621.The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock by T. S. Eliot

Reader86

The thing called Prufrock-1 has landed on / engaged with / started working on something huge, dangerous, or challenging (called The Monster).

The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock
by T. S. Eliot

Let us go then, you and I,
When the evening is spread out against the sky
Like a patient etherised upon a table;
Let us go, through certain half-deserted streets,
The muttering retreats
Of restless nights in one-night cheap hotels
And sawdust restaurants with oyster-shells:
Streets that follow like a tedious argument
Of insidious intent
To lead you to an overwhelming question …
Oh, do not ask, “What is it?”
Let us go and make our visit.

⸻

It’s a long poem (131 lines) and famously introspective — Prufrock is a hesitant, self-questioning narrator moving through modern life.


我来给你梳理《J·阿尔弗雷德·普鲁弗洛克的情歌》里最重要的意象和隐喻，并配上中文简释：

⸻

1. “像麻醉病人一样摊在手术台上的黄昏”
        •        原意象：开篇“当夜晚像一个被麻醉的病人摊在手术台上”。
        •        含义：黄昏城市景象冷漠、毫无生机，现代生活被剖开、麻木无感。

2. “半荒凉的街道”
        •        含义：现代城市的孤独、肮脏、无方向感，象征普鲁弗洛克的精神世界。

3. “时间还有充足的时间”
        •        含义：他不断自我安慰“还来得及”，但实际上用拖延来掩饰行动的恐惧。

4. “用咖啡匙量出的人生”
        •        含义：生活被一点点细碎的小事消磨掉，毫无激情、缺乏壮举。
        •        象征：琐碎、庸常、被量化的现代人生活。

5. “女人们在屋子里谈论米开朗基罗”
        •        含义：上流社会的文化谈资，与他格格不入，体现自卑感与疏离感。

6. “黄色的雾”（或“烟”）
        •        含义：弥漫城市的雾像猫一样在角落徘徊，象征都市氛围的朦胧与压抑，也映射普鲁弗洛克的迟疑与游移。

7. “美人鱼”
        •        含义：海底神秘、浪漫的存在，象征一种理想化、超越现实的爱情与美，但他又觉得这些美人鱼不会为自己歌唱——体现自卑与无望。

8. “海底的世界”
        •        含义：幻想的、安静的逃避之地，但最终“我们醒来，溺死其中”，回到现实的窒息感。

⸻

整首诗就像普鲁弗洛克内心的电影：
        •        场景：灰暗都市 + 内心幻想。
        •        主题：现代人的犹豫、自卑、无力、渴望却不敢行动的爱情与生活。

要不要我把这些意象按顺序，画成一张**“诗意地图”**（视觉化）帮你更快理解整首诗？

Reader86

翻译一首诗 | The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock  by T. S. Eliot

原创 孔令晓  Elton在写诗
2025年03月16日 23:50 安徽
原文：

The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock

By T. S. Eliot

S’io credesse che mia risposta fosse
A persona che mai tornasse al mondo,
Questa fiamma staria senza piu scosse.
Ma percioche giammai di questo fondo
Non torno vivo alcun, s’i’odo il vero,
Senza tema d’infamia ti rispondo.

Let us go then, you and I,
When the evening is spread out against the sky
Like a patient etherized upon a table;
Let us go, through certain half-deserted streets,
The muttering retreats
Of restless nights in one-night cheap hotels
And sawdust restaurants with oyster-shells:
Streets that follow like a tedious argument
Of insidious intent
To lead you to an overwhelming question ...

Oh, do not ask, “What is it?”
Let us go and make our visit.

In the room the women come and go
Talking of Michelangelo.

The yellow fog that rubs its back upon the window-panes,
The yellow smoke that rubs its muzzle on the window-panes,
Licked its tongue into the corners of the evening,
Lingered upon the pools that stand in drains,
Let fall upon its back the soot that falls from chimneys,
Slipped by the terrace, made a sudden leap,
And seeing that it was a soft October night,
Curled once about the house, and fell asleep.

And indeed there will be time
For the yellow smoke that slides along the street,
Rubbing its back upon the window-panes;
There will be time, there will be time
To prepare a face to meet the faces that you meet;
There will be time to murder and create,
And time for all the works and days of hands
That lift and drop a question on your plate;
Time for you and time for me,
And time yet for a hundred indecisions,
And for a hundred visions and revisions,
Before the taking of a toast and tea.

