主题：Andrew Marr：我们英国人——英国诗歌文学简史 -- 万年看客

在起义过后，爱尔兰的政治生活就不如先前那样盛行英雄主义了。所谓“我的人民”究竟是谁呢？随着时间的推移，叶芝的傲慢（他逐渐成为了一名英格兰乡绅）与新爱尔兰天主教革命之间的矛盾也变得越发痛苦起来。暴力革命的确具有可怕的美，但是也有着精英西方文化脆弱且不断低落下去的哀鸣。1919年叶芝创作了痛彻五内的《基督再临》（The Second Coming）。对于他来说，以及对于我们将会在下文当中见到的许多人来说，他们此前所理解的西方文明似乎真的正在走向末路。诗中的“盘旋”一词代表了两千年来的历史循环，这一点在诗人的思路当中正变得越发重要。第二节当中的梦魇意象则可以追溯到布莱克与雪莱：

Turning and turning in the widening gyre

The falcon cannot hear the falconer;

Things fall apart; the centre cannot hold;

Mere anarchy is loosed upon the world,

The blood-dimmed tide is loosed, and everywhere

The ceremony of innocence is drowned;

The best lack all conviction, while the worst

Are full of passionate intensity.

猎鹰绕着越来越大的圈子不停地盘旋

再也听不见放鹰人的呼唤；

万物分崩离析；中心难以为系；

世上只落下一盘散沙的无政府主义，

血色迷糊的潮流奔腾汹涌，

天真的仪典，亦忍为滔天血浪所湮没;

至善者毫无信心，而至恶者

却躁动不止。

Surely some revelation is at hand;

Surely the Second Coming is at hand.

The Second Coming! Hardly are those words out

When a vast image out of Spiritus Mundi

Troubles my sight: somewhere in sands of the desert

A shape with lion body and the head of a man,

A gaze blank and pitiless as the sun,

Is moving its slow thighs, while all about it

Reel shadows of the indignant desert birds.

The darkness drops again; but now I know

That twenty centuries of stony sleep

Were vexed to nightmare by a rocking cradle,

And what rough beast, its hour come round at last,

Slouches towards Bethlehem to be born?

一准是某种启示已近在眼前；

一准是基督再临就在眼前。

基督再临！话未出口，

一个巨大的形象便出现在人们脑际

令我花了眼：在大漠沙海之中，

一个狮身人面的形体

目光如烈日般茫然而无情。

正缓慢地挪动腿脚，周围环绕着

—群义愤的沙漠鸟的影子。

黑暗再度降临；不过现在我知道

过去两千年岩石般的沉睡

都被摇篮摇成了噩梦般的烦恼，

何等粗野的畜牲，它的时辰巳至，

慵懒地朝伯利恒走去投生。【译者不详】

叶芝并不是在偶尔为之地发泄绝望怨气。这一年他还创作了另一首伟大诗歌，题目是《一九一九》（Nineteen Hundred and Nineteen），主旨是悲叹文明倾颓。以下节选的是本诗开头部分：

MANY ingenious lovely things are gone

That seemed sheer miracle to the multitude,

protected from the circle of the moon

That pitches common things about.There stood

Amid the ornamental bronze and stone

An ancient image made of olive wood --

And gone are Phidias' famous ivories

And all the golden grasshoppers and bees.

许多精巧可爱的事物都已消逝，

在世人眼里也曾巧夺天工

妥善珍藏，不受日夜周转的侵蚀，

哪怕凡俗之物早已被一扫而空；

且看那一片装饰用的青铜与大理石，

橄榄木质地的古代造像置身其中——

菲狄亚斯著名的象牙雕工，以及一切

金质蚱蜢与蜜蜂，如今都早已湮灭。

We too had many pretty toys when young:

A law indifferent to blame or praise,

To bribe or threat; habits that made old wrong

Melt down, as it were wax in the sun's rays;

Public opinion ripening for so long

We thought it would outlive all future days.

O what fine thought we had because we thought

That the worst rogues and rascals had died out.

年轻时我们也曾将精巧玩具掌握：

这套法律懒得区分赞美与责骂，

不吃贿赂与威胁；依照习惯将旧日过错

销熔，恰似烈日暴晒下的蜂蜡；

民意过了那么久才瓜熟蒂落，

我们还以为这套法律未来也永不会变化。

啊，我们的思想曾经多么天真烂漫，

满心以为最恶劣的恶棍都已完蛋。

All teeth were drawn, all ancient tricks unlearned,

And a great army but a showy thing;

What matter that no cannon had been turned

Into a ploughshare? Parliament and king

Thought that unless a little powder burned

The trumpeters might burst with trumpeting

And yet it lack all glory; and perchance

The guardsmen's drowsy chargers would not prance.

