译诗 | LE MONOCLE DE MON ONCLE
LE MONOCLE DE MON ONCLE
I
"Mother of heaven, regina of the clouds,
O sceptre of the sun, crown of the moon,
There is not nothing, no, no, never nothing,
Like the clashed edges of two words that kill."
And so I mocked her in magnificent measure.
Or was it that I mocked myself alone?
I wish that I might be a thinking stone.
The sea of spuming thought foists up again
The radiant bubble that she was. And then
A deep up-pouring from some saltier well
Within me, bursts its watery syllable.
“天的母亲，云的女王，
哦，日的权柄，月的冠冕，
并不是没有什么，不，不，并不是从来没有什么，
会比两个伤人的词汇更伤人。”
于是我明显嘲笑了她
或者只是嘲笑了自己？
我希望自己是块思考的石头。
思想之海再次涌动
尽是闪闪发光的泡泡。然后
从一口深深的咸水井里往上涌的水
在我体内，爆发着它水汪汪的音节。
II
A red bird flies across the golden floor.
It is a red bird that seeks out his choir
Among the choirs of wind and wet and wing.
A torrent will fall from him when he finds.
Shall I uncrumple this much-crumpled thing?
I am a man of fortune greeting heirs;
For it has come that thus I greet the spring.
These choirs of welcome choir for me farewell.
No spring can follow past meridian.
Yet you persist with anecdotal bliss
To make believe a starry connaissance.
一只红色的鸟儿飞过金色的地板。
这只红鸟在寻找他的合唱团
在风啊、雨啊、翅膀的合奏里寻找。
只要有发现，一股洪流就从他身上倾泻而下。
我要给这皱巴巴的东西除皱吗？
我是一个富翁，致意我的继承者们；
既然春天来了，那我也顺便向它致意。
这些迎新合唱团在为我欢送，
没有一个春天能赶上往日之巅。
然而，你却固守着奇闻轶事里才有的幸福
迫使自己相信璀璨星空有真知。
III
Is it for nothing, then, that old Chinese
Sat tittivating by their mountain pools
Or in the Yangtse studied out their beards?
I shall not play the flat historic scale.
You know how Utamaro's beauties sought
The end of love in their all-speaking braids.
You know the mountainous coiffures of Bath.
Alas! Have all the barbers lived in vain
That not one curl in nature has survived?
Why, without pity on these studious ghosts,
Do you come dripping in your hair from sleep?
那么，那些古老的中国人白费劲了吗？
他们在山间泉水旁，或长江边上
坐着梳妆，端详着须发？
我不应该唱衰历史。 你知道尤塔马罗的美人是如何
通过她们那会说话的辫子探求爱的尽头吗？
你知道巴斯美人们高大的发髻吧。 哦……难道所有的理发师都白活了吗 没有一缕天然的卷发得以幸存？ 为什么，为什么不怜惜这些勤勉的幽魂， 当你披散着头发，从梦中醒来的时候？
IV
This luscious and impeccable fruit of life
Falls, it appears, of its own weight to earth.
When you were Eve, its acrid juice was sweet,
Untasted, in its heavenly, orchard air.
An apple serves as well as any skull
To be the book in which to read a round,
And is as excellent, in that it is composed
Of what, like skulls, comes rotting back to ground.
But it excels in this, that as the fruit
Of love, it is a book too mad to read
Before one merely reads to pass the time.
这诱人的，完美的生命果实，
看来，是因为自己太重了而落到地上的。 如果你是夏娃，辛辣的汁液，尝着也是甜的， 那果实，挂在天国的果园里，未曾被人品尝。 一个苹果，和任何骷髅一样， 是一本可以读上一通的书， 并且和骷髅一样优秀，因为它的构成
就像骷髅，都将腐烂，归于尘土。 但它最擅长的，还是作为爱情的果实，
当成一本书去读，太疯狂了，太难了，
除非你读它，只为消磨时光。
V
In the high west there burns a furious star.
It is for fiery boys that star was set
And for sweet-smelling virgins close to them.
The measure of the intensity of love
Is measure, also, of the verve of earth.
For me, the firefly's quick, electric stroke
Ticks tediously the time of one more year.
And you? Remember how the crickets came
Out of their mother grass, like little kin,
In the pale nights, when your first imagery
Found inklings of your bond to all that dust.
在高远的西方燃烧着一颗炽热的星星。
这星星是为激情的男孩们而设的 也为了他们身边香甜的女孩。 衡量爱情强度的方式， 也可以用来衡量地球活力。 对我来说，萤火虫快速闪动的光 是一年又一年极其难熬的时光。
你还记得吗？记得蟋蟀是怎么跳出
他们的草丛妈妈，像小亲人一样， 那时夜色苍凉，你的第一个意象 是模糊间发现你与尘土之间存在的联系。
VI
If men at forty will be painting lakes
The ephemeral blues must merge for them in one,
The basic slate, the universal hue.
There is a substance in us that prevails.
But in our amours amorists discern
Such fluctuations that their scrivening
Is breathless to attend each quirky turn.
When amorists grow bald, then amours shrink
Into the compass and curriculum
Of introspective exiles,lecturing.
It is a theme for Hyacinth alone.
如果男人年过四十还去画湖
那些容易消逝的蓝色必将他们融为一体，
板岩般的底色，遍布世界的色调。
有一种物质在我们身上兴起。
不过，在我们的情爱里爱情专家们洞悉了
所有跌宕的过程，他们屏息、克制地
预言了每一次令人费解的转折。
等到他们头发渐秃，情爱也会萎缩，
带着指南针和课程表，
他们进入内在的放逐，喋喋不休。
然后，单单研究风信子。
VII
The mules that angels ride come slowly down
The blazing passes, from beyond the sun.
Descensions of their tinkling bells arrive.
