布罗茨基：四十自叙

1980年5月24日

作者：约瑟夫 布罗茨基

翻译：苏画天 

我曾鼓足勇气面对那些铁笼，因为缺乏猛兽，只好我来凑数，

在铺位和椽梁上，刻下自己的刑期与诨号，

我也曾在海边生活，在绿洲里玩纸牌，亮出四张A，

跟各种人共进晚餐，穿燕尾服品尝块菌，鬼才知道他们是谁。

我曾站在冰川的顶端，将半个地球尽收眼底，纵览这尘世

的辽阔。我也曾两度溺水，三次让手术刀切入我的体内。

我离开了那个曾经生我养我的国度。

那么多人已经将我忘记，他们的人数足以构筑一座城市。

我曾在草原跋涉，这片土地见证过匈奴骑兵的策马呼号，

我曾衣衫褴褛，四季不换，那种破烂的样式如今却再次流行，

我种过黑麦，在猪圈和马厩的棚顶上涂抹沥青，

我暴饮一切，干型的烈酒和红酒，除了干的水。

我曾允许守卫们的眼睛探进我那些潮湿而败坏

的梦境。我也曾嚼着流亡的面包，它已经变味，长满霉块。

让我的肺发出各种声音，但就是无法喊叫；

我调低音量，小声低语。如今，我已经四十岁。

关于生活，我该说些什么？它散漫冗长，拒斥绝对的透明。

我会因为打破鸡蛋而难过；做成的煎蛋卷又让我恶心想吐。

不过，除非我的喉管被棕色的黏土完全堵住，

否则从里面涌出的还是只有感激之情。

根据布罗茨基自己的版本译出

布罗茨基（右）在苏联北部农村劳改，摄于1965年

附：

1. 布罗茨基的译本

I have braved, for want of wild beasts, steel cages,

carved my term and nickname on bunks and rafters,

lived by the sea, flashed aces in an oasis,

dined with the-devil-knows-whom, in tails, on truffles.

From the height of a glacier I beheld half a world, the earthly

width. Twice have drowned, thrice let knives rake my nitty-gritty.

Quit the country that bore and nursed me.

Those who forgot me would make a city.

I have waded the steppes that saw yelling Huns in saddles,

worn the clothes nowadays back in fashion in every quarter,

planted rye, tarred the roofs of pigsties and stables,

guzzled everything save dry water.

I've admitted the sentries' third eye into my wet and foul

dreams. Munched the bread of exile: it's stale and warty.

Granted my lungs all sounds except the howl;

switched to a whisper. Now I am forty.

What should I say about my life? That it's long and abhors transparence.

Broken eggs make me grieve; the omelette, though, makes me vomit.

Yet until brown clay has been rammed down my larynx,

only gratitude will be gushing from it.

 

May 24, 1980

从左至右：马克·斯特兰德、布罗茨基、亚当·扎加耶夫斯基和德里克·沃尔科特，摄于1986年

2. Chris Jones和作者从俄语原文翻译的版本：

I, instead of a wild beast, entered the cage, 

burnt my own sentence's length and moniker with a nail in the barrack, 

lived by the sea, played roulette, 

dined with the devil knows who in a tail-coat. 

From the heights of a glacier I surveyed half the globe, 

thrice drowned, twice was ripped apart. 

Aban- doned the country that had nurtured me. 

Those who've forgot- ten me could make up a city. 

I mooched around the steppes which remembered the howls of the Hun, 

wore what's again in fashion, 

sowed rye, black-felted the barn, 

and the only thing I didn't drink was dry water. 

I let into my dreams the burnished steel pupil of my guard, 

gobbled down the bread of exile, not leaving a crumb. 

Permitted my vocal chords all sounds save wailing; 

changed to a whisper. Now I'm forty. 

What's there to say about life? That it turned out to be long. 

Only with grief do I feel solidarity. 

But whilst my mouth is not yet packed with clay, 

It'll only resound with gratitude.

May 24, 1980

布罗茨基和他的学生