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弗羅斯特(RobertFrost)詩精選:白桦樹

2012-09-29 18:47 來源:中國蘑菇视频app藝術 作者:徐淳剛 译 閱讀

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Robert Frost(1874-1963),20世纪美国最杰出的诗人,作品以朴素、深邃著称,庞德、艾略特、博尔赫斯、布罗茨基等大师都对之有过相当的评价。他的一生,既不幸又充满光彩:有40岁之前的坎坷曲折,后半生的寂寞孤独,又有四获普利策诗歌奖、44种名誉学位和种种荣誉。他常常被称作美国诗坛的两面神,作品和人格遭到攻击,却又始终维持一个大诗人的和蔼形象,又是诗人、农夫和哲学家的三位一体。弗罗斯特一直通过具体的实物、情景写诗,斯蒂文斯说,你爱写实物,弗罗斯特反唇相讥,你爱写古董,这其实是诗人预先选择的精神图式和写作形式,一生几乎没有多大变化。作为以自然方式关注现实的大诗人,他对世界的态度既不像华兹华斯那样充满柔情,也不像斯蒂文斯那样粗壮、强硬,而是显得矛盾、折中,和他的精神导师爱默生一样带有超验主义。他向维吉尔学写田园牧歌,向哈代、叶芝等人学习平淡而富有暗示的语言,但用意更精深,作品常常通过时空反差的形式,也就是具体情境中的变化、对比,从而形成一个个坚固封闭却又极其开放的诗歌文本,简洁地表达出存在的真相,化腐朽为神奇。他喜欢戴着面具写作,崇尚文學的游戏原则,一开始就写得朴素含蓄,第一本诗集《男孩的意愿》(1913)就显示了过人的语言才华。虽然弗罗斯特一直戴着面具写作,但我更愿意将他称为 “一位伟大的徘徊者”。他徘徊在自然和人类、自我和事物、现实和理想之间,像被上帝驱逐的天使一样平静而又苦恼地审视着尘世生活。弗罗斯特幼年丧父,中年丧妻,老年丧子,他的坎坷人生常使他在作品中流露阴暗和悲观,但他更多是想用诗歌这种崇高的艺术形式排遣存在的焦虑和慌乱。他明智而不极端,曾在一首诗中将世界比作自己的情人,于是喋喋不休的吵闹就成为他摇曳的情思和毕生的哲学追求。他非常懂得独特是什么东西。他对现代诗歌的贡献,主要在于果断地拒绝了自由诗体(free verse)的潮流,以个人的兴趣探索出结合传统的抑扬格韵律和日常生活话语、结合古典人文情怀和现代怀疑精神的新诗体 (blank verse),看似保守,实则妙笔生花。在精神的高标和题材的深广度上,自波德莱尔以来的诗歌大师几乎无一人能和但丁相比,但弗罗斯特的探索应该说是走得最自然、最深远的,所以深受世界各国各层次读者的欢迎,在美国更是家喻户晓。弗罗斯特创作的朴素无华、寓意深刻的抒情短诗和戏剧性浓烈、艺术性高超的叙事长诗应该说经得起任何考验,无韵诗、变体十四行、双行体等各种形式的作品都有佳作,和华兹华斯一样堪称体裁大师。他自16岁写诗,一直到89岁去世,半个多世纪笔耕不辍,共出版10余本诗集,主要有《波士顿以北》(1914),《山间》(1916),《新罕布什尔》(1923),《西流的小溪》(1928),《见证树》(1942),《林间空地》(1962)等,在美国文學史上具有独特的地位,在世界文學史上也是一颗璀璨之星。然而,弗罗斯特在中国,如同余光中所说“损失惨重”,因为日常语言性的诗歌经过翻译,精华丧失殆尽。这里选译的几十首诗,表面上是弗罗斯特各个时期的创作精华,却也极有可能仍是以讹传讹。但是,通过它们,我们大致可以感受一位天才诗人的精神世界,一种对人类、对尘世生活的个性理解。它们对于中国当代诗人的写作,应该说依然具有非常重要的借鉴意义。

