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Summer/Fall 2014Issue 6

A.E. (Alicia) Stallings studied Classics at the University of Georgia and at Oxford University, and has lived in Athens, Greece since 1999. She has received numerous awards for her translations, including the Willis Barnstone Translation Prize, the John Frederick Nims prize from Poetry Magazine, and a U.S. National Endowment for the Arts Translation Fellowship for work on the Medieval Cretan romance, The Erotokritos. Her verse translation of Lucretius’ The Nature of Things, in rhyming fourteeners, was published by Penguin Classics. She is currently at work on a new Penguin Classics verse translation of Hesiod’s Works and Days. Her published volumes of original poetry include Archaic Smile, winner of the Richard Wilbur Award; Hapax, winner of the Poets’ Prize; and most recently Olives, a U.S. National Book Critics Circle Award finalist. Among her additional honors are Guggenheim and United States Artists fellowships, and appointment to the American Academy of Arts and Sciences. In 2011, she was named a MacArthur Fellow for her poetry and translations. She is married to the journalist John Psaropoulos, with whom she has two smallish argonauts, Jason and Atalanta.

A.E.史陶林(艾麗莎·史陶林)曾在美國佐治亞州阿森斯和牛津大學修習古典學,1999年移居希臘雅典。她榮獲過多項翻譯獎,包括威利斯·巴恩斯通翻譯獎、《Poetry Magazine》約翰·弗雷德里克·尼姆斯詩歌翻譯獎,以及美國國家藝術基金會文學翻譯獎(譯著克里特島中世紀愛情史詩《埃羅托克里托斯》)。她用詩體翻譯的盧克萊修的《物性論》(抑揚格七韻步)已由企鵝出版社出版,目前正在翻譯另一部長詩,荷西俄德的《工作與時日》。史陶林著有三部詩集,《古老的微笑》(獲理查德·威爾伯獎)、《獨一無二》(獲詩人獎)和近年出版的《橄欖》(入圍美國國家書評獎決選名單)。曾被授予古根海姆獎金和美國藝術家獎金,並為美國人文與科學院的成員。2011年,她的詩歌創作和在翻譯上的貢獻為其贏得了麥克阿瑟獎。史陶林與希臘記者約翰·帕薩若普洛斯結為伉儷,育有兩位「阿耳戈小英雄」,伊阿宋和阿塔蘭塔。

THE ROSEHEAD NAILL

Blacksmithing demonstration, mountain arts and crafts fair, Monteagle, TN

“But can you forge a nail?” the blond boy asks,
And the blacksmith shoves a length of  iron rod
Deep in the coal fire cherished by the bellows
Until it glows volcanic. He was a god
Before anachronism, before the tasks
That had been craft were jobbed out to machine.
By dint of   hammer-song he makes his keen,
Raw point, and crowns utility with rose:
Quincunx of facets petaling its head.
The breeze-made-visible sidewinds. The boy’s
Blonde mother shifts and coughs. Once Work was wed
To Loveliness — sweat-faced, swarthy from soot, he
Reminds us with the old saw he employs
(And doesn’t miss a beat): “Smoke follows beauty.”
too fine to speak of

 

玫瑰頭釘

在田納西州蒙蒂格爾山區手工藝集市觀看打鐵

「你能鑄造一枚釘子嗎?」金髮男孩問,
鐵匠將一段細鐵深深推入
為風箱所珍愛的燃燒的煤中
直到它發出火山的光芒。他曾是上帝,
在時代錯誤之前,在手藝勞作
外包給機器之前。
擊打,用錘子之歌,他製成尖厲的
生硬的釘身,讓玫瑰為實用加冕:
五枚花瓣戴在頭頂。
一條灰蛇在風中盤行。男孩的
金髮母親挪了挪,咳嗽幾聲。工作
曾與愛相結合——滿臉汗水,熏得黝黑,他
雇傭諺語提醒我們
(但不錯過一個拍子):「煙追隨美而生。」

翻譯 © 史春波

A LAMENT FOR THE DEAD PETS OF OUR CHILDHOOD

Even now I dream of rabbits murdered
By loose dogs in the dark, the saved-up voice
Spilt on that last terror, or the springtime
Of lost baby rabbits, grey and blind
As moles, that slipped from birth and from the nest
Into a grey, blind rain, became the mud.
And still I gather up their shapes in dreams,
Those poor, leftover Easter eggs, all grey.

