The Master by Czeslaw Milosz
译诗不易，且不说韵律那些更讲究、更难以企及的玩意，最重要的是别把意思弄错了。不把原文看明白就动手翻译，很容易出状况。如果没有可观的稿费可拿，最好别做此等吃力不讨好又损害自己清誉的事。
豆瓣上有一篇切·米沃什《大师》的译作，作者翻译的时候参考了台湾杜国清先生（著名旅美诗人，曾任加州大学中国文学教授）的译作。对照原诗英译（米沃什自己的翻译），二篇中译都有明显的不尽人意的地方。
只看第一段。
米沃什自己英译为：
They say that my music is angelic.
That when the Prince listens to it
His face, hidden from sight, turns gentle.
With a beggar he would share power.
A fan of a lady-in-waiting is immobile,
Silk by its touch does not induce pleasant immodest thoughts
And under a pleat her knees, far off in a chasm, grow numb.
杜国清先生的译文如下：
他们说我的音乐是天使的。
说，当王子倾听时，
他那藏在视线后面的脸，变得和蔼。
与乞丐他愿分享权力。
宫廷女侍的扇子是静止不动的，
丝绸的触抚并不诱致愉快的非非之想，
而裙褶下她的两膝，远隔，逐渐麻木。
豆瓣网友TooChaos的译文如下：
他们说我的音乐有如天使般。
当王子倾听时，
他的脸，避开视线，变得温柔。
同一个乞丐，他也愿分享权力。
侍女的团扇停滞，
对绸布的触觉不再产生奢华的愉悦
她在裙褶下的双膝，远远落入地壳裂隙，变得麻木。
《大师》总体说的是音乐的力量。原文可以在“Selected Poems Milosz”第147页找到，这个收录较全，喜欢米沃什诗歌的朋友可以留存。
“Hidden from sight”就是观者看不见的意思。诗人看不见王子的脸，是怎么知道音乐响起来的时候王子脸上的神情变柔和了呢？其实，既然诗人是“天使”的化身，什么东西瞒得过他的眼睛呢？甚至不用看，他能感觉到王子的变化。
“Silk by its touch”是什么意思呢？窃以为是音乐的意思，弦乐的流动仿若丝绸，不无撩拨之意，由此才有后面的“immodest thoughts”之说；immodest相对于modest（贞洁）而存在，例如，在保守的宗教人士看来维密内衣绝对属于immodest things。
BTW，米沃什这首诗里有许多“宗教”概念，非常不好译，类似immodest的字汇很多，比如后面有一句“Steps will be heard at the well but of other people”（详见附录全诗），是套用了约翰福音 4:1-42之“Jesus Talks With a Samaritan Woman at the well”。米沃什的意思是井旁有脚步声，多么希望来人是耶稣啊，可惜不是。二位译者都未能把这一层意思带出来。
第一段最后一行“far off in a chasm”又是什么意思呢？二位译者的译文迥然不同，豆瓣网友的译文显然不正确，杜教授下笔的时候显然也有压力，故只是将其简译为“远隔”二字，字面上是指宫女的两个膝盖远隔，分得比较开。是这个意思吗？“chasm”是两只膝盖分得较开形成的吗？那么，宫女当时是坐着、站着还是跪着呢？
一般来说，坐着膝盖不会麻木（numb），站着也不会，站着只会腿酸，所以，宫女跪着的可能性较大，只有跪着膝盖最容易麻木。再让我们继续想象一下，我们会张开腿跪着吗？一般不会，何况是宫女，怎么会采取那么不雅的姿势？那么，chasm到底是什么呢？宫女跪着，膝盖缩在裙子里，那是一条褶裙（pleat），裙子的褶皱刀削斧刻，看过去正似chasm，故“far off in a chasm”的意思是说宫女跪着，双膝隐在深深的裙摆里。
我们多熟悉切·米沃什晚年的形象，他的眉毛非常有特色，像二撮白胡子。其实，如图，他也年轻过呢。
THE MASTER
They say that my music is angelic.
That when the Prince listens to it
His face, hidden from sight, turns gentle.
With a beggar he would share power.
A fan of a lady-in-waiting is immobile,
Silk by its touch does not induce pleasant immodest thoughts
And under a pleat her knees, far off in a chasm, grow numb.
Everyone has heard in the cathedral my Missa Solemnis.
I changed the throats of girls from the Saint Cecilia choir
Into an instrument which raises us
Above what we are. I know how to free
Men and women from remembrances of their long lives
So that they stand in the smoke of the nave
Restored to the mornings of childhood
When a drop of dew and a shout on the mountains
Were the truth of the world.
Leaning on a cane at sunset
I may resemble a gardener
Who has planted and reared a tall tree.
I was not wasting the years of frail youthful hope.
I measure what is done. Over there a swallow
Will pass away and return, changed in its slanting flight.
Steps will be heard at the well but of other people.
The ploughs will erase a forest. The flute and the violin
Will always work as I have ordered them.
No one knows how I was paying. Ridiculous, they believe
It may be got for nothing. We are pierced by a ray.
They want a ray because this helps them to admire.
Or they accept a folktale: once, under an alder
A demon appeared to us, as black as a pond,
He drew two drops of blood with a sting of a gnat
And impressed in the wax his amethyst ring.
The celestial spheres endlessly resound.
But an instant is invincible in memory.
It comes back in the middle of the night. Who are those holding torches,
So that what is long past occurs in full light?
Regret, to no end, in every hour
Of a long life. What beautiful work
Will redeem the heartbeats of a living creature
And what use to confess deeds that last forever?
When old and white-haired under their laced shawls
They dip their fingers in a basin at the entrance
It seems to me she might have been one of them. The same firs
Rustle and with a shallow wave sheens the lake.
And yet I loved my destiny.
Could I move back time, I am unable to guess
Whether I would have chosen virtue. My line of fate does not tell.
Does God really want us to lose our soul
For only then He may receive a gift without blemish?
A language of angels! Before you mention Grace
Mind that you do not deceive yourself and others.
What comes from my evil — that only is true.
Montgeron, 1959
translated by Czesław Miłosz