These muleteers are dainty of their way.
Meantime, centurions guffaw and beat
Their shrilling tankards on the table-boards.
This parable, in sense, amounts to this:
The honey of heaven may or may not come,
But that of earth both comes and goes at once.
Suppose these couriers brought amid their train
A damsel heightened by eternal bloom.
那些驮着天使们的骡子，放慢了脚步，
烈光掠过，从太阳之外的地方。
他们的铃声叮当，降临世间。
天使一路从容而行
与此同时，一群百夫长狂笑
在桌上敲打着锡杯，声音尖利。
这个寓言的要义在于：
天国之蜜可能来，也可能不来，
但尘世之蜜却来来去去，转瞬即逝。
就假定使者的队伍里有一位
因芳华永驻而加倍动人的姑娘吧。
VIII
Like a dull scholar, I behold, in love,
An ancient aspect touching a new mind.
It comes, it blooms, it bears its fruit and dies.
This trivial trope reveals a way of truth.
Our bloom is gone. We are the fruit thereof.
Two golden gourds distended on our vines,
Into the autumn weather, splashed with frost,
Distorted by hale fatness, turned grotesque.
We hang like warty squashes, streaked and rayed,
The laughing sky will see the two of us
Washed into rinds by rotting winter rains.
我像迂腐的老学究那样注视着，在爱里，
一副老面孔被一种新思想触动。 它发芽，开花，结果，然后死去。 这个小小的比喻揭示了一种真理。 花开了又谢。从此我们是果实。 两个金葫芦在我们的藤上舒展， 到了秋天，霜冻遍地， 因壮实而身形扭曲，变得怪异。 我们悬着，像表皮凹凸的南瓜，被光照着，条纹斑驳 天空会笑哈哈地看到我们俩 被湿腐的冬雨淘洗成空空的果壳。
IX
In verses wild with motion, full of din,
Loudened by cries, by clashes, quick and sure
As the deadly thought of men accomplishing
Their curious fates inwar, come, celebrate
The faith of forty, ward of Cupido.
Most venerable heart, the lustiest conceit
Is not too lusty for your broadening.
I quiz all sounds, all thoughts, all everything
For the music and manner of the paladins
To make oblation fit. Where shall I find
Bravura adequate to this great hymn?
诗中狂野，一片喧嚣，
吼叫声高涨，彼此冲撞，迅速而准确
正如那要命的理论，宣称男人应通过战争
完成他们的使命，来吧，高歌
男人四十的信念，丘比特的守护者啊。
最可敬的心灵，最狂妄的思想
比起你的辽阔，都算不得什么。 我向所有声音、所有思想、所有的一切，
征求音乐和贵族行事方式，
只为了得体地献祭。我怎样才能找到
华丽的篇章来配这首伟大的赞歌？
X
The fops of fancy in their poems leave
Memorabilia of the mystic spouts,
Spontaneously wateringtheir gritty soils.
I am a yeoman, as such fellows go.
I know no magic trees, no balmy boughs,
No silver-ruddy, gold-vermilion fruits.
But, after all, I know a tree that bears
A semblance to the thing I have in mind.
It stands gigantic, with a certain tip
To which all birds come sometime in their time.
But when they go that tip still tips the tree.
爱幻想的美少年，在诗中
留下了神秘喷射物的纪念册，
不经意灌注了他们的沙砾土壤。
我就是一农民，跟他们一样。
我不知道什么魔法树，什么香树枝，
什么赤银的、金朱的果子。
不过，有一种树我还是知道的，它结着
一种与我的思想之物相似的东西。
它高大矗立，我确定在它枝头的顶端，
所有鸟儿常来栖息。
而当鸟儿离开，枝头仍是树的端顶。
XI
If sex were all, then every trembling hand
Could make us squeak, like dolls, the wished-for words.
But note the unconscionable treachery of fate,
That makes us weep, laugh, grunt and groan, and shout
Doleful heroics, pinching gestures forth
From madness or delight, without regard
To that first, foremost law. Anguishing hour!
Last night, we sat beside a pool of pink,
Clippered with lilies scudding the bright chromes,
Keen to the point of starlight, while a frog
Boomed from his very belly odious chords.
如果性就是一切，那每一只哆嗦的手
都可以让人像玩偶一样咿咿呀呀，表达欲望。
但要留意，命运会无耻地背叛，
让我们哭哭笑笑，哼哼唧唧，口喊
凄凉的豪言壮志，在癫狂或疯闹中
扭出各种姿势，毫不顾及
第一条，也是最重要的法则。真是痛苦的时光！
昨晚，我们坐在一旁，一池粉红的，
修剪过的百合，又快又稳地移动在明光中，
渴望着星光闪烁，却有只青蛙
肚皮呱呱，发出恼人的声响。
XII
A blue pigeon it is, that circles the blue sky,
On sidelong wing, around and round and round.
A white pigeon it is, that flutters to the ground,
Grown tired of flight. Like a dark rabbi, I
Observed, when young, the nature of mankind,
In lordly study. Every day, I found
Man proved a gobbet in my mincing world.
Like a rose rabbi, later, I pursued,
And still pursue, the origin and course
Of love, but until now I never knew
That fluttering thins have so distinct a shade.
那是一只蓝色的鸽子，盘旋在蓝色的天空，
侧着翅膀，一圈，一圈，又一圈。
那是一只白色的鸽子，飞向地面，
它已然厌倦了飞行。像一个暗中的拉比，我年轻时，
琢磨人类的天性，高高在上。每天，我都发现
人不过是我碎片世界里的碎片。
后来，我又像一个玫瑰拉比，寻求过，
并仍在寻求，爱的起源和历程，
可直到现在我才了解
那些扑扇着的翅膀竟有如此清晰的影子。