That’s how we found out death: the strangled bird
Undone by a toy hung in his cage,
The foundlings that would never last the night,
Be it pigeon, crippled snake, the kitten
Whose very fleas forsook it in the morning
While we nursed a hangover of hope.

After the death of pets, dolls lay too still
And wooden in the cradle, sister, after
We learned death: not hell, no ghosts or angels,
But a cold thing in the image of a warm thing,
Limp as sleep without the twitch of dreams.

 

一首哀歌,給我們童年死去的寵物

如今我依然會夢見野外的狗
在黑暗中獵殺兔子,封存的尖叫
從最後的驚恐流溢,或者春天
幼兔走失,灰茸茸,沒有視力
像鼴鼠,從母體滑落,從窩滑落
跌進灰色的盲雨,化為泥。
我依然在夢中撿拾它們的形狀,
那些可憐、多餘的復活蛋,全是灰色。

我們就這樣發現死亡:斷頸的鳥
被籠中懸掛的玩具繩所害,
孤伶伶的幼崽不可能撐到天明,
不管是一隻鴿子,一條跛行的蛇,
小貓身上的跳蚤在清晨棄牠而去
當我們還在餵養宿醉的希望。

寵物死後,玩偶過於沉寂
僵硬地躺在搖籃裏。姐姐,
我們嘗到了死亡:不是地獄,不是鬼或天使,
而是一個冰冷的東西來自溫暖的形象,
像睡眠少了夢的痙攣那樣無力。

翻譯 © 史春波

THE DOLL HOUSE

There in the attic of forgotten shapes
(Old coats in plastic, hat boxes, fur capes
Amongst the smells of mothballs and cigars),
I saw the doll house of our early years,
With which my mother and my aunt had played,
And later where my sister and I made
The towering grown-up hours to smile and pass:
The little beds, the tin-foil looking glass,
Bookcases stamped in ink upon the walls,
Mismatched chairs where sat the jointed dolls,
The clock whose face, no larger than a dime,
Had, for all these years, kept the same time.
I remembered how we set the resin food
Atop a table of stained balsa wood,
The shiny turkey hollow to the tap,
The cherry pie baked in a bottle cap.
Now it is time to go to sleep, we spoke,
Parroting the talk of older folk,
And laid the dolls out fully-clothed in bed
After their teeth were brushed, and prayers were said,
And flipped the switch on the low-wattage sun.
But in the night we’d have something break in,
Kidnap the baby or purloin the pie—
A tiger, maybe, or a passer by—
Just to make something happen, to move the story.
The dolls awoke, alarmed, took inventory.
If we made something happen every day,
Or night, it was the game we knew to play,
Not realizing then how lives accrue,
With interest, the smallest things we do.

 

娃娃屋

在閣樓上被遺忘的形狀中間
(罩著塑料的舊大衣,禮帽盒,毛皮斗篷
散發出樟腦球和雪茄的味道)
我看到了我們小時候的娃娃屋,
母親和姨母曾以它為玩伴,
後來,我和姐姐與它輕松度過
想像中碩大的成人時光:
小床,錫紙鏡子,
書櫃用墨水印在牆上,
椅子並不配套,關節靈活的娃娃們坐在上面,
掛鐘的臉盤不如一角硬幣大,
時隔多年,還保持著相同時間。
我記得我們怎樣把塑料食物
擺在沾有汙跡的輕木桌子上,
油亮的空心火雞能咚咚敲響,
櫻桃餅盛在瓶蓋裏烘焙。
該睡覺了,我們說,
模仿長輩的語氣,
然後把娃娃不脫衣服就放到床上,
先給他們刷牙,再念睡前祈禱,
接著關掉低瓦數的太陽。
夜間,我們會讓什麼東西闖入,
綁架寶寶,或偷走甜餅——
一隻老虎,也可能是路人——
只消有事情發生,好讓故事繼續。
娃娃們被驚醒,警覺,清點財產。
日以繼夜,我們安排著事件,
用我們熟知的遊戲,
那時候並不明白,生活由我們所做的
每一件小事積累,附帶利息。

翻譯 © 史春波

JIGSAW PUZZLE

First the four corners,
Then the flat edges.
Assemble the lost borders,
Walk the dizzy ledges,

Hoard one color—try
To make it all connected—
The water and the deep sky
And the sky reflected.

