분야
hwpWhen you and I were seventeen
And life and love were new
The world was just a field of green
Neath the smiling skies of blue
That golden spring when I was king
And you were my wonderful queen
Gone is the romance
That was so divine
Tis broken
And cannot be mended
You must go your way
And I must go mine
But now that our love dreams
Have ended
Whatll I do
When you are far away
And I am blue?
Whatll I do?
Whatll I do
When I am wondring who
Is kissing you?
Whatll I do?
Whatll I do
With just a photograph
To tell my troubles to?
When Im alone
With only dreams of you
That wont come true
Whatll I do?
In my younger
and more vulnerable years,
my father gave me some advice
that Ive been considering ever since.
"When you feel like criticising anyone,"
he told me,
"remember that all the people in this
world havent had your advantages. "
In consequence, Im inclined
to reserve all my judgements.
It was by chance that I decided
to spend the summer
on that slender, riotous island
that juts out into the Long Island Sound,
miles due east of New York.
I lived at West Egg on the... well, less
fashionable side of the courtesy bay.
My cousin, Daisy Buchanan, lived in one
of East Eggs glittering white palaces,
with her husband Tom,
whom Id known in college.
They had spent the years since
their marriage drifting unrestfully,
wherever people played polo
and were rich together.
Nick Carraway!
Nick, its about time.
Im not sure how to operate that thing.
If youd said, wed have sent the
motor cruiser for you. How are you?
- Is this all yours?
- Some of it... belongs to Daisy.
- Wheres your place?
- Across the bay.
- Just a little cottage I got for a month.
- a month!
Our beer bills at New Haven
were more than that.
You forget, I am now just a struggling
bond salesman on Wall Street.
Nick?
- Is it really you?
- It is.
Ah!
My dear lost love!
Im paralysed with happiness!
Jordan, this is my second cousin
once removed, Nick Carraway.
Does that mean we kiss when we greet?
I hope it means we do.
Tom says youve come from Chicago.
Tell me everything.
- Do they miss me?
- The whole town is desolate.
How gorgeous!
All the cars have their left rear wheel
painted black in mourning,
and theres a persistent wail all night.
Lets go back tomorrow, Tom.
I love a persistent wail.
Well, I love a drink.
Come on, lets all have a drink.
Mm...
Ive been lying on that sofa
for as long as I can remember.
You live in West Egg.
I know somebody there.
- I dont know anyone.
- You must know Gatsby.
- Hes my neighbour.
- Gatsby? What Gatsby?
Come on, Daisy.
Why candles?
In two weeks,
itll be the longest day in the year.
Do you watch for the longest day
in the year and then miss it? I do.
- We ought to plan something.
- All right. Whatll we plan?
What do people plan?
Look at that... My little finger,
its all black and blue.
You did that, Tom.
You didnt mean to, but thats what I get
for marrying a brute of a man.
- A great big hulking brute of a man.
- I hate that word "hulking".
Even in kidding.
- Hulking.
- Please, lets not start one of those.
Nick, have you read "The Rise
of the Coloured Empires" by Goddard?
- Why, no.
- Fine book. Everyone should read it.
See, the point is
that if we dont watch out,
the white race will be utterly
submerged... No, thats so!
We, the dominant race, must watch out,
or these other races will take control.
- Weve got to beat them down.
- Daisy, its all been scientifically proved.
You see, were Nordics.
You are, and I am, and...
- Excuse me, sir...
- Thank you.
Excuse me...
Anyway...
Were responsible for everything
that made civilisation.
Art, science... and all that.
I love to see you at my table, Nick.
You remind me of a...
...a rose, an absolute rose.
Doesnt he?
Youre Jordan Baker,
the golf champion...
Sh! Dont talk.
I want to hear what happens.
- Is something happening?
- You dont know?
- I thought everyone knew.
- I dont.
Toms got a woman in New York.
She might have the decency
not to phone him at dinner time.
Couldnt be helped.
Oh, theres a bird on the lawn.
I think its a nightingale, come over
on the Cunard or the White Star Line.
Hes singing away.
Its romantic, isnt it, Tom?
Yes, it is romantic.
It had been a golden afternoon.
I had the familiar conviction that life
was beginning again with the summer.
By the autumn, my mood
would be very different.
- Goodnight!
- Come back soon!
I would want no more privileged
glimpses into the human heart.
Only my neighbour, Gatsby,
would be exempt from my reaction.
Gatsby, who represented everything
for which I have an unaffected scorn.
For Gatsby turned out all right
in the end.
It was what preyed on him,
what foul dust floated
in the wake of his dreams.
At least once a fortnight,
a corps of caterers came
with several hundred feet of canvas
and enough coloured lights to make
a Christmas tree of Gatsbys gardens.
There was music from my neighbours
house through those summer nights.
In his enchanted gardens, men and girls
came and went like moths,
among the whispering
and t
