週二 5月 13, 2014 1:22 am
路易·辛普森(Louis Simpson)1923年生於牙買加。他17歲移民美國，在哥倫比亞大學念書，二戰時加入101空降師在歐洲服役。戰後他在哥倫比亞及巴黎大學繼續學業。其間他曾在紐約一間出版社任編輯，獲得哥大博士學位之後，先後任教於哥大，柏克萊加州大學和紐約州立大學石溪分校。辛普森出版了超過17本詩集，包括贏得普立茲獎的《在空曠大路的盡頭，詩作》(1963)。
[url=http://edgar_dive2007.mysinablog.com/resserver.php?blogId=47408&resource=2256511-louis-simpson-1.jpg][img]http://edgar_dive2007.mysinablog.com/resserver.php?blogId=47408&resource=2256511-louis-simpson-1.jpg&mode=medium"%20%20%20%20%20%20border="0"%20%20%20%20%20%20alt="Picture"%20%20%20%20%20%20hspace="5"%20%20%20%20%20%20vspace="5"%20%20%20%20%20%20style="padding:%200px;%20margin:%200px;%20border:%200px;[/img][/url]
以下詩作選自The Owner of the House: New Collected Poems, 1940–2001
BOA Editions Ltd. (September 1, 2003)
戴玨 譯
戰鬥
頭盔和步槍，背包和大衣，
行軍穿過森林。大炮砰然
在前方某處作響。四面的夜色
變得通紅，就像喉道的圓圈。
他們停下來，他們挖掘。他們
如鼴鼠般陷入樹木間濕冷的土壤。
很快那些哨兵，在他們的坑洞裡站著，
感覺到了初雪。他們的腳開始凍僵。
破曉第一顆炮彈劈啪落地，
接著槍炮橫掃結了冰的樹林。
就這樣持續了很多天。雪是黑色的。
屍首在它們的深紅色兜帽裡變硬。
對於那場戰鬥我記得最清楚的
是眼中的疲倦，握著香菸
顯得瘦削的手，還有那明亮的餘燼
總帶著裡面所有的生命力震顫。
搖籃困境
鈴鐺和撥浪鼓，
玫瑰花的怪味，
一本皮聖經，
和生氣的說話聲...
他們說，我愛你。
他們嚷嚷，你必須！
光正在講訴
糟糕的故事。
可窗前的夜
小聲說，無所謂。
要忠心，要忠於
你的怪同類。
白牛
有個男人在它們旁邊走著，
手裏的鞭子抽得劈啪響。
它們拉的小貨車畫滿了
撒拉森人[1]和十字軍，
凶狠的眼睛和一排排長矛。
它們走在上山的
陡峭路上。
它們踩踏齊整的蹄子
在陽光下看上去
忽隱忽現，揚起塵土。
它們高於那些屋頂，
上面有條紋葫蘆和西瓜
在日益成熟。它們在
生長於巖石上的
暗綠色橄欖叢間移動。
它們爬行，它們變小…
在一個拐角消失，
然後重現，在一處懸崖
的邊緣行走。它們進入了
霧與黑暗的區域。
我覺得我還能看見它們：
一對上了軛的公牛，
象牙或者煙的
色彩，帶有紅色流蘇，
在漸濃的暮色中。
注：
1) 指十字軍東征時的阿拉伯人。
The Battle
Helmet and rifle, pack and overcoat
Marched through a forest. Somewhere up ahead
Guns thudded. Like the circle of a throat
The night on every side was turning red.
They halted and they dug. They sank like moles
Into the clammy earth between the trees.
And soon the sentries, standing in their holes,
Felt the first snow. Their feet began to freeze.
At dawn the first shell landed with a crack.
Then shells and bullets swept the icy woods.
This lasted many days. The snow was black.
The corpses stiffened in their scarlet hoods.
Most clearly of that battle I remember
The tiredness in eyes, how hands looked thin
Around a cigarette, and the bright ember
Would pulse with all the life there was within.
The Cradle Trap
A bell and rattle,
a smell of roses,
a leather Bible,
and angry voices...
They say, I love you.
They shout, You must!
The light is telling
terrible stories.
But night at the window
whispers, Never mind.
Be true, be true
to your own strange kind.
White Oxen
A man walks beside them
with a whip that he cracks.
The cart they draw is painted
with Saracens and Crusaders,
fierce eyes and ranks of spears.
They are on the steep road
that goes up the mountain.
Their neat-stepping hoofs
appear to be flickering
in the sun, raising dust.
They are higher than the roofs
on which striped gourds and melons
lie ripening. They move
among the dark green olives
that grow on the rocks.
