.
This other man I had dreamed
A drunken, vainglorious lout.
He had done most bitter wrong
To some who are near my heart,
Yet I number him in the song;
He, too, has resigned his part
In the casual comedy;
He, too, has been changed in his turn,
Transformed utterly:
A terrible beauty is born.
Hearts with one purpose alone
Through summer and winter seem
Enchanted to a stone
To trouble the living stream.
The horse that comes from the road.
The rider, the birds that range
From cloud to tumbling cloud,
Minute by minute they change;
A shadow of cloud on the stream
Changes minute by minute;
A horse-hoof slides on the brim,
And a horse plashes within it;
The long-legged moor-hens dive,
And hens to moor-cocks call;
Minute by minute they live:
The stone's in the midst of all.
Too long a sacrifice
Can make a stone of the heart.
O when may it suffice?
That is Heaven's part, our part
To murmur name upon name,
As a mother names her child
When sleep at last has come
On limbs that had run wild.
What is it but nightfall?
No, no, not night but death;
Was it needless death after all?
For England may keep faith
For all that is done and said.
We know their dream; enough
To know they dreamed and are dead;
And what if excess of love
Bewildered them till they died?
I write it out in a verse -
MacDonagh and MacBride
And Connolly and Pearse
Now and in time to be,
Wherever green is worn,
Are changed, changed utterly:
A terrible beauty is born.
https://blog.sciencenet.cn/blog-1557-368677.html
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