2020年诺贝尔文学奖得主 | 露易丝·格丽克：有的人正死于爱情

Balcony

It was a night like this, at the end of summer.

We had rented, I remember, a room with a balcony.

How many days and nights? Five, perhaps–no more.

Even when we weren’t touching we were making love.

We stood on our little balcony in the summer night.

And off somewhere, the sounds of human life.

We were the soon to be anointed monarchs,

well disposed to our subjects. Just beneath us,

sounds of a radio playing, an aria we didn’t in those years know.

Someone dying of love. Someone from whom time had taken

the only happiness, who was alone now,

impoverished, without beauty.

The rapturous notes of an unendurable grief, of isolation and terror,

the nearly impossible to sustain slow phrases of the ascending figures–

they drifted out over the dark water

like an ecstasy.

Such a small mistake. And many years later,

the only thing left of that night, of the hours in that room.

那是像今夜的一夜，在夏末。

我们租了，我记得，一个带阳台的房间。

几个白天和夜晚？五个，或许——不会更多。

甚至我们没有抚摸时也在做爱。

我们在夏夜里站在我们的小阳台上。

远处什么地方，人类生活的声音。

我们很快就要被加冕为君王，

深受我们的臣民爱戴。就在我们下面，

收音机播放的声音，那些年我们不熟悉的一支咏叹调。

有的人正死于爱情。有的人被时间掠去了

仅有的幸福，如今孤独一人，

一无所有，美丽不再。

那些销魂的音符，关于无法忍受的悲伤，关于孤独与恐惧，

那几乎不可能维持的缓缓上升的音符——

它们在黑暗的水上漂去

像一场迷醉。

这样一个小错误。许多年后，

那一夜，在那个房间里的几个小时，唯一留下的东西。

The garden

Over the still world,

a bird calls

waking solitary

among black boughs.

You wanted to be born;

I let you be born.

When has my grief ever gotten

in the way of your pleasure?

Plunging ahead

into the dark and light

at the same time

eager for sensation

as though you were some new thing, wanting to express yourselves

all brilliance, all vivacity

never thinking

this would cost you anything,

never imagining

the sound of my voice

as anything but part of you—

you won't hear it

in the other world,

not clearly again,

not in birdcall or human cry,

not the clear sound, only

persistent echoing

in all sound that means good-bye,

good-bye—

the one continuous line

that binds us to each other.

我再不愿做这事了，

我再看下去要受不了——

在花园里，明亮的雨中

那对年轻夫妇正在种下

一排豌豆，仿佛

以前从没有人做过这件事，

这巨大的困难

还从来没有人

面对、解决——

他们看不见他们自己，

在新泥里，开始，

没有前景，

他们后面，浅山淡绿，

花团锦簇——

她想停下来；

他想继续做这件事，

直到结束——

看她，正抚着他的脸颊

表示停战，她的手指

带着春雨的凉；

在细草里，

紫色番红花迸发——

甚至在此，

甚至在爱的初始，

每次她的手离开他的脸

都成为分别的意象

而他们认为

他们可以随意忽略

这种悲哀。

End of Winter

Over the still world,

a bird calls

waking solitary

among black boughs.

You wanted to be born;

I let you be born.

When has my grief ever gotten

in the way of your pleasure?

Plunging ahead

into the dark and light

at the same time

eager for sensation

as though you were some new thing, wanting to express yourselves

all brilliance, all vivacity

never thinking

this would cost you anything,

never imagining

the sound of my voice

as anything but part of you—

you won't hear it

in the other world,

not clearly again,

not in birdcall or human cry,

not the clear sound, only

persistent echoing

in all sound that means good-bye,

good-bye—

the one continuous line

that binds us to each other.

寂静世界之上，

一只鸟的鸣叫

唤醒了

黑枝条间的荒凉。

你想要出生，

我让你出生。

什么时候我的悲伤妨碍了

你的快乐？

急急向前

进入黑暗和光亮

同时

急于感知

仿佛你是某种新事物，

想要表达你自己

所有的光彩，所有的活泼

从来不想

这将让你付出什么，

从来不设想

我的嗓音

恰恰不是你的一部分——

你不会

在另一个世界听到它，

再不会清晰地，

再不会是鸟鸣或人的叫喊，

不是清晰的声音，只是

持续的回声

用所有的声音表示着再见，

再见——

那条连续的线

把我们缚在一起。

Castile

Orange blossoms

blowing over Castile

children begging for coins

I met my love

under an orange tree

or was it an acacia tree

or was he not my love?

