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[转载]黛博拉·艾泽(DeborahAger)的诗(双语)  

2011-12-01 23:51:00|  分类: 转载收藏 |  标签: |举报 |字号 订阅

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[转载]黛博拉·艾泽(DeborahAger)的诗(双语) - 清荷铃子 - 清荷铃子

  黛博拉·艾泽(Deborah Ager),女,1971年生,美国青年诗人、评论家,美术硕士,美国诗刊《32首诗》的创始人。她在美国《布卢姆斯贝利评论》、《乔治亚州评论》、《西部季刊》、《新英格兰评论》等刊物发表评论和诗歌。现在一家大网络公司从事网络搜索引擎设计、维护、服务工作。
  
  
  
  [美]黛博拉·艾泽/ 倪志娟译
  
  院子里一半是院子
  一半是湖,它忧郁得如同一具尸体。
  湖将诉说你渴望倾听的:
  逃离这儿吧
  三点钟。落叶发出沙球晃动时的嚓嚓声。
  
  枯黄的草
  在脚下碎裂,而树
  慢慢意识到它们正在褪去衣衫。
  你将停驻多久?
  湖也问出了你想听到的问题。
  
  几个月过去了,一切
  照旧。那些建筑物
  倚靠着天空而立,人行道上,淅淅沥沥的
  雨,在你身边盘旋
  哦,这些林荫道看上去多么阴森!
  
  我知道,你怀念
  湖边的吟唱。汽车喇叭在高峰时段
  鸣响。香甜的咖啡。风
  像小锤子似的袭来。一个情人的温暖。
  蟋蟀们哼着情歌走在马路上。
  
  
  The Lake
  
  by Deborah Ager
  
  The yard half a yard,
  half a lake blue as a corpse.
  The lake will tell things you long to hear:
  get away from here.
  Three o"clock. Dry leaves rat-tat like maracas.
  
  Whisky-colored grass
  breaks at every step and trees
  are slowly realizing they are nude.
  How long will you stay?
  For the lake asks questions you want to hear, too.
  
  Months have passed since, well,
  everything. Since buildings stood
  black against sky, rain hissed from sidewalks
  and curled around you.
  O, how those avenues once seemed menacing!
  
  I know what you miss
  sings this lake. Car horns groaning
  in rush hour. Sweet coffee. Wind
  pounding like hammers. Warmth of a lover.
  Crickets humming love songs to the street.
  
  
  
  独自一人
  
  [美]黛博拉·艾泽/ 倪志娟译
  
  越过栅栏,死者悠游
  而来。九点。
  这是今天你第一次
  独自呆着。孩子们睡着了。丈夫出去了。
  
  一只啤酒瓶在你手中冒着汽泡
  浓烈的熏衣草香
  在空气中弥漫。想起自己。
  你的胳膊无力地垂下,
  
  在连续几周照顾他人之后。
  你的思绪飘向其他问题,
  这一周的黄油是否够吃,车里的汽油
  还能行驶多远。
  
  
  Alone
  
  by Deborah Ager
  
  Over the fence, the dead settle in
  for a journey. Nine o"clock.
  You are alone for the first time
  today. Boys asleep. Husband out.
  
  A beer bottle sweats in your hand,
  and sea lavender clogs the air
  with perfume. Think of yourself.
  Your arms rest with nothing to do
  
  after weeks spent attending to others.
  Your thoughts turn to whether
  butter will last the week, how much
  longer the car can run on its partial tank of gas.
  
  
  清晨
  
  [美]黛博拉·艾泽/ 倪志娟译
  
  你知道,从一场梦中醒来
  是怎么回事,在梦中,你能飞
  很久以前死去的人,又回来了
  
  而你渴望,
  有片刻时间,驶离
  大路,意识一片空白
  
  或者去看望情人,并全身心地
  感受。也许在某个清晨,
  梳头时,你会惊讶
  
  一生中,你为梳头
  签名,或者在黑暗的迷雾中起床
  准备去工作,究竟花费了
  
  
  多少时间。白日首先开始于
  他人的需要
  你的思绪如呼吸一般散去。
  
  在白日将来而未来的时刻,
  在这孤独的时刻,整个世界
  如同一辆接一辆的汽车,重新显现。
  
  
  Morning
  
  by Deborah Ager
  
  You know how it is waking
  from a dream certain you can fly
  and that someone, long gone, returned
  
  and you are filled with longing,
  for a brief moment, to drive off
  the road and feel nothing
  
  or to see the loved one and feel
  everything. Perhaps one morning,
  taking brush to hair you"ll wonder
  
  how much of your life you"ve spent
  at this task or signing your name
  or rising in fog in near darkness
  
  to ready for work. Day begins
  with other people"s needs first
  and your thoughts disperse like breath.
  
  In the in-between hour, the solitary hour,
  before day begins all the world
  gradually reappears car by car.
  
