Deines的法國生活手扎

~我讀兩位女詩人Mary Oliver和Marianne Moore的3本詩集Ⅱ~

承上篇我讀兩位女詩人Mary Oliver 和Marian ne Moore的3本詩集Ⅰ

繼續po上 Mary Oliver和Marianne Moore 的8首原文詩及我的翻譯

Why I wake early

~Why I Wake Early~

Hello, sun in my face.

Hello, you who made the morning

and spread it over the fields

and into the faces of the tulips

and the nodding morning glories,

and into the windows of, even, the

miserable and the crotchety –

best preacher that ever was,

dear star, that just happens

to be where you are in the universe

to keep us from ever-darkness,

to ease us with warm touching,

to hold us in the great hands of light –

good morning, good morning, good morning.

Watch, now, how I start the day

in happiness, in kindness.

~為何我急著早起~    譯者：Deines

你好，灑在我臉上的陽光。
你好，早晨的創造者
你將它覆蓋在田野
灑在鬱金香和牽午花低垂的臉上，
也將它灑進那扇悲哀和充滿奇想的窗口
　　
那曾經是最棒的傳教者，
親愛的星星，正是你
高掛在宇宙之巔
使我們遠離永恆的黑暗，
帶給我們溫暖的撫觸，
用充滿晨光的手擁抱著我們—
早安，早安，早安。

看，現在，滿懷著幸福和感恩

我將開始嶄新的一天
　　

~The Lily~   by Mary Oliver
　　
Night after night
darkness
enters the face
of the lily 
which, lightly, 
closes its five walls
around itself, 
and its purse 
of honey, 
and its fragrance, 
and is content
to stand there 
in the garden, 
not quite sleeping, 
and, maybe, 
saying in lily language 
some small words
we can’t hear
even when there is no wind
anywhere, 
its lips
are so secret, 
its tongue
is so hidden – 
or, maybe, 
it says nothing at all
but just stands there
with the patience 
of vegetables
and saints
until the whole earth has turned around
and the silver moon 
becomes the golden sun – 
as the lily absolutely knew it would, 
which is itself, isn’t it, 
the perfect prayer?

~百合~   譯者：Deines

一夜又一夜
黑暗
攏罩了百合的
臉
輕柔的
闔上
它的五片花瓣，
它的
花蜜袋，
以及它的清香 
它滿足的
站在
這座花園裡
它並不想睡
而是
用百合的語言，
訴說著
我們聽不見的私語，
尤其是
當風都停下來休息時
它的唇
保守著秘密，
也或許
它什麼也沒說
只是耐心的站在那
像一株朝聖的植物
直到地球轉了一圈
銀色的月亮
變成金色的太陽——
百合對此了然於心
它自己，不正是那位
最完美的祈禱者？

~The old poets of China ~    by Mary Oliver

Wherever I am, the world comes after me.

It offers me its busyness. It does not believe

that I do not want it. Now I understand

why the old poets of China went so far and high

into the mountains, then crept into the pale mist.

~中國的古老詩人~   譯者：Deines

無論我身在何方，這世界紛擾的聲音太多

寧靜的文字，太少。於是我終於明白

中國的古老詩人，為何要隱居在深山

讓蒼白的雲霧洗滌心靈。

~One ~  by Mary Oliver
　　
The mosquito is so small
it takes almost nothing to ruin it.
Each leaf, the same.
And the black ant, hurrying.
So many lives, so many fortunes! 
Every morning, I walk softly and with forward glances
down to the ponds and through the pinewoods.
Mushrooms, even, have but a brief hour
before the slug creeps to the feast, 
before the pine needles hustle down
under the bundles of harsh, beneficent rain. 
How many, how many, how many
make up a world! 
And then I think of that old idea: the singular
and the eternal.
One cup, in which everything is swirled
back to the color of the sea and sky.
Imagine it! 
A shining cup, surely! 
In the moment in which there is no wind
over your shoulder, 
you stare down into it, 
and there you are, 
your own darling face, your own eyes.
And then the wind, not thinking of you, just passes by, 
touching the ant, the mosquito, the leaf, 
and you know what else! 
How blue is the sea, how blue is the sky, 
how blue and tiny and redeemable everything is, even you, 
even your eyes, even your imagination.
　　

~一~  譯者：Deines

蚊子是如此渺小，
毀滅它是如此容易。
對每一片葉子，以及匆忙的黑螞蟻，
同樣如此
這麼多的生命，這麼多的命運
每天早晨，我輕輕走着，眼睛向前掃視
低處的池塘和松樹林
蘑菇上，在蛞蝓正要爬上它的盛宴之前， 
在松針將要落地之前
快速湍急，滋潤大地的雨水 
這所有的，所有的，所有的
組成了這個世界！
於是我想起那個古老的觀念：獨一無二的
才是永恆。
世界是一只杯子，萬物都在其中旋轉
變回大海和天空的顏色。
想像著
這一定是一只晶瑩閃亮的杯子！
那一瞬間
並沒有風吹過你的肩膀
你凝望著它，
你其實己經在其中，
你自己迷人的臉龐，你自己的眼睛。
而那陣風，只是輕輕吹過。
輕撫著螞蟻、蚊子、樹葉
及你所知道的其它
多麼湛藍的大海，多麼蔚藍的天空 
萬物多麼的藍，也多麼的渺小，卻能救贖一切，包括你自己
包括你的眼睛，包括你的想象。

The poems of Marianne Moore

~To an Intra-mural Rat~   by Marianne Moore

You make me think of many men 
Once met, to be forgot again
Or merely resurrected
In a parenthesis of wit
That found them hastening through it
Too brisk to be inspected. 

