Romanticism and Modern Literature 2020
 

*±¹Á¦±³·ùóÀå º¸Á÷À» ¸¶Ä£ Á÷ÈÄ, ½¯ Æ´µµ ¾øÀÌ »ýÀü óÀ½ ³ë¼÷ÀÎÀ» À§ÇÑ °­ÀÇ¿¡ ÃÊ´ë¹Þ¾Ò´Ù. Èûµç »óȲÀ̾úÁö¸¸, Ä£±¸µé°úÀÇ ÀǸ®, ±×¸®°í ¾à°£ÀÇ µµ´öÀûÀΠåÀÓ°¨À¸·Î °­ÀÇ¿¡ ÀÓÇß´Ù. °­ÀÇ´Â µÎ¹ø¿¡ °ÉÃÄ ÁøÇàµÇ¾ú´Ù. Èûµé°Å¶ó°í ¿¹»óÀº ÇßÁö¸¸, ±× Á¤µµÀÏ ÁÙÀº ¸ô¶ú´Ù. ³»°¡ ¾î¶² ȯ°æ¿¡¼­ »ì°í ÀÖ´Â »ç¶÷ÀÎÁö¸¦ Ãæ°ÝÀûÀ¸·Î ¾Ë°Ô ¸¸µé¾îÁÖ´Â °è±â¿´´Ù. ¿öÁî¿ö½ºÀÇ ºó¹Î½Ã°¡ Á¤Ä¡ÀûÀ¸·Î ¸ðÈ£ÇÏ´Ù°í ¾Æ¹«·¸Áöµµ ¾Ê°Ô ºñÆÇÇß¾ú´Âµ¥, ÀÌÁ¦´Â ±×·¯±â Èûµé°Í °°´Ù. ÀßÇÏ·Á°í ³ë·ÂÀº ÇßÁö¸¸, ¹»Çß´ÂÁö´Â ¸ð¸£°Ú´Ù. Æò»ýÇß´ø °­ÀÇ Áß °¡Àå ¾î·Á¿î °­ÀÇ¿´´Ù.

 

 

½Ã¹ÎÀι®°­ÁÂ

2012.9.13. ¿ÀÈÄ 7½Ã

»ê¸¶·ç±³È¸

 

 

¿¤·¹Áö Àбâ: ¼Ð¸®¿Í ¿Àµç

 

1. À̹ÌÀÚ, ¡°µ¿¹é¾Æ°¡¾¾¡±

2. Á¶¿ëÇÊ, ¡°Ä£±¸¿©¡±

3. ±è¹Î±â, ¡°Ä£±¸¡±

4. ¿Àµç(W. H. Auden), ¡°Àå·Ê½Ä ºí·ç½º¡±

5. ¼Ð¸®(P. B. Shelley), ¡°¾Æµµ³×À̽º¡±

6. ¿Àµç(W. H. Auden), ¡°¿¹ÀÌÃ÷¸¦ ±â¸®¸ç¡±

 

1. À̹ÌÀÚ, ¡°µ¿¹é¾Æ°¡¾¾¡±

 

ÇìÀÏ ¼ö ¾øÀÌ ¼ö ¸¹Àº ¹ãÀ»

³» °¡½¿ µµ·Á³»´Â ¾ÆÇÄ¿¡ °Ü¿ö

¾ó¸¶³ª ¿ï¾ú´ø°¡ µ¿¹é ¾Æ°¡¾¾

±×¸®¿ò¿¡ ÁöÃļ­ ¿ï´Ù ÁöÃļ­

²ÉÀÙÀº »¡°²°Ô ¸ÛÀÌ µé¾ú¼Ò

 

µ¿¹é²ÉÀÙ¿¡ »õ°ÜÁø »ç¿¬

¸» ¸øÇÒ ±× »ç¿¬À» °¡½¿¿¡ ¹¯°í

¿À´Ãµµ ±â´Ù¸®³× µ¿¹é ¾Æ°¡¾¾

°¡½Å ´ÔÀº ±× ¾ðÁ¦ ±× ¾î´À ³¯¿¡

¿Ü·Î¿î µ¿¹é²É ã¾Æ ¿À·Á³ª

 

2. Á¶¿ëÇÊ, ¡°Ä£±¸¿©¡±

 

²ÞÀº Çϴÿ¡¼­ ÀáÀÚ°í

Ãß¾ïÀº ±¸¸§ µû¶ó È帣°í

Ä£±¸¿© ¸ð½ÀÀº ¾îµô °¬³ª

±×¸®¿î Ä£±¸¿©

 

¿¾ÀÏ »ý°¢ÀÌ ³¯ ¶§¸¶´Ù

¿ì¸® ÀÒ¾î¹ö¸° Á¤ ã¾Æ

Ä£±¸¿© ²Þ¼Ó¿¡¼­ ¸¸³¯±î

Á¶¿ëÈ÷ ´«À» °¨³×

 

½½Çĵµ ±â»Ýµµ ¿Ü·Î¿òµµ ÇÔ²² ÇßÁö

ºÎǬ ²ÞÀ» ¾È°í ³»ÀÏÀ» ´ÙÁüÇÏ´ø

¿ì¸® ±»¼¾ ¾à¼Ó ¾îµð¿¡

 

²ÞÀº Çϴÿ¡¼­ ÀáÀÚ°í

Ãß¾ïÀº ±¸¸§ µû¶ó È帣°í

Ä£±¸¿© ¸ð½ÀÀº ¾îµô °¬³ª

±×¸®¿î Ä£±¸¿©

 

3. ±è¹Î±â, ¡°Ä£±¸¡±

 

°ËǪ¸¥ ¹Ù´å°¡¿¡ ºñ°¡ ³»¸®¸é

¾îµð°¡ ÇÏ´ÃÀÌ°í ¾îµð°¡ ¹°ÀÌ¿ä

±× ±íÀº ¹Ù´Ù ¼Ó¿¡ °í¿äÈ÷ Àá±â¸é

¹«¾ùÀÌ »ê °ÍÀÌ°í ¹«¾ùÀÌ Á×¾ú¼Ò

 

