g
Cracking his fleas in the hot sun
Is history. Yet the girl who crosses
From door to door moves to a scale
Beyond the bland day's two dimensions.
Stay, then, village, for round you spins
On a slow axis a world as vast
And meaningful as any posed
By great Plato's solitary mind.
《农村》R.S.托马斯
谈不上街道，房子太少了，
只有一条小道
从唯一的酒店到唯一的铺子，
再不前进，消失在山顶。
山也不高，侵蚀着它的
是多年积累的绿色波涛，
草不断生长，越来越接近
这过去时间的最后据点。
很少发生什么；一条黑狗
在阳光里咬跳蚤就算是
历史大事。倒是有姑娘
挨门走过，她那速度
超过这平淡日子两重尺寸。
那么停住吧，村子，因为围绕着你
慢慢转动着一整个世界，
辽阔而富于意义，不亚于伟大的
柏拉图孤寂心灵的任何构想。
♥A Day in Autumn by Ronald Stuart Thomas
It will not always be like this,
The air windless, a few last
Leaves adding their decoration
To the trees’ shoulders, braiding the cuffs
Of the boughs with gold; a bird preening
In the lawn’s mirror. Having looked up
From the day’s chores, pause a minute,
Letthe mind take its photograph
Of the bright scene, something to wear
Against the heart in the long cold.
《秋日》 R.S.托马斯
天气不会总是像这样，
空中无风，最后的几片
叶子装点着树的肩膀，给巨枝的袖口
镶缀金边；一只鸟
在反光的草地上
整理羽毛。从一天的杂务中
抬起头，停歇片刻，
让记忆拍下那明媚景象的
片段，藉此来抵御
漫漫寒冷中的心。
♥Period by Ronald Stuart Thomas
It was a time when wise men
Were not silent, but stifled
By vast noise. They took refuge
in books that were not read.
Two counsellors had the ear
Of the public. One cried 'Buy'
Day and Night, and the other,
More plausibly, 'Sell your repose'.
《时代》R.S.托马斯
这样一个时代智者们
并不沉默，只是为巨大
嘈杂所窒息。他们退避到
那无人问津的书中。
两位策士的话博得了
公众的倾听。一位叫喊“买！”
日夜不停，而另一位，
更煞有介事，“卖掉你们的宁静”。
♥The Cat And The Sea
by Ronald Stuart Thomas
It is a matter of a black cat
On a bare cliff top in March
Whose eyes anticipate
The gorse petals;
The formal equation of
A domestic purr
With the cold interiors
Of the sea's mirror.
《猫与海》R.S.托马斯
是关于一只黑猫的事件
它站在三月里光秃的悬崖上
眼睛谋算上
金雀花的花瓣；
一只家猫满足时的叫声
形式等同
却有着大海之镜
冷漠的本质。
♥The View from the Window
by Ronald Stuart Thomas
Like a painting it is set before one,
But less brittle, ageless; these colours
Are renewed daily with variations
Of light and distance that no painter
Achieves or suggests. Then there is movement,
Change, as slowly the cloud bruises
Are healed by sunlight, or snow caps
A black mood; but gold at evening
To cheer the heart. All through history
The great brush has not rested,
Nor the paint dried; yet what eye,
Looking coolly, or, as we now,
through the tears' lenses, ever saw
This work and it was not finished?
窗外的景色
如一幅画般摆在人的面前，
然而不如画那样易碎，它是永恒的；这些颜色
每天都在更新，因为光，和那任何画家都无法企及无法想像出的距离。接着，有活动和变化，
就像阳光治愈青肿的乌云，或者雪
将黑色的心情覆盖掉一样缓慢；然而傍晚
有振奋心灵的金色。在整个历史的进程中，
巨大的刷子从未停息过，
画从未干过；而眼睛，在冷静观望时，
或者，就像我们现在这样，
在透过泪水的透镜观望时，从这幅
还没有完成的作品中看到了什么？
（张文武译）
♥Pilgrimages
by Ronald Stuart Thomas
There is an island there is no going
to but in a small boat the way
the saints went, travelling the gallery
of the frightened faces of
the long-drowned, munching the gravel
of its beaches. So I have gone
up the salt lane to the building
with the stone altar and the candles
gone out, and kneeled and lifted
my eyes to the furious gargoyle
of the owl that is like a god
gone small and resentful. There
is no body in the stained window
of the sky now. Am I too late?
Were they too late also, those
first pilgrims? He is such a fast
God, always before us and
leaving as we arrive.
There are those here
not given to prayer, whose office
is the blank sea that they say daily.
What they listen to is not
hymns but the slow chemistry of the soil
that turns saints' bones to dust,
dust to an irritant of the nostril.
There is no time on this island.
The swinging pendulum of the tide
has no clock: the events
are dateless. These people are not
late or soon: they are just
here with only the one question
to ask, which life answers
by being in them. It is I
who ask. Was the pilgrimage
I made to come to my own
self, to learn that in times
like these and for one like me
God will never be plain and
out there, but dark rather and
inexplicable, as though he were in here?
《朝圣》R.S. 托马斯/程佳 译
有一个岛，去到那里没别的路，
只能乘一只小船，走
圣人们走过的路，经过一廊
满脸惊惧
溺亡已久的面孔，用力咀嚼
海滩的砾石。于是我走了
这条咸涩的路，来到这栋建筑，
石头祭坛还在，蜡烛
已熄灭。我跪下，抬眼
看着那只愤怒的猫头鹰滴水，
它像一尊神
变小了，神情怨恨。此时
天空的彩色玻璃窗里
没有人。是我来迟了？
难道他们，那批最早的朝圣者，
也来迟了？一位如此之快的
神，总是在我们前面，而且
我们赶到时他又离开了。
此地有那么些人
不惯于祈祷，他们的事务所
是那片他们每天念叨的茫茫大海。
他们倾听的不是圣歌，
而是泥土缓慢的化学反应，
它将圣人的尸骨变为尘土，
把尘土变成刺激鼻孔的物质。
这个岛上没有时间。
它有海潮的钟摆摇晃，起起落落，
却没有钟面；事件
都没有日期。这些人没有
迟或早；他们只是
在这里，只有这一个问题
要问，对此，生命
以存于他们体内作答。是我
在发问。难道我所做的
朝圣，是走向我自己的
自我，明白在这样的时候
对于我这样的人
上帝永远不会显而易见，
不会遁于外，他很晦涩，
无法解释，犹如他隐于内？
注：重新修订了这首译诗，诗中最后的“遁于外，隐于内”得自班戈大学博士，年青学者，诗人许景城的启发，兹以感谢。（程佳译）
