(美)约翰.阿什贝利诗歌草译

剑郭琴符

另一只土豚    （选自 Your Name Here ）    作者：(美)约翰.阿什贝利（John Ashberry）    译者:剑郭琴符    我不能把你的卷发推荐得太高---    也就是说，我不能推荐它们。有时    我希望我能，当你穿着丝绸    你走着，通过猫的盘子，    走进客厅。我希望    有什么方法可以增加一个故事情节，或者说顺口溜，    歌曲，随便你怎么称呼它，    但就是没有。比我们更伟大的东西    靠近，召唤着我们：    他离开大楼了吗？剧院是空的，    真的是空的，它的一排排红色天鹅绒座椅上    没有一个客人，或者鬼魂？    昨晚有个聚会，但我没去，    我受不了喧闹，人们    问你：你喜欢住在    你的新房子里吗？好的。我二十五年前    搬来，但这一切对我来说似乎还是新鲜事，    尤其是水池。那你在浴室里待了    很长时间？不，我说的是我的书，    我珍藏的图书馆。我不明白怎么会有人读    太多的书，你呢？我有妄想症吗？是不是一片森林    正迫近，以它影子的形式，    草丛中的风？我一直    以为你睡着了。我走了很长一段路。    在隔壁结束。埃德又打了那个鬼鬼祟祟的    皮特。我有事情要做，步行去铲除，    在下一班火车之前，而谷物    肯定会跟进它的苏醒。

Another Aardvark    I cannot recommend your curls too highly---    that is, I cannot recommend them. Sometimes    I wish I could, whenas in silks    you go, past the cat’s dish    and on into the living room. I wish    there was some way to add a story-line, or patter,    melody, whatever you want to call it,    but there just isn’t. Something greater    than us approaches, calls down to us:    Has he left the building? Is the theater empty,    really empty, its rows of red velvet seats    devoid of a single guest, or ghost?    There was a party last night but I didn’t go，    Couldn’t stand the ruckus, the questions    people put to you: How do you like living    in your new house? Fine. I moved there twenty-five    years ago, but it all still seems new to me,    the sink especially. Then you spend a lot of time    in the bathroom? No, it was my books I was talking about,    my treasured library. I don’t see how anyone can read    too many books, do you? Am I delusional? Is it a forest    that’s approaching, with its format of shadows,    wind among its grasses? And all this time    I thought you were asleep. I took a long walk.    Ended up next door. Ed had been hitting the sneaky pete    again. And I have things to do, walks to shovel,    before the next train, and the grain    that is sure to follow in its wake.

一定在某地    （选自 Your Name Here ）    作者：(美)约翰.阿什贝利（John Ashberry）    译者:剑郭琴符    逃出第一个包厢，    我漫步到一个用栅栏隔开的竞技场    从那里远处，桃蓝色，可以确定：    方便我生命中    这段时间的冒险。然而，我蠕动进入一个不确定的空间更远    它实际上是一种情绪，或者很多情绪，一种叠加在另一种上    就像礼品包装。    这实际上是应该发生的事情：    决斗的布谷鸟二重唱，结束时获胜者    可以站在我旁边拍照。    唉，事情出了大问题。    因为我现在不能再要求我的正当空间    必须像一个幽灵一样站在人群的边缘    在一段不可预见的时间。    所有这些都是因为我想对别人礼貌。    我们在沙漠里见过面，你看，他希望有一个温暖的地方    不是死沙漠，我说，“为什么不试试我的家乡呢？    冬天很暖和。有时候。”    几天后，在酒店的吧台，我知道他的真名    和他想跟踪我到我所谓的家乡的原因，    在那里我从来没有感到过家的感觉，但也从未梦想过    期望另一个。他说，在法国，我们的曾曾祖母们曾经是    朋友，在玛丽.德.梅迪西斯时代。“无论如何    你现在不能让我失望，既然我跟踪你到这里    看到了你的实际生活。”    那是在恭维吗？我认为不是，    然而，他那明亮眼睛散发的某种东西让我想象    我找到了一个久违的新朋友。“我们去邮局看看吧。”    我提议，他急切地赞成。走在我再也认不出的    狭窄街道上，我有一种渴望的感觉，    就像一首悠长，缓慢的歌，从遥远的塔尖唱出。    我又被拒绝了，但怎么办？什么也没真的发生。    我朋友直视前方，什么也没说。    这是你想去的地方吗？    不多，我知道。水磨石地板，霜冻的玻璃，到处都有    几根黄铜把手，像床柱上的把手。”    “那应该是什么意思，”他说，叹了口气。    “明天我一定在渥太华。    我本想和你呆一整天，但现在天黑了    我的车马上就要离开。”他怎么能这样对我？    够容易，显然。“但是玛丽.德.梅迪西斯呢？”    我结结巴巴地说，当薄雾散去，然后又重新组织其队伍。    “唉，星期二你在渥太华没太多事可做。”    “这就是你想的，”来了简短的回答。现在一切都是黑暗。

Has to Be Somewhere    Having escaped the first box,    I wandered into a fenced-off arena    from which the distance, peach-blue, could be ascertained:    convenient for my adventures    at this period of my life. Yet I wriggled farther into an indeterminate space    that was actually a mood, or many moods, one overlaying another    like gift wrap.    This is actually what was supposed to take place:    a duet of duelling cuckoos, at the close of which the winner    gets to stand next to me for the photo-op.    Alas, things went terribly wrong.    For I can now claim no space as rightfully mine    and must stand at the edge of the crowd like a ghost    for an unforeseeable length of time.    All this because I meant to be polite to someone.    We had met in the desert, you see, and he wished for a warm place    that wasn’t die desert, and I said, “Why not try my hometown?    It’s warm in winter. Sometimes.”    Days later at the hotel bar I learned his real name    and his reason for wanting to trail me to my so-called hometown,    where I had never felt at home, yet never dreamed    of wishing for another. He said our great-great-grandmothers had been friends    in France, in the time of Marie de Médicis. “In any case    you can’t let me down now, now that I’ve tracked you here    and seen how you actually live.”    Was that meant to be a compliment? I suppose not,    yet something in his bright-eyed delivery made me imagine    I’d found a new long-lost friend. “Let’s go visit the post office,”    I proposed, and he eagerly assented. Walking the narrow streets    I would never again recognize, I got this wistful feeling,    like a long, slow song sung from the tip of a distant tower.    I’d been rejected again, yet how? Nothing had really happened.    My friend was looking straight ahead, not saying anything.    Is this the place you wanted to come to?    It’s not much, I know. Terrazzo floor, frosted panes, a bit of brass    handle here and there, like a handle on a bedpost.”    “What’s that supposed to mean,” he said, and sighed.    “Tomorrow I must be in Ottawa.    I’d hoped to spend the whole day with you, but now it’s getting dark    and my bus will be leaving shortly.” How could he do this to me?    Easily enough, apparently. “But what about Marie de Médicis?”    I stammered, as the mist broke and then reformed its ranks.    “Shucks, there’s not much you can do in Ottawa on a Tuesday.”    “That’s what you think,” came the curt reply. Now all is darkness.

堂的遗赠    （选自 Your Name Here ）    作者：(美)约翰.阿什贝利（John Ashberry）    译者:剑郭琴符    像这样的事经常更疯狂    当我把木制的灰狗    沿着它们各自的狭缝滑动时，曾经追逐难以捉摸的野兔    或者那是一种音符，一种异乎寻常的银色音符    只听到过一次，在一艘船的船头    它就像很久以前一样？    无论如何它们是    沮丧的精神追求难以捉摸的精灵，    一阵微风---那是笑声吗？---修剪过的灯芯，不管什么。    我们都知道比赛很快就结束了，快得足够结束。    所以我日复一日喷洒从肥胖的老专辑中的    收藏品，用佛罗里达的水雾，    同时把它们带到判断力的某种东西。    这就是我所能得到的所有痛苦---透过    叛徒窥视孔瞥见胡子，当它向后滑动，    然后合上。荒芜的二月街道仍然呈现出    一种转瞬即逝的魅力，只为它自己所知。    至少我从没见过熟悉它，    知道它的姓的人。    是时候把我的遗产留给    我们都降落其上的土地，某一时刻会    乘着一个涂着丰满颜色的热气球离开。我说    我们可以保留一些葡萄干，你不必把拱起整蒲式耳。    于是它走了，大地在脚下嘎吱作响，    有趣的思想在头上，在天堂的头皮上流淌。    不过，当我看到一小撮这些    流浪汉时，我想大声喊叫。    你们为什么不能都回到激怒和疑惑中去？    是的，这都是我们最擅长的。

The Don’s Bequest    It’s often more crazy like this    as I slide the wooden greyhounds along    their respective slots, ever in pursuit of the elusive hare    or is it a note of music, a particularly silvery one    heard only once, in the bow of a ship    what seems like ages ago?    In any case they are    dispiritingly spirited in quest of the elusive eidolon,    waft of breeze---was that laughter?---trimmed wick, whatever.    And we all know the race ends soon, soon enough to be over.    So I spray this collection of days and hours    from the fat old album with a mist of Florida water,    something to bring them down and to their senses simultaneously.    That’s all I get for my pains---a glimpse    of beard through the judas peephole as it slides back,    then shut. The barren February street still assumes    a fleeting charm, known only to itself.    At least I never met anybody who was familiar with it,    knew its surname.    It’s time to make my bequest to the land    we all landed on, and will be leaving at some point    in a hot-air balloon painted voluminous colors. I said    we could keep some of the currants, you didn’t have to hog the whole bushel.    And so it goes, earth crunching underfoot,    interesting thoughts flowing through the head, the scalp in heaven.    When I see a cabinful of these    wanderers I want to shout, though.    Why can’t you all go back to chafing and wondering?    Yes, that’s what we all do best.

奇怪的电影院    （选自 Your Name Here ）    作者：(美)约翰.阿什贝利（John Ashberry）    译者:剑郭琴符    事实上，我悲伤地来到这里，    没有颤抖，也没有违背我的意愿，    希望你能澄清事实。    你可以，你知道，在一分钟内    如果风向对，没有重罪犯介入。    我们坐着，你告诉我我多疯狂。    我将向其他董事会成员请愿，    但恐怕一事无成。    让这件事发生已经持续太久，    然而，这是对的，如其所为地继续，    即使在正义中有一种    现在没有人能看到的奇怪之处。他们看到夜晚    穿着它的衣服，没编成的辫子，刷洗过，    海浪在远处岩石上海浪翻腾的声音，    只能想到，如果这一切都发生在晚些时候    或不同的时候，那多么神圣。    现在，根据一些来源，    新的改装趋势已是一种商品，    除了沉默，和甜蜜。    小心，小心…    当甜味调整，    为什么，我们会比现在知道的更多。    这就是我能给你的一切，    我失去的，我爱的一个。

Strange Cinema    In sooth, I come here sadly,    not trembling, not against my will,    hoping you will set the record straight.    You can, you know, in a minute    if the wind is right and no felon intervenes.    And we sit and you tell me how crazy I am.    I shall petition the other board members    but am afraid nothing will ever come right.    It has been going on too long for this to happen,    yet it was right to go, to go on as it did,    even if there was a strangeness in the rightness    that no one can now see. They see the night    in its undress, plaits unplaited, brushed,    the sound of the surf churning on distant rocks,    can think only about how heavenly it would have been    if it had all happened later or differently.    Now, according to some sources,    new retrofitting trends are a commodity,    along with silence, and sweetness.    Doucement, doucement...    And when the sweetness is adjusted,    why, we’ll know more than some do now.    That is all I can offer you,    my lost, my loved one.

一颗星星冒出    （选自 Your Name Here ）    作者：(美)约翰.阿什贝利（John Ashberry）    译者:剑郭琴符    她在跳舞中，却忘了    这一切是多么美妙，同时多么平淡。    在银色汽车旅馆外，他们向她致意：    “今天交通太拥挤。”但她没有假装    听见。“我说，他是个大块头先生。”    不停地。地下室没为她保持魔力    也不再为我们。就好像我们回家    吃了一块羊排，它就不见了。    雨从窗户里窥视着    简洁地将其凝视定向于油毡。    所有的激情都从深渊中抽干。    他们不妨把它写在黑板上。    但我还是有太好的时光以至于停止了思考。    经理从头顶冲了过去。现在别把我的毛衣    那样拉开。不过及时施肥会结出樱桃    这位店员喃喃地说。所以我们都忘了把这些呻吟    和苦难已经发生的，回到复仇之夜的那一个呻吟作比较。    我凝视的那一刻，我吻你。

A Star Belched    On she danced, but had forgotten    how fancy it all was, how plain too.    Outside the silver motel they greeted her:    “Lotta traffic today.” But she made no semblant    of hearing. “I say, he’s big sir.”    And on and on. The basement held no magic for her    nor for us anymore. It was as though we had come home    to dine on a single lamb chop, and it was gone.    The rain peered in the window    and directed its gaze succinctly at the linoleum.    All passion had been drained from the deep.    They might as well write it on blackboards.    Yet I was having too good a time to stop thinking yet.    Overhead the manager rushed. Now don’t pull    my sweater away like that. Yet in time manure produces cherries    the clerk murmured. So we all forgot to compare these groans    to the ones suffering had caused, back in the vengeful night.    The moment I stare I kiss you.

受压时    （选自 Your Name Here ）    作者：(美)约翰.阿什贝利（John Ashberry）    译者:剑郭琴符    水手为什么进厕所    晚了？什么星星给花园浇水？    你干着聪明事    在第一次并列。    运气是所有这些力量的合成物。    到那时，经验本身已经经久不衰。    草枯萎了。    他们来吃午饭，似乎穿过薄雾，多年前的一个星期天。    三明治盘子上是一封信，用常春藤写的，    对送信人表示怀疑，    你的叔祖父。    他们徘徊着，万念俱灰。    我们毋庸置疑地长大，被睡眠的钳子逮住，    频繁被利用。    让我回到我不知道的感觉上。    封闭在一个世界，看不到它    变化，没有变得更好有什么问题。    这种并置又发生了，更往前这段时间，带着一种悲哀的优雅。    油漆工已经粉刷了大楼，    我们的屋顶看起来昏昏欲睡。他们，里面的目击者，    他们听说了它一些事情。    我们一直在解脱，直到现在还不确定补丁结束    或者包括了什么。    有人大大咧咧吗？所有的游行都不确定，被云    冲洗，像在泪中的一棵树。    请注意，该箱子已“停产。”

When Pressed    Why has the sailor come in    loo late? What star waters the garden?    You do intelligent things    at the first juxtaposition.    Luck is the composite of all these forces.    By then experience itself has been outlasted.    The grass shrivels.    It seems they came to lunch, through mist, on a Sunday many years ago.    On a sandwich plate was a letter, written in ivy,    casting doubt on the bearer,    your great-uncle.    They lingered, and fell apart.    We grew up impeccably, caught in the vise of sleep,    frequently taken advantage of.    Return me to that sense which I don’t know.    Encased in a world, not seeing anything wrong    with how it grew, not getting better.    The juxtaposition happens again, farther along this time with a rueful elegance.    The painters have whitewashed the building,    our roof looks sleepy. And they, the witnesses inside,    they had heard something of this.    We keep on extricating, not certain the patch is over    or what it included up till now.    Is someone slap-happy? Are all parades uncertain, rinsed    of cloud, like a tree in a tear.    Note that the box has been “discontinued.”

不洁    （选自 Your Name Here ）    作者：(美)约翰.阿什贝利（John Ashberry）    译者:剑郭琴符    你的故事…非常愉快。    我坐下来从头到尾    一口气读了一遍，    不管它是什么。它一摞又一摞。    白色的救护车穿过薄雾互相追逐    鱼游过来，太傲慢    以至于对任何事情都没意见。    这些定时释放的胶囊效果很好    但怎么会有人知道？我们就是    我们开始的地方。这个阴暗的十月天    没人想到，除了爸爸妈妈    坐在门廊上，对天气心存疑虑。    当他们进去时    一切都会结束。    四处寻找一些不纯物    在你水晶般的演讲中，我被一种    只有沉默的蜻蜓才能保持很久的语调所打动。    然后我想起了你哥哥本，    他在遥远的土地上走了这么久。    他会不会开着车回来，    带着从挡泥板上流下的花环，    说出词语“毛毛雨”？哦，本，    我们这么长时间以来都这么喜欢你。    然后你变得令我们难以忍受    仅仅几个片刻，无缘无故。现在    我们觉得我们喜欢你，本。

The Impure    Your story... most enjoyable.    I sat down and read it through from    beginning to end at one sitting,    whatever it is. Reams and reams of it.    White ambulances chase each other through the mist    and the fish swim by, too haughty    to have an opinion on anything.    These timed-release capsules work very well    but how could anyone know that? We are where    we began. This gray October day    that no one could have imagined, save Mama and Papa    sitting on their porch, having doubts about the weather.    When they go inside    it will all be over.    Casting about for some impurities    in your rock-crystal speech, I was struck by a tone    only mute dragonflies can keep up for long.    Then I thought about your brother Ben,    gone so long in the far land.    Would he return with the car,    with garlands flowing from its fenders,    to utter the word “drizzle”？ Oh, Ben,    we liked you so much for such a long time.    Then you became insufferable to us    in just a few moments, for no reason. And now    we think we like you, Ben.

群体条件    （选自 Your Name Here ）    作者：(美)约翰.阿什贝利（John Ashberry）    译者:剑郭琴符    越过边境，不完美的同情在闪烁，    这是迷糊的天空中一组娇小的光的组曲。    大部分重要的事情必须被抹去    这个才能发生。你感兴趣吗，“我的美”？    别的事情无论如何会发生，    更符合你的喜好，也许。然而，我们不能撤销    和每个东西，一份免费的礼物一起到来的性姿态。    现在森林里的刀刃正在移动。    大海叹息着，发现撞击海岸的过程    冗长，无法忍受。当我们年轻和廉价，没有人    跟踪我们时，让我们假装它在背后。嗯，    这并不完全正确：狮子狗有时放学后    跟着我们回家。坐着豪华轿车的男人跟在我们后面    在谨慎的距离，后座上堆满了玫瑰花。    但随着年龄的增长，一个人不能迈进一步    如果没有创造群体条件。男人们像记者    穿着外套，戴着帽子，戴着护目镜，是的，老太太们也，    哼着她们以为我们和她们分担的损失。    忘掉吧。这一切迟早会完蛋。    紫云英继续生长，不知道    今天是否还能生长。    这，我的朋友们，就是生活，想知道总统。

Crowd Conditions    Across the frontier, imperfect sympathies are twinkling,    a petite suite of lights in the gaga sky.    Most of the important things had to be obliterated    for this to happen. Does that interest you, ma jolie?    Something else would have happened in any case,    more to your liking, perhaps. Yet we can’t undo the sexual posture    that comes with everything, a free gift.    Now the blades are shifting in the forest.    The ocean sighs, finding the process of striking the shore    interminable and intolerable. Let’s pretend it’s back when we were young    and cheap, and nobody followed us. Well,    that’s not entirely true: The poodle followed us    home from school sometimes. Men in limousines followed us    at a discreet distance, the back seat banked with roses.    But as we got older one couldn’t take a step    without creating crowd conditions. Men dressed like reporters    in coats and hats with visors, and yes, old ladies too,    crooning about the loss they supposed we shared with them.    Forget it. It all comes undone sooner or later.    The vetch goes on growing, wondering    whether it grew any more today.    Such, my friends, is life, wondered the president.

喜欢看外国电影    （选自 Your Name Here ）    作者：(美)约翰.阿什贝利（John Ashberry）    译者:剑郭琴符    永远留在这里。躺下。    主啊，让我们离开这些绝缘纤维板的    小棚屋，这片棱角分明的灌木丛，    不停地诉说着男人对女人的    爱，女人对男人，男人对    男人，女人对女人和男人，    旅行去一个古老的凉亭    其橘黄色的菱形在这些    骇人听闻的，严肃的脸上投下理性的光芒。    如果我们估量躺在河对岸    那些被压碎的织物都一下，    假装没有梦，没有食欲，那为什么我    会成为我自己种族的控诉者。我无法超越    纽约市边界的绞刑架，    但也许搬走会更好。    你可以清楚地看到一个孩子的眼睛    多变的V型线条，渴望    与其他数百万人同在的优雅。啊别放弃，只是    假装我们在玩大富翁，    我刚刚降落到你的酒店。

Enjoys Watching Foreign Films    To stay here forever. To lie down.    Lord, let us leave these petty shacks    of masonite, this angular scrub-forest,    speaking incessantly of the love of man    for woman, of woman for man, of man    for man, of woman for both woman and man,    and journey to some antique pergola    whose orange lozenges cast the light of reason    on these appalled, formal faces.    And if we size up all that    crushed fabric that lies across the river,    pretending to no dream, no appetite, why then I    will become the accuser of the race in myself. I cannot outrun    the gibbets at the New York City limits,    but perhaps things are better off this way.    You can see clear into the checkered chevrons    of a child’s eyes, thirsting for grace    with the other millions. O don’t give up, just    pretend it’s Monopoly we’re playing,    and I’ve just landed in your hotel.

剑郭琴符

渐显        （选自 Your Name Here ）    作者：(美)约翰.阿什贝利（John Ashberry）    译者:剑郭琴符        在山间不断地迂回，    一些人迷路了，沐浴着水。    其他的蹒跚在一座大城市边缘    就在起义爆发之际。游客，他们被告知，    不应试图逃离，而应享受这个国家真正的    热情好客，其高级酒店，有些带面向大海的客房，    都配有最新的健身设备。    “当然，试着装出一副好面孔，与那些盯着我们看的土著人    表示亲昵。我想知道酒吧什么时候开门，或者他们开了。”        回到弗里森酒店，人们的情绪是一种    克制的责备，就像一个迟到的客人感觉到的那样，即使    道歉已经被作出和被接受。    金属叶状体刷着过道。    偶尔一个孩子会来，总是一言不发，    手里拿着简单的礼物，就像一块兔子的橡皮。        但这完全不能与现实生活相比较，    因为我们认为我们在过去经验它，    甚至是最近的过去。季风，五点开始，    就在精心准备的饮料终于端上的时候，    取消礼貌，迫使大批居民逃离。

Fade In            Continually detouring among the mountains,    some got lost, bathed in freshets.    Others stumbled onto the fringes of a large city    just as revolt was breaking out. Tourists, they were told,    should not try to escape, but enjoy the genuine hospitality    of the country, its superior hotels, some with rooms facing the ocean,    all provided with the latest in fitness equipment.    “Sure, try to put a good face on it, make nice with the natives    staring at us. I wonder when the bars open, or if they do.”        Back at the Hotel Frisson the mood was one    of subdued reproach, such as a tardy guest feels, even    after apologies have been made and accepted.    Metallic fronds brushed against the catwalks.    Every so often a child would come, always silent,    with simple gifts in her hands, like a rabbit eraser.        This couldn’t quite compare with real life though,    as we thought we had experienced it in the past,    even the very recent past. The monsoon, striking at five,    just as elaborate drinks were at last being served,    canceled civility, forcing huge residents to flee.

  

在狗上面        （选自 Your Name Here ）    作者：(美)约翰.阿什贝利（John Ashberry）    译者:剑郭琴符        有趣，它说“隐藏的驱动器。” 《看看你要去哪里！》    我做了，但没有驱动器出现。稍后，也许。        下周收听。我的半空飞行：活生生的，尴尬的存在。    就像控制台广播里说的，没有人能安慰你，    你是你自己的头发和父亲。        不要住在运河附近。鱼的声音    太大。当气压计骤降，它会带走你。    不过，我不太介意热。    正是气压压在我镀锌衬里的胃里    给我带来所有趣事。嘿，我能过来吗？        她走了，给他的二聚体桶缝了衬里    装满了指甲油去污剂    然后离开去了车站。下一班火车要到四十八小时后    才到。没关系，我等一会。它去哪儿了？    哦，很多地方都有李子和狼獾，    但我现在感兴趣的是你成绩单的公文夹。    让我看看。        为什么他们总是用完派对恩惠？    在这里，我再找一些，在地上。    今晚森林的风铃很好    苦汁薄荷滴下美味。        她在接下来的生活中一直在跳舞。    是的，她跳舞，这对她来说并不重要，    尽管其他人都很欣赏她的凝视，她的脚步，她那湿润头发的亮点。        我带你来是为了让自己有所成就。    对不起。我应该把你留在家里，在书夹之间。    哦，但没关系！真的！这来世一直是一个学习的经验。    我正逐渐转向粉笔，带着我们俩和它们一起，    如果早上也没事的话。我保证。    ---    (1)托斯卡：普契尼创作的意大利歌剧《托斯卡》中的女主人公。伊索尔德：瓦格纳乐剧《特里斯坦与伊索尔德》中的女主人公。

Over at the Mutts'            Funny, it says “hidden drive. ” Look where you’re going!    I do, yet no drive emerges. Later on, maybe.        Tune in next week. My midair flight: live, awkward being.    Like the console radio says, none too consolingly,    you are your own hair and father.    Don’t ever live close to a canal. The noise of fish    is ear-splitting. When the barometer plunges it takes you with it.    I don’t mind heat so much, though.    It’s the barometric pressure against my zinc-lined stomach    that makes me come on all funny. Hey, can I come over?        She’s gone and stitched the lining to his dimer pail    filled it with nail polish remover    and left for the station. Next train isn’t till forty-eight hours    from now. That’s all right, I’ll wait. Where does it go?    Oh, lots of places that have plums and wolverines in them,    but it’s the jacket of your report card that interests me now.    Let me see it.        Why is it they always run out of party favors?    Here, I’ll look for some more, on the ground.    The forest wind-chimes are favorable tonight    and the horehound drops toothsome.        She was dancing in the next part of her living.    Yes, she danced, and it didn’t matter to her,    though others admired her gaze, her step, her hair’s moist highlights.        I brought you over to make something out of myself.    I’m sorry. I should have left you at home, between the bookends.    Oh, but it’s all right! Really! This afterlife has been a learning experience.    I am gradually turning to chalk, taking both of us with them,    and if it’ll be all right in the morning too. I guarantee it.

  

（选自  Chinese Whispers ）    作者：(美)约翰.阿什贝利（John Ashberry）    译者:剑郭琴符

（选自  Chinese Whispers ）    作者：(美)约翰.阿什贝利（John Ashberry）    译者:剑郭琴符

  

属于光的        （选自 Your Name Here ）    作者：(美)约翰.阿什贝利（John Ashberry）    译者:剑郭琴符        那水汪汪的光，如此被低估    除非经过评估，这种情况从来不会发生    太多，也许甚至根本不会---我打算以某种方式保存    它，在书中，在盘子里，甚至在晚上，    就像灯泡里的昆虫。        是的，可能刚刚破晓。重要的不在那里    而是在树木美丽的飞行中    接受它们自己软弱的命运，    或季节的绳索。        当我们近距离看它们时，我们会害怕    但国王并不介意。他有焦虑的潮水，        新的满足心情有多合适    以及慢慢消失多久。        我如此期待见到你    我已经把国王从他的巢穴里拽出来：那里，    拿去吧，你这个老巫师。“巫师够了，”他回答说，    但这不会把我们从早餐的光线中解    救出来，或修补你袜子上的洞。    “现在等一等”---但另一天消磨殆尽，    敏锐里带着激情和悲伤，就像三十年代杂志上的插图一样    酥脆，那时我们和这道光都很重要。

Of the Light                That watery light, so undervalued    except when evaluated, which never happens    much, perhaps even not at all—I intend to conserve it    somehow, in a book, in a dish, even at night,    like an insect in a light bulb.        Yes, day may just be breaking. The importance isn’t there    but in the beautiful flights of the trees    accepting their own flaccid destiny,    or the tightrope of seasons.        We get scared when we look at them up close    but the king doesn’t mind. He has the tides to worry about,        and how fitting is the new mood of contentment    and how long it will wear thin.        I looked forward to seeing you so much    I have dragged the king from his lair: There,    take that, you old wizard. Wizard enough, he replies,    but this isn’t going to save us from the light    of breakfast, or mend the hole in your stocking.    “Now wait”---and yet another day has consumed itself,    brisk with passion and grief, crisp as an illustration in a magazine    from the thirties, when we and this light were all that mattered.

  

你的名字在这里        （选自 Your Name Here ）    作者：(美)约翰.阿什贝利（John Ashberry）    译者:剑郭琴符        但我怎么能在这个酒吧同时又是个隐士？    一群蚂蚁向我进军，远远    伸展到远处，那里它们像蚂蚁一样小。    它们的首领举起一根杨树那么大的树枝。    显然应该是给我的。    但他说不出来，下颌里有一棵白杨树。    好吧，让我们忘了那场景，转而去巴黎的一场。    蚂蚁在香榭丽舍大街的雪中    漫步，三三两两地，交谈着，    流露出一种人们从未想过的社交能力。    更大的一些几乎已经达到了法国城市的    寓言雕像（是吗？）在协和广场。    “你看，我告诉过你他要脱缰冲出。    现在他只是坐在阁楼里    从附近的一家餐馆点了丰盛的‘主菜’    好像上帝让他安静一样。”    “尽管你像奥弗贝克的《斯塔尔夫人》的肖像画，    也就是说，你有点严肃和疲惫。    记住，你可以随时来找我    带着你的烦恼，只要别要钱。    日日夜夜，我的家，我的壁炉都向你敞开，    你这个极可爱的大家伙，你。”        酒吧里出人意料的舒适。    我想留下来。上面有个闹钟。    顾客们被邀请猜时间（钟总是错的）。    更有兴高采烈的市民蜂拥而入，唱着《马赛曲》，    以错误的理由互相祝贺，比如    他们袜子的颜色，还从公共水壶里大口大口地喝。    “我就喜欢他走这条路，    它发生在八月中旬，当夏天即将    走出，秋天依然是它眼中的一道亮光，    白霜预言的记录。”    “是的，他本来打算买机器里的所有的糖块    但出事了，墙塌了（谁知道    涨得很快？）一个接一个的人被一扫而空    互相称呼着可爱的东西，用宠物的名字。    ‘阿喀琉斯，见见安格斯。’”然后这一切发生得如此快，我想    我根本不知道我们要去哪里，人行道    会把我们带到哪里。        在地下密牢事情变得非常安静。    我还在读《约翰.克里斯朵夫》。我永远不会完成这件该死的事。    现在是时候让你走到光明里去    祝贺留在我们城市里的人。从日食中    幸存下来的人。但我总是被你迷住, 总是。    在我的花环里点燃一支蜡烛，我将永远属于你，亲吻你。

Your Name Here                But how can I be in this bar and also be a recluse?    The colony of ants was marching toward me, stretching    far into the distance, where they were as small as ants.    Their leader held up a twig as big as a poplar.    It was obviously supposed to be for me.    But he couldn’t say it, with a poplar in his mandibles.    Well, let’s forget that scene and turn to one in Paris.    Ants are walking down the Champs-Elysees    in the snow, in twos and threes, conversing,    revealing a sociability one never supposed them as having.    The larger ones have almost reached the allegorical statues    of French cities (is it?) on the Place de la Concorde.    “You see, I told you he was going to bolt.    Now he just sits in his attic    ordering copious plats from a nearby restaurant    as though God had meant him to be quiet.”    “While you are like a portrait of Mme de Stael by Overbeck,    that is to say a little serious and washed out.    Remember you can come to me anytime    with what is bothering you， just don’t ask for money.    Day and night my home, my hearth are open to you,    you great big adorable one, you.”        The bar was unexpectedly comfortable.    I thought about staying. There was an alarm clock on it.    Patrons were invited to guess the time (the clock was always wrong).    More cheerful citizenry crowded in, singing the Marseillaise,    congratulating each other for the wrong reasons, like the color    of their socks, and taking swigs from a communal jug.    “I just love it when he gets this way,    which happens in the middle of August, when summer is on its way    out, and autumn is still just a glint in its eye,    a chronicle of hoar-frost foretold. ”    “Yes and he was going to buy all the candy bars in the machine    but something happened, the walls caved in (who knew    the river had risen rapidly?) and one by one people were swept away    calling endearing things to each other, using pet names.    ‘Achilles, meet Angus.’” Then it all happened so quickly I    guess I never knew where we were going, where the pavement    was taking us.        Things got real quiet in the oubliette.    I was still reading Jean-Christophe. I’ll never finish the darn thing.    Now is the time for you to go out into the light    and congratulate whoever is left in our city. People who survived    the eclipse. But I was totally taken with you，always have been.    Light a candle in my wreath, I’ll be yours forever and will kiss you.

  

觉醒        （选自Wakefulness）    作者：(美)约翰.阿什贝利（John Ashberry）    译者:剑郭琴符        一杯傲慢的的少量白葡萄酒，一些分散的六翼天使，    人类堕落的回忆---告诉我，    有没有人做一个海绵状的代理，把    更少的恶魔从我们都握手的    停车场赶走？        一点一点地，真正方法的理念返回了我。    我被你的关心感动，    沦为谄媚的借口。    在我们渴望的小房子里，一切都一尘不染，    时钟不停地滴答作响，很高兴    成为永恒的学徒。一团尘粒的嘉特舞    取代了我的视线。一切都仿佛    发生在很久以前的    古代桃色的滑稽纸上    其中真正对立的法则是随意    制定的。然后这本书打开自己，念给我们听：“你们这群骗子，    当然被十字路口诱惑，但我喜欢你们每个人    都有一种特殊的蓝宝石般的强度。    看，这儿就是我最初失败的地方。    客户离开。历史不断前行，    在这些海岸上心烦意乱地滚动。每一天，黎明    凝结，如一颗很大的星星，不烤面包，    鞋子没信仰。如果这是一个梦，多么便捷。”    下一个卧铺车是疯狂的。    一种急迫的疲倦安装自身    一直蔓延到卷心菜镶边的地平线。如果我放一点自我    在这一刻，塞上我们自己逃学交流的酒，挥舞着我的意图    一次？但只有我    从这记忆中得到了一些东西。    有一次，一个善良的恐惧的侏儒    栖息于我的仪表盘，但我们都被告知    忽略驱逐的条件。在这里，它    似乎随着每个世纪的流逝变得越来越轻。不管你怎么扭曲它，    生命都会在头灯里凝固。    有趣的是，我们都没听到吼声。

Wakefulness            An immodest little white wine, some scattered seraphs,    recollections of the Fall---tell me,    has anyone made a spongier representation, chased    fewer demons out of the parking lot    where we all held hands?        Little by little the idea of the true way returned to me.    I was touched by your care,    reduced to fawning excuses.    Everything was spotless in the little house of our desire,    the clock ticked on and on, happy about    being apprenticed to eternity. A gavotte of dust-motes    came to replace my seeing. Everything was as though    it had happened long ago    in ancient peach-colored funny papers    wherein the law of true opposites was ordained    casually. Then the book opened by itself and read to us: “You pack of liars,    of course tempted by the crossroads, but I like each    and every one of you with a peculiar sapphire intensity.    Look, here is where I failed at first.    The client leaves. History goes on and on,    rolling distractedly on these shores. Each day, dawn    condenses like a very large star, bakes no bread,    shoes the faithless. How convenient if it’s a dream.”    In the next sleeping car was madness.    An urgent languor installed itself    as far as the cabbage-hemmed horizons. And if I put a little    bit of myself in this time, stoppered the liquor that is our selves’    truant exchanges, brandished my intentions    for once? But only I get    something out of this memory.    A kindly gnome    of fear perched on my dashboard once, but we had all been instructed    to ignore the conditions of the chase.Here, it    seems to grow lighter with each passing century. No matter how you twist it,    life stays frozen in the headlights.    Funny, none of us heard the roar.

  

巴尔的摩        （选自Wakefulness）    作者：(美)约翰.阿什贝利（John Ashberry）    译者:剑郭琴符        两个活着。一个绕过拐角来到    如马蹄声。三个是草原城所见过的最悲哀的雪。        拿着这个，变态。还有这个。还有这个。还有这个。    如果我需要你的陪伴，    我早就蜷缩在杂草丛的时钟里，    只带着一个天空写手阅读。    我会把序文冲刷    《世界文选集》，    舔着有天麻味的含片    等等。我想，    我知道。还有广阔泛滥的平原，以孩子打上污痕，    把一切投入到一切中。    我太害羞，不敢抛弃。

Baltimore            Two were alive. One came round the corner    clipclopping. Three were the saddest snow ever seen in Prairie City.        Take this, metamorphosis. And this. And this. And this.    If I’d needed your company,    I’d have curled up long before in the clock of weeds,    with only a skywriter to read by.    I’d have laved the preface    to the World’s Collected Anthologies,    licked the henbane-flavored lozenge    and more. I’m presuming,    I know. And there are wide floodplains spotted with children,    investing everything in everything.    And I’m too shy to throw away.

  

黄昏的回文        （选自Wakefulness）    作者：(美)约翰.阿什贝利（John Ashberry）    译者:剑郭琴符        在其他地方，人们发现    必须有纽扣，    期望值自然更高，更高，    更高。    在这里，    母猪的钱包变成一只丝质的耳朵，通讯    被阻塞。    再也没有人能把握住。    看，花儿从花架上逃走，    熊掉进了湖里。        在我的第二个家里，罕见的    轮回镜头没完没了地播放着，就像一首    多彩吹奏的曲调。    我经常觉得自己是个买家，    但彩绘狂欢节头像却因为别的原因，    困扰着我。目前没有释放，    在工作中，在长矛下。    惊恐的观众挤满了足球场；    就像白天黑夜。    我们不能回餐馆；    屋顶被绑架。        当时的期望是什么？    我们知道宇航员们把我们抬得多高，    让我们坠落，向似乎的永恒弹跳，    直到一切恢复正常？    我在这些裤子中    很凉爽，给你留着。

Palindrome of Evening        In other places where it was found    necessary for there to be buttons,    expectations were naturally higher, and higher,    and higher.    Here,    a sow’s purse translates into a silk ear, and communications    are jammed.    No one takes hold any more.    Look, the flower has escaped from its trellis,    the bear goes down into the lake.        In my second house rare footage    of metempsychosis plays endlessly, like a tune    variously tooted.    I often feel I’m a buyer,    but the painted carnival head reasons otherwise,    badgers me. There is no release in sight,    in the works, down the pike.        Horrified spectators jam the football field;    it was like night and day.    We can’t go back to the restaurant;    the roof is snatched away.        What were expectations back then?    Do we know how high the astronauts carried us,    let us fall, bouncing for what seemed an eternity,    until all was well again?    I’ve got my cool    in these pants, keeping it for you.

