一．新世界地圖之一：群島
這個(gè)句子的盡頭，雨會(huì)開始飄下。
雨的邊線上，是一張帆。
慢慢的，群島自帆的視野消失；
一個(gè)種族對(duì)港口的信仰
也駛?cè)肓嗣造F。
十年的仗打完了。
海倫的頭發(fā)是一片烏云，
而特洛伊已是煙雨茫茫的海邊
一只盛滿白灰的火坑。
細(xì)雨漸密，像豎琴的絲弦。
一個(gè)目光陰沉的男子用手指扣住雨絲，
把《奧德賽》的第一行輕輕撥響。
阿九譯
1. Map of the New World: I. Archipelagoes
At the end of this sentence, rain will begin.
At the rain's edge, a sail.
Slowly the sail will lose sight of islands;
into a mist will go the belief in harbours
of an entire race.
The ten-years war is finished.
Helen's hair, a grey cloud.
Troy, a white ashpit
by the drizzling sea.
The drizzle tightens like the strings of a harp.
A man with clouded eyes picks up the rain
and plucks the first line of the Odyssey.
From "Collected Poems, 1948-1984"
二．愛之后的愛
總有那么一天，
你會(huì)滿心歡喜地
在你自己的門前，
自己的鏡中，歡迎你的到來，
彼此微笑致意，
并且說：這兒請(qǐng)坐；請(qǐng)吃。
你會(huì)重新愛上這個(gè)曾經(jīng)是你的陌生人。
給他酒喝，給他飯吃。把你的心
還給它自己，還給這個(gè)愛了你一生，
被你因別人而忽視
卻一直用心記著你的陌生人。
把你的情書從架上拿下來，
還有那些照片、絕望的小紙條，
從鏡中揭下你自己的影子。
坐下來。享用你的一生。
阿九譯
2. Love After Love
The time will come
when, with elation
you will greet yourself arriving
at your own door, in your own mirror
and each will smile at the other's welcome,
and say, sit here. Eat.
You will love again the stranger who was your self.
Give wine. Give bread. Give back your heart
to itself, to the stranger who has loved you
all your life, whom you ignored
for another, who knows you by heart.
Take down the love letters from the bookshelf,
the photographs, the desperate notes,
peel your own image from the mirror.
Sit. Feast on your life.
三．拳
緊握著我心臟的那只拳頭
稍稍松開；我大口呼吸
這份明快輕松，但它又再次
握住。我何曾沒有愛過
這愛的痛苦？但這次它超出了
愛而達(dá)到瘋狂。它有著
瘋子一樣的鉗握；這是在嚎叫著墜入
深淵前，死死扣住
非理性的懸崖。
心啊，就這樣緊緊地扣住。
這樣，至少你還能活著。
阿九譯
3. The Fist
The fist clenched round my heart
loosens a little, and I gasp
brightness; but it tightens
again. When have I ever not loved
the pain of love? But this has moved
past love to mania. This has the strong
clench of the madman, this is gripping the ledge of
unreason before
plunging howling into the abyss.
Hold hard then, heart.
This way at least you live.
四．明天，明天
我記得那些我從未真切見過的
城市。有著銀色靜脈的威尼斯，帶著
太妃般扭曲的塔尖的列寧格勒。巴黎。很快
印象派們會(huì)把陰影畫成陽(yáng)光。
哦！還有蛇環(huán)一樣漸漸松開的海德拉巴的小巷
對(duì)愛過的人，天地就像荒島；
它令人眼光蒙蔽，經(jīng)驗(yàn)狹窄。
雖然精神快意，但心智卻變得骯臟。
肉體在褻跡點(diǎn)點(diǎn)的衣被下浪費(fèi)自己，
用雜志開闊著世界觀。
門外有一個(gè)世界，但這多么讓人心煩，
當(dāng)你背著行囊站在冷冷的樓梯上
看黎明染紅了磚墻，而在你開始后悔之前
你叫的出租車就帶著一聲笛響，
靈車一樣緩緩?fù)？吭谀愕穆愤?，而你鉆進(jìn)車?yán)铩?br>
阿九譯
4. Tomorrow, Tomorrow
I remember the cities I have never seen
exactly. Silver-veined Venice, Leningrad
with its toffee-twisted minarets. Paris. Soon
the Impressionists will be making sunshine out of shade.
Oh! and the uncoiling cobra alleys of Hyderabad.
To have loved one horizon is insularity;
it blindfolds vision, it narrows experience.
The spirit is willing, but the mind is dirty.
The flesh wastes itself under crumb-sprinkled linens,
widening the Weltanschauung with magazines.
A world's outside the door, but how upsetting
to stand by your bags on a cold step as dawn
roses the brickwork and before you start regretting,
your taxi's coming with one beep of its horn,
sidling to the curb like a hearse -- so you get in.
