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露易丝.格丽克(2020年诺奖获得者)诗歌试译

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 楼主| 发表于 2020-11-10 15:48:42 | 显示全部楼层
本帖最后由 剑郭琴符 于 2020-11-13 08:57 编辑




  
新生命

   (选自 VITA NOVA (1999))
   作者:(美)露易丝.格丽克(Louise Glück)
   译者:剑郭琴符

   我睡的是公正的睡眠,
   后来的睡眠是未出生的人
   来到这个世界
   所犯下的许多罪行。
   一开始没人知道
   这些罪行是什么。
   多年后一个人才知道。
   只有在长寿之后,一个人才准备
   去读这个等式。

   我现在开始感知
   我灵魂的本质,我
   所居住的灵魂如同惩罚。
   不屈不挠,即使在渴望中。

   我已经在我的其他生命中
   太匆忙,太急切,
   我的匆忙是世界痛苦的源泉。
   大摇大摆得像暴君一样大摇大摆;
   因为我所有的多情,
   心寒,以肤浅的方式。

   我睡了公正的睡眠;
   我过着罪恶的生活
   慢慢偿还一个不可能的偿还。
   我死了,因为我
   对一种残酷的行为做出了回应。
  
  

  
The New Life

   I slept the sleep of the just,
   later the sleep of the unborn
   who come into the world
   guilty of many crimes.
   And what these crimes are
   nobody knows at the beginning.
   Only after many years does one know.
   Only after long life is one prepared
   to read the equation.

   I begin now to perceive
   the nature of my soul, the soul
   I inhabit as punishment.
   Inflexible, even in hunger.

   I have been in my other lives
   too hasty, too eager,
   my haste a source of pain in the world.
   Swaggering as a tyrant swaggers;
   for all my amorousness,
   cold at heart, in the manner of the superficial.

   I slept the sleep of the just;
   I lived the life of a criminal
   slowly repaying an impossible debt.
   And I died having answered for
   one species of ruthlessness.
  
  




  
奶酪

   (选自 VITA NOVA (1999))
   作者:(美)露易丝.格丽克(Louise Glück)
   译者:剑郭琴符

   世界
   是完整的,因为
   它破碎了。当它破碎时,
   于是我们知道它是什么。

   它永远不会自己痊愈。
   但在深深的裂缝中,更小的世界出现了:
   人类创造了它们是件好事;
   人类比任何神
   都更清楚他们需要什么。

   在休伦大街上,它们变成
   一块商店街区;它们变成
   鱼贩,奶酪。无论
   他们是或卖什么,它们
   在功能上类似,它们
   都是平安的幻觉。像
   一个休息的地方。销售人员
   就像父母,它们似乎
   住在那里。总的来说,
   比父母更友好。

   流入
   大河的支流:我有
   很多生命。在临时世界里,
   我站在有水果的地方,
   在哈莉的花下,
   一片片的樱桃,小柑橘。

   我有很多生命。流入
   河流,河流
   流入大海。如果自我
   变得无形,它消失了吗?
   我成功了。我
   并不是一个人生活,一个人
   但也不完全,陌生人
   在我身边涌动。

   海洋就是这样:
   我们存在于秘密中。

   在这之前,我曾有过这样的生活,一束花的
   茎干:它们变成了
   一个东西,中间握有一条丝带,手底下
   一条丝带可见。手上,
   分支的未来,茎干
   在花中终止。紧握的拳头---
   那就是现在的自我。
   ----
   Formaggio:意大利语。
  
  

  
Formaggio


   The world
   was whole because
   it shattered. When it shattered,
   then we knew what it was.

   It never healed itself.
   But in the deep fissures, smaller worlds appeared:
   it was a good thing that human beings made them;
   human beings know what they need,
   better than any god.

   On Huron Avenue they became
   a block of stores; they became
   Fishmonger, Formaggio. Whatever
   they were or sold, they were
   alike in their function: they were
   visions of safety. Like
   a resting place. The salespeople
   were like parents; they appeared
   to live there. On the whole,
   kinder than parents.

   Tributaries
   feeding into a large river: I had
   many lives. In the provisional world,
   I stood where the fruit was,
   flats of cherries, clementines,
   under Hallie's flowers.

   I had many lives. Feeding
   into a river, the river
   feeding into a great ocean. If the self
   becomes invisible has it disappeared?
   I thrived. I lived
   not completely alone, alone
   but not completely, strangers
   surging around me.

   That’s what the sea is:
   we exist in secret.

   I had lives before this, stems
   of a spray of flowers: they became
   one thing, held by a ribbon at the center, a ribbon
   visible under the hand. Above the hand,
   the branching future, stems
   ending in flowers. And the gripped fist---
   that would be the self in the present.

  
  




  
帝汶吸血鬼

   (选自 VITA NOVA (1999))
   作者:(美)露易丝.格丽克(Louise Glück)
   译者:剑郭琴符

   你为什么害怕?

   一个戴大礼帽的人从卧室窗户下走过。
   当时我
   不可能超过四岁。

   那是一个梦:我在高处
   看见了他,在那里我本可以
   没有他的危险。

   你还记得你的童年吗?

   当梦结束时
   恐惧留下。我躺在床上---
   也许是我的婴儿床。

   我梦见我被绑架。这意味着
   我知道什么是爱,
   它如何于危险中安置灵魂。
   我知道。我代替了我的身体。

   但你是人质吗?

   我害怕爱,害怕被带走。
   每个害怕爱情的人都害怕死亡。

   我装作漠不关心
   即使面对爱,面对渴望。
   我感觉越深
   我的反应能力就越差。

   你还记得你的童年吗?

   我明白,这些礼物的数量
   被我的拒绝范围平衡。

   你还记得你的童年吗?

   我躺在森林里。
   安静地,比任何生物都要安静。
   看着太阳升起。

   我记得有一次,我母亲非常生气地
   离开了我。或许是悲伤。
   因为尽管她给了我多少,
   尽管她的爱,我没有表达出感激之情。
   我没有表示理解。

   因为我从来没有被原谅过。
  
  

  
Timor Mortis


   Why are you afraid?

   A man in a top hat passed under the bedroom window.
   I couldn’t have been
   more than four at the time.

   It was a dream: I saw him
   when I was high up, where I should have been
   safe from him.

   Do you remember your childhood?

   When the dream ended
   terror remained. I lay in my bed---
   my crib maybe.

   I dreamed I was kidnapped. That means
   I knew what love was,
   how it places the soul in jeopardy.
   I knew. I substituted my body.

   But you were hostage?

   I was afraid of love, of being taken away.
   Everyone afraid of love is afraid of death.

   I pretended indifference
   even in the presence of love, in the presence of hunger.
   And the more deeply I felt
   the less able I was to respond.

   Do you remember your childhood?

   I understood that the magnitude of these gifts
   was balanced by the scope of my rejection.

   Do you remember your childhood?

   I lay in the forest.
   Still, more still than any living creature.
   Watching the sun rise.

   And I remember once my mother turning away from me
   in great anger. Or perhaps it was grief.
   Because for all she had given me,
   for all her love, I failed to show gratitude.
   And I made no sign of understanding.

   For which I was never forgiven.

  
  




  
鲁特琴曲

   (选自 VITA NOVA (1999))
   作者:(美)露易丝.格丽克(Louise Glück)
   译者:剑郭琴符

   没有人想成为缪斯女神;
   最后,每个人都想成为俄耳甫斯。

   勇敢地重建
   (出于恐惧和痛苦),
   然后变得不可抵抗地美丽;

   恢复,最终,
   不是欧律狄刻,哀叹者,
   而是俄耳甫斯
   热情的灵魂,构成现在

   不是作为一个人,不如说
   是作为纯粹的灵魂变得
   超脱、不朽,
   是通过偏斜的自恋。

   我制造一把灾难的竖琴
   来延续我最后的爱的美。
   然而,我的痛苦,尽管如此,
   保持斗争,为了形式
   和我的梦,如果我公开地说,
   与其说是希望被人记住,
   不如说是希望生存,
   这是,我相信,人类最深切的愿望。
  
  

  
Lute Song


   No one wants to be the muse;
   in the end, everyone wants to be Orpheus.

   Valiantly reconstructed
   (out of terror and pain)
   and then overwhelmingly beautiful;

   restoring, ultimately,
   not Eurydice, the lamented one,
   but the ardent
   spirit of Orpheus, made present

   not as a human being, rather
   as pure soul rendered
   detached, immortal,
   through deflected narcissism.

   I made a harp of disaster
   to perpetuate the beauty of my last love.
   Yet my anguish, such as it is,
   remains the struggle for form

   and my dreams, if I speak openly,
   less the wish to be remembered
   than the wish to survive,
   which is, I believe, the deepest human wish.
  
  




  
奥菲欧

   (选自 VITA NOVA (1999))
   作者:(美)露易丝.格丽克(Louise Glück)
   译者:剑郭琴符

   “我失去了我的欧律狄刻……”

   我失去了我的欧律狄刻,
   我失去了我的爱人,
   突然我讲起了法语
   在我看来,我从来没有更好的声音;
   这些歌似乎
   是高阶的歌曲。

   似乎有人总得
   为自己是一个艺术家而道歉,
   好像完全没有人注意到这些细微之处。
   谁知道,也许众神从来没有在冥府里跟我说话,
   从来没有把我挑出来,
   也许这都是幻觉。

   啊欧律狄刻,你嫁给我是因为我的歌声,
   你为什么要转向我,想要人的安慰?
   谁知道当你再见到复仇女神时
   你会对她们说些什么。

   告诉她们我失去了我心爱的人;
   我现在完全是一个人。
   告诉她们没有音乐像这个
   没有真正的悲伤。

   在冥府,我向她们歌唱;她们会记得我。

   --
   奥菲欧:就是俄耳甫斯。
  
  

  
Orfeo


   “J'ai perdu mon Eurydice...”

   I have lost my Eurydice,
   I have lost my lover,
   and suddenly I am speaking French
   and it seems to me I have never been in better voice;
   it seems these songs
   are songs of a high order.

   And it seems one is somehow expected to apologize
   for being an artist,
   as though it were not entirely human to notice these fine points.
   And who knows, perhaps the gods never spoke to me in Dis,
   never singled me out,
   perhaps it was all illusion.

   0 Eurydice, you who married me for my singing,
   why do you turn on me, wanting human comfort?
   Who knows what you'll tell the furies
   when you see them again.

   Tell them I have lost my beloved;
   1 am completely alone now.
   Tell them there is no music like this
   without real grief.

   In Dis, I sang to them; they will remember me.

  
  




  
下降到山谷

   (选自 VITA NOVA (1999))
   作者:(美)露易丝.格丽克(Louise Glück)
   译者:剑郭琴符

   我发现向上攀登的岁月
   艰难,充满了焦虑。
   我不怀疑自己的能力:
   相反,当我朝着它前进时,
   我害怕未来,其形状我
   感知到了。我看到
   人类生命的形状:
   一方面,总是向上
   和向前进入光明;另一方面,
   向下进入不确定的迷雾中。
   所有的渴望都被知识破坏。

   我发现它不是这样。
   顶峰的光,其光是,
   从理论上讲,攀登的目标,
   证明是一种令人痛心的抽象:
   我的思想,在上升的过程中,
   完全沉溺于细节,从不去
   感知形式;我的眼睛
   紧张地注视着脚下。

   现在我的生活是多么甜蜜
   在向山谷的下降中,
   山谷本身并没有被薄雾笼罩
   而是肥沃而宁静。
   所以我第一次发现自己
   能够向前看,能够看世界,
   甚至可以朝着它前进。
  
  

  
Descent to the Valley


   I found the years of the climb upward
   difficult, filled with anxiety.
   I didn't doubt my capacities:
   rather, as I moved toward it,
   I feared the future, the shape of which
   I perceived. I saw
   the shape of a human life:
   on the one side, always upward
   and forward into the light; on the other side,
   downward into the mists of uncertainty.
   All eagerness undermined by knowledge.

   I have found it otherwise.
   The light of the pinnacle, the light that was,
   theoretically, the goal of the climb,
   proves to have been poignantly abstract:
   my mind, in its ascent,
   was entirely given over to detail, never
   perception of form; my eyes
   nervously attending to footing.

   How sweet my life now
   in its descent to the valley,
   the valley itself not mist-covered
   but fertile and tranquil.
   So that for the first time I find myself
   able to look ahead, able to look at the world,
   even to move toward it.

  
  




  
衣服

   (选自 VITA NOVA (1999))
   作者:(美)露易丝.格丽克(Louise Glück)
   译者:剑郭琴符

   我的灵魂枯竭。
   像一个灵魂被扔进火里,但不完全,
   不被毁灭。干枯,
   它继续着。脆弱,
   不是来自孤独,而是来自不信任,
   暴力的后果。

   灵魂,被邀请离开身体,
   站着一瞬间被暴露,
   颤抖着,就像
   你在向神圣的展示之前---
   灵魂被恩典的诺言
   从孤独中引诱出来,
   你将如何再次相信
   另一个生命的爱?

   我的灵魂枯萎而萎缩。
   这具尸体成了为它的一件太大的衣服。

   当希望返回我
   它完全是另一种希望。
  
  

  
The Garment


   My soul dried up.
   Like a soul cast into fire, but not completely,
   not to annihilation. Parched,
   it continued. Brittle,
   not from solitude but from mistrust,
   the aftermath of violence.

   Spirit, invited to leave the body,
   to stand exposed a moment,
   trembling, as before
   your presentation to the divine---
   spirit lured out of solitude
   by the promise of grace,
   how will you ever again believe
   the love of another being?

   My soul withered and shrank.
   The body became for it too large a garment.

   And when hope was returned to me
   it was another hope entirely.
  
  




  
公寓

   (选自 VITA NOVA (1999))
   作者:(美)露易丝.格丽克(Louise Glück)
   译者:剑郭琴符

   我住在一棵树上。梦指定了
   松树,好像它认为我需要
   激励来继续哀悼。我讨厌
   当你自己的梦把你当傻瓜。

   里面,是
   我在普兰菲尔德的公寓,二十年前,
   只是我加了一个商用炉灶。
   根深蒂固的

   对二楼的热情!仅仅因为
   过去比未来长
   并不意味着没有未来。

   这个梦困惑了他们,把一个
   错当成了另一个:被毁的
   房子里反复出现的场景---维拉在那里,
   谈论着光。
   当然有很多光,因为
   没有墙。

   我想:这就是床的地方,
   普兰菲尔德的地方。
   深深的宁静淹没了我,
   就像你在世界无法触及你时的感觉。

   在看不见的床外,夏末的
   阳光在小街上,
   在摇曳的灰烬树之间。

   无论哪个梦改变,增加,你可以说,
   一个希望的维度。那是
   一个美丽的梦,我的生活是渺小的和甜蜜的,世界
   因为遥远而广阔可见。

   这个梦告诉我怎样才能
   安全地重获它。它展现给我
   睡在我的旧床上,第一颗星星
   在光秃秃的灰烬树上闪耀。

   我被提升,远远带到
   一个明亮的城市。这就是其意味,
   俯瞰吗?或这仍然是做梦?
   我是对的,不是吗,选择
   反抗大地?
  
  

  
Condo


   I lived in a tree. The dream specified
   pine, as though it thought I needed
   prompting to keep mourning. I hate
   when your own dreams treat you as stupid.

   Inside, it was
   my apartment in Plainfield, twenty years ago,
   except I'd added a commercial stove.
   Deep-rooted

   passion for the second floor! Just because
   the past is longer than the future
   doesn't mean there is no future.

   The dream confused them, mistaking
   one for the other: repeated

   scenes of the gutted house---Vera was there,
   talking about the light.
   And certainly there was a lot of light, since
   there were no walls.

   I thought: this is where the bed would be,
   where it was in Plainfield.
   And deep serenity flooded through me,
   such as you feel when the world can't touch you.
   Beyond the invisible bed, light
   of late summer in the little street,
   between flickering ash trees.

   Which the dream changed, adding, you could say,
   a dimension of hope. It was
   a beautiful dream, my life was small and sweet, the world
   broadly visible because remote.

   The dream showed me how to have it again
   by being safe from it. It showed me
   sleeping in my old bed, first stars
   shining through bare ash trees.

   I have been lifted and carried far away
   into a luminous city. Is this what having means,
   to look down on? Or is this dreaming still?
   I was right,wasn’t I,choosing
   against the ground?

  
  



 楼主| 发表于 2020-11-11 15:53:44 | 显示全部楼层
  
不朽的爱
   
   (选自 VITA NOVA (1999))
   作者:(美)露易丝.格丽克(Louise Glück)
   译者:剑郭琴符
   
   就像一扇门
   身体打开
   灵魂向外张望。
   一开始胆怯,后来
   不那么胆怯
   直到它安全。
   然后它在渴望中冒险。
   然后在无耻的渴望中,
   然后在任何欲望的
   邀请下。
   
   滥交的人,你现在如何找到
   上帝?你将如何
   确定神圣?
   即使在花园有人告诉你
   活在身体里,不在
   它外面,而是在它里面受苦
   如果有必要的话。
   上帝将如何找到你
   如果你从来不在一个地方
   够久,永远不会
   在他给你的家里?
   
   或者你相信
   你没有家,因为上帝
   从来没有打算收容你?
  
  
  
Immortal Love
   
   
   Like a door
   the body opened and
   the soul looked out.
   Timidly at first, then
   less timidly
   until it was safe.
   Then in hunger it ventured.
   Then in brazen hunger,
   then at the invitation
   of any desire.
   
   Promiscuous one, how will you find
   god now? How will you
   ascertain the divine?
   Even in the garden you were told
   to live in the body, not
   outside it, and suffer in it
   if that comes to be necessary.
   How will god find you
   if you are never in one place
   long enough, never
   in the home he gave you?
   
   Or do you believe
   you have no home, since god
   never meant to contain you?
  
  
  
  
世俗的爱
   
   (选自 VITA NOVA (1999))
   作者:(美)露易丝.格丽克(Louise Glück)
   译者:剑郭琴符
   
   当时的惯例
   使他们团结在一起。
   这是一段
   (很长的)时期,其中
   曾经自由奉献的心
   被要求,作为一种正式的姿态,
   丧失自由:一种奉献
   立刻令人感动又注定无望。
   
   至于我们自己:
   幸运的是,我们偏离了
   这些要求,
   正如我在生命破碎时
   提醒自己的那样。
   所以我们长久以来
   所拥有的,或多或少,
   是自愿的,活着的。
   直到很久以后
   我才开始想别的。
   
   我们都是人---
   我们尽可能地
   保护自己
   甚至到了否认清晰的
   地步,自我欺骗的
   地步。就像我
   提到的献祭一样。
   
   然而,在这种欺骗中,
   真正的幸福出现。
   所以我相信我会
   精确地重复这些错误。
   在我看来
   知道这种幸福
   是否建立在幻觉之上
   也不重要:
   它有自己的现实。
   不管怎样,它都会结束。
  
  
  
Earthly Love
   
   
   Conventions of the time
   held them together.
   It was a period
   (very long) in which
   the heart once given freely
   was required, as a formal gesture,
   to forfeit liberty: a consecration
   at once moving and hopelessly doomed.
   
   As to ourselves:
   fortunately we diverged
   from these requirements,
   as I reminded myself
   when my life shattered.
   So that what we had for so long
   was, more or less,
   voluntary, alive.
   And only long afterward
   did I begin to think otherwise.
   
   We are all human---
   we protect ourselves
   as well as we can
   even to the point of denying
   clarity, the point
   of self-deception. As in
   the consecration to which I alluded.
   
   And yet, within this deception,
   true happiness occurred.
   So that I believe I would
   repeat these errors exactly.
   Nor does it seem to me
   crucial to know
   whether or not such happiness
   is built on illusion:
   it has its own reality.
   And in either case, it will end.
   
  
  
  
  
欧律狄刻
   
   (选自 VITA NOVA (1999))
   作者:(美)露易丝.格丽克(Louise Glück)
   译者:剑郭琴符
   
   欧丽迪刻回到了地狱。
   困难的
   是旅行,它,
   到达,忘了。
   
   过渡
   是困难的。
   在两个世界之间移动;
   尤其如此
   张力很大。
   
   一个段落
   充满遗憾,带着渴望,
   在这个世界上,我们有一些
   小小的机会或记忆。
   
   只有一刻
   当阴间的黑暗
   再次笼罩在她身边
   (温柔,恭敬),
   只有那一刻,一幅
   大地之美的图像
   才能再次到达她,那是
   她为之悲伤的美。
   
   但是,与人类的不信任一起生活
   是另一回事。
  
  
  
Eurydice
   
   
   Eurydice went back to hell.
   What was difficult
   was the travel, which,
   on arrival, is forgotten.
   
   Transition
   is difficult.
   And moving between two worlds
   especially so;
   the tension is very great.
   
   A passage
   filled with regret, with longing,
   to which we have, in the world,
   some slight access or memory.
   
   Only for a moment
   when the dark of the underworld
   settled around her again
   (gentle, respectful),
   only for a moment could
   an image of earth's beauty
   reach her again, beauty
   for which she grieved.
   
   But to live with human faithlessness
   is another matter.
   
  
  
  
  
卡斯蒂利亚
   
   (选自 VITA NOVA (1999))
   作者:(美)露易丝.格丽克(Louise Glück)
   译者:剑郭琴符
   
   桔黄色的花朵吹过卡斯蒂利亚
   孩子们乞求硬币
   
   我在一棵橘子树下遇见了我的爱人
   或者它是一棵金合欢树
   或者他不是我的爱人?
   
   我读到这个,然后我梦见了这个:
   醒来能挽回发生在我身上的事?
   圣米格尔的钟声
   在远处回响
   他在阴影中金白色的头发
   
   我梦见了这个,
   这是否意味着它没有发生?
   在这个世界上它必须碰巧是真的吗?
   
   我梦见了一切,故事
   变成了我的故事:
   
   他躺在我旁边,
   我的手擦着他肩膀上的皮肤
   
   正午,然后傍晚:
   远处,火车的声音
   
   但那不是世界:
   在这个世界上,一件事最终发生了,绝对地,
   头脑无法逆转它。
   
   卡斯蒂利亚:修女成对地走过黑暗的花园。
   在圣天使的墙外
   孩子们乞讨硬币
   
   当我醒来时我哭了,
   那不是现实?
   
   我在一棵橘子树下遇见了我的爱人:
   我只忘了
   事实,没有忘记推论---
   孩子在某处,哭泣,乞求硬币
   
   我梦见了一切,我把自己
   完全奉献给所有时间
   
   然后火车把我们
   先送回马德里
   然后到巴斯克人乡村
  
  
  
卡斯蒂利亚
   
   (选自 VITA NOVA (1999))
   作者:(美)露易丝.格丽克(Louise Glück)
   译者:剑郭琴符
   
   桔黄色的花朵吹过卡斯蒂利亚
   孩子们乞求硬币
   
   我在一棵橘子树下遇见了我的爱人
   或者它是一棵金合欢树
   或者他不是我的爱人?
   
   我读到这个,然后我梦见了这个:
   醒来能挽回发生在我身上的事?
   圣米格尔的钟声
   在远处回响
   他在阴影中金白色的头发
   
   我梦见了这个,
   这是否意味着它没有发生?
   在这个世界上它必须碰巧是真的吗?
   
   我梦见了一切,故事
   变成了我的故事:
   
   他躺在我旁边,
   我的手擦着他肩膀上的皮肤
   
   正午,然后傍晚:
   远处,火车的声音
   
   但那不是世界:
   在这个世界上,一件事最终发生了,绝对地,
   头脑无法逆转它。
   
   卡斯蒂利亚:修女成对地走过黑暗的花园。
   在圣天使的墙外
   孩子们乞讨硬币
   
   当我醒来时我哭了,
   那不是现实?
   
   我在一棵橘子树下遇见了我的爱人:
   我只忘了
   事实,没有忘记推论---
   孩子在某处,哭泣,乞求硬币
   
   我梦见了一切,我把自己
   完全奉献给所有时间
   
   然后火车把我们
   先送回马德里
   然后到巴斯克人乡村
  
  
  
  
易变的地球
   
   (选自 VITA NOVA (1999))
   作者:(美)露易丝.格丽克(Louise Glück)
   译者:剑郭琴符
   
   你被治愈,还是你只是认为你已经痊愈?
   
   我告诉自己
   从无
   无不能被拿走。
   
   但你能爱任何人吗?
   
   当我感到安全的时候,我可以去爱。
   
   但你会碰任何人吗?
   
   我告诉自己
   如果我什么都没有
   世界就不能碰我。
   
   在浴缸里,我检查我的身体。
   我们应该这么做。
   
   你的脸也如此?
   你在镜子里的脸?
   
   我很警惕:当我摸自己的时候
   我什么也感觉不到。
   
   那么你安全吗?
   
   我从来都不安全,即使在我最隐蔽的时候。
   即使那时我还在等。
   
   所以你不能保护自己?
   
   绝对的
   侵蚀;边界,墙
   在自我侵蚀周围。
   如果我在等待,我已经被
   时间入侵。
   
   但你觉得你自由吗?
   
   我想我认识到了我天性的模式。
   
   但你觉得你自由吗?
   
   我什么都没有
   我还是改变了。
   就像一件戏服,我的麻木
   被带走了。接着
   渴望增加。
  
  
  
Mutable Earth
   
   
   Are you healed or do you only think you're healed?
   
   I told myself
   from nothing
   nothing could be taken away.
   
   But can you love anyone yet?
   
   When I feel safe, I can love.
   
   But will you touch anyone?
   
   I told myself
   if I had nothing
   the world couldn't touch me.
   
   In the bathtub, I examine my body.
   We’re supposed to do that.
   
   And your face too?
   Your face in the mirror?
   
   I was vigilant: when I touched myself
   I didn't feel anything.
   
   Were you safe then?
   
   I was never safe, even when I was most hidden.
   Even then I was waiting.
   
   So you couldn’t protect yourself?
   
   The absolute
   erodes; the boundary, the wall
   around the self erodes.
   If I was waiting I had been
   invaded by time.
   
   But do you think you’re free?
   
   I think I recognize the patterns of my nature.
   
   But do you think you’re free?
   
   I had nothing
   and I was still changed.
   Like a costume, my numbness
   was taken away. Then
   hunger was added.
   
  
  
  
  
有翅膀的马
   
   (选自 VITA NOVA (1999))
   作者:(美)露易丝.格丽克(Louise Glück)
   译者:剑郭琴符
   
   这是我的马“抽象”,
   银白色,页面的颜色,
   不成文的。
   
   来吧,“抽象”,
   籍由出于“恶魔的野心”的“愿望”:
   把我轻轻地带进不朽的地方。
   
   我厌倦了我的另一坐骑,
   那是出于一种与“真实”脱节的本能,
   尘土的颜色,失望的,
   尽管
   陪伴他的马鞍
   和青铜马刺,那一点
   坚不可摧的金属。
   
   我厌倦了世界的恩赐,世界
   规定的限制。
   
   我厌倦了被人反对
   也厌倦了不断地被材料所反驳,就像被
   一堵巨大的墙,在那里我所说的一切都可以
   被检查。
   
   那么,来吧,“抽象”,
   带我去你带过那么多人的地方,
   远离这里,到虚无的,星辰牧场。
   
   快支持我
   梦出于“盲目的希望”。
  
  
  
The Winged Horse
   
   
   Here is my horse Abstraction,
   silver-white, color of the page,
   of the unwritten.
   
   Come, Abstraction,
   by Will out of Demonic Ambition:
   carry me lightly into the regions of the immortal.
   
   I am weary of my other mount,
   by Instinct out of Reality,
   color of dust, of disappointment,
   notwithstanding
   the saddle that went with him
   and the bronze spurs, the bit
   of indestructible metal.
   
   I am weary of the world’s gifts, the world’s
   stipulated limits.
   
   And I am weary of being opposed
   and weary of being constantly contradicted by the material, as by
   a massive wall where all I say can be
   checked up on.
   
   Then come, Abstraction,
   take me where you have taken so many others,
   far from here, to the void, the star pasture.
   
   Bear me quickly,
   Dream out of Blind Hope.
  
  
  
  
人间的恐怖
   
   (选自 VITA NOVA (1999))
   作者:(美)露易丝.格丽克(Louise Glück)
   译者:剑郭琴符
   
   我站在一个富有城市的门口。
   我拥有众神所要求的一切;
   我已经准备好了,准备的
   重担已经很长了。
   那一刻是正确的时刻,
   分配给我的时刻。
   
   你为什么害怕?
   
   那一刻是正确的时刻;
   必须准备好回应。
   在我的唇上,
   词语颤抖着,那是
   正确的词语。颤抖---
   
   我知道,如果我未能回答得
   足够快,我就会转身离开。
  
  
  
Earthly Terror
   
   
   I stood at the gate of a rich city.
   I had everything the gods required;
   I was ready; the burdens
   of preparation had been long.
   And the moment was the right moment,
   the moment assigned to me.
   
   Why were you afraid?
   
   The moment was the right moment;
   response must be ready.
   On my lips,
   the words trembled that were
   the right words. Trembled---
   
   and I knew that if I failed to answer
   quickly enough, I would be turned away.
  
  
  
  
金枝
   
   (选自 VITA NOVA (1999))
   作者:(美)露易丝.格丽克(Louise Glück)
   译者:剑郭琴符
   
   即使爱的女神
   为她的孩子而战,尽管她的
   虚荣心:比起其他英雄,
   埃涅阿斯更加旺盛;甚至从地狱返回的道路
   也被简化。牺牲爱
   比其他英雄付出的痛苦更少。
   他的心灵似乎清晰:即使他忍受了牺牲,
   他看到它的实际目的。他的心灵似乎清晰,
   在其清晰中,抵御绝望,
   即使悲伤给更多的人造成一颗
   要不然就可能似乎一成不变的心。美
   在他的静脉中流淌:他没有更多的
   需求。他向其他幻象让步
   艺术和科学的世界,那些只通向
   痛苦的道路,相反,把地球上
   不同的人口聚集成
   成一个帝国,一种
   通过投降获得正义的概念,一种“留下卑微者,
   镇压骄傲者”的意图:主观,
   必然,就像必然判断一样。
   美在他的静脉中流淌,他没有更多的需求。
   这和他对帝国的品味:
   那么多可以证实。
   ----
   金枝,参见《金枝.巫术与宗教之研究-(英)詹姆斯.乔治.弗雷泽著,徐育新等译》。
   爱的女神,指维纳斯,埃涅阿斯是她和安基塞斯王子的儿子。
  
  
  
金枝
   
   (选自 VITA NOVA (1999))
   作者:(美)露易丝.格丽克(Louise Glück)
   译者:剑郭琴符
   
   即使爱的女神
   为她的孩子而战,尽管她的
   虚荣心:比起其他英雄,
   埃涅阿斯更加旺盛;甚至从地狱返回的道路
   也被简化。牺牲爱
   比其他英雄付出的痛苦更少。
   他的心灵似乎清晰:即使他忍受了牺牲,
   他看到它的实际目的。他的心灵似乎清晰,
   在其清晰中,抵御绝望,
   即使悲伤给更多的人造成一颗
   要不然就可能似乎一成不变的心。美
   在他的静脉中流淌:他没有更多的
   需求。他向其他幻象让步
   艺术和科学的世界,那些只通向
   痛苦的道路,相反,把地球上
   不同的人口聚集成
   成一个帝国,一种
   通过投降获得正义的概念,一种“留下卑微者,
   镇压骄傲者”的意图:主观,
   必然,就像必然判断一样。
   美在他的静脉中流淌,他没有更多的需求。
   这和他对帝国的品味:
   那么多可以证实。
   ----
   金枝,参见《金枝.巫术与宗教之研究-(英)詹姆斯.乔治.弗雷泽著,徐育新等译》。
   爱的女神,指维纳斯,埃涅阿斯是她和安基塞斯王子的儿子。
  
  
   

 楼主| 发表于 2020-11-12 16:15:01 | 显示全部楼层



晚祷

   (选自 VITA NOVA (1999))
   作者:(美)露易丝.格丽克(Louise Glück)
   译者:剑郭琴符

   我相信我的罪过
   全都是常见的:
   请求帮助
   掩盖请求帮助的请求
   而请求怜悯的请求
   薄薄地掩盖了抱怨。

   在春天的晚上,我如此不平静,
   我祈求力量,方向,
   但我也要求
   我从病里活下来
   (眼前的那一个)---再不担心
   将来的事情。
   我特别强调这一点,
   对未来的漠不关心,
   同时那时候我也将获得勇气
   独自面对我的痛苦
   但要以提升的勇气。

   今晚,在我的苦恼中,
   我想知道这对于
   倾听的人意味着什么样的品质。
   当微风吹拂着
   小白桦树的叶子,
   我构成了一个
   完全怀疑和完全温柔的存在,
   因此没有惊喜的能力。

   我相信我的罪是常见的,因此
   是故意的;我能感觉到
   树叶在颤动,有时
   有词语,有时没有,
   仿佛最高形式的怜悯
   可以是讽刺。

   “睡觉时间”,他们低声说。
   “是时候开始躺下。”



Evening Prayers


   I believe my sin
   to be entirely common:
   the request for help
   masking request for favor
   and the plea for pity
   thinly veiling complaint.

   So little at peace in the spring evening,
   I pray for strength, for direction,
   but I also ask
   to survive my illness
   (the immediate one)---never mind
   anything in the future.
   I make this a special point,
   this unconcern for the future,
   also the courage I will have acquired by then
   to meet my suffering alone
   but with heightened fortitude.

   Tonight, in my unhappiness,
   I wonder what qualities this presumes
   in the one who listens.
   And as the breeze stirs
   the leaves of the little birch tree,
   I construct a presence
   wholly skeptical and wholly tender,
   thus incapable of surprise.

   I believe my sin is common, therefore
   intended; I can feel
   the leaves stir, sometimes
   with words, sometimes without,
   as though the highest form of pity
   could be irony.

   Bedtime, they whisper.
   Time to begin lying.





遗迹

   (选自 VITA NOVA (1999))
   作者:(美)露易丝.格丽克(Louise Glück)
   译者:剑郭琴符

   没有我的悲伤,
   我爱人造成的悲伤,
   没有他的某些迹象,这首礼物中
   最持久的歌,我会在哪里?

   当奥菲斯唱歌,
   你想怎么死?
   一个漫长的死亡;通往冥府的所有路
   我听到了他。

   大地的折磨
   凡人激情的折磨---

   我觉得有时候
   我们被要求太多;
   我想有时候
   我们的安慰是最昂贵的东西。

   往冥府的所有路
   我都听到我丈夫在唱歌
   就像你现在听到我一样多。
   也许这样更好,
   我的爱在我的脑海里还清新着。

   不是第一个反应---
   那是恐怖---
   而是最后一个。



Relic

   Where would I be without my sorrow,
   sorrow of my beloved's making,
   without some sign of him, this song
   of all gifts the most lasting?

