(美)约翰.阿什贝利诗歌草译

剑郭琴符

白昼般清楚    （选自Can You Hear, Bird）    作者：(美)约翰.阿什贝利（John Ashberry）    译者:剑郭琴符    带着它的所有装备    （当然）完好无损，不受    空气、沙子和时间的影响---三个致命的    姐妹脑子里没有任何想法    除了在哪里剪断它---    它熄灭，就像蜡烛或父亲    买一包烟一样。你知道    这个。“我们”都知道。这是不同的    太阳面纱背后衰老的天气    曳步舞---拍摄，他们总是想要的    换尿布的方式。    星期二从来不下雪---另外    它离我推荐的太远，，只是    有这个区别，这个小差别    不会消失，    在办公室开门之前就一直在等着。    我该怎么说？    那些被带走的人在空气中    没有留下足迹，在阴沉的天空上    没有微笑。    正是另一种微笑    像一列我们永远看不到的快车    向我们飞驰而来。请熄灭灯，    灰烬，当你离开时。    德克萨斯州或路易斯安那州也一样。意思是    今天没有你的邮件，请你回电话好吗？    很紧急。嗯，是的。我在一个逃亡将军旁边的长凳上    等了几个小时。    “确保零售，”他说。“人寿保险    大楼，泡菜园。天知道他们    也攻击我们的雷达，像蝙蝠    和神秘的疾病一样向我们猛扑过来。”    你是“大爆炸”吗？

Plain as Day    with all its accoutrements    (of course)---intact, impervious    to air, sand, and time---the three fatal    sisters with nary a thought    in their heads except where to cut it---    and it goes out, like a candle or a father    to buy a pack of cigarettes. You knew    this. WE all knew it. It’s the old    weather shuffle behind a different    sun veil---shot, diapered t    he way they always want it.    It never snows on Tuesday---far    be it from me to suggest otherwise, only    there is this difference, this little difference    that won’t go away,    that’s been waiting since before the office opened.    What shall I tell it?    Those that are taken leave no footprint    on the air, no smile    on the soused sky.    It’s another kind of smile    speeding toward us like an express train    we’ll never see. Please put out the light,    the ashes, when you leave.    Same in Texas or Louisiana. Meaning    no mail for you today, and would you please call back?    It’s urgent. Well, was. I’ve been waiting hours    on a bench next to a fugitive general.    “Be sure of retail,” he says. “The life insurance    building, the pickle garden. Heaven knows they    attack our radar too, swoop down on us like bats    and the mystery illness.”    Are you Big Bang?

了望台    （选自Can You Hear, Bird）    作者：(美)约翰.阿什贝利（John Ashberry）    译者:剑郭琴符    游戏的目标，毕竟，不是死，而是成长为轻松的    死亡，赢得胜利。四十个店主犯了罪，为此他们被出卖。    他似乎不懂透视法的规则。    我们有技术驯服边缘。    为此，我们必须再次成为刺猬，盲目地娱乐所有的    光的哲学。    它轻松而友好，就像一杯酒，或是沙龙里的评论。    一直以来我们都希望，我们    希望冒险取得一两项成就。    来，我给你演一个古老的喜剧    以熊和占卜者作为交换，没有办法出门，没有    东西在乳白色平原上，风停了。她    从我的花体字上柔软地蹦来跳去。    动物的踪迹盘旋，蒸发。粒子的软壳    从名称中扭出来，挑衅地站着，轻微移动。    我们哀悼那些短暂划桨的人。

Point Lookout    The object of the game is, after all, not to die but to grow into easeful    death, winning. Forty shopkeepers sinned and for this they were betrayed.    He seems not to have understood the rules of perspective.    We have the technology to tame the edges.    For this we must become hedgehogs again, blindly entertaining all the    philosophy of light.    It goes nice and easy like a drink, or remark in a salon.    All this time we were wishing, we    wished to hazard an accomplishment or two.    Come, I’ll play you an old comedy    of the bartered bear and soothsayer, no ways to be out of doors, no    thing on the milky plain, the wind dropped. Soft    from my curlicue she bounces around.    The animal traces hovered and steamed.The soft shell of a particle    twists itself off from the name, stands defiant, budged.    We mourn those who do briefly paddle.

