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冷霜:诗两首(Jan Siesling 翻译)

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田海燕 发表于 2016-3-21 10:14:08 | 显示全部楼层 |阅读模式
本帖最后由 田海燕 于 2016-4-14 23:10 编辑

冷霜  诗两首:《〈小王子〉导读》、《傍晚读友人论诗信有作》
Leng  Shuang (China): 《“The Little Prince” Reading Guide》、《Writing at nightfall reading a letter from a friend on poetry》

杨 劳伦斯 西思翎 (美国)翻译
Translation by Jan Laurens Siesling (USA)



诗人简介:( Leng  Shuang )

  冷霜,1973年生于新疆,1990年考入北京大学中文系,2006年获北京大学文学博士学位。做过编辑、记者,现任教于中央民族大学文学与新闻传播学院。著有诗合集《蜃景》,曾获刘丽安诗歌奖、诗建设新锐诗人奖等。

Poet’s Profile:
  Leng Shuang, born in Xinjiang 1973, was admitted to the Chinese Department of Beijing University in 1990; he obtained his doctor’s degree in literature there in 2006. After having been an editor and a reporter, he now teaches at the College of Liberal Arts and Journalism of the Minzu University of China (for ethnic minorities). His collection of poems “Mirage” has been awarded the Liu Lian Poetry Prize, the “Constructive Poet” award for his innovative work, and more.


Jan Siesling  简介:

  杨 劳伦斯 西思翎(Jan Laurens Siesling) 是艺术史学者和著有小说和诗歌的作家。他的小说常处理艺术,他的艺术的书是处理诗意灵感。他是一个语言的人,在他的自由时间他喜欢翻译,从一种喜爱的语言到另一种。中文很可能变成他的将来的挑战。他生于荷兰,从阿姆斯特丹自由大学取得博士学位。他在法国生活很多年,他的书大多是用法语写的。现在他半年在欧洲,半年在美国。他最近的书“艺术是更多”  (Art is More),是一个非传统的历代的西方艺术史。 这本书的纸质版在      www.artismore.org  和电子版在 www.amazon.com 可找到。

Biographical Note
  Jan Laurens Siesling is an art historian and a writer of fiction and poetry.  His novels often deal with art and his books on art deal with the poetry behind artistic inspiration. He is a man of languages and in his free time he likes to do translations from one beloved language into another. Chinese is likely to become his future challenge. He was born in the Netherlands and he obtained his degrees from the Free University of Amsterdam. He lived in France for many years and most of his books were written in French. Now he spends half of the year in Europe, the other half in America. His most recent book, Art is More, is an unconventional history of Western art through the ages. It is available as a hard copy www.artismore.org or as an e-book on www.amazon.com



Writing at nightfall reading a letter from a friend on poetry

Snow is falling again,
The branches grow a darker hue.
The roof likens a face with sorrowful temples,
The road’s black, wet, its borders mirror the white painted tree trunks.
Streetlights slumbering,
The snow makes the twilight shine, bathing things in pure blue ink.

“The power of truth should come from … …”
My attention dwindles in the middle of your phrase,
It is as if I heard your rapid Southern tongue,
In the eaves dripping the melting snow.

I disagree with you, in my chest emotions multiply,
In my heart I listen to heated arguments, smoke soars.
Invisible snowflakes whirl down and weigh heavy on the dusk.
When on earth will we be free from shame and guilt?

Leng Shuang, poet
Translation Jan Siesling (2016)


