真正接触英文诗是到美国之后，特别是这几年当自己开始用英文写作，特别是09年创作自己的英文诗。没错莎士比亚，雪莱是经典。但他们的英文比较像古汉语。对我影响比较大的是一些美国近现代诗人。今天我推荐弗罗斯特的诗。我还是喜欢中文对照，这样即可以提高英文也可以提高翻译鉴赏水平。这中文翻译是我随便找的，不代表我的喜好。我还是建议懂英文的读原诗，才能体会这其中的诗意。

罗伯特·弗罗斯特（Robert ·Frost ）（1874—1963)，是20世纪最受欢迎的美国诗人。作品以朴素、深邃著称，庞德、艾略特、博尔赫斯、布罗茨基等大师都对之有过相当的评价。他的一生，既不幸又充满光彩：有40岁之前的坎坷曲折，后半生的寂寞孤独，又有四获普利策诗歌奖、被称之为美国文学中的桂冠诗人。44种名誉学位...

生于美国旧金山。中学毕业后，在哈佛大学学习两年。这前后曾做过纺织工人、教员，经营过农场。他徒步漫游过许多地方 ，被认为是“新英格兰的农民诗人”。16岁开始写诗，20岁时正式发表第一首诗歌。他勤奋笔耕，一生中共出了10多本诗集。

 

弗罗斯特的诗可分为两大类：抒情短诗和戏剧性较强的叙事诗，两者都脍炙人口。弗罗斯特的抒情诗主要描写了大自然和农民，尤其是新英格兰的景色和北方的农民。这些诗形象而生动，具有很强的感染力，深受各层次读者的欢迎。他的叙事诗一般都格调低沉，体现了诗人思想和性格中阴郁的一面。

 

弗罗斯特的诗富于象征和哲理，同时又有浓厚的乡土色彩。朴实无华，然而细致含蓄，耐人寻味著名的《白桦树》一诗，写一般人总想逃避现实，但终究要回到现实中来。《修墙》写人世间有许多毫无存在必要的有形的和无形的墙。除了短篇抒情诗外，他有一些富于戏剧性的长篇叙事诗，刻画了新英格兰乡间人物的精神面貌，调子比较低沉，亦颇有特色。在格律方面，弗罗斯特爱用传统的无韵体和十四行体的各种变体，时常押韵，在节奏上具有自己的特色。

　　弗罗斯特常被称为“交替性的诗人”，意指他处在传统诗歌和现代派诗歌交替的一个时期。他又被认为与艾略特同为美国现代诗歌的两大中心。

http://s12/middle/490bdcdbga1bbe468e31b&690

《雪夜林边小驻》

我想我认识树林的主人
他家住在林边的农村；
他不会看见我暂停此地，
欣赏他披上雪装的树林。

我的小马准抱着个疑团：
干嘛停在这儿，不见人烟，
在一年中最黑的晚上，
停在树林和冰湖之间。

它摇了摇颈上的铃铎，
想问问主人有没有弄错。
除此之外唯一的声音
是风飘绒雪轻轻拂过。

树林真可爱，既深又黑，
但我有许多诺言不能违背，
还要赶多少路才能安睡，
还要赶多少路才能安睡。
（飞白译）

 

Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening

Whose woods these are I think I know,
His house is in the village though.
He will not see me stopping here,
To watch his woods fill up with snow.
My little horse must think it queer,
To stop without a farmhouse near,
Between the woods and frozen lake,
The darkest evening of the year.
He gives his harness bells a shake,
To ask if there is some mistake.
The only other sound's the sweep,
Of easy wind and downy flake.
The woods are lovely, dark and deep.
But I have promises to keep,
And miles to go before I sleep.
And miles to go before I sleep.