譯者小傳

徐淳剛(1975- ),蓝田猿人后裔。著有诗集、小说、哲学随笔。现居西安。

白桦樹

□ 补 墙

有一種東西,可能不喜歡牆,
它在牆根下的凍土中鼓起來,
大白天的把牆上的石頭搖得滾下來;
牆裂了大口子,兩人並肩都能走過。
打獵的來了又是另個樣子:
他們搬開一塊塊石頭,總不放回原處,
我只好跟在他們後頭不停地修補,
他們還要把兔子從藏身的地兒攆出來,
爲了討好汪汪的狗。那麽大的口子
怎麽有的,誰也沒看見,誰也沒聽見
可到了春天補牆時,就在那裏了。
我給住在山那邊的鄰居捎話說了;
有一天我們在牆下見了面,四處看了看,
在我們兩家中間重新把牆補壘起來。
我們走的時候,中間隔著一道牆,
石頭落在誰那邊,就由誰去收拾。
它們有的像面包,有的圓得像球。
或許得念個咒才能把它們放穩當:
“老實呆著!在我們轉身之前別掉下來!”
搬弄這些東西,我們的手指都磨粗了。
哦,這不過是另一種戶外遊戲,
一個人站一邊。此外沒有別的用處:
在牆那塊兒,我們根本不需要牆:
他那邊兒全是松樹,我這邊兒是蘋果。
我的蘋果樹永遠也不會翻牆過去
在他的松樹底下吃松果,我就這麽說。
他只是說,“好籬笆才有好鄰家。”
春天讓我心裏挺謀亂,我就想
能不能讓他順著我的思路想:
“爲什麽好籬笆才有好鄰家?是不是說
有牛的人家?可我們這裏哪有牛。
其實,在壘牆之前,我就應該知道,
圍進來的是什麽,圍出去的是什麽,
而且我會得罪誰,歪著誰。
有一種東西,可能不喜歡牆,
它總想讓牆塌。”我會對他說那是“妖精”。
但也不完全是妖精吧,我想還是
由他自己去判斷。我看見他在那邊
搬一塊石頭,兩只手緊緊抓住,
像一個用石器武裝自己的野蠻人。
我覺著,他是在黑暗中摸索,
這黑暗不只是來自樹木和樹影。
他不去推敲人老幾輩說過的東西
他一想起來就感覺對著呢,
于是又說,“好籬笆才有好鄰家”。

Mending Wall

Something there is that doesn"t love a wall,
That sends the frozen ground-swell under it,
And spills the upper bowlders in the sun;
And makes gaps even two can pass abreast.
The work of hunters is another thing:
I have come after them and made repair
Where they have left not one stone on a stone,
But they would have the rabbit out of hiding,
To please the yelping dogs. The gaps I mean,
No one has seen them made or heard them made,
But at spring mending-time we find them there.
I let my neighbor know beyond the hill;
And on a day we meet to walk the line
And set the wall between us once again.
We keep the wall between us as we go.
To each the bowlders that have fallen to each.
And some are loaves and some so nearly balls
We have to use spell to make them balance:
“Stay where you are until our backs are turned!”
We wear our fingers rough with handling them.
Oh, just another kind of outdoor game,
One on a side. It comes to little more:
There where it is we do not need the wall:
He is all pine and I am apple-orchard.
My apple trees will never get across
And eat the cones under his pines, I tell him.
He only say, “Good fences make good neighbors.”
Spring is the mischief in me, and I wonder
If I could put a motion in his head:
“Why do they make good neighbors? Isn"t it
Where there are cows? But here there are no cows.
Before I built a wall I"d ask to know
What I was walling in or walling out,
And to whom I was like to give offense.
Something there is that doesn"t love a wall,
That wants it down!” I could say “elves” to him,
But it"s not elves exactly, and I"d rather
He said it for himself. I see him there,
Bringing a stone grasped firmly by the top
In each hand, like an old-stone savage armed.
He moves in darkness, as it seems to me,
Not of woods only and the shade of trees.
He will not go behind his father"s saying.
And he likes having thought of it so well
He says again, “Good fences make good neighbors.”


