英译柏桦诗两首

英译柏桦诗两首

得一忘二 英译

柏桦，1956年出生于重庆，当代中国著名诗人，现为西南交通大学教授，著有诗集多部。他独特的主题呈现方式以及抒情性的构建为当代汉语诗写拓展了很大空间。

《家居》

      （选自《水绘仙侣》） 

人之一生：春、夏、秋、冬

很快，你发现了新的喜乐：

女红、饮食、财务及管理。

 

子曰：“仁者静。”

你就在静中洒扫庭除并亲操这份生活。

“其德性举止，乃非常人。”

 

家务是安详的，余闲也有情：

白日，我们在湖面荡舟，

逸园和洗钵池最让人流连；

夜里，我们在凉亭里私语，

直到雾重月斜，

直到寒意轻袭了我们的身子。

 

曾记得多少数不清的良辰，

你长饮，说话，若燕语呢喃，

而我不胜酒力，常以茶代酒。

有时，我们又玩别的游戏，

譬如读诗或抄写：

“人闲桂花落，夜静春山空。”

 

这一切不为别的，只为闻风相悦，

只为唯美，只为消得这水绘的永夜。

 

 

Home Life

 

In a human lifespan: spring, summer, autumn, and winter

Pretty soon, you had found new delights:

Needlework, cooking, bookkeeping and husbandry.

 

Confucius saith: Quiet is the benevolent.

Quietly, you swept and sprinkled the yard and handled this living.

“Her virtues and demeanor prove her extraordinary.”

 

Household chores were measured, our spare time affectionate;

In daytime, we rowed on the lake,

And lingered long in the Garden of Leisure and around the Brush-Washing Pond;

At night, we spoke intimately in a pavilion

Till the moon slanted down into the thickening fog,

And chilliness seeped into our body.

 

For countless good nights as I can now recall,

You drank long, chattering like chirping and cooing,

While I, not up to wine, sated myself with tea instead.

Sometimes we enjoyed other forms of fun,

Like reading or copying poems:

'A man at leisure sees sweet olive flowers fall,

And spring mountains is empty as night grows still.'

 

This has no other purpose but for our rejoicing over the breeze,

Purely aesthetic, for the joy of this eternal night painted with water.

 

 

《一种相遇》

 

一亿年后，你总算等到了一个人，我

（又被谁指使），要来歌唱你无人识得的一生。

 

活着的时候，你总感觉自己年轻，死是别人的事情

可能吗，我，一个新安江的农民，会像谢灵运那样被斩首？

 

惊回头，安静下来，翻开书，我们一块来读博尔赫斯：

“今年夏天，我将五十岁了，死亡消磨着我，永不停息。”

 

或者，唉，怎么说呢，“……但愿我生来就已死去。”

 

因为风不仅仅在寻找树，它也在寻找弄堂与铁桥……

寻找银马上的骑手；风过耳，那死神一眼就把他从风马中选出。

2014年2月8日

 

A Way of Crossing Paths

 

You’ll finally meet, ten billion years later, the one you’d been waiting for, and I shall

Come to sing, not knowing at whose command, the unrecognized life of yours.

 

When alive, you used to think you were so young that death mattered only to others.

Who could imagine a peasant by Hsin-an River beheaded like Master Hsieh, the Duke of Kangle?

 

Startled and silenced, I opened a book and now we’d read some Borges:

“This summer, I’ll turn fifty, and death will come to wear me down, incessantly.

 

Or, but how could I put into words, “......I wish I were dead upon birth.”

 

Because the wind prowls for not only trees but alleys and iron bridges as well...

And it also hunts down the rider on a silver horse;

The wind whirs by, and Death instantly spots him in the flurry of wind horses.

 

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