Luke Davies

卢克.戴维斯(澳洲)  陈青山译

 

Selection from 40 Love Poems  40首爱情诗选

 

明透 

 

李舒歌呵！今天，你是太阳

和我，弥撒着光和热
谷底，桦木松弯折

白雪皑皑的顶峰上，天空湛蓝

 

穿越你弥撒的光芒。噢！

一路，我的足尖是多么刺痛
然后，让我们一起展开这片野餐用的地毯
来啊，李舒歌！我们一起畅游这欲死欲仙

来啊，呆上一天，躺下一个小时
一个阴月，一个阳年
这个世界仍会自我余转。而我
只想在你耳畔轻轻将你夸赞

 

(Transparent) 
 
Sugar Lee you are the sun today,
Pervasive light and heat, and I

The valley floor, the birch pine slopes,
The snow-capped peaks, transparent sky
 
Through which you spread, and oh how
My toes are tingling miles away.

Then let us spread this picnic rug;

Come let’s play mortals Sugar Lee.

 

Come stay a day, come lie an hour,

A lunar month, a solar year;

The world will organise itself the while

I whisper praises in your ear. 

 

 吮乳

 

来啊，让咱们一起欲死欲仙
那个热烈的相拥。我所有对失去
对离弃的恐惧，都会消融在你
四肢散发的光里。来吧，呆上一小时

少些也没关系。但你千万别依赖任何道具
哪怕是钟表也会撒谎
唯一能确信的是我们拼命做爱时
感知的愉悦

 

温柔些。吮下所有那些延期了的乳汁

那唯一的解决之法就是放弃
来吧，我不在乎——来吧，你将是柴堆

我将是被你点燃的人

(Suck)
 
Come let’s play mortals Sugar Lee,

That fierce embrace. And all my fear

Of loss, of departure, will dissolve

In the light of your limbs. Come stay an hour,

 

Or less. And don’t trust any technology,

And even the clocks are lying.

The only thing sure is the pleasure we’ll know

When we’re done with trying

 
To be polite, to suck all the juice from delay.

The only solution is abandon.

Come I don’t care — come you be the pyre;

And I will be the burned one. 

 

振颤

土块碾扎和身体修复的灵

是灵在爱里设想
性急是唯一的过错
我们都变得烦躁不安

即使是振颤突然降临，爱仍占据中心

穿过它的静止的区域
山脊延伸着。此地，今朝

消逝靠近冰龄。真够讽刺

我们并没为处理这事而被装备。因此
在西班牙的浓云下，夏天的福佑里
我晃过未知的田野。噢：

然而，比利牛斯山在他们炽热的滚动中振颤

(Shudder) 

Idea that earth crunches and body repairs
Is idea conceived in love.

Impatience is the only sin.

We all get fidgety but love 

Is the medium in which even
Flickers occur, through which tectonically，

The spines of mountains stretch. Here today,

Gone next ice age. Ironically
 
We’re not equipped to deal with this. So

I float through fields of unknowing ，

Under Spanish clouds, a summer bliss. Oh:
But the Pyrenees still shudder in their glowing. 
 

呼吸

 

抚绕着你的背，那儿

到处都布满了雀斑

每一个雀斑都是星宿
—这我已然明白

 

---- 所有银河，以及神格

一个太空人将哭泣
在这样的一个场景：仿佛

一场梦后，在黎明深邃的核心

他醒来
奔赴广袤的天宇，并在那里呼吸
噢，归宿！天河

噢——乳白的皮肤

(Breathe)

Across your back
Those freckles strewn
Are every constellation

I have known
 
All galaxy and godhead too

An astronaut would weep

At such a view: as if,
After dreams, in the deep 

Heart of dawn, he’d wake

To that expanse, and breathe it in.

Home! O Milky Way!
O milk-white skin! 
 

素描

它不是我能勾勒出的
红色船缘。但那
出现在红色船缘另一边

能够走向海角天边的：是他们呼唤艺术的一切

不是那只白天鹅越近芦苇时
惊恐于仓鸮的尖叫，扑腾着水面
不是那只仓鸮

希望其他事情都超越它费力的尖叫

 

哭碎那昏暗的一天
不是雾主动去萦绕那湖边的苍松

即使一切本真显现
没有一丁点的爱，让我心碎


(Sketch)   

It’s not that I could sketch the red

Gunwale of the boat

But that what emerges on the other side of red
Could go anywhere: that’s what they call art.

 
Nor that the white swan over near the bulrushes

Flaps up out of the water terrified

By the barn-owl’s shriek. Nor that the barn-owl wishes

For anything other than its own hard

 
Cry to shatter the darkening day.

