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HANDS Often hands are like faces or like whole bodies. These hands remain listless in the premature spring, they sneeze, cough, complain, grow silent, with their genitals withered in the sun. Opposite, a woman suckles her infant. Her hands, though motionless, are two naked runners in a large marble arena. 手 通常手像脸 要么像完整的身体。这些手 在早春依然无精打采， 阳光下用他们疲软的生殖器， 打喷嚏，咳嗽，抱怨，然后沉默。 对面，一女人在给她的婴儿喂奶。 她的双手（尽管不动）是
巨大的大理石竞技场上的两个裸奔者 NOCTURNAL Night undresses you. Her hands tremble. All naked, your body shines in the shadows. That wise zero that squeezed our necks is suddenly cut in two like a boiled egg sliced by a knife. 夜的 夜脱光你的衣服。她双手颤抖。 裸露一切，你的躯体在阴影里闪烁。 那曾按压我们脖子的狡猾的零 突然被切成两半 如同一枚被刀切开的煮鸡蛋。 HONEST CONFRONTATION All night long they talked, raged, wrangled, strove with passion and sincerity to find a compromise or some separation; humbled and were humbled; regretted the time lost—the fools; at last they cast off their clothes and stood there, beautiful, naked, humiliated, defenseless. Dawn was breaking. From the roof opposite, a flock of birds took wing as though some gambler had finally cast into the air a marked pack of cards. Thus, without arguments, justifications, or assurances, day ascended from the hills with the cruel pride of action. Athens, May 1960 真正的对质 他们谈了一整夜，愤怒，辩驳， 激动而真诚地力求和解 要么达成某种协定；贱啊，实在是贱；懊恼 时间的丧失──傻瓜们；最终他们脱掉衣服 站在那里，美，裸，耻，不设防。破晓出现 于对面屋顶，一群鸟飞起 好像赌徒最后扔到空中的，一副做了手脚的牌。 就这样，没了争论，辩解，或信誓旦旦， 白天带着行动的无情傲慢从山坡上升。 1960年5月于雅典 A TREE This tree had taken root in the far side of the garden, tall, slender, solitary—perhaps its height betrayed a secret idea of intrusion. It never produced either fruit or flower, only a long shadow that split the garden in two, and a measurement not applicable to the stooped, laden trees. Every evening, when the glorious sunset was fading, a strange, orange bird roosted silently in its foliage like its only fruit—a small golden bell in a green, enormous belfry. When the tree was cut down, this bird flew above it with small, savage cries, describing circles in the air, describing in the sunset the inexhaustible shape of the tree, and this small bell rang invisibly on high, and even higher than the tree’s original height. Samos, June, 1963 一棵树 此树扎根花园的远侧， 高高地，修长而孤单──或许它的高度 泄露了侵入的暗念。它从未 开花或结果，只有劈开花园的长影， 那于弯腰背负苦痛之树不适用的度量。 每天傍晚，辉煌的落日褪去， 一只奇怪的，橙色的鸟悄悄栖息在树叶里 如同唯一的果实──小小金色钟 在绿的庞大的钟楼里。就在那时树被砍倒， 这只鸟带着微弱而原始的叫声在上面飞翔， 悬空中画出圆圈，日落中描写着 树的无穷形状，这口小钟 于高空隐秘地敲响，甚至高过原先的树。 1963年6月于萨摩斯岛 THE CENTER The see, the sun, the tree. And again: the tree, the sun, the see. Notice that in this inverted repetition the sun is once again found in the middle like sensual delight in the center of the body. Athens, Dhiminió, Karlóvasi Platanákia, St. Constantine, 1953—1964 中心 海，太阳，树。再来一次： 树，太阳，海。 注意到 反向的重复中 太阳还是在中间 像身体中心的快感。 1953—1964于雅典，季米尼，卡尔洛韦茨， 普拉特內启亚，圣君士坦丁 ACCENTED COLORS The mountain is red. The sea is green. The sky is yellow. The earth blue. Between a bird and a leaf sits death. Athens, Dhiminió, Karlóvasi Platanákia, St. Constantine, 1953—1964 着重色 山是红的。海是绿的。 