In the room the women come and go
Talking of Michelangelo.

Reader86

And indeed there will be time
To wonder, “Do I dare?” and, “Do I dare?”
Time to turn back and descend the stair,
With a bald spot in the middle of my hair —
(They will say: “How his hair is growing thin!”)
My morning coat, my collar mounting firmly to the chin,
My necktie rich and modest, but asserted by a simple pin —
(They will say: “But how his arms and legs are thin!”)
Do I dare
Disturb the universe?
In a minute there is time
For decisions and revisions which a minute will reverse.

For I have known them all already, known them all:
Have known the evenings, mornings, afternoons,
I have measured out my life with coffee spoons;
I know the voices dying with a dying fall
Beneath the music from a farther room.
So how should I presume?

And I have known the eyes already, known them all—
The eyes that fix you in a formulated phrase,
And when I am formulated, sprawling on a pin,
When I am pinned and wriggling on the wall,
Then how should I begin
To spit out all the butt-ends of my days and ways?
And how should I presume?

And I have known the arms already, known them all—
Arms that are braceleted and white and bare
(But in the lamplight, downed with light brown hair!)
Is it perfume from a dress
That makes me so digress?
Arms that lie along a table, or wrap about a shawl.
And should I then presume?
And how should I begin?

Shall I say, I have gone at dusk through narrow streets
And watched the smoke that rises from the pipes
Of lonely men in shirt-sleeves, leaning out of windows? ...

I should have been a pair of ragged claws
Scuttling across the floors of silent seas.

And the afternoon, the evening, sleeps so peacefully!
Smoothed by long fingers,
Asleep ... tired ... or it malingers,
Stretched on the floor, here beside you and me.
Should I, after tea and cakes and ices,
Have the strength to force the moment to its crisis?
But though I have wept and fasted, wept and prayed,
Though I have seen my head (grown slightly bald) brought in upon a platter,
I am no prophet — and here’s no great matter;
I have seen the moment of my greatness flicker,
And I have seen the eternal Footman hold my coat, and snicker,
And in short, I was afraid.

And would it have been worth it, after all,
After the cups, the marmalade, the tea,
Among the porcelain, among some talk of you and me,
Would it have been worth while,
To have bitten off the matter with a smile,
To have squeezed the universe into a ball
To roll it towards some overwhelming question,
To say: “I am Lazarus, come from the dead,
Come back to tell you all, I shall tell you all”—
If one, settling a pillow by her head
Should say: “That is not what I meant at all;
That is not it, at all.”

Reader86

And would it have been worth it, after all,
Would it have been worth while,
After the sunsets and the dooryards and the sprinkled streets,
After the novels, after the teacups, after the skirts that trail along the floor—
And this, and so much more?—
It is impossible to say just what I mean!
But as if a magic lantern threw the nerves in patterns on a screen:
Would it have been worth while
If one, settling a pillow or throwing off a shawl,
And turning toward the window, should say:
“That is not it at all,
That is not what I meant, at all.”

No! I am not Prince Hamlet, nor was meant to be;
Am an attendant lord, one that will do
To swell a progress, start a scene or two,
Advise the prince; no doubt, an easy tool,
Deferential, glad to be of use,
Politic, cautious, and meticulous;
Full of high sentence, but a bit obtuse;
At times, indeed, almost ridiculous—
Almost, at times, the Fool.

I grow old ... I grow old ...
I shall wear the bottoms of my trousers rolled.

Shall I part my hair behind?   Do I dare to eat a peach?
I shall wear white flannel trousers, and walk upon the beach.
I have heard the mermaids singing, each to each.

I do not think that they will sing to me.

I have seen them riding seaward on the waves
Combing the white hair of the waves blown back
When the wind blows the water white and black.
We have lingered in the chambers of the sea
By sea-girls wreathed with seaweed red and brown
Till human voices wake us, and we drown.

Reader86

译文：

J·阿尔弗雷德·普鲁弗洛克的情歌

T.S.艾略特 / 孔令晓译

S’io credesse che mia risposta fosse
A persona che mai tornasse al mondo,
Questa fiamma staria senza piu scosse.
Ma percioche giammai di questo fondo
Non torno vivo alcun, s’i’odo il vero,
Senza tema d’infamia ti rispondo.

