瑪麗·奧利弗詩40首（上）:停歇在凌霄花上的蜂雀
策蘭 2019-10-05
瑪麗•奧利弗(Mary Oliver, 1935-)，1935年9月10日生於美國俄亥俄州，13歲開始寫詩，1962年瑪麗前往倫敦，任職於移動影院有限公司和莎士比亞劇場。回到美國，定居普林斯頓。她的詩歌贏得了多項奬項，其中包括國傢圖書奬和普利策詩歌奬（1984年）。主要詩集有：《夜晚的旅行者》（The Night Traveler，1978），《美國原貌》（American Primitive， 1983），《燈光的屋宇》（House of Light，1990），《新詩選》（New and Selected Poems，1992），《白鬆：詩和散文詩》（White Pine: Poems and Prose Poems，1994）等。
黑水塘
雨下了一整夜
黑水塘沸騰的水平靜下來。
我掬了一捧。慢慢
飲下。它的味道
像石頭，葉子，火。它把寒冷
灌進我體內，驚醒了骨頭。我聽見他們
在我身體深處，竊竊私語
哦，這轉瞬即逝的美妙之物
究竟是什麽？
At Blackwater Pond
by Mary Oliver
At Blackwater Pond the tossed waters have settled
after a night of rain.
I dip my cupped hands. I drink
a long time. It tastes
like stone, leaves, fire. It falls cold
into my body, waking the bones. I hear them
deep inside me, whispering
oh what is that beautiful thing
that just happened?
天鵝
你是否也看見它，整夜，漂浮在黑暗的河上？
你是否看見它在早晨，飛入銀亮的空氣——
一束白色的花，
絲綢與亞麻的一陣完美抖動，當它
將頭藏進翅膀中；一道雪堤，一片開滿百合的坡岸，
它黑色的喙咬緊了空氣？
你是否聽見它，笛聲和哨音
一種尖銳而深沉的音樂——像雨拍打着樹——像一片瀑布
衝下黑色的岩石？
你是否看見它，最後，就在雲層下——
滑過天空的一個白十字架，它的腳
像黑色的葉子，它的翅膀像河面上伸展的光？
在你心裏，是否感受到它如何化歸萬物？
而你最終領會了，美是為了什麽？
並改變了你的生活？
The Swan
by Mary Oliver
Did you too see it, drifting, all night, on the black river?
Did you see it in the morning, rising into the silvery air -
An armful of white blossoms,
A perfect commotion of silk and linen as it leaned
into the bondage of its wings; a snowbank, a bank of lilies,
Biting the air with its black beak?
Did you hear it, fluting and whistling
A shrill dark music - like the rain pelting the trees - like a waterfall
Knifing down the black ledges?
And did you see it, finally, just under the clouds -
A white cross Streaming across the sky, its feet
Like black leaves, its wings Like the stretching light of the river?
And did you feel it, in your heart, how it pertained to everything?
And have you too finally figured out what beauty is for?
And have you changed your life?
魚
我捉住的
第一條魚，
不願安靜地
躺在提桶中，
而是拼命拍打着，大口喘氣，
顯得
驚慌失措，
在緩慢傾瀉的
彩虹中，
它死了。後來
我剖開它的身體，將肉
和骨頭分開，
吃掉了它。現在，海
在我身體裏：我是魚，魚
在我裏面閃閃發光；我們
正在上升，緊緊纏繞着，將要
掉回海中。擺脫痛苦，
和痛苦，和更多的痛苦，
我們喂養這個狂熱的陰謀，我們被這個秘密
所滋養。
The Fish
by Mary Oliver
The first fish
I ever caught
would not lie down
quiet in the pail
but flailed and sucked
at the burning
amazement of the air
and died
in the slow pouring off
of rainbows. Later
I opened his body and separated
the flesh from the bones
and ate him. Now the sea
is in me: I am the fish, the fish
glitters in me; we are
risen, tangled together, certain to fall
back to the sea. Out of pain,
and pain, and more pain
we feed this feverish plot, we are nourished
by the mystery.