天空是黄的。大地蓝色。 在一只鸟和一片叶子之间，死亡坐着。 1953—1964于 雅典，季米尼，卡尔洛韦茨， 普拉特內启亚，圣君士坦丁 MODERATION Words are much like stones. You can build peaceful houses with white furniture, with white beds, provided only that somebody is found to inhabit them or at least to stand and look through the garden railings at the moment when the windowpanes are in inflamed maroon, and up on the hills the evening bells are ringing, and after a while the slack bell rope beats on the wall by itself. November, 1967-January, 1968 缓和 词语更像是石头。你可以建造 安宁的住宅，配有白色的家具，几张白色的床， 倘若只是发现某人住在那里，要么起码 站着查看花园围栏，此刻 正值玻璃窗被燃烧成茶色，山岗上 晚钟声声响起，一会儿 松开的钟绳自己拍打着墙。 1967年11月—1968年1月 THE YARD A peaceful yard, silent. The sickly trees, sad, far away in time. The smell of mould, the lizard, the dry well, the pulleys. There the lame boy comes out in the evening. At the other door, across the way, the one-handed boy stands, looking afar. They do not greet each other. They clench their teeth. They want to forget the killed bird they had buried together one evening when the one still had his leg and the other hand, and the straw chair near the rosebush was warm with the sun, with nobody sitting there, and everything was pointless, sad, immobile, and therefore immoral, in a city of long ago, naively nailed to the future. March-October, 1971 院子 安宁的院子没有声息。树木忧郁，萎靡， 最终远去。泥土的气味， 蜥蜴，枯井，轱辘车。从那里 瘸小子傍晚出来。另一扇门前， 一只手的少年站在路对面遥望。 他们彼此不打招呼。他们咬牙切齿。他们想忘掉 他俩那天傍晚一起埋葬的那只被杀的鸟，那时 一个仍然有腿，另一个有手， 靠近蔷薇丛的麦秸椅 被晒得暖暖的，空在那里， 什么都是空洞，哀愁，和静止的， 以致邪恶在从前的城市 天真地锲入未来。 1971年3—10月 PRESENCE Tall mountains, taller clouds, meeting among trees and myths, on precipitous slopes, there where the healthy omnipotent logos echoed without fear of emphasis, while further down, in the yellow clouds of blossoming crops, in two facing rows, the statues had fallen silent, stark naked above death, with nipples erect. March-October, 1971 存在 高高的山脉，更高的云，会合 于树和神话之中，陡峭的坡上， 强健的全能圣子在那里 无畏地回复着重点，再往下时， 在庄稼黄色的云雾中， 两种面对面的行列中，偶像已悄然倒下， 全裸于死亡之上，竖着双乳。 1971年3—10月 THE LAUGH He saw the clouds from the park bench. He tore out his coat lining, removed his hat band, wrapped the kidnapped infant and pitched it in the well. Standing with his feet apart, he pissed, smiling before you did. I’m speaking about this smile, about night’s spectacles about the moon’s spectacles. The infant, no, it wasn’t kidnapped. Nor did there exist a well or an infant. Only the clouds. Samos, December 19, 1971 笑 他看见公园长椅上飘来的云。 他扯下衣服里子， 拆了帽沿， 裹好拐来的婴儿 扔到井里。他站着双脚分开， 嬉皮笑脸地先于你撒尿。 我是说微笑，说夜的景观， 月的景观。婴儿， 不，没有被拐。井还是婴儿 也都不存在。只有云。 1971年12月19日于萨摩斯岛 ETHOGRAPHY Large shark roam our shore─he said. At night they’re red like fire. Our children’s teeth show even through closed mouths. Then the old woman took the oar; she pitched it underneath the ikons; she didn’t cross herself; she remained standing. Outside, the men could be heard sharpening their knives. The four women could not keep awake. They stayed at the window; they yawned. Ah─they said─ seeing the mailman in the galaxy. Athens, January 3, 1972 行为符号 大鲨鱼到我们的海滩闲逛──他说。 夜晚它们红得像火。甚至闭着嘴 也能看见我们孩子的牙。这时 老太太拿起桨，放到圣像底下； 她不祈祷，直溜溜站着。