武靖东 ⊙ 阳光豁亮,适合裸奔

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38节礼物-康妮•沃娜珂诗三首(武靖东译)

◎武靖东



给姐妹们的礼物:美国康妮•沃娜珂诗三首
(武靖东译,她的诗是第一次介绍到国内供给刊某谢绝转载) (2011-03-07 17:26:50)
标签: 武靖东翻译康妮杂谈 分类: 英译汉

康妮•沃娜珂诗三首
武靖东译



  1,《雪中的痕迹》

  以前我怎么没有看见过那高深的天空?
   真是有福啊,最后,我还是发现了它。
               ——托尔斯泰


他住在离墓地最近的房子里,
新雪落下之后
他想去墓碑间滑雪。
那些新坟之中有一条斜道和一段令人
微微兴奋的下坡。
即使人们注意到这一点,他们也从不会这样说,
而他的痕迹确实清晰可辨,
一个老练的签名
通到他的门口,也出自他的门口。
他像雪一样坦诚。


【原文】
Tracks in the Snow

  How was it I did not see that lofty sky before?
  And how happy I am to have found it at last.                    
                    Tolstoy


He lived in the house closest to the cemetery
and after a fresh snow
he liked to ski among the headstones.
New graves had an incline and a downward slope
that was gently exhilarating.
If people cared they never said so,
and his tracks were plainly legible,
a practiced signature
leading to and from his door.
He was as honest as the snow.


2,《剩余的》


在你读完你所能读到的东西之后
或许还有几行剩下。
别觉得有什么负担!
现在,就像平常的那些结论一样
它们都是冰凉的。
也很硬,如同一块烤牛肉
下部变白的脂肪。
有些人留下了残羹冷炙,
也常在读书读到半夜以后,
直接喝干了瓶中
最后那点葡萄酒。
“此后其乐陶陶”这句话就是对那些
似乎从不厌倦甜食的人而说的。
而你:你扔下了我和这份食物,
扔下了起皱的餐巾,骨头和面包皮,
还有从沙拉里挑出来的洋葱,
正准备回家。
要是我有头要去养肥的猪,那该多好。
【原文】

Leftovers

After you have read all you possibly can
there may be a few lines left.
Please don’t feel obligated!
They’re cold by now
as conclusions often are.
Hard, too, like beef fat that
whitens at the foot of a roast.
Some can make another meal of leftovers
and often read past midnight
drinking the last wine
directly out of the bottle.
“Happily ever after” is for those
who never seem to tire of sweets.
And you: you’re already going home,
leaving me with this mess,
wrinkled napkins, bones and crusts
and onions teased out of the salad.
If only I had a pig to fatten.


3,《那些雏菊》


在雏菊的民主国度中
每一次开花都投了一次票。
投票表决的问题是
他爱不爱我?

如果答案不对,我就会再试一次,
只是我对堆在我鞋子周围的
那些花瓣感到有点难过。

田野里,蜜蜂自由而散漫,
那些雏菊在等待,在盼望,
梦想着能被一个昆虫的吸管轻吻。
也许我们弄不明白

是什么把我们变成了这样的傻瓜。
我把这是归咎于六月的炎热
归咎于和他有关的一切。


【原文】
Daisies  

In the democracy of daisies
every blossom has one vote.
The question on the ballot is
Does he love me?

If the answer's wrong I try another,
a little sorry about the petals
piling up around my shoes.

Bees are loose in the fields
where daisies wait and hope,
dreaming of the kiss of a proboscis.
We can't possibly understand


what makes us such fools.
I blame the June heat
and everything about him.  





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