罗伯特·勃莱的诗集
洞见诗刊 5/15
罗伯特·勃莱（Robert Bly，1926—），美国诗人。生于明尼苏达州马迪森市。美国六、七十年代“新超现实主义”的主要推动者和代表性诗人。五十年代以前，诗风深受新批评派影响。从五十年代后期起，开始倡导反学院派诗风。著有诗集《雪地里的寂静》、《身体周围的光》、《在耕耘中找到的苹果》等。
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From 洞见诗刊
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看见你带着幼苗进来
我多么爱你。夜晚潮湿，
空气寂静，就像我爱你时一样。
我并不是每天晚上都爱你。
有时我如同星星，脱离了云朵回来。
夜晚潮湿，如你的内心富于营养
让一切事物都围绕你而生活。
今夜我看见你走过草地，把幼苗带进来，
把它们从寒意中拯救出来。
有时我溜到门后，因此
我才不会被造访，或弓着背
行走于泥土下面的沙洲，不清楚
我的家人是否能够恋爱
你的声音是星星下面开阔的水
由丰富的雨水积聚而成，流向低地。
夜晚潮湿，地面潮湿
空气寂静，树林沉默，今夜我爱你。
作者 / [美国] 罗伯特·勃莱
翻译 / 董继平
Seeing You Carry Plants In
How much I love you. The night is moist.
The air is still, as when I love you.
It is not every evening that I love you.
I come back like the stars, sometimes out of clouds.
The night is moist, and nourishing as your mind
that lets everything around you live.
I saw you carry the plants inside tonight
over the grass, to save them from the cold.
Sometimes I slip behind a door, so that
I will not be called on, or walk
hunched on sandbars below earth, not sure
if anyone in my family can love.
Your voice is water open beneath stars,
collected from abundant rain, gone to low places.
The night is moist, the ground wet,
air still, trees silent, and tonight I love you.
Robert Bly, Loving a Woman in Two Worlds
“我多么爱你”，“我并不是每天晚上都爱你。”“我的家人是否能够恋爱”，“今夜我爱你”，如果把这首诗中有“爱”的句子提出来，就是这几句了。
“我多么爱你”，“我并不是每天晚上都爱你。”第一节，制造了矛盾和张力。这样的矛盾是对应第二、第三节的。第三节的末尾是“我的家人是否能够恋爱”，以疑问的方式开启第四节。第四节可以说是“因此我爱你。”整首诗是富于节奏感的，当然这并不是如唐诗那样整齐的节奏，而是一种错落有致的节奏，并造成反复吟咏的效果。
“我多么爱你。夜晚潮湿，/ 空气寂静，就像我爱你时一样。”我是爱你的。“我并不是每天晚上都爱你。/ 有时我如同星星，脱离了云朵回来。”话锋一转，我虽然爱你，但不是每天晚上都爱你。因为星星如果混同于云朵，便不再闪耀，因此爱也没有存在的意义了。这就是爱情的张力吧。
“夜晚潮湿，如你的内心富于营养 / 让一切事物都围绕你而生活。”因为你的心是丰富的，这一切事物因为围绕着你而这样存活着。“今夜我看见你走过草地，把幼苗带进来，/ 把它们从寒意中拯救出来。”“幼苗”既是爱的象征，又是被爱之物。你轻而易举地，又是自然而然地“带着幼苗走进来”，把它从寒冷中拯救出来。所以这爱是自然而强大的。
“有时我溜到门后，因此 / 我才不会被造访，或弓着背 / 行走于泥土下面的沙洲，不清楚 / 我的家人是否能够恋爱”。虽然爱如此自然而强大，但是我仍然有质疑，不是质疑你对我的爱，而是质疑爱的本身。我行走在孤独的状态中，并不知道作为家人，我们是否能够恋爱。
“你的声音是星星下面开阔的水 / 由丰富的雨水积聚而成，流向低地。/ 夜晚潮湿，地面潮湿/ 空气寂静，树林沉默，今夜我爱你。”人只有是孤独的，或者说是独立的，然后才有爱。
“我多么爱你”、“今夜我爱你”、“我并不是每天晚上都爱你”，三句构成的矛盾是自然存在的，具有现代意义。爱情是一种此时此刻的状态，爱情与爱不同，爱是绝对的，而爱情是不断演化的，如果一时的爱情就视为爱，那只能是自欺欺人。爱的双方，是平等独立的，这才有爱。当爱的一方自然而强大的时候，爱是能够把人吞噬的。从而失去爱情。用一句通俗的话就是，在爱情中失去自我，从而失去爱。
作者 / 牛慧祥
2014/12/21
罗伯特·勃莱的诗集
八月阳光
八月，一束束阳光穿过百叶窗倾洒进来。
几筐未回复的信封
躺在椅上。
肯定有个傻家伙住在这儿。
（冯默谌 译）
August Sun
Strips of August sun come in through shutters.
Baskets of unanswered letters
lie on chairs.
Some foolish man must live here.
隐士
黑暗穿过黑暗并从中跌落，
从一处暗礁落向
另一处暗礁。
有个人的身体十分完美。
他站在暴风雨后，
而草叶在身后的风中跳跃。
黑暗聚集在他的脚上。
他是虚无之人。当我们看到他时，
我们变得平静，
并航行着进入快乐的死亡隧道中。
（冯默谌 译）
The Hermit
Darkness is falling through darkness
Falling from ledge
To ledge.
There is a man whose body is perfectly whole.
He stands the storm behind him
And the grass blades are leaping in the wind.
Darkness is gathered in folds
About his feet.
He is no one. When we see
Him we grow calm
And sail on into the tunnels of joyful death.
圣诞节开车送父母回家
穿过风雪，当我开车送父母回家时
他们的虚弱的身体在山坡边犹豫。
我向着悬崖大喊
只有雪花回应。
他们安静地谈论着，
搬运水，和吃桔子
还有昨晚忘带了的孙子的照片。
当他们打开自己的房门时，他们便消失了。
而当橡树在森林里倒下时，
谁又能听到绵延数英里的寂静？
他们彼此紧紧地挨坐着，
仿佛是被雪挤压在一起。
（冯默谌 译）
Driving my Parents Home at Christmas
As I drive my parents home through the snow
their frailty hesitates on the edge of a mountainside.
I call over the cliff
only snow answers.
They talk quietly
of hauling water of eating an orange
of a grandchild's photograph left behind last night.
When they open the door of their house they disappear.
And the oak when it falls in the forest who hears it through miles and miles of silence？
They sit so close to each other…as if pressed together by the snow.
衣夹
我想要我的一生都来制作
衣夹。这样就没有什么会被伤害，
除了一些松树，也许在我所拥有的
土地上，我会重新把它们种植。我会看到
在湖边晾衣线上的我的作品，
十月的一天，往北走，
或许是十二块衣夹，木料
依旧清新，还有一阵微风轻吹着。
（冯默谌 译）
CLOTHESPINS
I’d like to have spent my life making
Clothespins. Nothing would be harmed,
Except some pines, probably on land
I owned and would replant. I’d see
My work on clotheslines near some lake,
Up north on a day in October,
Perhaps twelve clothespins, the wood
Still fresh, and a light wind blowing.
在一列火车上
下了一场小雪。
黑色的铁轨在黑暗中驶动。
我盯着黏了微尘的车窗，
在蒙大拿州的米苏拉醒来时，我十分高兴。
（冯默谌 译）
In a Train
There has been a light snow.
Dark car tracks move in out of the darkness.
I stare at the train window marked with soft dust.
I have awakened at Missoula Montana utterly happy.
在多雨的九月
在多雨的九月，树叶在黑暗下生长，
我把额头贴向潮湿的，散发有海草气息的沙地上。
时间已经到来。而我把选择推迟多年，
或许是整个生命。羊齿草没有选择，只能生活；
为此，它遭受着泥土，水和夜的击打。
我们关上门。“我对你没有要求。”
黄昏来了。“我对你的爱也已足够。”
我们知道离开彼此后仍可独自生活。
麻鸭离开鸭群后漂泊。
橡树在孤独的山坡上伸出它的树叶。
在我们之前的男女早已做到这点。
我每年都会见你，而你也会如此。
我们是两颗麦粒，不会被种植。
我们呆在屋子里，关上门，熄了灯，
（冯默谌 译）
In Rainy September
In rainy September, when leaves grow down to the dark,
I put my forehead down to the damp, seaweed-smelling sand.
The time has come. I have put off choosing for years,
perhaps whole lives. The fern has no choice but to live;
for this crime it receives earth, water, and night.
We close the door. “I have no claim on you.”
Dusk comes. “The love I have had with you is enough.”
We know we could live apart from one another.
