|
亚当之歌 德里克·沃尔科特 被乱石砸死的淫妇 在我们的时代 被耳语，和给她的肌肤 蒙上泥污的气息杀死。 第一个是夏娃 帮蛇与上帝角斗 为了亚当— 这让 人人都负罪，或夏娃无辜。 什么都没变， 因为男人们还唱着亚当唱过的歌 反抗他输给毒蛇的那个世界， 那唱给夏娃的歌 反抗他自身的诅咒； 他在世界的黄昏唱它。 当和平的国度中 黑豹眼里的光显亮 当他自己的死亡从树上现身 他唱着它，害怕 上帝的嫉妒以他的死 为代价。 歌飘升到上帝那里，他揉着眼睛： “心，鸟儿飞起时你在我心里， 心，太阳睡着时你在我心里， 心，露珠一般你静静躺在我里面， 你在我内里哭泣，像雨哀泣。” Adam’s Song Derek Walcott The adulteress stoned to death is killed in our own time by whispers, by the breath that films her flesh with slime. The first was Eve, who horned God for the serpent, for Adam’s sake—which makes everyone guilty or Eve innocent. Nothing has changed, for men still sing the song that Adam sang against the world he lost to vipers, the song to Eve against his own damnation; he sang it in the evening of the world with the lights coming on in the eyes of panthers in the peaceable kingdom and his death coming out of the trees, he sings it, frightened of the jealousy of God at the price of his own death. The song ascends to God, who wipes His eyes: “Heart, you are in my heart as bird rises, heart, you are in my heart while the sun sleeps, heart, you lie still in me as the dew is, you weep within me, as the rain weeps.” 云 从侧面 在亚当脉动的眼里 耸立的山峦会勃动并隐退， 那棵无花果树和一片天空下的叹息 在蛇刺穿的嘶嘶声里委泄， 重复着你要死去。 女人静静躺着如群山沉迤。 有另一样安静， 它让一切都变得密浓； 云朵指出人世的终点， 断枝无声的颤栗 树液滴落 从那撕裂的树上。 当她，他的死亡， 转过去侧身熟睡， 他吸进的气息是他第一次真正的呼吸。 叶子上离去的， 磷光闪闪的空气， 是上帝和蛇同时离他而去。 他们谁都不能诅咒或祝福。 花粉飘荡到女人的发上， 他的眼更明亮了， 一片云缓缓的影缓缓地遮住他们， 于是，当它移动，他名它为温柔。 The Cloud And, laterally, to Adam’s pulsing eye, the erect ridges would throb and recede, a sigh under the fig tree and a sky deflating to the serpent’s punctured hiss, repeating you will die. The woman lay still as the settling mountains. There was another silence, all was thick with it; the clouds given a mortal destination, the silent shudder from the broken branch where the sap dripped from the torn tree. When she, his death, turned on her side and slept, the breath he drew was his first real breath. What left the leaves, the phosphorescent air, was both God and the serpent leaving him. Neither could curse or bless. Pollen was drifting to the woman’s hair, his eye felt brighter, a cloud’s slow shadow slowly covered them, and, as it moved, he named it Tenderness. 第一首： horned God 真是很麻烦呀。 最后一段，有种不可置信的力量。怎么可以连启蒙以来的挣扎都没有？怎么会是一个现代诗人写的？ 最好的诗，不是万花筒，不是珠宝盒。 第二首： 沃尔科特用eye，单数，很特别，或许有更抽象的意指？
|
|
|
