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R. S. Thomas
R. S. 托马斯

Ronald Stuart Thomas (1913-2000), a leader in Welsh poetry in the United Kingdom, wrote richly in his life and won various poetry awards for many times, including the Queen's Gold Medal for Poetry. He was nominated for the Nobel Prize in Literature in 1996. His poetry creation epitomized the Welsh villagers and landscapes, history and culture. Since the 1970s, his poetic style has turned to dialogue with the 'invisible God', exploring the inner spiritual world of human beings, and has been called the greatest contemporary religious poet. Thomas' style of poetry is as arrogant as his personality, rigorous and refined, tough and unyielding, which is unique in the English poetry world. In 1998, R.S.Thomas was appointed Professor Emeritus at Bangor University in Wales.

R.S.托马斯(Ronald Stuart Thomas,1913-2000),英国威尔士诗坛泰斗,一生创作丰厚,多次获得各种诗歌奖项,包括英国女王诗歌金奖。1996年提名诺贝尔文学奖。他的诗歌创作集中体现了威尔士的乡民与风光,历史与文化。从七十年代起,其诗风转向与“隐身上帝”的对话,探索人类内在的精神世界,被称为当代最伟大的宗教诗人。托马斯的诗风与其个性一样孤傲,严谨洗练,硬朗不屈,在英诗坛独具一格。1998年,R.S.托马斯被任命为威尔士班戈大学名誉教授。



译者
Translator


黄挺松
Tingsong Huang

黄挺松,1971年出生于安徽怀宁县,《海子诗刊》和《中国青年诗歌年鉴》副主编。诗作发表于《诗刊》《十月》《西部》《清明》《作品》《星星诗刊》《诗歌月刊》《扬子江诗刊》《诗选刊》《诗潮》《芒种》《天津文学》《福建文学》《安徽文学》等刊物。获2019年度华语十佳诗集。入选江苏省第4期中青年作家高研班。出版有诗集《安静的灯光》等。

Tingsong Huang, born in Huaining County, Anhui Province in 1971, is the deputy editor-in-chief of Haizi Poetry and Chinese Youth Poetry Yearbook. His poems have been published in Poetry Magazine, October, West, Qingming, Works, Stars Poems, Poetry Monthly, Yangtze Jiang Poetry Journal, Poem Selection Magazine, The Poetic Tide, Mangzhong Literature, Tianjin literature, Fujian Literature, Anhui Literature and others. He won The Top Ten Poetry Collections in Chinese in 2019. He was selected into the 4th Jiangsu Province Young and Middle-aged Writers Advanced Research Class. He has published a collection of poems Quiet Lamplight and so on.

The Bright Field

光明的田野

I have seen the sun break through to illuminate a small field for a while, and I have gone my way and forgotten it. But that was the pearl of great price, the one field that had treasure in it. I realize now that I must give all that I have to possess it. Life is not hurrying on to a receding future, nor hankering after an imagined past. It is the turning aside like Moses to the miracle of the lit bush, to a brightness that seemed as transitory as your youth once, but is the eternity that awaits you.

 

我看见过太阳破晓而出 照亮了小片的田野 一会儿,而我走过我的路 忘却了它。但那是 价格不菲的珍宝,是唯一的田野 藏于其中。我现在意识到 我必须付出我所拥有的一切 拥有它。生活不是匆忙 奔向渐行渐远的未来,也不是渴望 追随想象中的过去。这是转向 如摩西点燃灌木的奇迹,转向光明 看起来像短暂如你青春的 曾经,但等待你的,是永恒。

The View from the Window

窗口即景

Like a painting it is set before one, But less brittle, ageless; these colours Are renewed daily with variations Of light and distance that no painter Achieves or suggests. Then there is movement, Change, as slowly the cloud bruises Are healed by sunlight, or snow caps A black mood; but gold at evening To cheer the heart. All through history The great brush has not rested, Nor the paint dried; yet what eye, Looking coolly, or, as we now, through the tears' lenses, ever saw This work and it was not finished?

 

就像一幅画,置于一个人眼前, 但不那么易碎,而永恒;这些色彩 每天更新,随着变化无穷的 光线和距离,没有一个画家 能达成,能建议。而后是活动, 转换,慢慢随之,乌云的擦伤 被阳光治愈,白雪覆盖 忧郁的情绪;但傍晚的金黄 振作心灵。越过整个历史 偌大的画笔不曾休息, 颜料也未涩去;是什么眼睛, 冷冷看着,或者,恰如我们现在, 用泪水的透镜,一度瞧见 这幅画作,以及它的并未完工?

The Lonely Farmer

孤独的农夫

Poor hill farmer astray in the grass; There came a movement and he looked up, but All that he saw was the wind pass. There was a sound of voice on the air. But where, where? It was only the glib stream talking Softly to itself. And once when he was walking Along a lane in spring he was deceived By a shrill; whistle coming through the leaves; Wait a minute, wait a minute--four swift notes; He turned, and it was nothing, only a Thrush In the thorn bushes easing its throat. He swore at himself for paying heed, The poor hill farmer, so often again Stopping, staring, listening, in vain, His ear betrayed by the heart's need.

 

可怜的山地农夫迷乱在草丛里; 听到一个动静,他抬起头,但是 他看到的只是风在吹过。 空气中传来一声嗓音。 但在哪里,哪里?只有饶舌的溪流 低声自语。还有一次,走在 一条春天的小路上,他受骗于 一种脆叫;鸣啭声从叶丛里传来; 等一分钟,又一分钟——四个快速的音符; 他转过身,没有别的,只是一只画眉 在荆棘丛中舒展它的歌喉。 他对自己发誓要留意, 这个可怜的山地农夫,于是一再地 停下,凝望,聆听,失落, 他的耳朵被内心的需要,出卖了。

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