<p>To Robert Lowell<br/>Czeslaw Milosz</p><p>I had no right to talk of you that way, <br/>Robert. An emigre's envy <br/>Must have prompted me to mock <br/>Your long depressions, weeks of terror, <br/>resumed vacations in the safety of the wards. <br/>It was not from pride in my normalcy. <br/>Insanity, I knew, was insinuating itself <br/>In a thin thread into my very being <br/>And only waited for my permission <br/>To carry me into its murky regions. <br/>And I was watchful. Like a lame man, <br/>I used to walk upright to hide my affliction. <br/>You didn't have to. For you it was permitted. <br/>Not for me, a refugee on this continent <br/>Where so many newcomers vanished without a trace. <br/>Forgive me my mistake. Your will was of no use <br/>Against an illness that held you like a stigma, <br/>And beneath my anger was the vanity, <br/>unjustifiable, of the humiliated. A bit belated, <br/>I write to you across what separates us: <br/>Gestures, conventions, idioms, mores. </p><p>致罗伯特•洛威尔<br/>（波兰）米沃什<br/>胡桑译</p><p>我无权以那种方式谈论你，<br/>罗伯特。一个流亡者的嫉妒<br/>必定会促使我嘲弄<br/>你长时间的沮丧，恐怖的数周，<br/>假设的安全病房里的假期。<br/>这并非来自我正常的傲慢。<br/>我知道，疯狂曾一丝丝<br/>潜入我的生命<br/>只在等我的许可<br/>将我带入其晦暗地带。<br/>我警戒着。就像一个瘸子，<br/>我常常笔直走路，掩饰我的疾病。<br/>你却不用。因为你已被许可。<br/>而我没有，我，这块大陆上的流亡者，<br/>这里那么多新移民销声匿迹。<br/>请宽恕我的误解。你徒劳地反抗疾病，<br/>它宰制你，犹如耻辱，<br/>而在我的愤怒深处是受辱者的<br/>无可辩驳的自傲。延误之后，<br/>我给你写诗，穿过隔离我们的东西：<br/>手势、风俗、方言、道德习惯。 </p><p></p>
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发表于 2008-3-9 23:18:21
resumed vacations in the safety of the wards. <br/>It was not from pride in my normalcy. <br/>Insanity, I knew, was insinuating itself <br/>In a thin thread into my very being <br/>And only waited for my permission <br/>To carry me into its murky regions. <br/>And I was watchful. Like a lame man, <br/>I used to walk upright to hide my affliction. <br/>You didn't have to. For you it was permitted. <br/>Not for me, a refugee on this continent <br/>Where so many newcomers vanished without a trace. <br/>Forgive me my mistake. Your will was of no use <br/>Against an illness that held you like a stigma, <br/>And beneath my anger was the vanity, <br/>unjustifiable, of the humiliated. A bit belated, <br/>I write to you across what separates us: <br/>Gestures, conventions, idioms, mores. </p><p>致罗伯特•洛威尔<br/>（波兰）米沃什<br/>胡桑译</p><p>我无权以那种方式谈论你，<br/>罗伯特。一个流亡者的嫉妒<br/>必定会促使我嘲弄<br/>你长时间的沮丧，恐怖的数周，<br/>假设的安全病房里的假期。<br/>这并非来自我正常的傲慢。<br/>我知道，疯狂曾一丝丝<br/>潜入我的生命<br/>只在等我的许可<br/>将我带入其晦暗地带。<br/>我警戒着。就像一个瘸子，<br/>我常常笔直走路，掩饰我的疾病。<br/>你却不用。因为你已被许可。<br/>而我没有，我，这块大陆上的流亡者，<br/>这里那么多新移民销声匿迹。<br/>请宽恕我的误解。你徒劳地反抗疾病，<br/>它宰制你，犹如耻辱，<br/>而在我的愤怒深处是受辱者的<br/>无可辩驳的自傲。延误之后，<br/>我给你写诗，穿过隔离我们的东西：<br/>手势、风俗、方言、道德习惯。 </p><p></p>
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发表于 2008-3-10 20:59:11