可怜的温莎骑士    （选自Can You Hear, Bird）    作者：(美)约翰.阿什贝利（John Ashberry）    译者:剑郭琴符    说任何一天。    一声敲门，一个新古典主义的炮弹飞过。    大厅用鲜红的颜色装饰；显然，这里有比    单纯朴素的好品味更有力量的东西在起作用。    我同意和你分享你的游戏。    我们在露台上闲逛（爱默生说    男人应该“闲逛”）。我们吃一些混合干果。    天哪，有多么有限的事情做。    任何能用不新鲜的面包做的事    总有一天会做的。英国人喜欢    在什么东西里拧它浸它，直到它变硬：结果    被称为“可怜的温莎骑士”    这是一种美味小盘菜肴。    它们已经没有那么多了，    而我们，为什么我们从来没有拥有过它们。    这适用于大多数事情。不是水管，虽然---    如果我们有太多某物。    但是那些骑士，    不得不站在方格布旁边，假装    它们没问题，这真的不比一个碎片更多，    就像猎人的妻子在他回家晚的时候扔给他的兔子一样，    他的游戏包清空了    他的乐趣，筋疲力尽地    准备进行一轮垄断---    纹章是不是强加于自己，    滴在额头上    让所有人看到？    品牌最终重要吗？    姑娘们是不是更前卫了？小伙子们    向后弯腰？你想让我看的东西    是什么？哦，一把铲子。你应该这么说。    回来的路被污染了，矛    几乎是下流的。

Poor Knights of Windsor    Say it was any day.    A knock on the door, a neoclassic cannonball flies past.    The hall is done up in scarlet; something more powerful    than just plain good taste is obviously at work here.    I agree to share your game with you.    We saunter on the terrace (Emerson    said a man should “saunter”). We eat some trail mix.    Gosh, what a limited bunch of things to do there is.    Anything that can be done with stale bread    will sometime be done. The English like to    twist it and dip it in something till it hardens: the result    is called “Poor Knights of Windsor.”    It’s some kind of savory.    They don’t have those much anymore,    and we, why we never had them.    That applies to most things. Not plumbing, though---    if anything we have too much of that.    But those knights,    having to stand by a checkered cloth, pretending    it was OK by them, this really not much more than a scrap,    like the rarebit the hunter’s wife tosses him when he comes home late,    his game bag empty    his fun exhausted    ready for a round of Monopoly—    Does the heraldry impose itself,    trickling on the forehead    for all to see?    Do brands ultimately matter?    Are the lasses more froward? The lads    bent over backward? What is this thing    you wanted me to see? Oh, a shovel. You might have said so.    And the way back is polluted, the spears    almost indecent.

快速提问    （选自Can You Hear, Bird）    作者：(美)约翰.阿什贝利（John Ashberry）    译者:剑郭琴符    我们乘小船    去湖上。    这场一生一次的洪水    正以纤细的蜈蚣腿逼近。    格式塔的一些东西    告诉我，不要向电报服务发表这条评论    在各种动机被重新推出之前。    这是第二天。    只有几罐空罐头遇到了凝视。    “撒它！”孩子们建议。    “油很快就会变得腐臭。”    他想，味道的问题。    或者乳房的问题。    有时候一个老妇人会来带你    穿过她家的树枝。    如果夏日的夜光    能够内疚，那么树杈就足够    用它们假造的气息来支撑你。    不会回到讨价还价，    然后。大海就像淡绿色的油毡    所有的掷弹兵都回到了西西里。    停止训练，有人想：这房子总是被豪猪    萦绕，这是应该的。    等着人们办正事，    把自己的牌放在桌上，可以这样随意行动，就像蚊子    迎着一片起泡的天空的小步舞。    这是一个对之凝视的东西：既不是下蹲动作，    也不是一个公寓。一块经常被穿透的物质，    另一种密度的液体，像蜂蜜一样爬行着    向它的祖先问好    最好留下后面的沙带。    这段旅程变成了你，但它改变的方式，    有效期直到金针    刺到更远更远的夜晚的头？    明天，我们上船，    当顺风吹得床单沙沙作响？

Quick Question    We took to the lake    in small boats.    The once-in-a-lifetime flood    was approaching on dainty, centipede legs.    Something about the gestalt    told me not to release this comment to the wire services    before the various motivations were rehashed.    This was the next day.    Only a few empty cans met the gaze.    “Sprinkle it!” the children advised.    “Oil quickly becomes rancid.”    Matter of taste, he thought.    Or matter of boobs.    Sometimes an old woman is coming to get you    through the boughs that were her home.    It’s enough if the summer night light    can chasten, the tree-barbs sustain you    on their perjured breath.    There’s no returning to haggle,    then. The sea is like pale green linoleum    and all the grenadiers have returned to Sicily.    Detraining, one thinks: This house was always haunted    by porcupines, which is as it should be.    Waiting for people to get down to business,    put their cards on the table, can be such a random act, like a minuet    of gnats against a blistered sky.    That is something to stare at: neither squat,    nor a tenement. A block of some often-penetrated material,    a liquid of another density, crawling along like honey    to greet its forebears---    better to leave ribbons of sand behind.    The journey becomes you, but is its way of becoming,    valid until the gold pinprick    comes to a head further along further night?    Shall we embark tomorrow,    when a favorable wind rustles the sheets?

