The Love Song of J.Alfred Prufrock 阿尔弗瑞德·普鲁弗洛克的情歌
T. S.Eliot
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
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……
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，
The yellow smoke that rubs its muzzIe 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，
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；
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；
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
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—
[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
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，
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—
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?
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
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
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 cIaws
Scuttling across the floors of silent seas.
……
And the afternoon, the evening, sleeps so peacefully！
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?
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，
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，
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”—
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，
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：
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.”
……
No！I am not Prince Hamlet, or 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，
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……
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.
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
Till human voices wake us, and we drown.
阿尔弗瑞德·普鲁弗洛克的情歌
T·S·艾略特
那么我们走吧，我们一起，
此时黄昏正在延展，佣向天际
像麻醉的病人躺在手术台上；
我们走吧，穿过一些半冷清的街，
那儿休憩的场所正人声喋喋；
有夜夜不宁的便宜歇夜旅店
露天的餐馆里牡蛎壳遍地，
街连着街，好像一场冗长的争议
怀着阴险的目的
要把你引向一个重大的问题……
噢，别问“是什么？”
让我们去走访一遍。
客厅里女人来来回回穿梭，
正在谈论着米开朗琪罗
黄色的雾在窗玻璃上擦着它的背，
黄色的烟在窗玻璃上擦着它的嘴，
它的舌头伸进黄昏的角落，舔过以后
就在干涸的水池上面徘徊。
让烟囱里的烟灰落在它的脊背，
滑过斜坡地，蓦然一跃，
发现正值温柔的十月夜晚，
于是在房屋附近蜷伏起来，安然睡觉。
呵，确实地，总会有时间
看黄色的烟沿着街滑行，
在窗玻璃上擦着它的背；
总会有时间，总会有时间
准备一副面容去会见你见的那个人；
总会有时间去谋杀，去创新，
有时间去做天天的手头活计；
在你的茶盘上提起或放下一个问题；
有的是时间，无论你，无论我，
还有的是时间犹疑一百遍，
有时间幻想一百遍，修正一百遍，
然后再去吃茶点。
客厅里女人来来回回穿梭，
