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和訳
ツール：辞書とAI

あなたはまた召集させたあなたの友人と宴会をしていますか、この辺り一番の陽気な居酒屋や旅館で
あなたの故郷と呼ぶ場所で。

大声で酒宴の賛歌を歌い、正午の太陽の恵みを讃え
しかし、汝らは愉快な仲間であっても
空になった杯と共に、まだ汝の内なるそろばんの歌声が静かに鳴り響く。
友の間でも計算しているなのか？
恐れるのか、波の十字架の混ざり合いにそれ自身をなぞる珠を
慌ただしく、落ち着きがなく、じっとしていない。それがあなたの心の重荷になっているのか？
友よ、それが汝を孤独にしたのなら。ならば、私と共にこの乾杯を捧げよう。
天に向かって、緑のオアシスの、発酵したナツメヤシの、ハチミツでいっぱいにして、
友と友情に、"Ad loca libanda Liber."
"飲まれるべき場所へ、自由を（Dionysus ディオニュソス！）"
汝の友を抱擁せよ、一度でも二度でも、男らしい思いやりに満ちて。
そうして別れる、
汝の目を閉じよ。

人間から離れ、太陽から離れ、死にゆきの回転する車輪から離れ、あのすべてを乾燥させ、無言の屑にさせる太陽から。
まだ太陽のキャラバンの転がる軌跡に貫かれていない、見捨てられた自由（Pan パン！）に存在する騒がしい荒野へ。
道をたどれ、ぬかるみ、流れ、赤と黒が混じり合い、生命に満ち溢れている、
かつて、大きな蹄で踏まれたその上を、しゃりしゃりと音を立てて楽しそうに。
視界にも、思い出せる距離にも、村はない、友よ。汝の海図と航海日誌を捨てよ、陸の海を、
運命の西へ向かう孤独な船には、東の桃の花の枝は必要ない（『桃花春』はもう歳が取った）。
朽ち果てた見えない薔薇（ばら）の花びらが無造作に散って香る乞食道（ハイウェイ）*1は
古代の巨人の羊飼いの巨大な跳ぶ踊るの事のよって、蠢きと泳ぎながら
祝福された巨人の彼のこの現世からの遺脱を告げた
酔っぱらいの船乗りのふりをしよう、彼の虚しいないたずらの餓鬼（ガキ）心と、断酒の彼の歌に従って。
荘厳で静かな、彼の抑えた口調。風の流れのない空のように
木々や人間の空虚な心が、彼女の呼び声を発する
鳥も小鹿も、ミミズも蛇も、そして獲物も捕食者は
緑に身を隠し、赤や黄色に酔いながら、夢見るながら喘息する
かすかな葦のピーアン*2の音---悲劇的な歌、
動きのない岩や岩山の間に響く、
松や柳のすすり泣き、
すべての生きとし生けるものが
パンの音楽がそれらを心に呼び起こし、忘却の最後の音で終わるのを。
そして、来る夜によって黒く染まった空の下で死んでいく。

そしてその出血は、彼の泥だらけの心臓である野原を切り裂く血管であった。
澄みきった永遠の流れよ......彼の神聖な幻影......彼の多くの希望よ
時には緑の葉が彼女の上に降り積もり、彼女を幻のように夏の夢想にさせた。
そして時には、秋の燃えるような熱情で茶色く成長し、収穫の労苦から解放され
永遠の休息の白く冷たい、幾星霜でおおわれた冬を迎えるために。
彼の心からは、澄み切った泡のような小川が流れていた。
夜の星々の失われたひとつの器への憧れ。
空っぽの黄昏の空が、彼女の水のようなみだらを悲しげに叫んでいる。
それは雨に濡れた空自分の姿を映しているに過ぎない。
友よ、私たちはまだその彼岸を行かねばならない。
緑、赤、白が青と紫を求めるように。
暖かい歌、心、希望に満ちた夢...すべてが彼方の岸辺で美しい死を望んでいる...。
最愛の夢見る敷居に、もう長居は無用。
黄昏の欺瞞に満ちた美しさを、これ以上待ってはいけない。
夜の宮殿への門は、まだあなたに開かれていない。
始まりと終わりの二重の門をくぐって歩こう。
盲目、無言、聾唖（ろうあ）、そして死んだ心に捧げよう。
黒い安らぎが、押し寄せる白い感覚の潮を永遠にかき消すだろう。
疲弊し、停滞し、物質化したすべての香りと風味が
満足感に濡れながら、鮮やかに燃える色とりどりの大地へと。
そして、漆黒の闇に収束し、下へ下へと昇っていく。
孤独を求める孤独な心は
孤独を切望する心を見つけるだろう。
彼女、唯一の報い、多くの壊れてた心が、再び融合する、
人の心が生まれる前のように。
そして、心の死から---すべて
生きることを学んだこと、生きたこと、生きてきたことに対する恥辱、不名誉、後悔は、こうして彼女によって免除される。
こうして、彼女によって赦されるだろう、
そして私の心は最後にもう一度慰め、
私は彼女に面倒をみてもらう。
自己を消耗の愛の焼却を通して---秘密の赤い舌の踊るの愛。
パンの宮殿で、脳の黒い宇宙を焼き払う。
昼からも、人間からも、汝の自己からも、そしてすべての永遠からも遠ざかる。
夜の肥沃な漆黒の闇の中に、内在し、動かず、燦然と輝く愛そのものだけがある。

