Home
·ÕÆç·Î¿ì
Æ÷¿ì
ÈÖÆ®¸Õ
µðŲ½¼
ÇÁ·Î½ºÆ®
¿¡¸Ó½¼
E.ÆÄ¿îµå
µðŲ½¼

           ¾ÖŸ´Â °¡½¿ ´Þ·¤ ¼ö ÀÖ´Ù¸é          If I Can Stop One Heart from Breaking
                                                                                        
           ±æ¿¡ µß±¸´Â Àú ÀÛÀº µ¹               How Happy Is The Little Stone

           Á×À½À» À§ÇØ ¸ØÃâ ¼ö´Â ¾ø¾î         Because I Could Not Stop For Death
                                                              
           ³ª´Â °í³úÀÇ Ç¥Á¤ÀÌ ÁÁ´Ù             I Like A Look Of Agony
                      
           ³» ÀλýÀº ÀåÀüµÈ ÃÑ                   My Life Had Stood-A Loaded Gun
                                                                                                      
           Èñ¸ÁÀº ³¯°³¸¦ °¡Áö°í ÀÖ´Â °Í       Hope Is The Thing With Feather
                                      
           Ȳ¾ß¸¦ º» Àû ¾ø¾îµµ
 

 

¾Ö Ÿ´Â °¡½¿ Çϳª ´Þ·¤ ¼ö ÀÖ´Ù¸é

                 - ¿¡¹Ð¸® µðŲ½¼


¾Ö Ÿ´Â °¡½¿ Çϳª ´Þ·¤ ¼ö ÀÖ´Ù¸é
³» »îÀº °áÄÚ ÇêµÇÁö ¾ÊÀ¸¸®.

ÇÑ »ý¸íÀÇ ¾ÆÇÄ ´ú¾îÁÙ ¼ö Àְųª,
±«·Î¿ò Çϳª ´Þ·¡ ÁÙ ¼ö ÀÖ´Ù¸é,

Çæ¶±ÀÌ´Â ÀÛÀº »õ ÇÑ ¸¶¸® µµ¿Í
µÕÁö¿¡ ´Ù½Ã ³Ö¾îÁÙ ¼ö ÀÖ´Ù¸é,

³» »îÀº °áÄÚ ÇêµÇÁö ¾ÊÀ¸¸®.



If I Can Stop One Heart from Breaking

               -  Emily Dickinson


If I can stop one heart from breaking

I shall not live in vain;

If I can ease one life the aching,

Or cool one pain,

Or help one fainting robin

Unto his nest again,

I shall not live in vain.



±æ¿¡ µß±¸´Â Àú ÀÛÀº µ¹

               - ¿¡¹Ð¸® µðŲ½¼


±æ¿¡¼­ È¥ÀÚ µß±¸´Â Àú ÀÛÀº µ¹
¾ó¸¶³ª ÇູÇÒ±î

¼¼»ó Ã⼿¶û ¾Æ¶û°÷¾ø°í
±ÞÇÑ ÀÏ ÀϾ±î µÎ·Á¿ò ¾ø³×

õ¿¬ÀÇ °¥»ö ¿ÊÀº
Áö³ª´ø ¾î´À ¿ìÁÖ°¡ ÀÔÇôÁᳪ

È¥ÀÚ »ì¸ç Ȧ·Î ºû³ª´Â žçó·³
´Ù¸¥ µ¥ ÀÇÁöÇÔ ¾øÀÌ

²Ù¹ÌÁö ¾Ê°í ¼Ò¹ÚÇÏ°Ô »ì¸ç
ÇÏ´ÃÀÇ ¶æÀ» ¿ÂÀüÈ÷ µû¸£³×



How happy is the little Stone

                   - Emily Dickinson 

        
How happy is the little Stone

That rambles in the Road alone,

And doesn't care about Careers

And Exigencies never fears---

Whose Coat of elemental Brown

A passing Universe put on,

And independent as the Sun

Associates or glows alone,

Fulfilling absolute Decree

In casual simplicity---



Á×À½À» À§ÇØ ³»°¡ ¸ØÃâ ¼ö ¾ø¾î

                   - ¿¡¹Ð¸® µðŲ½¼


Á×À½À» À§ÇØ ³»°¡ ¸ØÃâ ¼ö ¾ø¾î
±×°¡ ³ª¸¦ À§ÇØ Ä£ÀýÈ÷ ¸ØÃß¾ú´Ù.

¸¶Â÷´Â ¹Ù·Î ¿ì¸® ÀڽŰú
ºÒ¸êÀ» ½Ç¾ú´Ù.


