2020诺贝尔文学奖得主格里克的诗歌翻译 两首
太丧了，我真的不读2020诺贝尔文学奖得主格里克的诗歌了(附原诗）
找到了一本2020诺贝尔文学奖得主的英文原版诗集。
太丧了，我真的不读2020诺贝尔文学奖得主，格里克的诗歌了。我承认她写的特别好，感情很到位，技巧很丰富......
可我更喜欢太阳的光明，以及海水的清澈，还有鲜花的芳香.......
附两首原诗及我的翻译。
银百合
天气变凉了，
这个初春的夜晚，又静了下来。
我的诉说是否打扰了你？
现在，听我说，
既然我们选择了在一起，就没有保持沉默的理由。
你能看到吗？花园里，一轮满月挂在了苍穹——
可是下一次月升，我将再也看不见。
每个春季，当月亮升起的那一刻，
对我们而言，就意味着：
时间是永恒的。
雪莲花绽放又枯萎，
枫树的种子一片片地飘落下来堆成山丘。
月亮挂在桦树上空苍茫了大地。
在树的分岔处，第一批水仙的叶子，披上了
柔和而微绿的银色。
现在，我们已经走得太远了——所以不必再担心结束。
这个夜晚，我不敢确定结束意味着什么？
而你，和你这样一个男人在一起，
在最初的哭泣之后，
难道那恐惧，不也等同于快乐：
没有声息了吗？
The Silver Lily
The nights have grown cool again, like the nights
of early spring, and quiet again. Will
speech disturb you? We're
alone now; we have no reason for silence.
Can you see, over the garden—the full moon rises.
I won't see the next full moon.
In spring, when the moon rose, it meant
time was endless. Snowdrops
opened and closed, the clustered
seeds of the maples fell in pale drifts.
White over white, the moon rose over the birch tree.
And in the crook, where the tree divides,
leaves of the first daffodils, in moonlight
soft greenish-silver.
We have come too far together toward the end now
to fear the end. These nights, I am no longer even certain
I know what the end means. And you, who've been with a man—
after the first cries,
doesn't joy, like fear, make no sound?
最后的冬天
这个安静地夜晚，一声躲在黑夜枝头的鸟儿
喊醒了我苍茫的心。
你想旅行，我给你旅行的自由。
你想快乐，可我的悲伤并不是妨碍你的结果。
我走在绝望与希望之间，
焦急地感知你，仿佛你是某种新事物。
那吸引着我的，是你的阳光与微笑——
我从来没想过让你付出爱我的代价，就像
我的声音，从来不是
你的一部分。
你在另一个世界，再也听不清，
此刻是鸟鸣,还是我的声音，用尽力气地在说：别了，别了......
并，慢慢连成了一条直线，
将我俩捆绑在一起。
End of Winter
Over the still world, a bird calls
waking solitary among black boughs.
You wanted to be born; I let you be born.
When has my grief ever gotten
in the way of your pleasure?
Plunging ahead
into the dark and light at the same time
eager for sensation
as though you were some new thing, wanting
to express yourselves
all brilliance, all vivacity
never thinking
this would cost you anything,
never imagining the sound of my voice
as anything but part of you—
you won't hear it in the other world,
not clearly again,
not in birdcall or human cry,
not the clear sound, only
persistent echoing
in all sound that means good-bye, good-bye—
the one continuous line
that binds us to each other.
找到了一本2020诺贝尔文学奖得主的英文原版诗集。
太丧了，我真的不读2020诺贝尔文学奖得主，格里克的诗歌了。我承认她写的特别好，感情很到位，技巧很丰富......
可我更喜欢太阳的光明，以及海水的清澈，还有鲜花的芳香.......
附两首原诗及我的翻译。
银百合
天气变凉了，
这个初春的夜晚，又静了下来。
我的诉说是否打扰了你？
现在，听我说，
既然我们选择了在一起，就没有保持沉默的理由。
你能看到吗？花园里，一轮满月挂在了苍穹——
可是下一次月升，我将再也看不见。
每个春季，当月亮升起的那一刻，
对我们而言，就意味着：
时间是永恒的。
雪莲花绽放又枯萎，
枫树的种子一片片地飘落下来堆成山丘。
月亮挂在桦树上空苍茫了大地。
在树的分岔处，第一批水仙的叶子，披上了
柔和而微绿的银色。
现在，我们已经走得太远了——所以不必再担心结束。
这个夜晚，我不敢确定结束意味着什么？
而你，和你这样一个男人在一起，
在最初的哭泣之后，
难道那恐惧，不也等同于快乐：
没有声息了吗？
The Silver Lily
The nights have grown cool again, like the nights
of early spring, and quiet again. Will
speech disturb you? We're
alone now; we have no reason for silence.
Can you see, over the garden—the full moon rises.
I won't see the next full moon.
In spring, when the moon rose, it meant
time was endless. Snowdrops
opened and closed, the clustered
seeds of the maples fell in pale drifts.
White over white, the moon rose over the birch tree.
And in the crook, where the tree divides,
leaves of the first daffodils, in moonlight
soft greenish-silver.
We have come too far together toward the end now
to fear the end. These nights, I am no longer even certain
I know what the end means. And you, who've been with a man—
after the first cries,
doesn't joy, like fear, make no sound?
最后的冬天
这个安静地夜晚，一声躲在黑夜枝头的鸟儿
喊醒了我苍茫的心。
你想旅行，我给你旅行的自由。
你想快乐，可我的悲伤并不是妨碍你的结果。
我走在绝望与希望之间，
焦急地感知你，仿佛你是某种新事物。
那吸引着我的，是你的阳光与微笑——
我从来没想过让你付出爱我的代价，就像
我的声音，从来不是
你的一部分。
你在另一个世界，再也听不清，
此刻是鸟鸣,还是我的声音，用尽力气地在说：别了，别了......
并，慢慢连成了一条直线，
将我俩捆绑在一起。
End of Winter
Over the still world, a bird calls
waking solitary among black boughs.
You wanted to be born; I let you be born.
When has my grief ever gotten
in the way of your pleasure?
Plunging ahead
into the dark and light at the same time
eager for sensation
as though you were some new thing, wanting
to express yourselves
all brilliance, all vivacity
never thinking
this would cost you anything,
never imagining the sound of my voice
as anything but part of you—
you won't hear it in the other world,
not clearly again,
not in birdcall or human cry,
not the clear sound, only
persistent echoing
in all sound that means good-bye, good-bye—
the one continuous line
that binds us to each other.