It was May. How had it started? What

五月。它是如何开始的？

Had bared our edges? What quirky twist

什么暴露了我们的怨愤？

Of the moon’s blade had set us, so early in the day,

在那天这么早的时间，月亮刀刃

Bleeding each other? What had I done? I had

什么样古怪的转动使我们彼此流血？

Somehow misunderstood. Inaccessible

我做了什么？我多少产生了误解。

In your dybbuk fury, babies

陷在恶灵怒火中的你，令人难以接近 ，

Hurled into the car, you drove. We surely

小孩被狠狠地放在车里，你驾驶着汽 车。

Had been intending a day’s outing,

我们肯定想痛快地出游一天，

Somewhere on the coast, an exploration—

在海边的某处地方，一次探险－－

So you started driving.

所以你开始驾车。

What I remember

　　　　　　　　我所记得的

Is thinking: She’ll do something crazy. And I ripped

是我的思想活动：她会做什么蠢事。

The door open and jumped in beside you.

我猛地打开车门，跳进车，坐在你身 旁。

So we drove West. West. Cornish lanes

于是我们向西开去。向西。

I remember, a simmering truce

我记得：一条条康沃尔郡的小路，

As you stared, with iron in your face,

当你铁青着脸凝视时，某场非尘世战 争

Into some remote thunderscape

在遥远的雷声滚滚的天底下，处于

Of some unworldly war. I simply

暂时停止而随时可能爆发的状态。

Trod accompaniment, carried babies,

我抱着小孩，只是一路伴随你，

Waited for you to come back to nature.

等待着你恢复常态。我们

We tried to find the coast. You

试图找到海岸。你怒恼于

Raged against our English private greed

我们英国人各家贪心挡住

Of fencing off all coastal approaches,

所有接近海边的路，挡住了大海，

Hiding the sea from roads, from all inland.

挡住了向内陆去。你鄙视

You despised England’s grubby edges when you got there.

肮脏的海边，当你到达那里时。

The day belonged to the furies. I searched the map

那天是属于发怒火的日子。

To penetrate the farms and private kingdoms.

我在地图上一个个农场，一个个

Finally a gateway. It was a fresh day,

私人的王国里查找路线。

Full May. Somewhere I’d brought food.

最后找到了入口。这是五月

We crossed a field and came to the open

清新的一天。我在某处买了食物。

Blue push of sea-wind. A gorse cliff,

我们穿越田野，迎着扑来的海风。

Brambly, oak-packed combes. We found

一座爬满荆豆藤的悬崖，条条峡谷

An eyrie hollow, just under the cliff-top.

荆棘丛生，栎树林立。在山崖顶下

It seemed perfect to me. Feeding babies,

我们发现了一个猛禽的巢穴，它

Your Germanic scowl, edged like a helmet,

在我看来十分完美。你给婴儿喂奶，

Would not translate itself. I sat baffled.

阴沉着你日尔曼型的脸，像一顶头盔 ，

I was a fly outside on the window-pane

令人难以言传。我困惑地坐在那里。

Of my own domestic drama. You refused to lie there

在我的家庭剧中，我是窗户外面的

Being indolent, you hated it.

一只苍蝇。你一脸倦意，

That flat, draughty plate was not an ocean.

却拒绝躺下来，你不喜欢躺下。

You had to be away and you went. And I

那个平展的刮风的地质板块不是海洋 。

Trailed after like a dog, along the cliff-top field-edge,

你必须离开，于是走了。我像狗似的

Over a wind-matted oak-wood—

跟在后面，沿着山崖顶的边缘，

And I found a snare.

在风吹动的栎树林上方－－

Copper-wire gleam, brown cord, human contrivance,

我发现了一根响弦，

Sitting new-set. Without a word

这发亮的铜丝绳在这里成了新装置。

You tore it up and threw it into the trees.

你不吭一声地把它扯断，扔进了栎树林里。

I was aghast. Faithful

我被惊呆了。对我国众神

To my country gods—I saw

虔诚的我看到

The sanctity of a trapline desecrated.

圈套线的神圣性受到了亵渎。

You saw blunt fingers, blood in the cuticles,

你看见表皮下充血的

Clamped around a blue mug. I saw

僵硬手指抓住一只蓝色的大杯。

Country poverty raising a penny,

我看见农村的贫穷正筹集便土。

Filling a Sunday stewpot. You saw baby-eyed

你看见长着婴儿眼睛的被扼死的一个个

Strangled innocents, I saw sacred

天真无邪的人，我看见

Ancient custom. You saw snare after snare

神圣的古老风俗。

And went ahead, riving them from their roots

你看见一个圈套又一个圈套，于是

And flinging them down the wood. I saw you

走向前把它们连根扯断，把它们

Ripping up precarious, precious saplings

扔到崖下的栎树林里。我看见你

Of my heritage, hard-won concessions

扯断我的传统岌岌可危的宝贵幼苗，

From the hangings and transportations

看风你从以土地维系的悬挂桥和车辆 那里

To live off the land. You cried: ‘Murderers!’

扯断难得获得的驾驶权。

You were weeping with a rage

你大声说：“凶手们！”

That cared nothing for rabbits. You were locked

你愤怒地泪流满面，毫不怜惜兔子。

Into some chamber gasping for oxygen

你被关进某间单人套间喘着气，

Where I could not find you, or really hear you,

我找不到你，听不见你说话，

Let alone understand you.

更不必说不理解你。

In those snares

　　　　　　　　　在那些圈套里

You’d caught something.

你抓住了某些东西。

Had you caught something in me,

你是不是在我身上抓住了某些东西，

Nocturnal and unknown to me? Or was it

这个夜间活动的而我又不知晓的东西 ？

Your doomed self, your tortured, crying,

或者它是你命定的自我，你受折磨的

Suffocating self? Whichever,

呼喊的窒息的自我？不管是哪一种，

Those terrible, hypersensitive

你诗歌的那些过于敏感的可怕手指

Fingers of your verse closed round it and

紧紧的捏住它，感到它活灵活现。

Felt it alive. The poems, like smoking entrails,

这些冒着热气的肠子似的一首首诗

Came soft into your hands.

软绵绵地来到你的手中。