I read this,

then I dreamed this:

can waking take back

what happened to me?

Bells of San Miguel

ringing in the distance

his hair in the shadows blond-white

I dreamed this,

does that mean it didn't happen?

Does it have to happen in the world to be real?

I dreamed everything, the story

became my story:

he lay beside me,

my hand grazed

the skin of his shoulder

Mid-day, then early evening:

in the distance, the sound of a train

But it was not the world:

in the world, a thing happens finally, absolutely,

the mind cannot reverse it.

Castile: nuns walking in pairs

through the dark garden.

Outside the walls of the Holy Angels

children begging for coins

When I woke I was crying,

has that no reality?

I met my love

under an orange tree:

I have forgotten

only the facts,

not the inference—

there were children, somewhere,

crying, begging for coins

I dreamed everything,

I gave myself

completely and for all time

And the train returned us

first to Madrid

then to the Basque country

在卡斯提尔上空随风起舞

孩子们在乞讨硬币

我曾经遇到我爱的人，

在橙子树下

难道那是金合欢树

难道他不是我爱的人？

我曾经读着这些，

也曾经梦见这些：

现在醒着，就能唤回

曾发生在我身上的事吗？

圣米格尔岛的钟声

在远方回响

他的头发在暗影中金黄略白

我曾经梦见这些，

就意味着它不曾发生过吗？

必须在这世界上发生过，

才成为真实吗？

我曾经梦见一切，这个故事

就成了我的故事：

那时他躺在我身边，

我的手轻抚

他肩膀的肌肤

中午，然后是傍晚：

远方，火车的声音

但这些并非就是这个世界：

在这个世界上，一件事

最终地、绝对地发生，

心灵也不能将它扭转。

卡斯提尔：修女们两两

走过黑暗的花园。

在圣天使教堂的围墙外

孩子们在乞讨硬币

如果我醒来，还在哭泣，

难道这就没有真实？

我曾经遇到我爱的人，

在橙子树下：

我所忘记的

只是这些事实，

而不是那个推论——

在某个地方，有孩子们

在叫喊，在乞讨硬币

我曾梦见一切，

我曾恣意沉迷

完全地，永远地

而那列火车把我们带回

先到马德里

再到巴斯克乡村。

The Wild Iris

At the end of my suffering,

there was a door.

Hear me out:

that which you call death

I remember.

Overhead, noises,

branches of the pine shifting.

Then nothing.

The weak sun flickered over

the dry surface.

It is terrible to survive

as consciousness buried

in the dark earth.

Then it was over:

that which you fear,

being a soul and unable to speak,

ending abruptly,

the stiff earth bending a little.

And what I took to be birds

darting in low shrubs.

You who do not remember

passage from the other world

I tell you I could speak again:

whatever returns from oblivion

returns to find a voice:

from the center of my life

came a great fountain,

deep blue shadows

on azure seawater.

Departure

The night isn't dark;

the world is dark.

Stay with me a little longer.

Your hands on the back of the chair--that's what I'll remember.

Before that,

lightly stroking my shoulders.

Like a man training himself

to avoid the heart.

In the other room,

the maid discreetly

putting out the light I read by.

That room with its chalk walls--

how will it look to you I wonder

once your exile begins?

I think your eyes will seek out

its light as opposed to the moon.

Apparently, after so many years,

you need distance to

make plain its intensity.

Your hands on the chair, stroking

my body and the wood

in exactly the same way.

Like a man who wants to feel

longing again,

who prizes longing

above all other emotion.

On the beach,

voices of the Greek farmers,

impatient for sunrise.

As thought dawn will change them

from farmers into heroes.

And before that, you are holding me

because you are going away--

these are statements

you are making,

not questions needing answers.

How can I know you love me

unless I see you grieve over me.

夜不黑；

黑的是这世界。

和我再多待一会儿。

你的双手在椅背上——

这一幕我将记住。

之前，

轻轻拨弄着我的肩膀。

像一个人训练自己

怎样躲避内心。

另一个房间里，

女仆悄悄地

熄灭了我看书的灯。

那个房间和它的石灰墙壁—

我想知道，它还怎么保护你

一旦你的漂泊开始？

我想你的眼睛将寻找出

它的亮光，与月光对抗。

很明显，这么多年之后，

你需要距离

来理解它的强烈。

你的双手在椅背上，拨弄着

我的身体和木头，

恰以同样的方式。

像一个想再次感受

渴望的人，

他珍视渴望

甚于一切别的情感。

海边，

希腊农夫们的声音，

急于看到日出。

仿佛黎明将把他们

从农夫变成英雄。

而那之前，你正抱着我，

因为你就要离开——

这些是

你此刻的陈述，

并非需要回答的问题。

我怎么能知道你爱我

除非我看到你为我悲伤？

Sunset

My great happiness

is the sound your voice makes

calling to me even in despair;

my sorrow

that I cannot answer you

in speech you accept as mine.

