本帖最后由 郁序新 于 2013-1-10 15:11 编辑
与阴影的交谈
作者：布莱尔- 奈特尔斯
翻译：Tulip
温存的幽灵萦绕门口
寂静的轮廓像哑剧那样移动，
指向南下，挥手告别。
思想蜿蜒在传说中的河流
隐退到你意念中晦涩的角落，
一个卑劣的小宅，期待悲剧的结局，
翻倒，罗丹死于但丁的地狱
而思想者进入那地狱之门
如被遗忘昔日的油彩枯萎。
夏日傍晚的阳台，俯瞰运河
你把从库肯霍夫采集来的新鲜郁金香赠送给她，
宁静悄悄地溜进了八月的花园
像佯装的荷兰名花的香味；
她将她的鼻子贴近温顺的黄花瓣
露齿一笑，用少女的目光打量你。
几年后你哭了，因为人生沉浸成灰色。
很久以前，你的手揣着金发辫子
哥德尔，埃舍尔，巴赫，此时，逻辑不一致
当日子像不对称的乘客来临；
你曾经是学者，或是阴影说的那样，
浮在表面窃窃私语，无法回想起你自己的名字。
笔者注：
你的记忆是一个怪物，你忘了，它不会。它只是把事物存档了。它为你保存事物，或把你的事情隐藏了起来，以它自己的意志把你的过往唤醒。你以为，你有一个记忆，但它拥有你！“
--约翰-艾文 【为欧文-米尼祈祷】
A Conversation With Shadows
Brian Nettles
Attentive apparitions haunt doorways
where hushed figures motion as mimes,
pointing southward and waving goodbye.
Thoughts meander down legendary rivers
retiring to obscure corners of your mind,
to small villas anticipating a tragic conclusion,
tumbling away, Rodin dies to Dante's Inferno
and The Thinker enters the Gates of Hell
as paints wither like forgotten yesteryear.
Summer evening terrace overlooking a canal
you gave her fresh tulips picked in Keukenhof,
serenity slipped through August gardens
like feint aromas of Holland's grand flowers;
she touched her nose to docile yellow petals
as eyes glanced upon you with a girlish grin.
you wept years later as life immersed grey.
Long ago your hands held the Golden Braid
with Gödel, Escher, Bach, now logic inconsistent
as days arrive like asymmetric passengers;
you were once a scholar, or so shadows say,
whispers surface, unable to recall your name.
Author notes
“Your memory is a monster; you forget—it doesn't. It simply files things away. It keeps things for you, or hides things from you—and summons them to your recall with will of its own. You think you have a memory; but it has you!”
― John Irving, A Prayer for Owen Meany
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发表于 2013-1-10 14:42
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