琳达•格雷格三首

最近一段都没有时间译诗了。贴几首旧译。
　　
                
                 
　　灵和它的所弃（题乔托）
　　一个托着脚，一个扶着手，另一个
　　扭过背对着他的性物。一个抱着头
　　还有另一个。五个女人，同样的悲伤。
　　现在与基督新的身体在一起。一个身体
　　上帝不在其中。灵退出，现在基督只是一具身体。
　　
　　上帝的生命与基督同在就如同一次漫长的
　　钓鱼。鱼现在躺在桌上，房间
　　光芒闪耀，哈里路亚一声接着一声，
　　声音重叠，如同鸟儿飞翔，可以透视的
　　它们的一幕景象。有些时刻身体
　　试图在地上自己存在。有些寻常的地方
　　就这样留出。而灵必须进入
　　身体。身体必须屈服于它，像母牛、
　　棕榈树枝一样，个个都充满灵
　　为了成为完整的个体。多么轻柔
　　我记得它们中的每一样。
　　
　　-----------------------------------就像我记着恋人们。
　　没有灵，公寓房又变回成了
　　一个荒废的地方，廉价，在城市里
　　一个令人嫌弃的区里的一栋老房子。现在
　　它空荡荡，除了我留下的东西：椅子、桌子，
　　双人床，柜子，窗纱，我记得数着
　　街对面的窗子，为了记住。我都想
　　记着这些。身体想要的存在
　　有灵在其中。欲望和希望不停
　　围绕我们说着，空气总是因这欢庆
　　而忙碌。没有一样出错。那时都没错。
　　可之后有了死亡。生命之外
　　一个时刻只有些许天。很快就只是时时日日。
　　
　　五个女人，三个有着光环，围绕着死去的基督。
　　所有人表达一模一样的悲伤。而基督，
　　已经将灵交返上帝，重陷回肉身
　　而造物主感觉到灵离开身体
　　从每个细胞，感受失去。基督
　　暂时重新完整，现在将只知道物。
　　（但却会知道一种不同：女人和男人，身体
　　接触身体。）被留下的将操心
　　肉体，物，将埋葬他。将会说
　　他再次升起。在地上的用一情一感
　　去仿效和理解。眼下他们哀哭，托着
　　泥土色的身体，用他们的手举起它，抓着
　　它的手腕，他的脚跟放在掌中，身体
　　低委。凭它自己，身体不能到达充分。
　　
　　我将躺在床上，当我听到他的钥匙
　　插进锁孔。我不会站起，而是听
　　每个声音：门开了，门关上。然后看见
　　他的脸，最终，唯一也是最初的一次，短暂地，
　　短暂。
　　
　　The spirit and what is left behind (after Giotto)
　　
　　Linda Gregg
　　
　　One holding the feet, one the hands, another with her
　　back turned who faces his sex. One holding the head
　　and one more. Five women, all with the same grief.
　　Now with the new body of Christ. The body without
　　God inside. The spirit exited, Jesus all body now.
　　
　　God’s life with Christ was like the long capturing
　　of a fish. The fish now lying on a table and the room
　　radiant, voices saying hallelujah over and over,
　　the voices overlapping, like birds flying, a screen
　　of them to see through. There are times when the body
　　tries to exist on earth by itself. There are common
　　places left for this. But the spirit must enter
　　the body. The body must yield to it as much as cows
　　and palm branches do, each filled with the spirit
　　in order to become fully its own form. How gently
　　I remember each one of them.
　　
　　-------------------------------------------As I remember the lover.
　　Without the spirit, the apartment changed back
　　to a ruined place, cheap, in an old building there
　　in an undesirable district of the city. And empty
　　now except for what I left behind: chair, table,
　　doubled bed, chest, window screen, I remember counting
　　the windows across the street to remember. Eight
　　were bricked-up, and three left as windows. I wanted
　　to keep even that. The body wanted to exist with
　　the spirit inside of it. Desire and hope spoke
　　constantly around us, the air always busy with that
　　celebration. Nothing was wrong. It was not wrong then.
　　But then there was death. Instead of life there were
　　only a few days at a time. Soon there were only hours.
　　
　　Five women, three with haloes, around the dead Christ.
　　All expressing exactly the same grief. And Christ,
　　having yielded his spirit back to God, sinking back
　　into flesh while the Creator felt the spirit leaving
　　the body cell by cell, feeling the loss. Jesus was
　　whole for a while, and now will know only matter.