挺直、黑黑的树排列成行，只见

白桦树却弯下身子，向左，也向右，

我总以为有个孩子把白样“荡”弯了

可是“荡”一下不会叫它们一躬到底

再也起不来。这可是冰干的事。

下过一场冬雨，第二天，太阳出来，

你准会看到白桦上结满了冰。

一阵风吹起，树枝就咯喇喇响，

闪射出五彩缤纷，原来这一颤动，

冰块坼裂成瓷瓶上的无数细纹。

阳光的温暖接着使那水晶的硬壳

从树枝上崩落，一齐倾泻在雪地上——

这么一大堆碎玻璃尽够你打扫，

你还以为是天顶的华盖塌了下来。

压不起那么些重量的树枝，硬是给

按下去，直到贴近那贴地的枯草，

但并没折断；虽然压得这么低、这么久

那枝条再也抬不起头来。几年后

你会在森林里看到那些白桦树

弯曲着树身，树叶在地面上拖扫，

好像趴在地上的女孩子把一头长发

兜过头去．好让太阳把头发晒干。

方才我说到了哪里？是那雨后的冰柱

岔开了我的话头——我原是想说：

我宁可以为是个放牛的农家孩子

来回走过的时候把白桦弄弯了。

这孩子．离城太远，没人教棒球，

他只能自个儿想出玩意儿来玩，

自个儿跟自个儿玩，不管夏天冬天，

他一株一株地征服他父亲的树，

一次又一次地把它们骑在胯下，

直到把树的倔强劲儿完全制服：

一株又一株都垂头丧气地低下来——

直到他再没有用武之地。他学会了

所有的花招：不立刻腾身跳出去，

免得一下子把树干扳到了地面。

他始终稳住身子，不摇不晃地，

直到那高高的顶枝上一一小心翼翼地

往上爬，那全神贯注的样儿．就像

把一杯水倒满，满到了杯口，

甚至满过了边缘。然后．纵身一跳，

他两脚先伸出去，在空中乱踢乱舞，

于是飕的一声，降落到地面。

当年，我自己也是“荡桦树”的能手，

现在还梦想着再去荡一回桦树，

那是每逢我厌倦于操心世事，

而人生太像一片没有小径的森林，

在里面摸索，一头撞在蛛网上，

只感到验上又热辣、又痒痒；

忽然，一根嫩枝迎面打来，

那一只给打中了的眼睛疼得直掉泪。

我真想暂时离开人世一会儿，

然后再回来，重新干它一番。可是，

别来个命运之神，故意曲解我，

只成全我愿望的一半，把我卷了走，

一去不返。你要爱，就扔不开人世。

我想不出还有哪儿是更好的去处。

我真想去爬白桦树，沿着雪白的树干

爬上乌黑的树枝，爬向那天心，

直到树身再支撑不住，树梢碰着地，

把我放下来。去去又回来，那该有多好

比“白桦树”更没有意思的事．可有的是。

（方平译）

Birches
　　　　
　　　　When I see birches bend to left and right
　　　　Across the lines of straighter darker trees,
　　　　I like to think some boy"s been swinging them.
　　　　But swinging doesn"t bend them down to stay.
　　　　Ice-storms do that. Often you must have seen them
　　　　Loaded with ice a sunny winter morning
　　　　After a rain. They click upon themselves
　　　　As the breeze rises, and turn many-coloured
　　　　As the stir cracks and crazes their enamel.
　　　　Soon the sun"s warmth makes them shed crystal shells
　　　　Shattering and avalanching on the snow-crust
　　　　Such heaps of broken glass to sweep away
　　　　You"d think the inner dome of heaven had fallen.
　　　　They are dragged to the withered bracken by the load,
　　　　And they seem not to break; though once they are bowed
　　　　So low for long, they never right themselves:
　　　　You may see their trunks arching in the woods
　　　　Years afterwards, trailing their leaves on the ground,
　　　　Like girls on hands and knees that throw their hair
　　　　Before them over their heads to dry in the sun.
　　　　But I was going to say when Truth broke in
　　　　With all her matter-of-fact about the ice-storm,
　　　　I should prefer to have some boy bend them
　　　　As he went out and in to fetch the cows--
　　　　Some boy too far from town to learn baseball,
　　　　Whose only play was what he found himself,
　　　　Summer or winter, and could play alone.
　　　　One by one he subdued his father"s trees
　　　　By riding them down over and over again
　　　　Until he took the stiffness out of them,
　　　　And not one but hung limp, not one was left
　　　　For him to conquer. He learned all there was
　　　　To learn about not launching out too soon
　　　　And so not carrying the tree away
　　　　Clear to the ground. He always kept his poise
　　　　To the top branches, climbing carefully
　　　　With the same pains you use to fill a cup
　　　　Up to the brim, and even above the brim.
　　　　Then he flung outward, feet first, with a swish,
　　　　Kicking his way down through the air to the ground.
　　　　So was I once myself a swinger of birches.
　　　　And so I dream of going back to be.
　　　　It"s when I"m weary of considerations,
　　　　And life is too much like a pathless wood
　　　　Where your face burns and tickles with the cobwebs
　　　　Broken across it, and one eye is weeping
　　　　From a twig"s having lashed across it open.
　　　　I"d like to get away from earth awhile
　　　　And then come back to it and begin over.
　　　　May no fate wilfully misunderstand me
　　　　And half grant what I wish and snatch me away
　　　　Not to return. Earth"s the right place for love:
　　　　I don"t know where it"s likely to go better.
　　　　I"d like to go by climbing a birch tree~
　　　　And climb black branches up a snow-white trunk
　　　　Toward heaven, till the tree could bear no more,
　　　　But dipped its top and set me down again.
　　　　That would be good both going and coming back.
　　　　One could do worse than be a swinger of birches.