拔光满口牙齿，历代技艺全都忘掉，

千军万马徒有其表看似威武堂堂；

就算从未熔炼火炮将耕犁重新铸造

又如何？无论议会还是国王

都以为除非点燃一撮火药，

否则号兵恐怕会贸然吹响军号高昂

但却毫无光荣可言；还有可能

卫兵们的困倦战马并不会奋蹄奔腾。

Now days are dragon-ridden, the nightmare

Rides upon sleep: a drunken soldiery

Can leave the mother, murdered at her door,

To crawl in her own blood, and go scot-free;

The night can sweat with terror as before

We pieced our thoughts into philosophy,

And planned to bring the world under a rule,

Who are but weasels fighting in a hole.

如今的白昼恶龙遍布，夜晚的睡眠

被噩梦侵扰：一名士兵喝得酩酊大醉

之后，将一位母亲残杀在她家门前，

听任她在血泊里挣扎，事后竟能脱罪；

夜晚也会战战兢兢汗出如浆就像从前

我们将思绪直插进哲学问对，

筹划着要让全世界服从同一套尺度标准，

世人无非是鼬鼠，在逼仄地穴里撕咬凶狠。

He who can read the signs nor sink unmanned

Into the half-deceit of some intoxicant

From shallow wits; who knows no work can stand,

Whether health, wealth or peace of mind were spent

On master-work of intellect or hand,

No honour leave its mighty monument,

Has but one comfort left: all triumph would

But break upon his ghostly solitude.

他若能看懂征兆，不会无人陪同地下潜

沉入半掩的欺骗，源自浅薄头脑的醉人毒浆；

他若知道任何成就都无法历时久远，

无论智识或者手工的旷世杰作耗费了多少健康、

财富或者心灵安宁，终究都无法幸免；

他若知道恢弘的纪念碑上残存不下半点荣光，

那么他心里就只剩下一条慰籍：

一切凯旋都能打破他那幽灵般的孤寂。

But is there any comfort to be found?

Man is in love and loves what vanishes,

What more is there to say? That country round

None dared admit, if Such a thought were his,

Incendiary or bigot could be found

To burn that stump on the Acropolis,

Or break in bits the famous ivories

Or traffic in the grasshoppers or bees.

但是这世上可还能找到丝毫慰籍？

热恋当中的人热爱着消逝的事物，

还能说些什么？就算寻访全国各地，

也没人胆敢将心中念头吐露：

要想烧毁雅典卫城多么容易，

肯定不缺燃料，偏见就是引火之物；

谁不想将精工牙雕砸个稀烂？

谁不想将金质蚂蚱与蜜蜂踩成碎片？

当叶芝写下这些诗句时，列宁已经进驻了克里姆林宫，德皇治下的德国已经沦为了遍地焦土，青壮年人口损失惨重的英国充斥着罢工与鼎沸民怨，爱尔兰即将陷入苦涩的内战。一战扯掉了旧式政治秩序的堂皇画皮，促使许多人开始转向激进理念——例如法西斯主义——寻求答案。叶芝也在晚年受到了法西斯主义的吸引。但是在那之前，他的兴趣更偏向分析旧文化与新文化之间的鸿沟。他一边将自身与旧文化绑定在一起，一边设想着即将到来的究竟会是什么东西。

下面这首《内战时期的沉思》（Meditations in Time of Civil War）创作于1922年。当时叶芝过着避世隐居的生活，居住在戈尔韦的巴利李塔楼。在这首诗当中，叶芝把玩了许多描写英格兰乡间别墅的传统诗歌当中的常见意象：

SURELY among a rich man's flowering lawns,

Amid the rustle of his planted hills,

Life overflows without ambitious pains;

And rains down life until the basin spills,

And mounts more dizzy high the more it rains

As though to choose whatever shape it wills

And never stoop to a mechanical

Or servile shape, at others’ beck and call.

Mere dreams, mere dreams! Yet Homer had not Sung

Had he not found it certain beyond dreams

That out of life’s own self-delight had sprung

The abounding glittering jet; though now it seems

As if some marvellous empty sea-shell flung

Out of the obscure dark of the rich streams,

And not a fountain, were the symbol which

Shadows the inherited glory of the rich.