´« ¾Õ¿¡ ¶°¿À´Â Ä£±¸ÀÇ ¸ð½À

È𳯸®´Â ²ÉÀÙ À§¿¡ ¾î¸¥°Å¸®¿À

Àú ¸Ö¸® µé¸®´Â Ä£±¸ÀÇ À½¼º

´Þ¸®´Â ±âÂ÷¹ÙÄû°¡ ´ë´äÇÏ·Á³ª

 

´« ¾Õ¿¡ º¸ÀÌ´Â ¼ö¸¹Àº ¸ð½Àµé

±× ¸ðµÎ ÁøÁ¤À̶ó ¿ì°Ü ¸»Çϸé

¾î´À ´©±¸ Çϳª°¡ Ȧ·Î ÀϾ

¾Æ´Ï¶ó°í ¸»ÇÒ »ç¶÷ ¾îµð ÀÖ°Ú¼Ò

 

´« ¾Õ¿¡ ¶°¿À´Â Ä£±¸ÀÇ ¸ð½À

È𳯸®´Â ²ÉÀÙ À§¿¡ ¾î¸¥°Å¸®¿À

Àú ¸Ö¸® µé¸®´Â Ä£±¸ÀÇ À½¼º

´Þ¸®´Â ±âÂ÷¹ÙÄû°¡ ´ë´äÇÏ·Á³ª

 

4. ¿Àµç(W. H. Auden), ¡°Àå·Ê½Ä ºí·ç½º¡±

 

Funeral Blues

Àå·Ê½Ä ºí·ç½º

 

Stop all the clocks, cut off the telephone,

Prevent the dog from barking with the juicy bone.

Silence the pianos and, with muffled drum,

Bring out the coffin. Let the mourners come.

 

½Ã°è¸¦ ¸ðµÎ ¸ØÃç¶ó. ÀüÈ­¼±µµ ²÷¾î ¹ö·Á¶ó.

À°ÁóÀÌ °¡µæÇÑ »À¸¦ ¹°°í ÀÖ´Â Àú °­¾ÆÁöµµ ¸ø ¢°Ô Ç϶ó.

ÇÇ¾Æ³ë ¼Ò¸®µµ Á×ÀÌ°í, ¼ûÁ×ÀÎ ºÏ¼Ò¸®¿Í ÇÔ²²

°üÀ» ³»¿À¶ó. Á¶¹®°´À» µéÀ̶ó.

 

Let aeroplanes circle moaning overhead

Scribbling in the sky the message: ¡°He is dead!¡±

Put crepe bows around the white necks of the public doves.

Let the traffic policemen wear black cotton gloves.

 

ºñÇà±â°¡ Èå´À³¢¸ç »ó°øÀ» ¸Éµ¹°Ô Ç϶ó

±×·¯¸é¼­ Çϴÿ¡ ÀÌ·¸°Ô ¾²°Ô Ç϶ó. ¡°±×°¡ Á×¾ú´Ù!¡±

°ø¿ø¿¡ ÀÖ´Â ºñµÑ±âÀÇ ÇÏ¾á ¸ñ´ú¹Ì¿¡µµ »óÀå(ßÃíñ)À» ¸Å¶ó.

°Å¸®ÀÇ ±³Åë¼ø°æµéµµ °ËÀº »ö ¸ñÀå°©À» ³¢¶ó°í Çضó.

 

He was my north, my south, my east and west,

My working week and Sunday rest,

My noon, my midnight, my talk, my song.

I thought that love would last forever; I was wrong.

 

±×´Â ³ªÀÇ ºÏÂÊ°ú ³²ÂÊ, ³ªÀÇ µ¿ÂÊ°ú ¼­ÂÊÀ̾ú´Ù.

³ªÀÇ ÀÏÇÏ´Â ÆòÀÏÀÇ ³ª³¯À̾ú°í, ÀÏ¿äÀÏÀÇ ¾È½ÄÀ̾ú´Ù.

³ªÀÇ Á¤¿À¿´°í, ³ªÀÇ ÀÚÁ¤À̾ú°í, ³ªÀÇ À̾߱â, ³ªÀÇ ³ë·¡¿´´Ù.

³ª´Â »ç¶ûÀÌ ¿µ¿øÇÒ ÁÙ ¾Ë¾Ò´Ù. ³»°¡ Ʋ·È´Ù.

 

The stars are not wanted now; put out every one.

Pack up the moon and dismantle the sun.

Pour away the ocean and sweep up the wood.

For nothing now can come to any good.

 

º°µµ ÀÌÁ¨ ´Ù ÇÊ¿ä¾ø´Ù. º°ºû µûÀ© ´Ù ²¨¹ö·Á¶ó.

´Þµµ °¡¸®°í, Çصµ Ä¡¿ö¶ó.

¹Ù´å¹°µµ ´Ù µû¶ó ¹ö¸®°í, ½£µµ ¸ðµÎ ¹Ð¾î¹ö·Á¶ó.

ÀÌÁ¨ ¾Æ¹« °Íµµ ¾Æ¹« ¼Ò¿ëÀÌ ¾øÀ¸´Ï±î.

 

5. ¼Ð¸®(P. B. Shelley), ¡°¾Æµµ³×À̽º¡±

 

Adonais: An Elegy On The Death Of John Keats

¾Æµµ³×À̽º: Á¸ Å°ÀÌÃ÷ÀÇ Á×À½À» ±â¸®´Â ¿¤·¹Áö

 

I weep for Adonais - he is dead!

Oh, weep for Adonais! though our tears

Thaw not the frost which binds so dear a head!

And thou, sad Hour, selected from all years

To mourn our loss, rouse thy obscure compeers,

And teach them thine own sorrow, say: "With me

Died Adonais; till the Future dares

Forget the Past, his fate and fame shall be

An echo and a light unto eternity!"

 

³ª´Â ¾Æµµ³×À̽º¸¦ À§ÇØ ¿î´Ù. ±×´Â Á×¾ú´Ù.

¿À, ¸ðµÎ ¾Æµµ³×À̽º¸¦ À§ÇØ ¿ï¾î¶ó.