They dwindle as they climb ...
vanish around a corner
and reappear walking on the edge
of a precipice. They enter
the region of mist and darkness.
I think I can see them still:
a pair of yoked oxen
the color of ivory
or smoke, with red tassels,
in the gathering dusk.
[url=http://edgar_dive2007.mysinablog.com/resserver.php?blogId=47408&resource=2256511-louis-simpson-1.jpg][img]http://edgar_dive2007.mysinablog.com/resserver.php?blogId=47408&resource=2256511-louis-simpson-1.jpg&mode=medium"%20%20%20%20%20%20border="0"%20%20%20%20%20%20alt="Picture"%20%20%20%20%20%20hspace="5"%20%20%20%20%20%20vspace="5"%20%20%20%20%20%20style="padding:%200px;%20margin:%200px;%20border:%200px;[/img][/url]
以下詩作選自The Owner of the House: New Collected Poems, 1940–2001
BOA Editions Ltd. (September 1, 2003)
戴玨 譯
戰鬥
頭盔和步槍，背包和大衣，
行軍穿過森林。大炮砰然
在前方某處作響。四面的夜色
變得通紅，就像喉道的圓圈。
他們停下來，他們挖掘。他們
如鼴鼠般陷入樹木間濕冷的土壤。
很快那些哨兵，在他們的坑洞裡站著，
感覺到了初雪。他們的腳開始凍僵。
破曉第一顆炮彈劈啪落地，
接著槍炮橫掃結了冰的樹林。
就這樣持續了很多天。雪是黑色的。
屍首在它們的深紅色兜帽裡變硬。
對於那場戰鬥我記得最清楚的
是眼中的疲倦，握著香菸
顯得瘦削的手，還有那明亮的餘燼
總帶著裡面所有的生命力震顫。
搖籃困境
鈴鐺和撥浪鼓，
玫瑰花的怪味，
一本皮聖經，
和生氣的說話聲...
他們說，我愛你。
他們嚷嚷，你必須！
光正在講訴
糟糕的故事。
可窗前的夜
小聲說，無所謂。
要忠心，要忠於
你的怪同類。
白牛
有個男人在它們旁邊走著，
手裏的鞭子抽得劈啪響。
它們拉的小貨車畫滿了
撒拉森人[1]和十字軍，
凶狠的眼睛和一排排長矛。
它們走在上山的
陡峭路上。
它們踩踏齊整的蹄子
在陽光下看上去
忽隱忽現，揚起塵土。
它們高於那些屋頂，
上面有條紋葫蘆和西瓜
在日益成熟。它們在
生長於巖石上的
暗綠色橄欖叢間移動。
它們爬行，它們變小…
在一個拐角消失，
然後重現，在一處懸崖
的邊緣行走。它們進入了
霧與黑暗的區域。
我覺得我還能看見它們：
一對上了軛的公牛，
象牙或者煙的
色彩，帶有紅色流蘇，
在漸濃的暮色中。
注：
1) 指十字軍東征時的阿拉伯人。
The Battle
Helmet and rifle, pack and overcoat
Marched through a forest. Somewhere up ahead
Guns thudded. Like the circle of a throat
The night on every side was turning red.
They halted and they dug. They sank like moles
Into the clammy earth between the trees.
And soon the sentries, standing in their holes,
Felt the first snow. Their feet began to freeze.
At dawn the first shell landed with a crack.
Then shells and bullets swept the icy woods.
This lasted many days. The snow was black.
The corpses stiffened in their scarlet hoods.
Most clearly of that battle I remember
The tiredness in eyes, how hands looked thin
Around a cigarette, and the bright ember
Would pulse with all the life there was within.
The Cradle Trap
A bell and rattle,
a smell of roses,
a leather Bible,
and angry voices...
They say, I love you.
They shout, You must!
The light is telling
terrible stories.
But night at the window
whispers, Never mind.
Be true, be true
to your own strange kind.
White Oxen
A man walks beside them
with a whip that he cracks.
The cart they draw is painted
with Saracens and Crusaders,
fierce eyes and ranks of spears.
They are on the steep road
that goes up the mountain.
Their neat-stepping hoofs
appear to be flickering
in the sun, raising dust.
They are higher than the roofs
on which striped gourds and melons
lie ripening. They move
among the dark green olives
that grow on the rocks.
They dwindle as they climb ...
vanish around a corner
and reappear walking on the edge
of a precipice. They enter
the region of mist and darkness.
I think I can see them still:
a pair of yoked oxen
the color of ivory
or smoke, with red tassels,
in the gathering dusk.