飘墨诗社

 找回密码
 注册
搜索
热搜: 活动 交友 discuz
查看: 424|回复: 3
收起左侧

Walking Around

[复制链接]

6667

金钱

300

贡献

0

威望

金牌会员

Rank: 5Rank: 5Rank: 5

积分
10753
发表于 2020-12-27 08:11:26 | 显示全部楼层 |阅读模式
Walking Around
by Pablo Neruda

It so happens I am sick of being a man.
And it happens that I walk into tailorshops and movie
houses
dried up, waterproof, like a swan made of felt
steering my way in a water of wombs and ashes.

The smell of barbershops makes me break into hoarse
sobs.
The only thing I want is to lie still like stones or wool.
The only thing I want is to see no more stores, no gardens,
no more goods, no spectacles, no elevators.

It so happens that I am sick of my feet and my nails
and my hair and my shadow.
It so happens I am sick of being a man.

Still it would be marvelous
to terrify a law clerk with a cut lily,
or kill a nun with a blow on the ear.
It would be great
to go through the streets with a green knife
letting out yells until I died of the cold.

I don't want to go on being a root in the dark,
insecure, stretched out, shivering with sleep,
going on down, into the moist guts of the earth,
taking in and thinking, eating every day.

I don't want so much misery.
I don't want to go on as a root and a tomb,
alone under the ground, a warehouse with corpses,
half frozen, dying of grief.

That's why Monday, when it sees me coming
with my convict face, blazes up like gasoline,
and it howls on its way like a wounded wheel,
and leaves tracks full of warm blood leading toward the
night.

And it pushes me into certain corners, into some moist
houses,
into hospitals where the bones fly out the window,
into shoeshops that smell like vinegar,
and certain streets hideous as cracks in the skin.

There are sulphur-colored birds, and hideous intestines
hanging over the doors of houses that I hate,
and there are false teeth forgotten in a coffeepot,
there are mirrors
that ought to have wept from shame and terror,
there are umbrellas everywhere, and venoms, and umbilical
cords.

I stroll along serenely, with my eyes, my shoes,
my rage, forgetting everything,
I walk by, going through office buildings and orthopedic
shops,
and courtyards with washing hanging from the line:
underwear, towels and shirts from which slow
dirty tears are falling.
回复

使用道具 举报

2万

金钱

550

贡献

0

威望

金牌会员

Rank: 5Rank: 5Rank: 5

积分
34930
发表于 2020-12-27 12:11:07 | 显示全部楼层
四处奔波?
回复

使用道具 举报

6667

金钱

300

贡献

0

威望

金牌会员

Rank: 5Rank: 5Rank: 5

积分
10753
 楼主| 发表于 2020-12-27 13:50:11 | 显示全部楼层

这首诗我也没找到中文赏析。
回复

使用道具 举报

6667

金钱

300

贡献

0

威望

金牌会员

Rank: 5Rank: 5Rank: 5

积分
10753
 楼主| 发表于 2020-12-28 17:02:07 | 显示全部楼层
The Lamp of Life
by Amy Lowell

Always we are following a light,
Always the light recedes; with groping hands
We stretch toward this glory, while the lands
We journey through are hidden from our sight
Dim and mysterious, folded deep in night,
We care not, all our utmost need demands
Is but the light, the light! So still it stands
Surely our own if we exert our might.

Fool! Never can'st thou grasp this fleeting gleam,
Its glowing flame would die if it were caught,
Its value is that it doth always seem
But just a little farther on. Distraught,
But lighted ever onward, we are brought
Upon our way unknowing, in a dream.
回复

使用道具 举报

您需要登录后才可以回帖 登录 | 注册

本版积分规则

Archiver|手机版|小黑屋|服务支持:DZ动力|飘墨诗词论坛  

GMT+8, 2024-3-29 10:12 , Processed in 0.198038 second(s), 24 queries .

Powered by Discuz! X3.2

© 2001-2013 Comsenz Inc.

快速回复 返回顶部 返回列表