¿ì¸®´Â ¼­¼­È÷ ´Þ·È´Ù. ±×´Â ¼­µÎ¸£Áöµµ ¾Ê¾Ò´Ù.
±×°¡ ³Ê¹« Á¤ÁßÇÏ¿©

³ª´Â Àϰú ¿©°¡µµ
Á¦Ãijõ¾Ò´Ù.


¾ÆÀ̵éÀÌ ÈÞ½Ä ½Ã°£¿¡
¿øÀ» ¸¸µé¾î ¶Ù³ë´Â Çб³¸¦ Áö³µ´Ù.

ÀÀ½ÃÇÏ´Â °î½Ä µéÆÇµµ Áö³µ°í
Àú¹«´Â ž絵 Áö³ª°¬´Ù.


¾Æ´Ï ¿ÀÈ÷·Á ÇØ°¡ ¿ì¸®¸¦ Áö³ª°¬´Ù.
À̽½ÀÌ ½º¸çµé¾î

¾ãÀº ¸íÁÖ, ³ªÀÇ °Ñ¿Ê°ú
¸íÁÖ ¸Á»ç-¼ñ·Î´Â ¶³¸®°í Â÷°¡¿ü´Ù.


ºÎǬ µÐ´öó·³
º¸ÀÌ´Â Áý ¾Õ¿¡ ¿ì¸®´Â ¸ØÃß¾ú´Ù.

ÁöºØÀº °ÅÀÇ º¼ ¼ö ¾ø°í
¹Ú°øÀº ¶¥ ¼Ó¿¡ ¹¯Çô ÀÖ¾ú´Ù.


±× ÈÄ ¼ö ¼¼±â°¡ Èê·¶À¸³ª
¸» ¸Ó¸®°¡ ¿µ¿øÀ»

ÇâÇѵí ÁüÀ۵Ǵø
¹Ù·Î ±× ³¯º¸´Ù ´õ ª°Ô ´À²¸Áø´Ù.



Because I could not stop for death-

                     - Emily Dickinson


Because I could not stop for Death-

He kindly stopped for me-

The Carriage held but just Ourselves-

And Immortality.


We slowly drove- He knew no haste

And I had put away

My labor and my leisure too.

For His Civility-


We passe the School, where Children strove

At Recess-in the Ring-

We passed the Fields of Gazing Grain

We passed the Setting Sun-


Or rather-He passed Us-

The Dews drew quivering and chill

For only Gossamer, my Gown-

My Tippet-only Tulle-


We paused before a House that seemed

A Swelling of the Ground-

The Roof was scarcely visible-

The Cornice-in the Ground-


Wince then-'tis Centuries-and yet

Feels shorter than the Day

I first surmised the Horses'heads

Were toward Eternity-



³ª´Â °í³úÀÇ Ç¥Á¤ÀÌ ÁÁ´Ù

                 - ¿¡¹Ð¸® µñŲ½¼


³ª´Â °í³úÀÇ Ç¥Á¤ÀÌ ÁÁ¾Æ.
±×°ÍÀÌ Áø½ÇÀÓÀ» ¾Ë±â¿¡-

»ç¶÷Àº °æ·ÃÀ» ÇÇÇϰųª
°íÅëÀ» Èä³»³¾ ¼ö ¾ø´Ù.


´«ºûÀÌ ÀÏ´Ü Èå·ÁÁö¸é-±×°ÍÀÌ Á×À½ÀÌ´Ù.
²Ù¹Ò¾ø´Â °í³ú°¡

À̸¶ À§¿¡ ±¸½½¶¡À»
²ç´Â ôÇÒ ¼ö´Â ¾ø´Â ¹ýÀÌ´Ù.



I like a look of Agony

             - Emily Dickinson


I like a look of Agony,

Because I know it's true-

Men do not sham convulsion,

Nor simulate, a Throe-


The Eyes glaze once- and that is Death-

Impossible to feign

The Beads upon the Forehead

By homely Anguish strung.



³» ÀλýÀº-ÀåÀüµÈ ÃÑ

                 - ¿¡¹Ð¸® µðŲ½¼


³» ÀλýÀº - ÀåÀüµÈ ÃÑÀ¸·Î
±¸¼®¿¡ ¼­ ÀÖ´ø- ¾î´À ³¯

¸¶Ä§³» ÁÖÀÎÀÌ Áö³ª°¡´Ù- ³¯ ¾Ë¾Æº¸°í
³ª¸¦ µ¥·Á°¬´Ù.


