希尼选译

Song A rowan like a lipsticked girl. Between the by-road and the main road Alder trees at a wet and dripping distance Stand off among the rushes. There are the mud-flowers of dialect And the immortelles of perfect pitch And that moment when the bird sings very close To the music of what happens. --Seamus Heaney 歌 一株山梨就像涂上唇红的少女 在便道与大路之间 一片潮湿欲滴的旷野中，赤杨林 脱出于灯芯草丛。 那是些讲方言的沼地花朵 和有完美音感的腊菊， 值此一刻，当鸟儿歌吟 极似万物初萌的乐音。 作者：谢默思·希尼 Helen Vendler 就 "the music of what happens" 写了一本书（论文集）《物的生发之音》： There is an old Irish story of the hero Fionn Mac Cumhail. Fionn asks his followers, "What is the finest music in the world?" They suggest answers: the cuckoo calling from the hedge, the ring of a spear on a shield, the baying of a pack of hounds, the laughter of a gleeful girl. "All good music," agrees Fionn. "But what is best?" they ask. Fionn answers: “The music of what happens.”

I sat all morning in the college sick bay Counting bells knelling classes to a close. At two o'clock our neighbors drove me home. In the porch I met my father crying-- He had always taken funerals in his stride-- And Big Jim Evans saying it was a hard blow. The baby cooed and laughed and rocked the pram When I came in, and I was embarrassed By old men standing up to shake my hand And tell me they were 'sorry for my trouble,' Whispers informed strangers I was the eldest, Away at school, as my mother held my hand In hers and coughed out angry tearless sighs. At ten o'clock the ambulance arrived With the corpse, stanched and bandaged by the nurses. Next morning I went up into the room. Snowdrops And candles soothed the bedside; I saw him For the first time in six weeks. Paler now, Wearing a poppy bruise on his left temple, He lay in the four foot box as in his cot. No gaudy scars, the bumper knocked him clear. A four foot box, a foot for every year. by Seamus Heaney 期中事假 我整个早上都坐在学校医务室 数着课铃敲每节课的丧钟。 两点，我们的邻居载我回家。 在门廊我撞见父亲在哭泣—— 从前的丧事他总能应对自如—— 大个子伊文思说这次打击太重。 婴儿咕咕叫着笑着摇晃着童车 当我走进去，我也尴尬于 老人们都起立来与我握手 对我说他们“遗憾无比”， 并低语告诉陌生来客我是长子， 住校离家，而妈妈将我的手 握住，哽噎出愤恨无泪的叹气。 十点，救护车到了 带着尸体，护士们已止血包扎。 第二天我早起进到那房间，雪花莲 和蜡烛抚慰在床边；我见到了他， 六个星期来第一次。现在更是苍白， 左脑边有一块罂红的淤肿， 他躺在一个四尺长的盒子就像在他的小床。 没有繁彩的伤痕，保险杠撞得如此干脆。 一个四尺长的盒子，每年长一尺。 作者：谢默思·希尼