可以听见 男人们正在外面磨刀。 四个女人呆在窗下昏昏欲睡； 她们打着哈欠。望着银河里的邮差， 她们说了一声“啊”。 1972年1月3日于雅典 WITHOUT A MIRROR NOW Her hair fallen over her eyes, her mouth, she chews at her hair; her saliva whitens. A great shadow on the curtain. The water glasses on the floor. Shout it until the end; turn it about, hide it. Hide what? Hide yourself where? “Death!” she shouted. “Old age, death!” she shouted, I’ll run away. Hold me back. A hill strewn with shell fragments. And there, amid bones, a comb, a red piece of string, to comb yourself without a mirror now, to bind your hair that it might not fall over your eyes, that it might not hide from you the white worm that slimily, serenely, sluggishly crawls up the table. Athens, September 29, 1972 现在没有镜子 她的头发披到眼睛，嘴巴， 她嚼着头发，口水泛白。 帘子上巨大的影子。地板上的水杯。 为此一直惊呼，把它挪走，藏起来。 藏什么？你自己藏在哪？“死！”她喊道。 “老年，死！”她喊道，我会逃走。拦住我。 一座撒满贝壳的山丘。那里， 于尸骨中，一把梳子，一段红色的线， 正为你自己做无镜之梳妆，挽起你的头发 或许不落到你眼睛上，也不对你隐瞒那白色蠕虫 粘糊地，沉着地，迟缓地爬上桌子。 1972年9月29日于雅典 NAKED FACE Cut the lemon and let two drops fall into glass; look there, the knives beside the fish on the table─ the fish are red, the knives are black. All with a knife between their teeth or up their sleeves, thrust in their boots or their breeches. The two women have gone crazy, they want to eat the men, they have large black fingernails, they comb their unwashed hair high up. High up like towers, from which the five boys plunge down one by one. Afterward they come down the stairs, draw water from the well, wash themselves, spread out their thighs, thrust in pine cones, thrust in stones. And we nod our heads with a “yes” and a “yes” ─we look down at an ant, a locust, or on the statue of Victory─ Pine tree caterpillars saunter on her wings. The lack of holiness─someone said─is the final, the worst kind of knowledge; it’s exactly such knowledge that now remains to be called holy. Athens, September 30, 1972 裸脸 切开柠檬让两股落下的液体注入杯子； 看那里，桌子上，刀子在的鱼旁边── 红色的鱼，黑色的刀。 都咬着一把刀或把刀插进靴子和裤子，卷起袖子。 两女人发疯了，她们要吃男人， 她们长着大大的黑指甲，把她们的脏头发 高高梳起。高高挽起像塔一样，五个男孩就从那里 一个个陷落。然后他们下楼， 从井里打水，清洗他们自己，岔开大腿， 插进松果里，插进石头里。而我们 摇着头说“是的”又一声“是的”──我们朝下 看一只蚂蚁，一只蚂蚱，或看做胜利雕像── 松毛虫漫不经心地在她的翅膀上爬行。 缺乏神圣──有人说──就是结局，最糟糕认知； 这样确切的认知现在仍被称作神圣。 1972年9月30日，于雅典 WISDOM What was a mountain and afterward air and later a star; and he who said “Thank you”─said it softly so that neither the two nor the third might hear it, because they were very angry; they were throwing their shoes out of the window, their flower pots, their gramophone records, their water glasses and their napkins that we might get angry too, that we might shout at them “Don’t!” and thus give them an excuse for what they’d already done. In the room next door, with its large iron bed, we can hear the old man coughing; on his blanket he has placed a small frog, and for days and nights now, calm, fasting, ecstatic, he stares at and studies the soft mechanisms of the frog’s leaping. Afterward he stops coughing. We hear him jumping on the bed. On the third day we encased him completely in plaster, leaving only his toothless grin showing. Athens, October 2, 1972 智慧 其实是山，然后空气，最后是星星； 说“谢谢”的他──说得轻柔 以致那俩和第三个都听不见，由于他们非常生气； 他们把鞋扔出窗外，把花盆， 把唱片，水杯和餐巾， 这样我们也会生气，我们也会对他们喊道“别！” 