露易丝.格吕克
(Louise Gluck)
新当选的美国国会图书馆桂冠诗人露易丝.格吕克1943年生于纽约，在哥伦比亚大学师从丝坦利.库尼茨，后在威廉姆丝学院获得了法律学位，毕业后曾在哥达德学院教书。出版有诗集《七个时代》（TheSevenAges2001），《新生》（VitaNova1999,获得《波士顿图书评论》主办的“宾汉诗歌奖”），《草地》（Meadowlands1996），《野鸢尾》（TheWildIris1992,获普利策诗歌奖和美国诗歌协会“W．C．威廉姆丝诗歌奖”），《阿拉若山》（Ararat1990,获R．C．罗比特国家诗歌奖），《阿喀琉丝的胜利》（TheTriumphofAchilles1985,获美国的全国书评奖）。格吕克还出版过一些评论及散文集。1999年当选为美国诗歌学会理事。2003年8月28日，美国国会图书馆在华盛顿宣布，普利策奖得主、著名女诗人露易丝.格吕克当选为新的美国国会图书馆桂冠诗人。

爱情诗

总有些事由痛苦制成。
你的母亲编织着。
她织出有每种深浅的红色围巾。
它们曾为圣诞节准备，让你保暖
当她一次又一次结婚，带着
你。这怎么能够行得通，
可所有那些年她都藏贮着她的寡妇之心
仿佛死者会回返。
难怪你还是你那样，
害怕血，你的女人
就象一堵堵砖墙。

Love Poem

There is always something to be made of pain.
Your mother knits.
She turns out scarves in every shade of red.
They were for Christmas, and they kept you warm
while she married over and over, taking you
along. How could it work,
when all those years she stored her widowed heart
as though the dead come back.
No wonder you are the way you are,
afraid of blood, your women
like one brick wall after another.

第一记忆

很久以前，我负了伤。我活着
为自己复仇
反对我的父亲，不是
因为过去的他—
而是因为过去的我：从开始起，
在童年，我认为
痛意味着
我未被爱过，
它意味着我爱过。

First Memory
Long ago, I was wounded. I lived
to revenge myself
against my father, not
for what he was—
for what I was: from the beginning of time,
in childhood, I thought
that pain meant
I was not loved.
It meant I loved.

犹豫打电话

活着亲眼看见你将我
抛弃一旁。那仗打的
象我心中的落网之鱼。看到你跳动
在我的浆液里。看到你睡觉。并活着亲见
那一切都往下淹没成
垃圾。完了？
它活在我内。
你活在我内。恶毒的。
爱人，你曾想要我，不是吗。

Hesitate To Call
Lived to see you throwing
Me aside. That fought
Liked netted fish inside me. Saw you throbbing
In my syrups. Saw you sleep. And lived to see
That all that flushed down
The refuse. Done?
It lives in me.
You live in me. Malignant.
Love, you ever want me, don't.

帕罗莎

我的一生挚爱，你
失去了而我
重又年轻。
几年度过。
天空满溢
少女的歌曲；
在前院
苹果树
缀饰着花朵。
我试图让你回来，
这是我写此
的目的。
可你一去永不回返，
就象俄罗斯小说中，说
几句我不记得的话——
这世界是多么富有
充满了那么多东西却不属于我——
我注视花朵散落，
不再是粉红色，
而是衰老，衰老，一片淡黄泛白的
花瓣好似
在明亮的草地上飘浮
轻轻飘拂。
你是何等微不足道，
如此迅速地变作
一副影象，一种香气—
你无所不在，智慧
和悲痛之源。

Parousia

Love of my life, you
Are lost and I am
Young again.

A few years pass.
The air fills
With girlish music;
In the front yard
The apple tree is
Studded with blossoms.

I try to win you back,
That is the point
Of the writing.
But you are gone forever,
As in Russian novels, saying
A few words I don't remember-

How lush the world is,
How full of things that don't belong to me-

I watch the blossoms shatter,
No longer pink,
But old, old, a yellowish white-
The petals seem
To float on the bright grass,
Fluttering slightly.

What a nothing you were,
To be changed so quickly
Into an image, an odor-
You are everywhere, source
Of wisdom and anguish.

敞开的坟墓

我母亲制成了我的必需，
我父亲造就了我的良心。
死亡没什么不过是种赐福而已。
因此会让我
大吃苦头，
去自行躺倒在
一个坟墓的边际。
我对大地说
从今以后，
要善待我的母亲。
以你的寒冷，存贮
我们所有人妒忌的美丽。
我成了一名老妇人。
我欢迎了黑暗
我曾常对此如此恐惧。
死亡没什么不过是种赐福而已。

The Open Grave

My mother made my need,
my father my conscience.
De mortius nil nisi bonum.
Therefore it will cost me
bitterly to lie,
to prostrate myself
at the edge of a grave.
I say to the earth
be kind to my mother,
now and later.
Save, with your coldness,
the beauty we all envied.
I became an old woman.
I welcomed the dark
I used so to fear.
De mortius nil nisi bonum.

阿喀硫斯的胜利

在普特洛克勒斯的故事里
无人存活，甚至阿喀硫斯也未能
他几乎是个神
普特洛克勒斯与他相似；他们
有同样的盔甲
佩戴在身。

在这些友谊中总有
人服务于他人，有人比他人低下：
那阶层
总是显而易见，尽管传奇
不可信—
它们来源于幸存者，
那个一直被抛弃的人。

火烧的希腊船怎可
与这损失相提并论？

在他帐篷里，阿喀硫斯
以他整个同类被哀悼
而众神看到了
他是个已死的人，一个受害者
属於那被爱的部分，
那部分曾是凡人。

The Triumph Of Achilles

In the story of Patroclus
no one survives, not even Achilles
who was nearly a god.
Patroclus resembled him; they wore
the same armor.

