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Mary Oliver
玛丽-奥利弗

Mary Oliver was born in 1935 in Maple Heights, Ohio. She attended both Ohio State University and Vassar College, but did not receive a degree from either institution. She held the Catharine Osgood Foster Chair for Distinguished Teaching at Bennington College until 2001. In addition to such major awards as the Pulitzer and National Book Award, Oliver has received fellowships from the Guggenheim Foundation and the National Endowment for the Arts. She has also won the American Academy of Arts & Letters Award, the Poetry Society of America’s Shelley Memorial Prize and Alice Fay di Castagnola Award. She lives in Provincetown, Massachusetts.

玛丽-奥利弗1935年9月10日生于美国俄亥俄州,13岁开始写诗,1962年玛丽前往伦敦,后又回到美国。她的诗歌赢得了多项奖项,其中包括国家图书奖和普利策诗歌奖(1984年)。她的主要诗集有:《夜晚的旅行者》(1978),《美国原貌》 (1983), 《灯光的屋宇》(1990),《新诗选》(1992),《白松》(1994)等。她现居马萨诸塞州。



译者
Translator


倪志娟
Zhijuan Ni

倪志娟,1970年生于湖北。哲学博士,现任教于杭州电子科技大学人文学院。学术之余创作并翻译诗歌、随笔。

Zhijuan Ni was born in Hubei Province in China in 1970. She holds a PHD degree in philosophy. She has published a number of translations in poetry. She teaches and lives in Hangzhou.

Blossom

开花

In April the ponds open like black blossoms, the moon swims in every one; there’s fire everywhere: frogs shouting their desire, their satisfaction. What we know: that time chops at us all like an iron hoe, that death is a state of paralysis. What we long for: joy before death, nights in the swale - everything else can wait but not this thrust from the root of the body. What we know: we are more than blood - we are more than our hunger and yet we belong to the moon and when the ponds open, when the burning begins the most thoughtful among us dreams of hurrying down into the black petals into the fire, into the night where time lies shattered into the body of another.

 

四月, 池塘像黑色的花 开放了, 月亮 游动在每一朵花中; 处处 都着了火:青蛙叫喊着 它们的欲望, 它们的满足。我们所知道的 是:时间 向我们砸来,像一把 铁锄头,死亡 是一种瘫软状态。我们所渴望的 是:死亡之前的 欢乐,湿地的 夜晚——其他的一切 都能等,惟有 发自肉体的 冲动 不能等。我们所知道的 是:我们浓于 血——我们大于 饥饿, 我们属于 月亮,当池塘 开放,当火 在我们中间燃烧,我们 深深梦想着, 赶紧 进入黑色的花瓣, 进入火, 进入时间散碎的夜晚, 进入另一个人的身体。

The Lily

百合

Night after night darkness enters the face of the lily which, lightly, closes its five walls around itself, and its purse of honey, and its fragrance, and is content to stand there in the garden, not quite sleeping, and, maybe, saying in lily language some small words we can’t hear even when there is no wind anywhere, its lips are so secret, its tongue is so hidden – or, maybe, it says nothing at all but just stands there with the patience of vegetables and saints until the whole earth has turned around and the silver moon becomes the golden sun – as the lily absolutely knew it would, which is itself, isn’t it, the perfect prayer?

 

一夜又一夜 黑暗 笼罩了百合的 脸, 轻轻地 关闭了 它的五面墙, 它的 花蜜袋, 以及它的芬芳, 它心满意足地 站在 花园里, 并不安静地睡去, 而是 用百合的语言, 说着一些 我们无法听见的私语, 尤其在 一丝风也没有的时候, 它的唇 那么神秘, 它的语言 那么含蓄—— 或者,它 什么也没说, 只是站在那儿, 带着植物 和圣人似的 耐心, 直到整个地球转了一圈, 银色的月亮 变成金色的太阳—— 百合仿佛对此了然于心, 它自己,难道不正是 最完美的祈祷?

