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33:摘苹果后(mp3+lrc)

33:摘苹果后(mp3+lrc)

整语速调:

33 After Apple-Picking
Robert Frost

33 摘苹果后
罗伯特·福罗斯特

My long two-pointed ladder's sticking through a tree
长梯穿过树顶,竖起两个尖端
Toward heaven still.
刺向沉静的天穹。
And there's a barrel that I didn't fill
梯子脚下,有一只木桶,
Beside it, and there may be two or three
我还没把它装满,还有两三个
Apples I didn't pick upon some bough.
苹果留在枝头,我还没摘下。
But I am done with apple-picking now.
但是我已把摘苹果这活干完了。
Essence of winter sleep is on the night,
四处弥漫着冬眠的气息。
The scent of apples; I am drowsing off.
那扑鼻的苹果香:我醺醺欲睡。
I cannot rub the strangeness from my sight
我揉揉眼睛,却揉不掉眼前的奇观。
I got from looking through a pane of glass
那是我透过早晨从饮水槽里。
I skimmed this morning from the drinking trough,
捞起的一片冰晶看到的。
And held against the world of hoary grass.
一个霜浓草衰的世界。
It melted, and I let it fall and break.
冰溶了,我由它掉下.碎掉。
But I was well
可是它还没落地,
Upon my way to sleep before it fell,
我却几乎坠入梦乡。
And I could tell,
我还能说出,
What form my dreaming was about to take.
我的梦境是什么样。
Magnified apples appear and disappear,
膨胀得硕大无比的苹果,忽隐忽现,
Stem end and blossom end,
一头是枝茎,一头是花朵,
And every fleck of russet showing clear.
每个红褐色的斑点,都清晰可见。
My instep arch not only keeps the ache,
我的脚底不仅忍受酸疼的折磨。
It keeps the pressure of a ladder-round.
而且还得经受梯子档的分量,
I feel the ladder sway as the boughs bend,
随着树枝摇晃,
And I keep hearing from the cellar-bin.
我觉得梯子也不停晃悠,轰隆隆的声响.
That rumbling sound,
我听到地窖里不时传出,
Of load on load of apples coming in.
苹果一桶桶地往地窖里送。
For I have had too much,
因为摘了那么多,
Of apple-picking; I am overtired,
苹果,我感到筋疲力尽.
Of the great harvest I myself desired.
尽管我一直盼望这样的好收成。
There were ten thousand thousand fruit to touch,
千万个苹果要去采摘,
Cherish in hand, lift down, and not let fall,
要珍放在手中,轻轻放下,不能掉地,
For all
因为所有的苹果
That struck the earth,
只要一掉地,
No matter if not bruised, or spiked with stubble,
即使没碰伤,也没叫草梗扎破,
Went surely to the cider-apple heap
也准会堆在一边酿酒。
As of no worth.
仿佛毫无价值。
One can see what will trouble,
你能看到是什么在扰乱,
This sleep of mine, whatever sleep it is.
我的睡眠,不管这是否算得上睡觉。
Were he not gone,
倘若土拨鼠尚未离开,
The woodchuck could say whether it's like his
在听了我对睡梦的这番描述后,
Long sleep, as I describe its coming on,
它准会说这有点像它的冬眠,
Or just some human sleep.
或者说,这不过是人类的冬眠。

背景知识:

弗罗斯特(Robert Frost)(1874~1963)美国诗人。1874年3月26日生于美国西部的旧金山。他11岁丧父,后随母亲迁居东北部的新英格兰。此后,他就与那块土地结下了不解之缘。弗罗斯特16岁开始写诗,20岁时正式发表第一首诗歌。他勤奋笔耕,一生中共出了10多本诗集,其中主要的有《波士顿以北》(1914),《山间》(1916),《新罕布什尔》(1923),《西流的小溪》(1928),《见证树》(1942)以及《林间空地》(1962)等。弗罗斯特的诗可分为两大类:抒情短诗和戏剧性较强的叙事诗,两者都脍炙人口。弗罗斯特的抒情诗主要描写了大自然和农民,尤其是新英格兰的景色和北方的农民。这些诗形象而生动,具有很强的感染力,深受各层次读者的欢迎。他的叙事诗一般都格调低沉,体现了诗人思想和性格中阴郁的一面。弗罗斯特的世界观是比较复杂的,他把世界看成是一个善与恶的混合体。因此,他的诗一方面描写了大自然的美和自然对人类的恩惠,另一方面也写了其破坏力以及给人类带来的不幸和灾难。弗罗斯特诗歌风格上的一个最大特点是朴素无华,含义隽永,寓深刻的思考和哲理于平淡无奇的内容和简洁朴实的诗句之中。这既是弗罗斯特的艺术追求,也是他事业成功的秘密所在。