The sheldrake floats apart from the flock.
The oak tree puts out leaves alone on the lonely hillside.
Men and women before us have accomplished this.
I would see you, and you me, once a year.
We would be two kernels, and not be planted.
We stay in the room, door closed, lights out.
I weep with you without shame and without honor.
饮马
考虑放下所有野心，多么奇妙！
突然间，我清澈的眼睛看到
白色的雪花，
刚落在马的鬃毛上。
（冯默谌 译）
Watering the Horse
How strange to think of giving up all ambition！
Suddenly I see with such clear eyes
The white flake of snow
That has just fallen on the horse’s mane！
为什么我们还不能死
九月下旬，很多声音
告诉你，你将会死去。
那片叶子也这样说。那冰凉。
他们说的都对。
我们许多的灵魂——关于它
它们又能做什么呢？
无可奈何。它们早已成为
无形世界的一部分。
即便如此
我们的灵魂依然
渴望回家。“已经迟了，”它们说。
“锁上门，让我们走吧。”
身体却不同意。它说，
“在那棵树下，我们埋了
一颗小小的铁球。
让我们去挖出它。”
（冯默谌 译）
Why We Don't Die
In late September many voices
Tell you you will die.
That leaf says it. That coolness.
All of them are right.
Our many souls - what
Can they do about it？
Nothing. They're already
Part of the invisible.
Our souls have been
Longing to go home
Anyway. "It's late," they say.
"Lock the door, let's go."
The body doesn't agree. It says,
"We buried a little iron
Ball under that tree.
Let's go get it."
煎鱼的老妇
给唐纳德·霍尔
你听说过那个在黑水边
散步的男孩吗？我不会说太多。
让我们等上几年。它想要有人进入。
有时当一个人独自走在一块池塘边，一只手
便伸过来，把他拉下去。
没有什么恶意，
准确地说。池塘寂寞，或者缺钙，
骨头就行。然后发生了什么？
它有点像柔和的夜风，
慢慢地移动，又像深夜里
厨房中一位叹息的老妇，移锅
生火，为猫做些食物。
（冯默谌 译）
注：唐纳德·霍尔(Donald Hall,1928.9.20—2018.6.23)，美国诗人，作者好友。
The Old Woman Frying Perch
Have you heard about the boy who walked by
The black water？ I won't say much more.
Let's wait a few years. It wanted to be entered.
Sometimes a man walks by a pond, and a hand
Reaches out and pulls him in.
There was no
Intention, exactly. The pond was lonely, or needed
Calcium, bones would do. What happened then？
It was a little like the night wind, which is soft,
And moves slowly, sighing like an old woman
In her kitchen late at night, moving pans
About, lighting a fire, making some food for the cat.
For Donald Hall
有些男人很难完成的句子
有时候，一个男人无法说
他怎么了……一阵风吹来，
他的门没有吱响。雨
滴落，他的头发是干的。
有许多事物存于内心，
还有许多……有时，羞愧
意味着我们……孩子令人心痛，
他六岁，他的手……
甚至，当哈姆雷特经过时
国王祈祷着，
并说，
“有些事物……”
（冯默谌 译）
IT'S HARD FOR SOME MEN TO FINISH SENTENCES
Sometimes a man can't say
What he …… A wind comes
And his doors don't rattle. Rain
Comes and his hair is dry.
There's a lot to keep inside
And a lot to ……Sometimes shame
Means we…… Children are cruel,
He's six and his hand……
Even Hamlet kept passing
The king praying
And the king said,
"There was something……
生活和狗之间的相似性
相信我，我从未想要过这种生活——
它恰好发生。你知道狗会如何出现
在农场，它们摇晃着尾巴，却无法解释。
那很不错，如果你接受生活——你会发现
自己的脸已变形，要努力适应
它。当你十岁时，你的面孔
以为生活就像你卧室里的镜子。
那是一条清澈的河流，被山风拂过。
甚至连你的父母也不相信你的变化如此巨大。
冬日的麻雀，如果你曾捉到一只，所有的羽毛，
用力冲出你的手掌，伴随一阵强烈的喜悦。
后来你在篱笆间看到它们。老师表扬你，
可是你再也回不到那个冬天，再也找不到那只麻雀。
你的生活像一条狗。它已饿了一路。
并非因为喜欢你，只是没有办法，才走进来。
（冯默谌 译）
The Resemblance Between Your Life and a Dog
I never intended to have this life, believe me -
It just happened. You know how dogs turn up
At a farm, and they wag but can't explain.
It's good if you can accept your life - you'll notice
Your face has become deranged trying to adjust
To it. Your face thought your life would look
Like your bedroom mirror when you were ten.
That was a clear river touched by mountain wind.
Even your parents can't believe how much you've changed.
Sparrows in winter, if you've ever held one, all feathers,
Burst out of your hand with a fiery glee.
You see them later in hedges. Teachers praise you,
But you can't quite get back to the winter sparrow.
Your life is a dog. He's been hungry for miles.
Doesn't particularly like you, but gives up, and comes in.
在一只小舟上阅读
我很高兴能在那只小舟上，漂浮
在被灵巧之光
雕刻的橡树叶下。
有多少次，我笑着
度过黑夜，因为她
走近，留下，或者回来。
船停了，我醒了。
但书页一直在翻动。我跳
回书中，恰好赶上。
我没有痛苦，没有饥饿，
朋友，我还活着，沉睡着，
并一直读着一本书。
（冯默谌 译）
READING IN A BOAT
I was glad to be in that boat, floating
Under oak leaves that had been
Carved by crafty light.
How many times during the night
I laughed, because She
Came near, and stayed, or returned.
The boat stopped, and I woke.
But the pages kept turning. I jumped
Back in the book, and caught up.
I was not in pain, not hungry,
Friend, I was alive, sleeping,
And all that time reading a book.
在丰田车中的脸
假想有一天，你在丰田车中
看到一张脸，然后你爱上了它，
那是她，当世界急驶而过
如蒙大拿州街上吹落的灰尘。
然后，你向上进入一些深穴，
你无法从一粒沙中和上帝对话。
你的生活已然改变，而你现在
比过去更容易忽略一些事物。
而那些被你忽略的事物会把你埋葬，
你被击垮，你的父母
再不能帮助你，而丰田车中的那个女人
也成为你看不到的世界的一部分。
此时，这粒砂又重新变回自己，
你站在一条山路上，痛哭着。
（冯默谌 译）
The face in the Toyota
Suppose you see a face in a Toyota
One day, and fall in love with that face,
And it is Her, and the world rushes by
Like dust blown down a Montana street.
And you fall upward into some deep hole,
And you can't tell God from a grain of sand.
And your life is changed, except that you now
Overlook even more than you did before,
And these ignored things come to bury you,
And you are crushed, and your parents
Can't help anymore, and the woman in the Toyota
Becomes a part of the world that you don't see,
And now the grain of sand becomes sand again,
And you stand on some mountain road weeping.
一首诗是些记忆
早上；灯光亮着，房屋依然寂静。
在我们入睡的整夜，记忆都在流动
涌上大脑的海岸。记忆起落
留下的是对死亡的一种精妙的敞开。
几乎是一种对死亡的渴切。那渴切
就像峡谷地面上的雨水，只有飞沫。
大脑就像褐色的沙子，它不断地
延伸，吸收这些雨水。
什么是诗？“哦，它是一些记忆，”
一个女人对我说。“几千年前，
当我站在一座坟墓前，一个女人递给
我，一块用红赭石做成的小骨头。
“它是一首关于天堂的诗，我哭了。”
（冯默谌 译）
A POEM IS SOME REMEMBERING
It’s morning; there’s lamplight, and the room is still.
All night as we slept, memory flowed
Onto the brain shore. Memories rise and fall
And leave behind a delicate openness to death.
Almost a longing to die. That longing
Is like rain on canyon ground, only droplets.
And the brain is like brown sand, it stretches
On and on, and it absorbs the rain.
What is a poem？ “Oh it is some remembering,”
A woman said to me. “Thousands of years ago,
When I stood by a grave, a woman handed
Me a small bone made red with ochre.
“It was a poem about heaven, and I wept so.”
十一月
有些愤怒包括对整个世界。
你会做什么呢？一名老水果切割员
渴望死亡，想象
复活节的钉子。
在他的冰岛农场，古托姆听到了
这则消息：他的两个儿子
死了。他把一些植被
覆在头上。
有些橡叶悬着，有些也已飘落。
身体说，“死亡是正确的。
这并不是对世界的
侮辱。”
（冯默谌 译）
NOVEMBER
Some aggravations include the whole world.
What can you do？ An old pulp-cutter
Longs to die, imagines
The Easter nails.
