“TWO ENGLISH POEMS” – JORGE LUIS BORGES

To Beatriz Bibiloni Webster de Bullrich    

 I

  

  The useless dawn finds me in a deserted street-

   corner; I have outlived the night.

（ vt. 比…活得长；比…经久；经受住；渡过…而存在）

  Nights are proud waves; darkblue topheavy waves

   laden with all the hues of deep spoil, laden with

   things unlikely and desirable.

(/'leɪd(ə)n/adj. 装满的；苦恼的；负载的)

  Nights have a habit of mysterious gifts and refusals,

   of things half given away, half withheld,

   of joys with a dark hemisphere. Nights act

   that way, I tell you.

  The surge, that night, left me the customary shreds

   and odd ends: some hated friends to chat

   with, music for dreams, and the smoking of

   bitter ashes. The things my hungry heart

   has no use for.

(/'kʌstəm(ə)rɪ/ adj. 习惯上的, 惯常的, 合乎习俗的。

/ʃred/ n. 碎片；少量剩余；最少量；破布 vt. 切成条状；用碎纸机撕毁)

  The big wave brought you.

  Words, any words, your laughter; and you so lazily

   and incessantly beautiful. We talked and you

   have forgotten the words.

(/in'sesntli/ adv. 不断地,不停地)

  The shattering dawn finds me in a deserted street

   of my city.

  Your profile turned away, the sounds that go to

   make your name, the lilt of your laughter:

   these are the illustrious toys you have left me.

(/lɪlt/ n. 轻快的动作；轻快活泼的调子

vt. 轻快地动；唱轻快的调子；用欢快节奏唱

vi. 轻快地动；唱轻快的调子；用欢快节奏唱)

  I turn them over in the dawn, I lose them, I find

   them; I tell them to the few stray dogs and

   to the few stray stars of the dawn.

  Your dark rich life ... 

  I must get at you, somehow; I put away those 

   illustrious toys you have left me, I want your

   hidden look, your real smile -- that lonely,

   mocking smile your cool mirror knows.

(/ɪ'lʌstrɪəs/ adj. 著名的, 杰出的, 卓越的)

  

            II

  

  What can I hold you with?

  I offer you lean streets, desperate sunsets, the

   moon of the jagged suburbs. (非误写，本篇为内外网搜索所得）

(/'dʒægɪd/ adj. 锯齿状的；参差不齐的

v. 使成缺口；使成锯齿状（jag的过去式）)

  I offer you the bitterness of a man who has looked

   long and long at the lonely moon.

  I offer you my ancestors, my dead men, the ghosts

   that living men have honoured in bronze:

   my father's father killed in the frontier of

   Buenos Aires, two bullets through his lungs,

   bearded and dead, wrapped by his soldiers in

   the hide of a cow; my mother's grandfather

   --just twentyfour-- heading a charge of

   three hundred men in Peru, now ghosts on

   vanished horses.

(/'frʌntɪə/ n. 边界, 边境

开发地区的边缘, 边远地区

尚待开发的领域, 尖端

  I offer you whatever insight my books may hold, 

   whatever manliness or humour my life.

(n. 洞察力, 洞悉, 深刻的见解,领悟, 顿悟)

(/'mænlinis/ n. 刚毅)

  I offer you the loyalty of a man who has never

   been loyal.

  I offer you that kernel of myself that I have saved,

   somehow --the central heart that deals not

   in words, traffics not with dreams, and is

   untouched by time, by joy, by adversities.

(/əd'vɜːsɪtɪ/n. 逆境;厄运;(经济方面的)窘境

(常作-ties)灾祸;灾难;不幸)

  I offer you the memory of a yellow rose seen at

   sunset, years before you were born.

  I offer you explanations of yourself, theories about

   yourself, authentic and surprising news of 

   yourself.

  I can give you my loneliness, my darkness, the

   hunger of my heart; I am trying to bribe you 

   with uncertainty, with danger, with defeat.

( /braɪb/ vt. & vi. 贿赂

n. 贿赂)

  

            - Jorge Luis Borges (1934)

——————————————————————

献给贝阿特丽斯 比维罗尼 韦伯斯特 德布尔里奇

一、

拂晓时分,我伫立在阒无一人的街角,我熬过了夜晚。

夜晚是骄傲的波浪;深蓝色的、头重脚轻的波浪带着深翻泥土的种种颜色,带着不太可能、但称心如意的事物。

夜晚有一种赠与和拒绝、半舍半留的神秘习惯,有黑暗半球的欢乐。夜晚就是那样,我对你说。

那夜的波涛留给了我惯常的零星琐碎:几个讨厌的聊天朋友、梦中的音乐、辛辣的灰烬的烟雾。我饥渴的心用不着的东西。

巨浪带来了你。

言语,任何言语,你的笑声;还有懒洋洋而美得耐看的你。

我们谈着话,而你已忘掉了言语。

旭日初升的时候,我在我的城市里一条阒无一人的街上。

你转过身的侧影,组成你名字的发音,你有韵律的笑声:这些情景都让我久久回味。

我在黎明时细细琢磨,我失去了它们,我又找到了;我向几条野狗诉说,也向黎明寥寥的晨星诉说。

你隐秘而丰富的生活……

我必须设法了解你:我撇开你留给我的回味,我要你那隐藏的容颜,你真正的微笑——你冷冷的镜子反映的寂寞而嘲弄的微笑。

二、

 

我用什么才能留住你?

我给你贫穷的街道、绝望的日落、破败郊区的月亮。

我给你一个久久地望着孤月的人的悲哀。

我给你我已死去的先辈,人们用大理石纪念他们的幽灵:

在布宜诺斯艾利斯边境阵亡的我父亲的父亲,两颗子弹射穿了他的胸膛,蓄着胡子的他死去了,士兵们用牛皮裹起他的尸体;我母亲的祖父——时年二十四岁——在秘鲁率领三百名士兵冲锋,如今都成了消失的马背上的幽灵。

我给你我写的书中所能包含的一切悟力、我生活中所能有的男子气概或幽默。

我给你一个从未有过信仰的人的忠诚。

我给你我设法保全的我自己的核心——不营字造句,不和 梦想交易,不被时间、欢乐和逆境触动的核心。

我给你,早在你出生前多年的一个傍晚看到的一朵黄玫瑰的记忆。

我给你你对自己的解释,关于你自己的理论,你自己的真实而惊人的消息。

我给你我的寂寞、我的黑暗、我心的饥渴;我试图用困惑、危险、失败来打动你。