Selected poems：《一個博物學家的死亡：希尼詩100首》
https://www.sanmin.com.tw/Product/index/007652302
一個博物學家的死亡：希尼詩100首
作者：謝默斯‧希尼 (Seamus Heaney)
譯者：羅池
出版社：人民文學出版社
出版日期：2020/01/01
〈祈雨棒〉
給貝絲和蘭德
把祈雨棒倒豎，接下來發生的
是一種音樂，你以前絕對從沒聽過
這樣的。在仙人掌的莖幹裡
大雨傾盆，水閘噴湧，漫流和回浪
一路氾濫沖刷。你站在那裡像一管蘆笛
被水奏響，你再輕輕搖動它
漸弱音就淌過它的全部音階
像檐槽滴答著停歇。而此刻又有
幾顆水珠從青蔥的葉片滾落，
然後是青草與雛菊上纖微的小濕露；
然後是燦燦的細雨，風中隱隱的呼吸聲。
再將祈雨棒倒豎一次。接下來發生的
是從不減弱地相信此前已然發生的靈驗，
無論一次、兩次、十次、千次。
誰會在乎那一切流溢的音樂不過
是砂礫或乾草籽在仙人掌裡滾動？
你就像一個富人要想進天堂
先穿過一顆雨滴的耳朵。請再聽一遍。
https://newrepublic.com/article/114546/seamus-heaney-rainstick
The Rainstick
for Rand and Beth
Upend the rainstick and what happens next
Is a music that you never would have known
To listen for. In a cactus stalk
Downpour, sluice-rush, spillage and backwash
Come flowing through. You stand there like a pipe
Being played by water, you shake it again lightly
And diminuendo runs through all its scales
Like a gutter stopping trickling. And now here comes
A sprinkle of drops out of the freshened leaves,
Then subtle little wets off grass and daisies;
Then glitter-drizzle, almost-breaths of air.
Upend the stick again. What happens next
Is undiminished for having happened once.
Twice, ten, a thousand times before.
Who cares if the music that transpires
Is the fall of grit or dry seeds through a cactus?
You are like a rich man entering heaven
Through the ear of a shower. Listen now again.
〈格蘭莫的烏鶇〉
我來時，你在草地上，
給靜寂注入生命，
但只要稍有不對
就隨時會驚飛。
我走時，你在青藤中。
是你啊，烏鶇，我愛。
我停車，止步，留心。
呼吸。只是呼吸靜坐
然後我曾翻譯過的詩句
又浮現：“我想離去
去死者居所，去我爸爸
低矮的泥土屋”。
我想起有個人已去了他那裡，
一個小小的靜寂舞者——
揪心的兒，早夭的兄弟——
蹦蹦跳跳穿過院子，
見我回家樂壞了，
我的想家第一學期結束。
又想起一個鄰居
事故之後很久說的：
“那隻鳥在棚屋頂上，
就在屋脊上停了幾個星期——
我那時候什麼都沒說，
但我根本不喜歡那隻鳥。”
車門自動鎖
咔嗒關上，烏鶇的恐慌
是短暫的，在一瞬間
我從鳥瞰裡看到自己，
礫石路上的一個影子
在我的生命居所面前。
樹籬雀躍者呀，對你而言
我是絕對，你的伶俐回嘴，
你的每一次若即若離的回歸，
你挑剔的、神經質的金喙——
我來時，你在草地上，
我走時，你在青藤中。
https://www.poeticous.com/seamus-heaney/the-blackbird-of-glanmore
The Blackbird of Glanmore
On the grass when I arrive,
Filling the stillness with life,
But ready to scare off
At the very first wrong move.
In the ivy when I leave.
It’s you, blackbird, I love.
I park, pause, take heed.
Breathe. Just breathe and sit
And lines I once translated
Come back: “I want away
To the house of death, to my father
Under the low clay roof.”
And I think of one gone to him,
A little stillness dancer—
Haunter-son, lost brother –
Cavorting through the yard,
So glad to see me home,
My homesick first term over.
And think of a neighbour’s words
Long after the accident:
“Yon bird on the shed roof,
Up on the ridge for weeks—
I said nothing at the time
But I never liked yon bird.”
The automatic lock
Clunks shut, the blackbird’s panic
Is shortlived, for a second
I’ve a bird’s eye view of myself,
A shadow on raked gravel
In front of my house of life.
Hedge-hop, I am absolute
For you, your ready talkback,
Your each stand-offish comeback,
Your picky, nervy goldbeak—
On the grass when I arrive,
In the ivy when I leave.
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