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文学 > 诗歌
(美国诗人)蔚雅风的诗

[2008-8-8 0:19:02]


蔚雅风(阿法 Afaa Michael Weaver)的诗

(英汉对照) 

 
Radio Days

My father has a picture of me
taken around the time Charlie Parker
died. I am sitting up like a prince,
erect, bright, smiling. I have promise
around my head woven in vines
of gold, but this is not in the picture.
I remember radio from then,
checking the paper for my shows.

My father had a habit of bringing
home toys to me, small things on days
he got paid. It was a reward
for being firstborn and being a son.
I was suppose d to make the future
a safe place. I had to kill the lion.

I look at my son and my brother.
I look at my father. The four of us
are a circuit where the current is
a stream of hope & fear, floating,
going back, living and not living.

We hold up our hands and dreams
fly out of them, birds of blue electric.
 
 
听廣播的日子
 
大概在查理帕克去世的時候
我父親給我拍了一張照,
我擺出姿勢,像一位王子,
筆直、歡快、微笑著。我的前景
被織進了我腦袋周圍金黃的藤蔓。
但是,這不是照片里的情形。
從那時起,我都記著一邊收听廣播
一邊核對報紙上有關我的言行的報道。

我父親有往家里給我
帶玩具的習慣;在他拿工資的日子
給我帶來一些小玩意。這是
對頭生子和儿子的獎賞。
他推想,有了我,未來
就有了保障。我得殺掉獅子。

我看著我的儿子和兄弟
看著我的父親。我們四人
組成一個電路,那電流
是希望和恐懼,流動著,
回流著。不管是流還是不流

我們都舉起手,讓夢想從手掌
飛出,像鳥群,像藍色的電光。

(Trans. Bei Ta  北塔 譯)

 
DaMo Before the Wall

After the first thousand days,
fractures running like nameless lovers
go full and vibrant in the afternoon,
tall women dancing down
from clouds with trails of lace.
He tips his ear to invisible sobs
working in gray indentations,
a woman’s protestation or her grief--
he shudders in his faded robe,
his ears no longer tuned to a woman’s voice.
It was spring inside a house
where the colors rippled under
the curtains twirling; she brought him
his cooked meat and a prophecy
on a tray painted with gold birds.
They made love past the hour of the cock.
Now he clings to his body and the wall,
with one silk nerve cast in silence.
 
達摩面壁 

到了第一千天,
牆上的裂紋擴散開來,就像匿名的戀人們
在午後顯得生機勃勃,
身材高大的女人拖著長長的絲帶,
自雲端,跳著舞,緩緩降落。
他的雙耳靈敏地捕捉到了
從那些晦暗的凹縫中傳來的隱秘的哭泣,
一個女人的抗議或悲哀——
令他在退色的僧袍中顫抖,
而那些啜泣本身卻不再能觸動他。
在屋檐下是有過一個春天,
簾布輕卷,花色起伏如波紋;
她帶給他一些烤好的肉,和一個
放在繪有金鳥的托盤裏的預言。
他們做愛直至雄雞報曉。
而今,他用身體把自己和牆壁粘在一起,
靜寂中隻見一線經脈猶如蠶絲。
 
(Trans. Zang Di  臧棣 譯)
 
 
My Heart

for L.

If ever they trace the lines of my chest
with ink as you traced them with your tongue,
kiss me first. Hold my tongue to yours,
pull it until it goes numb. Paste your lips
to mine until I can taste your birth.
If ever they open me and the bluebirds
come rushing out, I want to hear you sing
in the flutter of wings. This is the way
things are healed. This is how the tired
travelers gaze into the eye to be sustained.

And when the blood goes rushing away
from me like children who have opened
a forbidden spout, touch something of mine.
Hold me that way to know that I want
to hold you more than life itself, but a choice
must be made. Some vinegar must go
where agony cries out already, enough.
I hang in the tiny crochet in feeble hands,
as they give me a stranger’s heart.

If all of this is just a dream, and you fly
away from me before the gray takes over,
I will touch you everywhere I go.
I will declare the world your body and
christen our children in the air of names.

                                                                                          
我的心 -- 給L

假如他們用墨水描我胸前的
線條,就像你用舌尖探索,
先吻我吧。咬住我的舌
直到它麻木。把你的唇貼住
我的唇,直到我能嘗到你的初生。
假如他們打開我的心,藍鳥
飛奔而出,我想听到你
在翅膀的振動中歌唱。這就是
療傷的方式。這就是疲倦的旅行者
怎樣凝視那必須承受的目光。

當熱血從我心中奔涌而出
像孩子們打開一個禁閉的噴泉,
撫摸我的一部分吧。緊緊地
握住我,你會知道我想擁抱你
超過于生命本身,但必須做出選擇。
當极度的悲痛已經喊出,不愉快
必須忘掉,足夠了。當他們
給我一顆陌生人的心臟時,
我懸在那虛弱之手的編織物中。

如果這一切僅僅只是一個夢,
你在我年老前就飛遠,
我會撫摸你,無論我走到哪里。
我會宣布你的身体就是世界,我會
在風中為我們的孩子們洗禮命名。
 
(Trans. Ming Di   明迪 譯 )

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