拉金
一翻开你终于交出来的照相簿，
我就给弄糊涂了。厚厚的黑纸上，
是你各种年华粗糙和光洁的像！
太多的糖果蜜钱，太丰富：
这样有营养的形象咽得我喉咙呛。
我饥饿的眼从这神态转到那姿势——
梳小辫子的，抓着不情愿的猫的；
穿毛皮衣裳的，可爱的姑娘毕业了；
要不，在棚架下举起一支
花朵儿硕大的玫瑰．再就是戴着
软毡帽(这使人几方面都有些烦心)
你从各个角度冲击我的自制；
而这些小伙子在你早先的日子里
悠悠闲混，也颇叫我心神不宁。
我说亲爱的，他们大多够不上你。
可是摄影啊跟别的艺术都不同
它忠实却令人失望！阴天摄吧
就阴沉；堆起的微笑像作假，
霍尔的水粉招牌，晾衣绳
一些美中不足的瑕疵它没法子掩饰，
却显出那只猫儿心不甘、情不愿，
凭阴影还如实显出一个双下巴，
你的率直就这样给那脸大添优雅！
这无可辩驳地说明了一点：
是在真地方把这位真姑娘摄下，
在每种意义上，经验证明这不假！
要不，这只是过去？那些花、那扇门、
那些雾萦蒙的停车场和汽车、只因
曝光过度变得很不像样了——
你那过时的形象抽紧了我的心。
对呀，但说到底，我们决不是仅仅
为给排除在外而悲伤，是因为我们
由此可自由地哭泣。我们知道单凭
过去并不能使我们的伤心
显得有理，也不管我们隔着眼睛
和相片间的鸿沟狂喊。所以我只
落得不可能有结果地为你哀伤——
你倚着栅栏，平衡在一辆自行车上；
心想你可会发现我偷了
你在游泳的这张；总之，把以往
浓缩，而这以往如今没人能分享，
不管你的未来属于谁；这相册对你
就好像天堂一样，既没风又没雨，
可爱的你在这里将永不走样，
将随岁月的流逝变得更小更清晰。
（黄炅炘译）
Philip Larkin ：Lines On A Young Lady's Photograph Album
At last you yielded up the album, which
Once open, sent me distracted. All your ages
Matt and glossy on the thick black pages!
Too much confectionery, too rich:
I choke on such nutritious images.
My swivel eye hungers from pose to pose --
In pigtails, clutching a reluctant cat;
Or furred yourself, a sweet girl-graduate;
Or lifting a heavy-headed rose
Beneath a trellis, or in a trilby-hat
(Faintly disturbing, that, in several ways) --
From every side you strike at my control,
Not least through those these disquieting chaps who loll
At ease about your earlier days:
Not quite your class, I'd say, dear, on the whole.
But o, photography! as no art is,
Faithful and disappointing! that records
Dull days as dull, and hold-it smiles as frauds,
And will not censor blemishes
Like washing-lines, and Hall's-Distemper boards,
But shows a cat as disinclined, and shades
A chin as doubled when it is, what grace
Your candour thus confers upon her face!
How overwhelmingly persuades
That this is a real girl in a real place,
In every sense empirically true!
Or is it just the past? Those flowers, that gate,
These misty parks and motors, lacerate
Simply by being you; you
Contract my heart by looking out of date.
Yes, true; but in the end, surely, we cry
Not only at exclusion, but because
It leaves us free to cry. We know what was
Won't call on us to justify
Our grief, however hard we yowl across
The gap from eye to page. So I am left
To mourn (without a chance of consequence)
You, balanced on a bike against a fence;
To wonder if you'd spot the theft
Of this one of you bathing; to condense,
In short, a past that no one now can share,
No matter whose your future; calm and dry,
It holds you like a heaven, and you lie
Unvariably lovely there,
Smaller and clearer as the years go by.
全国青年文学期刊 推动青年文学创作
青春杂志社
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