如果我认为我是在回答
一个可能回到世间去的人的问题，
那么这火焰就将停止闪烁，
人说从未有谁能活着离开这里
如果我能听到的这话不假，
那我就不怕遗臭万年来回答你。

（题铭引自但丁的《神曲·地狱篇》第27歌。由于我既没有看过《神曲》，也不懂意大利语，就直接把汤永宽译文中的这段话直接抄了下来。）

Let us go then, you and I,
When the evening is spread out against the sky
Like a patient etherized upon a table;
Let us go, through certain half-deserted streets,
The muttering retreats
Of restless nights in one-night cheap hotels
And sawdust restaurants with oyster-shells:
Streets that follow like a tedious argument
Of insidious intent
To lead you to an overwhelming question ...

当夜色开始沿着天幕铺展
就像乙醚沿着手术台上的病体扩散 （貌似被麻醉的病人瘫在病床上）
你和我，我们就出发
让我们穿过某些行人寥寥的街道
廉价的一夜情旅馆里上演着不眠的夜晚 （穿过廉价的一夜店，穿过那里不眠之晚叽叽咕咕的角落）
这些咕叽咕叽的隐蔽点
还有散发着木屑味道的、堆满了牡蛎壳的小餐馆 （穿过铺着木屑、堆满牡蛎壳的小餐馆）
一条挨着一条的街道像一场陈冗的辩论（一条街道接着另一条，就像一场乏味的辩论 ）
不怀好意地
把你引向一个压倒一切的问题（你被吓倒了的问题）

（把when引导的时间状语提前，可能更符合中文的表达习惯，下同；
one-night cheap hotel 确实应当有一夜情旅馆的意思，并且下文中的sawdust和牡蛎壳都有暗戳戳的性意味（或许经常打飞机的人都知道精液的确有一股潮湿木屑的味道））

Oh, do not ask, “What is it?”
Let us go and make our visit.

哦，千万别问，“是什么啊？”
走吧，且让我们去拜访一下

In the room the women come and go
Talking of Michelangelo.

那些谈论着米开朗琪罗的妇女
在这间屋子里来了又走

The yellow fog that rubs its back upon the window-panes,
The yellow smoke that rubs its muzzle on the window-panes,
Licked its tongue into the corners of the evening,
Lingered upon the pools that stand in drains,
Let fall upon its back the soot that falls from chimneys,
Slipped by the terrace, made a sudden leap,
And seeing that it was a soft October night,
Curled once about the house, and fell asleep.

那黄色的从晨蔼在窗玻璃上摩擦他的脊背
那黄色的烟雾在窗玻璃上挤压他的口鼻
它伸着舌头舔舐夜晚的角落
徘徊在污水浅坑上不愿离去
任由烟囱里的煤灰蹭脏他的后背
又偷偷溜到阳台，纵身一跃
仍然感受着十月的温柔之夜
然后在这房子附近蜷起身子睡去

Reader86

And indeed there will be time
For the yellow smoke that slides along the street,
Rubbing its back upon the window-panes;
There will be time, there will be time
To prepare a face to meet the faces that you meet;
There will be time to murder and create,
And time for all the works and days of hands
That lift and drop a question on your plate;
Time for you and time for me,
And time yet for a hundred indecisions,
And for a hundred visions and revisions,
Before the taking of a toast and tea.

的确是还有时间
让沿着街道闲荡的黄色烟雾
在窗玻璃上摩擦他的脊背
还有足够的时间
为所要见的人做好准备
还有时间消灭它，再看着它升起
还有时间让那双本该劳作的双手
仔细推敲摆在你面前的问题
吃过下午茶之后，你和我
我们还有上百次犹疑的机会
还可以幻想上百次场景
再进行上百次修定

In the room the women come and go
Talking of Michelangelo.

那些谈论着米开朗琪罗的妇女
在这间屋子里来了又走

And indeed there will be time
To wonder, “Do I dare?” and, “Do I dare?”
Time to turn back and descend the stair,
With a bald spot in the middle of my hair —
(They will say: “How his hair is growing thin!”)
My morning coat, my collar mounting firmly to the chin,
My necktie rich and modest, but asserted by a simple pin —
(They will say: “But how his arms and legs are thin!”)
Do I dare
Disturb the universe?
In a minute there is time
For decisions and revisions which a minute will reverse.

