谢默斯·希尼《一九六九年夏天》

当提防群众的警察用橡皮子弹

向法斯路开火，我只不过是在

马德里遭受强暴太阳的凌辱。

每个下午，在公寓蒸锅般的

酷热中，当我汗流浃背

读完乔伊斯的传记，海鲜市场的腥味

扑鼻而来犹如亚麻坑的恶臭。

感觉就像呆在黑暗角落的儿童，

靠在敞开的窗边的披黑巾老妇，

西班牙运河流出的空气。

我们在平原的星光下一路谈话回家，

那民警的皮制警帽

闪烁如亚麻污水中的鱼肚皮。

“回家吧，”有人说，“向人民靠近。”

另一个从山中招回洛尔迦的亡魂。

我们苦坐着听电视上的死亡人数

和斗牛报道，名人们

从真实事件仍在发生的地方不断到来。

我退到普拉达美术馆的阴凉里。

戈雅《五月三日的枪杀》

盖住了一面墙——那些举起的双手

和反叛者的痉挛，戴头盔

和背包的军队，枪支

扫射的有效斜度。在隔壁

他的梦魇，转移到宫墙之上——

黑色气流，主宰，溃散；农神泰坦

用他自己孩子的血来装饰，

巨人和诸神之战，他蛮横的屁股

在世界之上转动。还有，那河畔低处的决斗，

两个狂暴武士为了荣誉而用棒子

置对手于死地，小腿陷入沼泽，正在下沉。

戈雅用拳头和肘作画，挥舞

他心中染血的斗牛披风，一如历史的控诉。

翻译 / 贾勤

Summer 1969

When the Constabulary covered the mob

Firing into the Falls, I was suffering

Only the bullying sun of Madrid.

Each afternoon, in the casserole heat

Of the flat, as I sweated my way through

The life of Joyce, stinks from the fishmarket

Rose like the reek off a flax-dam.

At night on the balcony, gules of wine,

A sense of children in their dark corners,

Old women in black shawls near open windows,

The air a canyon rivering in Spanish.

We talked our way home over starlight plains

Where patent leather of the Guardia Civil

Gleamed like fish-bellies in flax-poisoned waters.

"Go back", one said, try to touch the people."

Another conjured Lorca from his hill.

We sat through death counts and bullfight reports

On the television, celebrities

Arrived from where the real thing still happened.

I retreated to the cool of the Prado.

Goya's "Shootings of the Third of May"

Covered a wall- the thrown-up arms

And spasm of the rebel, the helmeted

And knapsacked military, the efficient

Rake of the fusillade. In the next room

His nightmares, grafted to the palace wall-

Dark cyclones, hosting breaking; Saturn

Jewelled in the blood of his own children,

Gigantic Chaos turning his brute hips

Over the world. Also, that holmgang

Where two berserks club each other to death

For honour's sake, greaved in a bog, sinking.

He painted with his fists and elbows, flourished

The stained cape of his heart as history charged.

Seamus Heaney