Peter Thabit Jones [UK]
The Disused Church (and other three poems)
Gypsy rhubarb congregates
Outside the doors; wild flowers
Tempt a misled butterfly.
I imagine the inside:
The aisle invaded by weeds,
Bramble strangling the altar,
The strong glory of greenness
Mobbing the stern rows of seats,
The urgent growths of some trees.
Yet somewhere down the decades,
Fathers stood in stiff dark suits,
Mothers talked, and children smiled
In Sunday morning sunlight:
Before they entered the prayer
Of polished, perfect silence;
Before the songs and bells washed
Their thoughts, like gentle streams smooth
The unfolding of their stones.
Now only the shell survives
The four armies of weather,
The free spirit of nature.
Across the road, a hoarding
Boasts a trip to Paradise -
A cheap break in Majorca.
A building left to itself;
Whilst the pub, two doors down, thrives:
Its décor is mock-something
And its music sounds like hell.
Wind: Big Sur, California
Despite the draining heat
Of the mid-June sun,
The brutal wind,
Stung by the ocean’s rage,
Plays a hooligan’s game
With the trees and bushes.
It shakes my shadow,
As I walk the dirt path,
It whips up a low
And long mist of dust,
Gritting my vision.
It flaps my notebook,
Flipping and shuffling the pages,
As I jot down my litter
Of thoughts. It billows my shirt
And clouts my shoved hat.
I hurry to safety.
It wraps and unwraps itself
Around the wood cabin
Where I summer as a writer,
Hunching the wild dance
Of flowers outside,
Leaving its noisy creaking
At the ocean’s edge,
As the mad weather of breath
Blows into the heart
Of the riled water’s roar.
Cante Jondo
Listen to the loud wound
Of Cante Jondo,
The spirit of duende
Is being summoned—
It is aching in the strings
Of the saddest guitar.
The bird of blackness
Has poetry in its throat,
The history of the outcast
In the ascension of its song.
The wailing theatre unwinds
In the drama of the voice,
A fountain of tears
From the desert of the heart.
The guitar is fragmenting
All of Spain’s shadows,
Dropping its blood jewels
On the hidden pains of the past.
Flamenco is flowing like the wine
From green bottles,
The sounds are dancing
In the summer of the mind,
Like passion and sorrow
In a young woman’s brown eyes.
Beneath the sharp sickle of the moon,
A stream of laments wanders with Death
Through the silent squares
And the dark lanes of memories,
To settle on the dead
In a graveyard for gypsies.
Cante Jondo - (Deep song), a traditional form of Andalusian song/flamenco.
Widow
(for Jill)
Something has left her and it’s bigger than her grief,
More hurting than his wardrobe of stale clothes.
The bathroom tap, she feels, requires fixing,
Its dripping seems like weeping in her mind.
She drives the car he cared for like a mistress,
To classes where she learns to train her thoughts
In poems that, it seems, don’t need to rhyme;
She always wears, for him, some thing that’s black.
The children come with problems and for loans
And question why she’s always out so much.
Their comments always scorch her flights of freedom,
She microwaves a meal that’s meant for one.
It’s awkward with her friends, they’re still in couples,
Their small talk bandages what’s left unsaid.
Some days are heavy, as if she’s got the flu,
The silence snares her mind: what can she do?
She turns the T.V. on and turns it off,
Picks up the mobile phone but does not talk.
Her husband stares from photos placed on walls
That he once cursed with one more lick of paint.
He seems too much alive with careful smiles,
Holding her hand as if he is in love.
She opens curtains on a sudden sun
And stares down on a lawn long overgrown.
