孟郊·《游子吟》傅正明英译
Song of A Traveling Son
by Meng Jiao
A needle between a loving mother’s fingers
Turns to the clothe of her son before his journey.
The sewing thread moves into dense and denser
For worrying about his return will be late and later.
How can the heart of an inch-sized grass repay
The brightness of the spring sun’s mercy?
tr. by Zhengming Fu
附录
孟郊·《游子吟》英译
2013-9-15 12:36| 发布者: patrick| 查看: 6418| 评论: 0|来自: 英文巴士摘要: 龚景浩等；孙大雨；任治稷、余正；张廷琛、魏博思；许渊冲；徐忠杰；唐一鹤；刘国善、王治江、徐树娟 等；Robert Kotewell & Norman Smith 译
| 慈母手中线，游子身上衣。 临行密密缝，意恐迟迟归。 谁言寸草心，报得三春晖。 For Her Son Who’ll Be Away for a While Meng Jiao Needle and thread in doting mother’s hand Turn out garments for her son out to roam the land. She puts in more stitches e’en as he leaves And frets that his homecoming may be moved back. Who says the tiny inch-tall blade of grass Can e’er repay the warm sunshine of spring? （龚景浩 译） The Wandering Son’s Song The thread from my dear mother’s hand Was sewn in the clothes of her wandering son. For fear of my belated return, Before my leave they were closely woven. Who says mine heart like a blade of grass Could repay her love’s gentle beams of spring sun? （孙大雨 译） Chant of a Roaming Son The thread in the mother’s hand, The clothes worn by the wanderlust son. The nearer the departure, The closer the stitches sown, Lest his return be further postponed. Who said the grass blade of a heart Could repay the glory of the late spring sun? （任治稷、余正 译） A Journeyer’s Song Through a kind mother’s hands passed the thread That made the clothes I journeying wear. Tightly tightly she wove them then, Dreading year after year of no return. Can the young grass ever repay The spring sun’s kindly rays? （张廷琛、魏博思 译） Song of the Parting Son From the threads a mother’s hands weaves, A gown for parting son is made. Sown stitch by stitch before he leaves, For fear his return be delayed. Such kindness as young grass receives From the warm sun can’t be repaid. （许渊冲 译） A Roamer’s Song My benevolent mother — With thread and needle in hand, Mends the garment I have on, Ere I leave my native land. More stitches, ere I take leave, To hold the seams firm and fast. As itinerant worker, To come home I’d be the last. With what can I repay Ma? Whatever others may say, For what she has done for me, Her, I can never repay. （徐忠杰 译） |
