Spring in Vermont
The sun was warm but the wind was chill You know how it is with an April day When the sun is out and the wind is still You are one month on in the middle of May. But if you so much as dare to speak, A cloud comes over the sunlit arch, A wind comes off a frozen peak, And you are two months back in the middle of March. (Robert Frost, cited by John)
Out of the mud two strangers came And caught me splitting wood in the yard, And one of them put me off my aim By hailing cheerily “Hit them hard!” I knew pretty well why he dropped behind And let the other go on a way. I knew pretty well what he had in mind: He wanted to take my job for pay.
Good blocks of beech it was I split, As large around as the chopping block; And every piece I squarely hit Fell splinterless as a cloven rock. The blows that a life of self-control Spares to strike for the common good That day, giving a loose to my soul, I spent on the unimportant wood.
A bluebird comes tenderly up to alight And fronts the wind to unruffle a plume His song so pitched as not to excite A single flower as yet to bloom. It is snowing a flake: and he half knew Winter was only playing possum. Except in color he isn’t blue, But he wouldn’t advise a thing to blossom.
The water for which we may have to look In summertime with a witching wand, In every wheel rut’s now a brook, In every print of a hoof a pond. Be glad of water, but don’t forget The lurking frost in the earth beneath That will steal forth after the sun is set And show on the water its crystal teeth.
The time when most I loved my task These two must make me love it more By coming with what they came to ask. You’d think I never had felt before The weight of an axhead poised aloft, The grip on earth of outspread feet. The life of muscles rocking soft And smooth and moist in vernal heat.
Out of the woods two hulking tramps (From sleeping God knows where last night, But not long since in the lumber camps.) They thought all chopping was theirs of right. Men of the woods and lumberjacks, They judged me by their appropriate tool. Except as a fellow handled an ax, They had no way of knowing a fool.
Nothing on either side was said. They knew they had but to stay their stay And all their logic would fill my head: As that I had no right to play With what was another man’s work for gain. My right might be love but theirs was need. And where the two exist in twain Theirs was the better right — agreed.
But yield who will to their separation, My object in living is to unite My avocation and my vocation As my two eyes make one in sight. Only where love and need are one, And the work is play for mortal stakes, Is the deed ever really done For heaven and the future’s sakes.
| The road not taken | 「歩む者のない道」 |
| Two roads diverged in a yellow wood, And sorry I could not travel both And be one traveler, long I stood And looked down one as far as I could To where it bent in the undergrowth; Then took the other, as just as fair, And having perhaps the better claim, Because it was grassy and wanted wear; Though as for that the passing there Had worn them really about the same, And both that morning equally lay In leaves no step had trodden black. Oh, I kept the first for another day! Yet knowing how way leads on to way, I doubted if I should ever come back. I shall be telling this with a sigh Somewhere ages and ages hence: Two roads diverged in a wood, and I took the one less traveled by, And that has made all the difference. (Robert Frost, 1916) | 黄色い森の中で道が二つに分か れていた 残念だが両方の道を 進むわけにはいかない 一人で 旅する私は、長い間そこにたた ずみ一方の道の先を見透かそう とした その先は折れ、草むら の中に消えている それから、もう一方の道を歩み 始めた 一見同じようだがこち らの方がよさそうだ なぜなら こちらは草ぼうぼうで 誰かが 通るのを待っていたから 本当 は二つとも同じようなものだっ たけれど あの朝、二つの道は同じように 見えた 枯葉の上には足跡一つ 見えなかった あっちの道はま たの機会にしよう でも、道が 先へ先へとつながることを知る 私は 再び同じ道に戻ってくる ことはないだろうと思っていた いま深いためいきとともに私は これを告げる ずっとずっと昔 森の中で道が二つに分かれてい た。そして私は…そして私は人 があまり通っていない道を選ん だ そのためにどんなに大きな 違いができたことか (ロバート・フロスト,1916) |
「黄色に染まった森のなかで、道が二手に分かれていた」 日常の言葉でニューイングランドの農村や自然、人生を語り、20世紀アメリカの「国民詩人」として愛されるロバート・フロスト(1874―1963)。素朴で大らかな描写の下に、不気味な暗さをたたえるその詩から、36篇を精選。多様な「意味の音」を伝える原文とともに味わう。
