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Hope is the thing with feathers.
By Emily Dickinson

"Hope" is the thing with feathers -
That perches in the soul-
 And sings the tune without the words And never stops - at all -

And sweetest in the Gale - is heard -
And sore must be the storm
That could abash the little Bird
That kept so many warm -

I've heard it in the chillest land -
And on the strangest Sea -
Yet, never, in Extremity,
It asked a crumb - of Me.

希望是帶有羽毛之物
艾蜜莉迪金森作品

希望是帶有羽毛之物
棲息靈魂中
唱著無詞的曲調
永不息止

其歌聲在暴風雨倍感絕妙
必是莫大的暴風雨
才能使此小鳥侷促不安
牠讓許多人心中有溫暖

我曾在最寒冷的國土
和最陌生的海上聽見
但牠縱使在最艱困時，
也不向我討一面碎屑。

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How many times these low feet staggered -
 Only the soldered mouth can tell -

Try -can you stir the awful rivet -
Try - can you lift the hasps of steel!

Stroke the cool forehead-hot so often Lift - if you care- the listless hair

Fondle the adamantine fingers
Never a thimble - shall wear -

Buzz the dull flies - on the chamber window -
Brave - shines the sun through the freckled pane -
Fearless - the cobweb swings from the ceiling - Indolent Housewife - in Daisies - lain!

有多少次這雙卑微的腳蹣跚欲倒
艾蜜莉迪金森作品

有多少次這雙卑微的腳蹣跚欲倒
只有她焊接的嘴能說
試試看 你能不能牽動那不可思議的鉚釘
試試看 你能不能提起鋼鐵環扣

撫摸冰冷的前額   以前常是熱烘烘的
撥弄 毫無生氣的髮絲  如果你想的話
觸摸硬如石頭的手指
再無法戴上頂針

房間的窗子上 蒼蠅單調地嗡嗡
大膽的 陽光穿過點點成斑的窗玻璃照射
無懼的 蜘蛛網大搖大擺於天花板上
慵懶的主婦  躺在野菊花從裡！

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There is a light seed grain inside.
by Rumi

There is a light seed grain inside. You fill it with yourself, or it dies.
I am bound by the power of this coil! your hair!
Calm and sensible people are not normal!

有一顆光的種子種在你裡面。
魯米作品

有一顆光的種子種在你裡面。你必須用自己去灌溉它，否則它就會死亡。

我被這個綣曲的力量綁住了！
你的秀髮！
鎮靜和明理的人才是不正常！

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Where are we? – by Rumi

An invisible bird flies over,
but casts a quick shadow.
What is the body? That shadow of a shadow of your love, that somehow contains
the entire universe.
A man sleeps heavily,
though something blazes in him like the sun,
like a magnificent fringe sewn up under the hem.

He turns under the covers.
Any image is a lie:
A clear red stone tastes sweet.
You kiss a beautiful mouth, and a key
turns in the lock of your fear.
A spoken sentence sharpens to a fine edge.
A mother dove looks for her nest,
asking where, /ku?/ Where, /ku?/
Where the lion lies down.
Where any man or woman goes to cry.
Where the sick go when they hope to get well.
Where a wind lifts that helps with winnowing.
and, the same moment, send a ship on its way.
Where anyone says /Only God is Real./
/Ya Hu!/ Where beyond /where./
A bright weaver’s shuttle flashes back and forth,
east-west. /Where are we? Ma ku? Maku/.
like the sun saying /Where are we?/
as it weaves with the asking.