正在谈论着米开朗琪罗
呵，确实地，总还有时间
来疑问，“我可有勇气？”“我可有勇气？”
总还有时间来转身走下楼梯，
把一块秃顶暴露给人去注意——
（她们会说：“他的头发长得真稀！）
我的晨礼服，挺立到下巴的衣领，
我的领带雅致而多彩，用简朴别针固定——
（她们会说；“但他的手臂和腿瘦骨伶仃！”）
我可有勇气
搅乱这个宇宙？
在一分钟里总还有时间
决定和变卦，过一分钟还可推翻。
因为我已经熟悉了她们，并且了如指掌——
熟悉了那些黄昏，和上下午的情景，
我是用咖啡匙子量出了我的生命；
我知道每当隔壁响起了音乐
话声就逐渐低微而至停歇。
所以我怎么敢提出？
而且我已熟悉那些眼睛，熟悉了一切——
那些用一句公式化的成语把你钉住的眼睛，
当我被公式化了，在钉针下趴伏，
当我被钉着在墙壁上挣扎，
那么我将如何开始
吐出我一生岁月习惯中所有的残渣？
因此我该怎样冒昧提起？
而且我已经熟悉那些胳膊，熟悉了一切——
那些胳膊戴着镯子，又袒露又白净
（可是在灯光下，显得淡褐色毛茸茸！）
是否由于衣裙的香气
使得我这样话离本题？
那些手臂横放在桌上，或用披巾卷起。
那时候我该提出吗？
可是我怎么开口？
……
我是否说，黄昏时穿过几条小街，
看到孤独的男子只穿着衬衫
倚在窗口，烟斗里冒着袅袅的烟？……
我倒不如做一对粗俗的蟹爪
匆匆爬过静寂的海底。
……
啊，那下午，那黄昏，睡得多平静！
被纤长的手指轻轻抚爱，
睡了……疲倦了……或者佯装有病，
躺在地板上，就在你我脚边伸开。
是否我，在用过茶、糕点和冷饮以后，
我是否有勇气把这一刻推向紧要关头？
然而，尽管我曾哭泣斋戒，哭泣祈祷，
尽管我看见我的头（有点秃顶）用盘子端过来，
我不是先知——这也不值得大惊小怪；
我曾看到我伟大的时刻在动摇，
我曾看到那永恒的“侍者”拿着我的外衣暗笑，
简而言之，我感到害怕。
而且，归根到底，那是否值得，
在用过茶点，吃过果酱以后，
在杯盘中间，当人们谈着你和我，
是不是值得以一个微笑
把这件事情一口啃掉，
把整个宇宙压缩成一个球，
使它滚向一个重大的问题，
说道：“我是拉撒路，从死人那里
来报一个信，我要告诉你们一切”——
万一她拿个枕头垫在脑下，
竟然说：“那根本不是我的意思。
不是的，那根本不是。”
那么，归根到底，是不是值得，
是否值得在那许多次夕阳以后，
在庭院的散步和水淋过街道以后，
在读小说以后，在饮茶以后，在长裙拖过地板以后——
说这些，和许多许多事情？——
但不可能真正说出我的意图！
仿佛有盏神灯把神经活动图投射到屏幕上：
是否值得，假如
她在头下垫个枕头，脱去披风，
把头转向窗户，说道：
“不是的，根本不是，
那根本不是我的意思。”
……
不！我不是哈姆雷特王子，也无此意；
我只是个侍从爵士，能逢场作戏，
能为一两个景开场，或为王子出主意，
就够好的了；无非是顺手的工具，
恭恭敬敬，乐于听人使唤，
彬彬有礼，小心翼翼，仔仔细细；
满口高调，但有点愚钝不灵利；
有时，几乎实在滑稽可笑——
有时，近乎一个丑角。
呵，我变老了……我变老了……
我将要把我的裤脚边卷起。
我是否把头发从后面分开？我可敢吃桃？
我将要穿上白色法兰绒裤，去海滨漫步。
美人鱼在对歌，她们的歌声我已听到。
但我想她们不是唱给我听。
我已经看到她们乘着波浪游向海里，
梳理着被冲回的浪涛白头，
当海风把海水刮得黑白交加。
我们在海宫中流连忘返，
水仙子用红褐水草把大海装饰如此美丽，
一旦被人声唤醒，我们就淹死。
实战提升
背景知识
T·S·艾略特（T.S.Eliot），英国著名现代派诗人和文艺评论家。1888年9月26日生于美国密苏里州。1906年入哈佛大学学哲学，续到英国上牛津大学，后留英教书和当职员。1908年开始创作。代表作《荒原》，表达了西方一代人精神上的幻灭，被认为是西方现代文学中具有划时代意义的作品。1948年因“革新现代诗，功绩卓著的先驱”，获诺贝尔文学奖。
诗人通过诗中的主人公普鲁弗洛克的无望的虚幻的求爱过程，描述了一种普遍存在的病态世象，从而唱响了精神瘫痪、文明衰退，到处充满意志消沉、无所事事的“活死人”的黄昏世界的哀歌。
单词注解
etherize['i：θəraiz]麻醉
retreat[ri'tri：t]僻静，安静
tedious['ti：diəs]冗长乏味的；使人厌烦的
muzzIe['mʌzl]动物的口鼻部
cIaw[klɔ：]爪，脚爪
名句诵读
And the afternoon, the evening, sleeps so peacefully！Smoothed by long fingers, Asleep……tired……or it malingers, Stretched on the floor, here beside you and me.
l grow old……l grow old……l shall wear the bottoms of my trousers rolled.
We have lingered in the chambers of the sea By sea-girls wreathed with seaweed red and brown Till human voices wake us, and we drown.