   How would you like to die
   while Orpheus was singing?
   A long death; all the way to Dis
   I heard him.

   Torment of earth
   Torment of mortal passion---

   I think sometimes
   too much is asked of us;
   I think sometimes
   our consolations are the costliest thing.

   All the way to Dis
   I heard my husband singing,
   much as you now hear me.
   Perhaps it was better that way,
   my love fresh in my head
   even at the moment of death.

   Not the first response---
   that was terror---
   but the last.





筑巢

   (选自 VITA NOVA (1999))
   作者:(美)露易丝.格丽克(Louise Glück)
   译者:剑郭琴符

   一只鸟正在筑巢。
   在梦中,我密切地观察着:
   在我的生活中,我试图成为
   一个见证者,而不是一个理论家。

   你开始的地方并不能决定
   你结束的地方:这只鸟

   拿着它在院子里找到的东西,
   它的基础材料,紧张地
   在早春扫视着光秃秃的院子;
   在南墙的废墟里,它用嘴
   推着几根树枝。

   孤独的
   形象:这小生物
   一无所有地来到。然后
   是干树枝。运送着,一根一根地,
   树枝到藏身处。
   这就是当时的一切。

   它拿来存在的东西:
   可用的材料。精神
   是不够的。

   然后它像第一个珀涅罗珀一样编织
   但向着不同的终点。
   它如何编织?它编织,
   小心翼翼地、但毫无希望地,少量小枝
   带有柔软,弹性,
   选择那些,而不是脆弱、倔强的。

   早春,迟到的荒芜。
   那只鸟在光秃秃的院子里盘旋
   努力靠
   剩下的东西生存。

   它的任务是:
   想象未来。稳稳地四处飞,
   耐心地把小枝扛到
   外面世界
   固定的寒冷的孤寂中。

   我没有什么可以建造的。
   那是冬天:除了过去
   我什么都不能想象。我甚至无法
   想象过去,如果到了那个地步。

   我不知道我是怎么来这儿的。
   其他人都很远。
   一开始我就回来了
   在生命中的每一次我们记不起开始。

   这只鸟
   收集了苹果树上的树枝,将
   每一根增加的树枝与现存的一堆联系起来。
   但什么时候突然有了“堆”?

   在别的完成后
   它拿走了它发现的东西。
   同样的材料---为什么最后完成
   最重要?同样的材料,同样
   有限的优秀。棕色的树枝,
   断了又掉了下来。还有一条,
   一根黄色羊毛的长度。

   然后是春天,我莫名其妙地高兴起来。
   我知道我在哪里:在百老汇大街上,我拿着一包食品杂货。
   商店里的春季水果:第一批
   奶酪樱桃。连翘
   开始。

   一开始我很平静。
   然后我心安理得,满足。
   然后快乐的闪现。
   季节变了---为我们所有人
   当然。

   当我向外张望时,我的头脑变得更加敏锐。
   我准确地记得
   我的反应顺序,
   我的眼睛注视着每一件事
   从隐藏的自我的庇护下:

   首先,“我喜欢它。”
   然后,“我可以使用它。”



Nest


   A bird was making its nest.
   In the dream, I watched it closely:
   in my life, I was trying to be
   a witness not a theorist.

   The place you begin doesn’t determine
   the place you end: the bird

   took what it found in the yard,
   its base materials, nervously
   scanning the bare yard in early spring;
   in debris by the south wall pushing
   a few twigs with its beak.

   Image
   of loneliness: the small creature
   coming up with nothing. Then
   dry twigs. Carrying, one by one,
   the twigs to the hideout.
   Which is all it was then.

   It took what there was:
   the available material. Spirit
   wasn’t enough.

   And then it wove like the first Penelope
   but toward a different end.
   How did it weave? It weaved,
   carefully but hopelessly, the few twigs
   with any suppleness, any flexibility,
   choosing these over the brittle, the recalcitrant.

   Early spring, late desolation.
   The bird circled the bare yard making
   efforts to survive
   on what remained to it.

   It had its task:
   to imagine the future. Steadily flying around,
   patiently bearing small twigs to the solitude
   of the exposed tree in the steady coldness
   of the outside world.

   I had nothing to build with.
   It was winter: I couldn't imagine
   anything but the past. I couldn’t even
   imagine the past, if it came to that.

   And I didn’t know how I came here.
   Everyone else much farther along.
   I was back at the beginning
   at a time in life we can't remember beginnings.

   The bird
   collected twigs in the apple tree, relating
   each addition to existing mass.
   But when was there suddenly mass?

   It took what it found after the others
   were finished.
   The same materials---why should it matter
   to be finished last? The same materials, the same
   limited good. Brown twigs,
   broken and fallen. And in one,
   a length of yellow wool.

   Then it was spring and I was inexplicably happy.
   I knew where I was: on Broadway with my bag of groceries.
   Spring fruit in the stores: first
   cherries at Formaggio. Forsythia
   beginning.

   First I was at peace.
   Then I was contented, satisfied.
   And then flashes of joy.
   And the season changed---for all of us,
   of course.

   And as I peered out my mind grew sharper.
   And I remember accurately
   the sequence of my responses,
   my eyes fixing on each thing
   from the shelter of the hidden self:

   first, I love it.
   Then, I can use it.






埃尔斯沃斯大街

   (选自 VITA NOVA (1999))
   作者:(美)露易丝.格丽克(Louise Glück)
   译者:剑郭琴符

   春天
   降临。或者应该说
   上升?应该说升起吗?
   在管家的房间,
   金缕梅盛开。

   所以应该是
   二月下旬。

   苍白的
   新年的黄色,
   不实用的颜色。迟钝的
   地面上冰的光泽。

   我想:“现在停下来”,意思是
   “停在这里。”
   说我的生活。

   一年中的春天:连翘的
   黄绿色,下议院
   种上新草---

   新的
   总是受到保护,新事物
   给予它明确的保护,它语言的
   金属牌匾,用
   白绳镶边。

   因为我们希望它活着,
   苍白的绿色
   包围着黑暗的现有形状。

   冬末的
   太阳。还是春天?
   春日
   这么早?用
   浓密的连翘筛选。我直接
   看着它,或者几乎看了进去--

   街对面,一个小男孩
   把帽子抛向空中:新的

   总是上升,新鲜的
   不稳定的颜色爬升,
   交替的蓝色和金色:

   埃尔斯沃斯大街。
   人类头部的条纹
   抽象物战胜了
   枯死的灌木。

   春天
   降临。还是应该说
   再次站起来?或者应该说
   脱离了地球?



Ellsworth Avenue

   Spring
   descended. Or should one say
   rose? Should one say rose up?
   At the Butlers' house,
   witch hazel in bloom.

   So it would have been
   late February.

   Pale
   yellow of the new year,
   unpracticed color. Sheen
   of ice over the dull ground.

   I thought: stop now, meaning
   stop here.
   Speaking of my life.

   The spring of the year: yellow-
   green of forsythia, the Commons
   planted with new grass---

   the new
   protected always, the new thing
   given its explicit shield, its metal
   plaque of language, bordered
   with white rope.

   Because we wish it to live,
   a pale green
   hemming the dark existing shapes.

   Late
   winter sun. Or spring?
   The spring sun
   so early? Screened
   by dense forsythia. I looked
   directly into it or almost into it--

   Across the street, a small boy
   threw his hat into the air: the new

   ascending always, the fresh
   unsteady colors climbing and rising,
   alternating blue and gold:

   Ellsworth Avenue.
   A striped
   abstraction of the human head
   triumphant over dead shrubs.

   Spring
   descended. Or should one say
   rose up again? Or should one say
   broke from earth?






地狱

   (选自 VITA NOVA (1999))
   作者:(美)露易丝.格丽克(Louise Glück)
   译者:剑郭琴符

   你为什么离开?

   我活着从火里走出来,
   怎么可能?

   损失了多少?

   什么也没损失,全都
   毁灭。毁灭
   是行动的结果。

   真的有火吗?

   我记得二十年前我回到家里,
   尽力挽救我们所能的。
   瓷器等等。所有东西
   都有烟味。

   在我的梦里,我建了一个火葬柴堆。
   对我来说,你明白。
   我认为我受够了。

   我认为这是我身体的结束:火
   似乎是渴望的正确归宿;
   它们是同一回事。

   你还没死?

   那是个梦,我认为我要回家。
   我记得告诉自己
   这行不通;我记得认为
   我的灵魂太顽固,不会死。
   我认为灵魂和意识是一样的---
   也许每个人都这么认为。

   你为什么离开?

   我在另一个世界醒来。
   就这么简单。

   你为什么离开?

   世界变了。我从火里走出来
   去一个不同的世界---也许
   死亡的世界,就我所知。
   不是需求的终结,而是需要
   被提升到最高权力。



Inferno


   Why did you move away?

   I walked out of the fire alive;
   how can that be?

   How much was lost?

   Nothing was lost: it was all
   destroyed. Destruction
   is the result of action.

   Was there a real fire?

   I remember going back into the house twenty years ago,
   trying to save what we could.
   Porcelain and so on. The smell of smoke
   on everything.

   In my dream, I built a funeral pyre.
   For myself, you understand.
   I thought I had suffered enough.

   I thought this was the end of my body: fire
   seemed the right end for hunger;
   they were the same thing.

   And yet you didn’t die?

   It was a dream; I thought I was going home.
   I remember telling myself
   it wouldn't work; I remember thinking
   my soul was too stubborn to die.
   I thought soul was the same as consciousness---
   probably everyone thinks that.

   Why did you move away?

   I woke up in another world.
   As simple as that.

   Why did you move away?

   The world changed. I walked out of the fire
   into a different world---maybe
   the world of the dead, for all I know.
   Not the end of need but need
   raised to the highest power.






 楼主| 发表于 2020-11-12 16:17:22 | 显示全部楼层


癫痫

   (选自 VITA NOVA (1999))
   作者:(美)露易丝.格丽克(Louise Glück)
   译者:剑郭琴符

   你救了我,你应该记得我。

   你来找我;我
   在花园里见过你两次。
   当我醒来时,我躺在地上。

   我不知道我是谁;
   我不知道树是什么。

   在花园里两次;在此之前
   很多次。为什么
   要保密?

   树莓很厚;
   我没有修剪它们,我没有除草。

   我不知道我在哪里。
   只是:我附近有火---不,
   在我上面。远处,
   一条河的声音。

   失去的从不是焦点,
   是意义。

   有一顶王冠,
   我头上的一个圆圈。
   我的手覆盖着泥土,
   不是因为劳动。

   我为什么躺着:生命
   现在结束了。
   为什么我不能
   使用我所知道的?

   你改变了我,你应该记住我。

   我记得我出去
   在花园里散步。像以前一样进入
   城市的街道,进入
   那第一间公寓的卧室。

   是的,我是一个人;
   我怎么可能不是?



Seizure


   You saved me, you should remember me.

   You came to me; twice
   I saw you in the garden.
   When I woke I was on the ground.

   I didn't know who I was anymore;
   I didn't know what trees were.

   Twice in the garden; many times
   before that. Why should it be
   kept secret?

   The raspberries were very thick;
   I hadn't pruned them, I hadn't weeded anything.

   I didn't know where I was.
   Only: there was a fire near me---no,
   above me. In the distance,
   the sound of a river.

   It was never focus that was missing,
   it was meaning.

   There was a crown,
   a circle over my head.
   My hands were covered with dirt,
   not from labor.

   Why should I lie: that life
   is over now.
   Why shouldn’t I
   use what I know?

   You changed me, you should remember me.

   I remember I had gone out
   to walk in the garden. As before into
   the streets of the city, into
   the bedroom of that first apartment.

   And yes, I was alone;
   how could I not be?






(选自  Chinese Whispers )
作者:(美)约翰.阿什贝利(John Ashberry)
译者:剑郭琴符



(选自  Chinese Whispers )
作者:(美)约翰.阿什贝利(John Ashberry)
译者:剑郭琴符





神秘

   (选自 VITA NOVA (1999))
   作者:(美)露易丝.格丽克(Louise Glück)
   译者:剑郭琴符

   我变成了光的生物。
   我坐在加利福尼亚州的一条车道上;
   玫瑰是消防栓的颜色;一个婴儿
   坐在黄色的婴儿车里摇摆而过,发出
   像鱼一样的气泡声。

   我坐在折叠椅上
   读了第二十遍尼禄.沃尔夫,
   一个变得宁静的神秘。
   我知道谁是无辜的;我在某种程度上获得了
   大师的天才,在他柔软的头脑中
   时间在两个方向上移动:从行动
   退向动机
   向前到公正的解决。

   无畏的心,永不再颤抖:
   唯一的影子是那狭长手掌的
   绝对不能包围你。
   不像东方的影子。

   我的生活把我带到了很多地方,
   很多地方非常黑暗。
   它引着我,非我自愿
   从后面推我,
   从一个世界到另一个,就像
   鱼一样的婴儿。
   全都是武断的,
   没有可识别的形式。

   那些充满激情的威胁和质疑,
   以及过去对正义的追求,
   一定是完全被欺骗。
   但我看到了令人惊奇的事情。
   最后我变得几乎容光焕发;
   我把我的书带到每一个地方,
   就像一个渴望的学生
   紧紧抓住这些简单的谜团

   好让我自己沉默
   最后的指控:

   “你是谁?你的目的是什么?”



The Mystery


   I became a creature of light.
   I sat in a driveway in California;
   the roses were hydrant-color; a baby
   rolled by in its yellow stroller, making
   bubbling fishlike sounds.

   I sat in a folding chair
   reading Nero Wolfe for the twentieth time,
   a mystery that has become restful.
   I know who the innocent are; I have acquired in some measure
   the genius of the master, in whose supple mind
   time moves in two directions: backward
   from the act to the motive
   and forward to just resolution.

   Fearless heart, never tremble again:
   the only shadow is the narrow palm’s
   that cannot enclose you absolutely.
   Not like the shadows of the east.

   My life took me many places,
   many of them very dark.
   It took me without my volition,
   pushing me from behind,
   from one world to another, like
   the fishlike baby.
   And it was all entirely arbitrary,
   without discernible form.

   The passionate threats and questions,
   the old search for justice,
   must have been entirely deluded.
   And yet I saw amazing things.
   I became almost radiant at the end;
   I carried my book everywhere,
   like an eager student
   clinging to these simple mysteries

   so that I might silence in myself
   the last accusations:

   Who are you and what is your purpose?






挽歌

   (选自 VITA NOVA (1999))
   作者:(美)露易丝.格丽克(Louise Glück)
   译者:剑郭琴符

   一件可怕的事正在发生---我的爱
   又死了,我已经死了的爱:
   死了,而且受到了哀悼。音乐继续,
   分离的音乐:树木
   变成了乐器。

   大地多么残酷,柳树闪烁,
   白桦弯腰叹息。
   多么残酷,多深的温柔。

   我的爱快死了;我的爱
   不仅是一个人,而且是一种思想,一种生活。

   我要为什么而活?
   如果不是在悲伤中,我将在
   哪里再找到他,那是
   一块用来制作鲁特琴的黑木头。

   一次就够了。一次就足够
   在地球上说再见。
   悲伤,这也是,当然。
   一次就足够说永远再见。

   石头喷泉旁的柳树闪闪发光,
   花道邻接。

   一次就够了:他为什么又活了?
   如此短暂,只在梦中。

   我的爱快死了,分手又开始。
   透过柳树的面纱
   阳光升起,熠熠生辉,
   不是我们所知道的光。

   鸟儿又歌唱,甚至哀鸣的鸽子。
   啊,我唱过这首歌。在石头喷泉边
   柳树又唱起来
   带着难以言表的柔情,在波光粼粼的水中
   蔓延着树叶。

   显然它们知道,它们知道。他又死了,
   世界也一样。我的余生的死
   我这么相信。



Lament


   A terrible thing is happening---my love
   is dying again, my love who has died already:
   died and been mourned. And music continues,
   music of separation: the trees
   become instruments.

   How cruel the earth, the willows shimmering,
   the birches bending and sighing.
   How cruel, how profoundly tender.

   My love is dying; my love
   not only a person, but an idea, a life.

   What will I live for?
   Where will I find him again
   if not in grief, dark wood
   from which the lute is made.

   Once is enough. Once is enough
   to say goodbye on earth.
   And to grieve, that too, of course.
   Once is enough to say goodbye forever.

   The willows shimmer by the stone fountain,
   paths of flowers abutting.

   Once is enough: why is he living again?
   And so briefly, and only in dream.

   My love is dying; parting has started again.
   And through the veils of the willows
   sunlight rising and glowing,
   not the light we knew.
   And the birds singing again, even the mourning dove.
   Ah, I have sung this song. By the stone fountain
   the willows are singing again
   with unspeakable tenderness, trailing their leaves
   in the radiant water.

   Clearly they know, they know. He is dying again,
   and the world also. Dying the rest of my life,
   so I believe.






新生

   (选自 VITA NOVA (1999))
   作者:(美)露易丝.格丽克(Louise Glück)
   译者:剑郭琴符

   在分裂的梦中
   我们在为谁来养狗
   布利泽德,
   而争吵。你告诉我
   那名字是什么意思。他是
   一个
   大而蓬松的东西
   和腊肠狗的杂交体。这一定是
   男性和女性的
   生殖器吗?可怜的布利泽德,
   他为什么是条狗?他几乎没碰
   他的狗粮盘里的鹰嘴豆。
   然后是别的东西,
   一种声音。就像
   碎石在移动。还是沙子?
   时间的沙子?然后是
   艾丽卡和她的沙球,
   就像时间之沙的
   拟人化。谁来
   给狗解释
   这个?布利泽德,
   爸爸需要你;爸爸的心是空的,
   不是因为他要离开妈妈,而是因为
   他想要妈妈没有的
   那种爱,妈妈
   太讽刺---妈妈不会
   在车道上跳伦巴舞。或者
   这是错的。假设
   我是狗,就像在
   我的儿童自我中,因为完全的前言语
   而不安?带着
   厌食症!哦,布利泽德,
   做一只勇敢的狗---这一切都是
   物质的;你会
   在另一个世界醒来,
   你会再次进食,你会成长为一个诗人!
   生活是很奇怪的,不管结局如何,
   都充满了梦想。我永远
   不会忘记你的脸,你那疯狂的人眼
   因泪水而肿胀。
   “我以为我的生命结束了,我的心破碎。
   然后我搬到剑桥。”



Vita Nova


   In the splitting-up dream
   we were fighting over who would keep
   the dog,
   Blizzard. You tell me
   what that name means. He was
   a cross between
   something big and fluffy
   and a dachshund. Does this have to be
   the male and female
   genitalia? Poor Blizzard,
   why was he a dog? He barely touched
   the hummus in his dogfood dish.
   Then there was something else,
   a sound. Like
   gravel being moved. Or sand?
   The sands of time? Then it was
   Erica with her maracas,
   like the sands of time
   personified. Who will
   explain this to
   the dog? Blizzard,
   Daddy needs you; Daddy’s heart is empty,
   not because he’s leaving Mommy but because
   the kind of love he wants Mommy
   doesn’t have, Mommy’s
   too ironic---Mommy wouldn’t do
   the rhumba in the driveway. Or
   is this wrong. Supposing
   I’m the dog, as in
   my child-self, unconsolable because
   completely pre-verbal? With
   anorexia! O Blizzard,
   be a brave dog---this is
   all material; you'll wake up
   in a different world,
   you will eat again, you will grow up into a poet!
   Life is very weird, no matter how it ends,
   very filled with dreams. Never
   will I forget your face, your frantic human eyes
   swollen with tears.
   I thought my life was over and my heart was broken.
   Then I moved to Cambridge.







 楼主| 发表于 2020-11-13 16:07:55 | 显示全部楼层


七个时期

   (选自 THE SEVEN AGES (2001))
   作者:(美)露易丝.格丽克(Louise Glück)
   译者:剑郭琴符

   七个时期(2001)

   献给诺亚和泰瑞兹

   你这泥块!哑了吗?。
   ---《暴风雨》(1)

   七个时期

   在我的第一个梦里,世界出现了
   盐,苦,禁,甜
   在我的第二次我降生

   我是人,我不能只看到一个东西
   我所是的动物

   我必须触摸,包含它

   我藏在小树林里,
   我在田野里工作,直到田野赤裸---

   永远不会
   再来的时间---
   捆着的干草,几箱
   无花果和橄榄

   我甚至用我恶心的人类方式爱过几次
   就像所有人一样,我把这种成就称为
   性自由,
   荒谬就像它似乎是

   收集和储藏的麦子,最后的
   干果:时间

   被囤积,那是从来没有用过的
   它也结束了吗?

   在我的第一个梦里,这个世界出现
   甜蜜,被禁止
   但没有花园,只有
   我是人的

   原始元素:
   我不得不乞求降下

   盐,苦,苛求,先发制人

   和所有人一样,我接受,我被接受,
   我梦见

   我被出卖:

   在梦中,大地被给予我
   在梦中我拥有它
   ----
   引自莎士比亚《暴风雨》,是普洛斯彼罗骂凯列班的话:
   PROSPERO
   But, as 'tis,
   We cannot miss him: he does make our fire,
   Fetch in our wood and serves in offices
   That profit us. What, ho! slave! Caliban!
   Thou earth, thou! speak.

   普洛斯彼罗:虽然这样说,我们也缺不了他:他给我们生火,给我们捡柴,也为我们做有用的工作。——喂,奴才!凯列班!你这泥块!哑了吗?












THE SEVEN AGES (2001)

   FOR NOAH AND TEREZE

   Thou earth, thou, Speak.
   —THE TEMPEST

   The Seven Ages

   In my first dream the world appeared
   the salt, the bitter, the forbidden, the sweet
   In my second I descended

   I was human, I couldn't just see a thing
   beast that I am

   I had to touch, to contain it

   I hid in the groves,
   I worked in the fields until the fields were bare---

   time
   that will never come again---
   the dry wheat bound, caskets
   of figs and olives

   I even loved a few times in my disgusting human way

   and like everyone I called that accomplishment
   erotic freedom,
   absurd as it seems

   The wheat gathered and stored, the last
   fruit dried: time

   that is hoarded, that is never used
   does it also end?

   In my first dream the world appeared
   the sweet, the forbidden
   but there was no garden, only
   raw elements

   I was human:
   I had to beg to descend

   the salt, the bitter, the demanding, the preemptive

   And like everyone, I took, I was taken
   I dreamed

   I was betrayed:

   Earth was given to me in a dream
   In a dream I possessed it





月光

   (选自 THE SEVEN AGES (2001))
   作者:(美)露易丝.格丽克(Louise Glück)
   译者:剑郭琴符

   薄雾随着一点声音升起。像砰的一声。
   那是心跳。太阳升起,短暂地被稀释。
   似乎几年以后,它又沉陷
   暮色洗涤岸边,在那里加深。
   不知从哪里来的恋人,
   仍然有身体和心灵的人。他们仍然有
   胳膊,腿,嘴,虽然白天他们可能是
   家庭主妇和商人。

   同一个晚上也产生了像我们这样的人。
   你像我一样,不管你是否承认。
   不满意,一丝不苟。你渴望的不是经验,
   而是理解,仿佛它可以抽象地拥有。

   然后又是白天,世界又恢复了正常。
   情人们抚平头发,月亮恢复它空洞的存在。
   海滩又属于很快出现
   在邮票上的神秘鸟类。

   但是我们的记忆,那些依赖图像的人的记忆是什么?
   它们毫无价值吗?

   薄雾升起,夺回了爱的证据。
   没有它,我们只有镜子,你和我。



Moonbeam


   The mist rose with a little sound. Like a thud.
   Which was the heart beating. And the sun rose, briefly diluted.
   And after what seemed years, it sank again
   and twilight washed over the shore and deepened there.
   And from out of nowhere lovers came,
   people who still had bodies and hearts. Who still had
   arms, legs, mouths, although by day they might be
   housewives and businessmen.

   The same night also produced people like ourselves.
   You are like me, whether or not you admit it.
   Unsatisfied, meticulous. And your hunger is not for experience
   but for understanding, as though it could be had in the abstract.

   Then it's daylight again and the world goes back to normal.
   The lovers smooth their hair; the moon resumes its hollow existence.
   And the beach belongs again to mysterious birds
   soon to appear on postage stamps.

   But what of our memories, the memories of those who depend on images?
   Do they count for nothing?

   The mist rose, taking back proof of love.
   Without which we have only the mirror, you and I.





感官世界

   (选自 THE SEVEN AGES (2001))
   作者:(美)露易丝.格丽克(Louise Glück)
   译者:剑郭琴符

   我呼唤你跨过一条可怕的河流或峡谷
   警告你,让你做好准备。

   地球会诱惑你,慢慢地、不知不觉地、
   微妙地,虽不能说是纵容。

   我没有准备好:我站在祖母的厨房里,
   拿出我的杯子。炖李子、炖杏子---

   果汁倒进了一杯冰里。
   水增加,耐心地,以微小的增量,

   不同的对等物区别,品尝
   每加一次---

   夏季水果的香气,浓度的强度:
   有色液体逐渐变得更亮,更明亮,

   通过它的光更多。
   快乐,然后是安慰。我奶奶等着

   看是否还需要更多。安慰,然后深深沉浸。
   我再也不爱任何东西:感官生活的深沉秘密,

   自我消失在其中或与之不分,
   不知何故悬浮,漂浮,它的需求

   完全暴露,觉醒,完全活着---
   深深的沉浸,它带着

   神秘的安全。远处,水果在玻璃碗里闪闪发光。
   在厨房外面,夕阳西下。

   我没有准备好:日落,夏末。时间的
   示范,作为一个连续统,作为即将结束的东西,

   而不是暂停;感官无法保护我。
   我警告你,因为我从未被警告过:

   你永不放过,你永远不会满足。
   你会受到伤害和伤痕累累,你会继续渴望。

   你的身体会成熟,你会继续需要。
   你想要地球,然后比地球更多——
   崇高,冷漠,它是存在的,它不会回应。
   它是包罗万象的,它不会服侍。

   意思是,它会喂养你,它会让你着迷,
   它不会让你活着。



The Sensual World


   I call to you across a monstrous river or chasm
   to caution you, to prepare you.

   Earth will seduce you, slowly, imperceptibly,
   subtly, not to say with connivance.

   I was not prepared: I stood in my grandmother's kitchen,
   holding out my glass. Stewed plums, stewed apricots---

   the juice poured off into the glass of ice.
   And the water added, patiently, in small increments,

   the various cousins discriminating, tasting
   with each addition---

   aroma of summer fruit, intensity of concentration:
   the colored liquid turning gradually lighter, more radiant,

   more light passing through it.
   Delight, then solace. My grandmother waiting,

   to see if more was wanted. Solace, then deep immersion.
   I loved nothing more: deep privacy of the sensual life,

   the self disappearing into it or inseparable from it,
   somehow suspended, floating, its needs

   fully exposed, awakened, fully alive---
   Deep immersion, and with it

   mysterious safety. Far away, the fruit glowing in its glass bowls.
   Outside the kitchen, the sun setting.

   I was not prepared: sunset, end of summer. Demonstrations
   of time as a continuum, as something coming to an end,

   not a suspension; the senses wouldn't protect me.
   I caution you as I was never cautioned:

   you will never let go, you will never be satiated.
   You will be damaged and scarred, you will continue to hunger.

   Your body will age, you will continue to need.
   You will want the earth, then more of the earth---
   Sublime, indifferent, it is present, it will not respond.
   It is encompassing, it will not minister.

   Meaning, it will feed you, it will ravish you,
   it will not keep you alive.





母亲和孩子

   (选自 THE SEVEN AGES (2001))
   作者:(美)露易丝.格丽克(Louise Glück)
   译者:剑郭琴符

   我们都是梦想家,我们不知道自己是谁。

   某种机器造就了我们;世界的机器,紧缩的家庭。
   然后回到这个世界,用软鞭子打磨。

   我们做梦;我们不记得。

   家庭机器:深色皮毛,母亲身体的森林。
   母亲的机器:她内在的白城。

   在这之前,地球和水。
   岩石之间的苔藓,片片树叶和草。

   以前,在巨大黑暗中的牢房。
   在那之前,蒙面的世界。

   这就是你出生的原因:让我沉默。
   我父母的细胞,轮到你
   成为关键,成为杰作。

   我即兴发挥;我再也不记得。
   现在轮到你被驱使;
   你是那个要求知道的人;

   我为什么要受苦?我为什么无知?
   黑暗中的牢房。一些机器制造了我们,
   轮到你来处理它,回去问
   我有什么用?我有什么用?



Mother and Child


   We're all dreamers; we don't know who we are.

   Some machine made us; machine of the world, the constricting family.
   Then back to the world, polished by soft whips.

   We dream; we don't remember.

   Machine of the family: dark fur, forests of the mother’s body.
   Machine of the mother: white city inside her.

   And before that: earth and water.
   Moss between rocks, pieces of leaves and grass.

   And before, cells in a great darkness.
   And before that, the veiled world.

   This is why you were born: to silence me.
   Cells of my mother and father, it is your turn
   to be pivotal, to be the masterpiece.

   I improvised; I never remembered.
   Now it's your turn to be driven;
   you’re the one who demands to know;

   Why do I suffer? Why am I ignorant?
   Cells in a great darkness. Some machine made us;
   it is your turn to address it, to go back asking
   what am I for? What am I for?






寓言

   (选自 THE SEVEN AGES (2001))
   作者:(美)露易丝.格丽克(Louise Glück)
   译者:剑郭琴符

   我们,每个人,都有一套愿望。
   号码变了。以及我们的愿望---
   也改变了。因为
   我们,每个人,都有如此不同的梦想。

   愿望都不一样,希望都不一样。
   灾难和大祸,总是不同的。

   在巨浪中,它们离开了地球,
   即使那些总是被浪费的那一个。

   绝望的浪潮,无望的渴望和心痛的浪潮。
   一阵阵神秘狂野的青春饥渴的浪潮,童年的梦想。
   详细的,紧急的;偶尔,无私。

   一切都不同,当然除了
   想追溯。不可避免地
   最后或第一,一遍又一遍地
   重复---

   所以回声在徘徊。愿望
   抓住我们折磨我们
   尽管我们在我们自己的身体里知道
   它从未实现过。

   我们知道,在黑暗的夜晚,我们承认这一点。
   当愿望释放了我们,
   夜晚变得多么甜蜜,
   多么彻底的寂静。



Fable


   We had, each of us, a set of wishes.
   The number changed. And what we wished---
   that changed also. Because
   we had, all of us, such different dreams.

   The wishes were all different, the hopes all different.
   And the disasters and catastrophes, always different.

   In great waves they left the earth,
   even the one that is always wasted.

   Waves of despair, waves of hopeless longing and heartache.
   Waves of the mysterious wild hungers of youth, the dreams of childhood.
   Detailed, urgent; once in a while, selfless.

   All different, except of course
   the wish to go back. Inevitably
   last or first, repeated
   over and over---

   So the echo lingered. And the wish
   held us and tormented us
   though we knew in our own bodies
   it was never granted.

   We knew, and on dark nights, we acknowledged this.
   How sweet the night became then,
   once the wish released us,
   how utterly silent.







至日

   (选自 THE SEVEN AGES (2001))
   作者:(美)露易丝.格丽克(Louise Glück)
   译者:剑郭琴符

   每年,在这同一日期,夏至来到。
   至上的光:我们为之计划,
   那一天我们告诉自己
   时间确实很长,几乎无限。
   在我们的阅读和写作中,倾向被给予
   庆祝,狂喜。

   在这些仪式中,除了惊奇之外,还有一些东西:
   还有一种刻意打扮,
   好像人类的天才参与了这些安排,
   我们发现结果令人满意。

   跟着光的是在它之前的:
   平衡,黑暗对等的时刻。

   但今晚我们坐在花园里的帆布椅上
   进入夜晚这么晚---
   我们为什么既要向前又要向后看?
   为什么我们要被迫记住:
   它在我们的血液里,这种知识。
   白昼的短暂;黑暗,冬天的寒冷。
   它在我们的血液和骨骼中;它在我们的历史中。
   忘记这些事需要天才。



Solstice


   Each year, on this same date, the summer solstice comes.
   Consummate light: we plan for it,
   the day we tell ourselves
   that time is very long indeed, nearly infinite.
   And in our reading and writing, preference is given
   to the celebratory, the ecstatic.

   There is in these rituals something apart from wonder:
   there is also a kind of preening,
   as though human genius had participated in these arrangements
   and we found the results satisfying.

   What follows the light is what precedes it:
   the moment of balance, of dark equivalence.

   But tonight we sit in the garden in our canvas chairs
   so late into the evening---
   why should we look either forward or backward?
   Why should we be forced to remember:
   it is in our blood, this knowledge.
   Shortness of the days; darkness, coldness of winter.
   It is in our blood and bones; it is in our history.
   It takes genius to forget these things.



 楼主| 发表于 2020-11-13 16:09:11 | 显示全部楼层

星星

   (选自 THE SEVEN AGES (2001))
   作者:(美)露易丝.格丽克(Louise Glück)
   译者:剑郭琴符

   我醒了;我在这个世界上---
   我不指望
   进一步的保证。
   没有保护,没有承诺。

   夜空的慰藉,
   时钟
   几乎不动的脸。

   我孤身一人,我所有的
   财富围绕我。
   我有一张床,一个房间。
   我有一张床,旁边
   一瓶花。
   还有一盏夜灯,一本书。

   我醒了,我很安全。
   黑暗像一块盾牌,梦
   推迟,也许
   永远消失。

   白昼---
   不满足的早晨说
   我是你的未来,
   这儿是你悲伤的货物:

   你拒绝我吗?你的意思是
   把我送走因为我不是
   “全部”,用你的话说,
   因为你看到
   黑色的形状已经暗示?
   我永远不会被放逐。我是光,
   你个人的痛苦和耻辱。
   你敢
   把我打发走,好像
   你在等更好的东西?

   没有更好的。
   只有(很短的一段时间)
   夜空像
   隔离区把你
   从任务中分离出来。

   只有(轻柔,猛烈)
   星星闪耀。在这里,
   在房间里,在卧室里。
   说“我勇敢,我反抗,
   我自焚。”



Stars

   I'm awake; I am in the world---
   I expect
   no further assurance.
   No protection, no promise.

   Solace of the night sky,
   the hardly moving
   face of the clock.

   I’m alone---all
   my riches surround me.
   I have a bed, a room.
   I have a bed, a vase
   of flowers beside it.
   And a nightlight, a book.

   I'm awake; I am safe.
   The darkness like a shield, the dreams
   put off, maybe
   vanished forever.

   And the day---
   the unsatisfying morning that says
   I am your future,
   here is your cargo of sorrow:

   Do you reject me? Do you mean
   to send me away because I am not
   full, in your word,
   because you see
   the black shape already implicit?
   I will never be banished. I am the light,
   your personal anguish and humiliation.
   Do you dare
   send me away as though
   you were waiting for something better?