幻想与任性    （选自Can You Hear, Bird）    作者：(美)约翰.阿什贝利（John Ashberry）    译者:剑郭琴符    我的愿望似乎    不大可能实现“以主的名义。”    他不能预见到这一点吗？这一点是什么？    悲惨的进餐准备    在一个纸袋色的太阳下，想    不投射光。不同的    口袋或条带，新鲜的碎纸机。    现在会有多干净，    啊我的作品，如果单独留下    是原来的主旨，不是这    编织的屏风，像柳条或滚滚的织物，    紧张而松散地居住在    我们指引方向的充满敌意的夜晚里。    我们爬了    一段距离后，只有一个    穿着西装的男孩和他的鸟。不明身份的年轻人    在他身后出发，再也没有人看见。    榕树巨大地赫然耸现，从它什么也没有引出，    只有一个荒谬的果冻，由煮沸的事实    和未履行的承诺碎片组成。承诺    从不打算履行---她有句俗话：    “当磨坊在运转时，    千万不要呆在食品储藏室里。”纯洁、腐朽的诗歌。    一直以来你试图让我放弃另一个。

Reverie and Caprice    It seems very unlikely that my wishes will    be accomplished “in the name of the Lord.”    Couldn’t He have foreseen this? What is this?    Tragic mealtime preparations    beneath a paper-bag colored sun that wants    to cast no light. And pockets    or strips of difference, fresh from the paper shredder.    How much cleaner would it be now,    O my works, if to be left alone    had been the original thrust, not this    woven screen, like wicker or billowing fabric,    tense but loosely dwelling    in the hostile night from which we took directions.    And after we climbed    a certain distance it was only a boy    in a suit with his bird. Unidentified youths    set off after him and were never seen again.    The banyan tree loomed large, and nothing came of it,    only a preposterous jelly made of shards    of boiled facts and unkept promises. Promises    that were never intended to be kept---she had a saying:    “Never stay in the pantry    while the mill is operating.” Pure, putrescent poetry.    All along you were trying to make me give up the other.

安全通行证    （选自Can You Hear, Bird）    作者：(美)约翰.阿什贝利（John Ashberry）    译者:剑郭琴符    海岸清澈。给我带来我平静的扇贝壳，    我燃烧的金长矛。今晚我肯定要启程，    除非有人打电话，让自己沉浸在伟大的传说中，    我应该一直这样做。没关系，    可以等，已经够久了。恐怕    这可能涉及到在结满果实的丛林里砍一行。    这是关于他的另一件事：他有多少次    避免使用“日食”这个词。就好像    他和他一起盯着自己的黑暗看，像    一把雨伞一样卷起，却随时准备在一只袋熊的眼泪落下时    迅速引起注意。它足以    吞噬我们几个世纪，谢谢。他职位的    清白，就像他安排的，在上帝和老人面前，    在赛马场上引起稀疏人群愉快的掌声。    “如果我们今晚和你一起回家，”一个有饰缎带的女人欢乐地唱着，    “你能告诉我们弥达斯和苏打水瓶的事吗？天使丽人？”    每次最终会让我的名字清白的    调查前我都很恼火。一只癞蛤蟆    从睡莲软垫看着我，它低垂的眼睑陷入绝望。    “就是为了这个，我驯服了你，把你从单纯的蝌蚪养成    杰出的青蛙王子？唉，现在    聚集起来的雾是旧式的，来自铁器时代，    你那时练习的每一件乐器    都在为今晚一个人独奏而微调。

