本片中所朗诵的诗歌都来自英国的桂冠诗人约翰 本杰曼，由于我没有找到国内出版的《诗集》的中译本，所以在此做实验性的翻译。翻译和英国文学不是我的专业，英语水平也十分有限，我无法做到中文和英文有一样的韵脚和结构。尤其在翻译诗歌这样需要文学和语言功底的文本时，错误和混淆可能会更多，还请各位豆友体谅。我是鼓足勇气来发表自己幼稚的翻译的，希望各位隐藏的才俊能够给我宝贵的批评和建议，在此感谢所有留言的人。这篇影评会长期更新。在结束所有的翻译之后，我将会把带有中英文字幕的视频上传到国内网站，YouTube观看地址：https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jtA-GC6sowk
第一首 原文和翻译
A Russell Flint 画中美人
I could not speak for amazement at your beauty
As you came down the Garrick stair,
Grey-green eyes like the turbulent Atlantic
And floppy schoolgirl hair.
在你走下Garrick楼梯的那一刻
我无法描述你的美丽带给我的惊艳
你那灰绿色的，如汹涌的大西洋一般的眼睛
还有那女学生式样的松软垂坠的头发
I could see you in a Sussex teashop,
Dressed in peasant weave and brogues,
Turning over as firelight shone on brassware,
Last year's tea-stained Vogues.
我仿佛能看见，你在一家Sussex茶庄里——
穿着乡下织样的衣物和镂花皮鞋
你转过身来，伴随着火光在铜器上的闪烁
读着去年的沾着茶渍的《时尚》杂志
I could see you as a large-eyed student,
Frowning as you tried to learn,
Or, head flung back, the confident girl prefect,
Thrillingly kind and stern.
我能把你想像成一位学生，长着一双大大的眼睛
在努力学习的时候会皱起眉头
抑或，你转过头来，变成了一位自信的班干部
那么和善，又那么严厉
I could not speak for amazement at your beauty;
Yet when you spoke to me,
You were calm and gentle as a rock pool
Waiting, warm, for the sea.
我无法描述你的美丽带给我的惊艳
但当你和我交谈时
你平静又温柔，就像礁池一般
热切地，等候着，海的到来
Wave on wave, I plunged in them to meet you -
In wave on wave I drown;
Calm rock pool, on the shore of my security
Hold me when the tide goes down.
大浪滔滔，我跃入其中，与你会和
大浪滚滚，我潜入其里
宁静的礁池，在我的心之彼岸
留住我吧，在那潮水退去之时
批注： Russell Flint是一位以描绘美丽妇女肖像而闻名的画家，所以猜测“A Russell Flint”意为"A girl in the painting of Russell Flint",即“画中人”的意思，但具体题目还有待商榷。
疑惑：
1.Thrillingly翻译为“那么”感觉语气太弱且不准确，不知道什么样的中文词汇可以表示这个意思。
2.on the shore of my secret也许有固定典故，但未曾找到。
其他诗歌原文
Indoor Games near Newbury
In among the silver birches,
Winding ways of tarmac wander
And the signs to Bussock Bottom,
Tussock Wood and Windy Break.
Gabled lodges, tile-hung churches
Catch the lights of our Lagonda
As we drive to Wendy’s party,
Lemon curd and Christmas cake
在那银色的桦树林间，
游荡着蜿蜒的柏油小路
分散着指向Bussock Bottom,
Tussock Wood 和Windy Break的路标
山墙小屋，砖饰教堂
被我们Lagonda的车灯点亮
我们开车奔赴Wendy的宴会，
准备享用柠檬果酱和圣诞蛋糕
Rich the makes of motor whirring
Past the pine plantation purring
Come up Hupmobile Delage.
Short the way our chauffeurs travel
Crunching over private gravel,
Each from out his warm garage.
美妙动听，马达隆隆作响，
驶过松林，车子轰轰低鸣，
近一点！Hupmobile, Delage!
