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倪志娟譯:瑪麗·奧利弗(MaryOliver)的詩四十首(雙語)

2012-09-29 18:47 來源:中國南方藝術 作者:倪志娟 譯 閱讀

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  瑪麗·奧利弗(Mary Oliver, 1935-),當今美國女詩人,以書寫自然著稱。1935年9月10日生于美國俄亥俄州,13歲開始寫詩,1962年瑪麗前往倫敦,任職于移動影院有限公司和莎士比亞劇場。后來奧利弗又回到美國,并定居馬薩諸塞州。瑪麗·奧利弗沒有獲得過一個正式的本科文憑,但她的詩歌研討會卻在各地舉辦并在各大學盛行。她的詩歌贏得了多項獎項,其中包括國家圖書獎和普利策詩歌獎(1984年)。她的主要詩集有:《夜晚的旅行者》(1978),《美國原貌》(1983),《燈光的屋宇》(1990),《新詩選》(1992),《白松》(1994)等。
  
  
  黑水塘
  
  雨下了一整夜
  黑水塘沸騰的水平靜下來。
  我掬了一捧。慢慢
  飲下。它的味道
  像石頭,葉子,火。它把寒冷
  灌進我體內,驚醒了骨頭。我聽見他們
  在我身體深處,竊竊私語
  哦,這轉瞬即逝的美妙之物
  究竟是什么?
  
  
  At Blackwater Pond
  
  by Mary Oliver
  
  At Blackwater Pond the tossed waters have settled
  after a night of rain.
  I dip my cupped hands. I drink
  a long time. It tastes
  like stone, leaves, fire. It falls cold
  into my body, waking the bones. I hear them
  deep inside me, whispering
  oh what is that beautiful thing
  that just happened?
  
  
  天鵝
  
  你是否也看見它,整夜,漂浮在黑暗的河上?
  你是否看見它在早晨,飛入銀亮的空氣——
  一束白色的花,
  絲綢與亞麻的一陣完美抖動,當它
  將頭藏進翅膀中;一道雪堤,一片開滿百合的坡岸,
  它黑色的喙咬緊了空氣?
  你是否聽見它,笛聲和哨音
  一種尖銳而深沉的音樂——像雨拍打著樹——像一片瀑布
  沖下黑色的巖石?
  你是否看見它,最后,就在云層下——
  滑過天空的一個白十字架,它的腳
  像黑色的葉子,它的翅膀像河面上伸展的光?
  在你心里,是否感受到它如何化歸萬物?
  而你最終領會了,美是為了什么?
  并改變了你的生活?
  
  
  The Swan
  
  by Mary Oliver
  
  Did you too see it, drifting, all night, on the black river?
  Did you see it in the morning, rising into the silvery air -
  An armful of white blossoms,
  A perfect commotion of silk and linen as it leaned
  into the bondage of its wings; a snowbank, a bank of lilies,
  Biting the air with its black beak?
  Did you hear it, fluting and whistling
  A shrill dark music - like the rain pelting the trees - like a waterfall
  Knifing down the black ledges?
  And did you see it, finally, just under the clouds -
  A white cross Streaming across the sky, its feet
  Like black leaves, its wings Like the stretching light of the river?
  And did you feel it, in your heart, how it pertained to everything?
  And have you too finally figured out what beauty is for?
  And have you changed your life?
  
  
  魚
  
  我捉住的
  第一條魚,
  不愿安靜地
  躺在提桶中,
  而是拼命拍打著,大口喘氣,
  顯得
  驚慌失措,
  在緩慢傾瀉的
  彩虹中,
  它死了。后來
  我剖開它的身體,將肉
  和骨頭分開,
  吃掉了它。現在,海
  在我身體里:我是魚,魚
  在我里面閃閃發光;我們
  正在上升,緊緊纏繞著,將要
  掉回海中。擺脫痛苦,
  和痛苦,和更多的痛苦,
  我們喂養這個狂熱的陰謀,我們被這個秘密
  所滋養。
  
  
  The Fish
  
  by Mary Oliver
  
  The first fish
  I ever caught
  would not lie down
  quiet in the pail
  but flailed and sucked
  at the burning
  amazement of the air
  and died
  in the slow pouring off
  of rainbows. Later
  I opened his body and separated
  the flesh from the bones
  and ate him. Now the sea
  is in me: I am the fish, the fish
  glitters in me; we are
  risen, tangled together, certain to fall
  back to the sea. Out of pain,
  and pain, and more pain
  we feed this feverish plot, we are nourished
  by the mystery.
  
  
  刀
  
  當紅尾鳥
  巨大的翅膀拍打水面,
  然后,飛上嶙峋的
  灰色巖壁,
  是什么
  正
  穿透我的心,
  如同最薄的刀片。
  它無關于
  鳥,而是關于
  石頭
  沉默,并促使
  某種事物
  一閃而過的方式。
  有時
  當我這樣安靜地坐著,
  我生命的全部夢想
  和全部非凡的時刻,
  似乎要離開,
  從我身上溜出去。
  于是,我想象,我將不再移動。
  此時,
  鷹至少已飛了
  五英里,
  無論誰偶然抬頭去看
  都會頭昏眼花。
  我感到暈眩。但那
  不是刀。
  它是陡峭、盲目而厚實的
  石頭墻,
  不含一點希望,
  或者一個未滿足的欲望,
  海綿般吸收并反射著
  太陽之火,
  它如此明亮,
  仿佛已存在了幾個世紀。
  
  
  Knife
  
  by Mary Oliver
  
  Something
  just now
  moved through my heart
  like the thinnest of blades
  as that red-tail pumped
  once with its great wings
  and flew above the gray, cracked
  rock wall.
  It wasn"t
  about the bird, it was
  something about the way
  stone stays
  mute and put, whatever
  goes flashing by.
  Sometimes,
  when I sit like this, quiet,
  all the dreams of my blood
  and all outrageous divisions of time
  seem ready to leave,
  to slide out of me.
  Then, I imagine, I would never move.
  By now
  the hawk has flown five miles
  at least,
  dazzling whoever else has happened
  to look up.
  I was dazzled. But that
  wasn"t the knife.
  It was the sheer, dense wall
  of blind stone
  without a pinch of hope
  or a single unfulfilled desire
  sponging up and reflecting,
  so brilliantly,
  as it has for centuries,
  the sun"s fire.
  
  
  野鵝
  
  你不必善良。
  不必跪行
  一百英里,穿過荒涼的懺悔。
  你只要讓你溫柔的身體
  愛它所愛的。
  
  告訴我,你的絕望,而我將告訴你我的。
  同時世界繼續。
  同時太陽和雨清澈的鵝卵石
  正在穿越風景,
  越過大草原,幽深的樹林,
  山脈和河流。
  同時野鵝,在潔凈蔚藍的高空,
  正再次飛回家鄉。
  
  無論你是誰,無論多么孤獨,
  世界為你提供了想象,
  召喚你,像野鵝那樣,嚴厲并充滿激情——
  反復宣告
  你在萬物中的位置。
  
  
  Wild Geese
  
  by Mary Oliver
  
  You do not have to be good.
  You do not have to walk on your knees
  for a hundred miles through the desert repenting.
  You only have to let the soft animal of your body
  love what it loves.
  
  Tell me about despair, yours, and I will tell you mine.
  Meanwhile the world goes on.
  Meanwhile the sun and the clear pebbles of the rain
  are moving across the landscapes,
  over the prairies and the deep trees,
  the mountains and the rivers.
  Meanwhile the wild geese, high in the clean blue air,
  are heading home again.
  
  Whoever you are, no matter how lonely,
  the world offers itself to your imagination,
  calls to you like the wild geese, harsh and exciting --
  over and over announcing your place
  in the family of things.
  
  
  桌上的蜂蜜
  
  它用柔軟無形的
  花的精魂,填滿你,它滴成
  一根頭發似的細線,你跟隨它
  從蜂蜜罐到桌子
  
  到門外,到地上,
  它不斷變稠,
  
  變深,變寬,經過
  松樹枝,潮濕的大石頭,
  山貓和熊的爪印,進入了
  
  森林深處,你
  匆匆放倒一些樹,剝掉樹皮,
  
  你漂浮著,并吞下淌著蜂蜜的蜂巢,
  樹屑,被壓碎的蜜蜂……一種味道
  由失去的一切所構成,在其中,失去的一切又被找回。
  
  
  Honey At The Table
  
  by Mary Oliver
  
  It fills you with the soft
  essence of vanished flowers, it becomes
  a trickle sharp as a hair that you follow
  from the honey pot over the table
  
  and out the door and over the ground,
  and all the while it thickens,
  
  grows deeper and wilder, edged
  with pine boughs and wet boulders,
  pawprints of bobcat and bear, until
  
  deep in the forest you
  shuffle up some tree, you rip the bark,
  
  you float into and swallow the dripping combs,
  bits of the tree, crushed bees - - - a taste
  composed of everything lost, in which everything lost is found.
  
  
  在森林中沉睡
  
  我想大地記得我,
  她那么溫柔地接納我,
  整理好她的黑裙子,她的口袋中
  裝滿青苔和種子。
  我沉沉睡去,就像河床上的一塊石頭,
  在我和星星的白色火焰之間,空無一物
  只有我的思想,它們像飛蛾一樣
  輕輕漂浮在完美之樹的枝葉間。
  整夜,我聽見這個小王國
  在我周圍呼吸,昆蟲,
  和鳥兒們,在黑暗中工作。
  整夜,我沉浮起落,如同在水中,
  掙扎于一種明亮的光。直到清晨,
  我在一些更好的事物中
  至少消失了十二次。
  
  
  Sleeping In The Forest
  
  by Mary Oliver
  
  I thought the earth remembered me,
  she took me back so tenderly,
  arranging her dark skirts, her pockets
  full of lichens and seeds.
  I slept as never before, a stone on the river bed,
  nothing between me and the white fire of the stars
  but my thoughts, and they floated light as moths
  among the branches of the perfect trees.
  All night I heard the small kingdoms
  breathing around me, the insects,
  and the birds who do their work in the darkness.
  All night I rose and fell, as if in water,
  grappling with a luminous doom. By morning
  I had vanished at least a dozen times
  into something better.
  
