英诗欣赏 | 诺贝尔文学奖得主路易丝•格吕克和她的诗
路易丝·伊丽莎白·格吕克（ Louise Elisabeth Glück），1943年4月22日出生于美国纽约。著名诗人兼散文作家、耶鲁大学教授。代表作品有《阿喀琉斯的胜利》、《野鸢尾》等。因其“清晰无误的诗音、带着朴素的美，让个体存在带有了普遍性” ，她荣获2020年诺贝尔文学奖获，此外还获得更多奖项：
普利策诗歌奖（1993）
博林根奖（2001）
美国诗人桂冠（2003–2004）
国家图书奖（2014）
国家人文奖章（2015） 以下是她的几首著名英诗：First Snow
Like a child, the earth’s going to sleep,
or so the story goes.
But I’m not tired, it says.
And the mother says, You may not be tired but I’m tired—
You can see it in her face, everyone can.
So the snow has to fall, sleep has to come.
Because the mother’s sick to death of her life
and needs silence.
The Wild Iris
At the end of my suffering
there was a door.
Hear me out: that which you call death
I remember.
Overhead, noises, branches of the pine shifting.
Then nothing. The weak sun
flickered over the dry surface.
It is terrible to survive
as consciousness
buried in the dark earth.
Then it was over: that which you fear, being
a soul and unable
to speak, ending abruptly, the stiff earth
bending a little. And what I took to be
birds darting in low shrubs.
You who do not remember
passage from the other world
I tell you I could speak again: whatever
returns from oblivion returns
to find a voice:
from the center of my life came
a great fountain, deep blue
shadows on azure seawater.
A Village Life
The death and uncertainty that await me
as they await all men, the shadows evaluating me
because it can take time to destroy a human being,
the element of suspense
needs to be preserved—
On Sundays I walk my neighbor’s dog
so she can go to church to pray for her sick mother.
The dog waits for me in the doorway. Summer and winter
we walk the same road, early morning, at the base of the escarpment.
Sometimes the dog gets away from me—for a moment or two,
I can’t see him behind some trees. He’s very proud of this,
this trick he brings out occasionally, and gives up again
as a favor to me—
Afterward, I go back to my house to gather firewood.
I keep in my mind images from each walk:
monarda growing by the roadside;
in early spring, the dog chasing the little gray mice
so for a while it seems possible
not to think of the hold of the body weakening, the ratio
of the body to the void shifting,
and the prayers becoming prayers for the dead.
Midday, the church bells finished. Light in excess:
still, fog blankets the meadow, so you can’t see
the mountain in the distance, covered with snow and ice.
When it appears again, my neighbor thinks
her prayers are answered. So much light she can’t control her happiness—
it has to burst out in language. Hello, she yells, as though
that is her best translation.
She believes in the Virgin the way I believe in the mountain,
though in one case the fog never lifts.
But each person stores his hope in a different place.
I make my soup, I pour my glass of wine.
I’m tense, like a child approaching adolescence.
Soon it will be decided for certain what you are,
one thing, a boy or girl. Not both any longer.
And the child thinks: I want to have a say in what happens.
But the child has no say whatsoever.
When I was a child, I did not foresee this.
Later, the sun sets, the shadows gather,
rustling the low bushes like animals just awake for the night.
Inside, there’s only firelight. It fades slowly;
now only the heaviest wood’s still
flickering across the shelves of instruments.
I hear music coming from them sometimes,
even locked in their cases.
When I was a bird, I believed I would be a man.
That’s the flute. And the horn answers,
When I was a man, I cried out to be a bird.
Then the music vanishes. And the secret it confides in me
vanishes also.
In the window, the moon is hanging over the earth,
meaningless but full of messages.
It’s dead, it’s always been dead,
but it pretends to be something else,
burning like a star, and convincingly, so that you feel sometimes
it could actually make something grow on earth.
If there’s an image of the soul, I think that’s what it is.
I move through the dark as though it were natural to me,
as though I were already a factor in it.
Tranquil and still, the day dawns.
On market day, I go to the market with my lettuces.
[视频资料] 格吕克诗歌朗读会
McGuffey ® English
For the Well-trained Mind
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