前几天，读了一首好诗：《My Grandmother’s Love Letters》（外祖母的情书 ），作者是美国相当富有争议性的传奇诗人哈特·克莱恩（Hart Crane, 1899-1932）。看了几个中文翻译版，有的不错，比如倪志娟女士翻译的就不错，但有些地方我觉得不满意， 另外几个版本，就只能呵呵了，不提名字了。我就忍不住，自己翻译了，我给大家先吟一下我翻译的，然后开八。我翻译的有个地方拿不准，就是Old keys那句，这里的Keys是键盘还是音符还是音调？请高手指正，谢谢！ 开始了！
外祖母的情书
作者：Hart Crane（美），译者：pwwp
今夜，天上没有星
只有记忆中的那些
这细雨漫落的环绕中
多么宽广的记忆空间
甚至足够大到
存放外祖母的往日情书
在屋顶阁楼的一角
它们沉寂多年
早已泛黄脆软
雪花般柔弱消融
行走在这样的广阔时空里
脚步必须轻柔
似乎为一根无形的白发所悬系
如桦树枝间缭绕的空气微颤
我问自己
“手指是否够修长
来弹奏 只有回声的旧音符
静默是否够洪荒
来承载 这乐声回到最初
到我和她的耳边”
我牵引着外祖母的手
穿越这她所不能理解的
我因此脚步蹒跚 雨落在屋顶上
如温柔怜悯的笑声
（2016年9月7日）
###
英文原作附下：
My Grandmother’s Love Letters
BY HART CRANE
There are no stars tonight
But those of memory.
Yet how much room for memory there is
In the loose girdle of soft rain.
There is even room enough
For the letters of my mother’s mother,
Elizabeth,
That have been pressed so long
Into a corner of the roof
That they are brown and soft,
And liable to melt as snow.
Over the greatness of such space
Steps must be gentle.
It is all hung by an invisible white hair.
It trembles as birch limbs webbing the air.
And I ask myself:
“Are your fingers long enough to play
Old keys that are but echoes:
Is the silence strong enough
To carry back the music to its source
And back to you again
As though to her?”
Yet I would lead my grandmother by the hand
Through much of what she would not understand;
And so I stumble. And the rain continues on the roof
With such a sound of gently pitying laughter.
外祖母的情书
作者：Hart Crane（美），译者：pwwp
今夜，天上没有星
只有记忆中的那些
这细雨漫落的环绕中
多么宽广的记忆空间
甚至足够大到
存放外祖母的往日情书
在屋顶阁楼的一角
它们沉寂多年
早已泛黄脆软
雪花般柔弱消融
行走在这样的广阔时空里
脚步必须轻柔
似乎为一根无形的白发所悬系
如桦树枝间缭绕的空气微颤
我问自己
“手指是否够修长
来弹奏 只有回声的旧音符
静默是否够洪荒
来承载 这乐声回到最初
到我和她的耳边”
我牵引着外祖母的手
穿越这她所不能理解的
我因此脚步蹒跚 雨落在屋顶上
如温柔怜悯的笑声
（2016年9月7日）
###
英文原作附下：
My Grandmother’s Love Letters
BY HART CRANE
There are no stars tonight
But those of memory.
Yet how much room for memory there is
In the loose girdle of soft rain.
There is even room enough
For the letters of my mother’s mother,
Elizabeth,
That have been pressed so long
Into a corner of the roof
That they are brown and soft,
And liable to melt as snow.
Over the greatness of such space
Steps must be gentle.
It is all hung by an invisible white hair.
It trembles as birch limbs webbing the air.
And I ask myself:
“Are your fingers long enough to play
Old keys that are but echoes:
Is the silence strong enough
To carry back the music to its source
And back to you again
As though to her?”
Yet I would lead my grandmother by the hand
Through much of what she would not understand;
And so I stumble. And the rain continues on the roof
With such a sound of gently pitying laughter.
![[em146]](https://emojis.huaren.us/static/emojis/v1/yoci/em146.gif)
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