Not the mist moving into the pines beside the lake.

Though all these things are true in their own way —

Without love I am broke. 

亚当

噢！躺在她的娇躯上

她的赤裸就是我的一切

我简单的安排着
水平地伏落

没有一丁点错误的意图

察觉到没树
我简单地和她躺在一起

她也和我躺在一起

它是所有中国人的悄悄话
这一切被告知是不正当的

我简单的咬她的唇
像是咬着苹果露


Adam

 

Oh to lie upon her
Her nakedness is all

I simply orchestrated

That horizontal fall 

And had no wrong intentions

And cared about no tree

I simply lay with her
And she with me.

 
It is all Chinese whispers

It all gets told askew

I simply kissed the lips

That kissed the apple dew. 

 高原

 

高原上布满了美景和悬崖
然后，一个更深的事物成长
在令人狂喜的钱币里
我将付给你我的赞美
 

你会告诉我每一个故事
当我们驾车前行。在你的眼底

所有丛林都会闪现过去
所有天空，填满秘密

那美景会暗淡
那是一个被给与的。爱明白

一切美景的都超越了这。

在每个高原，我赞美
 

Plateau

All that there was was beauty and bluff;

Then a deeper thing grows.
In the coinage of rapture

I will pay you my praise.

 
You will tell me every story

As we drive; in your eyes
Whole forests will flicker past,

Whole skies, enormous mysteries ...

 
That beauty can malfunction

Is a given. Love knows
Of all the beauties beyond this.
At every plateau, praise.

 

描幕生活

雷吉诺德. 谢泼德 （美国新锐诗人）  陈青山译

你瞧！我在建造这个房间氛围外的缺席

我阅读夏天的手稿，虚拟它咆哮

在一涂漆的楼层

它看起来像个人。那条结是他在

招手拜拜。那条粒状的拉伸过的绳索

是他转过背时隆起的椎骨

小鸟（麻雀，鷽鸟，或许是的）

它那些黑色的装饰品弄乱了

树梢（毁灭在早上八点的八月阳光）

我听不见。褶缝这儿，啁啾而鸣。窗户关了

 

我在装饰着寂寥无音的紧锁的盒子

和布满着的细节，这些漂浮着的微尘

再现（我的乐曲。

我一点也不为这可触知的世界孤独。我拍的

一声，拍死蚊子)，颤抖在

水下外部玻璃的黑暗里。那是残余的光从表面折入表内

由深蓝变蓝。再变紫黑

那儿哦，差异消亡！飘游的仙景

终归只是虚幻。（一个世界天空关闭

注入我那沉在水底的水晶球）

哦，我是如此的幸运！

 

Drawing from Life  by Reginald Shepherd 

 

Look: I am building absence

out of this room's air, I'm reading suppositions into

summer's script snarled on a varnished floor.

It looks like a man. That knot's his hand

waving good-bye, that stippled stripe of grain's

the stacked-up vertebrae of his turned back.

Small birds (sparrows or finches, or perhaps)

are cluttering the trees with blackened ornaments (burning in the remnant light of August eight o'clock), and noises

I can't hear. Chirring there, chittering. The window's closed.

 

I am assembling a lack of sound

in this locked box, and dotting all the i's

these floating motes present (my composition), I am not lonely

for the palpable world (midges I dap hands for and kill), shivering into darkness underwater outside glass:

what's left of light sinking from zero down to less,

cobalt down to zaffer, deeper to purple-black

where divers drown. The swimming landscape's

all mistake (one world that shuts air into

my submerged terrarium), and I am luck. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

红罂粟
露易丝•格丽克 陈青山译
 
大凡伟大
之物。皆无
思想。感觉
噢，我有那些。
他们主导着我。我的王
住在天国，名叫太阳。
为其绽放，淬于我灵魂之火
火，如同他的
出场。啊！
如果不是灵魂的燃烧
有什么能够那般耀眼
噢，我的兄弟姊妹
可曾如同我一般。长远以前
在你们作人之前？
允许自己
再度盛放
纵使燃尽了花期
因为，事实上
我在谈起，以你们绽放的方式。
我说，是因为
我已化尽残红
 
The Red Poppy
by Louise Glück
 
The great thing
is not having
a mind. Feelings:
oh, I have those; they
govern me. I have
a lord in heaven
called the sun, and open
for him, showing him
the fire of my own heart, fire
like his presence.
What could such glory be
if not a heart? Oh my brothers and sisters,
were you like me once, long ago,
before you were human? Did you
permit yourselves
to open once, who would never
open again? Because in truth
I am speaking now
the way you do. I speak
because I am shattered.