   There is no better.
   Only (for a short space)
   the night sky like
   a quarantine that sets you
   apart from your task.

   Only (softly, fiercely)
   the stars shining. Here,
   in the room, the bedroom.
   Saying I was brave, I resisted,
   I set myself on fire.





青春

   (选自 THE SEVEN AGES (2001))
   作者:(美)露易丝.格丽克(Louise Glück)
   译者:剑郭琴符

   我和妹妹在沙发的两头,
   看(我想)英文小说。
   电视开着;各种各样的教科书打开,
   或是以一张忖纸为标志的地方。
   欧几里得,毕达哥拉斯。就好像我们窥视了
   思想的起源和偏爱的小说一样。

   我们成长的悲伤声音---
   大提琴的黄昏。没有
   长笛,短笛的痕迹。似乎在当时看来
   几乎不可能把它想象成
   进化或是可塑的。

   悲伤的声音。那些轶事
   事实上还活着。
   小说的书页在翻动;
   两只狗安静地打鼾。

   厨房里
   我们母亲的声音,
   迷迭香,烤羊肉的味道。

   一个
   在改变中的,被制造或被分解的世界,
   然而我们并不是这样生活的;
   我们所有人过着我们的生活
   作为一个伟大原则的
   同时仪式化的制定,一些
   感觉到但不理解的东西。
   我们所作的评论就像戏剧里的台词,
   讲得很有说服力,但不是出于选择。

   一种原则,一种可怕的家族意愿
   暗示着反对改变,变化,
   甚至拒绝提问---
   既然世界开始
   在我们周围移动和旋转,只有现在
   在它不再存在的时候。
   它已经成为现在:永无止境,没有形式。



Youth

   My sister and I at two ends of the sofa,
   reading (I suppose) English novels.
   The television on; various schoolbooks open,
   or places marked with sheets of lined paper.
   Euclid, Pythagoras. As though we had looked into
   the origin of thought and preferred novels.

   Sad sounds of our growing up---
   twilight of cellos. No trace
   of a flute, a piccolo. And it seemed at the time
   almost impossible to conceive of any of it
   as evolving or malleable.

   Sad sounds. Anecdotes
   that were really still lives.
   The pages of the novels turning;
   the two dogs snoring quietly.

   And from the kitchen,
   sounds of our mother,
   smell of rosemary, of lamb roasting.

   A world in process
   of shifting, of being made or dissolved,
   and yet we didn't live that way;
   all of us lived our lives
   as the simultaneous ritualized enactment
   of a great principle, something
   felt but not understood.
   And the remarks we made were like lines in a play,
   spoken with conviction but not from choice.

   A principle, a terrifying familial will
   that implied opposition to change, to variation,
   a refusal even to ask questions---
   Now that world begins
   to shift and eddy around us, only now
   when it no longer exists.
   It has become the present: unending and without form.




崇高的形象

   (选自 THE SEVEN AGES (2001))
   作者:(美)露易丝.格丽克(Louise Glück)
   译者:剑郭琴符

   不是一个动物,而是两个。
   不是一个盘子,被餐具变矮,
   而是一对盘子,一块桌布。
   在市场上,小推车
   既没有深深的空,也没有
   绝望的满。在黑暗的剧场里,
   两只手互相寻觅。

   神龛的部件,像教堂里的神龛,
   被蜡烛弄模糊了。

   这是谁的主意?谁跪在那里
   要不然这孩子不属于,
   一个有缺陷的孩子,对他来说
   休息就是折磨。

   后来,在其他人传纸条的时候
   弯下腰来做作业,
   认真地把老师称呼
   他的好智力运用到作业上---
   他在保护什么?又是他的心,
   完全迷失
   在笔记本边缘的空白处?

   你用什么来填补空虚的生活?
   多情的人物,在梦中的
   自我,在另一个
   自我中复制的自我,两个
   堆叠在一起,尽管胳膊和腿
   总是被完美地遮住
   像在骨灰盒或浅浮雕中一样。

   里面,现实生活的灰烬。
   灰烬,失望---
   他所要求的一切
   是完成他的作业,像
   冰块里的橘子片一样
   及时地被暂停---

   黑草上的影子。风
   突然静止。时间,它是如此的不耐烦,
   它想继续,静静地躺在那里,像一只动物。
   两个相爱的人躺在彼此的怀里,
   他们破碎的心又愈合了,因为在生活中
   他们当然永远不会有,完美的
   喜悦,结合,能够维持下去的时刻---
   对他们来说生动吗?他见过他们。
   他看到,一心一意地,他表面上的抽象,
   既没有分心,也没有
   被所有的扭动,哭喊吓跑---

   他明白了,他恢复了一切,
   诗人的崇高形象,梦想家的形象。


重聚

   (选自 THE SEVEN AGES (2001))
   作者:(美)露易丝.格丽克(Louise Glück)
   译者:剑郭琴符

   人们发现,二十年后,他们还是喜欢彼此,
   尽管巨大的差异(一个是精神病医生,一个是城市官员),
   差异本可以,也就是,被预测:
   差异在品味,爱好,而且,现在,财富
   (一个是文学的,一个是完全是实际的但又是
   美味的苦涩;两个妻子很亲切,而且相互好奇)。
   这一发现,也是,自我的发现,新能力的发现:
   他们,在这场谈话中,就像伟大的圣人,
   他们曾经读过的哲学家(从没一起),有着
   世俗成就和智慧的男人,说话
   充满了魅力、热情洋溢和热切的开放,而
   年轻人正是因为如此不正当地出名。除此之外,还有一种
   宽泛的宽容和慷慨,一种远离任何轻视和谨慎的运动。
   很高兴地,现在,谈论他们的
   生活发展方式,在某些方面是相似的,在另一些方面
   却截然不同(尽管每个人都有其核心的悲伤,无论是
   隐含的还是公开的):现在谈论差异,
   谈论任何,曾经是,一种
   徘徊恐怖的一部分的一切,就是对一个主题提出要求。就主题
   提升和塑造对话而言,这一主题唤起了他们的(在其宏大中)
   仁慈和善意,一种似乎从未,以前,
   拥有。时间对他们很好,现在
   他们可以一起从内部讨论,可以说,
   以前,他们不能。


(以上两首英文发不出来,不费那事了,网站明显有问题。)


 楼主| 发表于 2020-11-14 13:19:06 | 显示全部楼层



   (选自 THE SEVEN AGES (2001))
   作者:(美)露易丝.格丽克(Louise Glück)
   译者:剑郭琴符

   暑假结束时,我妹妹要去上学。
   不要再和狗在一起呆在家里,
   等着赶上。别再
   和我妈妈玩过家家。她正在长大,
   她可以加入拼车。

   没人想呆在家里。现实生活
   就是这个世界:你发现镭,
   你跳天鹅皇后舞。没有什么

   解释我妈妈。没有什么解释
   把镭放在一边,因为你终于意识到
   更有趣的是铺床,
   有我和妹妹这样的孩子。

   我妹妹注视着树,树叶
   不能转得足够快。她一直问
   是不是秋天,天气够冷吗?

   但还是夏天。我躺在床上,
   听着妹妹呼吸。
   月光下,我能看见她的金发;
   在白床单下,她小精灵的身体。
   在书桌上,我可以看到我的新笔记本。
   它就像我的大脑:干净,空虚。六个月后,
   那里写下的东西也会在我的脑海中。

   我看着我妹妹的脸,一边埋在她的塞满的玩具熊里。
   她储存在我的脑海里,被当作记忆,
   她就像书中的事实一样。

   我不想睡觉。这些天我从来
   不想睡觉。然后我不想醒来。我不想
   树叶转向,黑夜早早变黑。
   我不想爱我的新衣服,我的笔记本。

   我知道它们是什么:贿赂,分心。
   就像学校里的刺激:事实是
   时间在向一个方向移动,就像一排波浪
   把整个房子,整个村庄举起。

   我把灯打开,叫醒我妹妹。
   我希望我的父母醒过来,保持警惕;我希望他们
   不要躺着。但没人醒来。我坐起来
   在夜光下阅读希腊神话。

   夜晚很冷,树叶飘落。
   我妹妹厌倦了上学,她想在家。
   但现在回来已经太晚了,停止也太晚了。
   夏天过去了,夜晚一片漆黑。狗们
   穿着毛衣出去。

   然后秋天过去了,一年也过去了。
   我们在改变,我们在成长。但
   这不是你决定要做的事情,
   而是发生的事情,你
   无法控制的事情。

   时间在流逝。时间带着我们
   越来越快地走向实验室的门,
   然后越过门进入了深渊,黑暗。
   我妈妈搅拌汤。洋葱,
   奇迹般地,变成了土豆的一部分。



Radium

   When summer ended, my sister was going to school.
   No more staying at home with the dogs,
   waiting to catch up. No more
   playing house with my mother. She was growing up,
   she could join the carpool.

   No one wanted to stay home. Real life
   was the world: you discovered radium,
   you danced the swan queen. Nothing

   explained my mother. Nothing explained
   putting aside radium because you realized finally
   it was more interesting to make beds,
   to have children like my sister and me.

   My sister watched the trees; the leaves
   couldn’t turn fast enough. She kept asking
   was it fall, was it cold enough?

   But it was still summer. I lay in bed,
   listening to my sister breathe.
   I could see her blond hair in the moonlight;
   under the white sheet, her little elf s body.
   And on the bureau, I could see my new notebook.
   It was like my brain: clean, empty. In six months
   what was written there would be in my head also.

   I watched my sister’s face, one side buried in her stuffed bear.
   She was being stored in my head, as memory,
   like facts in a book.

   I didn't want to sleep. I never wanted to sleep
   these days. Then I didn’t want to wake up. I didn’t want
   the leaves turning, the nights turning dark early.
   I didn't want to love my new clothes, my notebook.

   I knew what they were: a bribe, a distraction.
   Like the excitement of school: the truth was
   time was moving in one direction, like a wave lifting
   the whole house, the whole village.

   I turned the light on, to wake my sister.
   I wanted my parents awake and vigilant; I wanted them
   to stop lying. But nobody woke. I sat up
   reading my Greek myths in the nightlight.

   The nights were cold, the leaves fell.
   My sister was tired of school, she missed being home.
   But it was too late to go back, too late to stop.
   Summer was gone, the nights were dark. The dogs
   wore sweaters to go outside.

   And then fall was gone, the year was gone.
   We were changing, we were growing up. But
   it wasn't something you decided to do;
   it was something that happened, something
   you couldn’t control.

   Time was passing. Time was carrying us
   faster and faster toward the door of the laboratory,
   and then beyond the door into the abyss, the darkness.
   My mother stirred the soup. The onions,
   by a miracle, became part of the potatoes.





生日

   (选自 THE SEVEN AGES (2001))
   作者:(美)露易丝.格丽克(Louise Glück)
   译者:剑郭琴符

   令人惊奇,我可以回顾
   五十年。在那里,在凝视的最后,
   一个人已经完全可辨认出来,
   双手握住大腿,眼睛
   凝视着未来,带着结合着的
   期待毁灭的灵魂的恐惧和绝望。

   完全熟悉,尽管仍然,当然,很年轻。
   盲目地盯着前方,有人盯着漆黑一片的表情。
   思考---这意味着,我记得,大脑试图
   阻止变化。

   熟悉的,可辨认的,然而更深孤独,更沮丧。
   在她看来,她不符合孩子的
   定义,一个拥有可以期待的一切的人。

   这就是其他人看起来的样子;这是,因此,他们所是。
   不停地
   和摄像机交朋友,他们中的许多人
   都带着真正的信念微笑着---

   我记得那个年代。充满了自我怀疑、自我厌恶,
   同时又充满了
   对共同的、平凡的蔑视;永远
   交付给孤独、感知的凄凉的慰藉,走向一个
   完全由悲剧主宰的未来,巨大的意志没有什么用
   除了抵御它之外---

   这就是沉默的问题:
   一个人无法检验自己的想法。
   因为它们不是想法,它们是事实。
   所有的防卫,精神上的僵化,坚持
   揭露平凡显露悲剧,
   其实都是世界的纯真。

   意味着局部,转移,可变---
   绝对排除的一切。我坐在黑暗中,在客厅里。
   生日结束了。我想,自然地,时间。
   我记得,几乎就在同一瞬间,
   我的心如何兴奋地跳起来
   在凄凉的痛苦中崩溃。跳起来---我没计算的那一半---
   那就是幸福;这就是这个词的意思。



Birthday

   Amazingly, I can look back
   fifty years. And there, at the end of the gaze,
   a human being already entirely recognizable,
   the hands clutched in the lap, the eyes
   staring into the future with the combined
   terror and hopelessness of a soul expecting annihilation.

   Entirely familiar, though still, of course, very young.
   Staring blindly ahead, the expression of someone staring into utter darkness.
   And thinking---which meant, I remember, the attempts of the mind
   to prevent change.

   Familiar, recognizable, but much more deeply alone, more despondent.
   She does not, in her view, meet the definition
   of child, a person with everything to look forward to.

   This is how the others look; this is, therefore, what they are.
   Constantly making friends
   with the camera, many of them actually
   smiling with real conviction---

   I remember that age. Riddled with self-doubt, self-loathing,
   and at the same time suffused
   with contempt for the communal, the ordinary; forever
   consigned to solitude, the bleak solace of perception, to a future
   completely dominated by the tragic, with no use for the immense will
   but to fend it off---

   That is the problem of silence:
   one cannot test one’s ideas.
   Because they are not ideas, they are the truth.
   All the defenses, the spiritual rigidity, the insistent
   unmasking of the ordinary to reveal the tragic,
   were actually innocence of the world.

   Meaning the partial, the shifting, the mutable---
   all that the absolute excludes. I sat in the dark, in the living room.
   The birthday was over. I was thinking, naturally, about time.
   I remember how, in almost the same instant,
   my heart would leap up exultant and collapse
   in desolate anguish. The leaping up---the half I didn’t count---
   that was happiness; that is what the word meant.






古代文字

   (选自 THE SEVEN AGES (2001))
   作者:(美)露易丝.格丽克(Louise Glück)
   译者:剑郭琴符

   我的生命多么幸运,我的每一个祈祷
   都被天使听到。

   我询问大地;我接受大地,就像这么多
   脸上的泥土。

   我祈求从苦难中解脱;我接受苦难。
   谁能说我的祈祷没有被听见?它们被

   翻译、编辑---如果某些
   重要的词语被遗漏或误解,一篇重要的

   文章被删除,但它们仍然被吸收,像古文一样被学习。
   也许它们是古代的文本,在特定时期的

   方言中被重新创造。
   从某种意义上说,我的生活,越来越多沉溺于祈祷,

   所以,我相信,天使们的任务就是,掌握这种
   他们还不完全流利或自信的语言。

   如果我,在年轻时,感到被拒绝,被抛弃,
   那么我开始觉得,最终,我们,我们所有人,

   都打算作为老师,可能是
   聋哑人的老师,善良的帮助者,其善良的耐心

   由持久的激情支撑。
   我终于明白了!我们是助手和帮助者,

   我们的杰作奇妙地有用,就像导火索。
   那时,生活变得多么简单;多么清晰,在幼稚的错误中,

   永恒的劳动:日日夜夜,天使们
   讨论我的意义。日日夜夜,我修改了我的恳求,

   使每一句话都变得更好更清楚,仿佛一个人可以
   永远逃避所有的误解。它们变得多么完美---

   无可挑剔,美丽,不断被误读。如果我是,从某种意义上说,
   一个惊人地迷恋时间的强迫症患者,从另一个意义来说

   我是一个有翅膀的痴迷者,我月光照耀的
   羽毛就是纸。我几乎不住在所有男人和女人中间;

   我只跟天使说话。我的日子是多么幸运,
   夜晚持续的沉默和不透明多么充满活力和意义。



Ancient Text


   How deeply fortunate my life, my every prayer
   heard by the angels.

   I asked for the earth; I received earth, like so much
   mud in the face.

   I prayed for relief from suffering; I received suffering.
   Who can say my prayers were not heard? They were

   translated, edited---and if certain
   of the important words were left out or misunderstood, a crucial

   article deleted, still they were taken in, studied like ancient texts.
   Perhaps they were ancient texts, re-created

   in the vernacular of a particular period.
   And as my life was, in a sense, increasingly given over to prayer,

   so the task of the angels was, I believe, to master this language
   in which they were not as yet entirely fluent or confident.

   And if I felt, in my youth, rejected, abandoned,
   I came to feel, in the end, that we were, all of us,

   intended as teachers, possibly
   teachers of the deaf, kind helpers whose virtuous patience

   is sustained by an abiding passion.
   I understood at last! We were the aides and helpers,

   our masterpieces strangely useful, like primers.
   How simple life became then; how clear, in the childish errors,

   the perpetual labor: night and day, angels were
   discussing my meanings. Night and day, I revised my appeals,

   making each sentence better and clearer, as though one might
   elude forever all misconstruction. How flawless they became---

   impeccable, beautiful, continuously misread. If I was, in a sense,
   an obsessive staggering through time, in another sense

   I was a winged obsessive, my moonlit
   feathers were paper. I lived hardly at all among men and women;

   I spoke only to angels. How fortunate my days,
   how charged and meaningful the nights' continuous silence and opacity.






来自日记

   (选自 THE SEVEN AGES (2001))
   作者:(美)露易丝.格丽克(Louise Glück)
   译者:剑郭琴符

   我有一个情人一次,
   我有一个情人两次,
   很容易我爱了三次。
   在这中间
   我的心像一条虫子
   完美地重建了自己。
   我的梦也重建了自己。

   过了一段时间,我意识到我过着
   一个完全是白痴的生活。
   白痴,被浪费---
   后来,你和我
   开始通信,发明了
   一种全新的形式。

   在很远的距离上的亲密!
   济慈对范妮.布劳恩,但丁对比阿特丽斯---

   一个人不能
   用旧性格来创造
   新的形式。我寄来的信保持
   无可挑剔的讽刺,冷漠
   而直率。与此同时,我在脑子里
   写着不同的信,
   其中一些成了诗。

   如此真挚的感情!
   那么多强烈的
   热情渴望的宣言!

   我爱过一次,我爱过两次,
   突然之间
   形式崩溃:我
   无法忍受无知。

   多么悲哀,失去了你,失去了
   真正认识你的机会
   或超时记得你
   作为一个真正的人,一个我本可以
   深深依恋的人,也许
   我从未拥有过的兄弟。

   多么悲哀,一想到
   在发现任何事情之前
   就死了。认识到
   我们大多数时候都是多么无知,
   只从一个
   有利的角度,比如狙击手看问题。

   还有很多事情
   我从来没有告诉过你关于我自己的事情,
   这些事情可能会影响你。
   我从来没发过的照片,拍了
   我看起来几乎是辉煌的那个夜晚。

   我想让你坠入爱河。但箭
   不停地射在镜子上又回来。
   这些字母一直在分裂
   没有一半是真的。

   可悲的是,你始终没有弄明白
   这一点,尽管你总是那么迅速地
   回信,总是同样难懂的信。

   我爱过一次,我爱过两次,
   即使在我们的情况下
   一切都没有离开地面
   尝试过也是一件好事。
   当然,我还有信。
   有时我会花上几年时间的价值
   在花园里重读,
   带着一杯冰茶。

   有时候,我觉得,某件
   非常伟大的事情的一部分,完全深刻和彻底。

   我爱过一次,我爱过两次,
   很容易就爱过三次。



From a Journal


   I had a lover once,
   I had a lover twice,
   easily three times I loved.
   And in between
   my heart reconstructed itself perfectly
   like a worm.
   And my dreams also reconstructed themselves.

   After a time, I realized I was living
   a completely idiotic life.
   Idiotic, wasted---
   And sometime later, you and I
   began to correspond, inventing
   an entirely new form.

   Deep intimacy over great distance!
   Keats to Fanny Brawne, Dante to Beatrice---

   One cannot invent
   a new form in
   an old character. The letters I sent remained
   immaculately ironic, aloof
   yet forthright. Meanwhile, I was writing
   different letters in my head,
   some of which became poems.

   So much genuine feeling!
   So many fierce declarations
   of passionate longing!

   I loved once, I loved twice,
   and suddenly
   the form collapsed: I was
   unable to sustain ignorance.

   How sad to have lost you, to have lost
   any chance of actually knowing you
   or remembering you over time
   as a real person, as someone I could have grown
   deeply attached to, maybe
   the brother I never had.

   And how sad to think
   of dying before finding out
   anything. And to realize
   how ignorant we all are most of the time,
   seeing things
   only from the one vantage, like a sniper.

   And there were so many things
   I never got to tell you about myself,
   things which might have swayed you.
   And the photo I never sent, taken
   the night I looked almost splendid.

   I wanted you to fall in love. But the arrow
   kept hitting the mirror and coming back.
   And the letters kept dividing themselves
   with neither half totally true.

   And sadly, you never figured out
   any of this, though you always wrote back
   so promptly, always the same elusive letter.

   I loved once, I loved twice,
   and even though in our case
   things never got off the ground
   it was a good thing to have tried.
   And I still have the letters, of course.
   Sometimes I will take a few years' worth
   to reread in the garden,
   with a glass of iced tea.

   And I feel, sometimes, part of something
   very great, wholly profound and sweeping.

   I loved once, I loved twice,
   easily three times I loved.






   (选自 THE SEVEN AGES (2001))
   作者:(美)露易丝.格丽克(Louise Glück)
   译者:剑郭琴符

   窗帘分开。光线
   进来。月光,然后阳光。
   不是因为时间的流逝而改变
   而是因为这一刻有很多方面。

   白色向日葵在有缺口的花瓶里。
   风的声音。拍打
   水的声音。几个小时过去了,白帆
   发光,船停泊着摇摆。

   运动还没有及时引导。
   窗帘在移动或搅动;那一刻
   闪闪发光,一只手向后
   移动,然后向前。安静。然后

   一个词,一个名字。然后另一个词:
   “再次,再次”。时间
   被拯救,就像静止
   和变化之间的脉搏。下午晚些时候。很快失去的

   成为记忆;思想
   在它周围关闭。这房间
   又声称,作为财产。阳光,
   然后月光。泪水使眼睛变得光滑。
   然后月亮渐渐暗淡,白帆弯曲。



Island


   The curtains parted. Light
   coming in. Moonlight, then sunlight.
   Not changing because time was passing
   but because the one moment had many aspects.

   White lisianthus in a chipped vase.
   Sound of the wind. Sound
   of lapping water. And hours passing, the white sails
   luminous, the boat rocking at anchor.

   Motion not yet channeled in time.
   The curtains shifting or stirring; the moment
   shimmering, a hand moving
   backward, then forward. Silence. And then

   one word, a name. And then another word:
   again, again. And time
   salvaged, like a pulse between
   stillness and change. Late afternoon. The soon to be lost

   becoming memory; the mind closing around it. The room
   claimed again, as a possession. Sunlight,
   then moonlight. The eyes glazed over with tears.
   And then the moon fading, the white sails flexing.






 楼主| 发表于 2020-11-14 13:21:00 | 显示全部楼层

目的地

   (选自 THE SEVEN AGES (2001))
   作者:(美)露易丝.格丽克(Louise Glück)
   译者:剑郭琴符

   我们只有几天,但它们很长,
   光线不断变化。
   几天,分几年,十年的历程付清。

   每一次会面都充满了一种严谨的感觉,
   仿佛我们分别旅行了
   一段很长的距离;仿佛,
   经过多年的漂泊,
   终于有一个目的地。
   不是一个地方,而是一个身体,一个声音。

   几天。强度
   不允许发展成
   宽容或迟钝的感情。

   多年来,我一直相信这是一个伟大的奇迹;
   在我的脑海里,我反复回到那些日子,
   确信它们是我多情生活的中心。

   日子很长,就像现在一样。
   间隔,离别,赞扬,
   洋溢着一种激情的喜悦,似乎在某种程度上,
   延长了那些日子,与它们是分不开的。
   所以几个小时可能会占用你一生的时间。

   几个小时后,一个既没有展开也没有缩小的世界,
   在任何时候,都可以,再次进入---

   所以在结束之后我可以毫不费力地回到它
   我几乎完全可以生活在想象中。



The Destination


   We had only a few days, but they were very long,
   the light changed constantly.
   A few days, spread out over several years,
   over the course of a decade.

   And each meeting charged with a sense of exactness,
   as though we had traveled, separately,
   some great distance; as though there had been,
   through all the years of wandering,
   a destination, after all.
   Not a place, but a body, a voice.

   A few days. Intensity
   that was never permitted to develop
   into tolerance or sluggish affection.

   And I believed for many years this was a great marvel;
   in my mind, I returned to those days repeatedly,
   convinced they were the center of my amorous life.

   The days were very long, like the days now.
   And the intervals, the separations, exalted,
   suffused with a kind of passionate joy that seemed, somehow,
   to extend those days, to be inseparable from them.
   So that a few hours could take up a lifetime.

   A few hours, a world that neither unfolded nor diminished,
   that could, at any point, be entered again---

   So that long after the end I could return to it without difficulty,
   I could live almost completely in imagination.





阳台

   (选自 THE SEVEN AGES (2001))
   作者:(美)露易丝.格丽克(Louise Glück)
   译者:剑郭琴符

   那是一个这样的夜晚,在夏末。

   我记得,我们租了一间带阳台的房间。
   多少个日日夜夜?五个,也许---不再。

   即使我们不接触,我们也在做爱。
   我们站在夏天的小阳台上。
   从某个地方,人类生活的声音。

   我们是即将指定的君主,
   对臣民很好。就在我们的脚下,
   广播播放的声音,一段我们当年不知道的咏叹调。

   为爱而死的人。一个被时间夺走
   唯一的幸福的人,他现在孤身一人,
   穷困潦倒,没有美。

   难以忍受的悲伤、孤独和恐惧的狂喜音符,
   以及上升人物几乎不可能持续的缓慢语调---
   它们像狂喜一样
   飘荡在黑暗的水面上。

   这么小的错误。很多年后,
   唯一剩下那夜晚,那间屋子里的时间。



The Balcony


   It was a night like this, at the end of summer.

   We had rented, I remember, a room with a balcony.
   How many days and nights? Five, perhaps---no more.

   Even when we weren’t touching we were making love.
   We stood on our little balcony in the summer night.
   And off somewhere, the sounds of human life.

   We were the soon to be anointed monarchs,
   well disposed to our subjects. Just beneath us,
   sounds of a radio playing, an aria we didn't in those years know.

   Someone dying of love. Someone from whom time had taken
   the only happiness, who was alone now,
   impoverished, without beauty.

   The rapturous notes of an unendurable grief, of isolation and terror,
   the nearly impossible to sustain slow phrases of the ascending figures---
   they drifted out over the dark water
   like an ecstasy.

   Such a small mistake. And many years later,
   the only thing left of that night, of the hours in that room.





紫叶山毛榉

   (选自 THE SEVEN AGES (2001))
   作者:(美)露易丝.格丽克(Louise Glück)
   译者:剑郭琴符

   为什么大地对天空愤怒?
   如果有问题,有答案吗?

   在德纳街上,一棵紫叶山毛榉。
   巨大的,像我童年时的那棵树,
   但当时我没准备看的暴力。

   我小时候就像一个尖尖的手指,
   然后是黑暗的爆炸;
   我母亲对我无能为力。
   很有趣,不是吗,
   她使用的语言。

   紫叶山毛榉像动物一样用后腿直立。

   挫败,愤怒,被拒绝的爱的
   可怕的受伤的骄傲---我记得

   从大地上升到了天空。我记得
   我有两个父母,
   一个严厉,一个看不见。可怜的
   阴郁的父亲,只从事于
   金和银。



Copper Beech


   Why is the earth angry at heaven?
   If there's a question, is there an answer?

   On Dana Street, a copper beech.
   Immense, like the tree of my childhood,
   but with a violence I wasn't ready to see then.

   I was a child like a pointed finger,
   then an explosion of darkness;
   my mother could do nothing with me.
   Interesting, isn't it,
   the language she used.

   The copper beech rearing like an animal.

   Frustration, rage, the terrible wounded pride
   of rebuffed love---I remember

   rising from the earth to heaven. I remember
   I had two parents,
   one harsh, one invisible. Poor
   clouded father, who worked
   only in gold and silver.





我妹妹的研究

   (选自 THE SEVEN AGES (2001))
   作者:(美)露易丝.格丽克(Louise Glück)
   译者:剑郭琴符

   我们尊重,在这儿,在美国,
   具体的,可见的东西。我们问
   “它用来干什么?它会导致什么?”

   我妹妹
   放下叉子。她说,她觉得
   好像她要跳下悬崖。

   罪行被犯下
   对一个人的灵魂

   就像对一个小孩
   整天拿着色块
   自娱自乐

   以便她抬头看
   最后的光点,
   呈现她自己,
   把她自己交给父母

   他们说
   “你造了什么?”
   然后,因为她看起来
   如此空虚,如此困惑,
   他们重复了这个问题。



Study of My Sister


   We respect, here in America,
   what is concrete, visible. We ask
   What is it for? What does it lead to?

   My sister
   put her fork down. She felt, she said,
   as though she should jump off a cliff.

   A crime has been committed
   against a human soul

   as against the small child
   who spends all day entertaining herself
   with the colored blocks

   so that she looks up
   radiant at the end,
   presenting herself,
   giving herself back to her parents

   and they say
   What did you build?
   and then, because she seems
   so blank, so confused,
   they repeat the question.





八月

   (选自 THE SEVEN AGES (2001))
   作者:(美)露易丝.格丽克(Louise Glück)
   译者:剑郭琴符

   我妹妹把她的指甲涂成紫红色,
   这是一种以水果命名的颜色。
   所有的颜色都以食物命名:
   咖啡霜,橘子果子露。
   我们坐在后院,等待着我们的生活重新开始,
   上升的夏天被打断:
   胜利,胜利,因为学校
   是一种实践。

   老师们朝我们微笑,系着蓝丝带。
   在我们的脑海里,我们对着老师们微笑。

   我们的生命都储存在我们的头脑里。
   它们还没有开始,我们都确信
   我们知道它们什么时候开始。
   它们肯定不是这个。

   我们坐在后院,看着自己的身体变化:
   先是亮粉色,然后是棕褐色。
   我把婴儿油滴在我的腿上;我妹妹
   在她的左手上擦去抛光剂,
   试着另一种颜色。

   我们读书,听便携式收音机。
   显然这不是生活,坐在
   彩色的草坪椅周围。

   没有什么能与梦想相配。
   我妹妹一直想找一种她喜欢的颜色:
   那是夏天,它们都是磨砂的。
   紫红色,橙色,珍珠母色。
   她把左手放在眼前,
   左右移动。

   为什么总是这样---
   玻璃瓶里的颜色如此强烈,
   如此鲜明,手上
   几乎一模一样,
   一层淡银色的薄膜。

   我妹妹摇了摇瓶子。橘黄色
   一直沉到水底,也许
   这就是问题所在。
   她一遍又一遍地摇着,把它举到灯光下,
   研究杂志上的单词。

   世界是一个细节,一件还不完全正确的
   小事。或者像事后的想法,不知何故
   还是粗糙的或近似的。
   真正的想法是:

   我妹妹又添了件外套,把拇指放在
   瓶子的一边。
   我们一直在想,我们会看到
   差距狭窄,但事实上,它仍然存在。
   它越是顽固地坚持,
   我们就越坚定地相信。



August


   My sister painted her nails fuchsia,
   a color named after a fruit.
   All the colors were named after foods:
   coffee frost, tangerine sherbet.
   We sat in the backyard, waiting for our lives to resume
   the ascent summer interrupted:
   triumphs, victories, for which school
   was a kind of practice.

   The teachers smiled down at us, pinning on the blue ribbons.
   And in our heads, we smiled down at the teachers.

   Our lives were stored in our heads.
   They hadn't begun; we were both sure
   we'd know when they did.
   They certainly weren’t this.

   We sat in the backyard, watching our bodies change:
   first bright pink, then tan.
   I dribbled baby oil on my legs; my sister
   rubbed polish remover on her left hand,
   tried another color.

   We read, we listened to the portable radio.
   Obviously this wasn't life, this sitting around
   in colored lawn chairs.

   Nothing matched up to the dreams.
   My sister kept trying to find a color she liked:
   it was summer, they were all frosted.
   Fuchsia, orange, mother-of-pearl.
   She held her left hand in front of her eyes,
   moved it from side to side.

   Why was it always like this---
   the colors so intense in the glass bottles,
   so distinct, and on the hand
   almost exactly alike,
   a film of weak silver.

   My sister shook the bottle. The orange
   kept sinking to the bottom; maybe
   that was the problem.
   She shook it over and over, held it up to the light,
   studied the words in the magazine.

   The world was a detail, a small thing not yet
   exactly right. Or like an afterthought, somehow
   still crude or approximate.
   What was real was the idea:

   My sister added a coat, held her thumb
   to the side of the bottle.
   We kept thinking we would see
   the gap narrow, though in fact it persisted.
   The more stubbornly it persisted,
   the more fiercely we believed.





夏日海滩

   (选自 THE SEVEN AGES (2001))
   作者:(美)露易丝.格丽克(Louise Glück)
   译者:剑郭琴符

   在我们开始露营之前,我们去了海滩。

   漫长的日子,在太阳危险之前。
   我妹妹趴在她肚子上,读着玄幻小说。
   我坐在沙滩上,注视着水。

   你可以用沙子覆盖
   你不喜欢的身体部位。
   我捂着脚,使我的腿变长;
   沙子爬到我的脚踝上。

   我低头看着我的身体,远离水面。
   我就是杂志告诉我的那样:
   小马似的。我是一匹冻僵的小马。

   我妹妹不在乎这些调整。
   我叫她盖住脚时,她试了几次,
   但她觉得无聊;她没有足够的意志力
   来支撑欺骗。

   我看着大海,我倾听其他家庭的声音。
   到处都是婴儿:他们脑子里继续着什么?
   我无法想象自己是个婴儿;
   我无法想象自己没有思考。

   我也无法想象自己是个成年人。
   他们都有可怕的身体:松懈,油腻,完全
   保证作为男性和女性。

   日子都一样。
   下雨时,我们呆在家里。
   太阳出来,我们和妈妈一起去了海滩。

   我妹妹趴在她肚子上,读着玄幻小说。
   我坐着,双腿排列得像
   我在脑子里看到的东西,我相信那是我真实的自己。

   因为这是真的:当我不动时,我是完美的。



Summer at the Beach


   Before we started camp, we went to the beach.

   Long days, before the sun was dangerous.
   My sister lay on her stomach, reading mysteries.
   I sat in the sand, watching the water.

   You could use the sand to cover
   parts of your body that you didn't like.
   I covered my feet, to make my legs longer;
   the sand climbed over my ankles.

   I looked down at my body, away from the water.
   I was what the magazines told me to be:
   coltish. I was a frozen colt.

   My sister didn't bother with these adjustments.
   When I told her to cover her feet, she tried a few times,
   but she got bored; she didn't have enough willpower
   to sustain a deception.