刀
當紅尾鳥
巨大的翅膀拍打水面，
然後，飛上嶙峋的
灰色岩壁，
是什麽
正
穿透我的心，
如同最薄的刀片。
它無關於
鳥，而是關於
石頭
沉默，並促使
某種事物
一閃而過的方式。
有時
當我這樣安靜地坐着，
我生命的全部夢想
和全部非凡的時刻，
似乎要離開，
從我身上溜出去。
於是，我想象，我將不再移動。
此時，
鷹至少已飛了
五英裏，
無論誰偶然擡頭去看
都會頭昏眼花。
我感到暈眩。但那
不是刀。
它是陡峭、盲目而厚實的
石頭墻，
不含一點希望，
或者一個未滿足的欲望，
海綿般吸收並反射着
太陽之火，
它如此明亮，
仿佛已存在了幾個世紀。
Knife
by Mary Oliver
Something
just now
moved through my heart
like the thinnest of blades
as that red-tail pumped
once with its great wings
and flew above the gray, cracked
rock wall.
It wasn"t
about the bird, it was
something about the way
stone stays
mute and put, whatever
goes flashing by.
Sometimes,
when I sit like this, quiet,
all the dreams of my blood
and all outrageous divisions of time
seem ready to leave,
to slide out of me.
Then, I imagine, I would never move.
By now
the hawk has flown five miles
at least,
dazzling whoever else has happened
to look up.
I was dazzled. But that
wasn"t the knife.
It was the sheer, dense wall
of blind stone
without a pinch of hope
or a single unfulfilled desire
sponging up and reflecting,
so brilliantly,
as it has for centuries,
the sun"s fire.
野鵝
你不必善良。
不必跪行
一百英裏，穿過荒涼的懺悔。
你衹要讓你溫柔的身體
愛它所愛的。
告訴我，你的絶望，而我將告訴你我的。
同時世界繼續。
同時太陽和雨清澈的鵝卵石
正在穿越風景，
越過大草原，幽深的樹林，
山脈和河流。
同時野鵝，在潔淨蔚藍的高空，
正再次飛回家乡。
無論你是誰，無論多麽孤獨，
世界為你提供了想象，
召喚你，像野鵝那樣，嚴厲並充滿激情——
反復宣告
你在萬物中的位置。
Wild Geese
by Mary Oliver
You do not have to be good.
You do not have to walk on your knees
for a hundred miles through the desert repenting.
You only have to let the soft animal of your body
love what it loves.
Tell me about despair, yours, and I will tell you mine.
Meanwhile the world goes on.
Meanwhile the sun and the clear pebbles of the rain
are moving across the landscapes,
over the prairies and the deep trees,
the mountains and the rivers.
Meanwhile the wild geese, high in the clean blue air,
are heading home again.
Whoever you are, no matter how lonely,
the world offers itself to your imagination,
calls to you like the wild geese, harsh and exciting --
over and over announcing your place
in the family of things.
桌上的蜂蜜
它用柔軟無形的
花的精魂，填滿你，它滴成
一根頭髮似的細綫，你跟隨它
從蜂蜜罐到桌子
到門外，到地上，
它不斷變稠，
變深，變寬，經過
松樹枝，潮濕的大石頭，
山貓和熊的爪印，進入了
森林深處，你
匆匆放倒一些樹，剝掉樹皮，
你漂浮着，並吞下淌着蜂蜜的蜂巢，
樹屑，被壓碎的蜜蜂……一種味道
由失去的一切所構成，在其中，失去的一切又被找回。
Honey At The Table
by Mary Oliver
It fills you with the soft
essence of vanished flowers, it becomes
a trickle sharp as a hair that you follow
from the honey pot over the table
and out the door and over the ground,
and all the while it thickens,
grows deeper and wilder, edged
with pine boughs and wet boulders,
pawprints of bobcat and bear, until
deep in the forest you
shuffle up some tree, you rip the bark,
you float into and swallow the dripping combs,
bits of the tree, crushed bees - - - a taste
composed of everything lost, in which everything lost is found.