Safe Conduct    The coast is clear. Bring me my scallop shell of quiet,    my spear of burning gold. I am definitely setting out tonight,    unless someone calls, to immerse myself in the Great Lore,    which I should have been doing all along. Never mind,    it can wait, it’s been around long enough. I am afraid    it might involve cutting a swath through the fruited jungle.    That was the other thing about him: how many times    he avoided using the word “eclipse.” It was as though    he bore his personal darkness with him, furled    like an umbrella, but ready to snap to attention    at the fall of a wombat’s tear. It would be sufficient    to engulf us for centuries, thanks. The innocence    of his position, as laid out by him, before God and the elders,    drew delighted applause from the sparse crowd at the racetrack.    “And if we come home with you tonight,” one beribboned lady caroled,    “will you tell us about Midas and the seltzer bottle? Pretty please?”    I am annoyed before each investigation    that will definitively clear my name. A toad watches me    from a lily pad, its lidded eyes plunged in despair.    “Was it for this I tamed you, brought you up from mere pollywog    to outstanding frog prince? Alas, the mists    that gather now are of the old kind, from the Iron Age,    and every instrument you practiced then    is being fine-tuned for tonight’s one-person recital.

茶室    （选自Can You Hear, Bird）    作者：(美)约翰.阿什贝利（John Ashberry）    译者:剑郭琴符    有一段时间，你在船上    系着那条腰带，树枝覆盖了半个高加索，    我问她是否知道伊波利托夫.伊万诺夫的    “高加索素描”---“这就像在看远处的鸟舍。”    是的，和弦就像子弹    可以到达半个西伯利亚。    他们非常忠诚，对他们    军队的想法很忠诚。    军队不需要概念    只要有一条穿过岩石的路总是有帮助的    比如甜点和洗衣店。哦，如果你要换衬衫的话，    但我喜欢这件。是时候买一件新的。    我有柠檬风味图案的领带让你满意吗？噢，我恳求你，    晚上9点以后不要再打电话。    然后女士们忙起来，    把地毯挂在金属晾衣绳上，猛击它们一顿，    一个美好的下午。你妹妹在岸上等着    告诉我，我该去“斗篷和匕首茶室”    做服务员。我一想到这件事    就觉得恶心。那“是”一段艰难的时光，    但在夏天，至少，你可以穿得很便宜    看起来就像那些    在深色豪华轿车中的富家孩子。    我再也听不到这件事。    银行的信使希望富齐离我远一点，    我一直以为我们是在玩苹果，    但奖励的钱是葫芦，塑料色的。    小猫们表现出了一些克制    阴影降低，就像每一个世界末日。

Salon de Thé    Some time before you wore that belt    on a boat, with a tree branch covering half the Caucasus,    I asked if she knew the Caucasian Sketches    of Ippolitov-Ivanov---“It’s like looking at a distant aviary.”    Yes, and the chords are like bullets    that can reach halfway to Siberia.    Very committed they are, and faithful    to their idea of the troops.    The troops need no notion    but a path through the rocks always helps,    like dessert and laundry. Oh, if you were going to change your shirt,    but I like this one. It’s time to buy a new one.    Does my lemon-zest-patterned tie please you? Oh, I implore you,    no talking on the phone after 9 p.m.    Then the ladies got busy,    hung rugs on the metal clothesline and walloped them,    a good afternoon. Your sister was waiting on the shore    to tell me it was time to get to my job as busboy    at the Cloak and Dagger Tearoom.Makes me squeamish    just to imagine it. And it was a hard time,    but in summer, at least, you could dress cheaply    and look just like the rich kids    in their darkened limos.    I’ll hear no more about it.    The bank messenger wants Fuzzy to stay away from me,    and all along I thought we were playing for apples,    but the reward money came as gourds, plastic-colored ones.    The kittens showed some restraint    and the shade was lowered as it is every Doomsday.

剑郭琴符

看看你有多喜欢我的鞋    （选自Can You Hear, Bird）    作者：(美)约翰.阿什贝利（John Ashberry）    译者:剑郭琴符    人行道上两团扭曲的干粪；    天气的一块灰色抹布。    这是哪个镇？    天气令人窒息地等着预报    会发生什么事。    见鬼，除了人与人不一样    什么都一样。事物就像    机构。蹒跚着，从对人格    做伪证，一切看起来都很相似    但这个逃亡者有着    他的姐妹们（在奥林匹克    州地位）没有的东西：模仿    两条腿就像一只外面的狗    在门上放三倍的乐谱    是为了种植。他们真的反抗，    高昂地。推销员头上    是两只整鞋，那是    坟场旁的火苗在说话    被夜晚拼写的热心的哎呦。    伟大的交响乐还没来得及复活就倒下了。    在这棵缠着豹猫毛的树上，他们仍然在想，想知道    这个人是如何凹进去的，却在世纪末有人在诉说中忘记了的萧条中    依然保持着如此干练的风度。    他们是同样被忽视的大多数。    许多人觉得忽视了    他们的节拍对沉醉的球体重复说着    被遗忘在雨中。但我就是这个人，    你。我喜欢偷笑。

