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文学作品英译:夏宇《最熟最烂的夏天》

2014-09-25    来源:en84    【      美国外教 在线口语培训

文学作品英译:夏宇《最熟最烂的夏天》

文学作品英译:请欣赏夏宇作品《最熟最烂的夏天》

《最熟最烂的夏天》

夏宇

夏天沉落在猫眼的钟面
沉落在栗子色的四肢

17块一篮的桃子
第4天就开始烂的夏天

旷日废时地吃着饭整个春天
专注于光颜色和气氛

观察葡萄藤的影子移动
后期印象派的最后一个傍晚

光点在吊床上加深
在风吹起的帘子上变浅

显著的笔触分割
加上最后一点葡萄就裂开了

这时候已经是8月
差不多要进入野兽派

再也不能满足于光
同时对气氛厌倦

最熟最烂的夏天
卮言如葡萄蔓衍

同时对风格厌倦
风格到底存不存在

风格像雪
雪是多么多么容易弄脏啊

虽然雪并不存在
吊床更存在

比四月的鸢尾花、6点钟的茴香酒
绝不比一场现场转播足球赛

来访的客人研究中国古代建筑
他说现今唯武装革命最富悲剧性

另外就是足球赛
我们这样旷日废时地吃着饭

烟熏鲑鱼,螃蟹和龙虾
有人说你看这样肥大的生蚝

如何让我们的左派倾向
找到出口呢

1906年,路上遇雨的塞尚回到工作室
脱下外套和呢帽,面窗躺着

注意到桌上倾倒一篮苹果 The appleness
of the apples 苹果
和它的倒影,三个骷髅头,

衣柜和水壶、陶罐
半开的抽屉、时钟

他想到比例并不那么重要
桌线对不对齐并不那么重要

他死了
闭紧的眼皮上对直的那条线是三点钟的钟面。

这样是不够的
下面轮到马蒂斯

The Ripest Rankest Juiciest Summer Ever

Summer sinks into the clock-face of the cat’s eye
Sinks into chestnut-colored limbs

A 17-franc basket of peaches
Day four and already summer has run from ripe to rank

All spring long we dined as if we had all the time in the world
Followed with interest the color, light and atmosphere

Observed the shadows of the grapevines advancing to this
Last evening of the postimpressionists

The dabs of light thicken on the hammock
Grow thin on the windblown curtain

Each stroke acquiring definition
As the last grape added bursts its skin

Must be August
Ripe for the Fauvists

Never again will mere light so delight us
And O how we weary of atmosphere

Our idle conversation spreads like vines in the arbor
In this, the ripest rankest juiciest summer ever

And O how we weary of style
Does style, after all, exist

So like the snow
Defiled at the merest touch

But while the snow does not exist
The hammock is more manifest than ever

More than an April iris or an aperitif at six
Although compared to soccer broadcast live hardly anything exists

Our guest, an enthusiast of “Old Cathay” asserts that in these fallen days
Only armed revolution presents so many tragic implications

And then there is soccer
O how we dine as if we had all the time in the world

Smoked salmon, crab and lobster
And will you look at the size of this oyster

If we could but find the proper outlet
To release our leftist tendencies

1906, Cezanne, caught in a storm, returns to his studio
Removes his hat and coat and collapses by the window

Taking stock of the table, its overturned basket of apples, he notices
The “appleness of the apples” and their shadows, the three skulls

The wardrobe, the pitcher, the crock
The half-opened drawer, the clock

It occurs to him proportion is hardly worth making a fuss about
He will not fret over whether the table is level or not

He closes his eyes and dies
His eyelids trace a line pointing straight to three o’clock

Still, there is something wanting in all this
Must be time for Matisse

(Steve Bradbury 译)



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