수선화에게
2014. 7. 3. 14:31ㆍ카테고리 없음
 수선화에게 / 정호승 울지마라 외로우니까 사람이다 살아간다는 것은 외로움을 견디는 일 공연히 오지 않는 전화를 기다리지 마라 눈이 오면 눈길을 걸어가고 비가 오면 빗길을 걸어가라 갈대숲에서 가슴검은 도요새도 너를 보고 있다 가끔은 하느님도 외로워서 눈물을 흘리신다 새들이 나뭇가지에 앉아 있는 것도 외로움 때문이고 네가 물가에 앉아 있는 것도 외로움 때문이다 산 그림자도 외로워서 하루에 한 번씩 마을로 내려온다 종소리도 외로워서 울려퍼진다 To My Daffodils / Jung Ho Seung Do not fall in sadness Lonely is the Man Life is to endure the Loneliness Do not wait in vain for somebody's phone call Go to the snow-covered road when it snows And when it rains go to the muddy lane in the rain A snipe in the tideland also see you Sometimes God also weeps in loneliness Why do the birds in the birch sing? Why are you sitting by the riverside? Why do the mountain shadows come to your village once a day? That's all for the loneliness. Also the bell tolls for the Loneliness. - English by Richard - The Daffodils 수선화 William Wordsworth tr. by Richard Chong Sohn I wandered lonely as a cloud 산골짜기 위로 높히 떠도는 구름처럼 That floats on high o'er vales and hills, 나는 호올로 외로히 떠돌았네 When all at once I saw a crowd, 그때 홀연히 한무리의 수선화가 A host, of golden daffodils; 나를 반겼네 호수가 나무 아래 Beside the lake, beneath the trees, 산들바람에 춤추며 펄럭이는 Fluttering and dancing in the breeze. 무수히 무리지은 노오란 수선화가 Continuous as the stars that shine 은하수위로 끝없이 반짝이는 And twinkle on the Milky Way, 눈부신 별빛처럼 They stretched in never-ending line 수선화가 끝도없이 호수가를 따라 Along the margin of a bay: 줄지어 피어있네 Ten thousand saw I at a glance, 수만송이 수선화가 한눈에 보이네 Tossing their heads in sprightly dance. 경쾌하게 춤추며 고개짓 하네 The waves beside them danced, but they 물결도 따라 춤추네 허나 수선화가 Out-did the sparkling waves in glee: 번득이는 물결보다 한수 위라네 Poet could not but be gay, 이렇듯 유쾌한 친구와 더불어 In such a jocund company: 시인은 기쁨을 주체할수 없다네 I gazed--and gazed--but little thought 무심히 보고 또 보네 What wealth the show to me had brought: 이 세상 그 어떤 부도 부럽지않네 For oft, when on my couch I lie 잠자리에 누워 종종 In vacant or in pensive mood, 텅빈 마음으로, 또는 명상에 들 때에 They flash upon that inward eye 수선화는 섬광처럼 마음창을 비추네 Which is the bliss of solitude; 천국보다 아름다운 고독이 내 벗이어라 And then my heart with pleasure fills, 그리하여 내 가슴은 기쁨으로 가득차 And dances with the daffodils. 수선화와 더불어 춤을 춘다네.  Seven Daffodils - Carol Kidd I may not have a mansion I haven't any land Not even a paper dollar to crinkle in my hand But I can show you morning on a thousand hills And kiss you and give you seven daffodils. I do not have a fortune to buy you pretty things But I can weave you moon beams For necklaces and rings And I can show you morning on a thousand hills And kiss you and give you seven daffodils. Oh, seven golden daffodils are shinin in the sun To light away to evening when our days is done And I will give you music and a crust of bread A pillow of piney boughs to rest your head. A pillow of piney boughs to rest your head. Ode: Intimations of Immortality from Recollections of Early Childhood by William Wordsworth My Heart Leaps Up When I Behold was composed on March 26, 1802; the last three lines of this form the introductory lines of the long Ode begun the next day. My heart leaps up when I behold A rainbow in the sky: So was it when my life began; So is it now I am a man; So be it when I shall grow old, Or let me die! The Child is father of the Man; I could wish my days to be Bound each to each by natural piety. Ode: Intimations of Immortality from Recollections of Early Childhood (1807) Begun on March 27, 1802 and finished before 1806, possibly in early 1804. Wordsworth stated that "two years at least passed between the writing of the four first stanzas and the remaining part." ' The Child is father of the Man; And I could wish my days to be Bound each to each by natural piety.' I There was a time when meadow, grove, and stream, The earth, and every common sight, To me did seem Apparelled in celestial light, The glory and the freshness of a dream. It is not now as it hath been of yore;— Turn wheresoe'er I may, By night or day, The things which I have seen I now can see no more. II The Rainbow comes and goes, And lovely is the Rose, The Moon doth with delight Look round her when the heavens are bare; Waters on a starry night Are beautiful and fair; The sunshine is a glorious birth; But yet I know, where'er I go, That there hath past away a glory from the earth. III Now, while the birds thus sing a joyous song, And while the young lambs bound As to the tabor's sound, To me alone there came a thought of grief: A timely utterance gave that thought relief, And I again am strong: The cataracts blow their trumpets from the steep; No more shall grief of mine the season wrong; I hear the Echoes through the mountains throng, The Winds come to me from the fields of sleep, And all the earth is gay; Land and sea Give themselves up to jollity, And with the heart of May Doth every Beast keep holiday;— Thou Child of Joy, Shout round me, let me hear thy shouts, thou happy Shepherd-boy! IV Ye blessed Creatures, I have heard the call Ye to each other make; I see The heavens laugh with you in your jubilee; My heart is at your festival, My head hath its coronal, The fulness of your bliss, I feel— I feel it all. Oh evil day! if I were sullen While the Earth herself is adorning, This sweet May-morning, And the Children are culling On every side, In a thousand valleys far and wide, Fresh flowers; while the sun shines warm, And the Babe leaps up on his Mother's arm:— I hear, I hear, with joy I hear!