诗歌翻译2018年11月(上)
先翻译一部分12首，扬尼斯·里索斯的诗，参照姜海舟的翻译（24首新浪）。
原作者写的没感觉出什么特色，暂未了解作者生平，后面再去研究。
HANDS
Often hands are like faces
or like whole bodies. These hands
remain listless in the premature spring,
they sneeze, cough, complain, grow silent,
with their genitals withered in the sun.
Opposite, a woman suckles her infant.
Her hands, though motionless, are
two naked runners in a large marble arena.
手
手常跟脸相似，
或像整个身体。他们的手
在早春时仍无活力，
他们打喷嚏，咳嗽，抱怨，沉默，
在太阳下生殖器也萎蔫着。
而相反，一位给孩子喂奶的女人，
她的手，虽停在那儿，却像
两个人裸跑在宽敞的理石广场。
小亮
2018/11/5
2018/11/10一修
NOCTURNAL
Night undresses you. Her hands tremble.
All naked, your body shines in the shadows.
That wise zero that squeezed our necks
is suddenly cut in two
like a boiled egg sliced by a knife.
夜行动物
夜晚让你暴露。她双手颤抖。
你一丝不挂，在黑暗中身形闪动。
那聪明的家伙掐住我们的脖子
却突然被切成两半
如同水煮鸡蛋被刀切开。
小亮
2018/11/6
2018/11/10一修
HONEST CONFRONTATION
All night long they talked, raged, wrangled,
strove with passion and sincerity to find a compromise
or some separation; humbled and were humbled; regretted
the time lost—the fools; at last they cast off their clothes
and stood there, beautiful, naked, humiliated, defenseless. Dawn was breaking.
From the roof opposite, a flock of birds took wing
as though some gambler had finally cast into the air a marked pack of cards.
Thus, without arguments, justifications, or assurances,
day ascended from the hills with the cruel pride of action.
Athens, May 1960
坦诚以对
整夜他们聊天，发怒，吵架，
敞开心扉并打算真诚和解
或者分开些日子；卑微着的与羞愧着的；悔恨
时光逝去——真傻；最后他们脱去衣服
站在那里，美丽，裸露，害羞，无防无备。黎明将至。
在对面的屋顶，一群鸟展翅飞起
好像赌徒把标记好的纸牌扔向空中。
就这样，不再争吵，不再辩解，也没保证，
太阳冷酷傲慢地从山后升空。
1960年5月于雅典
小亮
2018-11-6
2018/11/10一修
A TREE
This tree had taken root in the far side of the garden,
tall, slender, solitary—perhaps its height
betrayed a secret idea of intrusion. It never produced
either fruit or flower, only a long shadow that split the garden in two,
and a measurement not applicable to the stooped, laden trees.
Every evening, when the glorious sunset was fading,
a strange, orange bird roosted silently in its foliage
like its only fruit—a small golden bell
in a green, enormous belfry. When the tree was cut down,
this bird flew above it with small, savage cries,
describing circles in the air, describing in the sunset
the inexhaustible shape of the tree, and this small bell
rang invisibly on high, and even higher than the tree’s original height.
Samos, June, 1963
树
一棵树生长在花园深处，
很高，很细，很孤独——或许它用高度
透露出进入这里的隐秘念头。它从不
结果不开花，只用影子将花园一分为二，
也不合适地对比着其他结果、弯曲的树木。
每天夜里，当落日的余晖消失，
一只橙色的怪鸟就会飞到树上休息
仿佛这棵树的唯一果实——金色铃铛般
挂在树上，如同置身巨大的钟楼。当这棵树被伐倒，
这只鸟痛苦地飞入空中低声悲鸣
盘旋着飞绕着，在落日余晖
划着这棵树存在时的模样，这只小铃铛
在高得看不见的地方鸣叫，甚至比原来的树更高。
1963年6月于萨摩斯岛
小亮
2018-11-7
2018/11/10一修
THE CENTER
The see, the sun, the tree. And again:
the tree, the sun, the see.
Notice
that in this inverted repetition
the sun is once again found in the middle
like sensual delight in the center of the body.
Athens, Dhiminió, Karlóvasi
Platanákia, St. Constantine, 1953—1964
中间
大海、太阳、树。再一次：
树、太阳、大海。
注意
在反向的重复里
太阳又出现在中间
如同肌体中间的肉欲快感。
1953—1964于雅典，季米尼，卡尔洛韦茨，
普拉特內启亚，圣君士坦丁
小亮
2018-11-7
2018/11/10一修
ACCENTED COLORS
The mountain is red. The sea is green.
The sky is yellow. The earth blue.
Between a bird and a leaf sits death.
Athens, Dhiminió, Karlóvasi
Platanákia, St. Constantine,
1953—1964
着重的色彩
山是红色。海是绿。
天空黄。地球蔚蓝。
死亡坐在鸟与叶子中间。
1953—1964于
雅典，季米尼，卡尔洛韦茨，
普拉特內启亚，圣君士坦丁
小亮
2018-11-7
2018/11/10一修
MODERATION
Words are much like stones. You can build
peaceful houses with white furniture, with white beds,
provided only that somebody is found to inhabit them or at least
to stand and look through the garden railings at the moment
when the windowpanes are in inflamed maroon, and up on the hills
the evening bells are ringing, and after a while
the slack bell rope beats on the wall by itself.