我們在哪裡？ 魯米作品

一隻看不見的鳥飛過，
投下了一閃即逝的影子。
那是什麼？是你愛的影子的影子，
卻盛滿了整個宇宙。

有個人在沈睡，
不過，他體內卻有某物光亮如太陽，
像華美的流蘇。

他在被褥下輾轉反側。
任何意象都是謊言：
一塊晶瑩的紅石頭嘗起來是甜的。
你親吻一張美麗的嘴，
一把鑰匙插入你驚恐的鎖孔。

一句如出鞘利刃般的句子。

一隻母鴿尋找她的巢，
不停地問：「在哪裡，咕？在哪裡，咕？」

哪裡是獅子伏躺的所在？
哪裡是男男女女哭泣的所在？
哪裡是病人可以渴望康復的所在？

織布的梭子來回抽動，
一會兒西，一會兒東，
邊織邊問：「我們在哪兒？嘛咕？嘛咕」

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Five Things To Say /By Rumi

The wakened lover speaks directly to the beloved:

“You are the sky my spirit circles in
The love inside of love, the resurrection-place.
Let this window be your ear.
I have lost consciousness many times
With longing for your listening silence
And your life-quickening smile.
You give attention to the smallest matters
My suspicious doubts, and to the greatest
You know my coins are counterfeit
But you accept them anyway
My impudence and my pretending!

I have five things to say,
five fingers to give into your grace.

First, when I was apart from you
this world did not exist
nor any other.

Second, whatever I was looking for
was always you.

Third, why did I ever learn to count to three?

Fourth, my cornfield is burning!

Fifth, this finger stands for Rabia*
and this is for someone else.

Is there a difference?
Are these words or tears?
Is weeping speech?
What shall I do, my love?”

So he speaks, and everyone around
begins to cry with him, laughing crazily
moaning in the spreading union
of lover and beloved.

This is the true religion. All others
are thrown-away bandages beside it.

This is the sema* of slavery and mastery
of dancing together. This is not-being.

Neither words, nor any natural fact
can express this.

I know these dancers
day and night I sing their songs
in this phenomenal cage

My soul, don’t try to answer now!
Find a friend, and hide.

But what can stay hidden?
Love’s secret is always lifting its head
out from under the covers:
“Here I am!”

我有五事相告/魯米作品


醒轉過來的情人直對著他的愛人說：
「妳是我心緒圍繞的長空，是愛中之愛，是我復活之地。
且讓這扇窗當你的耳吧。
只因渴望你傾聽的靜默和令人精神一振的笑靨，我失去過知覺不只一次。

妳的專注鉅細彌遺，包括我的多疑。

妳明知我的硬幣是贗品，
但仍欣然接受我的厚顏和虛飾！

我有五事相告，每件事相對於手上的一根指頭。
第一、當我離開了妳，這世界就不復存在，也不會有其他世界存在。
第二、上窮碧落下黃泉，我搜索的，始終是妳。
第三、我何苦學會數到三？
第四、我的麥田正在燃燒。
第五、這根指頭代表拉比亞，換言之是代表另一人。但有什麼分別呢？

我說的這些，是話，還是淚？
悲泣也可以是一種演說嗎？
我該做什麼好，我的愛？」

他如是說著，周遭的人
開始隨著他大喊，又跟著他狂笑。
大家在愛者與被愛者的合一裡，齊聲默吟。

這才是真正的宗教，其餘的不過是散落的腳鐐手銬。
這是奴隸與自由的共舞。
這是非存有。
沒有任何語彙或自然之物，足以闡明箇中奧妙。
我認得這些舞者。
日日夜夜我哼唱他們的歌，在這些現象界的牢籠裡。

我的靈魂啊，別急著回答問題。
找個朋友，然後隱藏起來。

但沒有永遠隱藏的東西。
愛的奧秘總 不斷
從遮蔽中探出頭來，喊道：
「我在這兒！」

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論友誼 紀伯倫作品
一個青年說：跟我們說說「友誼」吧。
他回答道：
你的朋友可以回應你的需求。
他是你的田地，你用愛播種，以感恩收割：
他也是你的餐桌和爐火，
因為你會在飢餓時到他身邊，
並在他那裡尋求平靜。

