The Mountain

The mountain held the town as in a shadow I saw so much before I slept there once: I noticed that I missed stars in the west, Where its black body cut into the sky. Near me it seemed: I felt it like a wall Behind which I was sheltered from a wind. And yet between the town and it I found, When I walked forth at dawn to see new things, Were fields, a river, and beyond, more fields. The river at the time was fallen away, And made a widespread brawl on cobble-stones; But the signs showed what it had done in spring; Good grass-land gullied out, and in the grass Ridges of sand, and driftwood stripped of bark. I crossed the river and swung round the mountain. And there I met a man who moved so slow With white-faced oxen in a heavy cart, It seemed no hand to stop him altogether. "What town is this?" I asked. "This? Lunenburg." Then I was wrong: the town of my sojourn, Beyond the bridge, was not that of the mountain, But only felt at night its shadowy presence. "Where is your village? Very far from here?" "There is no village--only scattered farms. We were but sixty voters last election. We can't in nature grow to many more: That thing takes all the room!" He moved his goad. The mountain stood there to be pointed at. Pasture ran up the side a little way, And then there was a wall of trees with trunks: After that only tops of trees, and cliffs Imperfectly concealed among the leaves. A dry ravine emerged from under boughs Into the pasture. "That looks like a path. Is that the way to reach the top from here?-- Not for this morning, but some other time: I must be getting back to breakfast now." "I don't advise your trying from this side. There is no proper path, but those that have Been up, I understand, have climbed from Ladd's. That's five miles back. You can't mistake the place: They logged it there last winter some way up. I'd take you, but I'm bound the other way." "You've never climbed it?" "I've been on the sides Deer-hunting and trout-fishing. There's a brook That starts up on it somewhere--I've heard say Right on the top, tip-top--a curious thing. But what would interest you about the brook, It's always cold in summer, warm in winter. One of the great sights going is to see It steam in winter like an ox's breath, Until the bushes all along its banks Are inch-deep with the frosty spines and bristles-- You know the kind. Then let the sun shine on it!" "There ought to be a view around the world From such a mountain--if it isn't wooded Clear to the top." I saw through leafy screens Great granite terraces in sun and shadow, Shelves one could rest a knee on getting up-- With depths behind him sheer a hundred feet; Or turn and sit on and look out and down, With little ferns in crevices at his elbow. "As to that I can't say. But there's the spring, Right on the summit, almost like a fountain. That ought to be worth seeing." "If it's there. You never saw it?" "I guess there's no doubt About its being there. I never saw it. It may not be right on the very top: It wouldn't have to be a long way down To have some head of water from above, And a good distance down might not be noticed By anyone who'd come a long way up. One time I asked a fellow climbing it To look and tell me later how it was." "What did he say?" "He said there was a lake Somewhere in Ireland on a mountain top." "But a lake's different. What about the spring?" "He never got up high enough to see. That's why I don't advise your trying this side. He tried this side. I've always meant to go And look myself, but you know how it is: It doesn't seem so much to climb a mountain You've worked around the foot of all your life. What would I do? Go in my overalls, With a big stick, the same as when the cows Haven't come down to the bars at milking time? Or with a shotgun for a stray black bear? 'Twouldn't seem real to climb for climbing it." "I shouldn't climb it if I didn't want to-- Not for the sake of climbing. What's its name?" "We call it Hor: I don't know if that's right." "Can one walk around it? Would it be too far?" "You can drive round and keep in Lunenburg, But it's as much as ever you can do, The boundary lines keep in so close to it. Hor is the township, and the township's Hor-- And a few houses sprinkled round the foot, Like boulders broken off the upper cliff, Rolled out a little farther than the rest." "Warm in December, cold in June, you say?" "I don't suppose the water's changed at all. You and I know enough to know it's warm Compared with cold, and cold compared with warm. But all the fun's in how you say a thing." "You've lived here all your life?" "Ever since Hor Was no bigger than a----" What, I did not hear. He drew the oxen toward him with light touches Of his slim goad on nose and offside flank, Gave them their marching orders and was moving.

