Sunday Morning
(부활절) 주일 아침을 노래함
by Wallace Stevens
(부분)번역(transl.): 김종인(Zong-in Kim)
I
네글리제 차림에 자족하며
양지바른 의자에 (나 앉아)
오렌지 곁들인 늦은 (아침
후) 커피 앞에 하는데
양탄자(의) 앵무새1)
초록빛(/색) 자유가
옛 희생 성스런 침묵2)을
일소(一笑)에 날려버림은
살짝 꿈나라로
든 때문인가...
고대 십자가 밀린 어두운 파국3)
침묵의 수면 위로 종적 감추나...
시큼한 오렌지 맛/ 녹색 반짝이는 날개로
행렬 속 영혼들4) 조용히 대양 건너5) 한숨 돌리나...
(파도) 소리 (하나) 없이 (잔/잔한) 대양
타고 (건너는) 꿈속 하루(의 해맑음이)여...
(예수 살던) 침묵 속 팔레스타인이여.../
보혈(寶血)과 성묘(聖墓)의 영지(靈地)여...
Complacencies of the peignoir, and late
Coffee and oranges in a sunny chair,
And the green freedom of a cockatoo
Upon a rug mingle to dissipate
The holy hush of ancient sacrifice.
She dreams a little, and she feels the dark
Encroachment of that old catastrophe,
As a calm darkens among water-lights.
The pungent oranges and bright, green wings
Seem things in some procession of the dead,
Winding across wide water, without sound.
The day is like wide water, without sound,
Stilled for the passing of her dreaming feet
Over the seas, to silent Palestine,
Dominion of the blood and sepulchre.
II
내 누리는 혜택6)
사자들(영혼)에 바칠 수도...?
말 없는 모습으로 꿈에나 보이는 데
어찌 신성하다 해야 한단 말인가...?
태양이
주는 편안함과
시큼한 과일/ 빛나는
녹색 날개 곁에 하여
진정(鎭靜)과 기쁨 주는 이 세상 (모든) 것들
천국 생각(하는 것)만큼이나 소중한데도...?
신
성은
(바깥 아닌)
내 안에 있는 게
아니
던가...(?)
(쏟아지는) 비(에 살아나는) 열정이나
내리는 눈(에 바뀌는) 기분이 그렇고
외로움(에 떨 때 맛보는) 비통함이나
숲속 꽃들로 행복한 감동에 빠질 때나
비 내리는 가을밤 길 위서 맛보는
격한 감정들이 (모두 다) 그러하고
여름의 (무성한 나뭇)가지나/ 겨울의
(발가벗은 나뭇)가지 떠올릴 때마다
맛보게 되는
기쁨/괴로움이
(또한)
그렇지 않던가...(?)
영혼 지향(/기준)엔 모름지기
이들(/경험) 따라야 한다면...(?)
Why should she give her bounty to the dead?
What is divinity if it can come
Only in silent shadows and in dreams?
Shall she not find in comforts of the sun,
In pungent fruit and bright, green wings, or else
In any balm or beauty of the earth,
Things to be cherished like the thought of heaven?
Divinity must live within herself:
Passions of rain, or moods in falling snow;
Grievings in loneliness, or unsubdued
Elations when the forest blooms; gusty
Emotions on wet roads on autumn nights;
All pleasures and all pains, remembering
The bough of summer and the winter branch.
These are the measures destined for her soul.
III
제우스(/주피터) 하늘 신은
모유와 먼 초자연 출생에다
(젖/꿀 흐르는) 기름진 땅 아닌
다른 창조신화7)서 비롯하지...
제우스(/주피터) 신이 인간 세상으로
당/당히 (내려)와 범인에 섞여들어
중얼/중얼 돌아다니다/ 순결 속에 인간 피
섞어 자연-인간 합일8)의 바람 이뤄냈단 걸
지상 인간들
별 보며 알게 되고...
자연에 대한 역사나 신화(를) 통해
천국 믿음에 필적하는 영적 위안을
받지 못하(고
있)는 건 아닐까...(?)
당시 하늘은
지금보다
한
결
친화적이지
않았을까...(?)
노동에 치이는 고통 이어 찾는
강한 사랑 영광 담보하면서도
무슨 편 가르기나/ 어중간의
정(精)도 보여주지 않는 파랑9)으로...(?)
Jove in the clouds had his inhuman birth.