朋友對你吐露心事時，不要害怕說中心中的「不」，也不要吝於說「是」。
他沈默的時候，你的心也不要停止聆聽他的心聲，
因為友情不需要言語，
一切思想，一切欲念，一切期望，
都在無言的歡樂中孕育和分享。

當你和朋友分開時，不要悲傷；
因為他不在的時候，
他那些你最愛的優點將會更清晰，
就像對登山的人而言，在平地看山更清楚。

除了增加心靈的深度之外，
友誼不應有其他目的，
因為絕不揭露自我的愛，並不是真愛，
而是向前撒出的網，
網到的只是無用之物。

把你最好的留給你的朋友，
如果他定要知道你的低潮，
也要讓他曉得你潮汐的高漲。

倘若找他指為打發時間，哪算什麼朋友？
你應該找他一同體驗生命。
因為朋友應滿足你的需要，
而不是填補你的空虛。
就讓歡笑和共享的快樂，充滿甜美的友誼，
因為唯有再如朝露的小事中，
你的心才找到換然一新的清晨。

On Friendship Kahlil Gibran
And a youth said, Speak to us of Friendship.
  And he answered, saying:
  Your friend is your needs answered.
  He is your field which you sow with love and reap with thanksgiving.
  And he is your board and your fireside.
  For you come to him with your hunger, and you seek him for peace.
  When your friend speaks his mind you fear not the “nay” in your own mind, nor do you withhold the “ay.”
  And when he is silent your heart ceases not to listen to his heart;
  For without words, in friendship, all thoughts, all desires, all expectations are born and shared, with joy that is unacclaimed.
  When you part from your friend, you grieve not;
  For that which you love most in him may be clearer in his absence, as the mountain to the climber is clearer from the plain.
  And let there be no purpose in friendship save the deepening of the spirit.
  For love that seeks aught but the disclosure of its own mystery us not love but a net cast forth: and only the unprofitable is caught.
  And let your best be for your friend.
  If he must know the ebb of your tide, let him know its flood also.
  For what is your friend that you should seek him with hours to kill?
  Seek him always with hours to live.
  For it is his to fill your need but not your emptiness.
  And in the sweetness of friendship let there be laughter, and sharing of pleasures.
  For in the dew of little things the heart finds its morning and is refreshed.

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壞郵差 泰戈爾作品
親愛的媽媽，跟我說說，您為什麼如此安靜沈默地坐在地上？
雨從開著的窗子打進來，您都淋濕了，卻似乎不在意。
您聽到鐘聲敲四下了嗎？該是哥哥放學回家的時候了。
到底發生了什麼事？您的神色看起來好奇怪。
您今天沒收到爸爸的信嗎？
我看見郵差的袋裡裝滿了信，幾乎鎮上每個人都收到信了。
只有爸爸的信，被他留下來自己看了。
我可以確定那郵差是個壞人。
但別因此而傷心呀，親愛的媽媽。
明天是隔壁村落的市集日，您可以請女傭去幫您買些筆和紙。
所有爸爸該寫的信都由我來寫，您不會找到半點兒破綻。
我會從A一直寫到K。
但是，媽媽，您為什麼笑了呢？
您不相信我能寫得跟爸爸一樣好嗎？
我會用心寫整齊，把每個字母寫得又大又漂亮。
我寫完之後，您以為我會跟爸爸一樣傻，將信放進那可惡郵差的袋裡嗎？
我會自己馬上將這些信送來給您，並且逐字逐句幫您讀。
我知道那個郵差不願意把真正很棒的信件送來給您。

THE WICKED POSTMAN
By Tagore

Why do you sit there on the floor so quiet and silent, tell me, mother dear?

The rain is coming in through the open window, making you all wet, and you don't mind it.

Do you hear the gong striking four? It is time for my brother to come home from school.

What has happened to you that you look so strange? Haven't you got a letter from father to-day?

I saw the postman bringing letters in his bag for almost everybody in the town.