   I watched the sea; I listened to the other families.
   Babies everywhere: what went on in their heads?
   I couldn’t imagine myself as a baby;
   I couldn't picture myself not thinking.

   I couldn't imagine myself as an adult either.
   They all had terrible bodies: lax, oily, completely
   committed to being male and female.

   The days were all the same.
   When it rained, we stayed home.
   When the sun shone, we went to the beach with my mother.

   My sister lay on her stomach, reading her mysteries.
   I sat with my legs arranged to resemble
   what I saw in my head, what I believed was my true self.

   Because it was true: when I didn't move I was perfect.





 楼主| 发表于 2020-11-15 17:55:30 | 显示全部楼层


夏雨

   (选自 THE SEVEN AGES (2001))
   作者:(美)露易丝.格丽克(Louise Glück)
   译者:剑郭琴符

   我们本应该是,所有人,
   一个圆圈,一条线,在每一点上
   有同样的重量或张力,同样
   靠近中心。我有不同的
   看法。在我看来,我的父母
   就是那个圆圈;我和妹妹
   被困在里面。

   长岛。来自大西洋沿岸的
   可怕风暴,夏雨
   击打灰色的屋顶。我看着
   紫叶山毛榉,黑色的叶子变成了
   一种涂漆的乌木。它看起来
   很安全,和房子一样安全。

   呆在家里有道理。
   我们不管怎样:我们无法改变自己。
   我们无法改变哪怕是最小的事实:
   我们的长发在中心分开,
   用两个发夹固定。我们具体化了
   我母亲
   不适合成人生活的那些观点。

   童年理念:怎么看,怎么做。
   精神理念:什么样的天赋可以要求,可以发展。
   品质理念:如何被驱使,如何获胜,
   如何以真正伟大的方式取得胜利,
   不带举手之劳的外观。

   这一切都持续得太久:
   童年,夏天。但我们是安全的,
   我们生活在封闭的环境中。
   钢琴课。诗,画。夏雨
   敲打在圆圈上。思维
   在固定的条件下发展出
   一些悲惨的假设:我们感到安全,
   意味着我们看到世界是危险的。
   我们将战胜或征服,意味着
   我们将敬意视为爱。

   我妹妹和我凝视着外面
   猛烈的夏雨。
   显然,我们两个人不可能
   同时获胜。我妹妹
   拉着我的手,伸出穿过花垫。

   我们谁也看不出,然而,
   这一切的代价。
   但她很害怕,她信赖我。



Rain in Summer



   We were supposed to be, all of us,
   a circle, a line at every point
   equally weighted or tensed, equally
   close to the center. I saw it
   differently. In my mind, my parents
   were the circle; my sister and I
   were trapped inside.

   Long Island. Terrible
   storms off the Atlantic, summer rain
   hitting the gray shingles. I watched
   the copper beech, the dark leaves turning
   a sort of lacquered ebony. It seemed to be
   secure, as secure as the house.

   It made sense to be housebound.
   We were anyway: we couldn't change who we were.
   We couldn't change even the smallest facts:
   our long hair parted in the center,
   secured with two barrettes. We embodied
   those ideas of my mother’s
   not appropriate to adult life.

   Ideas of childhood: how to look, how to act.
   Ideas of spirit: what gifts to claim, to develop.
   Ideas of character: how to be driven, how to prevail,
   How to triumph in the true manner of greatness
   without seeming to lift a finger.

   It was all going on much too long:
   childhood, summer. But we were safe;
   we lived in a closed form.
   Piano lessons. Poems, drawings. Summer rain
   hammering at the circle. And the mind
   developing within fixed conditions
   a few tragic assumptions: we felt safe,
   meaning we saw the world as dangerous.
   We would prevail or conquer, meaning
   we saw homage as love.

   My sister and I stared out
   into the violence of the summer rain.
   It was obvious to us two people couldn't
   prevail at the same time. My sister
   took my hand, reaching across the flowered cushions.

   Neither of us could see, yet,
   the cost of any of this.
   But she was frightened, she trusted me.





文明

   (选自 THE SEVEN AGES (2001))
   作者:(美)露易丝.格丽克(Louise Glück)
   译者:剑郭琴符

   很晚它向我们走来:
   对美的感知,对知识的渴望。
   而在伟大的头脑中,两者往往被配置为一个。

   感知,说话,甚至在天生残酷的主题---
   大胆地说出来,即使事实,本身是,痛苦或恐怖---
   似乎给我们介绍了一些新的行动,
   关系到人类的痴迷,人类的激情。

   然而,在这次行动中,有些东西被承认了。
   这就触犯了作为动物的我们保持的东西:
   这是奴役在说话,在把权力
   赋予我们之外的力量。
   因此说话的人被放逐被消声,
   在街上被人嗤笑。

   但事实持续着。它们在我们中间,
   孤立而没有模式;它们在我们中间,
   塑造我们---

   黑暗。门口各处有几处着火,
   风在建筑物的拐角处抽打---

   这些寂静在哪里,谁构思了这些图像?
   在昏暗的灯光下,终于被召唤,复活。
   当那些受到轻蔑的人被赞扬,他们
   带来这些真理,引起我们的注意,他们感受到其存在,
   他们在黑暗和恐怖中清楚地看到它们,
   并安排它们向我们传达
   一些关于它们的实质,它们规模的视觉---

   事实本身突然
   平静、辉煌。它们在我们之中,
   不是单独的,像在混乱中,而是交织
   在关系中,或者整顿秩序,就好像地球上的生命
   可以,以这种形式,被深深地理解,
   尽管它永远无法被掌握。



Civilization



   It came to us very late:
   perception of beauty, desire for knowledge.
   And in the great minds, the two often configured as one.

   To perceive, to speak, even on subjects inherently cruel---
   to speak boldly even when the facts were, in themselves, painful or dire---
   seemed to introduce among us some new action,
   having to do with human obsession, human passion.

   And yet something, in this action, was being conceded.
   And this offended what remained in us of the animal:
   it was enslavement speaking, assigning
   power to forces outside ourselves.
   Therefore the ones who spoke were exiled and silenced,
   scorned in the streets.

   But the facts persisted. They were among us,
   isolated and without pattern; they were among us,
   shaping us---

   Darkness. Here and there a few fires in doorways,
   wind whipping around the corners of buildings---

   Where were the silenced, who conceived these images?
   In the dim light, finally summoned, resurrected.
   As the scorned were praised, who had brought
   these truths to our attention, who had felt their presence,
   who had perceived them clearly in their blackness and horror
   and had arranged them to communicate
   some vision of their substance, their magnitude---

   In which the facts themselves were suddenly
   serene, glorious. They were among us,
   not singly, as in chaos, but woven
   into relationship or set in order, as though life on earth
   could, in this one form, be apprehended deeply
   though it could never be mastered.





年代

   (选自 THE SEVEN AGES (2001))
   作者:(美)露易丝.格丽克(Louise Glück)
   译者:剑郭琴符

   什么样的快乐触摸
   仪式的慰藉?空虚

   出现在生活中。
   一个如此深刻、如此可怕的震惊,
   它的力量
   拉平感官的世界。你是

   一头在洞穴边上的野兽,只是
   醒着睡。然后
   瞬间改变;目光

   被某物吸引。
   春天:不可预见的东西
   泛滥在深渊。

   生命
   又一次充满。终于
   找到一个可以容纳一切的
   地方。



Decade



   What joy touches
   the solace of ritual? A void

   appears in the life.
   A shock so deep, so terrible,
   its force
   levels the perceived world. You were

   a beast at the edge of its cave, only
   waking and sleeping. Then
   the minute shift; the eye

   taken by something.
   Spring: the unforeseen
   flooding the abyss.

   And the life
   filling again. And finally
   a place
   found for everything.





空杯

   (选自 THE SEVEN AGES (2001))
   作者:(美)露易丝.格丽克(Louise Glück)
   译者:剑郭琴符

   我要求很多;我得到很多。
   我要求很多,我得到很少,我几乎什么
   也没有得到。

   中间?室内有几把伞打开。
   厨房桌子上错放了一双鞋。

   啊错误,错误---这是我的天性。我是
   冷酷无情的。我是
   自私,死板到专横的地步。

   但我一直都是那个人,即使在童年的早期。
   小个子,黑发,害怕其他孩子。
   我从未改变过。在杯子里,抽象的
   财富潮流
   一夜之间由高转低。

   它是大海吗?回应,也许,
   对天空力量?为了安全,
   我祈祷。我试着做一个更好的人。
   很快,在我看来,作为恐怖和成熟
   开始进入道德上的自恋
   可能实际上已经变成了
   人类的实际成长。也许
   这是我朋友们的意思,拉着我的手,
   告诉我他们理解
   虐待,我接受的难以置信的大便,
   暗示(所以我曾经认为)我有点不舒服
   对这么少付出了这么多。
   然而他们的意思是我很好(热情地紧握着我的手)---
   一个好朋友和一个好人,而不是一个伤感的生物。

   我不是可怜虫!显而易见我
   像一个伟大的女王或圣人。

   嗯,这都是有趣的猜测。
   我突然意识到,最重要的是相信
   努力,相信简单的“尝试”会带来一些好处,
   一种好处完全不受腐败启动
   劝说或诱惑的冲动---

   没有这个我们还能是什么?
   旋转在黑暗的宇宙中,
   孤独,害怕,无法影响命运---

   我们真正有什么?
   和梯子和鞋子一起的可悲把戏,
   和盐一起的把戏,不纯的动机反复
   尝试塑造性格。
   我们有什么安抚强大的势力?

   最后,我认为这个问题
   摧毁了阿伽门农,海滩上,
   希腊船只随时待命,宁静
   港湾之外看不见的大海,未来
   致命的,不稳定的:他是个傻瓜,以为
   它可以被控制。他应该说
   “我什么都没有,我在你的怜悯中。”



The Empty Glass


   I asked for much; I received much.
   I asked for much; I received little, I received
   next to nothing.

   And between? A few umbrellas opened indoors.
   A pair of shoes by mistake on the kitchen table.

   0 wrong, wrong---it was my nature. I was
   hard-hearted, remote. I was
   selfish, rigid to the point of tyranny.

   But I was always that person, even in early childhood.
   Small, dark-haired, dreaded by the other children.
   1 never changed. Inside the glass, the abstract
   tide of fortune turned
   from high to low overnight.

   Was it the sea? Responding, maybe,
   to celestial force? To be safe,
   I prayed. I tried to be a better person.
   Soon it seemed to me that what began as terror
   and matured into moral narcissism
   might have become in fact
   actual human growth. Maybe
   this is what my friends meant, taking my hand,
   telling me they understood
   the abuse, the incredible shit I accepted,
   implying (so I once thought) I was a little sick
   to give so much for so little.
   Whereas they meant I was good (clasping my hand intensely)---
   a good friend and person, not a creature of pathos.

   I was not pathetic! I was writ large,
   like a great queen or saint.

   Well, it all makes for interesting conjecture.
   And it occurs to me that what is crucial is to believe
   in effort, to believe some good will come of simply trying,
   a good completely untainted by the corrupt initiating impulse
   to persuade or seduce---

   What are we without this?
   Whirling in the dark universe,
   alone, afraid, unable to influence fate---

   What do we have really?
   Sad tricks with ladders and shoes,
   tricks with salt, impurely motivated recurring
   attempts to build character.
   What do we have to appease the great forces?

   And I think in the end this was the question
   that destroyed Agamemnon, there on the beach,
   the Greek ships at the ready, the sea
   invisible beyond the serene harbor, the future
   lethal, unstable: he was a fool, thinking
   it could be controlled. He should have said
   I have nothing, I am at your mercy.






榅桲树

   (选自 THE SEVEN AGES (2001))
   作者:(美)露易丝.格丽克(Louise Glück)
   译者:剑郭琴符

   最后,我们只有天气的主题。
   幸好,我们生活在一个有季节的世界里---
   我们感觉到,仍然,接近多样性:
   黑暗,喜悦,各种各样的等待。

   我想,从真正意义上讲,我们的交流
   不能称之为对话,不能
   被一致,被重复支配。

   然而,想象
   我们既没有彼此的感觉,也没有
   对世界深刻的反应,这是错误的,就像相信
   我们的生活是狭隘的,或空虚的是错误的一样。

   我们拥有巨大的财富。
   事实上,我们拥有,我们所能看到的一切
   虽然事实上我们看不到
   很远的距离,也看不到细微的细节,
   我们能觉察到我们掌握了
   年轻人几乎无法想象的渴望,
   仿佛所有的经验都被引导进
   这些少量的观念之中。

   没有记忆的通道。
   因为对我们来说,过去作为参照物失去了,
   作为形象,作为叙述失去了。它包含什么?
   有爱吗?曾经有过
   持续的劳作吗?或是名望,曾经有过
   那样的事吗?

   最后,我们不需要问。因为
   我们感觉到了过去,它,不知何故,
   在这些东西里,前草坪和后草坪,
   弥漫着它们,给了小榅桲树
   一种几乎无法忍受的重量和意义。
   完全迷失了,却又奇怪地活着,我们人类的整个存在--
   认为因为我们从来没有
   离开过我们感觉到的
   是某种程度上的萎缩或部分的院子,那就错了。
   在它的宏伟壮丽中,世界
   终于出现了。

   当我们被感动发言时,
   我们一直在讨论或暗示这一点。
   天气。榅桲树。
   你,在你的清白中,你对这个世界知道什么?



Quince Tree



   We had, in the end, only the weather for a subject.
   Luckily, we lived in a world with seasons---
   we felt, still, access to variety:
   darkness, euphoria, various kinds of waiting.

   I suppose, in the true sense, our exchanges
   couldn’t be called conversation, being
   dominated by accord, by repetition.

   And yet it would be wrong to imagine
   we had neither sense of one another nor
   deep response to the world, as it would be wrong to believe
   our lives were narrow, or empty.

   We had great wealth.
   We had, in fact, everything we could see
   and while it is true we could see
   neither great distance nor fine detail,
   what we were able to discern we grasped
   with a hunger the young can barely conceive,
   as though all experience had been channeled into
   these few perceptions.

   Channeled without memory.
   Because the past was lost to us as referent,
   lost as image, as narrative. What had it contained?
   Was there love? Had there been, once,
   sustained labor? Or fame, had there ever been
   something like that?

   In the end, we didn't need to ask. Because
   we felt the past; it was, somehow,
   in these things, the front lawn and back lawn,
   suffusing them, giving the little quince tree
   a weight and meaning almost beyond enduring.
   Utterly lost and yet strangely alive, the whole of our human existence---
   it would be wrong to think
   because we never left the yard
   that what we felt there was somehow shrunken or partial.
   In its grandeur and splendor, the world
   was finally present.

   And it was always this we discussed or alluded to
   when we were moved to speak.
   The weather. The quince tree.
   You, in your innocence, what do you know of this world?





旅行者

   (选自 THE SEVEN AGES (2001))
   作者:(美)露易丝.格丽克(Louise Glück)
   译者:剑郭琴符

   在树顶是我想要的。
   幸运的是我读过书:
   我知道我在接受考验。

   我知道什么都不管用---
   不要爬那么高,不要
   把水果压下去。必须跟随三个结果之一:
   水果并不是你想象的那样,
   或者只是没有满足。
   或者它在坠落中受损
   就像破碎的东西永远折磨着你。

   但我拒绝被
   水果超越。我站在树下,
   等待我的思想来拯救我。
   我站着,在水果腐烂很久之后。

   许多年后,一个旅行者从我
   站的地方经过,热情地向我打招呼,
   就像一个人问候一个兄弟。我问为什么,
   为什么我对他那么熟悉,
   从来没见过他?

   他说,“因为我像你,
   所以我认出你。我把所有的经历都看作
   一种精神或智力上的考验
   用以展示或证明
   我对前人的优越性。我选择
   生活在假设中;渴望支撑着我。

   事实上,我最需要的是渴望,你似乎
   已经在停滞期实现了,
   但我在改变,在启程中发现了。”



The Traveler


   At the top of the tree was what I wanted.
   Fortunately I had read books:
   I knew I was being tested.

   I knew nothing would work---
   not to climb that high, not to force
   the fruit down. One of three results must follow:
   the fruit isn't what you imagined,
   or it is but fails to satiate.
   Or it is damaged in falling
   and as a shattered thing torments you forever.

   But I refused to be
   bested by fruit. I stood under the tree,
   waiting for my mind to save me.
   I stood, long after the fruit rotted.

   And after many years, a traveler passed by me
   where I stood, and greeted me warmly,
   as one would greet a brother. And I asked why,
   why was I so familiar to him,
   having never seen him?

   And he said, “Because I am like you,
   therefore I recognize you. I treated all experience
   as a spiritual or intellectual trial
   in which to exhibit or prove my superiority
   to my predecessors. I chose
   to live in hypothesis; longing sustained me.

   In fact, what I needed most was longing, which you seem
   to have achieved in stasis,
   but which I have found in change, in departure.”





植物园

   (选自 THE SEVEN AGES (2001))
   作者:(美)露易丝.格丽克(Louise Glück)
   译者:剑郭琴符

   我们有年龄的问题,想逗留的问题。
   不需要,再也不,甚至做出贡献。
   只想逗留:在,在这里。

   盯着东西看,但没有真正的热望。
   浏览,什么也不买。
   但是我们中很多人,我们占用时间。我们排挤了
   自己的孩子,和朋友的孩子。我们造成了巨大的伤害,
   意味着没有伤害。

   我们继续计划;在东西坏的时候修理。
   修理,改进。我们旅行,我们在花园里种植。
   我们继续厚颜无耻地种植树木和多年生植物。

   我们对世界的要求多么少。我们理解
   对忠告,坚持的冒犯。我们检查自己:
   我们是对的,我们沉默。
   但是我们不能治愈自己的欲望,不彻底。
   我们的双手,折叠,它散发臭味。

   我们怎么造成如此大的破坏,仅仅坐着看,
   闲逛,在晴朗的日子里,在公园、植物园的空地上,
   或坐在公共图书馆前的长凳上,
   喂出自纸袋的鸽子?

   我们是对的,但欲望在追逐我们。
   就像一股强大的力量,一个上帝。年轻人
   被冒犯。作为回报
   他们的心变冷。我们

   对世界的要求这么少,小事对我们来说似乎是
   巨大的财富。只是为了再一次闻到
   植物园里早起的玫瑰:我们问得
   这么少,什么也没宣称。然而
   年轻人枯萎了。

   或者他们像植物园里的石头一样改变:仿佛
   我们的继续存在,这么多年来我们的要求如此之少,意味着
   我们要求一切。



Arboretum


   We had the problem of age, the problem of wishing to linger.
   Not needing, anymore, even to make a contribution.
   Merely wishing to linger: to be, to be here.

   And to stare at things, but with no real avidity.
   To browse, to purchase nothing.
   But there were many of us; we took up time. We crowded out
   our own children, and the children of friends. We did great damage,
   meaning no harm.

   We continued to plan; to fix things as they broke.
   To repair, to improve. We traveled, we put in gardens.
   And we continued brazenly to plant trees and perennials.

   We asked so little of the world. We understood
   the offense of advice, of holding forth. We checked ourselves:
   we were correct, we were silent.
   But we could not cure ourselves of desire, not completely.
   Our hands, folded, reeked of it.

   How did we do so much damage, merely sitting and watching,
   strolling, on fine days, the grounds of the park, the arboretum,
   or sitting on benches in front of the public library,
   feeding pigeons out of a paper bag?

   We were correct, and yet desire pursued us.
   Like a great force, a god. And the young
   were offended; their hearts
   turned cold in reaction. We asked

   so little of the world; small things seemed to us
   immense wealth. Merely to smell once more the early roses
   in the arboretum: we asked
   so little, and we claimed nothing. And the young
   withered nevertheless.

   Or they became like stones in the arboretum: as though
   our continued existence, our asking so little for so many years, meant
   we asked everything.





 楼主| 发表于 2020-11-15 17:57:16 | 显示全部楼层


色欲之梦

   (选自 THE SEVEN AGES (2001))
   作者:(美)露易丝.格丽克(Louise Glück)
   译者:剑郭琴符

   经过一个那样的晚上,一天:
   心灵顺从,醒着,穿上拖鞋,
   精神不安,咕哝着
   “我宁愿,我宁愿---”

   它来自于何方,
   如此突然,如此凶猛,
   一种意想不到的动物?那个
   神秘的人是谁?
   你是可笑的年轻人,我告诉他。

   这一天宁静,美丽,期待关注。
   黑夜让人分心,也被阻挡---
   我不能返回,
   甚至没有资讯。

   玫瑰盛开,吊钟柳,松鼠们
   全神贯注着瞬间。
   突然我不住在这里,我住在神秘里。

   他有一种奇怪的笨拙的粗鲁
   它变成性感的优雅。

   这是我想的,而又不是我想的:
   世界不是我的世界,人的身体
   制造一个僵局,一个障碍。

   笨拙,穿着牛仔裤,然后突然
   做出最令人惊奇的事
   好像它们完全是他的主意---

   但后来在永恒的尽头:
   咖啡,黑面包,那些持续的仪式
   持续到现在如此深远---
   人的身体是一种强迫,一块磁铁,
   梦本身固执地
   依附着,精神
   无助地随它去---

   还是不值得
   失去这个世界。



Dream of Lust


   After one of those nights, a day:
   the mind dutiful, waking, putting on its slippers,
   and the spirit restive, muttering
   I’d rather,I’d rather---”

   Where did it come from,
   so sudden, so fierce,
   an unexpected animal? Who
   was the mysterious figure?
   You are ridiculously young, I told him.

   The day tranquil, beautiful, expecting attention.
   The night distracting and barred---
   and I cannot return,
   not even for information.

   Roses in bloom, penstemon, the squirrels
   preoccupied for the moment.
   And suddenly I don't live here, I live in a mystery.

   He had an odd lumbering gaucheness
   that became erotic grace.

   It is what I thought and not what I thought:
   the world is not my world, the human body
   makes an impasse, an obstacle.

   Clumsy, in jeans, then suddenly
   doing the most amazing things
   as though they were entirely his idea---

   But the afterward at the end of the timeless:
   coffee, dark bread, the sustaining rituals
   going on now so far away---
   the human body a compulsion, a magnet,
   the dream itself obstinately
   clinging, the spirit
   helpless to let it go---

   it is still not worth
   losing the world.





优雅

   (选自 THE SEVEN AGES (2001))
   作者:(美)露易丝.格丽克(Louise Glück)
   译者:剑郭琴符

   我们被教导,在那些年里,
   永远不要说好运。
   不说话,不感受---
   这是孩子们任何想象中的
   最小的一步。

   然而,信仰的语言
   一个例外被造成;
   作为预防措施,我们接受了
   这种语言的初步训练。

   在世界上不要傲慢地说话
   而要尊敬地,低声地,私下地讲话---

   如果一个人缺乏信心?
   如果一个人相信,即使在童年,只是偶然---

   他们用了这么有力的话,我们的老师!
   耻辱,惩罚:我们许多人
   宁愿保持沉默,即使在神圣的面前。

   属于我们的是在悲叹中升起的声音
   反抗残酷的变迁。

   属于我们的是黑暗的图书馆,关于痛苦的
   论文。在黑暗中,我们彼此认出对方;
   我们看到了,在对方的注视下,
   言语中从未表现出的经验。

   奇迹,崇高,不应得的;
   只不过减轻在早上的再次醒来---
   只有现在,随着老年几乎开始,
   我们才敢谈论这些事情,或者承认,满怀热情,
   哪怕是最小的快乐。它们的消失
   接近了,不管怎样:属于我们的是这种知识
   作为礼物进入的生命。



Grace



   We were taught, in those years,
   never to speak of good fortune.
   To not speak, to not feel---
   it was the smallest step for a child
   of any imagination.

   And yet an exception was made
   for the language of faith;
   we were trained in the rudiments of this language
   as a precaution.

   Not to speak swaggeringly in the world
   but to speak in homage, abjectly, privately---

   And if one lacked faith?
   If one believed, even in childhood, only in chance---

   such powerful words they used, our teachers!
   Disgrace, punishment: many of us
   preferred to remain mute, even in the presence of the divine.

   Ours were the voices raised in lament
   against the cruel vicissitudes.
   Ours were the dark libraries, the treatises
   on affliction. In the dark, we recognized one another;
   we saw, each in the other’s gaze,
   experience never manifested in speech.

   The miraculous, the sublime, the undeserved;
   the relief merely of waking once more in the morning---
   only now, with old age nearly beginning,
   do we dare to speak of such things, or confess, with gusto,
   even to the smallest joys. Their disappearance
   approaches, in any case: ours are the lives
   this knowledge enters as a gift.





寓言

   (选自 THE SEVEN AGES (2001))
   作者:(美)露易丝.格丽克(Louise Glück)
   译者:剑郭琴符

   天气变得温和了,雪融化了。
   雪融化了,取而代之的
   是早春的花朵:
   滨紫草,雪光花。大地
   错误地变蓝。

   急事,这么多急事---

   改变,逃避过去。

   “天气很冷,冬天:
   我害怕我的生命---”

   然后是春天,大地
   转向令人惊奇的蓝色。

   天气变得温和,雪融化了---
   春天赶上来了。
   然后是夏天。时间停止了
   因为我们停止了等待。

   夏天持续。它持续
   因为我们幸福。

   天气变得温和起来,就像
   往事回荡
   意欲变得温和,像
   一种永恒的形式。

   然后梦结束了。永恒开始了。



Fable



   The weather grew mild, the snow melted.
   The snow melted, and in its place
   flowers of early spring:
   mertensia, chionodoxa. The earth
   turned blue by mistake.

   Urgency, there was so much urgency---

   to change, to escape the past.

   It was cold, it was winter:
   I was frightened for my life---

   Then it was spring, the earth
   turning a surprising blue.

   The weather grew mild, the snow melted---
   spring overtook it.
   And then summer. And time stopped
   because we stopped waiting.

   And summer lasted. It lasted
   because we were happy.

   The weather grew mild, like
   the past circling back
   intending to be gentle, like
   a form of the everlasting.

   Then the dream ended. The everlasting began.





幸福的缪斯

   (选自 THE SEVEN AGES (2001))
   作者:(美)露易丝.格丽克(Louise Glück)
   译者:剑郭琴符

   窗户关上,太阳升起。
   几只鸟的叫声;
   花园拍摄着微微的潮湿。
   巨大希望的不安
   突然消失。
   心仍然警觉。

   一千个小小的希望在萌发,
   不是新的,而是新的认识。
   友情,与朋友共进晚餐。
   以及某些
   成人任务的结构。

   房子干净,安静。
   不用倒的垃圾。

   它是一个王国,不是想象的行为,
   而且还很早,
   吊钟柳白色的花蕾开放。

   我们最终的付出
   可能够痛苦吗?
   牺牲不是必要的,
   焦虑和恐怖一直被认为足够?

   一只松鼠在电话线上奔跑,
   面包皮在嘴里。

   黑暗被季节耽搁了。
   因此,这似乎是
   一个伟大的礼物的一部分
   不必再害怕。

   日子展开,但慢慢地,一种
   不必害怕的孤独,变化
   微弱,几乎察觉不到---

   吊钟柳开放。
   看着它
   直到最后的可能性。



The Muse of Happiness


   The windows shut, the sun rising.
   Sounds of a few birds;
   the garden filmed with a light moisture.
   And the insecurity of great hope
   suddenly gone.
   And the heart still alert.

   And a thousand small hopes stirring,
   not new but newly acknowledged.
   Affection, dinner with friends.
   And the structure of certain
   adult tasks.

   The house clean, silent.
   The trash not needing to be taken out.

   It is a kingdom, not an act of imagination:
   and still very early,
   the white buds of the penstemon open.

   Is it possible we have finally paid
   bitterly enough?
   That sacrifice is not to be required,
   that anxiety and terror have been judged sufficient?

   A squirrel racing along the telephone wire,
   a crust of bread in its mouth.

   And darkness delayed by the season.
   So that it seems
   part of a great gift
   not to be feared any longer.

   The day unfurling, but very gradually, a solitude
   not to be feared, the changes
   faint, barely perceived---

   the penstemon open.
   The likelihood
   of seeing it through to the end.





成熟的桃子

   (选自 THE SEVEN AGES (2001))
   作者:(美)露易丝.格丽克(Louise Glück)
   译者:剑郭琴符

   1.

   有一段时间
   只有确定性给了我
   一点快乐。想象---
   确定性,一件死了的东西。

   2.

   然后是世界,
   实验。
   淫秽的嘴
   饥渴于爱---
   它就像爱:
   突然,结局
   难以确定---

   3.

   在心的中心,
   坚硬的坑,
   结论。仿佛
   水果本身
   从来不存在,仅有的
   结局,中间点
   在预期
   和怀旧之间---

   4.

   这么多恐惧。
   这么多物质世界的恐怖。
   心灵疯狂地
   守护着身体,阻止
   经过,暂时,
   身体承受着它---

   5.

   厨房桌子上的桃子。
   复制品。它是泥土,
   同样
   消失的甜蜜
   环绕着石头的尽头,
   就像泥土一样
   可用---

   6.

   幸福的
   机会:泥土
   我们不能只拥有
   经验---现在的
   感觉:被果实
   噤声的心灵---

   7.

   它们不
   和解。身体
   在这里,思想
   分离,不仅仅是
   监狱长:
   它有分离的快乐。
   它是夜空,
   最凶猛的星星是它
   完美的区别---

   8.

   它能活下来吗?有光
   幸存到结局
   在其中思想的事业
   继续活着:思想
   在房间里飞奔,
   在一碗水果的上方---

   9.

   五十年。夜空中
   充满了流星。
   光,音乐
   从很远的地方---我一定
   几乎消失。我一定是
   石头,因为泥土
   环绕着我---

   10.

   柳条篮子里
   有一个桃子。
   有一碗水果。
   五十年。从门到桌子
   这么漫长的行走。



Ripe Peach


   1.

   There was a time
   only certainty gave me
   any joy. Imagine---
   certainty, a dead thing.

   2.

   And then the world,
   the experiment.
   The obscene mouth
   famished with love---
   it is like love:
   the abrupt, hard
   certainty of the end---

   3.

   In the center of the mind,
   the hard pit,
   the conclusion. As though
   the fruit itself
   never existed, only
   the end, the point
   midway between
   anticipation and nostalgia---

   4.

   So much fear.
   So much terror of the physical world.
   The mind frantic
   guarding the body from
   the passing, the temporary,
   the body straining against it---

   5.

   A peach on the kitchen table.
   A replica. It is the earth,
   the same
   disappearing sweetness
   surrounding the stone end,
   and like the earth
   available---

   6.

   An opportunity
   for happiness: earth
   we cannot possess
   only experience ---And now
   sensation: the mind
   silenced by fruit---

   7.

   They are not
   reconciled. The body
   here, the mind
   separate, not
   merely a warden:
   it has separate joys.
   It is the night sky,
   the fiercest stars are its
   immaculate distinctions---

   8.

   Can it survive? Is there
   light that survives the end
   in which the mind's enterprise
   continues to live: thought
   darting about the room,
   above the bowl of fruit---

   9.

   Fifty years. The night sky
   filled with shooting stars.
   Light, music
   from far away---I must be
   nearly gone. I must be
   stone, since the earth
   surrounds me---

   10.

   There was
   a peach in a wicker basket.
   There was a bowl of fruit.
   Fifty years. Such a long walk
   from the door to the table.





 楼主| 发表于 2020-11-16 15:22:13 | 显示全部楼层


  未上漆的门

   (选自 THE SEVEN AGES (2001))
   作者:(美)露易丝.格丽克(Louise Glück)
   译者:剑郭琴符

   终于,在中年,
   我被吸引回到童年。

   房子是一样的,但是
   门是不同的。
   不再是红色——未上漆的木头。
   这些树都是一样的:橡树,紫叶山毛榉。
   但是人们---过去所有的居民---
   都消失了,迷失了,死去了,搬走了。
   街对面的孩子们
   老头老太婆们。

   阳光是一样的,草坪
   在夏天烘干成棕色。
   但是现时全是陌生人。

   在某种程度上,一切都完全准确,
   正如我所记得的:房子,街道,
   繁荣的村庄---

   不被收回或重新进入,
   而是赋予
   沉默和距离,
   空间,时间距离,
   想象和梦想令人困惑的准确性---

   我记得我的童年就像一个很长的在别处的愿望。
   这就是房子,这一定是
   我心目中的童年。



Unpainted Door



   Finally, in middle age,
   I was tempted to return to childhood.

   The house was the same, but
   the door was different.
   Not red anymore---unpainted wood.
   The trees were the same: the oak, the copper beech.
   But the people---all the inhabitants of the past---
   were gone: lost, dead, moved away.
   The children from across the street
   old men and women.

   The sun was the same, the lawns
   parched brown in summer.
   But the present was full of strangers.

   And in some way it was all exactly right,
   exactly as I remembered: the house, the street,
   the prosperous village---

   Not to be reclaimed or re-entered
   but to legitimize
   silence and distance,
   distance of place, of time,
   bewildering accuracy of imagination and dream---

   I remember my childhood as a long wish to be elsewhere.
   This is the house; this must be
   the childhood I had in mind.






有丝分裂

   (选自 THE SEVEN AGES (2001))
   作者:(美)露易丝.格丽克(Louise Glück)
   译者:剑郭琴符

   没有人真正记得它们
   没有分开。不管谁说他分开了---
   那个人就是在撒谎。

   没人记得。不知为什么
   每个人都知道:

   一开始,他们必须,同样直截了当,
   致力于一条直接的道路。
   最后,只有身体继续
   执拗地向前移动,因为它不得不,
   活下去。

   但在某个时刻,我的心还在徘徊。
   它需要更多的时间在海边,更多的时间在田野里
   采集野花。它想要
   更多的夜晚睡在自己的床上;它想要
   自己的夜灯,它最喜欢的饮料。
   还有更多的早晨——它可能首先
   需要这些。更多
   在第一道曙光中,吊钟柳盛开,羽衣草
   仍然覆盖它的晚装珠宝,夜雨
   仍然附着它。

   然后,更彻底,它想回去。
   它只想把整段话重复一遍,
   就像那位兴高采烈的指挥家,他只觉得
   小提琴可能会更柔和、更凄切。

   通过这一切,身体
   继续像箭的通道,
   因为它必须,活着。

   如果这意味着要走到最后
   (心灵像箭头一样埋着),它有什么选择,
   除了对未来的梦想,还有什么梦想?

   无限的世界!远景清晰,云朵升起。
   海水蔚蓝,珊瑚礁间的海草
   弯腰叹息,阴沉的美人鱼
   所有突然的天使,或者像天使。音乐
   在公海上空升起---

   正像心灵的梦想。
   同样的大海,同样的波光粼粼的田野。
   盘子里的水果,一模一样的
   小提琴(在过去和将来),但是
   现在更柔和,终于
   足够悲伤。



Mitosis


   No one actually remembers them
   as not divided. Whoever says he does---
   that person is lying.