  
  冬天的圣达菲
  
  [美]黛博拉·艾泽/ 倪志娟译
  
  这座城市在夜晚关闭了。
  商店一家挨着一家拉上卷帘门,
  黑暗再次降临,除了
  
  暗淡稀疏的街灯,像负重的花茎
  垂挂着。岁月,层层累积起
  这座城市:栏杆中砌满
  
  砖块,土墙中加固了钢筋
  拱形门涂抹着
  白水泥。街区的
  
  驴车道已经变成了
  马路,在夜晚,空空荡荡——
  没有行人,没有汽车,没有狗。
  
  白昼开启了画廊
  商铺和饭店——
  裹着羊毛的纳瓦霍人
  
  聚集在城市广场
  兜售他们的手工毛毯,
  银戒指,和项链
  
  游客们乐意购买饰品
  以及一切——
  连同另一种迷人的历史
  
  
  Santa Fe In Winter
  
  by Deborah Ager
  
  The city is closing for the night.
  Stores draw their blinds one by one,
  and it"s dark again, save for the dim
  
  infrequent streetlight bending at the neck
  like a weighted stem. Years have built
  the city in layers: balustrades filled in
  
  with brick, adobe reinforced with steel,
  and the rounded arches smoothed
  with white cement. Neighborhoods
  
  have changed the burro trails
  to streets, bare at night—
  no pedestrians, no cars, no dogs.
  
  With daylight, the houses turned galleries
  and stores turned restaurants open—
  the Navajos wrapped in wool
  
  crowd the Palace of the Governors plaza
  to sell their handmade blankets,
  silver rings, and necklaces
  
  to travelers who will buy jewelry
  as they buy everything—
  another charming history for themselves.
  
  
  爱荷华州的夜晚
  
  [美]黛博拉·艾泽/ 倪志娟译
  
  雨云抹掉了拉莫尼上空的星星。
  昏黄的光。地窖。流浪狗。母牛的
  臭味浸润着稀疏的房屋,
  它们悲哀的叫声在原野上刮起渴望的风暴。
  
  
  Night In Iowa
  
  by Deborah Ager
  
  Nimbus clouds erasing stars above Lamoni.
  Jaundiced lights. Silos. Loose dogs. Cows
  whose stench infuses the handful of homes,
  whose sad voices storm the plains with longing
  
  
  夏夜
  
  [美]黛博拉·艾泽/ 倪志娟译
  
  工厂的汽笛声,告诉工人们该回家了
  告诉他们夜晚开始了。
  当我和这个我不爱的高个子男人
  
  共同生活时,我宁愿
  在街上溜达,梦想着意大利。
  假如和他一起趟过仅有的
  
  几个街区,他会说,看
  那些粉红色的鹅卵石中
  有灰泥似的粪便。
  
  星期三的夜晚,散发着甜蜜气息
  拍卖会之前的夜晚,
  母牛的悲伤映入我的眼帘
  
  当我穿过小镇回家,
  湖水沉默,厌倦了我的谎言。
  什么时候我将再次说出真相?
  
  汽笛响起。我的爱是家。
  夜晚,我们停驻其中,而白天,是未知数。
  
  
  Summer Nights
  
  by Deborah Ager
  
  The factory siren tells workers time to go home
  tells them the evening has begun.
  When living with the tall man
  
  whom I didn"t love, I would wander
  the streets, dreaming of Italy.
  Trekking the handful of avenues
  
  with him, he would say look there
  between pink cobblestones,
  there"s manure like mortar.
  
  The sweet smell of it Wednesday nights,
  the night before auction,
  when the misery of cows greets me
  
  heading home through town.
  Lake quiets, tired of my lies.
  When will I tell truths again?
  
  The siren. My love is home.
  Nights, we stay in and X the days.
  
  
  海岸空间
  
  [美]黛博拉·艾泽/ 倪志娟译
  
  一只艾尔谷犬摇头摆尾地穿过薄霜,
  棕榈树叶以责怪的神情
  指着它,任性的波涛扑到我脚边。
  我跑开了。夜晚,黄色的灯光
  扫过沙滩。那个星期五,
  除了穿裙子的女人,挽着她们的情人,
  还发现了什么?没有人发现我。
  怎么会这样呢?这儿
  即使植物的名字也被记录
  而小路在地图上也用红线标出。
  夜晚,天空是刺满了针孔的黑纸。
  海龟将蛋推进温暖的沙中。
  因为天太晚了,不该到这里来吗?
  一切都被发现。一切都被说出。
  空气中满是盐味。我爱人的身体。
  也许天太晚了。我想奔跑
  丈量沙滩的长度,因为它没有尽头。
  荒凉的沙滩。艾尔谷犬坚硬的头上
  长出了鳍,被淹没的冲浪运动员
  浮出水面,而那些
  再也不能被平安召回的小女孩,被发现了。
  
  
  The Space Coast
  
  by Deborah Ager
  
  An Airedale rolling through green frost,
  cabbage palms pointing their accusing leaves
  at whom, petulant waves breaking at my feet.
  I ran from them. Nights, yellow lights
  scoured sand. What was ever found
  but women in skirts folded around the men
  they loved that Friday? No one found me.
  And how could that have been, here, where
  even botanical names were recorded
  and small roads mapped in red?
  Night, the sky is black paper pecked with pinholes.
  Tortoises push eggs into warm sand.
  Was it too late to have come here?
  Everything"s discovered. Everything"s spoken for.
  The air smells of salt. My lover"s body.
  Perhaps it is too late. I want to run
  the beach"s length, because it never ends.
  The barren beach. Airedales grow
  fins on their hard heads, drowned surfers
  resurface, and those little girls
  who would not be called back to safety are found.

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