On his Icelandic farm, Guttorm hears
The news： his two sons
Dead. He pulls the covers
Up over his head.
Some oak leaves hang, others fall.
The body says, “It’s all right
To die. It’s not an insult
To the world.”
像我们这样的人
给詹姆斯·赖特
有更多像我们这样的人。世界各地
都有困惑的人，当他们醒来时，他们不记得
他们的狗的名字，那些
喜爱上帝的人，已忘记上帝在哪里
当他们入睡时。这
还好。世界以这种方式清洗自己。
夜里，一个错误的电话号浮现在脑海，
你拨过去，电话铃及时地响了
拯救了屋里的人。小偷
得到错误的地址，
二楼那里住着个失眠者，
他很孤独，因此他们聊天，小偷
返回大学。甚至在研究生院，
你漫步而行，走错教室，
聆听那假教授深情地朗诵
伟大的诗篇 ，于是你找到了你的灵魂，
伟大自有守护，即使深处死亡，也很安全。
（冯默谌 译）
People Like Us
For James Wright
There are more like us. All over the world
There are confused people, who can't remember
The name of their dog when they wake up, and people
Who love God but can't remember where
He was when they went to sleep. It's
All right. The world cleanses itself this way.
A wrong number occurs to you in the middle
Of the night, you dial it, it rings just in time
To save the house. And the second-story man
Gets the wrong address, where the insomniac lives,
And he's lonely, and they talk, and the thief
Goes back to college. Even in graduate school,
You can wander into the wrong classroom,
And hear great poems lovingly spoken
By the wrong professor. And you find your soul,
And greatness has a defender, and even in death you're safe.
三节诗
一
哦，在一个清晨，我想我会永远活下去！
我被我那快乐的肉体包裹
就如被裹在绿云中的草一般。
二
我从梦中起床
经过城堡和热炭的长久旅行，
太阳快乐地躺在我的膝上；
我经历了黑夜，并从黑夜中活了下来
就像浸泡在黑水中的一片草叶。
三
白蜡槭树的猛叶
在风里摇晃，呼唤我们消失在
宇宙的荒野
那里，我们将坐在一株植物的脚下
像尘埃永远地生活。
（冯默谌 译）
Poems in Three Parts
1
Oh on an early morning I think I shall live forever！
I am wrapped in my joyful flesh
As the grass is wrapped in its clouds of green.
2
Rising from a bed where I dreamt
Of long rides past castles and hot coals
The sun lies happily on my knees;
I have suffered and survived the night
Bathed in dark water like any blade of grass.
3
The strong leaves of the box-elder tree
Plunging in the wind call us to disappear
Into the wilds of the universe
Where we shall sit at the foot of a plant
And live forever like the dust.
久劳之后
伏案数周后，我又开始外出散步。
月亮不见，脚下是新翻的泥土，没有星星；也无一丝光亮！
假如有一匹马从开阔的田野上向我奔来，
那我在孤独中度过的每一天都没有浪费。
（冯默谌 译）
After Long Busyness
I start out for a walk at last after weeks at desk.
Moon gone, plowing underfoot, no stars; not a trace of light！
Suppose a horse were galloping toward me in this open field？
Every day I did not spend in solitude was wasted.
潜鸟之鸣
从遥远的空荡荡的湖泊中央，
升起来的潜鸟之鸣。
那是拥有很少东西的人的哭喊。
（冯默谌 译）
The Loon’s Cry
From far out in the centre of the naked lake
The loon’s cry rose.
It was the cry of someone who owned very little.
深夜开车去镇上寄信
一个寒冷的雪夜。大街上空荡荡一片。
唯一移动的，只有那些飞旋的雪花。
当我打开信箱门时，我感到它铁皮的寒冷。
我有一个隐秘，我爱这雪夜。
当我在周围开车时，我将会浪费许多时光。
（冯默谌 译）
Driving to Town Late to Mail a Letter
It is a cold and snowy night. The main street is deserted.
The only things moving are swirls of snow.
As I lift the mailbox door I feel its cold iron.
There is a privacy I love in this snowy night.
Driving around I will waste more time.
黄昏
渔夫们
砰的关上车门，然后
驶离了那片湖泊。
（冯默谌 译）
Near Dark
The fishermen
Slam their car doors, and drive
Away from the lake.
冬天的诗
冬天的蚂蚁抖动着翅膀
等待贫瘠之冬过去。
我用迟钝的，笨拙的方式爱你，
几乎沉默，只有一言两语。
是什么让我们隐秘地生活？
一道伤口，风，一个词语，一个源头。
有时我们用一种无助的方式等待，
笨拙地，并非全部、也无愈合。
当我们掩藏起伤口，我们从一个人
退化成一个有壳的生命。
等待贫瘠之冬过去。
我用迟钝的，笨拙的方式爱你，
几乎沉默，只有一言两语。
是什么让我们隐秘地生活？
一道伤口，风，一个词语，一个源头。
有时我们用一种无助的方式等待，
笨拙地，并非全部、也无愈合。
当我们掩藏起伤口，我们从一个人
退化成一个有壳的生命。
此刻我们感受到了蚂蚁那坚硬的胸膛，
甲壳，以及沉默的舌头。
这一定是蚂蚁的方式
冬天蚂蚁的方式，那些被伤害
还想继续生活的方式：
呼吸，感受他人，还有等待。
Winter Poem
The quivering wings of the winter ant
wait for lean winter to end.
I love you in slow, dim-witted ways,
hardly speaking, one or two words only.
What caused us to live hidden？
A wound, the wind, a word, a parent.
Sometimes we wait in a helpless way,
awkwardly, not whole and not healed.
When we hid the wound, we fell back
from a human to a shelled life.
Now we feel the ant's hard chest,
the carapace, the silent tongue.
The must be the way of the ant,
the winter ant, the way of those
who are wounded and want to live：
to breathe, to sense another, and to wait.
一个月的幸福
一匹瞎马在樱桃树间站着。
骨片们在冰冷的地面泛光。
心脏跃起
几乎跳至天空！但是悲痛
和花丝又将我们拉回到黑暗中。
夜围绕着我们。但
一只爪子
出现在黑暗里
为了照亮路面。我会好起来的。
我追寻着自己炽热的痕迹穿过夜色。
（冯默谌 译）
A Month Of Happiness
A blind horse stands among cherry trees.
And bones shine from cool earth.
The heart leaps
Almost up to the sky！ But laments
And filaments pull us back into the dark.
Night takes us. But
A paw
Comes out of the dark
To light the road. I'll be all right.
I follow my own fiery traces through the night.
惊异于夜晚
附近有我们未知的灰尘，
波浪越过山岗在海岸边拍打，
树上落满我们从未见过的鸟，
网被黑色的鱼拖拉着。
夜晚降临，我们抬头看见，它在那里
它已经通过星网
通过草丛的薄纱，
静静地走在水边避难所的上空。
我们认为：白天永远不会结束，
我们拥有的头发似乎就是为白昼而生。
但最终，夜晚平静的水面还会上涨，
我们的皮肤也将会看得更远，因为它在水下。
（冯默谌 译）
Surprised by Evening
There is unknown dust that is near us
Waves breaking on shores just over the hill
Trees full of birds that we have never seen
Nets drawn with dark fish.
The evening arrives; we look up and it is there
It has come through the nets of the stars
Through the tissues of the grass
Walking quietly over the asylums of the waters.
The day shall never end we think：
We have hair that seemed born for the daylight;
But at last the quiet waters of the night will rise
And our skin shall see far off as it does under water.
在地中海
一整天我都在狂热地爱你，就像紧攥着的马尾。
每当我伸手触碰你，我的爱就会满溢。
我的手在你衣下的身上移动
一只动物粗糙燃烧的手或脚在叶片上移动。
暴雨退去，明亮的阳光
在离陆地一千英里的海面上滑行。
（冯默谌 译）
At Mid ocean
All day I loved you in a fever holding on to the tail of the horse.
I overflowed whenever I reached out to touch you.
My hand moved over your body covered
With its dress
Burning rough an animal's hand or foot moving over leaves.
The rainstorm retires clouds open sunlight
sliding over ocean water a thousand miles from land.
残月
下弦月把它的光撒在我父亲的农场，
现在它的一半暗着，挂在吞噬它的西天。
大地含着石块，由它们在黎明前哼唱。
当我转身入屋时，我看到自己的影子投在门闩边。
（冯默谌 译）
Late Moon
The third-week moon reaches its light over my father’s farm,
Half of it dark now, in the west that eats it away.
The earth has rocks in it that hum at early dawn.
As I turn to go in, I see my shadow reach for the latch.