Absences align
And lock shapes into place,
And random shapes combine
To make a tree, a face.
Slowly you restore
The fractured world and start
To re-create an afternoon before
It fell apart:

Here is summer, here is blue,
Here two lovers kissing,
And here the nothingness shows through
Where one piece is missing.

 

拼圖遊戲

先是四角,
再找齊直線邊緣。
組裝起失散的邊界,
沿著眩暈的峭壁行走,

囤積一種顏色——嘗試
將它們相互拼接——
湖泊和深邃的天空
還有天空的倒影。

空曠結盟
把一塊塊形狀鎖定,
偶然有形象出現,湊成
一棵樹,一張臉。

一點點你還原出
破碎的世界,重新
創造一個下午,在它
崩潰之前:

這裏是夏天,這裏是藍色,
這裏一對情侶在接吻,
而這裏少了一塊
讓空白露了陷。

翻譯 © 史春波

TWO VIOLINS

One was fire red,
Hand carved and new—
The local maker pried the wood
From a torn-down church’s pew,

The Devil’s instrument
Wrenched from the house of God.
It answered merrily and clear
Though my fingering was flawed;

Bright and sharp as a young wine,
They said, but it would mellow,
And that I would grow into it.
The other one was yellow

And nicked down at the chin,
A varnish of Baltic amber,
A one-piece back of tiger maple
And a low, dark timbre.

A century old, they said,
Its sound will never change.
Rich and deep on G and D,
Thin on the upper range,

And how it came from the Old World
Was anybody’s guess—
Light as an exile’s suitcase,
A belly of emptiness:

That was the one I chose
(Not the one of flame)
And teachers would turn in their practiced hands
To see whence the sad notes came.

 

兩把小提琴

一把火紅,
手工雕製,嶄新——
本地工匠從教堂拆掉的長凳上
撬下木材,

魔鬼的樂器
從上帝的屋宇劫掠。
它的應答明快而清晰,
儘管我指法生澀;

新鮮,尖銳,像一瓶年輕的葡萄酒,
他們說,總有一天會甘醇,
我們將彼此適應。
另一把為黃色

腮上一處凹痕,
琴身光潔如波羅的海的琥珀,
背板是一塊完整的虎紋楓木,
音色低沉,憂鬱。

有一個世紀那麼老,他們說,
音質將永不改變。
G弦和D弦豐富而幽深,
高音部略單薄,

它怎樣從舊世界輾轉至此
誰能想像——
輕如流亡者的行李,
腹囊空空:

我選擇這一把,
(而非那把火焰)
老師將奉上他們純熟的手
試探音符的悲傷之源。

翻譯 © 史春波

ARROWHEAD HUNTING

The land is full of what was lost. What’s hidden
Rises to the surface after rain
In new-ploughed fields, and fields stubbled again:
The clay shards, foot and lip, that heaped the midden,

And here and there a blade or flakes of blade,
A patient art, knapped from a core of flint,
Most broken, few as coins new from the mint,
Perfect, shot through time as through a glade.

You cannot help but think how they were lost:
The quarry, fletched shaft in its flank, the blood
Whose trail soon vanished in the antlered wood,
Not just the meat, but what the weapon cost—

O hapless hunter, though your aim was true—
The wounded hart, spooked, fleeting in its fear—
And the sharpness honed with longing, year by year
Buried deeper, found someday, but not by you.

 

尋找箭鏃

大地裝滿被遺忘的事物。雨後
曾經埋藏的物品顯露
在剛剛開墾或收割的田地:
碎陶罐,罐足和蓋子,堆疊一處,

間或一塊石刀或石刀的剝片,
耐心的技藝,從燧石的岩心敲製,
大多已破損,有幾枚像新造的錢幣,
完美,穿越時光,彷彿剛從草間落下。

你禁不住去想它們遺失的經過:
獵物,羽箭從腰間拔出,鮮血
血跡迅速消失在鹿角狀的叢林,
除了肉,還有武器的成本——

哦,不幸的獵人,儘管你用心瞄准——
射傷的雄赤鹿,受了驚,帶著恐懼奔逃——
而那年復一年被渴望磨尖的利刃
逐漸深埋,終有一日找到了,卻不是被你。

翻譯 © 史春波

MOMENTARY

I never glimpse her but she goes
Who had been basking in the sun,
Her links of chain mail one by one
Aglint with pewter, bronze and rose.

