https://www.ptt.cc/bbs/poetry/M.1134104922.A.3D5.html
《先知》 THE PROPHET - Kahlil Gibran 東岐明 譯
〈船至第一〉 1. The Coming of the Ship
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amidha.yang@msa.hinet.net 東岐明
◎船至第一
阿穆斯祂法，蒙受那召選與珍愛，是他一己時代的啟蒙曙光，
在歐發里斯城久等歸船帶他返回誕生之島，已歷十二年。
然後，在第十二年，收穫之月的艾伊露第七日，
他登上城垣外的山丘向海眺望，望見歸船伴霧而來。
此時，他的心扉豁然開朗，他的喜樂遠颺海際，就在心靈靜默中閉目祈禱。
但他下山時，卻頓覺憂傷而心想：
『我何能平靜遠去而不傷悲？不！我怎能無有心傷而遠離此城。
在那城垣裏，有我多少長日傷痛，又有多少長夜孤寂；
而誰又能遠離一己之孤寂傷痛而無悔無憾？
太多心礫碎念我已撒播街道，太多孩童赤身漫步山間是我熱愛，
我怎能離此種種而無負無痛！
這豈是衣裳可以讓我今日扔脫，而是膚皮用我親手撕剝。
這豈是思慮可以讓我遺卻身後，而是感念甜蜜在我渴求。
但我再不能耽擱。
召喚萬物的大海，正召喚著我，我必須上船了。
因為停留此城，生涯雖於黑夜燃起光熱，卻在模框中晶瑩凍結而困縛。
我多想帶走這裏一切，隨我而去，但我如何能夠？
聲音無法帶走賦予翅翼的唇舌，它必須獨覓蒼穹。
而那無巢孤翔的蒼鷹，方能飛越太陽。』
到達山麓的當下，他又再轉身向海，望見歸船已近港口，船首水手都是同鄉之人。
然後他的心魄呼喊他們，他說：
『我母祖之子，你們乘浪馭潮，在我夢中出航已有多少。
而今你們來臨，在我清醒之際，乃我更深夢裏。
我已準備出發，滿帆而行的熱望，只待風起。
在這寂靜氛氳，只有另一氣息，我將再次吸呼，
只有另一愛念瞻視，我將再拋身後。
那時，我將立於你們之間，位列水手之林。
而您，廣翰大海，不眠母親，溪流江河嚮往的唯一自由和平之地，
這溪流只再次迂迴，只再次林間潺語，
那時，我將向您而來，如一無盡水滴落入無涯海洋。』
然後，當他走著，他見到遠方男女，紛紛離開田野與葡萄園，急急奔向城門。
他聽見他們呼喚著他的名字，呼喊著他的歸船來到，在田園間，一聲聲的傳訴。
而他自語著：
『分離之日也應是相聚之日麼？
難道要說我的暮夕其實是黎明？
而我要拿什麼，去給予在耕轍中放下田犁的人，或給予在酒釀中停止榨輪的人呢？
我的心意要化成果實纍纍樹木，讓我採收分予他們麼？
我的情盼要像似長流漫漫泉源，供我滿足他們杯觴麼？
我可是豎琴，而讓神能之手撫觸麼？或是橫笛，而讓祂所吹呼麼？
尋求靜默者是我，而在靜默裏，何種寶藏我又尋得足以自信佈施呢？
如果這時是我收穫之日，哪處田園是我所曾播種，在哪個忘卻的季節呢？
假使此刻，真是我高舉燈火之時，燃燈火光，絕非由我。
空虛黑暗中，我要高舉己燈，那守夜者必會添滿燈油，點燃光明。』
凡此種種，他字字念說，
可他心中種種，還有更多未說，
因為唯他一己，無能述說他己更深奧秘。
當他進城時，所有人們都來迎接，眾聲一致地呼喊著他。
城中長老們佇立在前，說道：
『還別離開我們！
曾經，你是我們昏曚時的午光，在你青春生涯賜予我們夢想嚮往。
在我們之間，你不是生人，不是過客，
而是我們孩子，我們所深情摯愛的。
切莫痛忍我們這目光，對你容顏的渴盼。』
而那男女祭師們也對他說：
『莫讓海潮現在就分離我們，而使共度歲月徒成追憶。
你的精神曾與我們同行，你的身影曾是照耀我們面前的明燈。
我們愛你至深，無以言傳，種種曾已蒙藏。
而今對你縱聲呼訴，方想表白於前。
直至別離時刻，愛才知有多深。』
其他人也來懇求，但他並不答允，只是垂頭，淚灑胸前而為旁人所見。
然後他與人們行向神殿前的廣場，
那裏祭堂走出一女，名叫阿宓特拉，是位預言師。
他凝望她以溫柔極緻，因為他在此城首日，就是她率先尋訪他並信仰他。
接著她向他致意高喊說：
『神啟先知啊！為探求那至上至極，為了你的歸船，已向遠方尋視許久。
現今你的歸船已至，而你必要出行。
如此深切是你渴盼，為了你憶念之土，為了你更欲留居之地；
而我們的愛，必將無法羈縛你，我們的需，也將無法攬留你。
在你離去前，必答應我們請求，向我們說講，賜予我們你的真理。
我們將傳之子孫，傳之子子孫孫，永不遺滅。
你獨處時，曾守視我們日日生涯。
你不眠時，曾傾聽我們睡寐哭笑。
所以，現在就向我們揭示我們一己，
告訴我們所有昭顯於你，由生至死的種種吧！』
然後他回答說：
『歐發里斯的人們啊！
除了你們心靈那仍在遷動的當下種種，我還能談論些什麼呢？』
《先知》The Prophet 〈船至第一〉 終
--
THE COMING OF THE SHIP
Almustafa, the chosen and the beloved, who was a dawn unto his own day, had waited twelve years in the city of Orphalese for his ship that was to return and bear him back to the isle of his birth. And in the twelfth year, on the seventh day of Ielool, the month of reaping, he climbed the hill without the city walls and looked seaward; and he beheld his ship coming with the mist. Then the gates of his heart were flung open, and his joy flew far over the sea. And he closed his eyes and prayed in the silences of his soul.