音樂
我將一些細蘆管
綁在一起，刻上
氣孔，吹奏出一種音樂
使你呆立
如受電擊，然後
跟隨着，當我漫步，一點點
長出
斜眼睛和粗糙的毛發，我的腳
踏着岩石，長出
堅硬的羊角，而你
跟在後面，沉溺在
音樂中，取下
頭上的銀發夾
匆匆地，脫掉
衣服。
我不記得
這發生在哪裏，但是我想
它是夏末，萬物
充滿火焰，孕育着果實
不做其他事，
也不抵抗，
衹是躺着，像一片黑暗的水域
在月亮的引力下，
顛簸不休。
在城市野蠻的優雅中
我曾散步
在旅店大廳
並聽見這種音樂，在
閉緊的門後。
你以為心靈
可以被解釋嗎？你以為身體
是皂莢樹的
一根枝條，
追逐水，
對着太陽隆起，
顫抖着，當它感到
善，進入了
白色的花中？
或者你以為有一種
音樂，一種特定的旋律
點亮身體
遲鈍的荒原——
一種興奮
而難以解釋的選擇？
哈，好吧，總之，無論是不是
夏末，或是不是
發生在我們身上，它衹是
一場夢，我沒有
變成柔軟的山羊神。你也沒有像那樣
奔跑着到來。
你說呢？
Music
by Mary Oliver
I tied together
a few slender reeds, cut
notches to breathe across and made
such music you stood
shock still and then
followed as I wandered growing
moment by moment
slant-eyes and shaggy, my feet
slamming over the rocks, growing
hard as horn, and there
you were behind me, drowning
in the music, letting
the silver clasps out of your hair,
hurrying, taking off
your clothes.
I can"t remember
where this happened but I think
it was late summer when everything
is full of fire and rounding to fruition
and whatever doesn"t,
or resists,
must lie like a field of dark water under
the pulling moon,
tossing and tossing.
In the brutal elegance of cities
I have walked down
the halls of hotels
and heard this music behind
shut doors.
Do you think the heart
is accountable? Do you think the body
any more than a branch
of the honey locust tree,
hunting water,
hunching toward the sun,
shivering, when it feels
that good, into
white blossoms?
Or do you think there is a kind
of music, a certain strand
that lights up the otherwise
blunt wilderness of the body -
a furious
and unaccountable selectivity?
Ah well, anyway, whether or not
it was late summer, or even
in our part of the world, it is all
only a dream, I did not
turn into the lithe goat god. Nor did you come running
like that.
Did you?
太陽
在你的生命中
可曾見過
比太陽的旅程
更精彩的
事物，
每天傍晚，
它悠閑地，
嚮着地平綫飄落
隱入雲層或山巒，
或微波蕩漾的大海，
然後消失了——
它再次從黑暗中
滑出，
每個早晨，
在世界的另一邊，
像一朵紅花
浮在神聖的油中嚮上流動，
說，初夏的一個早晨，
隔着其完美的帝國距離——
你可曾感受到
如此瘋狂的愛——
難道你認為，在什麽地方，在什麽語言中，
一個詞可能激起
巨浪似的快樂
充滿你，
如同太陽
升起，
如同它溫暖你
當你站在那兒，
兩手空空——
或者你
已從這個世界轉身離去——
或者你
已變得瘋狂
為權力，
為物質？
The Sun
by Mary Oliver
Have you ever seen
anything
in your life
more wonderful
than the way the sun,
every evening,
relaxed and easy,
floats toward the horizon
and into the clouds or the hills,
or the rumpled sea,
and is gone--
and how it slides again
out of the blackness,
every morning,
on the other side of the world,
like a red flower
streaming upward on its heavenly oils,
say, on a morning in early summer,
at its perfect imperial distance--
and have you ever felt for anything
such wild love--
do you think there is anywhere, in any language,
a word billowing enough
for the pleasure
that fills you,
as the sun
reaches out,
as it warms you
as you stand there,
empty-handed--
or have you too
turned from this world--
or have you too
gone crazy
for power,
for things?
在森林中沉睡
我想大地記得我，
她那麽溫柔地接納我，
整理好她的黑裙子，她的口袋中
裝滿青苔和種子。
我沉沉睡去，就像河床上的一塊石頭，
在我和星星的白色火焰之間，空無一物
衹有我的思想，它們像飛蛾一樣
輕輕漂浮在完美之樹的枝葉間。
整夜，我聽見這個小王國
在我周圍呼吸，昆蟲，
和鳥兒們，在黑暗中工作。
整夜，我沉浮起落，如同在水中，
掙紮於一種明亮的光。直到清晨，
我在一些更好的事物中
至少消失了十二次。
Sleeping In The Forest
by Mary Oliver
I thought the earth remembered me,
she took me back so tenderly,
arranging her dark skirts, her pockets
full of lichens and seeds.
