grindingoinground

华莱士·史蒂文斯

你给予我奇异的勇气，古老的恒星： 独自闪耀吧，在你不曾舍身投入的那日出中！

I

独自闪耀，赤裸地闪耀，古铜般闪耀，既不映出我的面庞又不映出我的一切内在，火焰般闪耀，映出空白。

II

不要舍身于令其光芒渗透你的任何人性。 不要成为清晨的奇美拉， 半人，半星。 不要成为一种智力，像一位寡妇的鸟儿 或一匹老马。

Nuances of a Theme by Williams

Wallace Stevens

It’s a strange courage you give me, ancient star: Shine alone in the sunrise toward which you lend no part!

I Shine alone, shine nakedly, shine like bronze, that reflects neither my face nor any inner part of my being, shine like fire, that mirrors nothing.

II Lend no part to any humanity that suffuses you in its own light. Be not chimera of morning, Half-man, half-star. Be not an intelligence, Like a widow’s bird Or an old horse.

华莱士·史蒂文斯

I

一部教科小品。 梨不是古提琴、 裸体或瓶子。 它们不与其它事物相像。

II

它们是黄色形体 由曲线构成 近底部鼓起。 它们沾了红色。

III

它们不是平面 有着弯曲轮廓。 它们浑圆 近顶端更纤细。

IV

在它们的捏造方式中 有点点蓝。 一片硬干的叶子垂 在梗上。

V

黄色闪烁着。 闪烁着各色的黄， 枸橼、柑橘和绿色 在表皮上繁华。

VI

梨的阴影 是绿布上的团块。 梨并不被观看 随着观看者的意志。

Study of Two Pears

Wallace Stevens

I Opusculum paedagogum. The pears are not viols, nudes or bottles. They resemble nothing else.

II They are yellow forms Composed of curves Bulging toward the base. They are touched red.

III They are not flat surfaces Having curved outlines. They are round tapering toward the top.

IV In the way they are modelled There are bits of blue. A hard dry leaf hangs From the stem.

V The yellow glistens. It glistens with various yellows, Citrons, oranges andn greens Flowering over the skin.

VI The shadows of the pears Are blobs on the green cloth. The pears are not seen As the observer wills.

华莱士·史蒂文斯

房屋被 白夜袍占据。 无一是绿色的， 或紫配绿环的， 或绿配黄环的， 或黄配蓝环的。 无一奇特， 配蕾丝袜子 和缀珠束带。 人们不会 梦狒狒和长春花色。 只是，这里那里，一名老船员， 穿靴子喝醉并睡着， 在红色气象中 捉着老虎。

Disillusionment of Ten O’Clock

Wallace Stevens

The houses are haunted By white night-gowns. None are green, Or purple with green rings, Or green with yellow rings, Or yellow with blue rings. None of them are strange, With socks of lace And beaded ceintures. People are not going To dream of baboons and periwinkles. Only, here and there, an old sailor, Drunk and asleep in his boots, Catches tigers In red weather.

华莱士·史蒂文斯

当树叶已经落下，我们回到 事物的朴素含义。仿佛是 我们不得不来到想象力的终结， 不动在一种不能动的知之中。

就连选出一个词都很难形容 这空白的冷，这无由的悲伤。 宏伟的结构变成一间小房子。 没有头巾走过减少的楼层。

温室从未如此需要油漆。 烟囱有五十岁并朝一边倾斜。 一份奇异的努力失败了，一个重复 在一种人与苍蝇的重复性之中。

而想象力的缺乏已经令 它自己被想象。巨大的池塘， 它的朴素含义，没有倒影、叶子、 淤泥、水一般的脏玻璃，表达某种

寂静，如耗子出洞张望般的寂静， 巨大的池塘和它睡莲的代谢物，所有这些 不得不被想象成一种无从避免的知识， 须要的，正如一种必须所要求的。

The Plain Sense of Things

Wallace Stevens

After the leaves have fallen, we return To a plain sense of things. It is as if We had come to an end of the imagination, Inanimate in an inert savoir.

It is difficult even to choose the adjective For this blank cold, this sadness without cause. The great structure has become a minor house. No turban walks across the lessened floors.

The greenhouse never so badly needed paint. The chimney is fifty years old and slants to one side. A fantastic effort has failed, a repetition In a repetitiousness of men and flies.

Yet the absence of the imagination had Itself to be imagined. The great pond, The plain sense of it, without reflections, leaves, Mud, water like dirty glass, expressing silence

Of a sort, silence of a rat come out to see, The great pond and its waste of the lilies, all this Had to be imagined as an inevitable knowledge, Required, as a necessity requires.