“我是否拥有这个勇气？”——
还有时间去考虑
还有时间知道我是否有勇气转身走下楼梯——
带着我那地中海的发型
她们会在我身后惊叹：“瞧他的头发怎么变得这么稀！”
我穿着绅士的外衣，下颌被立领牢牢托起
我的领带昂贵但谦逊，只被一枚小小的领夹明示
她们会在我身后感叹：“但是他的四肢多么纤弱无力！”
我是否有勇气
烦扰这尘世
这短短的一分钟
也足以让我做完决定之后再否定

For I have known them all already, known them all:
Have known the evenings, mornings, afternoons,
I have measured out my life with coffee spoons;
I know the voices dying with a dying fall
Beneath the music from a farther room.
So how should I presume?

因为我对这一切早已熟悉，早已熟悉——
我了解这些夜晚、清晨和午后
仅在搅拌咖啡时我就可以衡量我的生命
我知道从远处的房间里传来的声音
正随着渐弱的乐声逐渐消逝
所以我该如何行动

And I have known the eyes already, known them all—
The eyes that fix you in a formulated phrase,
And when I am formulated, sprawling on a pin,
When I am pinned and wriggling on the wall,
Then how should I begin
To spit out all the butt-ends of my days and ways?
And how should I presume?

我对那些眼睛早已熟悉，早已熟悉——
直勾勾盯着我的那双眼睛，永远都是那一句
当我被那句开场白问候，像是四肢摊开被钉在墙上
当我贴着墙面扭动
又该怎样才能
啐弃我惯常的残余
我到底该如何妄行

Reader86

And I have known the arms already, known them all—
Arms that are braceleted and white and bare
(But in the lamplight, downed with light brown hair!)
Is it perfume from a dress
That makes me so digress?
Arms that lie along a table, or wrap about a shawl.
And should I then presume?
And how should I begin?

并且我早已熟悉了那些手臂，早已熟悉——
那些戴着手链的白皙手臂
但在灯光下，那层棕色绒毛多么纤细（上面布满浅棕色的绒毛）
是否是从裙底飘出的香气
弄得我思绪迷离
那些搭在桌沿的手臂，裹在披肩里的手臂
所以在肆意妄为之前
应该如何启齿

Shall I say, I have gone at dusk through narrow streets
And watched the smoke that rises from the pipes
Of lonely men in shirt-sleeves, leaning out of windows? ...

我是不是该说，在黄昏时分我就已穿越那些窄巷
并且看见了一个个穿着衬衫的男人探出窗外
他们烟斗里的烟，正往上飘升···

I should have been a pair of ragged claws
Scuttling across the floors of silent seas.

我应该是变成了一对破烂的钳子
急匆匆爬过寂静的海底

And the afternoon, the evening, sleeps so peacefully!
Smoothed by long fingers,
Asleep ... tired ... or it malingers,
Stretched on the floor, here beside you and me.
Should I, after tea and cakes and ices,
Have the strength to force the moment to its crisis?
But though I have wept and fasted, wept and prayed,
Though I have seen my head (grown slightly bald) brought in upon a platter,
I am no prophet — and here’s no great matter;
I have seen the moment of my greatness flicker,
And I have seen the eternal Footman hold my coat, and snicker,
And in short, I was afraid.

在这夜晚与午后，睡得多么安稳
被修长的手指抚慰
感到困顿，困顿又疲惫，或者干脆装病
懒散地躺在地板上，在这儿，你和我的旁边
在吃过茶点之后，我是否就有勇气
把自己推向那个关键时刻
尽管我已经哭泣过，斋戒过；哭泣过又祈祷过
尽管我还曾看到过我的头颅（变得有点秃）被放到盘子里端着
我又不是先知——这根本无关紧要
我曾看到过我的伟大时刻一闪而过
并且我曾看到有一个仆人永远站着，拿着我的外套讥笑着
总而言之，我怕极了

And would it have been worth it, after all,
After the cups, the marmalade, the tea,
Among the porcelain, among some talk of you and me,
Would it have been worth while,
To have bitten off the matter with a smile,
To have squeezed the universe into a ball
To roll it towards some overwhelming question,
To say: “I am Lazarus, come from the dead,
Come back to tell you all, I shall tell you all”—
If one, settling a pillow by her head
Should say: “That is not what I meant at all;
That is not it, at all.”