有一种东西不喜欢墙壁， 它使冻结的地面在墙壁下膨胀， 在阳光中倒出地表的大石头； 甚至使裂纹超过了两人并起的肩膀。 猎人毁墙则是另一件事情： 我要跟在他们后面修复他们经过 且不把石头放回原处的地方， 他们还会让兔子不再躲藏， 以取悦那吠叫的狗。我所说的裂纹， 没有人看见或听见它们怎样形成， 但在春天修补的时候便会看到千疮百孔。 我约了那位山那边的邻居； 在某天我们走到那断墙并见了面 又一次将墙壁搁置在了我们中间。 我们边走边把破的墙补上， 用落向各自墙角的所有石头。 有些如同面包片有些则类似球形 我们要用一段符咒来使它们平衡： “我们转身之前，请留在你所在的位置！” 处理它们使我们的手磨得粗糙。 哦，像是另一种户外游戏， 一个站一边。有点感觉了： 其实这里是我们不需墙壁的地方： 他那儿全都是松树而我的是苹果园。 我告诉他，我的苹果树绝不会 穿越过去在他的松树下吃松果。 他只说，“只有好栅栏才能促成好邻居。” 在我心里春天是个危害，我在想 我能否在他脑中放置这样一个想法： “为什么栅栏能促成好邻居？难道它 不该竖在有奶牛的地方？但是这儿没奶牛。 在我建墙壁之前我就该知道 我做围墙是想围住以及隔开什么， 我又可能会得罪谁。 有些东西不喜欢墙壁， 希望墙壁倒下。”我会对他说那是“小精灵”， 但正确说那不是，我宁可 让他自己说那是什么。我看他在那里 用双手尖紧紧抓着 块石头，像原始人的石器武装。 在我看来他在黑暗中移动， 不止是木头还有树木的阴影。 他不会去探究父辈所说的话， 他倒喜欢想起这一句所以会又 说，“只有好栅栏才能促成好邻居。”

“你知道猎户座经常从路头上来。 先是一条腿穿过我们栅栏似的群山， 然后升起手臂，它看着我 用灯笼光在户外忙碌于某些 我该在白天完成的 什么事情。确实， 大地结冻后，我则是做它结冻 之前应完成的，阵风将一些 无用的落叶丢进我冒烟的 灯罩，取笑我所做事情的方式， 或取笑猎户座让我着迷了。 我应该问问，一个人，难道 没有权利关心这些冥冥的影响力？” 那么布雷·麦克罗林轻率地把 空中的星星与杂乱的农事混合， 直到不再做那杂乱的农事， 他为着火灾保险金将房子全部烧毁了 然后用得来的钱买了台望远镜 以此满足我们在无穷宇宙之中 所在之地里的——毕生好奇心。 “你想要那该死的东西干什么？” 我预先问他，“你不是有一个！” “不要把它叫该死；没有什么 比起在我们人类打斗中所用的武器 更为无过失，”他说， “如果我卖掉农场我就要买一个。” 在那里他为着耕地而搬走了石块 且在他所不能搬动的石块之间耕着， 农场几乎不好转手；他花费了时间 想卖掉自己的农场却卖不掉， 他便为着火灾保险将房子全部烧毁 然后用所得的买了台望远镜。 有几个人都听他这样说： “在我们这儿最美的事就是观看； 最让我们看得远的东西就是 望远镜。似乎每个城镇都应该 有人，来给城镇弄到一个。 在利特尔顿的人还是我最好。” 在这样大开口后他烧毁了自己的房子 并且做了他想做的，这实在没什么惊奇。