一个下雪的下午
1
草地被雪半掩着。
在傍晚时，开始降雪，
现在草地上的小屋越来越暗。
2
如果我的手向下碰到地面
我就能抓住一把把黑暗！
黑暗总是留在那里，我们从未留意过的地方。
3
随着雪越下越大，玉米杆远远地消褪
而谷仓也渐渐地向房屋靠近。
谷仓带去了不断变大的暴风雪中的
所有孤独。
4
装满玉米的谷仓走向我们，
像海洋上一艘被风暴吹袭的船那样向我们驶来
而甲板上所有的水手已失明多年。
（冯默谌 译）
Snowfall in the Afternoon
1
The grass is half-covered with snow.
It was the sort of snowfall that starts in late afternoon
And now the little houses of the grass are growing dark.
2
If I reached my hands down near the earth
I could take handfuls of darkness!
A darkness was always there which we never noticed.
3
As the snow grows heavier the cornstalks fade farther away
And the barn moves nearer to the house.
The barn moves all alone in the growing storm.
4
The barn is full of corn and moves toward us now
Like a hulk blown toward us in a storm at sea;
All the sailors on deck have been blind for many years.
乘火车经过一片果园
苹果树下草长得很高。
树皮粗糙，而且性感。
草茂密又零乱地生长。
我们无法像块石头
一样承受灾难——
它们在开阔的田野里，
赤身摇曳。
一次轻微的擦伤，我们就会死亡！
这列火车上，我不认识任何一个人。
一个男人走过通道。
我想告诉他：
“我宽恕你，希望你
也宽恕我。”
（冯默谌 译）
Passing an Orchard by Train
Grass high under apple trees.
The bark of the trees rough and sexual
the grass growing heavy and uneven.
We cannot bear disaster like
the rocks——
swaying nakedly
in open fields.
One slight bruise and we die！
I know no one on this train.
A man comes walking down the aisle.
I want to tell him
that I forgive him that I want him
to forgive me.
昆虫之头
这些金黄色的昆虫
披着如大帆船的外衣，在阿拉伯海上航行
它们的八角形之头
也携带着来世的沙画。
（冯默谌 译）
Insect Heads
These insects golden
And Arabic sailing in the husks of galleons
Their octagonal heads also
Hold sand paintings of the next life.
清点细小的尸骸
让我们再来清点一下这些尸骸。
如果我们能让尸骸缩小至，
如头骨般大小，
月光下，我们就能让满是骷髅的平原变白！
如果我们能把尸骸缩小，
也许，我们就能够在我们面前的书桌上
猎获一整年的食物！
如果我们能将使尸骸缩小，
我们就能
给一具尸体戴上一枚戒指，作为永久的纪念。
（冯默谌 译）
Counting Small-boned Bodies
Let's count the bodies over again.
If we could only make the bodies smaller
The size of skulls
We could make a whole plain white with skulls in the moonlight！
If we could only make the bodies smaller
Maybe we could get
A whole year's kill in front of us on a desk！
If we could only make the bodies smaller
We could fit
A body into a finger-ring for a keepsake forever.
月亮
写了一天诗后，
我到松林里赏月。
在树林深处，我倚靠一棵松树而坐。
月亮把她的门廊面朝光亮，
而她的房屋深处却漆黑一片。
（冯默谌 译）
The Moon
After writing poems all day,
I go off to see the moon in the pines.
Far in the woods I sit down against a pine.
The moon has her porches turned to face the light,
But the deep part of her house is in the darkness.
我生命里的一个暮春
寂静盘旋在大地上：
草地如古鸟之翼
从热气中轻轻升起
一匹马专心致志地注视着我。
（冯默谌 译）
A Late Spring Day In My Life
A silence hovers over earth：
The grass lifts lightly in the heat
Like the ancient wing of a bird.
A horse gazes steadily at me.
情诗
当我们恋爱时，我们爱草地，
爱谷仓，爱灯杆，
还有那空荡了一夜，小小的大街。
（冯默谌 译）
Love Poem
When we are in love, we love the grass,
And the barns, and the light poles,
And the small main streets abandoned all night.
握着手
握着你爱人的手，
你会发现它们是精致的的鸟笼…….
小小的鸟儿在歌唱
在僻静的大草原
在手的幽谷。
（冯默谌 译）
Taking the Hands
Taking the hands of someone you love,
You see they are delicate cages…
Tiny birds are singing
In the secluded prairies
And in the deep valleys of the hand.
整个潮湿之夜
北欧海盗船驶进盈满的港湾。
在海上，水手们就思念着远方的妻子。
整个潮湿之夜，船灯亮着。
潮水落下，水中有微微的长笛声。
（冯默谌 译）
The Whole Moisty Night
The Viking ship sailing into the full harbor.
The body meets its wife far out at sea.
Its lamp remains lit the whole moisty night.
Water pours down, faint flute notes in the sound of the water.
交谈
整个早上，我独自一人
坐在枫树下，阅读一本放在腿上的书，
你路过——那个我已经爱了
十年的人——路过，然后远去。
那就是所有。当我重回
阅读之中，我再也无法专心阅读。
我的欲望，玫瑰般的男子，
伸出它的触手，翻转书页。
一定是某些词有皮毛。
或者用沉默的事物交流思想。
或者，我可能再也不会
感到疲倦，忧伤，和孤独。
我们知道这是真的：蜜蜂的脚
了解它的花药和它低矮的灌木丛，
就像城堡中的女人知道
那个在树林里迷路的骑手。
（冯默谌 译）
Conversation
I sat beneath maples, reading,
A book in my lap, alone all morning.
You walked past-whom I have loved
For ten years-walked by and were gone.
That was all. When I returned
To reading, not all me returned.
My sex, or rosy man,
reached on its own and touched the book.
It must be some words have fur.
Or mute things exchange thought.
Or perhaps I am no longer
weary, grieving, and alone.
We know it’s true： the bee’s foot
knows its anther and its dwarves,
as the castle of women knows
of the rider lost outside in the trees.
乌龟
雨水涨了湖面，并清洗着芦苇。
乳草的豆荚慢慢张开，黄色的睡莲。
隔着浓雾，男女望着远处的堤岸。
乌龟的头浮出水面。
（冯默谌 译）
The Turtle
Rain lifts the lake level, washing the reeds.
Slowly the milkweed pods open, the yellow lily pads.
Through the mist man and woman see the far shore.
The turtle’s head rises out over the water.
在一座悬崖上
阅读大师之作，
我听到一只蚱蜢用他的翅膀
发出干燥之声，
并跳跃在风中，
两百英尺高的水面上！
（冯默谌 译）
On a Cliff
Reading the Master,
I heard a grasshopper making dry sounds with his wings,
Leaping about in the wind,
Two hundred feet above the water！
回归孤独
一
那是一个月夜，有风。
月亮被推出银河。
云儿没有生气，草儿在跳跃。
是时候归去了。
二
我们想回去，回到大海，
大海孤独的走廊，
狂烈之夜的大厅里，
悲伤爆发，
沉入死亡的大海，
如小熊座飞旋的星辰。
三
回去后，我们将会看到什么？
朋友变了，房子搬了，
树木，也许长出了新叶。
（冯默谌 译）
选自《雪野上的寂静》（1962年）
Return to Solitude
I
It is a moonlit, windy night.
The moon has pushed out the Milky Way.
Clouds are hardly alive, and the grass leaping.
It is the hour of return.
II
We want to go back, to return to the sea,
The sea of solitary corridors,
And halls of wild nights,
Explosions of grief,
Diving into the sea of death,
Like the stars of the wheeling Bear.
III
What shall we find when we return？
Friends changed, houses moved,
Trees perhaps, with new leaves.
from Silence in the Snowy Fields (1962)
事物之需
你应该让一切事物
拥有它们自己的空间。
这间房屋狭小，
可是这绿色的长靠椅
却喜欢呆在这儿。
大片沼泽的芦苇，
挤出泥沼，
发现世界美好。
你应该让一切事物
遵循他们的本真。
谁又知道，我们中的哪一个
更值得拥有这个世界？
（冯默谌 译）
What Things Want
You have to let things
Occupy their own space.
This room is small,
But the green settee
Likes to be here.
The big marsh reeds,
Crowding out the slough,
Find the world good.
You have to let things
Be as they are.
Who knows which of us
Deserves the world more？
与灵魂交谈
灵魂说：“给我些东西看看。”
于是我给了她一片农场。她说，
“它太大。因此我又给了她一块田地。
我们俩坐下来。
“有时我会爱上一片湖泊
或者一颗松果。但我还是爱她
最多。她知道这。”
“继续写作，”她说。
“所以我这么做了。每当新雪飘落，
我们会再次结婚。
神圣的死者坐在我们的床上。
这种情形已持续多年。”
“这块田地变得越来越小，”她说。
“难道你不知道还有
其他的人可以相爱吗？”
你会和她说些什么？
（冯默谌 译）
CONVERSATION WITH THE SOUL
The soul said, “Give me something to look at.”