From :http://www.poets.org/poet.php/prmPID/82

photo: Sara Barrett

衣婉.伯兰德

衣婉.伯兰德，爱尔兰女诗人。1944年生于爱尔兰的都柏林。其父是一个外交官，其母是一个表现主义画家。

六岁时，举家移居伦敦。平生第一次遭遇了反爱尔兰的感伤。后来回都柏林上学，并于1966年获得三.一学院的文学学士.曾在伦敦和纽约接受过教育。

著有诗集Outside History (1990) 《历史的表面》，In a Time of Violence (1994)《在暴力时代》，An Origin Like Water (1996) 《莱客水之源》，The Lost Land (1998)《失陷的土地》，Against Love Poetry (2001) 《爱情诗的反抗》，Domestic Violence (2007) 《国内暴力》，New Collected Poems (2008) 《新选诗歌》。

除了诗集,她还是《对象课程》的作者：《妇女的生活与我们年代里的诗人》（诺顿文学评论版出版社，1995年），《散文选，每场战争之后》（普林斯顿出版社，2004年），《德国女诗人名诗选，以及她合编一首诗的写作：诗歌风格诺顿名诗选》（与加拿大艺术评论家合编，诺顿文学评论版出版社，2000年）。

曾获兰南基金会诗歌奖，美国爱尔兰基金文学奖，以及参与爱尔兰广播电视台广播的艺术节目所获得雅各奖，三一学院荣誉学位。

 

曾任教于三一学院，大学学院，鲍登学院，并是美国衣阿华州国际写作计划的成员。与其丈夫，作家作者凯文卡西育有两个女儿。当前是斯坦福大学英语教授，并主持创造性写作计划。

 

photo: Sara Barrett

Eavan Boland was born in Dublin, Ireland, in 1944. Her father was a diplomat and her mother was an expression_rist painter.

At the age of six, Boland and her family relocated to London, where she

first encountered anti-Irish sentiment. She later returned to Dublin for school, and she received her B.A. from Trinity College in 1966. She was also educated in London and New York.

Her books of poetry include New Collected Poems (W.W. Norton & Co., 2008), Domestic Violence, (2007), Against Love Poems (2001), The Lost Land (1998), An Origin Like Water: Collected Poems 1967-1987 (1996), In a Time of Violence (1994), Outside History: Selected Poems 1980-1990 (1990), The Journey and Other Poems (1986), Night Feed (1982), and In Her Own Image (1980).

In addition to her books of poetry, Boland is also the author of Object Lessons: The Life of the Woman and the Poet in Our Time (W. W. Norton, 1995), a volume of prose, After Every War (Princeton, 2004), an anthology of German women poets, and she co-edited The Making of a Poem: A Norton Anthology of Poetic Forms (with Mark Strand; W. W. Norton & Co., 2000).

Her awards include a Lannan Foundation Award in Poetry, an American Ireland Fund Literary Award, a Jacob's Award for her involvement in The Arts Programme broadcast on RTÉ Radio, and an honorary degree from Trinity.

 

She has taught at Trinity College, University College, Bowdoin College, and she was a member of the International Writing Program at the University of Iowa. She is also a regular reviewer for the Irish Times.

Boland and her husband, author Kevin Casey, have two daughters, and she is currently a professor of English at Stanford University where she directs the creative writing program.

来源：http://www.poets.org/poet.php/prmPID/153

歌者

------ 写给M..R

            衣婉.伯兰德  陈青山译

 

那些女人，生活在不可饶恕的海岸

她们曾是西方的歌者

我想明白，曾经可有一刹那，一切都有过宽恕

当暴雨，海浪还有归属感一一展现在他们的眼帘

一切是否完整并且如同以前？尔后

每一个白天都被阴晴风雨所硷刻

而每一个夜晚，舌间都塞满了大西洋的暴风雨，乌云隐匿下的

星辰以及倦鸟

只有当危险在声乐中消散，你才能明白

他们准确的量尺。并发现一个声音

在那里，他们找到了憧憬

 

THE SINGERS
　　　(for M. R.) by Eavan Boland

The women who were singers in the West 
lived on an unforgiving coast.
I want to ask was there ever one
moment when all of it relented,
when rain and ocean and their own
sense of home were revealed to them
as one and the same?
After which
every day was still shaped by weather,
but every night their mouths filled with
Atlantic storms and clouded-over stars
and exhausted birds.
And only when the danger
was plain in the music could you know
their true measure of rejoicing in
finding a voice where they found a vision.

