Millennium Night史春波, 乔治·奥康奈尔 译

千禧之夜杜家祁


Since when this sift of snow?
什麼時候開始的,那飄飄的落雪?
Behind me, behind the drapes, altering the world,
背著我,在窗簾的背面,更換了世界
unhurried, unhesitating, lightly touching earth,
既不急躁,也不遲疑,它徐徐降落塵世
drifting onto upturned faces, opened palms,
慢慢蓋住了仰望天空的臉和伸開的手心
so perfect, like everything I desired
完美得無懈可擊,像過去歲月中
in the old days.
我曾渴望的,一切又一切

Is the day finally here? The one people fuss about,
終於要來了嗎?那眾人大驚小怪的日子
the fading twentieth century
還握在手裏的二十世紀,已渙散
like breath on a windowpane.
如玻璃窗的水汽

My father saw battles
我想起父親,他沒來過
but survived the war. Hating
這個地方
the nation he fought,
並且痛恨這個國家
he never came here.
他上過戰場,但並未在戰爭中陣亡
One summer in the nineties
九十年代初的一個夏季
his face froze forever to a photo by an urn.
他的面容凝固在一個罈子上的近照裏
So what if he never saw snow? I have,
他沒見過雪,而且永遠沒有機會了
but will die in the century to come.
但那又怎麼樣?我見過雪

在正來臨的二十一世紀裏,我也終將死去
Cheering, fireworks, blasts in the night sky.

What does a millennium stand for, choiring angels
煙花和歡呼轟然一聲同時於夜空中爆開
or the holy spirit’s grace?
千禧代表了什麽,天使酣唱、聖靈降福?
If this is the beginning, what could be its end?
是什麽的開始?又是什麽的終結?

In my small hotel, I sit by the window
在這小旅店內,我獨自倚窗而坐
as if at someone’s birthday, joyful, apathetic.
有著觀看別人慶祝生日一樣的愉悅及漠然
Will I open the window at morning
明天早晨,當我推窗,是否會見到
to behold
傳說中的雪魘?
yuki onna
我還記得今晨初降的雪花
, the legendary snow ghost?
如何落在地上,又如何溶去了
I consider the first flurries,

how they meet the ground, then melt.
明天雪將繼續堆積還是陽光照耀?我不知道

可預期的是下一個節慶,不管是什麽名義
Sunshine tomorrow or snow?
人們將又擠塞在公園或者廣場
Whatever the festival,
為某個理由而擁抱,而親吻,我甚至可以想像
people crowd again the parks or plazas
不同臉龐上相似的笑容,那時,我們都相信
embracing for some reason,
幸福與和平
same smiles on different faces,

for a moment each of us believing
而我總是這樣掃興的人
in happiness and peace.
在每一個普世歡慶的日子

在彩色氣球升空的間隙
It’s always me who spoils the fun
北國一條無名的街道在眼前浮現
whatever day we praise.
它寧靜地躺在記憶的大地上
Colorful balloons lurch skyward,
所有的景物都會慢慢變得透明
a nameless northern street appears before my eyes,
深山傳出的寺廟鐘聲跨過時空在耳邊迴響
so quietly reclined across the land of memory
素白的雪片仍一絮絮飄下,無聲,但如此清晰
all scenery turns transparent.
Deep in the mountains the temple bell
traverses time and space, echoing
as snow descends in clumps,
silent, unadorned, distinct.


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