   No one remembers. And somehow
   everyone knows:

   they had to be, in the beginning, equally straightforward,
   committed to a direct path.
   In the end, only the body continued
   implacably moving ahead, as it had to,
   to stay alive.

   But at some point the mind lingered.
   It wanted more time by the sea, more time in the fields
   gathering wildflowers. It wanted
   more nights sleeping in its own bed; it wanted
   its own nightlight, its favorite drink.
   And more mornings---it wanted these
   possibly most of all. More
   of the first light, the penstemon blooming, the alchemilla
   still covered with its evening jewels, the night rain
   still clinging to it.

   And then, more radically, it wanted to go back.
   It wished simply to repeat the whole passage,
   like the exultant conductor, who feels only that
   the violin might have been a little softer, more plangent.

   And through all this, the body
   continues like the path of an arrow
   as it has to, to live.

   And if that means to get to the end
   (the mind buried like an arrowhead), what choice does it have,
   what dream except the dream of the future?

   Limitless world! The vistas clear, the clouds risen.
   The water azure, the sea plants bending and sighing
   among the coral reefs, the sullen mermaids
   all suddenly angels, or like angels. And music
   rising over the open sea---

   Exactly like the dream of the mind.
   The same sea, the same shimmering fields.
   The plate of fruit, the identical
   violin (in the past and the future) but
   softer now, finally
   sufficiently sad.







厄洛斯

   (选自 THE SEVEN AGES (2001))
   作者:(美)露易丝.格丽克(Louise Glück)
   译者:剑郭琴符

   我把椅子拉到旅馆的窗前,注视着雨。

   我处于一种梦境或出神——
   在爱中,但
   我什么也不想要。

   似乎没有必要再碰你,再见到你。
   我只想要这个:
   房间,椅子,雨声飘落,
   一小时又一小时,在温暖的春夜里。

   我再也不需要什么,我完全满足。
   我的心变小了,用极少就能填满它。
   我注视着雨落在黑城上沉重的床单---

   你不要担心,我可以让你
   活得像你需要的那样。

   黎明时雨小了。我干了
   一个人在白天干的事,我释放自己,
   但我像梦游者一样移动。

   这足够了,不再和你有关。
   在一个陌生城市的几天。
   一次谈话,一只手的触摸。
   后来,我摘下我的结婚戒指。

   这就是我想要的:赤身裸体。
   ---
   厄洛斯:爱神。



Eros



   I had drawn my chair to the hotel window, to watch the rain.

   I was in a kind of dream or trance---
   in love, and yet
   I wanted nothing.

   It seemed unnecessary to touch you, to see you again.
   I wanted only this:
   the room, the chair, the sound of the rain falling,
   hour after hour, in the warmth of the spring night.

   I needed nothing more; I was utterly sated.
   My heart had become small; it took very little to fill it.
   I watched the rain falling in heavy sheets over the darkened city---

   You were not concerned; I could let you
   live as you needed to live.

   At dawn the rain abated. I did the things
   one does in daylight, I acquitted myself,
   but I moved like a sleepwalker.

   It was enough and it no longer involved you.
   A few days in a strange city.
   A conversation, the touch of a hand.
   And afterward, I took off my wedding ring.

   That was what I wanted: to be naked.






策略

   (选自 THE SEVEN AGES (2001))
   作者:(美)露易丝.格丽克(Louise Glück)
   译者:剑郭琴符

   他们故意离得很远
   坐着,体验,每天,
   相隔很远互相看到时的
   甜蜜。他们

   本能地理解,性爱的激情
   在距离中成长,要么是
   真实的(一个人结婚了,一个人
   不再爱另一个),要么是
   虚假的、欺骗性的,模仿

   激情从属于
   社会习俗的策略,
   但作为一种策略,以便它显示的
   不是约定的力量,而是
   厄洛斯毁灭客观现实的
   力量。世界,时间,距离---
   像干涸的田野
   在凝视的火焰前枯萎---

   以前从来没有。从不和别人在一起。
   在眼睛和手之后。
   经历了荣耀,奉献---

   甜蜜。这么多年后,
   完全无法想象。

   “以前从来没有。从不和别人在一起。”
   然后整个事情
   又和别人精确地重复。
   直到最后狠明显

   唯一不变的
   是距离,必须的仆人。
   用来维持
   我们每个人燃烧的任何火焰。

   眼睛,手---没有
   我们相信的那么重要。最后,
   距离足够了,由它自身。



The Ruse


   They sat far apart
   deliberately, to experience, daily,
   the sweetness of seeing each other across
   great distance. They understood

   instinctively that erotic passion
   thrives on distance, either
   actual (one is married, one
   no longer loves the other) or
   spurious, deceptive, a ruse

   miming the subordination
   of passion to social convention,
   but a ruse, so that it demonstrated
   not the power of convention but rather

   the power of eros to annihilate
   objective reality. The world, time, distance—
   withering like dry fields before
   the fire of the gaze---

   Never before. Never with anyone else.
   And after the eyes, the hands.
   Experienced as glory, as consecration---

   Sweet. And after so many years,
   completely unimaginable.

   Never before. Never with anyone else.
   And then the whole thing
   repeated exactly with someone else.
   Until it was finally obvious

   that the only constant
   was distance, the servant of need.
   Which was used to sustain
   whatever fire burned in each of us.

   The eyes, the hands---less crucial
   than we believed. In the end
   distance was sufficient, by itself.




时间

   (选自 THE SEVEN AGES (2001))
   作者:(美)露易丝.格丽克(Louise Glück)
   译者:剑郭琴符

   有太多,总是,然后太少。
   童年:疾病。
   我在床边有一个小铃铛---
   在铃的另一端,我妈妈。

   疾病,灰蒙蒙的雨。狗在里面睡着了。它们睡在床上,
   就在它的尽头,在我看来,它们了解
   童年:保持无意识最好。

   雨在窗户上造成灰色的板条。
   我坐着看书,旁边有个小铃铛。
   没有听到声音,我给一个声音当学徒。
   看不到精神的迹象,我决心
   活在精神里。

   雨忽明忽暗。
   一月又一月,在一天的时间里。
   事情变成了梦;梦变成了事情。

   然后我很好,铃回到橱柜。
   雨停了。狗们站在门口,
   气喘吁吁地走出去。

   我很好,然后我是个成年人。
   时间在流逝---它就像雨,
   太多,太多,好像它是一个无法被移动的重量。

   我是个孩子,半睡着。
   我生病了,我被保护。
   我生活在精神的世界,
   灰蒙蒙的雨的世界,
   迷失,记忆中的。

   然后突然,阳光普照。
   时间在流逝,即使几乎一无所有。
   被感知的变成被记住的,
   被记住的,被感知的。



Time



   There was too much, always, then too little.
   Childhood: sickness.
   By the side of the bed I had a little bell---
   at the other end of the bell, my mother.

   Sickness, gray rain. The dogs slept through it. They slept on the bed,
   at the end of it, and it seemed to me they understood
   about childhood: best to remain unconscious.

   The rain made gray slats on the windows.
   I sat with my book, the little bell beside me.
   Without hearing a voice, I apprenticed myself to a voice.
   Without seeing any sign of the spirit, I determined
   to live in the spirit.

   The rain faded in and out.
   Month after month, in the space of a day.
   Things became dreams; dreams became things.

   Then I was well; the bell went back to the cupboard.
   The rain ended. The dogs stood at the door,
   panting to go outside.

   I was well, then I was an adult.
   And time went on---it was like the rain,
   so much, so much, as though it was a weight that couldn't be moved.

   I was a child, half sleeping.
   I was sick; I was protected.
   And I lived in the world of the spirit,
   the world of the gray rain,
   the lost, the remembered.

   Then suddenly the sun was shining.
   And time went on, even when there was almost none left.
   And the perceived became the remembered,
   the remembered, the perceived.







自传

   (选自 THE SEVEN AGES (2001))
   作者:(美)露易丝.格丽克(Louise Glück)
   译者:剑郭琴符

   我生来谨慎,是金牛座的标志。
   在二十世纪后半叶,
   我在一个繁荣的小岛上长大;
   大屠杀的阴影
   几乎没有触及我们。

   我有一种爱的哲学,一种宗教的
   哲学,都是基于
   家庭内的早期经验。

   如果我写作的时候只用了几个词,
   那是因为我觉得时间总是很短,
   好像它随时
   都可以被剥离。

   我的故事,无论如何,都不是独一无二的,
   不过,和其他人一样,我有一个故事,
   一个观点。

   我只需要说几个词:
   滋养、维持、攻击。



Memoir


   I was born cautious, under the sign of Taurus.
   I grew up on an island, prosperous,
   in the second half of the twentieth century;
   the shadow of the Holocaust
   hardly touched us.

   I had a philosophy of love, a philosophy
   of religion, both based on
   early experience within a family.

   And if when I wrote I used only a few words
   it was because time always seemed to me short
   as though it could be stripped away
   at any moment.

   And my story, in any case, wasn't unique
   though, like everyone else, I had a story,
   a point of view.

   A few words were all I needed:
   nourish, sustain, attack.





 楼主| 发表于 2020-11-16 15:24:21 | 显示全部楼层

(选自  Chinese Whispers )
作者:(美)约翰.阿什贝利(John Ashberry)
译者:剑郭琴符



(选自  Chinese Whispers )
作者:(美)约翰.阿什贝利(John Ashberry)
译者:剑郭琴符






圣女贞德

   (选自 THE SEVEN AGES (2001))
   作者:(美)露易丝.格丽克(Louise Glück)
   译者:剑郭琴符

   我七岁时,我有一个幻象:
   我相信我会死。我死在
   十岁,小儿麻痹症。我看到我的死亡:
   这是一种幻象,一种洞察力---
   这就是贞德必须,拯救法国。

   我伤心极了。被大地
   欺骗,整个童年的
   欺骗,我的心的伟大梦想
   永远不会被显现。

   没人知道这一切。
   然后我活着。

   我一直活着
   在我本该燃烧的时候:
   我是贞德,我是拉撒路。

   童年的
   独白,青春期的独白。
   我是拉撒路,世界又给了我。
   夜晚我躺在床上,等着被发现。
   声音返回,但世界
   拒绝退出。

   我醒着躺着,听着。
   五十年前,在我的童年。
   而且当然是现在。
   什么在,跟我说话?死亡的
   恐惧,逐渐失去的恐惧;
   在婚礼白纱中的疾病的恐惧---

   我七岁的时候,我相信我会死:
   只有约会是错的。我听到
   一个黑暗的预言
   在我自己的身体里升起。

   我给了你机会。
   我听你说,我相信你。
   我不会让你再拥有我。



Saint Joan


   When I was seven, I had a vision:
   I believed I would die. I would die
   at ten, of polio. I saw my death:
   it was a vision, an insight---
   it was what Joan had, to save France.

   I grieved bitterly. Cheated
   of earth, cheated
   of a whole childhood, of the great dreams of my heart
   which would never be manifest.

   No one knew any of this.
   And then I lived.

   I kept being alive
   when I should have been burning:
   I was Joan, I was Lazarus.

   Monologue
   of childhood, of adolescence.
   I was Lazarus, the world given to me again.
   Nights I lay in my bed, waiting to be found out.
   And the voices returned, but the world
   refused to withdraw.

   I lay awake, listening.
   Fifty years ago, in my childhood.
   And of course now.
   What was it, speaking to me? Terror
   of death, terror of gradual loss;
   fear of sickness in its bridal whites---

   When I was seven, I believed I would die:
   only the dates were wrong. I heard
   a dark prediction
   rising in my own body.

   I gave you your chance.
   I listened to you, I believed in you.
   I will not let you have me again.






晨歌

   (选自 THE SEVEN AGES (2001))
   作者:(美)露易丝.格丽克(Louise Glück)
   译者:剑郭琴符

   曾经有一个夏天
   它回来了好多次
   有一朵花绽放
   获得各种形式的

   香薄荷的深红,晚熟玫瑰的淡金色

   有一种爱
   有一种爱,有许多夜晚

   假桔子树的气味
   茉莉花和百合花的走廊
   风静静吹

   有许多冬天,但我闭上了眼睛
   冷空气和融化的翅膀一起变白

   当雪融化了蔚蓝和白色的时候,
   有一个花园,我分不清
   我的孤独和爱---

   有一个爱;他有许多声音
   有一个黎明;有时
   我们一起注视它

   我在这里
   我在这里

   有一个夏天来回返回
   有一个黎明
   我注视着老去



Aubade



   There was one summer
   that returned many times over
   there was one flower unfurling
   taking many forms

   Crimson of the monarda, pale gold of the late roses

   There was one love
   There was one love, there were many nights

   Smell of the mock orange tree
   Corridors of jasmine and lilies
   Still the wind blew

   There were many winters but I closed my eyes
   The cold air white with dissolved wings

   There was one garden when the snow melted
   Azure and white; I couldn't tell
   my solitude from love---

   There was one love; he had many voices
   There was one dawn; sometimes
   we watched it together

   I was here
   I was here

   There was one summer returning over and over
   there was one dawn
   I grew old watching







有屏风的门廊

   (选自 THE SEVEN AGES (2001))
   作者:(美)露易丝.格丽克(Louise Glück)
   译者:剑郭琴符

   星星是愚蠢的,它们不值得等待。
   月亮被遮蔽,支离破碎。
   暮色如淤泥覆盖了群山。
   人类生活中伟大的戏剧化任何地方都不明显---
   但因为如此,你没走向大自然。

   可怕的悲惨的人生故事,
   爱的狂野胜利:它们不属于
   夏夜,群山和星辰的全景。

   我们坐在露台上,有屏风的门廊,
   仿佛我们期待着收集,甚至现在,
   新的信息或同情。星星
   在风景的上方闪出一点,山峦
   仍然弥漫着微弱的回溯光。
   黑暗。发光的地球。我们向外凝视,渴求知识,
   而我们却感觉到,在它的地盘,一种替代品:
   看似温和的漠不关心。

   自然世界的慰藉。永恒的
   全景。星星
   是愚蠢的,但莫名其妙的安慰。月亮

   呈现为一条曲线。
   我们继续向发光的山丘投射
   我们所需要的品质:坚韧,精神上
   进步的潜力。

   对时间,改变的免疫力。被
   保护的安全感,从我们所爱的事物中
   被保护的感觉---

   我们强烈的需要被黑夜吸收
   作为食物返回。



Screened Porch



   The stars were foolish, they were not worth waiting for.
   The moon was shrouded, fragmentary.
   Twilight like silt covered the hills.
   The great drama of human life was nowhere evident---
   but for that, you don't go to nature.

   The terrible harrowing story of a human life,
   the wild triumph of love: they don't belong
   to the summer night, panorama of hills and stars.

   We sat on our terraces, our screened porches,
   as though we expected to gather, even now,
   fresh information or sympathy. The stars
   glittered a bit above the landscape, the hills
   suffused still with a faint retroactive light.
   Darkness. Luminous earth. We stared out, starved for knowledge,
   and we felt, in its place, a substitute:
   indifference that appeared benign.

   Solace of the natural world. Panorama
   of the eternal. The stars
   were foolish, but somehow soothing. The moon

presented itself as a curved line.
   And we continued to project onto the glowing hills
   qualities we needed: fortitude, the potential
   for spiritual advancement.

   Immunity to time, to change. Sensation
   of perfect safety, the sense of being
   protected from what we loved---

   And our intense need was absorbed by the night
   and returned as sustenance.








夏夜

   (选自 THE SEVEN AGES (2001))
   作者:(美)露易丝.格丽克(Louise Glück)
   译者:剑郭琴符

   有条不紊,出于长期的习惯,我的心继续跳动。
   我听到它,晚上醒来,空调的轻微声音。
   我以前常听到它在爱人的心上,或是
   各种各样的心,因为有好几个。
   当它跳动时,它继续鼓起荒谬的情绪。

   这么多热情的信件从没有寄出!
   这么多紧迫的旅行都在夏季的夜晚构思,
   对那些几乎完全陌生男人的意外访问。
   从没买过票,信件从来没有盖章。
   骄傲被赦免。生活,从某种意义上说,从没有完全生活过。
   艺术总是有不断增长的重复的危险。

   为什么不?为什么不?为什么我的诗不应该模仿我的生活?
   其教训不是神化,而是模式,其意义
   不在于姿态,而在惯性,遐想。

   欲望,孤独,开花的杏仁中的风---
   当然,这些是伟大的,无穷无尽的主题
   我的前辈们向其学徒。
   我听到它们在我自己的心里回响,伪装成惯例。

   夏日的香蜂花,平凡的,
   帝国的欢乐和人类存在的悲哀,
   梦想和生活的香蜂花---
   还有什么比这更珍贵,被给予死亡的临近?



Summer Night



   Orderly, and out of long habit, my heart continues to beat.
   I hear it, nights when I wake, over the mild sound of the air conditioner.
   As I used to hear it over the beloved's heart, or
   variety of hearts, owing to there having been several.
   And as it beats, it continues to drum up ridiculous emotion.

   So many passionate letters never sent!
   So many urgent journeys conceived of on summer nights,
   surprise visits to men who were nearly complete strangers.
   The tickets never bought, the letters never stamped.
   And pride spared. And the life, in a sense, never completely lived.
   And the art always in some danger of growing repetitious.

   Why not? Why not? Why should my poems not imitate my life?
   Whose lesson is not the apotheosis but the pattern, whose meaning
   is not in the gesture but in the inertia, the reverie.

   Desire, loneliness, wind in the flowering almond---
   surely these are the great, the inexhaustible subjects
   to which my predecessors apprenticed themselves.
   I hear them echo in my own heart, disguised as convention.

   Balm of the summer night, balm of the ordinary,
   imperial joy and sorrow of human existence,
   the dreamed as well as the lived---
   what could be dearer than this, given the closeness of death?






寓言

   (选自 THE SEVEN AGES (2001))
   作者:(美)露易丝.格丽克(Louise Glück)
   译者:剑郭琴符

   然后我低头看到
   我正在进入的世界,那就是我的家。
   我转向我的同伴,我问“我们在哪里?”
   他回答说“涅盘。”
   我又说:“但光不会给我们带来和平。”



Fable



   Then I looked down and saw
   the world I was entering, that would be my home.
   And I turned to my companion, and I said Where are we?
   And he replied Nirvana.
   And I said again But the light will give us no peace.





 楼主| 发表于 2020-11-17 16:13:02 | 显示全部楼层
  
夜间迁徙
   
   (选自 AVERNO (2006))
   作者:(美)露易丝.格丽克(Louise Glück)
   译者:剑郭琴符
   
   阿弗尔诺(2006年)
   
   献给诺亚
   
   阿弗尔诺。古名艾弗鲁斯。一个小火山口湖,在意大利的那不勒斯以西十英里,古罗马人认为是进入阴间的入口。
   
   夜间迁徙
   
   这是你再次看到
   山灰的红色浆果
   和在黑暗的天空中
   鸟类的夜间迁徙的时刻。
   
   想到死人看不到它们
   我很难过---
   这些我们依赖的东西,
   它们消失了。
   
   那么灵魂会做些什么来获得安慰?
   我告诉自己也许不再需要
   这些快乐;
   也许仅仅是不存在就足够了,
   很难想象这些。
  
  
  






   AVERNO (2006)
   
   FOR NOAH
   
   Averno. Ancient name Avernus. A small crater lake, ten miles west of Naples, Italy; regarded by the ancient Romans as the entrance to the underworld.
   
   



The Night Migrations
   
   This is the moment when you see again
   the red berries of the mountain ash
   and in the dark sky
   the birds' night migrations.
   
   It grieves me to think
   the dead won’t see them---
   these things we depend on,
   they disappear.
   
   What will the soul do for solace then?
   I tell myself maybe it won't need
   these pleasures anymore;
   maybe just not being is simply enough,
   hard as that is to imagine.
  
  
  
  
   
   
   十月
   
   (选自 AVERNO (2006))
   作者:(美)露易丝.格丽克(Louise Glück)
   译者:剑郭琴符
   
   第一部
   
   十月
   
   1.
   
   又是冬天,又是寒冷,
   刚刚弗兰克没有在冰上滑倒,
   他没痊愈,春天的种子没有种下
   
   夜晚没有结束,
   融化的冰没有
   淹没狭窄的水沟
   
   我的身体没有
   被救,它不安全
   
   伤疤没有成形,无形的
   伤痕
   
   恐怖而寒冷,
   刚刚他们没有结束,后花园没有
   被耙过种下---
   
   我记得大地的感觉,红红的,茂密的,
   僵硬的排列,种子没有种下,
   藤蔓没有爬上南墙
   
   我听不到你的声音
   因为风的呼喊,在光秃秃的土地上吹口哨
   
   我不再在乎
   它在我沉默时
   
   发出什么声音,从什么时候开始
   描述这种声音似乎毫无意义
   
   它听起来像什么不能改变不了它所是---
   黑夜没有结束,种下它的时候
   大地就不安全
   
   我们不是在播种,
   我们不是地球上必须的,
   
   葡萄藤,收获了吗?
   
   2.
   
   一个又一个夏天结束,
   暴力过后的香膏:
   现在对我好
   没有好处;
   暴力改变了我。
   
   天亮了。低矮的山峦闪耀着
   赭石和火光,甚至田野也闪耀着光芒。
   我知道我看到了什么;太阳可能是
   八月的太阳,归还
   所有被夺走的东西---
   
   你听到这个声音了吗?这是我心灵的声音,
   你现在不能碰我的身体。
   它已经改变过一次,它已经变硬,
   不要再要求它回应。
   
   一天像夏天的一天。
   异常安静。碎石路上槭树长长的影子
   几乎是淡紫色。
   晚上,温暖。夜晚像夏天的夜晚。
   
   这对我没有好处;暴力改变了我。
   我的身体已经变得冰冷,像剥光的田野;
   现在只有我的头脑,小心谨慎,
   带着正在接受考验的感觉。
   
   又一次,太阳升起就像在夏天升起;
   慷慨,暴力之后的香膏。
   叶子变了之后,田地
   收获,翻转之后的香膏。
   
   告诉我这就是未来。
   我不会相信你。
   告诉我我还活着,我不会相信你。
   
   3.
   
   下雪了。我记得
   从一扇开着的窗户里的音乐。
   
   “靠近我”,世界说。
   这并不是说
   它用准确的句子来表达
   而是我以这种方式感知到美。
   
   日出。每个生物上的
   一层水分。冷光池
   在水沟里成形。
   
   我站在
   门口,
   现在看来很可笑。
   
   其他人在艺术中发现的,
   我在自然中发现了。别人
   在人类的爱中发现的,我在大自然中找到。
   很简单。但是那里没有声音。
   
   冬天结束了。在解冻的泥土里,
   露出了一点绿色。
   
   “走近我”,世界说。我穿着
   羊毛外套站在一个明亮的入口---
   我终于可以说
   “很久以前”,这给了我相当大的乐趣。美
   
   是治疗者,是老师---
   
   死亡对我的伤害
   不会超过你对我的伤害,
   我亲爱的生命。
   
   4.
   
   光线变了,
   中音C现在变暗了。
   清晨声音的歌声过度排练。
   
   这是秋天的光,不是春天的光。
   秋天之光:“你不会独善其身”。
   
   歌变了,不可言传的
   进入其中。
   
   这是秋天的光,不是我们所说的
   “我重生”的光。
   
   不是春天的黎明:“我紧张,我受难,我解脱”。
   这就是现在,废弃的寓言。
   
   变化太大了。不过,你还是幸运的:
   理想像热病在你体内燃烧。
   或者不像热病,像第二颗心。
   
   歌变了,但它们真的还是很美。
   它们被集中在一个更小的空间,心灵的空间。
   它们现在是黑暗的,带着忧伤和痛苦。
   
   然而这些音符重现着。它们奇怪地盘旋着
   期待着沉默。
   耳朵习惯于它们。
   眼睛习惯于消失。
   
   “你不会幸免,你所爱的也不会幸免。”
   
   一阵风来了又去,拆散心灵,
   在它的苏醒中留下一种奇怪的清晰。
   
   你多么幸运,仍然热情地
   紧贴你的所爱;
   失去希望并没有摧毁你。
   
   “庄严,悲伤”:
   这是秋天的光,它打开了我们。
   当然,这是一种接近终点
   仍然相信一些东西的特权。
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   5.
   
   世界上没有足够的美,这是真的。
   我没有能力恢复它,这也是真的。
   也没有坦诚,在这里我可能有一些用。
   
   我
   在工作,虽然我沉默。
   
   世界上
   
   平淡的苦难
   把我们束缚在两边,一条
   
   绿树成荫的小巷;我们
   
   在这里是伙伴,不说话,
   每个人都有自己的想法;
   
   在树林后面,私人
   住宅的铁门后面,
   百叶窗的房间
   
   不知怎么地荒芜,被抛弃,
   
   仿佛艺术家的
   职责是创造
   希望,但出于什么?什么?
   
   这个词本身
   是假的,是一种驳斥感知的
   装置---在十字路口,
   
   这个季节的装饰性灯光。
   
   我在这里很年轻。带着
   我的小书坐地铁
   好像为了保护自己反抗
   
   这同一个世界:
   
   “你并不孤单,”
   诗说,
   在黑暗的隧道里。
   
   6.
   
   白昼的光辉变成了
   黑夜的光辉;
   火变成了镜子。
   
   我的朋友,大地是痛苦的,我想
   阳光舍弃了她。
   痛苦还是厌倦,很难说。
   
   在她和太阳之间,
   有些事情已经结束。
   她现在想,一个人呆着;
   我认为我们必须放弃
   向她寻求肯定。
   
   在田野之上,
   在村庄房屋的屋顶之上,
   使所有生命可能的光辉
   变成了冰冷的星星。
   
   静静地躺着注视:
   它们什么都不给,什么也不求。
   
   从大地的
   痛苦的耻辱、寒冷和贫瘠中
   
   我的朋友,月亮升起:
   她今晚很美,但她什么时候不美?
  
  











  
I
   
   October//
   
   1.
   
   Is it winter again, is it cold again,
   didn't Frank just slip on the ice,
   didn't he heal, weren't the spring seeds planted
   
   didn't the night end,
   didn’t the melting ice
   flood the narrow gutters
   
   wasn't my body
   rescued, wasn't it safe
   
   didn't the scar form, invisible
   above the injury
   
   terror and cold,
   didn’t they just end, wasn’t the back garden
   harrowed and planted---
   
   I remember how the earth felt, red and dense,
   in stiff rows, weren't the seeds planted,
   didn't vines climb the south wall
   
   I can’t hear your voice
   for the wind's cries, whistling over the bare ground
   
   I no longer care
   what sound it makes
   
   when was I silenced, when did it first seem
   pointless to describe that sound
   
   what it sounds like can't change what it is---
   didn’t the night end, wasn’t the earth
   safe when it was planted
   
   didn’t we plant the seeds,
   weren't we necessary to the earth,
   
   the vines, were they harvested?
   
   
   2.
   
   Summer after summer has ended,
   balm after violence:
   it does me no good
   to be good to me now;
   violence has changed me.
   
   Daybreak. The low hills shine
   ochre and fire, even the fields shine.
   I know what I see; sun that could be
   the August sun, returning
   everything that was taken away---
   
   You hear this voice? This is my mind's voice;
   you can't touch my body now.
   It has changed once, it has hardened,
   don't ask it to respond again.
   
   A day like a day in summer.
   Exceptionally still. The long shadows of the maples
   nearly mauve on the gravel paths.
   And in the evening, warmth. Night like a night in summer.
   
   It does me no good; violence has changed me.
   My body has grown cold like the stripped fields;
   now there is only my mind, cautious and wary,
   with the sense it is being tested.
   
   Once more, the sun rises as it rose in summer;
   bounty, balm after violence.
   Balm after the leaves have changed, after the fields
   have been harvested and turned.
   
   Tell me this is the future.
   I won't believe you.
   Tell me I’m living,I won't believe you.
   
   
   
   3.
   
   Snow had fallen. I remember
   music from an open window.
   
   Come to me,said the world.
   This is not to say
   it spoke in exact sentences
   but that I perceived beauty in this manner.
   
   Sunrise. A film of moisture
   on each living thing. Pools of cold light
   formed in the gutters.
   
   I stood
   at the doorway,
   ridiculous as it now seems.
   
   What others found in art,
   I found in nature. What others found
   in human love, I found in nature.
   Very simple. But there was no voice there.
   
   Winter was over. In the thawed dirt,
   bits of green were showing.
   
   Come to me, said the world. I was standing
   in my wool coat at a kind of bright portal---
   I can finally say
   long ago; it gives me considerable pleasure. Beauty
   
   the healer, the teacher---
   
   death cannot harm me
   more than you have harmed me,
   my beloved life.
   
   
   
   4.
   
   The light has changed;
   middle C is tuned darker now.
   And the songs of morning sound over-rehearsed.
   
   This is the light of autumn, not the light of spring.
   The light of autumn: you will not be spared.
   
   The songs have changed; the unspeakable
   has entered them.
   
   This is the light of autumn, not the light that says
   I am reborn.
   
   Not the spring dawn: I strained, I suffered, I was delivered.
   This is the present, an allegory of waste.
   
   So much has changed. And still, you are fortunate:
   the ideal burns in you like a fever.
   Or not like a fever, like a second heart.
   
   The songs have changed, but really they are still quite beautiful.
   They have been concentrated in a smaller space, the space of the mind.
   They are dark, now, with desolation and anguish.
   
   And yet the notes recur. They hover oddly
   in anticipation of silence.
   The ear gets used to them.
   The eye gets used to disappearances.
   
   You will not be spared, nor will what you love be spared.
   
   A wind has come and gone, taking apart the mind;
   it has left in its wake a strange lucidity.
   
   How privileged you are, to be still passionately
   clinging to what you love;
   the forfeit of hope has not destroyed you.
   
   Maestoso, doloroso:
   This is the light of autumn; it has turned on us.
   Surely it is a privilege to approach the end
   still believing in something.
   
   5.
   
   It is true there is not enough beauty in the world.
   It is also true that I am not competent to restore it.
   Neither is there candor, and here I may be of some use.
   
   I am
   at work, though I am silent.
   
   The bland
   
   misery of the world
   bounds us on either side, an alley
   
   lined with trees; we are
   
   companions here, not speaking,
   each with his own thoughts;
   
   behind the trees, iron
   gates of the private houses,
   the shuttered rooms
   
   somehow deserted, abandoned,
   
   as though it were the artist's
   duty to create
   hope, but out of what? what?
   
   the word itself
   false, a device to refute
   perception---At the intersection,
   
   ornamental lights of the season.
   
   I was young here. Riding
   the subway with my small book
   as though to defend myself against
   
   this same world:
   
   you are not alone,
   the poem said,
   in the dark tunnel.
   
   6.
   
   The brightness of the day becomes
   the brightness of the night;
   the fire becomes the mirror.
   
   My friend the earth is bitter; I think
   sunlight has failed her.
   Bitter or weary, it is hard to say.
   
   Between herself and the sun,
   something has ended.
   She wants, now, to be left alone;
   I think we must give up
   turning to her for affirmation.
   
   Above the fields,
   above the roofs of the village houses,
   the brilliance that made all life possible
   becomes the cold stars.
   
   Lie still and watch:
   they give nothing but ask nothing.
   
   From within the earth’s
   bitter disgrace, coldness and barrenness
   
   my friend the moon rises:
   she is beautiful tonight, but when is she not beautiful?
  
  
  
流浪者珀尔塞福涅
   
   (选自 AVERNO (2006))
   作者:(美)露易丝.格丽克(Louise Glück)
   译者:剑郭琴符
   
   在第一个版本,珀尔塞福涅
   从她的母亲
   和大地女神被夺走
   惩罚大地---这与
   我们所知道的人类行为一致,
   
   人类对伤害,特别是
   无意识的伤害
   有着深刻的满足感:
   
   我们可以称之为
   消极创造。
   
   珀尔塞福涅最初
   在地狱的逗留持续
   被那些争吵
   处女感觉的学者们抓搔:
   
   她配合她的蹂躏,
   还是被下药,违背自己的意愿,
   就像现在经常发生的现代女孩。
   
   众所周知,至爱的归来
   并不能纠正
   所爱之人的失落:珀尔塞福涅
   
   像霍桑笔下的人物
   沾满红色的汁液
   回到家中---
   
   我不确定我会
   遵守这个词:大地是
   珀尔塞福涅的“家”吗?她在家里,可以理解为
   在神的床上吗?任何地方
   不是她的家吗?她是
   一个天生的流浪者,换言之
   是她自己母亲的
   存在复制品,较少
   受到因果关系观念的束缚?
   
   你获准不喜欢
   任何人,你知道。角色
   不是人。
   它们是困境或冲突的面貌。
   
   三个部分:正如灵魂被分割,
   自我,超我,本我。同样的
   
   已知世界的三个层次,
   一种把天空和地球和地狱
   分开的图表。
   
   你必须自问:
   哪里在下雪?
   
   遗忘的,
   亵渎的白色---
   
   大地上正在下雪;寒风说
   
   珀尔塞福涅正在地狱里做爱。
   和我们其他人不同,她不知道
   什么是冬天,只知道
   是她导致了它。
   
   她躺在哈德斯的床上。
   她在想什么?
   她害怕吗?有什么东西
   玷污了
   我的思想吗?
   
   她的确知道大地
   由母亲经营,这么多
   是确定的。她也知道
   她不再是所谓的
   女孩。关于
   监禁,她相信
   
   她从做女儿时起就一直是囚犯。
   
   为她准备的可怕的团聚
   将占去她的余生。
   当赎罪的热情
   是长期的,激烈的,你不会选择
   你的生活方式。你不能活,
   你不许死。
   
   你漂泊在大球和死亡之间
   它们最终看起来,
   奇怪地相似。学者们告诉我们
   
   当争夺你的势力
   可能会杀你时,
   知道你想要什么没有意义。
   
   遗忘的白色,
   安全的白色---
   
   他们说
   在人类的灵魂中有一个裂痕
   它没被建造得
   完全属于生命。大地
   
   要求我们否认这裂痕,一种
   伪装成暗示的威胁---
   正如我们在
   珀尔塞福涅的故事中所看到的
   它应该被解读为
   
   母亲和情人之间的争论---
   女儿只是肉。
   
   当死亡遭遇她时,她从未见过
   没有雏菊的草地。
   突然间,她不再
   唱她母亲
   美而多产的
   处女歌。裂痕
   在哪里,破坏就在哪里。
   
   大地之歌,
   永恒生命的神话视觉之歌---
   
   我的灵魂
   打碎了
   试图归属于大地的张力---
   
   轮到你在田间与神同在的时候,
   你将干什么?
  
  
  
Persephone the Wanderer
   
   
   
   In the first version, Persephone
   is taken from her mother
   and the goddess of the earth
   punishes the earth---this is
   consistent with what we know of human behavior,
   
   that human beings take profound satisfaction
   in doing harm, particularly
   unconscious harm:
   
   we may call this
   negative creation.
   