You have no faith in

your own language.

So you invest

authority in signs

you cannot read with any accuracy.

And yet your voice

reaches me always.

And I answer constantly,

my anger passing

as winter passes. My tenderness

should be apparent to you

in the breeze of summer evening

and in the words that become

your own response.

我巨大的幸福，

是你的嗓子发出的声音

向我呼唤，甚至在绝望中

我的悲伤

在于我无法用被你认可的

我的言语，回答你

你对自己的语言

没有信念

所以你将权威

赋予了

你无法精确读取的标记

而你的嗓音

仍然一直抵达我

而我不断地回答

我的愤怒结束

当冬天结束，我的柔弱

对你应该是显而易见

在夏夜的微风里

在成为你自己的应答的

词语里。

Snow

Late December: my father and I

Are going to New York,

to the circus.

He holds me on his shoulders

in the bitter wind:

Scraps of white paper

Blow over the railroad ties.

My father liked to stand like this, to hold me

So he couldn’t see me.

I remember

Staring straight ahead

Into the world my father saw;

I was learning

To absorb its emptiness,

The heavy snow

Not falling, whirling around us.

十二月底：我和爸爸

去纽约，

去马戏团。

他驮着我在他肩上，

在寒风里：

白色的碎纸片

在铁路枕木上飞舞。

爸爸喜欢这样站着，

驮着我

所以他看不见我。

我还记得

直直地盯着前面

盯着爸爸看到的世界；

我在学习

吸收它的空虚，

大片的雪花

绕着我们飞旋，并不落下。

Eros

I had drawn my chair

to the hotel window,

to watch the rain.

I was in a kind of dream, or trance –

in love, and yet

I wanted nothing.

It seemed unnecessary

to touch you, to see you again.

I wanted only this:

the room, the hair,

the sound of the rain falling,

hour after hour,

in the warmth of the spring night.

I needed nothing more;

I was utterly sated.

My heart had become very small;

it took very little to fill it.

I watched the rain falling in heavy sheets over the darkened city –

You were not concerned.

I could let you

live as you needed to live.

At dawn the rain abated.

I did the things

one does in daylight,

I acquitted myself,

but I moved like a sleepwalker.

It was enough

and it no longer involved you.

A few days in a strange city.

A conversation,

the touch of a hand.

And afterward,

I took off my wedding ring.

That was what I wanted:

to be naked.

我已经把椅子

拉到旅馆窗前

看雨。

宛如在梦中或恍惚中

——

在爱中，但仍然

我一无所求。

似乎没必要再

与你联系，见到你。

我只想要这些：

房间，椅子，

雨飘落的声音，

许多个小时，

在春夜的温暖中。

我不再需要别的；

我是全然地满足。

我的心已变小；

它只要一丁点儿填充自己。

我看着雨水瓢泼而下，

在变得黑暗的城市之上——

你不再被牵挂；

我能放你

过你需要过的生活。

黎明时，雨渐稀疏。

我做些

人们在晨光里做的事，

我宣判自己无罪，

但我走动像一个梦游人。

这已足够，

这不再与你有关。

一座陌生城市里的一些日子。

一次谈话，一只手的触摸。

再后来，

我摘下了结婚戒指。

那是我想要的：

无牵无挂。

Star

I’m awake;

I am in the world-

I expect no further assurance.

No protection, no promise.

Solace of the night sky,

the hardly moving

face of the clock.

I’m alone-

all my riches surround me.

I have a bed, a room.

I have a bed, a vase

of flowers beside it.

And a nightlight, a book.

I’m awake; I am safe.

The darkness like a shield,

the dreams put off,

maybe vanished forever.

And the day-

the unsatisfying morning that saysI am your future,

here is your cargo of sorrow:

Do you reject me? Do you mean

To send me away

because I am notfull, in your word,because you see

the black shape already implicit?

I will never be banished.

I am the light,your personal

anguish and humiliation.

Do you dare send me away

as thoughyou were waiting for