 

                      08.10.16日晚青山译于河北大学   修改于09.4.21

 

诗人

         衣婉.伯兰德  陈青山译

 

诗人们，如同一切灵物。正为了虫

和铲子。搜寻他们腐乱的思想

找到形式和图案。并用自己的双手

挖掘艰涩的语言。一个人影中

秘密的事在倾诉

 

他们在异外。其灵魂如一群徘徊的狮子

的骄傲。此刻在绝望，如同镶着宝石

的野兽。狮子星的风光

是火星座和猎户座

毫不停歇地在所有星空中狩猎

 

他们每天和他的毁灭斗争

中心位的太阳日渐暗淡。他只有

去租宿一个客房似的月亮

他要呆到黎明破晓

等着黑暗中缺席的房东 

 

THE POETS

by Eavan Boland

 

They, like all creatures, being made

For the shovel and the worm,

Ransacked their perishable minds and found

Pattern and form

And with their own hands quarried from hard words

A figure in which secret things confide.

 

They are abroad: their spirits like a pride

Of lions circulate,

Are desperate, just as the jewelled beast,

That lion constellate,

Whose scenery is Betelgeuse and Mars,

Hunts without respite among fixed stars.

 

And they prevail to his undoing every day

The essential sun

Proceeds, but only to accommodate

A tenant moon,

And he remains until the very break

Of morning, absentee landlord of the dark.

 

                       08.10.17午后青山译于河北大学  修改于09.4.21

 

安特兰迪斯 （一首消失的十四行诗）

          衣婉.伯兰德  陈青山译

 

世上发生了的一切. 我曾经疑惑

整整一个城市。那些拱门，长廊和柱子

竟没有染漆,也没有动物的陪韵----

有朝一日，一切都会消逝?

我给自己说，其意是世界很小

肯定有一个大城市，已被遗失

我想念咱们的旧城

 

白色的胡椒,香肠。你和我相遇在天窗，以及低矮的

天空底下。并且结伴回家

或许，曾经这样发生

 

这些古老寓言的决策者, 苦寻的语言

去检验那些正消逝的——永恒消逝的一切。再也无法发现它

这样，在我们源地，最好的传统里

他们给自己的悲伤取一个名字

并且沉溺其中

 

Atlantis—A Lost Sonnet by Eavan Boland

 

How on earth did it happen, I used to wonder

that a whole city—arches, pillars, colonnades,

not to mention vehicles and animals—had all

one fine day gone under?

 

I mean, I said to myself, the world was small then.

Surely a great city must have been missed?

I miss our old city —

 

white pepper, white pudding, you and I meeting

under fanlights and low skies to go home in it. Maybe

what really happened is

 

this: the old fable-makers searched hard for a word

to convey that what is gone is gone forever and

never found it. And so, in the best traditions of

where we come from, they gave their sorrow a name

and drowned it.

                   08.10.19日青山傍晚译于河北大学  修改于09.4.21早

 

失陷的土地

   衣婉.伯兰德   陈青山译

 

我有两个女儿

 

他们是，我曾想从人间要的所有。或者，几乎是所有

我曾经也想要一块土地：一座群山环绕的城池

一条城河，以及其中的一座小岛

 

因此，我对自己说

我的所有，只是一块土地

 

如今，她们已经成人并离我越来越远，记忆已成为对岸人

漫游在这样一个地方。作为一道风景

那里的爱掩盖了自己

 

在那里，山如同孩子的眼睛一样纯洁

在那里，我的孩子都在远方。地平线：

 

在夜晚

梦魇的边沿

我可以看见都柏林海湾的海岸线

我看到它花岗石的长堤

以及蜿蜒的岩石

 

就是这，我说的是他们已必然发现了的

那条在黄昏返回的邮船

那些影子，正落映在他们必须离弃的一切？

并且即将爱到永远？

 

然后，我想像着我自己

在那条船的通向大陆的铁路上，寻找那只最后看得见的手

 

我看见自己，在那片水的荒野之上

黑暗蓦然降临。为了那片失陷的土地。我要说所有我知道的名字

爱尔兰，缺席，女儿………

 

The Lost Land

By Eavan Boland

I have two daughters.

They are all I ever wanted from the earth.
Or almost all.

I also wanted one piece of ground:

One city trapped by hills. One urban river.
An island in its element.

So I could say mine. My own.
And mean it.

