【翻译】夏伦 ∙ 欧兹 (Sharon Olds, 1942—) 诗3首

夏伦 ∙ 欧兹 (Sharon Olds, 1942—) 诗3首

张洪兵 译

图片来自网络

害怕自己

我们走近房子时，脱下手套

空气形成了一个精美的冰套子

在每只手周围

你说你相信，我会挺住折磨

为了我们的孩子，你说你认为我有

勇气。我靠在门上哭了

眼泪在我的脸颊上冻住，发出

清脆的咔嚓声

我想到了女人们赤身裸体站在

结冰的河面上，卫兵把

一桶一桶的水泼到她们的身体上，直到她们

像冰暴中的树木一样闪闪发亮

我从来不认为我可以受得了，即便是

为了孩子们。我一直都想这么做

站在他们与痛苦之间。可是我来自

一长队的

女人们

她们把自己放在

第一。我靠在巨大黑暗

冰冷的门上，我的脸闪耀着

刺眼的冰，像一条危险的路

我想到了热热的拨火棍，赶牲口的尖头棒

我孩子的皮肤，娇嫩的，紧致的

薄薄的，最上面一层

覆盖着他们的整个身体，柔柔地

闪着光

冬天做爱之后

首先我身上简直不能盖一点儿被单

任何东西都是痛苦的，一块

铁板压着我的神经，我躺在那儿

在空中，仿佛不动也在急速飞行，然后

慢慢地我冷静下来——热

暖，酷，冷，冰，直到

我身上的所有皮肤变成冰

除了我们身体接触的部位，像

盛开的火焰。门的周围

门框松动，门上方的横梁周围

厅里的光烧成直线

在天花板上投下窄窄的光束，一个

人影快乐地举起了双臂

镜子里，房间的角落平静，这是

你能看到角落得到祝福的时候

吊灯的黑灯罩

吊在镜中，一动不动——我能

感觉到我身体深处的卵巢，我

注视着银色的灯泡，也许我正在

看我的卵巢，非常

清楚，我看到的一切都是真的

美好的。我们来到了各种问题的结尾

你的手掌，温暖，宽大

干燥，回来抚摸着我的脸，来来回回

来来回回，像上帝

在做最后的修饰，在

把我送下来投生之前

第一个感恩节

她从大学回来时，我会看到

她大臂的皮肤，酷

静穆，光鲜。她会拥抱我，我的老的

下坠的胸脯顶着她的乳房

我会闻她的头发！她会睡在这个公寓

她的的睡眠像一个还没打磨过的好的物体

像身体里的灵魂。她来到我的生活

第二个美好的到来，在他之后，鲜活

来自另一个世界——它源于他的体内，躺在

我的身体之中。那些夜晚，我喂她入睡

一周接着一周，月亮升起

落下，月圆——旋转，那些个月份

缓慢模糊，围绕着我们的星球

现在她不需要那样的爱，她

已经拥有。她会在光彩照人中行走，我们会说话

然后，她很快睡着，我会兴高采烈

让她又呆在那个房间

在那扇门后面！小孩时，我捕捉

蜜蜂，抓住翅膀，举起它们，几秒钟

盯着它们野性的脸

听它们哼唱，然后把它们扔回

空中——我还记得那一刻

我扔出去的弧，突然转向，它们进入

纠正后的弧，离去

The Fear of Oneself

As we get near the house, taking off our gloves,

the air forming a fine casing of

ice around each hand,

you say you believe I would hold up under torture

for the sake of our children. You say you think I have

courage. I lean against the door and weep,

the tears freezing on my cheeks with brittle

clicking sounds.

I think of the women standing naked

on the frozen river, the guards pouring

buckets of water over their bodies till they

glisten like trees in an ice storm.

I have never thought I could take it, not even

for the children. It is all I have wanted to do,

to stand between them and pain. But I come from a

long line

of women

who put themselves

first. I lean against the huge dark

cold door, my face glittering with

glare ice like a dangerous road,

and think about hot pokers, and goads,

and the skin of my children, the delicate, light,

thin, top layer of it

covering their whole bodies, softly

glimmering.

After Making Love in Winter

At first I cannot have even a sheet on me,

anything at all is painful, a plate of

iron laid down on my nerves, I lie there in the

air as if flying rapidly without moving, and

slowly I cool off—hot,

warm, cool, cold, icy, till the

skin all over my body is ice

except at those points our bodies touch like

blooms of fire. Around the door

loose in its frame, and around the transom, the

light from the hall burns in straight lines and

casts up narrow beams on the ceiling, a

figure throwing up its arms for joy.

I the mirror, the angles of the room are calm, it is the

hour when you can see that the angle itself is blessed,

and the dark globes of the chandelier,

suspended in the mirror, are motionless—I can

feel my ovaries deep in my body, I

gaze at the silvery bulbs, maybe I am

looking at my ovaries, it is

clear everything I look at is real

and good. We have come to the end of questions,

you run your palm, warm, large,

dry, back along my face over and

over, over and over, like God

putting the finishing touches on, before

sending me down to be born.

First Thanksgiving

When she comes back, from college, I will see

the skin of her upper arms, cool,

matte, glossy. She will hug me, my old

soupy chest against her breasts,

I will smell her hair! She will sleep in this apartment,

her sleep like an untamed, good object,

like a soul in a body. She came into my life the

second great arrival, after him, fresh

from the other world—which lay, from within him,

within me. Those nights, I fed her to sleep,

week after week, the moon rising,

and setting, and waxing—whirling, over the months,

in a slow blur, around our planet.

Now she doesn’t need love like that, she has

had it. She will walk in glowing, we will talk,

and then, when she’s fast asleep, I’ll exult

to have her in that room again,

behind that door! As a child, I caught

bees, by the wings, and held them, some seconds,

looked into their wild faces,

listened to them sing, then tossed them back

into the air—I remember the moment the

arc of my toss swerved, and they entered

the corrected curve of their departure.

夏伦 ∙ 欧兹 (Sharon Olds, 1942—)，美国当代著名女诗人。她的诗歌获得多种奖项，包括2013年的普利策诗歌奖(Pulitzer Prize in Poetry)，1984年的国家图书评论家奖(National Book Critics Circle Award)。她的诗歌大多关注家庭，性，暴力，常常书写她自己的经历。她的诗歌语言为自然口语体，视角为女性视角。她出版了多本诗集，包括《死去与活着》(The Dead and the Living, 1983)《父亲》(The Father, 1992)《敲击火花：1980-2002年诗选》(Strike Sparks: Selected Poems 1980-2002, 2004)《雄鹿跳跃》(Stag’s Leap, 2012) 和《颂歌》(Odes, 2016) 等。

张洪兵，重庆人，美国大学任教，有诗歌发表于中美纸媒体和网络媒体，出版诗集《家园以外的声音》。