作家
理查德·威尔伯
翻译：潘学峰
在房子最前边，那间属于她的屋子里
椴树摇着击碎了窗棂上的阳光，
我的女儿正在写一个故事。
我停在楼梯间，听到
从她关着的门，传出打字机键盘发出一阵骚乱。
像一条链子被拖过船舷。
年轻如她，却富有
她的生活宛如巨大的货物，有些还略显沉重：
我祝她有一个幸运的旅程
但现在她停下来，
好像拒绝了我的思想和它简单的形象。
在那儿，把宁静放大，
整个房子似乎都在思考，
然后，她又敲击出键盘的吵闹
之后重变沉静
我记得那只茫然的八哥
两年前被困在那间屋子里;
我们是如何蹑手蹑脚地进去，打开了一个窗扇
之后，（轻轻）退出，以免吓到它;
透过门缝，如何才能度过这无助的瞬间，
我们看着浓郁，狂野，黑暗
发着异彩的生物
击落光星，像打出的拳一样散落
在坚硬的地板或桌面，
然后等待爆发和血腥，
让智慧再一次尝试；我们的心情是多么
的激动，当事情突然有了眉目，
它从椅背升起，
替适当的窗口冲出平稳的过程
使世界的门槛除清。
它始终是一个问题，我的宝贝儿，
有关生或死，因为我早就忘了。我祝福你
就象我先前祝福的那样，只是更加深情。
The Writer
by Richard Wilbur
In her room at the prow of the house
Where light breaks, and the windows are tossed with linden,
My daughter is writing a story.
I pause in the stairwell, hearing
From her shut door a commotion of typewriter-keys
Like a chain hauled over a gunwale.
Young as she is, the stuff
Of her life is a great cargo, and some of it heavy:
I wish her a lucky passage.
But now it is she who pauses,
As if to reject my thought and its easy figure.
A stillness greatens, in which
The whole house seems to be thinking,
And then she is at it again with a bunched clamor
Of strokes, and again is silent.
I remember the dazed starling
Which was trapped in that very room, two years ago;
How we stole in, lifted a sash
And retreated, not to affright it;
And how for a helpless hour, through the crack of the door,
We watched the sleek, wild, dark
And iridescent creature
Batter against the brilliance, drop like a glove
To the hard floor, or the desk-top,
And wait then, humped and bloody,
For the wits to try it again; and how our spirits
Rose when, suddenly sure,
It lifted off from a chair-back,
Beating a smooth course for the right window
And clearing the sill of the world.
It is always a matter, my darling,
Of life or death, as I had forgotten. I wish
What I wished you before, but harder. |
发表于 2017-11-12 14:27
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发表于 2017-11-13 09:39
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