   Persephone’s initial
   sojourn in hell continues to be
   pawed over by scholars who dispute
   the sensations of the virgin:
   
   did she cooperate in her rape,
   or was she drugged, violated against her will,
   as happens so often now to modern girls.
   
   As is well known, the return of the beloved
   does not correct
   the loss of the beloved: Persephone
   
   returns home
   stained with red juice like
   a character in Hawthorne---
   
   I am not certain I will
   keep this word: is earth
   “home” to Persephone? Is she at home, conceivably
   in the bed of the god? Is she
   at home nowhere? Is she
   a born wanderer, in other words
   an existential
   replica of her own mother, less
   hamstrung by ideas of causality?
   
   You are allowed to like
   no one, you know. The characters
   are not people.
   They are aspects of a dilemma or conflict.
   
   Three parts: just as the soul is divided,
   ego, superego, id. Likewise
   
   the three levels of the known world,
   a kind of diagram that separates
   heaven from earth from hell.
   
   You must ask yourself:
   where is it snowing?
   
   White of forgetfulness,
   of desecration---
   
   It is snowing on earth; the cold wind says
   
   Persephone is having sex in hell.
   Unlike the rest of us, she doesn't know
   what winter is, only that
   she is what causes it.
   
   She is lying in the bed of Hades.
   What is in her mind?
   Is she afraid? Has something
   blotted out the idea
   of mind?
   
   She does know the earth
   is run by mothers, this much
   is certain. She also knows
   she is not what is called
   a girl any longer. Regarding
   incarceration, she believes
   
   she has been a prisoner since she has been a daughter.
   
   The terrible reunions in store for her
   will take up the rest of her life.
   When the passion for expiation
   is chronic, fierce, you do not choose
   the way you live. You do not live;
   you are not allowed to die.
   
   You drift between earth and death
   which seem, finally,
   strangely alike. Scholars tell us
   
   that there is no point in knowing what you want
   when the forces contending over you
   could kill you.
   
   White of forgetfulness,
   white of safety---
   
   They say
   there is a rift in the human soul
   which was not constructed to belong
   entirely to life. Earth
   
   asks us to deny this rift, a threat
   disguised as suggestion---
   as we have seen
   in the tale of Persephone
   which should be read
   
   as an argument between the mother and the lover---
   the daughter is just meat.
   
   When death confronts her, she has never seen
   the meadow without the daisies.
   Suddenly she is no longer
   singing her maidenly songs
   about her mother’s
   beauty and fecundity. Where
   the rift is, the break is.
   
   Song of the earth,
   song of the mythic vision of eternal life---
   
   My soul
   shattered with the strain
   of trying to belong to earth---
   
   What will you do,
   when it is your turn in the field with the god?
  
  

 楼主| 发表于 2020-11-18 13:37:14 | 显示全部楼层


棱镜

  (选自 AVERNO (2006))
  作者:(美)露易丝.格丽克(Louise Glück)
  译者:剑郭琴符

  1.

  谁能说出世界是什么?世界
  不断变化,因此
  无法阅读,风不断移动
  大板块在无形中移动和变化---

  2.

  污垢。起泡的
  岩石碎片。在它上面
  裸露的心建造了
  一座房子,记忆:花园
  易于管理,规模小,床
  在海边潮湿---

  3.

  当一个人接受
  一个敌人,通过这些窗口
  一个人接受
  这个世界:

  “这是厨房,这里是变黑的书房。”

  意味着:我是这里的主人。

  4

  我妹妹说,当你坠入爱河,
  就像被闪电击中。

  她满怀希望地说,
  以引起闪电的注意。

  我提醒她,她是在精确重复
  我们母亲的公式,那是她和我

  在童年时讨论过的,因为我们都觉得
  我们在成年人身上看到的

  不是闪电
  而是电椅的影响。

  5

  谜语:
  我妈妈为什么高兴?

  回答:
  她嫁给了我爸爸。

  6

  “姑娘们,”我妈妈说,“应该嫁给
  像你们爸爸那样的人。”

  这是一种意见。另一个是,
  “没有人能像你们爸爸。”

  7.

  从刺破的云层,稳定的银线。

  金缕梅
  不太可能的黄色,水星的纹理
  是河流的路径---

  接着又下雨,在潮湿的土地上
  擦去了脚印。
  暗含的路径,如
  没有十字路口的地图。

  8.

  言外之意是,必须抛弃
  童年。“结婚”这个词是个信号。
  你也可以把它当作审美建议;
  孩子的声音很烦人,
  它没有更低的音域。
  这个词是一个密码,神秘,就像罗塞塔石。
  这也是一个路标,一个警告。
  你可以带一些东西,比如嫁妆。
  你可以扮演你认为的角色。
  “结婚”意味着你应该保持沉默。

  9.

  夏天的一个晚上。外面,
  夏日暴风雨的声音。然后天晴。
  窗外,夏日的星座。

  我在床上。这个男人和我,
  我们悬浮在陌生平静的
  经常引诱的性爱中。大多数性引诱着。
  渴望,那是什么?欲望,那是什么?

  窗外,夏日的星座。
  曾经,我能命名它们。

  10.

  抽象的
  形状、图案。
  心灵之光。冷漠,严厉的
  漠不关心的火焰,奇怪地

  被泥土挡住,连贯一致,在空气
  和水里闪闪发光,

  精心设计的
  标志说,现在种植,现在收获---

  我可以命名它们,我有它们的名字:
  两个不同的东西。

  11.

  难以置信的事物,星星。
  当我还是个孩子,我患有失眠症。
  夏天的夜晚,我父母允许我坐在湖边;
  我把狗当伴。

  我说“受苦”?这就是我父母解释
  那些在他们看来
  难以解释的品味的方式:与其说“宁愿和狗一起生活”,不如说“受苦”

  黑暗。取消死亡的沉默。
  拴着的船起起落落。
  月圆时,我有时能读到
  画在船边的女孩名字:
  “露丝.安,亲爱的伊兹,佩吉,我亲爱的”---

  她们哪儿也不去,那些女孩。
  从她们什么也学不到。
  我把夹克衫铺在潮湿的沙滩上,
  狗蜷缩在我旁边。
  我的父母看不到我脑子里的生活;
  当我写下来,他们纠正拼写。

  湖的声音。慰籍的、非人的
  水拍打码头的声音,狗在杂草丛中
  扭打的声音---

  12.

  任务是坠入情网。
  细节由你决定。
  第二部分是
  在诗中包括某些词,
  这些词从一个特定的文本中提取
  关于另一个主题的整体。

  13.

  春雨,然后是夏天的一个晚上。
  男人的声音,然后是女人的声音。

  你长大了,被闪电击中。
  当你睁开眼睛,你永远与你的真爱相连。

  只发生过一次。然后你得到了照顾,
  你的故事结束。

  曾经发生过。受到打击就像接种疫苗;
  在你的余生中,你是免疫的,
  你是温暖和干燥的。

  除非冲击不够深。
  然后你没有接种疫苗,你中毒了。

  14.

  任务是坠入情网。
  作者是女性。
  自我必须被称为灵魂。

  动作发生在身体里。
  星星代表其他一切:梦、思想等。

  在一种自恋的投射中
  心爱的人被识别。
  思想是一个次要情节。它继续唠叨。

  时间的体验
  与其说是叙事,而不如说是仪式。
  重复的事物有重量。

  某些结局是悲惨的,因此可以接受。
  其他一切都失败了。

  15.

  欺骗。谎言。我们称之为假设的装饰---
  有太多的路,太多的版本。
  有太多的路,没有单程---
  在终点?

  16.

  列出“十字路口”的暗示。

  答案:一个有寓意的故事。

  举个反例:

  17.

  自我终结,世界开始。
  它们大小相等,
  相称,
  一个镜像另一个。

  18.

  谜语是:为什么我们不能活在头脑中。
  答案是:地球的屏障介入了。

  19.

  房间很安静。
  这就是说,房间很安静,但情侣们都在呼吸。

  同样的,夜晚漆黑一片。
  天很黑,但是星星闪闪发光。

  躺在床上的那个男人是我付出了心的
  几个男人中的一个。自我的天赋,
  那是无限的。
  无限,尽管它反复出现。

  房间里很安静。那是一个绝对的,
  就像黑色的夜晚。

  20.

  夏天的一个晚上。夏日暴风雨的声音。
  巨大的板块在无形中移动和变化---
  在黑暗的房间里,情侣们在彼此的怀抱中睡觉。

  我们,每一个人,都是第一个醒来,
  第一个搅拌并看见,在第一个黎明,
  陌生人。



Prism


  1.

  Who can say what the world is? The world
  is in flux, therefore
  unreadable, the winds shifting,
  the great plates invisibly shifting and changing---

  2.

  Dirt. Fragments
  of blistered rock. On which
  the exposed heart constructs
  a house, memory: the gardens
  manageable, small in scale, the beds
  damp at the sea’s edge---

  3.

  As one takes in
  an enemy, through these windows
  one takes in
  the world:

  here is the kitchen, here the darkened study.

  Meaning: I am master here.

  4.

  When you fall in love, my sister said,
  it's like being struck by lightning.

  She was speaking hopefully,
  to draw the attention of the lightning.

  I reminded her that she was repeating exactly
  our mother's formula, which she and I

  had discussed in childhood, because we both felt
  that what we were looking at in the adults

  were the effects not of lightning
  but of the electric chair.

  5.

  Riddle:
  Why was my mother happy?

  Answer:
  She married my father.

  6.

  “You girls,” my mother said, “should marry
  someone like your father.”

  That was one remark. Another was,
  “There is no one like your father.”

  7.

  From the pierced clouds, steady lines of silver.

  Unlikely
  yellow of the witch hazel, veins
  of mercury that were the paths of the rivers---

  Then the rain again, erasing
  footprints in the damp earth.
  An implied path, like
  a map without a crossroads.

  8.

  The implication was, it was necessary to abandon
  childhood. The word “marry” was a signal.
  You could also treat it as aesthetic advice;
  the voice of the child was tiresome,
  it had no lower register.
  The word was a code, mysterious, like the Rosetta stone.
  It was also a roadsign, a warning.
  You could take a few things with you like a dowry.
  You could take the part of you that thought.
  “Marry” meant you should keep that part quiet.

  9.

  A night in summer. Outside,
  sounds of a summer storm. Then the sky clearing.
  In the window, constellations of summer.

  I'm in a bed. This man and I,
  we are suspended in the strange calm
  sex often induces. Most sex induces.
  Longing, what is that? Desire, what is that?

  In the window, constellations of summer.
  Once, I could name them.

  10.

  Abstracted
  shapes, patterns.
  The light of the mind. The cold, exacting
  fires of disinterestedness, curiously

  blocked by earth, coherent, glittering
  in air and water,

  the elaborate
  signs that said now plant, now harvest---

  I could name them, I had names for them:
  two different things.

  11.

  Fabulous things, stars.
  When I was a child, I suffered from insomnia.
  Summer nights, my parents permitted me to sit by the lake;
  I took the dog for company.

  Did I say “suffered”? That was my parents' way of explaining
  tastes that seemed to them
  inexplicable: better “suffered” than “preferred to live with the dog.”

  Darkness. Silence that annulled mortality.
  The tethered boats rising and falling.
  When the moon was full, I could sometimes read the girls’ names
  painted to the sides of the boats:
  Ruth Ann, Sweet Izzy, Peggy My Darling---

  They were going nowhere, those girls.
  There was nothing to be learned from them.
  I spread my jacket in the damp sand,
  the dog curled up beside me.
  My parents couldn't see the life in my head;
  when I wrote it down, they fixed the spelling.

  Sounds of the lake. The soothing, inhuman
  sounds of water lapping the dock, the dog scuffling somewhere
  in the weeds---

  12.

  The assignment was to fall in love.
  The details were up to you.
  The second part was
  to include in the poem certain words,
  words drawn from a specific text
  on another subject altogether.

  13.

  Spring rain, then a night in summer.
  A man's voice, then a woman's voice.

  You grew up, you were struck by lightning.
  When you opened your eyes, you were wired forever to your true love.

  It only happened once. Then you were taken care of,
  your story was finished.

  It happened once. Being struck was like being vaccinated;
  the rest of your life you were immune,
  you were warm and dry.

  Unless the shock wasn't deep enough.
  Then you weren't vaccinated, you were addicted.

  14.

  The assignment was to fall in love.
  The author was female.
  The ego had to be called the soul.

  The action took place in the body.
  Stars represented everything else: dreams, the mind, etc.

  The beloved was identified
  with the self in a narcissistic projection.
  The mind was a subplot. It went nattering on.

  Time was experienced
  less as narrative than ritual.
  What was repeated had weight.

  Certain endings were tragic, thus acceptable.
  Everything else was failure.

  15.

  Deceit. Lies. Embellishments we call hypotheses---
  There were too many roads, too many versions.
  There were too many roads, no one path---
  And at the end?

  16.

  List the implications of “crossroads.”

  Answer: a story that will have a moral.

  Give a counter-example:

  17.

  The self ended and the world began.
  They were of equal size,
  commensurate,
  one mirrored the other.

  18.

  The riddle was: why couldn't we live in the mind.
  The answer was: the barrier of the earth intervened.

  19.

  The room was quiet.
  That is, the room was quiet, but the lovers were breathing.

  In the same way, the night was dark.
  It was dark, but the stars shone.

  The man in bed was one of several men
  to whom I gave my heart. The gift of the self,
  that is without limit.
  Without limit, though it recurs.

  The room was quiet. It was an absolute,
  like the black night.

  20.

  A night in summer. Sounds of a summer storm.
  The great plates invisibly shifting and changing---
  And in the dark room, the lovers sleeping in each other's arms.

  We are, each of us, the one who wakens first,
  who stirs first and sees, there in the first dawn,
  the stranger.





火山口湖

  (选自 AVERNO (2006))
  作者:(美)露易丝.格丽克(Louise Glück)
  译者:剑郭琴符

  有一场善与恶的战争。
  我们决定称身体是善的。

  这让死亡变得邪恶。
  它使灵魂
  完全反抗死亡。

  就像一个步兵想
  为一个伟大的勇士服务,灵魂
  想和身体站在一起。

  它转向反对黑暗,
  对抗它所认识的
  死亡形式。

  这些声音从何而来:
  说假设战争
  是邪恶的,说

  假设肉体对我们做了这些,
  让我们害怕爱---



Crater Lake


  There was a war between good and evil.
  We decided to call the body good.

  That made death evil.
  It turned the soul
  against death completely.

  Like a foot soldier wanting
  to serve a great warrior, the soul
  wanted to side with the body.

  It turned against the dark,
  against the forms of death
  it recognized.

  Where does the voice come from
  that says suppose the war
  is evil, that says

  suppose the body did this to us,
  made us afraid of love---






 楼主| 发表于 2020-11-18 13:42:33 | 显示全部楼层

回声

  (选自 AVERNO (2006))
  作者:(美)露易丝.格丽克(Louise Glück)
  译者:剑郭琴符

  1.

  一旦我能想象我的灵魂
  我就能想象我的死亡。
  当我想象我的死亡
  我的灵魂死了。这个
  我记得很清楚。

  我的身体持续着。
  不是繁荣,而是持续。
  为什么我不知道。

  2.

  当我还很小时
  我的父母搬到了一个
  被群山环绕的小山谷里
  这个地方被称为湖区。
  从我们的厨房花园
  你可以看到群山,
  被雪覆盖,即使夏天。

  我记得那种
  我再也不知道的和平。

  晚些时候,我自己承担起
  成为一名艺术家的责任,
  把这些印象表达出来。

  3.

  其余的我已经告诉过你。
  几年娴熟,然后是
  漫长的沉默,就像在山谷里的寂静
  在山峦送回
  你自己的声音变成大自然的声音之前。
  这种沉默现在是我的伴侣。
  我问:“我的灵魂死于什么?”
  沉默回答道

  “如果你的灵魂死了,你
  活在谁的生命里,你
  什么时候变成了那个人?”



Echoes


  1.

  Once I could imagine my soul
  I could imagine my death.
  When I imagined my death
  my soul died. This
  I remember clearly.

  My body persisted.
  Not thrived, but persisted.
  Why I do not know.

  2.

  When I was still very young
  my parents moved to a small valley
  surrounded by mountains
  in what was called the lake country.
  From our kitchen garden
  you could see the mountains,
  snow covered, even in summer.

  I remember peace of a kind
  I never knew again.

  Somewhat later, I took it upon myself
  to become an artist,
  to give voice to these impressions.

  3.

  The rest I have told you already.
  A few years of fluency, and then
  the long silence, like the silence in the valley
  before the mountains send back
  your own voice changed to the voice of nature.
  This silence is my companion now.
  I ask: of what did my soul die?
  and the silence answers

  if your soul died, whose life
  are you living and
  when did you become that person?





赋格曲

  (选自 AVERNO (2006))
  作者:(美)露易丝.格丽克(Louise Glück)
  译者:剑郭琴符

  1.

  我是那个男人,因为我更高。
  我妹妹决定我们什么时候吃饭。
  有时候,她会有个孩子。

  2.

  然后我的灵魂出现。
  你是谁,我说。
  我的灵魂说,我是你的灵魂,迷人的陌生人。

  3.

  我们死去的姐姐
  在等待,在我母亲的脑海里没有被发现。
  我们死去的姐姐既不是
  男人也不是女人。她就像一个灵魂。

  4.

  我的灵魂被收:
  它依附于一个男人。
  不是一个真正的男人,我假装的
  那个男人,和我妹妹玩。

  5.

  它又回到我---躺在沙发上
  更新我的记忆。
  我的记忆就像一个装满旧文件的地下室:
  什么都没有改变。

  6.

  我做了一个梦:我妈妈从一棵树上掉下来。
  她倒下后,那棵树就死了:
  它已经超过了它的职责。
  我母亲安然无恙---她的箭消失了,她的翅膀
  变成了武器。火生物:射手座。她发现自己置身其中---

  郊区花园。它又回到了我。

  7.

  我把书放在一边。什么是灵魂?
  在旗杆上
  旗子飘扬得太高,如果你明白我的意思。

  身体
  蜷缩在梦幻般的灌木丛中。

  8.

  “好吧,我们来这儿做点什么。”

  (带着德国口音。)

  9.

  我做了一个梦:我们在战争中。
  我妈妈把她的弩丢在高高的草丛里。

  (射手座,弓箭手)

  我的童年,对我永远封闭,
  像秋天的花园一样变成金色,
  覆盖着一层厚厚的盐沼干草。

  10.

  金弓:战时有用的礼物。

  它有多重---没有一个孩子能把它捡起来。

  除了我:我可以把它捡起来。

  11.

  然后我受伤了。弓
  现在成了竖琴,琴弦深深地刺进了
  我的手掌。在梦中

  它既制造伤口又封住伤口。

  12.

  我的童年:离我很近。它或者
  在覆盖物下——肥沃。

  但是非常黑暗。非常隐蔽。

  13.

  在黑暗中,我的灵魂说
  我是你的灵魂。

  没有人能看见我;只有你——
  只有你能看见我。

  14.

  它说,你必须相信我。

  意味着:如果你移动竖琴,
  你会流血而死。

  15.

  为什么我不能喊出来?

  我应该写“我的手在流血”,
  感觉痛苦和恐惧---我
  在梦里感觉到的,就像战争的意外事故。

  16.

  它又回到了我。

  梨树。苹果树。

  我曾经坐在那里
  从我的心脏里拔出箭来。

  17.

  然后我的灵魂出现。上面写着
  就像没人能看见我,没人
  可以看到血。

  还有:没人能看见竖琴。

  然后它说
  我可以救你。意味着
  “这是一个测试。”

  18.

  “你”是谁?比如

  “你厌倦了无形的痛苦?”

  19.

  就像一只封闭在阳光下的小鸟:

  那是我的童年。

  20.

  我是那个男人,因为我更高。

  但我个子不高---
  我没照镜子吗?

  21.

  托儿所的寂静,
  咨询的花园。然后:

  “竖琴暗示什么?”

  22.

  我知道你想要什么---
  你想要奥菲斯,你想要死亡。

  奥菲斯说“帮我找到欧律狄刻。”

  然后音乐开始,灵魂
  看着肉体消失的悲叹声。



Fugue


  1.

  I was the man because I was taller.
  My sister decided when we should eat.
  From time to time, she’d have a baby.

  2.

  Then my soul appeared.
  Who are you, I said.
  And my soul said,I am your soul, the winsome stranger.

  3.

  Our dead sister
  waited, undiscovered in my mother's head.
  Our dead sister was neither
  a man nor a woman. She was like a soul.

  4.

  My soul was taken in:
  it attached itself to a man.
  Not a real man, the man
  I pretended to be, playing with my sister.

  5.

  It is coming back to me---lying on the couch
  has refreshed my memory.
  My memory is like a basement filled with old papers:
  nothing ever changes.

  6.

  I had a dream: my mother fell out of a tree.
  After she fell, the tree died:
  it had outlived its function.
  My mother was unharmed---her arrows disappeared, her wings
  turned into arms. Fire creature: Sagittarius. She finds herself in---

  a suburban garden. It is coming back to me.

  7.

  I put the book aside. What is a soul?
  A flag flown
  too high on the pole, if you know what I mean.
  The body
  cowers in the dreamlike underbrush.

  8.

  Well, we are here to do something about that.
  (In a German accent.)

  9.

  I had a dream:we are at war.
  My mother leaves her crossbow in the high grass.

  (Sagittarius, the archer.)

  My childhood, closed to me forever,
  turned gold like an autumn garden,
  mulched with a thick layer of salt marsh hay.

  10.

  A golden bow: a useful gift in wartime.

  How heavy it was---no child could pick it up.

  Except me: I could pick it up.

  11.

  Then I was wounded. The bow
  was now a harp, its string cutting
  deep into my palm. In the dream

  it both makes the wound and seals the wound.

  12.

  My childhood: closed to me. Or is it
  under the mulch---fertile.

  But very dark. Very hidden.

  13.

  In the dark, my soul said
  I am your soul.

  No one can see me; only you---
  only you can see me.

  14.

  And it said, you must trust me.

  Meaning: if you move the harp,
  you will bleed to death.

  15.

  Why can't I cry out?

  I should be writing my hand is bleeding,
  feeling pain and terror---what
  I felt in the dream,as a casualty of war.

  16.

  It is coming back to me.

  Pear tree. Apple tree.

  I used to sit there
  pulling arrows out of my heart.

  17.

  Then my soul appeared. It said
  just as no one can see me,no one
  can see the blood.

  Also: no one can see the harp.

  Then it said
  I can save you. Meaning
  this is a test.

  18.

  Who is “you”? As in

  “Are you tired of invisible pain?”

  19.

  Like a small bird sealed off from daylight:

  that was my childhood.

  20.

  I was the man because I was taller.

  But I wasn't tall---
  didn’t I ever look in a mirror?

  21.

  Silence in the nursery,
  the consulting garden. Then:

  What does the harp suggest?

  22.

  I know what you want---
  you want Orpheus, you want death.

  Orpheus who said “Help me find Eurydice.”

  Then the music began, the lament of the soul
  watching the body vanish.





 楼主| 发表于 2020-11-19 11:59:27 | 显示全部楼层
本帖最后由 剑郭琴符 于 2020-11-19 12:03 编辑



  
晚星

  (选自 AVERNO (2006))
  作者:(美)露易丝.格丽克(Louise Glück)
  译者:剑郭琴符

  第二部

  晚星

  今晚,许多年来第一次,
  我似乎再次看到了
  大地的壮丽景象:

  在夜空中
  第一颗星星似乎
  增加了亮度
  当大地变黑

  直到最后它再也不能变得更暗。
  那光,是死亡之光,
  似乎恢复了它的力量

  安慰地球。没有
  别的星星。只有那个
  我知道名字的

  就像我在前世
  伤害了她:金星,
  傍晚星,

  我把我的视觉
  奉献给你,因为在这个空白的表面上

  你已经投下了足够的光
  使我的思想
  再次可见。
  
  

  






II

  The Evening Star//


  Tonight, for the first time in many years,
  there appeared to me again
  a vision of the earth’s splendor:

  in the evening sky
  the first star seemed
  to increase in brilliance
  as the earth darkened

  until at last it could grow no darker.
  And the light, which was the light of death,
  seemed to restore to earth

  its power to console. There were
  no other stars. Only the one
  whose name I knew

  as in my other life I did her
  injury: Venus,
  star of the early evening,

  to you I dedicate
  my vision, since on this blank surface

  you have cast enough light
  to make my thought
  visible again.
  
  



  
景观
  ---献给基思.蒙利

  (选自 AVERNO (2006))
  作者:(美)露易丝.格丽克(Louise Glück)
  译者:剑郭琴符

  1.

  太阳在山后沉没,
  大地在冷却。
  一个陌生人把他的马拴在一棵光秃秃的栗树上。
  马很安静---他突然转过头,
  听到,远处,海水的声音。

  我在这里铺床过夜,
  把我最厚的被子铺在潮湿的地上。

  大海的声音---
  当马转头时,我能听见它。

  在一条穿过光秃秃的栗树的小路上,
  一只小狗跟着它的主人。

  那只小狗---他没经常冲在前面,
  拉紧皮带,好像要向主人展示
  他看到的,未来在那儿的---

  未来,这条路,你将称呼它什么。

  树林后面,日落时,仿佛两座山之间
  正在燃烧着一场大火
  因此,最高悬崖上的雪
  似乎,瞬间,也在燃烧。

  听着:在路的尽头,那个男人在大喊。
  他的声音现在变得很奇怪,
  一个人在呼唤他看不见东西的声音。

  他在黑暗的栗树丛中一遍又一遍地喊叫。

  直到动物发出
  微弱的反应,从很远的地方,
  好像我们害怕的这东西
  并不可怕。

  暮光之城:陌生人解开了他的马。

  大海的声音---
  现在只是记忆。

  2.

  时间流逝,一切都变成了冰。
  在冰下,未来被搅动。
  如果你掉进去,你就死了。

  这是一个
  等待的,一个行动暂停的时期。

  我生活在现在,这是
  你可以看到的未来的一部分。
  往事浮在我的头顶,
  像太阳和月亮,看得见,却永远摸不着。

  那是一个被矛盾支配的
  时代,因为在那时
  “我什么也感觉不到
  我害怕。”

  冬天把树倒空了,又给它们灌满了雪。
  因为我感觉不到,雪下落,湖面冻结。
  因为害怕,我一动不动;
  我的呼吸是白色的,一种沉默的描述。

  时间流逝,有些变成了这样。
  有些只是蒸发了;
  你可以看到它漂浮在白色的树上
  形成冰的微粒。

  你的一辈子,你都在等待这个吉祥的时间。
  然后,这吉祥的时间
  会显露出它带来的行动。
  我看着过去的移动,一排云
  从左到右或从右到左移动,
  这取决于风。有些日子

  没有风。云似乎
  停留在原来的地方,
  像一幅大海的画,比真实的更静。

  有些日子,湖面是一片玻璃。
  在玻璃下,未来发出
  庄严,诱人的声音:
  为了不去听,你不得不拉紧自己。

  时间流逝,你必须看到它的一片。
  它接受的那些年是冬天的岁月,
  它们不会被错过。有些日子

  没有云,仿佛
  过去的源头已经消失。世界

  被漂白,像一张底片;光直接
  穿过它。然后
  图像消失。

  世界之上
  只有蓝色,到处都是蓝色。

  3.

  在深秋,一个小女孩放火烧了一片
  麦田。秋天

  一直非常干燥,田野
  像火绒上升。

  后来什么也没留下。
  你走过它,你什么也看不见。

  捡不到,闻不到任何东西。
  马不明白这个---

  它们似乎在说,田地在哪里。
  其方式就像你和我说
  家在哪里。

  没人知道该怎么回答它们。
  什么都没有留下;
  你得希望,看在农民的份上,
  保险能支付。

  就像失去了生命中的一年。
  你会失去你生命中的一年的什么?

  然后,你回到原来的地方---
  剩下的一切是炭:黑暗和空虚。

  你想:我怎么能住在这里?

  但那时就不同了,
  甚至在去年夏天。地球表现得

  好像什么都不会出问题。
  只需要一场比赛。
  但要在正确的时间---必须是正确的时间。

  田野焦渴,干枯---
  可以说
  死亡已经就位。

  4.

  我在河里睡着了,我在河里醒来,
  关于我
  无法死亡的神秘,我什么也不能
  告诉你,无论
  是谁救了我,还是因为什么原因---

  无边无际的寂静。
  没有风。没有人的声音。
  辛酸的世纪

  结束了,
  光荣离去,永恒离去,

  寒冷的太阳
  作为一种好奇心持续着,一种纪念品,
  时间流淌在它身后---

  天空似乎非常晴朗,
  就像在冬天,
  土壤干燥,荒芜,

  官方的光平静地
  穿过空气中的缝隙
  庄严、自满、
  消解希望,
  使未来的形象服从于未来逝去的迹象---

  我想我一定是摔倒了。
  当我试着站起来,我不得不强迫自己,
  因为我不习惯身体上的疼痛---

  我忘了
  这些条件多么严酷:

  大地没有废弃
  但依然,河水冰冷,浅---

  关于我的睡眠,我什么
  都不记得。当我喊叫时,
  我的声音出乎意料地安慰了我。

  在意识的沉默中,我问自己:
  为什么我拒绝我的生命?我回答道:
  “大地制服了我。”

  我试图在这个描述中保持准确,
  以防别人跟踪我。我可以证实
  当太阳在冬天落山时,它
  无与伦比的美,它的记忆
  会持续很长时间。我想这意味着

  没有夜晚。
  夜晚在我脑海中。

  5.

  太阳落山后,
  我们骑得很快,希望能在天黑之前
  找到栖身之所。

  我已经可以看到星星,
  首先是东方的天空:

  因此,我们骑马
  离开了光,
  朝向大海,因为
  我听说那里有一个村庄。

  过了一段时间,开始下雪。
  一开始不厚,后来
  稳定下来,直到大地
  被一层白色薄膜覆盖。

  当我转头时
  我们的旅行方式清晰地展现——
  在很短的一段时间里,它在
  大地上形成了一条黑暗的轨迹---

  然后雪很厚,小路消失了。
  马又累又饿;
  他再也找不到
  可靠的立足点。我告诉自己:

  我以前迷路了,我以前很冷。
  黑夜就这样来到我的眼前
  正是这种方式,就像一个预兆---

  我想:如果我被要求
  回到这里,我会像人一样
  回来,我的马

  会保持原样。否则
  我不知道如何开始。
  
  

  
Landscape
  ---for Keith Monley



  1.

  The sun is setting behind the mountains,
  the earth is cooling.
  A stranger has tied his horse to a bare chestnut tree.
  The horse is quiet---he turns his head suddenly,
  hearing, in the distance, the sound of the sea.

  I make my bed for the night here,
  spreading my heaviest quilt over the damp earth.

  The sound of the sea---
  when the horse turns its head, I can hear it.

  On a path through the bare chestnut trees,
  a little dog trails its master.

  The little dog ---didn’t he used to rush ahead,
  straining the leash, as though to show his master
  what he sees there, there in the future---

  the future, the path, call it what you will.

  Behind the trees, at sunset, it is as though a great fire
  is burning between two mountains
  so that the snow on the highest precipice
  seems, for a moment, to be burning also.

  Listen: at the path's end the man is calling out.
  His voice has become very strange now,
  the voice of a person calling to what he can’t see.

  Over and over he calls out among the dark chestnut trees.

  Until the animal responds
  faintly, from a great distance,
  as though this thing we fear
  were not terrible.

  Twilight: the stranger has untied his horse.

  The sound of the sea---
  just memory now.

  2.

  Time passed, turning everything to ice.
  Under the ice, the future stirred.
  If you fell into it, you died.

  It was a time
  of waiting, of suspended action.

  I lived in the present, which was
  that part of the future you could see.
  The past floated above my head,
  like the sun and moon, visible but never reachable.

  It was a time
  governed by contradictions, as in
  I felt nothing and
  I was afraid.

  Winter emptied the trees, filled them again with snow.
  Because I couldn't feel, snow fell, the lake froze over.
  Because I was afraid, I didn't move;
  my breath was white, a description of silence.

  Time passed, and some of it became this.
  And some of it simply evaporated;
  you could see it float above the white trees
  forming particles of ice.

  All your life, you wait for the propitious time.
  Then the propitious time
  reveals itself as action taken.
  I watched the past move, a line of clouds moving
  from left to right or right to left,
  depending on the wind. Some days

  there was no wind. The clouds seemed
  to stay where they were,
  like a painting of the sea, more still than real.

  Some days the lake was a sheet of glass.
  Under the glass, the future made
  demure, inviting sounds:
  you had to tense yourself so as not to listen.

  Time passed; you got to see a piece of it.
  The years it took with it were years of winter;
  they would not be missed. Some days

  there were no clouds, as though
  the sources of the past had vanished. The world

  was bleached, like a negative; the light passed
  directly through it. Then
  the image faded.

  Above the world
  there was only blue, blue everywhere.

  3.

  In late autumn a young girl set fire to a field
  of wheat. The autumn

  had been very dry; the field
  went up like tinder.

  Afterward there was nothing left.
  You walk through it, you see nothing.

  There's nothing to pick up, to smell.
  The horses don’t understand it---

  Where is the field, they seem to say.
  The way you and I would say
  where is home.

  No one knows how to answer them.
  There is nothing left;
  you have to hope, for the farmer's sake,
  the insurance will pay.

  It is like losing a year of your life.
  To what would you lose a year of your life?

  Afterward, you go back to the old place---
  all that remains is char: blackness and emptiness.

  You think: how could I live here?

  But it was different then,
  even last summer. The earth behaved

  as though nothing could go wrong with it.
  One match was all it took.
  But at the right time---it had to be the right time.

  The field parched, dry---
  the deadness in place already
  so to speak.

  4.

  I fell asleep in a river, I woke in a river,
  of my mysterious
  failure to die I can tell you
  nothing, neither
  who saved me nor for what cause---

  There was immense silence.
  No wind. No human sound.
  The bitter century

  was ended,
  the glorious gone, the abiding gone,

  the cold sun
  persisting as a kind of curiosity, a memento,
  time streaming behind it---

  The sky seemed very clear,
  as it is in winter,
  the soil dry, uncultivated,

  the official light calmly
  moving through a slot in air
  dignified, complacent,
  dissolving hope,
  subordinating images of the future to signs of the future's passing---

  I think I must have fallen.
  When I tried to stand, I had to force myself,
  being unused to physical pain---

  I had forgotten
  how harsh these conditions are:

  the earth not obsolete
  but still, the river cold, shallow---

  Of my sleep, I remember
  nothing. When I cried out,
  my voice soothed me unexpectedly.

  In the silence of consciousness I asked myself:
  why did I reject my life? And I answer
  Die Erde uberwaltigt mich:
  the earth defeats me.

