《与珍妮交谈》

让我们别谈哲学，扔掉它，珍妮。
那么多词语，那么多纸张，谁能忍受它？
我曾告诉你这样的事实：我对自己变得冷漠。
我已经不再为我畸形的生活而担忧，
比起那些寻常的人类悲剧，它不好，也不坏。

三十多年了，我们陷于争论。
就像现在，热带天空之下的岛屿上，
我们再次逃离暴雨，进入一片转瞬即逝的明媚阳光，
树叶翠绿的精华，使我变得喑哑，晕眩。

我们浸没在一排海浪的泡沫里
我们游得很远，直到地平线化为一片混沌，香蕉林
和像许多小风车的棕榈林融于其中。
而我被指责：我并不胜任我所有的作品，
我没有向自己要求更多的东西，
就像我本可以向卡尔•吉斯佩斯学到更多一样，
我对这个时代的观念的嘲讽在变得缓和。

我在波浪上翻滚，望着那些白云。

你是对的，珍妮，我不知如何去关心我灵魂的拯救，
有时我们受到了召唤，余下的时候只能尽己所能。
我接受它，那些降临在我身上的是公平的。
我不想佯装一个老年智者的尊严。
无法言说，世事之中，什么存在，原因为何，
我选择在那些此刻令我们欢欣的事物中安家：
海滩上赤裸的女人，她们胸前古铜色的球果，
木槿，黄蝉花，一朵红百合，被我的
眼睛、嘴唇、舌头贪婪地享用，番石榴汁，西塞尔的李子汁
加冰块和果汁的朗姆酒，紫藤花。
在一片雨林里，那里的树木，踩着高跷。

死亡，你说，我的和你的，都越来越近了，
我们曾遭受过，而贫瘠的土地还不足够。
菜园里那些黑紫色的泥土，
仍会在这里，无论是否有我们的注视。
大海，就像今天，它在深处呼吸。
而我越来越渺小，越来越自由，消失在虚无之中。

               于瓜得罗普岛

（2005年译）

附原诗：

Conversation with Jeanne
 
Czeslaw Milosz

Let us not talk philosophy, drop it, Jeanne.
So many words, so much paper, who can stand it.
I told you the truth about my distancing myself.
I’ve stopped worrying about my misshapen life.
It was no better and no worse than the usual human tragedies.

For over thirty years we have been waging our dispute
As we do now, on the island under the skies of the tropics.
We flee a downpour, in an instant the bright sun again,
And I grow dumb, dazzled by the emerald essence of the leaves.

We submerge in foam at the line of the surf,
We swim far, to where the horizon is a tangle of banana bush,
With little windmills of palms.
And I am under accusation: That I am not up to my oeuvre,
That I do not demand enough from myself,
As I could have learned from Karl Jaspers,
That my scorn for the opinions of this age grows slack.

I roll on a wave and look at white clouds.

You are right, Jeanne, I don’t know how to care about the salvation of my soul.
Some are called, others manage as well as they can.
I accept it, what has befallen me is just.
I don’t pretend to the dignity of a wise old age.
Untranslatable into words, I chose my home in what is now,
In things of this world, which exist and, for that reason, delight us:
Nakedness of women on the beach, coppery cones of their breasts,
Hibiscus, alamanda, a red lily, devouring
With my eyes, lips, tongue, the guava juice, the juice of la prune de Cythère,
Rum with ice and syrup, lianas-orchids
In a rain forest, where trees stand on the stilts of their roots.

Death, you say, mine and yours, closer and closer,
We suffered and this poor earth was not enough.
The purple-black earth of vegetable gardens
Will be here, either looked at or not.
The sea, as today, will breathe from its depths.
Growing small, I disappear in the immense, more and more free.

Guadeloupe

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