美国当代诗人莎朗·欧兹诗二首《套房》《荒野》
得一忘二 译
《套房》
带着两个几乎成人的孩子住进一个
老式酒店的套房，看着他们睡熟，这可谓
伊甸园。睡第二张床的，
枕两个枕头——我还从不知道——
她这样睡。睡沙发床的，蜷缩
在烛芯绒毯子下，只要翻身就会
碰到毛绒玩具，那些是他姐姐刚给他的
二十岁生日礼物。我在昏暗不明中
走动，准备上床，暗暗尾随
我的幸福。我就像一个被容许从过去
回来的人，身边是我的心肝宝贝，
他们在梦中，那么安然。也许因为这是
我故乡的海岸，它就更像伊甸园，
空气中弥漫着我早年生活的气息，
雾、鸡蛋花、桉树，它
断了，这杀戮我家庭的舰船——
它的复杂齿轮会传递运动，
如今停在我内心。当我关灯躺下，
我感觉自己似乎坐在一个三角形
的顶点，然后，随着一个哥白尼式转动，
我感觉那个顶点是我女儿，然后
变成我儿子，而我成了背景人，
源头人，母亲。我们严格说来
已不是凡人。我们把所爱的人
抛进未来。于是我睡着时，
短暂地在这个房间，永恒地
生活，与我们的儿子以及女儿。
Sleep Suite
To end up in an old hotel suite
with one’s nearly-grown children, who are sleeping, is a kind
of Eden. The one in the second bed
rests her head on two pillows—I did not know that—
as she sleeps. The one on the couch, under candlewick
chenille, has here and there as he turns
the stuffed animal his sister just gave him
for his twentieth birthday. I roam in the half-
dark, getting ready for bed, I stalk
my happiness. I’m like someone from the past
allowed to come back, I am with our darlings,
they are dreaming, safe. Perhaps it’s especially like
Eden since this is my native coast,
it smells something like my earliest life,
fog, plumeria, eucalyptus, it is
broken, the killership of my family—
it is stopped within me, the complex gear
that translated its motion. When I turn out the light and lie
down, I feel as if I’m at the apex
of a triangle, and then, with a Copernican
swerve, I feel that the apex is my daughter,
and then my son, I am that background figure, that
source figure the mother. We are not,
strictly speaking, mortal. We cast
beloveds into the future. I fall
asleep, briefly living forever
in the room with our son and daughter.
《荒野》
当我要在沙漠上过一夜，我脸朝天
躺着，恍惚中，睁开眼，
凝视进高处，犹如向上
掉进天空，
我看到黑夜睁开的眼睛，毫无
躲闪，一片星光灰的虹膜，
布满一丛丛灿烂的瞳仁。
我凝视，我恍惚，而当我眼帘开启，
我将会坠入高空，脱离大气层，
惊喘着跌落，仿佛我踩空了
台阶。我会睡着，醒来，再睡着，
每一次睁眼，我都跌入
宇宙更高的深处。
它看似拥挤、空洞、复杂、有弹性，
但我觉得我并未真的看清，
因为我不知道我目睹着什么。
当我眼帘分开，真实
就在眼前——绝对
且清晰，冷漠而亲密，
善意但不甜腻，我腾空而起，
我突然加速赶上它的速度，
进入另一个维度，另一个，
却又属于我自己，似乎不仅
我此刻所在的地球，而且太空、
死亡、没有我的存在，都是我的家园。
Wilderness
When I lay down, for the night, on the desert,
on my back, and dozed, and my eyes opened,
my gaze rushed up, as if falling up
into the sky,
and I saw the open eye of night, all
guileless, all iris of a starshine grey,
scattered with clusters of brilliant pupils.
I gazed, and dozed, and as my eyelids lifted I would
plummet up out of the atmosphere,
plunging and gasping as if I’d missed
a stair. I would sleep, and come to, and sleep,
and every time that I opened my eyes
I fell up deep into the universe.
It looked crowded, hollow, intricate, elastic,
I did not feel I could really see it
because I did not know what it was
that I was seeing. When my lids parted,
there was the real—absolute,
crisp, impersonal, intimate,
benign without sweetness, I was soaring out, my
speed suddenly increasing to its speed, I was
entering another dimension, and yet
one in which I belong, as if
not only the earth while I am here, but space,
and death, and existence without me, are my home.
