[³ëÀÎÀ» À§ÇÑ ³ª¶ó´Â ¾ø´Ù (No country for old men, 2007)]

ÀÌ Á¦¸ñÀº ÄÚ¸Æ ¸ÅÄ«½Ã(Cormac McCarthy)¶õ ÀÛ°¡°¡ ¾´, ÀÌ ¿µÈ­ÀÇ ¿øÀÛ ¼Ò¼³ÀÇ Á¦¸ñ°ú °°Àºµ¥, ±× ¼Ò¼³ÀÇ Á¦¸ñÀº Àª¸®¾ö ¹öƲ·¯ ¿¹ÀÌÃ÷ (William Butler Yeats)°¡ ¾´ <ºñÀÜÆ¼¿òÀ¸·ÎÀÇ Ç×ÇØ (Sailing To Byzantium)>¶ó´Â ½Ã¿¡¼­ µû¿Â °ÍÀ̶ó°í ÇÑ´Ù.

¾Æ·¡¿¡ ±× ½Ã¸¦ ã¾Æ µÐ´Ù. µü ¸¶À½¿¡ µå´Â ¹ø¿ªº»À» ã±â°¡ ½±Áö ¾ÊÀºµ¥ ´ë·«ÀÇ ÀÇ¹Ì¶óµµ ÆÄ¾ÇÇϱâ À§ÇØ ÇÑ °¡Áö ¹ø¿ª¹®À» ÂüÁ¶ÇÑ´Ù.

½Ã¿¡¼­´Â "That is no country for old men"·Î Ç¥ÇöÇϰí ÀÖÀ¸´Ï, "±×°ÍÀº(±×°÷Àº) ³ëÀÎÀ» À§ÇÑ ³ª¶ó°¡ ¾Æ´Ï´Ù"·Î ¹ø¿ªµÈ´Ù. ¼Ò¼³°ú ¿µÈ­ Á¦¸ñ¿¡¼­´Â ±× ¹®Àå¿¡¼­ ÁÖ¾îºÎ (That is)¸¦ ¶¼¾î³»°í ³ª´Ï ¸¶Ä¡ ÁÖ¾îºÎ°¡ "There is"ÀÎ °Íó·³ ÀÐÇô¼­ "(There is) No country for old men (³ëÀÎÀ» À§ÇÑ ³ª¶ó´Â ¾ø´Ù)"¶ó´Â ¾à°£ º¯ÇüµÈ Àǹ̷ΠÀÌÇØÇÏ°Ô µÇ´Â °Å °°´Ù. ±×·¯³ª, ±×·¯ÇÑ ÀǹÌÀÇ º¯ÇüÀÌ ¿ø·¡ÀÇ ½Ã±¸¿Í ´Þ¶ó¼­ À߸øµÈ °ÍÀ̶ó°í ÇÒ ¼ö´Â ¾ø°Ú´Ù. ÁÖ¾îºÎÀÇ »ý·«À¸·Î ±× ÇØ¼®ÀÇ ¿©Áö´Â ´õ ³Ð¾îÁ³À¸´Ï ¸»ÀÌ´Ù.


<ºñÀÜÆ¼¿òÀ¸·ÎÀÇ Ç×ÇØ (Sailing To Byzantium)>

I

That is no country for old men. The young
In one another¡¯s arms, birds in the trees
—Those dying generations—at their song,
The salmon-falls, the mackerel-crowded seas,
Fish, flesh, or fowl, commend all summer long
Whatever is begotten, born, and dies.
Caught in that sensual music all neglect
Monuments of unageing intellect.

±×°ÍÀº ³ëÀÎÀ» À§ÇÑ ³ª¶ó°¡ ¾Æ´Ï´Ù. ÀþÀºÀÌ´Â
¼­·Î ²¸¾È°í, »õµéÀº ³ª¹«¿¡¼­
¡ª±×µé Á׾´Â ¼¼´ëµéÀº¡ª³ë·¡ºÎ¸£°í,
¿¬¾î ¶Ù¾î¿À¸£´Â ÆøÆ÷, °íµî¾î ¿ì±Û°Å¸®´Â ¹Ù´Ù.
¹°°í±â, µ¿¹°, ³¯Áü½Â µî ¿Â ¿©¸§ µ¿¾È
¿Â°® À×ŵǰí ž°í Á×´Â °ÍµéÀ» μÛÇÑ´Ù.
°ü´ÉÀÇ À½¾Ç¿¡ »ç·ÎÀâÇô ¸ðµÎµé
´ÄÁö ¾Ê´Â ¿¹ÁöÀÇ ¾÷Àû¿£ ¼ÒȦÇϱ¸³ª.


II

An aged man is but a paltry thing,
A tattered coat upon a stick, unless
Soul clap its hands and sing, and louder sing
For every tatter in its mortal dress,
Nor is there singing school but studying
Monuments of its own magnificence;
And therefore I have sailed the seas and come
To the holy city of Byzantium.

