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R·S·托马斯诗选译(一)

◎大河原



以下译作首发于:方舟诗社 R·S·托马斯诗选:十二首

这里

我已经成人了。
将手搭上我的额头吧。
这智力成长之处,你可摸摸它。

我像一棵树,
从这树顶我可以看出
那些引领我成长的脚步。

有血在我的血管
它已清除与如此多腰间
缔约的瑕斑。

可是为何,我的两手红艳
有如此多死人的血沾染?
是否我已迷途在其间?

为何我的手如此顽梗
不按我的指令而行?
难道我祈祷时没有上帝垂听?

我已无处可以向前
疾速的众星彰显
我整个人的时钟迟缓,

赶往心灵之外的那些目的地
已然太迟。
我只能满怀伤痛留在这里。

Here

I am a man now.
Pass your hand over my brow.
You can feel the place where the brains grow.

I am like a tree,
From my top boughs I can see
The footprints that led up to me.

There is blood in my veins
That has run clear of the stain
Contracted in so many loins.

Why, then, are my hands red
With the blood of so many dead?
Is this where I was misled?

Why are my hands this way
That they will not do as I say?
Does no God hear when I pray?

I have no where to go
The swift satellites show
The clock of my whole being is slow,

It is too late to start
For destinations not of the heart.
I must stay here with my hurt.

舞蹈

她很年轻。我有资格
甚至提说她的名字吗?孩子,
这不是我所呈献的爱,
给你轻快的四肢,你的眼眸;
这只是微薄的敬意
来自一位老人,他的时光已然
钉了十字架。拉住我的手吧
舞蹈一小会儿,
忽略诡诈的羞怯,
干瘪的年纪,
在天真无邪的树枝下
引领我。让我在你秀发间
再次嗅到我的青春。

The Dance

She is young. Have I the right
Even to name her? Child,
It is not love I offer
Your quick limbs, your eyes;
Only the barren homage
Of an old man whom time
Crucifies. Take my hand
A moment in the dance,
Ignoring its sly pressure,
The dry rut of age,
And lead me under the boughs
Of innocence. Let me smell
My youth again in your hair.

十三只乌鸦观望一个男人

1
很安静。
像是我们
曾住在一座园子里
那善与恶
的认知还没有
到来。
但有一个男人在其中。

2
将有雨
垂落
从寻常的
天空。那人的脸
会从它的窗栏
后面凝望,
他不喜欢这雨。

3
没有什么高过
一个黑莓
树丛。当太阳
初升,那从地平线
延伸向地平线的
黑暗是什么?是荫影
那个叉状男人的。

4
我们已经吃掉
那些黑莓并吐出了
籽,但它们躺着
闪亮如一个男人的眼睛。

5
当我们停住
歌唱,园子荡起了
回声。是那个
男人在吹口哨,期待着
一切为他来临。

6
我们在树枝上
擦抹嘴巴
徒耗黎明的
珠宝去清除
一个男人的味道。

7
尽管如此,
没啥大不了的
只是一个人,我们的
账单不会带来麻烦。

8
谁说过这
数字不吉利?
是一个男人,那个
试图避开我们的,
他曾使自己的许可被获准
十三次。

9
天起凉风
的时候那园子
似乎交给了
乌鸦。然而
我们也知道某处
藏着一个男人。

10
对于我们,有
蛋就有
乌鸦。但那人在此,
竟也,试图无羽
而孵出方案。

11
我们伸展
翅膀,盘旋于
自己的领空。一个男人站在
我们之下痴想
能做同样的事情。

12
每当夜晚降临
如来自太空
的访客
我们就闭塞耳朵
免得听到讲说
那个月光中的男人。

13
夏天到
头了。候鸟
离去。当它们开春
返回这园子时,
可会有一个男人在它们当中?

Thirteen Blackbirds Looking At A Man

I
It is calm.
It is as though
we lived in a garden
that had not yet arrived
at the knowledge of
good and evil.
But there is a man in it.

II
There will be
rain falling vertically
from an indifferent
sky. There will stare out
from behind its
bars the face of the man
who is not enjoying it.

III
Nothing higher
than a blackberry
bush. As the sun comes up
fresh, what is the darkness
stretching from horizon
to horizon? It is the shadow
here of the forked man.

IV
We have eaten
the blackberries and spat out
the seeds, but they lie
glittering like the eyes of a man.

V
After we have stopped
singing, the garden is disturbed
by echoes. It is
the man whistling, expecting
everything to come to him.

VI
We wipe our beaks
on the branches
wasting the dawn's
jewellery to get rid
of the taste of a man.

VII
Nevertheless,
which is not the case
with a man, our
bills give us no trouble.

VIII
Who said the
number was unlucky?
It was a man, who,
trying to pass us,
had his licence endorsed
thirteen times.

IX
In the cool
of the day the garden
seems given over
to blackbirds. Yet
we know also that somewhere
there is a man in hiding.

X
To us there are
eggs and there are
blackbirds. But there is the man,
too, trying without feathers
to incubate a solution.

XI
We spread our
wings, reticulating
our air space. A man stands
under us and worries
at his ability to do the same.

XII
When night comes
like a visitor
from outer space
we stop our ears
lest we should hear tell
of the man in the moon.

XIII
Summer is
at an end. The migrants
depart. When they return
in spring to the garden,
will there be a man among them?

