阿尔·珀迪：贝尔维尔以北的乡野

Adieudusk 译

　　译注：阿尔·珀迪（1918-2000）：加拿大最伟大的诗人。一生发表诗集30余部，其中两部获得总督奖。并获得过包括加拿大作家协会奖、土地之声奖、加拿大诗人联盟特别奖等诗歌奖项。1982年获加拿大勋章。此次为《黑蓝》翻译的这首“贝尔维尔以北的乡野”在加拿大安大略地区几乎人皆传诵，加拿大人认为它写出了加拿大的乡野、加拿大人的性格和加拿大人的心，是加拿大诗歌史上最伟大的诗篇之一。



未垦林地灌木林地——
       卡舍尔镇和沃拉斯顿
埃尔维泽尔、麦克卢尔和邓甘农
维斯勒姆昆湖的绿地
那里一个男人可能有些
       美是什么的看法
也无人否定他
　　　　在方圆数里——

可这是失败的乡野
那里西西弗斯滚着一块巨大的石头
年复一年滚上古老的山峦
野餐的冰川留下散落的
世纪的碎砾
　　　　　阳光下的日子
当认识缓缓地渗透到中间
没有宏大或自欺
　　　　　　　在作为一个傻瓜的
高贵的挣扎中——
一个乡野的静止和寂静的距离
一块贫瘠的土地
　　不肥沃
几寸黑土
　　在大地的圆肚皮上——
那里是农庄所在
        它就像一个男人插
双手的拇指到多石的地中并拉
        开它给树木之间
足够的空间
为一个妻子
        或许还有一些奶牛
        和一些空间
给更容易保存的幻象——
而农庄退回到
森林的地方
        只是柔和的轮廓和
        影晦的不同——
老旧的栅栏在树木间隐约漂浮
        一堆苔藓覆盖的石头
为某些幽灵的意图聚集
在无意义的天空下失去意义
       ——它们就像水下的城市而
时间起伏的绿浪
        铺陈在它们之上——

这是我们的失败之乡野
        可是
在秋耕时一个男人
会停下来站在道道犁沟的一片棕色谷地中
　　并遮起他的眼睛去看同样的
　　红色块地同显现在
　　山峦上同样地点的
　　金相混合
　　年复一年
　　并变老
十英亩的地犁呀犁呀直到
圈圈盘旋同他自己的大脑对应——

这是一个乡野年轻人
　　离去的很快
不愿意知道他们的父亲知道的
或想想他们的母亲不说出的话——
赫歇尔、蒙蒂格尔和法拉第
湖边地、岩石地和山之乡野
和世界所在一点毗邻
从城市所在向北不远
有时
我们会回到那儿
        回到我们的失败之乡野
沃拉斯顿、埃尔维泽尔、邓甘农
还有维斯勒姆昆湖地
那儿曾是高高的镇子卡舍尔
　　　　　　　麦克卢尔和马莫拉——
可那已是很久以前了
而我们必须问路于
        陌生人——    


The Country North of Belleville

Al Purdy


Bush land scrub land –
              Cashel Township and Wollaston
Elzevir McClure and Dungannon
green lands of Weslemkoon Lake
where a man might have some
              opinion of what beauty
is and none deny him
                                    for miles –

Yet this is the country of defeat
where Sisyphus rolls a big stone
year after year up the ancient hills
picknicking glaciers have left strewn
with centuries’ rubble
                                    backbreaking days
                                    in the sun and rain
when realization seeps slow in the mind
without grandeur or self-deception in
                                    noble struggle
of being a fool –

A country of quiescence and still distance
a lean land
              not like the fat south
with inches of black soil on
              earth’s round belly –

And where the farms are
              it’s as if a man stuck
both thumbs in the stony earth and pulled
                                    it apart
                                    to make room
enough between the trees
for a wife
              and maybe some cows and
              room for some
of the more easily kept illusions –

And where the farms have gone back
to forest
              are only soft outlines
              shadowy differences –
Old fences drift vaguely among the trees
              a pile of moss-covered stones
gathered for some ghost purpose
has lost meaning under the meaningless sky
              – they are like cities under water
and the undulating green waves of time
              are laid on them –

This is the country of our defeat
              and yet
during the fall plowing a man
might stop and stand in a brown valley of the furrows
              and shade his eyes to watch for the same
              red patch mixed with gold
              that appears on the same
              spot in the hills
              year after year
              and grow old
plowing and plowing a ten-acre field until
the convolutions run parallel with his own brain –

And this is a country where the young
                                    leave quickly
unwilling to know what their fathers knew
or think the words their mothers do not say –

Herschel Monteagle and Faraday
lakeland rockland and hill country
a little adjacent to where the world is
a little north of where the cities are and
sometime
we may go back there
                                    to the country of our defeat
Wollaston Elzevir and Dungannon
and Weslemkoon lake land
where the high townships of Cashel
                                    McClure and Marmora once were –
But it’s been a long time since
and we must enquire the way
              of strangers –