Always in these friendships
one serves the other, one is less than the other:
the hierarchy
is always apparant, though the legends
cannot be trusted--
their source is the survivor,
the one who has been abandoned.

What were the Greek ships on fire
compared to this loss?

In his tent, Achilles
grieved with his whole being
and the gods saw
he was a man already dead, a victim
of the part that loved,
the part that was mortal.

金百合

如我察觉
我现正死去并知道
我不再会讲话，不会
比大地久活，再次被
传唤出它以外，还
不是一朵花，只是一根针叶，原始的泥土
抓着我的肋骨，我呼唤你，
父亲和主人：四周
我的夥伴们正在凋落，心想
你没看见。如何
它们能知道你看见如果
你不拯救我们？
在这夏日黄昏，你是否
足够靠近去听见
你孩子的惊恐？或者
你不是我的父亲，
你使我复活？

The Gold Lily

As I perceive
I am dying now and know
I will not speak again, will not
survive the earth, be summoned
out of it again, not
a flower yet, a spine only, raw dirt
catching my ribs, I call you,
father and master: all around,
my companions are failing, thinking
you do not see. How
can they know you see
unless you save us?
In the summer twilight, are you
close enough to hear
your child's terror? Or
are you not my father,
you who raised me?

银百合

夜晚再度变凉，象早春
的夜，再次安静。讲话
会打扰你吗？我们现在
很孤寂；我们没有理由沉默不语。

你可看见，花园之上圆月升起。
我不想见下一次圆月。

春天，当月亮升起，意味着
时间没有尽头。雪莲
花开又合起，成群的
槭树种子落成苍白的一堆。
白上覆白，月亮升起在桦树之上。
而在弯钩处，那树分离开，
那最初的黄水仙的叶子，月光里
显柔软略绿的银色。

我们共赴尽头现已走的太远不至
对尽头恐惧。这些夜晚，我甚至不再肯定
我知道这尽头的含意。而你，一直
伴随一个人—

在第一声啼哭后，
不喜悦，象恐惧，无声息?

The Silver Lily

The nights have grown cool again, like the nights
Of early spring, and quiet again. Will
Speech disturb you? We're
Alone now; we have no reason for silence.

Can you see, over the garden-the full moon rises.
I won't see the next full moon.

In spring, when the moon rose, it meant
Time was endless. Snowdrops
Opened and closed, the clustered
Seeds of the maples fell in pale drifts.
White over white, the moon rose over the birch tree.
And in the crook, where the tree divides,
Leaves of the first daffodils, in moonlight
Soft greenish-silver.

We have come too far together toward the end now
To fear the end. These nights, I am no longer even certain
I know what the end means. And you, who've been
With a man--

After the first cries,
Doesn't joy, like fear, make no sound?

蝴蝶

看，一只蝴蝶。你许个愿没有？

你不向蝴蝶许愿。

你向。那你许了一个？

是的。

它不算数的。

The Butterfly

Look, a butterfly. Did you make a wish?

You don't wish on butterflies.

You do so. Did you make one?

Yes.

It doesn't count.

幸福

一男和一女躺在一张白色的床上。
这是早晨。我想
他们很快就会醒。
在床头柜上有一花瓶
百合；阳光
汇集于它们的脖颈。
我看他转向她
好象说她的名字
但沉默深藏在她嘴里—
在那窗棂，
一次，两次，
一只鸟叫着。
於是她翻翻身；她的身体
充满了他的气息。

我睁开眼睛；你正注视我。
几乎整个房间
太阳正在滑行。
看你的脸，你说着，
保持你自己靠近我
照作一面镜子
你多么平静。而那燃烧之轮
轻柔地将我们通行。

Happiness

A man and a woman lie on a white bed.
It is morning. I think
Soon they will waken.
On the bedside table is a vase
of lilies; sunlight
pools in their throats.
I watch him turn to her
as though to speak her name
but silently, deep in her mouth--
At the window ledge,
once, twice,
a bird calls.
And then she stirs; her body
fills with his breath.

I open my eyes; you are watching me.
Almost over this room
the sun is gliding.
Look at your face, you say,
holding your own close to me
to make a mirror.
How calm you are. And the burning wheel
passes gently over us.

雪

十二月下旬；我爸爸和我
前往纽约，去马戏团。
他举着我
在他肩膀上在刺骨的风中：
白纸碎片
吹上铁路线

我爸爸喜欢
象这样站着，举起我
所以他看不见我。
我记得
直视前方
进入我爸爸看见的世界；
我学会
承受它的空虚，
大雪
不落，
在我们周围旋转。

Snow

Late December: my father and I
are going to New York, to the circus.
He holds me
on his shoulders in the bitter wind:
scraps of white paper
blow over the railroad ties.

My father liked
to stand like this, to hold me
so he couldn't see me.
I remember
staring straight ahead
into the world my father saw;
I was learning
to absorb its emptiness,
the heavy snow
not falling, whirling around us.

雪莲

你知道我是什么，我如何活着？你知道
什么是绝望；那么
冬天会对你有意义。

我不期望存生，
大地抑制我。我不期望
再苏醒，去感知
在潮湿的大地里我的身躯
能再次反应，记住
在这么长时间后怎么再开放
在最初的春天
的冷光之中—

害怕，是，但在你们当中再
喊是冒着喜悦的风险

在这新世界的原始风中。

Snowdrops

Do you know what I was, how I lived? You know
what despair is; then
winter should have meaning for you.

I did not expect to survive,
earth suppressing me. I didn't expect
to waken again, to feel
in damp earth my body
able to respond again, remembering
after so long how to open again
in the cold light
of earliest spring--

afraid, yes, but among you again
crying yes risk joy

in the raw wind of the new world.