喬治·赫伯特(GEORGE HERBERT)的《花》

若干年前,因緣際會,我看到了《風姿花傳講記》一篇文章,作者是張文江,講須阿彌的《風姿花傳》。

《風姿花傳》裏,人畢生的工夫,凝聚成一朵花,從我心傳至你心。而這花在畢生練功的任何一個階段都縹緲而難尋,像是諾瓦利斯藍花裏無盡的渴望。“少年的時候不是真正的花,三十多歲好像有了花,但是馬上又沒有了。四十多歲這朵花已經過去了,馬上要研究怎樣保留。最後這朵花好不容易保留了下來,實際上人也已經不行了。這朵花幾乎不可能,那麽我拼命練功又為什麽呢?”


說這些,都是或許不大相關的引子。因為艾略特的緣故,順藤摸瓜,翻到了喬治·赫伯特的一首《花》,被深深地打動而落淚。

艾略特年輕時頗多傾心多恩的詩藝,稱道他“感受力的聯融”,晚年卻益發喜愛同為玄學派的赫伯特。多恩的宗教詩幾乎是肉感的,情欲的,對著上帝狂喜。

赫伯特深沈、鎮定得多,艾略特稱他擁有“絕望與神恩之間、焦躁與平靜之間情感的起落”,以及“受苦的戒律帶給心靈的寧靜”。

但這寧靜自然並不貧瘠——同艾略特自己的清冷一樣——這古典的寧靜之下,蘊藏著巨大的能量和火焰,而凍結這能量所需要的熱情,絕不比燦爛的釋放來得容易。花上的霜降、暴風雨徹夜的沖洗,因此全是聖潔的,蒙福的。

而是什麽樣的人,才會寫出“我和我的罪在那花裏合一”的句子啊。


以下只是我自己怡情的試譯,可能還會不斷修改。為避繁難,也為避拗口、窠臼與順口溜之嫌,不像原文作規整的押韻,因此也決不是什麽值得嚴肅審視的譯文。只為把這首很喜歡的詩真摯地雙手捧出,從我心傳至你心。




主啊,你清新的歸來
甜美潔凈,好似霜降在
春日的繁花,徹骨之外,
卻也帶來歡樂
痛苦像五月的冰雪消融
好似寒冷從不在世上發生

誰曾想我枯萎的心
又重獲新綠?它早已
掩埋,像花雕落在風中,
去向母親的根系探尋
在嚴酷的天氣裏,一同
向著這世界死去,占據秘密的一隅。

有力的主啊,你的奇跡
是扼殺與喚醒,讓地獄到天堂
不過一個時辰;讓遠去的鐘鳴
重新奏響。
我們口中的盡是謬誤:
你的言語便是萬物——但凡它能為我們吐露。

啊,我也曾有一日
不變地在天堂生根,那兒花朵永不凋零!
在綿延的春日裏我虔誠地綻放,
滋長,低語
我的花不須春雨的洗滌
我與我的罪在那花裏合一。

我挺直了胸廓,昂首生長,
似乎天堂為我所有
卻在你的震怒中凋零
那是怎樣的嚴霜!
你最可容忍的,轉身前往的
又是何處的盡頭,那並非一切燃燒的所在?

現在,年邁的我重又綻放蓓蕾
在相繼的死亡後生活,寫作
我復又聞見露水和雨滴
而熱愛寫詩。啊,我唯一的光,
那為暴風雨徹夜沖洗著的
斷不可能是我!

司愛的主,你的奇跡
讓我們看見生命裏消逝的花
一旦確切地尋得這花
你就有一座花園讓我們棲居
誰因了自己的豐盈而自喜
就將為了那驕傲逐出天堂。

(載於《聖殿》,1633年;創作時間不詳 / 喬治·赫伯特(GEORGE HERBERT,1593年4月3日-1633年3月1日)

How fresh, oh Lord, how sweet and clean
Are thy returns! even as the flowers in spring;
To which, besides their own demean,
The late-past frosts tributes of pleasure bring.
Grief melts away
Like snow in May, (LG I?)
As if there were no such cold thing.

Who would have thought my shriveled heart
Could have recovered greenness? It was gone
Quite underground; as flowers depart
To see their mother-root, when they have blown,
Where they together
All the hard weather,
Dead to the world, keep house unknown.

These are thy wonders, Lord of power,
Killing and quickening, bringing down to hell
And up to heaven in an hour;
Making a chiming of a passing-bell.
We say amiss
This or that is:
Thy word is all, if we could spell.

Oh that I once past changing were,
Fast in thy Paradise, where no flower can wither!
Many a spring I shoot up fair,
Offering at heaven, growing and groaning thither;
Nor doth my flower
Want a spring shower,
My sins and I joining together.

But while I grow in a straight line,
Still upwards bent, as if heaven were mine own,
Thy anger comes, and I decline:
What frost to that? what pole is not the zone
Where all things burn,
When thou dost turn,
And the least frown of thine is shown?

And now in age I bud again,
After so many deaths I live and write;
I once more smell the dew and rain,
And relish versing. Oh, my only light,
It cannot be
That I am he
On whom thy tempests fell all night.

These are thy wonders, Lord of love,
To make us see we are but flowers that glide;
Which when we once can find and prove,
Thou hast a garden for us where to bide;
Who would be more,
Swelling through store,
Forfeit their Paradise by their pride.


(轉載自:南檐 (湖南長沙)博客)

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