译一首|那些在半空中不肯坠下的心——露易丝·格丽克的《别离》

2020年诺贝尔文学奖得主露易丝·格丽克，美国当代诗人，曾获普利策奖，国家图书奖，桂冠诗人称号

别离

夜晚不是暗的，是这个世界暗了下去

陪着我，再多一会儿

你的双手落在椅背上——

这一切我记了下来

在那之前，轻搭住我的肩膀，轻轻抚摸

像一个人训练自己避免动心

在另一个房间，女仆小心翼翼关上了我看书的灯

有着平整雪白墙壁的房间——我想知道你会如何面对我

一旦你开始流亡，我想你的眼睛会寻着

那盏灯而不是月亮。

显然，在这么多年之后，你需要距离

来明确它的炽烈。

你的手放在椅子上，用完全相同的方式

抚摸着我的身体和那些木头。

就像一个人想再次感受到渴望一样，

他珍视渴望甚于其他所有情感。

在海滩上，那些希腊农民发出的声音，急切地等待着日出，

仿佛黎明便可以将他们变成英雄。

在那之前，你一直抱着我，因为你将离开——

这些是属于你的陈述，

不是需要答案的问题。

我如何才能知道你爱我，

除非我看到你也为我心碎。

DEPARTURE

The night isn’t dark; the world is dark.

Stay with me a little longer.

Your hands on the back of the chair -

that’s what I’ll remember.

Before that, lightly stroking my shoulders.

Like a man training himself to avoid the heart.

In the other room, the maid discreetly

putting out the light i read by.

The room with its chalk walls-

how will it look to you I wonder

once your exile begins? I think your eyes will seek out

its light as opposed to the moon.

Apparently, after so many years, you need

distance to make plain its intensity.

Your hands on the chair, stroking

my body and the wood in exactly the same way.

Like a man who wants to feel longing again,

who prizes longing above all other emotion.

On the beach, voices of the Greek farmers,

impatient for sunrise.

As though dawn will change them

from farmers into heroes.

And before that, you are holding me because you are going away—

these are statements you are making,

not questions needing answers.

How can I know you love me

unless I see you grieve over me?

*因为格外中意这一首，便重新翻译了一下，原文可能更好，译诗总不可避免的又多了一层隔阂。