邱方哲最初的时光/ 默温
Merwin, W. S, The shadow of Sirius (Tarset: Bloodaxe, 2009)， 76-77.
最初的时光
默温
当我自大陆而来
见它在身后合拢
像那失落的本原
多久之后，我才相信
我离它远去。
从我回忆悠长的微光中
正浮现这彼岸世界
晨曦用熟悉的幻象
笼罩了陌生的土地
所有梦境瞬间消逝
遁入阴影，此地空余
那亲切的，曾经亲切的风景。
道路向南敞开，
屋顶从各自的疆域里
依次浮现，确定如
季节更替
翠绿鹅黄的田野之外
更有如年岁递进的群山
棕红的牛在坡上
羊群云一般漂移。
还有日暮时的家门
一把古老的动词在锁里转动
还有冷石的芬芳，一如既往
门退入黑暗的静默
不回答，也不遗忘
还有不变的惊讶
永未被驯服或命名
或置于掌握
更不曾完全得见
但它依然如是
抵御新闻的景象梦中
得以飞翔的恩赐
在梦澄澈的深度我窥见
遥不可及处闪亮的日子
那里造就了现在的我。
The First Days
W. S. Merwin
As I come from a continent
that I saw closing behind me
like a lost element
day after day before
I believed I was leaving it
here surfacing through the long
backlight of my recollection
is this other world veiled
in its illusion of being known
at the moment of daybreak
when the dreams all at once are gone
into shadow leaving only
in their place the familiar
once-familiar landscape
with its road open to the south
the roofs emerging on the way
from their own orbits according
to an order as certain
as the seasons
the fields emerald and mustard
and beyond them the precession
of hills with red cows on the slopes
and then the edging clouds of sheep
and the house door at evening
one old verb in the lock turning
and the fragrance of cold stone as once more
the door cedes in a dark hush
that neither answers nor forgets
and an unchanged astonishment
that has never been tamed nor named
nor held in the hand
nor ever fully seen
but it is still the same
a vision before news a gift
of flight in a dream
of clear depths where I glimpse
far out of reach the lucent days
from which now I am made
最初的时光
默温
当我自大陆而来
见它在身后合拢
像那失落的本原
多久之后，我才相信
我离它远去。
从我回忆悠长的微光中
正浮现这彼岸世界
晨曦用熟悉的幻象
笼罩了陌生的土地
所有梦境瞬间消逝
遁入阴影，此地空余
那亲切的，曾经亲切的风景。
道路向南敞开，
屋顶从各自的疆域里
依次浮现，确定如
季节更替
翠绿鹅黄的田野之外
更有如年岁递进的群山
棕红的牛在坡上
羊群云一般漂移。
还有日暮时的家门
一把古老的动词在锁里转动
还有冷石的芬芳，一如既往
门退入黑暗的静默
不回答，也不遗忘
还有不变的惊讶
永未被驯服或命名
或置于掌握
更不曾完全得见
但它依然如是
抵御新闻的景象梦中
得以飞翔的恩赐
在梦澄澈的深度我窥见
遥不可及处闪亮的日子
那里造就了现在的我。
The First Days
W. S. Merwin
As I come from a continent
that I saw closing behind me
like a lost element
day after day before
I believed I was leaving it
here surfacing through the long
backlight of my recollection
is this other world veiled
in its illusion of being known
at the moment of daybreak
when the dreams all at once are gone
into shadow leaving only
in their place the familiar
once-familiar landscape
with its road open to the south
the roofs emerging on the way
from their own orbits according
to an order as certain
as the seasons
the fields emerald and mustard
and beyond them the precession
of hills with red cows on the slopes
and then the edging clouds of sheep
and the house door at evening
one old verb in the lock turning
and the fragrance of cold stone as once more
the door cedes in a dark hush
that neither answers nor forgets
and an unchanged astonishment
that has never been tamed nor named
nor held in the hand
nor ever fully seen
but it is still the same
a vision before news a gift
of flight in a dream
of clear depths where I glimpse
far out of reach the lucent days
from which now I am made
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