缩短我们司机剩余的旅程，
碾过私家的碎石道路
每一辆都出自他温暖的车库。
O but Wendy, when the carpet
Yielded to my indoor pumps.
There you stood, your gold hair streaming,
Handsome in the hall light gleaming
There you looked and there you led me
Off into the game of Clumps.
噢，Wendy，
当地毯延伸到我的脚下时。
你站在那里，金发流动着光芒
在大厅的熠熠灯火下如此迷人
你在那儿投去一瞥，引得我走下楼去，
加入了集体的游戏
Then the new Victrola playing;
And your funny uncle saying
“Choose your partners for a foxtrot.
Dance until it’s tea o’clock
Come on young ‘uns, foot it feetly.”
Was it chance that paired us neatly?
I who loved you so completely.
You who pressed me closely to you,
Hard against your party frock.
之后，新留声机放起音乐；
你那滑稽的叔叔说道
“选个你的舞伴来跳狐步舞吧，
一直跳到吃茶时分。
来啊，乖孩子们，舞动双脚。“
这是我们单独配对的机会吗？
那个我，如此全心全意地爱你。
那个你，把我紧紧地贴向你的身体，
牢牢地抵着你的宴会礼服。
“Meet me when you’ve finished eating.”
So we met and no one found us.
O that dark and furry cupboard,
While the rest played hide-and-seek.
Holding hands our two hearts beating.
In the bedroom silence round us
Holding hands and hardly hearing
Sudden footstep, thud and shriek
“在你结束用餐后和我见面。”
这样就没人发现我们的相会
噢，我们躲在那漆黑粗糙的壁橱里面，
而其他人正玩着捉迷藏。
我们手牵着手，两颗心激动不安。
卧室的寂静笼罩着我们
我们手牵着手，几乎无法听到
急促的脚步，碰撞和尖叫声。
Love that lay too deep for kissing.
“Where is Wendy? Wendy’s missing.”
Love so pure it had to end.
Love so strong that I was frightened
When you gripped my fingers tight.
And hugging, whispered “I’m your friend.”
这爱埋藏至深，我们难以亲吻
“Wendy在哪儿？Wendy不见了”
这爱纯粹至极，不得不走向终结
这爱如此热烈，使我感到恐惧
当你与我十指紧紧相扣，
你搂着我，悄声道：“我是你的朋友。”
Goodbye Wendy. Send the fairies,
Pinewood elf and larch tree gnome.
Spingle-spangled stars are peeping
At the lush Lagonda creeping
Down the winding ways of tarmac
To the leaded lights of home.
别了，Wendy。
为你送去仙子，松木精灵和杉树地精。
闪闪的繁星正在窥视着
那舒适的Lagonda悄无声息地行进
通过蜿蜒曲折的柏油道路
开往家的灯光指引的方向。
There among the silver birches,
All the bells of all the churches
Sounded in the bath-waste
Running out into the frosty air.
Wendy speeded my undressing.
Wendy is the sheet’s caressing
Wendy bending gives a blessing.
Holds me as I drift to dreamland
Safe inside my slumber wear
在那银色的桦树林间，
所有教堂的大钟齐鸣。
响声穿过浴缸中的废水，
消逝在冰冷的空气中。
Wendy加快了我的宽衣
Wendy是那被单的爱抚
Wendy俯身送来了祝福
怀抱着穿着睡衣的我，
伴我安然地进入梦乡。
The Licorice Fields At Pontefract
In the licorice fields at Pontefract
My love and I did meet
And many a burdened licorice bush
Was blooming round our feet;
Red hair she had and golden skin,
Her sulky lips were shaped for sin,
Her sturdy legs were flannel-slack'd
The strongest legs in Pontefract.
The light and dangling licorice flowers
Gave off the sweetest smells;
From various black Victorian towers
The Sunday morning bells
Came pealing over dales and hills
And tanneries and silent mills
And lowly streets where country stops
And little shuttered corner shops.