冷霜:《傍晚读友人论诗信有作》

雪又落下来了,
树枝的颜色更深。
屋顶显出愁苦的鬓角,
道路湿黑,边沿映出行道树漆白的树干。
街灯睡着,
雪使暮色发亮,使一切像洇在纯蓝墨水里。

“真实的力量来源于……”
我的目光停留在你的词句中,
仿佛听到你急促的南方口音,
像融雪时的檐溜。

我不同意你,我的心情复杂,
我听到心里有人大声争辩,烟雾腾腾。
无法看见的细雪压低了黄昏。
我们何时才能免于羞愧。


“The Little Prince” Reading Guide

Six times or seven the lights switch on and off. But when
On again, the actors, makeup intact, jump onto the stage from four sides,
Bend their bodies in all directions, shooting warm wiggling shadows,
As if their roles, barely turned aside, roll down below their knees.
During a moment it’s hard to adjust, vacuous stares of the audience, applause,
Standing up, banging of the seats, spreading of primitive praise.
Two young fans walk up the stage, they hand flowers
To friends, ask them to pose for a photo. Chaotic light rays
Beam over the wet looking public, above the heads
Floats dust in the hot air, crowds shove to the exits belly to back to belly,
Seals upright. Outside the gates cabs pile up, shouting here yelling there,
Backing up bumper to bumper inch by inch one by one and then off;
After so much commotion the whisper of bicycles calms down to silence.
In the 103 trolley shelter a bunch of girls,
Not unlike artificially modified roses, adorn the
Posters lit up in their backs. When grazed about
By their respective sheepish boyfriends, one can see their free eye
Glance into the empty street. The wind gets cold, still one or two newspaper stands
Expose the full cleavage of an élégante: at Wangfujing Avenue
What counts is what you can see with the naked eye, at daytime,
Fox fur boa mantles and sapphire blue ladies’ lambskin coats,
Loudly advertised, sparkling like stars. But as soon as
The sky’s closed, shop windows become black holes. Dark and empty the night,
Containers full with what foreign garbage? A shipload a day? Where is the prow,  
Where is it all bound? Trolley 108 direction Chongwenmen. The policeman
At the Dongdan Crossing directs the traffic of deserted streets,
Rotating it seems for his own sake. Would he be
The switch tender of these streets? Or the lamplighter, for whom
One day equals a minute? Perhaps rather
A condensed king, his loneliness adapted
To the colors of the night, evaporating like spilled beer,
Gasping in his wife’s face when coming home. The trolley howls and rolls,
Leaving him behind, ever smaller in clouds of sand dust,
The image of perfect order like a stamp put on top of
A diminished world. What’s next? “The 106 is horrible.”  
Time and again everyone could be transformed into a volcano, squeezed
Into pure lava, but for the moment the humans manage to maintain
Their ordinary solid self. In the dark no one talks.
The road is a constrictor, swallowing a streetcar full of people going to one place.
Behind me the youthful ticket boy announces with total apathy
The stations: for him these names are
Eternity; a far cry from a geographer, it makes him
Sick and tired, “Get off for Swimming Pool,
No swimming pool here,” only the regretful mark of neglect.
How he would rather be with his buddies and cite the names of his champions.
A new transfer and suddenly there is a dense crowd. It thrusts me
Against a stranger, she is a young woman. How awkward I feel.
My thoughts wander astray to the couples after the play, a play
About love, they drank the last drop of their sparkling water,
Stood very close too, and did not say a single word.


Leng Shuang, poet
Translation Jan Siesling (2016)


