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Selected poems：約翰·阿什貝利（John Ashbery）的《平鋪直敘的多樣化》
2025/03/04 05:47
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Selected poems：約翰·阿什貝利（John Ashbery）的《平鋪直敘的多樣化》
書名：平鋪直敘的多樣化
作者：約翰·阿什貝利
譯者：張耳
出版社：人民文學出版社
出版日期：2024/06
約翰·阿什貝利(John Ashbery, 1927-2017)，美國詩人、藝術評論家。生於紐約州羅切斯特。曾任教於紐約市立大學布魯克林學院，教授創意寫作。他在1975年出版的詩集《凸面鏡中的自畫像》，獲得普利策獎、美國國家圖書獎和美國國家書評人協會獎。他是美國藝術與文學學院院士，也是美國藝術與科學院院士。約翰·阿什貝利一直生活在紐約，直至2017年9月3日去世。約翰·阿什貝利的詩具有驚人的力量，他的每一部詩集都在進行語言的實驗。譯者從阿什貝利生前出版的十八部詩集中精選出六十四首詩進行翻譯，跨度從1956年到2016年，可謂詩人畢生詩歌創作的精華。
張耳，在北京出生長大，在美國生活多年，是多部中文和英譯詩集的作者，曾參與《一行》《詩象》《紐約詩刊》等海外詩刊的編輯。張耳多次在國內外朗誦和講演，她和美國作曲家合作的英文歌劇《鏡月》和《蔡琰》於近年上演。
〈夏〉
那聲音像陣風
遺忘在枝頭，意味著某些
沒人能弄懂的事兒。還有那嚴謹的“後來”
當你體會一件事情的意思，再記下來。
此刻這充足的蔭涼
看不出來，分割在一棵樹的樹枝間
一座森林眾多的樹之間，就像生活被分配
在你我，以及那邊其他所有的人之間。
頂發稀疏階段跟著
苦思苦想時期。忽然，死去
不再是一樁刻薄又廉價的小事兒了
卻很累人，像難熬的暑熱
還有那些無心的小設想放在
我們對自己作為的奇怪念頭之上：夏，松針球
命運松松垮垮地伺候我們的行為，掛著假笑
過於刻板地按章辦事——
想取消已經晚了——冬天的時候，嘰嘰喳喳的
冷星在窗玻璃上比劃誇張地描述
此刻的存在，結果到頭來並不那麼了不起。夏像一行陡峭的石階
走下探向水面的窄岩。就這兒嗎？
這種鐵硬的安撫，這些理性的忌諱
也許你是真想停下來？這張臉
長得像你，在水中浮映。
Summer
There is that sound like the wind
Forgetting in the branches that mean something
Nobody can translate. And there is the sobering “later on,”
When you consider what a thing meant, and put it down.
For the time being the shadow is ample
And hardly seen, divided among the twigs of a tree,
The trees of a fores, just as life is divided up,
between you and me, and among all the others out there.
And the thinning-out phase follows
The period of reflection. And suddenly, to be dying
Is not a little or mean or cheap thing,
Only wearingly, the heat unbearable,
And also the little mindless constructions put upon
Our fantasies of what we did : summer, the ball of pine
needles, The loose fates serving our acts, with token smiles,
Carrying out their instructions too accurately –
Too late to cancel them now – and winter, the twitter
Of cold stars at the pane, that describes with broad gestures
This state of being that is not so big after all.
Summer involves going down as a steep flight of steps
To a narrow ledge over the water. Is this is, then,
This iron comfort, these reasonable taboos,
Or did you mean it when you stopped? And the face
Resembles yours, the one reflected in the water.
〈如我們所知〉
所有我們看見的都被穿破——
遠處樹冠的尖頂（多麼
純真）、台階、窗緣固定的防雨板——
被刺得遍體鱗傷，被不是邪惡的邪惡
不神秘的浪漫，不是生活的生活，
這在別處的現在。
而在前面種種小妥協
的舞蹈中，你和它拍肩搭背
染指其間。你幹下那事那天
也是你非得停下來那天，因為幹這事
牽扯到整個畫面，沒有其他表現的方法。
你滑倒跪下
春水貴重的珍珠
在沒被吸收前，植上苔蘚
你踉踉蹌蹌在這
安靜的街邊，便道條條，交通縱橫
好像他們要來抓你。
可正午刺眼的陽光下空無一人，
只有鳥像秘密一樣到處尋覓
還有一個家要回，有那麼一天。
那時候被遮住的光
被認作我們的生活，
愛情也許想查看每件關於我們的事
再放在一邊等一段時間，直到
整個故事被重新審視，我們轉向
彼此，我們轉為彼此。
我們過去走過的路是我們那時看到的全部，
它悄悄趕上我們，窘迫
現在已有那麼多要講，就現在。
AS WE KNOW
All that we see is penetrated by it—
The distant treetops with their steeple (so
Innocent), the stair, the windows’ fixed flashing—
Pierced full of holes by the evil that is not evil,
The romance that is not mysterious, the life that is not life,
A present that is elsewhere.
