outland poetry
anthology
诗选
Philip Larkin
Write a young lady in the poem on the photo album
You finally make a turn out of the photo album,
I'm confused. Thick black paper,
Love you all like the rough and smooth!
Too much money, honey candy, but too rich -
This image of nutritious swallow my throat to choke.
I hunger to that position subject to this manner -
Comb pigtail, and clutching a reluctant cat;
Wear fur clothes, cute girl graduated;
Otherwise, under the scaffolding of a lift
Flower child huge roses. Then there wearing
Soft felt hat (it makes little difficult in several aspects of peace)
You from all angles, the impact on my self-control;
These guys in your earlier days
Lengthy loiter, told me quite uneasy.
I said, my dear, most of them will not meet you.
Hall with the clothesline and it is different from plastic panels,
Some fly in the ointment of the flaw that it can do nothing to cover up
Heart showing the tom cat was unwilling, reluctant,
Also clear to record the fact that the double chin,
Your frank face so big that add to the elegant!
This irrefutably illustrates the point:
Is really where the photo is the real girl,
In every sense, experience has shown that this is true!
Otherwise, this is only in the past? Those flowers, that door,
Ying Meng those fog and car parking, because
Overexposure to become very decent - and
Outdated image of your tightly holds my heart.
Yes, but in the final analysis, we will never be just
As to the exclusion of sad, because we
Thus be free to cry. We know that alone
The past does not make us sad
Seems reasonable, but also across the eyes, whether we
The gap between shout slogans and photos. So I just
The results end up there can be sad for you -
You leaned on the fence, balanced on a bicycle,
Only to end up surprising you will find it
Stolen camera lens when you are swimming. In short, the past
Concentration, which in the past no one can now share
No matter who your future belongs; this album for you
Just like heaven, neither the wind was not any rain,
You look so pretty in here will never gives,
With the passage of time will become smaller and more clear.
(Translated by Huang Gui Xin)
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Go to church
That day, convinced that there is no ceremony,
I went inside. Let the door slammed close together.
And a church; mats, seats, stone blocks.
Small holy book, pick flowers for the Sunday
Has become yellow; church hung with some
Bronze odds and ends; neat little organ;
Thick hair while still pressing the musty,
God knows how long it has been brewing; no cap detachable,
I'm barely off the exemplar of respect for bike clip.
I went before the circle touch the holy tubs.
Looked around, and the roof looks quite new -
Heavy brush or repaired? People know that I have all the answers.
I boarded the preaching station, read a few lines
Looks scary verse, read out:
"End this" and found that his voice is much greater than expected.
Echo seems to me chuckle. Back door
I donated sixpence, signed in the name
I thought the value of not more than the place to stay.
Then I left: I often the case,
Always fallen into such confusion in the final,
Surprise me what to look for, but also surprised the
Once the church completely useless waste, I still
This put them into what may be long-term retention
Several cathedral, in a locked glass case on display
Church contributions, donations disk, and the sacramental bread box
Church despite the rain and the rest of the number of sheep,
Maybe people will be regarded as ominous things quite away?
Perhaps, after dark, there will be skeptical of a woman
Come let the children touch a particular stone;
To pick herbs for cancer treatment; or in a
Convention night, to see the souls of profiling?
There will always be some kind of magic here, sustained,
In the game, happened to be fulfilled when guessing,
However, like the belief in superstition and quasi disappear without a trace.
Also disappear when not to believe, what is retained?
Weeds, wild trails, thorns, ruins, sky,
Difficult to discern the Xinghai day after day,
Difficult to understand the usefulness of day to day. I wonder
Who was the last to find visits
This is the old church? That beat, recording, and is understood
This is what the cross loft is one of the people?
The ruins of an enthusiastic, people who lust for antiques?
Or a Christmas fan, expect to find
Robe embroidered with, organ and the breath of myrrh,
Perhaps he will be a representative of my people,
The rare few smell trouble, knowing that the ghost of the dust
Long-term preservation with the original conditions of the split only
To see things - marriage, birth, death,
And the resulting thoughts of a - perhaps built for him
Only the unique shell? Although I do not get invited
This funky barn fully equipped value of a few text,
But it makes me happy to linger in the stillness;
This is a solemn silence of the house on the planet,
It is mixed in the atmosphere, all of our mandatory obligations
Convergence, be recognized and put the fate of the clothing,
All this will never be abandoned,
As always someone will suddenly find
Their desire to become more serious
He was with this desire to the same piece of land to attract,
He had heard that this place will become smart,
Even if only because so many dead lie around.
(Translated by Li Li)
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Home
Home tragically pathetic. It is no change,
Only keep the last person to leave the comfort
If miss him back. For a long time
Any person who is not gloomily Qing Mei,
Never find the courage to perform the determination of the original _set_,
To give up the secret to a decent imitation:
To a close outside Cheli Che reverting to simplicity,
The abandoned as soon as possible. You are familiar with its mysteries.
Take a look around these murals, the silver tableware,
Piano music rack. Oh, and that vase.
(Translated by Wang Jian Zhao)
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Water
If someone invited me
To create a religion,
I will think of water.
In order to pray
Must wade
Then wrung all kinds of clothing.
Litany of my speech
Will spend the image of blisters,
Fiat and reverently drenching.