I slept as never before, a stone on the river bed,
nothing between me and the white fire of the stars
but my thoughts, and they floated light as moths
among the branches of the perfect trees.
All night I heard the small kingdoms
breathing around me, the insects,
and the birds who do their work in the darkness.
All night I rose and fell, as if in water,
grappling with a luminous doom. By morning
I had vanished at least a dozen times
into something better.
詩（靈魂喜歡偽裝……）
靈魂
喜歡裝扮成這個樣子：
十個手指，
十個腳趾，
肩膀，以及其餘部分
在晚上
是世界的黑色枝條，
在早上
是世界的
藍色枝條。
當然，它可以浮動，
但是更願
垂挂着重物。
空氣般的無形之物，
它需要
肉體的隱喻，
肢體和欲望，
海洋般的流體，
它需要肉體的世界，
本能
想象力
時間黑暗的擁抱，
甜蜜
和實在性，
需要被理解，
燃燒出
更純粹的光
無人在那裏——
因此它進入我們——
早晨
在野蠻的安逸中閃耀
如一道閃電；
夜晚
點亮肉體深刻而奇異的
沉溺
如一顆星。
Poem (The spirit likes to dress up...)
by Mary Oliver
The spirit
likes to dress up like this:
ten fingers,
ten toes,
shoulders, and all the rest
at night
in the black branches,
in the morning
in the blue branches
of the world.
It could float, of course,
but would rather
plumb rough matter.
Airy and shapeless thing,
it needs
the metaphor of the body,
lime and appetite,
the oceanic fluids;
it needs the body"s world,
instinct
and imagination
and the dark hug of time,
sweetness
and tangibility,
to be understood,
to be more than pure light
that burns
where no one is --
so it enters us --
in the morning
shines from brute comfort
like a stitch of lightning;
and at night
lights up the deep and wondrous
drownings of the body
like a star.
白鷺
在道路
被堵塞了的地方，
我踏過暗淡的葉子，
墜落的枝條，
以及盤根錯節的貓藤，
繼續嚮前。最後
我的胳膊
被荊棘
劃傷，很快
蚊子們
圍着我，悶熱
傷痛，我感到
天旋地轉，
這是我
到達池塘的經過：
黑暗而空虛
惟有一管被水泡白的
蘆葦
躺在遠處的岸邊
當我正看着那裏時，
水面突然蕩起波紋
三衹白鷺——
一束
白色的火焰！
即使半睡半醒，它們
對這個造就了它們的世界
也如此信任——
傾斜着飛過水面，
安靜，確定，
藉助它們的信仰法則
而不是邏輯，
它們溫柔地張開
翅膀，滑過
每一件黑暗的事物。
Egrets
by Mary Oliver
Where the path closed
down and over,
through the scumbled leaves,
fallen branches,
through the knotted catbrier,
I kept going. Finally
I could not
save my arms
from thorns; soon
the mosquitoes
smelled me, hot
and wounded, and came
wheeling and whining.
And that"s how I came
to the edge of the pond:
black and empty
except for a spindle
of bleached reeds
at the far shore
which, as I looked,
wrinkled suddenly
into three egrets - - -
a shower
of white fire!
Even half-asleep they had
such faith in the world
that had made them - - -
tilting through the water,
unruffled, sure,
by the laws
of their faith not logic,
they opened their wings
softly and stepped
over every dark thing.
嘲鳥
今天早晨
緑色的田野上
有兩衹嘲鳥
正在空中
紡織
它們歌聲的
白絲帶。
除了傾聽
我沒有
更好的事去做。
我這樣說時
很嚴肅。
很久以前，
希臘，
有一對老夫婦
為兩個
陌生人
打開門，
發現
根本不是人，
而是神。
這是我喜愛的故事——
這對老人
沒有什麽能給予
除了他們殷勤的
意願——
但是僅此一點
神就愛他們
並祝福他們——
當他們升離
肉身，
像無數水珠
從一個噴泉中升起，
光
照進農捨的
每一處角落，
這對老人，
顫抖着領受，
彎下身軀——
但是他們仍然什麽也不求
除了他們已經擁有的
睏難生活。
神微笑着，拍動巨大的翅膀，
消失了。
這個早晨
無論我假設
這個故事發生在哪裏——
無論我所說的是什麽
我將要做的是——
我正站在
田野的邊緣——
匆匆
穿越自己的靈魂，
打開它黑暗的門——
我探出頭來；
我正在傾聽。
Mockingbirds
by Mary Oliver
This morning
two mockingbirds
in the green field
were spinning and tossing
the white ribbons
of their songs
into the air.
