《克拉维尔上的彼得·昆斯》 by 史蒂文斯

《克拉维尔上的彼得·昆斯》 林木译

 

一

 

就像我的手指在这些琴键上

奏出音乐，相同的声音

也在我的灵魂上奏出音乐。

 

音乐是感觉，而非声音；

因此，我的感觉是，

在这房间里，渴望你，

 

想你那蓝影丝绸，

就是音乐。它像是

苏珊娜唤醒长者的旋律：

 

在一个绿色傍晚，清澈而温暖，

她在静谧的花园中沐浴，

而那些红眼长者，注视着，感受到

 

他们存在的低音颤动

在迷人的和弦中，他们稀薄的血液

拨动着和撒那的琴弦。

 

Peter Quince at the Clavier   By Wallace Stevens

 

                            I

Just as my fingers on these keys

Make music, so the selfsame sounds

On my spirit make a music, too.

 

Music is feeling, then, not sound;

And thus it is that what I feel,

Here in this room, desiring you,

 

Thinking of your blue-shadowed silk,

Is music. It is like the strain

Waked in the elders by Susanna: 

 

Of a green evening, clear and warm,

She bathed in her still garden, while

The red-eyed elders, watching, felt

 

The basses of their beings throb

In witching chords, and their thin blood

Pulse pizzicati of Hosanna.