附录：庞德 诗选（英文）

Ezra Pound (1885 -- 1972)

In a Station of the Metro 

The apparition of these faces in the crowd:

Petals on a wet, black bough.

Ladies

Agathas

Four and forty lovers had Agathas in the old days,

All of whom she refused;

And now she turns to me seeking love,

And her hair also is turning.

Young Lady

I have fed your lar with poppies,

I have adored you for three full years;

And now you grumble because your dress does not fit

And because I happen to say so.

Lesbia Illa

Memnon, Memnon, that lady

Who used to walk about amongst us

With such gracious uncertainty,

Is now wedded

To a British householder.

Lugete, Veneres! Lugete, Cupidinesque!

Passing

Flawless as Aphrodite,

Thoroughly beautiful,

Brainless,

The faint odor of your patchouli,

Faint, almost, as the lines of cruelty about your chin,

Assails me, and concerns me almost as little.

Envoi

Go, dumb-born book,

Tell her that sang me once that song of Lawes:

Hadst thou but song

As thou hast subjects known,

Then were there cause in thee that should condone

Even my faults that heavy upon me lie

And build her glories their longevity.

Tell her that sheds

Such treasure in the air,

Recking naught else but that her graces give

Life to the moment,

I would bid them live

As roses might, in magic amber laid,

Red overwrought with orange and all made

One substance and one colour

Braving time.

Tell her that goes

With song upon her lips

But sings not out the song, nor knows

The maker of it, some other mouth,

May be as fair as hers,

Might, in new ages, gain her worshippers,

When our two dusts with Waller’s shall be laid,

Siftings on siftings in oblivion,

Till change hath broken down

All things save Beauty alone.

Middle-Aged: A Study in an Emotion

A STUDY IN AN EMOTION

''Tis but a vague, invarious delight.

As gold that rains about some buried king.

As the fine flakes,

When tourists frolicking

Stamp on his roof or in the glazing light

Try photographs, wolf down their ale and cakes

And start to inspect some further pyramid;

As the fine dust, in the hid cell beneath

Their transitory step and merriment,

Drifts through the air, and the sarcophagus

Gains yet another crust

Of useless riches for the occupant,

So I, the fires that lit once dreams

Now over and spent,

Lie dead within four walls

And so now love

Rains down and so enriches some stiff case,

And strews a mind with precious metaphors,

And so the space

Of my still consciousness

Is full of gilded snow,

The which, no cat has eyes enough

To see the brightness of.'

Canto I 

And then went down to the ship,

Set keel to breakers, forth on the godly seas, and

We set up mast and sail on that swart ship,

Bore sheep aboard her, and our bodies also

Heavy with weeping, and winds from sternward

Bore us out onward with bellying canvas,

Circe’s this craft, the trim-coifed goddess.

Then sat we amidships, wind jamming the tiller,

Thus with stretched sail, we went over sea till day’s end.

Sun to his slumber, shadows o’er all the ocean,

Came we then to the bounds of deepest water,

To the Kimmerian lands, and peopled cities

Covered with close-webbed mist, unpierced ever

With glitter of sun-rays

Nor with stars stretched, nor looking back from heaven

Swartest night stretched over wretched men there.

The ocean flowing backward, came we then to the place

Aforesaid by Circe.

Here did they rites, Perimedes and Eurylochus,

And drawing sword from my hip

I dug the ell-square pitkin;

Poured we libations unto each the dead,

First mead and then sweet wine, water mixed with white flour.

Then prayed I many a prayer to the sickly death’s-heads;

As set in Ithaca, sterile bulls of the best

For sacrifice, heaping the pyre with goods,

A sheep to Tiresias only, black and a bell-sheep.