   

   

  

表妹莎拉在做针织        （选自Wakefulness）    作者：(美)约翰.阿什贝利（John Ashberry）    译者:剑郭琴符        你一直问我四次。    我想为什么相信我。    事实上，这里没有人。        过去没有人。    没有人可以寻求建议。    一根黄色的旗杆沉思地竖起。    现在如果你那么好。        他从太空中被拉出来，    如从鲨鱼。他们检查了他之后    他们让他走。这证明了什么？        叫他老胡桃树。    就像山核桃树。不，那时候    没有一个人的生活        越出森林边的杂耍    被成比例虐待    和理解，所以他们都生长在        阴凉处，仅此一次似乎    合适。哦，叫我下来。    似乎合适。        然后有点失望。    巡逻船会合，    但已经决定…        它可以继续向上游    航行    直到它的尾巴消失的那一点        然后有一个大误会。    这是误会，泥石流    从放东西的那边滑了进来。        全是鹅，我告诉你，    炖鹅。一种渴望在最初的    腰间向前出来纪念你。        这么多勇敢的船长，    这么长时间在海上。但我想    让你们想起这个我不记得的        新故事，两个朋友在吃得过饱的荒地上相遇，它支持了他们。一个    在前面下车。另一个流浪了好几天并迷茫，到没人记得的时候，又是夏天了    围绕防守徘徊。确切地，器官的肉    涌出，有人的孩子在井口找到了    正确的东西。确切地，正如你所说的迪克西，你的税务会计    在其余的海滨度假胜地闲逛，一切又变成蓝色。那些流氓…    我本来想说留着。你可以留着。    尽管她没有声望，这里    有一只眼睛，另一只三叶草覆盖的救世主在这里，它们假装我们，也该是消防车来的时候。

Cousin Sarah’s Knitting            You keep asking me that four times.    Why trust me I think.    There is, in fact, nobody here.        Nobody in the past.    Nobody to turn to for advice.    A yellow flagpole rears thoughtfully.    Now if you were that nice.        He was pulled from space,    as from a shark. After they examined him    they let him go. What does that prove?        And called him Old Hickory.    As in hickory. No there were    at that time none living        out of a sideshow at the edge of a forest    and were mistreated in proportion,    with understanding, so they all grew        into the shade and for once it seemed    about right. Oh, call down to me.    It seemed about right.        Then there was something of a letdown.    Patrol boats converged    but it was decided that the...        and could continue its voyage    upriver    to the point where it tails off        and then there was a large misunderstanding.    It was misunderstanding, mudsliding    from the side where the thing was let in.        And it was all goose, let me tell you,    braised goose. From which a longing in the original    loins came forward to mark you.        So many brave skippers,    such a long time at sea. But I was going    to remind you of this new story        I can’t remember, of the two chums meeting in the overfed waste land and it supported them. And one got    off at the front. The other wandered for days and daze, and by the time nobody remembered it it was summer again    and wandered around defensively. Sure the organ meat    was pumping and somebody’s boy came up to the correct    thing at the well head. Sure as you can claim Dixie your tax accountant    wandered over the remaining riviera, all to be blue again. And the rascals...    and I was going to say keep it. You can keep it.    Granted she has no reputation, an eye    here, another clovered savior here, they pretend to us, and it was time for the firemobile too.

剑郭琴符

昨晚我梦到我在布加勒斯特    （选自Wakefulness）    作者：(美)约翰.阿什贝利（John Ashberry）    译者:剑郭琴符    试图说服那个无上至高的弄臣    我的确是那些广告里的人。    同时它在玻利维亚到达高点，月亮，    我是说。然后我们走在一个看起来像    欧石楠的地方，或者所谓的。市中心发生了    言论自由的骚乱。粘在它的口套，    兰迪狗的解码装置丢失了。    那时世界上大部分地方都是下午；    冰茶供应在广阔的露台上    俯瞰着破碎的大海。你不能耍弄    四个蹒跚学步的孩子。三个就够了。他们从招手的    大海来到这里，白色的褶边上还贴着黑色的    硬币圆点；这一次草坪更靠近一个    农场；它嘴里叼着“草坪”会抽空整个空间    远到你自己的业务线伸展到的地方，也就是说，    从加的斯到阿拉斯加的企业号。我们以为我们看到了一些新的    形容词，但没人太确定。它们可能是    动名词，或者一堆早餐…

Last Night I Dreamed I Was in Bucharest    seeking to convince the supreme Jester    that I am indeed the man in those commercials.    Simultaneously it peaked in Bolivia, the moon,    I mean. Then we were walking over what seemed to be    heather, or was called that. The downtown riot    of free speech occurred. Plastered to its muzzle,    Randy the dog’s decoding apparatus went astray.    By then it was afternoon in much of the world;    iced tea was served on vast terraces    overlooking a crumbling sea. You can’t juggle    four toddlers. Three is enough. Out of the beckoning    sea they arrived, in white ruffles with black coin-dots    attached; the lawn was closer to a farm    this time; it mouthed “Farm” Will vacuumed the whole of space    as far as the mind-your-own-business wire stretched, that is,    from Cadiz to Enterprise, Alaska. We thought we had seen a few new    adjectives, but nobody was too sure.They might have been    gerunds, or bunches of breakfast...

增加的辛辣    （选自Wakefulness）    作者：(美)约翰.阿什贝利（John Ashberry）    译者:剑郭琴符    我能告诉你什么？我不能用其他方式告诉你。    我们，同时，目睹了变化，现在    从各个角度都在改变洪水。如果你听过这个，就阻止我，    如果你没听过，正好去做你的事。我会在出口    赶上你。谁是冷漠者？第二个    改变也许无非是    改变的可能性，一个接一个，一个接一个，直到整个    峡谷里厚厚铺满它们。不错。夏天，它说，    曾经让我安心。到处都有事情发生然后，    与大气的直接接触    我们很想在近旁，但它很大，然后，明显，    哦，这是为了你的痛苦。不，真的。拿着吧。我坚持。    他想，如果他生活在树叶中    一切都会重新浮出水面，他的意思是，平衡一下，    只是看看这些随机的记忆对他做了什么！    他不吃东西，也不睡觉。一个永久的铃声    在他的电梯的每一个时刻似乎创造了他的听力。服从。我们    免不了这个。没有两种方法。等等---    我说了两种方法吗？就是它！我们会用太多的方法来修理他的马车---    所以这将是不平衡的，没有法官付钱，我们都可以回家。    亲爱的？我现在喜欢你---（1）    所以它结束于他们都得到报酬的方案，    流浪汉们，走进永恒的黄昏    手上有领袖和女朋友，每个拳头一个。    我喜欢这样。我强行相信    从来没有发生，我得到了这种方法    只是因为我永远在这里。数百万种语言    灭绝了，并不是因为有留下来的关注说它们，    而是因为它都被说得太好了，决不是    一滴露珠在声门排出的那一刻。    但现在我得去把椅子上的标志贴出来    所以人们会知道什么时候，在什么地方该停下来，真的，只有一只狮子狗    才能把我们与今生和来生分开。    从这里到那里要花更长的时间。    雪茄乐队欣喜若狂，    震耳欲聋的淡紫色和金色的老化，    在晴朗的夜晚一朵飘忽不定的花，稍微有毒…    ---    （1）原文这一节都是斜体字，估计是独白。

Added Poignancy    What could I tell you? I couldn’t tell you any other way.    We, meanwhile, have witnessed changes, and now change    floods in from every angle. Stop me if you’ve heard this one,    but if you haven’t, just go about your business. I’ll catch up with you    at the exit. Who are the Blands? The    second change was perhaps nothing more than    the possibility of changes, one by one, side by side, until the whole    canyon was carpeted with them. Nice. Summer, it said,    ever rested my mind. Something occurs everywhere then,    an immediate engagement with the atmosphere    we’d like to have around, but it was big, then, and obvious,    and oh, this is for your pains. No, really. Take it. I insist.    He thought if he lived amid leaves    everything would surface again, by which he meant, balance out,    only look what this random memory’s done to him!    He eats no more, neither does he sleep.A permanent bell tone    seems to create his hearing at each moment of his elevator. Obey. We’re    in for it. There are no two ways about it. Wait---    did I say two ways? That’s it! We 'll fix his wagon with too many ways---    so it’ll be lopsided, with no judges to pay, and we can all go home.    Sweetheart? I fancy you now---    Hence it ends up with a scenario of them all getting paid,    the bums, and walking out into the eternal twilight    with gurus and girlfriends on their arms, one for each fist.    I like that way about it. I’m making believe    it never happened, that we got this way    merely by having been here forever. Millions of languages    became extinct, and not because there was noticing left to say in them,    but because it was all said too well, with    nary a dewdrop on the moment of glottal expulsion.    But now I’ve got to go put out the signs on the chairs    so folks’ll know when to stop, and where, really, only a poodle    separates us from this life and the next.    It will take us longer to get from here to there.    And the cigar band is ecstatic,    stunning in its mauve and gold obsolescence,    an erratic bloom on sheer night, faintly deleterious ...

猎物    （选自Wakefulness）    作者：(美)约翰.阿什贝利（John Ashberry）    译者:剑郭琴符    我躺着，躺倒，    读着莎士比亚最后的剧本。    一个小屁孩向我走来，眼睛尖声尖叫，    兴奋其事。直到我把两个和两个放在一起    我从来没有穿过入口，    也没有意识到附属国意味着什么。    啊我们都有美好的时光    在春天，她说。    没有人很需要知道太多    关于这种态度的东西，我想，    然而也有骑手，和谜题，很快，    烘烤在漫长的一天结束时    一片贫瘠的云彩测量着它的影子，    所有这些意图都消失了。

Quarry    I was lying, lying down,    reading the last plays of Shakespeare.    A brat came to me, eyes squealing,    excitement its thing. Until I put two and two together    I never crossed the inlet    or realized what tributary meant.    O we all have fine times    in the spring she said.    No one needs to know pretty much    about that attitude I suppose,    yet there are riders, and puzzles, and soon,    baking at the long end of day    a poor cloud measures its shadow,    the intent of all those gone away.

带笑的肉汁    （选自Wakefulness）    作者：(美)约翰.阿什贝利（John Ashberry）    译者:剑郭琴符    危机刚刚过去。    哦哦，又来了，找人自责，你，我…    所有这些人进来…    上次我们亲嘴时我注意到    你耳朵上的这耳垂。    请，告诉我我们可以开始。    中午，狼工厂里所有的狼都    暂停，片刻寂静。

Laughing Gravy    The crisis has just passed.    Uh oh, here it comes again,    looking for someone to blame itself on, you, I...    All these people coming in ...    The last time we necked I noticed    this lobe on your ear.    Please, tell me we may begin.    All the wolves in the wolf factory paused    at noon, for a moment of silence.

从这骚动中    （选自Wakefulness）    作者：(美)约翰.阿什贝利（John Ashberry）    译者:剑郭琴符    着装要求随意，我们城市的    许可区气氛轻松；    年轻夫妇优雅地在街上的雨伞下    驻足…    这并不是一件重要的事：    在草地上散步，穿过闪耀的阿迪朗达克椅子。    你捕捉到我在打盹，美女读者说。    不，也许不是那样，这是要点。你来    看过这些吗？    我们应该决定去那里，去第二次。    是的，嗯，他们正在努力，等等，等等。    夏季资本退出我们，我们不得不    出售产品。它“未能实现”欧洲体系，    现在是神使出现的时候了。凌晨四点，    艺术表演开始了，古代弦乐器叮当作响，整个该死的海洋    就在那里，准备检阅，为我们。只是    我们不明白。这是我的消极能力    再次发作。好吧，我在我的权利范围内。    它像苹果和梨，或者橘子和柠檬，    我总是说的。    从这些令人钦佩的巢，墙纸岛，    生动的流动逆转。这些内部。    我们要尽可能地    和它们走得更远，遭受愚蠢的挫折，被涂上灰泥，    山羊胡子的蝎子坚持说。    等待干燥时，我们都迷路了。    请，他坚持说，还有比两扇门更重要的事，哦，我知道它    我说，我不能他妈的在任何时候    去旅行。你应该给我指路，趁我还可以的时候，    趁着天色还有光的时候，否则你咬牙切齿实现什么，    麦片粥？拜托。现在就走开。    下雨了，阳光明媚，在户外更勇敢。我们能来听听吗。

From Such Commotion    The dress code is casual, the atmosphere relaxed    in the licensed quarters of our city;    young couples graciously stopping beneath umbrellas    in the street...    And this is not a thing that matters:    walks on grass, through flaring Adirondack chairs.    You caught me napping said the belle-lettriste.    No, perhaps it’s not that, that’s the point. You’ve    been in to see these?    And we should have decided to go there, gone for a second time.    Yes, well, they’re working on it, et cetera, etc.    The summer capital exits past us, we have to    sell product. It “fell through” the European system,    now it’s time for avatars. At four in the morning    the art demonstrations begin, psalteries jingle, the whole damn ocean    is there, up for review, for us. It’s just    that we don’t understand. It’s my negative capability acting up    again. Well, I’m within my rights.    It’s like apples and pears, or oranges and lemons,    what I always say.    From nests as admirable as these,wallpaper islands,    the vivid flow reverses. That’s in-house.    And we go as far    with them as possible, suffer stupid reverses, get plastered,    the goateed scorpion insists.    And it was while waiting for the drying to happen that we all got lost.    Please, he insisted, there’s more to the point than two doors, O I know    it I said, I can’t be damned to travel    any time. You should have pointed the way to me while I can,    while it’s still light, otherwise what will all your gnashing accomplish,    the oatmeal? Please. Now just go away. It’s    raining, the sun is shining, braver outdoors. Can we come listen to that.

适度地    （选自Wakefulness）    作者：(美)约翰.阿什贝利（John Ashberry）    译者:剑郭琴符    “…最后一个部分是温和的部分（有些是多重动作，快速、慢速、受阻、富有表现力、受欢迎，和充满演讲…）”    ---斯特潘.沃尔普    狐狸在沉思，老人在嗅气味    决胜者---我为什么没有想到呢？    为什么我的怀疑来到？为什么    这世故？    我不再记得十六岁的时候，    十七岁的时候，巨大的滚轴    蚕食着夜幕，我被忽略，    在沿途的杂草中停下来。幽灵    收割机在盘旋。那伟大的，干涸的河床是砾石    和石头的海洋，柳树是倾覆的船，    现在没有一条。    房间里    有一股气流    自始至终房间都有一种景象，就像生活    和远望一种处境。句号在一句话里起舞，    这是我的方式，我选择的一个，即使我没有选择，    或者喜欢它；都是一场来临的，    倾盆大雨，    被困在斜坡上。    然后突然爆发。    他知道世界会变成什么样子我认为，    那为什么爆炸？被穿堂风抓住，    一个从黑暗中掉下来，两个从黑暗中掉下来，    又一个。也许那是灰尘一种很细的灰尘我吃了它，    它继续敲打，坐在管弦乐队的后排，    男人们在这里和那里手淫就像我说的时钟    是巨大的，    比任何分针或时针都要宽。    羞怯地它从书上掉下来：    痛苦的极乐之地，踢了脚趾的男人。    我们周围的痛苦都滑雪橇进来，    我就像这样今天，明天，请给我    两张票，男孩和恶棍松开，    他在公园里，是最后一个有益地    蒙蔽你的人，一切都好。    有时候，在锯齿状的边缘或类似的活动    和狂欢节上会有一种奶油，你坐着，微笑着，    舌头从周围的环境中释放出来。我为什么从不在这里？    为什么这么演戏？难道我没有意识到核心是根深蒂固的，    每个人都会像一条漂浮不定的小溪一样泛滥过他的河床，    硬纸板的原则会被推挤？啊谁    提到了这次会议？真相和付出到底有什么麻烦    佩斯利图案的田野上到处都是多米诺骨牌在尖叫，    似乎是运气，还是机会的问题？谁打破了下一个盘子？    那汉子为什么哭，    他想干什么？无礼，就个人而言，    他想干什么，    如果这些胡闹并不罕见    砖块与沙子融合，不寻常的东西    和往常一样在其最好状态，我们不能放弃？继续下去    有什么意义？我不能抽这根大麻，    我把它还回去，我们都是受祝福的，在一颗    有很多东西适合的星星里，太多，或不太多，不管    它说你什么，不管它保留了什么。

Moderately    “…and as the last will come a sort of moderate part, (which some is of multiple motions, quick, slow，hampered, expressive, popular, and peopled speech …)”    —Stepan Wolpe    The fox brooding and the old people smelling    and the tiebreaker---why did I not think of that?    Why have doubts upon me come? Why    this worldliness?    And I remember no longer at the age of sixteen,    and at the age of seventeen great rollers    eating into night, I uncared for,    stopping among the weeds along the way. Phantom    harvesters hovered. And the great, dry creekbed was a sea    of gravel and stones, the willows were capsized ships,    and none of it was for now.    There is a draught    in the room    and all along the room a sight that is like living    and looking out over a situation. The periods danced in a sentence,    and it was my way, the one I chose, even if I didn’t choose it,    or like it; was all a coming on,    downpour,    marooned on slopes.    And then the burst of it.    He knew what the world’s going to be like I think,    so why the explosions? And caught in the draught,    one fell from darkness, two fell from darkness,    yet another. Maybe that’s dust a very fine kind of dust and I eat it,    it goes on thrumming, seated in the back row of the orchestra,    men masturbating here and there and like I said the clock    is tremendous,    wider than any minute hand or hour hand.    And sheepish it fell out of books:    the land of painful blisses, the man who stubbed his toe.    All around us pain came sledding in,    and am I like this today, tomorrow, and two    tickets please, the boy and the ruffian come undone,    he was in the park, it was the salutary last person    to hoodwink you and all is well.    There were times a kind of cream was on the jagged borders    or suchlike events and carnivals, and you sat, smiling,    the tongue unleashed from its surroundings. Why was I never here?    Why such playacting? Didn’t I ever realize the kernels are deep-seated,    that everyman will overrun his banks just like an errant stream,    and cardboard principles be jostled? O who    mentioned this session? What is the matter with truth and paying    and all over the paisley fields dominoes are braying,    a matter of luck, or chance, it seems? Who broke the next dish?    Why is that man crying,    what does he mean to do? Impertinent, in person,    what does he mean to do,    if these capers are not unusual    and bricks merge with sand, the unusual    at its best as usual, and can’t we give up? What    would be the point of continuing? I can’t smoke this weed,    I give it back, we are all blessed,commensurates within    a star where many things fit, too many, or not too many, whatever    it says about you, whatever saves.

剑郭琴符

每一个通道都充满活力    （选自Wakefulness）    作者：(美)约翰.阿什贝利（John Ashberry）    译者:剑郭琴符    卷起你的袖子，    又一天结束了。我    并不是要让我完成学业的    藤蔓的一部分    而是偏离了方向    徘徊在深渊的边缘    当我们玩得很开心    把最近的群山尽收眼底时。“我的宝贝”，她说，我就在这里    消失一会儿，我要你勇敢。    当然，没有什么像床上的约会，    午夜过后醒来，到一个空白的电视屏幕，    希望我们所有人都能听到它可爱的生活，总有一天会明白    地球在降落的路上    得到我们的什么菱形，    我们以后必须永远快乐和悲伤。不，我不认为    这符合你最好的利益，我也不想用老式的直尺刮胡子，    你这个笨蛋。但我是来，    搞这个神秘事的。所以，如果他不说再见，不再，    好了，在这个老式的酒吧里，然而，小矮子们会从他们再次爆炸的    发球中学到一切是多么笔直。    剩下的，正如他们所说，正如他们所说，是历史：    我抓到了一条梭鱼，那是午夜时分在老尖塔上，各宗族随便    向我们前进，绑腿几乎没从沟里拽出来。被人注意到    是愚蠢的，然后，骚动在也许更紧迫的    表面上，它成为一体，实际上是通过不可能的雨    和有镜子的木琴的狡猾的欢乐而成为一体。    只是说这是书的一体，    而我们，我们确实属于，，尽管不属于任何人被认为是    公民的，甚至是领土的任何东西。我需要赞成，    现在，历史会带着我一起走，就像轻轻地把我留在    这里，在洞里，那是我们    无法言说的巨大幸福。

Alive at Every Passage       Roll up your sleeves,    another day has ended. I am    not a part of the vine    that was going to put me through school    but instead got sidetracked and    wandered over the brink of an abyss    while we were having a good time    in full view of the nearest mountains.Mon tresor, she said, this is where I    disappear for a few moments, I want you to be brave.    Sure, nothing like a date in bed,    waking after midnight to the blank TV screen    that wants us all to listen to its cute life and someday understand    what rhomboids the earth took    on its way down to get us,    that we must be happy and sad forever after. No I don’t think    it was in your best interests nor do I shave with an old-fashioned straightedge,    you dolt. But I was coming to that,    doing the mystifying. So if he says not to be aloha, not again,    well gee in this old-fashioned bar, however will the runts learn from their again imploded    hair balls how straight everything is.    The rest, as they say, as they say, is history:    I captured a barracuda, it was midnight in the old steeple, the clans casually    moved on us, leggings barely jerked out of the ditch. It was folly    to be noticed, then, astir on the perhaps more urgent    surface of what becomes one, indeed comes to become one    through impossible rain and the sly glee of mirrored xylophones.    Say only it was one for the books,    and we, we did belong, though not to anything anybody’d recognize    as civil, or even territory. I need to subscribe,    now, history will carry me along and as gently leave me    here, in the cave, the enormous wellbeing    of which we may not speak.

公园的负担    （选自Wakefulness）    作者：(美)约翰.阿什贝利（John Ashberry）    译者:剑郭琴符    每一个都真正是独一无二的碎片，    你说，或者，也许，每一个    都是是真正独一无二的碎片。    我嗅出了区别。    它像旧房子里的尘土，    或是其中的水。然后你来到    一个令人兴奋的部分。    强盗与盲人的女儿有婚约。喂牛的甜菜    从每一扇门出来，向旅行者致敬，    然后消失。或者散步的球员更融洽的步伐，    每个人的手臂上都有一个崩溃的甜心，每个人    整洁得如同在阳光下整洁的一切的人们的思想。    狼獾队    和他们的教练回来了，黑夜，    黑蝙蝠之夜，比任何蝙蝠都黑。    如你所知，这是一个坠落的地方，    为了水，在那里姑娘们散步，叔叔们    看到一件好事就知道了。    公园里到处都是。    不是膝盖受伤，也不是火星上的邮票。    所有这些，还有一些其他的事情：    五月的一个无名的早晨，紧张的观察家们担任守方。    沙发上的内胎。    然后我们沿着大阵河顺流而下，每一个    都在我们的内胎里，每一个都有不同的颜色：    我的是橙绿色，你的是开心果。    水流潺潺地向我们诉说小心身后    为了第二天。你    确定我们还没有通过球门柱吗？你不    重新考虑吗？把我重新安置到我的源头？伊加德，    崔茜，水可以说话！它像个男孩一样    说，我不太确定这一切有多小，    有多少忙乱不应该弄出来。当另一个男孩来到    瀑布边上，喊叫，因为很晚了，    我们不会为没有发明这个，    让他在路边跌倒而感到遗憾吗？然后，果然，欧石楠的波浪    避开了假见证者的腰带，它们像丝带一样    在凛冽的微风中飘扬，告诉我们：我们曾经犯过    一些错误，似乎，现在我们要接受审判，除非    不是那么糟糕，有人告诉我，你会脱离困境，    我们都可以回家，逗留，再次微笑，被罪恶般    阴险的笑声折磨着。与此同时，变戏法者蜂拥到火山    坚硬的侧面。我们相信这是陆地的尽头，六点钟了，    剃须刀鱼已经回家了。    有一次，在曼纳哈塔荒凉的海岸上，    我钓勇气鱼，但什么也没钓到，没东西保存    一两个橡皮塞。那时候很可怕。现在一切都很愉快。    我想知道，这有什么不同吗？    水手们    在他们心急如焚的船甲板上挥手？然而我们并不    嫉妒，生活中充满了    太多的小骚动，相当于    无论谁抓住他的（或她的）。小提琴把生活分割成    可管理的大块，小提琴手不知道    他在感动谁，也不关心为什么人们要被感动；    他的思想到了尽头，完成为他安排的    任务的非凡责任。你认为他比你更好吗？    我的脚麻木了，我只问他，你怎么把这个从这里带到那边？    有平底驳船吗？蜈蚣有多少英尺？    （答案在明天的版本中。）我听到了哭泣的起重机，    告诉我时间是如何流出。他们认为    它是比利时人的。没有人为此烧午夜石油，    但我想总有一天我会成为一名学者的，照样。    时间适合我。还有女孩们上课和下课时    穿的橡皮胸花。当然，我原来是个书呆子，不得不坐在    角落里，但那是令人兴奋的冒险的一部分。我知道事情    有差异而又相同。现在如果只有我能告诉你…    我的休息期结束了。    我要商量秋天，然后喊着    回到你们所有。那几年和平来了又去，我父亲的车    随着季节变化，我们周围都是战斗和春天的兴奋。    现在，说来有趣，一切都结束了。我不介意曾经烦恼我的    空置前提。我知道一切太真实了。小流氓    向马蹄莲献媚：也许只有指尖才令人兴奋，    它想，释放了另一堆成熟的怀旧之情。    也许太晚，    也许它们今天出现。

The Burden of the Park    Each is truly a unique piece,    you said, or, perhaps, each    is a truly unique piece.    I sniff the difference.    It’s like dust in an old house,    or the water thereof. Then you come    to an exciting part.    The bandit affianced    to the blind man’s daughter. The mangelwurzels    that come out of every door, salute the traveler    and are gone. Or the more melting pace of strolling players,    each with a collapsed sweetie on his arm, each    tidy as one’s idea of everything under the sun is tidy.    And the wolverines    return, with their coach, and night,    the black bat night, is blacker than any bat.    Just so you know, this is the falling-off place,    for the water, where damsels stroll and uncles    know a good thing when they see one.    The park is all over.    It isn’t a knee injury, or a postage stamp on Mars.    It is all of the above, and some other things too:    a nameless morning in May fielded by taut observers.    An inner tube on a couch.    Then we floated down the Great Array river, each    in our inner tube, each one a different color:    Mine was lime green, yours was pistachio.    And the current murmured to us mind your back    for another day. Are    you so sure we haven’t passed the goalposts yet? Won’t    you reconsider? Remount me to my source? Egad,    Trixie, the water can speak! Like a boy    it speaks, and I’m not so sure how little all this is,    how much fuss shouldn’t be made about it. When another boy comes    to the edge of the falls, and calls, for it is late,    won’t we be sorry for not having invented this one,    letting him fall by the wayside? Then, sure enough, waves    of heather recuse the bearers of false witness, they fly like ribbons    on the stiff breeze, telling of us: We once made    some mistake, it seems, and now we are to be judged, except    it isn’t so bad, someone tells me you’ll be let off the hook,    we will all be able to go home, sojourn and smile again, be racked    with insidious giggles like guilt.Meantime, jugglers swarm over the volcano’s    stiff sides. We believe it to be Land’s End, that it’s    six o’clock, and the razor fish have gone home.    Once, on Mannahatta’s bleak shore,    I trolled for spunkfish, but caught naught, nothing save    a rubber plunger or two. It was awful, at that time. Now everything is cheerful.    I wonder, does it make a difference?    Are sailors waving    from the deck of their distraught ship?We aren’t    envious though, life being so full of    so many little commotions, it’s up to    whoever to grab his (or hers). The violin slices life up    into manageable hunks, and the fiddler knows not    who he is moving, or cares why people should be moved;    his mind is on the end, the extraordinary onus of finishing    what’s set out for him. Do you imagine him better off than you?    My feet were numb, I ask him only, how do you carry this from here to over there?    Is there a flat barge? How many feet does a centipede have?    (Answer in tomorrow’s edition.) I heard the weeping cranes,    telling how time was running out. It was Belgian,    they thought. Nobody bums the midnight oil for this,    yet I think I shall be a scholar someday, all the same.    The hours suit me. And the rubber corsages the girls wear    in and out of class. Sure, I’ll turn out to be a nerd, and have to sit    in the corner, but that’s part of the exciting adventure. I know things    are different and the same. Now if only I could tell you ...    The period of my rest is ended.    I shall negotiate the fall, then go crying    back to you all. In those years peace came and went, our father’s car changed    with the seasons, all around us was fighting and the excitement of spring.    Now, funnily enough it’s over. I shan’t mind the vacant premise    that vexed me once. I know it’s all too true. And the hooligan    ogles a calla lily: Maybe only the fingertips are exciting,    it thinks, disposing of another bushelful of ripe nostalgia.    Maybe it’s too late,    maybe they came today.

剑郭琴符

在车站        （选自Wakefulness）    作者：(美)约翰.阿什贝利（John Ashberry）    译者:剑郭琴符        被一切更新，我认为    我是个鬼魂，后座上只有门。        我在想    是时候回去，收拾残局，    把它们放在架子上。你离    高中的管弦乐队更近。    青春剧吞噬着。    如果它有自己的方式，我们    会到外面。决定在“这里”！        他们已经把它拆了，    把不同的零件分给地面上为它们建造的    地方。下一步，我们要踮着脚尖    在站台上下走动。看，    我给你带来了一盒糖栗子，为进入你将学习阅读的    技术梦想的伟大航程。    对我们来说，草横着    长到壤土里就足够了，    风很奇怪，寂静的今晚。

At the Station                  Renewed by everything, I thought    I was a ghost. All we’ve got in the back seat are doors.        I was just thinking    it was time to go back, pick up the pieces,    place them on a stand. You are nearer    to the high-school orchestra.    Youth plays absorbed.    If it had its own way, we’d be    outside. The decision is HERE!        Already they’re taking it down,    distributing the various parts to places built in the ground    just for them. Next, we’d be tiptoeing    up and down the station platform. Look,    I’ve brought you a box of candied chestnuts, for the great voyage    into the technical dream you will learn to read.    For us, it is enough that the grass grows    sideways into the loam,    and that the wind is curious, silent tonight.

  

另一种下午        （选自Wakefulness）    作者：(美)约翰.阿什贝利（John Ashberry）    译者:剑郭琴符        那个无名者远远地跟上我。    自从最后一个大人物来拜访你以来    一定已经很久了。    是的，我要上气不接下气了        因为所有安静的小屋我们都陪伴。    一定有无数年---    看，他们中的一个来了。    我知道我刚在一个读书报告遇见    沙皇的兄弟。很快到了回家的时候，    越过中点，跳过座位。    凶猛，那云彩如何窒息    太阳，那是瞬间的恩典    但是我们不能回到那里    由于喧嚣，同样    他们在草地上    打滚，年轻的，老年的，鹿，    提示。当你吸收的伤害    像你一样多，是时候做标记，    游戏一遍又一遍滚过    我们的生命。你得到了你必须    请求的东西，结果证明这足以与    偶然的、相当破烂的    集会分开。        我们好几年    没再靠近风车，它好像在想象中    崩溃。很快六角    紫色的星星把我们刺醒，我的上帝…

Another Kind of Afternoon            Remotely the unnamed keeps up with me.    It must be quite a time    since the last dignitaries visited with you.    Yes, and I’m about out of breath        for all the quiet cells we kept company in.    Must be a zillion years---    Look, here comes one of them.    I know I just met the czar’s brother    in a book report. Soon it was time to return home,    past the midpoint, skipping-place.    Fierce, how that cloud suffocates    the sun, then is gracious for a while        but we can’t go back there    due to the clamor, it’s just as well    that they roll about    on the grass, young ones, old ones, the deer,    the pointer. And when you’ve imbibed as much    of the hurt as likes you, it’s time for tag,    game that rolls down through our lives    over and over. You get what you have        to ask for, which turns out to be enough    to divide with the haphazard, rather ragged    assembly.    We didn’t go near the    windmill again for years, it was as though it had crumbled    in the imagination. Pretty soon six-pointed    purple stars stabbed us awake, and my goodness ...

  

紊乱的星        （选自Wakefulness）    作者：(美)约翰.阿什贝利（John Ashberry）    译者:剑郭琴符        一只杯子滴下空气，    花生溃烂。一只小袋鼠为光画条纹，    吊带垂下，他的裤腿确实正在坠落。    一列幽灵火车出现在白雪覆盖的荒原，    把我们推入寂静。我拒绝构成我们生活的    不规则动词，但我不能歌唱。    它在铅笔盒里搅动。    尺子离得那些太近。    风铃在门上叮当作响，    好像我们从未有过。电    第一次被命名。        存在张力。我建议我们试一试它们，    但新英格兰的尖塔敌对地看着我们，    所有的棺材朝向风。        唉，我们被禁止尊敬张力，    甚至是玩它们。如果下一个月亮提供添加，    灵车上一篮火腿三明治，那我们为什么要去，    就像我告诉你我们必须。我们永远在户外，    拯救人们的生命。香蒲看到我们太多了，    它们的蔑视滋生了礼貌，沼泽地的    到来似乎是对的。为什么它一直似乎并非如此？    既然它有了地鼠可以咀嚼    我们就可以想象一个不那么喜庆，更令人恶心的    存在理由。但我们喜欢我们的剧本很长，    太多的监工挤在小屋。    肯定是时候继续前进。    但我原以为这一切都是个聚会。    是的，但只是在它的持续时间里，它会把我们扫下    楼梯，到一座小山的边上    在那里小装饰品飘浮，你开始审问那个特别的某人。    转眼间，更多的雀鸟、蓝鸟和复叶出现了，    它们被一种特殊的光照效果镀成古铜色，就是说    只在户外出现。想象外面是什么    你必须是一个国王或自信的人。唉，    我们还有别的献给你的计划。今天晚上，你要在晚上的混乱中    来看我们，在傍晚的混淆中，测试我们的反应，    和裁缝师的人体模型说话，从中得到你能得到的安慰。    你的星座如是说。你是什么星座？哦，天秤座    双鱼座升起。然后我命令你回到你        如此喜欢的寒冷中，尽管我对它和一切都有了    新的想法。你没看见熊的    爪印？它们难以捉摸地活着，由教练的铁环    绑着，作为一个例子，    凶猛的荒野。来，拿着这些药草。        这么多事情，这么多角色模型。    它们的渴望在火光中起舞。    我们不能仅仅对它们说不，它们也必须活在我们    身上。在水退去的地方，天空是午夜蓝色的，    就像墨水从笔尖上散开。他们都在这里，接球手，    裁判员，穿着蓝色法兰绒西装的男人，像    重新刺绣的蕾丝一样有泪痕的女人，    布满灰尘的钻石，缝线到位。有母亲；    她打电话给儿子。乌龟和兔子    变得容忍我们。在礁湖上    金刚鹦鹉在咳嗽。尊重我们的处境是很重要的。    其中一个试图恢复“正常”，    但这个地方太夸张。诺拉夫人来了。    以及主教的孩子们。还有愚蠢的伊姆加德。    还有罗德尼的突击队。老师的宠物。雪茄男爵。    提托元帅。年轻的埃莉诺.罗斯福。

Tangled Star                A cup drips air,    peanuts fester. A wallaby streaks for the light,    suspenders down, indeed his pantleg is falling.    A ghost train appears over the snow-shrouded moor,    shoving us into silence. I decline the irregular verbs    of which our life is composed, but I cannot sing.    It stirs in the pencil box.    The ruler is too close for that.    Wind chimes grate against the door,    as though we never had one. Electricity    is named for the first time.        There are tensions. I suggest we try them out,    but the New England steeple looks sourly at us,    all coffins to the wind.        Alas, we are forbidden to worship the tensions,    even to play with them. If the next moon provides the addition,    the hearse its hamper of ham sandwiches, why then we will go,    as I told you we must. We are forever outdoors,    saving people’s lives. The cattails get to see so much of us    that their contempt breeds civility, and the swamp    comes to seem right. Why hadn’t it seemed so all along?    Now that it has gophers to chew on    we can imagine a less festive, more brackish    raison d’etre of it. But we like it that our play be long,    and too many overseers crowd the hutch.    It is definitely time to move on.    Yet I had thought all of this was a party.    It is, but only in its duration, that sweeps us    down the stairs and over the side of a hill    where baubles float, and you get to interrogate that special someone.    In a flash, more finches, blue jays and fronds appear,    bronzed with a special effect of light, that says    it only to outdoors. To imagine what lies outside it    you would have to be a king or confidence man. And alas,    we have other plans for you. You are to come to see us    this evening, in the confusion of evening, to test our reflexes,    to speak to the dressmaker’s dummy, and derive of it what comfort you can.    Your horoscope says so. What sign are you? Aw, Libra    with Pisces rising. Then I command you back to the cold        that you like so much, even though I had second thoughts    about it and everything. Can’t you see the bear’s paw    prints? They are elusively alive, held up by the trainer’s    hoop, to be an example    to the ferocious wilderness. Here, take these herbs.        So many things, so many role models.    Their eagerness dances in the firelight.    We can’t just say no to them ，they have to live us    too. And in places where the water has ebbed the sky is midnight blue,    like ink spreading from a nib. They’re all here, the catchers,    umpires, men in blue flannel suits, women    with a trace of tears like re-embroidered lace,    dusty with diamonds, seams in place. There is the mother;    she calls to the son. The tortoise and the hare    have come to tolerate us. Out on the lagoon    macaws are coughing. It is important to respect our situation.    One of them tries to get back to “normal,”    but the place is too exaggerated. Madame Nola is here.    And the bishop’s children. And silly Irmgard.    And Rodney’s commando. The teacher’s pet. The cigar baron.    Marshal Tito. The young Eleanor Roosevelt.

  

深深的切口        （选自Wakefulness）    作者：(美)约翰.阿什贝利（John Ashberry）    译者:剑郭琴符        如果这是七月，为什么看起来像八月？    悲哀地在现实世界中长大    我甚至都不问这些问题“我自己”。    那家餐厅为什么    拉上百叶窗？    月亮的倒流就像一道深深的切口    体育场对面的发网    蝙蝠流口水到排水沟里。        如果每个人都如此专注于说明他们所“知道”的，    为什么蚂蚁教学大纲关闭？

Deeply Incised                  If this is July, why does it look like August?    Sadly growing up into the real world    I don’t even ask these questions myself.    Why are the shutters drawn    over that restaurant?    The moon’s backwash is like a deeply incised    hairnet against the stadium    Bats drool into the gutter.        If everybody is so intent on illustrating what they know,    why is the ant syllabus closed?

  

热带性事        （选自Wakefulness）    作者：(美)约翰.阿什贝利（John Ashberry）    译者:剑郭琴符        是的，重视使用它    就是表明观点，否则一切都只不过是鱼鳞    和鱼的运送---我绊倒在它的深渊里的    有洞察力的蓝色歌声槽。主啊，    求你帮助我克服它。更好的是，有那么一分钟    我以为我是死者    现在我重新洗刷这个有趣的    充满路德主义者和精神错乱的世界，来世    和我们习惯的没什么两样——    天哪，真是太惊心动魄了，    每个人都如此美好，    人们几乎忘记了恙螨的存在，    还有便盆，还有沉默丑陋的小金库    像我们生活于其中的那一个。    但现在这只是一个征兆。        “小心。一点距离。”        或者想象一只昆虫在挣扎。    但我告诉你，一切都会好。    我们可以生活在“高处”，有趣地猜测    生命如何制成，一个人究竟    如何支付合同和在账本签字，如何被    太阳涂上污点。当然，那时一个人可以蹒跚着，    起床，蹒跚着走到最近的公用电话    对一个看不见的对手发出啧啧的声音：离开，被警告    离开，被冲走。这条墙板上已经带着一座起皱的    建筑物。现在只有青蛙能计算出    逐渐通向痴呆和恐慌的地标。    储藏室在那边。我能从我眼角    看到蓟。一定是我们在等待        另一次侵略，通向真正阴谋的女仆    会毁灭我们。我们可以    控制一个咯咯笑或握手，但最终墨水渗入    做这件事的人非常想相信它，    为此目的，把自己放在了我们体内。啊冻疮，    疼痛三月寒风中的气候风向标，    你想要这样的结局吗？因为这就发生在    甚至当我们都和蔼地坐在    屋子里，在壁炉旁，稻草人    那残酷的叫声像是对一切的沉默滑落？    我的朋友也这么想---告诉“她”    坏消息：“直到我们欠债的耳朵，”在潮汐的草坪上    玩了一会儿，对我们没有    及时记录发生的后果感到羞愧，现在一个小女孩    走到外面的松鼠。嘿，孩子，    我能看到你的吗---    对不起，时间到了。    我们到达一个地方在十字路口的一块小白石；    它可以是你喜欢的任何一个。记得投票。晾衣绳落在    敌人的某处。然而，遮阳篷仍然呆板和阴谋者的。    我的分会见过，讨论过你。任何数目的人都可以玩，舰队在里面，    还有可循环利用的，我们僵硬的T恤。

Tropical Sex            Yes, making a point of using it    makes a point, and otherwise all is but fish scales    and fish delivery---the clear-eyed blue trough of song    in whose pit I stumbled. O Lord,    help me to get over it. That’s better, for a minute    there I thought I was a goner    and now I brushed up this interesting world    of lutanists and lunacy, and afterlife    not unlike the one we were used to---    Gosh, it’s so thrilling,    everyone is so nice,    one had almost forgotten chiggers existed,    and bedpans, and dumb ugly coffers    like the one we lived in.    But that is only a sign now.        Be warned. A slight distance.        Or picture an insect struggling.    But it’s going to be all right, I tell you.    We can live in The Heights and conjecture interestingly    about how life is made, how a man is paid    after all the contracts and ledgers are signed, blotted    in the sun. And surely one can stagger then,    get up and stagger to the nearest public telephone    and make slurping sounds at an invisible opponent: gone, warned    away, washed away. This siding came in with a crumpled    building already on it. Now only frogs can compute    the earth-sign that led gradually to dementia and panic.    The storage place is over there. I can see thistles    out of the corners of my eyes. It must be we are waiting        on another’s aggression, handmaidens to the very plot    that would destroy us. We can    manage a giggle or handshake, but in the end the ink seeps through    and the person who did this wants very much to believe it,    has put himself inside us for this purpose. O chilblains,    weather vanes in the aching March wind,    did you want this ending? For this to happen    even as we were sitting all nice inside    the house, and by its hearth, and the brutal call    of the scarecrow fell like a hush over everything?    My friend thinks so---tell her    the bad news: “up to our ears in debt,”playing a little    on the tidal lawn, abashed by our failure    to keep track of the consequences as they happened, and now a little    girl goes out to the squirrel. Hey, kid,    can I see your---    Sorry, time’s up.    We get to place a small white stone here at the crossroads;    it can be any one you like. Remember to vote. The clothesline has fallen    to the enemy somewhere. Yet the awnings are still prim and conspiratorial.    My chapter met and discussed you. Any number can play, the fleet’s in,    and with the recyclables, our starched T-shirt.

