埃·德·安德拉德作品

董继平译

埃乌热尼奥·德·安德拉德（Eugenio de Andrade，1923-2005），20世纪葡萄牙最著名的诗人之一，生于靠近西班牙边界的小村波沃亚达阿塔莱亚，后来随母亲移居首都里斯本。19岁时出版第一部诗集《青春》，此后又出版了近30部诗集，他获得过葡萄牙几乎所有的文学奖和一些重要的国际文学奖，其中包括葡萄牙的卡蒙斯奖、法国的让·马尔里欧奖（1989）、欧洲诗歌奖（1996），并多次被提名为诺贝尔文学奖候选人。作品被翻译成了多种语言，产生了广泛的国际影响。

从躯体深处

他不会睡觉，他会花上很多很多个时辰来聆听，最终在纷乱的声音中辨别出最细微的喃喃声，蜘蛛织网的声音，乃至光芒穿过帷幔厚厚的褶皱强行推进的更小的声音。沉寂很晚才会到来，最后的脚步的回音沿着街道消失。只有在那时，来自他的躯体深处的剧烈心跳才会如释重负地显现出来。它始终在那里，但只有在这样的时刻才会从其他声音中脱颖而出，每次心跳都具有利剑的轮廓。它要持续到何时？因为有一个时刻会来临，他对此毫不怀疑，那时，夜晚的沙漠和躯体的沉寂会形成唯一的实质，跟露水的热情永远密不可分，在早晨攀登最后的台阶。

FROM THE DEPTHS OF THE BODY

He wouldn’t sleep， he would spend hours and hours listening， finally making out in the tangle of sounds the minutest murmurs， the spider spinning his web or， even less audible， the light forcing its way through the thick folds of the drapes. Silence would arrive late， the echo of the last steps lost down the street. Only then would that pounding coming from the depths of his body show in relief. It had always been there， but only at such moments would it arise clean of other sounds， each beat with the profile of a sword. Till when would it last？ For there would come a time， of this he hadn't the slightest doubt， when the desert of the night and the silence of the body would form a single substance， forever inseparable from the ardor of the dew， climbing in the morning the final steps.

在最初和最后的微光之间

我曾经只有两三岁，如今已年满六旬，光芒一如既往地呼唤，仿佛我诞生于光芒，不能不回去。在最初和最后的微光之间，全身总让自己渗透了热量，而那种热量变成一种爱抚，存在于我们本质中最精致透明、最不可估量的部分之中，对于那个部分，我们也未能称之为光，我们永不会知道赋予它什么名字。

BETWEEN THE FIRST AND LAST TWILICHT

I was two or three years old， now I am sixty， and the call of the light is the same， as if I had been born from it and could not fail to return. Between the first twilight and the last， the entire body has always let itself be penetrated by that heat that turns to a caress in the most diaphanous and imponderable part of our being， a part to which， were we to fail to call it light as well， we would never r know what name to give.

那張纸

那里的那张纸。即使是如此洁白的雪也不会很冷。手指以一种爱抚的方式临近，试图软化、稀释那么多敌意，但它们却受到恐惧的影响而迅速撤离。因为这种洁白在燃烧，在没人看见的一团火焰中默默地发光发热。很长时间，唯有眼睛将它找出来，凝视它。一动不动，没有松懈其烈度。你几乎听得见你的脉搏在悸动。突然，手指伸出来，跳跃，犹如鹰隼移动，它们不再爱抚，相反，在一场毫不留情的斗争中撕扯、割裂、追逐猎物，在积雪中留下它们存在的痕迹，时而得意洋洋，时而烦恼忧伤，时而奄奄一息。

THAT SHEET

That sheet of paper there. So white not even snow is quite as cold. Fingers approach in a kind of caress， trying to soften， to dilute， so much hostility， but quickly they withdraw， touched by fear. It is so difficult For this whiteness burns， glowing silently in a fire that no one sees. For a long time， only the eyes seek it out， gaze at it. Motionless， without relaxing their intensity. One can almost hear the throbbing of one’s pulse. Suddenly，the fingers reach out， leap; moving like a falcon， they no longer caress， rather tear， lacerate， pursue their prey in a struggle with no quarter given， leaving behind in the snow traces of their presence， at times triumphant， at times distressed， at times nearly dead.

诗歌就像这样

我不知我在哪里醒来，光芒迷失在那很长很长的走廊尽头，走廊两边排列着房间，其中一间是你的，要到达那里需要很长很长时间，我的脚步是男孩的脚步，但你的目光带着那么多爱，那么多爱等待着，因此你跑上前来迎接我，害怕空气会绊倒我——哦，甚于任何音乐。

THAT’S WHAT POETRY IS LIKE

I don’t know where I awoke， the light losing itself at the end of the long， long hallway， rooms on both sides， one of them is yours， it takes a long， long time to get there， my steps are those of boy， but your eyes are waiting， with so much love， so much， that you run to meet me， afraid that I will stumble on the air—oh more than any music.

用目光

也許有一天。也许有一天，我们将触及那个嗓音，那个在那时摆脱了我们肩头上光芒的重量的嗓音。然后，目光将结束自己的职责;目光，最真实的现实的快乐的器具。因为看见始终就是触摸。在手要采集九月最后闪烁的微光之前，就用目光去一一触摸每件东西吧。看看它们怎样带着老虎的那种黄褐色怠惰而逝去。

WITH THE EYES

Perhaps one day，Perhaps one day we will reach that voice， free by then of the weight of light upon our shoulders. The eyes will come then to the end of their task; the eyes， happy instruments of the most real reality. For to see was always to touch. To touch， one by one， each thing with the eyes， before the hand would approach to gather the last shimmering of September. Look how it moves away with the tawny indolence of a tiger.

童 年

我出去观看欧椋鸟，在傍晚的这个时辰，那些鸟儿密密麻麻，在树木上空不断盘旋。当夜幕降临时，我已回到屋里，我的凝视带着燃烧的火花将其射穿。光芒就是那我带回来的一切，因为我也害怕黑暗。

CHILDHOOD

I go out to watch the starlings; they are countless at this hour of the evening， circling repeatedly over the trees. When nightfall， I’m already back inside， my gaze shot through with flaming scintillations. The light is all that I bring back with me， for I， too， fear the dark.