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冷霜:诗两首(Jan Siesling 翻译)

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 )


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)





“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)



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?



  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

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。
发表于 2016-3-22 18:57:32 | 显示全部楼层






发表于 2016-3-25 12:09:32 | 显示全部楼层
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 ...

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


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。


杨 西思翎

 楼主| 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 ...

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! ...

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!
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 ...


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