採堅果記 威廉·華茲渥斯（試譯：淺白）
－好像就在某日
（我現在談的，是在那些已千挑萬擇過，
源自既往，那段天堂般的、不死的日子裏
所再特別揀選出來的某一日）
當我離開我們家住的小屋，踏出門檻
帶着一種孩子氣的渴望；手上握着
採摘堅果的長勾，肩後斜掛一個大袋，
轉身，走向一片離遠的樹林；
一個希奇古怪的樣子，穿戴着
自以為洋洋得意的偽裝服飾——
那些舊二手衫物，其實是我那節儉的夫人，
當時為這節目，幾經游說，才特地
撙節籌集得來的——
五花百門的裝備，儘有本錢
向着荊棘、蕨蘚、和那些帶刺的黑莓叢微笑；
而事實上，比真實所需的更為襤褸！
跨過無路可言的山石、蕨類的褥床，
再在周圍密集糾葛的灌木間強擠出
路，在覆蔭之下，我來到
一處未有人到訪過的、靜好的角落：
那裏沒有一根斷折的枝幹，呈露着自身
在受人殘壞後，枯葉缺懸
不甚雅觀的景象；相反高大的榛樹挺立
一簇簇榛子誘人的掛着
那彷如處子般完好的形貌——我佇立片刻
呼吸着強自抑制的心情，並讓理智
收攝狂喜，當歡悅汩汩流湧而至；
在無他者競爽的顧慮下，凝看着這場
盛宴——或是樹下，我正自飽啖羣花
的香氣，繼又拈玩它們；此種情緒
就如人在經久而疲累的盼待後，終於得着
那一突如其來、且超乎所有意料的
快樂。那或許是一匝涼蔭，在其葉下
有櫛沐過五季的紫羅蘭，重現
又消隱，不曾被人眼注視；
當輕輕打着嗝的水流，仍永恆如仙子般
低喃着；我看見那閃爍的泡沫——
四下的拳石蔥綠，我的臉頰
貼着其中一塊，上面是絨附的青苔；
餘者均在樹影下繞着我，鬆散的
像一班綿羊——我聽到那低語
以及它持續不斷的聲響；身處在
該種醇美的情調裏，當歡愉
素喜向輕適致意；又以其悅樂安穩，
心靈總是迷溺着無知覺的事物
以致折損白費其好意於樹身、細石、
與及虛無的空氣之間。然後我站起來
猛力將頭頂的榛子枝一併扯拽落地，且予以
急疾、無憫惜的蹂躪；當那原受榛子蔭蔽
的角落，和那鬱綠多苔的涼影處，皆聽任
變形、侵瀆，並逆來順受地捨棄了它們
沉靜的本貌；而除非我現在的憶述
是混進了自己如今對此事的感受；在該匝涼蔭
離析塌落之先，當我欣喜萬分的轉身並彷彿
以為就此攢積了比帝王更多的財富
時；我感到一種痛楚，當我凝睇
那沉靜的樹，又瞥見頭頂缺葉處侵入的天空——
然後，最親愛的女孩，且走過如許種種
的陰影；並以溫慈的心、溫柔的手
觸撫，為這兒原有一個靈魂，在林木內裏。
3/9/2021初稿
9/9/2021二稿
Nutting
By William Wordsworth
By William Wordsworth
—It seems a day
(I speak of one from many singled out)
One of those heavenly days that cannot die;
When, in the eagerness of boyish hope,
I left our cottage-threshold, sallying forth
With a huge wallet o'er my shoulders slung,
A nutting-crook in hand; and turned my steps
Tow'rd some far-distant wood, a Figure quaint,
Tricked out in proud disguise of cast-off weeds
Which for that service had been husbanded,
By exhortation of my frugal Dame*—
Motley accoutrement, of power to smile
At thorns, and brakes, and brambles,—and, in truth,
More ragged than need was! O'er pathless rocks,
Through beds of matted fern, and tangled thickets,
Forcing my way, I came to one dear nook
Unvisited, where not a broken bough
Drooped with its withered leaves, ungracious sign
Of devastation; but the hazels rose
Tall and erect, with tempting clusters hung,
A virgin scene!—A little while I stood,
Breathing with such suppression of the heart
As joy delights in; and, with wise restraint
Voluptuous, fearless of a rival, eyed
The banquet;—or beneath the trees I sate
Among the flowers, and with the flowers I played;
A temper known to those, who, after long
And weary expectation, have been blest
With sudden happiness beyond all hope.