  
  開花
  
  四月
  池塘像黑色的花
  開放了,
  月亮
  游在每一朵花中;
  處處
  都著了火:青蛙叫喊著
  它們的欲望,
  它們的滿足。我們
  知道:時間
  向我們砸來,像一把
  鐵鋤頭,死亡
  是一種癱軟狀態。我們
  渴望:死亡之前的
  歡樂,濕地的
  夜晚——其他的一切
  都能等,惟有
  發自肉體的
  沖動
  不能等。我們
  知道:我們濃于
  血——我們大于
  我們的饑餓,而
  我們屬于
  月亮,當池塘
  開放,當火
  在我們之間燃燒,我們
  深深夢想
  趕緊
  進入黑色的花瓣
  進入火,
  進入時間粉碎的夜晚
  進入另一個人的身體。
  
  
  Blossom
  
  by Mary Oliver
  
  In April
  the ponds open
  like black blossoms,
  the moon
  swims in every one;
  there’s fire
  everywhere: frogs shouting
  their desire,
  their satisfaction. What
  we know: that time
  chops at us all like an iron
  hoe, that death
  is a state of paralysis. What
  we long for: joy
  before death, nights
  in the swale - everything else
  can wait but not
  this thrust
  from the root
  of the body. What
  we know: we are more
  than blood - we are more
  than our hunger and yet
  we belong
  to the moon and when the ponds
  open, when the burning
  begins the most
  thoughtful among us dreams
  of hurrying down
  into the black petals
  into the fire,
  into the night where time lies shattered
  into the body of another.
  
  
  八月
  
  當黑莓飽滿地
  掛在林中,掛在不屬于任何人的
  莓枝上,我整天
  
  晃悠在高高的
  枝條下,什么也不
  想,只是伸出
  
  我被劃破的胳膊,把夏日的黑蜜
  塞進
  嘴中;整天,我的身體
  
  順其自然。在流過的
  幽暗溪水中,有我
  生命的厚爪,張揚在
  
  黑色的鐘型漿果和枝葉間;還有
  這歡樂的語言。
  
  
  August
  
  by Mary Oliver
  
  When the blackberries hang
  swollen in the woods, in the brambles
  nobody owns, I spend
  
  all day among the high
  branches, reaching
  my ripped arms, thinking
  
  of nothing, cramming
  the black honey of summer
  into my mouth; all day my body
  
  accepts what it is. In the dark
  creeks that run by there is
  this thick paw of my life darting among
  
  the black bells, the leaves; there is
  this happy tongue.
  
  
  鼴鼠
  
  在草葉下,在
  第一塊
  松動的泥土下
  它們出現了——像
  甲蟲那樣迅速,像
  蝙蝠那樣盲目,像
  野兔那樣害羞,但是
  比所有這些生物更少被看見——
  它們穿行在
  蘋果樹
  蒼白的根須間,
  在石塊,昆蟲的
  洞穴,和黑色草地
  氣味濃烈的鱗莖間,
  在最豐富可口的
  食物:
  春天的花之間。
  在一片又一片田野中,
  你能看見他們
  漫長而孤獨的
  蹤跡,然后
  雨抹去了
  這一點微弱的痕跡——
  如此刺激,
  如此舒適,
  因此愿意延續下去,
  一代又一代,
  它們并不成就什么,
  除了簡單的物質生活,
  它們的生和死,
  它們用頑固的鼻口
  對著整片泥土
  推擠,
  尋找它們的
  美味。
  
  
  Moles
  
  by Mary Oliver
  
  Under the leaves, under
  the first loose
  levels of earth
  they"re there -- quick
  as beetles, blind
  as bats, shy
  as hares but seen
  less than these --
  traveling
  among the pale girders
  of appleroot,
  rockshelf, nests
  of insects and black
  pastures of bulbs
  peppery and packed full
  of the sweetest food:
  spring flowers.
  Field after field
  you can see the traceries
  of their long
  lonely walks, then
  the rains blur
  even this frail hint of them --
  so excitable,
  so plush,
  so willing to continue
  generation after generation
  accomplishing nothing
  but their brief physical lives
  as they live and die,
  pushing and shoving
  with their stubborn muzzles against
  the whole earth,
  finding it
  delicious.
  
  
  秋歌
  
  又一年將盡,處處留下了
  氣味濃郁的殘余:藤蔓,落葉,
  
  吃剩的果實在陰影中
  腐爛,消融,
  
  撤離這個夏天的
  孤島,這個此刻,無處可尋。
  
  除了腐爛,在腳下,
  在不可知的
  
  黑暗神秘的地下城堡中——根和帶殼的種子
  和水的滲透。當時間的輪盤
  
  艱難地轉動,我試圖記住
  這些,譬如,當秋天
  
  終于閃現,喧鬧著,像我們那樣渴望
  停駐——明亮的景物變換更替,在這轉瞬即逝的
  
  草場中,萬物如何
  進入永恒。
  
  
  Fall Song
  
  by Mary Oliver
  
  Another year gone, leaving everywhere
  its rich spiced residues: vines, leaves,
  
  the uneaten fruits crumbling damply
  in the shadows, unmattering back
  
  from the particular island
  of this summer, this NOW, that now is nowhere
  
  except underfoot, moldering
  in that black subterranean castle
  
  of unobservable mysteries - roots and sealed seeds
  and the wanderings of water. This
  
  I try to remember when time"s measure
  painfully chafes, for instance when autumn
  
  flares out at the last, boisterous and like us longing
  to stay - how everything lives, shifting
  
  from one bright vision to another, forever
  in these momentary pastures.
  
  
  百合
  
  一夜又一夜
  黑暗
  籠罩了百合的
  臉,
  輕輕地
  關閉了
  它的五面墻,
  它的
  花蜜袋,
  以及它的芬芳,
  它心滿意足地
  站在
  花園里,
  并不安靜地睡去,
  而是
  用百合的語言,
  說著一些
  我們無法聽見的私語,
  尤其是
  一絲風也沒有時,
  它的唇
  守口如瓶,
  它的語調
  那么隱秘——
  或者,它
  什么也沒說
  只是站在那兒,
  帶著植物
  和圣人似的
  耐心,
  直到整個地球轉了一圈,
  銀色的月亮
  變成金色的太陽——
  百合仿佛對此了然于心,
  它自己,難道不正是
  最完美的祈禱?
  
  
  The Lily
  
  by Mary Oliver
  
  Night after night
  darkness
  enters the face
  of the lily
  which, lightly,
  closes its five walls
  around itself,
  and its purse
  of honey,
  and its fragrance,
  and is content
  to stand there
  in the garden,
  not quite sleeping,
  and, maybe,
  saying in lily language
  some small words
  we can’t hear
  even when there is no wind
  anywhere,
  its lips
  are so secret,
  its tongue
  is so hidden –
  or, maybe,
  it says nothing at all
  but just stands there
  with the patience
  of vegetables
  and saints
  until the whole earth has turned around
  and the silver moon
  becomes the golden sun –
  as the lily absolutely knew it would,
  which is itself, isn’t it,
  the perfect prayer?


  
  停歇在凌霄花上的蜂雀
  
  誰不愛
  玫瑰,誰
  不愛黑暗池塘中
  小天鵝一般
  
  漂浮的
  睡蓮,
  以及,熱烈開放的
  凌霄花呢。
  
  蜂雀飛來,
  像一個小小的綠色天使,
  將棕黑的舌頭
  浸泡在幸福中——
  
  誰不希望
  和它小馬達似的心靈一起
  輕快地跳動
  像舒伯特那樣
  
  歌唱
  眼睛
  四處觀望,像阿爾勒的梵高那樣
  心醉神迷?
  
  看!幾乎整個世界
  都在等待
  或回憶——
  幾乎整個世界都處于
  
  我們不在其中的時刻,
  我們尚未出生,或已死去——
  一束緩慢燃燒的火
  與我們所有聾啞、瘋狂而盲目的兄妹們
  一起呆在地底
  他們
  甚至不再記得
  自己的幸福——
  
  看!我們將
  如同蒼白、冰涼的
  石頭,永遠
  存在。
  
  
  Hummingbird Pauses at the Trumpet Vine
  
  by Mary Oliver
  
  Who doesn’t love
  roses, and who
  doesn’t love the lilies
  of the black ponds
  
  floating like flocks
  of tiny swans,
  and of course, the flaming
  trumpet vine
  
  where the hummingbird comes
  like a small green angel, to soak
  his dark tongue
  in happiness -
  
  and who doesn’t want
  to live with the brisk
  motor of his heart
  singing
  
  like a Schubert
  and his eyes
  working and working like those days of rapture,
  by Van Gogh in Arles?
  
  Look! for most of the world
  is waiting
  or remembering -
  most of the world is time
  
  when we’re not here,
  not born yet, or died -
  a slow fire
  under the earth with all
  our dumb wild blind cousins
  who also
  can’t even remember anymore
  their own happiness -
  
  Look! and then we will be
  like the pale cool
  stones, that last almost
  forever.
  
  
  克拉普的池塘
  
  離樹林三英里,
  克拉普的池塘躺在橡樹和松樹間,
  岸邊鋪滿灰色的石頭。
  在深冬的曠野上,
  
  一只野雞
  抬起黃色的腿
  猛然張開翅膀,炫耀著
  它青銅色的羽毛;
  
  一只母鹿,激蕩起
  潮濕的霧氣,迅速跳過
  灌木叢,飛奔而去。
  
  *
  
  傍晚:下起了雨。
  雨水從黑色的云層傾瀉而下,
  敲打著屋頂。殘留的
  橡實,掉落在門廊,四處飛濺;我向火中
  扔了一根,兩根,然后
  更多的木頭。
  
  *
  
  萬物有時
  合攏,一把有圖畫的扇子,風景和時間
  同時流動,直到距離感——
  比如說,克拉普的池塘和我之間的距離——
  徹底消失,界限像一只翅膀的羽毛
  全部滑落下來,萬物
  彼此融合。
  
  *
  
  深夜,半睡半醒
  躺在毛毯下,我留神傾聽
  母鹿,渾身掛滿雨珠,
  穿過松樹潮濕的枝條,將
  長長的脖子伸下池塘去飲水,
  
  *
  
  在三里
  之外。
  
  
  Clapp"s Pond
  
  by Mary Oliver
  
  Three miles through the woods
  Clapp"s Pond sprawls stone gray
  among oaks and pines,
  the late winter fields
  
  where a pheasant blazes up
  lifting his yellow legs
  under bronze feathers, opening
  bronze wings;
  
  and one doe, dimpling the ground as she touches
  its dampness sharply, flares
  out of the brush and gallops away.
  
