Love
Radmila Lazić, translated byCharles Simic
ISSUE 213, SUMMER 2015 The Paris Review
I sharpened knives
All night.
To welcome you
In the brilliance of their blades,
And among them,
My love sparkles
For your eyes only.
爱
整个夜晚我只做一件事
打磨
为了锋利迎接着你
的匕首
为在一片光芒中为你闪亮的
我的眼
A Brigid’s Gridle – for Adele
by Seamus Heaney
last time I wrote I wrote from a rustic table
under magnolias in south Carolina
as blossoms fell on me,
a white gable as clean-lined as the prow of a white liner
bisected sunlight in the sunlit yard
I was glad of the early heat and the first quiet I’d had for weeks
I heard the mocking bird and a delicious articulate
flight of small plinkings from a dulcimer
like feminine rhymes migrating to the north
where you faced the music and the ache of summer
and earth’s foreknowledge gathered in the earth
now it’s St Brigid’s day and the first snowdrop
in county Wicklow and this is Brigid’s girdle
I’m plaiting for you, an airy-fairy hoop
like one of those old crinolines they’d trindle
twisted straw that’s lifted in a circle
to handsel and to heal, a rite of spring
as strange and lightsome and traditional
as the motions you go through going through the thing
春之祭
上次我提笔写作，在南卡乡下的一张桌子前
玉兰盛开
花瓣落在我身上
屋檐洁白
像是高高昂起的船头
院子里阳光正好
我享受着持续了数个星期的温暖和安静
听知更鸟低唱
杨琴般伶俐乐音起航
婉转旋律即将展开去往北方的旅程
当我享受这音乐，夏的忧伤也随之而来
这大地正慢慢的将未来的预言弥漫
圣布里吉德节这天，今年唯一的雪悄然而至
在Wicklow，雪是圣女的腰带
是我想要编织的挂满晶莹十字的神圣花环
（正如那些用杂草编织而成的）
稻草编织而成的首尾相继的环
用来祝贺和抚慰，为了这春的祭典
让人感到一丝不适，又似充满光明的怀念着
正如雪落下来时
我从这圆环中穿过的那一瞬
在经历了这么多以后
September Night
by Judita Vaiciunaite
Paris Review Issue no. 128 (Fall 1993)
. . . And our number in the hotel — thineen
(yearning having been equally distributed).
Down comforter.
In the drawer—a yellowing Bible. It’s raining.
The clock in the hall’s getting rained on.
I wipe off the round mirror,
covered with a smoky, full moon.
Filling with rain in the streets,
this September night’s lifting me up
in an old-time elevator.
Night’s ending, time’s tearing.
And the cross streets fuse together in twisted images.
It s so sad, as if for Lapps.
Their frozen stags start looking like stars.
(In the dream, my hands wreathe your neck,
ever so slightly, gently.)
— translated from the Lithuanian by Viktoria Skrupskelis and Stuart Friebert
九月
我们房间的号码是…
依然不清楚，在喊叫的声音中
安静下来
在抽屉里，我发现一本封面已经发黄了的圣经。
外面开始下雨
连塔楼上的钟表都被打湿
在房间里
我擦拭干净一面椭圆的镜子
它回报给我一轮圆月（尽管那不是现实世界的倒影）
现在，街上到处都是雨水
这个九月的夜晚用旧时光的阶梯让我回到原来的我
哦
夜晚就要过去，时间越来越少
窗外的十字路口已经变成蒙太奇的油画
就像是为你而做，Lappos
这让人难过
这让我想要回去梦里
在那里
我轻抚你的肩膀
我轻抚那优美曲线直至你的长发
October I
Louise Gluck
Is it winter again, is it cold again,
didn’t Frank just slip on the ice,
didn’t he heal, weren’t the spring seeds planted
didn’t the night end,
didn’t the melting ice
flood the narrow gutters
wasn’t my body
rescued, wasn’t it safe
didn’t the scar form, invisible
above the injury
terror and cold,
didn’t they just end, wasn’t the back garden
harrowed and planted—
I remember how the earth felt, red and dense,
in stiff rows, weren’t the seeds planted,
didn’t vines climb the south wall
I can’t hear your voice
for the wind’s cries, whistling over the bare ground
I no longer care
what sound it makes
when was I silenced, when did it first seem
pointless to describe that sound
what it sounds like can’t change what it is—
didn’t the night end, wasn’t the earth
safe when it was planted
didn’t we plant the seeds,
weren’t we necessary to the earth,
the vines, were they harvested?
十月（1）
又是冬天，又是寒冷的季节
（梦）
Frank是不是又在冰面上滑倒了？
我自己爬起来的时候，看到路边田野里已经播种了期待春天会发芽的种子
（那田野和种子让我觉得）
是不是黑夜已经结束了？
寒冰融化,冰水漫过路边的排水沟
在那里，我得救了吗？
那是一个安全的地方吗？
那些因在冰面上跌倒而留下的伤疤，是不是就无法从伤口上被看到了？
恐惧和痛苦会在那里结束吗？
我想要安心的，犁地
然后在我的田野里播种
在我的田野，那些暗红色的，结实的泥土
成行排列，种子被埋在里面
那里应该生长出葡萄蔓藤，蜿蜒着爬满南方的墙
然后，你转身时说的那些话
将和这土地一起被淹没在风里
我再也不想去在乎
你说过什么，声音又是什么
什么时候我变的沉默，什么时候开始我觉得声音是没有意义的存在
无论怎样，语言改变不了你，也改变不了我
当泥土被播种，黑夜就会结束吧？
犁地然后埋下种子
我对这土地来说，是必需的吧？
这葡萄藤，会在炎热的夏天结下果实吗？