Now they are grown up and far away
and memory itself
has become an emigrant,
wandering in a place
where love dissembles itself as landscape:

Where the hills
are the colour's of a child's eyes,
where my children are distances, horizons:

At night,
on the edge of sleep,
I can see the shore of Dublin Bay.
Its rocky sweep and its granite pier.

Is this, I say
how they must have seen it,
backing out on the mailboat at twilight,

shadows falling
on everything they had to leave?
And would love forever?
And then

I imagine myself
at the landward rail of that boat
searching for the last sight of a hand.

I see myself
on the underwold side of that water,
the darkness coming in fast, saying
all the names I know for a lost land:

Ireland. Absence. Daughter.

 

                  08.10.22午后青山译于河北大学  第一次修改于09.4.21

 

战马

衣婉.伯兰德   陈青山译

 

这个干燥的夜晚。一切如同往常

关于弹夹，马蹄声，便装。

 

当他标示出死亡，他鞋里的铁
如同一个铸造硬币的世间铸币场 

 

拉开窗帘。看着那些裸关节，长丛毛里

飘扬的马毛。从缰绳上飘散

 

路过英尼司格里路的，流浪者营地

他嘶嘶的鼻音止了。头也旯了起来

 

他走了。不再去酿造祸害

只有我们月桂篱笆的一片树叶，被撕碎—— 

 

唯有的那枝玫瑰。现在

在如同一个残壳的遥远意趣里

 

再也不从我们屋里的石头攀沿而上。牺牲

一条细线挡住了他。你可以说一个志愿者

 

仅有的藏红花，他的球茎

疯狂地催长。一个尖叫的死亡

 

除了我们。我们是安全的，我们没有担心激烈

的承诺消亡。为何我们要关注？

 

假如一朵玫瑰，一个栅栏，一朵月桂被根除
如同尸体一样？被丢弃远方，被粉碎，被阉割？

 

他蹒跚。如同在一次战争的谣言

巨大的恐惧里。邻里笑里藏刀

 

他蹒跚在这短促的街上。他兴然

地走过我们。我停下，等待

然后倚在窗台，痛苦的呼吸
第二次只有我的血，以隔代相传的方式存在

他捣碎了花边的那朵玫瑰

缠绕着我们的栅栏。回想那些日子

 

家国破碎，非法的辫子

废墟前的一个理由。一个世界被背叛

 

The War Horse

by Eavan Boland

This dry night, nothing unusual
About the clip, clop, casual

Iron of his shoes as he stamps death

Like a mint on the innocent coinage of earth.

 

lift the window, watch the ambling feathe

Of hock and fetlock, loosed from its daily tether， 

 

In the tinker camp on the Enniskerry Road,

Pass, his breath hissing, his snuffling head 

 

Down. He is gone. No great harm is done. 

Only a leaf of our laurel hedge is torn—

 

Of distant interest like a maimed limb,

Only a rose which now will never climb 

 

The stone of our house, expendable, a mere

Line of defence against him, a volunteerYou might say,

 

only a crocus, its bulbous head

Blown from growth, one of the screamless dead.

 

But we, we are safe, our unformed fear  

Of fierce commitment gone; why should we care

 

If a rose, a hedge, a crocus are uprooted 

Like corpses, remote, crushed, mutilated?

 

He stumbles on like a rumour of war, huge

Threatening. Neighbours use the subterfuge

 

Of curtains. He stumbles down our short street 
Thankfully passing us. I pause, wait, 

Then to breathe relief lean on the sill

And for a second only my blood is still

 

With atavism. That rose he smashed frays
Ribboned across our hedge, recalling days

 

Of burned countryside, illicit braid: 

A cause ruined before, a world betrayed.

 

08．10．16于河北大学   开始修改于09年4月21日晚

 

 

 

衣婉.伯兰德诗歌选译（修订稿）  陈青山译

 

我的国家深陷于黑暗

衣婉.伯兰德  陈青山译

 

在榆之前,在狼之后

游吟人的身影残逝于爱尔兰

 

只余一隅，仍在沿续

死亡的艺术。在这死亡的土地里

 

这是一个男人

走在那条从约尔通向凯雨莫的小路上

他满怀伤悲,没有食物,也没有将来

他毫无激情地背诵着那孤独的诗章

他的谜语,以及谄媚。从未有丁点回报

他的庇护者，在弗兰德斯和马德里, 拔出血泠泠的刀

 

读诗的客，爱诗的人

假如你们认为这是一种温和的艺术

便随这个男人走在一个没有月亮的夜晚

去远离那些必须远离的

不幸之床

 

盖尔人的世界在山楂树下伸展

以及塌陷在那场雨里。这是它的归属

那些最后碎了的茅屋,所有这一切,

已然毁灭在那残暴的冷雨里——

五行打油诗。那野鹅,以及那些曾经消失的一切

 

他要在完全沉睡之前,把一切支吾出来

他睁开眼,那黑暗突然笼罩了爱尔兰的土地

 

My Country in Darkness by Eavan Boland

 

After the wolves and before the elms
the bardic order ended in Ireland.