  *
  
  By evening: rain.
  It pours down from the black clouds,
  lashes over the roof. The last
  acorns spray over the porch; I toss
  one, then two more
  logs on the fire.
  
  *
  
  How sometimes everything
  closes up, a painted fan, landscapes and moments
  flowing together until the sense of distance - - -
  say, between Clapp"s Pond and me - - -
  vanishes, edges slide together
  like the feathers of a wing, everything
  touches everything.
  
  *
  
  Later, lying half-asleep under
  the blankets, I watch
  while the doe, glittering with rain, steps
  under the wet slabs of the pines, stretches
  her long neck down to drink
  
  *
  
  from the pond
  three miles away.
  
  
  葉子姑媽
  
  因為需要,我創造了她——
  這個偉大的姑媽像山胡桃樹一樣黑
  名叫亮葉子,或者浮云
  或者夜美人。
  
  我在葉子中呼喊,親愛的姑媽,
  她就會站起來,像池塘中一根古舊的木頭,
  用一種只有我們倆才懂的語言,低聲
  吩咐我跟隨,
  
  我們將去旅行
  像快樂的鳥兒一樣
  離開灰塵撲撲的小鎮,一旦進入樹林
  她就把我們倆變成某種更敏捷的動物——
  兩只黑腳狐貍,
  兩條綠絲帶似的蛇,
  兩條閃光的魚——我們將整天旅行。
  
  夜晚來臨時,她離開我,讓我回到自己的家
  和家人呆在一起,
  他們心地善良,卻像木頭一樣頑固
  從不流浪。而她,
  是羽毛和白樺樹皮纏繞成的一團
  像雨一樣盤旋著,又
  飄回來
  
  將黎明的光
  播撒在飛舞的蛾翅上,
  
  或者,像一只負鼠,懶散地呆在谷倉;
  
  或者,懸掛在凝練的月光下,
  像一枚耀眼的大獎章,
  
  這個深刻的夢想,這個我需要的朋友,
  這個老婦人,是用葉子做成的。
  
  
  Aunt Leaf
  
  by Mary Oliver
  
  Needing one, I invented her -
  the great-great-aunt dark as hickory
  called Shining-Leaf, or Drifting-Cloud
  or The-Beauty-of-the-Night.
  
  Dear aunt, I"d call into the leaves,
  and she"d rise up, like an old log in a pool,
  and whisper in a language only the two of us knew
  the word that meant follow,
  
  and we"d travel
  cheerful as birds
  out of the dusty town and into the trees
  where she would change us both into something quicker -
  two foxes with black feet,
  two snakes green as ribbons,
  two shimmering fish - and all day we"d travel.
  
  At day"s end she"d leave me back at my own door
  with the rest of my family,
  who were kind, but solid as wood
  and rarely wandered. While she,
  old twist of feathers and birch bark,
  would walk in circles wide as rain and then
  float back
  
  scattering the rags of twilight
  on fluttering moth wings;
  
  or she"d slouch from the barn like a gray opossum;
  
  or she"d hang in the milky moonlight
  burning like a medallion,
  
  this bone dream, this friend I had to have,
  this old woman made out of leaves.
  
  
  幸福
  
  下午,我跟蹤
  母熊;她正在尋找
  隱秘的甜箱子——
  蜂蜜,被蜜蜂儲藏在
  柔軟的樹洞中。
  這黑色陰郁的龐然大物,爬上
  一棵棵樹,慢吞吞地
  穿過樹林。終于
  她找到了!樹心深處的
  蜂房,被掏出來
  在擁擠的蜜蜂堆中,她用嘴啃,
  用舌頭舔,用黑色的爪子
  挖——蜂蜜和蜂巢,最后
  
  也許是飽了,也許是困了,
  有些醉了,膩了
  她放下毛茸茸的胳膊,
  哼哼地搖晃起來。
  我看見她松開枝條,
  我看見她將涂滿蜜蜂的嘴
  和粗大的胳膊,伸進葉子,
  仿佛要飛起來——
  一只巨大的蜜蜂
  擁有蜜和翅膀——
  飛進草地,飛進美麗的
  金銀花、玫瑰和三葉草叢中——
  漂浮并沉睡于透明的網中,
  從一朵花飛到另一朵花
  在一個接一個明亮的日子。
  
  
  Happiness
  
  by Mary Oliver
  
  In the afternoon I watched
  the she-bear; she was looking
  for the secret bin of sweetness -
  honey, that the bees store
  in the trees’ soft caves.
  Black block of gloom, she climbed down
  tree after tree and shuffled on
  through the woods. And then
  she found it! The honey-house deep
  as heartwood, and dipped into it
  among the swarming bees - honey and comb
  she lipped and tongued and scooped out
  in her black nails, until
  
  maybe she grew full, or sleepy, or maybe
  a little drunk, and sticky
  down the rugs of her arms,
  and began to hum and sway.
  I saw her let go of the branches,
  I saw her lift her honeyed muzzle
  into the leaves, and her thick arms,
  as though she would fly -
  an enormous bee
  all sweetness and wings -
  down into the meadows, the perfections
  of honeysuckle and roses and clover -
  to float and sleep in the sheer nets
  swaying from flower to flower
  day after shining day.
  
  
  一
  
  蚊子如此渺小,
  毀滅它無需費一點力氣。
  每一片葉子,以及匆匆來去的黑螞蟻,
  同樣如此。
  這么多生命,這么多命運!
  每天早晨,我輕輕走著,眼睛掃視
  低處的池塘和松樹林。
  在鼻涕蟲爬向它的盛宴之前,
  在松針簌簌地落下之前,
  在迅疾而有益的雨中,
  即使只有短短數小時,蘑菇,也會繁殖
  許多,許多,許多
  組成一個世界!
  于是我想起那個古老的觀念:獨特的
  才是永恒的。
  一只杯子,萬物在其中旋轉著
  變回大海和天空的顏色。
  想象它!
  必定是一只明亮的杯子!
  那一刻
  沒有風掠過你的肩膀,
  你凝視著它,
  你在它里面,
  你自己親切的臉,你自己的眼睛。
  而風,不顧及你,只是掠過。
  輕撫著螞蟻,蚊子,葉子,
  以及你所知道的其他一切!
  大海多么藍,天空多么藍,
  萬物多么藍,多么微小,萬物皆可以救贖,包括你,
  包括你的眼睛,包括你的想象。
  
  
  One
  
  by Mary Oliver
  
  The mosquito is so small
  it takes almost nothing to ruin it.
  Each leaf, the same.
  And the black ant, hurrying.
  So many lives, so many fortunes!
  Every morning, I walk softly and with forward glances
  down to the ponds and through the pinewoods.
  Mushrooms, even, have but a brief hour
  before the slug creeps to the feast,
  before the pine needles hustle down
  under the bundles of harsh, beneficent rain.
  How many, how many, how many
  make up a world!
  And then I think of that old idea: the singular
  and the eternal.
  One cup, in which everything is swirled
  back to the color of the sea and sky.
  Imagine it!
  A shining cup, surely!
  In the moment in which there is no wind
  over your shoulder,
  you stare down into it,
  and there you are,
  your own darling face, your own eyes.
  And then the wind, not thinking of you, just passes by,
  touching the ant, the mosquito, the leaf,
  and you know what else!
  How blue is the sea, how blue is the sky,
  how blue and tiny and redeemable everything is, even you,
  even your eyes, even your imagination.
  
  
  家信
  
  她給我寄來藍松鴉,霜,
  星星,以及此刻正升起在貧瘠山巔的
  秋月的消息。
  她輕描淡寫地提及寒冷,痛苦,
  并羅列出已經喪失的東西。
  讀到這里,我的生活顯得艱難而緩慢,
  我讀到生機勃勃的瓜
  堆在門邊,籃子里裝滿
  茴香,迷迭香和蒔蘿,
  而所有無法采集,或隱藏在葉子中的
  那些,她只能任其變黑并落下。
  讀到這里,我的生活顯得艱難而陌生,
  我讀到她的興奮,每當
  星星升起,霜降下來,藍松鴉唱起歌。
  荒蕪的歲月沒有改變
  她聰明而熱情的心;
  她知道人們總是
  計劃自己的生活,卻難以實現。
  如果她哭泣,她不會告訴我。
  
  我撫摸著她的名字;
  我疊好信,站起來,
  傾倒信封,從里面飄出了
  玻璃苣,忍冬,蕓香的碎片。
  
  
  A Letter from Home
  
  by Mary Oliver
  
  She sends me news of blue jays, frost,
  Of stars and now the harvest moon
  That rides above the stricken hills.
  Lightly, she speaks of cold, of pain,
  And lists what is already lost.
  Here where my life seems hard and slow,
  I read of glowing melons piled
  Beside the door, and baskets filled
  With fennel, rosemary and dill,
  While all she could not gather in
  Or hid in leaves, grow black and falls.
  Here where my life seems hard and strange,
  I read her wild excitement when
  Stars climb, frost comes, and blue jays sing.
  The broken year will make no change
  Upon her wise and whirling heart; -
  She knows how people always plan
  To live their lives, and never do.
  She will not tell me if she cries.
  
  I touch the crosses by her name;
  I fold the pages as I rise,
  And tip the envelope, from which
  Drift scraps of borage, woodbine, rue.
  