彼得·塔比特·琼斯[英国]
废弃的教堂（外三首）
吉普赛大黄聚集
在门外；各色野花
诱惑迷失的蝴蝶。
我想象教堂里的情形：
教堂廊道上杂草丛生，
荆棘缠绕在祭坛上。
绿色强有力的光辉
集体侵凌了庄严的座位，
还有一些树的盛长。
然而，数十年来在某个地方，
父辈们穿着僵硬的深色西装站立，
母辈们交谈着，孩子们微笑着。
他们被周日的朝霞萦绕：
之后开始他们那优美的
理想的、静静的祈祷；
在歌声和钟声像温柔
的溪流冲洗人们思想之前
先露出自己的石头。
如今只有外壳存活下来，
经受了四季的轮流侵袭，
熬过了自然的自由精神。
在马路对面，一个广告牌子
夸耀着它通往天堂的旅行——
一次闯入马略卡岛的廉价之旅。
一栋建筑被遗弃而孤立；
隔壁第二家的酒吧却生意兴隆：
它的装饰是模仿某东西，
它的音乐听起来像地狱。
加州大苏尔的风
尽管六月中旬的
阳光带来了炎热，
被海洋愤怒
刺痛的狂风，
与树木和灌木
玩着一个流氓的游戏。
当我走在土路上，
它摇晃着我的影子，
掀起低矮
而长的尘雾，
使我的视线变得模糊。
它翻动我的笔记本，
当我匆匆记下我的
想法时，它翻动并弄乱
我的页面。它鼓起我的衬衫，
击打我推着的帽子。
我赶紧想法避难。
它围绕我夏天作为作家
居住的小木屋，
包裹和解开自己，
弯着腰狂野地
让外面的花儿狂舞，
把嘈杂的嘎吱声
留在海边，
疯狂的呼吸
吹入激怒的
水的咆哮心里。
坎特·洪多
听坎特·洪多的
大声伤口。
魔力的精神
正在被召唤----
它在最悲伤的
吉他弦上疼痛。
浑身黑色的鸟
从喉咙里唱出诗歌。
流浪者在歌的升降中
展露着往昔。
哀嚎的剧院
展现在声音的戏剧里。
从心的沙漠中涌出
泪水的喷泉。
吉他正在破碎
西班牙所有的阴影，
将它的血珠滴在
过去隐藏的痛苦上。
弗拉门戈像从绿色瓶子中
流出的酒一样流淌。
声音跳舞
在心灵之夏，
像少妇棕色眼中的
热情和悲伤。
在月亮的锋利镰刀下，
一串串哀歌与死亡
一起在徘徊寂静的广场
和记忆里的黑暗小巷，
最终落在吉普赛人
墓地里亡者的身上。
坎特·洪多——（深情歌唱），一种传统的安达卢西亚歌曲（弗拉门戈）。
寡妇
（为吉尔而作）
有些东西已离开她，比她的悲伤更大，
比他那一柜子陈旧的衣服更令人痛苦。
她觉得浴室的水龙头需要修理，
在她心中漏水声听起来像哭泣。
她驾驶着被他待若情妇一样的汽车，
去她学习训练她思维的课程的场所。
在那些似乎不需押韵的诗中。
她总是为他穿着黑色的东西。
孩子们带着问题并来借书，
质疑她为何总是经常外出。
他们的评论总是烧灼她的自由飞翔，
她用微波炉加热供一人享用的餐点。
和她仍在婚姻中的朋友们在一起很尴尬，
他们的闲聊总是隐藏着不便说出口的话。
有些日子很沉重，好像她得了流感。
沉默限制了她的思想：她能做什么？
她打开电视又关掉，
拿起手机却不说话。
她丈夫凝视挂在墙上的照片里的她，
他曾经用更多的油漆诅咒过这照片。
他似乎太过兴奋，谨慎地微笑，
握着她的手，好像他还在爱着。
她突然拉开窗帘让阳光照进房中，
凝视着下面一个长得过旺的草坪。
（李正栓教授 译；Tr. Prof. Li Zhengshuan）
About the author
Peter Thabit Jones, a famous Welsh poet and dramatist, was born in Swansea on 1951 and has authored sixteen books, including the Dylan Thomas Walking Tour of Greenwich Village, New York (co-authored with Aeronwy Thomas, Dylan’s daughter). He has participated in festivals and conferences in America and Europe and has been an annual writer-in-residence in Big Sur, California, since 2010. A recipient of many awards, including the Eric Gregory Award for Poetry (The Society of Authors, London) and the Homer: European Medal of Poetry and Art, two of his dramas for the stage have premiered in America and in Wales. His opera libretti for Luxembourg composer Albena Petrovic Vratchanska have premiered at the Philarmonie Luxembourg, the National Opera House Stara Zagora, Bulgaria, and Theatre National Du Luxembourg. World of Dreams, a new opera, premiered at the Sofia Opera and Ballet Theatre, Bulgaria, in June 2023.
作者简介
彼得·塔比特·琼斯，著名威尔士诗人和剧作家，1951年出生于斯旺西，已经创作了十六本书，包括与迪伦·托马斯的女儿艾罗尼维·托马斯合著的《迪伦·托马斯格林尼治村漫步之旅，纽约》。他参加了在美国和欧洲举办的节庆和研讨会，并自2010年以来一直是加利福尼亚州大苏尔的年度驻场作家。他获得了许多奖项，包括伦敦作家协会颁发的埃里克·格雷戈里诗歌奖和欧洲诗歌和艺术奖章荷马奖。他的两部舞台剧在美国和威尔士首演。他为卢森堡作曲家阿尔贝娜·佩特罗维奇·弗拉查安斯卡创作的歌剧剧本在卢森堡爱乐音乐厅、保加利亚国家歌剧院斯塔拉·扎戈拉和卢森堡国家剧院首演。新歌剧《梦想世界》于2023年6月在保加利亚索非亚歌剧院和芭蕾舞剧院首演。
