Wallace Stevens 诗三首

[美]史蒂文斯 Wallace Stevens

    春天的鸽子
           
    鸽房，鸽房，它可有春天的银屏，

    鸽声又深又细，宣告幼小的诞生。
          
    那些小家伙和黑暗在一起，

    黑暗是鸽子的家，也让鸽子把家建成。

          
    在那里，鸽子发出细碎的声音，

    就像思绪在心头啜泣，或者像

    一个人为寻找身份，要不停地确证。

    在家和建起家的地方，鸽子啼鸣，

    歌唱外面辽阔的树丛，也诉说

    那无边的疑虑的巨痛。

    以及它身上银色的条纹，那意味着

    浩大，也意味着轻盈，就如同

    划过灰色天宇的裂缝。

    在日出之前，这些微小的气泡，

    在我们耳边，这些细碎的啼鸣。

    那鸽声太远了，难以开启晨光，

    这鸽声太近了，让人难以入梦。

   
    The Dove in Spring

    
    Brooder, brooder, deep beneath its walls----

    A small howling of the dove

    Makes something of the little there,

    The little and the dark, and that

    In which it is and that in which

    It is established. There the dove

    Makes this small howling, like a thought

    That howls in the mind or like a man

    Who keeps seeking out his identity

    In that which is and is established....It howls

    Of the great sizes of an outer bush

    And the great misery of the doubt of it,

    Of stripes of silver that are strips

    Like slits across a space, a place

    And state of being large and light.

    There is this bubbling before the sun,

    This bowling to one's ear, too far

    For daylight and too near for sleep.
     
 
    英雄的语气

    我听见两个工人在说：“这场混乱

    将很快平息”。

    混乱不会平息，

    红房子和蓝房子融汇，

    但不会平息，永远不会，

    那病弱的人修理，

   
    他的夜晚多么贫寒，

    但他出席，

    就像富有而正确的人士。

    伟大的人都不可融汇......

    我是所有人中最贫寒的，

    我知道这不可修理，

    在云层之外，是盛大的空气，

    至少在那里，我会获得善意。

         
    Idiom of the Hero

    I heard two workers say, “This chaos

    Will soon be ended”.

    This chaos will not be ended,

    The red and the blue house blended,

    Not ended, never and never ended,

    The weak man mended,

    The man that is poor at night

    Attended,

    Like the man that is rich and right.

    The great men will not be blended...

    I am the poorest of all,

    I know that I cannot be mended,

    Out of the clouds, pomp of the air,

    By which at least I am befriended. 
    
 
    一个睡在他自己生命中的孩子

     
    你所认识的那些老人,他们中

    有一个无名者，他为所有别的老人

    忧虑着，显得思绪重重。

    除了在这绝无仅有的浩瀚心中，

    他们本不算什么。是他从外部

    看他们，又向内把他们弄懂。

    不管他们是什么，那唯一的皇帝，

    虽远在天边，却又近在窗棂，

    足以把你今夜的静谧，惊醒。

    A Child Asleep in Its Own Life

   
    Among the old men that you know,

    There is one, unnamed, that broods

    On all the rest, in heavy thought.

    They are nothing,except in the universe

    Of that single mind. He regards them

    Outwardly and knows them inwardly,

    The sole emperor of what they are,

    Distant, yet close enough to wake

    The chords above your bed tonight.