So I gave her a farm. She said,
“It’s too large.” So I gave her a field.
The two of us sat down.
Sometimes I would fall in love with a lake
Or a pine cone. But I liked her
Most. She knew it.
“Keep writing,” she said.
So I did. Each time the new snow fell,
We would be married again.
The holy dead sat down by our bed.
This went on for years.
“This field is getting too small,” she said.
“Don’t you know anyone else
To fall in love with？”
What would you have said to Her？
思考事情
用你从未用过的方式思考。
如果电话响了，想象它是在传递某则消息
比你之前听过的任何事情都重大，
比叶芝的一百行诗句更辽阔。
想象有人可能把一头熊带到你门口，
或许它受伤，精神紊乱；或想象一头驼鹿
从湖面浮出，它的鹿角上驮着
一个你自己的从未见过的孩子。
当有人敲门时，想象他会
给你带来重大的消息：告诉你，你被原谅了，
或者不必一直工作，或者它
已被决定，如果你躺下，没有人会死去。
（冯默谌 译）
Things to Think.
Think in ways you’ve never thought before.
If the phone rings, think of it as carrying a message
Larger than anything you’ve ever heard,
Vaster than a hundred lines of Yeats.
Think that someone may bring a bear to your door,
Maybe wounded and deranged; or think that a moose
Has risen out of the lake, and he’s carrying on his antlers
A child of your own whom you’ve never seen.
When someone knocks on the door, think that he’s about
To give you something large： tell you you’re forgiven,
Or that it’s not necessary to work all the time, or that it’s
Been decided that if you lie down no one will die.
当我去世的父亲给我打电话
昨天夜里，我梦到父亲给我们打电话。
说他困于某处。我们花了
很长时间穿衣，我不知道为什么。
夜里大雪茫茫；还有长长的幽暗之路。
最后，我们到达了小镇，贝林汉姆。
他站在那儿，站在寒风中的一盏街灯旁，
街上吹着雪花。我注意到
他穿着一双四十年代初产的
长短不一的鞋子。和工作服。他抽着烟。
为什么我们要花如此长时间才出发？也许
他曾经把我们留在了某处，也许我只是
忘记了冬天他独自一人在某个小镇？
（冯默谌 译）
WHEN MY DEAD FATHER CALLED
Last night I dreamt my father called to us.
He was stuck somewhere. It took us
A long time to dress, I don’t know why.
The night was snowy; there were long black roads.
Finally, we reached the little town, Bellingham.
There he stood, by a streetlamp in cold wind,
Snow blowing along the sidewalk. I noticed
The uneven sort of shoes that men wore
In the early Forties. And overalls. He was smoking.
Why did it take us so long to get going？ Perhaps
He left us somewhere once, or did I simply
Forget he was alone in winter in some town？
三日的秋雨
长达三日的
十月之雨吹落
树叶。我们知道
生命不会永存。
码头上闪烁着
橡树叶，小舟中
落有冰凉的树叶，叶片
在老人的草地上被发现。
哈代警告
我们。耶稣在他的船上，
站立着，背对我们，
正向对岸划去。
（冯默谌 译）
THREE-DAY FALL RAIN
The three-day
October rain blows
Leaves down. We knew
That life wouldn’t last long.
The dock gleams
With oak leaves, cold
Leaves in the boat, leaves
Spotted in the old man grass.
Hardy warned
Us. Jesus in his boat,
Standing, his back turned,
Being rowed to the other shore.
和一位多年未见的圣女交谈
多年之后，我走向你。
你说：“如此长的时间后，你还是来了？”
我不可能早来。我贫劣的嘴
带着无穷的欲念，吞食了渴望的种子
它们早应被种植。在窘迫，迷惑
和欺骗中，我睡着了。我梦到沙子。
你的眼里只有忧伤没有微笑。
我说，“这么多年后，我还是来了。”
（冯默谌 译）
Conversation with a Holy Woman Not Seen for Many Years
After so many years, I come walking to you.
You say：“you have come after so long？”
I could not come earlier. My shabby mouth,
With its cavernous thirst, ate the seeds of longing
That should have been planted. Awkward and baffled,
Dishonest, I slept. And I dreamt of sand.
Your eyes in sorrow do not laugh.
I say, “I have come after so many years.”
清晨时的隐士
清晨，隐士醒来，他听到
冷杉的树根在地板下搅动。
有人在那儿。埋藏于大地下的力量
带来了夏天的世界。
当一个男人爱上一个女人，他就会滋养她。
舞者把他们的脚步之光撒向草地。
当一个女人爱上大地，她就会滋养它。
而大地滋养着我们所看不到的一切。
（冯默谌 译）
The Hermit at Dawn
Early in the morning the hermit wakes, hearing
The roots of the fir tree stir beneath his floor.
Someone is there. That strength buried
in earth carries up the summer world.
When a man loves a woman, he nourishes her.
Dancers strew the lawn with the light of their feet.
When a woman loves the earth, she nourishes it.
And earth nourishes what no one can see.
鲦鱼的转身
过去我每天只爱你几分钟。
现在，它化成袅袅云烟升起，
蘑菇被桦树留住，
马的前蹄，如鲦鱼般搅动银浪
当他转身时，连同他的世界。
（冯默谌 译）
The Minnow Turning
Once I loved you only a few minutes a day.
Now it is smoke rising, the mushroom left by
The birch,
And the horse’s forefoot, the way the minnow stirs silver
As he turns, carrying his world with him.
两条河流
在我们的体内，有一条河流生来寒冷
渴望着把自己献给光的海湾。
另一条河流更像密苏里河
携带着泥土，世俗的欢愉，以及尘世。
（冯默谌 译）
The Two Rivers
Inside us there is a river born in the good cold
That longs to give itself to the Gulf of light.
And there is another river more like the Missouri
That carries earth, and earth joys, and the earthly.
三月的花蕾
它们躺在河床上，听着音乐。
它们熏香了枕头，湖泊，一个女子盈笑。
风微微吹动，触摸着三月的花蕾。
而那些小树在来回摇曳。
（冯默谌 译）
The March Buds
They lie on the bed, hearing music.
They perfumed pillow, the lake, a woman’s laughter.
Wind blows faintly, touches the March buds.
The young trees sway back and forth.
和我走吧
我们一起走进柳树林，在树林间。
玛瑙贝有红润的嘴；
树木上下摇曳，
海螺返回黑暗的水域。
和我走吧，我们独自离去，
远离建筑和高地。
我喜欢和你一起去，
去往那个没有君王的山谷。
（冯默谌 译）
Come with Me
We walk together in willows, among willows.
The cowrie shell has its rosy mouth;
The tree nods and rises;
The conch returns to the dark waters.
Come with me, we will walk alone,
away from the buildings and the high places.
I love to go with you,
And enter the valley where no one is king.
在芍药盛开时
当我走近那株红色的芍药时
我颤抖着，像雷声旁的雨水，
又如地球板块移动时的井，
又似五十只鸟飞离时的树。
芍药说，我们获得了一份赠礼，
并非来自这个世界。
在芍药的叶后
有个更黑暗的世界，滋养着万物。
（冯默谌 译）
At the Time of Peony Blossoming
When I come near the red peony flower
I tremble as water does near thunder,
as the well does when the plates of earth move,
or the tree when fifty birds leave at once.
The peony says that we have been given a gift,
and it is not the gift of this world.
Behind the leaves of the peony
there is a world still darker, that feed many.
凝视一张脸
交谈使我们如此接近！打开
体内的浪花
把鱼托举到太阳旁
让海的脊骨变硬！
在一张脸上我已漫游了数小时
穿过黑暗之火
我升至一个尚未出生的
身体
存在如它四周的一束光
像一枚滑行的月亮在其中移动
（冯默谌 译）
Looking into a Face
Conversation brings us so close！ Opening
The surfs of the body
Bringing fish up near the sun
And stiffening the backbones of the sea！
I have wandered in a face for hours
Passing through dark fires.
I have risen to a body
Not yet born
Existing like a light around the body
Through which the body moves like a sliding moon.