Only, father's letters he keeps to read himself. I am sure the postman is a wicked man.

But don't be unhappy about that, mother dear.

To-morrow is market day in the next village. You ask your maid to buy some pens and papers.

I myself will write all father's letters; you will not find a single mistake.

I shall write from A right up to K.

But, mother, why do you smile?. You don't believe that I can write as nicely as father does!

But I shall rule my paper carefully, and write all the letters beautifully big.

When I finish my writing, do you think I shall be so foolish as father and drop it into the horrid postman's bag?

I shall bring it to you myself without waiting, and letter by letter help you to read my writing.

I know the postman does not like to give you the really nice letters.

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兩韻十九行詩
/威廉.燕卜蓀 作品

是這痛苦，是這痛苦，永不熄。
你具魔力的美燒透了我的肌肉。
我手從容使人想起你的。

哪有新解藥可將這劇毒清理？
哪有好意能使逝去的安慰開始從頭？
是這痛苦，是這痛苦，永不熄。

感染停了（習慣或變化都將此導致）
而當痛苦該重來的時候
我手從容使人想起你的。

記憶打了保證，我心安不急，
我深知穩保了你的好心，我何等富有。是這痛苦，是這痛苦，永不熄。

我睇視痛飲那仍迷人的美麗。
我心仍跳躍著你下的毒酒。
我手從容使人想起你的。

你仍一片好意，容貌也無稍異。
好意而永不分離。可我們無從入手。
是這痛苦，是這痛苦，永不熄。
我手從容使人想起你的。

Villanelle
/ by William Empson

It is the pain, it is the pain, endures.

Your chemic beauty burned my muscles through.
Poise of my hands reminded me of yours.

What later purge from this deep toxin cures?
 What kindness now could the old salve renew? I
t is the pain, it is the pain, endures.

The infection slept (custom or change inures)
And when pain's secondary phase was due
Poise of my hands reminded me of yours.

How safe I felt, whom memory assures, Rich that your grace safely by heart I knew.
It is the pain, it is the pain, endures.

My stare drank deep beauty that still allures.
My heart pumps yet the poison draught of you.
 Poise of my hands reminded me of yours.

You are still kind whom the same shape immures.
 Kind and beyond adieu.
We miss our cue.
It is the pain, it is the pain, endures.

Poise of my hands reminded me of yours.

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不要種罌粟（他曾說）/伊麗莎白.達榆思 作品
不要種罌粟（他曾說）
不要種嬌弱清麗的百合花，
因為在戰時鬧飢荒
你只需要吃玉蜀黍過活。

不要儲藏珠寶（他曾呼喊）
不要儲藏昡目精雕寶石，
你會被迫把它們出售
來換取鋼鐵，所以下決心吧。

不要在話語中鑲嵌華藻
（他曾懇求，但誰也聽不到）
不要減少你才智閃露的光芒，
既然你必須否認才華橫溢
當你面對悲傷的劍刃。


Plant No Poppy (He Said)
by Elizabeth Daryush

Plant no poppy (he said)
no frail lily sublime,
for in war's famine-time
thou'lt need but corn for bread.

Hoard no jewel (he cried)
no dazzling laboured gem:
thou'lt be forced to sell them
for steel, so now decide.

Set no flower in thy word
 (he besought, but none heard)
cut no flash to thy wit,
 if thou must disown it
when seest thou sorrow's sword.

