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◎ 约翰-瑞博坦兹两首(草译稿6) (阅读2453次)



伦勃朗

约翰-瑞博坦兹

I.

那女子接受了信息
我们也是,但不一样。
她的是来自大卫王,通过
一封信,我们是从生活
通过伦勃朗。信
不是真的,她也不是真的
拔示巴,而是亨德瑞克-斯托芬
为她爱人的画摆好姿态。

II.

那女子不是真的
可曾经是。伦勃朗将她真实的
肉体作为一个信使
来传达一个传说故事中的形象。
她的肉体抓住了我们的眼睛
胜过他的故事,她有着小窝的
左胸,我们知道
是晚期癌症的病征。    

III.

这看起来像是一件奇怪的
爱的礼物,被画进一个
关于背叛的传说故事——他不是
大卫,她不是拔示巴
而伦勃朗对深色调的天份
捕捉了一个弹弓射弧之外
真实的哥利亚,一个真实的
背叛摆好了样子。

IV.

他不能读懂它,虽然
他一定边做爱边亲吻它。
他爱她,正像他爱越过
她的人生把她的形象
传递给我们的艺术。他们相爱
对真实一无所知,
她的身体盲目地滋养,他的眼
盲目地使之不朽。

V.

他的眼带我们的眼
越过羊皮纸,越过
吸引了大卫的眼的身体
聚焦到她的所思所注。
它纳入背叛的
信,肉体,画布;它燃烧
并将他们的白色谎言和光一起
放入暗影,像出自一团火。


Rembrandt

John Reibetanz

I.

The lady takes in the message
and so do we, but not the same.
Her message comes from David, via
a letter, ours from life
via Rembrandt. The letter
is not real, and she not really
Bathsheba, but Hendrickje Stoffels
posed for her lover's painting.

II.

The lady is not real
but once was. Rembrandt used her real
flesh as a messenger to send
the image of a fable.
Her flesh catches our eye
more than his fable, her dimpled left
breast a sign we recognize
of advanced cancer.

III.

It must have seemed an odd
love-gift, being painted into
a fable of betrayal--he no
David, she no Bathsheba--
yet Rembrandt's gift for darker
pigment caught a real Goliath
beyond the slingshot's arc, a real
betrayal in the pose.

IV.

He could not read it, though
he must have kissed it lovemaking.
He loved her, as he loved the art
that sent her image past
her life to us. They loved
in ignorance of what was real,
her body blindly nursing, his eye
blindly immortalizing it.

V.

His eye has focused ours
above the sheet of parchment, above
the body that caught David's eye,
onto her thought's cast.
It takes in the betrayals
of letter, flesh, canvas; it burns
and puts their white lies in the shade
with light, as from a fire.


一个光的世界

约翰-瑞博坦兹

如果此刻闭上眼睛,我还能看见他们
被我的太阳帽帽檐遮挡着:
三个孩子蹲在高大的翠柳前
那树间狭窄的一圈地上
各为孤岛,悄无声息,准备好要网罗一只青蛙,
青蛙要跳的池塘(它已逃掉)
一面将被它的跃水打破的玻璃。
这浑然的景象
以它的密,喜悦了我的心灵之眼,
这树干,泥土和高草繁密交错的图景
不见丝毫破绽,我也看不到倾注其上的光源
只一股幽蓝在池塘的绿玻璃上燃烧。

草枯缩,树吹低,大地抓住
那青蛙,孩子们长大了。天空冰蓝的火焰
沿着它要燃尽的焰芯骚动。


A World of Light

John Reibetanz

If I close my eyes now, I can still see them
canopied by the visor of my sunhat:
three children islanded on a narrow rim
of earth between the huge crack-willow that
they squat before, hushed, poised to net a frog,
and the pond the frog will jump to (it got away)
a glass its dive will shatter.
The unbroken image
pleases my mind’s eye with its density,
such thick crisscross of tree-trunk, earth, and tall grass
I see no breach, no source for the light that steeps it
but a blue burning in the pond’s green glass.

The grass withered, the tree blew down, earth caught
the frog, the children grew. Sky’s ice-blue flame
teased along the wick it would consume.


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