从梦中醒来
静脉中许多军舰启航
水管内发出轻微的爆炸声
海鸥在盐血的风中穿梭。
早晨。乡村已沉睡了一冬。
窗边的椅子上铺有皮褥，院子里是冻僵
的狗，双手笨拙地捧着厚厚的书。
现在我们醒来，起床，吃早餐！
从血管的海港里发出呼喊，
雾和桅杆升起，木钩在阳光中撞响。
此时我们歌唱，在厨房的地板上轻舞
我们的身体如黎明时的一座海港。
我们知道，我们的主人因为白天已离开我们。
（冯默谌 译）
Waking from Sleep
Inside the veins there are navies setting forth
Tiny explosions at the water lines
And seagulls weaving in the wind of the salty blood.
It is the morning. The country has slept the whole winter.
Window seats were covered with fur skins the yard was full
Of stiff dogs and hands that clumsily held heavy books.
Now we wake and rise from bed and eat breakfast！——
Shouts rise from the harbor of the blood
Mist and masts rising the knock of wooden tackle in the sunlight.
Now we sing and do tiny dances on the kitchen floor.
Our whole body is like a harbor at dawn;
We know that our master has left us for the day.
生活在岁月的尽头
——给露丝
孩子们的声音中有那么多甜蜜，
在一天结束时，有诸多不满，
当一列火车经过时，我感到十分满足。
我不知道公鸡为什么总是啼鸣，
也不知道大象们为什么总是举起它们的鼻子，
也不知道为什么在霍桑的晚上总会听到火车声。
一位英俊的孩子是上帝赐予的礼物，
一个朋友是手背上的一条静脉，
一道伤口是风的一份遗产。
有人说我们生活在岁月的尽头，
但我相信有一千名异教徒的牧师
明天就到，与风施洗。
关于约翰，我们不需要为他做什么。
施洗者已把他的手放在地上很长时间，
甜甜的井水，长达一百英里。
那都无关紧要。我们是不是知道公鸡
在半夜里说些什么，也不知道我们
为什么会感到非常满足，当一列火车经过时。
（冯默谌 译）
Living at the End of Time
For Ruth
There is so much sweetness in children’s voices,
And so much discontent at the end of day,
And so much satisfaction when a train goes by.
I don’t know why the rooster keeps crying,
Nor why elephants keep raising their trunks,
Nor why Hawthorne kept hearing trains at night.
A handsome child is a gift from God,
And a friend is a vein in the back of the hand,
And a wound is an inheritance from the wind.
Some say we are living at the end of time,
But I believe a thousand pagan ministers
Will arrive tomorrow to baptize the wind.
There’s nothing we need to do about John. The Baptist
Has been laying his hands on earth for so long
That the well water is sweet for a hundred miles.
It’s all right if we don’t know what the rooster
Is saying in the middle of the night, nor why we feel
So much satisfaction when a train goes by.
February 2010
躲入鞋里的乌鸦
住在房子里的男女有些事
不明白。老炼金师们
站在炉火旁，已暗示了一千次。
乌鸦在夜里躲入一名老妇的鞋里。
四岁的儿童在说些古老的语言。
我们自己已死过了一千次。
和朋友讲的每句话也都有相反的用意，
每当我们说，“我相信上帝，”那意味着
上帝已把我们抛弃了一千次。
母亲们一次次地跪在教堂，
祈求上帝保佑她们战争中的儿子。
可是她们的祷告被拒绝了一千次。
幼小的潜鸟跟在母亲光滑的身体
数月。在夏天快结束时，她已经
把头在雷尼湖里潜了一千次。
罗伯特，你坐在屋里为了写诗
已浪费了无数的光阴。你还会
再写吗？是的，我还会写一千次。
（冯默谌 译）
Ravens Hiding in a Shoe
There is something men and women living in houses
Don’t understand. The old alchemists standing
Near their stoves hinted at it a thousand times.
Ravens at night hide in an old woman’s shoe.
A four-year-old speaks some ancient language.
We have lived our own death a thousand times.
Each sentence we speak to friends means the opposite
As well. Each time we say, “I trust in God,” it means
God has already abandoned us a thousand times.
Mothers again and again have knelt in church
In wartime asking God to protect their sons,
And their prayers were refused a thousand times.
The baby loon follows the mother’s sleek
Body for months. By the end of summer, she
Has dipped her head into Rainy Lake a thousand times.
Robert, you’ve wasted so much of your life
Sitting indoors to write poems. Would you
Do that again？ I would, a thousand times.
最后向内移动
垂死的公牛在山上流血！
但是山的内部，血未
流到的地方，
有鹿角，一些橡树皮，
火，香草被扔了下来。
当烟气升至洞顶，
绿叶开始燃烧，
夜的空气化作了黑水，
群山变成了海洋。
（冯默谌 译）
Moving Inward at Last
The dying bull is bleeding on the mountain！
But inside the mountain, untouched
By the blood,
There are antlers, bits of oak bark,
Fire, herbs are thrown down.
When the smoke touches the roof of the cave,
The green leaves burst into flame,
The air of night changes to dark water,
The mountains alter and become the sea.
开始写一首诗
你正孤单时。然后响起了
敲门声。它是一个字。你
把它带进来。有段时间
相安无事。可这个字
有亲戚。很快
他们就现了身。他们都无工作。
他们睡在地板上，还偷走了
你的网球鞋。
你开始意识到，你
不能置之不理。
现在小屋杂乱不堪，而且
遥控器也消失不见。
结婚就是
如此。你不单要
接受你的妻子，还要忍受
她家人的疯狂。
现在知道发生什么了吧？
你的汽车在哪里？一周之内
你无法找到
那些钥匙。
（冯默谌 译）
Starting a Poem
You are alone. Then there's a knock
On the door. It's a word. You
Bring it in. Things go
OK for a while. But this word
Has relatives. Soon
They turn up. None of them work.
They sleep on the floor, and they steal
Your tennis shoes.
You started it; you weren't
Content to leave things alone.
Now the den is a mess, and the
Remote is gone.
That's what being married
Is like. You never receive your
Wife only, but the
Madness of her family.
Now see what's happened？
Where is your car？ You won't
Be able to find
The keys for a week.
水
鸟儿低头用喙饮水。
你知道我们仅用双手无法饮水。
我们的所得，别人难以给予。
我们渴望着苍鹭和湖，
轻触后的波纹。
（冯默谌 译）
Water
The bird dips to take some water in its bill.
You know we do not drink only with our hands.
We receive what nothing else can give.
We are thirsty for the heron
and the lake, the touch of bill on the water.
你房间的早晨
早晨。棕色的咖啡勺，黄蜂般的
咖啡研磨机，邻居们还在入睡。
当你倒着闪闪发亮的水时，灰光－－
为了到达这儿，似乎你已旅行了多年。
最后，你理应得到一座房子。如果未得到
就拥有它；没有人能把你赶出来。苦难
自有它的方式，贫困，分文不名；
也许只是困惑。但都过去了。
现在你有一间房屋。那些轻松愉悦的书：
《忧郁的剖析》，《卡夫卡致父亲的信》，
都在这儿。你只用一条腿
就能跳舞，只用一只眼睛
就能看到雪花飘落。甚至盲人也能
看到。那就是他们要说的话。如果你有
一个悲伤的童年，那又如何？当罗伯特·伯顿
说他忧郁时，那意味着他在家中。
（冯默谌 译）
EARLY MORNING IN YOUR ROOM
It’s morning. The brown scoops of coffee, the wasplike
Coffee grinder, the neighbors still asleep.
The gray light as you pour gleaming water—
It seems you’ve travelled years to get here.
Finally you deserve a house. If not deserve
It, have it; no one can get you out. Misery
Had its way, poverty, no money at least;
Or maybe it was confusion. But that’s over.
Now you have a room. Those light-hearted books：
The Anatomy of Melancholy, Kafka’s Letter
To His Father, are all here. You can dance
With only one leg, and see the snowflake falling
With only one eye. Even the blind man
Can see. That’s what they say. If you had
A sad childhood, so what？ When Robert Burton
Said he was melancholy, he meant he was home.
我们用干草叉叉起的禾束堆
禾束堆说，冬天
来了。每捆都站在那儿
说：“我已把我放下。
带我走吧。一切都已过去。”
我们所做的。就是用我们的耙
闪亮的耙尖，（它们的
把柄如此健壮，优雅，）
把每一捆都拔下，
然后装上车。
每捆都像
一个灵魂，塞到
灵魂的云中。
那就是它死亡之后
的情形，如此多的
灵魂，一起挤
在沉重的马车，不知疲倦。
（冯默谌 译）
THE SHOCKS WE PUT OUR PITCHFORKS INTO
The shocks said that winter
Was coming. Each stood there,
Said, “I’ve given myself away.
Take me. It’s over.”
And we did. With the shiny tips
Of our forks, their handles so
Healthy and elegant,
We slipped each bundle free,
Gave it to the load.