  

午夜的朋友        （选自Wakefulness）    作者：(美)约翰.阿什贝利（John Ashberry）    译者:剑郭琴符        牢记在心，所有的事情都破坏    告别演说者敦促他未来对我们的计划：    不要放弃。它太早了。东西坏了。是的，他们失败了，    或者他们被锚定在前面，但是没有人能看到那么远。    他说话的时候，太阳落山了。小树林变得寂静。我们    比以往有更多人现在认真地对待自己，    人们想着。我们可能永远不会意识到我们的生活    直到太晚，一个男人带着一条狗来向我们开枪。    尽管我喜欢认为，每件事都有它自己的报酬，    像我们这样的说谎者生来就是要永远存在的，    每天早晨都有自己独特的钟声。        因此，我们为午夜来找我们的朋友挖坑    想用一首歌代替我们。我们强烈反抗：    他的桌子上有太多的食物，夜晚太黑了，    而我们周围局外人收缩的乐队    进来与他的黑暗谈判。它    似乎忽略了我们，他的推理，或者在时光之井    我们可能会透支，化妆品也来给我们一个好脸色，    问，为什么这股神奇的风，那么多的角度    对着河流的棱柱和烧焦的蓝天？    有人回答说，没有什么长久    飘流。也许我们甚至在幸福中    也会被超越，激情的波浪淹没了我们。    现在，那不是很容易吗？稍作喘息，大家都    进屋进一步思考此事。    外面，孩子们无休止地滑雪橇。

The Friend at Midnight            Keeping in mind that all things breaks    the valedictorian urged his future plans on us:    Don’t give up. It’s too soon. Things break. Yes, they fail    or they are anchored up ahead, but no one can see that far.    As he was speaking, the sun set. The grove grew silent. There    are more of us taking ourselves seriously now than ever,    one thought. We may never realize about our lives    till it’s too late, and a man with a dog comes to shoot us.    I like to think though that everything is its own reward,    that liars such as we were made to last forever,    and each morning has a special chime of its own.        Thus we were pitted against the friend who came at midnight    and wanted to replace us with a song.We resisted furiously:    There was too much food on his table, the night was too black,    while all around us shrinking bands of outsiders    entered into negotiations with his darkness. It    seems to omit us, his reasoning, or in the well of time    we may be overdrawn, and cosmetics come to put a good face on us,    asking, why this magic wind, so many angles    against the river’s prism and the burnt blue sky?    To which one answers, nothing is adrift    for long. Perhaps we will be overtaken    even in our happiness, and waves of passion drown us.    Now, wasn’t that easy? A moment’s breath and everyone    has gone inside to ponder the matter further.    Outside, children toboggan endlessly.

  

被某事刺痛        （选自Wakefulness）    作者：(美)约翰.阿什贝利（John Ashberry）    译者:剑郭琴符        但我的建议是---舒服点。    穿一件工作服，有分形。做本地人！    你会发现人们对你的故事更感兴趣，    他们也会。重温        生命中反复出现的悲剧。    确保它有明确的优先顺序。    然后---络腮胡子！从码头的尽头跳下去。    给你的季风涂上颜色，做生意和寻欢作乐。    带着《烟雾》，到处都像是消遣。    腰带中的女孩们惊奇地    徘徊，她们从未见过这么多颧骨。    那一年垃圾场上的鸢尾花开得乖戾---        太多锡罐。但是你和我都在嘲笑    自己，所以这一切还不能结束    过去从没有在这里发生过。重击着    他的前门，一天或另一天，        碧玉色的蛋不知怎么知道我的名字。    一切都结束了，笑得前仰后合。树屋的    窗帘拉上了，笑声奇怪地溅起了薄雾，    点画公寓的电线。哦，已经过去        太久，悲剧又来拜访垂死的郡，    告诉人们坚持，你    太过分了。“看来    我们被邀请参加聚会。”叛逆布满    我的小船的桅杆。救命！然后是    永恒的沉默。孔    转移到楼上，没有    足够的蜘蛛蟹，海洋中的蜘蛛，        为这个绣花门垫敲响出发的门铃。    当然一切都很好---否则我们早就听说了。陌生人    轮班讲这些，为了一点乐趣，一个脆弱的时刻。

Stung by Something            but my advice is---be comfortable.    Wear a smock, with fractals. Be native!    You’ll find people are more interested in your story,    and they will, too. Revisit        the recurrent tragedy of life.    Make sure it has its priorities straight.    Then---ziff! Jump off the end of a dock.    Color a monsoon yours, to do business and pleasure with.    With Smokey, everywhere seemed like pastime.    Girls in their girdles wandered up    amazed---they had never seen so many cheekbones.    The irises on the dump bloomed surlier that year—        too many tin cans. But you and I were deriding    ourselves, therefore it couldn’t be over yet    and the past never happened here. Pounding    on his front door, one day or other,        the jasper eggs somehow knew my name.    It was all over, in fits. The tree-house    curtains were drawn, laughter strangely spattered the mist,    stippled the tenement wiring. Oh it’s been gone        too long, tragedy again visits the dying shires,    tells one to hang in, it’s over the top    with you. Looks like    we’ve been invited to a party. Treason peppered    the masts of my little skiff. Help! And then    an eternity of silence. Bores    shifted on the upper floors, there are not    enough spider-crabs, spiders of the sea,        for this embroidered doormat to clinch the departure bell.    Surely all’s well---we’d have heard about it otherwise. Strangers tell    this in shifts, for a little pleasure, a brittle hour.

剑郭琴符

  

  

最后的浪漫        （选自Wakefulness）    作者：(美)约翰.阿什贝利（John Ashberry）    译者:剑郭琴符        不踌躇，开始告诉你一些简单的事    关于草波动的方式，我们如何    在世界创造之后打破它。然后是一个带刺的新月。    现在你一定很可笑。偏执的舞男和糖果，    很多，在航空公司上面，事实上你怎么可能，    你知道他今天要来。好吧，最好一次    把它彻底压扁。我对椰子是一个傻瓜，我说    椰子。没人再相信我，他们以为我被    释放，但我没有，我仍然被锁着，失恋了。    天使丽人答应我一盘卷轴。    咬了一口之后，一切都将是肮脏的，然后它将是浪漫的。        他们带着松饼头沿着冬天的海滩走过他。    这么多人物。他们告诉他这么多人物    在你的小说里，情节还是很复杂，但他们    还是不断出现，一定有漏洞，等等，甚至不是这样，    刚刚外面有太多的人。 好吧，我想在你看来    似乎如此，他们是不正常的，但如果你能    从外面看到这一切，你会发现有多少人粘在    你的燕尾服上，而且不会太多，永远不会少于足够的，    这包括孩子。我的星星我    从来没数过在这里的全部。不，你爸爸    也没有，城市里很安静，    太安静，除了最大的大篷车和敞篷车，这些    都被安全地归在“欧洲”档下---我们可以让一切都过去，真的，    然后回来看看，把它捡起来。        好吧，当然，更远的路    你一直坚持要带我们、我和另外一个人去，但总的说来    不太远，只是城市一个区的    一些街区的问题。说，我有一个很好的    主意，但现在它消失了，变得毫无用处。    于是我也可能有一天，坐在我不知名的小院子里玩耍。        我们都愿如此，当猫呜呜叫，葡萄成熟    一粒未知来源的多刺的尘土似乎从座位上升起。

The Last Romantic                Not to stumble, to get to tell you something simple    about the way the grass was being waves, how we broke    the world after we made it. Then it was a thorn-bearing crescent.    Now you must be funny. Paranoid gigolos and candy,    lots of it, over the airways, in fact how could you,    you knew he was coming today. Well, better to squash    it once and for all. I was a fool for coconuts, I said    coconuts. Nobody believes me anymore, they think I’ve been    let out, but I haven’t, I’m still locked up, and lovelorn.    Pretty please promise me a dish of scrolls.    After that one nip everything will be nasty and then it will be romantic.        They pass him with muffin heads down along the winter beach.    So many characters. They told him there were too many characters    in your novel, that the plot was still complicated, but still    they keep coming on, there must have been a leak, wait, it’s not even that,    there are just too many people out there.Well I suppose it seems    so to you, who are not normal, but if you could see    it all from the outside you’d find how many are glued    to your coattails, and not too many, never less than enough,    and that includes children. My stars well I    never counted on all this being here. No, and neither    did your daddy, and it’s quiet in the city,    too quiet, except for the largest vans and convertibles, and these    are safely filed under “European”---we can let everything go, really,    and then come back and look at it and pick it up.        Well it sure was farther the way    you always insist on taking us, me and one other person, but in    fine it was not a great distance, only a matter of some blocks    in one ward of the city. Say, I had a great    idea and now it’s gone off and become useless.    So may I someday, sitting at play in my little unknown courtyard.        So may we all, while cats whine and grapes mature    and a prickly dust of unknown origin seems to rise upward from the seats.

   

剑郭琴符

街上的影子    （选自Wakefulness）    作者：(美)约翰.阿什贝利（John Ashberry）    译者:剑郭琴符    她咬着桥。一张照片可以吃下它。我会在    七月中旬的某个时候进来。现在到处是    一年中最好的时候，谁也不能否认八月    和“随机”先生的牙齿在街上跑，他喜欢说嗨，他只是    在跑步，这有点尴尬。对角线唇膏    在街对面追他。从那以后，只是他妈的忧郁，    没有凤尾鱼，没有什么特别的，没什么可说的。如果是这样的话为什么，为什么要这样做？    彼得说，他为这个职位奋战，奋战并赢得，    为什么我们在这里，在一个次要的地带中间，疯狂    被生活，被真理所吸引，一如既往。    但我要说精密的部分    被栅栏隔开。然后拿到山上。那儿    一片花瓣凋零，树在分崩离析，哎呀，我几乎什么也做不了    当山峦出现把我们分开，把我们种在明天    或者直到最后一盘菜被挖出。    又爬出第三个。    曾经很危险的大草原，现在没人记得，    脚邪恶的移动向我们的吸脂专家告发了    女旅行推销员。一个下午在炉子旁做饭，    一切都或多或少地结束了，不幸    无效的燃烧弹爆炸了    但无论如何，在另一片陆地，家具比我们预想的更多。    所以我们说，授予我们这些，在别国必行这事    如同在国王的巢穴。别让屋顶塌顶！    我有点被理发师的招牌排除在外    但实际上我解释了关于黑暗的花瓣，它是好的    我们在它的时间出现，应该是天堂，是时候了，关于    那一点。火箭升空。阅读我。所有这些无精打采的蜂巢    没有意义。他起飞的方式表示蝙蝠    当一切结束时它们到达。是时候了，现在，有些人是好的，孤独的，    迷失在别人身上。他们可以去取消    在那边被玩弄太没意义。他们是，因为其余的臭不可闻，    畜栏里的百里香，从天井着火的    最后一所学校跳了三下，宣誓安全通行，就像从学校    终于被带到这里来的面包。

Shadows in the Street    She bit the bridge. A photograph can stomach it. I’ll be in    some time in the middle of July. Now the best time    of the year is around now, none can gainsay August    and Mr. Random’s tooth running in the street, he liked to say hi, it was just    him running, which is a bit awkward. A diagonal lipstick    chased him across the street. From there on in it was just damn melancholy,    no anchovies, nothing in particular, nothing to say. If so why, why do it,    says Peter, who fought hard for the post, fought it and won,    and why we are here, in the middle of a secondary terrain, mad and absorbed    by life, by the truth, as always.    But the nice part    I was going to say is fenced out. Take to the hills then. There goes    one petal, the tree is falling apart, zounds I can do almost nothing    while the hills come and separate us, plant us in tomorrow    or until the last dish is unearthed.    Out crept a third one.    Savannas that have been dangerous, now no one remembered,    the evil shifting of feet denounced the lady travelling salesman    to our liposuction expert. A single afternoon cooking at the stove    and all is more or less gone over, too bad    the futile Molotov cocktail exploded    but in any case in another land, with more furniture than we expected.    So we said, grant us this, it shall be done in another kingdom    as in the king’s den. Don’t let the roof fall in!    I was kind of sidelined by the barber pole    but explained practically about the dark petal, that it was good    and we were appearing in its time, and shall be heaven, about time, about    that point. Rockets lifted. Read me.There is no point to all this listless    hive. He took off in a manner that betokened bats    when it was over and they came over.It’s time, now, some are good and alone,    lost up unto the rest. They can go and cancel    around it’s too moot to be played at.They are, for the rest unsavory,    thyme in the corral, three jumps from last school    the patio ignited, sworn to safe-conduct,like bread out of a school    conducted at last to here.

大地音色的麦当娜    （选自Wakefulness）    作者：(美)约翰.阿什贝利（John Ashberry）    译者:剑郭琴符    你告诉了他什么？    为什么在每个人都看得到的沼泽里    植入静脉？今天    是春天的第一天，我想。    乘着单眼望远镜在我们附近航行，    浪花拍打着，摇曳着，    永远像救生艇。    真的，有些人被发现在玉米饼里    作伪证，那天没有留下肉，    人们没有边角可以在上面到处乱跑。    在被称为遗忘的松散混乱中有    窥视者，桌上没有其他东西。    埃尔琼斯小姐，事件的顺序是什么？    我想不是先生，她    从多伦多的一个有利位置发电报，那里所有的船    和火车都有终点站。如果是星期三？    然后，男人这白鹭们，扫雪机出现    休息在我们所有人都穿着工作鞋的地方    这将是一个划分绳子和星期六的艰难电话。    圣人的雕像没有希望，眼球塌了下来，像镰刀一样    向前倾斜，然而我们逐渐了解    他怎么干的，并欣赏他膝下的    交谈。现在这只是他们第四次    这样做了。于是，我们用橡胶扫帚扫去    家里盘子里那张快乐的脸，我们周围    贵族们的马尾辫都为    看似公平的东西鼓掌喝彩，很快    就被送走---在他舞鞋里的公牛，    因为白日梦而被遗忘，老索尔胡子上    纠缠的泥灰。一切都被摧毁，    这是毁灭性的，然而我们继续    生活，沿着我们摆放的那一排    很快我们就走到了尽头。一个共谋的颤动    使指南针滑行，奖品清单    相当闪亮。我期待你    看到一个有追溯力的配偶可能是什么    但我们却不知何故迷失在    正式胜利伴随的混乱中。我们回到了    家，事实上，但没人想到    在那里找我们。我们被派到阴凉处    放牧，又有六卷相互吻合。    小说的第一部分现在是完整的，    写了一百年，但它的风格    似乎是纯洁的，如果不是完全平淡无奇的话，从最好的意义上讲，    就像许多小猎犬开始奔跑，    狂吠。如果在所有火炉边有    我们的空间，它被暴露。我们一直在等待    直到宣布离开，    因此成为人类的一部分。部分和包裹，我要说。    在昏暗的    折衷的喧嚣中，搅拌器等待着。    让我们试用它，亲爱的，噢我亲爱的，我说。

The Earth-Tone Madonna    What were you telling him about,    and why were veins implanted in the marsh    where everyone looks? Today    is the first day of spring, I think.    Sailing near us on a monocle,    the spray tapped and jiggled,    forever like a lifeboat.    And true some were found perjured    in cornshocks, there was no meat left that day,    no edge one could run around on.    There were peepers in the loose chaos called    oblivion, and not much else on the table.    Miss-er-Jones, what is the order of events?    I think not sir she cabled    from a vantage point in Toronto where all ships    and trains have their terminus. And if it’s Wednesday?    Then man the egrets, the snowplow is coming    to rest where all of us have our workshoes on    and it will be a tough call to divide up the rope and Saturday.    There was no hope in the statue of the saint, eyeballs collapsed, sloping forward    like a scythe, and yet we came to know    how he was doing, and appreciated a chat    at his knees. Now this was only the fourth time    any had done so. So we squeegeed    the happy-face off home plate, and bunches    of aristocrats all around us applauded    what came to seem fair, and in time    were whisked away---the ox in his pumps,    forgotten for daydreaming, the tangled marl    of old Sol’s beard. Everything was decimated,    which was devastating, yet we went on    living, along the row we had been set down in    and soon we had reached the end. A conniving quiver    set compass needles skittering, prize lists    fairly glittering. And I looked to thee    to see what a retroactive spouse might be    yet we got lost somehow in the confusion    attendant on the formal victory. We were back    home, in fact, but no one thought to look    for us there. We were let out to pasture    in the shade, and six more volumes dovetailed.    The first part of the novel was now complete,    a hundred years in the making, yet its style    seemed chaste, if not downright lackluster, in the best sense,    as many terriers were starting to run,    yappingly. If there was a space for us    in all this fireside, it got debunked. We were kept waiting    right up until the announced departure,    and so became part of humanity. Part and parcel, I was going to say.    In the dim    eclectic din, beaters waited.    Let’s handsel it, love, O my love, I said.

亲爱的先生或女士    （选自Wakefulness）    作者：(美)约翰.阿什贝利（John Ashberry）    译者:剑郭琴符    只吃了你一个星期的药后    我承认我被无边无际的能量逮住了：    我的盘子里塞满了，甚至当我用围巾从我们周围    透明的蓝色中围住蔬菜碎片的时候。我的苍穹，    在我看来，从来没有这么公正。    身体的不适，月光下乞丐的尸体，    所有奇怪的性：一切都在密谋    掩盖内心生活的混乱，把    欲望微动的摩天大楼夷为平地。    杀了孙子，在树林里    长长有趣的小路上留下一张纸的踪迹。    违法。一言以蔽之，不同于    在变成你的爱浸透的对立面的你自己。在花坛上种上    鹿角，你最后一次见到厄洛斯    是什么时候打嗝的雕像；    去纪念碑工业找份工作。

Dear Sir or Madam    After only a week of taking your pills    I confess I am seized with a boundless energy:    My plate fills up even as I scarf vegetable fragments    from the lucent blue around us. My firmament,    as I see it, was never this impartial.    The body’s discomfiture, bodies of moonlit beggars,    sex in all its strangeness: Everything conspires    to hide the mess of inner living, raze    the skyscraper of inching desire.    Kill the grandchildren, leave a trail    of paper over the long interesting paths in the wood.    Transgress. In a word, be other than yourself    in turning into your love-soaked opposite. Plant    his parterre with antlers, burping    statue of when-was-the-last-time-you-saw Eros;    go get a job in the monument industry.

死人的笑声    （选自Wakefulness）    作者：(美)约翰.阿什贝利（John Ashberry）    译者:剑郭琴符    坦白的悲叹从他的嘴唇上撒下毛毛雨，    商店看起来好像今天没锁。    一份薄薄的教学大纲出现，烟雾被印在    苔藓绿的高速公路上。    这就是我们为郊区发明的，    于是我们就可以回顾这个可爱的不诚实的城市，    眼泪堵塞了我们的动脉。    我们释放出来的恶心和痛苦漂浮在空中。    死者们正在召唤我们的微笑和冷漠。    我们爬上辉煌的阶梯，朝着它们的胃口，    同性恋恐怖症患者，雌雄同体，紧紧地粘在一起，像冬天    耀眼的一天里挂着晾干的袜子。    你本可以告诉我这一切    但当然不愿意，    如此害怕第一人称单数    和它所暗示的所有单数奇遇。

The Laughter of Dead Men    Candid jeremiads drizzle from his lips,    the store looks as if it isn’t locked today.    A gauzy syllabus happens, smoke is stenciled    on the moss-green highway.    This is what we invented the suburbs for,    so we could look back at the lovable dishonest city,    tears clogging our arteries.    The nausea and pain we released to float in the sky.    The dead men are summoning our smiles and indifference.    We climb the brilliant ladder toward their appetites,    homophobes, hermaphrodites, clinging together like socks    hanging out to dry on a glaring day in winter.    You could have told me all about that    but of course preferred not to,    so fearful of the first-person singular    and all the singular adventures it implies.

不一致的数据    献给马克.福特    （选自Wakefulness）    作者：(美)约翰.阿什贝利（John Ashberry）    译者:剑郭琴符    还是在春天，我的外套    和我的包裹一起旅行，像它们一样松开纽扣。    天气预报没用。于是，    叹口气，重新开始这封信。    “这是几周来我第一次    不得不和你沟通。一切都    倒塌，在火球中。我想    北达科他州的风景对你没什么好处。你    没有良心，或者意识，意识到的良心吗？    我可以提醒你，每一句话，无论在哪里，    都以句号结尾吗？各种免责声明？”    他以为我们已经到了草的中间。    他的玻璃消防栓可以没有末端。    哦，这只是一个想法；    好了，别抱怨。那帮人过来    喝酒，我们今天可以跳过奴役。    相反，集中精力在今天的经典性上。    一定是从什么地方来的，    对吧？许多囚犯已经离开了市区，老人    赞成。他身材魁梧，秃顶。喜欢一个恶作剧    不时地。看，白色的雨在他酒吧的    墙上写字。他能翻过山吗，    我们假设，但是网里的拍打也    太强了。你不同意吗？在这个问题上    你有什么进一步的想法吗？是的，你    可以有条件放弃一些。

Discordant Data    for Mark Ford    Still in spring, my coat    Travels with the pack，unbuttoned as they.    The weather report is useless. So,    sigh and begin again the letter.    “This is the first time in weeks    I’ve had to communicate with you. It all    falls, in balls of fire. I guess the    North Dakota landscape doesn’t do much for you. Have you    no conscience, or conscious, conscious conscience?    May I remind you that every sentence, everywhere,    ends with a period? A disclaimer of sorts?”    He thought we’d gotten to the middle of the grass.    His glass fire hydrants can have no end.    Oh it was just an idea;    there, don’t rail. The posse is coming    by for drinks, we can skip enslavement today.    Concentrate, instead, on this day’s canonicity.    It has to be from somewhere,    right? Many prisoners have left downtown, the old man    assents. He was tremendous and bald. Liked a practical joke    now and again. Look, the white rain is writing on the wall    of his saloon. Could be he was over the hill,    we’d assumed, but the flapping in the net’s too    strong for that. Don’t you agree? Have you    had any further ideas on the subject? Yes, you    could well afford to give up a few.

虚假检查    （选自Wakefulness）    作者：(美)约翰.阿什贝利（John Ashberry）    译者:剑郭琴符    抽屉里的东西很久以前就散了。    有些被雪弄湿。另一些是干的，但不能折射光。    在港口一侧，获得一个磨损的触摸。    平静的心从人行道上的一道栅栏下落    在那里它可见地躺了几个小时    然后就消失了。不管怎样，我能告诉你什么？    我想要听的不是这些东西，我想。    你的兴趣也不能转向我的喜怒无常。我把你想听的东西都铲到    手推车里，放在你前面的台阶上。    也许有些东西会回想我，你，见鬼，    谁知道会从中跳出什么？    一些其他护照被签发。朝圣者    拿着纸条和手杖排队在楼梯间和街道附近    月光般的涌浪似乎总是占据着那里，在我离你很远的    某个点。这就是它的整个信息---    生命，甚至。    你说你对我们小房子里的每件事都    避而远之。但最后却变得善于交际；    他们注意到旗帜上飘着微风    人们觉得像朝着不可避免的厄运跑去，只是为了好玩。    有些人在度假，他们称之为    公共汽车司机的假日，没有别的办法。我的手渐渐适应了    桌布上的刺绣。如果是这样的话，为什么    不把酒再传一次呢。把你的袜子提起来    去翡翠领带夹刺过它的地方，所有人    都能看到欢喜。说，我突然意识到我想    和你一起去开车兜风。为什么不呢？微风    凉爽。    你看，在你破旧观念的药典中    正确的东西占上风。男人就是他的家。两个赤裸的女孩    穿着吊带装。很有趣。一个懒惰的圆转盘又旋转：    这次给你带来了什么？    会有夏天的吸血鬼吗？    大惊喜是什么？    好消息。南奥兰治的一名小学生    再次挑战了宇宙。哦，是的，    长除法最后成功。    沿着你走的这条路看到你，    知道这条我们的林荫道上郁金香的奇妙状态。    过去的事情再出现。药水滴管接近天空。    “这个”很快就会治好“那个”。    太好了，你又能见到我们。

Bogus Inspections    The things that were in the drawer were dispersed a long time ago.    Some were wetted by snow. Others were dry but could not refract the light.    On the harbor’s side a frazzled touch obtained.    Peace of mind fell through a grating in the sidewalk    where it lay visible for a few hours    and then it went away. Anyway, what can I tell you?    Not the things you want to hear, I suppose.    Nor can your interest deflect my moodiness. I shovel all the things you want to hear    into a wheelbarrow and leave it on your front step.    Perhaps some of it will reflect on me, on you, hell,    who knows what will jump out of it?    Some other passports were issued. Pilgrims    with scrip and staffs lined the stairwell and the near reaches of the street    in the moony swell that always seems to take over there, at a certain point    when I’m far from you. That’s the message of it all---    of life, even.    You say you shied away from every event    in our small house. Yet at the end it turned sociable;    there was a breeze in the flags that they noticed    and one felt like running toward some inescapable doom, just for the fun of it.    Some were on vacation, a busman^ holiday    they called it, and would have it no other way. Gradually my hands readjusted    to the stitchery in the tablecloth. If it was going to be this way, why    not pass the wine around again. Hoist up your stocking    to where the emerald stickpin has pierced it, a joy    for all to see. Say, I suddenly realized I want    to be you along for the ride. Why not?And the breeze    is cool.    You see, in your pharmacopeia of battered notions    just the right things prevail. A man is his house. Two naked girls    are in tubetops. Fun to see. A lazy susan spins round again:    What has it brought you this time?    Are there going to be summer suckers?    What’11 be the big surprise?    Good news. The universe has been challenged again    by a schoolboy in South Orange. And oh yes,    long division has come out on top.    To see you the way you go this way    is to know the marvelous state of tulips in this our parkway.    What goes around comes around. The medicine dropper approached the sky.    This will soon cure that.    So wonderful you could see us again.

飘浮地    （选自Wakefulness）    作者：(美)约翰.阿什贝利（John Ashberry）    译者:剑郭琴符    杀死白色的海滩，旅馆，臭虫！    桌上的面包屑唱着这首歌来隔离自己，    但鸡只不过啄得更厉害。我们确实，我们没有，我们确实，我们确实    想用吸尘器清扫这些面包屑，除非有一天，一个白痴男孩    在去棒球场的路上经过树林，    谦虚地把帽子扔了，因为什么，事实上，一种姿态？    这只是一种姿态。所以，毫无疑问，白痴    可能会站在脾脏篱笆的你这一边：只有大师    对外人很重要，毕竟，那跛脚女孩说。    她说，而我断言：    认识这海滩的人，谁也不能推翻    在沙滩上，靠近篱笆的孕育它的正义。    同样，一个人需要两个锡罐。    而且，让浏览者当心，她以    即席表演出名，因为鸡至少在一个意义上像法学家：    当这条古老的钓索在水面上    起伏，尖叫着其核心穿过水面时，两者都不需要。    没有藏红花妨碍夜晚的细砂    椭圆体，    因为微粒的存在总是独一无二的。    蓬松的的想法从中学习并被它们改变。    我们只有太多的生菜，生菜送人。    我们的叶子将不认识我们    也不会有虚假的讲座训练我们去观察侧廊。

Floatingly    Kill the white beaches, the hotel, bugs!    The crumbs on a table sang this song to insulate themselves,    but the chickens merely pecked harder. We do, we don’t, we do, we do mean    to vacuum these crumbs, unless someday an idiot boy    pass through the wood on his way to the ballpark,    tossing his cap unassumingly, for what is, in fact, a gesture?    It is only a gesture. So, sure, morons    can be on your side of the spleen fence: It’s only gurus    matter to outsiders, after all, the lame girl said.    She spoke, and I averred:    No one who has known this beach can undo the righteousness that begat it    out of sand, close to a fence.    By the same token, one needs two tin cans.    And let the browsers beware, she famously    ad-libbed, for chickens are like jurists in at least one sense:    Neither is wanted when the old line undulates,    shrieking its core across water.    No saffron impediment to evening^ fine-sanded    elliptical body,    for the presence of a mote is always singular.    Towheaded ideas learn from and are transformed by them.    We have only too much lettuce, lettuce to give away.    Our fronds shall not know us    nor apocryphal lectures train us to eye the side aisles.

剑郭琴符

晨祷        （选自Wakefulness）    作者：(美)约翰.阿什贝利（John Ashberry）    译者:剑郭琴符        你得到你一点雪的要价：    伤口王牌，浴盆之星，篝火    从那里到这里就像一个事后的想法，        而这突然不是你想要的一切。    我们朝不同的方向行进。    一周有一次非常盛大的体育比赛日。    建两座摩天大楼。然后护城河就不会那么    出人意料。它又向你走来；    的确，它在跳舞。在这开始成为某种东西的时候        有些东西消失了，但光芒占上风。    他们不注意，    他们不注意，这就是我能说的一切。        看看战俘的一切是什么。    你有多近？岩石渗入黑夜，    粘土得到应有的关注。        我们建造又建造我们的影子讲坛，    然后夺取来临之时的清晨，    以快乐的步伐：失事船只的名字，        一直延续到今天，直到怀旧之情到来。我们家里    它在美国被当作是一个城市（街道    在嘲笑我们吗？）。我们还不能开车，甚至走路。    人们被赋予土地的管理权。

Tenebrae            For a little snow you get your asking price:    the Ace of Wounds, star of tubs, brushfires    from there to here like an afterthought,        and this suddenly not all that you willed it to be.    We marched in different directions.    Once a week there’s a very big field day.    Plant two skyscrapers. Then the moat will be less    unexpected. It’s coming round to you again;    indeed, it dances. And in this starting to be something        something disappears, but a shine prevails.    And they don’t pay attention,    and they don’t pay attention， that’s all I can say.        See what the prisoners of war are all about.    How close are you? Rocks seep into the night    and the clay gets the attention it deserves.        We build and build our shadow-pulpit,    then seize morning when it comes,    in chirrupy stride: names of the lost ships,        lasting until today, until nostalgia sets in. We’re home    in what passes for a city in America (are the streets    laughing at us?). We can’t drive yet, or even walk.    And one is given the run of the land.

  

我窗外日本的…        （选自Wakefulness）    作者：(美)约翰.阿什贝利（John Ashberry）    译者:剑郭琴符        我窗外日本的练习场    在它的网状面纱中颤抖着，即将迎来春天的    瘦骨嶙峋的新娘，渴望，兴高采烈。为什么在这里？    一个谜。它以前在做什么，那么？一个更早的    谜。我喜欢它如何在不完全的风中包裹自己---    果然，    时间到了。你手里还有什么？    张开你的手，请。我的大天使    刚刚醒来，正在把咖啡壶盖敲入    其位。看！咖啡疯狂地    流到它的巢里，忧郁的人醒了，    踮起脚尖跳来跳去，夜盲症结束了。    从你站的地方，    它能说明多少个可能的方程式？        我的头发刚刚向后打鼾。    吃粪的大地产生了另一个    微小的理由，转向颤抖的    复苏，摇摇晃晃地站起来，用它的尺度    触碰天空，走回被接纳的，热情的实体    所在的地方。又一年…如果我们去年春天就知道    大楼知道了什么然后，什么战胜了，在我们身上相同的一切    会变成泥巴，挥手让我们走下自动扶梯，    带着免费的软糖样品走过柜台，来到女主人站的地方。    这从不是我的主意，碎片，她说。这    就是匿名捐赠者在我的书上刻下他们首字母的地方，    这对即将到来的国际青年商会来说是一个难题，就像筑巢之地    是一个岛屿。哦，我们常常摇摇晃晃地    走，在那里，进出船，    好像没人知道现在什么时候，也不在乎    地平线是哪个盖子。我们很快就    互相了解了，直到那时，一切都是一场野营聚会，很友好地    遇见，吧台高脚凳    把天花板上的胶状抛光剂反射到    紫色国王坐的右舷，今天已经太迟了，    报纸已经印好了，在大街上讲述    他们的故事，浮木的外壳    一次又一次被冲上岸，说不出话来，失去控制地旋转。    多么绚烂的夕阳，烟盒，盘绕的绳子    盘绕得多么有效，在那雷声中    有什么香味，看不见！你想知道    我为什么回来？也许这会刷新你的记忆，    滑板，溜冰鞋，二项式定理点饰    粗野，擦洗着喘息。通向免责条款的一切方式    他一直坚持不干错事，然后---噗的一声！---这是    他和我们的窗帘，除了这些我们    永恒残余的碎片，提醒着    我们未来的那些日子的一切，以及那些其他的，如此远地回到    母爱的过去中。

Outside My Window the Japanese…            Outside my window the Japanese driving range    shivers in its mesh veils, skinny bride    of soon-to-be-spring, ravenous, rapturous. Why is it here?    A puzzle. And what was it doing before, then? An earlier    puzzle. I like how it wraps itself in not-quite wind---    sure enough,    the time is up. What else do you have in your hand?    Open your hand, please. My elder seraph    just woke up, is banging the coffee-pot lid    into place. See! the coffee flows    crazily to its nest, the doldrums are awake,    jumping up and down on tiptoe, night-blindness ended.    And from where you stand,    how many possible equations does it spell out?        My hair’s just snoring back.    The coprophagic earth yields another of its    minute reasons, turns to a quivering    recovers, staggers to its feet, touches the sky    with its yardstick, walks back to the place of received,    enthusiastic entities. Another year ...And if we had known last spring    what the buildings knew then, what defeat, it would have turned to mud    all the same in us, waved us down the escalator,    past the counter with free samples of fudge, to where the hostess stands.    This was never my idea, shards, she says. This    is where the anonymous donors carved their initials in my book,    to be a puzzle for jaycees to come, as a nesting-ground    is to an island. Oh, we’d waddle    often, there, stepping in and out of the boat    as though nobody knew what time it was, or cared    which lid the horizon was. We’d get to know    each other in time, and till then it was all a camp meeting, hail-    fellow-well-met, and the barstools    reflected the ceiling’s gummy polish^ to the starboard    where purple kings sit, and it was too late for today,    the newspapers had already been printed, telling their tale    along avenues, husks of driftwood    washed ashore again and again, speechless, spun out of control.    What a gorgeous sunset, cigarette case, how tellingly    the coiled rope is modelled, what perfume    in that sound of thunder, invisible! And you wonder    why I came back? Perhaps this will refresh your memory,    skateboard, roller skates, the binomial theorem picked out in    brutish, swabbed gasps. All the way to the escape clause    he kept insisting he’d done nothing wrong, and then---pouf!---it was    curtains for him and us, excepting these splinters    of our perpetual remainder, reminder    of all those days to come, and those others, so far back    in the mothering past.

  

任何其他时间        （选自Wakefulness）    作者：(美)约翰.阿什贝利（John Ashberry）    译者:剑郭琴符        两三下态度的颤抖    在船滑行到视野外    进入它在雨中的生命之前。        更多病态的杂种狼吞虎咽，    从那边传来的消息暗淡了    曲棍球盛会绝望的尾声，    它随着边缘的闪光，以及即将到来的    陡峭词汇而颤抖…        我们周围的火    都在中心训练，曾经出现过的    最整洁的。我会穿蓝色的衣服和你说拜拜    如果这是我们做的最后一件事。        所以我们说：有人有一种冲动，一种心血来潮，    闪电从那里开始。在所有的    道路上，我们只不过非法闯入，找到一个标准，    商店买的东西。比如买一个葡萄柚    然后展示。是的，我们有茶水，    疼痛的靴子，治疲乏的床，    一整座充满观念的仓库，        还有这。让你有几分舒服。    说得越少，我们就闭嘴得越多---    在风口浪尖，事实上。

Any Other Time            A couple of shivers of attitude    ago the ship coasted out of sight    to its life in rain.        More morbid mongrels munching    and the news from over there clouds    the hockey pageant’s desperate coda,    that shakes with the glitter of edges, of the steep    vocabulary that’s coming …        All around us fires    are trained at the center, neatest thing    that ever happened. I'll bye-bye you in blue    if it's the last thing we do.        So we say: Someone had an urge, a whim,    and lightning began there. On all    roads we merely trespass, finding a level,    store-bought thing. Like buying a grapefruit    and having it displayed. Yes and we have teas,    boots for the sore, beds for the weary,    a whole warehouse full of notions,        and this. Makes you kinda comfy.    The less said the more we’ll shut up about it---    on the cusp, actually.

  

可能基于一个梦        （选自Wakefulness）    作者：(美)约翰.阿什贝利（John Ashberry）    译者:剑郭琴符        “就像你以前做过的一样”---    你工作努力吗？你好？灰熊夫人？    只有快乐的少数知道是什么让我们    远离膨胀进我们的力量。当我们试图    从火箭上捕捉一束    沉入干草中的碎片时，有那么一些人告诉你    改天再来，    说过去已经被玷污和遗忘了。然而    你我都不知道在大炮的轰隆声中    发生了什么，威胁要和野鸭们一起    雷鸣般起飞，还有你，如果我    没弄错，曾经在这里一次，一次就太频繁    房东太太告诉我。快！你的呐喊    在哪里？我们怎么出乎意料    抵达？在一个粗犷的山间    作坊里，坦克是    伪造的，而真相出现    未切成片，像面包，船长和盛会犯错和重复；    一直徒然？    但总有一天，我知道，我的偶像将把我滑向一颗药丸    为了和沙坑重复自身一样长。艾莉莎？        把地图铲进潜水头盔。    新闻剪报以失败告终；风拍打着高楼。    你也知道科科莫，哦，史无前例的一个。

Probably Based on a Dream                Like you’ve done it before---    Are you working hard? Hello? Mrs. Grizzli?    Only the happy few know what keeps us    from ballooning into our strength. And when we try    to capture wisps from the rocket,    sinking in the hay, there are those who tell you    to come again another day,    that the past is soiled and forgotten. Yet neither    you nor I know what happens in the thud    of cannon threatening to take off with the wild ducks    thunderously, and you，if I’m not    mistaken, were around here once, once too often    the landlady tells me. Quick! Where is    your whoop? How unexpectedly have    we arrived? In a brusque mountain    workshop where tankas are    forged, and the truth comes    unsliced, like bread, the captains and the pageants err and repeat;    for nothing all along was it?    But someday, I know, my idol will slip me a pill    for as long as bunkers repeat themselves. Alyssa?        Shovel the maps into the diving helmet.    The press cuttings have come to grief; wind slaps the high buildings.    You too know Kokomo, O unpreceded one.