Dark blood flowed in the fosse,

Souls out of Erebus, cadaverous dead, of brides

Of youths and of the old who had borne much;

Souls stained with recent tears, girls tender,

Men many, mauled with bronze lance heads,

Battle spoil, bearing yet dreory arms,

These many crowded about me; with shouting,

Pallor upon me, cried to my men for more beasts;

Slaughtered the herds, sheep slain of bronze;

Poured ointment, cried to the gods,

To Pluto the strong, and praised Proserpine;

Unsheathed the narrow sword,

I sat to keep off the impetuous impotent dead,

Till I should hear Tiresias.

But first Elpenor came, our friend Elpenor,

Unburied, cast on the wide earth,

Limbs that we left in the house of Circe,

Unwept, unwrapped in sepulchre, since toils urged other.

Pitiful spirit.   And I cried in hurried speech:

“Elpenor, how art thou come to this dark coast?

“Cam’st thou afoot, outstripping seamen?”

And he in heavy speech:

“Ill fate and abundant wine.    I slept in Circe’s ingle.

“Going down the long ladder unguarded,

“I fell against the buttress,

“Shattered the nape-nerve, the soul sought Avernus.

“But thou, O King, I bid remember me, unwept, unburied,

“Heap up mine arms, be tomb by sea-bord, and inscribed:

“A man of no fortune, and with a name to come.

“And set my oar up, that I swung mid fellows.”

And Anticlea came, whom I beat off, and then Tiresias Theban,

Holding his golden wand, knew me, and spoke first:

“A second time? why? man of ill star,

“Facing the sunless dead and this joyless region?

“Stand from the fosse, leave me my bloody bever

“For soothsay.”

And I stepped back,

And he strong with the blood, said then: “Odysseus

“Shalt return through spiteful Neptune, over dark seas,

“Lose all companions.”  And then Anticlea came.

Lie quiet Divus. I mean, that is Andreas Divus,

In officina Wecheli, 1538, out of Homer.

And he sailed, by Sirens and thence outward and away

And unto Circe.

Venerandam,

In the Cretan’s phrase, with the golden crown, Aphrodite,

Cypri munimenta sortita est, mirthful, orichalchi, with golden

Girdles and breast bands, thou with dark eyelids

Bearing the golden bough of Argicida. So that:

Canto LXXXI（a part of the Pisan Cantos)

Zeus lies in Ceres’ bosom

Taishan is attended of loves

under Cythera, before sunrise

And he said: “Hay aquí mucho catolicismo—(sounded

catolithismo

y muy poco reliHion.”

and he said: “Yo creo que los reyes desparecen”

(Kings will, I think, disappear)

This was Padre José Elizondo

in 1906 and in 1917

or about 1917

and Dolores said: “Come pan, niño,”   eat bread, me lad

Sargent had painted her

before he descended

(i.e. if he descended

but in those days he did thumb sketches,

impressions of the Velázquez in the Museo del Prado

and books cost a peseta,

brass candlesticks in proportion,

hot wind came from the marshes

and death-chill from the mountains.

And later Bowers wrote: “but such hatred,

I have never conceived such”

and the London reds wouldn’t show up his friends

(i.e. friends of Franco

working in London) and in Alcázar

forty years gone, they said: go back to the station to eat

you can sleep here for a peseta”

goat bells tinkled all night

and the hostess grinned: Eso es luto, haw!

mi marido es muerto

(it is mourning, my husband is dead)

when she gave me a paper to write on

with a black border half an inch or more deep,

say 5/8ths, of the locanda

“We call all foreigners frenchies”

and the egg broke in Cabranez’ pocket,

thus making history. Basil says

they beat drums for three days

till all the drumheads were busted

(simple village fiesta)

and as for his life in the Canaries…

Possum observed that the local portagoose folk dance

was danced by the same dancers in divers localities

in political welcome…

the technique of demonstration

Cole studied that (not G.D.H., Horace)

“You will find” said old André Spire,

that every man on that board (Crédit Agricole)

has a brother-in-law

“You the one, I the few”

said John Adams

speaking of fears in the abstract

to his volatile friend Mr Jefferson.