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33 摘苹果后
罗伯特·福罗斯特

长梯穿过树顶,竖起两个尖端
刺向沉静的天穹。
梯子脚下,有一只木桶,
我还没把它装满,还有两三个
苹果留在枝头,我还没摘下。
但是我已把摘苹果这活干完了。
四处弥漫着冬眠的气息。
那扑鼻的苹果香:我醺醺欲睡。
我揉揉眼睛,却揉不掉眼前的奇观。
那是我透过早晨从饮水槽里。
捞起的一片冰晶看到的。
一个霜浓草衰的世界。
冰溶了,我由它掉下.碎掉。
可是它还没落地,
我却几乎坠入梦乡。
我还能说出,
我的梦境是什么样。
膨胀得硕大无比的苹果,忽隐忽现,
一头是枝茎,一头是花朵,
每个红褐色的斑点,都清晰可见。
我的脚底不仅忍受酸疼的折磨。
而且还得经受梯子档的分量,
随着树枝摇晃,
我觉得梯子也不停晃悠,轰隆隆的声响.
我听到地窖里不时传出,
苹果一桶桶地往地窖里送。
因为摘了那么多,
苹果,我感到筋疲力尽.
尽管我一直盼望这样的好收成。
千万个苹果要去采摘,
要珍放在手中,轻轻放下,不能掉地,
因为所有的苹果
只要一掉地,
即使没碰伤,也没叫草梗扎破,
也准会堆在一边酿酒。
仿佛毫无价值。
你能看到是什么在扰乱,
我的睡眠,不管这是否算得上睡觉。
倘若土拨鼠尚未离开,
在听了我对睡梦的这番描述后,
它准会说这有点像它的冬眠,
或者说,这不过是人类的冬眠。
背景知识:
弗罗斯特(Robert Frost)(1874~1963)美国诗人。1874年3月26日生于美国西部的旧金山。他11岁丧父,后随母亲迁居东北部的新英格兰。此后,他就与那块土地结下了不解之缘。弗罗斯特16岁开始写诗,20岁时正式发表第一首诗歌。他勤奋笔耕,一生中共出了10多本诗集,其中主要的有《波士顿以北》(1914),《山间》(1916),《新罕布什尔》(1923),《西流的小溪》(1928),《见证树》(1942)以及《林间空地》(1962)等。弗罗斯特的诗可分为两大类:抒情短诗和戏剧性较强的叙事诗,两者都脍炙人口。弗罗斯特的抒情诗主要描写了大自然和农民,尤其是新英格兰的景色和北方的农民。这些诗形象而生动,具有很强的感染力,深受各层次读者的欢迎。他的叙事诗一般都格调低沉,体现了诗人思想和性格中阴郁的一面。弗罗斯特的世界观是比较复杂的,他把世界看成是一个善与恶的混合体。因此,他的诗一方面描写了大自然的美和自然对人类的恩惠,另一方面也写了其破坏力以及给人类带来的不幸和灾难。弗罗斯特诗歌风格上的一个最大特点是朴素无华,含义隽永,寓深刻的思考和哲理于平淡无奇的内容和简洁朴实的诗句之中。这既是弗罗斯特的艺术追求,也是他事业成功的秘密所在。

33 After Apple-Picking
Robert Frost

My long two-pointed ladder's sticking through a tree
Toward heaven still.
And there's a barrel that I didn't fill
Beside it, and there may be two or three
Apples I didn't pick upon some bough.
But I am done with apple-picking now.
Essence of winter sleep is on the night,
The scent of apples; I am drowsing off.
I cannot rub the strangeness from my sight
I got from looking through a pane of glass
I skimmed this morning from the drinking trough,
And held against the world of hoary grass.
It melted, and I let it fall and break.
But I was well
Upon my way to sleep before it fell,
And I could tell,
What form my dreaming was about to take.
Magnified apples appear and disappear,
Stem end and blossom end,
And every fleck of russet showing clear.
My instep arch not only keeps the ache,
It keeps the pressure of a ladder-round.
I feel the ladder sway as the boughs bend,
And I keep hearing from the cellar-bin.
That rumbling sound,
Of load on load of apples coming in.
For I have had too much,
Of apple-picking; I am overtired,
Of the great harvest I myself desired.
There were ten thousand thousand fruit to touch,
Cherish in hand, lift down, and not let fall,
For all
That struck the earth,
No matter if not bruised, or spiked with stubble,
Went surely to the cider-apple heap
As of no worth.
One can see what will trouble,
This sleep of mine, whatever sleep it is.
Were he not gone,
The woodchuck could say whether it's like his
Long sleep, as I describe its coming on,
Or just some human sleep.

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