印度当代诗人阿温德·克里希纳·梅赫罗特拉的诗(3)
得一忘二 译
阿温德·克里希纳·梅赫罗特拉(Arvind Krishna Mehrotra, 1947-)出生于印度拉合尔,出版过六本英文诗集和两本译诗。他编辑的《牛津印度十二位现代印度诗人选集》(1992 年)影响深远,还出版过多部著作,包括《印度英语文学史》(哥伦比亚大学出版社,2003 年)。
他在英国诗歌界,还是很有名的。他在2009年被提名为牛津大学诗歌教授,这一职位是英国诗人可能期待的最高待遇了,例如C. D.刘易斯,奥登,希尼,穆尔顿都曾担任过此职。
《复述契诃夫》
这里不是雅尔塔,不是紫罗兰色的大海,
也不是中秋时节,而是一个地区城镇,
布满蜘蛛网和访客,一夜行程
可到达最近的海岸。三月天
热得不合季节,指在一刻钟上,
呈现为一只独臂,在一座蜂巢塔上响起。
一阵风,像西洛可风,从西边吹来,
拖着一个男孩的风筝,风筝扯破了一侧,
落到一棵油柑子瘦弱的树冠上,
树下,水牛哞哞叫。再往前,
路上,一棵无叶的苦楝树荫下,
没注意到眼睁得大大的路人,
一个男人和一个年轻女人,他女儿的年龄,
像小偷一样见面,一只哈巴狗叫起来。
除了在小说中,他们的生活还能在哪里?
Chekov Retold
No Yalta this, no lilac-hued sea,
Nor the time mid-autumn, but a district town
Of cobwebs and visitants, a night’s journey
From the nearest coast. The March day
Unseasonably hot and the quarter hour,
By a one-armed clock, struck in a bee-hived tower.
From the west a sirocco-like wind blowing,
Dragging a boy’s kite, torn on one side,
To the meagre canopy of a myrobalan tree,
Buffalo cows mooing under it. Further
Up the road, in a margosa’s leafless shade,
Unaware of the wide-eyed passers-by,
A man and a younger woman, his daughter’s age,
Meet like thieves and a lap dog barks.
Where but in fiction are the lives they lead?
《戴胜鸟》
谁还记得我的牙医父亲,
现在连他的病人都已死了。
一只戴胜鸟啄着湿漉漉的地面,
在闩着的大门旁,门上挂着
生锈的招牌,上面写着他的名字
和诊所营业时间,字母难以辨认,
越来越难辨认。就像半空中
火焰发出火花,戴胜鸟
消失在树林里,将一块泥土
留在黑暗中,而鸟儿在此
寻找幼虫。天一直在下雨。
我们属于我们居住的房子。
Hoopoe
Who remembers my dentist father
Now that even his patients are dead.
A hoopoe pecks at the sodden ground
Beside the latched gate, on which is hung
A rusted signboard with his name and
Clinic hours, the letters illegible
And getting more so. Like a spark
Of fire in the air, the hoopoe’s
Vanished into the trees, leaving the patch
Of earth a little dark where it came
Looking for grubs. It’s been raining.
We belong to the houses we live in.
《我母亲的新胸罩》
那棵老石榴树,受暴雨袭击,
靠棍子撑着,从根部长出一条
新枝,笔直向上,却并没有
为这棵受灾的树带来希望。正如
我九十岁的母亲一样。
她骨折了,被搀扶着下床,
走到带镜子的橱柜前,挺直腰板,
认认真真打量着自己。她曾偷偷地
让人给她送来几副棉质胸罩,
结果发现它们大了几号,后来
在她有尿味的衣服中发现它们,
没穿过,硬挺,还是原来的叠法。
My Mother’s New Bras
The old pomegranate, storm-hit, propped up
with sticks, sends out a green shoot that goes
straight and up from the root but brings
no hope for the stricken tree. It’s the same
for my ninety-year-old mother.
Broken-boned, assisted out of bed, she
goes to the mirrored cupboard, straightens her
back, and takes a long look at herself. Secretly,
she once sent for some cotton bras that
turned out to be a few sizes too big and were
later found among her urinous clothes,
unworn, stiff, in their original folds.
《河中岛所见》
长达数十年的街道上,
国家内流亡者的房子。
灯火明亮的窗户,人,
车道上的一辆纪念版汽车。
但是,走五步,你就会
来到一个没有墙壁的房间,
遇见一棵没有树皮的树,
它的叶子更热切于
暴露在阳光中,让雨水
打到自己,水位上升
很快,并且一直很高。
这是一个新形成的
河中岛,还没有名字,
我们在这儿赤手抓鱼,
或者坐在地上,像吉普赛人,
虽然没什么好运可以预期,
却还是互相看手相。