从今年三月到五月,整整三个月,我都在翻译托马斯·温茨洛瓦。坦率地说,那是个痛苦多于快乐的过程,不仅仅是挑战,而且近乎磨难。我不得不从各种缝隙中挤出时间,不得不作出诸多牺牲,让自己进入高度专注的状态,有段时间,推却所有的应酬和活动,索性将自己封闭起来,一首一首地啃着温茨洛瓦的诗。焦虑和忐忑,不时地占据着内心。我就在焦虑和忐忑中度过了春天,或者更准确地说,忘记了春天。 From March to May of this year, for three full months, I was translating Thomas Wintrow. To be frank, it is a process of suffering more than happiness, not just a challenge, but also a near-misery. I had to squeeze the time out of all kinds of gaps and had to make many sacrifices to get myself into a state of high concentration. For some time, I pushed all my social activities and activities and closed myself up one by one. Winterslow’s poem. Anxiety and shyness occupy the heart from time to time. I spent the spring in anxiety and shyness, or more accurately forgot the spring.