Each bundle was like
A soul, tucked back
Into the cloud of souls.
That’s how it will be
After death——such an abundance
Of souls, all together——
None tired, in the heavy wagon.
风的嬉戏
有时有风。有时风
吹着几片碎纸，把
它吹到圣经里。然后你的族谱
变得完整，你的高祖父母
躺在棺材里伸了伸手，休息。这是
风可以做到的事情。有时风
把裙子吹起一两英寸，身体与
它的小说签约；然后小宝贝们
来了，人们坐在早餐桌旁，说着
陈旧的话。或者风把灰尘
吹到无政府主义的眼中，他
过早地扣动扳机，杀死了国王而非那个
肥胖的工厂主，然后
很多男人骑上摩托车。他们
挖战壕，接着风把气吹向
四处，你我在风中什么也未看到
除了盲人叔叔们和桌旁
一个不能说“请”的男孩。
（冯默谌 译）
THE PLAYFUL DEEDS OF THE WIND
Sometimes there’s the wind. Sometimes the wind
Takes a certain scrap of paper, and blows
It back into the Bible. Then your family line
Is whole, and your great-great-grandparents
Stretch out in the coffin, and rest. That’s something
Wind can do. Sometimes wind blows
A skirt up an inch or two, and the body
Signs a contract for its novel; then babies
Come, and people sit at breakfast, and the old
Words get spoken. Or the wind blows an ash
Into the anarchist’s eye, and he pulls
The trigger too soon, and kills the King instead of
The fat factory owner, and then
A lot of men get on motorcycles. They
Dig trenches, and the wind blows the gas
Here and there, and you and I get nothing
Out of that wind except blind uncles
And a boy at the table who can’t say “Please.”
华莱士·史蒂文斯和莫扎特
哦，华莱士·史蒂文斯，亲爱的朋友，
你这讨厌的家伙。你就那么肯定。
每个人都在你家里。
你，你的父亲，还有莫扎特，
和女士们饮着冷雨，在佛罗伦萨，
思索铭文，研究金片。
生命好像是对佛罗伦萨的一次拜访，
一个肉体没有蛆虫的地方，
无人尖叫，无人害怕。
你的工作，你的快乐，你的晨间散步，
你好像在思想的钢丝上行走，
高过大象；你的眼角湿润了，但泪水没有滑落。
仿佛我们可以在世界的高处行走，
没有熊，没有女巫，没有麦克白，
无人尖叫，无人痛苦，也无人害怕。
（冯默谌 译）
WALLACE STEVENS AND MOZART
Oh Wallace Stevens, dear friend,
You are such a pest. You are so sure.
You think everyone is in your family.
It is you and your father and Mozart,
And ladies tasting cold rain in Florence,
Puzzling out inscriptions, studying the gold flake.
It is as if life were a visit to Florence,
A place where there are no maggots in the flesh,
No one screaming, no one afraid.
Your job, your joy, your morning walk,
As if you walked on the wire of the mind,
High above the elephants; you cry out a little but never fall.
As if we could walk always high above the world,
No bears, no witches, no Macbeth,
No one screaming, no one in pain, no one afraid.
华尔兹
我认识的一个人一直说，我们并不需要
天堂。他认为有绣花的俄罗斯
婚纱能取代天使之位；
当乌鸦从你的车前起飞时，
有风的夜晚将会取代所有的诗人。
他想让我们轻松地跳舞，如酒神那般，
即便它是华尔兹。有点尴尬；
但如果你长练习，他说，你就可做到。
最难的事情是努力去说
“再见”，哪怕只是去杂货店。
（冯默谌 译）
THE WALTZ
One man I know keeps saying that we don’t need
Heaven. He thinks embroidered Russian
Wedding blouses will take the place of angels;
And windy nights when the crows fly up in front
Of your car will replace all the Psalmists.
He wants us to dance high-hearted, like the bacchae,
Even if it’s a waltz. It’s a little awkward;
But if you practice, he says, you can do it.
The hard thing is to try to figure out how
To say goodbye—even just going to the grocery.
一个朋友死后
——写给奥林
一定是在夏天。从码头推出，
把独木舟放下，发现了你的
旧书——关于鸟的书籍，霍桑。驶向
醋栗林。即使在瑞典群岛上，
夏天也已到来。他们从椅子上扯下亚麻布，
拿出蓝色的碟子，写些诗。
再说一遍：“一定是在夏天。”
即使人们死了，它也一定是在夏天。
（冯默谌 译）
AFTER A FRIEND’S DEATH
It must be summer. Push the dock out,
Bring the canoe down, find your old
Books—bird books, Hawthorne. Drive
To Gooseberry. Even in the Swedish islands,
Summer comes. They pull the linen off chairs,
Bring out the blue dishes, write some poems.
Say again： “It must be summer.”
Even though people die, it must be summer.
For Orrin
艾萨克·巴什维斯和帕斯捷尔纳克
古老的文学隐秘处于危险之中。
尤多拉·韦尔蒂八十岁了，汉娜·阿伦特
也已离去。腔刺鱼发现得更少了
在马达加斯加的珊瑚中。我们许多人都
想念他们。坐在波兰的卡巴拉主义者，
吃着干饼干，那个害羞的画家
睡在他的画室之中，看着阳光，迷于
绿橙双色，谁取代了它们？
是一种香味，曾经在水中，是件礼物来自
飘落的橡树叶，消失了吗？这水沾染了
古老的隐秘，曾经站在从西西里
到挪威的酒桶里——告诉我，在哪里可以找到它。
（冯默谌 译）
ISAAC BASHEVIS AND PASTERNAK
Old literary privacies are in danger.
Eudora Welty is eighty, and Hannah Arendt
Is gone. The coelacanth is found more rarely
In the coral off Madagascar. Many of us long
For them. The Kabbalist who sat in Poland,
Eating dry biscuits, the shy painter
Sleeping in his studio, watching the light, in love
With green and orange, who has replaced them？
Is a flavor, once in the water, a gift from fallen
Oak leaves, gone？ This water stained with old
Privacies that once stood in barrels from Sicily
To Norway—tell me where I can find it.
给露丝
有一种优雅的行为方式。白桦树枝
向上微微弯曲，或者风吹来一些
落雪，然后没入黑夜；
或者你留给我一小枝细叶芹，没有更多。
每天早上我们都有这样崭新的机会。我们
可以小走几步到山后的某些地方；
我们可以深谈，就仿佛我们是幸福的，
不要那些获得怜悯的陈套。
有一种方式你可能知道，
别人会需要什么，在聚会
开始前，就像烟有时会向下消失
在树枝间。我从你身上学到了
让一首诗出现的新方法。
（冯默谌 译）
FOR RUTH
There’s a graceful way of doing things. Birch branches
Curve slightly upward; or the wind brings a few
Snowflakes down, and then joins the night;
Or you leave me a sprig of chervil and no more.
Each morning we have this new chance. We can walk
A few steps behind the others down the mountain;
We can enter a conversation as if we were blessed,
Not insisting on our old way of gaining pity.
There’s a way you have of knowing what another
May need ahead of time, before the party
Begins, as smoke sometimes disappears
Downward among branches. And I’ve learned
From you this new way of letting a poem be.
蕨类植物
我从蕨类植物身上学到了永恒。
在你腹下有纹理的地方。
通过你，我爱上了岸边的蕨类植物，
以及鹿儿在沙上留下的弧形蹄迹。
（冯默谌 译）
Ferns
It was among ferns I learned about eternity.
Below your belly there is a curly place.
Through you I learned to love the ferns on that bank,
and the curve the deer’s hoof leaves in sand.
驼鹿
北极驼鹿在苔原边饮水，
用嘴搅拌着水田芥。
水多么清新，真正的北方之凉。
一阵微风吹着穿过了深深的杉林。
（冯默谌 译）
The Moose
The arctic moose drinks at the tundra’s edge,
swirling the watercress with his mouth.
How fresh the water is, the coolness of the far North.
A light wind moves through the deep firs.
薄荷草
公羊从薄荷草上走过。
老鹰竖起肩边的羽毛。
两只小鸡坐在叠合的羽毛上。
刚刚黄昏前，大片的雪花飞落。
（冯默谌 译）
The Minty Grass
The ram walks over the minty grass.
The hawk ruffles his shoulder feathers.
Two chooks sit with feathers overlapping.
Just before dark big snowflake fall.
向老教师致谢
当我们跨过，或漫步经过冰冻的湖面，
我们把脚放在从未去过的地方。
我们走在不能行走的地方。但我们感到不安。
谁在那里，除了我们的老教师？
水，曾经不能承受没有人类的体重——
我们当时是学生——抬起我们的脚，
向前走了一英里。
在我们之下是老师们，我们的四周一片寂静。
（冯默谌 译）
Gratitude To Old Teachers
When we stride or stroll across the frozen lake,
We place our feet where they have never been.
