伊丽莎白·毕肖普：野草
文森特 · 梵高 / Vincent van Gogh
草中的树干 / Tree Trunks in the Grass
1890 布面油画 / Oil on cavans 72 × 90 cm
荷兰库勒慕勒美术馆 / Kroller-Müller Museum
野 草
【美】 伊丽莎白·毕肖普
我梦见那死者，冥思着，
我躺在坟莹或床上，
( 至少是某间寒冷而密闭的闺房 ) 。
在寒冷的心中，它最后的思想
冰封伫立，画得巨硕又清晰，
僵硬闲散一如那儿的我；
而我们并肩保持不动
一整年，一分钟，一小时。
突然，那儿有了动静
那儿，对每种感官都如
一场爆破般惊悚。接着它落下
转为迫切而谨慎地蠕行
在心之领地，
从绝望的睡眠中将我戳醒。
我抬起头。一根纤弱的幼草
向上钻透了心脏，它那
绿色脑袋正在胸脯上频频点头。
( 这一切都发生在黑暗中。)
它长了一英寸，像青草的尖刃；
然后侧边蹿出一片叶子
一面扭曲而飘摇的旗帜，接着
两片叶子摇曳成一种旗语。
草茎变粗了。紧张的神经根
伸展至每一侧；优雅的脑袋
神秘地挪动了位置，
既然那儿既没有太阳也没有月亮
吸引它年幼的注意力。
生了根的心脏开始变幻
( 不是搏动 ) 接着它裂开
一股洪水从中决堤涌出。
两条河在两侧轻擦而过，
一条向右，一条向左，
两股半清半浊的溪川在奔涌，
( 肋骨把它们劈作两挂小瀑布 )
它们确凿地、玻璃般平滑地
淌入大地精细的漆黑纹理。
野草几乎要被冲走；
它与那些叶片苦苦挣扎，
高举着它们，凝重的水滴是叶之流苏。
好几滴落到我的面孔上
滚入我的双眸，我因此能看见
( 或是以为看见，在那漆黑的处所 )
每颗水珠都含着一束光，
一片小小的、缤纷点亮的布景；
被野草改变了流向的溪流
由疾涌的彩画汇成。
( 就好像一条河理应承载
所有它曾映出并锁入水中的
风景，而不是漂浮在
转瞬即逝的表面上。)
野草端立在割开的心中。
“你在那儿做什么？”我问。
它抬起湿漉漉、不断滴水的头
( 是我的念头将它打湿？)
然后回答：“我生长，”它说，
“只为再次切开你的心。”
译 / 包慧怡
选自《唯有孤独恒常如新》
The Weed
Elizabeth Bishop
I dreamed that dead, and meditating, I lay upon a grave, or bed, (at least, some cold and close-built bower). In the cold heart, its final thought stood frozen, drawn immense and clear, stiff and idle as I was there; and we remained unchanged together for a year, a minute, an hour. Suddenly there was a motion, as startling, there, to every sense as an explosion. Then it dropped to insistent, cautious creeping in the region of the heart, prodding me from desperate sleep. I raised my head. A slight young weed had pushed up through the heart and its green head was nodding on the breast. (All this was in the dark.) It grew an inch like a blade of grass; next, one leaf shot out of its side a twisting, waving flag, and then two leaves moved like a semaphore. The stem grew thick. The nervous roots reached to each side; the graceful head changed its position mysteriously, since there was neither sun nor moon to catch its young attention. The rooted heart began to change (not beat) and then it split apart and from it broke a flood of water. Two rivers glanced off from the sides, one to the right, one to the left, two rushing, half-clear streams, (the ribs made of them two cascades) which assuredly, smooth as glass, went off through the fine black grains of earth. The weed was almost swept away; it struggled with its leaves, lifting them fringed with heavy drops. A few drops fell upon my face and in my eyes, so I could see (or, in that black place, thought I saw) that each drop contained a light, a small, illuminated scene; the weed-deflected stream was made itself of racing images. (As if a river should carry all the scenes that it had once reflected shut in its waters, and not floating on momentary surfaces.) The weed stood in the severed heart. "What are you doing there?" I asked. It lifted its head all dripping wet (with my own thoughts?) and answered then: "I grow," it said, "but to divide your heart again."
“我正入睡。我正坠入睡眠，我借助睡眠的力量坠落到那儿。就如我因疲惫入睡。就如我因厌倦入睡。就如我坠入困境。就如我普遍的坠落。睡眠总结了一切坠落，它聚拢这一切坠落。” 这是法国哲学家让·吕克·南希《入睡》的开篇。无论是这本书的法文原名 ( Tombe de sommeil ) 还是英译名 (The Fall of Sleep ) 都清楚不过地彰显了睡眠与坠落，入眠与下降之间潜在的联系。这一意义上，毕肖普可以被看作诗歌领域的睡眠研究者，着迷于睡眠这一动作的象征意义以及“入睡”带来的全新视角。
在《野草》中她放弃了以往那种悬浮在睡眠表面光怪陆离的轻盈花边，转而直接观看睡眠的深处：那虚空的漏斗，无意识的漩涡，那溺水之躯安息的河床。痛苦的失眠者不再挣扎于自我催眠与反催眠的拉锯，而是由昏明不定的“入睡”坠入了暗无天日的“沉睡”，在那儿一如在神话中，睡神与死神是孪生兄弟，梦见死者就是死一次。《野草》如此开篇：“我梦见那死者，冥思着，/ 我躺在坟茔或床上，/ ( 至少是某间寒冷而密闭的闺房 ) 。” 即便是在不祥的开头之下，毕肖普也能成功地诉以一种致力于事物之真实的音调，一种面临这样的真实也能同样温和、疏离、孤独的音调。
这棵在类死的沉睡中钻透并最终劈开“我”心脏的野草，几乎就是南希这段话的最佳演绎：“睡眠是一种植物生长般的运作。我如植物般生长，我的自我成为了植物态，几乎就是一棵植物：扎根于某处，只被呼吸的缓慢进程贯穿，被那些在睡眠中休息的器官所从事的其他新陈代谢贯穿。” 野草虽然如异物劈开心脏，但它本来就源自这颗心。正是“我”的过去，所有悲伤或欢喜的经验的总和，滋养着野草并任它蹿升，繁殖着叶片，从上面滴下璀璨的水珠，如同为一个濒死的人播放生前记忆的断片：“我因此能看见 / 每颗水珠都含着一束光，/ 一片小小的、缤纷点亮的布景；/ 被野草改变了流向的溪流 / 由疾涌的彩画汇成。” 沉淀的经验被锁入梦境的幻灯片，向睁着眼的熟睡者或无法安眠的死者播放一帧帧流动的彩画，直到再也无法忍受的“我”发出诘问：“你在那儿做什么？”野草的回答来得干脆而锋利，“我生长，只为再次切开你的心”。