因此他们认为自己的行为起到了效果。 隔壁房间，配有它的大铁床， 我们听到老人在咳嗽，在床单上 他放了一只小青蛙，这样整天整夜， 平和，忘寝废食，狂喜，他瞪大眼睛研究 青蛙跳跃的柔软机制。 然后他止住咳嗽。我们听到他跳上床。 第三天我们用石膏把他完全封住， 只是露出他咧着嘴没有牙齿的笑。 1972年10月2日,于雅典 LACK OF WILL POWER Just as he was falling asleep, standing upright in the garden with his back against a tree, (within himself he could already hear the distant roar of the sunlight) at the moment he was about to touch serenity with one of his fingers, they drenched him through and through with a long rubber hose. he should smile or become angry. But he couldn’t. He closed his eyes again. They picked him up by his armpits and his feet. They flung him into the wall. And he heard the thump on the water below, and from above cast down a stone. Athens, October 4, 1972 缺乏毅力 就好像睡着了一样，他笔直地站在花园里背靠在一棵树上， （在自己内心，他已经能够听见远方阳光的吼叫） 此刻他手指几乎触到了平静， 他们用一根长长橡皮管把它浇透湿。 他应该微笑，要么生气。但他不能。他再次闭上眼睛。 他们抓住他的腋窝和脚把他抬起。他们重重地把他甩到墙内。他 听到了下面撞击在水上的声音，同时从上面扔下来一块石头。 1972年10月4日,于雅典 COMMON MIRACLES They took out the candelabra into the open air under the trees and scrubbed the church. From the large door a dark humidity spread out over the steps and over the white sunwashed tiles. The beadle kicked a limping dog that had drawn near to drink water from the bucket. Then, from the beautiful altar door, the Archangel with his large red wings came out, stooped to the dog, and gave it to drink out of his cupped hands. And so the next day the five paralytics walked. Athens, October 23, 1972 通常的奇迹 他们把枝状大烛台搬到树丛下的空地上 然后擦洗教堂。从大门 昏暗的潮气蔓延到台阶上， 到太阳洗礼的瓦片上。教区助理 踢一条牵到附近 从桶里喝水的瘸狗。当时，从漂亮的祭坛通道， 长着巨大红翅膀的天使出来了， 向那只狗弯下身，双手捧起水给狗喝。 因此第二天，五个瘫痪的人能走路了。 BLOODLETTING His behavior was all one gesture to drive away the big fly that doggedly kept returning to the same spot, to his temple, to his cheek, to his nose. At last he stood still. The fly also stood still on his cheek, where it sucked his blood and grew larger. In his place only the fly remained, it too wrapped around by the spider’s cobweb, where droplets of moisture glittered. Athens, November 1, 1972 放血 他的举止整体是赶苍蝇的动作， 大苍蝇固执地回到原地，回到他的太阳穴， 回到他的脸颊，鼻子。最后他站着不动。苍蝇 也一动不动停在他脸颊上。它在那里吸血，长大。 他的地方只有苍蝇残存，它也被 蜘蛛网裹住，那里一滴滴潮湿的闪光。 1972, 12月，于雅典 SMALL DIALOGUE The sky burned desolately behind the house. Why are you crying?─he asked, buckling his belt. The world is beautiful─she replied─ so beautiful and such a headache; and the bed is a silent, savage beast preparing to flee. 微不足道的对话 天空荒凉地在屋后燃烧。 你为何哭泣？──他系着皮带问。 人间真好──她回答道── 好得令人头痛，这张床 是正准备悄悄逃跑的野兽。 EXHIBITS The woman was still lying in bed. He took out his glass eye, set it on the table, took one step, stopped. Do you believe me now? ─he asked her. She picked up the glass eye, raised it to her eye and looked at him. 陈列品 女子仍然躺在床上。他 取出玻璃假眼，放在桌上， 走了一步，停下。你现在相信我了吧？──他问她。 她拾起玻璃假眼，升到她的眼睛并看着他。 