英语翻译

题目

英语翻译
The love Song Of J.Alfred Prufrock的翻译
听说余光中译过,汤永宽也译过,但我找不到,

答案

The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock

S’io credesse che mia risposta fosse
A persona che mai tornasse al mondo,
Questa fiamma staria senza piu scosse.
Ma perciocche giammai di questo fondo
Non torno vivo alcun, s’i’odo il vero,
Senza tema d’infamia ti rispondo.

Let us go then, you and I,
When the evening is spread out against the sky
Like a patient etherized upon a table;
Let us go, through certain half-deserted streets,
The muttering retreats
Of restless nights in one-night cheap hotels
And sawdust restaurants with oyster-shells:
Streets that follow like a tedious argument
Of insidious intent
To lead you to an overwhelming question ...
Oh, do not ask, “What is it?“
Let us go and make our visit.

In the room the women come and go
Talking of Michelangelo.

The yellow fog that rubs its back upon the window-panes,
The yellow smoke that rubs its muzzle on the window-panes,
Licked its tongue into the corners of the evening,
Lingered upon the pools that stand in drains,
Let fall upon its back the soot that falls from chimneys,
Slipped by the terrace, made a sudden leap,
And seeing that it was a soft October night,
Curled once about the house, and fell asleep.

And indeed there will be time
For the yellow smoke that slides along the street,
Rubbing its back upon the window-panes;
There will be time, there will be time
To prepare a face to meet the faces that you meet;
There will be time to murder and create,
And time for all the works and days of hands
That lift and drop a question on your plate;
Time for you and time for me,
And time yet for a hundred indecisions,
And for a hundred visions and revisions,
Before the taking of a toast and tea.

In the room the women come and go
Talking of Michelangelo.

And indeed there will be time
To wonder, “Do I dare?“ and, “Do I dare?“
Time to turn back and descend the stair,
With a bald spot in the middle of my hair--
(They will say: “How his hair is growing thin!“)
My morning coat, my collar mounting firmly to the chin,
My necktie rich and modest, but asserted by a simple pin--
(They will say: “But how his arms and legs are thin!“)
Do I dare
Disturb the universe?
In a minute there is time
For decisions and revisions which a minute will reverse.

For I have known them all already, known them all:
Have known the evenings, mornings, afternoons,
I have measured out my life with coffee spoons;
I know the voices dying with a dying fall
Beneath the music from a farther room.
So how should I presume?
And I have known the eyes already, known them all--
The eyes that fix you in a formulated phrase,
And when I am formulated, sprawling on a pin,
When I am pinned and wriggling on the wall,
Then how should I begin
To spit out all the butt-ends of my days and ways?
And how should I presume?
And I have known the arms already, known them all--
Arms that are braceleted and white and bare
(But in the lamplight, downed with light brown hair!)
Is it perfume from a dress
That makes me so digress?
Arms that lie along a table, or wrap about a shawl.
And should I then presume?
And how should I begin?
Shall I say, I have gone at dusk through narrow streets
And watched the smoke that rises from the pipes
Of lonely men in shirt-sleeves, leaning out of windows? ...

I should have been a pair of ragged claws
Scuttling across the floors of silent seas.
And the afternoon, the evening, sleeps so peacefully!
Smoothed by long fingers,
Asleep ... tired ... or it malingers,
Stretched on the floor, here beside you and me.
Should I, after tea and cakes and ices,
Have the strength to force the moment to its crisis?
But though I have wept and fasted, wept and prayed,
Though I have seen my head (grown slightly bald) brought in upon a platter,
I am no prophet--and here抯 no great matter;
I have seen the moment of my greatness flicker,
And I have seen the eternal Footman hold my coat, and snicker,
And in short, I was afraid.

And would it have been worth it, after all,
After the cups, the marmalade, the tea,
Among the porcelain, among some talk of you and me,
Would it have been worth while,
To have bitten off the matter with a smile,
To have squeezed the universe into a ball
To roll it toward some overwhelming question,
To say: “I am Lazarus, come from the dead,
Come back to tell you all, I shall tell you all“--
If one, settling a pillow by her head,**
Should say: “That is not what I meant at all;
That is not it, at all.“

And would it have been worth it, after all,
Would it have been worth while,
After the sunsets and the dooryards and the sprinkled streets,
After the novels, after the teacups, after the skirts that trail along the floor--
And this, and so much more?--
It is impossible to say just what I mean I
But as if a magic lantern threw the nerves in patterns on a screen:
Would it have been worth while
If one, settling a pillow or throwing off a shawl,
And turning toward the window, should say:
“That is not it at all,
That is not what I meant, at all.“
No I am not Prince Hamlet, nor was meant to be;
Am an attendant lord, one that will do
To swell a progress, start a scene or two,
Advise the prince; no doubt, an easy tool,
Deferential, glad to be of use,
Politic, cautious, and meticulous;
Full of high sentence, but a bit obtuse;
At times, indeed, almost ridiculous--
Almost, at times, the Fool.