We walk upon the unwalked. But we are uneasy.
Who is down there but our old teachers？
Water that once could take no human weight-
We were students then- holds up our feet,
And goes on ahead of us for a mile.
Beneath us the teachers, and around us the stillness
希腊船
当水从洞中流去时，鱼儿在淤泥里
跳跃，它们依然能够微弱地滋润彼此，
但最好是，如果它们迷失在河里。
你知道有多少艘希腊船
连同酒货一起沉没。如果没有抵达
港口，它们也许，最好是沉入海底。
我听闻哀伤的鸽子从不表露
它的心思。我们这些写诗的人
默认不说痛苦是什么。
艾略特多年来站在光秃秃的灯泡下
写诗多年。他知道自己是个杀人犯，
因此他在出生时就接受了惩罚。
弹西塔尔琴的琴者仍在寻觅：在后院，
桌子上放置的旧碟子里，
一片叶下的苦难。
来吧，把你的美好的名誉丢入水中。
那些所有因为爱情而放弃生命的人儿
正在一百艘沉船里呼唤我们。
（冯默谌 译）
The Greek Ship
When the water holes go, and the fish flop about
In the mud, they can moisten each other faintly,
But it's best if they lose themselves in the river.
You know how many Greek ships went down
With their cargoes of wine. If we can't get
To port, perhaps it's best to head for the bottom.
I've heard that the mourning dove never says
What she means. Those of us who make up poems
Have agreed not to say what the pain is.
Eliot wrote his poems for years standing under
A bare light-bulb. He knew he was a murderer,
And he accepted his punishment at birth.
The sitar player is searching： now in the back yard,
Now in the old dishes left behind on the table,
Now for the suffering on the underside of a leaf.
Go ahead, throw your good name into the water.
All those who have ruined their lives for love
Are calling to us from a hundred sunken ships.
注意旋律
不错。 我知道我们每个人都会独自死去。
无论西塔尔琴弹得响亮或着柔和，都不重要。
迟早旋律会说出一切。
序幕太长！最后主题终于出现。
它说灵魂将超越所有这些音符。
它说灰尘将从地板上被一扫而过。
我们是否做祈祷，并不重要。
我们知道轻舟直奔瀑布而去。
这次没有人在水上迎接我们。
有一天老鼠会带着我们狂热的冲动
去往埃及，而牛儿在家里
一千亩思想的土地上吃草。
每个人都希望体面地离去。
旧绳索从刽子手的钉子垂下。
四十九个强盗正爬进他们的靴子。
罗伯特，你不要期望太高，你
已领先别人许多年，一百年。
它需要你花费很长时间才能听到那段旋律。
（冯默谌 译）
Paying Attention to the Melody
All right. I know that each of us will die alone.
It doesn't matter how loud or soft the sitar plays.
Sooner or later the melody will say it all.
The prologue is so long！ At last the theme comes.
It says the soul will rise above all these notes.
It says the dust will be swept up from the floor.
It doesn't matter if we say our prayers or not.
We know the canoe is heading straight for the falls,
And no one will pick us up from the water this time.
One day the mice will carry our ragged impulses
All the way to Egypt, and at home the cows
Will graze on a thousand acres of thought.
Everyone goes on hoping for a good death.
The old rope hangs down from the hangman's nail.
The forty-nine robbers are climbing into their boots.
Robert, don't expect too much. You've put yourself
Ahead of others for years, a hundred years.
It will take a long time for you to hear the melody.
什么使我们恐惧
雨水落向幽暗的田野。
公路上，树叶还停
在原地，抵抗着风。
一种我们都不知道的力量对我们说。
整夜都在下雨。昨天我们下到
山洞内部，或洞穴的最深处，
今早醒来，脸面湿着
整夜之雨——我们有点害怕。
雨气从石路上升起。
雨水在谷仓下汇聚。
其他的缓缓地流入树林。
寂静在月光下，无始无终。
（冯默谌 译）
What Frightened Us
Drops of rain fall into black fields.
Leaves fallen on the highway remain
Where they fall, and resist the wind.
A power neither of us knows has spoken to us.
All night rain came in. we had descended
Yesterday to some inner, or innermost cave,
And this-as we woke today with faces wet
From overnight rain-frightens us a little.
Smoke of rain lifts from gravel roads.
Rain water gathers below the barns.
Other waters slowly join in woods.
Silent in the moonlight, no beginning or end.
俄罗斯
“俄罗斯在前线几乎没有医生。
我父亲的工作是：在战斗结束后，
走到那些被击中的人中间，
坐下来问：‘你愿意在几小时内
独自死去，还是让我来完成它？’
大多数人会说，‘不要离开我。’两个人同抽
一支香烟。他会拿出他的小笔记本——
‘你知道，我们没有身份牌’——接着
写下这个人的名字，他的妻子，他的孩子，他的住址，
和他想说的话。当香烟抽尽时，
士兵把脸扭向一边。我的父亲
在战争期间，以这样的方式完成了四百个人的工作。
他没有变疯。他们是他的人。
他来到多伦多。我的父亲在夏天
会站在草坪上用水管给草地
浇水。这会花费很长时间。他会和月亮，
和风说话。“我能听到你在生长’
他会对草地说。‘我们来来去去。
彼此没有什么不同。我们都是世界
的一部分。我们有一个家。’当我十三岁时，
我说，‘爸爸，你不知道他们现在已发明了
洒水器吗？’他继续给草地浇水。
‘这是我的生活。如果你不了解，就给我闭嘴。’”
（冯默谌 译）
THE RUSSIAN
“The Russians had few doctors on the front line.
My father’s job was this： after the battle
Was over, he’d walk among the men hit,
Sit down and ask： ‘Would you like to die on your
Own in a few hours, or should I finish it？’
Most said, ‘Don’t leave me.’ The two would have
A cigarette. He’d take out his small notebook—
We had no dogtags, you know—and write the man’s
Name down, his wife’s, his children, his address, and what
He wanted to say. When the cigarette was done,
The soldier would turn his head to the side. My father
Finished off four hundred men that way during the war.
He never went crazy. They were his people.
He came to Toronto. My father in the summers
Would stand on the lawn with a hose, watering
The grass that way. It took a long time. He’d talk
To the moon, to the wind. ‘I can hear you growing’—
He’d say to the grass. ‘We come and go.
We’re no different from each other. We are all
Part of something. We have a home.’ When I was thirteen,
I said, ‘Dad, do you know they’ve invented sprinklers
Now？’ He went on watering the grass.
‘This is my life. Just shut up if you don’t understand it.’”
拜访八十五岁的老诗人
给挪威诗人奥拉夫·H·豪格
这个八十五岁的男人站起来，
走到书柜前，去取一本书，
他的头发蓬乱，腿很轻，然后把它
抽下来，说，“想必你已读过这本书？”
他读过。他在这些浮冰之间划着，
那些巨大的书籍，如一个伟大的爱斯基摩
猎手，海面下有海豹，
给他们提供兽皮，脂肪，还有他们伟大的孤独之眼。
“哦,是的。”他说，“哦，是的。”有些真理
已被说过。中国或哈当厄尔很多人写下了伟大的
诗篇。“哦，是的。”他又站起来，走到墙跟。
”爱默生是一个敏锐的读者。哦，是的！”
他的一生都在三英亩的果园
度过，砍柴，参观
疯人院，把碟子扔在墙上，
翻译，包装苹果，写诗。
我很荣幸认识他，这个老人在他生命的晚年
站起来说，想必你已过着这样的生活”
（冯默谌 译）
VISITING THE EIGHTY-FIVE-YEAR-OLD POET
The eighty-five-year-old man stands up,
And walks to the bookcase, his hair tousled,
His legs thin, to fetch a book, then pulls
It down and says, “No doubt you’ve already read this？”
He has. He paddles among these ice floes,
These enormous fat books, like a great Eskimo
Hunter, for there are seals below in the sea,
Offering their hides, their fat, their great lonesome eyes.
“Oh yes！” he says, “Oh yes.” Some truths have been
Said. Someone in China or Hardanger has written great
Poems. “Oh yes.” He stands again, goes to the wall.
“Emerson was a keen reader. Oh yes！”
He has lived his whole life on three acres
Of apple trees, chopping wood, visiting
The madhouse, throwing plates against the wall,
Translating, packing apples, writing poems.
I am proud to know him, this old man late in life
Who stands up and says, “No doubt you’ve already lived
this？”
For the Norwegian poet Olav H. Hauge