冷霜:《〈小王子〉导读》

大约是第六、七次,灯全部黑了。当它再次
亮起,演员们从四面跑出来,没有卸妆,
但是朝每一个方向热烈地屈身,影子扭动,
像刚刚脱掉的角色滑到膝盖以下。
一时难以适应,观众们怔怔地鼓掌,
站起身来,带动座椅发出一片简单化的评论声。
一对捧场的年轻人走上前台,向朋友们
献上鲜花,与他们合影。在杂乱的光柱中,
人群看上去湿淋淋的,头顶上飘浮着
尘土和热气,用肚皮挨挨挤挤地涌向门口,
活像海豹。门外,出租车堆在一起,大呼小叫,
有分寸地倒车,一辆接一辆开走;
一阵忙乱之后,推自行车的声音也渐平息。
聚集在103路电车的站牌下面,一些女孩
像经过陌生化处理的玫瑰花,装饰着
身后的灯箱广告。当她们为各自的
绵羊男友所啃食,你看到她们腾出眼睛来扫视
空空的大街。风凉了,一、两处报摊仍然
裸露着整加仑的乳沟:在王府井,重要的
就是你用肉眼所能看见的,白天
狐狸毛领大衣和宝石蓝羊皮女大衣
在扩音器的统治中星星般闪光。现在,
天空打烊,橱窗如洞。黑夜是什么,装满
进口垃圾的集装箱,每天一班?船头在哪里,
开往何方?108路电车开往崇文门。一名交警
在东单十字路口维持着冷清的秩序,
像是在维持自己的转动。他可算是
这条街区的灯塔看守人?或者,掌灯人,
一天等于一分钟?也许,他更像一位
缩写本的国王,一种被改编过的孤独感
仿佛跑了气儿的啤酒,与夜色混杂,
使他回去对着妻子咳嗽。电车轰响,
把他越来越小地留在扬起的灰沙里,
如同一条加盖在折价的世界之上的
笔直的命令。接下来,“106路是悲惨的”,
无数次,它把每一个人都变成火山,挤成
岩浆,但这会儿,乘客尚能保持住
常态下的固体自我。黑暗中没有人说话。
道路如蛇,吞噬满车的人去往同一个地方。
在我背后,年轻的电车售票员有气无力地
报出站名:对于他来说,这些站名
就是永恒;而与地理学家们不同,他对此
无比厌倦,“是的,从游泳池站下车
并没有游泳池”,它只是一处荒废的记号,
相比起来,他更愿意和小哥们儿一起背诵球星。
再次转车时人突然很多,我不得不与一位
陌生的少女挨得很近,我感到尴尬,
并再次想到那些散场时的情侣,在一部
有关爱情的话剧结束之后,在喝光了矿泉水
之后,也是这样挨得很近,却一言不发。



Translator’s remark.

  Leng Shuang makes no secret of his source: he puts it in the title of his poem of fifty dense lines. He presupposes that everybody knows the French story of “The Little Prince”, and it should be so, also in China. I was lucky to discover a bilingual English-Chinese edition of the tale, happy to read it again. How charming, how mysterious, how natural! It had to change my feeling about Leng’s poem, adding a layer of understanding. It justifies this note after translating. It is my pleasure to indicate a few parallels between Leng’s verses and his inspiration. In doing so I am aware that I turn the poem’s title upside down: I use the tale as a guide to get closer to the poem. From what follows, the reader is free to pick whatever seems worthwhile.

  Antoine de Saint-Exupéry wrote his novella (for children from 8 to 88, as the old expression has it) in 1942, when he was in the USA, in exile from his fatherland, occupied by the Nazis. It came out the following year, published by an American company, in French and English. The writer was also a soldier. He had fought for his country as an aviator and now continued, while waiting for a new occasion to fly, as a self-appointed cultural diplomat: with his pen he wanted to urge the USA into a war effort sustaining the liberation of Europe and Asia. Rationally considered, this mission seemed way above the capacities of a novelist. But Antoine de Saint-Exupéry believed in miracles. He had good reasons for it, since a miracle saved his life when his plane crashed one day in the middle of the Sahara desert. “The Little Prince” is, let’s never forget, an auto-biographic tale, a miraculous story, only children can join in, and that is exactly why we recognize it as true. Truth, surprisingly, is what we don’t see. Truth shows us, like children often do, the absurdity of the adult world.

  Leng Shuang’s poem is not a tale, but it observes reality, one might say, with the eyes of the Little Prince. The reality is that of a modern big city, possibly Beijing, but it could be Chicago as well, or Moscow, or our own. It is a city by night, a real and cold and lonely night. There has been a play the poet has seen (perhaps “The Little Prince” adapted for the stage?) and its magic doesn’t fade with the end of the performance. It moves from the stage into the public and from there into the night over the town where the poet travels homeward. Inevitably the images from the tale invade his view of the city. They occupy his vocabulary to describe it, and create a poetic and ever so genuine (humoristic, enigmatic, oneiric) order. They send some chaotic light beams over a few telltale fragments of modern life. Here are some examples in random order: the true rose, as opposed to the defamiliarized roses on planet earth (I translated as “artificially modified”); the sheep (the grazing boys as well as the lambskin’s overcoats); the fox with its huge tail; the boa constrictor swallowing not an elephant but a trolley; the policeman lamplighter; and so on, the king of the reduced world, the geographer, the volcanos, the streetcars like micro-planets, the fountain and the well, the silence of the dark. I invite the reader to find more intriguing parallel metaphors. I couldn’t help introducing the switch tender, maybe too free a translation of the lighthouse keeper, but so close to the Little Prince’s story.

