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| 2026/11/10 05:24:40瀏覽125｜回應0｜推薦4 | |
| Selected poems：瑪麗．奧利弗（Mary Oliver）的《夢的勞作》 書名：夢的勞作（Dream Work） 作者：瑪麗．奧利弗（Mary Oliver） 譯者：葉春 出版社：人民文學出版社 出版日期：2026/6 《夢的勞作》是瑪麗·奧利弗於1986年出版的詩集，收錄了四十五首詩。她在這些詩中將注意力轉向了精神的孤獨和艱辛的勞動——接受個人世界的真相。她將歷史事件和個人辛酸記憶融為一體，無論是譴責納粹集中營大屠殺的詩歌，還是描寫雅加達街頭乞討男孩，她呈現人類痛苦的方式都充滿了人道主義關懷。 與她前幾部作品相比，這些詩歌背後的感性更深刻地與世界融合在一起。瑪麗·奧利弗對快樂的探尋仍在繼續，並通過夢境、經驗和選擇，加深了這種意願。 〈鍾愛萬物的機緣〉 整個夏天，我與 周圍的生靈交友—— 它們穿過田野， 鑽進帳篷縫隙， 或者踱入門來， 咧嘴笑，露出滿口牙， 它們尋覓種子、 牛脂、白糖；咕噥、哼唱著 打開麵包盒， 趕上牛奶和音樂時 最是歡喜。可是有一夜， 我聽見外面的響動，帆布 鼓起——是什麼 與我視線齊平，正往裡拱來。 我瞪大眼，戰慄著，聽到 爪子的咔嗒聲和嘴的吧唧聲 就在我輕薄的屋外—— 我想像它的紅眼， 寬舌，和巨大的身軀。 它也友善嗎？ 恐懼擊敗了我。然而， 不因信仰，或瘋狂， 只因我相信我的夢 應當擁有的勇氣， 我走了出去。它已不在那裡。 然而，一聲沈重的拖曳 使我猛然轉身。 我是否看見一團黑影 滑入樹叢？看見 月光落在它身上？ 我是否將雙臂 朝它伸去，朝著那如 至親至狂的希望消逝般 墜落的天堂， 朝向故事黑暗的心臟——而那心 正是敘述的緣由？ The Chance to Love Everything All summer I made friends with the creatures nearby— they flowed through the fields and under the tent walls, or padded through the door, grinning through their many teeth, looking for seeds, suet, sugar; muttering and humming, opening the breadbox, happiest when there was milk and music. But once in the night I heard a sound outside the door, the canvas bulged slightly—something was pressing inward at eye level. I watched, trembling, sure I had heard the click of claws, the smack of lips outside my gauzy house— I imagined the red eyes, the broad tongue, the enormous lap. Would it be friendly too? Fear defeated me. And yet, not in faith and not in madness but with the courage I thought my dream deserved, I stepped outside. It was gone. Then I whirled at the sound of some shambling tonnage. Did I see a black haunch slipping back through the trees? Did I see the moonlight shining on it? Did I actually reach out my arms toward it, toward paradise falling, like the fading of the dearest, wildest hope— the dark heart of the story that is all the reason for its telling? 〈野雁〉 你不需是好的。 不需跪行 百里沙漠，懺悔。 你只需讓身體里那只柔軟的動物 愛它所愛。 告訴我你的絕望，我也告訴你我的。 同時，世界繼續前行。 同時，太陽和清石子般的雨滴 正穿越大地， 掠過草原和深林，山巒和河流。 同時，一群野雁在潔淨、蔚藍的空中， 再次朝家飛去。 無論你是誰，無論你有多孤單， 世界將自己給予你的想象， 像那群野雁般呼喚你，粗礪、激蕩—— 一遍又一遍宣告 你在萬物家族中的位置。 Wild Geese You do not have to be good. You do not have to walk on your knees For a hundred miles through the desert, repenting. You only have to let the soft animal of your body love what it loves. Tell me about despair, yours, and I will tell you mine. Meanwhile the world goes on. Meanwhile the sun and the clear pebbles of the rain are moving across the landscapes, over the prairies and the deep trees, the mountains and the rivers. Meanwhile the wild geese, high in the clean blue air, are heading home again. Whoever you are, no matter how lonely, the world offers itself to your imagination, calls to you like the wild geese, harsh and exciting -- over and over announcing your place in the family of things. 〈夢〉 整夜， 黑暗的夢苞 豐盛 綻放。 每片花瓣 中央 都有一個字母， 而你想象 如果你能記住它們， 將之串聯， 就能拼出答案。 這是一個漫長的夜晚， 也不輕鬆—— 你有太多枝丫， 太多岔路 鳥群翻飛， 黑狐伏在 你身下睡去， 而月亮正以骨白的眼 凝視你。 最終，你用盡 所有力氣 從地裡拖出 一襲泥漿的根裙， 你躍然而醒， 口中含著 兩三個水一般的音節， 和一縷 失落——一個記憶， 尚未成字， 更非答案—— 只是一種感覺： 在樹深處， 所有的鎖都咔嗒開啓， 火焰在木中奔湧， 花朵驟然盛開。 DREAMS All night the dark buds of dreams open richly. In the center of every petal is a letter, and you imagine if you could only remember and string them all together they would spell the answer. It is a long night, and not an easy one - you have so many branches, and there are diversions - birds that come and go, the black fox that lies down to sleep beneath you, the moon staring with her bone-white eye. Finally you have spent all the energy you can and you drag from the ground the muddy skirt of your roots and leap awake with two or three syllables like water in your mouth and a sense of loss - a memory not yet of a word, certainly not yet the answer - only how it feels when deep in the tree all the locks click open, and the fire surges through the wood, and the blossoms blossom. 〈羅伯特．舒曼〉 幾乎沒有一天我不想起他 在瘋人院裡：比現在的我 年輕，在那條漫長的瘋狂之路上 踽踽獨行，走向死亡。 在世上每個角落，他的音樂 噴薄而出，而他自己 卻不能。現在我懂得 一件即可怖又奇妙的事—— 心總是依附熟悉的道路， 倉促穿過十字路口，像絨屑般 黏貼在舊的軌跡上。所以！ 幾乎沒有一天我不 想起他：譬如，他十九歲那年， 在德國的春天， 剛遇見一個叫克拉拉的女孩。 他拐過街角， 刮去鞋底的泥， 哼著曲，跑上黑暗的樓梯。 Robert Schumann Hardly a day passes I dont think of him in the asylum: younger than I am now, trudging the long road down through madness toward death. Everywhere in this world his music explodes out of itself, as he could not. And now I understand something so frightening, and wonderful— how the mind clings to the road it knows, rushing through crossroads, sticking like lint to the familiar. So! Hardly a day passes I dont think of him: nineteen, say, and it is spring in Germany and he has just met a girl named Clara. He turns the corner, he scrapes the dirt from his soles, he runs up the dark staircase, humming. |
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