译着玩儿（1）
米沃什的三首诗
这
如果我能最终告诉你我身上有什么，
如果我能呼喊：人啊！我撒了谎，假装它不在那，
它在那，日以继夜。
只有这样，我才能描述你们易怒的城市，
短暂的爱，瓦解成灰的游戏，
耳环，一条从肩上轻柔垂落的带子，
卧室和战场上的情景。
写作于我而言，已然是消除痕迹的
一种防护策略。没有人喜欢
一个寻求禁忌的人。
我要求它们给予帮助：我曾在其中游泳的河流，湖泊
那里有座激流之上的人行桥，一条峡谷
那里歌声的回音对它同伴而言已然昏暗。
而我坦诚，对存在的狂热赞美
可能在时髦的样式中已被练习多次。
而在此之下便是这，我并不企图给予名字。
这。像是那些思绪，当一个无家可归的男人在严寒中走进一个陌生的城市。
像这样的时刻：一个被跟踪的犹太人瞥见正接近他的德国警察沉重的帽盔。
像这样的时刻：一位皇家王子首次踏入城市，见到了世界的真相：痛苦，疾病，衰老，和死亡。
或是某张固定不变的脸，刚刚意识到他已被永远地抛弃。
或是一位医生不可更改的结论。
这。意味着撞击一面石头墙，而你知道这面墙将不会屈服于任何乞求。
This
If I cloud at last tell you what is in me,
If I cloud shout: people! I have lied by pretending it was not there,
It was there, day and night.
Only thus was I able to describe your inflammable cities,
Brief loves, games disintegrating into dust,
Earring, a strap falling lightly from a shoulder,
Scenes in bedrooms and on battlefields.
Writing has been for me a protective strategy
Of erasing traces. No one likes
A man who reaches for the forbidden.
I asked help of rivers in which I used to swim, lakes
With a footbridge over the rushes, a valley
Where an echo of singing had twilight for its companion.
And I confess my ecstatic praise of being
Might just have been exercises in high style.
Underneath was this, which I do not attempt to name.
This. Which is like the thoughts of a homeless man walking in an alien city in freezing weather.
And like the moment when a tracked-down Jew glimpses the heavy helmets of the Greman police approaching.
The moment when the crown prince goes for the first time down to the city and sees the truth of the world: misery, sickness, age and death.
Or the immobile face of someone who has just understood that he’s been abandoned forever.
Or the irrevocable verdict of the doctor.
This. Which signifies knocking against a stone wall and knowing that the wall will not yield to any imploration.
得克萨斯
我从得克萨斯回来。
我在那儿朗读着我的诗歌。
没有别的地方比美国为诗歌朗读付的更多。
在我的签名旁，我写下了日期2000年。
晚年粘着我的双脚，像浓稠的沥青。
理智在拒绝，但那意识在显现。
而我能为此做什么，又将它揭示于谁？
最好的策略便是沉默。
我已历经记忆中的幻觉带来的羞耻
关于爱，恨，抱负，和努力。
而现在我几乎不能相信
我曾试着度过我的一生。
Texas
I came back from Texas.
I had been reading my poems there.
Nowhere else than in America do they pay so well for reading poems.
Next to my signature I put the date 2000.
Old age clings to my feet like dense pitch.
The mind resists, but that signifies consciousness.
And what can I do with it, unveil it to whom?
The best strategy is to say nothing.
I have experienced the shame of the recollected illusion
of love, hating, aspiring, striving.
And now I can hardly believe
that I managed to live through my life.
反对菲利普·拉金的诗
我已学会与绝望共存。
但突然菲利普·拉金在那儿
解释着所有的生活是可憎的。
我不明白为何应对此感激。
深呼吸已足够艰难
即便没有他对虚无的恫吓。
我亲爱的拉金，我理解
死亡将不会漏掉任何一个人。
但这并非是一个得体的主题
对挽歌或颂诗来说，都是如此。
Against the Poetry of Philip Larkin
I learned to live with my despair,
And suddenly Philip Larkin’s there,
Explaining why all life is hateful.
I don’t see why I should be grateful.
It’s hard enough to draw a breath
Without his hectoring about nothingness.
My dear Larkin , I understand
That death will not miss anyone.
But this is not a decent theme
For either an elegy or an ode.