  Everything changes in Leng’s metamorphosis of the tale into a poem, but not the essential reality of the authentic personal dream. Something strangely human confirms itself as their basic tone. In “The Little Prince”, a moral tale, there is no moralizing. The child never accuses, because it speaks in the name of love. The adult on the contrary feels shame or guilt for the loss of innocence. That is the end of the dream. There we stand, confronted to love in a modern city. Is the questioning poet, in this cold world, no other than our heartwarming Little Prince?

                                     JLS


译者的话

  对于(冷霜:《〈小王子〉导读》)这首诗的来源,冷霜没有秘密:就把它放在了他的稠密的五十行诗的标题中。他猜想每个人都知道法国故事《小王子》 ,应该是的,在中国也是。我很幸运发现了这个故事的英中双语版,很高兴又把它读了一遍,多么迷人,微妙,和 自然。它不得不改变我对冷的诗的感受,为我增加了一层理解。它也交代了我翻译之后加的这个注解。我乐于指出一些冷的诗句及其妙想之间的相似之处。这样做时,我知道我把诗的标题颠倒了:我用这个故事为指导以更贴近诗句。以下,读者自由选取任何值得的信息。

  安托万 圣 埃克苏佩里在1942年写了他的中篇小说(给8到88岁的孩子,如古语所说),当时他在美国,是一个流放者,祖国被纳粹占领了。书第二年出来了,由美国一家公司用法语和英语出版。作者还是个军人。他作为一个飞行员为他的国家而战,现在继续着,在等待新的飞行时机的时候,他是一个自我任命的文化外交官:用笔他想敦促美国涉入一个继续解放欧洲和亚洲的战争努力。理性地考虑一下,这一使命似乎远远超过一个小说家的力所能及。不过,安托万 圣 埃克苏佩里相信奇迹。他对此有充分的理由,因为某天他的飞机在撒哈拉沙漠中坠毁是一个奇迹救了他的生命。《小王子》是,让我们永远别忘记,一个自传体的诉说,一个神奇的故事,只有孩子才能加入,而那正是为什么我们意识到它是真的。令人吃惊的是,真是我们看不见的。真,像孩子常做的那样,显示给我们成人世界的荒唐。

  冷霜的诗不是一个故事,它观察了现实,可以说是用小王子的眼睛。这是一个现代大城市的现实,可能北京,也会是芝加哥,或莫斯科,或者我们自己居住的城市。城市在夜晚,一个真实的, 冷而孤寂的夜晚。诗人看了场演出(可能是《小王子》改编成的舞台剧?),它的魔力没有随着演出的结束而褪去。这魔力从舞台游动到大众中间,又从那里进入夜晚的城市,诗人往家的方向。不可避免地,故事里的形像侵入了诗人看到的城市景象。他们占居了他描述城市的词汇,创造了一个诗意又那么真实的(幽默的,谜一般的,梦似的)条理。他们把一些混乱的光束照向一些现代生活中泄露真情的片段。这里我用随机的顺序给几个例子:真的玫瑰,相对于地球上的陌生化的玫瑰(我翻译成 “人工改变了的”); 绵羊(啃食的男友和羊皮的大衣); 有巨大尾巴的狐狸; 蟒蛇吞的不是大象而是电车; 警察掌灯人; 等等,还有缩写本的国王,地理学家,火山,微行星般的电车,泉水和井,黑暗的静寂。我邀请读者去发现更多奇妙的并行隐喻。我忍不住介绍进来扳道工,可能是对于“灯塔看守人”的太自由的一个翻译,但很接近小王子的故事。

  在冷将这个故事变形成诗时,每个东西都变了,但没有变的是真正个人梦的深层现实。一种神奇的人性的东西确认自己为它的基调。 《小王子》是一个道德的故事,但没有说教。因为是在爱里说话,孩子从不指责。反而成人为失去纯真而觉羞愧。那是梦的结束。我们站在这里,一个现代都市里,面对着爱。质疑的诗人,在这冰冷的世界,无异于温暖我们心的小王子吧?

