文学专业外文翻译---诗歌的原则

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1、2000单词，9300英文字符，3300汉字The Poetical Principle Edgar Allan Poe, "The Poetic Principle" (B), Home Journal, series for 1850, no. 36 (whole number 238), August 31, 1850, p. 1, cols. 1-6. IN SPEAKING of the Poetical Principle， I have no design to be either thorough or profound. While discussing,

2、 very much at random, the essentiality of what we call Poetical, my principle purpose will be to cite for consideration, some few of those minor English or American poems which best suit my own taste, or which, upon my own fancy, have left the most definite impression.  By “minor poems” I mean,

3、 of course, poems of little length.  And here, in the beginning, permit me to say a few words in regard to a somewhat peculiar principle, which, whether rightful or wrongfully, has always had it influence in my own critical estimate of the poem. I hold that a long poem does not exist.  I m

4、aintain that the phrase, “a long poem,” is simple a flat contradiction in terms. I need scarcely observe that a poem deserves its title only inasmuch as it excites, by elevating the soul. The value of the poem is the ratio of this elevating excitement.  But all excitement are, through a psychal

5、 necessity, transient.  The degree of excitement which would entitle a poem to be so called at all, cannot be sustained throughout a composition of any great length.  After the lapse of half an hour, at the very utmost, it flags - fails - a revulsion ensues - and then the poem is, in effec

6、t, and in fact, no longer such. There are, no doubt, many who have found difficult in reconciling the critical dictum that the “Paradise Lost” is to be devoutly admired throughout, with the absolute impossibility for maintaining for it, during perusal, the amount of enthusiasm which that critical di

7、ctum would demand.  This great work, in fact, is to be regarded poetical, only when, losing sight of that vital requisite in all works of Art, Unity, we view it merely as a series of minor poems.  If, to preserve its Unity - its totality of effect or impression - we read it(as would be nec

8、essary) at a single sitting, the result is but a constant alternation of excitement and depression.  After a passage of what we feel to be true poetry, there follows, inevitably, a passage of platitude which no critical pre-judgment can force us to admire； but if , upon completing the work, we

9、read it again； omitting the first work-that is to say, commencing with second - we shall be surprised at now finding that admirable which we before condemned - the damnable which we had previously so much admired.  It follows from all this that the ultimate, aggregate, or absolute effect of eve

10、n the best epic under the sun, is a nullity: - band this precisely the fact. In regard to the Iliad, we have, if not possible proof, at least very good reason, for it intended as a series of lyrics； but, granting the epic intention, I can say only that the work is based in an imperfect sense of art.

11、  The modern epic is, of the suppositious ancient model, but an inconsiderate and blindfold imitation.  But the day of these anomalies is over.  If , at any time, any very long poem were popular reality, which I doubt, it is at least clear that no very long poem will ever be popular a

12、gain. That extent of a poetical work is, ceteris paribus, the measure of its merit, seems undoubted, when we thus state it, a proposition sufficiently absurd - yet we are indebted for it to the Quarterly Reviews.  Surely there can be nothing in mere size, abstractly considered - there can be no

13、thing in bulk, so far as a volume is concerned, which had so continuously elicited admiration from these saturnine pamphlets!  A mountain, to be sure, by the mere sentiment of physical magnitude which it conveys, does impress us with a sense of the sublime - but no man is impressed after this f

14、ashion by material grandeur of even “The Columbiad.”  Even the Quarterlies have not instructed us to be so impressed by it.  As yet, they have not insisted on our estimating Lamartine by the cubic foot, or Pollok by the pound - but what else are we to infer from their continual prating abo

15、ut “sustained effort?”  If, by “sustained effort,” any little gentlemen has accomplished an epic, let us frankly commend him for the effort - if this indeed be a thing commendable - but let us forbear praising the epic on the efforts account.  It is to be hoped that common sense, in the ti

16、me to come, will prefer deciding upon a work of art, rather by the impression it makes, by the amount of “sustained effort” which had been found necessary in effecting the impression.  The fact is, that perseverance is one thing, and genius quite anther - nor can all the Quarterlies in Christen

17、dom confound them.  By and-by, this proposition, with many which I have been just urging, will be received as self-evident.  In the meantime, by being generally condemned as falsities, they will not be essentially damaged as truths. On the other hand, it is clear that a poem may be imprope

18、rly brief.  Undue brevity degenerates into mere epigrammatism.  A very short poem, while now and then producing a brilliant or vivid, never produces a profound or enduring effect.   There must be the steady pressing down of the stamp upon the wax.  De Beranger has wrought innumer

19、able things, pungent and spirit-stirring； but, in general, they have been too imponderous to stamp themselves deeply into aloft only to be whistled down the wind. A remarkable instance of the effect of undue brevity in depressing a poem - in keeping it out of the popular view - is afforded by the fo

20、llowing exquisite little Serenade:  I arise from dreams of thee In the first sweet of night When the winds are breathing low And the stars are shining bright I arise from dreams of thee And a spirit in my feet Hath led me-who knows how To thy chamber-window sweet!  The wandering airs, they

21、 faint On the dark, the silent stream- The champak odors fail Like sweet thoughts in a dream； The nightingales complaint, It dies upon her heart, As I must die on thine, O, beloved as thou art!  O, lift me from the grass! I die, I faint, I fail! Let thy love in kisses rain On my lips and eyelids pale.