变老

在某些个夏天里 有许多的水果

农人于是决定不再采撷

没有能够把你采撷 那些个日啊

那些个夜 我是不是 把你那优雅的 低垂的

生育之焰 拖引向了灰烬？

那些个日啊 那些个夜 

你负重前行 所有的枝干 都保持了

一个姿态 那个从漫长的分娩过程中 

逐渐挺立起来的姿态

那些个日 那些个夜 啊 我的乡野的朋友！

我寻找过去的日子里予于你的美好

啊 我亲爱的，已经死去了一半的果树

还会不会有同等的甜意

去触摸你的叶片 打开你的花萼？

哈 再也不会有果实了 这只是最后一次的

花开 不会有结果的花开 

没有预计 没有收采 

无待无为无用 如时光百年白驹过隙

～～～～～～～～～～～～

Growing Old

In some summers there is so much fruit,

the peasants decide not to reap any more.

Not having reaped you, oh my days,

my nights, have I let the slow flames

of your lovely produce fall into ashes?

My nights, my days, you have borne so much!

All your branches have retained the gesture

of that long labor you are rising from:

my days, my nights. Oh my rustic friends!

I look for what was so good for you.

Oh my lovely, half-dead trees,

could some equal sweetness still

stroke your leaves, open your calyx?

Ah, no more fruit! But one last time

bloom in fruitless blossoming

without planning, without reckoning,

as useless as the powers of millenia.

（Original poem by Rainer Maria Rilke, translated by A. Poulin）