ºñ·Ï ¿ì¸®ÀÇ ´«¹°ÀÌ ±×Åä·Ï ¼ÒÁßÇÑ ¸Ó¸® À§¿¡ ³»¸° ¼­¸®¸¦

³ìÀÌÁø ¸øÇÒÁö¶óµµ.±×¸®°í ±×´ë, ½½Ç ½Ã°£ÀÌ¿©.

±×´ë´Â ¿ì¸®°¡ ÀÒ¾î¹ö¸° ±×¸¦ ¾ÖµµÇϱâÀ§ÇØ Àϳâ Áß ¼±ÅõǾúÀ¸´Ï,

±×´ëÀÇ ¹«½ÉÇÑ µ¿·áµéÀ» Àϱú¿ö,

±×´ëÀÇ ½½ÇÄÀ» ¾Ë·ÁÁÖ¸ç, ÀÌ·¸°Ô ¸»Ç϶ó.

¡°¾Æµµ³×À̽º´Â ³ª¿Í ÇÔ²² Á×¾ú³ë¶ó.

¹Ì·¡°¡ °¨È÷ °ú°Å¸¦ ÀØÀ» ¶§±îÁö

±×ÀÇ ¿î¸í°ú ¸í¼ºÀº ¸Þ¾Æ¸®¿Í ºûÀÌ µÇ¾î

¿µ¿øÀ¸·Î ÇâÇϸ®¶ó!¡±

 

Where wert thou, mighty Mother, when he lay,

When thy Son lay, pierc'd by the shaft which flies

In darkness? where was lorn Urania

When Adonais died? With veiled eyes,

'Mid listening Echoes, in her Paradise

She sate, while one, with soft enamour'd breath,

Rekindled all the fading melodies,

With which, like flowers that mock the corse beneath,

He had adorn'd and hid the coming bulk of Death.

 

±×´ë, ¾Æµµ³×À̽ºÀÇ Èû¼¾ ¾î¹Ì¿©,

±×´ë´Â ¾îµð¿¡ ÀÖ¾ú´Â°¡? ±×°¡ ´©¿üÀ» ¶§,

±×´ëÀÇ ¾ÆµéÀÌ ¾îµÒ¼Ó¿¡ ³¯¾Æ¿Â È­»ìÀ» ¸Â°í ¾²·¯Á® ´©¿üÀ» ¶§?

½½ÇÄ¿¡ Á¥Àº À¯·¹´Ï¾Æ¿©, ¾Æµµ³×À̽º°¡ Á×¾úÀ» ¶§,

±×´í ¾îµð¿¡ ÀÖ¾ú´Â°¡?

±×´ë´Â ±×´ëÀÇ Ãµ±¹¿¡¼­ °æûÇÏ´Â ¸Þ¾Æ¸®µé°ú ¾É¾Æ ÀÖ¾ú´Ù.

±×µ¿¾È ¸Þ¾Æ¸® Çϳª´Â ºÎµå·´°í ¸ÅȤÀûÀÎ ¼û°á·Î

Àæ¾Æµå´Â °îÁ¶µéÀÇ ºÒ¾¾¸¦ µÇ»ì·Á³»°í,

±×°Íµé·Î ¸¶Ä¡ °üÀ§ÀÇ ²ÉµéÀÌ ±× ¹ØÀÇ ¼ÛÀåÀ» ºñ¿ôµíÀÌ,

¼ºÅ­¼ºÅ­ ´Ù°¡¿À´Â Á×À½ÀÇ ¸öÁýÀ» Àå½ÄÇÏ°í °¡·È´Ù.

 

Oh, weep for Adonais - he is dead!

Wake, melancholy Mother, wake and weep!

Yet wherefore? Quench within their burning bed

Thy fiery tears, and let thy loud heart keep

Like his, a mute and uncomplaining sleep;

For he is gone, where all things wise and fair

Descend - oh, dream not that the amorous Deep

Will yet restore him to the vital air;

Death feeds on his mute voice, and laughs at our despair.

(1-27)

 

¿À, ¾Æµµ³×À̽º¸¦ À§ÇØ ¿ï¾î¶ó, ±×´Â Á×¾ú´Ù.

¿ì¿ïÇÑ ¾î¹Ì¿©, ±ú¾î³ª¶ó! ±ú¾î³ª¼­ ¿ï¾î¶ó!

ÇÏÁö¸¸ ¿ï¾î ¹«¾ùÇϸ®! ±×´ëÀÇ ºÒŸ´Â ´«¹°À» ²Ú ´­·¯

±×´ëÀÇ ¶ß°Å¿î ħ´ë ¾È¿¡ ¹¯¾î¶ó!

±×¸®°í ÄôÄç°Å¸®´Â ±×´ëÀÇ °¡½¿µµ

±×´ëÀÇ ¾Æµéó·³ Á¶¿ëÈ÷ ºÒÆò¾øÀÌ ÀáÀÚ°Ô Ç϶ó.

¾Æµµ³×À̽º´Â ÀÌÁ¦ °¬À¸´Ï±î.

ÁöÇý·Ó°í ¾Æ¸§´Ù¿î ¸ðµç °ÍµéÀÌ ³»·Á¿À´Â °÷À¸·Î.

¾Æ, »ç¶û¿¡ ºüÁø ¹Ù´Ù°¡ ¾Æµµ³×À̽º¸¦ ½Ì±×·¯¿î ¹Ù¶÷ ¼ÓÀ¸·Î

´Ù½Ã °ÇÁ®¿Ã¸± Áö ¸ð¸¥´Ù´Â ²ÞÀº ²ÙÁöµµ ¸»¶ó.

Á×À½Àº ±×ÀÇ Ä§¹¬ÀÇ ¸ñ¼Ò¸®·Î ¹äÀ» Çظ԰í, ¿ì¸®ÀÇ Àý¸Á°¨À» Á¶·ÕÇÑ´Ù.

 

Alas! that all we lov'd of him should be,

But for our grief, as if it had not been,

And grief itself be mortal! Woe is me!