  

睡眠之村        （选自Wakefulness）    作者：(美)约翰.阿什贝利（John Ashberry）    译者:剑郭琴符        为什么，那时我们必须染色---        我愿意无限期地呆在这里吗？    我们有树要修剪，有密码要解码，    这都是瞎子冲进光里---    她说不出“鱼”这个词。他的基因也不会    被痴呆潜艇的遗迹解开。是的，先生，    尼莫船长，先生，我们在前面的路上发现了    那些垃圾。什么！我为自己的消遣而制造的痉挛，现在    它显然从长期以来一直笼罩着它的章鱼的口水中浮现出来，    而我，一个通往其地区铁路的地下支线，却蔓延着    对非常时期咳出的怀疑，但我必须站在这里，    一个表面上的谜。在外面，生活欢快地闲聊，    就像绣花毛巾，可能会    太虚弱而无法反对    如果我们决定把野餐推迟到十一月。    我听见了你；堤坝下面的拱门    是关于我一切的一部分。我也从过剩断奶    在一个银色的年代，现在迷失在信封的暴风雪。    马具铃铛的叮当多么冷漠！    它是我们能做的一切，以跟上笨蛋的三轮车，        而在采石场的一个中立的角落    同样的历史狂欢正在诱骗男人们的眼睛    变成顽固的迷信。所以我们必须嘲笑它，    缠绕进我们的追逐，趁还有时间，但是飞沫    正在水沟里爆炸。赌博船摆渡我们驶过    飞燕草，驶过六角乐器，这个古老的名字再次清晰可见，    短暂地，在建筑的尘土立面上。我        以为我们失去了你。不，    我下午还在这里。        你想跳出害羞的窗户吗？    一点一点地人们接受了狐狸的呜咽：    没关系，很冷静，        他们咯咯笑着。这只是一株植物，    它仅仅依赖于下一次，    我们戴着海滩护目镜，穿着亮丽的吊带…我心中的    派对野兽说让我们放弃，更冷静的头脑说潜水，    像青蛙一样潜水，而著名的夜晚即将来临    就像一声叹息的起泡的表面。

The Village of Sleep            Why, we must dye it then---        Would I like to stay here indefinitely?    We have trees to prune, cryptograms to decode,    it was all a blind running into the light---    She couldn’t say the word for “fish.” Nor are his genes undone    by what oafish submarines remain. Aye,sir,    Captain Nemo, sir, we’ve spotted the junk    in the roads up ahead. What! That spasm I created for my own diversion, now    it’s clearly emerging out of the octopus drool that so long enshrouded it,    while I, a nether spur to its district railway, am overrun with    coughing doubt for the duration, yet here I must stand,    a seeming enigma. Outside, life prattles on merrily,    like an embroidered towel, and would    probably be too weak to object    if we decided to postpone the picnic until November.    I hear you; the arches under the embankment    are part of what I’m all about. I too was weaned from excess    in some silvery age now lost in a blizzard of envelopes.    How frostily jingle the harness bells!    It’s all we can do to keep up with the dunce’s velocipede,        while in a neutral corner of the quarry    the same binge of history is conning men’s eyes    into dogged superstition. So we must make sport of it,    reel in our catch while yet there’s time, but droplets    are exploding in the gutter. The gambling ship ferried us away    past larkspur, past concertinas, and the old name became visible again,    briefly, on the building’s dusty facade. I        thought we’d lost you. No,    I’m still here.        Do you want to jump out a shy window?    Little by little one took in the foxes’s keening:    It’s all right, it’s sober,        they chortled. This was just a plant,    it counts only for the next time,    and we in beach goggles, brilliant suspenders …The party beast    in me says let’s abandon, cooler heads say dive,    dive like a frog while famous night is coming on    like the blistered exterior of a sigh.

  

在我的脑海里        （选自Wakefulness）    作者：(美)约翰.阿什贝利（John Ashberry）    译者:剑郭琴符        我走出荒原，小山，沙谷。    我的头无精打采。风刷洗星星。    但我不会引爆。我身后的土地太多。    鸟儿曾唱过一次，后来没那么多。    我努力晚到，吻一条鱼。    会是一个更伟大的人回到    幽灵边境。        她写在这上面。        它们的味道几乎都一样，    切花，就像我是别人嘴里的精液，雪崩般的轮虫。    下一步我怎么办？不是第一个去那里的人。        风吹得客厅里稻草人的骨头    嘎嘎作响，春天杂乱无章地散开，    地毯上到处都是。那个陆地上生活的人，他一定很在意，    也来了，其他人都很高兴他的更新，他的搬迁    就像在路上第四十英里的一辆旧翻斗车中。        航海，成功，和酸洗，    这是对看守我们的大笨蛋的    许多忠告。他一定许可过。在混沌中…

In My Head            I walk out over the moors, the hills, the sand valleys.    My head is listless. The wind is scrubbing the stars.    Yet I don’t detonate. There is too much land behind me.    Birds sang it once, then not so much anymore.    I am striving to be late, and to kiss a fish.    It would be a greater one who came back    to the ghost frontier.        She wrote on this.        They all taste pretty much the same,    cut flowers, as I was semen in someone’s mouth, an avalanche of whorls.    What next for me? Not to be the first one there.        And the wind rattles its scarecrow bones in the living    room, the spring came apart in disorder,    all over the rug. The landsman, he must care,    came too, the others joying his renewal, his removal    as in an old dump truck on the fortieth mile of the road.        Seafaring, the faring, and pickling,    so many admonitions to the Great Lout    who watches over us. He must have approved. In the dimness ...

  

广阔的天空        （选自Wakefulness）    作者：(美)约翰.阿什贝利（John Ashberry）    译者:剑郭琴符        说这是一条街道，所以人们沿着它走。    我拿着一串钥匙站着，    烧毁我的座右铭，在十一月读克莱斯特。    我能蚕食别人的生命，别人话语的生命？    或者我只是回到我所来自的地方，    不太久以前，原谅我离开时    代替我的任何人？突然的优柔寡断，    亲爱的微红花朵---我在太空中大约是一个逗号。    我既不去也不无苦恼地回来。    简而言之，我就是你让我主演而写的喜剧。        是的，她等待着，暂停，恢复，    为我获得哀号，哀号的鲸鱼，离开我的胸口。    是的，那些溺爱之旅    诱使    时间流逝    遍及我站立，太像毛地黄天使，    拖着它们的呼吸，给我们始料不及的东西---    不准穿越，市场尽头的一群笨蛋    那里的针头兵把我们搜出来，    希望我们好，在大约一英里外的    一个私人大厅里撒尿，    一周内进来。    他们首先穿上短裙。    从我的羊毛拔出你，    苦干着就像意志    把我们逼到尽头，而现在已经不复存在。        那股力量正在下沉，    有点让它显得格外突出，    我也是这个房间里的树    我们在其中等待我们的时光，就像在苗圃里一样快乐，    直到时代另有指示。哦，他是个成年人，    真是堕落，但既不是花斑马也不是骄傲的土地。        一个巨大的赤道让他完蛋，时间的充裕    等待在我大厅的尽头，铺着鹅卵石的大杂烩，    向一个语境行进。资本主义的行动    迫使它进入决赛。    示范村提供各种    管道。樱花在春天的    小瀑布，不会持续很久。    我想我们应该搬到    河边的舞池，那条河已经成熟，    解释权，就像你确实用黄蜂粘贴它    刚刚成型，还没有名字。    二十年前，我的舞蹈教授    重新解释过它，我们很快就会在地上拥有它    他说回来，我的手沾满了水晶，你的呼吸声。    不，中午要在办公室后面搬些东西。

The Spacious Firmament            Say that this is a street therefore people walk down it.    I stand holding a bunch of keys,    burn up my motto, read Kleist in November.    Can it be that I cannibalize others’ lives,    the lives of others’ words?    Or am I simply going back to where I came from,    not too long ago, to excuse whoever took my place    when I was gone? Sudden indecision,    dear reddish flowers—I am about a comma in space.    I neither go nor return unfazed.    In short I am this comedy you wrote for me to star in.        Yes she waits, time out, time in,    for me to get the wail, whale of a wail, off my chest.    Yes the coddling circuits    that baited    the time giveaway    are standing all over me too like foxglove angels,    drawing in their breath, giving us what we bargained for---    no crossing, chumps at the end of the market    where needle soldiers ferreted us out,    wished us well, taking a piss at a private hall about    a mile down the road,    coming in during the week.    They had put their kilts on first.    Pull you out of my wool,    toiling as the will    bends us to ends and now is no more.        That force going under,    it kind of makes it stand out    and for me too the trees in this room    we bide our time in, happy as in a nursery,    till the times dictate otherwise. Oh, he was a grown man,    scrofulous it’s true, but neither piebald nor land-proud.        A great equator did him in, the fullness of time    waited at the end of my hall, cobbled quodlibets,    procession toward a context. Capitalist    actions forced it into a runoff.    Model villages provide all sorts of    plumbing. Cherry blossoms cascade    in spring, don’t last long.    I think we shall be moving to    the dance baths on the river, river that is ripe,    right for explication, as you do plaster it with the wasps    just coming into being, no names yet.    Twenty years ago my dance professor    reinterpreted it, we’ll have it on the ground soon    he said coming back, my hand blotted with crystals, your breath calls.    No, something to lug up behind the office at noon.

  

亲密性        （选自Wakefulness）    作者：(美)约翰.阿什贝利（John Ashberry）    译者:剑郭琴符        几天前在狂欢节上见到你    真是太好了。我的玉米饼很可口，        我希望你的也是。    我想用一种合适的方式        实现让你梦见我。赠送我的新手套，    比如说，或者放一个箱子，围绕我们有毛病的一切。        但是这些杜仲胶灯并没有代表我们低语。    现在时候晚上，我会        因为恐惧而孤独。一阵喧闹的风填充    我门口的松树，这棵忍冬被施魔法，        我必须在时钟敲响之前离开    不管它专心致志于什么时间。        别把我丢在这荒野里！    或者，如果你这么做，付我钱留下。

Proximity            It was great to see you the other day    at the carnival. My enchiladas were delicious,        and I hope that yours were too.    I wanted to fulfill your dream of me        in some suitable way. Giving away my new gloves,    for instance, or putting a box around all that’s wrong with us.        But these gutta-percha lamps do not whisper on our behalf.    Now sometimes in the evenings, I am lonely        with dread. A rambunctious wind fills the pine    at my doorstep, the woodbine is enchanted,        and I must be off before the clock strikes    whatever hour it is intent on.        Do not leave me in this wilderness!    Or, if you do, pay me to stay behind.

   

剑郭琴符

很快随时就走        （选自Wakefulness）    作者：(美)约翰.阿什贝利（John Ashberry）    译者:剑郭琴符        在梦中我看见你了，她说    然后他们把大门放下，    把咖啡塞子拔掉    是我每年在威斯巴登治疗的时候        不管怎样，规则有什么好处    它们只适用于自身和其他规则    这个规则排除了这另一个        玻璃，光滑和黑暗的规则    正在仔细研究我的汽车自传    就像一个有着榛子眼睛的    高度私人的人        当发明，投资某人或某物的时间到了    你注意紧急的落花花瓣    每一个都在吸吮它生活神秘的份额    就像一只猫啜饮着，转身离去，啜饮着更多的    小秘密，你胜任吗？    不，她说我及时出来上学    然后回到家里再去睡觉    它还是来了就像我所有缺席的岁月正在到来        时间说得越慢，它的塔楼就越不雄伟    蝙蝠啭鸣得越少来打断    任何家务活，我们相信我们已经把自己置身于    一个基本上是地下的真理中        固定的节奏复活了古老的目的    我以为我走出去    再也不会有一个小小的随机音符悄悄地爬进来吗    但孤零零的一颗星星哭泣，在细雨中看着        四个魔术师倒下。    一个坐火车去宾夕法尼亚州。        一个提取他的金色头发    拿起一个垫子说        你回到现在的地方如何？    多少虫子到一打    多长时间，有多少其他人严肃地偷看着    这窗台上的胳膊肘，就像顶撞着        阴天    哪一种古老的规矩变了？    因为至今早晨还有很长的一段距离    揉皱的薄雾修剪群山狂喜得像糖块

Going Away Any Time Soon        I’ll see you in my dreams she said    then they let the gate down    unplugged the coffee    It was time for my annual cure at Wiesbaden        What good are rules anyway    They apply only to themselves and other rules    This rule rules out this other one        The rule of glass, sleek and dark    was poring over my auto-autobiography    like an intensely private person    with hazelnut eyes        When it came time to invent, invest someone or something    you look to the urgent fallen petals    each imbibing its share of life’s mystery    as a cat sips and turns away and sips some more    Little mystery are you good for anything?    No she says I came out in time for school    then went back inside to resist sleep    that is still coming as all my absent years are coming        The slower time speaks the less majestic its tower    the fewer bats warbling to interrupt    whatever domestic tasks we believe we have set ourselves    in a truth that is mostly underground        The settled rhythm revives ancient purposes    What did I think going out    and never a tiny random note creeps back in    but all alone a star weeps, watches in the drizzle        and the four magicians fell down.    One took a train to Pennsylvania.        One abstracted his gold hair    picked up a cushion and said        And how is it with you back where you are now?    How many worms to a dozen    How long how many of the others cheat seeing    elbows at this windowsill serious as bunting        on a cloudy day    Which of the antique manners has changed?    For as yet morning is a long way off    Puckered mists trash the hill ecstatic as lozenges

  

像美国        （选自Wakefulness）    作者：(美)约翰.阿什贝利（John Ashberry）    译者:剑郭琴符        人们在买商店里的娃娃。    我想知道这是否也被禁止。    这是否意味着一个人不去引导自己的生活?        今天，一天毫无意义，    就像美国一样，    在清晰的混乱中    一切都变得更糟。    此外，不支持它我们又是谁?        而这些到真理的破碎装饰品    几乎长大到我。    太阳和院子    一千次停顿，    无法解释那是白昼的拱门。        之前的部落    这支恐慌的乐队宣布退出    也看到了番红花。它们是紫色的，很可怕。        说出它就几乎在泄露。    但我还能坚持多久才不会错过重点?

Like America                People are buying store-dolls.    I wonder if that’s forbidden too.    Does it mean one isn’t to lead one’s life?        Today, a day that makes very little sense,    like America,    in clear disarray    everything’s getting worse.    Besides, who are we not to endorse it?        And these shattered ornaments to truth    almost grew up to me.    The sun and the yard    paused over a thousand times,    unable to explain the arch that is daylight.        And the tribes that were before    this panicked band announced it was quitting    saw the crocuses too. They were purple and awful.        It’s almost leaking to say it.    But how much longer could I go on not missing the point?

  

新建筑        （选自Wakefulness）    作者：(美)约翰.阿什贝利（John Ashberry）    译者:剑郭琴符        我记得的男孩是二月    放出的时候，那全都“没有季度”---平等教派的人    走过，如同黑夜和火焰    和更多的和平。他一小时后回来了。    持续困惑的看门人试图杀死    那些在晚间新闻上    进行移民诉讼的男人    他们被一路上退回到北极圈。        阿姨们出去在舒适的    光彩的区域，我    注意到顺着茶壶到她们的名字    就像出生，然后她们可以制作芬兰。    这是一种育儿。 我注意到她们    把我们的工资翻了一番。下午六点之前    一切都结束了        后来有很多原因导致他进来    伤害了他自己。我    看到了很多樱桃炸弹。这是一个人    偶然碰到的地方吗？    如果是这样，所有的顽童在做什么？    哦，她警告说，它刚到街道的尽头    在那里高膝盖的郁金香皱起，所有人都放心    因为它们不想让您相信。清除    一切吗？好吧，我想太好了，我    希望看到邀请的证明：    手印。我很抱歉，这些都是不可原谅的。    我会向上掸身上的灰尘，或者掸开；    同时在清理过程中，它们正在涌出东西。    您是否认为您可以友好地进来        不管马在哪里尊重机械化的捷径？    不如说他进来伤了自己，    现在风笛手已经没有什么可哀悼，    这一天只是喘息，然后就降落到漏斗中    逆时针。这一切只不过适合于    让你开始笔直地连接上    大草原上，燕鸥离开    伴随小手套般的叫声    等待着将把我们    都放在其数字菜单上的冰箱。    等等，有些情有可原的情况    而我自己也只是个流浪汉；    不管什么随天气而来    并且在房间角落里    去物质化，我    对自己和周围的别人正是如此。    但是你怎么证明        曲柄在天空中显示的轮廓？    就这样，我没有；都是剩饭。    为什么我喊叫    当船经过    狭窄的航道    多年来穿着灯芯绒内衣    我从培根太太家乘飞机走了    它们又涌回来冲我的方式    就像陀螺仪里的抱怨    或是烦恼的环形。    然后她提议拿着这根针    把你错过的    两条信息穿上。        我不会发动另一场爬行动物战争；    我望着头顶上呼啸而过的科莫多巨龙的尽头。    然后我睡在屋檐下；卷心菜    晚上陪伴我，是    每个人都想要的社会。是的，    我不停地缝补，莱特盖特    巡回赛在一个空余的邮递雇主的地方    用未经证实的双关语对我们征税：“那里”    我们停下来扎营，    我告诉你，这不会变得更容易，    只会更难。    带着那些他们        起飞，只是一捆茎    做了一个图腾。    我一遍又一遍地坐在现场，    让它辛苦吸收所作所为 ，    零碎的和解，洗衣店的    标记在洗的时候擦掉了，季节性的    野兔，欢乐，等等，等等。

New Constructions            Boy I can remember when February    gave out and it was all “no quarter”--- the sect of the    levellers passed over and was as night and fire    and more peace. He returned in an hour.    Perpetually flummoxed doorkeepers trying to kill    the men who did the migration    proceedings on the evening news    were backed up all the way to the Arctic Circle.        The aunts were out in zones    of cozy brilliance I    noticed with teapots to their names    like birthing, and they could do Finland then.    It was a kind of parenting. I notice they    doubled our salaries. It was all over    by 6 p.m.        Many causes later he came    in and hurt himself. I    saw a lot of cherry bombs. Is this the place    where one foregathers?    If so, what are all the urchins doing?    Oh she warned it’s just to the end of the block    where knee-high tulips pucker and all is reassuring    as they’d rather not have you believe. Does    that clear everything up? Well I think so well I    would like to see the proof of the invitation:    a hand print. I’m so sorry these are inexcusable.    I’ll dust myself up, or off;    meanwhile in the clearing they are pouring something.    Do you think you could be kind to come in        and matter where the horse esteems mechanized shortcuts?    Say rather he came in and hurt himself,    and now the bagpipers have nothing left to mourn,    the day just wheezes and goes down a funnel    counterclockwise. It was all just a fit    to have made you start bolt upright    on the steppe terns parted from    with little glovelike cries    awaiting the refrigerator that was to have us all    on its digital menu.    Wait, there are extenuating circumstances    and I myself am just a bum;    whatever came in with the weather    and dematerialized in the corners of the    room, just so    am I to myself and others around.    But how do you justify        the crank silhouetted against the sky?    That’s just it, I don’t; it is all leftovers    and why am I crying    when the boats pass    in the narrow ship channel    with corduroy undies for all the years    I took off from Mrs. Bacon’s    and the way they came flooding back at me    like complaints in a gyroscope    or an armillary of vexations.    Then she proposed take this needle    and thread it for the two    messages you have missed.        I’ll not start another reptile war;    I look to the end of the komodo dragons thundering overhead.    Otherwise I sleep under the eaves; the cabbages    keep me company at evening, and are all    the society anyone wants. And Yes,    I keep up the sewing, the round robin    of Lettergate wherever a spare postal employer    taxes us with unlived puns: There    do we stop and pitch camp,    and I’ll tell you it’s not going to get easier,    only harder.    With that they        took off, just a bundle    of stems to make a totem with.    I sit on the site over and over,    let it absorb hard doing,    piecemeal reconciliations, laundry    marks rubbed out in the wash, seasonal    hares and conviviality and the rest, the rest.

  

雪盲        （选自Wakefulness）    作者：(美)约翰.阿什贝利（John Ashberry）    译者:剑郭琴符        越来越明显，教练不会按他自己，或我们的方式    处理事情---我不知道“过去的”一切有多可爱。    我们泰然自若地站成一个圈，有些    赞美的音符时而绽放，时而褪色。    母牛来请求我们原谅    蓝亚麻。然后每个人都切换到一部精品，    更多的船只失事，更多的人在海上，一车的蛋白石    从安纳托利亚带来了厄运。在一阵波浪中，    它消失了。不用再去找人们的房间，    人们的袜子。        幸运的是，有一位裁判员看到了    行为被编码，所有的一切都被震入网中    在火车毫不在意的地方，在地平线上仍然有乐趣。    蓝调---我们提过吗？    能量即将到来使一切失去性功能，除了火星上无生命的，    被启动的，抓住车把的。

Whiteout                More and more obviously, the trainer won’t handle things    his way, or ours---beats me how cute everything used to be.    We stood poised in a circle, and    some note of admiration bloomed and faded.    The cow was coming to ask our forgiveness    for the blue flax. Then everybody segued into a canon,    more ships were lost, more men at sea, the carload of opals    bringing bad luck from Anatolia. And in a wash,    it was gone. No more having to pick up one’s room,    one’s socks.        Luckily there is an umpire who sees that    behavior is coded, that it all shakes down into the mesh    where the train never minded, that there is still fun out on the horizon.    The blues---did we mention that?    And the energy that was coming to unsex all but the lifeless on Mars,    the initiated, grasping at handlebars.

  

法国邮票        （选自Wakefulness）    作者：(美)约翰.阿什贝利（John Ashberry）    译者:剑郭琴符        关于惯用手和兄弟们的惯用手，    这个故事常常是由五世纪的抄写员    约尔讲述的。他喜欢在细枝末节处着墨。        如果一个人是一个香烟打火机    那就是孤独，那就是孤独。或一辆三轮车    在大风中滑行，有一种神秘的鱼鳍效仿的        满足。这里，保留我的头皮，    我从这里看到一个模式，剥离一些无赖的资产。    这很可能是我们最后的责任，这个来自    布拉耶盲文百科全书的格子稻草人。快点拿着牛奶，    到这儿。财富把幼儿交给第三方保管。监视对他们有益，    伴随喂食。在曼哈顿，只有    差两分钟到二小时，月光下的躯干回来了。呸。    一些修道院得到他。让菲多舔    去年的橄榄枝。我离开这里。    我告诉你，没路，它是背向的。

A French Stamp                Of handedness and the Brothers Handedness,    too often that tale had been told by Yore,    fifth-century scribe. He liked inking in details.        If one is a cigarette lighter    that’s lonely, which is lonely. Or a tricycle    coasting in gales, there is a secret satisfaction        fins emulate. Here, keep my scalp,    I’m seeing a pattern here, divestiture of some knave.    It was likely to be our last onus, this plaid scarecrow    out of a Braille encyclopedia. Hurry with the milk,    be here. Fortune placed tots in escrow. Good to monitor’em,    go with the feed. In Manhattan merely    two minutes to two, moonlit torso returns. Sheesh.    Some abbey’s got him. Let Fido lick    last year’s olive branch. I’m outta here.    I told you, no way, it’s dorsal.

  

一个男人的诗        （选自Wakefulness）    作者：(美)约翰.阿什贝利（John Ashberry）    译者:剑郭琴符        约翰晚上进城    钟在敲。    该死的船漏水了。嗯，我…    这很不寻常。        “没关系，把那个眼中钉递给我。”    他来看裁缝。    更多关于这件事我不知道    在运河上。        这对双胞胎搬运葡萄干和李子，    我的狗，因为直到我们忘了    一起来有道理    在午夜破碎的鼓声前        还有更多的人在周围走来走去，谈天说地。    然后全部钻进一辆车开走。    它的尾巴是银红色的，车里    竖着一架班卓琴。        一年级和二年级悲伤的挥手    不知怎么地从我身边滑过。    我们又老又过时    我们的生活毫无意义。        这是他要我承认的方式，    泥泞或是在    田野中心的岩石上，都让我们承认羞耻。    不止是精神的刺激，        小鸟在小洞下面匍匐前进    被请求宽恕。有些人害怕    它们会飞走。    到了早晨，一切都会被射入地狱。

One Man’s Poem            John came into town at night    and the clock was striking.    The damn boat leaked. Well, I...    It was pretty unusual.        Never mind, hand me that eyesore.    He came to see a tailor.    More about it I do not know    out on the canal.        The twins schlepped raisins and plums,    my dogbeat, for as far as we forgotten    come together to make sense    by midnight’s shattered drum        There was more walking around and talking.    Then all got into a car and drove away.    Its tail was silver red, and a    banjo stood on end in the car.        The waves of freshman and sophomore grief    slide by me somehow.    We are old and dated    and cannot of our lives make any sense.        It was in the way he put it to me,    muddied or on a rock    at the center of a field puts us to shame.    There is more than the spirit jabs,        under the little hollow birds creep    and are asked forgiveness. Some are afraid    that they will fly away.    By morning all is shot to hell.

剑郭琴符

  

可悲的谬论        （选自Wakefulness）    作者：(美)约翰.阿什贝利（John Ashberry）    译者:剑郭琴符        一个警告的先生，    这魔术师在我的比喻上戳了一个洞。    我说你干什么。    他的定理并不复杂，        只是足够复杂。简而言之，    就是这样。州长不应该再剥    影子苹果，大约下午茶的时候    就好像笛卡尔的柠檬    已经升起在富丽堂皇的天际线上并显露无遗。        抽屉里有孩子，还有人想把他们铲出来。    一句话，购物从来没有如此脆弱，        但我们似乎已经让猫咪从袋子里出来了，一阵一阵地。    常常，在阳台上，我盘问夜色中突出的轮廓    在其他情况下，它可能会被诱惑    把几首诗篇或硬币撒在    这个虚弱的异教徒压迫者和我妻子身上。        你总是得到同样俗不可耐的回答。    它就像是别的东西，或者不是，    如果它不会那么多，为什么，    它可能会更少，为所有人关注。    沟渠把它显著地带到家    到地平线，塞进机场。        我们，我们只是疯狂的乌云，    一只海豚从文明的延伸，    有它芳香的城堡，它的配额。你要对“我”做的    意味着什么？    为什么，在另一片土地和时间里，我们被置于，彼此    分开，与生命的软泥分开。但在这里，在荆棘的    栅栏里，它只会频繁出现在    那些可以迅速脱落的地方，带着    最少的大惊小怪。    乌木的笼子宣称其成分    当一切离去，谢天谢地事情已经结束。

The Pathetic Fallacy            A cautionary mister,    The thaumaturge poked holes in my trope.    I said what are you doing that for.    His theorem wasn’t too complicated,        just complicated enough. In brief,    this was it. The governor should peel    no more shadow apples, and about teatime    it was as if the lemon of Descartes    had risen to full prominence on the opulent skyline.        There were children in drawers, and others trying to shovel them out.    In a word, shopping had never been so tenuous,        but it seems we had let the cat out of the bag, in spurts.    Often, from that balcony I’d interrogate the jutting profile of night    for what few psalms or coins it might    in other circumstances have been tempted to shower down    on the feeble heathen oppressor, and my wife.        Always you get the same bedizened answer back.    It was like something else, or it wasn’t,    and if it wasn’t going to be as much, why,    it might as well be less, for all anyone’d care.    And the ditches brought it home dramatically    to the horizon, socked the airport in.    We, we are only mad clouds,    a dauphin’s reach from civilization,    with its perfumed citadels, its quotas. What did that    mean you were going to do to me?    Why, in another land and time we’d be situated, separate    from each other and the ooze of life. But here, within    the palisade of brambles it only comes often enough to what    can be sloughed off quickly, with the    least amount of fuss.    For the ebony cage claims its constituents    as all were going away, thankful the affair had ended.

  

从旧笔记本    （选自Wakefulness）    作者：(美)约翰.阿什贝利（John Ashberry）    译者:剑郭琴符        当雨把自己修补    在一起，给事物带来期待的    面容，我们就生活在那些    油腻的时代。因    极度兴奋而卑鄙，像    牛的脸一样蓝。最后我们几乎    从其走出。    值得一看，这些不温不火的旧东西        仍然可以晃动    暴徒的手臂，乱弹室内装潢的    丁香花。仓库就像    高温中劫掠的城堡，我总是陡峭的    当被记住。    一个女生脸上的灰烬，    这荒芜的脚步种植在小偷的行列里，让你的母亲    混淆了一切的地方更多。如果它不是，    它的漏斗在哪里---通过光亮    请，有些东西是永恒的：暴风雨中的爱，    它说。

From Old Notebooks                As rain cobbles itself    together, puts an expectant face    on things, we lived those    greasy times. Sordid    with excess rapture, blue    as a cow’s face. We came out of it pretty well    at the end.    Worth looking up, these tepid old things        could still jiggle    a thug’s arms, thrum the upholstery’s    lilacs. Warehouses make like    marauding castles in the heat, I am always steep    when being remembered.    Ash on a coed’s face,    this barren step planted in Thieves’Row, more where    your mother muddled all things. And if it be not,    where is its funnel---pass the luster,    please, something’s abiding: love-in-a-storm,    it says.

  

很多颜色        （选自Wakefulness）    作者：(美)约翰.阿什贝利（John Ashberry）    译者:剑郭琴符        有一种对它的惩戒，    一种赞美诗般的下摆。    在另一种伪装中的夸张。        讲究的森林工人走过。        在溅湿的聚酯墙上    一个牙仙子开庭。这就像是一种泥汁，    讨好起支配作用的“思想救援”。    这也是一切---    迷人。    它让你想尖叫    并拥抱你的邻居，就像他是你最好的朋友。        我无法承担它。    突然间，有一个带着球的旅行推销员，    就像一只蚂蚁在V-J日（1）。        一夜之间缓解，我们感觉到一勺一勺的    粘土，像是疲惫的冰淇淋。    这里，这是你的守夜。现在从这里清除紧张情绪。我们中的一个---    水管工格斯---入迷了。        当然，你可以让他们    像你要求的那样来找你，别怪我    当他们被困在雪线上。    一个能工巧匠要来陪你，救你。    是的，我的马知道这一切    但不要说出口    直到你和我重新确定他的重要性，    不料发现了另一条低腰裤在邮箱下面的    棕色灰尘里        我们都悄悄地来了。    在什么轴中我听到你在摇铃---    没有时间这么做。    现在不是做那事的时候。    激情警察正在调查你的案子    我们很快会回来挑选胜利者，在黄昏，分头。        去吹。颤抖。破译。混合搭配。    也许。我们拭目以待。    ---    （1）V-JDay全名Victory over Japan Day（相对于欧战胜利的V-EDay）。中文译名为抗日战争胜利纪念日或第二次世界大战对日战争胜利纪念日，也称V-J日。定于每年的8月15日，以纪念1945年8月15日，日本天皇下诏投降。

Many Colors            There is a chastening to it,    a hymnlike hemline.    Hyperbole in another disguise.        Dainty foresters walk through it.        On the splashed polyester walls    a tooth fairy held court. And that was like mud gravy,    a sop to the reigning idees recues.    It’s all too---    charming.    It makes you want to scream    and hug your neighbor like he was your best friend.        I’m over my head with it.    Suddenly there was a travelling salesman with balls,    like an ant on V-J day.        And easing through the night we felt scoops    of clay like tired ice cream.    Here, here’s your vigil. Now get it out of here. One of us---    Gus the plumber---is entranced.        Of course you could let them come to you    as if you’d asked, and don’t blame it on me    when they get silted up to the snow line.    A master craftsman is coming to stay with you, to save you.    Yes and my horse knew all about this    but wasn’t letting on    until the time you and I got over the fix on his importance he had,    only to discover another’s hip-huggers in the brown dust    under the mailbox.        And we all came quietly.    In what axis I’ve heard you ringing---    there is no time to do that.    This is no time to do that.    The passion police are on your case    and we’ll get back to picking winners anon, at eventide, asunder.        Go blow. Tremble. Decipher. Mix and match.    Maybe. We'll see.

   

剑郭琴符

长街的秋天        （选自Wakefulness）    作者：(美)约翰.阿什贝利（John Ashberry）    译者:剑郭琴符        我看见且听见风。    没有收到。云向后飞去。    我觉得自己陷入昏迷。        从前每个人都在这里。    然后小球开始散开。    它们一点点移动又移动，    就像我的兄弟或童年，    或是动物园附近的一所    小校舍，用木板固定着    通往一些其他能说明问题的建筑的方向，用脚手架    结壳，就像冬天蛋糕上的糖霜，    告诉你，经历，现在经历，    死去，正式死去。        然而秋天与世隔绝的停留，    喜欢它。在那期间    有些人仍然来拜访，他们没有    任何想法，没有理由，甚至不喜欢你。    很多汽车冲进了    一棵松树的呼气的地点，呼吸，向你    求救。有人说你走了，    但你却躲在门廊下，被懊悔    刺痛。现在这个人    来了，说你见过这个棚子吗，    它让我起鸡皮疙瘩，而我，一如既往地被困在    哪个词应该是第一个这问题里，但是出现时    没有特别的顺序，自愿记下    我们和啄木鸟坐在    不同的床单上痛饮的时候---    当你，我的意思是，在栅栏上，    就在里面，谈着人们在梦中的方式    与那些醒着的人交谈，推翻    防线最后一道壕沟，在带走它的时刻…        傍晚的阳光    镌刻海和营房，但谁    在计时？那天    游客比平时更多，市镇似乎逃离了他们    当我们走近他们的时候，不知道出了什么事，那些    平淡无奇的尸体是怎么回事，他们来查看名称    某些我们自己也看不出来的东西因为就在它里面    就像沉默的行人走到休会的地方。    我以前见过，我在街上见过：    这些不同的分辨率淡入淡出，    在白昼的纹理上编织出一条轨迹，    这是一种遥远努力的遗产，纤细    而传统，就像爸爸妈妈们从流水线上    下来一样。但他们从来没有得到那权利。    我刚刚说再见。

Autumn in the Long Avenue            I see and hear the wind.    It is unreceived. Clouds flee backwards.    I think myself into a stupor.        Once upon a time everybody was here.    Then the pellets started to go.    They move and move little,    like my brother or childhood,    or a little schoolhouse    near the zoo, boarded up with directions    to some other telltale structure, crusted    with scaffolding like frosting on winter’s cake,    to tell you, go through, go through now,    die and formally die.        Yet autumn stays sequestered    and likes it. In that period    some people still came to visit, with nothing    on their minds, no reason, not even liking you.    A lot of autos stormed the site    of the one pine’s expiration, breathing, asking    for you. Some said you had gone,    but you were hiding under the porch, stung    with remorse. Now this person    comes and says have you seen the shed,    it gives me goose bumps, and I, stuck as always on    which word should be the first, but comes out    in no particular order, volunteer my notes on the    time we sat with woodpeckers on the    various counterpane and had a swig---    when you were, I mean, on the fence,    just inside, talking the way people in dreams    talk to those who are awake, subverting the last    ditch of defense in time for what takes it away …        The light of late afternoon    chiseled the sea and barracks, but who    was keeping count? There were more tourists    than usual that day, the town seemed to run away from them    as we approached them, wondering what was wrong, what was the matter    with the bland corpses they had come to see name    something we ourselves couldn’t see for being in it    as mute pedestrians moved to adjourn it.    I’ve seen it before, I’ve seen it in the street:    These various resolutions fade in and out,    plaiting a track on the texture of day,    a legacy of distant effort, wispy    and traditional, like dads and moms coming off    the assembly line. But they never get that right.    I just said goodbye.

  

雪        （选自Wakefulness）    作者：(美)约翰.阿什贝利（John Ashberry）    译者:剑郭琴符        就像休战时期    鱼会浪费一样，于是这些套鞋    在人行道和雪堆上蹦蹦跳跳，不完全知道    我们被召唤到了谁的命运    或之后会发生什么。        当时间浪费，    它可能已经知道它在做什么    但却决定不做任何事情，所以一切都消失了，    包裹在垃圾堆里。它可能是鱼子酱    或者纽约日报。        毕竟，“我”接下来，    他说，是一个残酷的对象，就像你    前世所有解开扣子的躯干一样，不足与这一个    相比。我说，前进，摆脱扮小丑    如果你喜欢这个游戏，但        把我留在自己身边，    就像一个紧挨灯柱的孩子。好吧，不回答    有什么好处？你认为这是什么资本主义制度？当然    是晚期资本主义，我的意思是还没离开    而且和平逐渐破坏了        我们所有人对其制造的    喧嚣，而你们又被积极地    搁置了。我喜欢这混乱中的老鼠，不完全熟练的    咕噜声，似乎没有结合    恐惧的雪崩。        现在，当北欧人    （或其他替代者）从北方蜂拥而出，在我们    繁忙、封闭、庄严的街道上过滤亚速尔群岛的踪迹时，    我们无法解开我们之前在那里设置的结    停下来确定为        四级风，冲进来    净化了伙伴关系的地方，    在头顶上扇动着，带着小玩意儿的    一撮毛发，擦痛每一片钟声    从每一个严肃的尖塔，太多的咳嗽。    这个小家伙        很不耐烦，很严肃，    每次一次打击落下，都会要求另一个同谋者，    所以，当天太黑，我们就成了一次远足，又一次    大家缝活动的灾难。如果它试得太远，    总会有盐        在伤口上擦来舔去。

Snow                As a fish spoils    in a time of truce, so these galoshes go    hopping over sidewalk and snowbank, not really knowing    to whose destiny we are being summoned    or what happens after that.        As time spoils,    it may have known what it was doing    but decided not to do anything about it,so everything is lost,    wrapped in a landfill. It could be caviar    or the New York Daily News.        After all, I come next,    he said, am a cruel object like all the torsos    you unbuttoned all over your previous life, scant in comparison    to this one, and I said, go ahead and quit clowning    if you like that game, but        leave me beside myself,    like a kid next to a lamppost. Okay, what gain    in not replying? What capitalist system do you think this is? Surely    it’s late capitalism, by which I mean not to go    yet and peace undermines        the uproar we all made    about it, and you are positively put on hold    again. I like the mouse in this turmoil, not exactly purring    adroitly, not seeming to conjugate the    avalanche of fear.        Now when Norsemen    (or some substitute) tumble out of the north, sifting    down over our busy, shuttered, dignified street with hints of the Azores,    there’s no untangling the knots we put there before    and paused to identify        as the four winds rushed    in and purified the place of partnerships,    fanning overhead, a-bristle with    doodads, chafing at every chime    from every earnest steeple, coughing too much.    The little guy was        impatient, was serious,    every time a blow fell adjured another conspirator,    and so, when it got quite dark we became an outing, another    quilting-bee disaster. And if it tried too far    there was always salt to rub        in wounds to be licked.

  

一小时之内        （选自Wakefulness）    作者：(美)约翰.阿什贝利（John Ashberry）    译者:剑郭琴符        茶太烫了。    窗户上的窗帘    围着棕色椅子上腐烂的果皮吹。    在调酒师山谷，独眼走丑角是国王。        我现在做的是写作。    这才是真材实料。    不管用！    我昨天收到他的名片，我可以问迪克。        最新方法是什么？    你那小小的身体向我走来，未去壳    就像和平的孔雀舞曲，没有人承担    不是没有一声低吠在胸肌锻炼器中，        两个中风而且不见了。    你应归功于新鲜种类。    为什么是。记得    我吗？无论如何    记住我。

Within the Hour            The tea is too hot.    The curtain in the window blew around    Rind rotting on brown chairs.    In the valley of bartenders the one-eyed stooge is king.        What I’m doing now is write.    That’s the real stuff.    It doesn’t work!    I got a card from him yesterday I could ask Dick.        What is the fresh approach?    Your mini body coming unto me, unshelled    as peace pavanes no one undertakes,    not without a woofing in the chest-o-ciser,        two strokes and it’s gone.    You owed the fresh kind.    Why yes. Remember    me? Remember me    in any case.