可那天冷笑声在城镇里四处走动 而让他知道我们一点也没受骗， 他就等着吧——我们明天要注意他。 但第二天早晨我们首先所想的 就是一个人最小的过失， 若是我们一个接一个地数点， 那么很快我们就会形只影单。 因为要彼此来往就要变得仁慈。 我们的盗贼，那个从我们那里偷窃的， 我们没有拒绝他来教堂参加圣餐仪式， 但为着所丢失的我们会到他那里去索取。 如若东西依然没被吃，没有弄坏， 或者没有处理掉，他会迅速地将它归还。 所以不要因为布雷的望远镜 而对他太刻薄。毕竟他超过了 得到这样一份圣诞礼物的年龄， 他要用自己所知道的最好方法 给自己提供一个。好，我们所要说的就是 他以为这件奇怪的事情已蒙混过关。 有人将同情浪费在了那房屋上， 是一幢不错的古老的原木房屋； 但它没有感情；房屋不会 有任何感觉。如果它有， 为什么不把当看作如同祭品一样的呢， 一个过时的火祭， 取代了新式的亏本拍卖？

树在我的窗前，窗前的树， 当夜幕降临我放下窗扉； 但绝没有拉下窗帘 在你和我之间。

含混的梦首举出了地面， 事情差不多都漫散到云端， 并非你的所有高谈阔论 都能将深奥显现。

有人说世界将终止于火, 有人说将终止于冰。 依据我对于欲望的体验 我赞同那些倾向火的人。 但如果不得不毁灭两次, 我认为我懂得十分憎恨 去说那毁灭的原因 冰同样伟大绝伦 会满足如此重任。

我想我认识这树林的主人， 不过他的住房在村庄里面。 他不会看到我正停于此处， 观赏他的树林被积雪淤满。

我的小马定以为荒唐古怪， 停下来没有靠近农舍一间， 于树林和冰洁的湖滨当中， 在这一年中最阴暗的夜晚。

长梯穿过树顶，竖起两个尖端 刺向沉静的天穹。 梯子脚下，有一只木桶， 我还没给装满，也许 还有两三个苹果留在枝头 我还没摘下。不过这会儿， 我算是把摘苹果这活干完了。 夜晚在散发着冬眠的气息 ——那扑鼻的苹果香； 我是在打磕睡啦。 我揉揉眼睛， 却揉不掉眼前的奇怪—— 这怪景像来自今天早晨， 我从饮水槽里揭起一层冰—— 像一块窗玻璃，隔窗望向 一个草枯霜重的世界。 冰溶了，我由它掉下．碎掉。 可是它还没落地，我早就 膘膘肪脆，快掉进了睡乡。 我还说得出，我的梦 会是怎么样一个形状。 膨胀得好大的苹果，忽隐忽现， 一头是梗枝，一头是花儿， 红褐色的斑点，全看得请。 好酸疼哪．我的脚底板． 可还得使劲吃住梯子档的分量， 我感到那梯子 随着弯倒的树枝，在摇晃。 耳边只听得不断的隆隆声—— 一桶又一捅苹果往地窖里送。 摘这么些苹果， 尽够我受了；我本是盼望 来个大丰收，可这会儿已累坏了， 有千千万万的苹果你得去碰， 得轻轻地去拿，轻轻地去放． 不能往地上掉。只要一掉地， 即使没碰伤，也没叫草梗扎破， 只好全都堆在一边，去做苹果酒， 算是不值一钱。 你看吧，打扰我睡一觉的是什么， 且不提这算不算睡一觉。 如果土拨鼠没有走开， 听我讲睡梦怎样来到我身边， 那它就可以说， 这跟它的冬眠倒有些像， 或者说，这不过是人类的冬眠。

（方平译）

我让自己进入了那厨房的门。

“是你，”她说。“我不能起来。原谅我 没有答应你敲门。我不会请他们 进来，就像我不能不让人进来。 我告诉他们我老得不行了。 我的用处就是我的手指还能忙活 也让我从中得些安慰。我能够缝补： 我能帮人家做珠饰活。”