I never see her lying coiled
Atop the garden step, or under
A dark leaf, unless I blunder
And by some motion she is foiled.

Too late I notice as she passes
Zither of chromatic scale—
I only ever see her tail
Quicksilver into tall grasses.

I know her only by her flowing,
By her glamour disappearing
Into shadow as I’m nearing—
I only recognize her going.

 

刹那

我向來只瞥見她轉身的一刻
剛才還在陽光下沐浴
身上的鎖子甲光輝熠熠
似白镴、青銅和玫瑰。

我從未見她盤臥
在花園的石階上,或
蜷曲的葉影裏,除非陰差陽錯
某種力量將她拖延。

太遲了,當我注意到她
滑過齊特琴的半音音階——
我只窺見她的尾巴
像水銀沒入高草。

我認識她,因為她流逝,
因為她的光彩
總在我靠近時隱匿——
我只能認出她的背影。

翻譯 © 史春波

EXTINCTION OF SILENCE

That it was shy when alive goes without saying.
We know it vanished at the sound of voices

Or footsteps. It took wing at the slightest noises,
Though it could be approached by someone praying.

We have no recordings of it, though of course
In the basement of the Museum, we have some stuffed

Moth-eaten specimens—the Lesser Ruffed
And Yellow Spotted—filed in narrow drawers.

But its song is lost. If it was related to
A species of Quiet, or of another feather,

No researcher can know. Not even whether
A breeding pair still nests deep in the bayou,

Where legend has it some once common bird
Decades ago was first not seen, not heard.

 

寂靜的滅絕

那生來靦腆的,往往緘口離去。
它突然消失,隨著人語

或腳步聲,被最輕微的響動驚飛,
只允許祈禱者接近。

我們沒有它的錄音,當然,
在博物館地下室裏,我們有填塞的

被蛾子蛀蝕的標本——小型領頜,
黃斑雀——歸檔於狹窄的抽屜。

但它的歌聲已遺失。它是否曾屬於
一個叫「沉默」的物種,或其他羽類,

研究員不得而知。說不定
尚有一對在沼澤深處築巢,

傳說它原是一種平常的鳥
幾十年前才絕跡,絕音。

翻譯 © 史春波

THE ARGUMENT

After the argument, all things were strange.
They stood divided by their eloquence
Which had surprised them after so much silence.
Now there were real things to rearrange.
Words betokened deeds, but they were both
Lightened briefly, and they were inclined
To be kind as sometimes strangers can be kind.
It was as if, out of the undergrowth,
They stepped into a clearing and the sun,
Machetes still in hand. Something was done,
But how, they did not fully realize.
Something was beginning. Something would stem
And branch from this one moment. Something made
Them each look up into the other’s eyes
Because they both were suddenly afraid
And there was no one now to comfort them.

 

爭吵

爭吵過後,一切顯得陌生。
他們站在那兒,為各自
良久沉默後的雄辯感到驚訝。
現在,有些事需要重新安排。
詞語預示行動,而他們暫時
變得輕盈,試圖表現出
一種友好,像陌生人之間那樣。
彷彿在一片叢林裏,他們突然
闖進一塊空地,陽光湧入,
手中還握著砍刀。某件事已經達成,
他們並未全然察覺。
某種力量在生長,從這一刻起
枝葉蔓生。它迫使雙方
抬頭凝視彼此的眼睛
因為他們突然感到害怕
因為除了彼此,沒人能給他們安慰。

翻譯 © 史春波

THE CATCH

Something has come between us—
It will not sleep.
Every night it rises like a fish
Out of the deep.

It cries with a human voice,
It aches to be fed.
Every night we heave it weeping
Into our bed,

With its heavy head lolled back,
Its limbs hanging down,
Like a mer-creature fetched up
From the weeds of the drowned.

Damp in the tidal dark, it whimpers,
Tossing the cover,
Separating husband from wife,
Lover from lover.

It settles in the interstice,
It spreads out its arms,
While its cool underwater face
Sharpens and warms:

This is the third thing that makes
Father and mother,
The fierce love of our fashioning
That will have no brother.

