英诗汉译：能使你感到温暖的事物

作者：Neil Gaiman

译者：武夷山©

    博主：英国作家Neil Gaiman（生于1960年）是联合国难民高级事务专员署的亲善大使。2019年12月，他创作了下面这首诗。他主张各国政府和百姓要善待难民。他的政策主张是否切实可行暂且不谈，但这首诗写得实在是好。

能使你感到温暖的事物

冬夜里的烤土豆，你可以用双手捧着它焐手

它也会烫着你的嘴。

你妈妈灵巧的手指织出的毯子。

或是你奶奶灵巧的手指织出的毯子。

当你从雪中走进屋子或从屋里走到雪中

遭遇的一个微笑，一个触碰，一段信任，

冻得通红的耳尖。

老房子里暖气片刚通水时的突突声。

钻在被毯里面，躺在床上从梦里苏醒，

顶要紧的是从冷到暖的状态转变，你想

在面对寒气之前再赖它一分钟。只要一分钟。

我们小时候睡过的地方：它们仍在记忆中温暖着我们。

我们从外面跋涉到里面。

走到壁炉的橙色火焰跟前

或是走到炉子里燃烧的木柴跟前

或是走到窗玻璃上的冰花跟前，

然后用指甲抠去冰花，或是用整只手将它焐化。

待在阴影里的地上霜，等着我们。

系上围巾。穿上外套。穿上毛衣。穿上厚袜。戴上厚手套。

睡在我俩之间的宝宝。一群狗狗，

一窝猫咪。进来吧。进来就安全了。

一壶水在火上吱吱叫。你的家人和朋友在那里。他们笑着。

无论是可可豆还是巧克力，茶还是咖啡，汤还是托迪酒，你知道自己要什么。

热的交换，他们给你喝的，你端起杯子

开始融化。而在外面，对于我们当中的某些人，其旅程刚刚开始

我们离开祖父母的房子

离开我们从小就熟悉的地方；改变状态

改变国家，

跌跌撞撞地穿过戈壁滩，或是挺进深邃的水体，

此时食物、朋友、家园、床铺，甚至一张毛毯，都成为记忆中的奢侈品。

有时候，只需要陌生人在暗处

递过一个哪怕织得很糟的围巾，来一句温馨的话，

说我们有权利呆在这里，让我们在最寒冷的季节里感到温暖。

我们有权利呆在这里。

原诗如下：

WHAT YOU NEED TO BE WARM
by Neil Gaiman

A baked potato of a winter’s night to wrap your hands around or burn your mouth.
A blanket knitted by your mother’s cunning fingers. Or your grandmother’s.
A smile, a touch, trust, as you walk in from the snow
or return to it, the tips of your ears pricked pink and frozen.

The tink tink tink of iron radiators waking in an old house.
To surface from dreams in a bed, burrowed beneath blankets and comforters,
the change of state from cold to warm is all that matters, and you think
just one more minute snuggled here before you face the chill. Just one.

Places we slept as children: they warm us in the memory.
We travel to an inside from the outside. To the orange flames of the fireplace
or the wood burning in the stove. Breath-ice on the inside of windows,
to be scratched off with a fingernail, melted with a whole hand.

Frost on the ground that stays in the shadows, waiting for us.
Wear a scarf. Wear a coat. Wear a sweater. Wear socks. Wear thick gloves.
An infant as she sleeps between us. A tumble of dogs,
a kindle of cats and kittens. Come inside. You’re safe now.

A kettle boiling at the stove. Your family or friends are there. They smile.
Cocoa or chocolate, tea or coffee, soup or toddy, what you know you need.
A heat exchange, they give it to you, you take the mug
and start to thaw. While outside, for some of us, the journey began

as we walked away from our grandparents’ houses
away from the places we knew as children: changes of state and state and state,
to stumble across a stony desert, or to brave the deep waters,
while food and friends, home, a bed, even a blanket become just memories.

Sometimes it only takes a stranger, in a dark place,
to hold out a badly-knitted scarf, to offer a kind word, to say
we have the right to be here, to make us warm in the coldest season.

You have the right to be here.