  

鼻子发光的侗乡        （选自Wakefulness）    作者：(美)约翰.阿什贝利（John Ashberry）    译者:剑郭琴符        （一套组曲）        在那个高高的大厅的一个有窗户的壁龛里    我醒来时感觉到了黑暗的降临，不是白天。    我要像我所是一样冲出去，在那片树林边    艰难地走在街上，现在脸上现出似乎轻蔑的微笑。    灯光开始从营地到营地的    岩石上闪烁，穿过夜的肮脏子宫。    来吧，牧羊人，又重新开始探索。    “鸟儿坐在雪里沉思。”        连绵不绝，如繁星灿烂，    当所有人都在睡觉，雪飞来    靠近肮脏的泰晤士河流经    人类无法测量的洞穴的地方，    在那里你必定看到红腮鱼在跳跃    一只可爱的猴子长着棒棒糖的爪子    在远处的百慕大骑乘。        轻轻地，在黄昏里，一个女人对我唱歌：    这就是早晨啼叫的公鸡。谁将是牧师？    贝波！你的胡子不适合你！    老人轻轻地回答了一句：    再见了，忘恩负义的叛徒，    明亮得像播种者的小包    那里黄昏淡色的尽头微笑着。        漆黑的夜幕笼罩着天空    砖屑般的莫尔尖叫着穿过半条街：    “看看我的脸，我的名字是‘可能已经’，    森林历史学家，他能这样表达    每天晚上和所有人，    我去查克利伯里山的    快乐公路！”        你要去哪里，我美丽的女仆？    这些恋人逃到了暴风雨中，    啊亲爱的，会发生什么事呢？    因为风在棕树，和神殿的钟声中，它们说：    把你睡梦中的头，我的爱人，    放在宽阔的山的头的层次上，    轻率得像帝王橡树，把平原遮住，    在秋天，躺在百格利树林的裙子上。    一艘船现在在港湾里漂浮着，    重得像霜，深得几乎像生命！

The Dong with the Luminous Nose        (a cento)        Within a windowed niche of that high hall    I wake and feel the fell of dark, not day.    I shall rush out as I am, and walk the street    Hard by yon wood, now smiling as in scorn.    The lights begin to twinkle from the rocks    From camp to camp, through the foul womb of night.    Come, Shepherd, and again renew the quest.    And birds sit brooding in the snow.        Continuous as the stars that shine,    When all men were asleep the snow came flying    Near where the dirty Thames does flow    Through caverns measureless to man,    Where thou shalt see the red-gilled fishes leap    And a lovely Monkey with lollipop paws    Where the remote Bermudas ride.        Softly, in the dusk，a woman is singing to me:    This is the cock that crowed in the morn. Who’ll be the parson?    Beppo! That beard of yours becomes you not!    A gentle answer did the old Man make:    Farewell, ungrateful traitor,    Bright as a seedsman’s packet    Where the quiet-coloured end of evening smiles.        Obscurest night involved the sky    And brickdust Moll had screamed through half a street:    “Look in my face; my name is Might-have-been,    Sylvan historian, who canst thus express    Every night and alle,    The happy highways where I went    To the hills of Chankly Bore!”        Where are you going to, my pretty maid?    These lovers fled away into the storm    And it’s O dear, what can the matter be?    For the wind is in the palm-trees, and the temple bells they say:    Lay your sleeping head, my love,    On the wide level of a mountain’s head,    Thoughtless as monarch oaks, that shade the plain,    In autumn, on the skirts of Bagley Wood.    A ship is floating in the harbour now,    Heavy as frost, and deep almost as life!

  

来吧，亲爱的        （选自Wakefulness）    作者：(美)约翰.阿什贝利（John Ashberry）    译者:剑郭琴符        那是另一个时代，几乎另一个世纪，    我要说。圣徒坐在乌木长椅上    静静地哭泣。这是要做的事。    接着，欢笑的花环，点缀着丁香和柠檬，    带着遥远的灵气与站立的人影汇合在一起。    令人费解，一段时间以来一切都好。        很快，不和谐的回声在全盛时期被控制：    爱是，毕竟，    每个人都在谈论的    没有人对之胡扯。    但为什么我要告诉“你”所有这些，谁写了这本书，    谁在航道上盖上他的名字首字母    让所有家伙都能看到？如果仅仅归结为    这一点，猿类和企鹅会不会更聪明    因为所有爱的隧道拖着脚步走过，    被骷髅，被蝙蝠吓坏，在我们松散的叶形轨迹    穿过浅水中的每一个转弯？        只有当含碘的夕阳    在红色的日子里再次流血时，所有的孩子    才会得到许可出去，到草木稀少的地方，    那儿心不在焉的邮递员会留下他    从今天到下一天的诚挚，在那里屋檐被剪短    接近房屋。从最后一扇天窗出来的五天里    你的氛围就流进了布满麻子的百叶窗里。    很明显，吉格舞已经结束了。那是什么？谁的吉格舞？啊我可以清楚地看到    前方进入飞行；穷人不怎么谈论这件事，    但她的围裙是芬芳的带着有格子的星辰，    她的姿态甚至凝视着最不安静的人，    在这样的日子里，你可以自由地骑行。    他的口袋里有这样的钱币    就像只有信息空间里的神经病才能结合    而从命运的遮阳篷上，钻石滴落下来，比我们两个    更大，和户外的一切一样大。

Come On, Dear            It was another era, almost another century,    I was going to say. The saint wept quietly    in her ebony pew. It was the thing to do.    Then garlands of laughter, studded with cloves and lemons,    joined the standing figures with their distant nimbi.    Inexplicably, all was well for a time.        Soon, discordant echoes reined in the heyday:    It was love, after all,    that everybody was talking about    and nobody gave a shit for.    But why am I telling you about all this, who wrote the book,    who stamped his initials in the fairway    for all blokes to see? And if it only came    down to this smidgen, would apes and penguins be any wiser    for all the tunnels of love we shuffled through,    scared by skeletons, by bats, at every turning    of our loose-leafed trajectory through shallow water?        Only when the iodine sunset    bleeds again against red day, will all children    get permission to go out where the grass is short,    where the absent-minded postman leaves earnests of his passing    from this day to the next, where the eaves are clipped    close to the houses. Five days from the last clerestory    your ambiance drained into the pockmarked shutters.    Obviously the jig was up. What’s that? Whose jig? O I can see clear    ahead into the flying; the poor don’t talk much about it,    but her apron is ambrosial with trellised stars,    her stance stares down even the most unquiet,    and on days like this you ride free.    There was such numismatics in his pocket    as only jitterbugs in cyberspace could conjugate    while from fate’s awning the diamond drip descended, bigger    than both of us, big as all outdoors.

  

温文尔雅的读者        （选自Wakefulness）    作者：(美)约翰.阿什贝利（John Ashberry）    译者:剑郭琴符        突然，毫不含糊地，一年开始了，    就像高速公路关闭，屋顶倒塌，    各种各样的事件给予地图叶脉：    及时的一针，一个当地的英雄在这里，    男孩们与永恒的争论合拍。        因此，出于绿松石般的混乱中，一个名字    像一颗恒星一样内爆，表明了它的观点。    季节，如你所知的迎接，    被看见包装它在里面。也许在关键的接合处    加些锈，没有？但我是谁    将告诉你你的事。接下来，年轻而美丽的人，    从一扇门浮现，投射你的精髓    沿着今天的悬崖的面孔，你看到“没有明天，，    只有神使在翅膀上等待，或多或少有耐心地。    这就是引领你去做的最好的，    覆盖所有出口。        哦，有危险吗？    今天这么热，谁会想到？    但另一方面，为什么只是站着    而它的忧郁的一页翻过，    对所有人的一个累赘，不仅仅对我们自己？    当暮色赞赏地舔向天空时，    你的答案就在电路中，    而不是绕道。让你抱着，    跪拜。        一个旗子的影子掠过你的脸：    停火协议正在改进？    在这种开始在某事的存在中，大一点的孩子们    都在做什么？上课还得花钱，    冲击接下来的事情。现在就来。        很快，有某事要为一切说话，    他说，鞭子，鞭子；为什么现在连我的身份    对我来说都很奇怪，好奇。当有人晚些时候来，    我会和谁说话？错误的幻想    没有提到这一点。它的征服议程是完整的，    而我们，当然，是不完整的，注定是我们自己    和它的永恒的断断续续的版本：    有章标题的那一个。    更多庆祝的俗气。可是，有人    会夺走它，从你，可怜的东西。

Gentle Reader            Abruptly, unassertively, the year starts,    as freeways close and roofs collapse,    and all kinds of incidents give nervure to the map:    a stitch in time, a local hero here,    boys falling in tune with the ageless argument.        So out of the turquoise turmoil a name    implodes like a star, having made its point.    And the seasons, welcome as you know,    are seen packing it in. Maybe add some rust    at a crucial jointure, no? But who am I    to be telling you your business. Next, young and beautiful,    emerging from a door, casting your essence    along the face of today’s precipice, you see “there’s no tomorrow,”    only avatars waiting in the wings, more or less patiently.    This is what it takes for you to do what’s best,    covering all the exits.        Oh, there is a danger there?    Who would have thought it in today’s heat?    But on the other hand, why just be standing    while its morose page rolls over,    an encumbrance to all, not just ourselves?    And when twilight licks appreciatively at the sky,    your answer will be there in the circuitry,    not bypassed. For you to hold,    to genuflect with.        A shadow of a flagon crossed your face:    The cease-fire is improving?    And in this starting to be in something, what had the older    children been doing? Taking lessons still to be paid for,    impinging on what comes next. Comes now.        Soon there is something to be said for everything,    he said, whiplash, whippets; why even my identity    is strange to me now，a curiosity. When someone comes later,    who will I be talking with? The erroneous vision    made no mention of this. Its conquering agenda is complete,    and we, of course, are incomplete, destined to ourselves    and its fitful version of eternity:    the one with chapter titles.    More worldliness to celebrate. And yet,someone    will take it from you, needy thing.

  

回家        （选自Wakefulness）    作者：(美)约翰.阿什贝利（John Ashberry）    译者:剑郭琴符        天气穿过我日记里的绞纱    悄悄地滴下。这是什么粗暴的省略？    是谁把我回家的民间消息    甚至传真到了月台号码？雄伟的客厅车    整洁地滑入卧铺，门飞快打开，    是吉恩和玛西以及所有的孩子，挥舞着粉红色的塑料风车，    大口嚼着爆米花。恩加拉。你知道我喜欢仪式，    即使拒绝站在上面，但这，这太愚蠢了。    车站的冷清的匿名性占据了上风，    控制着从最远出口筛选出来的人群。这里没有人。    现在我知道了为什么我总是讨厌探戈，却喜欢它卷发中    隐藏的亲密。为了继续下去，我们要    聚在一起，更新旧锯，让旧的怨恨骑乘…    稍后我会把这个发给你。    我只是想你，你看，就像实际上我    一天要想几百万次。我需要你的不赞成，    没有你粗野的方式不能活。

Homecoming            Weather drips quietly through the skeins    in my diary. What surly elision is this?    Who faxed the folks news of my homecoming,    even unto the platform number? The majestic parlor car    slides neatly into its berth, the doors fly open,    and it’s Jean and Marcy and all the kids, waving pink plastic pinwheels,    chomping on popcorn. Ngarrrh. You know I adore ceremony,    even while refusing to stand on it, but this, this is too inane.    And the cold anonymity of the station takes over,    reins in the crowds that were sifting to the furthest exits. No one is here.    Now I know why I’ve always hated the tango, yet loved the intimacy    secreted in its curls. And for this to continue, we’ve got to    get together, renew old saws, let old grudges ride ...    Later I’m posting this to you.    I just thought of you, you see, as indeed I do    several million times a day. I need your disapproval,    can’t live without your churlish ways.

  

剑郭琴符

在大门口的一天        （选自Can You Hear, Bird）    作者：(美)约翰.阿什贝利（John Ashberry）    译者:剑郭琴符        一股轻松的，令人沮丧的风    从拥挤的交通中吹来。    酒厂里的云    弄脏了天空。陶笛销量骤降。        相信我这种情况    阿拉丁的灯可能会改善。我在哪里？    在建筑、杂志、再生鱼之间，    等待着磨损和撕裂    出现在我的图表上。祝你好运，        “祝你好运。”代我向齐特琴    和他们的朋友们，马特诺琴问好。    只有我说：这样出现的东西会自动    枯萎。还有大雾，剧烈的。        正如一滴水银的泪珠注释    帝国的机密文件，于是    其他的软性降低了等待的    角度。身材高大，气急败坏，    穿着这一天的衣服，    撑着它的雨伞，他随着一声擦鞋声    半转过身去。说他需要我们。    说今晚的天空将是黄绿色的。

A Day at the Gate            A loose and dispiriting    wind took over from the grinding of traffic.    Clouds from the distillery    blotted out the sky. Ocarina sales plummeted.        Believe you me it was a situation    Aladdin’s lamp might have ameliorated. And where was I?    Among architecture, magazines, recycled fish,    waiting for the wear and tear    to show up on my chart. Good luck,        bonne chance. Remember me to the zithers    and their friends, the ondes martenot.    Only I say: What comes this way withers    automatically. And the fog, drastically.        As one mercurial teardrop glozes    an empire’s classified documents, so    other softnesses decline the angles    of the waiting. Tall, pissed-off,    dressed in this day’s clothes,    holding its umbrella, he half turned away    with a shooshing sound. Said he needed us.    Said the sky shall be kelly green tonight.

  

新八角形        （选自Can You Hear, Bird）    作者：(美)约翰.阿什贝利（John Ashberry）    译者:剑郭琴符        在一杯燃烧的茶中，食人魔评估了    我的机会。在这个蓝色的拱顶没有什么东西属于    你放它的地方，所以你就是它    漠不关心的傻瓜。试着自由地蠕动，记住    这位伟大的收藏家说过的话：宁静是一种温和的缰绳    给任何场合提供尊严。最好的桁架    是最严苛的，但你的村庄    在矿脉开始处结束。愤怒的小房子打官司；        屋顶渗漏。呈现你的手腕为了跺脚    当你去西北地区的时候，否则    我们就看谁缺席。    女儿蒂芙妮和布列塔尼同意。没有    太多的痛苦阻碍你寻求的    星体之路。被他人    隔离的    方式和差异。

A New Octagon            Over a cup of flaming tea, the ogre assessed    my chances. Nothing in this blue vault belongs    where you put it; therefore are you the dupe    of its nonchalance. Try to wriggle free, remembering    what the great collector said: Serenity is a mild bridle    lending dignity to any occasion. The best truss    is the severest, but your village    ends where mine begins. Angry little houses litigate;        the roof leaks. Present your wrist for stamping    as you go out into the northwestern territories, otherwise    we’ll see whose absence becomes it.    Daughters Tiffany and Brittany concurred. There    isn’t much in the way of agony impeding the astral    path you seek. On with the    ways and    the variance sequestered by others.

  

一首不安的诗        （选自Can You Hear, Bird）    作者：(美)约翰.阿什贝利（John Ashberry）    译者:剑郭琴符        人们恰当地理解生命之河，    误解它，当它变宽，它的城市变得    黑暗和更密集，总是越来越远。        当然，遥远的密集度适合    我们，就像羔羊和三叶草有可能一样    如果事物按照不同的顺序建造。    但既然我不了解我自己，只有我自己的片段    误解了彼此，你就没有    理由想要，即使我们都想要它        你也决不可能。那些塔还存在吗？    我们必须这样看，沿着这些线    这样思想才能竖立自身，像胶合板城垛。

A Poem of Unrest            Men duly understand the river of life,    misconstruing it, as it widens and its cities grow    dark and denser, always farther away.        And of course that remote denseness suits    us, as lambs and clover might have    if things had been built to order differently.    But since I don’t understand myself, only segments    of myself that misunderstand each other, there’s no    reason for you to want to, no way you could        even if we both wanted it. Do those towers even exist?    We must look at it that way, along those lines    so the thought can erect itself, like plywood battlements.

  

醒着的梦        （选自Can You Hear, Bird）    作者：(美)约翰.阿什贝利（John Ashberry）    译者:剑郭琴符        失败的全景建筑？以前发生，    当我叔叔在度假时穿着浴袍。    至少，“人们说”这是一个假期…        你指的是你叔叔奥巴迪亚，    一个在酒鬼缸里呆了二十年的人    当他跳跃时能吹出全部最新的歌曲吗？    从来没有人愿意多谈这件事，这件事似乎有点“太”    奇怪了，他，他已经忘记了    知道该走多远的艺术。        就这样。开车时，他会在棕榈沙滩装里具体化    戴着有小彩虹孔的巴拿马帽。    他就是知道如何保持外表的那人    直到他让它们精疲力竭。有些铁路组员    有时必须认识他，但永远也搞不懂他是怎么精确地知道    暴风雨什么时候来。什么时候会爆发无烟煤般的    高潮，我们出去在莎莉花园里修补    上一次剧烈的一次的线圈。这就是我的回忆。毒蛇    会停下来注意。与此同时，他表现得越来越        像一个候选人。然后沙滩椅的波浪拍打在我们身上    没有什么可说的了。实例关闭，    他喜欢说的是“历史”，好像这是一个    如果他选择的话可以扩展的话题，但更可能    是夜晚，没有人能恰当地把它解脱。        但我被告知有一个估计。    这是我们不知道的！如果只有我能让我的感官    恢复正常秩序，有时间思考这个古老的信息，        我就能让水闸门在一瞬间打开。如其所是，    它们可能不止是有点生锈，我们是否知道，    “真的”知道，就像峡谷居民听说    知道，哪条道路是上游？

A Waking Dream            And the failing panopticon? That happened before,    when my uncle was in his bathrobe, on vacation.    Leastways, folks said it was a vacation…        Are you referring to your Uncle Obadiah,    the one that spent twenty years in the drunk-tank    and could whistle all the latest hits when sprung?    No one ever cared to talk much about it, it seemed a little too    peculiar, and he, he had forgotten the art    of knowing how far to go too far.        Just so. When driven, he would materialize in a Palm Beach suit    and Panama hat with tiny rainbow holes in it.    That was someone who knew how to keep up appearances    until he had exhausted them. Some of the railroad crew    got to know him at times, and could never figure out how he knew    exactly when a storm would hit .And when its anthracitic orgasm    erupted, we were out in the salley gardens mending coils    from the last big one. Such is my recollection. And vipers    would pause to notice. Meanwhile he was acting more and more        like a candidate. Then the wave of beach chairs crashed over us    and there was nothing more to be said for it. The case was closed,    it was “history,” he liked to say, as though that were a topic    he could expand on if he chose, but it was more likely    to be night, and no one could extricate it properly.        Yet I had been told of an estimate.    That’s what we don’t know! If only I could get my senses    back in the right order, and had time to ponder this old message,        I could have the sluice-gates opened in a jiffy. As it is,    They’re probably more than a little rusty, and do we know,    really know, as chasm-dwellers are said    to know, which way is upstream?

  

亚伯的冲突        （选自Can You Hear, Bird）    作者：(美)约翰.阿什贝利（John Ashberry）    译者:剑郭琴符        这么多的能量部署在    绕过预言者的冲突！    但别这么做，    它已经发生了。    它里面有些东西。        如果我们是一个路标，    生命总有一天会出现，    验证它的平衡，然后离开    径直进入树枝慌乱的膨胀，    手在通往餐厅    长长的斜坡上，端着咖啡。        当然，是时候我们合并。    没有其他人为我们    做这个，我们觉得我们很好。    这就是为什么我们必须这么做。    它需要球做这个    和一个重型吸盘横过马路。        蛇会疏通排水管。    石板会亮起来读它自己。

Abe’s Collision            So much energy deployed    in circumnavigating the seer’s collisions!    Don’t do it yet,    it hasn’t happened.    There is something in it.        And if we were a guidepost,    life would come along one day,    verify its balance, then leave    straight into the flustered ballooning of branches,    hands on the long ramp    leading to the restaurant with its coffee.        Sure, it’s time we merged.    There are no others to do it    for us, we think we’re nice.    That’s why we’ve got to do it.    It takes balls to do it    and a heavy-duty sucker across the way.        A snake will unplug the drain.    The slate will light up and read itself.

  

分配的狂欢        （选自Can You Hear, Bird）    作者：(美)约翰.阿什贝利（John Ashberry）    译者:剑郭琴符        过去是如何用各种各样的笑话    填满它指定的空间，这样就    不仅仅有人们所知道的事情。        如果这是我福音的秘密，它永远不会    消失太久或过度沉迷。    每个人都想分一杯羹！    这，也是不可能的。        我看见一个穿红衣服的女人移动，从灌木丛后面    走了出来。    我看见十只乳白色的小狗对我高呼：    “你是一小撮。”我看到圣戴安娜尖顶    扎破，照亮了天空。那是一种咬牙切齿的忧郁。        沿着最后一次性交发生的地方，    另一个，一个新的疯子，戴着斗篷和帽子，    和月亮一起升起。他们不会    因为这些小事让你离开。试着想象一下。    是的，但是在你迷人的镜头的沙发上    你的嗜好是巫师，亲爱的。让我们给他们所有人    一个机会。向公寓    右舷的名单，宝石外壳的啤酒杯。

Allotted Spree        How the past filled its designated space    with every kind of drollery, so there    were not just the things one knew about.        It’s the secret of my gospel, it can never    be gone for too long or get too fancy.    Everybody wants to own a share in it!    This, too, is impossible.        I saw a woman in red move, come out    from behind the brush.    I saw ten milky-white puppy dogs who chanted at me:    “You’re a handful.” I saw the spire of St. Diana’s    prick and light up the sky. Those were gnashed doldrums.        Down where the last coitus happened,    another, a new madman in a cloak and hat,    was rising with the moon. They don’t let you off    for these little things. Try imagining it.    Yes but against the sofa of your captivating lens    your appetites are wizard, dear. Let’s give them all    a chance. On to the starboard    list of the apartment, to the gemstone-crusted tankard.

  

行板神秘地        （选自Can You Hear, Bird）    作者：(美)约翰.阿什贝利（John Ashberry）    译者:剑郭琴符        香味爬进我的树。    它被赋予红发精灵：    音乐几乎    充分表达的词。    交响乐在车站    那时，到处都是人努力听着    还有人想逃走。一个“努力”的    局面，也许，但没有人比以前更糟。    马穿越污垢跋涉---地狱，    这对他们来说很正常        我们曾经租过的那间夏间别墅---记得    虫子是怎么穿过屏幕进来的，而    一切都不是本应如此吗？    现在人们有车来装这些东西，    把它们带走，我的意思是，    我想。    无论人类把巨人脚放在哪里    花瓣萌芽，人造的躯干，    服装制造商的仿制品。还有一张古老的照片    和一台古老的留声机，在薄雾中    吟唱。对不起。房东把我们锁在外面。

Andante Misterioso                The perfume climbs into my tree.    It is given to red-haired sprites:    words that music expresses    almost amply.    The symphony at the station    then, and all over people trying to hear it    and others trying to get away. A “trying”    situation, perhaps, yet no one is worse off than before.    Horses slog through dirt---hell,    it’s normal for’em        And that summer cottage we rented once ---remember    how the bugs came in through the screens, and    all was not as it was supposed to be?    Nowadays people have cars for things like that,    to carry them away, I mean，    I suppose.    And wherever man sets his giant foot    petals spring up, and artificial torsos,    dressmakers’ dummies. And an ancient photograph    and an ancient phonograph, that carols    in mist. Pardon. The landlord locked us out.

  

天使（你        （选自Can You Hear, Bird）    作者：(美)约翰.阿什贝利（John Ashberry）    译者:剑郭琴符        知道你是谁），回来    当你老了一点，当户外    不再是一种吸引人的好奇心时。    别误会我，我“喜欢”你现存的挥舞的    绿松石手套。我必须润色    我的演讲，花了一辈子    看斯蒂菲.杜纳的老电影，并被警告    要注意后果。看来我应该通过；    你文字的问题只有一个。它可以是你喜欢的    任何东西。但我犹豫不决，就像一个迷路    且不敢问方向的游动的精子---    如果是的话，他们会用棍棒打它。一旦你在路上    如果你知道也没关系，此外，无论如何。        相反，冬季赛场会关闭    到春天的某个时候，但更有可能永远关闭。    腐败和腐败的迹象随处可见    甚至被赶时髦的复制。    “我必须给头发加糖。”我的杂役呢？        你说你的派对上还有一个。    谁也不着急。    突然间，这一天番红花般甜蜜。

Angels (you            know who you are), come back    when you’ve aged a little, when the outdoors    is an attractive curiosity no longer.    Don’t get me wrong, I like your waving    turquoise mittens extantly. I must polish    my speech, having spent a life    watching old Steffi Duna movies, and being warned    about the consequences. It seems I should pass;    there’s only one essay question， and it can be about anything    you like. Yet I hesitate, like a spermatozoid    that’s lost its way and doesn’t dare ask directions---    they’d club it if it did. Once you’re en route    it doesn’t matter if you know, besides, anyway.        Conversely the winter circuit closes down    until some time in spring, but more likely forever.    Signs of rot and corruption are everywhere    and are even copied by the fashion-conscious.    I must sugar my hair. And my factotum?        You said there was one more in your party.    No one is in a hurry.    Suddenly the day is crocus-sweet.

  

焦虑和硬木地板        （选自Can You Hear, Bird）    作者：(美)约翰.阿什贝利（John Ashberry）    译者:剑郭琴符        只有这一地区的气息    把我赶走且发展着，是的，又一次。    在这个季节迟到多好    在这里这个绝望的人把他们的枷锁藏在    金黄色的头发链里。它的空气        不想要与我们任何人有关的东西。然而，如果我是    邮局强壮的男人，正如时钟的九点钟    告诉我我所是的那样，为什么这儿对我们所有人来说    都会更好。他嘲笑    我的这间客厅。但是每个人都能看到    太阳，羞怯而无耻，从生锈的窗帘中    猛击。你把那盒杜松子酒递给我，    好吗？

Anxiety and Hardwood Floors            Only a breath of this region    spindles me off and growing, yes, again.    How fine to be late in the season    where the hopeless hide their fetters    in chains of golden hair. Its air        wants nothing to do with any of us. Yet if I am    the strong man at the post office, as the clock’s nine    o’clock tells me I am, why it will go better for the all    of us in here. This living    room he taunts me with. But everybody can see the    sun, abashed and unashamed, pummeling through the rusted    curtains. Pass me that box of gin,    will you?

  

开始我以为我什么也不说        （选自Can You Hear, Bird）    作者：(美)约翰.阿什贝利（John Ashberry）    译者:剑郭琴符        但后来我想对它保持沉默可能会显得更粗鲁。    一开始我以为我已经死了，去了天堂    但任性的太阳这恶棍获知了我其他的。    我穿着体格魁伟的裤子，发现养蜂人这个职业很迷人    虽然我还没有见到我的第一只蜜蜂。    我们不知道我能不能留着帽子和面纱。        “太热了，”他说。“对一切太热了！”    他如此体贴，如此平凡。“…有你在船上。”    保加利亚各地的唱诗班起立唱起了租金之歌。    它很可爱。现在我要休个短假，    证明这里需要我。没人再要我的        两分钱，我相信。对有些人来说就像夏天滑冰。    一座小塔坐落在湖面上。它爆炸了。    就像我对人们带我出去    吃顿好饭的感觉，然后你回家    复习规定的一切。我喜欢花和呼吸。

At First I Thought I Wouldn’t Say Anything About It            but then I thought keeping quiet about it might appear even ruder.    At first I thought I had died and gone to heaven    but that scapegrace the unruly sun informed me otherwise.    I am in my heavyset pants and find this occupation of beekeeper charming    though I have yet to meet my first bee.    We don’t know if I get to keep the hat and veil.        “Too hot,” he said. “Too hot for everything!”    He so caring, so mundane. “ …to have you on board.”    Bulgarian choirs everywhere stood up and sang the song of the rent.    It was lovely. Now I shall take a short vacation,    proof that I am needed here. Nobody wants my two cents        anymore, I believe. To some it was like skating in summer.    A small turret perched over the lake. It exploded.    That’s the way I feel about people taking me out    to some nice repast, and afterwards you go home and    go over everything that was stated. I prefer flowers and breathing.

  

在自由和越橘        （选自Can You Hear, Bird）    作者：(美)约翰.阿什贝利（John Ashberry）    译者:剑郭琴符        这辆车急切地向前跳跃，有那么一刻    它就像马德里：肉桂的味道和一些    几乎太不重要以至于不值得提起的东西。一种早晨的感觉    没有早晨所是的任何细节，    它栖息，所有的细节，个别的。    是的，我们再次邀请鱼    告诉我们关于高中的事，是的    他带着歉意来了，还附带提到了鸡奸    直到我们都打牌，该走了。        每个人都意识到    有一个如此美丽的夜晚。        然而，如果我想把你放在我的大腿上    是浪漫的---好吧，或者用“浪漫”这个词    好几次，提起情感和感伤的    褪色问题，就像柱子上褪了色的    嘴唇，我被允许仅仅做一个僧侣和整洁的人，        而可爱的人总是和我们在一起，    都在我们周围，在海湾，在河边，    像一个微型舰队    每个船帆上都有广告。    从这里往回走，上面写着，    你不是从这条路上来的，但是通过这里    你会发现这里很好。        而且，平静，我们来了。

At Liberty and Cranberry            The car bounds forward eagerly, and for a moment    it’s like Madrid: a taste of cinnamon and something    almost too unimportant to mention. A sense of morning    without any of the particulars that morning is,    that it inhabits, all of them, individually.    And yes we invited the fish    over again to tell about high school and yes    he came apologetically and mentioned sodomy parenthetically    until we all played cards and it was time to go.        Everybody realized    there had been such a beautiful evening.        Yet if I want to take you on my lap    and be romantic---well, or use the word “romantic”    several times and bring up the faded question    of sentiment and sentimentality, like faded lips    on a post, I’m allowed to be only monastic and neat,        while the cute are always with us,    are all around us, out on the bay, the river,    like a miniature armada    with an ad on every sail.    Go back through here, it says,    you didn’t come up this way, but through here    you’ll find it’s very nice.        And, unruffled, we do.

  

无调性音乐        （选自Can You Hear, Bird）    作者：(美)约翰.阿什贝利（John Ashberry）    译者:剑郭琴符        那小村庄用梅子抚摸着它的    倒影---它现在不是在低声吟唱，也不是为了一般的    补给，总之。他们正在从房子里    放下铁环，整个东西都悬在空中。    我在门口玩弄拇指，不时    向外张望。回忆是很好的，    但是没有人真正关心你的童年，    甚至你。甚至不是那样，或过去，    而是一种审美上的遥远丰富但模糊地绽放    围绕着这里和那里    突出的东西：一个窗户广场，一只勇敢的狗    留下的骨头。你拥有    它们，但可能不欣赏它们---它们    太容易死，因为那些，因为你。        我在夜里醒来听到一条小河    从我的屋顶冲下来---该死的！    我离开活板门棘轮。一切都    玷污了我，像风景一样。我只能    是周围的环境。        它们观察过我一次，你知道。

Atonal Music                The hamlet stroked its reflection in a    Plum---it wasn’t crooning now, not for generic    supplies, anyway. They are lowering hoops    from houses, the whole thing’s very much up in the air.    I twiddle my thumbs in a doorway, look    out from time to time. It’s fine to reminisce,    but no one really cares about your childhood,    not even you. It’s not even that, or a past,    but an aesthetic remoteness blossoming profusely    but vaguely around what does    stand out here and there: a window square, a bone    left by an intrepid dog. You own    them but may not appreciate them— they’re    too mortal for that, for you.        I woke in the night to hear a runnel    coursing down my mansard---damn!    I’d left the trapdoor ratcheted. It all    smears me, like scenery. I can    only be ambient.        They observed me once, you know.

  

  

剑郭琴符

两颗彗星的可怕效果        （选自Can You Hear, Bird）    作者：(美)约翰.阿什贝利（John Ashberry）    译者:剑郭琴符        你不总是有一个步骤    来消除你现在如此恰当地感觉到的公正        在香港的边缘，那里购买精神完全可以。运河里的    人群向他扔枷锁    然后不总是有一个阶梯    来惩罚未出生的孩子和那个        说他宁愿改天再做的男孩。有一把椅子，    由于过度的生活，椅子的扶手擦得几乎赤裸。    我想那边有一把扇子。        要不然我们从它们就赚不到钱。    它们不值得进口，只不过是吸了    一口烟，然后整本杂志    都涨了起来，这让那些娇小的    裸体主义者感到惊讶和欢呼    他们对上涨无能为力，    甚至连你的眼睛也不能，你的眼睛，说真的，我喜欢    盯着看和向其示爱：    我，一个商人，来自用饥饿和一头大母牛    来填充的山上。

Awful Effects of Two Comets                There will not always be a step    to the undoing of the rightness you now so justly feel        in the edge of Hong Kong where it’s all right to buy spirits. The    canal crowd threw fetters at him    Then there will not always be a stair    to punish the unborn and the boy who said he’d rather        do it on another day. There is a chair,    its arms rubbed almost bare from excess living.    There is a fan I think over there.        Otherwise we make no money off them.    They’re not worth importing, only to smoke    the tips of and then the whole magazine    goes up, to some surprise and cheers    on the part of petite nudist pedestrians    who can make nothing rise,    not even your eyes, which, seriously, I love    staring at and making love to:    I, a merchant from over the hill    with hunger and a big cow to fill.

  

...被地震        （选自Can You Hear, Bird）    作者：(美)约翰.阿什贝利（John Ashberry）    译者:剑郭琴符        偶然听到一个熟悉的名字，这个名字涉及到一个过去的谜语。    B， 爱上了A，收到一封未签名的信，信中作者声明她是A的情妇，并恳求B不要把他从她身边带走。    B， 被环境所迫，成了在一个与世隔绝的中的A的伴侣，改变了她爱和婚姻的玫瑰色见解，当她发现，通过A，男人的自私。    A， 一个陌生房子的侵入者，被发现；他从最近的门逃到一个没有窗户的壁橱里，被弹簧锁困住了。    A对自己所拥有的一切如此满意，以至于对企业的任何冲动都被压制。    A揭开了一个重要的谜团，当落下的灰泥揭示出一些古老的情书藏着的地方。    A-4，在他的储藏室里丢了食物，一半人认为是被“鬼魂”拿走的。    A， 一个骗子，通过出售A-8已经拥有的物品X来谋取非法利益。    A看到一个陌生人，A-5，偷偷地从另一个熟睡的陌生人A-8口袋里掏出文件X。A跟在A-5后面。    A向他的敌人A-3发射了一个地狱机器X，它落入了A的朋友A-2的手中。    安吉拉告诉菲利浦她丈夫的前列腺肥大，并要钱。    菲利浦不知道她的要求，把钱存入了一个托管账户。    A发现他的朋友，W，是一个伪装成男孩的女孩。    A， 发现W是一个伪装成男孩的女孩，他把知识藏在自己身上，并尽最大努力把冒充者从烦人的经历中拯救出来。    A， 把十年的生命献给了一个吝啬的叔叔，U,用大学教育作为交换，失去了雄心壮志和事业。    A， 经历了一个奇怪的经历，在一个奇怪的民族中被欺骗，从已经死亡的受害者之一赫歇尔发现了错觉的秘密。通过从笔记本上获得的信息，A成功地救出了其他错觉的受害者。    A死于精神休克。        阿尔伯特有一个梦，或不寻常的经历，通灵的或其他的，这使他能够克服一个严重的性格弱点，并在他的新叙述中获得成功，“博里斯.卡尔洛夫”。        出自莫哈韦沙漠的银币出现在一个邪恶的珠宝商的财产中。    三位音乐家打赌，其中一位将赢得当地领唱妻子的喜爱；失败者必须在附近的小溪中淹死。    阿迪丝，被困在陷阱里，无力地被握住在一个巨大的燃烧着的玻璃下，被一次日蚀救了。    肯特有一个如此生动的梦，以至于它似乎是他清醒时的经历的一部分。    A和A-2遭遇了一次悲惨的冒险，A-2被杀。    埃尔维拉，试图解开山上一座奇怪房子的神秘，却陷入一场雷暴。暴风雨期间，房子消失了，房子所在的地方变成了一个湖。    阿尔方斯有一个伤口，一个可怕的心灵创伤，一个看不见的心灵创伤，它会导致肉体和组织的疼痛，否则，它们就是完全健康和正常的。    A有一个梦想，他认为这是一个实际的经历。    珍妮，回家的路上，开车，开车，还在开车，离她家不远，比她第一次开始的时候还近。    彼得罗纽斯.B.弗隆的朋友，摩根.温德豪文，受伤身亡。    十三位素不相识的客人，聚集在一间阴森的房子里，听托伊宣读巴斯特的遗嘱。    巴斯特把一切都留给了莉迪亚，一个美丽的暹罗女诗人，谁也没听说过。    莱西和雷克斯礼貌地扭打在一起；受伤的拉西被迫跛行回家。    在墨西哥淘金热中，一个城市规划师被发现被不法分子囚禁在一个简陋的木棍笼子里。    越来越多的人从大坝上流过，人们对失踪的电动仙人掌有了更多的了解。    在旧金山，有太多的乘客挤到缆车上，售票员不得不把他们中的一些推下去。    玛达琳娜，因为她已经得接受了某些启示，坚定地下决心，她将不会执行一项以前她所热爱的事业。        雾进入威尔士一个煤矿的竖井。    暴风把雾吹得到处都是。    肖恩和希拉里两名矿工被浓烟追击。    也许艾米莉的记事本把握到风血封喉树下七只天鹅奥秘的线索。    贾维斯试图管理艾米莉的服装店，并将它放置在支付的基础上。贾维斯嗜酒的朋友，艾米莉，影响贾维斯喝酒，嘲笑禁止贾维斯沉湎于烈性酒的医生。    贾维斯，因为一次令人不安的经历，被迫与他的朋友艾米莉作对。    一个蹩脚演员有他的替身，“唐尼”，在一个重要的企业里占据了他的位置。    贾维斯因为试图帮助朋友而损失了一小笔财产。    洛多维科的朋友，安布罗修斯，因为吃了一种奇怪植物的浆果而发疯，对洛多维科进行了一次凶残的攻击。    “新叙事”被判决是煽动性的。到处都是猪在街上尖叫。    安布罗修斯，遭受不幸，在乔的陪伴和打高尔夫球中寻求幸福。    亚瑟，在城市的一条街上，瞥见了凯西，一个奇怪的女人，她使他陷入了一个令人费解的神秘之中。    凯茜，走在街上，看见亚瑟，一个陌生人，在哭泣。    凯茜抛弃了亚瑟，在他丢了钱，受伤后被送往医院。    亚瑟，和比阿特丽斯结婚了，反复回忆起以前的恋人，科妮莉亚，阿尔文爱的一个无情的风骚女郎。        春天晴朗的一天，特里西亚和普罗提努斯在公园里闲逛，遇到一个小女孩抓住兔子的耳朵。当他们向她提出抗议时，这个女孩变成了一个成熟的女人，她对自己发烧的行为感到后悔。    阿尔文跑向女孩，绊倒了，丢了他的硬币。    在附近的小山谷，两名杀人犯正密谋处决第三名。    比阿特丽斯在阿尔文结婚前就爱他。    B， A的第二任妻子发现A的第一任妻子B-3不忠。    B, A的妻子，戴上了B-3的面具和服装，A的情妇，作为B-3和A见面；他的记忆恢复了，他忘记了B-3，回到了B。    A发现了“霍腾西乌斯”，一个丢失的西塞罗对话，并把它返回给它所在的缝隙。    安布罗斯和菲利斯结婚，一个来自另一个城镇的好女孩。    唐尼和夏琳是被邀请到窗口的客人之一。    没有人记得老埃弗雷特，他被留在一座塔上枯萎。    佩莱格里诺，一个在艰苦的边疆营地的野蛮边民，负责照顾一个孤儿。    伊尔德布兰多建造了一个隐蔽的陷阱，靠近他的人，格温，掉进了陷阱，无法逃脱。