I had nothing
better to do
than listen.
I mean this
seriously.
In Greece,
a long time ago,
an old couple
opened their door
to two strangers
who were,
it soon appeared,
not men at all,
but gods.
It is my favorite story--
how the old couple
had almost nothing to give
but their willingness
to be attentive--
but for this alone
the gods loved them
and blessed them--
when they rose
out of their mortal bodies,
like a million particles of water
from a fountain,
the light
swept into all the corners
of the cottage,
and the old couple,
shaken with understanding,
bowed down--
but still they asked for nothing
but the difficult life
which they had already.
And the gods smiled, as they vanished,
clapping their great wings.
Wherever it was
I was supposed to be
this morning--
whatever it was I said
I would be doing--
I was standing
at the edge of the field--
I was hurrying
through my own soul,
opening its dark doors--
I was leaning out;
I was listening.
開花
四月
池塘像黑色的花
開放了，
月亮
遊在每一朵花中；
處處
都着了火：青蛙叫喊着
它們的欲望，
它們的滿足。我們
知道：時間
嚮我們砸來，像一把
鐵鋤頭，死亡
是一種癱軟狀態。我們
渴望：死亡之前的
歡樂，濕地的
夜晚——其他的一切
都能等，惟有
發自肉體的
衝動
不能等。我們
知道：我們濃於
血——我們大於
我們的饑餓，而
我們屬於
月亮，當池塘
開放，當火
在我們之間燃燒，我們
深深夢想
趕緊
進入黑色的花瓣
進入火，
進入時間粉碎的夜晚
進入另一個人的身體。
Blossom
by Mary Oliver
In April
the ponds open
like black blossoms,
the moon
swims in every one;
there’s fire
everywhere: frogs shouting
their desire,
their satisfaction. What
we know: that time
chops at us all like an iron
hoe, that death
is a state of paralysis. What
we long for: joy
before death, nights
in the swale - everything else
can wait but not
this thrust
from the root
of the body. What
we know: we are more
than blood - we are more
than our hunger and yet
we belong
to the moon and when the ponds
open, when the burning
begins the most
thoughtful among us dreams
of hurrying down
into the black petals
into the fire,
into the night where time lies shattered
into the body of another.
八月
當黑莓飽滿地
挂在林中，挂在不屬於任何人的
莓枝上，我整天
晃悠在高高的
枝條下，什麽也不
想，衹是伸出
我被劃破的胳膊，把夏日的黑蜜
塞進
嘴中；整天，我的身體
順其自然。在流過的
幽暗溪水中，有我
生命的厚爪，張揚在
黑色的鐘型漿果和枝葉間；還有
這歡樂的語言。
August
by Mary Oliver
When the blackberries hang
swollen in the woods, in the brambles
nobody owns, I spend
all day among the high
branches, reaching
my ripped arms, thinking
of nothing, cramming
the black honey of summer
into my mouth; all day my body
accepts what it is. In the dark
creeks that run by there is
this thick paw of my life darting among
the black bells, the leaves; there is
this happy tongue.
秋歌
又一年將盡，處處留下了
氣味濃郁的殘餘：藤蔓，落葉，
吃剩的果實在陰影中
腐爛，消融，
撤離這個夏天的
孤島，這個此刻，無處可尋。
除了腐爛，在腳下，
在不可知的
黑暗神秘的地下城堡中——根和帶殼的種子
和水的滲透。當時間的輪盤
艱難地轉動，我試圖記住
這些，譬如，當秋天
終於閃現，喧鬧着，像我們那樣渴望
停駐——明亮的景物變換更替，在這轉瞬即逝的
草場中，萬物如何
進入永恆。
Fall Song
by Mary Oliver
Another year gone, leaving everywhere
its rich spiced residues: vines, leaves,
the uneaten fruits crumbling damply
in the shadows, unmattering back
from the particular island
of this summer, this NOW, that now is nowhere
except underfoot, moldering
in that black subterranean castle
of unobservable mysteries - roots and sealed seeds
and the wanderings of water. This
I try to remember when time"s measure
painfully chafes, for instance when autumn
flares out at the last, boisterous and like us longing
to stay - how everything lives, shifting
from one bright vision to another, forever
in these momentary pastures.