THE DISTANT O distant, distant; deep unapproachable; receive always the silent ones in their absence, in the absence of the others when the danger from the near ones, from the near itself, burdens during nights of promise with many-colored lights in the gardens, when the half-closed eyes of lions and tigers scintillate with flashing green omissions in their cages and the old jester in front of the dark mirror washes off his painted tears so that he can weep－ O quiet ungrantable, you with the long, damp hand, quiet invisible, without borrowing and lending, without obligations, nailing nails on the air, shoring up the world in that deep inaction where music reigns. January－February, 1975 距离 哦 距离，距离；多么难以接近；遭遇的总是 一个个沉默的缺席者，以及当危险来自附近的人 和附近本身时，别的缺席者，是负担 在花园里斑斓灯光的许诺之夜， 当狮子和老虎半闭着的眼睛迸发出 笼子里闪烁的稚嫩的不经意， 年老的小丑角在昏暗的镜子前 洗去化妆的眼泪因为要哭泣── 哦 不被承认的安静，你用长长的受潮的手掌， 静谧无形的，没有租也没有借，没有义务， 于空中钉着钉子，支撑起世界 在深深的音乐四起的无为之中。 1975年1－2月 INERTIA In the bedroom, the woman with the black dog. The old manservant passed by the corridor with a lantern. Without a stir of air, the curtain moved. We no longer waited for their return. Their clothes hanging in the wardrobes grew old. During the night we heard the messenger stop before the door. He didn’t ring the doorbell. He didn’t speak. The next day we found his gold stamped cigarette butts in the garden. Kálamos, January 6, 1988 惰性 卧房里，女人和黑狗在一起。 老仆人提灯经过走廊。 没带起一丝的风，窗帘却移动。 我们不再等他们回来。他们的衣服 挂在衣柜里慢慢变旧。夜间 我们听见信使在门前停留。 他没按门铃。他没说话。第二天 我们在花园发现了他贴着金邮票的烟蒂。 1988年1月6日，于卡拉玛 UNJUSTLY Weary faces, weary hands. A weary memory. And this vacuous silence. Evening. The children have grown. They’ve left. You no longer wait for an answer. And besides you have no requests. Unjustly, for so many years you strove to place an approving smile on this paper mask. Close your eyes. Athens, January 16, 1988 不公平地 厌倦的面孔，疲倦的手。 一段厌倦的记忆。这 空洞的沉默。傍晚。 孩子已经长大。他们离开了。 你不再等待回答。除此之外 你没有要求。不公平地， 那么多年你为之奋斗的地方 是这个纸面具上 满意的微笑。闭上你的眼睛。 ALTERATIONS The ones who left were ours. We felt their loss. The ones who returned are total strangers. Before, they didn’t wear glasses. Now they do. One can’t tell whether there are eyes behind their glasses. We’ll have to look at them asleep, when their open suitcases in the hallway inhale the alien air of new underwear, during that hour when the big street lamp outside is lit, illuminating the closed doors of stores, and the impenetrable becomes accessible, because you no longer have anything to buy or sell. Athens, January 23, 1988 变更 一个个离去的是我们的成员。我们深感损失。 一个个归来的全然是陌生人。 之前，他们不戴眼镜。现在他们戴了。 没有哪个人能断定他们的镜片后面是不是眼睛。 我们将只能看着熟睡的他们， 那时他们开着的手提箱在过道上 吸入异域新内裤的空气， 在这期间，外面街道的大灯被点亮， 照明着所有紧闭的店门， 这种不能进入和不可理喻变得可以接受，因为你不再 有任何东西要买或卖。 THE BLACK BOAT The old man sits on the doorsill. Evening. Alone. He holds an apple in his hand. Others left their lives under the auspices of stars. What can you say to them? Night is night. Nor do we know what is to follow. The moon seems a little playful, endlessly shimmering on the sea. Nevertheless, within this radiance can be clearly seen the black double-oared boat with its dark boatman drawing near. Athens, May 4, 1988 黑船 老人坐在门槛上。黄昏。孤零零。 他握着一只苹果。其他的人 在星星的赞助下生活。 你能对他们说什么？夜晚就是夜晚。 我们也不知道接下来会是怎样。看上去 月亮有点玩世不恭。 没完没了地在海面微微闪亮。这还不够， 在这闪烁的光线里，可以清楚地看见 黑色双桨船带着昏暗船夫，正在慢慢靠近。 |
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