主题：【原创】J·阿尔弗瑞德·普鲁弗洛克的情歌 -- 九霄环珮

有道理。（这里用“作”用“做”都可以）

这里两行我修改了。译作“工作与工作日 ”比较准确，出自一个典故：古希腊赫西奥德的诗篇《works and days》,一般译作《劳作与时日》，该作品倡导勤劳与正直，批判道德腐败。

这两句的意思似乎是讽刺空谈和缺乏执行力。

主要是觉得此处节奏上四个字更好（原文此处4个音素），和前几个字连在一起显得平衡。听艾略特读“you and I”, 后面的I用扬声。“你我二人”的“人”也用的扬声。“你我二人”读着可以产生那种无力感，轻飘飘的。“你和我”，读着则没有这种感觉。“你和我”还有一些微妙的感觉让我觉得放在这里显得生硬。

against此处译为“朝着”。用“伸展”是因为更具有拟人感和动作感。

感觉病人比喻得是evening.

这句话要是觉得译文轻松自然那才叫怪。原文本来就是那种“冗长”的变态感。这句话我感觉只要语义翻译准确就基本可以了，有些拆开成几小句的译法我感觉反而丧失了原汁原味。

retreats 应该是名词吧，作前面half-deserted streets的同位语，这个同位语一直延续到后一句"streets that...".

这里无非是把34行提前，译为“在吃一片烤面包、喝一杯茶之前／还有时间...”,要么是把34行留在远处，before译为“之后”了。

这里的情绪就是那个烟雾所象征的样子，并非特别焦虑，而是无力、无聊，软，萎，就是形容“男人”很没有男子气概的那种意思。

先讨论到这么多。

/外链出处

[FLASH]http://www.youtube.com/v/kTbBSb3A7Fg[/FLASH]

不过他的朗读是敛尽悲喜的，听来非常平，需要用心体会语调间那些细微的变化。我每次读九霄的译诗，都会把原文和他的译作自己朗诵一两遍，嗯，我觉得我读的时候就做不到艾略特这种收敛或曰克制，会忍不住在一些句子上增加色彩和起伏，真希望马大善人在，然后给我们说说他哀求他领导朗读之后的感受是什么。

给小弗搬一个英文版：

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 5

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…. 10

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, 15

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, 20

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; 25

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; 30

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 35

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— 40

(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 45

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, 50

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— 55

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? 60

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 65

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 70

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! 75

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? 80

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’s no great matter;

I have seen the moment of my greatness flicker,

And I have seen the eternal Footman hold my coat, and snicker, 85

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, 90

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”— 95

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, 100

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!

But as if a magic lantern threw the nerves in patterns on a screen: 105

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.”

. . . . . . . .

110

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, 115

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 … 120

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. 125

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 130

Till human voices wake us, and we drown.

也是讲给你听的。