Translations of Odgen Nash
A lady thinks she is thirty
自以为年逾三十的女士
Unwillingly Miranda wakes,
Feels the sun with terror,
One unwilling step she takes,
Shuddering to the mirror.
米兰达不情愿地起身，
带着恐惧感受着阳光，
无可奈何地迈步一寸，
颤抖着朝向镜子前方。
Miranda in Miranda's sight
Is old and gray and dirty;
Twenty-nine she was last night;
This morning she is thirty.
她注视着眼中的自己，
老态、沧桑、又肮脏不堪。
青春二十九恍惚昨夕，
今朝梦方醒却已奔三。
Shining like the morning star,
Like the twilight shining,
Haunted by a calendar,
Miranda is a-pining.
如晨星般黯淡地闪烁，
闪烁如暮曙交际之光，
被阴魂般日历所折磨，
米兰达时时叹短吁长。
Silly girl, silver girl,
Draw the mirror toward you;
Time who makes the years to whirl
Adorned as he adored you.
蠢蠢的、一头银丝的女孩，
把镜子拿近些再看看；
旋转岁月的时间因爱
慕你才将你如此打扮。
Time is timelessness for you;
Calendars for the human;
What's a year, or thirty, to
Loveliness made woman?
对你而言时间乃无限；
如日历之于芸芸众生。
年龄何物，三十如何，焉
能遮掩你之美貌倾城？
Oh, Night will not see thirty again,
Yet soft her wing, Miranda;
Pick up your glass and tell me, then--
How old is Spring, Miranda?
哎，夜色将别三十已过，
安抚时间之翼，米兰达；
拾起你的镜子告诉我，
春日年方几何，米兰达？
2014/11/9
Procrastination is all of the time
拖延症无时无刻不在
Torpor and sloth, torpor and sloth,
These are the cooks that unseason the broth.
Slothor and torp, slothor and torp
The directest of bee-line ambitions can warp.
He who is slothic, he who is torporal,
Will not be promoted to sergeant or corporal.
No torporer drowsy, no comatose slother
Will make a good banker, not even an author.
Torpor I deprecate, sloth I deplore,
Torpor is tedious, sloth is a bore.
Sloth is a bore, and torpor is tedious,
Fifty parts comatose, fifty tragedious.
How drear, on a planet redundant with woes,
That sloth is not slumber, nor torpor repose.
That the innocent joy of not getting things done
Simmers sulkily down to plain not having fun.
You smile in the morn like a bride in her bridalness
At the thought of a day of nothing but idleness.
By midday you’re slipping, by evening a lunatic,
A perusing-the-newspapers-all-afternoonatic,
Worn to a wraith from the half-hourly jaunt
After glasses of water you didn’t want,
And at last when onto your pallet you creep,
You discover yourself too tired to sleep.
O torpor and sloth, torpor and sloth,
These are the cooks that unseason the broth.
Torpor is harrowing, sloth it is irksome –
Everyone ready? Let’s go out and worksome.
倦怠和懒散，倦怠和懒散，
就是这对厨子让鲜美上汤变得寡淡。
懒惰和懈怠，懒惰和懈怠
有如此壮志面对最短直线也能走乱。
集懒散懈怠于一身的人
被提拔成下士或中士之想纯属非分。
没有一个昏沉散漫之士
能成银行之长，莫论摇身成一介文士。
我抨击懈怠、我谴责懒散，
懈怠可真是单调乏味，散漫无聊到烂。
散漫无聊，懈怠单调乏味，
五十份令人昏睡的能力，五十份倒霉。
在这如此忧郁充斥的星球，多么可悲，
懒散不能就此长眠，而懈怠不能沉睡。
那种不把事情做完的纯粹美妙感觉，
成为普普通通的无趣而悻悻然寂灭。
你在晨光里微笑如新婚燕尔的新娘
当你充斥着浑浑噩噩过一天的思想。
不知不觉过午，到晚上你已成了疯子，
一下午对着报纸寻章摘句咬文嚼字。
半个小时的远足简直是要命的活罪
咕嘟咕嘟喝下几杯你本不想喝的水，
最后当你慢慢悠悠地向你床边踱回
辗转反侧却发现自己累得无法入睡。
倦怠和懒散，倦怠和懒散，
就是这对厨子让鲜美上汤变得寡淡。
倦怠烦人，懒散让人头痛，
大家准备好了么？一起出去活动活动。
2014/11/9
It's never fair weather
从来就没有什么好天气
I do not like the winter wind
That whistles from the North.
