《不可思议的聚会》（“Strange Meeting”）

《不可思议的聚会》（“Strange Meeting”）

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奇怪的会面

作者：威尔弗雷德-欧文

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我似乎逃离了战场

我似乎逃出了战场

穿过巨人战争开凿的花岗岩。

然而，那里也有沉睡者在呻吟、

他们的思想或死亡都太快了，以至于无法振作。

然后，当我探查他们时，一个人站了起来，瞪着

瞪大了眼睛，可怜巴巴地辨认着、

举起痛苦的双手，似乎在祝福。

从他的微笑中，我知道了那个沉闷的大厅 

从他死寂的微笑中，我知道我们站在地狱里。

那幻象的脸上布满了无数恐惧；

然而，没有鲜血从高处流下、

没有枪炮声，也没有烟道里的呻吟声。

"奇怪的朋友，"我说，"这里没有哀悼的理由。" 

"没有，"另一个人说，"除了未逝的岁月、

无望 无论什么希望都是你的

也曾是我的生命；我去野外打猎

追寻世界上最狂野的美丽

那不是平静的眼睛，也不是编成辫子的头发、

而是在嘲笑时间的稳定运行、

如果它让人悲伤，也比这里更悲伤。

因为我的欢乐可能会让许多人发笑、

而我的哭泣也留下了一些东西、

现在必须死去。 我指的是不为人知的真相、

战争的怜悯，战争提炼出的怜悯。

现在，人们将满足于我们所破坏的一切。

或者，不满，沸腾，血流成河。

他们会像母老虎一样迅猛。 

没有人会脱离队伍，尽管各国都在跋涉。

勇气是我的，我拥有神秘；

智慧是我的，我有掌握： 

错过世界退却的步伐

进入没有围墙的虚妄城堡。

当鲜血堵塞了战车的车轮 

我会上前用甘甜的井水洗净它们、

甚至用那些深得无法玷污的真理。

我将毫不吝啬地倾注我的灵魂

但不是在伤口上，不是在战争的泥潭里。

没有伤口的地方，也有人额头流血。

"我是你杀死的敌人，我的朋友。

我在这黑暗中认识了你：因为你皱着眉头

昨天，当你刺杀我时，你的目光穿过了我。

我招架了，但我的手又冰又冷。

让我们睡吧。 . . ."

注释：

诗歌朗读参与者：2014 年 5 月对标点符号、断句和一些词语进行了修改。

来源：《威尔弗雷德-欧文诗集 威尔弗雷德-欧文诗集》，乔恩-斯塔尔沃西编辑（W. W. 诺顿公司，1986 年）

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Strange Meeting

By Wilfred Owen

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It seemed that out of battle I escaped

Down some profound dull tunnel, long since scooped

Through granites which titanic wars had groined.

Yet also there encumbered sleepers groaned,

Too fast in thought or death to be bestirred.

Then, as I probed them, one sprang up, and stared

With piteous recognition in fixed eyes,

Lifting distressful hands, as if to bless.

And by his smile, I knew that sullen hall,— 

By his dead smile I knew we stood in Hell.

With a thousand fears that vision's face was grained;

Yet no blood reached there from the upper ground,

And no guns thumped, or down the flues made moan.

“Strange friend,” I said, “here is no cause to mourn.” 

“None,” said that other, “save the undone years,

The hopelessness. Whatever hope is yours,

Was my life also; I went hunting wild

After the wildest beauty in the world,

Which lies not calm in eyes, or braided hair,

But mocks the steady running of the hour,

And if it grieves, grieves richlier than here.

For by my glee might many men have laughed,

And of my weeping something had been left,

Which must die now. I mean the truth untold,

The pity of war, the pity war distilled.

Now men will go content with what we spoiled.

Or, discontent, boil bloody, and be spilled.

They will be swift with swiftness of the tigress. 

None will break ranks, though nations trek from progress.

Courage was mine, and I had mystery;

Wisdom was mine, and I had mastery: 

To miss the march of this retreating world

Into vain citadels that are not walled.

Then, when much blood had clogged their chariot-wheels, 

I would go up and wash them from sweet wells,

Even with truths that lie too deep for taint.

I would have poured my spirit without stint

But not through wounds; not on the cess of war.

Foreheads of men have bled where no wounds were.

“I am the enemy you killed, my friend.

I knew you in this dark: for so you frowned

Yesterday through me as you jabbed and killed.

I parried; but my hands were loath and cold.

Let us sleep now. . . .”

Notes:

Poetry Out Loud Participants: changes to punctuation, stanza breaks, and a few words were made in May 2014.

Source: The Poems of Wilfred Owen, edited by Jon Stallworthy (W. W. Norton and Company, Inc., 1986)