November, 1967-January, 1968
节制
词语很像石头。你可以建造
安静的房子配以白色家具，白色床，
让人觉得有人居住其中或至少
可以在驻足后隔着花园的栏杆看进来
在窗格映出燃烧般的火红时，山顶
晚钟响起，不久
松下的绳子便自行击打起墙壁。
1967年11月—1968年1月
小亮
2018-11-7
2018/11/10一修
THE YARD
A peaceful yard, silent. The sickly trees, sad,
far away in time. The smell of mould,
the lizard, the dry well, the pulleys. There
the lame boy comes out in the evening. At the other door,
across the way, the one-handed boy stands, looking afar.
They do not greet each other. They clench their teeth. They want to forget
the killed bird they had buried together one evening when
the one still had his leg and the other hand,
and the straw chair near the rosebush
was warm with the sun, with nobody sitting there,
and everything was pointless, sad, immobile,
and therefore immoral, in a city
of long ago, naively nailed to the future.
March-October, 1971
院子
院子安宁，静寂无声。树木萎蔫，让人哀痛，
不久他们就将远去他方。发霉的空气，
蜥蜴，枯井，滑轮。那边
夜里会出来一个跛脚男孩。另一边的门口，
街对面，只有一只手的男孩站在那儿，远眺。
他们没有招呼。他们咬着牙齿。他们想忘记
曾在夜里一起杀死并埋掉的鸟而那时
他们各自的手脚都还完好。
玫瑰丛边有一把草做的椅子，
被太阳晒得热乎乎的，却空在那里
夜晚是那般的没有意义，伤感，安静，
显出它内在的黑暗，在某个城市
在很久以前，它天真的等着未来。
1971年3—10月
小亮
2018-11-7
2018/11/10一修
PRESENCE
Tall mountains, taller clouds, meeting
among trees and myths, on precipitous slopes,
there where the healthy omnipotent logos
echoed without fear of emphasis, while further down,
in the yellow clouds of blossoming crops,
in two facing rows, the statues had fallen silent,
stark naked above death, with nipples erect.
March-October, 1971
1971年3—10月
面前
高山，更高的云，相会
在树林与神话中，陡峭的山坡上，
健全万能的上帝
被没有一丝明显的恐惧回应，向下
在植物绽放着花朵的黄色云雾里，
两排植物间，雕像已无声倒下，
在死亡上赤裸着，乳头竖起。
1971年3—10月
小亮
2017-11-7
2018/11/10一修
THE LAUGH
He saw the clouds from the park bench.
He tore out his coat lining,
removed his hat band,
wrapped the kidnapped infant
and pitched it in the well. Standing with his feet apart,
he pissed, smiling before you did.
I’m speaking about this smile, about night’s spectacles
about the moon’s spectacles. The infant,
no, it wasn’t kidnapped. Nor did there exist
a well or an infant. Only the clouds.
Samos, December 19, 1971
笑声
从公园的长椅上看见云。
他扯下外衣内衬，
摘下帽子绑带，
裹起被绑走的婴儿
扔到井里。他分着双脚站着，
撒尿，微笑着在你也撒起尿前。
我正讲着的这微笑，夜景，
月亮。那婴儿，
没有，没被绑走。没有
井和婴儿。只有一片云。
1971年12月19日于萨摩斯岛
小亮
2018-11-7
2018/11/10一修
ETHOGRAPHY
Large shark roam our shore─he said.
At night they’re red like fire. Our children’s
teeth show even through closed mouths. Then
the old woman took the oar; she pitched it underneath the ikons;
she didn’t cross herself; she remained standing. Outside,
the men could be heard sharpening their knives.
The four women could not keep awake.
They stayed at the window; they yawned. Ah─they said─
seeing the mailman in the galaxy.
Athens, January 3, 1972
人种志
巨大的鲨鱼在海岸游弋——他说。
夜晚看到就如火团。我们的孩子
即使闭着嘴也会露出牙齿。那时
一个老太太拿起浆；扔到圣象下；
她没在胸前画十字；她还站在那儿。外面，
能听到男人们正磨着尖刀。
四个女人仍然困倦。
她们靠着窗子；打着瞌睡。啊——她们说——
看那银河系中的邮递员。
1972年1月3日于雅典
小亮
2018-11-9
2018/11/10一修
WITHOUT A MIRROR NOW
Her hair fallen over her eyes, her mouth,
she chews at her hair; her saliva whitens.
A great shadow on the curtain. The water glasses on the floor.
Shout it until the end; turn it about, hide it.
Hide what? Hide yourself where? “Death!” she shouted.
“Old age, death!” she shouted, I’ll run away. Hold me back.
A hill strewn with shell fragments. And there,
amid bones, a comb, a red piece of string,
to comb yourself without a mirror now, to bind your hair
that it might not fall over your eyes, that it might not hide from you the white worm
that slimily, serenely, sluggishly crawls up the table.
Athens, September 29, 1972
此时没有镜子
她的头发散落眼前，垂在嘴边。
她嚼起发丝，唾沫发白。
大片影子映在窗帘。玻璃杯子置于地板。
喊着它直到最后；让它掉头；把它藏匿。
藏什么？把你藏在哪里？“死亡啊”她喊。
“老了，就要死！”她喊着。我会跑。拦住我。
山野散落着建筑残余的碎片。那儿
骨头间，有把梳子，还有根红绳，
现在不用镜子梳理下头发，扎起来
就不会散落眼前，你也能看见那只白色虫子
黏滑着，安静，笨拙地在桌子上爬着。
1972年9月29日于雅典
小亮
2018-11-9
2018/11/10一修
