那盛大的夜

从昨天开始我会经常站在窗边

伫立着 凝视着你 它看上去像是在警告我离开

这座陌生的城市 其不确定的景观

阴沉沉的 仿佛我不存在 那些近在咫尺的

事物 对我的误解毫不在意 街道

把自己大刺刺推到路灯下面 那一切看上去非常陌生

那里有一个值得同情的房间 在灯光里显现

我开始分享：他们注意到 关闭了百叶窗

我继续站立 然后一个孩子哭了起来 然后我就知道了

房子里面的那些母亲 她们所经历的 还有

那些无休止的哭声带来的不可奈何的哀伤

或者 一个声音开始唱歌 那所预期的

被稍稍地超过了 或者 一个老人在底下咳嗽

声音满是责备 仿佛他的身体正在义正严辞地

跟一个温和的世界抗争 再或者 当整点的钟声响起时

我开始数数 已经太晚了 不得不让它离我而去

就像一个被压制的小男孩 最终被允许加入

接不住球 也几乎无法

去分享那个别人轻而易举玩耍的游戏

只能束手而立 就那么看着 - 还能去哪里呢？- 我站立着 然后 突然

意识到你对我的惺惺相惜 你跟我一起嬉戏 长大

夜 我就这么凝视着你。高楼大厦

汹涌澎湃， 城市 带着它隐秘的命运

在我的身边环绕，不可预测的山脉

在我面前安营扎寨，陌生感 在越来越窄小的圈子里

饥渴地围绕着我偶然的感知之光徘徊：

然后 盛大的夜

你毫无怯意地承认了我 你的呼吸

笼罩我 你的微笑 带着

那所有的广阔的果 传递给我进入我

—- —

译者语

这首诗的英译版本我只在 “欧洲艺术” （“Art of Europe “）的网站上看到，因为这唯一，曾经不确定它的原作者是不是里尔克，然而这首诗遣词造句，想象比喻和描述事物的方式带着非常浓烈的里尔克色彩，不容我怀疑。

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The Great Night

I'd often stand at the window started the day before,

stand and stare at you. It all seemed to warn me off,

the strange city, whose unconfiding landscape

gloomed as though I didn't exist. The nearest

things didn't mind if I misunderstood them. The street

would thrust itself up to the lamp, and I'd see it was strange.

A sympathisable room up there, revealed in the lamplight:

I'd begin to share: they'd notice, and close the shutters.

I'd stand. Then a child would cry, and I'd know the mothers

in the houses, what they availed, and I'd know as well

the inconsolable grounds of infinite crying.

Or else a voice would sing, and what was expected

be just a little surpassed; or an old man coughed below,

full of reproach, as if his body were in the right

against a gentler world. Or else, when an hour was striking,

I'd begin to count too late and let it escape me.

As a strangle little boy, when at last they invite him to join them,

cannot catch the ball, and is quite unable

to share the game the rest are so easily playing,

but stands and gazes - whither? - I'd stand, and, all at once,

realize you were being friends with me, playing with me, grown-up

Night, and I'd gaze at you. While towers

were raging, and while, with its hidden fate,

a city stood round me, and undivinable mountains

camped against me, and Strangeness, in narrowing circles,

hungrily prowled round my casual flares of perception:

then, lofty Night,

you were not ashamed to recognize me. Your breathing

went over me; your smile upon all that spacious

consequence passed into me.

(By Rainer Maria Rilke, English transliteration https://www.artofeurope.com/rilke/ril7.htm)