Only a few remained to continue
a dead art in a dying land:

This is a man
on the road from Youghal to Cahirmoyle.
He has no comfort, no food and no future.
He has no fire to recite his friendless measures by.
His riddles and flatteries will have no reward.
His patrons sheath their swords in Flanders and Madrid.

Reader of poems, lover of poetry—
in case you thought this was a gentle art
follow this man on a moonless night
to the wretched bed he will have to make:

 
The Gaelic world stretches out under a hawthorn tree
and burns in the rain. This is its home,
its last frail shelter. All of it—
Limerick, the Wild Geese and what went before—

falters into cadence before he sleeps:
He shuts his eyes. Darkness falls on it.

 

                                          08.10,8,译于河北大学  修改于09年5月1号

 

历史的表面

       衣婉.伯兰德 陈青山译

 

这些都只是历史的表面，永远。这些星星

这些一月里，爱尔兰的铁的暗示

几千年了

在我们疼痛发生之前

是谁的光芒在发亮。

他们处于并将永处于历史的表面

在你发现的，他们的废墟里

他们保持着自己的距离

你是一个真正的人

你明白你正处于濒临死亡的风景线

如果我有机会在他们之中选择其一

我会选择：

那些荒诞之外的历史，那里我去并将成为苦难者的一部分

黑暗，现在正在抵达我

从那些田野，那些河流

那些死亡的苍天下，凝结的路

当我们跪在他们的旁边，悄悄的和他们耳语

他们的死亡多么缓慢啊

我们是这样的来迟，我们总是这样的来迟

 

Outside History by Eavan Boland

 

These are outsiders, always. These stars

these iron inklings of an Irish January,

whose light happened

thousands of years before

our pain did; they are, they have always been

outside history.
They keep their distance. Under them remains

a place where you found
you were human, and

a landscape in which you know you are mortal.
And a time to choose between them.

I have chosen:

out of myth in history I move to be

part of that ordeal

who darkness is
only now reaching me from those fields,

 

those rivers, those roads clotted as

firmaments with the dead.
How slowly they die
as we kneel beside them, whisper in their ear.

And we are too late. We are always too late.

 

08.10.8青山傍晚于河北大学译  修改于09年5月1号

 

隔离

                 衣婉.伯兰德   陈青山译

 

在那个最恶劣的季节，最恶劣的时段

那个全民最恶劣的年月里

一个男人，带着妻子，走出了贫民院
他正走向北方，他们携着手一起走向北方

 

饥荒的热病，让她支撑不了瘦弱的身体

他扶着她，并把她背在自己的后背上

他们这样地，相携着走向西方，北方

直到夜幕降临，星星冻了，他们才走到目的地

 

在早晨，人们发现，他们早已双双死亡

死于饥饿和寒冷；死于整个历史的热毒
她的脚，紧紧的放在他的胸膛之上

他胸膛的最后一丝温度，是他能给她的最后倚持

绝对没有一首情诗，能到达这样的门槛

那里容不了那些虚赞的安雅

也容不下那些纵欲的残壳

这是唯一的，对这一切进行残忍清盘的时刻：

 

他们一起死在1874年的那个冬天

（一起死亡的还有）

他们曾经的遭难，以及过去的生活
还有一个男人和一个女人之间的故事

以及在黑暗里爱的不朽明证

 

QUARANTINE    by Eavan Boland

                                 

In the worst hour of the worst season      
of the worst year of a whole people        
a man set out from the workhouse with his wife.
He was walking-they were both walking-north.

She was sick with famine fever and could not keep up.
He lifted her and put her on his back.
He walked like that west and north.  
Until at nightfall under freezing stars they arrived.

 

In the morning they were both found dead.
Of cold. Of hunger. Of the toxins fever of a whole history.

But her feet were held against his breastbone.
The last heat of his flesh was his last gift to her.

Let no love poem ever come to this threshold.

There is no place here for the inexact      
praise of the easy graces and sensuality of the body.
There is only time for this merciless inventory:  

Their death together in the winter of 1847.      
Also what they suffered. How they lived.        
And what there is between a man and a woman.
And in which darkness it can best be proved.  