  
  沉迷
  
  整個夏天
  我漫步于田野,
  在每個清晨,
  每一場雨中,
  
  田野變得深邃
  充滿種子和花,
  以及閃爍不定的
  耀眼的光環——
  
  如同蒼白的火焰,它們升起
  又熄滅,
  豐盈而美——
  這就是田野的全部——
  
  而我
  至少有一兩次,
  感到自己飛起來了,
  我的鞋子
  
  突然碰到種子的頂端,
  絲綢一般柔滑的藍色空氣——
  聽,
  它熱情地
  
  召喚我,
  使我迷茫,
  剝去我的外殼
  再為我穿上歡樂的衣裳——
  
  我不再需要什么,
  只是沉迷于這閃亮的一刻,
  沉迷于這不合邏輯的失重——
  
  它是否是你所愛之物的
  完美形式——
  屬于一首古老的德國歌曲——
  或者某個人——
  
  或者就是地球自身的黑色絲線,
  沉重,帶電。
  在可愛心智的邊緣,展開
  如此狂野而盲目的翅膀。
  
  
  The Rapture
  
  by Mary Oliver
  
  All summer
  I wandered the fields
  that were thickening
  every morning,
  
  every rainfall,
  with weeds and blossoms,
  with the long loops
  of the shimmering, and the extravagant-
  
  pale as flames they rose
  and fell back,
  replete and beautiful-
  that was all there was-
  
  and I too
  once or twice, at least,
  felt myself rising,
  my boots
  
  touching suddenly the tops of the weeds,
  the blue and silky air-
  listen,
  passion did it,
  
  called me forth,
  addled me,
  stripped me clean
  then covered me with the cloth of happiness-
  
  I think there is no other prize,
  only rapture the gleaming,
  rapture the illogical the weightless-
  
  whether it be for the perfect shapeliness
  of something you love-
  like an old German song-
  or of someone-
  
  or the dark floss of the earth itself,
  heavy and electric.
  At the edge of sweet sanity open
  such wild, blind wings.
  
  
  在冬天的邊緣
  
  在冬天的邊緣,看見小鳥,此刻
  攜帶著半真半幻的記憶蜂擁而回,
  回到以仁慈著稱的花園。
  綠色的地球一片荒涼;藤蔓彼此糾結著,
  懸掛在樹林沉默的入口。
  
  帶著半塊面包,我就是面包屑王子;
  當雪開始飄落,鳥云集著歌唱,
  像孩子們為他們的陛下走到戶外!
  但我所鐘愛的,是倔強的灰鷹,
  它獨自停歇在結滿冰霜的藤上;
  我所夢想的是隱忍的鹿,
  它的腿像蘆葦一樣,迎風而立;——
  
  它們是這個世界的拯救者:寧愿長得清瘦,
  以此作為超越貧困的起點。
  
  
  On Winter"s Margin
  
  by Mary Oliver
  
  On winter’s margin, see the small birds now
  With half-forged memories come flocking home
  To gardens famous for their charity.
  The green globe’s broken; vines like tangled veins
  Hang at the entrance to the silent wood.
  
  With half a loaf, I am the prince of crumbs;
  By snow’s down, the birds amassed will sing
  Like children for their sire to walk abroad!
  But what I love, is the gray stubborn hawk
  Who floats alone beyond the frozen vines;
  And what I dream of are the patient deer
  Who stand on legs like reeds and drink that wind; -
  
  They are what saves the world: who choose to grow
  Thin to a starting point beyond this squalor.
  
  
  當死亡來臨
  
  當死亡來臨
  如秋天饑餓的熊;
  當死亡來臨,掏出錢包中所有嶄新的錢幣
  
  來買我,再啪地合上錢包;
  當死亡來臨
  如麻疹
  
  當死亡來臨
  如肩胛骨間的一座冰山,
  
  我想穿過門,充滿好奇,想知道:
  它會是什么樣子,那黑暗的小屋?
  
  因而,我視一切
  如同兄弟姐妹,
  我視時間只是一個念頭,
  我想到永恒是另一種可能性,
  
  我將每一個生命看作一朵花,和野菊花一樣
  平常,又獨特,
  
  而每個名字是唇中舒緩的音樂,
  就像所有的音樂,趨向沉默,
  
  而每一個身體是一頭勇敢的獅子,對于地球而言
  珍貴無比。
  
  當一切結束,我將說終此一生
  我是驚奇的新娘。
  我是新郎,懷抱著世界。
  
  當一切結束,我不想知道
  我是否度過了特別而真實的一生。
  
  我不愿發現自己嘆息并驚恐,
  或者充滿爭辯。
  
  我不愿只在世上走一遭就死去。
  
  
  When Death Comes
  
  by Mary Oliver
  
  When death comes
  like the hungry bear in autumn;
  when death comes and takes all the bright coins from his purse
  
  to buy me, and snaps the purse shut;
  when death comes
  like the measle-pox
  
  when death comes
  like an iceberg between the shoulder blades,
  
  I want to step through the door full of curiosity, wondering:
  what is it going to be like, that cottage of darkness?
  
  And therefore I look upon everything
  as a brotherhood and a sisterhood,
  and I look upon time as no more than an idea,
  and I consider eternity as another possibility,
  
  and I think of each life as a flower, as common
  as a field daisy, and as singular,
  
  and each name a comfortable music in the mouth,
  tending, as all music does, toward silence,
  
  and each body a lion of courage, and something
  precious to the earth.
  
  When it"s over, I want to say all my life
  I was a bride married to amazement.
  I was the bridegroom, taking the world into my arms.
  
  When it"s over, I don"t want to wonder
  if I have made of my life something particular, and real.
  
  I don"t want to find myself sighing and frightened,
  or full of argument.
  
  I don"t want to end up simply having visited this world.
  
  
  旅程
  
  有一天,你終于知道
  你必須做什么,并開始去做,
  雖然你周圍的聲音
  一直喊叫
  他們的壞建議
  雖然整個房子
  開始發抖
  而你感到古老的繩索
  絆住你的腳踝。
   “改善我的生活!”
  每個聲音哭喊著。
  但你不停止。
  你知道你必須做什么,
  雖然風用它僵硬的手指
  撬動
  這個根基,
  雖然他們的憂郁
  著實可怕。
  天已經
  晚了,一個瘋狂的夜晚,
  路上塞滿了
  斷枝和石頭。
  但是,漸漸地,
  你將他們的聲音拋在身后,
  星星穿透云層
  散發光輝,
  一個新的聲音出現
  你慢慢
  意識到,它是你自己的聲音,
  伴隨著你
  當你越來越深地
  步入世界,
  決定去做
  你唯一能做的事——
  決定去拯救
  你唯一能拯救的生活。
  
  
  The Journey
  
  by Mary Oliver
  
  One day you finally knew
  what you had to do, and began,
  though the voices around you
  kept shouting
  their bad advice—
  though the whole house
  began to tremble
  and you felt the old tug
  at your ankles.
  "Mend my life!"
  each voice cried.
  But you didn"t stop.
  You knew what you had to do,
  though the wind pried
  with its stiff fingers
  at the very foundations,
  though their melancholy
  was terrible.
  It was already late
  enough, and a wild night,
  and the road full of fallen
  branches and stones.
  But little by little,
  as you left their voices behind,
  the stars began to burn
  through the sheets of clouds,
  and there was a new voice
  which you slowly
  recognized as your own,
  that kept you company
  as you strode deeper and deeper
  into the world,
  determined to do
  the only thing you could do—
  determined to save
  the only life you could save.
  
  
  相遇
  
  她走進黑暗的泥沼
  那漫長等待的盡頭。
  
  神秘光滑的包裹
  落入雜草。
  
  她傾斜著長長的脖子,舔它
  疲憊而輕緩地呼吸著
  
  過了一會兒,它站起來,變成一個和她相似的
  生物,但是要小得多。
  
  現在有兩個她。她們一起走著
  像樹下的一個夢。
  
  六月初,田邊
  開滿密密麻麻的粉色和黃色花
  
  我遇見她們。
  我只能凝望。
  
  她是我曾見過的
  最美的婦人。
  
  她的孩子跳躍在花叢中,
  天空的藍掛在頭頂
  
  像絲綢,花兒們燃燒著,而我希望
  再活一次,從頭開始,
  
  徹底
  而狂野。
  
  
  A Meeting
  
  by Mary Oliver
  
  She steps into the dark swamp
  where the long wait ends.
  
  The secret slippery package
  drops to the weeds.
  
  She leans her long neck and tongues it
  between breaths slack with exhaustion
  
  and after a while it rises and becomes a creature
  like her, but much smaller.
  
  So now there are two. And they walk together
  like a dream under the trees.
  
  In early June, at the edge of a field
  thick with pink and yellow flowers
  
  I meet them.
  I can only stare.
  
  She is the most beautiful woman
  I have ever seen.
  
  Her child leaps among the flowers,
  the blue of the sky falls over me
  
  like silk, the flowers burn, and I want
  to live my life all over again, to begin again,
  
  to be utterly
  wild.
  
  
  夏日
  
  誰創造了世界?
  誰創造了天鵝,和黑熊?
  誰創造了蚱蜢?
  蚱蜢,我指的是——
  跳出草叢的這一只,
  正在我手中吃糖的這一只,
  正在來回而不是上下移動她的顎——
  正在用她巨大而復雜的眼睛四處張望的這一只。
  現在她抬起柔弱的前臂,徹底洗凈她的臉。
  現在她張開翅膀,飛走了。
  我不能確定禱告是什么。
  我只知道如何專注,如何躺進
  草里,如何跪在草中,
  如何偷懶并享受幸福,如何在田野閑逛,
  這是我整天所做的事。
  告訴我,我還應該做什么?
  一切最終不都死去了,而且很快?
  告訴我,你打算做什么
  用你瘋狂而寶貴的一生?
  