  I have tried to be accurate in this description
  in case someone else should follow me. I can verify
  that when the sun sets in winter it is
  incomparably beautiful and the memory of it
  lasts a long time. I think this means

  there was no night.
  The night was in my head.

  5.

  After the sun set
  we rode quickly, in the hope of finding
  shelter before darkness.

  I could see the stars already,
  first in the eastern sky:

  we rode, therefore,
  away from the light
  and toward the sea, since
  I had heard of a village there.

  After some time, the snow began.
  Not thickly at first, then
  steadily until the earth
  was covered with a white film.

  The way we traveled showed
  clearly when I turned my head---
  for a short while it made
  a dark trajectory across the earth---

  Then the snow was thick, the path vanished.
  The horse was tired and hungry;
  he could no longer find
  sure footing anywhere. I told myself:

  I have been lost before, I have been cold before.
  The night has come to me
  exactly this way, as a premonition---

  And I thought: if I am asked
  to return here, I would like to come back
  as a human being, and my horse

  to remain himself. Otherwise
  I would not know how to begin again.

  
  



  
纯真的神话

  (选自 AVERNO (2006))
  作者:(美)露易丝.格丽克(Louise Glück)
  译者:剑郭琴符

  一个夏天,她像往常一样走进田野
  在游泳池边停了一会儿,在那里她经常
  看着自己,看看
  是否发现了什么变化。她看到的
  是同一个人,可怕的
  女儿般的斗篷仍然紧贴着她。

  太阳似乎,在水里,很近。
  那又是我叔叔在监视,她想——
  自然界中的一切在某种程度上都与她有关。
  “我从不孤单”,她想,
  把这种想法变成了祈祷。
  然后死亡出现,就像祈祷的答案。

  再也没有人知道
  他多么美。但珀尔塞福涅记得。
  他还拥抱了她,就在那里,
  她的叔叔看着。她记得
  阳光照在他赤裸的胳膊上。

  这是她清楚记得的最后一刻。
  然后黑暗之神赢得她。

  她还记得,不太清楚地,
  那一刻令人恐惧的洞察
  没有他她再也不能活。

  从游泳池里消失的女孩
  永远不会回来。一个女人会回来,
  寻找她所是的女孩。

  她站在池边说,不时,
  “我被诱拐”,但这听起来
  对于她来说错了,完全不像她的感受。
  然后她说,“我没被诱拐”。

  然后她说,“我奉献自己,我想
  逃离我的身体”。甚至,有时,
  “我自愿如此。”但无知

  不能希望知识。无知
  希望一些想象出来的东西,它相信它存在。

  所有不同的名词---
  她轮流说。
  “死亡,丈夫,上帝,陌生人。”
  一切听起来都那么简单,那么传统。
  她想,我一定是个单纯的女孩。

  她不记得自己是那个人
  但她一直在想游泳池会记住
  并向她解释她的祈祷的意义
  这样她就可以理解
  它是否得到了回应。
  
  

  
A Myth of Innocence


  One summer she goes into the field as usual
  stopping for a bit at the pool where she often
  looks at herself, to see
  if she detects any changes. She sees
  the same person, the horrible mantle
  of daughterliness still clinging to her.

  The sun seems, in the water, very close.
  That's my uncle spying again, she thinks---
  everything in nature is in some way her relative.
  I am never alone, she thinks,
  turning the thought into a prayer.
  Then death appears, like the answer to a prayer.

  No one understands anymore
  how beautiful he was. But Persephone remembers.
  Also that he embraced her, right there,
  with her uncle watching. She remembers
  sunlight flashing on his bare arms.

  This is the last moment she remembers clearly.
  Then the dark god bore her away.

  She also remembers, less clearly,
  the chilling insight that from this moment
  she couldn't live without him again.

  The girl who disappears from the pool
  will never return. A woman will return,
  looking for the girl she was.

  She stands by the pool saying, from time to time,
  I was abducted, but it sounds
  wrong to her, nothing like what she felt.
  Then she says, I was not abducted.

  Then she says, I offered myself, I wanted
  to escape my body. Even, sometimes,
  I willed this. But ignorance

  cannot will knowledge. Ignorance
  wills something imagined, which it believes exists.

  All the different nouns---
  she says them in rotation.
  Death, husband, god, stranger.
  Everything sounds so simple, so conventional.
  I must have been, she thinks, a simple girl.

  She can't remember herself as that person
  but she keeps thinking the pool will remember
  and explain to her the meaning of her prayer
  so she can understand
  whether it was answered or not.


  
  


 楼主| 发表于 2020-11-20 13:24:11 | 显示全部楼层
  
古老的碎片
  ---献给达娜.莱文
  
  (选自 AVERNO (2006))
  作者:(美)露易丝.格丽克(Louise Glück)
  译者:剑郭琴符
  
  我试着去爱物质。
  镜子上贴着我的签名:
  你不能憎恨物质,爱形式。
  
  一个很美的白天,虽然很冷。
  对我来说,这是一种过分情绪化的姿态。
  
  ……你的诗:
  试过了,但不能。
  
  我在第一个签名上贴了个签名:
  喊,哭,打你自己,撕破你的衣服---
  
  爱的东西的清单:
  泥土,食物,贝壳,人的头发。
  
  ……说
  无味的过量。然后我
  
  出租签名。
  
  签名哭着
  裸体的镜子。
  
  
  
Archaic Fragment
  —for Dana Levin
  
  
  
  I was trying to love matter.
  I taped a sign over the mirror:
  You cannot hate matter and love form.
  
  It was a beautiful day, though cold.
  This was, for me, an extravagantly emotional gesture.
  
  ..........your poem:
  tried, but could not.
  
  I taped a sign over the first sign:
  Cry, weep, thrash yourself, rend your garments---
  
  List of things to love:
  dirt, food, shells, human hair.
  
  ..........said
  tasteless excess. Then I
  
  rent the signs.
  
  AIAIAIAI cried
  the naked mirror.
  
  
  
  
蓝色圆形大厅
  
  (选自 AVERNO (2006))
  作者:(美)露易丝.格丽克(Louise Glück)
  译者:剑郭琴符
  
  我厌倦了有手
  她说
  我想要翅膀---
  
  但是如果没有你作为人类的手
  你会干什么?
  
  我厌倦了人类
  她说
  我要靠阳光过活---
  
  
  指着她自己:
  
  不是这里。
  这个地方
  不够温暖。
  蓝色的天空,蓝色的冰
  
  蓝色的圆形大厅
  从平坦的街道
  升起---
  
  然后,在沉默之后:
  
  
  我想
  找回我的心
  我想再次感受一切---
  
  这就是
  太阳的意思:它意味着
  焦灼---
  
  
  这不是最后的
  有趣的回忆。损害
  
  并不有趣。
  当时认识我的人
  没有一个还活着。
  
  我妈妈
  是一个漂亮的女人---
  他们都这么说。
  
  我必须想象
  她说的
  每件事
  
  我必须表现得
  好像真的
  有张地图指向那个地方:
  
  “当你还是个孩子”---
  
  
  然后:
  我来这里
  是因为这不是真的,我
  
  “扭曲了它”---
  
  
  我想要她说
  一个解释一切的
  原理
  
  在妈妈的眼里
  看不见的
  箔片
  
  蓝色的冰
  锁在虹膜里---
  
  那么:
  我希望这是
  我的错
  她说
  这样我就能处理它---
  
  
  蓝天,蓝冰,
  街道像一条冰冻的河
  
  你正在谈
  我的生活
  她说
  
  除了
  她说
  你必须按正确的顺序
  
  把它固定
  不要碰父亲
  直到你解答了母亲
  
  
  一个黑色的空格
  显示了
  单词的结尾
  
  像一个纵横字谜说
  你现在应该呼吸
  
  黑色的空间意味着
  “当你还是个孩子”---
  
  
  那么:
  
  冰
  是为了在那儿保护你自己
  
  教你
  不要感觉---
  
  事实
  她说
  
  我以为它会像
  一个目标,你会看到
  
  中心---
  
  
  冷光充满了房间。
  
  我知道我们在哪里
  她说
  那是我
  小时候的窗户
  
  那是我的第一个家,她说
  那方盒子---
  前进着笑着。
  
  就像在我的脑袋里面:
  你可以看到外面
  但你不能出去---
  
  
  试想
  
  太阳就在那里,在那个赤裸的地方
  
  冬天的太阳
  不够近到够着
  孩子们的心
  
  阳光说
  “你可以看到外面
  但你不能出去”
  
  它说,这里,
  这里是一切所属于的地方
  
  
  
Blue Rotunda
  
  
  I am tired of having hands
  she said
  I want wings---
  
  But what will you do without your hands
  to be human?
  
  I am tired of human
  she said
  I want to live on the sun---
  
  
  Pointing to herself:
  
  Not here.
  There is not enough
  warmth in this place.
  Blue sky, blue ice
  
  the blue rotunda
  lifted over
  the flat street---
  
  And then, after a silence:
  
  
  I want
  my heart back
  I want to feel everything again---
  
  That’s what
  the sun meant: it meant
  scorched---
  
  
  It is not finally
  interesting to remember.
  The damage
  
  is not interesting.
  No one who knew me then
  is still alive.
  
  My mother
  was a beautiful woman---
  they all said so.
  
  I have to imagine
  everything
  she said
  
  I have to act
  as though there is actually
  a map to that place:
  
  when you were a child---
  
  
  And then:
  I'm here
  because it wasn’t true; I
  
  distorted it---
  
  I want she said
  a theory that explains
  everything
  
  in the mother’s eye
  the invisible
  splinter of foil
  
  the blue ice
  locked in the iris---
  
  
  Then:
  I want it
  to be my fault
  she said
  so I can fix it---
  
  
  Blue sky, blue ice,
  street like a frozen river
  
  you’re talking
  about my life
  she said
  
  except
  she said
  you have to fix
  
  it in the right order
  not touching the father
  until you solve the mother
  
  
  a black space
  showing
  where the word ends
  
  like a crossword saying
  you should take a breath now
  
  the black space meaning
  when you were a child---
  
  
  And then:
  
  the ice
  was there for your own protection
  
  to teach you
  not to feel---
  
  the truth
  she said
  
  I thought it would be like
  a target, you would see
  
  the center---
  
  
  Cold light filling the room.
  
  I know where we are
  she said
  that’s the window
  when I was a child
  
  That's my first home, she said
  that square box---
  go ahead and laugh.
  
  Like the inside of my head:
  you can see out
  but you can’t go out---
  
  
  Just think
  
  the sun was there, in that bare place
  
  the winter sun
  not close enough to reach
  the children’s hearts
  
  the light saying
  you can see out
  but you can't go out
  
  Here, it says,
  here is where everything belongs
  
  
  
  
  
奉献的神话
  
  (选自 AVERNO (2006))
  作者:(美)露易丝.格丽克(Louise Glück)
  译者:剑郭琴符
  
  当哈德斯决定爱这个女孩
  他为她建造了一个地球的复制品,
  一切都一样,一直延伸到草地,
  只是加了一张床。
  
  一切都一样,包括阳光,
  因为这对一个年轻的女孩来说,很难
  如此迅速地从光明走向完全的黑暗。
  
  渐渐地,他想,他会介绍夜晚,
  首先是树叶飘动的影子。
  然后是月亮,然后是星星。然后没有月亮,没有星星。
  让珀尔塞福涅慢慢习惯。
  最后,他想,她会发现很舒服。
  
  一个地球的复制品
  除了这里有爱。
  不是每个人都想要爱吗?
  
  他等了很多年,
  建立了一个世界,在草地上
  看着珀尔塞福涅。
  珀尔塞福涅,一个闻者,一个试味员。
  如果你有一个欲望,他想,
  你就有它们的一切。
  
  难道不是每个人都想在夜晚感受到
  心爱的身体,指南针,北极星,
  听到安静的呼吸声说
  “我活着”,那意味着
  你也活着,因为你听到了我,
  你和就在这里。当一个转身,
  另一个也转身---
  
  这就是他所感受到的,黑暗之王,
  看着他为
  珀尔塞福涅建造的世界。他从来没有想过
  这里不再有气味,
  当然也不会再吃。
  
  犯罪?恐怖?对爱的恐惧?
  这些是他无法想象的,
  没有一个情人曾想象过它们。
  
  他做梦,他想知道这个地方叫什么。
  首先他想:新地狱。然后:花园。
  最后,他决定把它命名为
  “珀尔塞福涅的少女时代”。
  
  一道柔和的光从床后
  平坦的草地上升起。他把她抱在怀里。
  他想说“我爱你,没有什么能伤害你”
  
  但他认为
  这是一个谎言,所以最后他说
  “你死了,没有什么能伤害你”
  这在他看来
  是一个更有希望的开始,更真实。
  
  
  
A Myth of Devotion
  
  
  When Hades decided he loved this girl
  he built for her a duplicate of earth,
  everything the same, down to the meadow,
  but with a bed added.
  
  Everything the same, including sunlight,
  because it would be hard on a young girl
  to go so quickly from bright light to utter darkness.
  
  Gradually, he thought, he’d introduce the night,
  first as the shadows of fluttering leaves.
  Then moon, then stars. Then no moon, no stars.
  Let Persephone get used to it slowly.
  In the end, he thought, she'd find it comforting.
  
  A replica of earth
  except there was love here.
  Doesn’t everyone want love?
  
  He waited many years,
  building a world, watching
  Persephone in the meadow.
  Persephone,a smeller,a taster.
  If you have one appetite, he thought,
  you have them all.
  
  Doesn't everyone want to feel in the night
  the beloved body, compass, polestar,
  to hear the quiet breathing that says
  I am alive, that means also
  you are alive, because you hear me,
  you are here with me. And when one turns,
  the other turns---
  
  That's what he felt, the lord of darkness,
  looking at the world he had
  constructed for Persephone. It never crossed his mind
  that there’d be no more smelling here,
  certainly no more eating.
  
  Guilt? Terror? The fear of love?
  These things he couldn’t imagine;
  no lover ever imagines them.
  
  He dreams, he wonders what to call this place.
  First he thinks: The New Hell. Then: The Garden.
  In the end, he decides to name it
  Persephone’s Girlhood.
  
  A soft light rising above the level meadow,
  behind the bed. He takes her in his arms.
  He wants to say I love you, nothing can hurt you
  
  but he thinks
  this is a lie, so he says in the end
  you’re dead, nothing can hurt you
  which seems to him
  a more promising beginning, more true.
  
  
  

 楼主| 发表于 2020-11-20 13:28:56 | 显示全部楼层
  

  阿弗尔诺
  
  (选自 AVERNO (2006))
  作者:(美)露易丝.格丽克(Louise Glück)
  译者:剑郭琴符
  
  1.
  
  当你的精神死了,你就死了。
  否则,你活着。
  你可能活不好,但你继续---
  你别无选择。
  
  当我把这件事告诉我的孩子
  他们不在意。
  老人们,他们认为---
  这是他们一直在做的:
  谈论没人能看见的东西
  掩盖他们正在失去的所有脑细胞。
  他们互相假装看不见;
  听老一套,谈论精神
  因为他记不起椅子这个词了。
  
  孤独是可怕的。
  我并不意味着一个人住---
  独自一人,没有人听见你的地方。
  
  我记得椅子这个词。
  我想说---我只是不再感兴趣。
  
  我醒来觉得
  “你得做好准备”。
  很快精神就会放弃---
  世界上所有的椅子都帮不了你。
  
  我知道当我离开房间时他们会说什么。
  我是否应该去看别人,我是否应该服用
  治疗抑郁症的新药。
  我可以听到他们,低语,计划如何分摊成本。
  
  我想大声喊出
  “你们都活在梦里。”
  
  够糟糕,他们认为,看着我崩溃。
  没有这次讲课就够糟糕了,他们这些天来
  好像我有权得到这些新信息。
  
  是的,他们有同样的权利。
  
  他们生活在梦中,而我正准备
  成为一个幽灵。我想大声喊出来
  
  “薄雾散去了”----
  就像是某种新生活:
  结果与你无关;
  你知道结果。
  
  想想看:六十年坐在椅子上。现在凡人的精神
  如此公然,如此无畏地寻求---
  
  揭开面纱。
  看看你在对什么说再见。
  
  2.
  
  我很久没回去了。
  当我再次看到田野时,秋天结束了。
  在这里,它几乎在开始前就结束了---
  老人们甚至没有夏装。
  
  田野上覆盖着雪,一尘不染。
  这里没有发生什么事的迹象。
  你不知道那个农民
  是否再重新播种。
  也许他放弃了,搬走了。
  警察没有抓住那个女孩。
  过了一段时间,他们说她搬到了另一个国家,
  那里他们没有田地。
  
  像这样的灾难
  在地球上没有留下痕迹。
  像这样的人---他们认为这会给他们
  一个新的开始。
  
  我站了很久,什么也没看。
  过了一会儿,我注意到天有多黑,有多冷。
  
  很久了---我不知道要多久。
  一旦大地决定没有记忆
  时间在某种程度上似乎毫无意义。
  
  但不是对我的孩子。他们追着我
  立遗嘱;他们担心政府
  会拿走一切。
  
  改日他们应该和我一起
  去看看这片被雪覆盖的田野。
  整个事情都写出来了。
  
  没有:我没有什么可给他们。
  
  这是第一部分。
  第二部分是:我不想被烧死。
  
  3.
  
  一方面,灵魂在徘徊。
  另一方面,人类生活在恐惧之中。
  在两者之间,是消失的深渊。
  
  一些年轻女孩问我
  是否她们在阿弗尔诺附近安全---
  她们很冷,她们想往南走一会儿。
  一个说,像个玩笑,但不要太南---
  
  我说,像任何地方一样安全,
  这让她们很高兴。
  意味着没有什么是安全的。
  
  你上了火车,你消失了。
  你把你的名字写在窗户上,你消失了。
  
  到处都有这样的地方,
  你还是一个年轻女孩进入的地方,
  你再也回不去。
  
  就像那片被烧毁的田野。
  后来,女孩走了。
  也许她不存在
  不管怎样我们也没有证据。
  
  我们知道的一切:
  田野燃烧。
  但我们看到了。
  
  所以我们必须相信那个女孩,
  相信她所做的。否则
  就是我们不理解的力量
  统治着地球。
  
  女孩们都很高兴,想着她们的假期。
  我说,不要坐火车。
  
  她们把自己的名字写在车窗上的雾中。
  我想说的是,你们是好女孩,
  努力把自己的名字抛在脑后。
  
  4.
  
  我们花了一整天
  在群岛上航行,
  这些小岛是
  半岛的一部分
  
  直到它们中断
  变成你现在看到的碎片
  漂浮在北部海水中。
  
  我觉得它们很安全,
  我想是因为没人能住在那里。
  
  后来我们坐在厨房里
  看着夜晚开始,然后又下雪。
  先是一个,然后是另一个。
  
  我们变得沉默,被雪催眠,
  仿佛一种
  以前隐藏的动荡
  正变得可见,
  
  夜幕里的东西
  现在暴露了---
  
  在沉默中,我们问
  那些问题,彼此信任的朋友
  出于极度的疲劳而问,
  每个人都希望对方知道更多
  如果不是这样,希望
  他们共同的印象将总计到洞察力。
  
  “强迫自己
  意识到一个人必须死有什么好处?
  有可能错过人生的机会吗?”
  
  像这样的问题。
  雪下得很大。黑夜
  变成了繁忙的白色空气。
  
  一些我们没见过的东西暴露了。
  只是意义没有暴露。
  
  5.
  
  第一个冬天过后,这田野又开始生长。
  但没有更整齐的犁沟。
  麦子的味道持续着,一种
  混杂着各种杂草的随机香味,至今
  没有人用之为计划。
  
  令人费解---没有人知道
  农夫去了哪里。
  有人认为他死了。
  有人说他在新西兰有一个女儿,
  他去那里是为了养
  外孙而不是小麦。
  
  大自然,原来,不像我们,
  它没有记忆的仓库。
  田野不再害怕火柴,
  年轻女孩。它也不记得
  犁沟。它被杀死,被烧毁,
  一年后它又活了
  好像没有发生什么异常。
  
  农夫凝视着窗外。
  也许在新西兰,也许在别的地方。
  他想:“我的生命结束了。”
  他的生命在那田地表现出来;
  他不再相信从大地上
  创造任何东西。他认为,
  大地征服了我。
  
  他记得那一天那块地被烧了,
  不,他想,是意外。
  他内心深处说:“我能忍受这一切,
  过一段时间我就可以反抗它。”
  
  最可怕的时刻是他的工作被抹去之后的春天,
  当他明白大地
  不知道该如何哀悼,相反,它会改变。
  然后没有他而继续存在。
  
  
  

  
  Averno
  
  
  
  1.
  
  You die when your spirit dies.
  Otherwise, you live.
  You may not do a good job of it, but you go on---
  something you have no choice about.
  
  When I tell this to my children
  they pay no attention.
  The old people, they think---
  this is what they always do:
  talk about things no one can see
  to cover up all the brain cells they're losing.
  They wink at each other;
  listen to the old one, talking about the spirit
  because he can't remember anymore the word for chair.
  
  It is terrible to be alone.
  I don’t mean to live alone---
  to be alone, where no one hears you.
  
  I remember the word for chair.
  I want to say---I'm just not interested anymore.
  
  I wake up thinking
  you have to prepare.
  Soon the spirit will give up---
  all the chairs in the world won't help you.
  
  I know what they say when I’m out of the room.
  Should I be seeing someone, should I be taking
  one of the new drugs for depression.
  I can hear them, in whispers, planning how to divide the cost.
  
  And I want to scream out
  you're all of you living in a dream.
  
  Bad enough, they think, to watch me falling apart.
  Bad enough without this lecturing they get these days
  as though I had any right to this new information.
  
  Well, they have the same right.
  
  They're living in a dream, and I'm preparing
  to be a ghost. I want to shout out
  
  the mist has cleared---
  It's like some new life:
  you have no stake in the outcome;
  you know the outcome.
  
  Think of it: sixty years sitting in chairs. And now the mortal spirit
  seeking so openly, so fearlessly—
  
  To raise the veil.
  To see what you're saying goodbye to.
  
  2.
  
  I didn't go back for a long time.
  When I saw the field again, autumn was finished.
  Here, it finishes almost before it starts---
  the old people don't even own summer clothing.
  
  The field was covered with snow, immaculate.
  There wasn't a sign of what happened here.
  You didn't know whether the farmer
  had replanted or not.
  Maybe he gave up and moved away.
  The police didn't catch the girl.
  After awhile they said she moved to some other country,
  one where they don't have fields.
  
  A disaster like this
  leaves no mark on the earth.
  And people like that---they think it gives them
  a fresh start.
  
  I stood a long time, staring at nothing.
  After a bit, I noticed how dark it was, how cold.
  
  A long time---I have no idea how long.
  Once the earth decides to have no memory
  time seems in a way meaningless.
  
  But not to my children. They're after me
  to make a will; they’re worried the government
  will take everything.
  
  They should come with me sometime
  to look at this field under the cover of snow.
  The whole thing is written out there.
  
  Nothing: I have nothing to give them.
  
  That's the first part.
  The second is: I don't want to be burned.
  
  3.
  
  On one side, the soul wanders.
  On the other, human beings living in fear.
  In between, the pit of disappearance.
  
  Some young girls ask me
  if they'll be safe near Averno---
  they're cold, they want to go south a little while.
  And one says, like a joke, but not too far south---
  
  I say, as safe as anywhere,
  which makes them happy.
  What it means is nothing is safe.
  
  You get on a train, you disappear.
  You write your name on the window, you disappear.
  
  There are places like this everywhere,
  places you enter as a young girl,
  from which you never return.
  
  Like the field, the one that burned.
  Afterward, the girl was gone.
  Maybe she didn't exist,
  we have no proof either way.
  
  All we know is:
  the field burned.
  But we saw that.
  
  So we have to believe in the girl,
  in what she did. Otherwise
  it’s just forces we don’t understand
  ruling the earth.
  
  The girls are happy, thinking of their vacation.
  Don't take a train, I say.
  
  They write their names in mist on a train window.
  I want to say, you're good girls,
  trying to leave your names behind.
  
  4.
  
  We spent the whole day
  sailing the archipelago,
  the tiny islands that were
  part of the peninsula
  
  until they’d broken off
  into the fragments you see now
  floating in the northern sea water.
  
  They seemed safe to me,
  I think because no one can live there.
  
  Later we sat in the kitchen
  watching the evening start and then the snow.
  First one, then the other.
  
  We grew silent, hypnotized by the snow
  as though a kind of turbulence
  that had been hidden before
  was becoming visible,
  
  something within the night
  exposed now---
  
  In our silence, we were asking
  those questions friends who trust each other
  ask out of great fatigue,
  each one hoping the other knows more
  and when this isn’t so, hoping
  their shared impressions will amount to insight.
  
  Is there any benefit in forcing upon oneself
  the realization that one must die?
  Is it possible to miss the opportunity of one’s life?
  
  Questions like that.
  The snow heavy. The black night
  transformed into busy white air.
  
  Something we hadn't seen revealed.
  Only the meaning wasn't revealed.
  
  5.
  
  After the first winter, the field began to grow again.
  But there were no more orderly furrows.
  The smell of the wheat persisted, a kind of random aroma
  intermixed with various weeds, for which
  no human use has been as yet devised.
  
  It was puzzling---no one knew
  where the farmer had gone.
  Some people thought he died.
  Someone said he had a daughter in New Zealand,
  that he went there to raise
  grandchildren instead of wheat.
  
  Nature, it turns out, isn’t like us;
  it doesn't have a warehouse of memory.
  The field doesn't become afraid of matches,
  of young girls. It doesn’t remember
  furrows either. It gets killed off, it gets burned,
  and a year later it’s alive again
  as though nothing unusual has occurred.
  
  The farmer stares out the window.
  Maybe in New Zealand, maybe somewhere else.
  And he thinks: my life is over.
  His life expressed itself in that field;
  he doesn't believe anymore in making anything
  out of earth. The earth, he thinks,
  has overpowered me.
  
  He remembers the day the field burned,
  not, he thinks, by accident.
  Something deep within him said: I can live with this,
  I can fight it after awhile.
  
  The terrible moment was the spring after his work was erased,
  when he understood that the earth
  didn't know how to mourn, that it would change instead.
  And then go on existing without him.
  
  
   

  
  

 楼主| 发表于 2020-11-21 13:42:12 | 显示全部楼层
  
预兆
  
  (选自 AVERNO (2006))
  作者:(美)露易丝.格丽克(Louise Glück)
  译者:剑郭琴符
  
  我骑着马去迎接你:梦
  像生物蜂拥围着我
  我右边的月亮
  跟着我,燃烧着。
  
  我骑回去了:一切都变了。
  我爱的灵魂悲伤
  我左边的月亮
  毫无希望地尾随我。
  
  我们这些诗人
  给自己绝对无穷无尽的印象,
  在沉默中,只是制造一个事件的预兆,
  直到世界反映出灵魂最深处的需要。
  
  在亚历山大.普希金之后
  
  
Omens
  
  
  I rode to meet you: dreams
  like living beings swarmed around me
  and the moon on my right side
  followed me, burning.
  
  I rode back: everything changed.
  My soul in love was sad
  and the moon on my left side
  trailed me without hope.
  
  To such endless impressions
  we poets give ourselves absolutely,
  making, in silence, omen of mere event,
  until the world reflects the deepest needs of the soul.
  
  after Alexander Pushkin
  
  
  
  
望远镜
  
  (选自 AVERNO (2006))
  作者:(美)露易丝.格丽克(Louise Glück)
  译者:剑郭琴符
  
  当你移开视线后,有一刻
  你忘记了你在哪里
  因为你一直生活在,似乎,
  另一个地方,在寂静的夜空中。
  
  你停止在世界上此地存在。
  你在一个不同的地方,
  一个人类生命没有意义的地方。
  
  你不是身体里的生物。
  你的存在就像星星存在,
  参与它们的静止,它们的无限。
  
  然后你又回到了这个世界。
  晚上,在一个寒冷的山上,
  把望远镜打开。
  
  你后来意识到
  不是图像假,而是关系假。
  
  你又看到每个东西
  和每个别的东西多远。
  
  
  
Telescope
  
  
  
  There is a moment after you move your eye away
  when you forget where you are
  because you've been living, it seems,
  somewhere else, in the silence of the night sky.
  
  You've stopped being here in the world.
  You’re in a different place,
  a place where human life has no meaning.
  
  You're not a creature in a body.
  You exist as the stars exist,
  participating in their stillness, their immensity.
  
  Then you’re in the world again.
  At night, on a cold hill,
  taking the telescope apart.
  
  You realize afterward
  not that the image is false
  but the relation is false.
  
  You see again how far away
  each thing is from every other thing.
  
  
  
  
画眉
  
  (选自 AVERNO (2006))
  作者:(美)露易丝.格丽克(Louise Glück)
  译者:剑郭琴符
  
  ---献给记忆中的诺亚.马克斯.霍维茨和苏珊.金梅尔曼
  
  雪开始飘落,覆盖整个地球的表面。
  那不可能是真的。但它觉得是真的,
  我看到的一切越来越沉重地落下。
  松树被冰冻得易碎。
  
  这就是我告诉过你的地方,
  我经常晚上来这里看红翅黑鸟,
  我们这里称之为画眉鸟---
  生命的红色闪烁消失---
  
  但对我来说---我觉得内疚意味着
  我生活得不是很好。
  
  像我这样的人不逃避。我想你睡了一会儿,
  然后你陷入下一个生命的恐惧中
  除了
  
  灵魂在某种不同的形式中,
  或多或少比以前有意识,
  或多或少地贪婪。
  
  在活过多次生命之后,也许有些事情会改变。
  我想最终你想要的
  你将能看到---
  
  那么你不再需要
  死去再回来。
  
  
  
Thrush
  
  ---for Noah Max Horwitz and Susan Kimmelman, in memory
  
  Snow began falling, over the surface of the whole earth.
  That can't be true. And yet it felt true,
  falling more and more thickly over everything I could see.
  The pines turned brittle with ice.
  
  This is the place I told you about,
  where I used to come at night to see the red-winged blackbirds,
  what we call thrush here---
  red flicker of the life that disappears---
  
  But for me---I think the guilt I feel must mean
  I haven't lived very well.
  
  Someone like me doesn't escape. I think you sleep awhile,
  then you descend into the terror of the next life
  except
  
  the soul is in some different form,
  more or less conscious than it was before,
  more or less covetous.
  
  After many lives, maybe something changes.
  I think in the end what you want
  you’ll be able to see---
  
  Then you don’t need anymore
  to die and come back again.
  
  
  
  
流浪者珀尔塞福涅
  
  (选自 AVERNO (2006))
  作者:(美)露易丝.格丽克(Louise Glück)
  译者:剑郭琴符
  
  在第二个版本中,珀尔塞福涅
  死了。她死了,她母亲悲伤---
  性问题不必
  在这里困扰我们。
  
  强制性地,带着悲伤,得墨忒耳
  绕着地球转。我们不希望知道
  珀尔塞福涅在做什么。
  她死了,死人是个谜。
  
  我们这里有
  一个母亲和一个密码:这是
  母亲
  看着婴儿脸的
  
  精确经历。她认为:
  “我记得你不存在的时候。”婴儿
  感到困惑;后来,孩子的意见是
  她一直存在,就像
  
  她母亲一直
  以她现在的形式存在。她母亲
  就像在公共汽车站的人,
  是公车到来的观众。在那之前,
  她是公车、临时的
  家或便利设施。珀尔塞福涅,被保护地
  凝视着双轮敞篷马车的窗外。
  
  她看到了什么?初春的
  一个早晨,四月。现在
  
  她的整个生命都开始---不幸的是,
  这将是
  一个短暂的生命。她会知道,真的,
  
  只有两个成年人:死亡和她的母亲。
  但是两个是
  她母亲的两倍:
  她母亲有
  
  一个孩子,一个女儿。
  作为神,她本可以有
  一千个孩子。
  
  我们在这里开始看到
  大地的深重暴力
  
  其敌意表明
  她不希望
  继续作为生命的源泉。
  
  为什么这个假设
  从未被讨论过?因为
  它不在故事里,它只
  创造故事。
  
  在悲痛中,女儿死后,
  母亲在大地徘徊。
  她在准备她的事务;
  她像个政客,
  什么都记得
  什么也不承认。
  
  例如,她女儿的
  出生让人无法忍受,她的美
  让人无法忍受:她记得这一点。
  她记得珀尔塞福涅的
  纯真,她的温柔---
  
  她在计划什么,找她的女儿?
  她发出
  一个警告,其中隐含的信息是:
  “你在我身体外做什么?”
  
  你问自己:
  为什么母亲的身体安全?
  
  答案是
  这是一个错误的问题,因为
  
  女儿的身体
  并不存在,除了
  作为母亲身体的一个分支
  需要
  不惜任何代价重新连接。
  
  当一个神悲伤时,它意味着
  毁灭他人(如在战争中)
  同时请求
  撤销协议(也在战争中):
  
  如果宙斯能让她回来,
  冬天就结束。
  
  冬天会结束,春天会回来。
  我最爱的
  纠缠的微风,白痴黄花---
  
  春天会回来,一个
  基于谎言的梦:
  死人回来。
  
  珀尔塞福涅
  已经习惯于死亡。现在
  她妈妈一遍又一遍把她又拉出来---
  
  你必须扪心自问:
  这些花是真的吗?如果
  
  珀尔塞福涅“回归”,有
  以下两个原因:
  
  要么她没死要么
  她被用来
  支持一个虚构---
  
  我想我能记得
  我死了。很多次,在冬天,
  我接近宙斯。告诉我,我会问他我
  我怎么能忍受大地?
  
  他会说,
  很快你会再来这里。
  在你们
  
  将忘记一切的时间之内:
  那些冰原将成为
  至福的草地。
  
  
  
Persephone the Wanderer
  
  
  
  In the second version, Persephone
  is dead. She dies, her mother grieves---
  problems of sexuality need not
  trouble us here.
  
  Compulsively, in grief, Demeter
  circles the earth. We don't expect to know
  what Persephone is doing.
  She is dead, the dead are mysteries.
  
  We have here
  a mother and a cipher: this is
  accurate to the experience
  of the mother as
  
  she looks into the infant's face. She thinks:
  I remember when you didn't exist. The infant
  is puzzled; later, the child's opinion is
  she has always existed, just as
  
  her mother has always existed
  in her present form. Her mother
  is like a figure at a bus stop,
  an audience for the bus's arrival. Before that,
  she was the bus, a temporary
  home or convenience. Persephone, protected
  stares out the window of the chariot.
  
  What does she see? A morning
  in early spring, in April. Now
  
  her whole life is beginning---unfortunately,
  it’s going to be
  a short life. She's going to know, really,
  
  only two adults: death and her mother.
  But two is
  twice what her mother has:
  her mother has
  
  one child, a daughter.
  As a god, she could have had
  a thousand children.
  
