蔗尾蜂房

[泰仁斯，這是個蠢玩藝兒]
--A. E. Housman (1859–1936), 羅浩原 譯

「泰仁斯，這是個蠢玩藝兒︰
你吃糧快似大胃王；
不會錯，擺明的了，
看你喝啤酒的樣子就知道了。
但是，嗐，大爺啊，您做的詩，
聽了要叫人胃痛。
瞧瞧那頭母牛，那老母牛死了；
那長了犄角的頭，倒像能安穩地睡覺︰
咱們就可憐了，接下來輪到咱們了
得聽這殺死牛的詩
真夠朋友啊﹗吟這種詩
使你的朋友們英年早逝
把瘋狂的憂鬱抹去吧︰
來﹗哼個曲子跳舞吧，夥伴。」

幹嘛﹖如果你們要跳舞
比詩輕快的節奏有的是
喂，啤酒中加蛇麻子幹嘛用的，
博頓酒廠幹嘛蓋在特林區﹖
哎，多少英國杯中物
比謬斯女神更帶勁，
麥酒更勝彌爾頓
闡明上帝如何對世人。
啤酒，大伙，啤酒這玩藝兒
是給一動腦筋就頭痛的人喝的
盯著金樽
看歪世界
真的，酒醒前真愉快
可悲的是醉不了多久
哎，我也逛過路德婁商場
醉到領帶都不知掉哪去了
被人扛到家附近
喝了啤酒好幾斤
世界變得真不賴
我也成了好漢一條
倒臥美麗糞堆中
酒醒之前樂呵得很。
當我看到清晨的天空︰
唉呀呀，醉解千愁是謊言
世界還是老樣子
我還是我，渾身髒透
事到如今也沒輒
只有再貪杯中物。

所以啊，正因世界沒那麼糟
卻也不怎麼好
只要日月輪轉又賴活一日
總是福無雙至、禍不單行
我寧可用智者的態度面對世界
防患未然不貪一時之歡。
的確，我自賣自誇的玩藝兒
沒有啤酒那麼帶勁
但那是我在荊棘中劃破雙手得來的
在困境中絞盡腦汁完成的
還是嚐嚐吧︰就算它是酸澀的
卻是艱難時刻的良伴
當你的靈魂處境與我相同
它一定對你的心智有益
在黑暗陰霾的日子裡
我或許會與你成為朋友

從前東方有位國王︰
在彼處，各國君王用膳之時，
全都不加思索就吃下毒肉與毒酒
直到酒足飯飽。
這位國王在充滿毒素的土地上
採集所有毒物；
起初只是淺嚐，然後越吃越多，
他嚐遍大地的致命毒物；
仍然從容、微笑，安然無恙，
國王端坐，朕躬康泰。
人們在他的肉裡下砒霜
然後驚駭地看著他吃了下去
並顫抖地看他把酒飲盡
人們顫抖、瞪視的面容慘如白布
反被自己下的毒藥害死。
——這是我多年前所聽聞
他是密斯里達王，晚年壽終正寢。



[Terence, this is stupid stuff]
--A. E. Housman (1859–1936)

‘TERENCE, this is stupid stuff:
You eat your victuals fast enough;
There can’t be much amiss, ’tis clear,
To see the rate you drink your beer.
But oh, good Lord, the verse you make,
It gives a chap the belly-ache.
The cow, the old cow, she is dead;
It sleeps well, the horned head:
We poor lads, ’tis our turn now
To hear such tunes as killed the cow.
Pretty friendship ’tis to rhyme
Your friends to death before their time
Moping melancholy mad:
Come, pipe a tune to dance to, lad.’

Why, if ’tis dancing you would be,
There’s brisker pipes than poetry.
Say, for what were hop-yards meant,
Or why was Burton built on Trent?
Oh many a peer of England brews
Livelier liquor than the Muse,
And malt does more than Milton can
To justify God’s ways to man.
Ale, man, ale’s the stuff to drink
For fellows whom it hurts to think:
Look into the pewter pot
To see the world as the world’s not.
And faith, ’tis pleasant till ’tis past:
The mischief is that ’twill not last.
Oh I have been to Ludlow fair
And left my necktie God knows where,
And carried half way home, or near,
Pints and quarts of Ludlow beer:
Then the world seemed none so bad,
And I myself a sterling lad;
And down in lovely muck I’ve lain,
Happy till I woke again.
Then I saw the morning sky:
Heigho, the tale was all a lie;
The world, it was the old world yet,
I was I, my things were wet,
And nothing now remained to do
But begin the game anew.

Therefore, since the world has still
Much good, but much less good than ill,
And while the sun and moon endure
Luck’s a chance, but trouble’s sure,
I’d face it as a wise man would,
And train for ill and not for good.
’Tis true, the stuff I bring for sale
Is not so brisk a brew as ale:
Out of a stem that scored the hand
I wrung it in a weary land.
But take it: if the smack is sour,
The better for the embittered hour;
It should do good to heart and head
When your soul is in my soul’s stead;
And I will friend you, if I may,
In the dark and cloudy day.

There was a king reigned in the East:
There, when kings will sit to feast,
They get their fill before they think
With poisoned meat and poisoned drink.
He gathered all the springs to birth
From the many-venomed earth;
First a little, thence to more,
He sampled all her killing store;
And easy, smiling, seasoned sound,
Sate the king when healths went round.
They put arsenic in his meat
And stared aghast to watch him eat;
They poured strychnine in his cup
And shook to see him drink it up:
They shook, they stared as white’s their shirt:
Them it was their poison hurt.
—I tell the tale that I heard told.
Mithridates, he died old.