百合
一夜又一夜
黑暗
籠罩了百合的
臉，
輕輕地
關閉了
它的五面墻，
它的
花蜜袋，
以及它的芬芳，
它心滿意足地
站在
花園裏，
並不安靜地睡去，
而是
用百合的語言，
說着一些
我們無法聽見的私語，
尤其是
一絲風也沒有時，
它的唇
守口如瓶，
它的語調
那麽隱秘——
或者，它
什麽也沒說
衹是站在那兒，
帶着植物
和聖人似的
耐心，
直到整個地球轉了一圈，
銀色的月亮
變成金色的太陽——
百合仿佛對此瞭然於心，
它自己，難道不正是
最完美的祈禱？
The Lily
by Mary Oliver
Night after night
darkness
enters the face
of the lily
which, lightly,
closes its five walls
around itself,
and its purse
of honey,
and its fragrance,
and is content
to stand there
in the garden,
not quite sleeping,
and, maybe,
saying in lily language
some small words
we can’t hear
even when there is no wind
anywhere,
its lips
are so secret,
its tongue
is so hidden –
or, maybe,
it says nothing at all
but just stands there
with the patience
of vegetables
and saints
until the whole earth has turned around
and the silver moon
becomes the golden sun –
as the lily absolutely knew it would,
which is itself, isn’t it,
the perfect prayer?
停歇在凌霄花上的蜂雀
誰不愛
玫瑰，誰
不愛黑暗池塘中
小天鵝一般
漂浮的
睡蓮，
以及，熱烈開放的
凌霄花呢。
蜂雀飛來，
像一個小小的緑色天使，
將棕黑的舌頭
浸泡在幸福中——
誰不希望
和它小馬達似的心靈一起
輕快地跳動
像舒伯特那樣
歌唱
眼睛
四處觀望，像阿爾勒的梵高那樣
心醉神迷？
看！幾乎整個世界
都在等待
或回憶——
幾乎整個世界都處於
我們不在其中的時刻，
我們尚未出生，或已死去——
一束緩慢燃燒的火
與我們所有聾啞、瘋狂而盲目的兄妹們
一起呆在地底
他們
甚至不再記得
自己的幸福——
看！我們將
如同蒼白、冰涼的
石頭，永遠
存在。
Hummingbird Pauses at the Trumpet Vine
by Mary Oliver
Who doesn’t love
roses, and who
doesn’t love the lilies
of the black ponds
floating like flocks
of tiny swans,
and of course, the flaming
trumpet vine
where the hummingbird comes
like a small green angel, to soak
his dark tongue
in happiness -
and who doesn’t want
to live with the brisk
motor of his heart
singing
like a Schubert
and his eyes
working and working like those days of rapture,
by Van Gogh in Arles?
Look! for most of the world
is waiting
or remembering -
most of the world is time
when we’re not here,
not born yet, or died -
a slow fire
under the earth with all
our dumb wild blind cousins
who also
can’t even remember anymore
their own happiness -
Look! and then we will be
like the pale cool
stones, that last almost
forever.
葉子姑媽
因為需要，我創造了她——
這個偉大的姑媽像山鬍桃樹一樣黑
名叫亮葉子，或者浮雲
或者夜美人。
我在葉子中呼喊，親愛的姑媽，
她就會站起來，像池塘中一根古舊的木頭，
用一種衹有我們倆纔懂的語言，低聲
吩咐我跟隨，
我們將去旅行
像快樂的鳥兒一樣
離開灰塵撲撲的小鎮，一旦進入樹林
她就把我們倆變成某種更敏捷的動物——
兩衹黑腳狐狸，
兩條緑絲帶似的蛇，
兩條閃光的魚——我們將整天旅行。
夜晚來臨時，她離開我，讓我回到自己的傢
和傢人呆在一起，
他們心地善良，卻像木頭一樣頑固
從不流浪。而她，
是羽毛和白樺樹皮纏繞成的一團
像雨一樣盤旋着，又
飄回來
將黎明的光
播撒在飛舞的蛾翅上，
或者，像一隻負鼠，懶散地呆在𠔌倉；
或者，懸挂在凝練的月光下，
像一枚耀眼的大奬章，
這個深刻的夢想，這個我需要的朋友，
這個老婦人，是用葉子做成的。
Aunt Leaf
by Mary Oliver
Needing one, I invented her -
the great-great-aunt dark as hickory
called Shining-Leaf, or Drifting-Cloud
or The-Beauty-of-the-Night.