五．自勉
我住在水上，
一個(gè)人，沒有老婆孩子。
我仔細(xì)研究過每一種可能性，
到最后才發(fā)現(xiàn)：
在黑水邊，有一座矮屋，
窗子永遠(yuǎn)開著，
面向陳舊的大海。我們不會(huì)去選擇這樣，
我們只是本來應(yīng)該怎樣，就是怎樣。
我們歷經(jīng)苦難，年復(fù)一年，
我們卸得下貨載，卻卸不下自己
生命的重負(fù)。愛是一塊石頭，
棲在黑水下的
海床上。此刻，除了真情，
對(duì)詩(shī)歌我一無所求，
不要憐憫、名聲、醫(yī)治。沉默的妻子，
我們可以坐下來，看黯淡的海水，
并在洗盡了
一切平庸和廢品的一生中
活得像一塊石頭。
我要忘卻情感，
忘卻自己的天賦。這比生命中經(jīng)歷的一切
都更偉大，更艱難。
阿九譯
5. Winding Up
I live on the water,
alone. Without wife and children,
I have circled every possibility
to come to this:
a low house by grey water,
with windows always open
to the stale sea. We do not choose such things,
but we are what we have made.
We suffer, the years pass,
we shed freight but not our need
for encumbrances. Love is a stone
that settled on the sea-bed
under grey water. Now, I require nothing
from poetry but true feeling,
no pity, no fame, no healing. Silent wife,
we can sit watching grey water,
and in a life awash
with mediocrity and trash
live rock-like.
I shall unlearn feeling,
unlearn my gift. That is greater
and harder than what passes there for life.
六．死于大火的城市
那個(gè)煽情的布道者剛剛掃蕩了一切，除了教堂上的天空，
我便在油燈下記述一個(gè)城市如何死于大火；
在蠟燭被煙熏得淚水充沛的目光下，我
想用比石蠟更多的話語，講述鉛絲一樣崩斷的信仰。
整整一天，我在亂石般的傳說間走動(dòng)，
街邊的每一堵墻都像騙子一樣讓我吃驚；
被群鳥震撼的天空如此喧鬧，所有的云都像
被劫的包裹，盡管是在火中，還那樣白。
在基督走過的濃煙滾滾的海面上，我問，為什么
當(dāng)他木質(zhì)的世界不再管用時(shí)，人會(huì)哭得像一根蠟燭？
在城里，樹葉是紙，而山丘是迭起的信仰；
對(duì)一個(gè)整日閑逛的男孩來說，每一片葉子都是一次綠色的
呼吸，把我以為早就僵冷了的愛重建一次，
祝福著死亡，還有這火的洗禮。
阿九譯
6. A City's Death by Fire
After that hot gospeller has levelled all but the churched sky,
I wrote the tale by tallow of a city's death by fire;
Under a candle's eye, that smoked in tears, I
Wanted to tell, in more than wax, of faiths that were snapped like wire.
All day I walked abroad among the rubbled tales,
Shocked at each wall that stood on the street like a liar;
Loud was the bird-rocked sky, and all the clouds were bales
Torn open by looting, and white, in spite of the fire.
By the smoking sea, where Christ walked, I asked, why
Should a man wax tears, when his wooden world fails?
In town, leaves were paper, but the hills were a flock of faiths;
To a boy who walked all day, each leaf was a green breath
Rebuilding a love I thought was dead as nails,
Blessing the death and the baptism by fire.
七．真理
分享面包
就是分享生命，
但除了真理――
你只能在夜里到床上
聽真理
在你的手心
一只兒時(shí)的鐘面上
掙扎：這
冰冷的屋子
是一只翻了的小船，
而幾面白墻
是打濕的帆……
阿九譯
7. Truth
Sharing bread
is sharing life
but truth-
you ought to go to bed at night
to hear the truth
strike
on the childhood clock
in your arms: the
cold house
a turned-over boat,
the walls
wet canvases...
八．名聲
名聲就是：星期天，
巴爾蒂斯畫中的
那種虛空。
是亂石堆砌的小巷，
但被日光照得燦爛無比，
是一堵墻，一座棕色的塔樓
在街道的末了，
是一朵沒有鈴鐺的藍(lán)鈴花
像一張毫無生氣的畫布
固定在百色的
畫框上，還有幾朵花：
幾朵劍蘭，生硬的
劍蘭，石質(zhì)的花瓣
插在一根花瓶上。唱詩(shī)班
高上云霄的贊美詩(shī)
休止了音符。一冊(cè)
自己翻開的
圖版。還有高跟鞋
在行道上的嘀噠聲。
一座爬行的鐘。
一種對(duì)上班的渴望。
阿九譯
8. Fame
This is Fame: Sundays,
an emptiness
as in Balthus,
cobbled alleys,
sunlit, aureate,
a wall, a brown tower
at the end of a street,
a blue without bells,
like a dead canvas
set in its white
frame, and flowers:
gladioli, lame
gladioli, stone petals
in a vase. The choir's
sky-high praise
turned off. A book
of prints that turns
by itself. The ticktock
of high heels on a sidewalk.