See How You Like My Shoes    Two twisted dry turds on the sidewalk;    the weather one’s gray dropcloth.    What town is this?    The weather has a choke hold on foreseeing    what happens to it.    Heck there is nothing but the alike    except persons are not. Things are    like institutions. Stumbling from perjured    personhood, all seem alike    but the fugitive person has got things    his sisters (in Olympic    statehood) haven’t got: to mimic    two legs like a dog is out    and times three sheet music in the door    is to planting. They really resist,    soaringly. The salesman head    is two whole shoes, and that be    the graveyard by the flame talking,    earnest ouch spelled by night.    The great symphony fell down before it could be revived.    On this oceloted tree they still think and wonder    how the person caved in yet remained so spick-and-span a presence    all during the end-of-century doldrums someone forgot in the telling.    They was many of same left out.    Many felt left out    their beat repealing to the besotted orbs    left out in the rain. Yet I am this person,    you. I like to titter.

沉睡者醒着    （选自Can You Hear, Bird）    作者：(美)约翰.阿什贝利（John Ashberry）    译者:剑郭琴符    塞万提斯在写《唐吉诃德》的时候睡着了。    乔伊斯在《尤利西斯》的《游岩》一章中睡着了。（1）    荷马在《伊利亚特》的大部分时间里点头，偶尔睡觉；然而，当他写《奥德赛》时，他是醒着的。    普鲁斯特打着呼噜穿过《囚徒》（2），就像他后面有他的读者军团。    梅尔维尔在《白鲸》的大部分都睡在车轮边。    菲茨杰拉德睡着穿过《夜色温柔》，这也许并不令人惊讶，    但曼恩睡在《魔法山》的斜坡上的事实是非常特别的---他写了这本书，更是如此。    卡夫卡，当然，从不睡，即使不写作或在银行假日。    没有人对乔治.艾略特的写作习惯了解得太多---我猜她会睡几分钟，醒来写点什么，然后又回头睡。    卢.华莱士的四十个小睡，令人难以置信，是在《宾虚》的战车比赛中。    艾米莉.狄金森睡在阿默斯特冰冷狭窄的床上。    当她醒来时，窗玻璃上会有一首由杰克.弗罗斯特题词的新诗；窗外，玻璃叶发出叮当声。    好心的老沃尔特一边写一边打呼噜，而且和我们很多人一样，坚持说他没打。    毛姆在里维埃拉打鼾的。    阿加莎.克里斯蒂睡得很优美，就像女人睡觉一样，这就是为什么她的小说像茶三明治---很艺术，在很大程度上。    当我无法避免的时候，我就睡；我的写作和睡眠都在不断改善。    我还有别的话要说，但不会耽误你太久。    千万不要和一个作家同船出海---他们不知道什么时候到了水上。    鸟制造可怜的榜样。    哲学家应该被领到门前，但不要，在任何情况下，尝试。    奴隶制造好仆人。    刷牙未必总能改善外表。    在旧枕套里存储干净的抹布。    狗叫的时候才喂它。    把茶叶冲进马桶，咖啡渣冲进水槽。    小心那些匿名信---你可能写过，在少于一个词的睡眠内爆中。    ---    （1）指《尤利西斯》的《游岩》一章，原书是第十章。乔伊斯原文是“Wandering Rocks”，一说后来去掉了。    （2）可能是指《追忆似水年华》第五部：《女囚》。

