来源：南方周末；作者： 侯杨方 最后更新：2008-07-30 19:11:48

http://www.infzm.com/content/15279

抗战期间，国民政府财政极其困难，但仍然将巨款投向了教育，对大中小学生全部免除学费，甚至提供食宿，教育经费在财政支出中仅次于军费，居政府财政支出的第二位

1999年9月18日，中共中央、国务院、中央军委向当年为研制“两弹一星”做出突出贡献的23位科学家和工程师颁发和追授了“两弹一星功勋奖章”，这23位国家功臣被称为“两弹一星”元勋。当检视这些元勋的简历时，会发现一个惊奇的现象：他们当中有多人的大学生涯是在抗战时期大后方度过的，随后出国留学。在艰苦卓绝的全民抗战时期，这样一批科技精英、国家栋梁是怎样集中培养出来的呢？

1937年抗日战争爆发，战前中国共有高等院校108所，其中91所遭日军的轰炸，财产损失巨大，25所院校因此被迫停办，继续维持的仅有83所。教职员工和学生的数量也急剧下降，财产损失更高达3360余万元。

针对于此，蒋介石提出了“战时教育需作平时看”的观点：“我们切不可忘记战时应作平时看，切勿为应急之故而丢却了基本。我们这一战，一方面是争取民族生存，一方面就要于此时期改造我们的民族，复兴我们的国家，所以我们教育上的着眼点，不仅在战时，还应该看到战后。教育部根据以上精神制定了“战时需作平时看”的办学方针：“为自力更生抗战建国之计，原有教育必得维持，否则后果将更不堪。”

战争爆发后，国民政府有计划地将大学迁往内地，沦陷区90%的高级知识分子、50%以上的中级知识分子和37所高校都转移到了大后方，这是一个奇迹。但大批来自沦陷区的学生衣食无着，教育部长陈立夫便以个人名义借贷建立了贷金制度，凡经济来源断绝的学生，可直接向学校贷款以维持生活，贷金包括膳食及服装各项费用，并免费提供住宿。由于通货膨胀等因素，这些贷金以后并未偿还，这等于政府向学生无偿提供了学费和生活费，因此贷金制随后改成了公费制。

抗战期间，由中学到大学毕业，完全依赖国家贷金或公费的学生，共达128000余人，这其中就包括了“两弹一星”元勋钱骥、姚桐斌、邓稼先、程开甲、屠守锷、陈芳允、任新民、朱光亚、王希季等9人，还有李政道、杨振宁这两位未来的诺贝尔奖获得者。8年抗战期间，全国专科以上高校增加了33所（31%），教员增加了3623人（48%），学生增加了41575人（99%）。中小学教育也全部免费，学龄前的儿童入学率从战前的43.4%上升到了胜利前的76%，初等学校学生数量几乎是战争爆发后的2倍。在职业教育方面进步更加明显，在校学生人数由战前的7000人增长到了25000余人。

在教育规模扩大的同时，国民政府也重视大学的科学研究。教育部于1938年特地拨经费给国立大学，令其恢复因战争而停办的研究所，恢复招收研究生，并酌情增设新的研究所。1938年到1944年，经济部共获准专利423项，是从民国初年到战前专利总数的182%。时任驻华参赞的英国著名学者李约瑟认为：“这七年间的科学进步与贡献，比起过去30年来，在质在量皆有增无减。”抗战期间国民政府还选拔了1566名的自费或公费留学生赴美国和欧洲各国，其中包括了后来的“两弹一星”元勋王大珩、黄纬禄、任新民、吴自良、陈芳允、彭桓武、屠守锷、郭永怀等8人，超过了“两弹一星”元勋总数的三分之一，另外还有杨振宁。当时在国外还约有2500名中国公费、自费留学生，其中家乡沦陷，断绝了经济来源的约占60%，国民政府决定拨款给予资助，总计数额达数十万美元（留美中国学生月津贴75美元，当时美国教师的平均月薪不过120美元）。抗战期间教育经费在国民政府的财政支出中仅次于军费，居政府财政支出的第二位。

（美）露易丝·格丽克诗集《草地》三首

（MEADOWLANDS，1997）

别离

夜不黑；黑的是这世界。

和我再多呆一会儿。

你的双手在椅背上——

这一幕我将记住。

之前，轻轻拨弄着我的肩膀。

像一个人训练自己怎样躲避内心。

另一个房间里，女仆悄悄地

熄灭了我看书的灯。

房间和它的石灰墙壁——

我想知道，它还怎么保护你  

一旦你的漂泊开始？我想你的眼睛将寻找出

它的亮光，与月光对抗。

很明显，这么多年之后，你需要距离

将它的强烈化为平淡。

你的双手在椅背上，拨弄着

我的身体和木头，恰以同样的方式。

像一个想再次感受渴望的人，

他视渴望甚于一切别的情感。

海边，希腊农夫们的声音，

急于看到日出。

仿佛黎明将改变他们

从农夫变成英雄。

而那之前，你正抱着我，因为你就要离开——

这一切只是你的表现，

并非需要回答的疑问。

我怎么知道你爱我

除非我看到你为我悲伤？

P. 10-11

DEPARTURE

The night isn’t dark; the world is dark.
Stay with me a little longer.