 

上鉤

有什麼東西介入了我們——
它徹夜不眠。
像魚,在每個夜晚
從深水裏浮現。

它嗷嗷待哺,
用人的聲音啼泣。
每天夜裏我們將它哭著
拖到我們枕前,

它的頭沉甸甸的,
它的四肢垂懸,
像一個海生物
從纏住溺死者的水草間撈起。

濕漉漉,在潮汐般的黑暗中嗚咽,
它掀翻被子,
分開妻子和丈夫,
情侶和愛人。

它在我們的夾縫中安頓,
胳膊恣意伸展,
它冰涼的水下的臉
變得溫暖,清晰:

這便是成全父母的
第三樣東西,
我們激烈的愛的造物
拒絕任何兄弟。

翻譯 © 史春波

THE MOTHER’S LOATHING OF BALLOONS

I hate you,
How the children plead
At first sight—

I want, I need,
I hate how nearly
Always I

At first say no,
And then comply.
(Soon, soon

They will grow bored
Clutching your
Umbilical cord)—

Over the moon,
Lighter-than-air,
Should you come home,

They’d cease to care—
Who tugs you through
The front door

On a leash, won’t want you
Anymore
And will forget you

On the ceiling—
Admittedly,
A giddy feeling—

Later to find you,
Puckered, small,
Crouching low

Against the wall.
O thin-of-skin
And fit to burst,

You break for her
Who wants you worst.
Your forebear was

The sack of the winds,
The boon that gives
And then rescinds,

Containing nothing
But the force
That blows everyone

Off course.
Once possessed,
Your one chore done,

You float like happiness
To the sun,
Untethered afternoon,

Unkind,
Marooning all
You’ve left behind:

Their tinfoil tears,
Their plastic cries,
Their wheedling

And moot goodbyes,
You shrug them off—
You do not heed—

O loose bloom
              With no root
                            No seed.

 

母親對氣球的憎惡

我厭惡你,
孩子們一看見
就哀求——

我要,我沒有,
我厭惡我幾乎
總是

先說
然後答應。
(遲早,遲早

他們將厭膩
抓緊你的
臍帶)——

任你飄過月亮,
輕於空氣,
假如你被帶回家,

他們很快就不再關心——
那個用繩子
牽你邁進

大門的人,將不再
需要你
並把你遺忘

在天花板上——
誠然,
這令人眩暈——

再發現時你已經
皺縮,變小,
矮矮地

蹲在牆角。
哦,薄皮膚
多適合脹破,

你為她
那最需要你的人裂開。
你的祖先

是袋子裏的風,
施予恩惠
隨後收攏,

使盡力氣
把每個人
吹離航道

此外空無他物。
一經擁有,
便完成了你唯一的雜務,

你像幸福一樣飄著
朝向太陽,
無拘無束的下午,

冷漠地
將背後一切
放逐:

他們錫箔做的淚珠,
他們塑料般的哭喊,
他們的撒嬌

和例行再見,
你抖掉他們——
你沒有反應——

哦,松開的氣球
                    沒有根
                          不會發芽。

翻譯 © 史春波

SINE QUA NON

Your absence, father, is nothing. It is nought—
The factor by which nothing will multiply,
The gap of a dropped stitch, the needle’s eye
Weeping its black thread. It is the spot
Blindly spreading behind the looking glass.
It is the startled silences that come
When the refrigerator stops its hum,
And crickets pause to let the winter pass.

Your absence, father, is nothing—for it is
Omega’s long last O, memory’s elision,
The fraction of impossible division,
The element I move through, emptiness,
The void stars hang in, the interstice of lace,
The zero that still holds the sum in place.

 

Sine Qua Non

父親,你的缺席,不算什麼。它是無——
是不會增加乘積的因數,
是漏掉的一個針腳,針眼
為黑線哀哭。是鏡子上一塊烏斑
無端地擴張。
是冰箱停止嗡鳴後
可怕的寂靜,
蟋蟀休止,給冬天讓路。

父親,你的缺席,不算什麼——它只是
奧米伽終極的O,記憶省略了元音,
是無法分割的分數,
是我從中走過的元素,虛無,
是星星背面的空白,蕾絲上的鏤空,
是零,但依舊維持著總數的完整。

翻譯 © 史春波

譯注:Sine Qua Non,拉丁語,意為「必要條件」;

Omega(大寫Ω,小寫ω),希臘字母表中最後一個字母,字面意思為「大O」,常指代事物的終結。