~致一隻牆中鼠~   譯者：Deines

你使我想起許多男人
曾經相遇，卻又遺忘
或僅僅出現在
一段有趣的插曲中
他們在其中靈光乍現

一閃即逝，己難追憶。

~To a Steam Roller~   by Marianne Moore

The illustration
is nothing to you without the application.
You lack half wit. You crush all the particles down
into close conformity, and then walk back and forth on them. 

Sparkling chips of rock
are crushed down to the level of the parent block.
Were not 'impersonal judgment in aesthetic
matters, a metaphysical impossibility,' you 

might fairly achieve
it. As for butterflies, I can hardly conceive
of one's attending upon you, but to question
the congruence of the complement is vain, if it exists. 

~致一台蒸氣壓路機~    譯者：Deines

如果你不被使用，
這一切對你豪無意義。  
你並不幽默。你將所有的顆粒
壓成一片，然後在上面走來走去。
　　
閃閃發光的岩石碎屑 
被壓成平整的基石。
如果不是因為，美學標準
不是哲學或詩人能客觀判斷，你
　　
應當己經做的很好了
除了蝴蝶，我很難想像
有人會注意你，但問題是　

即使真的是這樣，去質疑它，也只是徙勞無功

~poetry~   by Marianne Moore

I, too, dislike it: there are things that are important beyond all 
this fiddle.
Reading it, however, with a perfect contempt for it, one 
discovers in
it after all, a place for the genuine.
Hands that can grasp, eyes
that can dilate, hair that can rise
if it must, these things are important not because a

high-sounding interpretation can be put upon them but because
they are
useful. When they become so derivative as to become 
unintelligible, 
the same thing may be said for all of us, that we
do not admire what
we cannot understand: the bat
holding on upside down or in quest of something to

eat, elephants pushing, a wild horse taking a roll, a tireless wolf
under
a tree, the immovable critic twitching his skin like a horse that
feels a
flea, the base-
ball fan, the statistician--
nor is it valid
to discriminate against 'business documents and

school-books'; all these phenomena are important. One must
make a distinction
however: when dragged into prominence by half poets, the
result is not poetry,
nor till the poets among us can be
'literalists of 
the imagination'--above
insolence and triviality and can present

for inspection, 'imaginary gardens with real toads in them', shall
we have
it. In the meantime, if you demand on the one hand,
the raw material of poetry in
all its rawness and
that which is on the other hand
genuine, you are interested in poetry. 

~詩~   譯者：Deines

我也一樣，並不喜歡它:有些事比虛度光陰
更加的重要。
用鄙夷的態度去閱讀它，卻意外找到一片真
我們能緊握的雙手，能張大的眼睛
能向上攏起的髮絲

這些事之所以重要，並不是因為
　　
一些對它們冠冕堂皇的解釋，而是

因為
它們就是簡單的真理，若連這簡單的事物都變得

晦澀難懂
這世上萬物就沒有什麼我們能理解的：就像是蝙蝠

為什麼可以一邊尋找食物一邊倒掛著

行進中的大象，打滾的野馬，和那匹躲在樹下看似永不疲倦的狼

古板又敏感的人，它皮膚上的輕顫，像一匹馬
感覺到，一隻
跳蚤，一位棒球迷

一位歧視商用文書和學校課本的

統計學家
　　
所有的這些事物都很重要，但你必須
能一一加以區分：被青年吟唱詩人所推崇的，
其實並不是詩。
除非，詩人能成為
想像的寫實主義者　克服了
傲慢和偏見，能接受
　　
“想像中的花園裡，有真實的蟾蜍”，我們才創造出詩

在此同時，若你要求詩
既真實又新鮮
你就對詩產生了興趣

~ Silence~   by Marianne Moore

My father used to say,
" Superior people never make long visits,
have to be shown Longfellow's grave
nor the glass flowers at Harvard.
Self reliant like the cat --
that takes its prey to privacy,
the mouse's limp tail hanging like a shoelace from its mouth --
they sometimes enjoy solitude,
and can be robbed of speech
by speech which has delighted them.
The deepest feeling always shows itself in silence;
not in silence, but restraint."
Nor was he insincere in saying, "`Make my house your inn'."
Inns are not residences. 

~沉默~   譯者：Deines

我的父親常說

“高尚的人絕不會造訪而久留
除非帶他去朗費羅的墳前

或去看哈佛的花草才肯離去
要像貓那樣
將補到的獵物藏起來
從牠的口中只見到像鞋帶一樣垂下的老鼠尾巴— 

它們有時享受孤獨

能為那些令它們愉悅的話

捨棄自己的語言
最深的情感總是在沉默中流露
亦不是沉默，而是克制著
當他說:”將我家當做你的旅館” 可不是言不由衷
旅館永遠不會是家

讀詩的樂趣，在於從自己的角度去看待文字營造的美感

同一首詩在不同人眼中所產生的世界也必定不同

詩可以灑入畫中，譜入曲中，走入夢中...

我翻譯的角度從意境和原意著手

但也許原作的想法誰也無法真正了解

再次重申這是我第一次試著翻譯英詩

若有翻的不好的地方請見諒，希望大家喜歡我的亂譯本

誠摯的歡迎高手一起來譯詩

書藉資料:

書名:New and Selected Poems Vol. 1(重讀)
作者:Mary Oliver
出版社:Beacon Press

書名:Why I wake early
作者:Mary Oliver
出版社:Beacon Press

書名:The Poems of Marianne Moore(重讀)
作者:Marianne Moore
出版社:Faber and Faber

五月遊戲之餘的其它閱讀

書名:莎士比亞十四行詩集(重讀)
作者：William Shakespeare
譯者：辜正坤
出版社：書林

書名:我只丟掉老虎
作者：劉繼榮
出版社：世茂

Why I Wake Early by Mary Oliver