Your hands on the back of the chair -
that’s what I’ll remember.
Before that, lightly stroking my shoulders.
Like a man training himself to avoid the heart.

In the other room, the maid discreetly
putting out the light i read by.

The room with its chalk walls-
how will it look to you I wonder
once your exile begins? I think your eyes will seek out
its light as opposed to the moon.
Apparently, after so many years, you need
distance to make plain its intensity.

Your hands on the chair, stroking
my body and the wood in exactly the same way.
Like a man who wants to feel longing again,
who prizes longing above all other emotion.

On the beach, voices of the Greek farmers,
impatient for sunrise.
As though dawn will change them
from farmers into heroes.

And before that, you are holding me because you are going away—
these are statements you are making,

not questions needing answers.

How can I know you love me
unless I see you grieve over me?

人质的寓言

希腊人正坐在海滩上

想着战争结束后干什么。没有一个

想回家，回到

那个贫瘠的小岛；每个人都想多一点儿

特洛伊的东西，多一点儿

边缘之处的生活，感觉每天

都塞满了惊奇。但怎么解释这些

给在家里的人听？对他们来说

投身战争是一个可信的

不在家的藉口，而

探测一个人离开正题的能力

并不是。好吧，这一点

以后再面对；他们

是擅长行动的男人，情愿把洞察力

留给女人和孩子。

在大太阳下反复思索着这些事情，为

前臂上一种新的力量而高兴，那儿

似乎比他们在家时更加金黄，有些人

开始有点儿想家，

想念妻子，想看看

这场战争让她们变老了没有。有些人

感到稍微不安：难道战争

只不过是一场男人版的化妆打扮？

一个游戏，意在逃避

深层的精神问题？唉，

但并非只是战争。世界已经开始

向他们呼唤，一场歌剧将以战争

喧哗的和弦开场，以赛壬们漂浮的咏叹调结束。

此刻，在那海滩上，讨论着各种各样的

回家时间表，没有一个相信

会花上十年才回到伊萨卡；

没有人预见到十年里无法解决的困境——噢，无法回答的

对人心的折磨：怎样才能

把世界的美划分成可以接受的

和不可以接受的爱！在特洛伊的海滩上，

希腊人怎么能知道

他们已经是人质：谁曾经

耽搁了旅程，谁就是

已经被迷惑；他们怎么会知道

在他们为数不多的人中间

有些将永远被追求快乐的梦想扣留，

有些被睡梦，有些被音乐扣留？

P. 14-15

PARABLE OF THE HOSTAGES

The Greeks are sitting on the beach

wondering what to do when the war ends. No one

wants to go home, back

to that bony island; everyone wants a little more

of what there is in Troy, more

life on the edge, that sense of every day as being

packed with surprises. But how to explain this

to the ones at home to whom

fighting a war is a plausible

excuse for absence, whereas

exploring one’s capacity for diversion

is not. Well, this can be faced

later; these

are men of action, ready to leave

insight to the women and children.

Thinking things over in the hot sun, pleased

by a new strength in their forearms, which seem

more golden than they did at home, some

begin to miss their families a little,

to miss their wives, to want to see

if the war has aged them. And a few grow

slightly uneasy: what if war

is just a male version of dressing up,

a game devised to avoid

profound spiritual questions? Ah,

but it wasn’t only the war. The world had begun

calling them, an opera beginning with the war’s

loud chords and ending with the floating aria of the sirens.

There on the beach, discussing the various

timetables for getting home, no one believed

it could take ten years to get back to Ithaca;

no one foresaw that decade of insoluble dilemmas—oh unanswerable

affliction of the human heart: how to divide

the world’s beauty into acceptable

and unacceptable loves! On the shores of Troy,

how could the Greeks know

they were hostages already: who once

delays the journey is

already enthralled; how could they know

that of their small number

some would be held forever by the dreams of pleasure,

some by sleep, some by music?

