首页

翻译专栏

管理入口

作者信箱 







◎ 华莱士-斯蒂文斯:素初若圆 (阅读3049次)



I

万物中心本真的诗
精神之琴弦弹奏的咏叹调
以美好在我们铁铸的生命
和作品中裂山凿谷。可它是,先生们,
羚羊挂角,难以意会,这穿凿之美好,
被水滑眼睛的林仙们捕捉,这本真之金,
这妙机的寻获,被这淡白空气中
缥缈的守护神抛撒,再抛撒。

II

我们不证明这首诗的存在。
它是在素常小诗中所见所知。
是那点点滴滴,突然
在单独的感知中
宏大、高度的和谐鸣响,它是,
又非,因而,正是。在言说的一瞬
一个驰去的渐快音的音宽,
俘获存在,阔开——已达其境。

III

在此拘缚中有什么样的牛奶,
何种面包、燕麦饼和友善,
绿客人和林中的桌子还有歌
在心中,在转睫之动中,
在一个变得广阔的空间,隐秘的雷
注定的蓝,一个幻觉,一如既往,
噢像是,对感知来说总是太沉甸甸
难以捕捉,最渺茫,如同曾经的距离……

IV

一首诗证明另一首也证明全部,
对敏锐的人来说不需要证据:
爱之人,信之人和诗人,
他们从自己的欲望中选择词语,
语言的欢乐,只在它是他们自身。
具备如许他们才能欢颂那诗中之诗,
完满中的完满,在丰饶光华之中,
这些措辞,巨量无边,依然在膨胀。

V

直到习以为常的大地、天空和那树
云,习以为常的树和云,
丢弃了它们以自身而设的功用
而他们:这些人,大地和天空,
用灵锐的信息告知彼此,灵锐
自由的知识,在此之前一直隐藏,
打破那将它们仅仅封固之物。像是
那诗中之诗变成了世界,

VI

世界和诗中之诗,彼此相谐
为侣,好像夏天是一对夫妻,
每个清晨,每个漫长的下午结合,
而夏天的伴侣:她的镜子与她的面容,
她唯一的处所唯一的人,她的一个自身
说话,指责分裂的自我,它们两个。
那本真之诗诞生其余的诗。
它的光不是一道分离之光,上山。

VII

诗中之诗是浑一的诗,
是浑一之创作的诗,
是蓝色大海是绿
是蓝光是绿的创作,如同素常小诗,
和素常小诗奇妙的多姿多彩
不仅仅是融入浑一,而是关于浑一
的一首诗,对局部必要的提炼,
拉紧最终的圆圈的圆满之力。

VIII

那在高处的翱翔,
一种活力,一个法则,也或许是,
对一个法则的沉思,
不然就是一个沿袭的规律
依然鲜活自若,一个造福所有子民
的自然,一种安宁,极致的安宁,
灵敏感应磁力的肌肉,
一个巨人,在地平线上,闪光,

IX

装饰明卓灿然,冠饰着
奢华而熟悉的火焰,
和陌生的逸轨:呼呼
火花滋滋作响,像孩子们喜爱的,
赋予庄严的层层宏丽,
左右奔突并向后,一队拥护者,
眼中胜利的六翼天使之源
耳中欢乐四溢之源。

X
那是个巨人,进化了,从来都是,
好成其分寸,除非美德切开他,
剪去大和孤独,或者认为是这样,
像在壁炉架的一张签名照片上。
但那大师绝不离开他的外形,
依然在地平线上延伸他的伤口
依然天使般依然丰富,
以他身形的力量施展力量。

XI

这儿,那么,是抽象赋予的头脑,
地平线上的巨人,赋予的手臂,
一个巨大的身体和修长的双腿,伸展,
一个有图画的定义,不是严格地
归类标记,它的众小中的
巨大,一个紧邻的,父母般的宏大,
在地平线的中心,同枢,庄严
伟大的人,万物之源的福佑者。

XII

正是如此。爱之人抒写,信之人听闻,
诗人嗫嚅,画家看见,
每个人,他命里的有异于常,
作为一部分,却只是部分,以太的骷髅里
坚定的微粒,所有的文字,
预言,认知,色块,
虚无的巨人,每一个
和巨人永恒变幻,永生在变中。

A Primitive Like an Orb by Wallace Stevens

I

The essential poem at the center of things,
The arias that spiritual fiddlings make,
Have gorged the cast-iron of our lives with good
And the cast-iron of our works. But it is, dear sirs,
A difficult apperception, this gorging good,
Fetched by such slick-eyed nymphs, this essential gold,
This fortune's finding, disposed and re-disposed
By such slight genii in such pale air.