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馬群 /埃德溫.繆爾 作品
離那個使全世界睡倒了的七日之戰，
還不到十二個月，
在深夜裏那群奇怪的馬兒來了。

在那時候我們已和沈默簽了契約，
但最初的幾天是多麼寂靜
我們聽著自己的呼吸聲便害怕。

第二天
無線電沒有了：我們旋著掣，沒有回音。
在第三天沒有軍艦經過，向北面去
甲板上堆滿了死屍。
在第六天一輛飛機從我們上面直衝下海。然後什麼也沒有了。
無線電啞掉：
不過仍站在我們的廚房角落，
或者仍開著，站在全世界上百萬的房間裏。
但是若它們開口說話，
若突然之間它們再開口說話，
若在中午十二點敲響時有一把聲音開口說話，
我們不會聽，我們不會許它帶回
那個一骨腦便推下它的孩子的壞透了的舊世界。
我們不會許它再來。
有時候我們想到正在睡夢中的那些國家，
在不能穿透的悲哀裏盲目地蜷縮著，
然後這想法因太怪異而使我們驚詫。

拖拉機在田裏躺著：到晚上
看來就像濕冷的海怪埋伏等待。
我們由得它去任它們生鏽：
它們會發霉爛掉就像其他肥土一樣。

我們要牛隻拖著久放一旁的生鏽的犁。
我們已回到悠久的先祖大地。
然後，那晚上夏天將盡時那群奇怪的馬兒來了。
我們聽到路上遠遠傳來的聲，
漸變為深沈的擂鼓聲：停一下，再繼續
到了轉角處變成空洞的雷鳴。
我們看見牠們的頭
像狂野的浪衝鋒遂害怕了。
我們在先祖時代已賣掉馬兒
來買新的拖拉機。

現在牠們對我們已陌生了
有如古老盾牌上的神駿
或是武士故事中的插圖。
我們不敢走近。
但牠們等著，固執又羞怯，就像牠們是由一古老的指令派來找我們的蹤跡
和找那早已忘師的亙古相依聯繫。

一開始我們全沒想過
這些是可以擁有和差遣的牲畜，
牠們之中有大約半打小馬
在那斷覺得世界裏某些荒野中產下
但新得像由自己的伊甸園而來。
從那時候起牠們拖我們的犁荷我們的重物，不過這無求的事奉仍使我們心痛。
我們的生命改變了：牠們的來到就是我們的開始。

The Horses By Edwin Muir

Barely a twelvemonth after
The seven days war that put the world to sleep,
 Late in the evening the strange horses came.
By then we had made our covenant with silence,
But in the first few days it was so still We listened to our breathing and were afraid.
On the second day
The radios failed; we turned the knobs; no answer.
On the third day a warship passed us, heading north,
Dead bodies piled on the deck. On the sixth day
 A plane plunged over us into the sea. Thereafter Nothing.
The radios dumb;
And still they stand in corners of our kitchens,
And stand, perhaps, turned on, in a million rooms
 All over the world. But now if they should speak
If on a sudden they should speak again,
If on the stroke of noon a voice should speak,
We would not listen, we would not let it bring
That old bad world that swallowed its children quick
 At one great gulp. We would not have it again.
Sometimes we think of the nations lying asleep,
Curled blindly in impenetrable sorrow, And then the thought confounds us with its strangeness.
The tractors lie about our fields; at evening
They look like dank sea-monsters couched and waiting.
We leave them where they are and let them rust:
'They'll moulder away and be like other loam'.
We make our oxen drag our rusty ploughs,
Long laid aside. We have gone back Far past our father's land.
And then, that evening Late in the summer the strange horses came.
We heard a distant tapping on the road,
 A deepening drumming; it stopped, went on again And at the corner changed to hollow thunder.
We saw the heads Like a wild wave charging and were afraid.
We had sold our horses in our fathers' time We did not dare go near them. Yet they waited, Stubborn and shy, as if they had been sent To buy new tractors.
 Now they were strange to us As fabulous steeds set on an ancient shield Or illustrations in a book of knights

By an old command to find our whereabouts
And that long-lost archaic companionship. In the first moment we had never a thought
That they were creatures to be owned and used.
 Among them were some half-a-dozen colts Dropped in some wilderness of the broken world,
 Yet new as if they had come from their own Eden.
 Since then they have pulled our ploughs and borne our loads, But that free servitude still can pierce our hearts.
Our life is changed; their coming our beginning.

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