 

未选择的路
　　　　
　　　　金黄的树林里分出两条路，
　　　　可惜我不能都去走。
　　　　我这个过客，久久的站在那儿，
　　　　向着一条极目望去
　　　　不知道它在丛林中伸向何处；
　　　　
　　　　而我选择了另一条，或许这样才公平，
　　　　说不定还有更好的理由：
　　　　因为它长满青草，召唤我去踩踏；
　　　　尽管就这一点来说，两条路
　　　　好像没什么不同。而且，
　　　　
　　　　那天清晨，两条路都铺满了
　　　　落叶，未经脚印污染。
　　　　哦，就把第一条留待来日吧！
　　　　但一想到条条道路相连接，
　　　　恐怕我难以再回来。
　　　　
　　　　也许多年以后在某个地方
　　　　我会轻声叹息着说起这件事：
　　　　树林中分出两条路，而我——
　　　　而我选择了人迹少的那一条，
　　　　这，就造成了天大的不同。
          （徐淳刚 译）

          The Road Not Taken
　　　　
　　　　Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,
　　　　And sorry I could not travel both
　　　　And be one traveler,long I stood
　　　　And looked down one as far as I could
　　　　To where it bent in the undergrowth;
　　　　
　　　　Then took the other,as just as fair,
　　　　And having perhaps the better claim,
　　　　Because it was grassy and wanted wear
　　　　Though as for that the passing there
　　　　Had worn them really about the same,
　　　　
　　　　And both that morning equally lay
　　　　In leaves no step had trodden black.
　　　　Oh,Ikept the first for another day!
　　　　Yet knowing how way leads on to way,
　　　　Idoubted if I should ever come back.
　　　　
　　　　Ishall be telling this with a sgih
　　　　Somewhere ages and ages hence:
　　　　Two roads diverged in a wood,and I--
　　　　Itook the one less traveled by,
　　　　And that has made all the difference.
　　　　
　　　　<相遇和错过>

 

沿着墙走下山坡的路上

有一扇大门，我曾探身看里面的风景

在我转过身时我第一次看见你

因为你上山，我们相遇。而我们

所做的只是汇入夏日尘埃里

大大小小的足迹，仿佛我们拉扯着

我们俩生命的数字，那数字小于二

但至今大于一。你的伞

深深地戳出那个小数。

我们俩说话的时候似乎你总是

垂下眼睛看什么东西，在尘埃里微笑。

（哦，那表示你对我没有成见！）

之后，我经过我们相遇前

你走过的路，而你走我所经过的。
(李晖  译)

Meeting and Passing

 

As I went down the hill along the wall
There was a gate I had leaned at for the view
And had just turned from when I first saw you
As you came up the hill. We met. But all
We did that day was mingle great and small
Footprints in summer dust as if we drew
The figure of our being less than two
But more than one as yet. Your parasol
Pointed the decimal off with one deep thrust.
And all the time we talked you seemed to see
Something down there to smile at in the dust.
(Oh, it was without prejudice to me!)
Afterward I went past what you had passed
Before we met and you what I had passed.