这
如果我能最终告诉你我身上有什么，
如果我能呼喊：人啊！我撒了谎，假装它不在那，
它在那，日以继夜。
只有这样，我才能描述你们易怒的城市，
短暂的爱，瓦解成灰的游戏，
耳环，一条从肩上轻柔垂落的带子，
卧室和战场上的情景。
写作于我而言，已然是消除痕迹的
一种防护策略。没有人喜欢
一个寻求禁忌的人。
我要求它们给予帮助：我曾在其中游泳的河流，湖泊
那里有座激流之上的人行桥，一条峡谷
那里歌声的回音对它同伴而言已然昏暗。
而我坦诚，对存在的狂热赞美
可能在时髦的样式中已被练习多次。
而在此之下便是这，我并不企图给予名字。
这。像是那些思绪，当一个无家可归的男人在严寒中走进一个陌生的城市。
像这样的时刻：一个被跟踪的犹太人瞥见正接近他的德国警察沉重的帽盔。
像这样的时刻：一位皇家王子首次踏入城市，见到了世界的真相：痛苦，疾病，衰老，和死亡。
或是某张固定不变的脸，刚刚意识到他已被永远地抛弃。
或是一位医生不可更改的结论。
这。意味着撞击一面石头墙，而你知道这面墙将不会屈服于任何乞求。
This
If I cloud at last tell you what is in me,
If I cloud shout: people! I have lied by pretending it was not there,
It was there, day and night.
Only thus was I able to describe your inflammable cities,
Brief loves, games disintegrating into dust,
Earring, a strap falling lightly from a shoulder,
Scenes in bedrooms and on battlefields.
Writing has been for me a protective strategy
Of erasing traces. No one likes
A man who reaches for the forbidden.
I asked help of rivers in which I used to swim, lakes
With a footbridge over the rushes, a valley
Where an echo of singing had twilight for its companion.
And I confess my ecstatic praise of being
Might just have been exercises in high style.
Underneath was this, which I do not attempt to name.
This. Which is like the thoughts of a homeless man walking in an alien city in freezing weather.
And like the moment when a tracked-down Jew glimpses the heavy helmets of the Greman police approaching.
The moment when the crown prince goes for the first time down to the city and sees the truth of the world: misery, sickness, age and death.
Or the immobile face of someone who has just understood that he’s been abandoned forever.
Or the irrevocable verdict of the doctor.
This. Which signifies knocking against a stone wall and knowing that the wall will not yield to any imploration.
得克萨斯
我从得克萨斯回来。
我在那儿朗读着我的诗歌。
没有别的地方比美国为诗歌朗读付的更多。
在我的签名旁，我写下了日期2000年。
晚年粘着我的双脚，像浓稠的沥青。
理智在拒绝，但那意识在显现。
而我能为此做什么，又将它揭示于谁？
最好的策略便是沉默。
我已历经记忆中的幻觉带来的羞耻
关于爱，恨，抱负，和努力。
而现在我几乎不能相信
我曾试着度过我的一生。
Texas
I came back from Texas.
I had been reading my poems there.
Nowhere else than in America do they pay so well for reading poems.
Next to my signature I put the date 2000.
Old age clings to my feet like dense pitch.
The mind resists, but that signifies consciousness.
And what can I do with it, unveil it to whom?
The best strategy is to say nothing.
I have experienced the shame of the recollected illusion
of love, hating, aspiring, striving.
And now I can hardly believe
that I managed to live through my life.
反对菲利普·拉金的诗
我已学会与绝望共存。
但突然菲利普·拉金在那儿
解释着所有的生活是可憎的。
我不明白为何应对此感激。
深呼吸已足够艰难
即便没有他对虚无的恫吓。
我亲爱的拉金，我理解
死亡将不会漏掉任何一个人。
但这并非是一个得体的主题
对挽歌或颂诗来说，都是如此。
Against the Poetry of Philip Larkin
I learned to live with my despair,
And suddenly Philip Larkin’s there,
Explaining why all life is hateful.
I don’t see why I should be grateful.
It’s hard enough to draw a breath
Without his hectoring about nothingness.
My dear Larkin , I understand
That death will not miss anyone.
But this is not a decent theme
For either an elegy or an ode.