... by an Earthquake            A hears by chance a familiar name, and the name involves a riddle of the past.    B, in love with A, receives an unsigned letter in which the writer states that she is the mistress of A and begs B not to take him away from her.    B, compelled by circumstances to be a companion of A in an isolated place, alters her rosy views of love and marriage when she discovers, through A, the selfishness of men.    A, an intruder in a strange house, is discovered; he flees through the nearest door into a windowless closet and is trapped by a spring lock.    A is so content with what he has that any impulse toward enterprise is throttled.    A solves an important mystery when falling plaster reveals the place where some old love letters are concealed.    A-4, missing food from his larder, half believes it was taken by a “ghost.”    A, a crook, seeks unlawful gain by selling A-8 an object, X, which A-8 already owns.    A sees a stranger, A-5, stealthily remove papers, X, from the pocket of another stranger, A-8, who is asleep. A follows A-5.    A sends an infernal machine, X, to his enemy, A-3, and it falls into the hands of A’s friend, A-2.    Angela tells Philip of her husband’s enlarged prostate, and asks for money.    Philip, ignorant of her request, has the money placed in an escrow account.    A discovers that his pal, W, is a girl masquerading as a boy.    A, discovering that W is a girl masquerading as a boy, keeps the knowledge to himself and does his utmost to save the masquerader from annoying experiences.    A, giving ten years of his life to a miserly uncle, U, in exchange for a college education, loses his ambition and enterprise.    A, undergoing a strange experience among a people weirdly deluded, discovers the secret of the delusion from Herschel, one of the victims who has died. By means of information obtained from the notebook, A succeeds in rescuing the other victims of the delusion.    A dies of psychic shock.    Albert has a dream, or an unusual experience, psychic or otherwise, which enables him to conquer a serious character weakness and become successful in his new narrative, “Boris Karloff.”        Silver coins from the Mojave Desert turn up in the possession of a sinister jeweler.    Three musicians wager that one will win the affections of the local kapellmeister’s wife; the losers must drown themselves in a nearby stream.    Ardis, caught in a trap and held powerless under a huge burning glass, is saved by an eclipse of the sun.    Kent has a dream so vivid that it seems a part of his waking experience.    A and A-2 meet with a tragic adventure,and A-2 is killed.    Elvira, seeking to unravel the mystery of a strange house in the hills, is caught in an electrical storm. During the storm the house vanishes and the site on which it stood becomes a lake.    Alphonse has a wound, a terrible psychic wound, an invisible psychic wound, which causes pain in flesh and tissue which, otherwise, are perfectly healthy and normal.    A has a dream which he conceives to be an actual experience.    Jenny, homeward bound, drives and drives, and is still driving, no nearer to her home than she was when she first started.    Petronius B. Furlong’s friend, Morgan Windhover, receives a wound from which he dies.    Thirteen guests, unknown to one another, gather in a spooky house to hear Toe reading Buster’s will.    Buster has left everything to Lydia, a beautiful Siamese girl poet of whom no one has heard.    Lassie and Rex tussle together politely; Lassie, wounded, is forced to limp home.    In the Mexican gold rush a city planner is found imprisoned by outlaws in a crude cage of sticks.    More people flow over the dam and more is learned about the missing electric cactus.    Too many passengers have piled onto a cable car in San Francisco; the conductor is obliged to push some of them off.    Maddalena, because of certain revelations she has received, firmly resolves that she will not carry out an enterprise that had formerly been dear to her heart.        Fog enters into the shaft of a coal mine in Wales.    A violent wind blows the fog around.    Two miners, Shawn and Hillary, are pursued by fumes.    Perhaps Emily’s datebook holds the clue to the mystery of the seven swans under the upas tree.    Jarvis seeks to manage Emily’s dress shop and place it on a paying basis. Jarvis’s bibulous friend, Emily, influences Jarvis to take to drink, scoffing at the doctor who has forbidden Jarvis to indulge in spirituous liquors.    Jarvis, because of a disturbing experience, is compelled to turn against his friend, Emily.    A ham has his double, “Donnie,” take his place in an important enterprise.    Jarvis loses his small fortune in trying to help a friend.    Lodovico’s friend, Ambrosius, goes insane from eating the berries of a strange plant, and makes a murderous attack on Lodovico.    “New narrative” is judged seditious. Hogs from all over go squealing down the street.    Ambrosius, suffering misfortune, seeks happiness in the companionship of Joe, and in playing golf.       Arthur, in a city street, has a glimpse of Cathy, a strange woman who has caused him to become involved in a puzzling mystery.    Cathy, walking in the street, sees Arthur, a stranger, weeping.    Cathy abandons Arthur after he loses his money and is injured and sent to a hospital.    Arthur, married to Beatrice, is haunted by memories of a former sweetheart, Cornelia, a heartless coquette whom Alvin loves.        Sauntering in a park on a fine day in spring, Tricia and Plotinus encounter a little girl grabbing a rabbit by its ears. As they remonstrate with her, the girl is transformed into a mature woman who regrets her feverish act.    Running up to the girl, Alvin stumbles and loses his coins.    In a nearby dell, two murderers are plotting to execute a third.    Beatrice loved Alvin before he married.    B, second wife of A, discovers that B-3, A’s first wife, was unfaithful.    B, wife of A, dons the mask and costume of B-3, A’s paramour, and meets A as B-3; his memory returns and he forgets B-3, and goes back to B.    A discovers the “Hortensius,” a lost dialogue of Cicero, and returns it to the crevice where it lay.    Ambrose marries Phyllis, a nice girl from another town.    Donnie and Charlene are among the guests invited to the window.    No one remembers old Everett, who is left to shrivel in a tower.    Pellegrino, a rough frontiersman in a rough frontier camp, undertakes to care for an orphan.    Ildebrando constructs a concealed trap, and a person near to him, Gwen, falls into the trap and cannot escape.

  

靠猜测靠上帝        （选自Can You Hear, Bird）    作者：(美)约翰.阿什贝利（John Ashberry）    译者:剑郭琴符        即便如此，我们还是忘记了他们的坟墓。    “我向你发誓，如果你不在，我不会击一下鼓。”        夜间的野兽不会忘记它们的罪行，    其他的也不会忘记它们的不倒翁。        在一个车库里轮胎熨斗在微风中叮当作响    在苍蝇拍伴奏的作用下    我们第一次听说那个腓尼基水手    当潮水退去时，他会假扮成    一个飞行的荷兰人，在他不常去的一片岸上的树叶中    获得一个配偶。但他全身都带着珠宝的红色---    不是红宝石，便宜的宝石。他的门牙撞击    周围人心中的恐惧。然而，许多    少女认为他是一个选择，    尽管她们总是以拒绝而告终。有人说是他的呼吸，    其他的，他头发上被驱使的玉米丝。也许    是因为缺乏所谓的“品貌兼优”，    尽管我想我甚至不想知道那是什么，我会跟着    我的心在温暖的中国沙发音乐海洋    直到獾咳出这个秘密的那一天，    尽管首先我们必须发现催吐药，    我告诉过你的那个。        困惑的仆从们蜂拥到甲板上。    没有人再下命令了。事实上，那是相当长的一段时间    因为已经有人发布过了。这里谁负责？    在自动演奏的钢琴被海浪卷进低谷之前    任何人不能阻止它？我们怎么变得那么多？    我想知道当地电影院正在上演什么。        一些希区柯克或其他，因为在这些难看的部分    有许多追星族。谁会想要妈妈    做晚饭？

By Guess and by Gosh            Even so, we have forgotten their graves.    I swear to you I will not beat one drum in your absence.        And the beasts of night will not forget their crimes,    nor the others their roly-polyness.        It was in a garage where tire irons jangled in the breeze    to the accompaniment of flyswatters functioning    that we first heard of that Phoenician sailor    and how when the tide was out he would pretend to be    the Flying Dutchman on one of his infrequent shore leaves    to garner a spouse. But he was all red with jewels---    not rubies, cheap gems. And his incisors struck fear    in the hearts of the entourage.Nevertheless, many    were the maidens who considered him an option,    though they always ended by rejecting it.Some said it was his breath,    others, the driven cornsilk of his hair. Perhaps    it was the lack of something called “personable,”    though I think I don’t even want to know what that is, I’ll follow    my heart over warm oceans of Chinese lounge music    until the day the badger coughs up that secret,    though first we must discover the emetic,    the one I told you about.        Confused minions swarmed on the quarterdeck.    No one was giving orders anymore. In fact it was quite a while    since any had been issued. Who’s in charge here?    Can’t anyone stop the player piano before it rolls us    in the trough of a tidal wave? How did we get to be so many?    I wonder what’s playing at the local movie theater.        Some Hitchcock or other, for there are many fanciers    in these unsightly parts. And who would want mothers    for supper?

  

你能听见吗，鸟    （选自Can You Hear, Bird）    作者：(美)约翰.阿什贝利（John Ashberry）    译者:剑郭琴符        在所有的日子里，不会发生    确实发生的一些事情，    固体的，营养的，就像扔在柜台上的    包裹好的牛排。一开始我不敢相信口渴；        很快，这么快，它变得平淡无奇且轻快，    一种固定装置。被玩弄的格言。    路开始随我变得崎岖不平。    就在800英尺外，汽车在它的街区上哭了    小彼得来了，环顾四周，然后离开了。        这是一种错误，他走了。        这是一个善意的错误，微风吹过仪表板。    双小提琴缝出    一条细缝；    一只爪子滑过时钟的表面，    懒汉和卑鄙小人介于其间。        我想说的一切是，在固定三轮车    所需时间内，五楼窗户上的浪涌和斜坡    所造成的负面影响。    我们充满了这样的礼貌，    对白天视而不见，夜晚似乎他们的系统，    摇摇晃晃地站在木板边上；    当然，展开的电影    就像海豚或溜冰的翅膀，在阳光下扇动。    究竟是谁哭着说出真相    不是我

Can You Hear，Bird            And for all the days it doesn’t happen    something does happen,    solid and nutritional like a wrapped steak    tossed on a counter. At first I couldn’t believe the thirst;        soon, so soon, it becomes average and airy,    a fixture. Precept to be toyed with.    The road started to get rough with me.    A mere 800 feet away the car wept on its blocks    and little Peter came and looked around and went away.        It was kind of a mistake and he went away.    It was a kind mistake, breezes over dashboard.    Twin violins sew    a fine seam;    a paw slips over the face of the clock,    laggards and dudgeons in between.        All I meant to suggest was the negative of what has    been done surges and slops against fifth-floor windows    in the time it takes to anchor a tricycle.    And we full of such courtesy,    blind to the days and it seems their systems the night,    teetering on a board’s edge;    sure and the unrolled film fans out    in suns like a dolphin or a skate’s wing.    After all who blubbered the truth    It wasn’t I

  

悬臂        （选自Can You Hear, Bird）    作者：(美)约翰.阿什贝利（John Ashberry）    译者:剑郭琴符        我知道我们应该    在布丁站后面停下来    但是布丁人真是-太好了-    充满了他们自己。        斯芬克斯不想让我们走这么远    尽管我们回答了她的问题    并抛出了一个额外的答案：“就像蜂蜜    朝着美洲虎。”    我们一直也都很好---    即将到来的是世界上最长的单悬臂跨度。    我对蓟马麻木了。

Cantilever            I knew we should have stopped back there    by the pudding station    but the pudding people were so-well-    full of themselves.        The Sphinx didn’t want us to come this far    even though we answered her questions    and threw in a bonus answer: “As honey    is to the jaguar.”    And we so well all along too---    Coming up is the world’s longest single cantilever span.    I am numb with thrips.

   

剑郭琴符

第二章，第35卷        （选自Can You Hear, Bird）    作者：(美)约翰.阿什贝利（John Ashberry）    译者:剑郭琴符        他是个军人或者说是个震颤派教徒。至少他在做点“什么”，    去什么地方。晚上，他常常大声抱怨马克吐温，    那怎么不是他的真名，他有隐瞒什么吗？    如果是这样，那为什么自称幽默作家？    我们开始厌倦了他的胡言乱语，但是（就像如此经常发生的）    就在那时，一个显著的性格特征    揭示了自身，或者更确切地说，在他里面显示自身    是在八月的一个愚蠢的日子里    所有的男人（和一些女人）都梦想着巧克力果汁汽水。    他承认他午餐喝了一瓶，    然后带我们到街上，让我们看到另一些城市生活的    旋转和眼花缭乱，在那里生继续着如此多不同的事情。    我猜他是受拉合尔的启发。他说他每天晚上    都会梦到。渐渐地    我们感到自己被运送到了那里。不是说我们想去    那里，远不是那样。但我们要么太胆小    要么不知道该怎么劝他。然后他提到了廷巴克图。    说他真的去过那里，人行道是粉红色的    小屋是珍珠母做的，而不是人们通常认为的    泥。说他在那里吃过他一生中最好的鹿肉    和苹果馅饼。    嗯，我们正迷茫地陪着他    带着他通常包围着他的茫然：当我们开始思考自己的时候，    我们上次这么做“是”什么时候？陌生人又    变了形（他现在穿的是一条祖瓦夫的裙裤），问我们    我们要“住”在吉布提，还是普罗维登斯，还是里昂？既然    我看见了他们，我们合唱（像青蛙一样），哦，不，我们    想住在纽约，不是不如你说的那样    精彩有趣的其他地方。只有纽约    对我们来说更像家。它很丑，很脏，人们都很粗鲁    （善良和粗鲁），每一个表面都有一层细小的污渍    这对我们这种懒汉有好处，而且会及时变成钻石，    就像廷巴克图的珍珠母棚屋一样。他说，    你知道我对马克吐温的看法是错的。这是他的真名，    他是个幽默作家，一个真诚的    美国一个时代的幽默作家。

Chapter II，Book 35                He was a soldier or a Shaker. At least he was doing something,    going somewhere. Often, in the evenings, he’d rant about Mark Twain,    how that wasn’t his real name, and was he hiding something?    If so, then why call himself a humorist?    We began to tire of his ravings, but (as so often happens)    it was just at that point that a salient character trait    revealed itself, or rather, manifested itself within him    It was one of those goofy days in August    when all men (and some women) dream of chocolate sodas.    He confessed he’d had one for lunch,    then took us out to the street to show us the whir and dazzle    of living in some other city, where so much that is different goes on.    I guess he was inspired by Lahore. Said it came to him    in his dreams every night. And little by little    we felt ourselves being transported there. Not that we wanted    to be there, far from that. But we were either too timid    or unaware to urge him otherwise. Then he mentioned Timbuktu.    Said he’d actually been there, that the sidewalks were pink    and the huts made of mother-of-pearl, not mud, as is commonly    supposed. Said he’d had the best venison and apple tart    in his life there.    Well, we were accompanying him in the daze    that usually surrounded him, when we began to think about ourselves:    When was the last time we had done so?And the stranger shifted shape    again (he was now wearing a Zouave’s culottes), and asked us    would we want to live in Djibouti, or Providence, or Lyon, now that    we’d seen them, and we chorused (like frogs), Oh no, we    want to live in New York, not that the other places aren’t as splendid    and interesting as you say. It’s just that New York    feels more like home to us. It’s ugly, it’s dirty, the people are rude    (kind and rude), and every surface has a fine film of filth    on it that behooves slobs like us, and will in time turn to diamonds,    just like the mother-of-pearl shacks in Timbuktu. And he said,    You know I was wrong about Mark Twain. It was his real name,    and he was a humorist, a genuine    American humorist for the ages.

  

慢性共生        （选自Can You Hear, Bird）    作者：(美)约翰.阿什贝利（John Ashberry）    译者:剑郭琴符        这些事情可以安排，他说。    另外，闪光又变得合理了。    你没听说吗？在一个无理性的瞬间我想    今天的主题是剽窃，就像那张桌子    所象征的那样。但不，这是一种    永远不知道的快乐，一种曾经知道的快乐，    一种还不至于太晚才知道的快乐。    是的，但我现在知道我知道    很久以前我周围的孩子    长大了。有些我喜欢，别的    可能不太喜欢。从那以后，生命之路一直    向前疾驰，头发上长着荆棘，树下    没有月亮的地方一片漆黑。也就是说，我想    我可以从架子上召唤所有的东西，    敞开的路和我们一起被吸进真空吸尘器的    袋子里。快，告诉我一个故事    我可以做些小改动再重复它    然后工作结束。今天晚上，耙子和铲子斜靠在    敞开的门旁，它们自己都有一种    特殊的光泽，这是他们不知道的。我，        我被一个英俊的巫师偷偷带到    离这里不到二十英里的一个中等城市    过着我能听到和闻到的生活。我    不发牢骚，但也几乎不是大地母亲。这就是    我们大多数抄袭者的遭遇。我们在谷仓里    稳定地写作，与稻草和哄骗燕子作伴，    毫无灵感和想象力。我们今天有    需要的一切。我们可以喂乌鸦。

Chronic Symbiosis                These things can be arranged, he said.    Besides, glitter has become reasonable again.    Hadn’t you heard? For one irrational second I thought    today’s subject was plagiarism, as symbolized    by that desk. But no, it’s joy    in never knowing, in having once known,    and in its still not being too late to know.    Yes, but I know now that I knew    long ago when children    around me grew. Some I liked, others    probably not as much. And from that the road to living sped    ever onward, brambles in its hair, dark patches    under the trees where no moon was. Which means I guess    I can summon all objects from their shelves,    sucked with us into the vacuum-cleaner bag    the open road is. Quick, tell me a story    that I may repeat it with minor variations    and the job be over. Rakes and shovels lean beside    the open door this evening with a special luster    all their own, that they can’t know. And I,        I was spirited away by a handsome enchanter    to a medium-sized city not twenty miles from here    and live my life as I can hear and smell it. No grouch    am I, yet hardly an earth-mother either. That’s    what befalls most of us plagiarists. We write steadily    away in a barn, with straw and bam swallows for company,    mindless of inspiration or imagination.We have everything    we need for today. We can feed it to crows.

  

集合地点        （选自Can You Hear, Bird）    作者：(美)约翰.阿什贝利（John Ashberry）    译者:剑郭琴符        当你开始时，我的应和更甜美。    但声调绑在嘲弄中，    很像死汉的拐杖。        几代人以来，我上床是因为我睡着了。    某些事明显关系到沉默    和我们如何交易它的未来    对于变色龙，恶作剧。    我觉得我好像刚醒过来，        当然我刚醒过来，    我的头在你的大腿上。    有没有为海岸所知的什么地方，    我指的是“这个”地方，它会把我们    骑得如此厉害，猛拉缰绳，    挖进马镫，留下    一片松林，塞进我记忆的    筛子上的洞，当蝰蛇睡觉的时候？    整理它然后打开，    经度从记录中删除。        一点点冒犯我的    凄凉的耗子在哪里？    天空中有干呕，    一个蓝色的铅笔盒    为了我们拥有和仍然穿着的伤口，    一个像兔子，或鹳一样的点头。        头还在几英里外。        恐怕你读不懂这个。    我将在另一本书中    作出补偿，但不是今天，    直到无马马车在我们尖叫的    自由之地重新发明    其余的可以精确    计算，早晨和对抗的悬崖，    一个你想听到的地方。

Collected Places            When you come on,I respond more sweetly.    But the key is laced in a travesty,    much like the dead man’s cane.        For generations I went to bed because I was asleep.    Something overt about the silence    and how we traded its futures    for chameleons, shenanigans.    I feel as though I just woke up,        which of course I just did,    my head at your thigh.    Is there any place known to the coast,    I mean this one, that rides    us so severely, yanking the bridle,    digging its stirrups in, that will leave    a pine forest and jam in the holes in the sieve    of my memory, when the adders have slept?    Order it then open,    longitude stricken from the record.        And where is the dismal mouse    that will affront me for so little?    There is retching in the sky,    a blue pencil box    for the sores we own and still wear,    a nodding as of rabbits, or storks.        And the head is still miles away.        I fear you cannot read this.    I shall make amends    in some other book, but not today,    not until the horseless carriage is reinvented    in the free land of our screams    and the remainder can be calculated    exactly, morning and confrontational cliffs,    a place you want to hear.

  

从纽约下来        （选自Can You Hear, Bird）    作者：(美)约翰.阿什贝利（John Ashberry）    译者:剑郭琴符        严肃不是故意的。    这是这些可怕企业的阴暗面    否则我们会被太阳洗劫一空    在奢侈的态度中，只有    没有受过充分训练的人才应该尝试的状况中。

Coming Down from New York            The harshness isn’t intentional.    It’s the dark side of these frightful enterprises    that would otherwise leave us washed by the sun    in extravagant attitudes, situations    only the insufficiently trained ought to try.

  

危险的月光        （选自Can You Hear, Bird）    作者：(美)约翰.阿什贝利（John Ashberry）    译者:剑郭琴符        你当然会。即使在你死后也会发生。    或者，在某些情况下，结果是肯定的，但判决    是否定的。“在这样一个混乱中，”你说，“全都搞混了。”    我希望我能帮上忙，但我有百万事情要做    恢复你的心灵平静不是其中之一。我的电话响了…        教授对这一切的看法是：“嗯，他跳来跳去，    不是吗，你的小外科医生诗人。表面上似乎过着    烦躁不安的生活，但如果你真的听他的话，你会发现他    一切正常。知道他的面包在哪里涂黄油，屁股在哪里。    如果我愿意的话，我可以打开一个修辞注脚的抽屉，从日文    或旧教会斯拉夫语翻译而来，如果我感到像它，里面会有    一些与他和他的安逸，他一路追随足迹    回到它原点的押韵的东西。再加上他那活泼的友好，它    并存于，我精神上同意，造成伤害的欲望。        有一种诗只不过存在，    店主和沿街散步的人所引领的那种，    你知道，均匀，把他们填满到有边缘的    任何东西，停留，短暂，在他们一生中的每一天。        这样的等音不适合你的诗人。他看见，又繁殖：    否则这游戏对他来说就不值一根蜡烛。他用呼吸    押韵微风，和走到草地上的消防栓前    检查它一样迅速，看看它的构成，确定它不是    某个哲学家头脑中的一个想法，一旦这个想法    被移开，它就会瘀伤和乌云密布，只留下一个可疑的自身的痕迹，就像一圈马勃菌浮尘…”        假设我们赋予它保存倾听的力量，    那么它在创作过程中确实是一个丰满的元素。    嗯，其他人从远古时代就已经这样做了，    那时女人头上戴着高高的圆锥形物，上面系着帆。    但是，随着重要性变老，它硬化得像好运一样平稳，    不再活跃。然后你可以倾听你想听的一切    在皇宫的门上，吱吱嘎吱作响的通风口…    这个恳求过程是双重的。首先，让我们不要忘记它内爆中的    根源。这是装扮它袖子的某种东西。    你见过一个没有圆炸弹的无政府主义者吗？    然后就有人不得不向他乞求，    他是如何装入其中的？我告诉你：就像一个楔子，从一个奶酪轮子上    被减去，被替换，这样它就完美地装上了；    没有人能看到切口在哪里。嗯，这是    诗意的论点，对你来说。它在自身中存在（“奶酪独自存”），    但一有猜测就可以再次被视为一部分，    至关重要的一个，属于粘液云，它是一种普遍的人类思想，目的是为了    争吵或衬里中的图形字谜。这就是    我们和诗歌一起变老的方式。到了一个    没有人对其他事情有任何概念的时候，油炸大脑的气味    与空置的祠堂的潮湿相抗衡，这是为了他们的    共同进步，实际上。嗨，把鳕鱼递给我…

Dangerous Moonlight                Of course you will. It happens even after you’re dead.    Or, in some cases, the results are positive, but the verdict    negative. “In such a muddle,” you said, and “all muddled up.”    I wish I could help but I’ve a million things to do    and restoring your peace of mind isn’t one of them. There goes my phone ...        The professor’s opinion on all this was: “Well, he leaps around,    doesn’t he, your little surgeon-poet.Seems to lead an agitated life    on the surface, but if you really listen to him you find he’s got    everything down pat. Knows where his bread is buttered, and his ass.    I could open a drawer of rhetorical footnotes, translated from    the Japanese or Old Church Slavonic, if I felt like it, and in there’d    be something that rhymes with him and his coziness, his following the trail    all the way back to its point of origin.Plus his lively friendliness, which    coexists, numinously I grant, with a desire to inflict harm.        There is a poetry in mere existence,    the kind that shopkeepers and people walking along the street lead,    you know, and evenness, that fills them up to whatever brim    is there, and stays, transient, all the days of their lives.        Such enharmonics are not for your poet-person. He sees, and breeds:    Otherwise the game isn’t worth the candle to him. He’d as soon rhyme breeze    with breathes, as walk over to that fire hydrant in the grass    to examine it, see what it’s made of, make sure it’s not an idea in some    philosopher’s mind, that will bruise and cloud over once that mind’s    removed, leaving but a dubious trace of itself, like a ring of puffball dust…”        Suppose we grant its power of conserving to listening,    so it’s really a full-fledged element in the creative process.    Well, others have done just that from time immemorial,    when women wore tall cones on their heads with sails attached to them.    But, as mattering ages, it hardens into something smooth like good luck,    no longer kinetic. Then you can listen all you want    at palace doors, creaky vents ...    This imploring process is twofold. First, let’s not forget its root    in implosive. That’s something it’s got up its sleeve.    Did you ever see an anarchist without his round bomb?    And then the someone that’s got to be implored,    how does he fit in? I’ll tell you: like a wedge that was subtracted    from a wheel of cheese, and is replaced, so that it fits perfectly;    no one can see where the cut was. Well, that’s    poetic argument for you. It stands on its own (“The cheese stands alone”)，    but can at the drop of a speculation be seen again as a part,    a vital one, of the mucus cloud that is generalized human thought aimed at    a quarrel or a rebus in the lining. And that’s the way    we get old with poetry. Comes a time when no one has a notion    of anything else, and the odor of fried brains contends    with the damp of vacant ancestral halls, to their mutual    betterment, actually. Here, hand me that cod ...

  

借记夜        （选自Can You Hear, Bird）    作者：(美)约翰.阿什贝利（John Ashberry）    译者:剑郭琴符        我们从城里下来，当你不想听或免除听的时候，这座城市就是你来的地方。它是一顶安全帽，一些天“细高跟鞋”脚踝---但谁告诉你帽子我们不知道帽子太多或“帽子”如何增长。下来时我们经过一个以前的紫罗兰生产中心。在第一次世界大战期间，纽约州的这个地区大约有100个紫罗兰种植场利于紫罗兰。这是一个非常劳动密集的事情，现在除了一两个已经没有了。在第二次世界大战结束之前，女人们扎紫罗兰马尾辫是一种时尚，但后来        改变了。现在没人用了。现在每个人都喜欢我没看见的紫罗兰。是的，但你没看到有人穿或买。有些人甚至认为它们是杂草。不过，紫罗兰前缀的公司在这里的地名留下了其踪迹，例如紫罗兰小巷，紫罗兰小山。它们很漂亮，不是吗？除非你停下来想，紫罗兰可能是杂草，而且属于为什么没有人再买它们的季节。是的，但我仍然认为沙箱的        名字        有时有杂草生长在其中包括一个看起来像蒲公英只是它又高又节俭。雨后的沙子总是更漂亮，当上面有一层干湿的硬壳，鹅卵石般的毛孔主演其表面。但通常看不见。房子里没有一扇窗户不在拐角处，所以很自然地看到更少，因此它会磨损进思想，像被错误折叠多次的路线图上的一道折痕一样。        雅娜喜欢这城市。说里面有更多的光线，或者光线被街道分割得更多，所以一点点就可以走得更远。光是一种不应该浪费的东西，以产生最大的效果，因为它甚至在一些林荫大道上，它延伸得太多，太宽，太长，直到未来。这是真的，但在乡下，它被灌木丛和建筑物所浸透得越多，所以总是需要更多一点，存在的一切就更多一点。在城市里，你可以在砖墙上偷听，这被称为“重嵌”。在不可避免的随后的谈话中出现的事情肯定很有趣，但这并不是对哲学的未来的展望，也不是对人生最终应该如何生活的决定。没有人谈到即使是像戏院这样的半正经事。相反，每个人都会制造一个独特的小混乱，就像一个孩子在裤子里大便，并以此为荣。汽车喇叭把附近的一切都吓坏了。这个地方旋转；这已经获得专利。你可以去河边睡觉或者看电影。看到那艘船了吗？它是真的。        所以当我们做完杂务回到家里后，它的脑子里就有了像一团纱线的东西。是的，就像我想说的，一团纱线就是那里的东西。说，不管怎样，留下来好吗？我可以。我有事要做。是的，但这是其中之一。这是真的。但我还有事情要做我可能会走。哦，不，你不会。哦不？好吧，那么我真的会留下来，因为我真的想。她说真的吗？那么我就给你看这干面包皮，这是事实，你千万别忘了。哦，我永远不会我说这是我一直想要的。你想要多少英亩？哦，我从来没有寻求它们，它们总是来找我，直到最近。的确？好吧，又来了一个，绿色或黑色。她说一定是你的。你弹曼陀罗弹得对。是的，好吧，又来了另一个一大堆。靠乔治，她说，我们应该为它们做好准备，但这就是其方式        你不可能是，而你就是。想想第一次世界大战，那时是绿色和黑色的，白天确实更少，东河上有更多的雾和船只，人们排着队继续。是的，这是我们这个时代的预感，她说，所以我恳求你，不要到处告诉别人你知道的，你很可能会得到回报。那么和平，同一类？高傲的太阳梳理着地球上最高的人造建筑，然后你在大厅里得到一点宁静和一些黑暗，在大厅一切都开始发生。没有人在他英俊持久的马厩里。仅仅不得不忍受就好像要去做颈动脉手术，但这应该是一个商队客店。问题是要克服那些正在忍受但还没有经历过的事情，在茶杯和报春花之后，在哲学和“最后的事情”之前，走到中间的距离，那里大腿横跨昏暗邻里的约束闪耀，陌生人会抽搐地迎接你。我想，这些都是最后一件事，想        自始至终我自始至终想要的

Debit Night                We were coming down from the city the city is where you come when you don’t want to listen or be excused from listening. It is a hard hat out and some days “stiletto” heels---but who told you about hat we don’t know about hat too much or about how “hat” grows. Coming down we passed through a former violet producing center. Around World War I there were maybe a hundred violet farms in this region of New York state conducive to violets. It is a very labor intensive thing now there are no longer any except one or two. Up until the end of World War II it was the fashion for ladies to wear bunches of violets but then        it changed. Now no one had any use for them. Now everyone likes violets I don’t see. Yes but you don’t see anybody wearing them or buying any. Some even think of them as weeds. Nevertheless the former violet business has left its trace in place-names here such as Violet Lane and Violet Hill. They are beautiful aren’t they until you stop to think that violets could be weeds and of a reason why nobody buys them anymore. Yes but I will still think the        names        A sandbox sometimes had weeds growing in it including one that looked like a dandelion only it was tall and thrifty. Always was the sand more beautiful after the rain when there was a dried wet crust on top with pebblelike pores starring its surface. But mostly it was out of sight. There was not a window of the house where it wasn’t around the corner so naturally it is seen less and thus gets worn into the mind like a crease in a road map that has been folded up the wrong way too many times.        Jana prefers the city. Says there’s more light in it, or the light gets divided up by the streets more so a little goes a long way. Light is something that should not be wasted so as to produce its maximum effect as it is even on some boulevards where it stretches out too much, too wide and too long into the future.This is true but in the country it gets more soaked up in the bushes and buildings so a little more is always required and a little more is all there is. In the city you can eavesdrop on brick walls and this is called “repointing.” What comes up in the inevitable ensuing conversation is sure funny but doesn’t look ahead to the future of philosophy or decide how life should ultimately be lived. There is no conversation even about half-serious things like the theater. Instead everybody makes a unique little mess like a child shitting in its pants that’s proud of it. The auto horns scare everything near away anyhow. The place pivots; this has already been patented. You can go down to sleep by the river or in a movie. See that boat? It’s real.        So after we had done the chores and brought back living to the house there was something on its mind like a ball of yarn. Yes, a ball of yarn is what is there as I wanted to say. Say, stay anyway will you? I might. I’ve got things to do. Yes, but this is one of them. That’s true. But I still have things to do I might go. Oh no you’re not. Oh no? Okay then I really will stay because I want to really. Really she said? Then I will show you this dried crust of bread which is the truth, you must never forget it. Oh I never will I said it’s what I wanted all along. How many acres do you want? Oh I never sought them they always came to me until quite recently. Indeed? Well here comes another one it’s green or black. It must be yours she said. You played the mandrake right. Yes well here comes another and a whole lot of them. By George she said we should have been ready for them, but that’s the way        it is you can’t be and you are. Think of World War I, it’s green and black and surely there was less daylight around then, more fog and boats on the East River with people lining up to go on them. Yes it was a premonition of these our times she said and so I conjure you, don’t go around telling what you know to people, you are likely to get it back.Then peace, of a sort? The high-minded sun combs the tallest man-made structures on earth and then you get a little peace and some darkness down in the lobbies where everything begins to happen. No one in his handsome and enduring stable. Just having to endure is like going for the jugular but it should be a caravanserai. The problem is to get over what is being endured but hasn’t been and to make for the middle distance, after the teacups and primulas but before philosophy and “last things,” where thighs shine astride dim neighboring curbs and strangers greet you convulsively. These are more last things, I think, to think about        all along along what I wanted all along

   

剑郭琴符

丈夫重要吗？        （选自Can You Hear, Bird）    作者：(美)约翰.阿什贝利（John Ashberry）    译者:剑郭琴符        让我们重新发挥这个的作用。它可能会有用。请原谅…        这些天我经常在悬崖上。我喜欢悬崖。它们通向        微风…        火的森林孵化汤石工厂。    当它们被感染时，它们倾向于旋转，    有时很多。        树木开始代替错过的风景。    唉，那会是什么呢？唉，当然是树。偶尔的灌木。    大帆船又卡住了。庄严的，小门廊。    通往地下的石阶。土豆。    你甚至不了解它们    然后显得完美？        市郊，烦恼的海洋，价值，金钱。    德里斯科博士带着他的译码器    马上就到了。与此同时，所有人    都只是静静站着。如果小帆船    不动，它就会召唤激光腿。    几个小时左右，我们就可以在公海中    那儿婚姻美满    亚马逊的鼓手们低声吟唱    我们遇到了这一天的秩序。    最后，我们可以分开头发。        我不需要提醒你有多少镜球在这里面，也不必    提醒这些国家怎么是不干涉的一般规则的特别的例外。    即便如此，人际关系    仍然到处都在，限制其赌注    就好像这事关某些严重性，    尽管没人能拿它冒险，或甚至很清楚    它是怎么回事。    这一切我都可以犹豫地断言    然后变成一个传奇，第二天就会融化    就像冰山被拖进热带水域。    这是一条不寻常的船：似乎疲惫不堪，    陷入梦境的裂痕中，    或者你只是穿着的某物，比如在特殊场合的    日记，而欢迎的人却筋疲力尽    高个的男人们来吃    床垫内侧，这一次。    哦，女人躺在长船上。    有时它甚至来自更远的地方。

Do Husbands Matter?            Let’s get this going again. It might work. To ask pardon …        These days I am much on the cliffs. I like cliffs. They lead to        a nice breeze ...        Forests of fire hatch the soupstone factory.    When they get infected they tend to gyrate,    sometimes a lot.        Trees come to stand in for the scenery that’s missing.    Well, and what might that be? Well, trees of course. The occasional shrub.    The windjammer’s jammed again. Solemn, small porticoes.    Stone steps leading down into the ground. Potatoes.    And you don’t even know them    Did it seem perfect then?        The townside, sea of troubles, value, money.    Dr. Driscoll will be here soon    with his decoder. Meanwhile, everybody    just stand still. If yawl    don’t move it will summon the laser legs.    In a matter of hours we can be on the high seas    where marriages are consummated    and amazon drummers croon    and we encounter the order of the day.    At last, we can split hairs.        I needn’t remind you how much of the mirror-ball is in this, nor    how such states are very much the exception to the general rule of not interfering.    Even then the interpersonal    has been around, hedges its bets    as though this were a matter of some gravity,    though no one can stake it out, or even know    very well what it happens to be.    This much I could hesitantly aver    and turn into a saga, that melts next day    like an iceberg towed into tropical waters.    That’s an unusual boat: wearied-seeming,    caught in the cleft of a dream,    or is it something you just wear, like diaries    on special occasions, while welcomes are wearing out    and tall men have come to eat    mattress-insides, this time.    O the woman lay in the longboat.    Sometimes it comes from even farther back.

  

暗紫色        （选自Can You Hear, Bird）    作者：(美)约翰.阿什贝利（John Ashberry）    译者:剑郭琴符        二十英里外，在大西洋    更冷的水域，你渴望地凝视着    海岸。你不是曾经爱过    那里的人吗？是的，但那只是一只猫，而我，    一只海牛，我能做什么？在这个世界上    没有奖励糟蹋你的生命，即使    这意味着你可以看到几十年前    被遗忘的冰山从大面积上剥落    潜到水面下，升起一座    沸腾的玻璃山，在它们冲回来    开始未知的危险旅程    到达荒凉的地平线以前。        我年轻的时候    每天都是这样想的，一种蜕掉皮，    既有自我毁灭，又感染了某种仪式上的优雅。    后来，有那么多的主人公    一个人完全迷失，就像在一个幽灵森林里一样。    很多事情在继续。月亮，在山脊上    泰然自若，像一个巨大的、光滑的葡萄柚，明白    每一个的重要性，不会    让人们的任务变得更容易，虽然我们爱她。

Dull Mauve            Twenty miles away, in the colder    waters of the Atlantic, you gaze longingly    toward the coast. Didn’t you once love someone    there? Yes, but it was only a cat, and I,    a manatee, what could I do? There are no rewards    in this world for pissing your life away,even    if it means you get to see forgotten icebergs    of decades ago peeling off from the mass    to dive under the surface, raising a    mountain of seething glass before they lunge back up    to start the unknown perilous journey    to the desolate horizon.        That was the way    I thought of each day when I was young, a sloughing-off,    both suicidal and imbued with a certain ritual grace.    Later, there were so many protagonists    one got quite lost, as in a forest of doppelgangers.    Many things were going on. And the moon, poised    on the ridge like an enormous, smooth grapefruit, understood    the importance of each and wasn’t going    to make one’s task any easier, though we loved her.

