grindingoinground

华莱士·史蒂文斯

您会说什么，演绎者们，关于人 这些身处天堂的墓中却行走夜间， 在我们的旧喜剧中变暗的鬼魂？ 他们是否以为自己正漫游在阵阵寒冷中， 高悬着灯笼照亮路途， 属于死亡的自由人们，几乎，依然几乎 就要找到他们所寻找的任何？还是说 那场葬礼，每日支起门扉 和通向虚无的灵性之旅， 每夜预知那深渊的一夜， 当主持人不该再走神，也不该有光 从不摇曳的灯笼中悄悄流向黑暗？ 在黑暗喜剧演员之间构造色彩， 从最远的距离对他们吼呵噜 而回应来自他们冰冻的艾丽榭。

Of Heaven Considered as a Tomb

Wallace Stevens

What word have you, interpreters, of men Who in the tomb of heaven walk by night, The darkened ghosts of our old comedy? Do they believe they range the gusty cold, With lanterns borne aloft to light the way, Freemen of death, about and still about To find whatever it is they seek? Or does That burial, pillared up each day as porte And spiritous passage into nothingness, Foretell each night the one abysmal night, When the host shall no more wander, nor the light Of the steadfast lanterns creep across the dark? Make hue among the dark comedians, Halloo them in the topmost distances For answer from their icy Elysée.