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马永波翻译的罗伯特·伯莱诗和詹姆斯·赖特的诗歌
罗伯特·伯莱诗三首
《厨房里的猫》
——致唐纳德·霍尔
你听说过那个走在黑水边的
男孩吗?我不想说太多了。
让我们等上几年。它需要被进入。
有时一个男人走在池塘边,一只手
伸出来,把他拉了进去。
确切地说
这不是有意的。池塘很孤独,或者是需要
钙,骨头就行。随后发生了什么?
有点像夜晚的风,柔和,
缓慢地移动,老妇人一样叹息
在她的厨房里待到深夜,挪动着盘子,
点着火,为猫准备点食物。
The Cat in the Kitchen
(For Donald Hall)
Have you heard about the boy who walked by
The black water? I won\'t say much more.
Let\'s wait a few years. It wanted to be entered.
Sometimes a man walks by a pond, and a hand
Reaches out and pulls him in.
There was no
Intention, exactly. The pond was lonely, or needed
Calcium, bones would do. What happened then?
It was a little like the night wind, which is soft,
And moves slowly, sighing like an old woman
In her kitchen late at night, moving pans
About, lighting a fire, making some food for the cat.
《房子北面的雪堆》
那些巨大的雪堆突然停在
离房子六英尺的地方……
思想推进得如此遥远。
男孩从中学出来,不再
读书;
儿子不再给家打电话。
母亲放下她转动的针,不再
做面包。
妻子有天晚上在晚会上注视着
她的丈夫,不再爱他。
活力离开了酒,牧师堕落了
离开了教堂。
它不会靠得更近
屋里的一个人退回去,双手不摸
任何东西,安全了。
父亲为儿子悲伤,不会离开
停放棺材的屋子。
他转身离开他的妻子,而她独自沉睡。
大海整夜起起落落,月亮继续
孤独地穿过一片片隔绝的天空。
鞋尖在尘土里
旋转……
穿黑衣的男人转身,
下山。
没人知道他为何而来,为何转身离开,
没有爬上山。
Snowbanks North of the House
Those great sweeps of snow that stop suddenly six
feet from the house ...
Thoughts that go so far.
The boy gets out of high school and reads no more
books;
the son stops calling home.
The mother puts down her rolling pin and makes no
more bread.
And the wife looks at her husband one night at a
party, and loves him no more.
The energy leaves the wine, and the minister falls
leaving the church.
It will not come closer
the one inside moves back, and the hands touch
nothing, and are safe.
The father grieves for his son, and will not leave the
room where the coffin stands.
He turns away from his wife, and she sleeps alone.
And the sea lifts and falls all night, the moon goes on
through the unattached heavens alone.
The toe of the shoe pivots
in the dust ...
And the man in the black coat turns, and goes back
down the hill.
No one knows why he came, or why he turned away,
and did not climb the hill.
《埋葬的火车》
告诉我人们所说的被雪崩埋葬的
火车吧——那是雪吗?——那是在
科罗拉多,没人看见事情的发生。
有烟雾从火车头上缭绕升起
轻盈地穿过枞树顶,火车头在响。
那些人都在读书——有的
在读梭罗,有的在读亨利·沃德·比彻。
工程师在抽烟,把头探出来。
我奇怪那是什么时候发生的。是在
中学之后,还是在我们二年级的时候?
我们进入这个狭窄的地方,我们听到了
头上的声音——火车实在开得够快了。
不清楚接下来发生了什么。你和我
还坐在火车里,等着灯
亮起来吗?还是真正的火车真的被埋葬了;
于是一列幽灵火车出现在夜里,继续行驶……
The Buried Train
Tell me about the train that people say got buried
By the avalanche--was it snow?--It was
In Colorado, and no one saw it happen.
There was smoke from the engine curling up
Lightly through fir tops, and the engine sounds.
There were all those people reading--some
From Thoreau, some from Henry Ward Beecher.
And the engineer smoking and putting his head out.
I wonder when that happened. Was it after
High School, or was it the year we were two?
We entered this narrow place, and we heard the sound
Above us--the train couldn\'t move fast enough.
It isn\'t clear what happened next. Are you and I
Still sitting there in the train, waiting for the lights
To go on? Or did the real train get really buried;
So at night a ghost train comes out and keeps going...
詹姆斯·赖特(James Wright)
《开始》
月亮把一两根羽毛掉落到田野里。
黑麦在倾听。
别动。
现在。
它们在那里,月亮的孩子,在尝试
它们的翅膀。
在树木之间,一个纤细的女子抬起她可爱的
面庞的影子,现在她步入空中,现在她彻底
消失,在空气中。
我独自站在一棵老树下,我不敢呼吸
不敢移动。
我倾听。
麦子斜靠着它的黑暗,
我斜靠着我自己的。
Beginning
The moon drops one or two feathers into the fields.
The dark wheat listens.
Be still.
Now.
There they are, the moon\'s young, trying
Their wings.
Between trees, a slender woman lifts up the lovely shadow
Of her face, and now she steps into the air, now she is gone
Wholly, into the air.
I stand alone by an elder tree, I do not dare breathe
Or move.
I listen.
The wheat leans back toward its own darkness,
And I lean toward mine.
《尝试祈祷》
这一次,我把我的身体留在了后面,
在它黑色的荆棘中哭泣。
这世上,
仍然有一些美好的事物。
这是黄昏。
这是妇女摸面包的手的
美好的黑暗。
一棵树的灵魂开始移动。
我触摸叶子。
我合上眼,想到水。
Trying to Pray
This time, I have left my body behind me, crying
In its dark thorns.
Still,
There are good things in this world.
It is dusk.
It is the good darkness
Of women\'s hands that touch loaves.
The spirit of a tree begins to move.
I touch leaves.
I close my eyes and think of water.
《读一卷坏诗歌心情压抑,我走向一片空闲的牧场,邀请昆虫加入》
解脱了,我把书抛到石头后面。
我爬上一座小草丘。
我不想打扰蚂蚁
它们正在篱笆桩上列队散步,
携带着白色的小花瓣,
投下薄得我可以看透的影子。
我把眼睛合上一会儿,倾听。
老蚂蚱疲倦了,
此刻它们在沉重地跳跃,
它们的大腿负担累累。
我想听见它们,它们发出清晰的声音。
然后,远远地,一只黑蟋蟀开始
在枫树上可爱地叫起来。
Depressed by a Book of Bad Poetry, I Walk Toward an Unused
Pasture and Invite the Insects to Join Me
Relieved, I let the book fall behind a stone.
I climb a slight rise of grass.
I do not want to disturb the ants
Who are walking single file up the fence post,
Carrying small white petals,
Casting shadows so frail that I can see through them.
I close my eyes for a moment and listen.
The old grasshoppers
Are tired, they leap heavily now,
Their thighs are burdened.
I want to hear them, they have clear sounds to make.
Then lovely, far off, a dark cricket begins
In the maple trees. |
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