□ 柴 垛

陰天,我走在冰凍的沼澤中
停下腳步,心想:打這兒往回走吧;
要不,再走遠點兒,這樣就看到了。
大雪把我困住,就一只腳
不時還能挪動。那些細高細高的樹  
將視野全劃成了直上直下的線條
以致沒什麽能標明我是在哪兒
說不准究竟我是在這裏
還是在別處:反正離家很遠就是了。
一只小鳥在我面前飛。當它
飛落時總小心地跟我隔著一棵樹
什麽也不說,不告訴我它是誰
而我卻傻傻地想著它在想什麽。
它以爲,我走在它後頭是爲了根兒毛吧——
它尾巴上白色的那根;好像一個
把什麽東西都說成是自己的人。
其實,它只要飛到外面就全明白了。
然後是一垛柴,于是我就
把它給忘了,就讓它那小小的恐懼
隨它走吧,走那條我要走的路
我都沒有對它說一聲晚安。
爲了獲得最後的立足處,它繞到後頭。
那是一堆枫木,  早已劈开剁好
很整齐地堆着, 四乘四乘八。
像這樣的柴垛,我沒看到第二個。
在它周围的雪地上 ,没有任何奔跑过的痕迹。
這垛柴,想必不是今年砍的
更不用說去年、前年。
柴已经变成灰色 ,皮也都剥落了
整个柴垛稍微有些下陷 。铁丝
一圈一圈牢牢紮著,像個打好的包裹。
柴垛的一頭,是還在生長的小樹
支撐著,另一頭是斜樁和豎樁
几乎快要倒了。 我只是想 :
一定是谁要干别的事情, 才把自己
忙活好些天的東西給忘了。
費那麽大勁兒砍下,沒丟進爐子裏燒火
却远远地留在这儿 ,让它慢慢地腐烂
無煙地燃燒,溫暖這冰凍的沼澤
或許這樣更好點兒。

The Wood-Pile

Out walking in the frozen swamp one grey day
I paused and said, “I will turn back from here.
No, I will go on farther--and we shall see.”
The hard snow held me, save where now and then
One foot went down. The view was all in lines
Straight up and down of tall slim trees
Too much alike to mark or name a place by
So as to say for certain I was here
Or somewhere else: I was just far from home.
A small bird flew before me. He was careful
To put a tree between us when he lighted,
And say no word to tell me who he was
Who was so foolish as to think what he thought.
He thought that I was after him for a feather--
The white one in his tail; like one who takes
Everything said as personal to himself.
One flight out sideways would have undeceived him.
And then there was a pile of wood for which
I forgot him and let his little fear
Carry him off the way I might have gone,
Without so much as wishing him good-night.
He went behind it to make his last stand.
It was a cord of maple, cut and split
And piled--and measured, four by four by eight.
And not another like it could I see.
No runner tracks in this year"s snow looped near it.
And it was older sure than this year"s cutting,
Or even last year"s or the year"s before.
The wood was grey and the bark warping off it
And the pile somewhat sunken. Clematis
Had wound strings round and round it like a bundle.
What held it though on one side was a tree
Still growing, and on one a stake and prop,
These latter about to fall. I thought that only
Someone who lived in turning to fresh tasks
Could so forget his handiwork on which
He spent himself, the labour of his axe,
And leave it there far from a useful fireplace
To warm the frozen swamp as best it could
With the slow smokeless burning of decay.


□ 割 草

樹林邊靜悄悄,只有一點聲音,
那是我的長鐮在對大地低語。
它在說些什麽?我不知道;
它可能說的是太陽的火熱,
也可能在說四下裏靜悄悄——
所以才把聲音壓得這麽低。
不夢想忙裏偷閑的造化,
或仙女手中的大把黃金:
真相之外的東西或許都無力
就說這窪地中割草的愛,
很可能對准的是還未戳起的花
又驚走了綠瑩瑩的蛇。
事實是最甜蜜的夢只有靠出力。
我的長鐮低語,離開一堆堆幹草。

Mowing

There was never a sound beside the wood but one,
And that was my long scythe whispering to the ground.
What was it it whispered? I knew not well myself;
Perhaps it was something about the heat of the sun,
Something, perhaps, about the lack of sound—
And that was why it whispered and did not speak.
It was no dream of the gift of idle hours,
Or easy gold at the hand of fay or elf:
Anything more than the truth would have seemed too weak
To the earnest love that laid the swale in rows,
Not without feeble-pointed spikes of flowers
(Pale orchises), and scared a bright green snake.
The fact is the sweetest dream that labor knows.
My long scythe whispered and left the hay to make.