II

We do not prove the existence of the poem.
It is something seen and known in lesser poems.
It is the huge, high harmony that sounds
A little and a little, suddenly
By means of a separate sense. It is and it
Is not and, therefore, is. In the instant of speech,
The breadth of an accelerando moves,
Captives the being, widens--and was there.

III

What milk there is in such captivity,
What wheaten bread and oaten cake and kind,
Green guests and table in the woods and songs
At heart, within an instant's motion, within
A space grown wide, the inevitable blue
Of secluded thunder, an illusion, as it was,
Oh as, always too heavy for the sense
To seize, the obscurest as, the distant was...

IV

One poem proves another and the whole,
For the clairvoyant men that need no proof:
The lover, the believer and the poet,
Their words are chosen out of their desire,
The joy of language, when it is themselves.
With these they celebrate the central poem,
The fulfillment of fulfillments, in opulent,
Las terms, the largest, bulging still with more,

V

Until the used-to earth and sky, and the tree
And cloud, the used-to tree and used-to cloud,
Lose the old uses that they made of them,
And they: these men, and earth and sky, inform
Each other by sharp informations, sharp,
Free knowledges, secreted until then,
Breaches of that which held them fast. It is
As if the central poem became the world,

VI

And the world the central poem, each one the mate
Of the other, as if summer was a spouse,
Espoused each morning, each long afternoon,
And the mate of summer: her mirror and her look,
Her only place and person, a self of her  
That speaks, denouncing separate selves, both one.
The essential poem begets the others. The light
Of it is not a light apart, up-hill.

VII

The central poem is the poem of the whole,
The poem of the composition of the whole,
The composition of blue sea and of green,
Of blue light and of green, as lesser poems,  
And the miraculous multiplex of lesser poems,
Not merely into a whole, but a poem of  
The whole, the essential compact of the parts,
The roundness that pulls tight the final ring

VIII
And that which in an altitude would soar,
A vis, a principle or, it may be,
The meditation of a principle,
Or else an inherent order active to be
Itself, a nature to its natives all
Beneficence, a repose, utmost repose,
The muscles of a magnet aptly felt,
A giant, on the horizon, glistening,

IX
An in bright excellence adorned, crested
With every prodigal, familiar fire,
And unfamiliar escapades: whirroos
And scintillant sizzlings such as children like,
Vested in the serious folds of majesty,
Moving around and behind, a following,
A source of trumpeting seraphs in the eye,
A source of pleasant outbursts on the ear.

X
It is a giant, always, that is evolved,  
To be in scale, unless virtue cuts him, snips
Both size and solitude or thinks it does,
As in a signed photograph on a mantelpiece.
But the virtuoso never leaves his shape,
Still on the horizon elongates his cuts,
And still angelic and still plenteous,
Imposes power by the power of his form

XI
Here, then, is an abstraction given head,
A giant on the horizon, given arms,
A massive body and long legs, stretched out,
A definition with an illustration, not
Too exactly labeled, a large among the smalls
Of it, a close, parental magnitude,
At the center of the horizon, concentrum, grave
And prodigious person, patron of origins.

XII

That's it. The lover writes, the believer hears,
The poet mumbles and the painter sees,
Each one, his fated eccentricity,  
As a part, but part, but tenacious particle,
Of the skeleton of the ether, the total
Of letters, prophecies, perceptions, clods
Of color, the giant of nothingness, each one
And the giant ever changing, living in change.


返回专栏   


© 诗生活网独立制作  版权所有 2008年12月