◎董繼平 譯
此刻在野性的海洋上,越過(guò)阿根廷的潘帕斯草原。如果你在亞特蘭大,如果你在柏林、多倫多、蒙特利爾,唉,一種沉默就正在降臨。我不知道它是什么。它可能是一種沒(méi)有實(shí)質(zhì)的風(fēng)——然而它充滿了死鳥(niǎo)的鳴叫,充滿了土著人的哭喊,它穿過(guò)美洲大草原向上移動(dòng)。它到處下陷——水牛的沉默,野牛和鯨魚(yú)的沉默。有朝一日,這種沉默很快就會(huì)走向我們,我們起初不會(huì)注意它——在家里處于這遼闊的沉默中,但然后它會(huì)持續(xù)一小時(shí),而我們每個(gè)人,仿佛置身于夢(mèng)中,聲音或言語(yǔ)無(wú)法企及,我們將在恐怖中朝著我們的斧子無(wú)聲的反響、我們的機(jī)器沉默的運(yùn)轉(zhuǎn)而做出手勢(shì)。噴氣式飛機(jī)將飛過(guò),不會(huì)有尖銳刺耳的聲音。收音機(jī)將發(fā)光發(fā)熱,但不會(huì)有靜電干擾,不會(huì)有那將從痛苦中抬頭盯著我們、被壓碎的動(dòng)物發(fā)出的叫聲,被刺傷的男人迷失在沉默中的叫喊,被強(qiáng)奸的女人被吸入沉默的尖叫,以及誕生在一個(gè)無(wú)聲世界中的嬰兒——那狗吠未被注意就響起的世界,那號(hào)角毫無(wú)預(yù)兆就吹響的世界,即便是鐘也缺乏一小時(shí)無(wú)法阻止的穩(wěn)定的滴答聲的世界。
Right now over wild seas,across the pampas of Argentina.If you are in Atlanta,if you are in Berlin,Toronto,Montreal,alas,a silence is coming.I don’t know what it is.It may be a wind without substance——but it is full of the cries of dead birds,full of the cry of the natives and it is moving up through the prairies of America.It is sinking in everywhere——a silence of buffalo,a silence of bison and whale.One day soon the silence will move over us and we will not at first notice it——at home in the vastness of the silence,but then it will continue for an hour and each of us,as though in a dream,beyond the reach of sound or speech,will gesture in horror at the soundless reverberation of our axes,the silent working of our machinery.The jets will go by and there will be no shrill sound.The radio will glow but there will be no static and no cry from the crushed animals who will stare up from their pain at us,the stabbed man’s cry lost in the silence,the raped woman’s scream absorbed in the silence,and infants born into a soundless world——a world where the dog’s bark goes unheeded,where the bugles blow without warning and where even the clocks lack for an hour their steady and unstoppable ticking.
現(xiàn)在你卡在你大腿的蛛網(wǎng)中,在露水中顯得很美,我的軀體深色的蒼蠅,我將寬寬地展開(kāi)翅膀,在這里,我們將永遠(yuǎn)被旋風(fēng)和地震結(jié)合。我的愛(ài)將在黑暗中展開(kāi),給你軀體的各個(gè)部分都涂上深深的、擦不掉的油,在你的海岸線上進(jìn)來(lái)——鯨魚(yú)的黑色圈子和蠕動(dòng),就像早晨那樣進(jìn)來(lái),姑娘,展開(kāi)我的光芒神圣的涌動(dòng),讓它就像那使眼睛上癮的明亮的麻醉品。 我想我會(huì)滑過(guò)房子屋頂,滑下屋檐, 滑進(jìn)溪流。 我要在那你用來(lái)頂禮膜拜或在你身上燃燒的水中——像麥秸那樣升起, 明亮得猶如一堆玫瑰和鎂。 就像鷹隼,就像星塵, 就像大片的雪花落到你身上, 立即融化, 我的唯一性消失了, 我白色的形態(tài)消失了, 因?yàn)槟阍谒娜诵灾信c我結(jié)合。
Now you have caught in the web of your thighs, beautiful in the dew, the dark fly of my body, I will spread my wings wide and we will forever be joined here by whirlwinds and earthquakes. My love will spread out in the darkness anointing all parts of your body with a deep indelible oil, coming in on your coastlines —— a dark ring and the wriggling of whales, coming in like morning, babe,spreading the holy rush of my light like a bright drug to addicted eyes. I think I will slide over the roofs of houses, down eaves and into streams. I’ll be in the water that you worship with or burning on you —— going up like straw, bright as a heap of roses and magnesium. Falling on you like a hawk, like stardust, like a large snowflake, instantly melting, my uniqueness gone, my white shape gone as I am joined by you in the Humanity of water.
在一場(chǎng)屠殺之后多久, 你才能暢飲一個(gè)國(guó)度的葡萄酒? 在一場(chǎng)大屠殺之后多久, 你才會(huì)停止抵制一個(gè)國(guó)度的葡萄酒? 智利葡萄酒, 不! 德國(guó)葡萄酒, 不! 然而法國(guó)人難道就不曾屠殺過(guò)誰(shuí)?意大利人難道就不曾屠殺過(guò)誰(shuí)? 那么, 我們要多久才能憑良心去買(mǎi)葡萄酒? 來(lái)自瓦爾帕萊索的紅葡萄酒, 西班牙紅葡萄酒和也許就是在那個(gè)葡萄園被衛(wèi)兵們射殺的洛爾迦。 一個(gè)國(guó)度的面包要多久才不會(huì)再浸透在血里? 魚(yú)子醬何時(shí)才會(huì)重新變得干凈? 何時(shí),我的將軍們, 何時(shí)我們才能重飲那精美的巴比亞爾伏特加, 皮諾切特餐桌上的葡萄酒? 我厭惡所有這些我無(wú)法暢飲的葡萄酒。 南非的葡萄酒, 美洲的葡萄酒, 加拿大的葡萄酒。 這些葡萄要多久才會(huì)停止具有那種流血與背叛的味道, 那種集中營(yíng)的邪惡與權(quán)利可怕的醉態(tài)的味道呢?
注:
①智利著名港市。 ②西班牙著名詩(shī)人 (1898-1936), 西班牙內(nèi)戰(zhàn)中被長(zhǎng)槍黨暴徒槍殺。 ③又譯 “娘子谷”, 烏克蘭首都基輔西北的溝壑, 1941 年約有5 萬(wàn)名猶太人在那里遭到納粹屠殺。 ④智利將軍 (1915-2006)、 獨(dú)裁者,1973 年發(fā)動(dòng)軍事政變, 推翻民選總統(tǒng)阿連德。How long after a slaughter before you can drink the wine of a land? How long after a pogrom before you stop boycotting the wine of a land? Chilean wine No! German wine No! But who haven’t the French slaughtered? Who haven’t the Italians slaughtered? How long then before we can buy any wine in good conscience? Red wines from Valparaiso, red Spanish wines and Lorca shot down by the guards,perhaps in that very vineyard. How long before the bread of a land is no longer soaked in blood? When does the caviar become clean again?When, my generals, when can we drink the fine Babi Yar Vodka again, the wine at Pinochet’s table? I am sick of all these wines that I cannot drink. The South African wines, the American wines,the Canadian wines. How long before those grapes stop tasting of blood-letting and betrayal, the unholiness of concentration camps and the terrible drunkeness of power?