这一切是否值得，究竟是否值得
在动用这些茶点之后
当碗碟碰撞，当关于我们的闲谈四起
它是否值得，让我们
面带微笑接受这件事情
把整个宇宙压缩成一个球体
再让它滚向那个压倒一切的问题
然后说：“我是拉撒路，刚死而复生，
过来告诉你们，让我来告诉你们所有事情”——
要是有个人在她头下垫好枕头
你应该说：“哦，我可没有这个意思；
我没打算这样做，一点儿也没有”

Reader86

And would it have been worth it, after all,
Would it have been worth while,
After the sunsets and the dooryards and the sprinkled streets,
After the novels, after the teacups, after the skirts that trail along the floor—
And this, and so much more?—
It is impossible to say just what I mean!
But as if a magic lantern threw the nerves in patterns on a screen:
Would it have been worth while
If one, settling a pillow or throwing off a shawl,
And turning toward the window, should say:
“That is not it at all,
That is not what I meant, at all.”

这一切究竟是否值得
目睹过多少次日落，走过多少庭院，经过多少细雨迷蒙的街道
读过多少本小说，品尝过多少茶点，多少次礼服的裙摆在地板上拖着
在这一切之后，它是否还值得
我决不可能说出这就是我的意思
但好像有一盏神奇的灯正将我的神经图形投影在屏幕上
这是否值得
如果有个人搁好枕头或者甩掉披肩
你应该转向窗户，说：
“我并不想这样做
我一点儿这个意思都没有”

No! I am not Prince Hamlet, nor was meant to be;
Am an attendant lord, one that will do
To swell a progress, start a scene or two,
Advise the prince; no doubt, an easy tool,
Deferential, glad to be of use,
Politic, cautious, and meticulous;
Full of high sentence, but a bit obtuse;
At times, indeed, almost ridiculous—
Almost, at times, the Fool.

不！我又不是哈姆雷特王子，也不想成为王子
我顶多是一个宠臣，一个跟在王子后面
耀武扬威的人，偶尔发一两次脾气
给王子提点建议；毫无疑问，一个随和的工具
毕恭毕敬，因为有用而神气
做事老练且心思谨慎
判断高效只是些许迟钝
有时表现得荒唐至极
有时又像是一个傻子

（虽然阿尔弗雷德声称自己不是哈姆雷特，但是他同这位王子一样犹疑）

I grow old ... I grow old ...
I shall wear the bottoms of my trousers rolled.

我老了，变成熟了
我想我应该去穿卷起裤脚的裤子了

（为什么一定要译两遍我老了，我老了的话又怎么会去赶时髦呢）

Shall I part my hair behind?   Do I dare to eat a peach?
I shall wear white flannel trousers, and walk upon the beach.
I have heard the mermaids singing, each to each.

我应该梳一个中分油头？又是否有勇气偷试云雨？
我要穿起白色法兰绒长裤，在海滩上散步
我听到人鱼们正在对着彼此歌唱

（eat a peach 或许应该是 eat an apple，peach放在这里让人不知所云，如果是apple的话，那么可以译为偷尝禁果，延伸为偷试云雨）

I do not think that they will sing to me.

可我不觉得她们会唱给我听

I have seen them riding seaward on the waves
Combing the white hair of the waves blown back
When the wind blows the water white and black.
We have lingered in the chambers of the sea
By sea-girls wreathed with seaweed red and brown
Till human voices wake us, and we drown.

当大风把海水吹成白色和黑色
我看到她们骑着海浪在大海中远行
一面迎风梳着波浪的白发
我们在海中的狭小空间中留恋
人鱼们用红色和棕色海草编织成的花环（装饰这个空间）
直到人类的声音把我们唤醒，我们便溺水而亡

（chamber或许可以指阴道内的空间，那么红棕色的海草编织成为花环就是阴道口的一圈阴毛，不要问我怎么想到的，因为我也用草比喻过阴毛；
我感觉这首诗烂尾了）