The God Called Poetry
BY ROBERT GRAVES
Now I begin to know at last,
These nights when I sit down to rhyme,
The form and measure of that vast
God we call Poetry, he who stoops
And leaps me through his paper hoops
A little higher every time.
Tempts me to think I’ll grow a proper
Singing cricket or grass-hopper
Making prodigious jumps in air
While shaken crowds about me stare
Aghast, and I sing, growing bolder
To fly up on my master’s shoulder
Rustling the thick stands of his hair.
He is older than the seas,
Older than the plains and hills,
And older than the light that spills
From the sun’s hot wheel on these.
He wakes the gale that tears your trees,
He sings to you from window sills.
At you he roars, or he will coo,
He shouts and screams when hell is hot,
Riding on the shell and shot.
He smites you down, he succours you,
And where you seek him, he is not.
To-day I see he has two heads
Like Janus—calm, benignant, this;
That, grim and scowling: his beard spreads
From chin to chin: this god has power
Immeasurable at every hour:
He first taight lovers how to kiss,
He brings down sunshine after shower,
Thunder and hate are his also,
He is YES and he is NO.
The black beard spoke and said to me,
‘Human fraility though you be,
Yet shout and crack your whip, be harsh!
They’ll obey you in the end:
Hill and field, river and marsh
Shall obey you, hop and skip
At the terrour of your whip,
To your gales of anger bend.’
The pale beard spoke and said in turn
‘True: a prize goes to the stern,
But sing and laugh and easily run
Through the wide airs of my plain,
Bathe in my waters, drink my sun,
And draw my creatures with soft song;
They shall follow you along
Graciously with no doubt or pain.’
Then speaking from his double head
The glorious fearful monster said
‘I am YES and I am NO,
Black as pitch and white as snow,
Love me, hate me, reconcile
Hate with love, perfect with vile,
So equal justice shall be done
And life shared between moon and sun.
Nature for you shall curse or smile:
A poet you shall be, my son.’
诗神
行路人 初译于2018.09.03/修改于10.16
近来夜坐品诗韵，
豁然解开诗之神通。
诗歌之神法无边，
节奏独特自有其形。
诗神弯腰助我越过
个个纸环，渐次上升。
他挑衅我要长成
妙歌的蛐蛐或蚱蜢，
技艺高超的空翻
让人群紧张而惊叹。
我则欢歌更大胆，
一跃而上主人的肩
穿梭于他密发间。
他比海洋更久远，
他的年岁老过山川，
老过太阳那火轮
洒向万物的光线。
他唤醒折树的飓风，
也吟唱于你的窗棂。
他对你怒吼也呢哝。
当地狱之火燃烧熊熊，
他恶语如弹击你胸。
他狂殴你亦救助你，
当你去寻，他却无影踪。
我今解其两面性
像杰纳斯双头神：
一面平静，一面冷峻，
两个下巴胡须蓬松。
此神时刻力量无穷：
他先教情侣亲吻，
带来雨后的初晴，
也拥有雷电与憎恨，
集赞美，拒绝于一身。
那黑色胡须对我说：
你固有人类的脆弱，
但要呐喊挥鞭，要严苛！
万物终将唯唯诺诺：
高山田野，河流沼泽
将随你皮鞭的起落
在惊恐中左闪右躲
屈从于你愤怒之火。
银色胡须此时开口：
不错，严肃固有其好处，
但也来歌唱，也欢笑，
在我广阔的平原轻松跑。
浴我水中，饮我阳光，
以温柔的歌声描我景象。
万物将随你同行，
优雅从容，无疑惑苦痛。
然后从他的双头中，
荣耀而威严的神发声：
我既赞美也拒绝，
黑如沥青白如雪。
爱我、恨我、再和解，
恨中有爱，美中有劣。
最终公平无偏斜，
生活继于日月交接。
孩子，自然或咒或欢欣：
终将塑你成诗人。