□ 不深也不远

人們走上沙灘
轉身朝著一個方向。
他們背對著陸地
整日凝望海洋。

當一只船從遠處過來
船身便不斷升高;
潮濕的沙灘像明鏡
映出一只靜立的鳥。

也許陸地變化更多;
但無論真相在哪邊——
海水湧上岸來,
人們凝望著海洋。

他們望不太深。
他們望不太遠。
但有什麽能夠遮擋
他們凝望的目光?

Neither Out Far Nor In Deep

The people along the sand
All turn and look one way.
They turn their back on the land.
They look at the sea all day.

As long as it takes to pass
A ship keeps raising its hull;
The wetter ground like glass
Reflects a standing gull

The land may vary more;
But wherever the truth may be--
The water comes ashore,
And the people look at the sea.

They cannot look out far.
They cannot look in deep.
But when was that ever a bar
To any watch they keep?


□ 雪夜林边停歇

這是誰家的林子我清楚。
他就住在那邊的村裏頭;
他不會知道我停在這兒
望著他的樹林積滿白雪。

我的小馬准抱著個疑團:
幹嗎停在樹林和冰庫間?
附近既看不到一戶人家
又是一年中最黑的夜晚。

他搖了搖脖子上的鈴铛
好像在問出了什麽差錯。
除此之外,只聽見微風
吹拂著毛絨絨的雪花響。

樹林真好看,又黑又幽深,
但我說話要算數,
睡覺前還有多少路要趕,
睡覺前還要趕多少路。

Stopping by Woods on a snowy Evening

Whose woods these are I think I know.
His house is in the village, though;
He will not see me stopping here
To watch his woods fill up with snow.

My little horse must think it queer
To stop without a farmhouse near
Between the woods and frozen lake
The darkest evening of the year.

He gives his harness bells a shake
To ask if there is some mistake.
The only other sound"s the sweep
Of easy wind and downy flake.

The woods are lovely, dark and deep,
But I have promise to keep,
And miles to go before I sleep,
And miles to go before I sleep.

   

□ 未选择的路

金黃的樹林裏分出兩條路,
可惜我不能都去走。
我這個過客,久久的站在那兒,
向著一條極目望去
不知道它在叢林中伸向何處;

而我選擇了另一條,或許這樣才公平,
說不定還有更好的理由:
因爲它長滿青草,召喚我去踩踏;
盡管就這一點來說,兩條路
好像沒什麽不同。而且,

那天清晨,兩條路都鋪滿了
落葉,未經腳印汙染。
哦,就把第一條留待來日吧!
但一想到條條道路相連接,
恐怕我難以再回來。

也許多年以後在某個地方
我會輕聲歎息著說起這件事:
樹林中分出兩條路,而我——
而我選擇了人迹少的那一條,
這,就造成了天大的不同。

The Road Not Taken

Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,
And sorry I could not travel both
And be one traveler,long I stood
And looked down one as far as I could
To where it bent in the undergrowth;

Then took the other,as just as fair,
And having perhaps the better claim,
Because it was grassy and wanted wear
Though as for that the passing there
Had worn them really about the same,

And both that morning equally lay
In leaves no step had trodden black.
Oh,Ikept the first for another day!
Yet knowing how way leads on to way,
Idoubted if I should ever come back.

Ishall be telling this with a sgih
Somewhere ages and ages hence:
Two roads diverged in a wood,and I--
Itook the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference.


□ 出生地

和遠處的大山相比
這邊似乎沒有任何希望,
父親建造房屋,攏起泉水,
用一圈圍牆鎖住所有東西。
四周的地面不只長荒草,
它還養育了我們各自的生命。
我們兄弟姐妹一共十二個。
大山看起來喜歡熱鬧,
不久就認識了我們——
它的微笑總像包含著什麽。
直到今天大山還不知道我們的名字。
(何況姑娘們已出嫁隨了夫姓。)
它曾把我們推離它的懷抱。
現在它的懷裏長滿樹木。

The Birthplace

Here further up the mountain slope
Than there was every any hope,
My father built, enclosed a spring,
Strung chains of wall round everything,
Subdued the growth of earth to grass,
And brought our various lives to pass.
A dozen girls and boys we were.
The mountain seemed to like the stir,
And made of us a little while--
With always something in her smile.
Today she wouldn"t know our name.
(No girl"s, of course, has stayed the same.)
The mountain pushed us off her knees.
And now her lap is full of trees.


