李文俊译诗二首

睡的变奏

玛格丽特·阿特伍德

我愿意看你入睡，

也许你根本睡不着。

我愿意睡意朦胧地，

看着你。我愿意与你

一起入睡，进入

你的梦境，当它那柔滑的黑波

卷过我的头顶

愿和你一起穿越那片透亮的

叶子黑蓝、摇曳不定的树林

那儿有水汪汪的太阳和三个月亮

走向你必须下去的那个山洞，

走向你最最担心的惊恐

我愿递给你一支银色的

树枝，一朵小白花，一个字

保护你，当你陷进

梦的深处的忧虑，

和忧虑深处的中心。

我愿跟随你再一次

走完那道长长的楼梯

变成一条小舟

小心地载你回来，做一朵

双手捧住的火焰

引导你回进

睡在我身旁的

你的躯体，让你

悄然回去如同吸进一口空气

我愿做那口空气

在你身体里做片刻的

逗留。我多愿自己也是那样的

不受注意，那样的须臾不可分离。

李文俊译

Variation On The Word Sleep

I would like to watch you sleeping,

which may not happen.

I would like to watch you,

sleeping. I would like to sleep

with you, to enter

your sleep as its smooth dark wave

slides over my head

and walk with you through that lucent

wavering forest of bluegreen leaves

with its watery sun & three moons

towards the cave where you must descend,

towards your worst fear

I would like to give you the silver

branch, the small white flower, the one

word that will protect you

from the grief at the center

of your dream, from the grief

at the center I would like to follow

you up the long stairway

again & become

the boat that would row you back

carefully, a flame

in two cupped hands

to where your body lies

beside me, and as you enter

it as easily as breathing in

I would like to be the air

that inhabits you for a moment

only. I would like to be that unnoticed

& that necessary.

by Margaret Atwood 1969

一种艺术

伊丽莎白·毕晓普

丢失的艺术不难掌握

不少东西本身就含有

任人丢弃的目的，丢失它们并不是灾害。

每天都在丢失。房门钥匙丢了

一小时浪费了，早已满不在乎。

丢失的艺术并不难掌握。

接下去锻炼丢更大的东西，更快地丢：

到过的地方、认识的人、还有你本想见识一下的

地方。这也不会带来灾害。

我丢了母亲传给我的表。还有你瞧！

一、二，一共三幢我住过的楼房。

丢失的艺术并不难掌握。

我失去了两座城市，都很可爱。以及，更大的，

我从小熟悉的地带，两条河，一片大陆。

这些我都失去了，可是也不算灾害。

——即使失去了你（我那种开玩笑的声音

我最心爱的姿态），我也还不用遮掩。本来，

要掌握丢失的艺术不算太难。虽然丢掉这个

有点儿（写下来呀！）有点儿像是灾害。

李文俊 译

One Art

The art of losing isn’t hard to master;

so many things seem filled with the intent

to be lost that their loss is no disaster.

Lose something every day. Accept the fluster

of lost door keys, the hour badly spent.

The art of losing isn’t hard to master.

Then practice losing farther, losing faster:

places, and names, and where it was you meant

to travel. None of these will bring disaster.

I lost my mother’s watch. And look! my last, or

next-to-last, of three loved houses went.

The art of losing isn’t hard to master.

I lost two cities, lovely ones. And, vaster,

some realms I owned, two rivers, a continent.

I miss them, but it wasn’t a disaster.

—Even losing you (the joking voice, a gesture

I love) I shan’t have lied. It’s evident

the art of losing’s not too hard to master

though it may look like (Writeit!) like disaster.

by Elizabeth Bishop