  
  The Summer Day
  
  by Mary Oliver
  
  Who made the world?
  Who made the swan, and the black bear?
  Who made the grasshopper?
  This grasshopper, I mean--
  the one who has flung herself out of the grass,
  the one who is eating sugar out of my hand,
  who is moving her jaws back and forth instead of up and down--
  who is gazing around with her enormous and complicated eyes.
  Now she lifts her pale forearms and thoroughly washes her face.
  Now she snaps her wings open, and floats away.
  I don"t know exactly what a prayer is.
  I do know how to pay attention, how to fall down
  into the grass, how to kneel in the grass,
  how to be idle and blessed, how to stroll through the fields,
  which is what I have been doing all day.
  Tell me, what else should I have done?
  Doesn"t everything die at last, and too soon?
  Tell me, what is it you plan to do
  With your one wild and precious life?
  
  
  觸及信仰主題的夏日短章
  
  每個夏天
  我傾聽并觀看
  在黃銅般的陽光下,在
  月光中,但
  
  我什么也聽不見,什么也看不見——
  蒼白的根在地底延伸,綠色的梗
  有力地向上,
  葉子不斷加深
  它們潮濕的皺摺
  
  玉米穗正在成形,
  玉米殼和玉米棒子也是。
  每天,
  如此,
  
  枝葉的原野
  長得越來越高,越來越厚實——
  綠色長袍在夜晚高高托起,
  閃亮的絲綢。
  
  因此,每個夏天,
  我什么也沒看見,無法做一名證人——
  我也是聾子
  聽不見葉子的滴答聲,
  
  菩提樹向下的拍擊聲——
  所有這些
  發生了
  卻沒有留下可見的證據,或可聞的嗡嗡聲。
  
  因而,無限降臨。
  不可知觸及我的脊骨。
  風在樹上棲息,
  而泥土的秘密
  
  在空中回旋。
  我怎能看著這世上的一切
  并顫抖,并護緊我的心呢?
  我應該擔心什么嗎?
  
  早晨
  在綠葉的海洋中
  玉米蜂窩狀的美麗身體
  一定會在那兒。
  
  
  Little Summer Poem Touching The Subject Of Faith
  
  by Mary Oliver
  
  Every summer
  I listen and look
  under the sun"s brass and even
  into the moonlight, but I can"t hear
  
  anything, I can"t see anything --
  not the pale roots digging down, nor the green
  stalks muscling up,
  nor the leaves
  deepening their damp pleats,
  
  nor the tassels making,
  nor the shucks, nor the cobs.
  And still,
  every day,
  
  the leafy fields
  grow taller and thicker --
  green gowns lofting up in the night,
  showered with silk.
  
  And so, every summer,
  I fail as a witness, seeing nothing --
  I am deaf too
  to the tick of the leaves,
  
  the tapping of downwardness from the banyan feet --
  all of it
  happening
  beyond any seeable proof, or hearable hum.
  
  And, therefore, let the immeasurable come.
  Let the unknowable touch the buckle of my spine.
  Let the wind turn in the trees,
  and the mystery hidden in the dirt
  
  swing through the air.
  How could I look at anything in this world
  and tremble, and grip my hands over my heart?
  What should I fear?
  
  One morning
  in the leafy green ocean
  the honeycomb of the corn"s beautiful body
  is sure to be there.
  
  
  冷之詩
  
  現在,冷。
  到了極限。幾乎
  難以忍受。云
  沸騰著,聚成一團
  從北極熊的北方來。
  這個冷得樹開裂的清晨
  我夢想著它肥胖的足跡,
  和維持生命的脂肪。
  
  我想念夏天,連同它明亮的果實,
  鮮花,環繞著漿果,葉子,
  一把把谷粒。
  
  也許所謂冷,是這樣的時刻
  我們秘密測量我們始終擁有的愛
  為了我們自己的身體,堅硬而鋒利的愛,
  為“我”而非他人的溫暖水域;也許
  
  它意味著藍鯊之美,它正游向
  翻筋斗的海豹。
  
  在雪的季節,
  在無限的冷中,
  我們殘忍卻誠實地生長;我們使
  自己活著,
  如果可以,我們不斷占有
  必需的其他身體,這些
  被壓碎的紅色花朵。
  
  
  Cold Poem
  
  by Mary Oliver
  
  Cold now.
  Close to the edge. Almost
  unbearable. Clouds
  bunch up and boil down
  from the north of the white bear.
  This tree-splitting morning
  I dream of his fat tracks,
  the lifesaving suet.
  
  I think of summer with its luminous fruit,
  blossoms rounding to berries, leaves,
  handfuls of grain.
  
  Maybe what cold is, is the time
  we measure the love we have always had, secretly,
  for our own bones, the hard knife-edged love
  for the warm river of the I, beyond all else; maybe
  
  that is what it means the beauty
  of the blue shark cruising toward the tumbling seals.
  
  In the season of snow,
  in the immeasurable cold,
  we grow cruel but honest; we keep
  ourselves alive,
  if we can, taking one after another
  the necessary bodies of others, the many
  crushed red flowers.


  
  音樂
  
  我將一些細蘆管
  綁在一起,刻上
  氣孔,吹奏出一種音樂
  使你呆立
  如受電擊,然后
  
  跟隨著,當我漫步,一點點
  長出
  斜眼睛和粗糙的毛發,我的腳
  踏著巖石,長出
  堅硬的羊角,而你
  
  跟在后面,沉溺在
  音樂中,取下
  頭上的銀發夾
  匆匆地,脫掉
  衣服。
  
  我不記得
  這發生在哪里,但是我想
  它是夏末,萬物
  充滿火焰,孕育著果實
  不做其他事,
  也不抵抗,
  只是躺著,像一片黑暗的水域
  在月亮的引力下,
  顛簸不休。
  
  在城市野蠻的優雅中
  我曾散步
  在旅店大廳
  
  并聽見這種音樂,在
  閉緊的門后。
  
  你以為心靈
  可以被解釋嗎?你以為身體
  是皂莢樹的
  一根枝條,
  
  追逐水,
  對著太陽隆起,
  顫抖著,當它感到
  善,進入了
  白色的花中?
  
  或者你以為有一種
  音樂,一種特定的旋律
  點亮身體
  遲鈍的荒原——
  一種興奮
  而難以解釋的選擇?
  
  哈,好吧,總之,無論是不是
  夏末,或是不是
  發生在我們身上,它只是
  一場夢,我沒有
  變成柔軟的山羊神。你也沒有像那樣
  奔跑著到來。
  
  你說呢?
  
  
  Music
  
  by Mary Oliver
  
  I tied together
  a few slender reeds, cut
  notches to breathe across and made
  such music you stood
  shock still and then
  
  followed as I wandered growing
  moment by moment
  slant-eyes and shaggy, my feet
  slamming over the rocks, growing
  hard as horn, and there
  
  you were behind me, drowning
  in the music, letting
  the silver clasps out of your hair,
  hurrying, taking off
  your clothes.
  
  I can"t remember
  where this happened but I think
  it was late summer when everything
  is full of fire and rounding to fruition
  and whatever doesn"t,
  or resists,
  must lie like a field of dark water under
  the pulling moon,
  tossing and tossing.
  
  In the brutal elegance of cities
  I have walked down
  the halls of hotels
  
  and heard this music behind
  shut doors.
  
  Do you think the heart
  is accountable? Do you think the body
  any more than a branch
  of the honey locust tree,
  
  hunting water,
  hunching toward the sun,
  shivering, when it feels
  that good, into
  white blossoms?
  
  Or do you think there is a kind
  of music, a certain strand
  that lights up the otherwise
  blunt wilderness of the body -
  a furious
  and unaccountable selectivity?
  
  Ah well, anyway, whether or not
  it was late summer, or even
  in our part of the world, it is all
  only a dream, I did not
  turn into the lithe goat god. Nor did you come running
  like that.
  
  Did you?
  
  
  太陽
  
  在你的生命中
  可曾見過
  比太陽的旅程
  更精彩的
  
  事物,
  每天傍晚,
  它悠閑地,
  向著地平線飄落
  
  隱入云層或山巒,
  或微波蕩漾的大海,
  然后消失了——
  它再次從黑暗中
  
  滑出,
  每個早晨,
  在世界的另一邊,
  像一朵紅花
  
  浮在神圣的油中向上流動,
  說,初夏的一個早晨,
  隔著其完美的帝國距離——
  你可曾感受到
  如此瘋狂的愛——
  難道你認為,在什么地方,在什么語言中,
  一個詞可能激起
  巨浪似的快樂
  
  充滿你,
  如同太陽
  升起,
  如同它溫暖你
  
  當你站在那兒,
  兩手空空——
  或者你
  已從這個世界轉身離去——
  
  或者你
  已變得瘋狂
  為權力,
  為物質?
  
  
  The Sun
  
  by Mary Oliver
  
  Have you ever seen
  anything
  in your life
  more wonderful
  
  than the way the sun,
  every evening,
  relaxed and easy,
  floats toward the horizon
  
  and into the clouds or the hills,
  or the rumpled sea,
  and is gone--
  and how it slides again
  
  out of the blackness,
  every morning,
  on the other side of the world,
  like a red flower
  
  streaming upward on its heavenly oils,
  say, on a morning in early summer,
  at its perfect imperial distance--
  and have you ever felt for anything
  such wild love--
  do you think there is anywhere, in any language,
  a word billowing enough
  for the pleasure
  
  that fills you,
  as the sun
  reaches out,
  as it warms you
  
  as you stand there,
  empty-handed--
  or have you too
  turned from this world--
  
  or have you too
  gone crazy
  for power,
  for things?
  
