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伊丽莎白-毕晓普（Elizabeth Bishop）选译四首 犰狳 致罗伯特-洛厄尔 这是一年里 差不多每个夜晚 脆弱的，违规的热气球出现的时候。 沿着高山攀升， 向一个圣徒升去 在这些地方他还被崇敬， 倏去倏来的光 染红纸房子，如同心与心。 一旦贴近天空 就很难将它们和星星分开—— 行星，就是——染着色彩的： 下降的金星，或是火星， 或是淡绿色的那颗。 一阵风， 他们闪烁而轻摇，颤动，跌宕； 若是风平天静，它们便在 南十字星的风筝骨架间航行， 隐退，暗淡，庄重地 缓慢地离弃我们， 或，在从山顶倒灌的气流中， 突然变得岌岌可危。 昨夜又有一大颗坠下。 它像火球一样 沿着屋后的峭壁泼溅。 星花奔流而下。 我们看见 一对栖息的猫头鹰惊起 越飞越高，它们盘旋着的黑白二色 抹污了底下明亮的粉色，直到 它们一路尖叫飙升出视线。 那多年的猫头鹰巢定已烧掉。 匆忙地，独自一个， 一只闪光的犰狳离开这场景， 玫色点染，头低垂，尾巴下坠， 而一只兔宝宝跳出来， 短耳朵，让我们惊奇。 那样柔弱！——几不可触的一把柔灰 和直盯盯，灼烧的眼睛。 太漂亮了，梦一般真！ 噢，坠落之火，刺痛的哭泣 慌乱，还有一只虚弱的暴力之拳 毫无知觉地紧握着指向天空！ The Armadillo For Robert Lowell This is the time of year when almost every night the frail, illegal fire balloons appear. Climbing the mountain height, rising toward a saint still honored in these parts, the paper chambers flush and fill with light that comes and goes, like hearts. Once up against the sky it's hard to tell them from the stars— planets, that is—the tinted ones: Venus going down, or Mars, or the pale green one. With a wind, they flare and falter, wobble and toss; but if it's still they steer between the kite sticks of the Southern Cross, receding, dwindling, solemnly and steadily forsaking us, or, in the downdraft from a peak, suddenly turning dangerous. Last night another big one fell. It splattered like an egg of fire against the cliff behind the house. The flame ran down. We saw the pair of owls who nest there flying up and up, their whirling black-and-white stained bright pink underneath, until they shrieked up out of sight. The ancient owls' nest must have burned. Hastily, all alone, a glistening armadillo left the scene, rose-flecked, head down, tail down, and then a baby rabbit jumped out, short-eared, to our surprise. So soft!—a handful of intangible ash with fixed, ignited eyes. Too pretty, dreamlike mimicry! O falling fire and piercing cry and panic, and a weak mailed fist clenched ignorant against the sky! 爱躺着在睡 在黎明初萌时分，将穿过天空 燃烬的星星间的轨道全都转换， 将街道的尽头 和光的列车对接。 现在，把我们从床上拖进日光中； 清除那些压迫在脑海中的事物： 熄灭那些霓虹样的东西 它们着红带黄，字母和痉挛的符号 沿着两眼之间灰色的大道， 飘曳、膨胀、闪耀。 悬空的残月，瘦减！瘦减！ 从窗户我看见 一个巨大的城市，小心翼翼地显现， 人工的奇巧造出它的精致微妙， 每一处的细节， 从檐口到正立面， 雍容地伸向 微白的天空，似乎在那里变得犹疑。 (那里，在玻璃水漏的重天中 它慢慢地变大 从铁和铜晶的熔滴中， 罐中的小小神奇“花园” 颤抖着再次立起， 淡蓝，青绿，还有砖红。） 麻雀匆忙开始了它们的嬉戏。 接着，在西边，“轰隆！”一团烟云 “轰隆！”爆炸的花球 再次绽放。 在种植园，这声音说的是“危险，” 或曾经是“死亡，”所有在此劳作的雇工 上床去睡，感觉到 短发在颈后 直竖起来。）烟云移去。 一件衬衫在一根细细的晾衣绳上飞起。 沿着下面的街道 水车辘辘而来 甩着它吱吱作响的雪白扇轮 驶过果皮和报纸。水在变干 浅处干，深处湿，清凉的 西瓜的图案。 我听见清晨的破晓 自石头的墙、厅堂和铁床上袭来， 四散或者聚集如瀑， 宣告所期待的： 所有人的古怪的爱神醒过来， 人们要为他们晚间的食粮筹备终日， 你们将得享美餐 在他的心上，他的，还有他的， 那么对他们施展你们的善行， 把他们独爱的人拽上大街。 鞭打他们，只用玫瑰， 却要轻柔，像氦气一样， 因为总是为了某个人，或某几个，清晨来到 他的头落在床边， 他的脸变了 于是城市的 形象在他睁开的双眼里变小 倒转而扭曲。不。我是说 扭曲并显现， 如果他确实看到了它。 Love Lies Sleeping Earliest morning, switching all the tracks that cross the sky from cinder star to star, coupling the ends of streets to trains of light. now draw us into daylight in our beds; and clear away what presses on the brain: put out the neon shapes that float and swell and glare down the gray avenue between the eyes in pinks and yellows, letters and twitching signs. Hang-over moons, wane, wane! From the window I see an immense city, carefully revealed, made delicate by over-workmanship, detail upon detail, cornice upon facade, reaching up so languidly up into a weak white sky, it seems to waver there. (Where it has slowly grown in skies of water-glass from fused beads of iron and copper crystals, the little chemical "garden" in a jar trembles and stands again, pale blue, blue-green, and brick.) The sparrows hurriedly begin their play. Then, in the West, "Boom!" and a cloud of smoke. "Boom!" and the exploding ball of blossom blooms again. (And all the employees who work in a plants where such a sound says "Danger," or once said "Death," turn in their sleep and feel the short hairs bristling on backs of necks.) The cloud of smoke moves off. A shirt is taken of a threadlike clothes-line. Along the street below the water-wagon comes throwing its hissing, snowy fan across peelings and newspapers. The water dries light-dry, dark-wet, the pattern of the cool watermelon. I hear the day-springs of the morning strike