NotesNearing Ninety: Learning to Write Less

By Donald Hall

August 8, 2018

Donald Hall, who died in June this year at the age of eighty-nine, was a prolific poet, essayist, and editor whose work has had an enormous

impact on American letters. He was The Paris Review’s first poetry editor, and he served as the U.S. poet laureate. His Art of Poetry interview appeared in our Fall 1991 issue. Before his death, he compiled one final book of essays, A Carnival ofLosses: Notes Nearing Ninety, an excerpt from which appears below. 唐纳德·霍尔(Donald Hall)于今年6月去世，享年89岁。他是一位多产的诗人、散文家和编辑，他的作品对美国文学产生了巨大影响。他是《巴黎评论》的第一位诗歌编辑，也是美国桂冠诗人。他的《诗艺访谈》刊登在我们1991年秋季刊上。在他去世前，他汇编了最后一本随笔，《损失的狂欢:接近90的笔记》(A Carnival of Losses: Notes)，节选如下。

When I was sixteen, I read ten books a week: E. E. Cummings, William Faulkner,Henry James, Hart Crane, John Steinbeck. I thought I progressed in literature by reading faster and faster—but reading more is reading less.I learned to slow down. Thirty years later, in New Hampshire with Jane, I made a living by freelance writing all day, so I read books only at night. Jane went to sleep quickly and didn’t mind the light on my side of the bed. I read The Decline and Fall of the Roman Empireandsix huge volumes of Henry Adams’s letters. I read the late novels of HenryJames over and over again. After Jane died, I kept reading books, at first onlymurderous or violent writers like Cormac McCarthy. Today I am forty years olderthan Jane ever got to be, and I realize I haven’t finished reading a book in ayear.

十六岁的时候，我每周要读十本书。从卡明斯到威廉·福克纳，从亨利·詹姆斯到哈特·克莱恩还有约翰·斯坦贝克，都读过。我原以为在文学方面的进步是可以通过多读快读来实现的——但多而不精不如少读。所以，我学会让自己慢下来。三十年后，我和简在新罕布什尔州，靠自由撰稿为生，所以我只能在晚上读书。简很快就睡着了，并不在意我这边的灯。那时，我读了《罗马帝国的衰亡》和亨利·亚当斯的六卷巨著。我一遍又一遍地读亨利·詹姆斯的晚期小说。直到简去世后，我还保持着阅读的习惯，起初只是读些像科马克麦卡锡(Cormac McCarthy)这样的暴力犯罪类小说。如今，简去世四十年了，我发现自己已经一整年都没读完一本书了。

An athlete goes professional at twenty.At thirty, he is slower but more canny. At forty, he leaves behind the identity that he was born to and that sustained him. He diminishes into fifty, sixty, seventy. Anyone ambitious who lives to be old or even oldendures the inevitable loss ofambition’s fulfillment. In a Hollywood retirement home to meet a friend, Iwatched a handsome old woman in a wheelchair, unrecognizable,leap up in ecstasy when I walked toward her.“An interview!” she said. “An interview!” A writerusually works until late in life. When I was eighty, still doing frequentpoetry readings, audiences stood and clapped when I concluded, and kept onclapping until I shushed them. Of course I stayed to sign book after book andreturned to my hotel understanding that they applauded so much because theywould never see me again.

一个运动员在20岁时当上职业运动员。到了三十岁，他的动作就不那么灵活了，但会更老到。接着，到了四十岁，他就会从这份能代表自己天份和地位的职业中隐退。然后，到了五十岁、六十岁、七十岁，他就会离运动员的身份越来越远。任何有雄心的人，活到老之又老之际，都不免会慢慢地丧失盛年的壮志。有一次，我去好莱坞一家养老院看一位朋友，我望着一位坐在轮椅上的漂亮老女人，她已经老得让我一时认不出来。当我走向她时，她兴奋地跳了起来。“你又来采访我了!”她叫着。“你又来采访我了!” 作家通常工作到晚年。我80岁的时候，仍然经常当众朗读诗歌。我读完的时候，听众们全都站起身来为我鼓掌，我要示意他们才肯停下来。然后，我留下来为一本又一本书签名。就在我回到自己住的旅馆后，我才明白他们鼓掌那么热烈是因为，他们可能以后再也见不到我了。

Suppose I am the hundred-fifty-year-oldmaple outside my porch. When winter budges toward spring, I push out tinyleaves, which gradually curl yellowish green, then enlarge, turning darkergreen and flourishing through summer. In September, flecks of orange seep intogreen, and October turns the leaves gorgeously orange and red. Leaves fall,emptying the branches, and in December, only a few remain. In January, the lastsurvivors flutter down onto snow. These black leaves are the words I write.