I will also towards the east
Raised a glass of water,
Let the light of all angles
Integrate cross in the water.
(Translated by Wang Jian Zhao)
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Whitsun Weddings
That Whitsun, I came late,
Until a clear
Twenty past one p.m. Saturday,
My big half empty train was running.
All the windows closed, warm cushion,
No longer feel the gun. We passed
Many back of the house, across the street,
Window light was dazzling, the smell of the fish pier
Wide flat river to flow away,
Lincolnshire, where the same day and the water phase.
All afternoon, through sleeping in the interior of the high temperature,
Extended many miles,
On the train stop, slow to draw a southward arc.
Opened a large farm, the shadow of a small herd,
Industrial waste floating in the canal,
Rare hothouse flashed, the hedge with the terrain
Ups and downs; fragrance of the grass occasionally
Instead of the smell of car seat covers,
Until the next city, no style, Metro,
Car with a whole piece of waste to meet us.
At first, I did not notice
Wedding of the movement,
Each site parking shining sun,
I am not interested in the activities of the shadows,
Cool cry laugh a little bit long on the platform,
I just received the message that workers in the joke,
So read my book. Waiting for the bus a start,
I saw the bright smile made after some girl
They were learning to fashion, high heels and if the veil
Timidly standing on the platform, watching us leave,
Like in a detective after the end of
Waving goodbye
Left behind something. It makes me feel interested in
Stuck his head out soon in the next,
Look closely, and found an entirely different story:
Father of a suit, a wide belt tied at the waist,
Forehead full of wrinkles; love noises fat mother;
Uncle shouting bad language; There is also the
New hot hair, nylon gloves, fake jewelry,
Lemon yellow, purple, Cha-cloth
Near the end. Throughout the journey
Are newlyweds on the car, other people on the side,
The final paper flowers thrown out, with the final exhortation;
More move forward, each victory seems to indicate that
What to see what the retreat: the kids happy
As boring; fathers taste
Has never been a huge success, was absolutely ridiculous
Women whisper to each other,
Shared secret, such as the talk about a happy funeral;
The girls, tightly grasp the handle bag, staring at
A suffering group. Finally free,
Loaded with the sum of all they see,
Gallops train to London, dragging a string of steam.
Now the field into the site, poplar
In the main cast long shadows on the road, so that
After about fifty minutes, then think of it,
This time is enough for the whole a whole hat, say
"Did give me a worried to death," and
So more than a dozen men and women had played a married life.
They sat close and watched the scenery out the window -
A cinema pass, and a cooling tower,
A man ran in to vote cricket - no one
Think of those friends and relatives that they never meet again,
Or the next life that will save the current of the moment.
Stretch in the sun I think of London,
It was closely linked to the zip is like a block of wheat.
That is our destination. When we opened quickly
Shiny-intensive track, opened
Vigil in the sleeping car, face covered with moss moss comes
Black wall, another trip coming to an end
Incidental contingency, its consequences
Pending changes to the full power of life
Pentium out. The train slowed down,
When it is fully stopped, when there
A feeling. Such as from sight
Injection of a dense arrows. Falling into a rain.
(Wang Zuoliang translation)
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Morning Song
I work all day, drink half the night drunk.
Woke up at four o'clock, I gaze into the silent darkness.
The edge of the curtains will sooner or later, the Pan-light.
Until then, I realized, what is always there:
Restless dead, and now more recently a whole day,
It makes thinking becomes impossible, in addition to what I,
Where, when, to their own die.
Depletion of the question mark: However, on death
Fear, and the fact of death,
Once again shine, to clutch at, to intimidation.
It shines in the mind a blank. Will not be up_set_
- Did not do good, do not give love, never use the time
Slip in vain - do not feel sad, because
The only time in life, to go beyond its starting point the error
Dangerous enough, and perhaps never may:
However, the eternal emptiness in the out-in
We are marching, that determine the demise of
Will certainly be missed. Not here,
Not in any place
Quickly; nothing more terrible than this, nothing more real than this.
This is a special way of feeling horrible
Trick can not be resolved. Religion has tried his hand,
That area is vast, moth-eaten before, the big sound pleasant brocade
Be produced to decorate an illusion, we will never die
Pompous nonsense, to say, there is a reasonable
Not afraid of a feel thing, not knowing
This is what we fear - the invisible, silent,
Can not touch, taste or smell, nothing to think,
Nothing can love or mutual association,
Narcotic drugs, no one can wake up from.
So it stays in the view of the edge
Loose a tiny stain, there is always a cold shiver of a
It led every impulse, are delayed as indecisive
Most things may never happen: this one but it will,
When we were captured (neither is the human
Nor is alcohol), it is a fait accompli,
Terror like the fire burning. Courage is not a virtue:
It means not to scare others. Brave Action
Anyone who does not pull away from the grave.
Whether wail or resistance, death is no different.
Gradually, the light is increasing, the shape of the room has been presented.
It clearly stood like a wardrobe, as we know,
We always know, that can not escape
Nor can afford. Must choose a position.
During the telephone curled up, ready to burst
In the locked office, an entire indifference
Complex, specifically confessed rented world begins to exciting.
Days blank like a clay, there is no sun.
Work to be done.
Postman as a doctor, walking in the houses and between houses.
(Mung bean translation)
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