No mother suckled him, no sweet land gave
Large-mannered motions to his mythy mind.
He moved among us, as a muttering king,
Magnificent, would move among his hinds,
Until our blood, commingling, virginal,
With heaven, brought such requital to desire
The very hinds discerned it, in a star.
Shall our blood fail? Or shall it come to be
The blood of paradise? And shall the earth
Seem all of paradise that we shall know?
The sky will be much friendlier then than now,
A part of labor and a part of pain,
And next in glory to enduring love,
Not this dividing and indifferent blue.
IV
She says, “I am content when wakened birds,
Before they fly, test the reality
Of misty fields, by their sweet questionings;
But when the birds are gone, and their warm fields
Return no more, where, then, is paradise?”
There is not any haunt of prophecy,
Nor any old chimera of the grave,
Neither the golden underground, nor isle
Melodious, where spirits gat them home,
Nor visionary south, nor cloudy palm
Remote on heaven’s hill, that has endured
As April’s green endures; or will endure
Like her remembrance of awakened birds,
Or her desire for June and evening, tipped
By the consummation of the swallow’s wings.
V
She says, “But in contentment I still feel
The need of some imperishable bliss.”
Death is the mother of beauty; hence from her,
Alone, shall come fulfilment to our dreams
And our desires. Although she strews the leaves
Of sure obliteration on our paths,
The path sick sorrow took, the many paths
Where triumph rang its brassy phrase, or love
Whispered a little out of tenderness,
She makes the willow shiver in the sun
For maidens who were wont to sit and gaze
Upon the grass, relinquished to their feet.
She causes boys to pile new plums and pears
On disregarded plate. The maidens taste
And stray impassioned in the littering leaves.
VI
Is there no change of death in paradise?
Does ripe fruit never fall? Or do the boughs
Hang always heavy in that perfect sky,
Unchanging, yet so like our perishing earth,
With rivers like our own that seek for seas
They never find, the same receding shores
That never touch with inarticulate pang?
Why set the pear upon those river-banks
Or spice the shores with odors of the plum?
Alas, that they should wear our colors there,
The silken weavings of our afternoons,
And pick the strings of our insipid lutes!
Death is the mother of beauty, mystical,
Within whose burning bosom we devise
Our earthly mothers waiting, sleeplessly.
VII
Supple and turbulent, a ring of men
Shall chant in orgy on a summer morn
Their boisterous devotion to the sun,
Not as a god, but as a god might be,
Naked among them, like a savage source.
Their chant shall be a chant of paradise,
Out of their blood, returning to the sky;
And in their chant shall enter, voice by voice,
The windy lake wherein their lord delights,
The trees, like serafin, and echoing hills,
That choir among themselves long afterward.
They shall know well the heavenly fellowship
Of men that perish and of summer morn.
And whence they came and whither they shall go
The dew upon their feet shall manifest.
VIII
She hears, upon that water without sound,
A voice that cries, “The tomb in Palestine
Is not the porch of spirits lingering.
It is the grave of Jesus, where he lay.”
We live in an old chaos of the sun,
Or old dependency of day and night,
Or island solitude, unsponsored, free,
Of that wide water, inescapable.
Deer walk upon our mountains, and the quail
Whistle about us their spontaneous cries;
Sweet berries ripen in the wilderness;
And, in the isolation of the sky,
At evening, casual flocks of pigeons make
Ambiguous undulations as they sink,
Downward to darkness, on extended wings.
-------
※ Sunday Morning by Wallace Stevens | Poetry Magazine
https://www.poetryfoundation.org › poems › sunday-m...
----(Notes):
1): the green cockatoo is a symbol of freedom – but, not exactly the freedom to go anywhere, because it’s a pet bird and its wings are probably clipped. It’s more a sign of luxury and leisure.
2): "ancient sacrifice": --> The word "sacrifice" hints that it might even be Easter morning,
when people would be most likely to think about the death and resurrection of Jesus.
3): “old catastrophe” --> the crucifixion of Christ.
4): “things in some procession of the dead."--> This "procession"
could mean either a group of dead spirits walking, or ....
5):“wide water”: --> ... they ["dead spirits"] are walking across a large, "wide" body of water.
(※ Sunday Morning Duty – Shmoop
https://www.shmoop.com › poetry › quotes › duty)
sepulcher: the Holy Sepulcher (by Kim)
II / III
6): 오렌지와 앵무새