假如我是自家门廊外那棵150岁高龄的老枫树。冬去春来，我伸出嫩芽，黄绿色的叶片再逐渐展开，长大，变成一片翠绿；接着，在整个夏天里蔚然盛放；进入九月，一片片的绿叶会开始显现出斑斑点点的橙色；到了十月，树叶就会变成灿烂的金黄，开始慢慢掉落，枝丫也跟着裸露出来；十二月，叶子所剩无几；终于在一月，留在枝头的最后几片也稀稀拉拉地飘落在雪地上，变成眼前我正写的这些文字。

Back then, I wrote all day, getting up at five. By this time, I rise scratchy at six or twitch in bed until seven. I drink coffee before I pick up a pen. I look through the newspaper. I try to write all morning, but exhaustion shuts me down by ten o’clock. I dictate a letter. I nap. I rise to a lunch of crackers and peanut butter, followed by further exhaustion. At night I watch baseball on television, and between innings run through the New York Times Book Review. I roll over all night. Breakfast.Coffee.

那时，我从五点起床开始，一写就是一整天。而现在，我要睡到六七点才会因为浑身痛痒难耐而转醒。接着，我喝完咖啡，抓起笔，浏览报纸。我努力着想在整个上午能写出点东西，可10点钟还没到就已经累得精疲力竭。口述完一封信，我需要午休一下。接着，我起床吃上一顿只有饼干和花生酱的简单午餐，吃完却更累了。晚上我看电视节目里的棒球赛，在两局之间抓紧浏览《纽约时报书评》。接着，我整夜翻来覆去睡不着。然后，又是早餐，咖啡。

When Jane was alive, our dog Gus neededwalking every day. Jane walked him when she woke, feeling sleepy beforebreakfast. When they left, I lifted my hand from the page, waving goodbye.Midday, we had lunch and a nap, and then I walked Gus. In my car, I drove himup New Canada, the dirt road near our house, and parked where the single lanewidened. We walked the flat earth, not for long because I wanted to get back tothe manuscript again. Now when someone brings a dog to the house, I barricademyself in a big chair. An attentive dog would break my hip.

简还在的时候，我家的狗格斯每天都要遛一遛。简醒来之后去遛狗，到吃早饭的时候她会犯困。简和格斯出门时，我放下稿子挥手跟他们道别。中午，我们吃过午饭，睡个午觉，醒来之后，该我去遛狗。我开着车，载着他沿着我们家附近的一条土路——新加拿大路——行驶，然后，把车停在开阔的单行道上。我们走在平坦的路上，没走多久就回去了，因为我想再看一遍手稿。现在，要是有人带条狗进我的屋子，我会老老实实坐在一把大椅子上。一条来献殷勤的狗就毁得了我的老腰。

Louise is my cat. Ten years ago, hervigorous sister Thelma squirmed out of the house and discovered Route 4. Myassistant Kendel dug a hole, and we set a half-barrel over the grave to impedehungry animals from enjoying a Thelma snack. Louise is passive, too shy toscoot through an open door. At night, when I watch MSNBC, she annoys me byrubbing my knee, but she never knocks me over.

路易斯是我的猫。十年前，她精力充沛的妹妹塞尔玛爬出家门，结果被发现死在四号公路上。我的助理肯德尔挖了一个坑把它埋了，并且在坟墓上放了半桶水，防止饥饿的动物吃掉塞尔玛的点心。路易丝则性格内向腼腆，门开着都不敢跑出屋外。晚上，当我看MSNBC的节目时，她摩挲着我的膝盖来找我玩，还好我还从来没被她打翻在地过。

Striving to pay the mortgage in thelate seventies and eighties, some years I published four books. Now it takes mea month to finish seven hundred words. Here they are.

七十年代末到八十年代初那几年，为努力偿还抵押贷款，我出版了四本书。现在，700来个字花了我一个多月才写完。就是你眼前的这篇。

Donald Hall (1928–2018) served as the U.S. poet laureate from 2006 to 2007.He was a member of the American Academy of Arts and Letters and a recipient ofthe National Medal of the Arts.

唐纳德·霍尔(1928-2018)从2006年到2007年担任美国桂冠诗人。他是美国艺术与文学学院的成员，也是美国国家艺术奖章的获得者。

“Seven Hundred Words” excerpted from A Carnival of Losses:

Notes Nearing Ninety,by Donald Hall. Copyright © 2018 by Donald Hall. Used bypermission of Houghton Mifflin Harcourt. All rights reserved.

《700字》节选自唐纳德·霍尔(Donald Hall)的《损失狂欢:接近90的笔记》(Carnival of loss: Notes)。版权©2018年唐纳德大厅。由霍顿·米夫林·哈科特许可使用。保留所有权利。