English original

Does your convening feast with your friend still,
In the most jolly taverns and inns of these parts,
the province which you call it your Home?
Singing together your loud drinking hymn, lauding
the bounty of the midday. Yet, though thou art mates-merry,
Along with emptied cups, still clanged the hushed song of
Thy inner abacus? calculating amongst friends? Do you fear,
the beads that traces itself in the criss-cross mingling of the waves.
hurried, restless, is not still. Does that burden your heart?
Friend, if it has made thee lonely. Then offer up this toast, with me
Emptied to the heavens, full of the fermented date-honey of a green oasis,
To friend and friendship, "Ad loca libanda Liber."
"to the places that need to be drunk, freedom (Dionysus!)."
embrace thy friends so, once or twice, full of manly compassion. so to part,
so to leave the delightful company and friendship of gloriously-stoned city-walls behind. close thine eyes.
so to bid farewell, let us go

away from men, away from Sun, from his dying turning round of himself the wheel. drying everything into mute, desiccated dross.
towards the noisy wilderness of abandoned freedom (Pan!), yet to be penetrated by the rolling trajectories of the Solar Caravan.
follow the trail,
muddy and flowing, red mixed with black; much too rife with life,
once, upon which he with big hooves trod on, happily with a squelching sound.
there is no village in sight, nor in memorable distance, friend
dispose of thy charts and logs, the land-sea,
for a lone ship sailing to doomed west there is no need of a branch of eastern peach blossoms (The Peach Blossom Spring's past his age)
the high road fragrant with the rotten, invisible rose petals scatted careless
by the ancient giant shepherd's giant leaps and hops, writhing and swimming
announcing his blessed, gigantic departure from the mundane,
let us follow his naughty heart then, pretending to be a drunken sailor, and his abstemious song

solemn and quieted, his suppressed tone. as the empty sky devoid of wind currents
to trees and men's hollow hearts make out her call,
thus for certes would answer, all birds and fawns, worms and snakes, and all preys and predators too,
while hiding themselves in green, and inebriated with red or yellow, dreamily stridulous
faint notes of reedy paean---song for the tragic,
echoing amongst the motionless rocks and craigs,
and the sobbing of the pine or the willow,
and all living things waiting
Pan's music to recall them to his mind, to end in the final note of forgetfulness. and die under the empty sky, blackened through the coming night.

and the bleeding thus were the blood-vessels that dissect the field which is his muddy-heart
O the clear, ever-flowing stream… his divine visionary..his many hopes
sometimes with green leaves fallen on her and made her phantastically summer-dreamy.
and sometimes she grew brown with autumn's fiery ardour, so to clear herself of harvest's labour
to welcome in the white, cold, star-rimy*3 winter of eternal rest.
the stream that flew from his heart, clear and bubbly.
longing for the one lost vessel of nightly stars.
as the empty twilight sky yell down sadly at her watery incontinence, which
is but a reflection of the sky's own drizzling rain.

friend, still yonder we must go.
as the green, red, and whiteness demand the Blue and Purple.
warm songs, hearts, and hopeful dreams…all want beautiful death in the yonder shore…
linger not upon the beloved dreaming threshold anymore.
wait not longer upon the deceptive beauty of the twilight.
the gate to the Palace of the Night is yet to open to you.
let us walk on, passing the dual Gate of the Beginning and the End.
Offer us to blindness, muteness, deafness and a dead heart.
where black peace forevermore shall drown out the crushing white tides of senses.
all the scents and flavours that grew tired, stagnate and consolidate
into brilliantly burning colourful earth, wet with satisfaction.
and in blackness converge and rise, downwards.
and the lonely heart that seeks solitude
Will find a heart that craves solitude.
Her, the only reward, many hearts broken hence shall join once again,
like before the birth of men's hearts themselves.
and from the death of the hearts---all the
shame, disgrace and regret for learning to live, living and having lived, shall thus by her be excused.
shall thus by her be resolved,
and my heart shall be consoled one last time, being taken care of…
through self-consuming love's immolation ---the secret red-tongued dancing love
that burns away the black cosmos of the brain, in the Palace of Pan.
Away from Day, Away from Man, Away from thy Self, and all Eternity.
Where there is only Love itself in fertile blackness of the night, immanent, immobile, resplendent.