Whence are we, and why are we? of what scene

The actors or spectators? Great and mean

Meet mass'd in death, who lends what life must borrow.

As long as skies are blue, and fields are green,

Evening must usher night, night urge the morrow,

Month follow month with woe, and year wake year to sorrow.

(181-189)

 

¾Æ, ¿ì¸®°¡ ±×¿¡ °üÇØ »ç¶ûÇß´ø ±× ¸ðµç °ÍÀÌ,

¿ì¸®ÀÇ ½½ÇÄÀÌ ¾ø´Ù¸é, ¾Ö´çÃÊ ¾ø¾ú´ø °Íó·³ µÇ¾î¾ß ÇÏ´Ù´Ï!

±×¸®°í ±× ½½Çĵµ ¾ðÁ¨°£ ¾ø¾îÁú ¿î¸íÀ̶ó´Ï! ¾Æ, ½½Ç ¿î¸íÀÌ¿©!

¿ì¸®´Â ¾îµð¿¡¼­ ¿ÔÀ¸¸ç, ¿ì¸®´Â ¿Ö ¿©±â Àִ°¡?

¿ì¸®´Â ¾î¶² ¿¬±ØÀÇ ¸î ¸· ¸î Àå¿¡ Àִ°¡?

¿ì¸®´Â ¹è¿ìÀΰ¡ °ü°´Àΰ¡?

À§´ëÇÔ°ú ºñõÇÔÀº Á×À½ ¼Ó¿¡ Çѵ¥ ¾ôÇô ¸¸³­´Ù.

Á×À½À̶õ »îÀÌ ºô¾î¾ß ÇÏ´Â °ÍÀ» ºô·ÁÁÖ´Â °Í.

ÇÏ´ÃÀÌ ÆĶþ°í, µéÆÇÀÌ Çª¸£¸¥ ÇÑ,

Àú³áÀº ¹ãÀ» ÀçÃËÇÏ°í, ¹ãÀº ¾ÆħÀ» ºÎÃß±ä´Ù.

ÇÑ ´ÞÀº ½½ÇÄ¿¡ Á¥¾î ´ÙÀ½ ´ÞÀ» µÚµû¸£°í,

ÇÑ ÇØ´Â ´ÙÀ½ Çظ¦ ½½ÇÄ ¼ÓÀ¸·Î Àϱú¿î´Ù.

 

"Stay yet awhile! speak to me once again;

Kiss me, so long but as a kiss may live;

And in my heartless breast and burning brain

That word, that kiss, shall all thoughts else survive,

With food of saddest memory kept alive,

Now thou art dead, as if it were a part

Of thee, my Adonais! I would give

All that I am to be as thou now art!

But I am chain'd to Time, and cannot thence depart!

(226-234)

 

¾ÆÁ÷ Àá±ñ, Àá±ñ¸¸ ¸ØÃç¶ó! ³ª¿¡°Ô ´Ù½Ã Çѹø¸¸ ¸»ÇشٿÀ!

³»°Ô ÀÔ¸ÂÃãÀ» ÇشٿÀ. ÇѹøÀÇ ÀÔ¸ÂÃãÀÌ ÀÌ·ç¾îÁö´Â µ¿¾È¸¸À̶óµµ!

±×¸®ÇÏ¿© ³ªÀÇ ½ÉÀå¾ø´Â °¡½¿°ú Ÿ¿À¸£´Â ¸Ó¸® ¼Ó¿¡

±× ¸»°ú, ±× ÀÔ¸ÂÃãÀÌ ´Ù¸¥ ¸ðµç »ý°¢µéº¸´Ù ¿À·¡ »ì¾Æ³²µµ·Ï.

°¡Àå ½½Ç ±â¾ïµéÀ» ½Ä·® »ï¾Æ °è¼Ó »ì ¼ö ÀÖµµ·Ï.

ÇÏÁö¸¸ ÀÌÁ¦ ±×´ë´Â Á×¾ú´Ù. ¸¶Ä¡ Á×À½ÀÌ ±×´ëÀÇ ÇÑ ºÎºÐÀÎ µíÀÌ,

³ªÀÇ ¾Æµµ³×À̽º¿©! ³»°¡ Áö±ÝÀÇ ³Êó·³ µÉ ¼ö¸¸ ÀÖ´Ù¸é,

³ªÀÇ ¸ðµç °ÍÀ» ´Ù ¹ÙÄ¡¸®!

±×·¯³ª ³ª´Â ½Ã°£¿¡ ¹­ÀΠóÁö, ±×°ÍÀ» ¶°³¯ ¼ö ¾ø±¸³ª!

 

Peace, peace! he is not dead, he doth not sleep,

He hath awaken'd from the dream of life;

'Tis we, who lost in stormy visions, keep

With phantoms an unprofitable strife,

And in mad trance, strike with our spirit's knife

Invulnerable nothings. We decay

Like corpses in a charnel; fear and grief

Convulse us and consume us day by day,

And cold hopes swarm like worms within our living clay.

 

 

ÁøÁ¤, ÁøÁ¤Ç϶ó! ±×´Â Á×Áö ¾Ê¾Ò´Ù. ±×´Â ÀáµéÁö ¾Ê¾Ò´Ù.

±×´Â »îÀ̶ó´Â ²Þ¿¡¼­ ±ú¾î³µÀ» »ÓÀÌ´Ù.

Æødz°°Àº Àå¸éµé ¾È¿¡ ±æÀ» ÀÒ°í,

ȯ¿µµé°ú ¾µ¸ð¾ø´Â ½Î¿òÀ» °è¼ÓÇÏ´Â °Ç,

±¤±â¾î¸° ȯ»ó ¼Ó¿¡¼­ ÀâÀ» ¼ö ¾ø´Â ¹«»óÇÔ¿¡

¿ì¸® ¸¶À½ÀÇ Ä®À» Èֵθ£´Â °Ç,

¹Ù·Î ¿ì¸® ÀÚ½ÅÀÌ´Ù.

³³°ñ´ç ¼Ó ½Ãüµéó·³, ¿ì¸®°¡ ½â¾î°£´Ù.