                                 杨 劳伦斯 西思翎




冷霜 发表于 2016-3-22 17:21:47 | 显示全部楼层
本帖最后由 冷霜 于 2016-3-22 17:25 编辑

谢谢Siesling先生付出的心血!我也尝试译过一些英语诗歌,知道其中的甘苦。读了Siesling先生的译文,感觉并非只是一般性的语言转换意义上的翻译,其中也有充满匠心的创造。比如用bathing things in pure blue ink来译“使一切洇在纯蓝墨水里”,就是很精彩的译笔。又如“使他回去对着妻子咳嗽”,译成Gasping in his wife’s face when coming home,增添了一点很生动的细节。很感谢Siesling先生为《<小王子>导读》一诗所写的“译者的话”,其中对这首诗的理解非常准确,而且本身就是一篇很优美的散文,我读了十分感动。

也很感谢田海燕女士在这两首诗的翻译过程中付出的劳动,和张杰兄的推荐。想起很多年前曾为诗生活网写过一篇关于《<小王子>导读》这首诗的创作谈,也是张杰兄约稿,多年后,也和诗本身成了一份纪念。这两年先后参加过两个翻译工作坊,一次是与美国诗人Tony Barnstone合作,彼此翻译对方的诗,另一次是与专研狄金森的学者合作来翻译,这些合作与自己独立翻译相比,都让我增进了对作品的理解。期待Siesling先生和田海燕女士的合作翻译结出更多更丰硕的果实。
冷霜 发表于 2016-3-22 18:57:32 | 显示全部楼层
《<小王子>导读》创作谈

冷霜


为一首多年前写下的诗写“创作谈”,对我是一个奇异的经验。真巧,收到“诗生活”月刊的约稿之后,先后有朋友也有陌生人告诉我他们很喜欢这首诗,这让我有些好奇,也让我有了兴趣稍稍回想这首诗的由来。

读大学时我喜欢上了戏剧,这兴趣一直保持到现在。好的戏剧总是会在结束时把舞台扔向你,让你带着它离开剧场。这首诗写的就是看完《小王子》之后感受到的“晕眩”:从人艺小剧场走出来,戏中的意象与夜色中的城市景象忽然开始叠合,一面形成一种奇妙的对位一面又在激烈地对抗,争夺着我的意识。很快我已辨认出了一首诗的轮廓,它的结构。

那时我大学毕业已近两年,城市生活的细节和流动于其中无以名之的心的映像使我兴奋而疲惫。迫切地需要一种新的语言。在几个友人的作品中我获得了映证,他们更加敏锐地捕捉到时代音色的变化,用一种夸饰而活泼的修辞来表现它。而来京不久的诗人孙文波恰好搬到了我和林木合租的小区,与他持续的交流让我益发明确了这一时期写作上的追求,就是锻造一种更有弹性的语言来摄纳日常现实和变化着的“混合的情感”--如果没记错的话,这是阿什伯利早期一首诗的题目。他,还有布罗茨基,取代了自白派诗人成为我书桌上的常客。

这首诗是我几乎唯一的一首不分节的诗,便于叙述但对诗的叙述也是个考验,首先是节奏,其次是如何让语言活跃不平板,保持一种紧张度。做得如何不由我来评判,不过,对于写这首诗的过程,唯一还能记得起的是写出后做过多次修改,最后一次修改到天亮,比通常花的力气要多很多。

回头再看,我觉得它也许并没有在那种情感的混合与对抗的表现中始终保持住平衡,但总算没有滑向一边。我意识到我真正感兴趣的是对情感、意识和自我意识的定影,我信任结构的托举和呈现的能力,在我们常常用“过渡”命名的这种生存处境与精神处境中,视景仍在飞快地变化,我们对现实以及何为现实的认知也一再被修正,诗的生命仍可回溯到它一个较深的源泉。回头再看,我多少明白了为什么在写出这首诗的几年后我集中读到拉金的诗,会感到狂喜。
张杰 发表于 2016-3-25 12:09:32 | 显示全部楼层