And further in the small capitulations
Of the dance, you rub elbows with it,
Finger it. That day you did it
Was the day you had to stop, because the doing
Involved the whole fabric, there was no other way to appear.
You slid down on your knees
For those precious jewels of spring water
Planted on the moss, before they got soaked up
And you teetered on the edge of this
Calm street with its sidewalks, its traffic,
As though they are coming to get you.
But there was no one in the noon glare,
Only birds like secrets to find out about
And a home to get to, one of these days.
The light that was shadowed then
Was seen to be our lives,
Everything about us that love might wish to examine,
Then put away for a certain length of time, until
The whole is to be reviewed, and we turned
Toward each other, to each other.
The way we had come was all we could see
And it crept up on us, embarrassed
That there is so much to tell now, really now.
〈沃肯森①〉
他寫字的時候下著雪。
幽暗的房間裡他覺得很放鬆很獨特，
當然絕對沒人會信賴這樣的心情。
這裡面一定有道理。
可是，為什麼？這總會常常發生，
那麼誰發明瞭這個過程？不是到底明白了什麼道理，
而是假如真是如此，那麼我們
認識它的過程就貶低了我們
像樹認識風暴
只有當風暴過去了，光線重新落下來
不均勻地灑向所有喃喃低語的親戚們：
東西與東西，人與物，
想法與人們，或另外的想法。
這種給生活一個空維的嚮往
很有害，當生活恰恰就是那個空維。
我們是活物，所以我們走路談話
人們來找我們，聽聽
然後走開。
音樂充滿各種空間
那裡各種角色被拖到邊緣，
而音樂只能說些什麼。
於是肌腱放鬆，
頭腦開始想一些有益的想法。
啊，今天太陽真好：
又暖和起來了，
表演一次，演完它的三部曲。
生命一定在那裡。你把它藏起來
所以沒人能找到它
而如今你也記不得藏到哪裡了。
但如果人能發明重新成為小孩
就非常可能像成為活著的古董
去保護這東西，保護它免得難堪
趕快拉下台幕，
這幾秒鐘裡沒人會注意到。
結尾會看來完美。
沒有讓人驚訝的感情，
沒有悲劇性的沈睡從情緒化的
內疚發作裡醒來，只有溫暖的陽光
輕鬆地從雙肩滑入
柔軟，融化的心臟。
譯注：
① 詩人或許聯想到18世紀法國“自動機器人”發明家雅克·德·沃康松 （Jacques de Vaucanson, 1709-1782）。他運用生物解剖學知識製作了一些自動機，比如吹笛子的樂手和能進食、排泄的鴨子。
VAUCANSON
It was snowing as he wrote.
In the gray room he felt relaxed and singular,
But no one, of course, ever trusts these moods.
There had to be understanding to it.
Why, though? That always happens anyway,
And who gets the credit for it? Not what is understood, Presumably, and it diminishes us
In our getting to know it.
As trees come to know a storm
Until it passes and light falls anew
Unevenly, on all the muttering kinship:
Things with things, persons with objects,
Ideas with people or ideas.
It hurts, this wanting to give a dimension
To life when life is precisely that dimension.
We are creatures, therefore we walk and talk
And people come up to us, or listen
And then move away.
Music fills the spaces
Where figures are pulled to the edges,
And it can only say something.
Sinews are loosened then,
The mind begins to think good thoughts.
Ah, this sun must be good:
Doing a number, completing its trilogy.
Life must be back there. You hid it
So no one could find it
And now you cant remember where.
But if one were to invent being a child again
It might just come close enough to being a living relic To save this thing, save it from embarrassment
By ringing down the curtain,
And for a few seconds no one would notice.
The ending would seem perfect.