  We begin to see here
  the deep violence of the earth
  
  whose hostility suggests
  she has no wish
  to continue as a source of life.
  
  And why is this hypothesis
  never discussed? Because
  it is not in the story; it only
  creates the story.
  
  In grief, after the daughter dies,
  the mother wanders the earth.
  She is preparing her case;
  like a politician
  she remembers everything and admits
  nothing.
  
  For example, her daughter’s
  birth was unbearable, her beauty
  was unbearable: she remembers this.
  She remembers Persephone’s
  innocence, her tenderness---
  
  What is she planning, seeking her daughter?
  She is issuing
  a warning whose implicit message is:
  what are you doing outside my body?
  
  You ask yourself:
  why is the mother's body safe?
  
  The answer is
  this is the wrong question, since
  
  the daughter’s body
  doesn't exist, except
  as a branch of the mother’s body
  that needs to be
  reattached at any cost.
  
  When a god grieves it means
  destroying others (as in war)
  while at the same time petitioning
  to reverse agreements (as in war also):
  
  if Zeus will get her back,
  winter will end.
  
  Winter will end, spring will return.
  The small pestering breezes
  that I so loved, the idiot yellow flowers---
  
  Spring will return, a dream
  based on a falsehood:
  that the dead return.
  
  Persephone
  was used to death. Now over and over
  her mother hauls her out again---
  
  You must ask yourself:
  are the flowers real? If
  
  Persephone “returns” there will be
  one of two reasons:
  
  either she was not dead or
  she is being used
  to support a fiction---
  
  I think I can remember
  being dead. Many times, in winter,
  I approached Zeus. Tell me, I would ask him
  how can I endure the earth?
  
  And he would say,
  in a short time you will be here again.
  And in the time between
  
  you will forget everything:
  those fields of ice will be
  the meadows of Elysium.
  
  
  
暮色
  
  (选自A VILLAGE LIFE (2009))
  作者:(美)露易丝.格丽克(Louise Glück)
  译者:剑郭琴符
  
乡村生活(2009)
  致詹姆斯.隆根巴赫
  
  暮色
  
  他整天在表哥的磨坊里工作,
  所以晚上回家时,他总是坐在这一扇窗户旁,
  看到一天中的某时,黄昏。
  应该有更多的时间像这样,坐下来做梦。
  就像他表哥说的:
  生活-生活夺走你坐着。
  
  在窗户里,不是世界,而是代表世界的
  方形风景。季节在变化,
  每一个可见物每天仅几个小时。
  绿色的东西跟着金色跟着白色---
  抽象来自于带来强烈快乐的东西,
  就像桌上的无花果。
  
  黄昏时分,太阳落在两棵杨树中间红火的烟雾中。
  它在夏天晚些时候落下---
  有时很难保持清醒。
  
  然后一切脱落。
  再过一段时间,这个世界
  是看到的一些东西,然后只有听到的东西,
  蟋蟀,蝉。
  或者有时闻到,柠檬树、橘子树的香味。
  睡眠也会带走这些。
  
  但实验上,很容易放弃这样的东西,
  大约几个小时。
  
  我张开手指---
  我让一切都离开。
  
  视觉世界,语言,
  夜晚树叶的沙沙声,
  高草,木烟的味道。
  
  我让它离开,然后我点燃蜡烛。
  
  
  


A VILLAGE LIFE (2009)
  TO JAMES LONGENBACH
  
  Twilight//
  
  All day he works at his cousin’s mill,
  so when he gets home at night, he always sits at this one window,
  sees one time of day, twilight.
  There should be more time like this, to sit and dream.
  It’s as his cousin says:
  Living---living takes you away from sitting.
  
  In the window, not the world but a squared-off landscape
  representing the world. The seasons change,
  each visible only a few hours a day.
  Green things followed by golden things followed by whiteness---
  abstractions from which come intense pleasures,
  like the figs on the table.
  
  At dusk, the sun goes down in a haze of red fire between two poplars.
  It goes down late in summer---sometimes it’s hard to stay awake.
  
  Then everything falls away.
  The world for a little longer
  is something to see, then only something to hear,
  crickets, cicadas.
  Or to smell sometimes, aroma of lemon trees, of orange trees.
  Then sleep takes this away also.
  
  But it's easy to give things up like this, experimentally,
  for a matter of hours.
  
  I open my fingers---
  I let everything go.
  
  Visual world, language,
  rustling of leaves in the night,
  smell of high grass, of woodsmoke.
  
  I let it go, then I light the candle.
  
  
  
  
田园诗
  
  (选自A VILLAGE LIFE (2009))
  作者:(美)露易丝.格丽克(Louise Glück)
  译者:剑郭琴符
  
  太阳从山上升起。
  有时有雾
  但太阳总是在它后面
  而雾并不等于它。
  太阳烧穿它的路,
  就像打败愚蠢的头脑。
  当薄雾散去,你看到了草地。
  
  没有人真正理解
  这个地方的野蛮,
  它用无缘无故杀人的方法,
  只是为了实际上保存着。
  
  于是人们逃离---有一段时间,离开这里,
  他们兴高采烈,被这么多选择包围---
  
  但是大地上没有信号
  曾到达太阳。鞭挞
  这个事实,你迷失了。
  
  当他们回来时,他们更糟。
  他们认为他们在城市里失败了,
  并不是说城市没有兑现承诺。
  他们责怪自己的成长:青春结束,他们又回来了,
  像他们的父亲一样沉默。
  夏天,星期天,他们靠在诊所的墙,
  抽烟。当他们记起时,
  他们为女朋友采花---
  
  这让女孩们很开心。
  
  他们认为这里很漂亮,但是他们想念这个城市,下午
  购物和聊天,没有钱
  你做什么…
  
  在我看来,如果你留下来会更好;
  那样的话,梦想不会伤害你。
  黄昏时,你坐在窗前。无论你住在哪里,
  你都能看到田野,河流,你不能
  强加给你自己的现实---
  
  对我来说,这是安全的。太阳升起,薄雾
  消散,露出
  那座大山。你可以看到山峰,
  它多白,即使在夏天。天空如此蔚蓝,
  点缀着像矛一样的
  小松---
  
  当你走累了,
  你躺在草地上。
  当你再次站起来,瞬间你可以看到你曾经去过的地方,
  那里草很光滑,平整成
  一个身体的形状。后来当你回头看时,
  你好像根本就没去过那里。
  
  午后,仲夏。田野永远延续,宁静,美丽。
  就像有黑色斑纹的蝴蝶,罂粟花张开。
  
  
  
Pastoral
  
  
  
  The sun rises over the mountain.
  Sometimes there’s mist
  but the sun’s behind it always
  and the mist isn't equal to it.
  The sun burns its way through,
  like the mind defeating stupidity.
  When the mist clears, you see the meadow.
  
  No one really understands
  the savagery of this place,
  the way it kills people for no reason,
  just to keep in practice.
  
  So people flee---and for a while, away from here,
  they’re exuberant, surrounded by so many choices---
  
  But no signal from earth
  will ever reach the sun. Thrash
  against that fact, you are lost.
  
  When they come back, they're worse.
  They think they failed in the city,
  not that the city doesn't make good its promises.
  They blame their upbringing: youth ended and they're back,
  silent, like their fathers.
  Sundays, in summer, they lean against the wall of the clinic,
  smoking cigarettes. When they remember,
  they pick flowers for their girlfriends---
  
  It makes the girls happy.
  They think it's pretty here, but they miss the city, the afternoons
  filled with shopping and talking, what you do
  when you have no money...
  
  To my mind, you're better off if you stay;
  that way, dreams don't damage you.
  At dusk, you sit by the window. Wherever you live,
  you can see the fields, the river, realities
  on which you cannot impose yourself---
  
  To me, it's safe. The sun rises; the mist
  dissipates to reveal
  the immense mountain. You can see the peak,
  how white it is, even in summer. And the sky's so blue,
  punctuated with small pines
  like spears---
  
  When you got tired of walking
  you lay down in the grass.
  When you got up again, you could see for a moment where you'd been
  the grass was slick there, flattened out
  into the shape of a body. When you looked back later,
  it was as though you’d never been there at all.
  
  Midafternoon, midsummer. The fields go on forever, peaceful, beautiful.
  Like butterflies with their black markings, the poppies open.
  
  
  
  
支流
  
  (选自A VILLAGE LIFE (2009))
  作者:(美)露易丝.格丽克(Louise Glück)
  译者:剑郭琴符
  
  村里所有的路都在喷泉边汇合。
  自由大道,相思树大道---
  喷泉在广场的中心升起;
  在晴朗的日子里,彩虹在小天使的尿里。
  
  夏天,情侣们坐在游泳池边。
  游泳池里有为很多倒影准备的地方---
  广场附近的空旷,金合欢树不会这么远。
  自由路既贫瘠又简陋,它的形象
  在水面上不拥挤。
  
  点缀在情侣之间,母亲和她们年幼的孩子。
  这里是他们互相交谈的地方,也许
  会遇到一个年轻人,看看是否有留下他们美的东西。
  当他们低头看时,那是一个悲伤的时刻:水并不令人鼓舞。
  
  丈夫们都下班了,但奇迹般的是
  所有多情的年轻人总是自由的-
  他们坐在喷泉边,用喷泉水
  泼洒他们的爱人。
  
  在喷泉周围,有一排排金属桌子。
  这是你年老时坐的地方,
  在喷泉的强度之外。
  喷泉是给年轻人的,他们还想看看自己。
  或者为那些需要分心于孩子们的母亲们。
  
  天气好的时候,几个老人在餐桌旁徘徊。
  现在的生活很简单:一天白兰地,一天咖啡和一支烟。
  对情侣来说,谁在生活的边缘,谁在中心,都很清楚。
  
  孩子们哭,他们有时为了玩具打架。
  但是水在那里,是为了提醒母亲们它们爱这些孩子;
  他们淹死将是可怕的。
  
  母亲们总是疲惫不堪,孩子们总是吵架,
  丈夫们在工作或生气。没有年轻人来。
  这对情侣就像一幅遥远时间的影像,从山上
  传来十分微弱的回声。
  
  他们独自在喷泉边,在一口黑暗的井里。
  他们被希望的世界放逐,
  也就是行动的世界,
  但是思想的世界至今还没有向他们开放。
  当它开放,一切都会改变。
  
  夜幕降临,广场空无一人。
  秋天的第一片叶子散落在喷泉上。
  道路不再聚集在这里;
  喷泉把它们赶走,回到他们原来的山里。
  
  失信之路,失望之路,
  金合欢树之路,橄榄树之路,
  充满是银叶的风,
  
  失落的时间之路、以石头收尾的自由之路,
  不在田野的边缘,而在山脚下。
  
  
  
Tributaries
  
  
  All the roads in the village unite at the fountain.
  Avenue of Liberty, Avenue of the Acacia Trees---
  The fountain rises at the center of the plaza;
  on sunny days, rainbows in the piss of the cherub.
  
  In summer, couples sit at the pool's edge.
  There's room in the pool for many reflections---
  The plaza’s nearly empty,the acacia trees don’t get this far.
  And the Avenue of Liberty is barren and austere; its image
  doesn't crowd the water.
  
  Interspersed with the couples, mothers with their younger children.
  Here's where they come to talk to one another, maybe
  meet a young man, see if there's anything left of their beauty.
  When they look down, it’s a sad moment: the water isn’t encouraging.
  
  The husbands are off working, but by some miracle
  all the amorous young men are always free---
  they sit at the edge of the fountain, splashing their sweethearts
  with fountain water.
  
  Around the fountain, there are clusters of metal tables.
  This is where you sit when you're old,
  beyond the intensities of the fountain.
  The fountain is for the young, who still want to look at themselves.
  Or for the mothers, who need to keep their children diverted.
  
  In good weather, a few old people linger at the tables.
  Life is simple now: one day cognac, one day coffee and a cigarette.
  To the couples, it's clear who's on the outskirts of life, who's at the center.
  
  The children cry, they sometimes fight over toys.
  But the water's there, to remind the mothers that they love these children;
  that for them to drown would be terrible.
  
  The mothers are tired constantly, the children are always fighting,
  the husbands at work or angry. No young man comes.
  The couples are like an image from some faraway time, an echo coming
  very faint from the mountains.
  
  They're alone at the fountain, in a dark well.
  They've been exiled by the world of hope,
  which is the world of action,
  but the world of thought hasn't as yet opened to them.
  When it does, everything will change.
  
  Darkness is falling, the plaza empties.
  The first leaves of autumn litter the fountain.
  The roads don't gather here anymore;
  the fountain sends them away, back into the hills they came from.
  
  Avenue of Broken Faith, Avenue of Disappointment,
  Avenue of the Acacia Trees, of Olive Trees,
  the wind filling with silver leaves,
  
  Avenue of Lost Time, Avenue of Liberty that ends in stone,
  not at the field's edge but at the foot of the mountain.
  
  
  


 楼主| 发表于 2020-11-22 13:50:32 | 显示全部楼层
  
中午
  
  (选自A VILLAGE LIFE (2009))
  作者:(美)露易丝.格丽克(Louise Glück)
  译者:剑郭琴符
  
  他们还没有长大---更像是一个男孩和女孩,真的。
  放学了。这是夏天最美好的时光,当它还在开始的时候---
  阳光明媚,但热度还不高。
  自由没有变得无聊。
  
  所以你可以花一整天,全部,在草地上闲逛。
  草地无限延伸,村庄持续变得越来越模糊---
  
  这似乎是一个奇怪的位置,很年轻。
  他们有每个人都想要但他们不要的这东西---
  但他们无论如何都想保留它;这是他们能交易的全部。
  
  当他们独立地像这样,这些就是他们谈论的东西。
  他们如何不追逐时间。
  就像电影院里的线轴断了。不管怎样他们还是留下来了---
  主要是,他们只是不想离开。但在卷轴固定好之前,
  老的那个突然又回来爆了,
  突然你又回到了很久以前的电影里的一切---
  男主角甚至还没见过女主角。他还在工厂里,
  他还没开始变坏。她在码头徘徊,已经很坏了。
  但她从来没有想过要发生。她很好,然后她就这样了,
  就像一个袋子拉过她的头。
  
  天空完全是蓝色的,所以草是干的。
  他们将可以毫无困难地坐着。
  他们坐着,他们谈论着每件事---然后他们吃他们的野餐。
  他们把食物放在毯子上,这样可以保持干净。
  他们总是这样做的,他们自己拿草。
  
  别的---两个人如何能躺在毯子上---
  他们知道这件事,但还没准备好。
  他们知道做过这种事的人,作为一种游戏或试验---
  然后你说,不,时间不对,我想我还是继续做个孩子。
  但你的身体不听。它现在什么都知道了,
  它说你不是个孩子,你很久没当孩子了。
  
  他们的想法是,远离改变。它是雪崩---
  所有的石头都从山上滑下来,孩子站在底下
  只是被杀了。
  
  他们坐在最好的地方,在白杨树下。
  他们交谈着---现在一定是几个小时了,太阳在另一个地方。
  关于学校,关于他们都认识的人,
  关于做成人,关于你如何知道你梦见了什么。
  
  他们以前常玩游戏,但现在没玩---太感人了。
  他们只有在叠毯子时才会碰对方。
  
  他们彼此都知道这一点。
  这就是为什么它没有被谈论。
  在他们做这样的事情之前,他们需要知道更多---
  事实上,所有可能发生的事情。在那之前,他们只是看着
  并留下孩子。
  
  为了安全起见,今天她一个人叠毯子。
  他把目光移开---他假装太沉迷于思考而无法帮忙。
  
  他们知道,在某个时候,你不再是孩子,到了那个时候
  你就成了陌生人。它似乎无法忍受孤独。
  
  当他们回到村里时,天快黑了。
  这是一个完美的一天;他们谈论这个,
  谈论什么时候有机会再次野餐。
  
  他们走过夏日的黄昏,
  没有牵手,但仍然相互诉说着一切。
  
  
  
Noon
  
  
  They're not grown up---more like a boy and girl, really.
  School’s over. It’s the best part of the summer, when it’s still beginning---
  the sun's shining, but the heat isn’t intense yet.
  And freedom hasn’t gotten boring.
  
  So you can spend the whole day, all of it, wandering in the meadow.
  The meadow goes on indefinitely, and the village keeps getting more and more faint---
  
  It seems a strange position, being very young.
  They have this thing everyone wants and they don’t want---
  but they want to keep it anyway; it’s all they can trade on.
  
  When they're by themselves like this, these are the things they talk about.
  How time for them doesn't race.
  It's like the reel breaking at the movie theater. They stay anyway---
  mainly, they just don't want to leave. But till the reel is fixed,
  the old one just gets popped back in,
  and all of a sudden you're back to long ago in the movie---
  the hero hasn't even met the heroine. He's still at the factory,
  he hasn't begun to go bad. And she's wandering around the docks, already bad.
  But she never meant it to happen. She was good, then it happened to her,
  like a bag pulled over her head.
  
  The sky's completely blue, so the grass is dry.
  They’ll be able to sit with no trouble.
  They sit, they talk about everything---then they eat their picnic.
  They put the food on the blanket, so it stays clean.
  They've always done it this way; they take the grass themselves.
  
  The rest---how two people can lie down on the blanket---
  they know about it but they're not ready for it.
  They know people who've done it, as a kind of game or trial----
  then you say, no, wrong time, I think I'll just keep being a child.
  But your body doesn’t listen. It knows everything now,
  it says you’re not a child, you haven’t been a child for a long time.
  
  Their thinking is, stay away from change. It's an avalanche---
  all the rocks sliding down the mountain, and the child standing underneath
  just gets killed.
  
  They sit in the best place, under the poplars.
  And they talk---it must be hours now, the sun’s in a different place.
  About school, about people they both know,
  about being adult, about how you knew what your dreams were.
  
  They used to play games, but that's stopped now---too much touching.
  They only touch each other when they fold the blanket.
  
  They know this in each other.
  That's why it isn't talked about.
  Before they do anything like that, they'll need to know more---
  in fact, everything that can happen. Until then, they'll just watch
  and stay children.
  
  Today she's folding the blanket alone, to be safe.
  And he looks away---he pretends to be too lost in thought to help out.
  
  They know that at some point you stop being children, and at that point
  you become strangers. It seems unbearably lonely.
  
  When they get home to the village, it's nearly twilight.
  It's been a perfect day; they talk about this,
  about when they'll have a chance to have a picnic again.
  
  They walk through the summer dusk,
  not holding hands but still telling each other everything.
  
  
  
  
暴风雨前
  
  (选自A VILLAGE LIFE (2009))
  作者:(美)露易丝.格丽克(Louise Glück)
  译者:剑郭琴符
  
  明天下雨,但今晚天空晴朗,星星闪耀。
  不过,雨就要来了,
  也许足以淹没种子。
  从海上吹来的风推着云朵;
  在你看到它们前,你感觉到了风。
  现在最好看看田野,
  看看它们在被洪水淹没之前的样子。
  
  满月。昨天,一只羊逃进了树林,
  而不仅仅羊---公羊,整个未来。
  如果我们再见到他,我们就会看到他的骨头。
  
  草有点抖,也许是风穿过了它。
  橄榄树的新叶子也以同样的方式颤抖。
  田里的老鼠。狐狸猎食的地方,
  明天草地上就会有血迹。
  但是暴风雨---暴风雨会把它冲走。
  
  一扇窗户里,坐着一个男孩。
  他已被送到床上---太早了,
  他认为。所以他坐在窗边---
  
  现在一切都解决了。
  你现在所处的地方就是你睡觉的地方,早上醒来的地方。
  这座山像灯塔一样矗立着,提醒黑夜,地球是存在的,
  千万不要忘记。
  
  在海面上,当风吹起时,云层就会形成,
  驱散它们,给它们一种有意的感觉。
  
  明天黎明不会到来。
  天空不会回到白天的天空,它会像黑夜一样继续,
  只是星星会随着风暴的到来而褪色和消失,
  或许总共可能持续十个小时。
  但这个世界不能返回。
  村舍的灯火一个接一个昏暗
  山峦在黑暗中带着反光闪烁。
  
  没有声音。只有猫在门口扭打。
  它们闻到了风:是时候制造更多的猫了。
  后来,它们在街上闲逛,但风的味道萦绕着它们。
  在田野里也是一样,被鲜血的气味所迷惑,
  不过现在只有风在升起,星星把田野变成了银色。
  
  离海这么远,我们仍然知道这些迹象。
  夜是一本打开的书。
  但夜幕之外的世界仍然是个谜。
  
  
  
Before the Storm
  
  
  
  Rain tomorrow, but tonight the sky is clear, the stars shine.
  Still, the rain's coming,
  maybe enough to drown the seeds.
  There's a wind from the sea pushing the clouds;
  before you see them, you feel the wind.
  Better look at the fields now,
  see how they look before they're flooded.
  
  A full moon. Yesterday, a sheep escaped into the woods,
  and not just any sheep---the ram, the whole future.
  If we see him again, we'll see his bones.
  
  The grass shudders a little; maybe the wind passed through it.
  And the new leaves of the olives shudder in the same way.
  Mice in the fields. Where the fox hunts,
  tomorrow there'll be blood in the grass.
  But the storm---the storm will wash it away.
  
  In one window, there's a boy sitting.
  He’s been sent to bed---too early,
  in his opinion. So he sits at the window---
  
  Everything is settled now.
  Where you are now is where you'll sleep, where you'll wake up in the morning.
  The mountain stands like a beacon, to remind the night that the earth exists,
  that it mustn’t be forgotten.
  
  Above the sea, the clouds form as the wind rises,
  dispersing them, giving them a sense of purpose.
  
  Tomorrow the dawn won't come.
  The sky won't go back to being the sky of day; it will go on as night,
  except the stars will fade and vanish as the storm arrives,
  lasting perhaps ten hours altogether.
  But the world as it was cannot return.
  One by one, the lights of the village houses dim
  and the mountain shines in the darkness with reflected light.
  
  No sound. Only cats scuffling in the doorways.
  They smell the wind: time to make more cats.
  Later, they prowl the streets, but the smell of the wind stalks them.
  It's the same in the fields, confused by the smell of blood,
  though for now only the wind rises; stars turn the field silver.
  
  This far from the sea and still we know these signs.
  The night is an open book.
  But the world beyond the night remains a mystery.
  
  
  
  
日落
  
  (选自A VILLAGE LIFE (2009))
  作者:(美)露易丝.格丽克(Louise Glück)
  译者:剑郭琴符
  
  在太阳落山的同时,
  一个农场工人正在烧枯叶。
  
  它什么都不是,这火。
  它是一个小东西,被控制着,
  就像一个独裁者经营的家庭。
  
  尽管如此,当它熊熊燃烧,农业工人就消失了;
  在路上,他是看不见的。
  
  与太阳相比,这里所有的火
  都是短命的,业余的---
  当树叶消失,它们就会结束。
  然后农场工人又出现了,耙着灰烬。
  
  但死亡是真实的。
  就好像太阳做了它该做的事,
  让大地生长,然后
  激发了大地的燃烧。
  
  所以它现在可以凝结。
  
  
  
Sunset
  
  
  At the same time as the sun's setting,
  a farm worker's burning dead leaves.
  
  It's nothing, this fire.
  It's a small thing, controlled,
  like a family run by a dictator.
  
  Still, when it blazes up, the farmworker disappears;
  from the road, he's invisible.
  
  Compared to the sun, all the fires here
  are short-lived, amateurish---
  they end when the leaves are gone.
  Then the farm worker reappears, raking the ashes.
  
  But the death is real.
  As though the sun's done what it came to do,
  made the field grow, then
  inspired the burning of earth.
  
  So it can set now.
  
  
  
  
在咖啡馆
  
  (选自A VILLAGE LIFE (2009))
  作者:(美)露易丝.格丽克(Louise Glück)
  译者:剑郭琴符
  
  厌倦大地是很自然的。
  当你死了这么久,你可能会厌倦天空。
  你在一个地方做你能做的事,
  但过了一段时间你就耗尽了那个地方,
  所以你渴望得到救援。
  
  我的朋友有点太容易坠入爱河。
  大约每年都有一个新女孩---
  如果她们有孩子,他不介意;
  他也可以爱上孩子。
  
  所以我们其他人都变得酸溜溜的,而他却保持原样,
  充满了冒险,总是有新的发现。
  但他讨厌流动,所以女人们必须从这里来,或者从附近来。
  
  大约每个月,我们都见面喝咖啡。
  夏天,我们会在草地上散步,有时远至山上。
  即使他受苦,他也茁壮成长,身心快乐。
  当然,它部分是女人们,但不仅仅如此。
  
  他搬进他们的家,学会喜欢他们喜欢的电影。
  这不是行动---他真正学到的,
  而是一个人去烹饪学校学习烹饪的方式。
  
  他用他们的眼睛看一切。
  他不是变成他们现在的样子,而是如果他们
  没有被困在他们的角色中,他们会成为什么样的人。
  对他来说,这个新的自我是自由的,因为它是被发明出来的---
  
  他吸收了她们灵魂扎根的基本需求,
  他体验这些,作为导致他自己的仪式和偏好---
  但当他和每个女人生活在一起时,他栖居于自己的每一个版本,
  完全地,因为它不与普通的羞耻和焦虑妥协。
  
  当他离开时,女人们都很伤心。
  最后,她们遇到了一个男人,他满足了她们所有的需要---
  没有什么是她们不能告诉他的。
  当她们现在见到他时,他是一个零---
  她们认识的人已经不在。
  当她们相遇时他进入了存在,
  结束时,他消失了,当他走开时。
  
  几年后,她们原谅了他。
  她们告诉她们的新男朋友这多么令人惊奇,
  就像和另一个女人生活在一起,但是没有怨恨,嫉妒,
  有男人的力量,男人的清晰头脑。
  
  男人们忍受这些,她们甚至微笑。
  她们抚摸女人的头发---
  她们知道这个人根本不存在,她们很难感受竞争。
  
  不过,你不能要求一个更好的朋友,
  一个更敏锐的观察者。当我们交谈,他坦诚开朗,
  他保持着我们所有人年轻时的那种激情。
  他公开谈论恐惧,他自己厌恶的品质。
  他很慷慨,他看一看知道我如何。
  如果我沮丧或生气,他会听几个小时,
  不是因为他强迫自己,而是因为他感兴趣。
  
  我想这就是他如何与女人相处的。
  但他从不离开朋友们---
  和他们在一起,他试图站在自己的生活之外,看清楚---
  
  今天他想坐,有很多要说,
  太多草地。他想面对面,
  和一个他永远已知的人交谈。
  他正处于新生活的边缘。
  他的眼睛发光,他对咖啡不感兴趣。
  即使日落,对他来说,
  太阳又升起来了,田野被晨光染红,
  玫瑰色的,试探性的。
  
  在这些片刻,他就是自己,而不是和他上床的女人的
  碎片。他进入他们的生活,就像你进入一个梦,
  没有意志,他生活在那里,就像你生活在梦中,
  不管它持续多久。到了早上,你对梦
  什么都不记得,什么也不。
  
  
  
In the Cafe
  
  
  It's natural to be tired of earth.
  When you've been dead this long, you'll probably be tired of heaven.
  You do what you can do in a place
  but after a while you exhaust that place,
  so you long for rescue.
  
  My friend falls in love a little too easily.
  Every year or so a new girl---
  If they have children he doesn't mind;
  he can fall in love with children also.
  
  So the rest of us get sour and he stays the same,
  full of adventure, always making new discoveries.
  But he hates moving, so the women have to come from here, or near here.
  
  Every month or so, we meet for coffee.
  In summer, we'll walk around the meadow, sometimes as far as the mountain.
  Even when he suffers, he’s thriving, happy in his body.
  It's partly the women, of course, but not that only.
  
  He moves into their houses, learns to like the movies they like.
  It's not an act---he really does learn,
  the way someone goes to cooking school and learns to cook.
  
  He sees everything with their eyes.
  He becomes not what they are but what they could be
  if they weren't trapped in their characters.
  For him, this new self of his is liberating because it's invented---
  
  he absorbs the fundamental needs in which their souls are rooted,
  he experiences as his own the rituals and preferences these give rise to---
  but as he lives with each woman, he inhabits each version of himself
  fully, because it isn't compromised by the normal shame and anxiety.
  
  When he leaves, the women are devastated.
  Finally they met a man who answered all their needs---
  there was nothing they couldn't tell him.
  When they meet him now, he's a cipher---
  the person they knew doesn't exist anymore.
  He came into existence when they met,
  he vanished when it ended, when he walked away.
  
  After a few years, they get over him.
  They tell their new boyfriends how amazing it was,
  like living with another woman, but without the spite, the envy,
  and with a man's strength, a man's clarity of mind.
  
  And the men tolerate this, they even smile.
  They stroke the women’s hair---
  they know this man doesn't exist; it’s hard for them to feel competitive.
  
  You couldn't ask, though, for a better friend,
  a more subtle observer. When we talk, he's candid and open,
  he's kept the intensity we all had when we were young.
  He talks openly of fear, of the qualities he detests in himself.
  And he’s generous---he knows how I am just by looking.
  If I'm frustrated or angry, he'll listen for hours,
  not because he’s forcing himself, because he’s interested.
  
  I guess that's how he is with the women.
  But the friends he never leaves---
  with them, he's trying to stand outside his life, to see it clearly---
  
  Today he wants to sit; there's a lot to say,
  too much for the meadow. He wants to be face to face,
  talking to someone he’s known forever.
  He’s on the verge of a new life.
  His eyes glow, he isn't interested in the coffee.
  Even though it's sunset, for him
  the sun is rising again, and the fields are flushed with dawn light,
  rose-colored and tentative.
  
  He's himself in these moments, not pieces of the women
  he's slept with. He enters their lives as you enter a dream,
  without volition, and he lives there as you live in a dream,
  however long it lasts. And in the morning, you remember
  nothing of the dream at all, nothing at all.
  
  
  
  
在广场
  
  (选自A VILLAGE LIFE (2009))
  作者:(美)露易丝.格丽克(Louise Glück)
  译者:剑郭琴符
  
  两个星期来他一直在看同一个女孩,
  一个他在广场上看到的人。也许她二十几岁,
  下午喝咖啡,小黑头
  俯身看杂志。
  他在广场对面看着,假装
  在买东西,香烟,也许是一束花。
  
  因为她不知道它的存在,
  她的力量现在非常强大,融合到他想象力的需要。
  他是她的囚犯。她用他想象中的声音
  说他给她的话,低沉而柔和,
  一个来自南方的声音,就像黑发一定来自南方一样。
  
  很快她会认出他,然后开始期待他。
  也许那时每天她的头发都会洗干净,
  往下看前,她会穿过广场向外凝视。
  从那以后,他们将成为恋人。
  
  但他希望这不会立即发生,
  因为无论她现在对他的身体,对他的情感施加什么力量,
  一旦她忠于她自己,她就没有力量---
  
  她会隐退到女人们在爱的时候进入的那种
  感觉的私人世界。活在那里,她变得
  像一个不投影子,不在世上的人;
  从这个意义上说,对他来说用处不大
  它几乎攸关她的生死。
  
  
  
In the Plaza
  
  
  
  For two weeks he's been watching the same girl,
  someone he sees in the plaza. In her twenties maybe,
  drinking coffee in the afternoon, the little dark head
  bent over a magazine.
  He watches from across the square, pretending
  to be buying something, cigarettes, maybe a bouquet of flowers.
  
  Because she doesn't know it exists,
  her power is very great now, fused to the needs of his imagination.
  He is her prisoner. She says the words he gives her
  in a voice he imagines, low-pitched and soft,
  a voice from the south as the dark hair must be from the south.
  
  Soon she will recognize him, then begin to expect him.
  And perhaps then every day her hair will be freshly washed,
  she will gaze outward across the plaza before looking down.
  And after that they will become lovers.
  
  But he hopes this will not happen immediately
  since whatever power she exerts now over his body, over his emotions,
  she will have no power once she commits herself---
  
  she will withdraw into that private world of feeling
  women enter when they love. And living there, she will become
  like a person who casts no shadow, who is not present in the world;
  in that sense, so little use to him
  it hardly matters whether she lives or dies.
  
  
  
  
黎明
  
  (选自A VILLAGE LIFE (2009))
  作者:(美)露易丝.格丽克(Louise Glück)
  译者:剑郭琴符
  
  1.
  
  孩子在黑暗的房间里醒来
  尖叫着我要我的鸭子回来,我要我的鸭子回来
  
  用一种根本没人懂的语言---
  
  没有鸭子。
  
  但是那只狗,全是装上白色毛绒软垫的---
  那只狗就在他旁边的婴儿床里。
  
  一年又一年---时间就这样流逝。
  都在梦里。但是鸭子---
  没人知道发生了什么。
  
  2.
  
  他们刚见面,现在
  他们睡在一扇开着的窗户旁边。
  
  部分是为了唤醒他们,确保他们
  对夜晚的记忆是正确的,
  现在需要光线进入房间,
  
  同时也要向他们展示发生这种情况的背景:
  袜子半藏在脏垫子下,
  被子用绿叶装饰---
  
  阳光指定
  这些而不是其他物体,
  设定界限,确定它自己,不是任意的,
  
  然后挥之不去,详细
  描述每件事,
  挑剔,像一篇英文作文,
  甚至有一点血迹在床单上---
  
  3.
  
  之后,他们分开一天。
  甚至后来,在一张桌子上,在市场上,
  经理对他给出的数字不满意,
  最上层的浆果发霉了---
  
  所以一个人退出这个世界
  正当一个人继续采取行动的时候---
  
  你回到家,是你注意到霉菌的时候。
  换句话说,太晚了。
  
  好像太阳瞬间让你失明。
  
  
  
Dawn
  
  
  1.
  
  Child waking up in a dark room
  screaming I want my duck back, I want my duck back
  
  in a language nobody understands in the least---
  
  There is no duck.
  
  But the dog, all upholstered in white plush---
  the dog is right there in the crib next to him.
  
  Years and years---that’s how much time passes.
  All in a dream. But the duck---
  no one knows what happened to that.
  
  2.
  
  They’ve just met, now
  they're sleeping near an open window.
  
  Partly to wake them, to assure them
  that what they remember of the night is correct,
  now light needs to enter the room,
  
  also to show them the context in which this occurred:
  socks half hidden under a dirty mat,
  quilt decorated with green leaves---
  
  the sunlight specifying
  these but not other objects,
  setting boundaries, sure of itself, not arbitrary,
  
  then lingering, describing
  each thing in detail,
  fastidious, like a composition in English,
  even a little blood on the sheets---
  
  3.
  
  Afterward, they separate for the day.
  Even later, at a desk, in the market,
  the manager not satisfied with the figures he’s given,
  the berries moldy under the topmost layer---
  
  so that one withdraws from the world
  even as one continues to take action in it---
  
  You get home, that's when you notice the mold.
  Too late, in other words.
  
  As though the sun blinded you for a moment.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


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