*1 ハイウェイ、「乞食道」は自分的のケニング(詩的称呼）

*2 paean, 主に勝利の時アポロンへ捧ぐギリシャの賛歌の一種

*3 star-rimy: my attempt of creating a new kenning for both "wintry" and "well-aged" by creating a calque of a Japanese literary word that means 幾星霜 " (adv.) of experience, age, time"

-.
English revised by AI (i.e. my study material)
EnglishEditor from Poe dot Com
@BlueMarionette

"Does your convening feast with your friend still,
In the most jolly taverns and inns of these parts,
the province which you call your Home?
Singing together your loud drinking hymn, lauding
the bounty of the midday. Yet, though thou art merry mates,
Amidst the emptied cups, does the hushed song of
Thy inner abacus still resonate? Calculating amongst friends? Does it weigh heavily,
like beads tracing themselves in the criss-cross mingling of the waves?
Restless and hurried, it refuses to be still. Does it burden your heart?
If it has made you lonely, friend, then let us offer this toast together,
Emptying our cups to the heavens, brimming with the fermented date-honey of a green oasis,
To friend and friendship, 'Ad loca libanda Liber.'
'To the places that need to be drunk, freedom (Dionysus!).'
Embrace your friends, then, with manly compassion, once or twice, as you part,
Leaving behind the delightful company and the friendship of gloriously-stoned city walls. Close your eyes,
Bid farewell, and let us go

Away from men, away from the Sun, from his dying revolutions, drying everything into mute, desiccated waste,
Towards the boisterous wilderness of abandoned freedom (Pan!), yet untouched by the rolling trajectories of the Solar Caravan.
Follow the muddy and flowing trail, tinged with red and black, teeming with life,
Once traversed joyfully by he with mighty hooves, accompanied by a squelching sound.
No village in sight, nor within memorable distance, friend,
Discard your charts and logs, the land-sea,
For a lone ship sailing westward, no branch of eastern peach blossoms is required (The Peach Blossom Spring's past his age),
But rather the high road, fragrant with the scent of decaying, invisible rose petals, scattered carelessly
By the ancient giant shepherd's leaps and hops, writhing and swimming,
Announcing his blessed, monumental departure from the mundane.
Let us then follow his mischievous heart, pretending to be drunken sailors, and join his abstemious song,

Solemn and subdued, his suppressed tone, like the windless expanse of an empty sky,
Whispering to trees and the hollow hearts of men, reaching their ears,
Thus, assuredly, would all birds, fawns, worms, snakes, and both prey and predators alike answer,
While concealed in green and intoxicated with red or yellow, they dreamily sing,
Faint notes of a reedy paean—a song of tragedy,
Echoing through motionless rocks and cliffs,
And the weeping of pines and willows,
With all living beings eagerly awaiting
Pan's music to remind them, to fade away in the final note of forgetfulness, and perish beneath the blackened sky of the impending night.

And so, the bleeding represents the blood vessels that dissect the field, which is his muddy heart,
O, the clear, ever-flowing stream...his divine vision, his myriad hopes,
Sometimes adorned with fallen green leaves, enchantingly evoking visions of summer,
And at times, turning brown with autumn's fiery ardor, cleansing itself of the toil of harvest
To welcome the white, cold, star-rimy winter of eternal rest.
The stream, flowing from his heart, clear and effervescent,
Longing for the lost vessel of nightly stars,
While the empty twilight sky sadly gazes upon her watery incontinence,
A reflection of its own drizzling rain.

Friend, we must continue yonder,
As the green, red, and whiteness beckon the Blue and Purple,
Warm songs, hearts, and hopeful dreams...all longing for a beautiful death on the distant shore...
Do not linger any longer at the beloved threshold of dreams,
Do not tarry upon the deceptive beauty of twilight,
For the gate to the Palace of the Night is yet to open unto you.
Let us tread onward, passing through the dual Gate of the Beginning and the End,
Offering ourselves to blindness, muteness, deafness, and a heart that beats no more,
Where perpetual black peace shall drown out the relentless white tides of sensation,
All scents and flavors, wearied and stagnant, shall coalesce
Into a brilliantly burning, colorful earth, drenched in contentment,
And in darkness, they converge and rise, descending,
And the solitary heart that seeks solitude
Shall find a heart that yearns for solitude,
Her, the only reward, many broken hearts shall reunite,
As they were before the birth of human hearts themselves,
And from the death of hearts, all shame, disgrace, and regret for learning to live, living, and having lived,
Shall be forgiven by her, shall be resolved,
And my heart, one last time, shall find solace,being tended to
through the self-consuming love's immolation—the secret red-tongued dancing love
That consumes the black cosmos of the mind within the Palace of Pan.
Away from the Day, away from Man, away from thy Self, and all of Eternity,
Where only Love itself exists in the fertile blackness of the night, immanent, unmoving, resplendent."