在旅遊日本期間，我也曾在其他城市、其他區域發覺到這類組織的痕跡。例如，輪島在距今不遠的古時候是分裂為兩半的：一方是「城市之主們」，另一方 則是「居民們」；後者的地位較前者低下。或者，在隱歧諸島的中之島上，有著北與南兩個舊村落，當地人是族內通婚，只和同村落的人結婚，但上層階級則是異族 通婚，他們在村落之間交換配偶。這些古老的作品不僅是民族學的文獻，而且也有著「深度報導」與感人肺腑的「生命片段」——例如為義的兒女們被謀殺的描寫。 同樣地，在此，我也自問，我們的文學中有什麼可以作為對照？此種記事與回憶錄的罕見組合，既是深刻的報導，也同時在章節之末迸發出一種錐心憂傷的抒情（如 《平家物語》第二卷對於沒落的佛教、破損的經文、發霉的碑銘、傾倒的寺廟的描繪。或者，在第七卷之末，平家家族放棄了福原），如此這般的連結，在我們的文 學中，我只在夏多布里昂的《墓中回憶錄》中見到過。 Claude Lévi-Strauss《月的另一面》
據Wikipedia 《平家物語》英譯本約6種--中國起碼有二翻譯家庭......
2013.1.6
我所知道的二《平家物語》譯本。
周作人的只有前6卷而有詳注；申非是全譯本而有簡注及某些與中國的文學等之參考資料。
祇園精舍的鐘聲，有諸行無常的聲響，婆羅雙樹的花色，顯盛者必衰的道理。
驕奢者之不久長，只如春夜的一夢，強梁者終敗亡，恰似風前的塵土。----《平家物語‧祇園精舍》周作人譯 北京: 中國對外翻譯出版公司，2001，頁3
祇園精舍鐘聲響，訴說世事本無常；婆羅雙樹花失色，盛者必衰若滄桑。
驕奢之人不長久，好似春夜夢一場；強梁霸道終殄滅，恰如風前塵土揚。----《平家物語‧祇園精舍》申非譯 北京:燕山出版公司，20 00，頁1
-----2013.1.5 "鐘の声 "vs 鐘磬
http://zh.wikipedia.org/wiki/%E5%B9%B3%E5%AE%B6%E7%89%A9%E8%AF%AD
《平家物語》（日本語：平家物語／へいけ ものがたり Heike Monogatari），成書於13世紀（日本鎌倉時代）的軍記物語，作者不詳，記敘了1156年-1185年這一時期源氏與平氏的政權爭奪。
鐘磬是古漢文的習語. 我現在還沒弄清楚"祇園精舎"有無"磬".......
我的懷疑是有根據的，請參考：
「祇園精舍之鐘聲，有諸行無常之響。」
林謙三《東亞樂器考‧梵钟形态里的印度要素》錢稻孫譯 北京: 人民音乐出版社，1999，頁52-56
| 原文 | 譯文 |
|---|---|
| 平家物語 巻第一 第一句 祇園精舎 ぎおんしょうじゃ 祇園精舎の鐘の声 諸行無常のひびきあり 沙羅双樹の花の色 盛者必衰のことわりをあらはす おごれる者も久しからず ただ春の夜の夢のごとし たけき者もつひには滅びぬ ひとへに風のまへの塵におなじ[2] |
周作人漢譯[3]： 祇園精舍的鐘磬， 敲出人生無常的響聲； 娑羅雙樹的花色， 顯示盛極必衰的道理。 驕奢者不久長， 猶似春夢； 強梁者必消逝， 恰如輕塵。 |
Martial Art
‘The Tale of the Heike,’ Translated by Royall Tyler
Illustration by Tomer Hanuka
By CHRISTOPHER BENFEY
Published: January 4, 2013
Encountering Homer in a vivid translation made Keats feel like an astonished astronomer watching a new planet swim into view. Readers unfamiliar with medieval Japanese literature — and that must mean most of us — may feel a kindred excitement on first looking into “The Tale of the Heike,” in a taut new rendering by Royall Tyler. If “beauty and elegance,” as Tyler remarks, pervade the atmosphere of the earlier “Tale of Genji” (which he has also translated), the fall of the Heike warrior clan, during the late 12th century, calls to mind the riotous bloodletting of the “Iliad.” And just as Homer’s epic has inspired a thousand spinoffs, much of what draws us to Japanese culture — samurai and geisha, anime and manga, woodblock prints and Kurosawa films — comes right out of the exploits recounted in this book.
THE TALE OF THE HEIKE
Translated by Royall Tyler
Illustrated. 734 pp. Viking. $50.
The central conflict in “The Tale of the Heike” (pronounced, approximately, hay-keh) is between two warring clans, the Heike and the Genji, each pledged to protect the emperor in the capital city of Kyoto. The ascendancy of the tyrannical Heike leader Taira no Kiyomori, obnoxious as Agamemnon, sets in motion events that lead to his own downfall and, inevitably, that of his family and followers.