She cast her blazing eyes on me
And plucked a licorice leaf;
I was her captive slave and she
My red-haired robber chief.
Oh love! for love I could not speak,
It left me winded, wilting, weak,
And held in brown arms strong and bare
And wound with flaming ropes of hair.
Seaside Golf
How straight it flew, how long it flew,
It clear'd the rutty track
And soaring, disappeared from view
Beyond the bunker's back -
A glorious, sailing, bounding drive
That made me glad I was alive.
And down the fairway, far along
It glowed a lonely white;
I played an iron(a seven) sure and strong
And clipp'd it out of sight,
And spite of grassy banks between
I knew I'd find it on the green.
And so I did. It lay content
Two paces from the pin;
A steady putt and then it went
Oh, most surely in.
The very turf rejoiced to see
That quite unprecedented three.
Ah! Seaweed smells from sandy caves
And thyme and (mint) in whiffs,
In-coming tide, Atlantic waves
Slapping the sunny cliffs,
Lark song and sea sounds in the air
And splendour, splendour everywhere.
County
God save me from the Porkers,
God save me from their sons,
their noisy tweedy sisters who followed with the guns,
the old and scheming mother, their futures that she planned
the ghastly younger brother,who married into land
Their shots along the valley,
Draw blood out of the sky,
The wounded pheasants rally,
As hobnailed boots go by,
where once the rabbit scampered,
The waiting copse is still
As Porker, fat and pampered,
Comes puffing up the hill.
“A left and right,well done sir.
They are falling in the road”
“And here is your other gun sir.
Don’t talk ,you are here to load”
He grabs his gun, not seeing a thing but birds in air,
and blow them out of being with self-indulgence stare.
Triumphant after shooting,
He still commands the scene
his Land Rover comes hooting ,
Beaters and dogs between.
Then dinner with the neighbor.
It is no matter(it doesn’t matter) which Conservative or Labour
So long as he is rich.
A faux-bonhomme and dull as well,
all pedigree and purse,
we must admit that ,though he’s hell,
his womenfolk are worse,
Bright in their county gin sets,
they tug their ropes of pearls,
And smooth their tailored twin-sets
And drop the name of earls.
God save me from the Porkers,
The pathos of their lives,
The strange example of they set
To new rich famers’ wives.
Glad to accept their bounty,
And worship from afar,
and think of them as county,
county is what they are.
The Olympic Girl
The sort of girl I like to see
Smiles down from her great height at me.
She stands in strong, athletic pose
And wrinkles her retroussé nose.
Is it distaste that makes her frown,
So furious and freckled, down
On an unhealthy worm like me?
Or am I what she likes to see?
I do not know, though much I care,
xxxxxxxx….. would I were
(Forgive me, shade of Rupert Brooke)
An object fit to claim her look.
Oh! would I were her racket press'd
With hard excitement to her breast
And swished into the sunlit air
Arm-high above her tousled hair,
And banged against the bounding ball
"Oh! Plung!" my tauten'd strings would call,
"Oh! Plung! my darling, break my strings
For you I will do brilliant things."
And when the match is over, I
Would flop beside you, hear you sigh;
And then with what supreme caress,
You'd tuck me up into my press.
Fair tigress of the tennis courts,
So short in sleeve and strong in shorts,
Little, alas, to you I mean,
For I am bald and old and green.
Senex by John Betjeman
Oh would I could subdue the flesh
Which sadly troubles me!
And then perhaps could view the flesh
As though I never knew the flesh
And merry misery.
To see the golden hiking girl
With wind about her hair,
The tennis-playing, biking girl,
The wholly-to-my-liking girl,
To see and not to care.
At sundown on my tricycle
I tour the Borough’s edge,
And icy as an icicle
See bicycle by bicycle
Stacked waiting in the hedge.