´ÄÀº »ç¶÷Àº Á¤¸» º¸À߰;ø´Â °Í,
¸·´ë±â¿¡ °É¸° ´©´õ±â ¿ÊÀÌ´Ï,
¿µÈ¥ÀÌ ¼Õ»ÁÄ¡¸ç ³ë·¡ÇÏÁö ¾Ê°í, ±×
µ¡¾ø´Â ¿ÊÀÇ ³¹³¹ Á¶°¢µéÀ» Å©°Ô ³ë·¡ÇÏÁö ¾ÊÀ¸¸é,
Àå¾öÇÑ ¾÷Àû°øºÎ ¾øÀÌ´Â
³ë·¡ÇÏ´Â Çб³µµ ¾øÀ¸´Ï:
±×·¯±â¿¡ ³ª ¹Ù´Ù¸¦ °Ç³Ê
ºñÀÜÆ¼¿ò ¼ºµµ(á¡Ô´)¿¡ ¿Ô´À´Ï.


III

O sages standing in God¡¯s holy fire
As in the gold mosaic of a wall,
Come from the holy fire, perne in a gyre,
And be the singing-masters of my soul.
Consume my heart away; sick with desire
And fastened to a dying animal
It knows not what it is; and gather me
Into the artifice of eternity.

º®¸éÀÇ ±Ýºû ¸ðÀÚÀÌÅ© ¼Ó¿¡¼­Ã³·³
¿À ½ÅÀÇ ¼ºÈ­ ¼Ó¿¡ ¼­ ÀÖ´Â ÇöÀεéÀÌ¿©
±× ¼ºÈ­¿¡¼­ °É¾î³ª¿Í ¸Éµ¹¸ç,
³» ¿µÈ¥ÀÇ ³ë·¡ÀÇ ½º½ÂÀÌ µÇ¾î´Ù¿À.
³» ½ÉÀåÀ» ´Ù Å¿ö¹ö·Á´Ù¿À, ³» ½ÉÀåÀº ¿å¸ÁÀ¸·Î º´µé°í
Á׾´Â µ¿¹°¿¡ ¾ô¸Å¾î
ÀڱⰡ ¹ºÁö ¸ð¸¥´Ù;
±×¸®°í ³ª¸¦ ºÒ¸êÀÇ ¼Ø¾¾¿¡°Ô·Î °ÅµÖ°¡´Ù¿À.


IV

Once out of nature I shall never take
My bodily form from any natural thing,
But such a form as Grecian goldsmiths make
Of hammered gold and gold enamelling
To keep a drowsy Emperor awake;
Or set upon a golden bough to sing
To lords and ladies of Byzantium
Of what is past, or passing, or to come.

ÇÑ ¹ø ÀÚ¿¬¿¡¼­ ³ª¿ÔÀ¸´Ï ³» ´Ù½Ã´Â
³» ¸ð½ÀÀ» ¾î¶² ÀÚ¿¬ÀûÀÎ °Í¿¡¼­µµ °¡Á®¿ÀÁö ¾Ê°í,
Èñ¶ø ±Ý ¼¼°øÀÎÀÌ, Á¹À½ °Ü¿î ȲÁ¦¸¦ ±ú¿öµÎ±â À§ÇØ
µÎµå·Á ¸¸µç Ȳ±Ý¿¡ ±Ý ±¤ÅÃÀ» Ä¥ÇÑ
±×·± ¸ð½ÀÀ» °¡Áö¸®;
¾Æ´Ï¸é ºñÀÜÆ¼¿òÀÇ °í±ÍÇÑ ³²³àµé¿¡°Ô
Áö³­ °ÍÀ̳ª, Áö³ª°¡°í ÀÖ´Â °Í, ¶Ç´Â ÀåÂ÷ ¿Ã °ÍÀ» ³ë·¡ÇÏ·Á°í
Ȳ±Ý°¡Áö¿¡ ¾É¾Æ ÀÖ´Â ¸ð½ÀÀ».


ÇÑÆí, ¿µÈ­ÀÇ ¿£µù ºÎºÐÀº ´ë»çÀÇ Àǹ̸¦ ´Ù ÆÄ¾ÇÇÒ °Ü¸¦µµ ¾øÀÌ ¿µÈ­°¡ ³¡³ª ¹ö·Á¼­ ¸¶Áö¸·¿¡ º¸¾È°ü º§ ºÎºÎ°¡ ³ª´©´Â ´ëÈ­¸¦ ã¾Æ º¸¾Ò´Ù. º§ÀÌ ÀÚ½ÅÀÌ ²Û µÎ °³ÀÇ ²Þ À̾߱⸦ ¾Æ³»¿¡°Ô ÇØÁÖ°í Àִµ¥ ¿µÈ­ÀÇ ÁÖÁ¦¿Íµµ °ü·ÃÀÌ ÀÖÀ¸³ª, ¿µÈ­ º¸´Â Áß¿¡´Â ±Ý¹æ ÀÌÇØÇϱâ´Â Èûµé¾ú´Ù. ÀÌ·¸°Ô ¿µ¾î·Î ´Ù½Ã º¸´Ï ¾î·ÅDzÀÌ ÀÌÇØ°¡ µÇ´Â µíµµ Çϳª ¾î·Æ±â´Â ¿ª½Ã ¸¶Âù°¡Áö´Ù.