Dear aunt, I"d call into the leaves,
and she"d rise up, like an old log in a pool,
and whisper in a language only the two of us knew
the word that meant follow,
and we"d travel
cheerful as birds
out of the dusty town and into the trees
where she would change us both into something quicker -
two foxes with black feet,
two snakes green as ribbons,
two shimmering fish - and all day we"d travel.
At day"s end she"d leave me back at my own door
with the rest of my family,
who were kind, but solid as wood
and rarely wandered. While she,
old twist of feathers and birch bark,
would walk in circles wide as rain and then
float back
scattering the rags of twilight
on fluttering moth wings;
or she"d slouch from the barn like a gray opossum;
or she"d hang in the milky moonlight
burning like a medallion,
this bone dream, this friend I had to have,
this old woman made out of leaves
一
蚊子如此渺小，
毀滅它無需費一點力氣。
每一片葉子，以及匆匆來去的黑螞蟻，
同樣如此。
這麽多生命，這麽多命運！
每天早晨，我輕輕走着，眼睛掃視
低處的池塘和松樹林。
在鼻涕蟲爬嚮它的盛宴之前，
在鬆針簌簌地落下之前，
在迅疾而有益的雨中，
即使衹有短短數小時，蘑菇，也會繁殖
許多，許多，許多
組成一個世界！
於是我想起那個古老的觀念：獨特的
纔是永恆的。
一隻杯子，萬物在其中旋轉着
變回大海和天空的顔色。
想象它！
必定是一隻明亮的杯子！
那一刻
沒有風掠過你的肩膀，
你凝視着它，
你在它裏面，
你自己親切的臉，你自己的眼睛。
而風，不顧及你，衹是掠過。
輕撫着螞蟻，蚊子，葉子，
以及你所知道的其他一切！
大海多麽藍，天空多麽藍，
萬物多麽藍，多麽微小，萬物皆可以救贖，包括你，
包括你的眼睛，包括你的想象。
One
by Mary Oliver
The mosquito is so small
it takes almost nothing to ruin it.
Each leaf, the same.
And the black ant, hurrying.
So many lives, so many fortunes!
Every morning, I walk softly and with forward glances
down to the ponds and through the pinewoods.
Mushrooms, even, have but a brief hour
before the slug creeps to the feast,
before the pine needles hustle down
under the bundles of harsh, beneficent rain.
How many, how many, how many
make up a world!
And then I think of that old idea: the singular
and the eternal.
One cup, in which everything is swirled
back to the color of the sea and sky.
Imagine it!
A shining cup, surely!
In the moment in which there is no wind
over your shoulder,
you stare down into it,
and there you are,
your own darling face, your own eyes.
And then the wind, not thinking of you, just passes by,
touching the ant, the mosquito, the leaf,
and you know what else!
How blue is the sea, how blue is the sky,
how blue and tiny and redeemable everything is, even you,
even your eyes, even your imagination.
傢信
她給我寄來藍鬆鴉，霜，
星星，以及此刻正升起在貧瘠山巔的
秋月的消息。
她輕描淡寫地提及寒冷，痛苦，
並羅列出已經喪失的東西。
讀到這裏，我的生活顯得艱難而緩慢，
我讀到生機勃勃的瓜
堆在門邊，籃子裏裝滿
茴香，迷迭香和蒔蘿，
而所有無法採集，或隱藏在葉子中的
那些，她衹能任其變黑並落下。
讀到這裏，我的生活顯得艱難而陌生，
我讀到她的興奮，每當
星星升起，霜降下來，藍鬆鴉唱起歌。
荒蕪的歲月沒有改變
她聰明而熱情的心；
她知道人們總是
計劃自己的生活，卻難以實現。
如果她哭泣，她不會告訴我。
我撫摸着她的名字；
我疊好信，站起來，
傾倒信封，從裏面飄出了
玻璃苣，忍鼕，芸香的碎片。
A Letter from Home
by Mary Oliver
She sends me news of blue jays, frost,
Of stars and now the harvest moon
That rides above the stricken hills.