□ 白桦樹

彎曲,或左或右:每當我看見
白桦樹穿过又直又黑的树木,
我都會想,是個小男孩在蕩它們。
但是蕩,不會像冰那樣使它們
一直彎著。在冬天的早晨,
雨过天晴,你一定会看见白桦樹
給冰壓彎了。當風輕輕吹過來,
它們表面的冰塊就會碎裂,發出
奇妙的喀嚓聲,閃射出五顔六色。
很快,太陽會撕下它們的水晶外套,
又在凍硬的雪地上摔得粉碎——
這麽一大堆碎玻璃,盡夠你掃,
你還以爲是天頂的華蓋塌了下來。
重壓,會使樹枝觸到地上的枯草,
但是,它們似乎不會折斷,不過
一旦被壓彎了,就再也直不起來;
很長時間以後,你會在樹林裏
看見它們還那麽彎著,枝葉垂地,
好像女孩子手腳並用趴在地上
將洗過的頭發甩到身後,等太陽曬幹。
但我要說的是,即便這樣,
白桦樹弯曲是由于冰的缘故,
我也還會想:是個小男孩蕩彎了它們
在他放牛來回路過的時候——
這孩子,離城太遠,不能玩棒球,
那他能玩的,就只有自己的發明,
夏天、冬天,他都能自己玩個美。
他把他爸爸的白桦樹当马骑,
一棵又一棵,挨個兒來征服,
直到制服了所有的白桦樹,
沒一棵不彎下,沒留一棵還能讓他
征服。他在那兒學到的全部
心得,就是爬樹時不能太猴急,
這樣,樹就不會一下子彎到地面上。
他始終都能保持身體的平衡,
穩穩地爬向樹梢,爬得小心翼翼,
就像你平時往酒杯裏斟啤酒,
想來個滿杯,甚至稍稍冒出點兒。
然後,他嗖地一下蹬腳跳開,
踢著雙腿落下,蹲到地上來。
我過去就是這樣一個蕩樹的孩子
現在,做夢都想回到那種日子。
那總是在我無力思考的時候,
而人生太像一座讓人迷路的森林,
你的臉撞上了蜘蛛網,又痛又癢,
忽然一只眼又流淚,因爲
一根小樹枝在它睜著時抽了它一下。
我真想離開這人世一時半會兒,
然後再回來,重新過日子。
但願命運這東西別誤會我的意思,
只成全我心願的一半,把我卷走
永遠回不來。這人間最適合愛,
因爲我不知道,還有什麽更好的去處。
就让我爬上一棵白桦樹离去:
攀著黑黑的樹枝,沿雪白的樹幹直上,
直到那樹再也支撐不住,
彎下來,把我重新送回到地面。
去一下又回來,這樣挺好的。
人能做的事,比荡白桦樹好不到哪去。

Birches

When I see birches bend to left and right
Across the lines of straighter darker trees,
I like to think some boy"s been swinging them.
But swinging doesn"t bend them down to stay.
Ice-storms do that. Often you must have seen them
Loaded with ice a sunny winter morning
After a rain. They click upon themselves
As the breeze rises, and turn many-coloured
As the stir cracks and crazes their enamel.
Soon the sun"s warmth makes them shed crystal shells
Shattering and avalanching on the snow-crust
Such heaps of broken glass to sweep away
You"d think the inner dome of heaven had fallen.
They are dragged to the withered bracken by the load,
And they seem not to break; though once they are bowed
So low for long, they never right themselves:
You may see their trunks arching in the woods
Years afterwards, trailing their leaves on the ground,
Like girls on hands and knees that throw their hair
Before them over their heads to dry in the sun.
But I was going to say when Truth broke in
With all her matter-of-fact about the ice-storm,
I should prefer to have some boy bend them
As he went out and in to fetch the cows--
Some boy too far from town to learn baseball,
Whose only play was what he found himself,
Summer or winter, and could play alone.
One by one he subdued his father"s trees
By riding them down over and over again
Until he took the stiffness out of them,
And not one but hung limp, not one was left
For him to conquer. He learned all there was
To learn about not launching out too soon
And so not carrying the tree away
Clear to the ground. He always kept his poise
To the top branches, climbing carefully
With the same pains you use to fill a cup
Up to the brim, and even above the brim.
Then he flung outward, feet first, with a swish,
Kicking his way down through the air to the ground.
So was I once myself a swinger of birches.
And so I dream of going back to be.
It"s when I"m weary of considerations,
And life is too much like a pathless wood
Where your face burns and tickles with the cobwebs
Broken across it, and one eye is weeping
From a twig"s having lashed across it open.
I"d like to get away from earth awhile
And then come back to it and begin over.
May no fate wilfully misunderstand me
And half grant what I wish and snatch me away
Not to return. Earth"s the right place for love:
I don"t know where it"s likely to go better.
I"d like to go by climbing a birch tree~
And climb black branches up a snow-white trunk
Toward heaven, till the tree could bear no more,
But dipped its top and set me down again.
That would be good both going and coming back.
One could do worse than be a swinger of birches.