But as he descended the hill, a sadness came upon him, and he thought in his heart: How shall I go in peace and without sorrow? Nay, not without a wound in the spirit shall I leave this city. Long were the days of pain I have spent within its walls, and long were the nights of aloneness; and who can depart from his pain and his aloneness without regret?
Too many fragments of the spirit have I scattered in these streets, and too many are the children of my longing that walk naked among these hills, and I cannot withdraw from them without a burden and an ache. It is not a garment I cast off this day, but a skin that I tear with my own hands. Nor is it a thought I leave behind me, but a heart made sweet with hunger and with thirst.
Yet I cannot tarry longer. The sea that calls all things unto her calls me, and I must embark. For to stay, though the hours burn in the night, is to freeze and crystallize and be bound in a mould. Fain would I take with me all that is here. But how shall l? A voice cannot carry the tongue and the lips that gave it wings. Alone must it seek the ether. And alone and without his nest shall the eagle fly across the sun.
Now when he reached the foot of the hill, he turned again towards the sea, and he saw his ship approaching the harbour, and upon her prow the mariners, the men of his own land.
And his soul cried out to them, and he said: Sons of my ancient mother, you riders of the tides, How often have you sailed in my dreams. And now you come in my awakening, which is my deeper dream. Ready am I to go, and my eagerness with sails full set awaits the wind. Only another breath will I breathe in this still air, only another loving look cast backward, And then I shall stand among you, a seafarer among seafarers. And you, vast sea, sleepless mother, Who alone are peace and freedom to the river and the stream, Only another winding will this stream make, only another murmur in this glade, And then I shall come to you, a boundless drop to a boundless ocean.
And as he walked he saw from afar men and women leaving their fields and their vineyards and hastening towards the city gates. And he heard their voices calling his name, and shouting from field to field telling one another of the coming of his ship.
And he said to himself: Shall the day of parting be the day of gathering? And shall it be said that my eve was in truth my dawn? And what shall I give unto him who has left his slough in midfurrow, or to him who has stopped the wheel of his winepress? Shall my heart become a tree heavy-laden with fruit that I may gather and give unto them? And shall my desires flow like a fountain that I may fill their cups? Am I a harp that the hand of the mighty may touch me, or a flute that his breath may pass through me? A seeker of silences am I, and what treasure have I found in silences that I may dispense with confidence? If this is my day of harvest, in what fields have I sowed the seed, and in what unremembered seasons? If this indeed be the hour in which I lift up my lantern, it is not my flame that shall burn therein. Empty and dark shall I raise my lantern, And the guardian of the night shall fill it with oil and he shall light it also.
These things he said in words. But much in his heart remained unsaid. For he himself could not speak his deeper secret.
And when he entered into the city all the people came to meet him, and they were crying out to him as with one voice. And the elders of the city stood forth and said: Go not yet away from us. A noontide have you been in our twilight, and your youth has given us dreams to dream.
No stranger are you among us, nor a guest, but our son and our dearly beloved. Suffer not yet our eyes to hunger for your face.
And the priests and the priestesses said unto him: Let not the waves of the sea separate us now, and the years you have spent in our midst become a memory. You have walked among us a spirit, and your shadow has been a light upon our faces. Much have we loved you. But speechless was our love, and with veils has it been veiled. Yet now it cries aloud unto you, and would stand revealed before you. And ever has it been that love knows not its own depth until the hour of separation.
And others came also and entreated him. But he answered them not. He only bent his head; and those who stood near saw his tears falling upon his breast.
And he and the people proceeded towards the great square before the temple. And there came out of the sanctuary a woman whose name was Almitra. And she was a seeress. And he looked upon her with exceeding tenderness, for it was she who had first sought and believed in him when he had been but a day in their city. And she hailed him, saying: Prophet of God, in quest of the uttermost, long have you searched the distances for your ship. And now your ship has come, and you must needs go. Deep is your longing for the land of your memories and the dwelling-place of your greater desires; and our love would not bind you nor our needs hold you. Yet this we ask ere you leave us, that you speak to us and give us of your truth. And we will give it unto our children, and they unto their children, and it shall not perish. In your aloneness you have watched with our days, and in your wakefulness you have listened to the weeping and the laughter of our sleep. Now therefore disclose us to ourselves, and tell us all that has been shown you of that which is between birth and death.
And he answered: People of Orphalese, of what can I speak save of that which is even now moving within your souls?