                               08.10.11青山译于河北大学  修改于09.5.9

 

母亲给我的黑丝扇

               衣婉.伯兰德 陈青山译 

 

这是他过去给她的第一件礼物

在格列林斯，它只值五个法郎

那是在柏林之战的前夕，那个令人窒息的日子

没有星星的干燥之夜，风暴呼呼地狂猎着

 

那个夏天，他们呆在那个城市

他们约在一家咖啡店见面。她总来得很早
他却经常迟到。那个晚上他来得更迟

他们缠好丝扇。他看着时间

 

她俯看着下面，那繁华的卡普西奈大街

她点了很多的咖啡。她站起来

热量逐渐弥熄。一切空空如也
她嗅着那闪电和雨，并且思量（它们离此）的距离

 

这些都是野玫瑰，纤细的手将他们粘在丝绸上

虽粘贴粗糙，一针一线却迅速，而又纹理分明

余下的那些，就靠玳瑁

以及那一份缄默，清明的耐心

这是一把陈腐的，水金扇子。那些印迹

仍然保留至今。（我知道这是）

一个歪曲事实的论断。那花边

像天气或阴或晴一样覆盖。
徐徐展开，那些支脉又徐徐嵌入

 

往昔如一层层空空的蛋糕似梯田

雷电之前，天空布满了阴沉昏暗的云

一个男人奔跑。无法预计，这之后将会发生些什么——
一点法子也没有——除非是——

当然，他可以临时准备

在夏天，第一个闷热躁动的早晨里

乌鸦，寻找新芽，虫子，果子
它触感那燥热。突然

她张开自己的双翼——
那完整，饱满，而又轻浮的一生

   

                        

The Black Lace Fan My Mother Gave Me by Eavan Boland

 

It was the first gift he ever gave her,
buying it for five francs in the Galeries
in pre-war Paris. It was stifling.
A starless drought made the nights stormy.

 
They stayed in the city for the summer.
The met in cafes. She was always early.
He was late. That evening he was later.
They wrapped the fan. He looked at his watch.

She looked down the Boulevard des Capucines.
She ordered more coffee. She stood up.
The streets were emptying. The heat was killing.
She thought the distance smelled of rain and lightning.

These are wild roses, appliqued on silk by hand,

darkly picked, stitched boldly, quickly.
The rest is tortoiseshell and has the reticent clear patience
of its element. It is

a worn-out, underwater bullion and it keeps,
even now, an inference of its violation.
The lace is overcast as if the weather 
it opened for and offset had entered it. 

The past is an empty cafe terrace.     
An airless dusk before thunder. A man running.
And no way to know what happened then—  
none at all—unless ,of course, you improvise:

The blackbird on this first sultry morning,    
in summer, finding buds, worms, fruit,       
feels the heat. Suddenly she puts out her wing—

the whole, full, flirtatious span of it.

                         08.10.9傍晚青山译于河北大学  修改于09.5.8

 

 

晚祷
   露易丝.格丽克 陈青山译
 
在你长久的缺席里,你允许我
用土，预估
某次投资的回报。我必须描述
投资失败的原由。主要是
那些蕃茄的种植
我感觉自己不该,被鼓励去种植蕃茄
或者,一旦我那样。你应当制止
那些暴雨,寒夜的频频倾袭
而其他地方,却是整整一个
郎朗炎夏。所有这一切
都属于你。另一方面
我种下这些种子。看那些嫩芽
如同羽翼碎开泥土
我肠碎于枯萎病。那些黑斑如此迅速地
加倍占据行垄。以我们对那条辞令的认知
我怀疑你的心，并没区别出
活着与死亡
所以你无动于心。你肯定
不会明白,我们遭受了多少惊吓。那布满斑纹的叶子
那飘零的红枫叶
甚至在八月，在薄暮十分：
我应当肩负起看顾那些
藤蔓的责任。
 
  
Vespers
by Louise Glück
 
In your extended absence, you permit me
use of earth, anticipating
some return on investment. I must report
failure in my assignment, principally
regarding the tomato plants.
I think I should not be encouraged to grow
tomatoes. Or, if I am, you should withhold
the heavy rains, the cold nights that come
so often here, while other regions get
twelve weeks of summer. All this
belongs to you: on the other hand,
I planted the seeds, I watched the first shoots
like wings tearing the soil, and it was my heart
broken by the blight, the black spot so quickly
multiplying in the rows. I doubt
you have a heart, in our understanding of
that term. You who do not discriminate
between the dead and the living, who are, in consequence,
immune to foreshadowing, you may not know
how much terror we bear, the spotted leaf,
the red leaves of the maple falling
even in August, in early darkness: I am responsible
for these vines.
 