(To break the pentameter, that was the first heave)

or as Jo Bard says:   they never speak to each other,

if it is baker and concierge visibly

it is La Rouchefoucauld and de Maintenon audibly.

“Te cavero le budella”

“La corata a te”

In less than a geological epoch

said Henry Mencken

“Some cook, some do not cook

some things cannot be altered”

’Iugx.  .  .  .  . ’emòn potí dwma aòn andra

What counts is the cultural level,

thank Benin for this table ex packing box

“doan yu tell no one I made it”

from a mask fine as any in Frankfurt

“It’ll get you offn th’ groun”

Light as the branch of Kuanon

And at first disappointed with shoddy

the bare ram-shackle quais, but then saw the

high buggy wheels

and was reconciled,

George Santayana arriving in the port of Boston

and kept to the end of his life that faint thethear

of the Spaniard

as grace quasi imperceptible

as did Muss the v for u of Romagna

and said the grief was a full act

repeated for each new condoleress

working up to a climax.

and George Horace said he wd/ “get Beveridge” (Senator)

Beveridge wouldn’t talk and he wouldn’t write for the papers

but George got him by campin’ in his hotel

and assailin’ him at lunch breakfast an’ dinner

three articles

and my ole man went on hoein’ corn

while George was a-tellin’ him,

come across a vacant lot

where you’d occasionally see a wild rabbit

or mebbe only a loose one

AOI!

a leaf in the current

at my grates no Althea

______

libretto

______

Yet

Ere the season died a-cold

Borne upon a zephyr’s shoulder

I rose through the aureate sky

Lawes and Jenkyns guard thy rest

Dolmetsch ever be thy guest,

Has he tempered the viol’s wood

To enforce   both the grave   and the acute?

Has he curved us the bowl of the lute?

Lawes and Jenkyns guard thy rest

Dolmetsch ever be thy guest

Hast ’ou fashioned so airy a mood

To draw up leaf from the root?

Hast ’ou found   a cloud   so light

As seemed neither mist nor shade?

Then resolve me, tell me aright

If Waller sang or Dowland played

Your eyen two wol sleye me sodenly

I may the beauté of hem nat susteyne

And for 180 years almost nothing.

Ed ascoltando al leggier mormorio

there came new subtlety of eyes into my tent,

whether of the spirit or hypostasis,

but what the blindfold hides

or at carneval

nor any pair showed anger

Saw but the eyes and stance between the eyes,

colour, diastasis,

careless or unaware it had not the

whole tent’s room

nor was place for the full EidwV

interpass, penetrate

casting but shade beyond the other lights

sky’s clear

night’s sea

green of the mountain pool

shone from the unmasked eyes in half-mask’s space.

What thou lovest well remains,

the rest is dross

What thou lov’st well shall not be reft from thee

What thou lov’st well is thy true heritage

Whose world, or mine or theirs

or is it of none?

First came the seen, then thus the palpable

Elysium, though it were in the halls of hell,

What thou lovest well is thy true heritage

What thou lov’st well shall not be reft from thee

The ant’s a centaur in his dragon world.

Pull down thy vanity, it is not man

Made courage, or made order, or made grace,

Pull down thy vanity, I say pull down.

Learn of the green world what can be thy place

In scaled invention or true artistry,

Pull down thy vanity,

Paquin pull down!

The green casque has outdone your elegance.

“Master thyself, then others shall thee beare”

Pull down thy vanity

Thou art a beaten dog beneath the hail,

A swollen magpie in a fitful sun,

Half black half white

Nor knowst’ou wing from tail

Pull down thy vanity

How mean thy hates

Fostered in falsity,

Pull down thy vanity,

Rathe to destroy, niggard in charity,

Pull down thy vanity,

I say pull down.

But to have done instead of not doing

this is not vanity

To have, with decency, knocked

That a Blunt should open

To have gathered from the air a live tradition

or from a fine old eye the unconquered flame

This is not vanity.

Here error is all in the not done,

all in the diffidence that faltered  .  .  .

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