冷霜兄:《〈小王子〉导读》这首诗很耐研磨,回头我把对此诗所想的一篇小感发出。再聊!
JanSiesling 发表于 2016-3-25 15:52:37 | 显示全部楼层
本帖最后由 JanSiesling 于 2016-4-14 23:20 编辑
冷霜 发表于 2016-3-22 17:21
谢谢Siesling先生付出的心血!我也尝试译过一些英语诗歌,知道其中的甘苦。读了Siesling先生的译文,感觉并 ...


Answer to Leng Shuang

Thank you, Leng Shuang, for your friendly words and your thoughts about writing a poem twenty years ago. Let me take advantage of the occasion to add a few words on translating. Translating is like climbing a mountain. From far, and at first sight, it may seem a short trip and a straight walk. Once engaged, however, on the slope, one discovers there are only curves and obstacles, cliffs and abysses, there is often no path at all and when there is it may as well go in the wrong direction. “Will I ever get to the top, if there is a top at all?” are the questions that well up in the wanderer’s chest. In my case of translating from the Chinese, the mountain is twice as high; and I seem to climb it backwards, not realizing fully where I might be going. I have the feeling I don’t move from a language to another, but from a world to another, unknown. In the end this feeling proves wrong, the effort was worth it. I discover that I am standing in my own world, a little higher though for a better view. I discover the presence of human beings or experiences, I can fully understand and they understand me. It was definitely worthwhile to part, and already the efforts evaporate or rather double the rate of satisfaction. Translating becomes throwing a bridge over a canyon, a rope over a precipice, closing a gap. And I am left with only one desire, climb again.

When Zhang Jie showed to me the title of your poem, with the “Little Prince” in it, I reacted out of certain nostalgia, I think. Nostalgia for France, French literature, French language, for the years my children were young and I was their bedtime storyteller. Did the Little Prince land (or strand) also in China? How exciting! But, from the first word of your poem, you took me to completely other stations: less exotic, more relevant, more grown-up. You put me in another world and another time. I discovered they were mine. I could identify with your poetry; with its matter and its spirit, its tone and its vision. Hence I didn’t translate words, but a state of mind, a state of the soul. So much so, that I could have written my own poem with your idea. That would have been an error. Fortunately, for both of us, I have a guardian angel, a very serious critic and honest proofreader, who weighs with care every word and every expression, putting them on her implacable Sino-English scales. If you appreciate the translation, you owe it to Haiyan Tian. She kept me on the track of your words, so that the English poem is as faithfully yours as the original Chinese one.

Sincerely, Jan Siesling

答冷霜

谢谢,冷霜,你的温和的话还有你的二十年前写的这首诗的有关想法。我就借这个机会对翻译的事加上几句吧。翻译像是爬一座山。从远处,乍一看,它似乎是个短途和直行。然而,一旦步上了坡,人就发现路途上有的只是崎岖和障碍,峭壁和深渊,常常是根本没有路,即使有,它可能是朝着错的方向,“我会到山顶吗?如果压根儿有个山顶的话?”诸如此类的问题涌在探索者的胸口。在我的情形,从汉语来翻译,山是两倍的高; 我似乎是在往后爬,没完全意识到我可能会到哪里。我感觉,我不是从一个语言到另一个,而是从一个世界到另一个世界,未知的。最后,这个感觉证明是错的,努力是值得的。我发现,我站在自己的天地里,不过要稍微攀登得更高一些为着一个更好的视野。我发现人类或者经历的存在,我完全能理解,他们也理解我。这无疑是值得出发的,工夫已经在升华或者说加倍了满意率。翻译变成了峡谷之上抛的桥,悬崖顶端吊的绳索,以填充缺口。而我仍只有一个愿望,再爬。