µÎ·Á¿ò°ú ½½ÇÄÀº

³¯ÀÌ¸é ³¯¸¶´Ù ¿ì¸®¸¦ µÚÈçµé°í,

¿ì¸®¸¦ ¼Ò¸ðÇÑ´Ù.

±×¸®°í Â÷°©°Ô ½ÄÀº Èñ¸ÁÀº »ì¾ÆÀÖ´Â ÁøÈë ¼Ó¿¡¼­

¹ú·¹Ã³·³ ²ÞƲ°Å¸°´Ù.

 

He has outsoar'd the shadow of our night;

Envy and calumny and hate and pain,

And that unrest which men miscall delight,

Can touch him not and torture not again;

From the contagion of the world's slow stain

He is secure, and now can never mourn

A heart grown cold, a head grown gray in vain;

Nor, when the spirit's self has ceas'd to burn,

With sparkless ashes load an unlamented urn.

 

±×´Â ¹ãÀÇ ±×¸²ÀÚ¸¦ ¶Õ°í ¼Ú¾Æ¿Ã¶ú´Ù.

½Ã»ù°ú Áß»ó, Áõ¿À¿Í °íÅë,

»ç¶÷µéÀÌ ±â»ÝÀ̶ó°í À߸ø ºÎ¸£´Â ±× È¥µ·,

±× ¸ðµç °ÍµéÀº ÀÌÁ¦ ±×¸¦ °Çµå¸®Áöµµ ¸øÇÏ°í,

´Ù½Ã´Â ±×¸¦ ±«·ÓÈ÷Áö ¸øÇÑ´Ù.

õõÈ÷ ¼¼»óÀÇ ¶§·Î ¹°µé°Ô ÇÏ´Â ±× ¿À¿°À¸·ÎºÎÅÍ

±×´Â ¾ÈÀüÇÏ´Ù. ±×¸®°í ÀÌÁ¦ ´Ù½Ã´Â

Â÷°©°Ô ½Ä¾î¹ö¸° ½ÉÀå°ú

¹é¹ßÀÌ µÈ ¸Ó¸®¸¦ ÇêµÇÀÌ ½½ÆÛÇÒ ¼ö ¾ø°Ô µÇ¾ú´Ù.

Á¤½Å ÀÚü°¡ ´õ ÀÌ»ó Ÿ¿À¸£Áö ¾ÊÀ» ¶§

»ç¶÷µéÀÌ ¾ÖµµÇÏÁö ¾Ê´Â À¯°ñÇ׾Ƹ®¿¡

ºÒ¾¾¾ø´Â À縦 ä¿ö³ÖÀ» Àϵµ ¾ø´Ù.

 

He lives, he wakes - 'tis Death is dead, not he;

Mourn not for Adonais. Thou young Dawn,

Turn all thy dew to splendour, for from thee

The spirit thou lamentest is not gone;

Ye caverns and ye forests, cease to moan!

Cease, ye faint flowers and fountains, and thou Air,

Which like a mourning veil thy scarf hadst thrown

O'er the abandon'd Earth, now leave it bare

Even to the joyous stars which smile on its despair!

 

±×´Â »ì¾ÆÀÖ´Ù. ±×´Â ±ú¾î³µ´Ù.

Á×Àº °ÍÀº Á×À½ÀÌÁö, ±×°¡ ¾Æ´Ï´Ù.

¾Æµµ³×À̽º¸¦ À§ÇØ ½½ÆÛÇÏÁö ¸»¶ó. ±×´ë ¾î¸° »õº®ÀÌ¿©,

±×´ë°¡ ¸ÎÀº ¸ðµç À̽½¿¡ ±¤Ã¤¸¦ ºñÃç¶ó.

±×´ë°¡ ½½ÆÛÇÏ´Â ±× ¿µÈ¥Àº

±×´ë¿¡°Ô¼­ ¸Ö¸® ¶°³ªÁö ¾Ê¾Ò´Ù.

±×´ë µ¿±¼ÀÌ¿©, ±×´ë ½£ÀÌ¿©,

Èå´À³¦À» ¸ØÃ߶ó!

±×´ë ¿¬¾àÇÑ ²ÉµéÀÌ¿©, ¿¬¸øÀÌ¿©, ±×´ë ´ë±â¿©,

¿ïÀ½À» ¸ØÃ߶ó!

±×´ëµéÀº ¸¶Ä¡ ¾ÖµµÀÇ º£ÀÏó·³

±×´ëµéÀÇ ½ºÄ«ÇÁ·Î ¹ö·ÁÁø ´ëÁö¸¦ µ¤¾úÁö¸¸,

ÀÌÁ¦ ½ºÄ«ÇÁ¸¦ °ÅµÎ°í,

½½ÇÁ°Ô ¿ô°í ÀÖ´Â Áñ°Å¿î º°µé¿¡°Ô ´ëÁö¸¦ µå·¯³»¶ó

 

He is made one with Nature: there is heard

His voice in all her music, from the moan

Of thunder, to the song of night's sweet bird;

He is a presence to be felt and known

In darkness and in light, from herb and stone,

Spreading itself where'er that Power may move

Which has withdrawn his being to its own;

Which wields the world with never-wearied love,

Sustains it from beneath, and kindles it above.

(343-378)

 

±×´Â ÀÚ¿¬°ú Çϳª°¡ µÆ´Ù.

ÀÚ¿¬ÀÇ ¸ðµç À½¾Ç¿¡ ±×ÀÇ ¸ñ¼Ò¸®°¡ µé¸°´Ù.

õµÕÀÇ ½ÅÀ½¼Ò¸®¿¡¼­ ÇѹãÀÇ °¨¹Ì·Î¿î »õ¿ïÀ½¼Ò¸®±îÁö.

¾îµÒ¿¡¼­µç ±¤Ã¤¼ÓÀ̵ç, Ç® ÇÑÆ÷±â¿Í µ¹¸ÍÀÌ Çϳª±îÁö

±×ÀÇ Á¸À縦 ´À³¢°í ±×ÀÇ Á¸À縦 ¾Ë ¼ö ÀÖ´Ù.