当然在专属富人家的百花草地，

在专属他家的山林沙沙风声婀娜，

与巨大痛苦无关的生命奔流洋溢，

倾盆洒下的生命将盆地化为泽国。

越是令人目眩的高山，山上雨水就越充裕，

似乎任何形态都由它自主选择：

从不会屈就机械或奴役的形骸，

从不会呼之即去召之即来。

梦想而已，梦想而已！但荷马本不会歌唱

如过他不曾发现在梦境之外

肯定有一道喷泉丰沛闪亮

源自生命的自娱；尽管现在

就好像奇妙的空贝壳突然亮相

被抛出幽暗失去了掩盖，

这幽暗不属于泉水，而属于溪流丰裕，

将富人的家传荣光遮蔽。【参考了袁可嘉的译文】

但是这首诗的主旨是挑战传统，而不是一味强化或者重复关于新教世家大族的权威特质的惯常假设：

What if the glory of escutcheoned doors,

And buildings that a haughtier age designed,

The pacing to and fro on polished floors

Amid great chambers and long galleries, lined

With famous portraits of our ancestors;

What if those things the greatest of mankind

Consider most to magnify, or to bless,

But take our greatness with our bitterness?

如果这些雕饰门扉的荣光，

那些出自更高傲时代的建筑，

长廊联通了宽敞的厅堂，

在长廊的光滑地板上漫步，

我们祖先的著名画像挂在两旁

如果我们当中最伟大的人物

认为这些事物最应发扬光大或祝福，

但是又将我们的伟大与痛苦一并夺去，该当何如？【参考了袁可嘉的译文】

不管怎么说，内战的粗鲁现实毕竟还是闯进了叶芝坚定捍卫的田园生活（战争期间巴利李塔楼附近的一座桥梁被炸塌，遭到堵塞的河水淹没了塔楼的一层）。

An affable Irregular,

A heavily-built Falstaffian man,

Comes cracking jokes of civil war

As though to die by gunshot were

The finest play under the sun.

A brown Lieutenant and his men,

Half dressed in national uniform,

Stand at my door, and I complain

Of the foul weather, hail and rain,

A pear-tree broken by the storm.

一个和善的非正规军，

胖胖的福尔斯塔夫人物，

走过来，讲着内战的笑话,

好像给枪弹打死

是太阳下最好玩的事。

黑棕色的中尉和兵士

半身穿着国军制服，

站在我门口,我抱怨

坏天气，雨和霰，

梨树根被风暴打断。【袁可嘉译】

叶芝乐天知命的笔调在下一章节变得越发黑暗起来。这一章名叫《我窗边的燕八哥巢》（The Stare's Nest by My Window），诗人思考了自己的世界走向末日时的景象：

The bees build in the crevices

Of loosening masonry, and there

The mother birds bring grubs and flies.

My wall is loosening; honey-bees,

Come build in the empty house of the state.

We are closed in, and the key is turned

On our uncertainty; somewhere

A man is killed, or a house burned,

Yet no cleat fact to be discerned:

Come build in he empty house of the stare.

A barricade of stone or of wood;

Some fourteen days of civil war;

Last night they trundled down the road

That dead young soldier in his blood:

Come build in the empty house of the stare.

We had fed the heart on fantasies,

The heart’s grown brutal from the fare;

More Substance in our enmities

Than in our love; O honey-bees,

Come build in the empty house of the stare.

蜂群在松散的墙垣空隙.

筑巢，那里母鸟们

弄来虫子和枝条。

我的墙松散了，蜜蜂们

来燕八哥的空屋筑巢吧。

我们给关在里面，

钥匙何时转，我们不知道,

什么地方人被杀，房被烧，

无清楚事实可以知晓，

来燕八哥的空屋筑巢吧。

一道石头或木头的路障,

十四天左右的内战，

昨夜他们推着车运来

一个青年士兵血迹斑斑;

来燕八哥的空屋筑巢吧。

我们的心为狂想哺养，

这种食粮使心残暴，

我们仇恨的质量

超过了我们的爱；蜜蜂啊,

来燕八哥的空屋筑巢吧。【袁可嘉译】

如此惨淡的景象必然将会引出最终结局：

I see Phantoms of Hatred and of the Heart’s

Fullness and of the Coming Emptiness

I climb to the tower-top and lean upon broken stone,

A mist that is like blown snow is sweeping over all...

我看见仇恨的幻影，内心

充实和未来空虚的幻影

我爬上塔顶,倚靠着破碎的石头，

一阵雾像灰暗的雪正横扫一切……【袁可嘉译】

内战不同于国战。仅就死亡人数以及死法的惨烈程度来说，爱尔兰内战远不能与1914-1918年期间的欧陆战争相提并论，但是这场战争也自有其刀刀见肉的野蛮之处，威廉.巴特勒.叶芝所知道的一切都遭到了内战的摇撼。笔者希望以上选取的诗文能够表明，叶芝的应对方式就是构建自己的新结构——本质上来说他为新时代构建了新神话。在这方面他并不孤单。二十世纪二三十年代英格兰与苏格兰诗坛的故事很大程度上讲的是如何创造一个全新的言辞世界，从而抵挡令人不安的全新现实。