I grow old ... I grow old ...
I shall wear the bottoms of my trousers rolled.

Shall I part my hair behind? Do I dare to eat a peach?
I shall wear white flannel trousers, and walk upon the beach.
I have heard the mermaids singing, each to each.
I do not think that they will sing to me.
I have seen them riding seaward on the waves
Combing the white hair of the waves blown back
When the wind blows the water white and black.

We have lingered in the chambers of the sea
By sea-girls wreathed with seaweed red and brown
Till human voices wake us, and we drown.

下面是查良铮的译文：
J·阿尔弗瑞德·普鲁弗洛克的情歌
假如我认为,我是回答
一个能转回阳世间的人,
那么,这火焰就不会再摇闪.
但既然,如我听到的果真
没有人能活着离开这深渊,
我回答你就不必害怕流言.
那么我们走吧,你我两个人,
正当朝天空慢慢铺展着黄昏
好似病人麻醉在手术桌上；
我们走吧,穿过一些半清冷的街,
那儿休憩的场所正人声喋喋；
有夜夜不宁的下等歇夜旅店
和满地蚌壳的铺锯末的饭馆；
街连着街,好象一场讨厌的争议
带着阴险的意图
要把你引向一个重大的问题……
唉,不要问,“那是什么?”
让我们快点去作客.
在客厅里女士们来回地走,
谈着画家米开朗基罗.
黄色的雾在窗玻璃上擦着它的背,
黄色的烟在窗玻璃上擦着它的嘴,
把它的舌头舐进黄昏的角落,
徘徊在快要干涸的水坑上；
让跌下烟囱的烟灰落上它的背,
它溜下台阶,忽地纵身跳跃,
看到这是一个温柔的十月的夜,
于是便在房子附近蜷伏起来安睡.
呵,确实地,总会有时间
看黄色的烟沿着街滑行,
在窗玻璃上擦着它的背；
总会有时间,总会有时间
装一副面容去会见你去见的脸；
总会有时间去暗杀和创新,
总会有时间让举起问题又丢进你盘里的
双手完成劳作与度过时日；
有的是时间,无论你,无论我,
还有的是时间犹豫一百遍,
或看到一百种幻景再完全改过,
在吃一片烤面包和饮茶以前.
在客厅里女士们来回地走,
谈着画家米开朗基罗.
呵,确实地,总还有时间
来疑问,“我可有勇气?”“我可有勇气?”
总还有时间来转身走下楼梯,
把一块秃顶暴露给人去注意——
（她们会说：“他的头发变得多么稀!”）
我的晨礼服,我的硬领在腭下笔挺,
我的领带雅致而多彩,用一个简朴的别针固定——
（她们会说：“可是来这一套,还有那么多吗?-----
要说出我真想说的意思根本不可能!
可是仿佛有一盏幻灯把神经变成图案投射在屏幕上；
这值不值得破费功夫
如果有个人,放上一只枕头或者甩下一条头巾,
一面向窗子转过身去,却说；
“那压根儿不是,
那压根儿不是我的意思.”
…… ……
不!我不是哈姆雷特王子,也不想成为王子；
我是侍从大臣,一个适合给帝王公侯出游
炫耀威风的人,发一两次脾气,
向王子提点忠告；毫无疑问,是个随和的爪牙,
恭顺谦虚,以对别人有用而感到高兴,
精明,细心而又慎微谨小；
满脑子高超的判断,只是稍微有些迟钝；
有时,的确,近乎荒唐可笑——
有时,差不多是个丑角.
我老啦……我老啦……
我要穿裤腿卷上翻边的裤子.
要不要把我的头发在后脑分开?我敢吃下一只桃子吗?
我要穿上白法兰绒的长裤,在海滨散步.
我听到美人鱼在歌唱,一个对着一个唱.
我可不想她们会对我歌唱.
我看见她们乘着波浪向大海驰去
一面梳理着风中向后纷披的波浪的白发
当大风乍起把海水吹成黑白相间的时候.
我们因海底的姑娘而逗留在大海的闺房
她们戴着红的和棕色的海草编成的花环
直到人类的声音把我们唤醒,我们便溺水而亡.
余光中的译文我至今还没见过.