翻译：莫笑愚
《春天蔚藍》
在春天，這藍色天穹彎下來
在淺水灣的邊緣
暢飲黑色的雨水。
然後它們升起並飄向原野。
我生命的巨大骨頭有時感覺如此沉重，
而我身體熟知的所有招數——
相對的拇指，膝蓋骨，
以及頭腦敲擊又敲擊——
似乎不足以在這塵世渡我一生
而我思考：我多想
有一雙翅膀——
藍色的雙翼——
火焰的絲絛。
我多想將它們開啟，從黑色
雨水中上升。
然後我想到布雷克**，一個男孩——在倫敦的泥土和汗水中
緊盯這窗口，當上帝到來
振翅翩飛。
當然，他大叫大喊，
看見上帝的藍色身軀之軸線
斜倚窗台，
這千面之眼。
啊，誰知道。
誰知道什麼懸掛、飄蕩在窗口
在他和黑暗之間。
無論如何，布雷克這襪商的兒子站起來
轉身離開這煙熏的窗台和黑暗之城——
永遠地離開
從這工廠，這個人的抗爭，
進入一種想像的生活。
（莫笑愚譯，2014-03-26初稿於北京）
____________________
註釋：* 瑪麗·奧利弗是一位美國詩人，於1984年贏得普利策詩歌獎。
** 指詩人威廉.布雷克，他在童年開始時充滿幻象。
英文原文：
Spring Azures
In spring the blue azures bow down
at the edges of shallow puddles
to drink the black rain water.
Then they rise and float away into the fields.
Sometimes the great bones of my life feel so heavy,
and all the tricks my body knows—
the opposable thumbs, the kneecaps,
and the mind clicking and clicking—
don't seem enough to carry me through this world
and I think: how I would like
to have wings—
blue ones—
ribbons of flame.
How I would like to open them, and rise
from the black rain water.
And then I think of Blake**, in the dirt and sweat of London—a boy
staring through the window, when God came
fluttering up.
Of course, he screamed,
seeing the bobbin of God's blue body
leaning on the sill,
and the thousand-faceted eyes.
Well, who knows.
Who knows what hung, fluttering, at the window
between him and the darkness.
Anyway, Blake the hosier’s son stood up
and turned away from the sooty sill and the dark city—
turned away forever
from the factories, the personal strivings,
to a life of the imagination.
《野枝裡如此歌唱》
這是春天
而我最終聽見他
在第一批樹葉間——
然後我看見他抱緊樹枝
在小島般的樹蔭裡
以他紅褐色的羽毛
為這新的一年修剪整潔。
初始，我靜立
思緒空茫。
繼而，我聆聽。
而後滿心歡喜——
當這一切發生，
當我幾近漂浮，
我自己，成為一隻翅膀或一棵樹——
我開始明白
這鳥兒在說什麼，
而玻璃杯裡的沙
靜止了
為了一個純白的瞬間
當重力向上揮灑
彷彿雨水，上升，
而事實上
這變得難以解釋那歌唱的究竟是什麼——
那一定是鶇鳥，但它似乎
並非一隻，他自己，和他所有的兄弟，
以及他們周圍的樹木，
帶著長長尾巴滑翔的雲
在蔚藍的天空——所有的，他們全部
都在歌唱。
並且，誠然，是的，它看似如此，
我也如此。
如此溫柔、莊嚴而完美的音樂
持續不過幾秒。
這是一種魔幻之境，明智的人
喜歡談論。
他們談論的事情之一，無疑地，
就是，一旦你到過那裡，
你便永在那裡。
聽，每個人機會都均等。
這是春天嗎，還是早晨？
你近旁是否有樹，
你自己的靈魂是否需要安慰？
快呀，然後——打開門，在你沉重的雙腳上飛翔；這歌唱
或許已經翩然遠逝。
（莫笑愚譯，2014-03-29初稿於北京）
英文原文：
Such Singing in the Wild Branches
It was spring
and finally I heard him
among the first leaves—
then I saw him clutching the limb
in an island of shade
with his red-brown feathers
all trim and neat for the new year.
First, I stood still
and thought of nothing.
Then I began to listen.
Then I was filled with gladness—
and that's when it happened,
when I seemed to float,
to be, myself, a wing or a tree—
and I began to understand
what the bird was saying,
and the sands in the glass
stopped
for a pure white moment
while gravity sprinkled upward
like rain, rising,
and in fact
it became difficult to tell just what it was that was singing—
it was the thrush for sure, but it seemed
not a single thrush, but himself, and all his brothers,
and also the trees around them,
as well as the gliding, long-tailed clouds
in the perfectly blue sky— all, all of them
were singing.
And, of course, yes, so it seemed,
so was I.
Such soft and solemn and perfect music doesn't last
for more than a few moments.
It's one of those magical places wise people
like to talk about.
One of the things they say about it, that is true,
is that, once you've been there,
you're there forever.
Listen, everyone has a chance.
Is it spring, is it morning?
Are there trees near you,
and does your own soul need comforting?
Quick, then— open the door and fly on your heavy feet; the song
may already be drifting away.
-------------------------
Note:
* Mary Oliver is an American poet who won the Pulitzer Prize for Poetry in 1984. Her poem, Spring Azures, is an excerpt from her book New and Selected Poems, Volume One.
:** This is a reference to poet William Blake who experienced visions beginning in early childhood.
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发表于 2015-2-8 13:30
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