□ 火与冰

有人說世界將毀于火,
有人說毀于冰。
依據我個人的體驗
我贊同火和傾向火的人。
但若注定要毀兩次,
那麽我有更深的體會
要說破壞
冰的威力同樣大
說毀于冰的說了算。

Fire and Ice

Some say the world will end in fire,
Some say in ice.
From what I"ve tasted of desire
I hold with those who favour fire.
But if it had to perish twice,
I think I know enough of hate
To say that for destruction ice
Is also great
And would suffice.


□ 树在我的窗前

樹在我的窗前,
天黑我掩窗扇,
卻未拉上窗簾,
于我和樹之間。

我見樹冠如夢,
樹葉婆娑起舞,
並非高談闊論,
顯露深奧哲理。

樹在暗中搖曳,
若它見我入夢,
定當見我難眠,
獨自彷徨踱步。

那日命運作弄,
將我和樹相連,
樹知外面風雨,
我知個中變幻。

Tree At My Window

Tree at my window, window tree,
My sash is lowered when night comes on;
But let there never be curtain drawn
Between you and me.

Vague dream-head lifted out of the ground,
And thing next most diffuse to cloud,
Not all your light tongues talking aloud
Could be profound.

But tree, I have seen you taken and tossed,
And if you have seen me when I slept,
You have seen me when I was taken and swept
And all but lost.

That day she put our heads together,
Fate had her imagination about her,
Your head so much concerned with outer,
Mine with inner, weather.

  

□ 摘完苹果

梯子搭在樹上,豎起兩個尖
指向空蕩的天,
下面,地上一只木桶
還未裝滿,或許
還有兩三個蘋果
我摘不到手。不過這會兒,
我算是摘完蘋果了。
天色已晚,冬天像在催眠
蘋果的香味:我已經打瞌睡了。
我擦擦眼睛,卻擦不掉奇景:
這就像今天早晨,
我從水槽裏揭起一層薄冰
把它舉到眼前,觀看一個
白霜壓草的世界。
冰化了,我由它掉下、粉碎
可是,在它掉下之前,
我早已昏昏然,快要入睡。
我還說得出,那是
怎樣的一個夢:
膨脹得好大的蘋果,忽隱忽現,
一會在枝頭,一會在花間,
紅褐色的斑點,清清楚楚。
好酸痛呀我的腳板
梯子的橫檔一直頂著它們。
樹枝彎下時,梯子好像也在搖晃。
一聲聲轟隆,那是
一堆堆蘋果正往地窖裏送。
我不知道自己摘過多少次蘋果了
早已厭倦了所謂的收成。
成千上萬的蘋果,伸手就能摘到,
需要輕輕拿,輕輕放
就是不能掉地上,因爲一掉地,
即使沒碰傷,沒紮破,
也只好送給人家,去做酒,
算是白忙活了。
可見,打擾我瞌睡的是什麽,
不管這算不算瞌睡。
如果土撥鼠還未走遠,
聽我講睡夢怎樣來到我身邊,
它就會告訴我,這像不像
它的睡眠,
或者,這不過是人的睡眠。