Kiyomori, “who never honored any wish but his own,” rules through terror, employing a squad of red-shirted ruffians to inform him of any threats to his power. He is also a tyrant in love, dismissing the beautiful dancer Gio, who has been his favored consort, when the younger Hotoke catches his predatory eye. In a risky show of solidarity, both women shave their heads and retire to a convent. “We women can so seldom follow our wishes!” Hotoke wistfully observes.
When hotheaded Kiyomori is in the throes of a fatal illness, his fever is so high that the cool bathwater boils. And after he dies, many of his fair-weather followers join the Genji in their own push for dominance. The ebb and flow of the narrative, with each side gaining and losing, cutting off heads here and parading humiliated captives through the streets there, exemplifies the overarching theme, so deeply imbued in Buddhism, of human transience.
The famous opening lines (which curious readers can hear performed on YouTube, accompanied by a lute-like instrument called the biwa) describe the temple bells in the Gion neighborhood of Kyoto that “ring the passing of all things”:
“The arrogant do not long endure:
They are like a dream one night in spring.
The bold and brave perish in the end:
They are as dust before the wind.”
Simone Weil once described the “Iliad” as “impartial as sunlight,” adding that “one is barely aware that the poet is a Greek and not a Trojan.” The narrator of “The Tale of the Heike” is similarly evenhanded, finding much to praise and to blame on both sides of the battlefield. Kiyomori’s virtuous son Shigemori doesn’t hesitate to chastise his father, reminding him that “the gods do not accept violence against what is right.” The oafish Genji commander Kiso, by contrast, who doesn’t know that “a gentleman boards a carriage from the rear and leaves by the front,” sows discord among his people.
Some of the most memorable episodes involve the clever and fearless Genji hero Yoshitsune. Like Grant at Vicksburg, Yoshitsune is a master of the surprise attack. Are there boulder-strewn cliffs behind the Heike encampment on the coast at Ichi-no-tani? Certainly, but an elderly hunter reveals that deer have been known to descend the ravine. “If deer can get through,” Yoshitsune tells his appalled lieutenants, “so can horses.”
“And down he went, with 30 men.
The whole force poured after him.
The slope was so steep that those behind
found the front of their stirrups bumping
the helmets of the riders ahead.”
The artful spillover that turns “bumping” from intransitive to transitive helps to convey the headlong plunge of the riders in the darkness of night.
The narrator never tires of the visual splendor of the fighting, illustrated in this handsomely produced volume with woodcuts by a pupil of the great Hokusai, including a diptych of Yoshitsune’s daring descent. And how foppish these warriors are! Not even the Trojan Paris in all his glory is arrayed like these. One wears a robe “tie-dyed to leave a pattern of spots under armor with scarlet lacing.” Another garish combatant enters the fray with “his face lightly powdered, his teeth blackened” — for beauty, it should be added.
There is nothing in “The Tale of the Heike” comparable to those extended Homeric similes that can yank a reader far from the battlefield to scenes of farming or family life. But interpolated poems — no occasion seems off limits, to these learned warriors, for a commemorative lyric — and (sometimes tedious) historical parallels with Chinese prototypes give a similar split-screen effect to the proceedings. Formulaic phrases describe the reaction of frightened soldiers: “Such panic overwhelmed the Heike that one took his bow but forgot arrows, another arrows but forgot his bow.”
Ready-made sound bites like these are a reminder that the “performance text” Tyler has chosen from among the many extant versions of the tale was intended to be sung. Unlike previous translators, including Helen Craig McCullough, Tyler has broken the poem into rhythmic lines even though the tale is not, technically, in verse. Perhaps predictably, Tyler’s short lines are most effective in the quick shifts and rapid action of battle scenes.
In a memorable passage, a “stunning girl, not yet 20,” mysteriously appears in a decorated boat during a chaotic battle along the seashore, tauntingly holding up a red fan decorated with a disk of the sun, like a bull’s-eye. A Genji archer, resolute as Robin Hood, draws “a humming arrow fletched from both eagle and hawk, and tipped with deer horn” from his quiver. Slicing through the air, “the arrow’s song rang out afar.” It hits the target, a fit analogy for the fleet-footed epic we are reading. If Tyler’s short lines are less effective in quieter scenes, it should be said that even the laconic narrator seems uncomfortable with too much emotion, resorting to formulations like “His feelings are easily imagined.”
In his unobtrusive notes, Tyler guides us over terrain that can seem as unfamiliar as Keats’s newly discovered planet. A plot summary of each chapter might have helped some readers, so serpentine is the narrative and so confusing the similar names — Yorimori, Yoritomo, Yoshitomo and Yoshitsune. But Tyler is wise to get out of the way. To put us in the mood, he quotes some encouraging lines from Richard Henry Dana’s introduction to “Two Years Before the Mast.” “There may be in some parts a good deal that is unintelligible to the general reader,” Dana remarked, but “descriptions of life under new aspects act upon the inexperienced through the imagination.”
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