当张杰给我看你的诗的标题,有“小王子”在里面,我想我是有某种怀乡的反应。想念法国,法国文学,法语,在我的孩子们还小的那些年,我是给他们睡前讲故事的人。小王子也着陆(或登岸)在中国了吧?多激动人心!但是,从你的诗的一开始,你带我去了完全别样的车站:少了些奇异,多了些相关,多了些成熟。你把我放在了另一个世界和另一个时期。我发现它们是我自己的现实。我可以识别你的诗,它的质和精神,它的基调和愿景。因此,我没有逐字翻译,而是一种思绪状态和心灵状态的翻译。以致于,我本可以用你的念头写我自己的诗。那就会是一个错误。对我们俩幸运的是,我有一个守护天使,一个挺认真的评论家和诚实的校稿者,她小心衡量每个词和每个表达,把他们放在她的不妥协的中英之天平上。如果你欣赏这个翻译,这多亏了田海燕。她让我不脱离你的词语轨道,使英文诗忠实于你的中文诗。

真诚的,
杨 西思翎



 楼主| 田海燕 发表于 2016-3-25 15:57:47 | 显示全部楼层
本帖最后由 田海燕 于 2016-3-25 22:15 编辑
冷霜 发表于 2016-3-22 17:21
谢谢Siesling先生付出的心血!我也尝试译过一些英语诗歌,知道其中的甘苦。读了Siesling先生的译文,感觉并 ...


谢谢诗人冷霜的留言和《〈小王子〉导读》的创作谈。这两首诗如泉水般优美而自然而然地流动。我想诗人对他的诗的用心就象小王子给他的星球疏通火山和拔除猴面包树苗;或者是象小王子给他的花儿浇水,盖上罩子,竖起屏风,杀死几条毛虫,同时还留两三条没杀,要让它们变成蝴蝶一样的用心。诗人用眼睛也用心在看生活中本质的东西。我觉得西思翎在翻译中吃透了诗的原味,他认真推敲,保持字句的流动和整体的平衡,与原作精神相吻和并创造一种英文语境中的生动。翻译过程中,他也很投入,一再修改。我对这两首诗的中英文版都非常喜欢。
海燕
冷霜 发表于 2016-4-5 12:48:57 | 显示全部楼层
张杰 发表于 2016-3-25 12:09
冷霜兄:《〈小王子〉导读》这首诗很耐研磨,回头我把对此诗所想的一篇小感发出。再聊! ...

好啊,很期待读到兄的批评!
冷霜 发表于 2016-4-5 14:09:46 | 显示全部楼层
本帖最后由 冷霜 于 2016-4-5 14:11 编辑
JanSiesling 发表于 2016-3-25 15:52
Answer to Leng Shuang

Thank you, Leng Shuang, for your friendly words and your thoughts about wri ...


Siesling先生,谢谢您的回复。您对翻译的看法我很认同,当我们动手翻译时,在我们的头脑和心灵中总是存在着一个敏锐的创造者和一个严肃的评论家,他们的“忠实”观是不同的:是忠实于实质还是忠实于文本?然而其中的界限并不那么清晰,所以翻译总是他们反复权衡磋商的结果。而好的翻译,借用中国神话中的想象,好像是在另一种语言的译文中吹进了一口气,使它成为了活的生命。这口气,既是一首诗的“质和精神”,也是它的节奏,它内在的呼吸。也是因为这个原因,我很欣赏您和田海燕女士合作的译文,当我诗中的警察在英语中gasping in his wife's face的同时,我觉得这句诗也被你们的译笔吹进了一口气,显得格外生动。再次表示感谢!
冷霜 发表于 2016-4-5 14:33:13 | 显示全部楼层
田海燕 发表于 2016-3-25 15:57
谢谢诗人冷霜的留言和《〈小王子〉导读》的创作谈。这两首诗如泉水般优美而自然而然地流动。我想诗人对他 ...

谢谢海燕,翻译是一个深入阅读的过程,它所付出的劳动并不亚于原作者,因为作者在词与词、事物与事物之间凭借他的经验世界和内心感受形成的个人化的想象力所建立起来的迅捷关联,对于译者而言常常需要花费更多精力去捕捉其线索、还原其路径,并且在另一种语言中推敲、重构,而这前一半工作主要仰赖于你。非常高兴这两首诗获得了另一种语言的生命,再次致谢!
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