ÀÚ½ÅÀ» ½º½º·Î¿¡°Ô °ÅµÖµéÀ̱⵵ ÇÏ°í,

ÁöÄ¡Áö ¾Ê´Â »ç¶ûÀ¸·Î ¼¼»óÀ» µÚÈçµé±âµµ Çϸç,

¾Æ·¡¿¡¼­ ¶°¹ÞÄ¡°í, À§¿¡¼­ Àϱú¿ì´Â

±×·± ÈûÀÌ ÀÖ´Â °÷ÀÌ¸é ¾îµð¿¡³ª

±×ÀÇ Á¸Àç°¡ ÆÛÁ®ÀÖ´Ù.

 

Why linger, why turn back, why shrink, my Heart?

Thy hopes are gone before: from all things here

They have departed; thou shouldst now depart!

A light is pass'd from the revolving year,

And man, and woman; and what still is dear

Attracts to crush, repels to make thee wither.

The soft sky smiles, the low wind whispers near:

'Tis Adonais calls! oh, hasten thither,

No more let Life divide what Death can join together.

 

³ªÀÇ ½ÉÀåÀÌ¿©, ¿Ö ÁÖÀúÇϴ°¡? ¿Ö µ¹¾Æ¼­´Â°¡? ¿Ö ¿òÃ÷¸®´Â°¡?

±×´ëÀÇ Èñ¸ÁÀº ¸ÕÀú °¡¹ö·È´Ù. ¿©±â ÀÖ´Â ¸ðµç °Í¿¡¼­ ¶°³ª¹ö·È´Ù.

±×´ëµµ Áö±Ý ¶°³ª¾ß ÇÑ´Ù.

¹Ýº¹µÇ´Â ¼¼¿ù¿¡µµ ºûÀÌ »ç¶óÁ³´Ù.

³²ÀÚµµ, ¿©ÀÚµµ.

¿©ÀüÈ÷ ±ÍÇÑ °Ô ÀÖ´Ù¸é

±×´ë¸¦ À¯È¤ÇØ ºÎ¼Å¹ö¸®°í

±×´ë¸¦ ¹Ð¾î³» ½Ãµé°Ô ÇÒ »Ó.

¾Æµµ³×À̽º°¡ ºÎ¸¥´Ù!

¿À, ¼­µÑ·¯ °¡ÀÚ!

´õ ÀÌ»ó Á×À½ÀÌ ¸ÎÀº °ÍÀ»

»îÀÌ °¡¸£Áö ¸øÇϵµ·Ï!

 

That Light whose smile kindles the Universe,

That Beauty in which all things work and move,

That Benediction which the eclipsing Curse

Of birth can quench not, that sustaining Love

Which through the web of being blindly wove

By man and beast and earth and air and sea,

Burns bright or dim, as each are mirrors of

The fire for which all thirst; now beams on me,

Consuming the last clouds of cold mortality.

 

¿ôÀ½À¸·Î ¿ìÁÖ¸¦ ºû³Â´ø ±× ±¤Ã¤µµ,

¸ðµç °ÍÀ» ÀÛµ¿½ÃÅ°°í ¿òÁ÷¿´´ø ±× ¾Æ¸§´Ù¿òµµ,

ź»ýÀ̶ó´Â ºÒ±æÇÑ ÀúÁÖµµ ¾ï´©¸£Áö ¸øÇß´ø ±× Ãູµµ,

»ç¶÷°ú Áü½Â, ´ëÁö¿Í ´ë±â¿Í ¹Ù´Ù °ç¿¡¼­

¸ðµç Á¸ÀçÀÇ °Å¹ÌÁÙÀ» ÅëÇØ

¹à°Å³ª ħħÇÏ°Ô Å¸¿Ã¶ú´ø ±× Áö¼ÓÀûÀÎ »ç¶ûµµ,

¸ðµÎ°¡ °¢°¢ ±×µéÀÌ °¥¸ÁÇÏ´Â ºÒ±æÀÇ °Å¿ïÀÌ µÇ¾î,

ÀÌÁ¦ ³ª¿¡°Ô ³»¸® ºñÄ£´Ù.

Â÷°¡¿î ¿î¸íÀÇ ¸¶Áö¸· ±¸¸§À» ´Ù Å¿ì¸é¼­.

 

The breath whose might I have invok'd in song

Descends on me; my spirit's bark is driven,

Far from the shore, far from the trembling throng

Whose sails were never to the tempest given;

The massy earth and sphered skies are riven!

I am borne darkly, fearfully, afar;

Whilst, burning through the inmost veil of Heaven,

The soul of Adonais, like a star,

Beacons from the abode where the Eternal are.

(471-495)

 

³»°¡ ³ë·¡ ¼ÓÀ¸·Î ºÒ·¯³Â´ø ±× ¼û°áÀÌ ³»°Ô ³»·Á¿Â´Ù.

³» Á¤½ÅÀÇ µÀ´Ü´ë°¡ À°Áö·ÎºÎÅÍ ¸Ö¸® ¶°³ª°£´Ù.

Çѹøµµ ÅÂdz¿¡ µÀÀ» ÆîÃĺ» Àû ¾ø´Â

°ÌÀïÀÌ ´ëÁßÀ¸·ÎºÎÅÍ ¸Ö¸® ¶°³ª°£´Ù.

°Å´ëÇÑ ´ëÁö¿Í Åõ¸íÇÑ ÇÏ´ÃÀÌ °¥¶óÁø´Ù!

³ª´Â ¾îµÓ°Ô, µÎ·Æ°Ô, ¸Ö¸®, ½Ç·Á°£´Ù!

ÇÏ´ÃÀÇ °¡Àå ¾ÈÂÊ º£ÀÏ µÚ¿¡¼­ Ÿ¿À¸£´Â

¾Æµµ³×À̽ºÀÇ ¿µÈ¥ÀÌ

¸¶Ä¡ º°Ã³·³ ¿µ¿øÀÇ Ã³¼Ò¿¡¼­

³ª¸¦ ºÎ¸¥´Ù.

