Ritual to read to each other
by William Stafford

If you don't know the kind of person I am
and I don't know the kind of person you are
a pattern that others made may prevail in the
world
and following the wrong god home we may miss
our star.

For there is many a small betrayal in the mind,
a shrug that lets the fragile sequence break
sending with shouts the horrible errors of
childhood
storming out to play through the broken dike.

And as elephants parade holding each
elephant's tail,
but if one wanders the circus won't find the
park,


I call it cruel and maybe the root of all cruelty
to know what occurs but not recognize the fact.

And so I appeal to a voice, to something
shadowy,
a remote important region in all who talk:
though we could fool each other, we should
consider—
lest the parade of our mutual life get lost in the
dark.

For it is important that awake people be awake,
or a breaking line may discourage them back to
sleep;
the signals we give — yes or no, or maybe —
should be clear: the darkness around us is deep.

唱对台戏
The Ritual to Read to each other

如果我对你一竅不通
你對我也一無所知
我俩的世界由他人的篤信而成全
要是我们还跟錯了救世主
闪闪红星也与你我无缘了。

腦海的得意算盤中多有一丝癮患，
一不小心一不再意珠機全盘断落。
年少气盛时的振振有词，
如洪水破堤一往而不可收拾。

如同马戏班里的象群
一个接着另一个沉重的脚步而行
单枪匹马在戏班中很难找到戏路
我以为这有點惨不忍睹，
亦或是所有悲剧的根源:
只知台词而对戲路不聞不问。

于是乎，我向天籁之音祈祷
细听所有生灵的臆语
虽然我们习惯于装腔作势，
在戏班外的人生舞台，
何需暗中假戏真作？
关键是明白之人做明白之事
若以一言以毙之，岂不成全了滥竽充数之流？
所有信誓旦旦的人 是非多寡 务必言从心镜：
世道的苍凉 众生奈其何。
( 叶子 译 June 2016)

《绝不向黑夜请安》
狄兰·托马斯
Do not go gentle into that good night
Dylon Thomas

绝不向黑夜请安
老朽请于白日尽头涅槃
咆哮于光之消散

先哲虽败于幽暗
诗歌终不能将苍穹点燃
绝不向黑夜请安

贤者舞蹈于碧湾
为惊涛淹没的善行哭喊
咆哮于光之消散

狂者如夸父逐日
高歌中顿觉迟来的伤感
绝不向黑夜请安

逝者于临终迷幻
盲瞳怒放出流星的灿烂
咆哮于光之消散

那么您，我垂垂将死的父亲
请掬最后一捧热泪降临
请诅咒，请保佑
我祈愿，绝不向
黑夜请安，咆哮
于光之消散.

（高晓松 译）
~

Do Not Go Gentle into That Good Night
Dylan Thomas

Do not go gentle into that good night,
Old age should burn and rave at close of day;
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Though wise men at their end know dark is right,
Because their words had forked no lightning they
Do not go gentle into that good night.

Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright
Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight,
And learn, too late, they grieved it on its way,
Do not go gentle into that good night.

Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight
Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

And you, my father, there on that sad height,
Curse, bless, me now with your fierce tears, I pray.
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.