A crawling clock.
A craving for work.
九．波蘭騎手
側(cè)影畫中，青灰馬“死神”馱著少年提多，
沿著寸寸燃燼的白晝走進(jìn)黑森林；
目力不再的父親心中的愛子
正像丟勒的騎士跨著羅辛南特戰(zhàn)馬；
但少年愉人的英姿無法掩飾馬蹄的失步。
勇士轉(zhuǎn)過身去，朝著父親
再次投去確信而堅(jiān)定的目光，
這匹繼承來的駑馬準(zhǔn)確無誤地
馳向充滿象征的森林，它時(shí)刻呼喚著
猛龍扈從的騎士趕赴那里長(zhǎng)眠。
但騎術(shù)在暗暗嘉許著騎手，
這青灰而面無血色的戰(zhàn)馬雖然早已通體僵絕，
卻仍以不死的姿態(tài)托起自己的兇手，
它清澈的目光靜待著下一時(shí)代的解讀。
阿九譯
2006-5-8
9. The Polish Rider
The grey horse, Death, in profile bears the young Titus
To dark woods by the dying coal of day;
The father with worn vision portrays the son
Like Dürer's knight astride a Rosinante;
The horse disturbs more than the youth delights us.
The warrior turns his sure gaze for a second,
Assurance looks its father in the eye,
The inherited, bony hack heads accurately
Towards the symbolic forests that have beckoned
Such knights, squired by the scyther, where to lie.
But skill dispassionately praises the rider,
Despair details the grey, cadaverous steed,
The immortal image holds its murderer
In a clear gaze for the next age to read.
十．仲夏，多巴哥
寬闊的，太陽(yáng)石的海灘。
白熾的熱力。
碧藍(lán)的河流。
一座小橋，
烤焦的棕櫚的黃葉子
自夏日困倦的房屋邊伸出，
整個(gè)八月都在瞌睡。
我所擁有的日子，
以及失去的日子，
日子就像女兒漸漸長(zhǎng)大，
不再守著我的臂彎。
阿九譯
10. Midsummer, Tobago
Broad sun-stoned beaches.
White heat.
A green river.
A bridge,
scorched yellow palms
from the summer-sleeping house
drowsing through August.
Days I have held,
days I have lost,
days that outgrow, like daughters,
my harbouring arms.
十一．遺囑附言
精神分裂，被兩種風(fēng)格拷打，
一種是雇傭文人幫閑的散文，我用它
來流亡。跋涉在月光下彎刀一樣延伸數(shù)里的海灘，
我曬著月亮，讓它烤著，
直到蛻去了
自愛這大海般的生命。
要改變你的語言，先得改變你的生命。
我無法糾正過去的錯(cuò)誤。
浪花厭倦了天涯，自遠(yuǎn)方歸來。
海鷗用生硬的舌頭在擱淺的
漸漸腐爛的獨(dú)木舟上方尖叫。
它們是夏洛特維爾的一片帶有毒喙的云。
從前我以為，只要愛國(guó)就行，
但現(xiàn)在即使想這樣，食槽里也沒有我的位子。
我看到最聰明的人在腐朽成走狗，
僅僅為了一點(diǎn)殘羹。
我已快到中年，
烤焦的皮膚
紙屑一樣從手臂上脫落，薄得跟蔥皮一樣，
像皮爾·君特的謎語。
心里空無一物，甚至沒有
對(duì)死的厭惡。我認(rèn)識(shí)很多死者，
跟他們都很熟悉，性格也都相投，
連他們?cè)趺此赖奈叶剂巳缰刚?。?dāng)身上著火了，
肉體也就不怕地下的爐門，
不怕太陽(yáng)留下的那個(gè)煉獄或者火坑了，
更不怕這個(gè)在云中出沒的彎刀一樣的月亮
把這片海灘烤成一頁(yè)白紙。
它全部的冷漠不過是另一種狂怒。
阿九譯
11. Codicil
Schizophrenic, wrenched by two styles,
one a hack's hired prose, I earn
me exile. I trudge this sickle, moonlit beach for miles,
tan, burn
to slough off
this live of ocean that's self-love.
To change your language you must change your life.
I cannot right old wrongs.
Waves tire of horizon and return.
Gulls screech with rusty tongues
Above the beached, rotting pirogues,
they were a venomous beaked cloud at Charlotteville.
Once I thought love of country was enough,
now, even if I chose, there is no room at the trough.
I watch the best minds rot like dogs
for scraps of flavour.
I am nearing middle
age, burnt skin
peels from my hand like paper, onion-thin,
like Peer Gynt's riddle.
At heart there is nothing, not the dread
of death. I know too many dead.
They're all familiar, all in character,
even how they died. On fire,
the flesh no longer fears that furnace mouth
of earth,
that kiln or ashpit of the sun,
nor this clouding, unclouding sickle moon
withering this beach again like a blank page.
All its indifference is a different rage
