翻译要靠自己动手(1)——莱蒙托夫《诗人之死》

按：对某些外文诗歌的汉译不满意（不是不好，而是我不喜欢），闲来无事，自己动手试了试莱蒙托夫的《诗人之死》（Смерть поэта）。虽然一直比较喜欢苏俄文学，但俄语水平有限（一直停留在“达瓦里希”、“斯巴希巴”、“达斯维达尼亚”这个层次），故而选择以英译版为底本。

英译版来源：http://max.mmlc.northwestern.edu/~mdenner/Demo/texts/death_poet.html

Александр Сергеевич Пушкин

Михаил Юрьевич Лермонтов

图片来源：Wikipedia

1837年1月27日午后，在圣彼得堡凛冽的寒风中，品完最后一杯咖啡的亚历山大·谢尔盖耶维奇·普希金（Александр Сергеевич Пушкин）匆匆奔赴小黑河畔的决斗场——37岁的诗人为了妻子的名誉，接受一个无赖的挑衅！

一声枪响！——“俄罗斯诗歌的太阳”（高尔基Максим Горький语） 沉落了……

闻听此讯，悲愤的米哈依尔·尤里耶维奇·莱蒙托夫（Михаил Юрьевич Лермонтов）留下了震撼人心的诗篇——《诗人之死》（Death of the Poet）：

The Poet's dead! -a slave to honor-

诗人死了！——荣耀之奴仆——

He fell, by rumor slandered,

坠落，在流言蜚语，

Lead in his breast and thirsting for revenge,

在洞穿胸膛的铅弹，在复仇的渴望之中，

Hanging his proud head! …

高昂的头颅已经低垂！……

The Poet's soul could not endure

诗之灵魂怎能容忍

Petty insult's disgrace.

琐碎侮辱的猥亵。

Against society he rose,

他奋起抗争，

Alone, as always…and was slain!

单枪匹马，至死方休！

Slain!...What use is weeping now,

死亡！……今昔之垂泪，

The futile chorus of empty praise

颂扬之齐鸣

Excuses mumbled full of pathos?

辩白之哀怨，于事有补？

Fate has pronounced its sentence!

命运已然宣读它的判词！

Was it not you who spitefully

这不正是宵小尔辈

Rebuffed his free, courageous gift

扼杀自由，戕害天赋

And for your own amusement fanned

为了你们庸俗的消遣

The nearly dying flame?

鼓噪将息的火焰？

Well now, enjoy yourselves...he couldn't

好吧，诚如所愿……他不能再

Endure the final torture:

忍受最后的磨难：

Quenched is the marvelous light of genius,

非凡的才思终于熄灭，

Withered is the triumphal wreath.

英雄的花环已然凋残。

Cold-bloodedly his murderer

冷漠的凶手

Took aim...there was no chance of flight:

瞄准目标……一切无可挽回：

His empty heart beat evenly,

空虚的心均匀地搏动，

The pistol steady in his hand.

手中的枪没有震颤。

No wonder...from far away

不必惊异……如此遥远

The will of fate sent him to us

命运的意志将他送来

Like hundreds of his fellow vagrants

像无数流窜的乞丐

In search of luck and rank;

追逐运气与官衔

With impudence he mocked and scorned

带着他厚颜的讪笑与轻薄

The tongue and mores of this strange land;

粗鄙异乡的口舌和习惯；

He could not spare our glory,

他不懂吝惜我们的荣耀，

Nor in that bloody moment know

即使在这血腥的瞬间

"gainst what he'd raised his hand!...

对准何处的枪口！……

He's slain - and taken by the grave

他死了——被坟墓收留

Like that unknown, but happy bard,

像一个诗人，默默无闻却不改欢颜，

Victim of jealousy wild,

疯狂嫉妒的祭品，

Of whom he sang with wondrous power,

为了谁泣血吟唱，

Struck down, like him, by an unyielding hand.

命丧于无情的摧残。

Why did he quit the blissful peace of simple fellowship

为什么抛弃安逸的宁静，背离淳朴的友谊

To enter this society, so envious and stifling

步入充斥嫉妒与沉闷的社会

To hearts of free and fiery passion?

不顾自由的心灵与炽热的激情？

Why did he give his hand to worthless slanderers,

为什么要向渺小的中伤者示意，

How could he have believed their hollow words

怎能相信花言巧语

And kindness, he, who'd ever understood his fellow man?...

虚情假意，他曾经那样了解自己的同辈？……

And they removed his wreath, and set upon his head

他们摘下他的花环，袭击他的头颅

A crown of thorns entwined in laurel:

换上荆棘缠绕的桂冠：

          The hidden spines were cruel

隐藏的芒刺残忍地

          And pierced his noble brow;

刺穿他高贵的面庞；

Poisoned were his final moments

在中毒的最后瞬间

By sly insinuations of mockers ignorant,

以无知嘲弄者狡黠的流言，

And thus he died - for vengeance vainly thirsting

他死了——为了徒劳的复仇渴望 

Secretly vexed by false hopes deceived.

隐秘的痛苦来自虚伪的期望。

          The wondrous singing's ceased,

终止了美妙的歌声，

          T'will never sound again.

不再有泣血的吟唱。

          His refuge, gloomy and small,

他的归宿，阴郁而狭小，

          His lips forever sealed.

他的嘴唇永远闭上。

And you, the offspring arrogant

你们，这些自大的子孙

Of fathers known for malice,

父辈怨恨的遗存，

Crushing with slavish heels the ruins

用奴隶的脚踵践踏

Of clans aggrieved by fortune's game!

命运博弈中倾覆的宗族！

You, greedy hordes around the throne,

你们，王座四周贪婪的蛮夷，

Killers of Freedom, Genius and Glory!

掐死自由、天才和荣誉！

    You hide beneath the canopy of law

在所谓法律的荫庇下

    Fall silent-truth and justice before you...

在真理与正义前，噤若寒蝉……

But justice also comes from God, corruption's friends!

腐烂的宵小之辈，不要忘了上帝的审判！

    The judge most terrible awaits you:

严酷的判决在等待：

    He's hardened to the clink of gold,

金银的声响不能换取怜悯，

He knows your future thoughts and deeds.

祂已经洞悉你们的言行。

Then will you turn in vain to lies:

不要寄希望于徒劳的谎言：

    They will no longer help.

那里没有拯救的通道。

And your black blood won't wash away

你们污秽的血液永世无法刷洗

    The poet's sacred blood!

诗人之血，圣洁的痕迹！