낼모레까지 이거 읽고 이 시들을 설명하는 라디오 프로그램을 만들어서 녹음까지 끝내야돼는데 시조차도 못알아듣겠어 ㅠㅜ 제발 도와줘 진짜 영갤형들만 믿을께 흑흑....... 제발 번역좀 ....ㅠㅜ 감사......... 시 두개 존나 김..... 형들 공부하는셈치고 번역좀 해주시면 안될까요?? 흑흑.... Beach Burial Softly and humbly to the Gulf of Arabs The convoys of dead sailors come; At night they sway and wander in the waters far under, But morning rolls them in the foam. Between the sob and clubbing of the gunfire Someone, it seems, has time for this, To pluck them from the shallows and bury them in burrows And tread the sand upon their nakedness; And each cross, the driven stake of tidewood, Bears the last signature of men, Written with such perplexity, with such bewildered pity The words choke as they begin - 'Unknown Seaman' - the ghostly pencil Wavers and fades, the purple drips; The breath of the wet season has washed their inscriptions As blue as drowned men's lips, Dead Seamen, gone in search of the same landfall, Whether as enemies they fought, Or fought with us, or neither; the sand joins them together, Enlisted on the front. SIX YOUNG MEN by TED HUGHES The celluloid of a photograph holds them well,— Six young men, familiar to their friends. Four decades that have faded and ochre-tinged This photograph have not wrinkled the faces or the hands. Though their cocked hats are not now fashionable, Their shoes shine. One imparts an intimate smile, One chews a grass, one lowers his eyes, bashful, One is ridiculous with cocky pride— Six months after this picture they were all dead. All are trimmed for a Sunday jaunt. I know That bilberried bank, that thick tree, that black wall, Which are there yet and not changed. From where these sit You hear the water of seven streams fall To the roarer in the bottom, and through all The leafy valley a rumouring of air go. Pictured here, their expressions listen yet, And still that valley has not changed its sound Though their faces arc four decades under the ground. This one was shot in an attack and lay Calling in the wire, then this one, his best friend, Went out to bring him in and was shot too; And this one, the very moment he was warned From potting at tin-cans in no-man’s-land, Fell hack dead with his rifle-sights shot away. The rest, nobody knows what they came to, But come to the worst they must have done, and held it Closer than their hope; all were killed. Here see a man’s photograph, The locket of a smile, turned overnight Into the hospital of his mangled last Agony and hours; see bundled in it His mightier-than-a-man dead bulk and weight: And on this one place which keeps him alive (In his Sunday best) see fall war’s worst Thinkable flash and rending, onto his smile Forty years rotting into soil. That man’s not more alive whom you confront And shake by the hand, see hale, hear speak loud, Than any of these six celluloid smiles are, Nor prehistoric or fabulous beast more dead; No thought so vivid as their smoking blood: To regard this photograph might well dement, Such contradictory permanent horrors here Smile from the single exposure and shoulder out One’s own body from its instant and heat.