Why, if it could begin as laurel, and be spent so,

为什么，如果生命的短暂时光能够宁静地

this space of Being, a little darker than all

在月桂的化身里度过，颜色比其他所有的绿

the surrounding green, with little waves at the edge

略深，每片叶子的边缘都有细微波浪的形状

of every leaf (like a breeze’s smile) - : why then

（仿佛和风的微笑）——：为什么

have to be human – and shunning destiny

要成为人——并且，在逃离命运的同时

long for destiny?....

又渴望命运？……

Oh, not because happiness exists,

that over-hasty profit from imminent loss,

啊，不是因为幸福存在，

not out of curiosity, or to practice the heart,

那过于匆忙地从走近的“损失”中抢夺的“利润”。

which could exist in the laurel......

不是出于好奇，不是作为心灵的练习，因为

But because being here is much, and because all

月桂也会有一颗心……

that’s here seems to need us, the ephemeral, that

strangely concerns us. We: the most ephemeral. Once,

而是因为真正存在于此是如此丰富；因为这里的一切

for each thing, only once. Once, and no more. And we too,

显然都需要我们，这飞逝的世界一直以某种奇怪的方式

once. Never again. But this

召唤着我们。而我们，是所有事物中最短暂易逝的。

once, to have been, though only once,

每一件事物都只存在一次，仅仅一次。我们也一样，

to have been an earthly thing – seems irrevocable.

只有一次。永不会再现。可是只要这样完整地

存在一次，与大地融为一体，哪怕只有一次，

And so we keep pushing on, and trying to achieve it,

任何力量似乎就不能再把它抹去。

trying to contain it in our simple hands,

in the overflowing gaze and the speechless heart.

于是我们不断前行，努力去成就它，

Trying to become it. Whom to give it to? We would

努力把它紧握在我们简单的手里，

hold on to it for ever....Ah, what, alas, do we

在我们挤满形象的凝视里，在我们无言的心里。

take into that other dimension? Not the gazing which we

努力变成它——我们能把它交给谁？我们惟愿

slowly learned here, and nothing that happened. Nothing.

牢牢地拽住它，永远……啊，可是我们能把什么

Suffering then. Above all, then, the difficulty,

带进那一个国度？看的艺术？不能，掌握它

the long experience of love, then – what is

需要太久的时间；这里发生的事？不能。一件

wholly unsayable. But later,

都不能。那么，痛苦总可以吧。尤其是爱的沉重

among the stars, what use is it: it is better unsayable.

和漫长的煎熬——那些完全不可言说的东西。

Since the traveller does not bring a handful of earth

可是当它们置身于群星之间，这一切

from mountain-slope to valley, unsayable to others, but only

又有什么用——它们最好永远如此：不可言说。

a word that was won, pure, a yellow and blue

因为，当旅人从山坡返回山谷的时候，

gentian. Are we here, perhaps, for saying: house,

他带走的不是一抔无法对他人言说的泥土，而是

bridge, fountain, gate, jug, fruit-tree, window –

他得到的某个词，某个纯粹的词——那黄色和蓝色的

at most: column, tower......but for saying, realise,

龙胆。我们在“这里”，也许是为了说出：房子，

oh, for a saying such as the things themselves would never

桥，井，门，水罐，果树，窗——

have profoundly said. Is not the secret intent

至多能说出：圆柱，塔……可是，你必须理解，

of this discreet Earth to draw lovers on,

说出它们意味着比事物本身所能梦想的存在

so that each and every thing is delight within their feeling?

还要热切地说出它们。当沉默的大地

Threshold: what is it for two

强迫恋人们走到一起，它难道不是在秘密地企盼着：

lovers to be wearing their own threshold of the ancient door

在他们无垠的感情之内，所有事物都会因欢乐而颤栗？

a little, they too, after the many before them,

门槛：对两位恋人来说，不知不觉地

and before those to come......., simple.

磨平他们那古老的门槛意味着什么——

他们自己，也会轻轻地磨蚀，在许多过去的人

Here is the age of the sayable: here is its home.

之后，在许多未来的人之前……

Speak, and be witness. More than ever

the things of experience are falling away, since

“这里”是“可言说之物”的时间，“这里”

what ousts and replaces them is an act with no image.

是它的家园。说吧，为它作证。

An act, under a crust that will split, as soon as

我们可以体验的事物从未像今天这样飞速消失，因为

the business within outgrows it, and limit itself differently.

将它们挤开、取代它们的是一种没有形象的动作。

Between the hammers, our heart

一个隐藏在壳下的动作，那壳很快会崩裂， 

lives on, as the tongue

当里面的东西充满了空间，追求新的边界。

between the teeth, that

在铁锤之间，我们的心

in spite of them, keeps praising.

忍受着，就像舌头

在牙齿之间忍受着，却依然

Praise the world to the Angel, not the unsayable: you

能够赞颂。

can’t impress him with glories of feeling: in the universe,

where he feels more deeply, you are a novice. So show

向天使赞颂这个世界吧，而不是那个不可言说的世界。

him a simple thing, fashioned in age after age,

你不可能让他叹服你高贵的感情；在宇宙里，

that lives close to hand and in sight.

在他感知自己伟大力量的地方，你只是一个生手。所以，

Tell him things. He’ll be more amazed: as you were,

还是向他展示某种简单的东西吧，某种在许多世代里成形、

beside the rope-maker in Rome, or the potter beside the Nile.

为我们所有、为我们所触摸、在我们视野之内的东西。

Show him how happy things can be, how guiltless and ours,

向他讲述事物。他会惊讶地站在那里；就像你

how even the cry of grief decides on pure form,

惊讶地看着罗马的制绳工人或者尼罗河岸边的陶匠。

serves as a thing, or dies into a thing: transient,

向他展示一件事物能够多么快乐，多么天真，并能

they look to us for deliverance, we, the most transient of all.

为我们所有，甚至哀痛也执意要显形，执意要

Will us to change them completely, in our invisible hearts,

存在为一件事物，终结为一件事物——幸福地

into – oh, endlessly, into us! Whoever, in the end, we are.

逃逸，远在小提琴之外。这些事物，

这些因死而生的事物，知道你在赞颂它们；短暂的

Earth, is it not this that you want: to rise

它们期望我们——最短暂的我们——拯救它们。

invisibly in us? – Is that not your dream,

它们盼着我们彻底改变它们，在我们不可见的心里，

to be invisible, one day? – Earth! Invisible!

在我们里面——啊，最深最深的里面！无论我们最后是谁。

What is your urgent command if not transformation?

Earth, beloved, I will. O, believe me, you need

大地，难道这不是你所希求的：在我们里面，

no more Spring-times to win me: only one,

不可见地，升起？难道这不是你的梦：

ah, one, is already more than my blood can stand.

变得彻底地不可见，在某一天？——啊，大地：不可见！

Namelessly, I have been truly yours, from the first.

除了变形，还有什么会是你急切的命令？

You were always right, and your most sacred inspiration

大地，我最亲爱的，我答应你。啊，相信我，

is that familiar Death.

你不再需要用那么多春天来打动我——一个春天，

See I live. On what? Neither childhood nor future

啊，仅仅一个，对于我的血液来说就已经太多。

grows less......Excess of being

我以某种不可言说的方式属于你，从生命的最开始。

wells up in my heart.

你一直都是对的，你最神圣的灵感

是我们最亲密的伴侣——死。

看，我活着。依凭什么？童年和未来

都不再耗损……无限丰富的存在

在我心里涌起。