±×¸®°í Áö±Ý ¿ì¸®´Â ±¹¿ÕÀÇ ½£À» Çì¸Å¸é¼­
»ç½¿»ç³ÉÀ» Çϰí ÀÖ´Ù.

³»°¡ ÁÖÀÎ À§ÇØ ¸»ÇÒ ¶§¸¶´Ù-
»êµéÀÌ ´çÀå ´ë´äÇÑ´Ù.


³»°¡ ¹Ì¼ÒÁöÀ¸¸é ÈûÂù ºûÀÌ
°è°î¿¡¼­ ¹øÂ½ÇÑ´Ù.

º£¼öºñ¾î½º È­»êÀÌ
Áñ°Å¿òÀ» ÅäÇØ³»´Â µíÇÏ´Ù.


¹ãÀÌ µÇ¾î ¸ÚÁø ÇÏ·ç°¡ ³¡³ª¸é
³ª´Â ÁÖÀÎ´Ô ¸Ó¸®¸ÃÀ» ÁöŲ´Ù.

¹ãÀ» ÇÔ²² º¸³»´Ù´Ï Ç«½ÅÇÑ
¿À¸® ¼ØÅÐ º£°³º¸´Ù ´õ ÁÁ´Ù.


±×ºÐÀÇ Àû¿¡°Ô- ³ª´Â ¹«¼­¿î ÀûÀÌ´Ù.
³»°¡ ³ë¶õ Ãѱ¸¸¦ °Ü´©°Å³ª

¾öÁö¿¡ ÈûÀ» ÁÖ¸é
¾Æ¹«µµ µÎ ¹ø ´Ù½Ã ¿òÁ÷ÀÌÁö ¸øÇÑ´Ù.


ºñ·Ï ±×ºÐº¸´Ù ³»°¡- ´õ ¿À·¡ »ìÁö ¸ð¸£³ª
±×ºÐÀº ³ªº¸´Ù- ´õ ¿À·¡ »ì¾Æ¾ß ÇÑ´Ù.

³ª´Â Á×ÀÌ´Â ´É·ÂÀº À־
Á×´Â ÈûÀº ¾øÀ¸¹Ç·Î-



My Life had stood-a Loaded Gun-

                   - Emily Dickinson


My Life had stood-a Loaded Gun-

In Corners-till a Day

The Owner passed-identified-

And carried Me away-


And now We roam in Sovreign Woods-

And now We hunt the Doe-

And every time I speak for Him-

The Mountains straight reply-


And do I smile, such cordial light

Upon the Valley glow-

It si as a Vesuvian face

Had let it's pleasure through-


And when at Night-Our good Day done-

I guard My Master's Head-

'Tis better than the Eider-Duck's Deep Pillow-to have shared-


To foe of His-I'm deadly foe-

None stir the second time-

On whom I lay a Yellow Eye-

Or an Emphatic Thumb-


Though I than He-may longer live

He longer must-than I-

For I have but the power to kill,

Without-the power to die-



Èñ¸ÁÀº ³¯°³¸¦ °¡Áö°í ÀÖ´Â °Í

                           -µðŲ½¼

     Èñ¸ÁÀº ³¯°³¸¦ °¡Áö°í ÀÖ´Â °Í
     ¿µÈ¥ ¼Ó¿¡ ¸Ó¹«¸£¸é¼­

     °¡»ç ¾ø´Â ³ë·¡¸¦ ºÎ¸£¸é¼­
     °áÄÚ ¸ØÃß´Â ÀÏÀ̶õ ¾ø´Ù.


     ±¤Ç³ ¼Ó¿¡¼­ ´õ¿í´õ ¾Æ¸§´ä°Ô µé¸°´Ù.
     ÆøÇ³¿ìµµ ±«·Î¿ö Çϸ®¶ó.

     ÀÌ ÀÛÀº »õ¸¦ ´çȲÄÉ ÇÔÀ¸·Î ÇØ¼­
     ¸¹Àº »ç¶÷µéÀÇ ¸¶À½À» µû¶æÇÏ°Ô Çß¾ú´Âµ¥.

 
     ¾ó¾îµé µí Ãß¿î ³ª¶ó³ª
     ¸Ö¸® ¶³¾îÁø ¹Ù´Ù ±Ùó¿¡¼­ ±× ³ë·¡¸¦ µé¾ú´Ù.

     ±×·¯³ª ¾î·Á¿ò ¼Ó¿¡ ÀÖÀ¸¸é¼­ ÇÑ ¹øÀ̶óµµ
     »§Á¶°¢À» ±¸°ÉÇÏ´Â ÀÏÀº ÇÏÁö ¾Ê¾Ò´Ù.


