诗歌翻译
2007-02-05 21:09:01 来自: AT(本心)
陆续翻译一点吧，附原文以作参考。
An Afternoon
As he writes, without looking at the sea,
he feels the tip of his pen begin to tremble.
The tide is going out across the shingle.
But it isn't that. No,
it's because at that moment she chooses
to walk into the room without any clothes on.
Drowsy, not even sure where she is
for a moment. She waves the hair from her forehead.
Sits on the toilet with her eyes closed,
head down. Legs sprawled. He sees her
through the doorway. Maybe
she's remembering what happened that morning.
For after a time, she opens one eye and looks at him.
And sweetly smiles.
一个中午
当他写着，并不向海看去，
他感觉到笔的尖端开始颤抖。
潮水漫出来越过了卵石。
但并不是那样。不，
是因为那个时刻她选择
步入房间而什么都不穿。
昏昏欲睡，有一会儿甚至不确定自己
身在哪儿。她摇了摇前额的头发。
坐在马桶上闭上双眼，
低下头。双腿分开。透过门廊
他看到她。也许
她正回忆那个早晨发生了什么。
因为一会儿之后，她睁开一只眼睛看他。
并且甜蜜地微笑。
Happiness
So early it's still almost dark out.
I'm near the window with coffee,
and the usual early morning stuff
that passes for thought.
When I see the boy and his friend
walking up the road
to deliver the newspaper.
They wear caps and sweaters,
and one boy has a bag over his shoulder.
They are so happy
they aren't saying anything, these boys.
I think if they could, they would take
each other's arm.
It's early in the morning,
and they are doing this thing together.
They come on, slowly.
The sky is taking on light,
though the moon still hangs pale over the water.
Such beauty that for a minute
death and ambition, even love,
doesn't enter into this.
Happiness. It comes on
unexpectedly. And goes beyond, really,
any early morning talk about it.
快乐
太早了外面几乎是黑暗的。
我在窗边喝着咖啡，
惯常的凌晨时分什么的
值得思索地溜走。
当我看到那个男孩和他的朋友
沿着路向前走
为了投递报纸。
他们戴着帽子穿着毛衣，
有个男孩肩上挎着包。
他们是那么高兴
他们并没有说些什么，这些男孩子。
我想如果可以，他们会搭着
彼此的手臂。
这是凌晨，
他们一起在做这件事。
他们接着走，慢慢地。
光从天空显现。
尽管月亮仍苍白地挂在水上。
这分钟如此的美，
死亡和野心，甚至爱，
都没有进入其中。
快乐。它继续着
在意料之外。然后超越，是真的，
每个凌晨都将它讲述。
Circulation
And all at length are gathered in.
--LOUISE BOGAN
By the time I came around to feeling pain
and woke up, moonlight
flooded the room. My arm lay paralyzed,
propped up like an old anchor under
your back. You were in a dream,
you said later, where you'd arrived
early for the dance. But after
a moment's anxiety you were okay
because it was really a sidewalk
sale, and the shoes you were wearing,
or not wearing, were fine for that.
*
"Help me," I said. And tried to hoist
my arm. But it just lay there, aching,
unable to rise on its own. Even after
you said, "What is it? What's wrong?"
it stayed put -- deaf, unmoved
by any expression of fear or amazement.
We shouted at it, and grew afraid
when it didn't answer. "It's gone to sleep,"
I said, and hearing those words
knew how absurd this was. But
I couldn't laugh. Somehow,
between the two of us, we managed
to raise it. This can't be my arm
is what I kept thinking as
we thumped it, squeezed it, and
prodded it back to life. Shook it
until that stinging went away.
We said a few words to each other.
I don't remember what. Whatever
reassuring things people
who love each other say to each other
given the hour and such odd
circumstance. I do remember
you remarked how it was light
enough in the room that you could see
circles under my eyes.
You said I needed more regular sleep,
and I agreed. Each of us went
to the bathroom, and climbed back into bed
on our respective sides.
Pulled the covers up. "Good night,"
you said, for the second time that night.
And fell asleep. Maybe
into that same dream, or else another.
*
I lay until daybreak, holding
both arms fast across my chest.
Working my fingers now and then.
While my thoughts kept circling
around and around, but always going back
where they'd started from.
That one inescapable fact: even while
we undertake this trip,
there's another, far more bizarre,
we still have to make.
循环
而所有东西最终聚在一起。
——路易丝·博根
到了我苏醒过来感受痛苦的时候
醒过来，月光
涌入房间。我的胳膊瘫在那儿，
支起来像个旧锚在
你的背后。你在一个梦里，
后来你说，在梦里你太早
抵达了舞会。但焦虑了
一会儿之后你觉得还好，
因为那舞会真真切切是
大路货，你穿去的鞋子
或者没穿去的，在那儿都显得不错。
*
“帮帮我，”我说。试着提起
我的手臂。但它只是躺在那儿，发痛，
没有能力举起自己。甚至在之后
你说：“怎么了？出了什么事？”
它还放在那儿——装聋作哑，无动于衷
面对所有恐惧和惊吓的表现。
我们对它喊叫，越来越担心
当它并不回答。“它正在入睡，”
我说，听着这些话，
知道这多么荒谬。但
我不能笑。无论怎样
在我们两个之间，我们筹划着
唤醒它。这一定不是我的手臂
这是我所想的当我们
捶它，拧它，试图
用戳刺让它复生。摇晃它
直到刺痛消失。
我们对彼此说了些话，
我不记得说了什么。随便什么
安慰打气的，彼此
相爱的人们对彼此说的话
支付给钟点和如此古怪的
情境。我真的记得
你说到多么明亮在房间里
足够看见我眼里的圆环。
你说我需要更多有规律的睡眠，
我赞成。我们都去了
浴室，又爬回床上，
在我们各自那一边。
把被子拉上来。“晚安。”
你说，是今晚的第二次。
然后入睡。也许
去同一个梦里，也许去另一个。
*
我躺着直到天亮，紧紧地
把双臂抱在胸前。
偶尔活动手指。
同时我的思绪旋转着
一圈又一圈，但总是回到
它们开始的地方。
一个无法逃避的事实：甚至当我们
走在这旅途上，
还有另一个，远为奇异的，
我们不得不去对付。
NO HEROICS, PLEASE
Zhivago with a fine moustache,
A wife and son. His poet's eyes
Witness every kind of suffering,
His doctor's hands are kept busy.
"The walls of his heart were paper-thin,"
Comrade-General half-brother Alec Guinness
Says to Lara, whom Zhivago has loved
And made pregnant.
But at that monent,
The group from the topless bar
Next the theater begins to play,
The saxophone climbs higher and higher,
Demanding our attention. The drums
And the bass are also present,
But it is the rising and falling saxophone
That drains away the strength
To resist.
·别充英雄了，求求你
日瓦格有两撇好八字胡，
有妻子和儿子。他诗人的眼
目击每一种痛苦，
他医生的手一直在繁忙，
“他的心墙像纸那么薄，”
他的半个兄弟，亚利克·基尼斯将军同志
对拉娜说，日瓦格爱过她
并使她怀了孕。
但在那个时刻，
挨着剧院的无上装酒吧里
那伙人开始演奏，
萨克斯攀高又攀高，
要求着我们的注意。鼓
和贝司也在那儿，
但是那上升又跌落的萨克斯
吸走了抗拒
的力量。
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