乡村

几无街道,房屋稀缺得
不足提起;单单一条小路
在唯一的酒馆和唯一的商店之间
并不通往哪里,消隐在低矮的
山岗上,被吞没于
长期侵蚀的绿色潮水,
那是不断蔓延的荒草,渐近
这过往时光的最后据点。

几无微澜;黑狗
在炎日下捏爆身上的跳蚤
就是史记。倒是那挨门串户的
女孩,在平淡日子的两维外
步入了一个新刻度。

就这样吧,乡村,因为环绕你
在缓慢的轴上转动着一个如此辽阔
而富有意义的世界,仿佛任凭
伟大的柏拉图那孤独的心灵去构建。

The Village

Scarcely a street, too few houses
To merit the title; just a way between
The one tavern and the one shop
That leads nowhere and fails at the top
Of the short hill, eaten away
By long erosion of the green tide
Of grass creeping perpetually nearer
This last outpost of time past.

So little happens; the black dog
Cracking his fleas in the hot sun
Is history. Yet the girl who crosses
From door to door moves to a scale
Beyond the bland day's two dimensions.

Stay, then, village, for round you spins
On a slow axis a world as vast
And meaningful as any posed
By great Plato's solitary mind.

夜晚和清晨

暴风雨的夜晚我起身漫步
沿着梅奈海滨,在梦幻般滩涂;
阴风烈烈,狂潮肆意翻卷,
浪涛怒号,在卡纳芬港岸边。

然而清晨,当我从那路经过,
梅奈海滨一派天堂的祥和;
风儿轻柔,大海仿如一朵花,
太阳酣然睡卧在卡纳芬塔。

Night And Morning

One night of tempest I arose and went
Along the Menai shore on dreaming bent;
The wind was strong, and savage swung the tide,
And the waves blustered on Caernarfon side.

But on the morrow, when I passed that way,
On Menai shore the hush of heaven lay;
The wind was gentle and the sea a flower
And the sun slumbered on Caernarfon tower.

双鱼座

是谁告诉那鳟鱼
你必死在圣善周五
给一个男人和他
漂亮的太太为食物?

是我,上帝说,
我曾用纤弱的肉体
和伤损的牙
塑造了玫瑰花。

Pisces

Who said to the trout,
You shall die on Good Friday
To be food for a man
And his pretty lady?

It was I, said God,
Who formed the roses
In the delicate flesh
And the tooth that bruises.

美好

那位老人出来站在山上
俯瞰山谷回忆其中的
旧时光。他看见溪水闪耀,
教堂矗立,听到孩童的
喧闹声。一阵透体的寒意
告诉他死亡已然
临近:那是生命庞大枝干下的
荫影。他园子里生长着草药。
一只红隼掠过带着新鲜的猎物
在爪间。风中有野豆的
香气飘散。拖拉机劳作在
大地的身体上。他孙子正在那里
耕耘;年轻的媳妇带来了
糕点茶水和黝黑的笑脸。真好。

Good

The old man comes out on the hill
and looks down to recall earlier days
in the valley. He sees the stream shine,
the church stand, hears the litter of
children's voices. A chill in the flesh
tells him that death is not far off
now: it is the shadow under the great boughs
of life. His garden has herbs growing.
The kestrel goes by with fresh prey
in its claws. The wind scatters the scent
of wild beans. The tractor operates
on the earth's body. His grandson is there
ploughing; his young wife fetches him
cakes and tea and a dark smile. It is well.

演戏

懵懵懂懂娶了她
我从不知她何时不在演戏。
“我爱你,”她说,我听到观众
在叹气。“讨厌你”,我永不能确定
它们还在那里。她那么可爱。我
只是她化妆时的镜子。
我曾节俭地享用她身体
荡漾的草地。羊群的眼睛夜夜吃草在那里。

如今她独自在她脆弱的
台子上表演着最后的角色。
非常完美。她全部职业生涯中
从未如此出色过。然而帷幕
已落。我的可人儿,从幕后出来
接受掌声。你看,我也在鼓掌。

Acting

Being unwise enough to have married her
I never knew when she was not acting.
‘I love you’ she would say; I heard the audiences
Sigh. ‘I hate you’; I could never be sure
They were still there. She was lovely. I
Was only the looking-glass she made up in.
I husbanded the rippling meadow
Of her body. Their eyes grazed nightly upon it.

Alone now on the brittle platform
Of herself she is playing her last rôle.
It is perfect. Never in all her career
Was she so good. And yet the curtain
Has fallen. My charmer, come out from behind
It to take the applause. Look, I am clapping too.

女人

那么美——上帝自己都对她走过来
感到忧惧:那修长的身体曲弯
仿佛地平线。他怎么会把她造得
如此?要不这样吧,她说,
一边向他依偎过来,可否不要
为此争执,我们分割拥有
这一切?你能获得发明它的
所有荣誉,只需留下
这订单给我。他凝视她的
眼眸遥遥展望,沿着世世代代的
骨头好让那些伟大的星辰
领航,不过牵扯的引力
太多了。好吧,他想,给我心灵的
赞歌,至于她们用身体做什么
不归我管了。他放手在自己肋旁
为授命这立约之血而拔出
那根荆棘,然后触碰了
她。走吧,他说,他们必永世来找你
带着欲望,而你必为他们流血作为回报。

The Woman

So beautiful- God himself quailed
at her approach: the long body curved
like the horizon. Why had he made
her so? How would it be, she said,
leaning towards him, if instead of
quarreling over it, we divided it
between us? You can have all the credit
for its invention, if you will leave the ordering
of it to me. He looked into her
eyes and saw far down the bones
of the generations that would navigate
by those great stars, but the pull of it
was too much. Yes, he thought, give me their minds'
tribute, and what they do with their bodies
is not my concern. He put his hand in his side
and drew out the thorn for the letting
of the ordained blood and touched her with
it. Go, he said. They shall come to you for ever
with their desire, and you shall bleed for them in return.
 
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