from stony walls and halls and iron beds, scattered or grouped cascades, alarms for the expected: queer cupids of all persons getting up, whose evening meal they will prepare all day, you will dine well on his heart, on his, and his, so send them about your business affectionately, dragging in the streets their unique loves. Scourge them with roses only, be light as helium, for always to one, or several, morning comes whose head has fallen over the edge of his bed, whose face is turned so that the image of the city grows down into his open eyes inverted and distorted. No. I mean distorted and revealed, if he sees it at all. 野草 我梦见那死去的，然后沉思， 我躺在一个坟墓上，或是床， （至少，某个冰凉，禁锢的闺房）。 在冰凉的心里，它最后的思想 冰冻住，立着，画得巨大而清晰， 僵硬、空虚，如同我在那儿； 我们丝毫不变地呆在一起 一年，一分钟，一个小时。 突然有个动作， 惊悸般，在那儿，对每种感觉 都如同一次爆炸。 然后它坠下 变成持续的，谨慎的蔓延 在心的领域， 将我从绝望的睡中戳醒。 我抬起头。 一株细弱的幼草 从心上钻出，它 绿色的头在乳房上点头。 （所有这一切都在黑暗中。） 它像一片草叶般长高了一寸； 接着，一片叶子从旁边伸出 翘起，舞动旗帜，然后 两片叶子打旗语般动作着。 茎变粗了。神经根系 伸向两边；优雅的头 神奇地变换位置， 因为既没有太阳也无月亮 来捕捉它活泼的殷勤。 扎根的心开始变化 （不是跳动）然后裂开 从中水如泉涌。 两条河从两侧擦身而过， 一个向右，一个向左， 两条奔淌，半混半清的溪流， （肋骨把它们造成两个小瀑布） 当然，它们平滑如镜， 在土壤微细的黑粒中消失。 野草几乎被冲走； 它和它的叶子挣扎着； 举起它们挂满沉重水滴的流苏。 几滴水落到我脸上 和我眼中，因此我能看见 （或者，在那黑色的地方，想着我看见了） 每一滴都含住一点光， 一个小小的，闪光的景象； 被草分开斜流的小溪 把自己变成奔流的景象。 （好像一条河就应携带 所有它曾反射的影像 锁在水中，而不是流在 瞬间的表面。） 野草站在裂开的心中。 “你在那儿干什么？”我问到。 它举起湿漉漉的头 （是我自己的想法？） 然后回答：“我成长，”它说， “只为了再次分裂你的心。” The Weed I dreamed that dead, and meditating, I lay upon a grave, or bed, (at least, some cold and close-built bower). In the cold heart, its final thought stood frozen, drawn immense and clear, stiff and idle as I was there; and we remained unchanged together for a year, a minute, an hour. Suddenly there was a motion, as startling, there, to every sense as an explosion. Then it dropped to insistent, cautious creeping in the region of the heart, prodding me from desperate sleep. I raised my head. A slight young weed had pushed up through the heart and its green head was nodding on the breast. (All this was in the dark.) It grew an inch like a blade of grass; next, one leaf shot out of its side a twisting, waving flag, and then two leaves moved like a semaphore. The stem grew thick. The nervous roots reached to each side; the graceful head changed its position mysteriously, since there was neither sun nor moon to catch its young attention. The rooted heart began to change (not beat) and then it split apart and from it broke a flood of water. Two rivers glanced off from the sides, one to the right, one to the left, two rushing, half-clear streams, (the ribs made of them two cascades) which assuredly, smooth as glass, went off through the fine black grains of earth. The weed was almost swept away; it struggled with its leaves, lifting them fringed with heavy drops. A few drops fell upon my face and in my eyes, so I could see (or, in that black place, thought I saw) that each drop contained a light, a small, illuminated scene; the weed-deflected stream was made itself of racing images. (As if a river should carry all the scenes that it had once reflected shut in its waters, and not floating on momentary surfaces.) The weed stood in the severed heart. "What are you doing there?" I asked. It lifted its head all dripping wet (with my own thoughts?) and answered then: "I grow," it said, but to divide your heart again." 铁路 一个人走在铁轨上 我的心怦怦跳着。 这结儿实在太紧 又或许分开太远。 景色异常荒凉： 矮松和橡树；越过 灰绿交杂的树叶 我看见一个小池塘。 那儿住着邋遢的年老隐士， 像一滴旧时的泪 紧含自己的伤痛 年复一年地清透。 隐士用他的猎枪发射 他的木屋边树木振动。 池面上激起一圈涟漪， 宠物母鸡咕咕叫起。 “爱要付之行动！” 那年老的隐士喊道。 越过池塘一个回声 一遍又一遍力图坚定它。 Chemin De Fer Alone on the railroad track I walked with pounding heart. The ties were too close together or maybe too far apart. The scenery was impoverished: scrub-pine and oak; beyond its mingled gray-green foliage I saw the little pond where the dirty old hermit lives, lie like an old tear holding onto its injuries lucidly year after year. The hermit shot off his shot-gun and the tree by his cabin shook. Over the pond went a ripple The pet hen went chook-chook. "Love should be put into action!" screamed the old hermit. Across the pond an echo tried and tried to confirm it. |
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