你就像个年幼的孩子，

总是等着听故事。

而我已经讲了那么多次；

我厌倦了讲故事。

所以我给了你铅笔和纸。

我给了你芦苇做的笔，那芦苇

是许多个午后，我在茂密的草地上亲手采集的。

我告诉你，写你自己的故事。

 

你听了那么多年，

我想你该知道

故事是什么。

 

你能做的只是哭泣。

你想要别人说给你听，

什么都不通过你自己的思考。

 

那时我意识到你无法

用真正的勇气和热情去思考；

你还不曾有你自己的生活，

你自己的悲剧。

所以我给你生活，我给你悲剧，

因为很明显，仅仅有工具是不够的。

 

你永远不知道我多么满意

当看到你坐在那儿

像独立的存在，

看到你在敞开的窗边梦想着，

拿着我给你的铅笔

直到这夏日的清晨消失在写作中。

 

创造已经给你带来了

巨大的兴奋，正如我知道它会这样，

正如它刚开始时都这样。

如今我自由地做我喜欢的，

照料别的东西，满心相信

你已经不再需要我。

P.50-51

 

RETREATING LIGHT

 

You were like very young children,

always waiting for a story.

And I’d been through it all too many times;

I was tired of telling stories.

So I gave you the pencil and paper.

I gave you pens made of reeds

I had gathered myself, afternoons in the dense meadows.

I told you, write your own story.

 

After all those years of listening

I thought you’d know

what a story was.

 

All you could do was weep.

You wanted everything told to you

and nothing thought through yourselves.

 

Then I realized you couldn’t think

with any real boldness or passion;

you hadn’t had your own lives yet,

your own tragedies.

So I gave you lives, I gave you tragedies,

Because apparently tools alone weren’t enough.

 

You will never know how deeply

it pleases me to see you sitting there

like independent beings,

to see you dreaming by the open window,

holding the pencils I gave you

until the summer morning disappears into writing.

 

Creation has brought you

great excitement, as I knew it would,

as it does in the beginning.

And I am free to do as I please now,

to attend to other things, in confidence

you have no need of me anymore.