Get down from me! I thunder there,
You spaniels! Shut your jaws!
Your teeth are stuffed with underwear,
Suspenders torn asunder there
And buttocks in your paws!
Oh whip the dogs away my Lord,
They make me ill with lust.
Bend bare knees down to pray, my Lord,
Teach sulky lips to say, my Lord,
That flaxen hair is dust.
Peggy Purey-Cust
O Peggy Purey-Cust, how pure you were:
My first and purest love, Miss Purey-Cust!
Satchel on back I hurried up West Hill
To catch you on your morning walk to school,
Your nanny with you and your golden hair
Streaming like sunlight. Strict deportment made
You hold yourself erect and every step
Bounced up and down as though you walked on springs.
Your ice-blue eyes, your lashes long and light,
Your sweetly freckled face and turned-up nose
So haunted me that all my loves since then
Have had a look of Peggy Purey-Cust.
Along the Grove, what happy, happy steps
Under the limes I took to Byron House,
And blob-work, weaving, carpentry and art,
Walking with you; and with what joy returned.
Wendy you were to me in Peter Pan,
The Little Match Girl in Hans Andersen -
But I would rescue you before you died.
And once you asked me to your house to tea.
It seemed a palace after thirty-one.
The lofty entrance hall, the flights of stairs,
The huge expanse of sunny drawing-room,
Looking for miles across the chimney-pots
To spired St. Pancras and the dome of Paul's.
And there your mother from a sofa smiled.
After that tea, I called and called again,
But Peggy was not in, she was away,
She wasn't well. House Of The Sleeping Winds,
My favourite book, with whirling art-nouveau
And Walter Crane-ish colour plates I brought
To cheer her sick-bed. It was taken in.
Weeks passed and passed and then it was returned.
O gone for ever Peggy Purey-Cust.
The "Varsity Students"Rag
I'm afraid the fellows in Putney rather wish they had
The social ease and manners of a "varsity undergrad",
For tho' they're awf'ully decent and up to a lark as a rule
You want to have the "varsity touch after a public school.
CHORUS:
We had a rag at Monicos's.We had a rag at the Troc.,
And the one we had at the Berkeley gave the customers quite a shock.
Then we went to the Popular,and after that---oh my!
I wish you'd seen the rag we had in the Grill Room at the Cri.
I started a rag in Putney at our Frothblower's Branch down there;
We got in a damn'd old lorry and drove to Trafalgar Square;
And we each had a couple of toy balloons and made the hell of a din,
And I saw a bobby at Parson's Green who looked like running us in.
CHORUS:We etc.
But that's nothing to the rag we had at the college at the other night;
We'd gallons and gallons of cider---and I got frightfully tight.
And then we smash'd up ev'rything, and what was the funniest part
We smashed some rotten old pictures which were priceless works of art.
CHORUS:We etc.
There's com thing about a'varsity man that distinguishes him from a cad:
You can teak by his tie and blazer he's a 'varsity undergrad,
And you know that he's always ready and up to a bit of a lark,
With a toy ballon and a whistle and some cider after dark.
Late Flowering Lust
My head is bald, my breath is bad,
Unshaven is my chin,
I have not now the joys I had
When I was young in sin.
I run my fingers down your dress
With brandy-certain aim
And you respond to my caress
And maybe feel the same.
But I've a picture of my own
On this reunion night,
Wherein two skeletons are shewn
To hold each other tight;
Dark sockets look on emptiness
Which once was loving-eyed,
The mouth that opens for a kiss
Has got no tongue inside.
I cling to you inflamed with fear
As now you cling to me,
I feel how frail you are my dear
And wonder what will be--
A week? or twenty years remain?
And then--what kind of death?
A losing fight with frightful pain
Or a gasping fight for breath?
Too long we let our bodies cling,
We cannot hide disgust
At all the thoughts that in us spring
From this late-flowering lust.