华莱士·史蒂文斯

它就在那，逐字逐句， 一首诗取代了一座山的位置。

他呼吸它的氧气， 即使当这书翻开在他桌面的灰尘中。

它令他想起他是如何需要 一个他自决方向的地方可以去，

他是如何重构松树， 移动岩石又挑选云端的道路，

为了一片恰如其分的景致， 在此他将是完整的，在一个 没有解释的完成中：

在精确的那块石头中他的不精确 将发现，最终，它们所逼近的景色，

他可以在那里躺下，并俯瞰海洋， 认出他唯一而孤独的家。

The Poem that Took the Place of a Mountain

Wallace Stevens

There it was, word for word, The poem that took the place of a mountain.

He breathed its oxygen, Even when the book lay turned in the dust of his table.

It reminded him how he had needed A place to go to in his own direction,

How he had recomposed the pines, Shifted the rocks and picked his way among clouds,

For the outlook that would be right, Where he would be complete in an unexplained completion:

The exact rock where his inexactnesses Would discover, at last, the view toward which they had edged,

Where he could lie and, gazing down at the sea, Recognize his unique and solitary home.

华莱士·史蒂文斯

没有士兵在风景中， 没有想到现在死了的人， 像五十年前那样， 年轻并活在活的空气里， 年轻并走在阳光照耀下， 屈折蓝色的裙摆去触摸什么， 今天心智不属于天气的一部分。

今天空气空无所有。 它没有知识，除了空白， 又不具意义地从我们身上流过， 仿佛我们中没有人曾在这里， 当下也不在：在这浅薄的景观中， 这隐形的动静中，这层含义中。

A Clear Day And No Memories

Wallace Stevens

No soldiers in the scenery, No thoughts of people now dead, As they were fifty years ago, Young and living in a live air, Young and walking in the sunshine, Bending in blue dresses to touch something, Today the mind is not part of the weather.

Today the air is clear of everything. It has no knowledge except of nothingness And it flows over us without meanings, As if none of us had ever been here before And are not now: in this shallow spectacle, This invisible activity, this sense.

乔治• 赫伯特

爱示意欢迎。可我的灵魂畏缩 愧于尘与罪。 而眼尖的爱，察觉我逐渐松散 打进门那刻起， 近我身旁，柔声发问， 我是否缺了什么。

一位客人，我回答，有资格来这里的： 爱说，你应是他。 我这残忍又不义的？啊亲爱的， 我无法看着你。 爱牵我的手，微笑回应， 是谁造的那双眼睛，若非我？

主啊，不错，可我脏了它们：让我的羞愧 去它该去的那里。 你不知道，爱说，谁受怪罪吗？ 我亲爱的，那么我将招待他。 你必须坐下，爱说，并尝我的肉： 所以我坐下来并吃了。

Love (III)

George Herbert

Love bade me welcome. Yet my soul drew back Guilty of dust and sin. But quick-eyed Love, observing me grow slack From my first entrance in, Drew nearer to me, sweetly questioning, If I lacked any thing.

A guest, I answered, worthy to be here: Love said, You shall be he. I the unkind, ungrateful? Ah my dear, I cannot look on thee. Love took my hand, and smiling did reply, Who made the eyes but I?

Truth Lord, but I have marred them: let my shame Go where it doth deserve. And know you not, says Love, who bore the blame? My dear, then I will serve. You must sit down, says Love, and taste my meat: So I did sit and eat.

艾米莉·狄金森

我会告诉你太阳如何升起—— 升一段，一段丝带—— 塔尖游在紫水晶里—— 消息，松鼠般，奔跑—— 山丘解开它们的波奈特—— 波波林克们——开始了—— 于是我轻声对自己说—— “那一定就是太阳”！

但他如何落下——我不知道—— 似乎有一座紫色阶梯 黄色的小男孩和女孩们 不断攀爬的阶梯—— 直到他们抵达另一侧， 一位穿灰衣的牧师—— 轻轻锁上的夜晚的栅栏—— 带领一众离去。

I’ll tell you how the Sun rose

Emily Dickinson

I’ll tell you how the Sun rose – A Ribbon at a time – The Steeples swam in Amethyst – The news, like Squirrels, ran – The Hills untied their Bonnets – The Bobolinks – begun – Then I said softly to myself – “That must have been the Sun”!

But how he set – I know not – There seemed a purple stile That little Yellow boys and girls Were climbing all the while – Till when they reached the other side – A Dominie in Gray – Put gently up the evening Bars – And led the flock away –