  
  愛萬物的偶然性
  
  整個夏天,我和鄰近的生物
  交朋友——
  它們飄蕩在田野
  和帳篷周圍,
  有時它們的腦袋鉆進門簾
  露出一些牙齒
  尋找種子,
  板油,糖;嘴里哼哼唧唧,
  打開面包盒,發現里面有牛奶和音樂時
  無比開心。但是,有一個
  晚上,我聽見外面
  有一種聲音,帆布
  輕微鼓起——某種東西的
  眼睛正貼在上面向里看。
  我盯著它,渾身發抖,我的確聽見了
  爪子的摩擦聲,嘴唇的啪嗒聲
  在我單薄的房子外——
  我想象它有紅色的眼睛,
  寬大的舌頭,粗壯的腿。
  它是友好的嗎?
  恐懼戰勝了我。然而,
  不是出于信念和瘋狂
  只是認為
  我的夢應該有勇氣,
  我走了出去。它消失了。
  然后我恍然聽見了沉重的
  腳步聲。
  我是否真的看見了一個黑色的尾巴閃到了
  樹后?看見
  月光照耀著它?
  我是否真的朝它伸出了
  胳膊,朝著降落的天堂,像
  愛人的消逝,最狂野的希望——
  這個故事黑暗的中心,是它被講出的
  全部原因嗎?
  
  
  The Chance To Love Everything
  
  by Mary Oliver
  
  All summer I made friends
  with the creatures nearby ---
  they flowed through the fields
  and under the tent walls,
  or padded through the door,
  grinning through their many teeth,
  looking for seeds,
  suet, sugar; muttering and humming,
  opening the breadbox, happiest when
  there was milk and music. But once
  in the night I heard a sound
  outside the door, the canvas
  bulged slightly ---something
  was pressing inward at eye level.
  I watched, trembling, sure I had heard
  the click of claws, the smack of lips
  outside my gauzy house ---
  I imagined the red eyes,
  the broad tongue, the enormous lap.
  Would it be friendly too?
  Fear defeated me. And yet,
  not in faith and not in madness
  but with the courage I thought
  my dream deserved,
  I stepped outside. It was gone.
  Then I whirled at the sound of some
  shambling tonnage.
  Did I see a black haunch slipping
  back through the trees? Did I see
  the moonlight shining on it?
  Did I actually reach out my arms
  toward it, toward paradise falling, like
  the fading of the dearest, wildest hope ---
  the dark heart of the story that is all
  the reason for its telling?
  
  
  下一次
  
  下一次我該做的是,說話之前
  看著地面。進入一所房子前
  我要先停下
  短暫地做一做皇帝
  更好地傾聽風
  或靜止的空氣。
  
  當任何人與我交談,無論是
  責備,贊揚或僅僅為了消磨時間,
  我要觀察他的臉,嘴唇如何
  動,留意發聲的
  任何變化,任何跡象。
  
  盡管,我該知道更多——大地
  支撐著自己并翱翔,空氣
  托舉著每一片葉子和羽毛
  在森林與流水之上,對每個人來說
  身體在衣服中散發出光芒
  像一盞燈。
  
  
  Next Time
  
  by Mary Oliver
  
  Next time what I"d do is look at
  the earth before saying anything. I"d stop
  just before going into a house
  and be an emperor for a minute
  and listen better to the wind
  or to the air being still.
  
  When anyone talked to me, whether
  blame or praise or just passing time,
  I"d watch the face, how the mouth
  has to work, and see any strain, any
  sign of what lifted the voice.
  
  And for all, I"d know more -- the earth
  bracing itself and soaring, the air
  finding every leaf and feather over
  forest and water, and for every person
  the body glowing inside the clothes
  like a light.
  
  
  詩(靈魂喜歡偽裝……)
  
  靈魂
  喜歡裝扮成這個樣子:
  十個手指,
  十個腳趾,
  
  肩膀,以及其余部分
  在晚上
  是世界的黑色枝條,
  在早上
  
  是世界的
  藍色枝條。
  當然,它可以浮動,
  但是更愿
  
  垂掛著重物。
  空氣般的無形之物,
  它需要
  肉體的隱喻,
  
  肢體和欲望,
  海洋般的流體,
  它需要肉體的世界,
  本能
  
  想象力
  時間黑暗的擁抱,
  甜蜜
  和實在性,
  
  需要被理解,
  燃燒出
  更純粹的光
  無人在那里——
  
  因此它進入我們——
  早晨
  在野蠻的安逸中閃耀
  如一道閃電;
  
  夜晚
  點亮肉體深刻而奇異的
  沉溺
  如一顆星。
  
  
  Poem (The spirit likes to dress up...)
  
  by Mary Oliver
  
  The spirit
  likes to dress up like this:
  ten fingers,
  ten toes,
  
  shoulders, and all the rest
  at night
  in the black branches,
  in the morning
  
  in the blue branches
  of the world.
  It could float, of course,
  but would rather
  
  plumb rough matter.
  Airy and shapeless thing,
  it needs
  the metaphor of the body,
  
  lime and appetite,
  the oceanic fluids;
  it needs the body"s world,
  instinct
  
  and imagination
  and the dark hug of time,
  sweetness
  and tangibility,
  
  to be understood,
  to be more than pure light
  that burns
  where no one is --
  
  so it enters us --
  in the morning
  shines from brute comfort
  like a stitch of lightning;
  
  and at night
  lights up the deep and wondrous
  drownings of the body
  like a star.
  
  
  早晨之詩
  
  每天早晨
  世界
  被創造出來
  在太陽的
  
  橙色光芒中
  夜晚
  堆積的灰塵
  變成葉子
  
  將自己固定在高高的枝條上——
  池塘顯現
  如同黑布上
  開滿荷花的
  
  島嶼圖案。
  如果你的天性
  是快樂的
  你將沿著柔軟的小徑
  
  游蕩幾個小時,你的想象
  落在每一處。
  如果
  你的靈魂
  
  攜帶著
  比鉛垂還沉重的刺——
  如果你所能做的
  是繼續跋涉——
  
  你的內心深處
  仍有
  一只野獸在叫喊,土地
  才是它所需要的——
  
  每個盛開荷花的池塘
  是一聲祈禱,被聽見并得到
  慷慨的回應,
  每個早晨,
  
  你是否
  曾勇敢地快樂,
  你是否
  曾勇敢地祈禱。
  
  
  Morning Poem
  
  by Mary Oliver
  
  Every morning
  the world
  is created.
  Under the orange
  
  sticks of the sun
  the heaped
  ashes of the night
  turn into leaves again
  
  and fasten themselves to the high branches ---
  and the ponds appear
  like black cloth
  on which are painted islands
  
  of summer lilies.
  If it is your nature
  to be happy
  you will swim away along the soft trails
  
  for hours, your imagination
  alighting everywhere.
  And if your spirit
  carries within it
  
  the thorn
  that is heavier than lead ---
  if it"s all you can do
  to keep on trudging ---
  
  there is still
  somewhere deep within you
  a beast shouting that the earth
  is exactly what it wanted ---
  
  each pond with its blazing lilies
  is a prayer heard and answered
  lavishly,
  every morning,
  
  whether or not
  you have ever dared to be happy,
  whether or not
  you have ever dared to pray.
  
  
  白鷺
  
  在道路
  被堵塞了的地方,
  我踏過暗淡的葉子,
  墜落的枝條,
  以及盤根錯節的貓藤,
  繼續向前。最后
  我的胳膊
  被荊棘
  劃傷,很快
  蚊子們
  圍著我,悶熱
  傷痛,我感到
  天旋地轉,
  這是我
  到達池塘的經過:
  黑暗而空虛
  惟有一管被水泡白的
  蘆葦
  躺在遠處的岸邊
  當我正看著那里時,
  水面突然蕩起波紋
  三只白鷺——
  一束
  白色的火焰!
  即使半睡半醒,它們
  對這個造就了它們的世界
  也如此信任——
  傾斜著飛過水面,
  安靜,確定,
  借助它們的信仰法則
  而不是邏輯,
  它們溫柔地張開
  翅膀,滑過
  每一件黑暗的事物。
  
  
  Egrets
  
  by Mary Oliver
  
  Where the path closed
  down and over,
  through the scumbled leaves,
  fallen branches,
  through the knotted catbrier,
  I kept going. Finally
  I could not
  save my arms
  from thorns; soon
  the mosquitoes
  smelled me, hot
  and wounded, and came
  wheeling and whining.
  And that"s how I came
  to the edge of the pond:
  black and empty
  except for a spindle
  of bleached reeds
  at the far shore
  which, as I looked,
  wrinkled suddenly
  into three egrets - - -
  a shower
  of white fire!
  Even half-asleep they had
  such faith in the world
  that had made them - - -
  tilting through the water,
  unruffled, sure,
  by the laws
  of their faith not logic,
  they opened their wings
  softly and stepped
  over every dark thing.
  
  
  大池塘
  
  在大池塘
  太陽,正在升起,
  他橙色的胸脯
  掠過粗大的松樹,
  一些橙色的羽毛
  飄進
  幽暗的水中。
  遠處的岸上
  立著一只白鳥
  仿佛一只白色的蠟燭——
  或者一個男人,在遠處,
  陷入冥想——
  而所有環繞著我的百合
  正從夜晚
  黑色的洞穴中
  再次開放。
  以后,我會思考
  我所見的——
  它可能象征什么——
  我可能用什么贊譽之詞
  解釋它,而為了這樣做,
  我將進屋坐在書桌前——
  我將坐在椅子中——
  我將回頭去看
  這個遺失了的早晨
  此刻,我正在其中移動,
  像一個游泳者,
  多么平穩,
  多么安寧,
  我就像百合——
  就像正消失在水面上的鳥
  穿著夜晚的衣袖。
  
  
  At Great Pond
  
  by Mary Oliver
  
  At Great Pond
  the sun, rising,
  scrapes his orange breast
  on the thick pines,
  and down tumble
  a few orange feathers into
  the dark water.
  On the far shore
  a white bird is standing
  like a white candle ---
  or a man, in the distance,
  in the clasp of some meditation ---
  while all around me the lilies
  are breaking open again
  from the black cave
  of the night.
  Later, I will consider
  what I have seen ---
  what it could signify ---
  what words of adoration I might
  make of it, and to do this
  I will go indoors to my desk ---
  I will sit in my chair ---
  I will look back
  into the lost morning
  in which I am moving, now,
  like a swimmer,
  so smoothly,
  so peacefully,
  I am almost the lily ---
  almost the bird vanishing over the water
  on its sleeves of night.
  