Perhaps it was a bower beneath whose leaves
The violets of five seasons re-appear
And fade, unseen by any human eye;
Where fairy water-breaks do murmur on
For ever; and I saw the sparkling foam,
And—with my cheek on one of those green stones
That, fleeced with moss, under the shady trees,
Lay round me, scattered like a flock of sheep—
I heard the murmur, and the murmuring sound,
In that sweet mood when pleasure loves to pay
Tribute to ease; and, of its joy secure,
The heart luxuriates with indifferent things,
Wasting its kindliness on stocks and stones,
And on the vacant air. Then up I rose,
And dragged to earth both branch and bough, with crash
And merciless ravage: and the shady nook
Of hazels, and the green and mossy bower,
Deformed and sullied, patiently gave up
Their quiet being: and, unless I now
Confound my present feelings with the past;
Ere from the mutilated bower I turned
Exulting, rich beyond the wealth of kings,
I felt a sense of pain when I beheld
The silent trees, and saw the intruding sky.—
Then, dearest Maiden**, move along these shades
In gentleness of heart; with gentle hand
Touch—for there is a spirit in the woods.
* Mrs. Ann Tyson, with whom Wordsworth and his brothers stayed while away at Hawkshead Grammar School between the ages of nine and seventeen. Wordsworth’s mother had died when he was seven and his father when he was thirteen.
** Lucy
(I speak of one from many singled out)
One of those heavenly days that cannot die;
When, in the eagerness of boyish hope,
I left our cottage-threshold, sallying forth
With a huge wallet o'er my shoulders slung,
A nutting-crook in hand; and turned my steps
Tow'rd some far-distant wood, a Figure quaint,
Tricked out in proud disguise of cast-off weeds
Which for that service had been husbanded,
By exhortation of my frugal Dame*—
Motley accoutrement, of power to smile
At thorns, and brakes, and brambles,—and, in truth,
More ragged than need was! O'er pathless rocks,
Through beds of matted fern, and tangled thickets,
Forcing my way, I came to one dear nook
Unvisited, where not a broken bough
Drooped with its withered leaves, ungracious sign
Of devastation; but the hazels rose
Tall and erect, with tempting clusters hung,
A virgin scene!—A little while I stood,
Breathing with such suppression of the heart
As joy delights in; and, with wise restraint
Voluptuous, fearless of a rival, eyed
The banquet;—or beneath the trees I sate
Among the flowers, and with the flowers I played;
A temper known to those, who, after long
And weary expectation, have been blest
With sudden happiness beyond all hope.
Perhaps it was a bower beneath whose leaves
The violets of five seasons re-appear
And fade, unseen by any human eye;
Where fairy water-breaks do murmur on
For ever; and I saw the sparkling foam,
And—with my cheek on one of those green stones
That, fleeced with moss, under the shady trees,
Lay round me, scattered like a flock of sheep—
I heard the murmur, and the murmuring sound,
In that sweet mood when pleasure loves to pay
Tribute to ease; and, of its joy secure,
The heart luxuriates with indifferent things,
Wasting its kindliness on stocks and stones,
And on the vacant air. Then up I rose,
And dragged to earth both branch and bough, with crash
And merciless ravage: and the shady nook
Of hazels, and the green and mossy bower,
Deformed and sullied, patiently gave up
Their quiet being: and, unless I now
Confound my present feelings with the past;
Ere from the mutilated bower I turned
Exulting, rich beyond the wealth of kings,
I felt a sense of pain when I beheld
The silent trees, and saw the intruding sky.—
Then, dearest Maiden**, move along these shades
In gentleness of heart; with gentle hand
Touch—for there is a spirit in the woods.
* Mrs. Ann Tyson, with whom Wordsworth and his brothers stayed while away at Hawkshead Grammar School between the ages of nine and seventeen. Wordsworth’s mother had died when he was seven and his father when he was thirteen.
