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[译文] 弋戈:莎朗·奥兹的诗选译

The Last Hour

Suddenly, the last hour
before he took me to the airport, he stood up,
bumping the table, and took a step
toward me, and like a figure in an early
science fiction movie he leaned
forward and down, and opened an arm,
knocking my breast, and he tried to take some
hold of me, I stood and we stumbled,
and then we stood, around our core, his
hoarse cry of awe, at the center,
at the end, of our life. Quickly, then,
the worst was over, I could comfort him,
holding his heart in place from the back
and smoothing it from the front, his own
life continuing, and what had
bound him, around his heart—and bound him
to me—now lying on and around us,
sea-water, rust, light, shards,
the little eternal curls of eros
beaten out straight.


最后时刻

忽然,他起身(差点撞到桌子)
在带我到机场的最后一刻
他踉跄地走向我,像科幻影片中一个旧角色
侧身前倾又向下,他伸出一只手
捶打我的胸脯,试图通过什么抓紧我
我起身扶起颤巍的他,然后站着
围绕着我们的中心,他沙哑的说出敬畏
这是我们共同生活的终结,很快
一切已不能更坏,我能够安慰他
从背后拥他的心,在前面轻轻摩挲
生活在继续,束缚着他的心
亦如我心头束缚的他,此刻
海水、锈迹,光,碎片
在我们周身瘫倒
小厄洛斯那永恒的卷发
正疲倦的垂下



Stag’s Leap

Then the drawing on the label of our favorite red wine
looks like my husband, casting himself off a
cliff in his fervor to get free of me.
His fur is rough and cozy, his face
placid, tranced, ruminant,
the bough of each furculum reaches back
to his haunches, each tine of it grows straight up
and branches, like a model of his brain, archaic,
unwieldy. He bears its bony tray
level as he soars from the precipice edge,
dreamy. When anyone escapes, my heart
leaps up. Even when it’s I who am escaped from,
I am half on the side of the leaver. It’s so quiet,
and empty, when he’s left. I feel like a landscape,
a ground without a figure. Sauve
qui peut—let those who can save themselves
save themselves. Once I saw a drypoint of someone
tiny being crucified
on a fallow deer’s antlers. I feel like his victim,
and he seems my victim, I worry that the outstretched
legs on the hart are bent the wrong way as he
throws himself off. Oh my mate. I was vain of his
faithfulness, as if it was
a compliment, rather than a state
of partial sleep. And when I wrote about him, did he
feel he had to walk around
carrying my books on his head like a stack of
posture volumes, or the rack of horns
hung where a hunter washes the venison
down with the sauvignon? Oh leap,
leap! Careful of the rocks! Does the old
vow have to wish him happiness
in his new life, even sexual
joy? I fear so, at first, when I still
can’t tell us apart. Below his shaggy
belly, in the distance, lie the even dots
of a vineyard, its vines not blasted, its roots
clean, its bottles growing at the ends of their
blowpipes as dark, green, wavering groans.


雄鹿的飞跃

那时,绘制在我们珍爱红酒上的标贴
看起来就像我的丈夫,他满怀激情
越过悬崖才能摆脱我
他的皮毛粗糙而舒适,而他的脸
恬淡,凝神,仿佛在沉思
大鹿角每个叉突向后触到
他的臀部。而每个突兀生起的齿,
都像他的神经中枢,已然老旧
笨拙不堪。他携着瘦削的身体
在悬崖边平平地飞起
梦幻一样,当他们都已挣脱,我的心
震颤不已。即使他从我这里逃离,
我却一定是那个不完整的离开者。如此宁静、
空旷。当他离开,我亦感觉像一场风景,
没有地面背景,这一场
溃散——让那些拯救他们的人
去拯救他们。有一次我看到一幅铜版画:某个人
微小地像十字架一样
被钉死在鹿角上,我觉得自己是他的牺牲品。
而他看起来却像我的受害者。我担心的是雄鹿
已经展开的四蹄,在它抛开自己,
却向一个错误的境地。哦,伙伴,我徒然于
他的忠实,就如一次
褒扬,而不是一种短暂的
静止,当我写下了他,他是否
感到必须头顶我的书到处游荡
像一摞相册,或者像一个猎人
在号角架上用索维尼翁清洗鹿肉。哦,飞跃!
飞跃!小心那岩石!是用那
陈旧的誓言祝愿他幸福的
未来生活,甚至是性的
快乐?我害怕如是,起初,我仍然
无法告知我们的分离。在他松乱的
腹部下边,在远处,在葡萄园
一个具体的位置,他的藤蔓不再枯萎,他的根部
干净。一簇簇蔓生在茎管两端
如幽暗,潮绿,晃动的喘息

                       弋戈译
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读这两个,让我想到一些呲合的物件,挺能引起我写的碰触。

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再来读,“一个旧角色”让我心里一揪。。。

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回復 3# 夜狼

奥兹的诗确实值得一读,弋戈这两首翻译的也很好

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最近,那个“旧角色”一直让我沉默。。。

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