五（第8/9页）
To take your motherloss of a first child
So inconsolably — in the face of love.
You'd think his memory might be satisfied —”
“There you go sneering now！”
“I'm not. I'm not！
You make me angry. I'll come down to you.
God, what a woman！ And it's come to this,
A man can't speak of his own child that's dead.”
“You can't because you don't know how to speak.
If you had any feelings, you that dug
With your own hand — how could you？ — his little grave;
I saw you from that very window there,
Making the gravel leap and leap in air,
Leap up, like that, like that, and land so lightly
And roll back down the mound beside the hole.
I thought, Who is that man？ I didn't know you.
And I crept down the stairs and up the stairs
To look again, and still your spade kept lifting.
Then you came in. I heard your rumbling voice
Out in the kitchen, and I don't know why,
But I went near to see with my own eyes.
You could sit there with the stains on your shoes
Of the fresh earth from your own baby's grave
And talk about your everyday concerns.
You had stood the spade up against the wall
Outside there in the entry, for I saw it.”
“I shall laugh the worst laugh I ever laughed.
I'm cursed. God, if I don't believe I'm cursed.”
“I can repeat the very words you were saying:
‘three foggy mornings and one rainy day
Will rot the best birch fence a man can build.’
Think of it, talk like that at such a time！
What had how long it takes a birch to rot
To do with what was in the darkened parlor？
You couldn't care！ The nearest friends can go
With anyone to death, comes so far short
They might as well not try to go at all
No, from the time when one is sick to death,
One is alone, and he dies more alone.
Friends make pretense of following to the grave,
But before one is in it, their minds are turned
And making the best of their way back to life
And living people, and things they understand.
But the world's evil. I won't have grief so
If I can change it. Oh, I won't. I won't！”
“There, you have said it all and you feel better.
You won't go now. You're crying. Close the door.
The heart's gone out of it：why keep it up？
Amy！ There's someone coming down the road！”
“You — oh, you think the talk is all. I must go —
Somewhere out of this house. How can I make you —”
“If — you — do！” She was opening the door wider.
“Where do you mean to go？ First tell me that.
I'll follow and bring you back by force. I will —”
如果说这首诗是阴郁的，那么其创作者的思想则更为忧郁，这位创作者扮演了仅有的三个角色：男人、女人和叙述者。单看他们每个人或将他们合起来看都很真实，但这一真实依然比不上此诗作者的真实。因为《家葬》只是他诸多诗作中的一首。当然，他的自主之价值就在于此诗的色彩，也许，你们从这首诗中最终获得的不是故事本身，而是其达到终极自主状态的创造者的洞察力。诗中的人物和叙述者将作者推出了人们喜闻乐见的语境：他站在外面，无法再次进入，也许他也完全不想进去。这是对话的结果，或者说是一种生命力量的结果。这种特殊的姿态，这种完全的自主，在我看来完全是美国式的。这位诗人的单音调诗句和他的五音步迟缓正是由此而来：一个从远方的电台发来的信号。可以将他比做一艘宇宙飞船，当万有引力减弱时，他会发现自己依然受到一个不同引力的影响：一种向外的引力。然而，燃料还是一成不变的，即悲伤和理智。对我的这个比喻构成挑战的唯一事实就是，美国的太空飞船常常是能够返回地面的。
一九九四年
[1] 此文原题为“On Grief and Reason”，首刊于《纽约客》(New Yorker)1994年9月26日。俄文版题为“О скорби и разуме”。
[2] 特里林(1905—1975)。
[3] “既成事实”用的是法语“fait accompli”。
[4] 由于后文关于此诗有详尽分析，为方便读者理解作者的分析，特附上英文；为呼应作者的分析，这里的译诗也多为逐字逐句的“硬译”。
[5] “幽暗的森林”用的是意大利语“selva oscura”，这是但丁《神曲·地狱篇》的第二句：“我发现我已经迷失了正路，走进了一座幽暗的森林。”(田德望译文)