  
  閃光
  
  1.
  
  歡迎來到這首無所事事的詩。
  
  它不是日出,
  一陣紅色的漂洗,
  照亮整個東邊的天空;
  
  它不是從上帝錢包中落下的雨;
  
  它不是雨后天空的藍色盔甲,
  
  或者樹,或者正鉆進泥土的甲蟲;
  
  它不是嘲鳥,在開滿繁花的梓樹枝上,
  以它自己的旋律
  繼續咝咝鳴叫,拍打著翅膀,
  而那些花,正波浪似的翻騰,閃亮,
  隨風搖擺。
  
  2.
  
  有時,你仍會記起,曾祖父農場中的
  舊谷倉,你曾去過一次,
  獨自走進去,而大人們正坐在屋子里
  交談。
  它幾乎是空的。地上鋪著一層干草,
  一些黃蜂在窗上嗡嗡鳴叫,也許,
  高處有一只奇怪的鳥,受到驚擾,呼地叫
  一聲,停在凌亂的壁架上,用它野性的雙目
  向下瞪視。
  雖然,里面主要充斥著牛奶與動物
  忍耐的氣息;
  雖然,主要是寧靜與神秘,屋頂
  高高拱起,未上漆的木板,簡單質樸。
  但是糞便的味道仍然散發在空中,
  一種模糊的氨,令人討厭。
  你可能永遠停留在那兒,角落里的一個小孩。
  在剩下的干草堆上,被那看上去空虛
  其實并不空的空間弄暈。
  然后——你仍然記得——你感到饑餓的折磨——正是
  中午——而你從黎明的夢中醒來,匆匆回到
  房子,那里桌子已經擺好,一位叔叔
  拍拍你的肩,表示歡迎,桌上有你的位置。
  
  3.
  
  沒有留下什么。
  我正在說起的地方,現在,是一塊
  墓地。
  
  我曾站在那里,在綠色的草地上,撒下鮮花。
  
  4.
  
  沒有什么能像青蛾的翅膀那樣
  靈敏或細微地扇動
  撲向燈
  撲向它的爐火
  撲向烏鴉的喙
  在清晨。
  
  飛蛾也有整潔,和生機,但是它沒有一絲絲
  自憐。
  
  并不存在于這個世界。
  
  5.
  
  我的母親
  是憂傷的紫藤,
  我的母親
  是房后蔓生的青苔,
  我的母親,唉,唉,
  并不總是愛她的生活,
  它比熨斗還重
  當她拎著它,從一個房間到另一個房間,
  哦,令人難以釋懷!
  
  我將她
  裝在盒子里
  葬入泥土
  然后轉身離開。
  我的父親
  是一個夢想落空的魔鬼,
  一個信仰破滅者,
  一個窮人,倒霉的瘦男孩。
  他跟隨上帝,在上帝面前吹牛,
  除了上帝,
  他無人交談,無人
  愿意傾聽。
  傾聽,
  這是他的生活。
  我將它葬入泥土。
  我清空壁櫥。
  我離開房子。
  
  6.
  
  此刻我提起他們,
  我不會再提起。
  
  不是不愛
  也不是不悲傷。
  但是他們拎著的鐵東西,我不會再拎著。
  
  我給他們——一個,兩個,三個,四個——禮節性的吻,
  甜蜜的致謝之吻,
  生氣的吻,祝他們在泥土中好運的吻。
  他們也許睡得很安穩。他們也許變柔和了。
  
  但是我不會給他們同類的吻。
  我不需要他們為我的生活負責。
  
  7.
  
  你知道嗎,螞蟻有一只舌頭
  用來收集它所能收集的
  全部甜蜜?
  
  你知道這點嗎?
  
  8.
  
  詩不是世界。
  它甚至不是世界的首頁。
  
  但是詩歌想開放,像一朵花那樣。
  它非常清楚這點。
  
  它想打開自己,
  像一座小修道院的門,
  以便你能走進去,平靜下來,重新振作,
  使你自己卑微如塵埃。
  
  9.
  
  從成熟婦女嘴中喊出的
  孩子氣聲音
  是一種痛苦和失望。
  從身材高大、長胡須的壯實男人嘴中
  嚎出的孩子氣聲音
  是一種痛苦,一種恐怖。
  
  10.
  
  那么,告訴我:
  什么將吸引你?
  什么將打開你精神的黑暗領域,
  像初次親熱的
  情人那樣?
  
  11.
  
  無論如何,
  沒有谷倉。
  沒有孩子在谷倉里。
  
  沒有叔叔沒有桌子沒有廚房。
  
  只有一塊狹長可愛的田野,停滿了食米鳥。
  
  12.
  
  當孤獨偷偷潛來,進入田野,思考
  世界的秩序。留意
  你以前從未留意過的,
  
  比如蟋蟀的鼓聲
  它淡綠色的身體比你的拇指長不了多少。
  
  在夏天的雨中,努力注視蜂雀,
  看它如何抖落翅膀上的水珠。
  
  讓憂傷做你的妹妹,無論她是否愿意。
  從悲痛的樹樁上站起,和勤奮的葉子一樣,
  也長成綠色。
  
  對于這個世界的美,和你生活的責任
  一生的時間并不夠用。
  
  在墳墓上撒下你的鮮花,然后離開。
  在你的生機勃勃中,保持善良和懶散。
  
  在你精神的閃耀中,保持謙遜。
  對可觸而動人的事物充滿感激。
  
  與甲蟲和風生活在一起。
  
  這是詩歌隱秘的面包。
  這是詩歌隱秘而富有營養的面包。
  
  
  Flare
  
  by Mary Oliver
  
  1.
  
  Welcome to the silly, comforting poem.
  
  It is not the sunrise,
  which is a red rinse,
  which is flaring all over the eastern sky;
  
  it is not the rain falling out of the purse of God;
  
  it is not the blue helmet of the sky afterward,
  
  or the trees, or the beetle burrowing into the earth;
  
  it is not the mockingbird who, in his own cadence,
  will go on sizzling and clapping
  from the branches of the catalpa that are thick with blossoms,
  that are billowing and shining,
  that are shaking in the wind.
  
  2.
  
  You still recall, sometimes, the old barn on your
  great-grandfather"s farm, a place you visited once,
  and went into, all alone, while the grownups sat and
  talked in the house.
  It was empty, or almost. Wisps of hay covered the floor,
  and some wasps sang at the windows, and maybe there was
  a strange fluttering bird high above, disturbed, hoo-ing
  a little and staring down from a messy ledge with wild,
  binocular eyes.
  Mostly, though, it smelled of milk, and the patience of
  animals; the give-offs of the body were still in the air,
  a vague ammonia, not unpleasant.
  Mostly, though, it was restful and secret, the roof high
  up and arched, the boards unpainted and plain.
  You could have stayed there forever, a small child in a corner,
  on the last raft of hay, dazzled by so much space that seemed
  empty, but wasn"t.
  Then--you still remember--you felt the rap of hunger--it was
  noon--and you turned from that twilight dream and hurried back
  to the house, where the table was set, where an uncle patted you
  on the shoulder for welcome, and there was your place at the table.
  
  3.
  
  Nothing lasts.
  There is a graveyard where everything I am talking about is,
  now.
  
  I stood there once, on the green grass, scattering flowers.
  
  4.
  
  Nothing is so delicate or so finely hinged as the wings
  of the green moth
  against the lantern
  against its heat
  against the beak of the crow
  in the early morning.
  
  Yet the moth has trim, and feistiness, and not a drop
  of self-pity.
  
  Not in this world.
  
  5.
  
  My mother
  was the blue wisteria,
  my mother
  was the mossy stream out behind the house,
  my mother, alas, alas,
  did not always love her life,
  heavier than iron it was
  as she carried it in her arms, from room to room,
  oh, unforgettable!
  
  I bury her
  in a box
  in the earth
  and turn away.
  My father
  was a demon of frustrated dreams,
  was a breaker of trust,
  was a poor, thin boy with bad luck.
  He followed God, there being no one else
  he could talk to;
  he swaggered before God, there being no one else
  who would listen.
  Listen,
  this was his life.
  I bury it in the earth.
  I sweep the closets.
  I leave the house.
  
  6.
  
  I mention them now,
  I will not mention them again.
  
  It is not lack of love
  nor lack of sorrow.
  But the iron thing they carried, I will not carry.
  
  I give them--one, two, three, four--the kiss of courtesy,
  of sweet thanks,
  of anger, of good luck in the deep earth.
  May they sleep well. May they soften.
  
  But I will not give them the kiss of complicity.
  I will not give them the responsibility for my life.
  
  7.
  
  Did you know that the ant has a tongue
  with which to gather in all that it can
  of sweetness?
  
  Did you know that?
  
  8.
  
  The poem is not the world.
  It isn"t even the first page of the world.
  
  But the poem wants to flower, like a flower.
  It knows that much.
  
  It wants to open itself,
  like the door of a little temple,
  so that you might step inside and be cooled and refreshed,
  and less yourself than part of everything.
  
  9.
  
  The voice of the child crying out of the mouth of the
  grown woman
  is a misery and a disappointment.
  The voice of the child howling out of the tall, bearded,
  muscular man
  is a misery, and a terror.
  
  10.
  
  Therefore, tell me:
  what will engage you?
  What will open the dark fields of your mind,
  like a lover
  at first touching?
  
  11.
  
  Anyway,
  there was no barn.
  No child in the barn.
  
  No uncle no table no kitchen.
  
  Only a long lovely field full of bobolinks.
  
  12.
  
  When loneliness comes stalking, go into the fields, consider
  the orderliness of the world. Notice
  something you have never noticed before,
  
  like the tambourine sound of the snow-cricket
  whose pale green body is no longer than your thumb.
  
  Stare hard at the hummingbird, in the summer rain,
  shaking the water-sparks from its wings.
  
  Let grief be your sister, she will whether or no.
  Rise up from the stump of sorrow, and be green also,
  like the diligent leaves.
  