No feelings to dismay,
No tragic sleep to wake from in a fit
Of passionate guilt, only the warm sunlight
That slides easily down shoulders
To the soft, melting heart.
書名：平鋪直敘的多樣化
作者：約翰·阿什貝利
譯者：張耳
出版社：人民文學出版社
出版日期：2024/06
約翰·阿什貝利(John Ashbery, 1927-2017)，美國詩人、藝術評論家。生於紐約州羅切斯特。曾任教於紐約市立大學布魯克林學院，教授創意寫作。他在1975年出版的詩集《凸面鏡中的自畫像》，獲得普利策獎、美國國家圖書獎和美國國家書評人協會獎。他是美國藝術與文學學院院士，也是美國藝術與科學院院士。約翰·阿什貝利一直生活在紐約，直至2017年9月3日去世。約翰·阿什貝利的詩具有驚人的力量，他的每一部詩集都在進行語言的實驗。譯者從阿什貝利生前出版的十八部詩集中精選出六十四首詩進行翻譯，跨度從1956年到2016年，可謂詩人畢生詩歌創作的精華。
張耳，在北京出生長大，在美國生活多年，是多部中文和英譯詩集的作者，曾參與《一行》《詩象》《紐約詩刊》等海外詩刊的編輯。張耳多次在國內外朗誦和講演，她和美國作曲家合作的英文歌劇《鏡月》和《蔡琰》於近年上演。
〈夏〉
那聲音像陣風
遺忘在枝頭，意味著某些
沒人能弄懂的事兒。還有那嚴謹的“後來”
當你體會一件事情的意思，再記下來。
此刻這充足的蔭涼
看不出來，分割在一棵樹的樹枝間
一座森林眾多的樹之間，就像生活被分配
在你我，以及那邊其他所有的人之間。
頂發稀疏階段跟著
苦思苦想時期。忽然，死去
不再是一樁刻薄又廉價的小事兒了
卻很累人，像難熬的暑熱
還有那些無心的小設想放在
我們對自己作為的奇怪念頭之上：夏，松針球
命運松松垮垮地伺候我們的行為，掛著假笑
過於刻板地按章辦事——
想取消已經晚了——冬天的時候，嘰嘰喳喳的
冷星在窗玻璃上比劃誇張地描述
此刻的存在，結果到頭來並不那麼了不起。夏像一行陡峭的石階
走下探向水面的窄岩。就這兒嗎？
這種鐵硬的安撫，這些理性的忌諱
也許你是真想停下來？這張臉
長得像你，在水中浮映。
Summer
There is that sound like the wind
Forgetting in the branches that mean something
Nobody can translate. And there is the sobering “later on,”
When you consider what a thing meant, and put it down.
For the time being the shadow is ample
And hardly seen, divided among the twigs of a tree,
The trees of a fores, just as life is divided up,
between you and me, and among all the others out there.
And the thinning-out phase follows
The period of reflection. And suddenly, to be dying
Is not a little or mean or cheap thing,
Only wearingly, the heat unbearable,
And also the little mindless constructions put upon
Our fantasies of what we did : summer, the ball of pine
needles, The loose fates serving our acts, with token smiles,
Carrying out their instructions too accurately –
Too late to cancel them now – and winter, the twitter
Of cold stars at the pane, that describes with broad gestures
This state of being that is not so big after all.
Summer involves going down as a steep flight of steps
To a narrow ledge over the water. Is this is, then,
This iron comfort, these reasonable taboos,
Or did you mean it when you stopped? And the face
Resembles yours, the one reflected in the water.
〈如我們所知〉
所有我們看見的都被穿破——
遠處樹冠的尖頂（多麼
純真）、台階、窗緣固定的防雨板——
被刺得遍體鱗傷，被不是邪惡的邪惡
不神秘的浪漫，不是生活的生活，
這在別處的現在。
而在前面種種小妥協
的舞蹈中，你和它拍肩搭背
染指其間。你幹下那事那天
也是你非得停下來那天，因為幹這事
牽扯到整個畫面，沒有其他表現的方法。
你滑倒跪下
春水貴重的珍珠
在沒被吸收前，植上苔蘚
你踉踉蹌蹌在這
安靜的街邊，便道條條，交通縱橫
好像他們要來抓你。
可正午刺眼的陽光下空無一人，
只有鳥像秘密一樣到處尋覓
還有一個家要回，有那麼一天。
那時候被遮住的光
被認作我們的生活，
愛情也許想查看每件關於我們的事
再放在一邊等一段時間，直到
整個故事被重新審視，我們轉向
彼此，我們轉為彼此。
我們過去走過的路是我們那時看到的全部，
它悄悄趕上我們，窘迫
現在已有那麼多要講，就現在。
AS WE KNOW
All that we see is penetrated by it—
The distant treetops with their steeple (so
Innocent), the stair, the windows’ fixed flashing—
Pierced full of holes by the evil that is not evil,
The romance that is not mysterious, the life that is not life,
A present that is elsewhere.