                 09。5。14
From :http://www.poets.org/poet.php/prmPID/82

 无题

 

我与康生同志

打马从沙丘上的政府走过

我们谈论硬币铸造的政体

纸作的人民

以及土作的城市

和水作的共和国

但是，我们从不谈论文革

也不谈论土地革命

只是偶然说到苏联，说到列宁

说到广袤无垠的圣地

更多时候，我们都只是沉默

然后，一如往常地

慢慢打马前行………

 

歌者

------ 写给M..R

            衣婉.伯兰德  陈青山译

那些女人，生活在不可饶恕的海岸

她们曾是西方的歌者

我想明白，曾经可有一刹那，一切都有过宽恕

当暴雨，海浪还有归属感一一展现在他们的眼帘

一切是否完整并且如同以前？尔后

每一个白天都被阴晴风雨所雕刻

而每一个夜晚，舌间都塞满了大西洋的暴风雨，乌云隐匿下的

星辰以及倦鸟

只有当危险在声乐中消散，你才能明白

他们准确的量尺。并发现一个声音

在那里，他们找到了憧憬

 

THE SINGERS
　　　(for M. R.) by Eavan Boland

The women who were singers in the West 
lived on an unforgiving coast.
I want to ask was there ever one
moment when all of it relented,
when rain and ocean and their own
sense of home were revealed to them
as one and the same?
After which
every day was still shaped by weather,
but every night their mouths filled with
Atlantic storms and clouded-over stars
and exhausted birds.
And only when the danger
was plain in the music could you know
their true measure of rejoicing in
finding a voice where they found a vision.

 

                      08.10.16日晚青山译于河北大学   修改于09.4.21

 

诗人

         衣婉.伯兰德  陈青山译

 

诗人们，如同一切灵物。正为了虫

和铲子。搜寻他们腐乱的思想

找到形式和图案。并用自己的双手

挖掘艰涩的语言。一个人影中

秘密事在倾诉

 

他们在异外。其灵魂如一群徘徊的狮子

的骄傲。此刻在绝望，如同镶着宝石

的野兽。狮子星的风光

是火星座和猎户座

毫不停歇地在所有星空中狩猎

 

每天他们和他的摧毁竞争

中心位的太阳日渐暗淡。唯有

去租一个客房似的月亮

他要呆到黎明破晓

等着黑暗中缺席的房东 

 

THE POETS

by Eavan Boland

 

They, like all creatures, being made

For the shovel and the worm,

Ransacked their perishable minds and found

Pattern and form

And with their own hands quarried from hard words

A figure in which secret things confide.

 

They are abroad: their spirits like a pride

Of lions circulate,

Are desperate, just as the jewelled beast,

That lion constellate,

Whose scenery is Betelgeuse and Mars,

Hunts without respite among fixed stars.

 

And they prevail to his undoing every day

The essential sun

Proceeds, but only to accommodate

A tenant moon,

And he remains until the very break

Of morning, absentee landlord of the dark.

                       08.10.17午后青山译于河北大学  修改于09.4.21

 

 

安特兰迪斯 （一首消失的十四行诗）

          衣婉.伯兰德  陈青山译

 

Atlantis—A Lost Sonnet by Eavan Boland

 

How on earth did it happen, I used to wonder

that a whole city—arches, pillars, colonnades,

not to mention vehicles and animals—had all

one fine day gone under?

世上发生了的一切. 我曾经疑惑

整整一个城市。那些拱门，长廊和柱子

没有染漆,也没有动物的陪韵----

有朝一日，一切都会消逝?

 

I mean, I said to myself, the world was small then.

Surely a great city must have been missed?

I miss our old city —

我给自己说 其意是世界很小

肯定有一个大城市，已被遗失

我想念咱们的旧城

 

white pepper, white pudding, you and I meeting

under fanlights and low skies to go home in it. Maybe

what really happened is

 百色的胡椒,香肠。你和我相遇在天窗，以及低矮的

天空底下。并且一起回家

或许，曾经这样发生

 

this: the old fable-makers searched hard for a word

to convey that what is gone is gone forever and

never found it. And so, in the best traditions of

where we come from, they gave their sorrow a name

and drowned it.

这些古老寓言决策者, 苦寻的语言

去检验那些正消逝的——永恒消逝失的一切。再也无法发现它

这样，在我们来的最好的传统里。

他们给自己的悲伤取一个名字。

并且沉溺其中

                   08.10.19日青山傍晚译于河北大学  修改于09.4.21早