Loretta Bell: How'd you sleep?

Ed Tom Bell: I don't know. I had dreams.

Loretta Bell: Well you got time for 'em now. Anything interesting?

Ed Tom Bell: They always is to the party concerned.

Loretta Bell: Ed Tom? I'll be polite.

Ed Tom Bell: All right then. Two of 'em. Both had my father in 'em. It's peculiar. I'm older now than he ever was by twenty years. So, in a sense, he's the younger man. Anyway the first one I don't remember too well but it was about meeting him in town somewheres and he gave me some money. I think I lost it. The second one, it was like we was both back in the older times, and I was ahorseback, going through the mountains of a night, going through this pass in the mountains. It was cold and there was snow on the ground and he would rode past me and kept on going, never said nothing going by, just rode on past, and he had his blanket wrapped around him and his head down. When he rode past I seen he was carrying fire in a horn the way people used to do and I, I could see the horn from the light inside of it, about the color of the moon. And in the dream I knew that he was going on ahead, and he was fixing to make a fire somewhere out there in all that dark and all that cold... And I knew that whenever I got there he'd be there... Then I woke up.

(ahorseback: ¸» µî¿¡ Ÿ°í. horn: »Ô).



¿µÈ­´Â °¨µ¶ÀÎ ÄÚ¿£ ÇüÁ¦°¡ ÄÚ¸Æ ¸ÆÄ«½ÃÀÇ ¿øÀÛ ¼Ò¼³À» °ÅÀÇ ±×´ë·Î ¿Å°Ü³õ´Ù½ÃÇÇ ¿øÀÛ¿¡ Ãæ½ÇÇÏ°Ô °¢»öÇÏ¿´´Ù°í ÇÏ´Ï, ¿µÈ­(°ð ¼Ò¼³)°¡ Ç¥ÇöÇÏ·Á°í Çß´ø ºÎºÐ¿¡ ´ëÇØ Á» ´õ ÀÌÇØÇÏÀÚ¸é ¿øÀÛ ¼Ò¼³À» Àо´Â °Íµµ ±¦Âú°Ú´Ù. ƯÈ÷ ¸¶Áö¸· ºÎºÐÀÇ ´ë»ç °°ÀÌ Àß ÀÌÇØµÇÁö ¾ÊÀº ºÎºÐ¿¡ ´ëÇØ¼­´Â Ã¥À» º¸¸é ¼±¸íÇØÁú °ÍÀ¸·Î º¸ÀδÙ.



¿µÈ­ ¸®ºä ¾øÀÌ °ü·Ã Á¤º¸¸¸ ¿Ã·Á µÎÁö¸¸, ÇѸ¶µð·Î ¿À·£¸¸¿¡ ½ºÅ©¸° ¼ÓÀ¸·Î ¸ôÀÔÇØ¼­ Á¤¸» Àç¹ÌÀÖ°Ô º» ¿µÈ­¿´´Ù. À̹ø ¿À½ºÄ« ¼ö»ó ¿¹Ãø À̺¥Æ®¿¡ ÀÛǰ»ó°ú ³²¿ìÁ¶¿¬»ó ºÎ¹®¿¡¼± ÁÖÀú ¾øÀÌ ÀÌ ¿µÈ­¿¡ ÅõÇ¥Çϱâ·Î ¸¶À½ ¸Ô¾ú´Ù.
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* ÁÖÁ¦¿Í °ü·Ã ¾ø´Â Ãß°¡.

¿¹ÀÌÃ÷ Çϴϱî ÁßÇб³ ¶©°¡ ±³°ú¼­¿¡ ½Ç·È´ø "À̴ϽºÇÁ¸®ÀÇ È£µµ"¶ó´Â ½Ã°¡ »ý°¢³ª¼­ (±³°ú¼­¿¡ ½Ç·È´ø Á¦¸ñÀÌ À̰ſ´´ÂÁö Àß ±â¾ï³ªÁö ¾Ê´Â´Ù) ã¾ÆºÃ´Ù. ´©°¡ ¹ø¿ªÇÑ ½Ã¿´´ÂÁöµµ ´ç½Ã¿¡´Â ±Ã±ÝÇØ Çß´ø ±â¾ïÀÌ ¾ø°í, Áö±Ý ã¾ÆºÁµµ ±³°ú¼­¿¡ ½Ç¸° ±× ½ÃÀÇ ¹ø¿ªÀÚ°¡ ´©±ºÁö´Â Àß È®ÀεÇÁö ¾Ê´Â´Ù.


Lake Isle of Innisfree

- W.B.Yeats


I will arise and go now, and go to Innisfree,
And a small cabin build there, of clay and wattles made
Nine bean-rows will I have there, a hive for the honey-bee
And live alone in the bee-loud glade.

And I shall have some peace there, for peace comes dropping slow,
Dropping from the veils of the morning to where the cricket sings
There midnight's all a glimmer, and noon a purple glow,
And evening full of the linnet's wings.

I will arise and go now, for always night and day
I hear lake water lapping with low sounds by the shore
While I stand on the roadway, or on the pavements grey,
I hear it in the deep heart's core.


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