After Apple-Picking

My long two-pointed ladder"s sticking through a tree
Toward heaven still,
And there"s a barrel that I didn"t fill
Beside it, and there may be two or three
Apples I didn"t pick upon some bough.
But I am done with apple-picking now.
Essence of winter sleep is on the night,
The scent of apples: I am drowsing off.
I cannot rub the strangeness from my sight
I got from looking through a pane of glass
I skimmed this morning from the drinking trough
And held against the world of hoary grass.
It melted, and I let it fall and break.
But I was well
Upon my way to sleep before it fell,
And I could tell
What form my dreaming was about to take.
Magnified apples appear and disappear,
Stem end and blossom end,
And every fleck of russet showing dear.
My instep arch not only keeps the ache,
It keeps the pressure of a ladder-round.
I feel the ladder sway as the boughs bend.
And I keep hearing from the cellar bin
The rumbling sound
Of load on load of apples coming in.
For I have had too much
Of apple-picking: I am overtired
Of the great harvest I myself desired.
There were ten thousand thousand fruit to touch,
Cherish in hand, lift down, and not let fall.
For all
That struck the earth,
No matter if not bruised or spiked with stubble,
Went surely to the cider-apple heap
As of no worth.
One can see what will trouble
This sleep of mine, whatever sleep it is.
Were he not gone,
The woodchuck could say whether it"s like his
Long sleep, as I describe its coming on,
Or just some human sleep.


□ 一只小鸟

我希望一只鳥能夠走開,
不要整天在我門前歌唱;

我一旦似乎不能再忍受,
就會從門口向它拍拍手。

過錯有幾分是在我這邊。
鳥自己的曲調無可指責。

當然這裏面一定有問題。
或許希望總使歌聲停止。

A Minor Bird

I have wished a bird would fly away,
And not sing by my house all day;

Have clapped my hands at him from the door
When it seemed as if I could bear no more.

The fault must partly have been in me.
The bird was not to blame for his key.

And of course there must be something wrong
In wanting to silence any song.


□ 城中小溪

農場還在那裏,雖不願和
城市街道相同,卻不得不戴上
一個門牌號碼。那像肘狀
繞過房子的小溪怎樣了呢?
我如同一個了解小溪的人問著,
它的力量和沖動,我曾將手指
浸入水中,讓它從指縫中流過,
將花朵擲進去測試它的湧流。
還在生長的藍草,或許已被水泥
固定在城中的人行道上;
蘋果樹被送進爐底的火焰中。
濕木材會不會同樣服務于溪水?
此外該怎樣處置那不再需要的
永久性力量?將大量的垃圾廢品傾倒
在源頭,使其止住?溪流翻滾
跌入石頭下面幽深的下水道
在惡臭與黑暗中依然存在、湧流——
它做這些,也許並不爲別的
什麽,只是爲了忘記恐懼。
除了遠古地圖沒誰會知道
一條如此流動的小溪。但我懷疑
它是否想永遠呆在下面,而不顯現
曾經奔流的身影,使這新建的
城市,既不能工作也無法入眠。

A Brook in the City

The firm house lingers, though averse to square
With the new city street it has to wear A number in.
But what about the brook
That held the house as in an elbow-crook?
I ask as one who knew the brook, its strength
And impulse, having dipped a finger length
And made it leap my knuckle, having tossed
A flower to try its currents where they crossed.
The meadow grass could be cemented down
From growing under pavements of a town;
The apple trees be sent to hearth-stone flame.
Is water wood to serve a brook the same?
How else dispose of an immortal force
No longer needed? Staunch it at its source
With cinder loads dumped down? The brook was
thrown Deep in a sewer dungeon under stone
In fetid darkness still to live and run -
And all for nothing it hd ever done
Except forget to go in fear perhaps.
No one would know except for ancient maps
That such a brook ran water. But I wonder
If from its being kept forever under
The thoughts may not have risen that so keep
This new-built city from both work and sleep.


□ 闲谈时间

當一位朋友在路上喊我
而且減慢了馬兒意味深長的步伐,
在那無人注意的小山上
我並沒有停手四處張望
只是埋頭應了聲:“幹什麽?”
不,這裏沒有工夫閑談。
我將鋤頭插入松土,
刃底立起足有五英尺,
然後緩慢地走開了,去石牆那邊
爲了一個人來這兒坐坐。

A Time to Talk

When a friend calls to me from the road
And slows his horse to a meaning walk,
I don"t stand still and look around
On all the hills I haven"t hoed,
And shout from where I am, "What is it?
No, not as there is a time talk.
I thrust my hoe in the mellow ground,
Blade-end up and five feet tall,
And plod:I go up to the stone wall
For a friendly visit.

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