 

6. ¿Àµç(W. H. Auden), ¡°¿¹ÀÌÃ÷¸¦ ±â¸®¸ç¡±

 

In Memory of W. B. Yeats

by W. H. Auden

I

He disappeared in the dead of winter:

The brooks were frozen, the airports almost deserted,

And snow disfigured the public statues;

The mercury sank in the mouth of the dying day.

What instruments we have agree

The day of his death was a dark cold day.

 

±×´Â Á×À½ °°Àº °Ü¿ï³¯ »ç¶óÁ³´Ù.

°³¿ïÀº ¾ó¾ú°í, °øÇ׿£ ÀÎÀûÀÌ ²÷°åÀ¸¸ç,

´« ³»¸° µ¿»óµéÀº Á¦ ¸ð½ÀÀ» ÀÒ¾ú´Ù.

»õº®º°Àº Àæ¾Æµå´Â ÇÏ·çÀÇ ÀÔ±¸¿¡¼­ °¡¶ó¾É¾Ò´Ù.

¾î¶² ±â±¸·Î Àçµç »ó°ü¾øÀÌ

±×°¡ Á×Àº ³¯Àº ¾îµÓ°í Ãß¿î ³¯À̾ú´Ù.

 

Far from his illness

The wolves ran on through the evergreen forests,

The peasant river was untempted by the fashionable quays;

By mourning tongues

The death of the poet was kept from his poems.

 

±×ÀÇ º´¿¡´Â ¾Æ¶û°÷¾øÀÌ

´Á´ëµéÀº Ǫ¸£¸¥ ½£¼ÓÀ» ¿©ÀüÈ÷ ¶Ù¾î´Ù³æ°í,

³óºÎ °°Àº °­¹°Àº ±Ù»çÇÑ ¼±Ã¢°¡¿¡ ¹«½ÉÇß°í,

¾ÖµµÇÏ´Â »ç¶÷µéÀº ½ÃÀÎÀÇ Á×À½À» ±×ÀÇ ½Ã¿¡ ¾Ë¸®Áö ¾Ê¾Ò´Ù.

 

But for him it was his last afternoon as himself,

An afternoon of nurses and rumours;

The provinces of his body revolted,

The squares of his mind were empty,

Silence invaded the suburbs,

The current of his feeling failed; he became his admirers.

 

±×·¯³ª ±×¿¡°Ô´Â ±× ¶§°¡ ÀǽÄÀ» °¡Áö°í ¸ÂÀº ¸¶Áö¸· ¿ÀÈÄ¿´°í,

°£È£¿øµéÀÌ ¶Ù¾î´Ù´Ï°í ¼Ò¹®ÀÌ ÈäÈäÇß´ø ±×·± ¿ÀÈÄ¿´´Ù.

±×ÀÇ ¸öÀº ±¸¿ª ¸¶´Ù ¹Ý¶õÀ» ÀÏÀ¸Ä×°í

±×ÀÇ ¸¶À½ÀÇ ±¤ÀåÀº ÅÖ ºñ¾ú´Ù.

±×ÀÇ ¸öÀÇ ÁÖº¯ºÎ¿£ ħ¹¬ÀÌ µÚµ¤ÀÌ°í,

±×ÀÇ °¨Á¤ÀÇ °­¹°Àº ¶Ò ²÷°å´Ù. ±×·¸°Ô ±×´Â ±×ÀÇ ¼þ¹èÀÚ°¡ µÇ¾ú´Ù.

 

Now he is scattered among a hundred cities

And wholly given over to unfamiliar affections,

To find his happiness in another kind of wood

And be punished under a foreign code of conscience.

The words of a dead man

Are modified in the guts of the living.

 

ÀÌÁ¦ ±×´Â ¼ö¹éÀÇ µµ½Ãµé¿¡ »Ñ·ÁÁ³°í,

³¸¼± ¾ÖÂøÀÇ Àå¼Òµé¿¡ ¿ÏÀüÈ÷ ¹ÙÃÄÁ³´Ù.

´Ù¸¥ Á¾·ùÀÇ ³ª¹«°¡ ÀÖ´Â °÷¿¡¼­ ÇູÀ» ã°Å³ª

¿Ü±¹ÀÇ ¾ç½ÉÀÇ ±Ô¾à¿¡ µû¶ó ó¹ú¹Þµµ·Ï.

Á×Àº ÀÚÀÇ ¸»µéÀº

»ê ÀÚÀÇ ¹î¼Ó¿¡¼­ º¯ÇüµÇ±â ¸¶·ÃÀ̴ϱî.

 

But in the importance and noise of to-morrow

When the brokers are roaring like beasts on the floor of the Bourse,

And the poor have the sufferings to which they are fairly accustomed,

And each in the cell of himself is almost convinced of his freedom,

A few thousand will think of this day

As one thinks of a day when one did something slightly unusual.

 

±×·¯³ª ³»ÀÏÀÇ Á߿伺°ú ¶°µé½âÇÔ ¼Ó¿¡¼­,

°Å°£²ÛµéÀÌ Áõ±Ç°Å·¡¼ÒÀÇ ¹Ù´Ú¿¡ ¼­¼­ Áü½Âó·³ °íÇÔÄ¡°í ÀÖÀ» ¶§,

±×¸®°í °¡³­ÇÑ ÀÚµéÀÌ ÀÌÁ¦´Â Àͼ÷ÇØÁø °íÅëÀ» ¿©ÀüÈ÷ Âü¾Æ³»°í ÀÖÀ» ¶§,

±×¸®°í ±× ¸ðµÎ°¡ °¢°¢ ÀÚ½ÅÀÇ ¹æ¾È¿¡¼­ ±×ÀÇ ÀÚÀ¯¸¦ °ÅÀÇ È®½ÅÇÏ°í ÀÖÀ» ¶§,

¸î õ ¸íÂëÀº ±×³¯À» Á¶±Ý »ö´Ù¸¥ ³¯,

´Ù¼Ò ÀÌ·ÊÀûÀÎ ¾î¶² ÀÏÀ» Çß´ø, ±×·± ³¯·Î »ý°¢ÇÏ°Ô µÉ °ÍÀÌ´Ù.

