Two English Poems

博尔赫斯的诗中最最最最最喜欢的一首，尝试翻译了一下，翻译的比较放飞，没有逐字逐句。

我认为以普遍价值导向而论，这首诗是非常扭曲的。市面上的翻译太过阳光了，有些偏负面的词汇也翻译成了正面。个人感觉博尔赫斯就是那种负面的意思，比如最后一句的bribe，其他人很多翻译成“打动”，有点太纯爱了吧！我觉得就是那种“用自己的复杂与悲伤与深沉一步一步诱骗你落入我的陷阱”的感觉。可能只有扭曲的人才可以get到博尔赫斯的复杂的感情。

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我该用什么留住你？

我给你萧索的街道，绝望的落日和属于荒郊的月亮。

我给你一个久久望着孤月的人的悲哀。

我给你我的先人的，我那死去的祖辈的，被后人以铜像敬畏着的灵魂：

我父亲的父亲，战死在布宜诺斯艾利斯的前线，两颗子弹穿过他的胸膛，

被他的士兵裹在牛皮中，带着胡须光荣地死亡；

我母亲的祖父，二十四岁时率领三百人在秘鲁冲锋，最后在马背上消亡。

我给你我在书中一切的领悟，我给你我一生中一切的幽默与男子气。

我给你一个从未有过信仰的人的忠诚。

我给你我小心翼翼保存的，我最柔软的内心，

不营字造句，不与虚梦交易，

不因时间、玩乐与挫折改变的内心。

我给你一朵你出生前的落日下的黄玫瑰的记忆。

我给你我所认为的，关于你的理解，关于你的理论，关于你的真切而又惊人的信息。

我可以给你我的孤独，

我的黑暗，

我内心的饥渴，

我试图用我的未知，我的危险来捕获你。

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附原文：

Two English Poems

To Beatriz Bibiloni Webster de Bullrich

by Jorge Luis Borges

II

What can I hold you with?

I offer you lean streets, desperate sunsets, the moon of the jagged suburbs.

I offer you the bitterness of a man who has looked long and long at the lonely moon.

I offer you my ancestors, my dead men, the ghosts that living men have honoured in bronze: my father's father killed in the frontier of Buenos Aires, two bullets through his lungs, bearded and dead, wrapped by his soldiers in the hide of a cow; my mother's grandfather --just twentyfour-- heading a charge of three hundred men in Peru, now ghosts on vanished horses.

I offer you whatever insight my books may hold, whatever manliness or humour my life.

I offer you the loyalty of a man who has never been loyal.

I offer you that kernel of myself that I have saved, somehow --the central heart that deals not in words, traffics not with dreams, and is untouched by time, by joy, by adversities.

I offer you the memory of a yellow rose seen at sunset, years before you were born.

I offer you explanations of yourself, theories about yourself, authentic and surprising news of yourself.

I can give you my loneliness, my darkness, the hunger of my heart; I am trying to bribe you with uncertainty, with danger, with defeat.