下雨的早晨

你不爱这个世界。

如果你爱这个世界，你就会

在诗中描绘它。

约翰爱这个世界。他有

一句名言：不作评判

才能免于被评判。不要

根据那个理论——

一个人不可能爱上

拒绝了解的东西

来争论这一点：拒绝

言语，并非

抑制感知。

看约翰，置身外面世界，

甚至在今天这样的糟糕日子

还在奔跑。你
保持干燥，像那只猫可悲的

猎捕死鸟的偏好：完全

符合你乏味的精神主题，

秋天，丧失，黑暗，等等。

关于痛苦，闭着眼睛

我们都会写。你应该向别人

多展示你自己；向他们表露你

对红肉的隐秘激情。

P. 16

RAIN MORNING

You don’t love the world.
If you love the world you’d have
images in your poems.

John loves the world. He has
a motto: judge not
lest ye be judged. Don’t

argue this point

on the theory it isn’t possible
to love what one refuses
to know: to refuse

speech is not
to suppress perception. 

Look at John, out in the world,
running even on a miserable day
like today. Your
staying drying is like the cat’s pathetic
preference for hunting dead birds: completely

consistent with your tame spiritual themes,
autumn, loss, darkness, etc.

We can all write about suffering
with our eyes closed. You should show people
more of yourself; show them your clandestine
passion for red meat.

Hesitate to Call

– Louise Glück

Lived to see you throwing
Me aside. That fought
like netted fish inside me. Saw you throbbing
In my syrups. Saw you sleep. And lived to see
That all flushed down
The refuse. Done?
It lives in me.
You live in me. Malignant.
Love, you ever want me, don’t.

From Firstborn (New American Library, 1968);
reprinted in First Four Books of Poems (Ecco Press, 1999), page 10.

七个时期

在我第一个梦里，世界出现了
咸的，苦的，被禁止的，甜蜜的
在我第二个梦里，我堕落了

我曾是人，我不能仅仅看到一件事物
但我现在是野兽

我曾不得不去碰触，去包容它

我在小树林里藏身，
我在田野里劳作，直到田野裸露——

时间
它再不会来临——
捆扎的干麦子，一箱箱
无花果和橄榄

我甚至爱过几次，以我厌恶的人类方式

像每个人一样，我称这种成就
性爱的自由，
如今显得荒谬

麦子收割，储藏，最后的
果实变干：时间

那被储藏的，那从未使用的，
是否也要结束？

在我第一个梦里，世界出现了
甜蜜的，禁止的
但并没有花园，只有
原始的事物

我是人：
我不得不乞求堕落

咸的，苦的，需求，争先恐后

像每个人，我掠夺，我被掠夺
我梦见

我被出卖：

在梦中大地被赠予我
在梦中我拥有它
P.3-4

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

薄雾升起，带着一点声音。像砰地一声。
那是心脏的跳动。太阳升起，略显冲淡。
似乎是许多年之后，它再次下沉
而暮色泼洒在海岸上，在那儿变浓。
恋人们不知从何处赶来了，
这些人仍然有身体和心脏。仍然有
胳膊、腿、嘴巴，虽然到白天他们可能又成了
主妇和商人。

这同一个夜晚也产生了像我们这样的人。
你像我一样，不管你是否承认。
不满足，极其细心。你渴望的并不是体验
而是理解，似乎它可能抽象地存在。

然后又是白天，世界回复常态。
恋人们抚平头发；月亮继续它空洞的存在。
海滩又将属于神秘的的鸟儿
它们很快将出现在邮票上。

但我们的记忆，那些依赖于形象的人们的记忆，将会怎样？
难道它们就毫无价值？

薄雾升起，收回爱的证据。
失去了这些，我们只剩下镜子，你和我。
P.5

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.