有一点什么，它大概是不喜欢墙，

它使得墙脚下的冻地涨得隆起，

大白天的把墙头石块弄得纷纷落：

使得墙裂了缝，二人并肩都走得过。

士绅们行猎时又是另一番糟蹋：

他们要掀开每块石头上的石头，

我总是跟在他们后面去修补，

但是他们要把兔子从隐处赶出来，

讨好那群汪汪叫的狗。我说的墙缝

是怎么生的，谁也没看见，谁也没听见

但是到了春季补墙时，就看见在那里。

我通知了住在山那边的邻居；

有一天我们约会好，巡视地界一番，

在我们两家之间再把墙重新砌起。

我们走的时候，中间隔着一垛墙。

我们走的时候，中间隔着一垛培。

落在各边的石头，由各自去料理。

有些是长块的，有些几乎圆得像球．

需要一点魔术才能把它们放稳当：

“老实呆在那里，等我们转过身再落下！”

我们搬弄石头．把手指都磨粗了。

啊！这不过又是一种户外游戏，

一个人站在一边。此外没有多少用处：

在墙那地方，我们根本不需要墙：

他那边全是松树，我这边是苹果园。

我的苹果树永远也不会踱过去

吃掉他松树下的松球，我对他说。

他只是说：“好篱笆造出好邻家。”

春天在我心里作祟，我在悬想

能不能把一个念头注入他的脑里：

“为什么好篱笆造出好邻家？是否指着

有牛的人家？可是我们此地又没有牛。

我在造墙之前．先要弄个清楚，

圈进来的是什么，圈出去的是什么，

并且我可能开罪的是些什么人家，

有一点什么，它不喜欢墙，

它要推倒它。”我可以对他说这是“鬼”。

但严格说也不是鬼．我想这事还是

由他自己决定吧。我看见他在那里

搬一块石头，两手紧抓着石头的上端，

像一个旧石器时代的武装的野蛮人。

我觉得他是在黑暗中摸索，

这黑暗不仅是来自深林与树荫。

他不肯探究他父亲传给他的格言

他想到这句格言，便如此的喜欢，

于是再说一遍，“好篱笆造出好邻家”。
  （梁实秋译）

 

Mending Wall

Something there is that doesn't love a wall,

That sends the frozen-ground-swell under it,

And spills the upper boulders in the sun;

And makes gaps even two can pass abreast.

The work of hunters is another thing:

I have come after them and made repair

Where they have left not one stone on a stone,

But they would have the rabbit out of hiding,

To please the yelping dogs. The gaps I mean,

No one has seen them made or heard them made,

But at spring mending-time we find them there.

I let my neighbour know beyond the hill;

And on a day we meet to walk the line

And set the wall between us once again.

We keep the wall between us as we go.

To each the boulders that have fallen to each.

And some are loaves and some so nearly balls

We have to use a spell to make them balance:

"Stay where you are until our backs are turned!"

We wear our fingers rough with handling them.

Oh, just another kind of out-door game,

One on a side. It comes to little more:

There where it is we do not need the wall:

He is all pine and I am apple orchard.

My apple trees will never get across

And eat the cones under his pines, I tell him.

He only says, "Good fences make good neighbours."

Spring is the mischief in me, and I wonder

If I could put a notion in his head:

"Why do they make good neighbours? Isn't it

Where there are cows? But here there are no cows.

Before I built a wall I'd ask to know

What I was walling in or walling out,

And to whom I was like to give offence.

Something there is that doesn't love a wall,

That wants it down." I could say "Elves" to him,

But it's not elves exactly, and I'd rather

He said it for himself. I see him there

Bringing a stone grasped firmly by the top

In each hand, like an old-stone savage armed.

He moves in darkness as it seems to me,

Not of woods only and the shade of trees.

He will not go behind his father's saying,

And he likes having thought of it so well

He says again, "Good fences make good neighbours."