米沃什诗两首《致洛威尔》、《晚熟》

胡桑

米沃什的诗两首
胡桑译

To Robert Lowell
By Czeslaw Milosz

I had no right to talk of you that way,
Robert. An emigre's envy
Must have prompted me to mock
Your long depressions, weeks of terror,
Presumed vacations in the safety of the wards.
It was not from pride in my normalcy.
Insanity, I knew, was insinuating itself
In a thin thread into my very being
And only waited for my permission
To carry me into its murky regions.
And I was watchful. Like a lame man,
I used to walk upright to hide my affliction.
You didn't have to. For you it was permitted.
Not for me, a refugee on this continent
Where so many newcomers vanished without a trace.
Forgive me my mistake. Your will was of no use
Against an illness that held you like a stigma,
And beneath my anger was the vanity,
unjustifiable, of the humiliated. A bit belated,
I write to you across what separates us:
Gestures, conventions, idioms, mores.

致罗伯特·洛威尔
（波兰）米沃什
胡桑译

我无权以那种方式谈论你，
罗伯特。一个流亡者的嫉妒
必定会促使我嘲弄
你长时间的沮丧，恐怖的数周，
假设的安全病房里的假期。
这并非来自我正常的傲慢。
我知道，疯狂曾一丝丝
潜入我的生命
只在等我的许可
将我带入其晦暗地带。
我警戒着。就像一个瘸子，
我常常笔直走路，掩饰我的疾病。
你却不用。因为你已被许可。
而我没有，我，这块大陆上的流亡者，
这里那么多新移民销声匿迹。
请宽恕我的误解。你徒劳地反抗疾病，
它宰制你，犹如耻辱，
而在我的愤怒深处是受辱者的
无可辩驳的自傲。延误之后，
我给你写诗，穿过隔开我们的东西：
手势、风俗、方言、道德习惯。


Late Ripeness
by Czeslaw Milosz

Not soon, as late as the approach of my ninetieth year,
I felt a door opening in me and I entered
the clarity of early morning.

One after another my former lives were departing,
Like ships, together with their sorrow.

And the countries, cities, gardens, the bays of seas
assigned to my brush came closer,
ready now to be described better than they were before.

I was not separated from people,
grief and pity joined us.
We forget -——I kept saying —— that we are all children of
the King.

For where we come from there is no division
Into Yes and No, into is, was, and it will be.

We were miserable, we used no more than a hundredth part
of the gift we received for our long journey.

Moments from yesterday and from centuries ago——
a sword blow, the painting of eyelashes before a mirror
of polished metal, a lethal musket shot, a caravel
staving its hull against a reef —— they dwell in us,
waiting for a fulfillment.

I knew, always, that I would be a worker in the vineyard,
as are all men and women living at the same time,
whether they are aware of it or not.

晚熟
米沃什
胡桑译

迟至近九十岁那年，
一扇门才在体内打开，我进入
清晨的明澈。

往昔的生活，伴随着忧伤，
渐次离去，犹如船只。

被派诸笔端的国家、城市、庭园、海湾
离我更近了，
等待更完美的描述，并胜于往昔。

我并未隔绝于人们，
悲伤与怜悯加入我们。
我持续地诉说，我们已经忘却我们都是王的
子民。

因为，我们来自一个地方，那里，我们并不区分
对与错，也不区分现在、过去和未来。

我们如此不幸，在漫长旅途中接受的
赠礼，我们只使用了很少一部分。

来自昨日与数世纪之前的瞬间——
一次剑击、在光洁的金属镜子前
描画眉毛、一次致命的步枪射击、一艘小帆船的
船身触礁碎裂——它们栖居于我们内部，
等待着实现。

我一直就知道，我会成为一名葡萄园工人，
所有男人与女人都同时居住于那里，
无论他们是否意识到这一点。

北方夫子

喜欢你译的诗，有一种风格和气质沉寂其中。