感官的世界

隔着一条可怕的河流或裂缝，我向你呼喊
警告你，让你有所准备。

世界将引诱你，慢慢地，不知不觉地，
巧妙地，更不用说是默许。

那时我没有准备好；我站在奶奶的厨房里，
端出我的玻璃碗。炖李子，炖杏子——

果汁倒入装着冰的玻璃碗里。
再加水，耐心地，一点一点地，

每加一次
众多堂兄弟堂姊妹都要判断，品尝——

夏季水果的芳香，极度的浓缩：
彩色的液体逐渐变得更透亮，更灿烂，

更多的光透过来。
快乐，然后安慰。奶奶等着，

想看看是否需要更多。安慰，然后深深沉浸。
我的最爱：感官生活的深层隐秘，

自我消失其中，或无法区分开来，
莫名地被搁置，飘浮着，它的需要

充分地暴露，醒来，生机勃勃——
深深沉浸，以及随它而来的

神秘的安全。远处，水果在玻璃钵里闪闪发光。
厨房外，太阳下落。

那时我没有准备：太阳下落，夏天结束。展示
时间是一个连续体，是某种事物即将结束，

而非搁置；感觉也不能保护我。
我警告你，因为不曾有人警告过我：

你将永远不放手，你将永远不满足。
你将受伤、留下伤疤，你将继续饥渴。

你的身体将衰老，你将继续需要。
你将想要世界，然后更多世界——

庄严，公正，它到场，但不回应。
它环绕着，它不会掌控。

意味着，它将喂养你，它将让你着迷，
但它不会保证你活着。
P.6-7

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 be minister.

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

海滨之夏

在我们野营前，我们去了海边。

白日漫长，在太阳危险之前。

我妹妹趴着，读悬疑故事。

我坐在沙子里，看着水。

你可以用沙子盖住

你的身体中你不喜欢的部分。

我盖住脚，让我的双腿显得更长；

沙子爬上我的脚踝。

我往下看我的身体，离水远远的。

我成了杂志说的我应该的样子：

像小马驹。冻僵的小马驹。

我妹妹对这些调整并不操心。

当我告诉她盖住她的脚，她试了几次，

但厌烦了；她没有足够的意志力

去维持一种欺骗。

我盯着大海；我注意听别的家庭。

婴儿到处都是：他们头脑里上演什么？

我无法想像自己是一个婴儿；

我无法描画我不思想的样子。

我也无法想像自己是一个成年人。

他们都有糟糕的身体：松松垮垮，油乎乎，完全

受制于是男性和女性。

日子总是一成不变。

下雨的时候，我们呆在家里。

太阳亮了，我们跟着我妈妈去海边。

我妹妹趴着，读她的悬疑故事。

我两腿摆好坐着，模仿

我头脑里浮现的，我相信那是真实的自己。

因为它是真实的：当我不动时我是完美的。

P.34

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.

Copyright World Poetry, Incorporated Jan/Feb 2001

幸福的缪斯

窗户紧闭，太阳初升。
几声鸟鸣。
花园里薄雾轻笼。
巨大希望的不安全感
突然消失了。
而心依然警醒。

而一千个小小的希望在涌动，
不是新的，但新近才认识到。
思念，与朋友共餐。
以及理清楚某些
成年人的任务。

房屋整洁，安静。
垃圾还不需要带出去。

这是一个王国，而不是想象力的行为：
而依然非常早，
钓钟柳的白色花瓣张开。

或许，我们终于足够辛酸地
偿还完毕？
那种牺牲将不再需要，
那份焦虑和恐惧已被认为足够？

一只松鼠正沿着电话线奔跑，
嘴里有一片面包。

而黑暗被季节延迟。
所以它看起来像
一个巨大礼物的一部分，
再不用害怕。

白日展开，但非常缓慢地，一种孤独
不用害怕，那些变化
模糊，难以觉察——

钓钟柳张开。
有可能
看到它的整个过程。

P.50-51

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.

计策

他们远远地分开坐着

有意地，去体验，日常的，

隔着老远的距离望见彼此的那种

甜蜜。他们凭直觉

理解了：情欲的激情

因距离而蓬勃，要么

实际的（一个是已婚的，一个

不再爱其他人），要么

虚假的，欺骗的，一个计策

模仿着

激情对于社会传统的臣服，

只是一个计策，所以它

展示的并不是传统的力量，而是

爱洛斯摧毁

客观现实的力量。世界，时间，距离——

在枯萎，像干枯的田野

在凝视的火焰面前——

前所未有。从未和其他任何人。

以及那眼睛，那手以后。

体验，作为荣耀，作为献祭——

甜蜜。而许多年后，

完全无法想象。

前所未有。从未和其他任何人。

然后整个事情

恰恰与其他人一起重复。

直到最后清楚了

惟一不变的

是距离，这位需要的忠实仆人。

它被用来维持

我们每个人内心燃烧的各种大火。

那眼睛，那手——它并没有

我们相信的重要。最终

距离仅凭自身，已经足够。
P.59-60

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
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