 

 

What instruments we have agree

The day of his death was a dark cold day.

 

¾î¶² ±â±¸·Î Àçµç »ó°ü¾øÀÌ

±×°¡ Á×Àº ³¯Àº ¾îµÓ°í Ãß¿î ³¯À̾ú´Ù.

 

II

 

You were silly like us; your gift survived it all:

The parish of richwomen, physical decay,

Yourself. Mad Ireland hurt you into poetry.

Now Ireland has her madness and her weather still,

For poetry makes nothing happen: it survives

In the valley of its making where executives

Would never want to tamper, flows on south

From ranches of isolation and the busy griefs,

Raw towns that we believe and die in; it survives,

A way of happening, a mouth.

 

±×´Â ¿ì¸®Ã³·³ ¾î¸®¼®¾ú´Ù.

ÇÏÁö¸¸ ±×ÀÇ Àç´ÉÀº ±× ¸ðµç °ÍÀ» ³Ñ¾î »ì¾Æ³²¾Ò´Ù.

´ÄÀº ºÎÀεéÀÌ »ç´Â ±³±¸¿Í, À°Ã¼ÀûÀÎ ¼è¶ô°ú, ÀÚ±â Àڽŵµ.

¹ÌÄ£ ¾ÆÀÏ·£µå´Â ±×¸¦ ±«·ÓÇô ½Ã·Î ¹Ð¾î ³Ö¾ú´Ù.

¾ÆÀÏ·£µå´Â ¿©ÀüÈ÷ ¹ÌÃÆ´Ù. ±× ³¯¾¾ ¶ÇÇÑ ±×·¸´Ù.

½Ã´Â ¾Æ¹« °Íµµ ÀϾ°Ô ÇÒ ¼ö ¾øÀ¸´Ï±î.

ÇÏÁö¸¸ ½Ã´Â ÀÚ½ÅÀÌ Å¾ °è°î,

±â¾÷ ÀÓ¿øµéÀº °áÄÚ »ó°üÇÏ°í ½ÍÁö ¾ÊÀº °è°î,

±× °è°î¿¡¼­ »ì¾Æ³²¾Æ ³²ÂÊÀ¸·Î È帣°í,

°í¸³µÈ ³óÀå°ú ºÐÁÖÇÑ ½½ÇÄ

¿ì¸®°¡ ±× ¾È¿¡¼­ ¹Ï°í Á׾´Â

±× »ý°æÇÑ ¸¶À»·ÎºÎÅÍ Èê·¯³ª¿Í

»ì¾Æ³²¾Ò´Ù.

ÀϾÀÇ ÇÑ ¹æ½ÄÀ¸·Î,

ÇÑ »ç¶÷ÀÇ ÀÔÀ¸·Î.

 

III

 

Earth, receive an honoured guest:

William Yeats is laid to rest.

Let the Irish vessel lie

Emptied of its poetry.

 

´ëÁö¿©, ¾î¼­ ³ª¿Í ÀÌ ÈǸ¢ÇÑ ¼Õ´ÔÀ» ¸ÂÀÌÇ϶ó.

Àª¸®¾ö ¿¹ÀÌÃ÷°¡ ¿©±â ´©¿ö ¾È½ÄÇÑ´Ù.

¾ÆÀÏ·£µå ¹è´Â

±× ½Ã¸¦ ³»·Á³õ¾Æ¶ó.

 

In the nightmare of the dark

All the dogs of Europe bark,

And the living nations wait,

Each sequestered in its hate;

¾ÏÈæÀÇ ¾Ç¸ù ¼Ó¿¡¼­

À¯·´ÀÌ ¸ðµç °³µéÀÌ Â¢´Â´Ù.

»ì¾ÆÀÖ´Â ³ª¶óµéÀº ¸ðµÎ

Áõ¿À¸¦ Ç°°í ¼û¾îÀÖ´Ù.

 

Intellectual disgrace

Stares from every human face,

And the seas of pity lie

Locked and frozen in each eye.

 

¸ðµç »ç¶÷µéÀº

ÁöÀû ±¼¿å°¨À¸·Î ¼­·Î¸¦ ÀÀ½ÃÇÑ´Ù.

¿¬¹ÎÀÇ ¹Ù´Ù´Â °Ý¸®µÈ ä ³õ¿©ÀÖ°í

°¢ÀÚÀÇ ´« ¼Ó¿¡ ²Ç²Ç ¾ó¾îÀÖ´Ù.

 

Follow, poet, follow right

To the bottom of the night,

With your unconstraining voice

Still persuade us to rejoice;

 

½ÃÀÎÀÌ¿©, µû¸£¶ó.

¹ãÀÇ ¹Ø¹Ù´Ú±îÁö µû¸£¶ó.

±×´ëÀÇ ÇعæÀÇ ¸ñ¼Ò¸®·Î

¿©ÀüÈ÷ ¿ì¸®¸¦ ±â»ÝÀ¸·Î ÀεµÇ϶ó.

 

With the farming of a verse

Make a vineyard of the curse,

Sing of human unsuccess

In a rapture of distress;

 

½Ã ÇÑÆíÀ» ÁöÀ½À¸·Î

ÀúÁÖÀÇ Æ÷µµ¹çÀ» ¸¸µé¶ó.

°íÅëÀÇ Èñ¿­ ¼Ó¿¡¼­

Àΰ£ÀÇ ÆиÁÀ» ³ë·¡Ç϶ó.

 

In the deserts of the heart

Let the healing fountain start,

In the prison of his days

Teach the free man how to praise.

 

°¡½¿ÀÇ »ç¸· ¼Ó¿¡¼­

Ä¡À¯ÀÇ »ù¹°ÀÌ ¼Ú¾Æ³ª°Ô Ç϶ó

°¨¿ÁÀÇ ³ª³¯ ¼Ó¿¡¼­

ÀÚÀ¯Àο¡°Ô Âù¾çÇÏ´Â ¹ýÀ» °¡¸£Ä¡¶ó.

 

 

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