— But there's a Tree, of many, one, A single Field which I have looked upon, Both of them speak of something that is gone: The Pansy at my feet Doth the same tale repeat: Whither is fled the visionary gleam? Where is it now, the glory and the dream? V Our birth is but a sleep and a forgetting: The Soul that rises with us, our life's Star, Hath had elsewhere its setting, And cometh from afar: Not in entire forgetfulness, And not in utter nakedness, But trailing clouds of glory do we come From God, who is our home: Heaven lies about us in our infancy! Shades of the prison-house begin to close Upon the growing Boy, But He beholds the light, and whence it flows, He sees it in his joy; The Youth, who daily farther from the east Must travel, still is Nature's Priest, And by the vision splendid Is on his way attended; At length the Man perceives it die away, And fade into the light of common day. VI Earth fills her lap with pleasures of her own; Yearnings she hath in her own natural kind, And, even with something of a Mother's mind, And no unworthy aim, The homely Nurse doth all she can To make her Foster-child, her Inmate Man, Forget the glories he hath known, And that imperial palace whence he came. VII Behold the Child among his new-born blisses, A six years' Darling of a pigmy size! See, where 'mid work of his own hand he lies, Fretted by sallies of his mother's kisses, With light upon him from his father's eyes! See, at his feet, some little plan or chart, Some fragment from his dream of human life, Shaped by himself with newly-learned art; A wedding or a festival, A mourning or a funeral; And this hath now his heart, And unto this he frames his song: Then will he fit his tongue To dialogues of business, love, or strife; But it will not be long Ere this be thrown aside, And with new joy and pride The little Actor cons another part; Filling from time to time his "humorous stage" With all the Persons, down to palsied Age, That Life brings with her in her equipage; As if his whole vocation Were endless imitation. VIII Thou, whose exterior semblance doth belie Thy Soul's immensity; Thou best Philosopher, who yet dost keep Thy heritage, thou Eye among the blind, That, deaf and silent, read'st the eternal deep, Haunted for ever by the eternal mind, — Mighty Prophet! Seer blest! On whom those truths do rest, Which we are toiling all our lives to find, In darkness lost, the darkness of the grave; Thou, over whom thy Immortality Broods like the Day, a Master o'er a Slave, A Presence which is not to be put by; To whom the graveIs but a lonely bed without the sense or sight Of day or the warm light, A place of thought where we in waiting lie; Thou little Child, yet glorious in the might Of heaven-born freedom on thy being's height, Why with such earnest pains dost thou provoke The years to bring the inevitable yoke, Thus blindly with thy blessedness at strife? Full soon thy Soul shall have her earthly freight, And custom lie upon thee with a weight, Heavy as frost, and deep almost as life! IX O joy! that in our embersIs something that doth live, That nature yet remembers What was so fugitive! The thought of our past years in me doth breed Perpetual benediction: not indeed For that which is most worthy to be blest; Delight and liberty, the simple creed Of Childhood, whether busy or at rest, With new-fledged hope still fluttering in his breast: ? Not for these I raise The song of thanks and praise; But for those obstinate questionings Of sense and outward things, Fallings from us, vanishings; ( B ) misgivings of a Creature Moving about in worlds not realised, High instincts before which our mortal Nature Did tremble like a guilty Thing surprised: But for those first affections, Those shadowy recollections, Which, be they what they may, Are yet the fountain-light of all our day, Are yet a master-light of all our seeing; Uphold us, cherish, and have power to make Our noisy years seem moments in the being Of the eternal Silence: truths that wake, To perish never; Which neither listlessness, nor mad endeavor, Nor Man nor Boy, Nor all that is at enmity with joy, Can utterly abolish or destroy! Hence in a season of calm weather Though inland far we be, Our Souls have sight of that immortal sea Which brought us hither, Can in a moment travel thither, And see the Children sport upon the shore, And hear the mighty waters rolling evermore. X Then sing, ye Birds, sing, sing a joyous song! And let the young Lambs bound As to the tabor's sound! We in thought will join your throng, Ye that pipe and ye that play, Ye that through your hearts today Feel the gladness of the May! What though the radiance which was once so bright Be now for ever taken from my sight, Though nothing can bring back the hour Of splendour in the grass, of glory in the flower; We will grieve not, rather find Strength in what remains behind; In the primal sympathy Which having been must ever be; In the soothing thoughts that spring Out of human suffering; In the faith that looks through death, In years that bring the philosophic mind. XI And O, ye Fountains, Meadows, Hills, and Groves, Forebode not any severing of our loves! Yet in my heart of hearts I feel your might; I only have relinquished one delight To live beneath your more habitual sway. I love the Brooks which down their channels fret, Even more than when I tripped lightly as they; The innocent brightness of a new-born DayIs lovely yet; The Clouds that gather round the setting sun Do take a sober colouring from an eye That hath kept watch o'er man's mortality; Another race hath been, and other palms are won. Thanks to the human heart by which we live, Thanks to its tenderness, its joys, and fears, To me the meanest flower that blows can give Thoughts that do often lie too deep for tears. Nordwestdeutsche Philharmonie o.l.v. Martin Panteleev Anna Fedorova, piano Opgenomen 1 september 2013 - Concertgebouw, Amsterdam |