　　(But will know a difference: women and men, bodies
　　touching bodies.) The ones left behind will worry
　　about the flesh, the matter, will bury him. Will say
　　he rose again. Those on Earth use feelings to emulate
　　and understand. For now they wail, holding the clay-
　　colored body, lifting it with their hands, pulling it
　　by the wrists, his heels resting in palms, the body
　　slumped. By itself the body could not achieve enough.
　　
　　I would be lying on the bed when I heard his key
　　in the lock. I would not stand up, would listen
　　to every sound: door opening, door shut. Perhaps
　　his voice saying my name, perhaps not. Then seeing
　　his face, at last for the first and only time, briefly,
　　briefly.
　　精确
　　
　　自然有种谦和。在最卑小处
　　也在最强大中。叶子
　　恰好随风而动
　　一丝也不多。爱欲的力量中，也是如此，
　　可以是一种宁静明澈，真切的时刻
　　熔合。它的寂静
　　在雷电中。当身体酥软，
　　是因为心知道它的真实。
　　这炙热中有着一种直接和平衡，
　　正像最强的骚乱有它的精确。
　　像龙卷风的判断，当它摧毁
　　一栋栋大楼，一处处房屋。
　　那是恰如其分，卡夫卡说，箭
　　和它造成的伤口刚好吻合。我想着
　　我在爱中的身体，当我看着那些
　　繁茂的苹果树和从一棵树到另一颗
　　熟练移动的劳作者，唱着歌。
　　
　　选自《事物与肉体》
　　
　　The Precision
　　
　　There is a modesty in nature. In the small
　　of it and in the strongest. The leaf moves
　　just the amount the breeze indicates
　　and nothing more. In the power of lust, too,
　　there can be a quiet and clarity, a fusion
　　of exact moments. There is a silence of it
　　inside the thundering. And when the body swoons,
　　it is because the heart knows its truth.
　　There is directness and equipoise in the fervor,
　　just as the greatest turmoil has precision.
　　Like the discretion a tornado has when it tears
　　down building after building, house by house.
　　It is enough, Kafka said, that the arrow fit
　　exactly into the wound that it makes. I think
　　about my body in love as I look down on these
　　lavish apple trees and the workers moving
　　with skill from one to the next, singing.
　　
　　From THINGS AND FLESH
　　
　　
　　做鸟吧……
　　
　　八头鹿在坡上
　　在夏日的晨雾里。
　　夜空湛蓝。
　　我像一只被放牧的母马。
　　道不能抚慰我。
　　我的道路来自
　　童年的牛奶中。
　　醒或睡都呼吸着它。
　　而现在我的大腿上
　　没有那迷人的精液的味道，
　　没有它在我肚子上
　　展示欢愉。
　　我将永不放弃渴望。
　　我将留着长发。
　　雨明示这些树，
　　树讲述着太阳。
　　做鸟，做鸟吧。
　　让叶子为激情。
　　让下颚，让牙齿，让舌头
　　在我们中间。欢乐吧。
　　进入吧。让愤怒与平静结合。
　　让退缩来临。
　　让冬天给你印象。让春天绽放。
　　让失去的海洋在你身上唤醒。
　　让那田野上的母马
　　在夏日的晨雾里
　　令你嘶鸣。带你来到
　　栅栏边，嘶鸣。做鸟吧。
　　
　　选自《狮子的选择》
　　
　　Let Birds
　　
　　Eight deer on the slope
　　in the summer morning mist.
　　The night sky blue.
　　Me like a mare let out to pasture.
　　The Tao does not console me.
　　I was given the way
　　in the milk of childhood.
　　Breathing it waking and sleeping.
　　But now there is no amazing smell
　　of sperm on my thighs,
　　no spreading it on my stomach
　　to show pleasure.
　　I will never give up longing.
　　I will let my hair stay long.
　　The rain proclaims these trees,
　　the trees tell of the sun.
　　Let birds, let birds.
　　Let leaf be passion.
　　Let jaw, let teeth, let tongue be
　　between us. Let joy.
　　Let entering. Let rage and calm join.
　　Let quail come.
　　Let winter impress you. Let spring.
　　Allow the lost ocean to wake in you.
　　Let the mare in the field
　　in the summer morning mist
　　make you whinny. Make you come
　　to the fence and whinny. Let birds.
　　
　　From CHOSEN BY THE LION