** Lucy
PS: 記得去年譯此詩很費工夫。即使如今回看，當中不肯定或失誤的地方相信還是不少，但至少我已盡力了。這詩應是大學一年級時讀到的。像一般現代人一樣，初接觸浪漫主義時代的詩歌，感覺總難免有些隔閡（畢竟那些「古人」對感嘆號可是毫不吝嗇的）。〈Nutting〉一詩在Wordsworth的作品中其實也不算名作，但不知為何，我當年翻閱楊牧的《英詩漢譯集》，當絕大部分的「名詩」都如水過鴨背時，就偏偏是對它別有觸動：私以為從其娓娓的憶舊敘述中，可見出一種現代賦體的特徵（或是源流？）。而對於這種「高難度」的詩作，那陣時也實在沒想過自己甚麼時候才會夠功力譯出（望望那些超長句、無限逗號、繁富得如漢賦般的詞采、形容詞就知道了。這才是楊牧詩歌真正的師承。至於他的那些中國古典意象應用，往往是幌子而已）。直至多得「防疫」開始，人倫價值徹底崩壞，今日唔知聽日事，才把心一橫決定動筆。唯有點可惜的是，自安心以來自己早已被禁足圖書館，故也再無法找回楊牧的譯本來參照得失了。（2022年6月30日識。）
託友人覓得楊牧譯本，2023年1月20日識。
楊牧譯：
——就有那麼一天（我是說
從許多日子裏挑出來的）那
永不消滅，天一樣高的日子，
心中充滿無異於男孩專屬的期待
就這樣衝出家門出發前往，
肩上掛著一只超大的口袋前後晃蕩，
手握我的堅果曲棍斨；於是
開步朝那遠方樹林趕去，怪模
怪樣，身上穿的是自命不凡的舊衣
其實是特別為這壯舉縫製的，
勤儉成性的女訓導再三囑咐著裝——
小丑樣的雜色打扮，綽綽有餘
不怕荊棘，野草，蒺藜——而其實
比實際需要更襤縷幾許。翻過無路的
石頭地，叢生的羊齒蕨薇，糾虬雜木
我跌撞向前，直到一處隱蔽的角落
從未有人來過，不見任何斧餘殘枝
垂垂然倒掛的枯葉，災厄痛心任何可
悲憫的樣子；眼前是一棵棵巨型大榛
聳挺直上，高懸纍纍誘人的果實，
人跡未至的處女境！我就地站著，
感覺呼吸急促，歡喜無限，
隨即於明智鎮定之餘，恣意
縱情，無懼外人插手，熟視
眼前的豐廩盛筵——或樹下且坐
於花間，與百卉嬉戲一遍；
是如此一般的情緒你我心裡有數
在長久患得患失的期待後，忽逢
上天賞賜的福，非做夢之所能及。
或許那是花木園亭裏層次的葉蔭
三色堇已經五次萌芽再生而枯萎
始終不曾被人看見；那裡
有水流不斷在溪石錯落處低吟
潺潺若仙境；我看見跳濺的波光
以及——當我將臉貼近長滿苔蘚
盎然如絨毛的青石枕藉，在大樹
濃蔭裏，四處磊磊遍佈，如羊群——
我聽到潺潺低吟的潺潺聲裏，那時
爽快肆意之情傾向閒適無有
顧忌；滿懷欣喜無虞，
一顆心沉醉於無緣由的閑逸，
對眼前的木石瑣碎無不青睞有加，
以及空洞渺茫的風。然後我站起來，
把樹椏枝幹一一攀折到地，斷裂
在所不惜，棘手摧殘下只見這苞榛
生息的一角，這綠葉青苔的休憩
即刻為之變形，失色，遂無怨尤
將靜謐的生機揚棄。然而，除非我
這一刻可能混淆現在感覺有異於
過去，正當我打算自那蹂躪
戕傷的福地轉身離去，滿足，富裕
猶勝過君王，我感覺心中疼痛當我
看到那沉默的樹，干預的天空——
然則，親愛的露西，樹蔭深處行走
千萬心存謙沖，祥和；出手要輕
而且溫柔——林木自有神明看守。
圖片源自網絡。
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