My upper teeth and those beneath,
They jitter back and forth.
Oh, some are hanged and some are skinned,
And others face the winter wind.
我不喜欢冬天的风霜
从北方呼啸而过。
冻得我上下两排牙床，
前后左右来回磨。
有的挂着，有的已一身光，
其他却面对冬天的风霜。
I do not like the summer sun
That scorches the horizon.
Though some delight in Fahrenheit,
For me it's deadly poison.
I think that life would be more fun
Without the simmering summer sun.
我不喜欢夏天的烈日
沿着地平线炙烤。
有人享受那高温华氏，
对我如致命毒药。
我觉得人生会更有兴致
如果没有那轮炎炎夏日。
I do not like the signs of spring,
The fever and the chills,
The icy-mud, the puny bud,
The frozen daffodils.
Let other poets gaily sing;
I do not like the signs of spring.
我不喜欢春天的征兆，
那乍暖还寒的天，
冰冷泥巴、蔫蔫的花苞，
还有冻上的水仙。
让其他诗人纵情歌号；
我不喜欢春天的征兆。
I do not like the foggy fall
That strips the maples bare;
The radiator's mating call,
the dark rheumatic air.
I fear that taken all in all,
I do not like the foggy fall.
我不喜欢雾蒙蒙的秋，
将枫树扒个干净。
暖气发出声音如求偶，
阴森的风湿之灵。
我恐怕上述一切俱休，
我不喜欢雾蒙蒙的秋。
The winter sun of course is kind,
And summer winds are savior,
And I'll merrily sing of fall and spring
If they are in their good behavior.
But otherwise I see no reason
To speak in praise of any season.
冬天的阳光确实和煦，
夏之清风让人舒爽，
我纵情地为春秋唱一曲，
如果它们行为识相。
否则没有理由我对四季
称赞颂扬其中任意之一。
2014/11/18
The Beggar (After William Blake)
乞丐（致敬威廉布雷克）
Beggar, beggar, burning low
In the city's trodden snow,
What immortal hand or eye
Could frame thy dread asymmetry?
乞丐，乞丐，卑微地闪耀
在城市踏烂雪中燃烧，
何等超凡的圣手圣眼
造就你糟糕、不对称曲线？
In what distant deep of lies
Died the fire of thine eyes?
What the mind that planned the shame?
What the hand dare quench the flame?
何等遥远、深渊般谎言
凋零寂灭你眼中火焰？
何等智慧注定此羞耻
何手敢熄此火焰炽炽？
And what shoulder and what art
Could rend the sinews of thy heart?
And when thy heart began to fail,
What soft excuse, what easy tale?
何等力量与何等技艺
可以撕裂你强健心肌？
而当你心衰命悬一线,
何等巧语与何等花言？
What the hammer? What the chain?
What the furnace dulled thy brain?
What the anvil? What the blow
Dare to forge this deadly woe?
何等锤凿与何等镣铐？
何等熔炉钝化你大脑？
何等铁砧之击打之力
敢熔炼出此致命悲戚？
When the business cycle ends
In flaming extra dividends,
Will He smile his work to see?
Did He who made the Ford make thee?
当商业周期告一段落
额外的红利燃烧似火，
他会见杰作微微一笑？
将福特和你共同缔造？
2014/11/10