And further in the small capitulations
Of the dance, you rub elbows with it,
Finger it. That day you did it
Was the day you had to stop, because the doing
Involved the whole fabric, there was no other way to appear.
You slid down on your knees
For those precious jewels of spring water
Planted on the moss, before they got soaked up
And you teetered on the edge of this
Calm street with its sidewalks, its traffic,
As though they are coming to get you.
But there was no one in the noon glare,
Only birds like secrets to find out about
And a home to get to, one of these days.
The light that was shadowed then
Was seen to be our lives,
Everything about us that love might wish to examine,
Then put away for a certain length of time, until
The whole is to be reviewed, and we turned
Toward each other, to each other.
The way we had come was all we could see
And it crept up on us, embarrassed
That there is so much to tell now, really now.
〈沃肯森①〉
他寫字的時候下著雪。
幽暗的房間裡他覺得很放鬆很獨特，
當然絕對沒人會信賴這樣的心情。
這裡面一定有道理。
可是，為什麼？這總會常常發生，
那麼誰發明瞭這個過程？不是到底明白了什麼道理，
而是假如真是如此，那麼我們
認識它的過程就貶低了我們
像樹認識風暴
只有當風暴過去了，光線重新落下來
不均勻地灑向所有喃喃低語的親戚們：
東西與東西，人與物，
想法與人們，或另外的想法。
這種給生活一個空維的嚮往
很有害，當生活恰恰就是那個空維。
我們是活物，所以我們走路談話
人們來找我們，聽聽
然後走開。
音樂充滿各種空間
那裡各種角色被拖到邊緣，
而音樂只能說些什麼。
於是肌腱放鬆，
頭腦開始想一些有益的想法。
啊，今天太陽真好：
又暖和起來了，
表演一次，演完它的三部曲。
生命一定在那裡。你把它藏起來
所以沒人能找到它
而如今你也記不得藏到哪裡了。
但如果人能發明重新成為小孩
就非常可能像成為活著的古董
去保護這東西，保護它免得難堪
趕快拉下台幕，
這幾秒鐘裡沒人會注意到。
結尾會看來完美。
沒有讓人驚訝的感情，
沒有悲劇性的沈睡從情緒化的
內疚發作裡醒來，只有溫暖的陽光
輕鬆地從雙肩滑入
柔軟，融化的心臟。
譯注：
① 詩人或許聯想到18世紀法國“自動機器人”發明家雅克·德·沃康松 （Jacques de Vaucanson, 1709-1782）。他運用生物解剖學知識製作了一些自動機，比如吹笛子的樂手和能進食、排泄的鴨子。
VAUCANSON
It was snowing as he wrote.
In the gray room he felt relaxed and singular,
But no one, of course, ever trusts these moods.
There had to be understanding to it.
Why, though? That always happens anyway,
And who gets the credit for it? Not what is understood, Presumably, and it diminishes us
In our getting to know it.
As trees come to know a storm
Until it passes and light falls anew
Unevenly, on all the muttering kinship:
Things with things, persons with objects,
Ideas with people or ideas.
It hurts, this wanting to give a dimension
To life when life is precisely that dimension.
We are creatures, therefore we walk and talk
And people come up to us, or listen
And then move away.
Music fills the spaces
Where figures are pulled to the edges,
And it can only say something.
Sinews are loosened then,
The mind begins to think good thoughts.
Ah, this sun must be good:
Doing a number, completing its trilogy.
Life must be back there. You hid it
So no one could find it
And now you cant remember where.
But if one were to invent being a child again
It might just come close enough to being a living relic To save this thing, save it from embarrassment
By ringing down the curtain,
And for a few seconds no one would notice.
The ending would seem perfect.
No feelings to dismay,
No tragic sleep to wake from in a fit
Of passionate guilt, only the warm sunlight
That slides easily down shoulders
To the soft, melting heart.
自訂分類：Selected & Extracts
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