Happiness

幸福

In the afternoon I watched the she-bear; she was looking for the secret bin of sweetness - honey, that the bees store in the trees’ soft caves. Black block of gloom, she climbed down tree after tree and shuffled on through the woods. And then she found it! The honey-house deep as heartwood, and dipped into it among the swarming bees - honey and comb she lipped and tongued and scooped out in her black nails, until maybe she grew full, or sleepy, or maybe a little drunk, and sticky down the rugs of her arms, and began to hum and sway. I saw her let go of the branches, I saw her lift her honeyed muzzle into the leaves, and her thick arms, as though she would fly - an enormous bee all sweetness and wings - down into the meadows, the perfections of honeysuckle and roses and clover - to float and sleep in the sheer nets swaying from flower to flower day after shining day.

 

下午,我跟踪 母熊;她正在寻找 秘密的甜箱子—— 蜂蜜,被蜜蜂 储藏在柔软的树洞中。 这黑色阴郁的庞然大物,爬上 一棵棵树,慢吞吞地 穿过树林。终于, 她找到了!树心深处的 蜂房,被掏出来, 在拥挤的蜜蜂堆中,她用嘴啃, 用舌头舔,用黑色的爪子 挖——蜂蜜和蜂巢,最后 它饱了,困了, 或许也是醉了,腻了, 她放下毛茸茸的胳膊, 哼哼地摇晃着。 我看见她松开枝条, 我看见她将涂满蜂蜜的嘴 和粗大的胳膊,伸进叶子, 仿佛要飞起来—— 一只巨大的蜜蜂 拥有蜜和翅膀—— 飞进草地,飞进美丽的 金银花、玫瑰和三叶草丛中—— 漂浮并沉睡在透明的网中, 从一朵花飞到另一朵花 在一个接一个明亮的日子。

The Journey

旅程

One day you finally knew what you had to do, and began, though the voices around you kept shouting their bad advice— though the whole house began to tremble and you felt the old tug at your ankles. "Mend my life!" each voice cried. But you didn't stop. You knew what you had to do, though the wind pried with its stiff fingers at the very foundations, though their melancholy was terrible. It was already late enough, and a wild night, and the road full of fallen branches and stones. But little by little, as you left their voices behind, the stars began to burn through the sheets of clouds, and there was a new voice which you slowly recognized as your own, that kept you company as you strode deeper and deeper into the world, determined to do the only thing you could do— determined to save the only life you could save.

 

有一天,你终于知道 你必须做什么,并开始去做, 虽然你周围的声音 一直叫喊着 他们的坏建议, 虽然整个房子 开始发抖, 而你感到古老的绳索 绊住了脚踝。 “改善我的生活!” 每个声音哭喊着。 但你不停止。 你知道你必须做什么, 虽然风用它僵硬的手指 撬动 这个根基, 虽然他们的忧郁 着实可怕。 天已经晚了, 一个疯狂的夜晚, 路上塞满了 断枝和石头。 但是,渐渐地, 你将他们的声音抛在身后, 星星穿透云层 散发光辉, 一个新的声音出现了, 你慢慢 意识到,是你自己的声音, 伴随着你, 当你越来越深地 步入世界, 决定去做 你唯一能做的事—— 决定去拯救 你唯一能拯救的生活。

A Meeting

相遇

She steps into the dark swamp where the long wait ends. The secret slippery package drops to the weeds. She leans her long neck and tongues it between breaths slack with exhaustion and after a while it rises and becomes a creature like her, but much smaller. So now there are two. And they walk together like a dream under the trees. In early June, at the edge of a field thick with pink and yellow flowers I meet them. I can only stare. She is the most beautiful woman I have ever seen. Her child leaps among the flowers, the blue of the sky falls over me like silk, the flowers burn, and I want to live my life all over again, to begin again, to be utterly wild.

 

她走进黑暗的泥沼, 那漫长等待的尽头。 一个神秘光滑的包裹 落入杂草。 她倾斜着长长的脖子,舔它, 疲惫而轻缓地呼吸着, 过了一会儿,它站起来,变成一个和她相似的 生物,但是要小得多。 现在有两个她。她们一起走着 像树下的一个梦。 六月初,田边 开满密密麻麻的粉色和黄色花, 我遇见了她们。 我只能凝望。 她是我曾见过的 最美的妇人。 她的孩子跳跃在花丛中, 天空的蓝挂在头顶, 像丝绸,花儿们燃烧着,而我希望 再活一次,从头开始, 彻底地 狂野。

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