 
     Hope Is The Thing with Feathers

                       - Emily Dickinson

 
     Hope is the thing with feathers

     That perches in the soul,

     And sings the tune without the words,

     And never stops at all,


     And sweetest in the gale is heard;

     And sore must be the storm

     That could abash the little bird

     That kept so many warm.


     I've heard it in the chillest land,

     And on the strangest sea;

     Yet, never, in extremity,

     It asked a crumb of me.



Ȳ¾ß¸¦ º»Àû ¾ø¾îµµ

                               ¿¡¹Ð¸® µñŲ½¼


     ³ª ¾ÆÁ÷ Ȳ¾ß¸¦ º» Àû ¾ø¾îµµ,
     ³ª ¾ÆÁ÷ Ȳ¾ß¸¦ º» Àû ¾ø¾îµµ,

     È÷µå Ç®ÀÌ ¾î¶»°Ô »ý±ä °ÍÀÎÁö
     ÆÄµµ°¡ ¾î¶² °ÇÁö ¾Ë°í ÀÖ´Ù¿À.


     ³ª ¾ÆÁ÷ ÇÏ´À´Ô°ú ¸» ¸ø Ç߾,
     Àú ÇÏ´Ã ³ª¶ó¿¡ °£ Àû ¾ø¾îµµ,

     ÁöµµÃ¥À» Æì³õ°í º¸´Â °Íó·³
     ±× °÷À» ÀÚ¼¼ÇÏ°Ô ¾Ë°í ÀÖ´Ù¿À


 
¿¡¹Ð¸® µðŲ½¼ Emily Dickinson (1830-1886)


¹Ì±¹ÀÇ ¿©¼º ½ÃÀÎ. ¸Å»çÃß¼¼Ã÷ ÁÖ ¿¡¸Ó½ºÆ®ÀÇ Ã»±³µµ °¡Á¤¿¡¼­
ž ÀÏ»ý µ¿¾È ¿ÜºÎ ¼¼°è¿Í ´ãÀ» ½×°í Áö³Â´Ù.

¿¡¸Ó½ºÆ®¿¡¼­ °íµîÇб³¸¦ ¸¶Ä£ µÚ ¸¶¿îÆ® Ȧ¸®¿äÅ© ½ÅÇдëÇп¡
ÀÔÇÐÇÏ¿´À¸³ª 1³â ¸¸¿¡ ÁßÅðÇÏ°í ½Ã¾²´Â ÀÏ¿¡ Àü³äÇÏ¸ç Æò»ýÀ»

µ¶½ÅÀ¸·Î º¸³Â´Ù. óÀÚ°¡ ÀÖ´Â ¸ñ»ç¿ÍÀÇ »ç¶ûÀÌ ½Ç¿¬À¸·Î ³¡³ªÀÚ
±×³àÀÇ ½ÃÀû Àç´ÉÀº µÏÀ» ÅͶ߸° º¿¹°Ã³·³ ³ÑÃÄÈê·¶´Ù.

±×·¯³ª ±×³à°¡ ¾´ ½Ã 1775Æí °¡¿îµ¥ »ýÀü¿¡ ¹ßÇ¥µÈ °ÍÀº
´Ü 7Æí¿¡ ºÒ°úÇÏ´Ù.

 
±×³àÀÇ ½Ã´Â ÀÚ¿¬°ú »ç¶û ¿Ü¿¡µµ Ç»¸®ÅÍ´ÏÁòÀ» ¹è°æÀ¸·Î ÇÑ
Á×À½°ú ¿µ¿ø µîÀÇ ÁÖÁ¦¸¦ ¸¹ÀÌ ´Ù·ç°í ÀÖ´Ù.

¿îÀ²¿¡¼­³ª ¹®¹ý¿¡¼­³ª ÆÄ°ÝÀûÀ̾ú±â ¶§¹®¿¡ 19¼¼±â¿¡´Â ÀÎÁ¤À»
¹ÞÁö ¸øÇÏ¿´À¸³ª, 20¼¼±â¿¡ µé¾î¿Í¼­ À̹ÌÁöÁò°ú ÇüÀÌ»óÇÐÆÄÀû ½ÃÀÇ
À¯Çà°ú ´õºÒ¾î ³ôÀÌ Æò°¡¹Þ°Ô µÇ¾ú´Ù.
 

[Home] [ãÌûþ] [À½¾Ç] [¿ä¸®] [¿©Çà] [ÀüÅ빮ȭ] [À¥»çÀÌÆ®] [°¡³ª¸¶À»] [»ç¶û¹æ]