  A lifetime isn"t long enough for the beauty of this world
  and the responsibilities of your life.
  
  Scatter your flowers over the graves, and walk away.
  Be good-natured and untidy in your exuberance.
  
  In the glare of your mind, be modest.
  And beholden to what is tactile, and thrilling.
  
  Live with the beetle, and the wind.
  
  This is the dark bread of the poem.
  This is the dark and nourishing bread of the poem.


  
  嘲鳥
  
  今天早晨
  綠色的田野上
  有兩只嘲鳥
  正在空中
  
  紡織
  它們歌聲的
  白絲帶。
  除了傾聽
  
  我沒有
  更好的事去做。
  我這樣說時
  很嚴肅。
  
  很久以前,
  希臘,
  有一對老夫婦
  為兩個
  
  陌生人
  打開門,
  發現
  根本不是人,
  
  而是神。
  這是我喜愛的故事——
  這對老人
  沒有什么能給予
  
  除了他們殷勤的
  意愿——
  但是僅此一點
  神就愛他們
  
  并祝福他們——
  當他們升離
  肉身,
  像無數水珠
  
  從一個噴泉中升起,
  光
  照進農舍的
  每一處角落,
  
  這對老人,
  顫抖著領受,
  彎下身軀——
  但是他們仍然什么也不求
  
  除了他們已經擁有的
  困難生活。
  神微笑著,拍動巨大的翅膀,
  消失了。
  
  這個早晨
  無論我假設
  這個故事發生在哪里——
  無論我所說的是什么
  
  我將要做的是——
  我正站在
  田野的邊緣——
  匆匆
  
  穿越自己的靈魂,
  打開它黑暗的門——
  我探出頭來;
  我正在傾聽。
  
  
  Mockingbirds
  
  by Mary Oliver
  
  This morning
  two mockingbirds
  in the green field
  were spinning and tossing
  
  the white ribbons
  of their songs
  into the air.
  I had nothing
  
  better to do
  than listen.
  I mean this
  seriously.
  
  In Greece,
  a long time ago,
  an old couple
  opened their door
  
  to two strangers
  who were,
  it soon appeared,
  not men at all,
  
  but gods.
  It is my favorite story--
  how the old couple
  had almost nothing to give
  
  but their willingness
  to be attentive--
  but for this alone
  the gods loved them
  
  and blessed them--
  when they rose
  out of their mortal bodies,
  like a million particles of water
  
  from a fountain,
  the light
  swept into all the corners
  of the cottage,
  
  and the old couple,
  shaken with understanding,
  bowed down--
  but still they asked for nothing
  
  but the difficult life
  which they had already.
  And the gods smiled, as they vanished,
  clapping their great wings.
  
  Wherever it was
  I was supposed to be
  this morning--
  whatever it was I said
  
  I would be doing--
  I was standing
  at the edge of the field--
  I was hurrying
  
  through my own soul,
  opening its dark doors--
  I was leaning out;
  I was listening.
  
  白夜
  
  整夜
  我漂浮
  在淺水池塘
  而月亮四處漫步
  明亮刺眼,
  白色的骨頭
  在牛奶似的莖干中。
  有一次
  我看見她伸出手
  撫摸麝鼠
  小巧光滑的頭
  它真可愛,哦,
  我不想再去爭論
  這些事情
  我想我不能
  一無所有地生活!很快
  麝鼠
  將和另一只麝鼠
  一起溜進它們野草的
  城堡,早晨
  從東邊起來
  衣衫蓬亂,大大咧咧的,
  站在
  那難以對付的
  美麗的
  光的颶風面前
  我想從
  所有水域的
  源頭流出,
  我想在黑暗
  柔滑的水流中
  迷失自己,
  張著嘴,
  聚攏
  睡眠的
  高大百合。
  
  
  White Night
  
  by Mary Oliver
  
  All night
  I float
  in the shallow ponds
  while the moon wanders
  burning,
  bone white,
  among the milky stems.
  Once
  I saw her hand reach
  to touch the muskrat’s
  small sleek head
  and it was lovely, oh,
  I don’t want to argue anymore
  about all the things
  I thought I could not
  live without! Soon
  the muskrat
  will glide with another
  into their castle
  of weeds, morning
  will rise from the east
  tangled and brazen,
  and before that
  difficult
  and beautiful
  hurricane of light
  I want to flow out
  across the mother
  of all waters,
  I want to lose myself
  on the black
  and silky currents,
  yawning,
  gathering
  the tall lilies
  of sleep.
  
  
  黑橡樹
  
  好吧,沒有一棵樹能寫一首交響樂,或者一本字典,
  
  或者哪怕一封信,給一位老朋友,充滿回憶
  與安慰。
  
  沒有一棵樹能發出一點聲音,如果
  沒有風的搖動,雖然藍松鴉
  整天在枝條上嘰嘰喳喳。
  
  但是,說實話,過了沒多久,我感到軟弱,渴望
  它們覆蓋著青苔的粗大軀干
  
  而你不能阻止我進入樹林,進入他們
  
  厚實的肩膀,進入他們亮閃閃的綠頭發。
  
  今天和其他日子相似:二十四小時,
  一點陽光,一點雨。
  
  聽著,野心說,緊張地將她身體的重心,從
  一只腳移到另一只腳——為什么你不繼續向前走?
  
  因為我在那里了,在長滿青苔的陰影中,在樹下。
  
  說實話,我不想放開懶散的
  手,我不想為錢出賣我的生活。
  
  我甚至不想離開雨。
  
  
  Black Oaks
  
  by Mary Oliver
  
  Okay, not one can write a symphony, or a dictionary,
  
  or even a letter to an old friend, full of remembrance
  and comfort.
  
  Not one can manage a single sound though the blue jays
  carp and whistle all day in the branches, without
  the push of the wind.
  
  But to tell the truth after a while I"m pale with longing
  for their thick bodies ruckled with lichen
  
  and you can"t keep me from the woods, from the tonnage
  
  of their shoulders, and their shining green hair.
  
  Today is a day like any other: twenty-four hours, a
  little sunshine, a little rain.
  
  Listen, says ambition, nervously shifting her weight from
  one boot to another -- why don"t you get going?
  
  For there I am, in the mossy shadows, under the trees.
  
  And to tell the truth I don"t want to let go of the wrists
  of idleness, I don"t want to sell my life for money,
  
  I don"t even want to come in out of the rain.
  
  
  佛的臨終訓導
  
  “將自己看成一束光”
  佛死之前,
  如是說。
  每天早晨,我都會想起這句話
  東邊的天空正褪去
  黑色的
  云層,發出第一個
  信號——一柄白色的扇子
  布滿粉紅,紫色,
  以及綠色的條紋。
  一位老人躺在
  兩棵菩提樹之間,
  他或許已說了許多,
  明白這是他最后的時間。
  光向上延伸,
  變得更亮,籠罩在田野上空。
  村民們圍繞在他周圍
  身體向前傾,專注地聽著。
  當太陽尚未升起,尚未高懸于
  藍色的天空時,
  我已被它黃色的波浪之海
  觸及全身。
  無疑,他想到了
  自己艱難一生所經歷的一切。
  于是,我感受到太陽
  它在山頭燃燒,
  仿佛千萬朵火焰之花——
  顯然,我無足輕重,
  但我覺得自己
  變成了某種難以言說的有用之物。
  在樹枝下,他慢慢地
  抬起頭。
  他注視著人們驚恐的臉。
  
  
  The Buddha"s Last Instruction
  
  by Mary Oliver
  
  "Make of yourself a light"
  said the Buddha,
  before he died.
  I think of this every morning
  as the east begins
  to tear off its many clouds
  of darkness, to send up the first
  signal-a white fan
  streaked with pink and violet,
  even green.
  An old man, he lay down
  between two sala trees,
  and he might have said anything,
  knowing it was his final hour.
  The light burns upward,
  it thickens and settles over the fields.
  Around him, the villagers gathered
  and stretched forward to listen.
  Even before the sun itself
  hangs, disattached, in the blue air,
  I am touched everywhere
  by its ocean of yellow waves.
  No doubt he thought of everything
  that had happened in his difficult life.
  And then I feel the sun itself
  as it blazes over the hills,
  like a million flowers on fire-
  clearly I"m not needed,
  yet I feel myself turning
  into something of inexplicable value.
  Slowly, beneath the branches,
  he raised his head.
  He looked into the faces of that frightened crowd.
  
  
  是!不!
  
  擁有看法多么必要!我認為赤蓮
  滿足于站在地面幾英尺之上。
  我認為寧靜并不是你在世上剛剛發現的事物,
  如一棵李子樹,舒展著白色的花瓣。
  
  河邊的紫羅蘭,正露出它們藍色的臉,像
  憂郁的小燈籠。
  
  綠色的青苔,大片大片,充滿強健的生機。
  
  沿著河,慢慢地走,不要著急,這多么重要,
  看看每一件事物并喊出
  
  是!不!
  
  天鵝,他全部的夸耀,他的青草和花瓣的長袍,只不過渴望
  能居住在無名的池塘。貓藤
  沒有錯。水鶇,跳到潮濕的
  巖石上,快樂得要瘋掉。想象,比
  一件利器更好。注意,這是我們無窮無盡
  而又合宜的工作。
  
  
  Yes! No!
  
  by Mary Oliver
  
  How necessary it is to have opinions! I think the spotted trout
  lilies are satisfied, standing a few inches above the earth. I
  think serenity is not something you just find in the world,
  like a plum tree, holding up its white petals.
  
  The violets, along the river, are opening their blue faces, like
  small dark lanterns.
  
  The green mosses, being so many, are as good as brawny.
  
  How important it is to walk along, not in haste but slowly,
  looking at everything and calling out
  
  Yes! No! The
  
  swan, for all his pomp, his robes of grass and petals, wants
  only to be allowed to live on the nameless pond. The catbrier
  is without fault. The water thrushes, down among the sloppy
  rocks, are going crazy with happiness. Imagination is better
  than a sharp instrument. To pay attention, this is our endless
  and proper work.

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