  

永恒唱着忧郁        （选自Can You Hear, Bird）    作者：(美)约翰.阿什贝利（John Ashberry）    译者:剑郭琴符        到处都是音乐爱好者    认可它---只是觉得我又    让你们知道了它是全国    轻浮周。他们能做完    这些事吗？停止商业化它们？        音乐和烦恼---人们知道的    最可怕的两件事。女人    又如何？奇怪的是，她们表现更好    仅仅通过观察事物。这百年砚台    足以证明这一点。怎么会这样？        但音乐，由一个有天赋的孩子演奏，    几乎是任何地方最好的东西。    让我想起我曾经在纠察线    抽过的雪茄。他们都以为    是老板雇我干的。现在我请你。    但我还是继续抽。关键是，当你察觉到    担忧时，你必须直接从两翼    直接移动进去，它总是不设防。    我现在很固执，    比以往任何时候都更糟糕，但我从来没有    把一个橘子留给孤儿，    或者把挂锁留给技工。我有太多的事情    要做，有太多的乐趣，离开那里    到另一间我记得很少的房子。    哦，我住的地方。飞机飞到伦敦，    那么很难不把浪漫主义的    腐朽茎根除，所以我把它留在那里    做实验。很快精灵们就绕着我的头    嗡嗡叫。我很快就离开了那里。        为什么这些烦恼的梦困扰着你？    你看起来是如此舒服的一个男人。    是的，我就是那个，但是我在东北部    也很糟糕。D.W.格里菲斯    没说过，“你不知道有个大鼻子是什么感觉”吗？    所以我们做了一些同样的梦，    他和我一起---厨房，在外面的灌木丛里，    还有一个女人躲在一棵树后，    等待着她青春的琴键    似乎在人行道上难看的缝隙中解开。    他或她做的任何事都无法    逃脱我警惕的注意力。但如果你在这里等    我过去检查那辆车想要什么。    哦，打住---现在你真的在    学无聊。很快没人会想要你    除了偶尔得梅毒的酒吧女招待外，    那么你的尿检会证明什么？    有污点的记录总比失去光泽的银线好    我总是告诉他们。是真的，没人会揭穿我。    我睡着，脚在痰盂里，只有    一双筷子当枕头。    我被延期。一切都是因为有一次    一个变色龙的矮子对我下了咒语，把我    和他鲁钝的姐夫搞混了。    这是开始生活的方式吗？    在我像伊诺克.雅顿一样回到    迪斯科和柠檬树林的世界很久之后，他的话    仍然萦绕在我心头：停住，    你等穿着连裤袜，拎着手提包，    漂白过的居民！在八月的一个致命的下午    回到把你吐在岸边的大海。滚开！        所以我必须永远带着    这个桨，直到我找到一个会买它的傻瓜    比我付的还少。于是运转我们称之为生命的    旋转木马。        然而，对于那些不被它阻挠的人    来说，致命的香膏缓解    对草稿的敏感性，和轻微的    过敏，或者它们是伪装的违法行为？        睡在码头上总比    睡在特权的亚麻衣橱里好，总是    想知道是什么唤醒了你---我也知道    这一套，就像一个连环杀手    他脑子里什么都没有，他不能和你眼神交流    在伦敦警察厅的所有金子里。    你认为自己过着一种愉快的宽容的生活，    被怀疑所迷惑，有时，但你的错觉    鼓舞了所有这一切，谨慎的时刻以及一切，    都是某些肯定生命生活力的一部分。好吧，    我在这里告诉你，你命中注定是最古老的    裂缝或八角豆，或“食人动物，    还有那些脑袋确实长在肩下的人”    有人喜欢这根桨吗？明天特别的末端。        通常在峭壁大量滋生的海岸上空，温暖的    西风在呼吸。我们忘了记住    我们的角色，撤退到更衣室，    因为放松和悲伤而愚蠢。什么！是不是因为这个    我挤压了你崭新    调色板上的颜料管，是不是    我将得到一个不是致命的    刺痛的奖励？小伙子们    和姑娘们向你保证，事实就是如此，在    任何情况下，没有人能逃避游泳池    而不干瘪到像梅子一样的稠度。    啊，阻击手，你怎么找到我的森林？    如果我在这呆上一辈子    你会怎么办？不管怎么说    天色已晚，飞车贼们骚动，而且有什么东西    在风中冒烟。我现在    就要走了，潮水在奔流，船    在路上翻腾，我必须在午夜前    写完日记，否则我注定要    把这一生延续到下一个。哦    兄弟，姐妹，朋友，娈童---    这是一个漫长而智慧的旅程，不是吗？    如果我再次发现自己在这里，我要做些什么    来修复景观上的漏洞    治愈病人，尽管    这样的机会和在粪堆里找到一张用过的彩票一样多。    告诉你什么---    你继续走在去美丽之家的路上    我的眼睛紧盯着它们的槽，寻找    远处一只手白皙的单一挥舞    当我的火车疾驰而过时。我被告知不要    介入此事，不要谈论我来自    何处，或我在这里的任务，但我被引诱    和你分享一些秘密，虽然我想我不会。        代我向那些肛门法官和法警    问好。请向八卦专栏作家亲切地介绍我，    赞扬我曾经因之而著名的成就，这些成就    正在像罗克福尔干酪，或锌树一样发芽。好吧，    烦恼，我马上就赶上你，等我    抹去鞋上的灰尘，奉承完自己，    爱慕自己在游乐场镜子里伸展的倒影，    停止分发看起来像中国    外卖菜单的小册子。我又大胆又    虚假。坦率地说。

Eternity Sings the Blues            Music lovers everywhere    endorse it---just thought I’d let    you know it’s National Frivolity Week    again. Will they ever get done    with these things? Stop commercializing’em?        Music and worry--- two most terrible    things a man can know. How about    women? Strangely, they come off better    just by observing things. This hundred-year-old    inkstone is evidence enough of that. How so?        But music, played by a gifted child,    is just about the finest thing anywhere.    Puts me in mind of a cigar    I smoked in a picket line once. They all thought    the boss hired me to do it. Now I ask you.    But I kept on smoking. The point is,when you spot    worry, you have to move straight in through    the flanks it invariably leaves unprotected.    I am cussed now,    more worse than ever, yet I never    bequeathed an orange to an orphan,    or padlocks to a mechanic. I had too much    to do, too much fun getting out of there    into another house of which I remember little.    Oh the places I’ve lived. Airplanes to London,    and then it was hard not to uproot the rancid    stalk of romanticism, so I left it there    as an experiment. Soon the fairies was buzzing    round my head. I got out of there real fast.        Why do these dreams of worry plague you?    You seem like such a comfortable man.    Aye, I am that, but I’m also terrible    in the northeast. Wasn’t it D. W. Griffith    who said, “You don’t know what it’s like to have a big nose”？    And so we dream some of the same dreams,    him and me together---of kitchens, and bushes outside’em,    and a woman who hides behind a tree,    waiting for the keyboard of her youth to unravel    in unsightly seams over the pavement.    Absolutely nothing he or she does    escapes my vigilant attention. But if you’ll wait here    I’ll go over and see what that car wants.    Oh stop that---now you really are    learning to be boring. Soon no one will want you    except for the occasional syphilitic barmaid,    and then what will your urine tests prove?    Better a spotted record than a tarnished silver thread    I always tells them. It’s true, nobody will unveil me.    I’ve slept with my feet in the spittoon, with only    a pair of chopsticks for a pillow.    I’ve been deferred. And all because some runt    of a chameleon put a curse on me once, mixing me    up with his oafish brother-in-law.    Is that any way to begin a life?    And long after my Enoch Arden-like return    to the world of discos and lemon groves, his words    return to haunt me still: Avast,    ye pantyhose-wearing, portmanteau-carrying,    bleached-out denizen! Return to the sea that vomited you    on its shore one fatal August afternoon. Begone!        So must I carry this paddle    forever, until I find a sucker who’ll buy it    for less than I paid for it. So runs this carousel    we call life.        Yet for those not snookered    by it, a fatal balm mollifies    susceptibility to drafts, and mild    allergies, or are they transgressions in disguise?    Better to sleep on the docks    than in the linen closet of privilege, always    wondering what it was that woke you---I’ve known    that routine too, like a serial killer    with nothing on his mind, who couldn’t make eye contact    with you for all the gold in Scotland Yard.    You think of yourselves as having lived a life of amused tolerance,    woozy with doubts, at times, but buoyed by your    delusion that all this, guarded moments and all,    is part of some life-affirming elan vital. Well,    I’m here to tell you you’re as doomed as the hoariest    chink or octoroon, or the “anthropophagi,    and men whose heads do grow beneath their shoulders.”    Would anyone like this oar? The special ends tomorrow.        Often over the bluff-infested coasts a warm    zephyr breathes. We forget about memorizing    our parts and retreat to the dressing room,    silly with relief and grief. What! Was it for this    I squeezed the tubes of paint    on your pristine palette, and is it    that I am going to be rewarded by something    other than a fatal sting? And the lads    and lassies assure you that such is the case, that    in any event no one ever escapes the swimming pool    without being shriveled to a prunelike consistency.    O beaters, how did you find my forest?    What will you do if I stay here    just for the hell of it? In any case    it’s getting late, cat burglars are astir, and something    smokelike in the wind. I’ll be    off now, the tide is running, the ship    writhing in the roads, and I must finish    my diary by midnight, or be fated    to continue this life into the next. O    brothers, sisters, friends, catamites---    it’s been a long and intelligent journey, hasn’t it?    If I ever found myself here again I’d do something    about fixing the holes in the landscape    and healing the sick, though there’s about    as much chance of that as finding a used lottery ticket in a dungheap.    Tell you what---    you continue on the road to House Beautiful    and I’ll strain my eyes in their sockets looking    for a single white wave of a hand in the distance    as my train speeds by. I was told not to get    into any of this, not to talk about where I came    from, or my mission here, but I’m tempted    to share a few secrets with you, though I guess I won’t.        Remember me to those assholes the judge    and the bailiff. Speak kindly of me to gossip columnists,    praising the achievements I was once noted for, that are    sprouting like Roquefort, or a zinc tree. OK,    worry, I’ll catch up to you in a minute, once I’ve    dusted off my shoes and finished adulating myself,    adoring my stretched reflection in the funhouse mirror,    and stopped handing out tracts that look like Chinese    takeout menus. I’m both bogus    and bold. Not to put too fine a point on it.

  

一卷        （选自Can You Hear, Bird）    作者：(美)约翰.阿什贝利（John Ashberry）    译者:剑郭琴符        从来没有人需要面对这样的动荡    在这些暴乱和学生示威的日子里。    别打赌。 “州长招募的人中，没有一个人    能通过召集。” 她说。“粉刷过的房间很漂亮。”        尽管如此，我还是打开了我的公文包。    “这足以让    神探波洛和沙威探长慌乱。为什么，    我们似乎几乎要到达        塞浦路斯的一个港口，被破坏的    风暴变成了废墟，经过鼹鼠    和防波堤，到达令人难以置信的    无人尊重的火山凝灰岩堆，如果    我们真的在这里。让我看看，我的漂浮面具    是有序的，我的塞浦路斯货币也是如此（第纳尔，    毫无疑问---不是每个人吗？）。我的鸡尾酒和入场券    是完美的。要不然汗珠在我的头巾上        起泡，但没人在乎你长什么样---    外表才最重要。但在这个    文化暗娼阶层我被放逐，他们会抓住任何东西：    耳环，在宽阔细长列的夜色中的        一丝光泽，一个著名的女装设计师的签名。如果不是    为了生活，那几乎是在所有发生的事情    旁边，听到第三手的其他事情，我们永世以前    就在我们的停泊处腐烂了，沉入这个    愚蠢海洋肮脏的底部。说，他有没有告诉你    跳蚤和计程车司机抠鼻子的那件事，    或者他救你去参加更庄严的聚会，    在一轮乌龟月亮下，它僵硬的一捆捆在晃动？事实上        他不知道什么圣人向自己致函    当最后一个乞讨者嗡嗡地进入视野。    那是一个烧焦的时间。”我不明白，我是说    为什么我们不去做更多的事情，如果你        知道我的意思…

Fascicle            No one ever had to face such turmoil    in these days of riots and student demonstrations.    Don’t bet on it. “No one the governor recruits    ever passes muster,” she said. “And painted rooms are bonny.”        Nevertheless, I opened my attache case.    “It’s enough to fluster    Hercule Poirot or Inspector Javert. Why,    it almost seems as if we are arriving        in a port of Cyprus, the damaged    storm in ruins, past the mole    and the breakwater to the incredible piles    of volcanic tuff no one esteems, if indeed        we’re here. Let’s see, my flotation mask    is in order, ditto my Cypriot currency (dinars,    no doubt---isn’t everybody?). My cocktail and ticket    are perfect. Not so the drops of sweat beading my        headband, but no one cares what you look like—    it’s appearances that count. But here in this    cultural demimonde I’ve been banished to, they’ll seize on anything:    earrings, a trace of luster on the broad swath        of evening, signed by a renowned couturier. If it weren’t    for living, that is being alongside almost everything    that happens and hearing thirdhand about the rest, we’d all    have rotted at our moorings eons ago, sunk to the mucky    bottom of this cretinous ocean. Say, did he tell you the one    about the flea and the cabdriver picking his nose,    or has he saved you for more august reunions,    under a turtle moon, its starched sheaves heaving? In truth        he knew not to what saint to address himself    when the last panhandler buzzed into view.    That were a charring time.” Beats me, I mean    why we’re not to make more of it, if you        know what I mean ...

  

五点钟的影子        （选自Can You Hear, Bird）    作者：(美)约翰.阿什贝利（John Ashberry）    译者:剑郭琴符        1        别光站在那里，琪琪。    你在台上。他们都在看着你。        “在生命的疲惫之路上我滑翔…”        “勒达，当这时间来到    考虑天鹅的建议，让    她的背带感到羞惭，带着紧跟的成功。        告诉她一半的故事。”        然后在这些浅滩上哭泣，    就像一个被酒吧灯光驱逐的    女巫，颠覆了时尚    拍摄，把暗哑的异端    带到外面进入公开：        “七年来，我扭动夹板    直到疼痛或多或少地好转。    我会死在正确的一页。”        2        还有一次我们在挖火沟。    来了一个火球，    停了下来，问了一天的时间    彬彬有礼地走了。        他们在屋里向外张望：    但另一个钟头到达;    壁龛里深埋着回忆，    回忆虔诚。一个女人机械地    提供水果。就像我那一天的游戏    再也没有人可以证实：    你踢了多少次罐子？    你必须蒙上眼睛多久？    我们知道这面旗帜是一个朋友，    被遗忘的仪式，钉在地板上，    攀爬，一块接一块。

Five O’clock Shadow            I        Don’t just stand there, Kiki.    You’re onstage. They’re all looking at you.        “Along life’s weary path I glide…”        Leda, when it came time    to consider the swan’s suggestion, humbled    her braces, brought success to heel.        Tell her half the story.        Then weeping on these shoals,    like an enchantress extruded    in bar light, overturned the fashion    shoot, brought dumb heterodoxy    out into the open:        “For seven years I twisted the splint    till the pain grew more or less correct.    I should die in the right page.”        II        Another time we were digging a fire trench.    Along came a fireball,    stopped, asked the time of day    and went politely on his way.        In the house they looked out:    Yet another hour had come;    the alcoves were deep with remembrance,    remembered piety. A woman offered fruit    mechanically. It’s just like the games of my day    which no one can authenticate anymore:    How many times do you kick the can?    How long must you remain blindfolded?    And we knew the flag was a friend,    forgotten ceremony, nailed to the floor,    climbing, tooth by tooth.

  

  

剑郭琴符

从天文台    （选自Can You Hear, Bird）    作者：(美)约翰.阿什贝利（John Ashberry）    译者:剑郭琴符    当他们爬上盗贼谷    在临时大本营休息时    一轮马蹄铁月亮开始刺穿梦的帷幕。    好像一切都有问题。    温室优雅，太远。    一只小昆虫点燃了港口；它上升得金黄而稀薄，    伴随着海豹，多得让人想不起来。地下室    是一艘飞船。伦敦周围各郡对窥阴癖和性交的建议    怒不可遏：“你是为了这个来的吗？    看着我们翻滚和畏缩？知道皇宫的爪牙    制服了我们，你高兴吗？”    个人崇拜发出了相互冲突的命令    设法搅浑每一个表面。    就像洪水前一样：没有什么东西    足够干或足够湿。需要的是一种邀请    的感觉，参加这个或其他一些圆顶野餐。    但既然我们在这里，我们不妨记住规则    以备将来查考。所有其他的细节    都如同这堵养育我们的墙的外表：古老，    陷入对当下的理解之中，在那儿潜艇    聚集，窃听者在那里交易。    谜语    解开了；第二次愉快的考验开始。

From the Observatory    When they had climbed the Valley of Thieves    and rested at the aleatory base camp    a horseshoe moon began to pierce the curtain of dreams.    It seemed there was something wrong with everything.    The greenhouse was ethereal and too far away.    A gnat ignited the harbor; it rose up gold and sloppy,    with too many seals to think about. The basement    was a dirigible. The Home Counties bristled at suggestions    of voyeurism and venery: “Was it for this you came?    To watch us writhe and cringe? Are you happy,    knowing the palace janissaries have subdued us?”    The cult of personality issued conflicting commands    that managed to puddle every surface.    It’s like it was before the flood: Nothing    is dry enough or wet enough. What’s needed is a sense    of invitation, to this or some other domed picnic.    But since we’re here, we might as well memorize the rules    for future reference. All other details    are as the exterior of this wall that reared us: ancient,    trapped in an understanding of the present, where submarines    gather, and eavesdroppers ply their trade.    And the riddle    unknotted itself; the second agreeable ordeal began.

该死的石棺    （选自Can You Hear, Bird）    作者：(美)约翰.阿什贝利（John Ashberry）    译者:剑郭琴符    当他们把它放在平板上，    狗鱼要了一张通勤票。我再也    感觉不到它。一代又一代倒下的头颅    回到家在我的修道院栖息。    油炸甜甜圈的味道给它们提供了最小的    支持。    所有那些年，树的年轮在我周围生长，    我脸上的树叶，树枝阻碍着其他的，    已经学会了我，一只聋的动物是如何在冲向光明中    忘记另一只。在门槛那儿，它忘记了    它的名字，它的真正目的。并允许腐败的越轨    削减格式化互文。    此外，湿度计被一个长牙的生物    吞下，因为我们根本就没来过这里。    所有那些在门廊和前走道上的泡沫    仅仅意味着婴儿喜欢吹肥皂泡    当没有涉及到任何更激烈的事情，    如长出牙。她看穿了我外套上的洞    可以想象，衣冠楚楚的丹斯总有一天会成为    阿斯特罗草坪的一部分和一片地。    当我想知道我们之间的天气是否会结束，永远结束，    为什么，一个害羞的螺旋宣布你的提示：    你也将在接下来的    五个小时里无所事事。    看，我已把午餐打包…    “愚行”会在可能的地方及时落下。

Fuckin’Sarcophagi    And when they had mounted it on the flatbed,    the dogfish requested a commuter’s ticket. I’m no longer feeling    any of it. Generations of toppled heads    have come home to roost in my priory.    The smell of doughnuts frying offers them minimal    support.    All those years with the tree’s rings growing around me,    the leaves in my face, branches obstructing others,    have learned me how one deaf animal forgets another    in the rush to light. And there on the threshold it forgets    its name, its very purpose. And allows septic deviance    to whittle away at the formatted intertext.    It’s as well the hygrometer was swallowed    by a tusked creature, as we never came here at all.    All those suds on the porch and the front walk    only meant that baby likes to blow soap bubbles    when not involved in anything more strenuous,    such as teething. She sees through the holes in my coat    imaginable dapper Dans who one day will become part and parcel    of the Astro Turf.    When I wonder weather it’s over between us, ever over,    why, a shy spiral announces your cue:    You too are to have nothing to do    for the next five hours.    Look, I’ve packed lunch ...    Betimes the betises fall where they may.

回来    （选自Can You Hear, Bird）    作者：(美)约翰.阿什贝利（John Ashberry）    译者:剑郭琴符    过去的旋律，纤维，纠结的痕迹…    “回来”是容易的部分。    “被困在今天”不是。    你这样不停地说的这 “今天”是什么？    它是橡胶和道路相遇的地方，他们    在一个谄媚的长吻中讨论。这是团伙的    新海报儿童。它是…我的系统被下载    但虚假的反驳仍从它出现。    这是享乐和宫殿。承诺。    这是道路轮胎和所有车辆    本能地倾向于某个故障车道    或其他，但没有任何故障的地方。警察    当然，知道这一点，但不要泄露。    我看到那里有人因为做梦而被关进监狱。    十六年漫长的岁月。当他们放他们出去的时候，    他们会回去。对他们来说，这就像热带雨林中的铜蛾子    或斑纹斑鸠一样自然。不过，你得    赞许组织者。如果没有他们，整件事    会像烤蛤及海味野餐会一样混乱。我们没有灵魂，    没有地方可以降落。没有机场需要我们。    如果我们得到醉和放松，每个人都想要我们    达到同步的目的。单项太多，    一对正好，他们说。    好吧，我与邻居一起拥有它。    从我坐的地方，我可以看到数百辆货车，    其中一些漆成了鲜艳的颜色，但通常    它们是深色的。    它是如此柔软，光！兔子到处都是…

Getting Back In    Melodies of the past, fibers, tangled tracings ...    Getting back in is the easy part.    Being stuck in today isn’t.    What is this “today” you speak of so incessantly?    It’s where the rubber meets the road and they discuss    in one long fawning kiss. It’s the posse’s    new poster child. It’s ... My system was downloaded    but bogus retorts are still coming out of it.    It’s pleasures and palaces. A commitment.    This is where the road tires and all vehicles    instinctively lean toward some breakdown lane    or other but there aren’t any. The police,    of course, are aware of this but don’t let on.    I see where someone was put in prison just for dreaming.    Sixteen long years. And when they let them out,    they go back to it. It’s as natural for them as copper moths    or striped cabanas in the rain forest. You do have got to    give credit to the organizers, though.Without them this whole thing    would be as chaotic as a clambake. And us with no spirits,    no place left to land. No airport wants us.    And if we get juiced and relax everybody wants us    for purposes of synchronicity. A single item is too many,    but a pair is just fine, they say.    Well, I’ve had it with the ’burbs.    From where I sit I can see hundreds of freight cars,    some of them painted bright colors, but mostly    they are of a dark sort of color.    It’s so lissom，the light! Rabbits everywhere ...

格拉迪斯.帕尔默    （选自Can You Hear, Bird）    作者：(美)约翰.阿什贝利（John Ashberry）    译者:剑郭琴符    不要去夏威夷。    就连价格标签都害怕。    一堆潜水衣拍击电线杆。    像个小学生一样的东西    在磨坊对面和我搭讪。    劫持的新浪潮    只在强度上与别的相似。否则，忘了它。    我们用砂纸打磨地板    邀请大海进来。    黄页承诺免费赠送人参，    一个春光灿烂的早晨    和一个疲惫，冬末肮脏的下午私奔。    泡泡从人们的嘴里冒出来    在议员们能对它做点事之前。    然后邪恶在进行中，或一个诡计的膝盖。    男人和女人想知道：    妈的，丢失的护身符“怎么样”？    它怎么样？比本周警棍的一边    更接近，就像    今天的报纸一样具有传染性，但每个人    都有一片带回家：差别是显著的。    我说了实话（这是最好的），但不幸的是我就是事实。    来吧，我们会忘记，直到明天    这些光滑鹅卵石上的脚，囚犯的    最后一个问题。

Gladys Palmer    Do not go into Hawaii.    Even the price tags are afraid.    A bunch of wetsuits slapped a utility pole.    Something like a pupil    accosted me across from the mill.    The new wave of hijackings    resembles the others only in intensity. Otherwise, forget it.    We sanded the floors    and invited the ocean in.    The yellow pages promised free ginseng,    and a glorious spring morning    eloped with a tired, dirty afternoon from the end of winter.    Bubbles issued from people’s mouths    before the solons could do anything about it.    It was foul to be afoot then, or a trick knee.    The man and the woman wondered:    Shit, what about the lost amulet?    What about it? Closer than the side    of this week’s truncheon, communicable    as today’s newspaper, yet everybody    got a piece to take home: The difference was significant.    I told the truth (it’s best), but unfortunately I was the truth.    Come along, we’ll forget till tomorrow    feet over these smooth pebbles, the prisoner’s    last question.

天国艺术波尔卡    （选自Can You Hear, Bird）    作者：(美)约翰.阿什贝利（John Ashberry）    译者:剑郭琴符    她今晚没有一次奇怪的头痛。    是谁的错？很长一段时间以来，我一直以为是我的错，    因为在大调激变中的每一个小调变奏都怪我自己。    然后...    也许是草在祈求    新生，尽管这意味着它们的死亡，    个别的叶片，还有，就像巫师，    一道白光在湖面上盘旋    就像一张外质的照片。    那些都是赝品，不是吗？    在缓慢行驶的车辆中，一个男人的行为就像他会被    从两个方向向他驶来的汽车流撞到一样。    像一个曲奇成型刀，一台压路机削减了视野。    有九个姐妹，九声震耳欲聋的敲门声，    九个服务生要坐公共汽车---嗯，给小费。在我自己梦的    偷窃中，我可以看到广场像水晶一样，    我们意味着所有的是唯一想象中的东西，    现在弄脏了，翻转    像一个磨损的衬衫领子    一个母亲为她离开学校的儿子缝针，    意识到他可能不在乎，可能会穿    别人的一件猩红硫磺处理的衣服    只是为了让他参加学院的嬉戏。    后来，在经历了曲折之后，我们    慢慢地混合了诸如此类的饮料    比如柠檬水，这些饮料可能只撒在脚本女孩身上。    谁知道下一次早午餐世界起床时    有什么袖子，只要你是我的一部分，我在做什么？

Heavenly Arts Polka    She wasn’t having one of her strange headaches tonight.    Whose fault is it? For a long time I thought it was mine,    blamed myself for every minor variation in the major upheaval.    Then...    It may have been the grass praying    for renewal, even though it meant their death,    the individual blades, and, as though psychic,    a white light hovered just above the lake’s layer    like a photograph of ectoplasm.    Those are all fakes, aren’t they?    In slow-moving traffic a man acts like he’s going to be hit    by the stream of cars coming at him from both directions.    Like a cookie cutter, a streamroller lops the view off.    There are nine sisters, nine deafening knocks on the door,    nine busboys to be bussed---er, tipped. And in the thievery    of my own dreams I can see the square like a crystal,    the only imaginary thing we were meant to have,    now soiled, turned under    like a frayed shirt collar    a mother stitches for her son who’s away at school,    mindful he may not care, may wear    another’s scarlet-and-sulfur raiment    just so he take part in the academy fun.    And later, after the twister, slowly    we mixed drinks of the sort    that may be slopped only on script-girls, like lemonade.    Who knows what the world’s got up its sleeve    next brunch, as long as you will be a part of me and all what I am doing?

黑格尔    （选自Can You Hear, Bird）    作者：(美)约翰.阿什贝利（John Ashberry）    译者:剑郭琴符    就像一张咖啡桌，椅子穿过    抛光的地板滑动着---它的助手们又刷过了它的    侧面。多么耀眼！拥抱点缀着亲吻；    堕落者与电子钟相连。    现在确实是午夜    而且这一次是很早的。    她说她有“洗碗盘手”——没有人    完全理解她在说什么，但问题    被回避了，没有问题被提出。现在，当一只孔雀    凝视谷仓外的空地，没有人会误认为它是圣诞树上的装饰品，    走到它跟前说，我更喜欢你穿毛毡，    或在仰光赛马场？但鸟    总是有最后的决定权。

Hegel    Like a coffee table, the chair slides    across the polished floor---its aides have brushed its sides    again. How it shines! Hugs are interspersed with kisses;    the scrofulous interfaces with the electric clock.    It certainly is midnight    and for once it was early.    She said she had “dishpan hands”---no one    quite understood what she was talking about, yet issues    were skirted, no questions raised. Now when a peacock    stares out of the barnyard, no one mistakes it for a Christmas-tree ornament,    goes up to it and says, I liked you better in felt,    or was it at the Rangoon racetrack? But a bird    always has the last word.

剑郭琴符

我觉得没必要    （选自Can You Hear, Bird）    作者：(美)约翰.阿什贝利（John Ashberry）    译者:剑郭琴符    我觉得没有必要画天空，    为路过的跑步者加油，    让可爱的森林流血。    我觉得没必要。    我觉得没必要    和坐在法庭上的人争论令状。    我看见愚昧的王子滋生，    他们觉得没有必要。    我觉得没必要取消爱情---    天堂，我在想什么？    我不能读别人读的东西。    我觉得没必要。    我知道地球不正常。    我很渴望那些叫杰克的男孩    他们从不停下来撒播他们的种子。    他们觉得没有必要。    当可见的一天结束时    一切都开始运行。反抗    它。它们反抗你。    嘿，你永远不知道。    有一次，我看到一棵桦树，    一个轻轻摇曳的银色笨蛋    黑色的树枝上薄雾传播着，    凝视着，把它留在那里等死。    我觉得没有必要，别解释自己    像其他人那样涉及到不义之财。    这首平淡的小曲诱惑了我。    够了！我会把它留在树旁，    那闲置的桦树。    我觉得没有必要去教堂    但我有时疲倦地    在那里蹒跚，最后    我觉得它的身体像个朋友。    很快我忘记我的使命之痒    同时停止抱怨。    不可言喻的美你在哪里    我说我来找你    即使我们最终    不匹配，我们也会一个接一个    追上，比较笔记    或草草记下我们最喜欢的引用。    所有的激情都浪费了，黄昏的露珠    短暂出现在视野。    明天它将蒸发    晨曦之虎封印它的命运。    所以，在选择边的时候，    你是使用向导的人。    精神焕发，我会回到我的栖息处    把这些樱桃留在瓮里。

I Saw No Need    I saw no need to paint the sky,    to cheer the runners passing by,    to let the lovely forest bleed.    I saw no need.    I saw no need to argue writs    with one who in a courtroom sits.    I saw the folly princes breed,    who saw no need.    I saw no need to cancel love---    Heavens, what was I thinking of?    I cannot read what others read.    I see no need.    I know the earth is out of whack.    I pine for boys whose name is Jack    who never pause to spill their seed.    They see no need.    And when visible day is done    all start to run. Stand up    to it. They stand up to you.    Hey, you never know.    I came upon a birch tree once,    a softly swaying silver dunce    in whose black branches mist had spread,    and gazed, and left it there for dead.    I saw no need t’explain myself    as others have concerning pelf.    This ditty bland seduces me.    Enough! I’ll leave it by the tree,    the idling birch.    I saw no need to go to church    yet wearily I there did lurch    from time to time, and in the end    I felt its body like a friend.    Soon I forgot my mission’s itch    and at the same time ceased to bitch.    Ineffable beauty where are you    I said I’m coming for you    and even if we don’t match up    eventually we’ll catch up    one to the other, comparing notes    or jotting down our favorite quotes.    All passion’s spent; the evening dew    comes transitorily into view.    Tomorrow it will evaporate    and morning tigers seal its fate.    So, when it comes to choosing sides,    You be the one who’s using guides.    Refreshed, I’ll to my perch return    and leave these cherries in the urn.

我，也    （选自Can You Hear, Bird）    作者：(美)约翰.阿什贝利（John Ashberry）    译者:剑郭琴符    快乐的想法并不是为了持久，    但逃避我们的是它们的紧凑性。    每一个保姆，每一辆婴儿车固有的过时，    都是上帝从我们发出的力量。    我们怎能不喜欢它，看着它像金缕梅    或灰紫色裹尸布的气息一样散发出来？    在我们完全麻木之前，必须对我们的    感觉方式做些什么，就像一个巨人    在自己的航迹中挣扎。    看到这些手了吗？    真的，我们必须补偿它们    否则它们会把我们所完成的一切而据为已有    它们无论如何都会。    “什么是他的脸”能坐在门廊上不停地    打嗝---在这个地区得体并不难，    但这不是他的问题。事实上    他并没有问题，我们，看到    周围的角落，进入保险箱，必须磨损    我们瞥一眼的内疚感。它是另一个附属物，    像鸟舍或洗碗机，那是我们在很久以前    接受的，当一场泥泞的海啸    与我们粉红色的灰泥摩天大楼相撞时，我们就接受了。我们知道的太多了，我们    把它都放在里面。这种情况可能正在改变。

I，Too    Happy thoughts weren’t made to last,    but it is their compactness that eludes us.    The built-in obsolescence of every nanny, every pram,    is a force from God that issues from us.    How could we not like it, watching it emanate    like a breath of witch hazel    or a grayish-purple shroud?    Something has got to be done to the way we feel    before we get completely numb, like a colossus    floundering in its own wake.    See these hands?    Really we must make it up to them    or they’ll take credit for everything we’ve accomplished    which they will anyway.    And what’s-his-face can sit on his porch burping    Uninterruptedly---propriety isn’t hardy in this zone,    but that’s not his problem. In fact    he doesn’t have a problem. We, who see    around corners, into strongboxes, must wear    the guilt of our glancing. It’s another appurtenance,    like a birdhouse or dishwasher, that we came to terms with    eons ago, when a tsunami of slime collided    with our pink stucco skyscraper. We know so much we’ve    kept it all in. That may be changing.

在早期的地方    （选自Can You Hear, Bird）    作者：(美)约翰.阿什贝利（John Ashberry）    译者:剑郭琴符    1    你想让我邀请另一个人吗？    我会，你知道，    如果只是因为它在你身上造成的微妙混乱，    就像一条海星的绳子，今晚。    对大多数客人的是非曲直意见分歧。    这些兄弟姐妹是标准化的，但不符合规格：    红蝌蚪口齿不清地说。    2    他们都可以随意自由出入    穿过威尼斯香草味的百叶窗。

In an Inchoate Place    I    Is there another person you would like me to invite?    I shall, you know,    if only for the exquisite confusion it causes in you,    like a rope of starfish, tonight.    Opinion is divided on the merits of the majority of the guests.    The siblings are standardized but substandard:    red tadpoles lisping.    II    They are all free to come and go as they please    through the vanilla-flavored Venetian blinds.

在旧俄克拉荷马州    （选自Can You Hear, Bird）    作者：(美)约翰.阿什贝利（John Ashberry）    译者:剑郭琴符    我也发现有点忧郁，    连同十一月我们不必在这里关心的    其他事情。但是这里出了什么事？足可以说    巴洛克式街头帮派的瓦解    要感谢监督其孕育的同样的原则。    一场毫无意义的混战或洗牌随后发生。    人们想知道哪些邮票被舔，从高处    倒了什么茶，作为对我们现在失去的一切    和即将到来的一切的消极庆祝---    神秘的杂交种，很有可能，有纹的紫色豆荚    生长失控，不会对任何人造成损害---我坚持    这一点。然后下起了大雨，我    应该听我的狗。总之，    另一个令人愉快的机构，就像    加星号于海港边缘的许多展馆一样。    在我的一生中，那是我二十岁的生日，    “她”来了；夜晚都是结结巴巴的    橙色信号弹和无花果色的问号    在页边空白处---它是这样开始的。它气喘吁吁    希望渺茫，一首四重奏，对于    语义永远不会吃草的人来说，也不是懒散的，    弱小的西风，人们想到，期待的    最后一个救世主。哈伯德老母亲对这种痛苦一无所知    它像熟人之间的谈话那样深情地    谨慎地流动着。

In Old Oklahoma    A tad triste I too found it,    along with other November matters that need not    concern us here. But what’s wrong with here? Suffice it    to say baroque street gangs were breaking up    thanks to the same principles that oversaw their gestation.    A meaningless scuffle or shuffle ensued.    One wondered which stamps were licked, what tea poured    from on high as negative celebration    of all that is lost to us now, and all that is to come---    mysterious hybrids, most likely, veined purple pods    growing out of control to no one’s detriment---I insist    on that. And then it rained fat rabbits---I    should have listened to my dog. In all,    another pleasant institution, like so many    pavilions that asterisk the harbor rim.    In all my life it was my twentieth birthday,    she came over; the night is all stuttering    orange flares and fig-colored queries    in the margin---it starts like this. It’s breathless    and out of hope, a quartet for someone    semantics will never graze, nor the idling,    puny zephyrs, the last saviors one thinks of    looking to. Old Mother Hubbard knew nothing of pain    that flows as fondly as conversation among acquaintances,    and as discreetly.

剑郭琴符

喜欢一个句子        （选自Can You Hear, Bird）    作者：(美)约翰.阿什贝利（John Ashberry）    译者:剑郭琴符        我们知道的多么少，    当我们知道的时候！        可爱地说，“没人    在平原上有大量的牛，他的碗橱里    也没有碎片！”等等！我想我知道是谁说的！那是…        别担心，亲爱的，下午    会包裹你，带着思虑    它现在似乎如此重要，直到只有一个孩子    骑着独轮车跑来跑去，占据了舞台的中心。    那你认为墙是什么？我恐怕你    必须想出一些办法，        不管是海上的阶梯式开场白    还是在市场上偷听到的流言蜚语。    因为你看，你适合于受惩罚：    因为老人嫉妒年轻人，    因为年轻人害怕不变老，    从那里榆树丛中的小路，狂欢节，开始。        据说吉格斯的戒指    吸引了那些看不见他的人，    就像那些在他身边徘徊的人只注意到    某种寂静，比如先于耳痛，    戴着头巾的伐木工人下来看看一切大惊小怪是怎么回事，    是否它就是某种    他们可以成为不冒犯自尊的一部分的东西。    那些庙鬣狗已经看得够多了，    鼻孔闪耀，皮毛在微风中回卷，    没有你可以指望    来服用众所周知的粉末的地方    就像步枪的枪托接受了另一次降级。        我，同时…我本想说我已经浪费了春天    当夏天来临，从我这里夺走它    就像一只小猎犬，一位女士让一个人抱一会儿    一边在称重机的镜子里调整她的袜子。    但这里是冬天，如果说    其他季节似乎存在，那就错了。    时间在他背后的皮夹里    只有一个日程表，而我们这些    以为知道我们不会受干扰的地方    结束于灿烂的森林，其滋养比我们所知的更多    通过出乎意料的冰、星星    和爆裂的眼泪。我们只是不得不放弃，    逃离。如果烤饼干的味道能安抚    一种或另一种嗅觉，那就爬进    这辆满载囚犯的货车。        那时候，韵律将清晰得令人尖叫，    节奏也不受限制，因为尽管我们来了    就像生活在一所学校，但我们必须    不毕业就离开它    即使不祥的风吹散了    骄傲的三桅船帆，他们不知道被领到哪里，    只有一个运动被刻在那里，颤抖着得到自由。

Like a Sentence                How little we know,    and when we know it!        It was prettily said that “No man    hath an abundance of cows on the plain, nor shards    in his cupboard.” Wait! I think I know who said that! It was ...        Never mind dears, the afternoon    will fold you up, along with preoccupations    that now seem so important, until only a child    running around on a unicycle occupies center stage.    Then what will you make of walls? And I fear you    will have to come up with something,        be it a terraced gambit above the sea    or gossip overheard in the marketplace.    For you see it becomes you to be chastened:    for the old to envy the young,    and for youth to fear not getting older,    where the paths through the elms, the carnivals, begin.        And it was said of Gyges that his ring    attracted those who saw him not,    just as those who wandered through him were aware    only of a certain stillness, such as precedes an earache,    while lumberjacks in headbands came down to see what all the fuss was about,    whether it was something they could be part of    sans affront to self-esteem.    And those temple hyenas who had seen enough,    nostrils aflare, fur backing up in the breeze,    were no place you could count on    having taken a proverbial powder    as rifle butts received another notch.        I, meanwhile ... I was going to say I had squandered spring    when summer came along and took it from me    like a terrier a lady has asked one to hold for a moment    while she adjusts her stocking in the mirror of a weighing machine.    But here it is winter, and wrong    to speak of other seasons as though they exist.    Time only has an agenda    in that wallet at his back, while we    who think we know where we are going unfazed    end up in brilliant woods, nourished more than we can know    by the unexpectedness of ice and stars    and crackling tears. We’ll just have to make a go of it,    a run for it. And should the smell of baking cookies appease    one or the other of the olfactory senses, climb down    into this wagonload of prisoners.        The meter will be screamingly clear then,    the rhythms unbounced, for though we came    to life as to a school, we must leave it    without graduating    even as an ominous wind puffs out the sails    of proud feluccas who don’t know where they’re headed,    only that a motion is etched there, shaking to be free.