Lightly, she speaks of cold, of pain,
And lists what is already lost.
Here where my life seems hard and slow,
I read of glowing melons piled
Beside the door, and baskets filled
With fennel, rosemary and dill,
While all she could not gather in
Or hid in leaves, grow black and falls.
Here where my life seems hard and strange,
I read her wild excitement when
Stars climb, frost comes, and blue jays sing.
The broken year will make no change
Upon her wise and whirling heart; -
She knows how people always plan
To live their lives, and never do.
She will not tell me if she cries.
I touch the crosses by her name;
I fold the pages as I rise,
And tip the envelope, from which
Drift scraps of borage, woodbine, rue.
沉迷
整個夏天
我漫步於田野，
在每個清晨，
每一場雨中，
田野變得深邃
充滿種子和花，
以及閃爍不定的
耀眼的光環——
如同蒼白的火焰，它們升起
又熄滅，
豐盈而美——
這就是田野的全部——
而我
至少有一兩次，
感到自己飛起來了，
我的鞋子
突然碰到種子的頂端，
絲綢一般柔滑的藍色空氣——
聽，
它熱情地
召喚我，
使我迷茫，
剝去我的外殼
再為我穿上歡樂的衣裳——
我不再需要什麽，
衹是沉迷於這閃亮的一刻，
沉迷於這不合邏輯的失重——
它是否是你所愛之物的
完美形式——
屬於一首古老的德國歌麯——
或者某個人——
或者就是地球自身的黑色絲綫，
沉重，帶電。
在可愛心智的邊緣，展開
如此狂野而盲目的翅膀。
The Rapture
by Mary Oliver
All summer
I wandered the fields
that were thickening
every morning,
every rainfall,
with weeds and blossoms,
with the long loops
of the shimmering, and the extravagant-
pale as flames they rose
and fell back,
replete and beautiful-
that was all there was-
and I too
once or twice, at least,
felt myself rising,
my boots
touching suddenly the tops of the weeds,
the blue and silky air-
listen,
passion did it,
called me forth,
addled me,
stripped me clean
then covered me with the cloth of happiness-
I think there is no other prize,
only rapture the gleaming,
rapture the illogical the weightless-
whether it be for the perfect shapeliness
of something you love-
like an old German song-
or of someone-
or the dark floss of the earth itself,
heavy and electric.
At the edge of sweet sanity open
such wild, blind wings.
夏日
誰創造了世界？
誰創造了天鵝，和黑熊？
誰創造了蚱蜢？
蚱蜢，我指的是——
跳出草叢的這一隻，
正在我手中吃糖的這一隻，
正在來回而不是上下移動她的顎——
正在用她巨大而復雜的眼睛四處張望的這一隻。
現在她擡起柔弱的前臂，徹底洗淨她的臉。
現在她張開翅膀，飛走了。
我不能確定禱告是什麽。
我衹知道如何專註，如何躺進
草裏，如何跪在草中，
如何偷懶並享受幸福，如何在田野閑逛，
這是我整天所做的事。
告訴我，我還應該做什麽？
一切最終不都死去了，而且很快？
告訴我，你打算做什麽
用你瘋狂而寶貴的一生？
The Summer Day
by Mary Oliver
Who made the world?
Who made the swan, and the black bear?
Who made the grasshopper?
This grasshopper, I mean--
the one who has flung herself out of the grass,
the one who is eating sugar out of my hand,
who is moving her jaws back and forth instead of up and down--
who is gazing around with her enormous and complicated eyes.
Now she lifts her pale forearms and thoroughly washes her face.
Now she snaps her wings open, and floats away.
I don"t know exactly what a prayer is.
I do know how to pay attention, how to fall down
into the grass, how to kneel in the grass,
how to be idle and blessed, how to stroll through the fields,
which is what I have been doing all day.
Tell me, what else should I have done?
Doesn"t everything die at last, and too soon?
Tell me, what is it you plan to do
With your one wild and precious life?
以上全部詩歌由倪志娟翻譯