总是太多，然后又太少。

童年：病中。

在我的床边上有一只小铃铛——

铃铛的另一边，我妈妈。

疾病，灰蒙蒙的雨。小狗始终在睡觉。它们睡在床上，

在床头边，我觉得对于童年

它们很明白：最好一直懵懵懂懂。

雨在窗户上形成灰色的长条。

我拿着书坐着，小铃铛放在旁边。

没听到一点声音，我就让自己模仿一个声音。

没看到精神的任何标志，我就执意

生活在精神之中。

雨淅淅沥沥又稀稀疏疏。

一月又一月，在一日之内。

事物成了梦，梦成了事物。

后来我好了；铃铛回到了橱柜里。

雨停了。狗站在门口，

喘着气到门外去。

我好了，后来我长大成人。

而时间继续——就像那场雨，

那么多，那么多，仿佛一种无法移走的重负。

我是个孩子，半睡半醒。

我病了；我被人保护。

我活在精神的世界之中，

灰雨的世界，

失去的，回忆的世界。

然后，突然，太阳闪耀。

而时间继续，甚至在一无所剩的时候。

而那感受的成了记忆，

那记忆的，成了感受。

P.61

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

我小心翼翼地出生，在金牛座的标志下。

我在一个岛上长大，茁壮地，

在二十世纪的下半叶；

大屠杀的阴影

几乎没有触及我。

我有一套爱的哲学，宗教的

哲学，都是基于

早年在家里的体验。

而如果我写，我只有寥寥数语，

这是因为对我来说时间总显得短暂

仿佛每一刻它都可能

被剥夺。

而我的故事，不管如何，并不奇特，

虽然，像其他每个人，我有一个故事，

一种观点。

我需要的是寥寥数语：

养育，承受，攻击。

P.62

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, philosophy

of religion, both based on

early experience within a family.

And if I wrote I used only a few words

it was because time always 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.

爱洛斯

我已经把椅子拉到旅馆窗前，看雨。

宛如是在梦中或恍惚中——

在爱中，但仍然

我一无所求。

似乎没必要抚摸你，再看到你。

我只想要这些：

房间，椅子，雨飘落的声音，

许多个小时，在春夜的温暖中。

我不再需要别的；我是全然地满足。

我的心已变小；它只要一丁点儿填充自己。

我看着雨水瓢泼而下，在变得黑暗的城市之上——

你不再被牵挂；我能放你

过你需要过的生活。

黎明时，雨渐稀疏。我做些

人们在晨光里做的事，我宣判自己无罪，

但我走起来像一个梦游人。

这已足够，这不再与你有关。

一座陌生城市里的一些日子。

一次谈话，一只手的触摸。

再后来，我摘下了我的结婚戒指。

那是我想要的：无牵无挂。

P.58

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 hair, 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 very 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.

 镭

当夏天结束，我妹妹要上学了。

不再和狗一起呆在家里，

等着被捉到。不再

和我妈妈一起过家家。她正在长大，

她可以加入共车[1]。

没有人想呆家里。真实的生活

是这个世界：你发现镭，

你跳天鹅皇后。没有什么

能解释我妈妈。没有什么能解释

就因为最终认识到整理床铺、养育

像我和妹妹这样的孩子更为有趣

而把镭丢到一边，是怎么回事。

我妹妹看着那些树；树叶

无法变得足够快。她一直在问

是秋天吗，天够冷了吗？

但仍然是夏天。我躺在床上，

听着我妹妹的呼吸。

我能看到她的金发在月光里；

在洁白的床单下，她小精灵的身体。

在写字桌上，我能看到我的新笔记本。

它像是我的头脑：干净，空空。在六个月里

那里写上什么，也将在我的头脑里。

我观察我妹妹的脸，有一侧埋在她的胖胖熊里。

她正被收藏到我的头脑里，如记忆，

像一本书里的事实。

我不想去睡。我从不想去睡

这些天。然后我不想醒来。我不想

树叶变化，傍晚早早地就黑了。

我不想喜欢我的新衣服，我的笔记本。

我知道它们是什么：贿赂，分心。

像学校的热闹：真实是

时间正沿着一个方向移动，像一个波浪举起

整座房子，整个村庄。

我打开灯，让我妹妹醒来。

我想要我父母醒来、警惕；我想要他们

不再躺着。但没有人醒。我坐起来

就着夜灯读我的希腊神话。

夜晚寒冷，树叶飘落。

我妹妹厌倦了学校，她想念在家的时候。

但想回来已经晚了，想停止已经晚了。

夏天过去了，夜晚黑暗。狗

穿着毛衣出门。

然后秋天过去，那一年过去。

我们在改变，我们正在长大。但

这不是你决定去做的事情；

它是发生的事情，某种你无法

控制的事情。

时间流逝。时间正携着我们

越来越快地冲向实验室的门口，

然后越过那扇门，进入深渊，黑暗。

我妈妈搅动着汤。洋葱，

借着奇迹，变成土豆的一部分。

——《七个时期》P.18-19

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 blonde 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: dean, 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.