  

有限责任        （选自Can You Hear, Bird）    作者：(美)约翰.阿什贝利（John Ashberry）    译者:剑郭琴符        一个人想知道关于一切的一切。    这是我的决定，尽管我会遵守别人，    这是不言而喻的。尽管如此，我还是离开沙洲    朝岸边走回去，那是一个悲伤的时刻，    甚至是巨大的悲伤，对我和其他许多人来说。    不，再多来几个别的。无论我想    做什么，我两边座位上的人    都会自动地心碎。    它像天气一样狂野，但你不能仅仅生活在其中，    你必须流口水，你的面部肌肉，    至少有一些必须抽搐。关于在英国生活的    想法的时间出现，一个人成功地吃了一点    芦笋和蛋糕，老警卫恢复了它深挖的    位置。你知道这些。他们就像花边和春天，    他们走了，但他们从来没有真正做到。他们需要一个    哀悼，和公共关系的背景。如果一只公鸡    在某一时刻被吸住，它不会晃动地震仪，惹起    一个受人尊敬和干瘪的人的遗憾，而是在另一个半球    断断续续地爆发，人们会从那里    开始推理。那孩子只是一个加油站的服务员;    他不可能超过十七或十八岁，但是晚风    开始迅速地吹着，病态的女神们唱着    一枚胸针解开了，刺痛了一个人的手指，一切静止：    如此多的复仇主义。“但当然。”就像这里说的，    合作是事物学校的一部分，只是不要太过    接近，然后被开始的沉思所灼伤。    这就是为什么奶牛成群生活，为什么毛地黄    盖好干草，一切都在一天内如其所应该的    那样完成，只是没有更多的脚可以洗？    我承认，她第一次    讲她的故事时，我有点怀疑    但听够了，我永远得不到满足，被决定的事情    决不应被雨水或随之而来的潮湿所遮蔽；    同样地，他们总是和我们在一起。当我开始    数起我欠驼鹿和它夜晚房子的    方法时，一些古老的谚语又让我挣扎，踢起苔藓    让它和其他碎片一起安居。我来这儿    没人看见我；我发誓。你现在可以    控制我了，只是不要滥用    太多。天空像一罐蓝莓松饼一样    从烤箱里蹦出来，有那么多话要说。    只是我没觉得我够干燥。然而。拿十个，    有一个好球童。去听别人的吩咐，    然后在落叶松下等我，当暴风雨来袭。然后我告诉你。

Limited Liability            And one wants to know everything about everything.    Such is my decision, though I will abide by others,    that goes without saying. Still, I fell off the sandbar    walking back toward shore, and that was a time of sorrow,    even of great sorrow, for myself and many others.    No, make that a few others. Whatever I was    trying to do automatically broke the hearts    of those in the seats on either side of mine.    It was wild like weather, yet you couldn’t just live in it,    you had to drool, your facial muscles had to twitch,    at least some of them. About the time the thought    of living in England occurs, and one succeeds in eating a    little asparagus and custard, the old guard revives its dug-in    positions. You knew about these. They were like lace and spring,    they went away but they never really did. They require a context    of mourning, and public relations. If a cock is being sucked    at a certain moment, it will not jiggle the seismograph, provoke regret    from one who is esteemed and dry, but rather break out disjunctedly    in another hemisphere, and people will start reasoning    from there on. The kid was only a gas-station attendant;    he couldn’t have been more than seventeen or eighteen, yet the evening    wind begins promptly to blow, the morbid goddesses sing    that a brooch came undone and pricked one’s finger, all silently:    so much for revanchisme. “But of course.” And like it says here,    cooperation is part of the school of things, only don’t get too close    to overboard, and be burned by the musing that sets in then.    Is that why cows live in clusters, why the foxglove    covers for the hay, and all gets done in a day like it was    supposed to, only there are no more feet to bathe?    I confess I was leery    the first time she told her story    but having heard it enough I can never get enough of what it was determined    should never be shielded from the rain or its attendant wetness;    by the same token they are always with us. Once I started    to count the ways I was indebted to the moose and its house    of night, some old saw had me battling again, kicking up moss    and letting it settle along with other debris. No    one saw me when I came here; I swear it. You can have a handle    on me now, only don’t abuse it    too much yet. The sky popped out of the oven    like a tin of blueberry muffins, and there’s so much to say.    Only I don’t feel I’m dry enough. Yet. Take ten,    there’s a good caddy. Go do someone’s bidding,    then meet me under the larch when the storm crackles. I’ll tell you then.

  

靴子里的爱        （选自Can You Hear, Bird）    作者：(美)约翰.阿什贝利（John Ashberry）    译者:剑郭琴符        我们的第一项任务是建做一个广场，    一个居住和唠叨的地方，    在那里斯芬克斯可以乞讨，女仆们可以停止，    如果他们愿意的话。        我的计划似乎太完美！    人们最终恨它和他们所生活于其中的生活。    回到沼泽地！但是这条路被切断，    或者没有人完全记得。它应该在这里，    “某个地方…”        在这个通俗的时代，人们会感激各种各样的    杂物：船首的脚印，    或是一只不辞辛劳地走过去告诉你    他订婚了的狼。阳光充足的东西，童年的鳍和纽扣，    穿过优雅，超越它。    人们发现有时间，终究，给钟上发条。    但是没有人注意到它已经停止了。它会不会让    下午的版本，像模子一样吹过    我们称之为我们的格子的蓝色峡谷，导致蒸馏器    在狂欢节的棚屋里爆裂？下次呢？我们能不能把它    从纳税人所祈求的必需品清单中剔除，    然后退缩，注意到它在雨桶中的反映    当所有其他维度都悄无声息地被搁置时？        也许，在一些更复杂的星球上，    这些东西拖拽着它们所需要的引力，    而人们却无法与之匹敌，甚至不要嫉妒    或想象它们。一切都从一个永不过时的    简单手势中受益。哟嗬。看，是克拉拉    和阿莫斯。它们不就是神圣的吗？    但是时间不早了，        我明天得起床砍柴。哦，如果你在找    一个时刻表，它在那里，在那列火车上，现在是    两英尺远，现在一英尺，但绝不会妨碍    或摧毁我们。谢天谢地芝诺的悖论！

Love in Boots                Our first assignment was to make a square,    a place for living and carping in,    where the Sphinx could panhandle and maids desist,    if they cared to.        It seems my plan was too perfect!    People ended up hating it and the lives they lived in.    Back to the bogs! But the way was cut off,    or no one quite remembered it. It should be here,    somewhere ...        In these demotic times one is grateful for a variety    of sundries: footprints on the prow of a ship,    or a wolf taking the trouble to cross over and tell you    he’s engaged. Sunny things, the fins and buttons of childhood,    passing through grace and beyond it.    One finds there is time, after all, to wind the clock.    Yet no one noticed it had stopped. Would it make    the afternoon editions, blowing like mold across the blue    canyons we call our trellis, causing alembics to burst    in carnival sheds? What about next time? Could we eliminate it    from the list of essentials taxpayers pray for,    then shrink from, noticing it reflected in the rain barrel    when all the other dimensions remain quietly on hold?        Perhaps, on some more sophisticated planet,    these things tow the gravity they require,    and people are no match for them, don’t even envy    or imagine them. Everything proceeds from a simple    gesture that never goes out of style. Yoo hoo. Look, it’s Clara    and Amos. Aren’t they simply divine?But it is getting late,        and I have to get up and chop wood tomorrow. Oh, if you’re looking    for a timetable, it’s there, in that train, that’s now    two feet away, now one, but will never obstruct    or demolish us. Thank heaven for Zeno’s paradox!

  

爱的计谋        （选自Can You Hear, Bird）    作者：(美)约翰.阿什贝利（John Ashberry）    译者:剑郭琴符        这个比较说得够了，真的，甚至是雄辩的，在巴黎皮草的    主题上，她是如何沿着大街走下去    想知道什么是错误的，或温暖的。我能给你的    最好的比较就是两个脑袋。他的头简直爆炸了，    我的感觉就像是一颗葡萄，谨慎的手指留在那一束    云彩上，合法地从照片中消失。        但他的脸却像无花果。    我在天堂哪里能找到种子？我想把一些带回地球    种下，如果是非法的，就种植它们。想象一下那令人惊讶的饶舌！    我的褥疮治好了！我刚在一个上打了一个洞！    我的拉布拉多刚刚生了一对双胞胎，我不知道在哪里登记他们！    我用一个文件代替了一个文件    这样asp（1）们就不会吃掉它了。既然我们出去玩，你一定要比    带鱼白回家见太太的鲑鱼跑得更远。    只是说，如果我们绝对团结，    那会有多少空间？有人把浴室    或天井算在内吗？（“我们得赶紧跑，别让    你知道关于示芭的任何事。”）呃，我在哪里？        我知道。我现在可以看到雾已经蒸发了    并带走了大部分城镇。想想看，    我们为什么要在这里定居？是上帝的命令吗？为什么我们不能    继续呆在靠窗的座位附近，把头伸到窗外，    眼睛耷拉着，舌头耷拉着？或者我们是要去发现    明尼苏达州的沸点，内布拉斯加州的小镇？   --- （1）ASP:微软开发的一个开发网络软件的软件。

Love’s Stratagem            The comparison says enough, really, nay is eloquent on the subject    of Paris furs, how she descended the avenue    wondering what was wrong, or warm. The best comparison    I can give you is two heads. His head literally exploded,    mine felt like a grape that prudent fingers leave on the bunch    to cloud over and legally pass out of the picture.        Yet his face it resembles a fig.    Where can I find seeds in heaven? I want to take some back to earth with me    and plant them if it’s illegal. Imagine the surprised cackling!    My bedsores have healed! I just hit a hole in one!    My Labrador just had twins, and I don’t know where to register them!    I replaced a file with a file    so asps wouldn’t eat it. Now that we are out in the fun you must run    farther than any salmon bringing milt home to meet the missus.    Only say, if we are categorically united,    how many rooms does that make? Does one count the bathroom    or the patio, if it’s enclosed? （We’ll have to make a run for it, don’t    let on you know anything about Sheba.) Er, where was I?        I know. I can see it now that the fog has evaporated    and taken most of the town with it. Come to think of it,    why did we settle here? Did God ordain it? Why couldn’t we have    gone on just hanging around the window seat, head out the window,    eyes drooping, tongue lolling? Or were we meant to discover    the boiling point of Minnesota, the town in Nebraska?

  

很多人不满意        （选自Can You Hear, Bird）    作者：(美)约翰.阿什贝利（John Ashberry）    译者:剑郭琴符        然而，来自西雅图的风一次又一次地吹着，    吹着对开页吹着蚁丘。    你一定会对所有掉下来的    面包屑感到奇怪，免得你在我们    这个纠结的故事中找到出路，    也会对那些被诅咒为    仅仅是戏子的绅士飞行员们，如何让我们把钱包收起来而感到惊奇。        为了让我们感到舒适，没有什么他们不做，    除了认可我们的生活方式。    这就是为什么我在门廊上溃烂，    一个没有军团的匈奴人，直到伟大的冒牌者    来把我们打倒。    天气如此灰暗而温和，    我们打空中曲棍球的那个晚上，我几乎不能    容忍你的歌声。你想到你的邻居来了，    无精打采，像一个孩子，手里拿着一个瘦小的獾菜蓟，    而在伟大专家的格纹镶板候诊室里    空气已经变得疯狂了。        我现在要问你的问题是：我们怎样    才能摆脱那个胖男孩，穿着柠檬工作服，    二十层楼高，双脚直径两个街区的？    我想只是春天    像埃及的下水道一样倒空进了街道，    在糟糕的时光过去之前，形成我们损失的边缘。    要不然这一切都是在演说---要    为潮汐的衰弱起诉大自然，    滑进泡沫，    嘴里念叨着一座房子的古老美？

Many Are Dissatisfied            yet the wind from Seattle blows over and over,    against the facing page and against the anthill.    You would wonder at all the crumbs    that have been dropped, lest you find your way    through this tangled story of ours,    and at how the gentlemen fliers cursed    as mere entertainers, made us put our wallets away.        There was nothing they wouldn’t do to make us comfortable,    short of approving our lifestyle.    Which is why I fester on the porch,    a Hun without a regiment, till the great pretender    comes to knock us over.    It was so gray and mild,    the evening we played air hockey, that I could hardly    condone your singing. You thought about your neighbor’s come,    listlessly, as a child with a slinky badgers cardoons,    while in the great specialist’s plaid-paneled waiting room    the air has gone mad.        My question to you now is: How    do we escape the fat boy, in lemon overalls,    twenty stories high, with feet two blocks in diameter?    I guess it was just that spring    emptied like an Egyptian sewer into the street,    fringing our losses before the bad time that went away.    Or is it all declamation---the wanting    to sue nature for the tide’s infirmities,    sliding off into a lather,    mouthing the old pulchritude a house has?

  

军人牧歌        （选自Can You Hear, Bird）    作者：(美)约翰.阿什贝利（John Ashberry）    译者:剑郭琴符        你好，鲸脂脸。你现在可以进来了。    不，我没说“现在”。你是什么，戈弗雷老兄？    现在出去，轻轻地进来。我们要你带什么？还是仅仅    为了炫耀以另一种方式重新进入？        总之，我的苹果都被炸烂了。    这个铁皮屏风刺耳。    请求回到，去年与此刻精确同时的    潮水和红树林的山丘上---    有点让你觉得更年轻，不是吗，屁股，    如果你真的有改善的心情？    但我苍白的军队却靠着    从吝啬的“农民”食物橱那里乞讨的东西为生。    在我的周围的一切，我只看到希望和麻醉状态    刻在一片教鞭棕褐色天空上，如此不协调    它们正好落在村里的街道中间。        当我，死亡先锋，回顾我的部队    就好像水分从空气蒸发。    我说一、二、十二遍。只有画眉鸟听到    并欣赏这个故事的幽默，但当然    猫已经盯着她了。我们只会从书中学习，        我想，还有部分隐藏的纹身告诉沉没的宝藏    和其他不需要任何人的无限努力。    不妨解开桂冠---它们开始抵达。

Military Pastoral            Hello, blubberface. You can come in now.    No, I didn’t say now. What are you, My Man Godfrey?    Now go out and come in gently. What had we asked you to bring? Or was it only    to show off reentering a different way?        In any case my apples are blasted.    This tin screen grates on my ear.    Asked back, over the tides and mangrove hummocks    of last year at this exact same time---    kind of makes you feel younger, doesn’t it, buttocks,    if you’re really in the mood for improvement?    But my pale army subsists on what it can scrounge    from the larders of thrifty paysannes.    All around me I see only hope and dopiness    etched against a sky of ferule tan, of so much incongruity    they fall slap in the middle of village streets.        And when I, vanguard of mortality, review my troops    it’s as if the moisture had evaporated from the air.    I say one, two, twelve times. Only the thrush hears    and appreciates the humor of the saga, but of course    the cat already has its eye on her. We only learn from books,        I suppose, and partly hidden tattoos that tell of sunken treasure    and other boundless efforts that are required of no man.    Might as well unpack the laurels---they’re starting to arrive.

  

我的名字叫迪米特里        （选自Can You Hear, Bird）    作者：(美)约翰.阿什贝利（John Ashberry）    译者:剑郭琴符        今晚我将是你的主人。    你想要小提琴还是鱼？    带乳白色酱油的母鸡很好，很淡。    一个不同于任何别的的经历会把你推向        什么神圣的极限？到一个不确定的边缘    在那里不仅仅饮料是混乱的，过去的一个衣着老式的老女人    横跨你。不确定性磨光中国    变得镜子般发呆。        一个一战士兵想说声谢谢你，    操你，从所有的战壕他心在流血    从，从惊骇的问题和新奇的难题    到结束这个半岛的伤口尖端    回到它开始的地方，朝圣者践踏的地方。        华沙有太多---    太多餐馆，太少的联系    否则会让事情变得有趣。    我们没有什么可依恋的，只有站间的        一个站撕碎的记忆，那不是    应该在那里的一个。一个玫瑰花坛    爬上了体育场的一半，那里到处都是不合适的东西    没有商店可以回家。尽管如此，还是有公共汽车，        一个超越所有其他地方的地方，凝缩在整洁的天空中。    一个疯狂的孩子希望在柱子所在    弯曲处的草少被抽打。无辜者的合并    不比临时政府的嗡嗡声和帮你渡过难关时    让你感到惊讶的多声部音乐的尖叫更为重要。    晚安。挡风玻璃上有浓重的意象    狂喜的色彩像是金丝雀或琴鸟的    羽毛。把老鼠从粮仓里赶走        一个世纪后一切都会好，但是如果邮差    不给我寄邮件，那将是一个巨大的指定错误，    大得就像海边的古堡里的王室，    像图林根。苔藓为我而生，在那里    事情中止，在盐坑和其他地理学的垃圾里。    另外，它们会越过山脊，    救我们，然后我们就可以看到我们将看到的东西---    海勒斯彭沮丧的女儿们，变化无常就像创造物    和延伸到这个低谷的生命。

My Name Is Dimitri            I am going to be your host tonight.    Do you wish the fiddle or the fish?    The hen with ivory sauce is very fine, very light.    An experience unlike any other pushes you        toward what holy extremities? To a margin of uncertainty    where not just drinks are muddled and an old frump    of a past straddles you. Uncertainty polishes the china    to a mirrorlike daze.        A World War I soldier wants to say Thank you,    Fuck you, from all the trenches his heart is bleeding    From, from the aghast question and the problem of novelty    to the tip of sores that ends this peninsula    back where it began, where the pilgrims trod.        There is so much in Warsaw---    too many restaurants, too few connections    that would otherwise make things interesting.    We have nothing to cling to, only torn memories        of a station between stations that wasn’t    the one that was supposed to be there. An altar of roses    climbed halfway up the stadium which was full of misfits    with no store to come home to. Still, there was the bus,        a place beyond all others, curdled in the neat sky.    An insane child wishes the grass whipped less    at the bends where the posts are. The merger of innocents    matters less than the hum of interim authority and the screech of descants    that take you by surprise as they tide you over.    Goodnight. The windscreen is heavy with imagery    in entranced colors like the plumes of a canary    or lyrebird. Keep the rats out of that granary        and all will be well for a century, but if the mailman    leaves me no mail it will be a vast appointed mistake,    vast as a throne room in an old castle by the sea,    as Thuringia. The moss grew for me, and there    the matter rested, in salt pits and other geographical refuse.    Besides, they were coming over the ridge,    would save us, and then we’d see what we would see---    despondent daughters of the Hellespont, fickle as creation    and the lives that extend it down to this trough.

   

剑郭琴符

早上美好的蓝色    （选自Can You Hear, Bird）    作者：(美)约翰.阿什贝利（John Ashberry）    译者:剑郭琴符    承诺的“大逃亡”结果证明    比任何人能预料到的更短。它是，    就其本身而言，完美的。我们从阳台往下眺望    大海。在它的表面之下是另一个阳台，    在它下面是一个    迄今为止无法想象的颜色的海洋。在这下面，原来    矗立在那里的老校区展现了它的完美：    斜切的石板在苍白，肉色的色调中    让牙医业蒙羞。    我怎么知道，离开车库，    我们中的一个再也见不到另一个？    然而，一轮又一轮的烈酒被端上桌    这似乎真是件好事。    有很多诱人的色拉可供选择---    就这样，一次又一次的访问    在一个痛苦而崭新的季节。    海棠花是深粉色的；    女孩们把它们穿在裙子上。总有更多的事情    要做，在晚上许下爱的承诺。    是的，什么也没发生。无产生无。    在最豪华的高处我们似乎最悲伤的，    仿佛大概如此。然后悲伤徘徊着离开    像一个迷路的孩子。还有什么要做？

Nice Morning Blues    The promised “great getaway” turned out to be shorter    than anyone could have foretold. It was,    in its way, perfect. We looked down from a terrace    to the sea. Beneath its surface was another terrace,    and under that a different sea    of a color hitherto unimagined. And beneath that, the old campus    that had formerly stood there exhibited its perfection:    mitered slabs of stone in pale, meatlike tones    that put dentistry to shame.    How was I to know, leaving the garage,    that one of us would never meet the other again?    Yet round after round of schnapps was served    and that did seem to be a good thing.    There was an enormous choice of tempting salads---    And so it goes, visit followed visit    in a distressed but pristine season.    The crabapple blossoms were a deeper pink;    girls wore them on their skirts. There was always more    to do, with a promise of love in the evening.    And yes, nothing came of it. Nothing produced nothing.    We were saddest on the most luxurious perch,    or so it seems. Then sadness wanders away    like a child getting lost. What is there left to do?

没有世俗的理由    （选自Can You Hear, Bird）    作者：(美)约翰.阿什贝利（John Ashberry）    译者:剑郭琴符    我们之所以不能向您提供这笔资金    还有附加的与安全有关的原因    除非您准备好保持开放的心态，    谨慎地抚摸你的宠物。    “它有温暖的腿和毛茸茸的皮肤，”你说。    没关系。我把帽子在我头上旋紧。    所以，很好。我口袋里那些有人取笑的    铅笔和钢笔对我的耳朵来说就像柠檬马鞭草。    如果被潮水蹂躏的海岸重新记起它    没有伟大的片刻连接它    （真理的药丸本身）    但我们希望你留在这个疗养院，    远离伤害的可能，至少一段时间。    我想不出有什么世俗理由把我的衣服给他，    但我给了。他拿走了，也带着它走了。    现在，政府庭院里的手掌    正忙着归档报告。我们也在里面---    关于我洗了多少次，我是怎么做梦的，    我买什么牌子的运动鞋。这让我很生气，    但我的愤怒就像洋娃娃对于孩子一样：    与我自己相比微不足道，    但无论如何占据了它的秘密角落。    如果天很黑，地板上只有    一点点亮光的裂口，那就太好了。我需要你的帮助。    请给我一些甜药膏。我将把同样的告诉你。    但在客厅里，陪审团下面的    许多楼层已经投票了，用的是    为这目的保存的一个大玻璃罐里的豆子。    我们应该很快就会知道结果了    他说靠近他的呼吸，是在睡眠者的窗户上的绒毛。    如果秃鹫能吃些这种肉就好了    但我们已经在街上尝试过公正。    它不起作用。最好是逃命，但    我总是徘徊。在一棵树后面。我得到了一大笔奖金。

No Earthly Reason       There are additional reasons having to do with security    for why we cannot extend to you this funding    unless you are prepared to keep an open mind,    fondle your pet discreetly.    “It has warm legs and a furry complexion,” you said.    That’s just fine. I keep my hat screwed to my head.    So, good. The pencil and pens in my pocket    that some make fun of are as lemon verbena to my ears.    If the tide-racked coasts rememorate it    no great moment attaches to it    (truth’s medicine ball by itself)    but we want you to remain in this sanatorium,    out of harm’s way, for at least a spell.    I could think of no earthly reason to give him my dress,    but I did it. He took it, walked off with it too.    And now the palms in the government palace courtyard    are busy filing their report. We’re in it too—    about how many times I wash, how dreams come to me,    what brand of athletic shoes I buy. It makes me angry,    but my anger is as a doll is to a child:    insignificant in comparison to myself,    but occupying its secret corner anyway.    It would be nice if it was very dark    and only a little rent of light on the floor. I need your help.    Offer me sweet unguents. I’ll tell you the same.    But in the parlor many floors below    the jury has already voted, using beans    kept for this purpose in a large glass canister.    We should know the verdict before long    he says coming closer his breath a fuzz on the sleeper’s window.    It would be nice if a vulture could have some of this meat    but we have already tried justice in the streets.    It doesn’t work. It would be better to run for your lives, and yet    I always linger. Behind a tree. I capture a great big bonus.

不再很清醒    （选自Can You Hear, Bird）    作者：(美)约翰.阿什贝利（John Ashberry）    译者:剑郭琴符    的确，我已经记不清    我们第一次认识对方的时间。    不过，我确实记得很清楚    我们第一次见面的时间。你走在阳光下，    抱着雏菊。你说，“孩子构成不可靠的证人。”    现在，在那之后的很长一段时间里，    我一直保持着它跳动的精神。    想法还是一样的，它们扩展着    充满巨大的，古色古香的立方体里。    我女儿不久前一天还在读一个。    她说，“多像透明的雕像，爸爸。或者像…    一台发动机。”    在这座忧郁的房子里，寒冷悄悄地向我们蔓延。    我不敢做我幻想中的事。    随着时间的推移，忧郁凝结成像房间的紫色    呈现出壁龛的形状，着陆    一切都像其他东西一样。    我学会这以前应该等待。

No Longer Very Clear    It is true that I can no longer remember very well    the time when we first began to know each other.    However, I do remember very well    the first time we met. You walked in sunlight,    holding a daisy. You said, “Children make unreliable witnesses.”    Now, so long after that time,    I keep the spirit of it throbbing still.    The ideas are still the same, and they expand    to fill vast, antique cubes.    My daughter was reading one just the other day.    She said, “How like pellucid statues, Daddy. Or like a ...    an engine.”    In this house of blues the cold creeps stealthily upon us.    I do not dare to do what I fantasize doing.    With time the blue congeals into roomlike purple    that takes the shape of alcoves, landings    Everything is like something else.    I should have waited before I learned this.

服从学校    （选自Can You Hear, Bird）    作者：(美)约翰.阿什贝利（John Ashberry）    译者:剑郭琴符    让我们离开服从学校。    门开着。外面阳光灿烂。    你为什么犹豫不决？你为什么退缩？    如果服从学校有什么缺点    我们应该在这之前就知道了。    你在服从学校学不到康康舞。    是的。但公园大道的夜晚正在溃烂。    此外，现在有这么多训练有素的狗表演    没有人想要任何竞争。    这就是为什么我给弗洛西买了    回普雅鲁普的机票的原因。她的侍女们    对熏香闷烧的气味嗤之以鼻；    她的高跟鞋激起了“哎呀！”的喝彩    来自于我们不愿和他在一起的    绅士顾客的错误同类。    当母校在三月的    阳光下颤抖时，    指责者和旁观者都会是可信的；    在水族馆黎明时分，庞然大物和猛犸象    挣扎着放弃了。接着，在饲料店的旅程    接踵而至。事业因失去而放弃。女王的小马    用后腿雀跃，太像自恋    过时了。可怜的孩子们！    为什么，这伤了他们的心，    但爸爸现在和他们在一起。爸爸能克服这事。

Obedience School    Let us leave the obedience school.    The door is open. Outside the sun is shining.    Why do you hesitate? Why do you hold back?    If there were some warts on the obedience school    we should have known about it before this.    You don’t learn the cancan at obedience school.    Yup. But the parkway night is festering.    Besides, there are so many trained-dog acts now    nobody wants any competition.    That’s why I bought Flossie the ticket    back to Puyallup. Her ladies-in-waiting    were flouting the scent of incense smoldering;    her high heels provoked “zounds!” of acclaim    from the wrong kind of gent-customer    we want no truck with.    And when the old school shudders    in a sudden ray of March sun,    accusers and behoovers alike will be believed;    behemoths and mammoths struggle and give up    in the aquarium dawn. Then a run on the feedstores    ensues. Causes are given up for lost. The queen’s pony    capers on its hind legs, quite as if narcissism    were going out of style. Poor children!Why, it broke their heart,    but Dad’s with them now. Dad can conquer this thing.

约翰.济慈颂    （选自Can You Hear, Bird）    作者：(美)约翰.阿什贝利（John Ashberry）    译者:剑郭琴符    从无花果和黑樱桃    和李子果酱和刻字积木的    黑暗土地上，金色号角向红纸鱼表示欢迎。    国王只有一只眼睛    但它像餐盘一样圆，看到    其他人没有的本领，    除了圣人以外。下午三点左右    某物的爆发淹没了    国库，给塔尖盖上了    死气沉沉的尊严。人们必须    执行这些命令，否则就死在    联系我们的等式中。    等公共汽车需要更多的耐力，    或者躲在哭泣的山毛榉下。

Ode to John Keats    From a dark land of figs    and morello cherries and plum jam    and lettered building blocks, the gold horn    extends its welcome to red paper fish.    The king has but one eye    but it is as round    as a dinner plate and sees    what others haven’t the knack of,    except sages. Bursts of something    in midafternoon have flooded    the treasuries, roofed the spires    with stagnant dignity. One must    carry out these orders, or die    in the equation that links us.    Waiting for a bus requires more stamina,    or lurking under a weeping beech.

一个特别陌生人的    （选自Can You Hear, Bird）    作者：(美)约翰.阿什贝利（John Ashberry）    译者:剑郭琴符    我的国家只是一个灌木丛林地，    麻烦的国家。从它的对岸    我可以看到你坐着，被保姆    和卷动的雨伞包围着。哦，这不是放弃    我们，亲爱的，只是做了一个边注。    像山谷一样浩瀚的巨著时代    还没有来临。刚刚受伤的退伍军人    在做沙漠托脚行，一只手拿着    一罐精子，另一只手拿着冰过的啤酒。    而我，我走进错误的房间，    面面俱到，同时保持着耐心。    一只蝙蝠飞过停机坪。    我们不应该在自己身上浪费    这么多犹豫，这是为了别人，让他们感到真诚    和需要。他们开始喜欢我们，    然后他们“真的”喜欢我们，他们太晚了    不能取消。他们开始忘记我们，    然后肯定不喜欢我们，好像我们篡改了    他们的记忆机器。一个穿着锦缎的天使    见证了这一切，把它拷贝下来。    下午结束时，我们沉浸在    一场激动人心的，给我们带来    新鲜感，喧嚣的倾盆大雨中。写着，我    越过页进入    牧歌热情的沙坑。你总是把我    从这种场合中解救出来，把我绑在我自己的本质    和书签上。毕竟，有很多书    要读，很多页在这个仓库里。

Of a Particular Stranger    My country is but scrubland,    plaguey country. From its opposite shore    I can see you sitting, surrounded by nursemaids    and rolled umbrellas. O it’s not quitting    on us, my dear, only making a marginal note.    The time of tomes vast as valleys    hasn’t approached us yet. Just wounded vets    doing the desert shuffle, a can of sperm    in one hand, a chilled beer in the other.    And I, I walk into the wrong room,    well-rounded, keeping my patience together.    A bat flies out over the tarmac.    We shouldn’t have wasted so much hesitancy    on ourselves, it’s for others, makes ’em feel genuine    and wanted. They start to like us,    then they really like us, it’s too late    for them to cancel. They start to forget us,    then positively dislike us, as though we’d tampered    with their mnemonic machinery. An angel in brocade    witnesses this, copies it down.    By afternoon’s end we were soaked    in a thrilling downpour that promised much    in the way of freshness, clamor. Writing,I    overshot the page into the sandtrap    of bucolic enthusiasm. You always rescue me    from such occasions, bind me to my own quiddity    and bookmarks. After all, there are a lot of books    to be read, lots of pages in this warehouse.

操作员正在待命    （选自Can You Hear, Bird）    作者：(美)约翰.阿什贝利（John Ashberry）    译者:剑郭琴符    在一些商店里，他们出售奶酪染发剂    用于使头发受干扰或抑郁。你在最后一刻    加了威士忌。既然    快到圣诞节，我们可以买    这样的东西，你和我，把它们带在身边，    尽管似乎    就像昨天，我打出了万圣节全垒打。    它回来了，有点流回    进入我的身边，我想，产生了一种“草莓罐”的    效果。阿文和我    对它无能为力。    他有时关心的一切是    确定每个人都是大人物。    我和他睡在地上，    在桦树皮独木舟的深处。    曾经仿佛有两个他。    在学校里，没有人能把我们分开    直到我们笑了，或者他的大笑解开了扣子。    致命的是，在过去的几年里    性欲已经对他造成了伤害。不想起    维纳斯，或狩猎，我就不能    靠近他。我有六种不同的包装，    从“珠宝盒”到箭牌的留兰香。    在友好麋鹿粪便的时候    我跟着它们去了舍德水族馆    那天没人卖门票。    我在鱼缸里踱来踱去，    偶尔停下来在盘子玻璃上    留下手印，为的是一些鱼的利益或其他。

Operators Are Standing By    In some of the stores they sell a cheese rinse    for disturbed or depressed hair. You add whiskey    to it at the last moment. Now that    it’s nearly Christmas, we could buy    such things, you and I, and take them with us,    though it seems like    only yesterday I hit that Halloween homerun.    It backed up and kind of flowed back    into my side I think, creating a “strawberry    jar” effect. There was nothing Arvin    or I could do about it.    Determining everyone is a bigshot    is sometimes all he cares about.    I’ve slept on the ground with him,    and deep in a birchbark canoe.    Once there was two of him.    At school no one could tell us apart    until we smiled, or his big laugh came unbuttoned.    Fatally, venery has taken its toll    of him these last years. I can’t    get near him without being reminded of Venus,    or the hunt. I come in six different packages,    from the “jewel case” to Wrigley’s spearmint.    In the time of friendly moose    droppings I followed them to the Shedd Aquarium    No one was selling tickets that day.    I wandered in and out of the fish tanks,    stopping occasionally to leave a handprint    on the plate glass for the benefit of some fish or other.

剑郭琴符

其他人避而远之    （选自Can You Hear, Bird）    作者：(美)约翰.阿什贝利（John Ashberry）    译者:剑郭琴符    秋天似乎在为你哭泣，    秋天最好的爱人！    ---苏珊.柯立芝    他们有更凉快的扶手椅。    他们在下面有一个假想的隧道。    它可以是你选择的颜色。有桥，张开得    如此远离目标，你想知道    他们怎么想到了穿越。    不会结束。    我没有参加期末考试    也没有收到参加的    通知。我演讲的大厅    还没建好。它们将又新又漂亮，    浅黄色的海豚在天花板上摇晃。    全世界都会从中看到我的艺术，    尽管我与实际的建筑无关，转身离开，    欣赏我和他们的衣服---如此得体！    我们怎么知道今天的月亮会是什么样子，    开车50英里穿过炎热的大草原后要喝什么饮料？    但这一切都奇迹般地复活了？    或者那个隐居的怪人说得对，    非官方的历史学家？他从不冒险发表意见，    却像搬运工一样守在门口，摆出    一副不愚弄人的姿势。似乎我们没人开始消化    我们一生的食物。除了数房间别无选择---    九，总计。    我告诉过你，当我动身    去集镇，挂包会装满    金币和银币，只是为了你；    金库会膨胀，果树    以蓝色的果实溢满墙壁。    每天都是鸡尾酒会，一整天。    现在隧道似乎枯萎了。    我们必须回到那稀疏的祝福    我们的鞋子放在这条冬日小路上的地方；    没有东西可以一直呆在户外---    必须有时间看书、生火    和没完没了的谈话，除非我们    愿意用其他方式，否则意义不大，    小姑娘，对秋天的粗暴训练，    粗俗的语言、犬瘟热的伤口眨着眼睛变成一个球给你。

Others Shied Away    The Autumn seems to cry for thee,    Best lover of the Autumn-days!    ---SUSAN COOLIDGE    And they have cooler armchairs.    They have an imaginary tunnel down there.    It can be the color of your choosing.With bridges, splayed    so wide of the mark, you wonder how    they thought of crossing.    It can’t be over.    I haven’t taken my final exam    nor received the notice    to do so. The halls for my oratory    haven’t been built yet. They’ll be nice and new,    with buff-colored dolphins dangling from the ceiling.    The world will see something of my art in this,    though I had nothing to do with the actual building, and turn away,    admiring me and their clothes---so appropriate!    How did we know how the moon was going to be today,    what drinks to serve after driving fifty miles through parched savannas?    Yet does it all come miraculously to life?    Or is it the solitary crank who’s right,    the unofficial historian? He never hazards an opinion,    yet stays by the door like a porter, pose    that fools no one. It seems none of us has begun to digest    the meal of all our lives. There’s nothing left to do but count the rooms---    nine, all told.    I told you when I set out for    the market town, the saddlebags would be full    of gold and silver coinage, just for you;    coffers would bulge, orchards    overflow their walls with blue fruit.    Every day would be a cocktail party, all day long.    Now the tunnel seems withered.    We must return to the sparse blessings    that place our shoes on this winter path;    nothing can stay outdoors all the time---    there must be intervals for books and fire    and endless conversation that means very little    unless we’d prefer to have it some other way,    little girl, blinking at the autumn’s rough practice,    crude language, distemper-wound into a ball for you.

回文    （选自Can You Hear, Bird）    作者：(美)约翰.阿什贝利（John Ashberry）    译者:剑郭琴符    在法国电影，杀婴和红色法兰绒杂烩的    日子里，我们为交易而保留的    话语，后来被丢失了，其他丢失的话语，    因为多年来被冷落而愤怒，    像船坞里的猫头鹰一样包围着我们。“我们    因为可敬的时机    要感谢谁？”没有    字典知道或承认知道的单词，    比如“spludge”或“parentitis”。但是，我们能做些什么，    有这么多，像无限只蝙蝠    在日落时从山洞里浮现，感受凉爽的空气    极其兴奋地从它们的膜上穿行下来。但他们也会    给我们带来麻烦。一起玩很有趣，    竖起耳朵听不太特别的喧嚣，直到早晨    开始砰的一声，一个孩子出现，    蚀刻在我房间的空气中。    ----    spludge：污泥，飞溅。    parentitis: 亲子炎。    网上找到的，拿不准。

Palindrome    In the days of French film and infanticide    and red flannel hash, words we kept for trading    up, which were later lost, other lost words,    angry at being snubbed for so many years,    surrounded us like owls in a boathouse. “To whom    are we indebted for the honorable occasion?” Words    no dictionary ever knew, or acknowledged having known,    like “spludge” or “parentitis.” But then, what can we do,    there are so many, like zillions of bats    emerging from a cave at sunset, feeling the cool air    thread deliriously down their membranes. Yet they too    can get us in trouble. And it’s fun to play along,    ears cocked for no special din, until the thud    of morning commences, and a child appears,    etched on the air of my room.

彭忒西勒亚    （选自Can You Hear, Bird）    作者：(美)约翰.阿什贝利（John Ashberry）    译者:剑郭琴符    别再唱颂歌，好医生说。    带着痛苦的东西进来。啊，    我们说，淤塞的湖泊已经很顺从了。    也就是说，银行的现金流    将永远不会错配或得到补偿。    那位好心人坐下来喝茶。你知道    当你找到一个咖啡厅    如何符合你的理想，那条蛇怎么会永远地    从街角的街道上掠过一点狂喜的    烧焦的蓝色。荨麻像杂技演员    或白鼬一样热情地倚靠的地方。哦，虽然我们    爱你，但你不能进来。    但我死前做了些事，    就像把风和木材一起带进了房子，    让它坐在那边的远处，在一个狭小的角落里。    红色家具长大了。    突然间到了交通高峰期，我们支撑在我们的手和膝盖上    试图找到用这些谵妄的    测量方式说着的放大镜    并试着系某人的溜冰鞋，    离家里的牢骚有半个世纪。    ---    彭忒西勒亚是战神阿瑞斯的女儿，和父亲一样骁勇善战，后来在特洛伊战争中加入了特洛伊一方，在与希腊英雄阿喀琉斯对决的时候，不敌被杀。见荷马史诗《伊利亚特》。    德国作家海因里希.冯.克莱斯特的同名作品。

Penthesilea    No more odes, the good doctor said.    Come in with something distressing. Aw,    we said, the silted lakes are obedient already.    That is to say, a run on cash at the banks    that will never be mismatched or compensated.    The nice person sat and drank tea. You know    how it is when you find a cafe space    that is yours ideally, that snakes eternally    past a bit of ecstatic burnt blue from the street    around the corner. A place where nettles lean enthusiastically    like acrobats or stoats. O much as we    love you you can’t come in.    But I did something before I died,    like bringing the wind into the house with the wood,    making it sit far off over there, in the thin corner.    The red furniture grew up.    Suddenly it was the rush hour, and we were on our hands and knees    trying to find the magnifying glass    that speaks in measured terms of these deliria,    and tying on one’s skates,    half a century from the grouches of home.