五月。它是如何开始的？

It was May. How had it started? What

什么暴露了我们的怨愤？

Had bared our edges? What quirky twist

在那天这么早的时间，月亮刀刃

Of the moon’s blade had set us, so early in the day,

什么样古怪的转动使我们彼此流血？

Bleeding each other? What had I done? I had

我做了什么？我多少产生了误解。

Somehow misunderstood. Inaccessible

陷在恶灵怒火中的你，令人难以接近 ，

In your dybbuk fury, babies

小孩被狠狠地放在车里，你驾驶着汽 车。

Hurled into the car, you drove. We surely

我们肯定想痛快地出游一天，

Had been intending a day’s outing,

在海边的某处地方，一次探险－－

Somewhere on the coast, an exploration—

所以你开始驾车。

So you started driving.

　　　　　　　　我所记得的

What I remember

是我的思想活动：她会做什么蠢事。

Is thinking: She’ll do something crazy. And I ripped

我猛地打开车门，跳进车，坐在你身 旁。

The door open and jumped in beside you.

于是我们向西开去。向西。

So we drove West. West. Cornish lanes

我记得：一条条康沃尔郡的小路，

I remember, a simmering truce

当你铁青着脸凝视时，某场非尘世战 争

As you stared, with iron in your face,

在遥远的雷声滚滚的天底下，处于

Into some remote thunderscape

暂时停止而随时可能爆发的状态。

Of some unworldly war. I simply

我抱着小孩，只是一路伴随你，

Trod accompaniment, carried babies,

等待着你恢复常态。我们

Waited for you to come back to nature.

试图找到海岸。你怒恼于

We tried to find the coast. You

我们英国人各家贪心挡住

Raged against our English private greed

所有接近海边的路，挡住了大海，

Of fencing off all coastal approaches,

挡住了向内陆去。你鄙视

Hiding the sea from roads, from all inland.

肮脏的海边，当你到达那里时。

You despised England’s grubby edges when you got there.

那天是属于发怒火的日子。

The day belonged to the furies. I searched the map

我在地图上一个个农场，一个个

To penetrate the farms and private kingdoms.

私人的王国里查找路线。

Finally a gateway. It was a fresh day,

最后找到了入口。这是五月

Full May. Somewhere I’d brought food.

清新的一天。我在某处买了食物。

We crossed a field and came to the open

我们穿越田野，迎着扑来的海风。

Blue push of sea-wind. A gorse cliff,

一座爬满荆豆藤的悬崖，条条峡谷

Brambly, oak-packed combes. We found

荆棘丛生，栎树林立。在山崖顶下

An eyrie hollow, just under the cliff-top.

我们发现了一个猛禽的巢穴，它

It seemed perfect to me. Feeding babies,

在我看来十分完美。你给婴儿喂奶，

Your Germanic scowl, edged like a helmet,

阴沉着你日尔曼型的脸，像一顶头盔 ，

Would not translate itself. I sat baffled.

令人难以言传。我困惑地坐在那里。

I was a fly outside on the window-pane

在我的家庭剧中，我是窗户外面的

Of my own domestic drama. You refused to lie there

一只苍蝇。你一脸倦意，

Being indolent, you hated it.

却拒绝躺下来，你不喜欢躺下。

That flat, draughty plate was not an ocean.

那个平展的刮风的地质板块不是海洋 。

You had to be away and you went. And I

你必须离开，于是走了。我像狗似的

Trailed after like a dog, along the cliff-top field-edge,

跟在后面，沿着山崖顶的边缘，

Over a wind-matted oak-wood—

在风吹动的栎树林上方－－

And I found a snare.

我发现了一根响弦，

Copper-wire gleam, brown cord, human contrivance,

这发亮的铜丝绳在这里成了新装置。

Sitting new-set. Without a word

你不吭一声地把它扯断，扔进了栎树林里。

You tore it up and threw it into the trees.

我被惊呆了。对我国众神

I was aghast. Faithful

虔诚的我看到

To my country gods—I saw

圈套线的神圣性受到了亵渎。

The sanctity of a trapline desecrated.

你看见表皮下充血的

You saw blunt fingers, blood in the cuticles,

僵硬手指抓住一只蓝色的大杯。

Clamped around a blue mug. I saw

我看见农村的贫穷正筹集便土。

Country poverty raising a penny,

你看见长着婴儿眼睛的被扼死的一个个

Filling a Sunday stewpot. You saw baby-eyed

天真无邪的人，我看见

Strangled innocents, I saw sacred

神圣的古老风俗。

Ancient custom. You saw snare after snare

你看见一个圈套又一个圈套，于是

And went ahead, riving them from their roots

走向前把它们连根扯断，把它们

And flinging them down the wood. I saw you

扔到崖下的栎树林里。我看见你

Ripping up precarious, precious saplings

扯断我的传统岌岌可危的宝贵幼苗，

Of my heritage, hard-won concessions

看风你从以土地维系的悬挂桥和车辆 那里

From the hangings and transportations

扯断难得获得的驾驶权。

To live off the land. You cried: ‘Murderers!’

你大声说：“凶手们！”

You were weeping with a rage

你愤怒地泪流满面，毫不怜惜兔子。

That cared nothing for rabbits. You were locked

你被关进某间单人套间喘着气，

Into some chamber gasping for oxygen

我找不到你，听不见你说话，

Where I could not find you, or really hear you,

更不必说不理解你。

Let alone understand you.

　　　　　　　　　在那些圈套里

In those snares

你抓住了某些东西。

You’d caught something.

你是不是在我身上抓住了某些东西，

Had you caught something in me,

这个夜间活动的而我又不知晓的东西 ？

Nocturnal and unknown to me? Or was it

或者它是你命定的自我，你受折磨的

Your doomed self, your tortured, crying,

呼喊的窒息的自我？不管是哪一种，

Suffocating self? Whichever,

你诗歌的那些过于敏感的可怕手指

Those terrible, hypersensitive

紧紧的捏住它，感到它活灵活现。

Fingers of your verse closed round it and

这些冒着热气的肠子似的一首首诗

Felt it alive. The poems, like smoking entrails,

软绵绵地来到你的手中。

Came soft into your hands.