Sleepers Awake    Cervantes was asleep when he wrote Don Quixote.    Joyce slept during the Wandering Rocks section of Ulysses.    Homer nodded and occasionally slept during the greater part of the Iliad; he was awake however when he wrote the Odyssey.    Proust snored his way through The Captive, as have legions of his readers after him.    Melville was asleep at the wheel for much of Moby Dick.    Fitzgerald slept through Tender Is the Night, which is perhaps not so surprising,    but the fact that Mann slumbered on the very slopes of The Magic Mountain is quite extraordinary---that he wrote it, even more so.    Kafka, of course, never slept, even while not writing or on bank holidays.    No one knows too much about George Eliot’s writing habits---my guess is she would sleep a few minutes, wake up and write something, then pop back to sleep again.    Lew Wallace’s forty winks came,incredibly, during the chariot race in Ben Hur.    Emily Dickinson slept on her cold, narrow bed in Amherst.    When she awoke there would be a new poem inscribed by Jack Frost on the windowpane; outside, glass foliage chimed.    Good old Walt snored as he wrote and,like so many of us，insisted he didn’t.    Maugham snored on the Riviera.    Agatha Christie slept daintily, as a woman sleeps, which is why her novels are like tea sandwiches---artistic, for the most part.    I sleep when I cannot avoid it; my writing and sleeping are constantly improving.    I have other things to say, but shall not detain you much.    Never go out in a boat with an author--- they cannot tell when they are over water.    Birds make poor role models.    A philosopher should be shown the door, but don’t, under any circumstances, try it.    Slaves make good servants.    Brushing the teeth may not always improve the appearance.    Store clean rags in old pillow cases.    Feed a dog only when he barks.    Flush tea leaves down the toilet, coffee grounds down the sink.    Beware of anonymous letters---you may have written them, in a word-less implosion of sleep.

剑郭琴符

太中国化的一些事        （选自Can You Hear, Bird）    作者：(美)约翰.阿什贝利（John Ashberry）    译者:剑郭琴符        现在对我来说。    我觉得多么奇怪，人们总是    在这和那之后叫喊，    不顾一切。        就像在性爱游戏中一样，闪耀着    桃花般的光芒---皇后    测量着你的枪，市民    到处曳行，将成为英雄的人    仍然毒蛇般瘦弱，绿色    如希望。我们都需要换个环境，    她说，换换空气---        试试大海。这对某些人有好处。    壁橱最适合我    看一棵废弃的苹果树，    一个楔形的门廊。嘿，拿着这些---    和兔子一起跑，我会马上回来    在你能观察到你之前，把有镜子的钟上的    污垢和眼泪    尽快擦除。    这些只是吹毛求疵。

Something Too Chinese                for me now.    And I thought how strange, one is always    crying after this and that,    against all odds.        As in the sex game, shimmering    like a peach---the impératrice    measures your guns, the townspeople    shuffle around, the one who will be the hero    is still viper-thin, and green    as hope. We all need a change of scene,    she said, a change of air---        try the sea. It is good for some persons.    A closet works best for me    with a view of an abandoned apple tree,    a wedge of porch. Here, take these---    running with the hare, I’ll be back instanter,    before you can observe you, wipe the grime    and tears from the mirrored clock    over and against time.    These are mere cavils.

  

那个聪明的旅行者摇摇晃晃地走出我家        （选自Can You Hear, Bird）    作者：(美)约翰.阿什贝利（John Ashberry）    译者:剑郭琴符        年轻的时候如此容易    变得有魅力，即使不是特别受自然的青睐，    即使书呆子气，有斑点，温和，    即使穿着错误的衣服，被焦虑    如迷宫般弄皱，即使没有    来自街道反面的兴趣。        站在自己的烦恼中，    抹去黑暗、疯狂怀疑的束缚，    人们相信他住的地方。    空气使房间清新。        我从老虎窗飘下    到被草坪洒水器弄黑的砖路上。    我好像曾经在里面。        哦，我不小心说出那个协议的好处    带着如同我脱衣服时造成的真相。    真相是，在经历了五到六个季节的那类事情之后，    它已经找到我了。    但它并不存在。婴儿在空气的需求下重新脸红了，    松树倒在后廊上，导致它塌下来。    但这不在我的抱怨清单上。    事实上，从来没有任何名单；    我通过应付来应付，住在生命外面，碎片接着碎片    直到一股岩浆追上了我。在那条破胡同里    有一个人走过婴儿车，有人推着他们。一颗彗星吸引了我的目光    但太晚了，太晚了，不能赞美，她总是说。    我的裤子湿了    路上有人来了，一些僵尸    还是别的。    这首我从未要求过的曲调    是不同的一首，一种怒吼的号角    尖叫着回答的大黄蜂巢。    其他人会更老，其他强奸犯    比那些被镇压的人。        是时候计划逃跑了。    在旅馆里这很难。    有一群恶霸法官在等着    搜你身，而在滨海大道上，情况并没有变得更好：    就连拿着气球的小女孩也在计划着去美国并吞半个西方文明，    而假释的男人却盯着我们快速落下的    彩色堡垒，在大海、大海中寻求释放！    两只海豚就像一句话里的两个冒号    现在正在冲洗我，把我从自己身上倾泻出来。    我觉得我似乎永远不会大到足够    像一个成年人那样理想地应该抹去疤痕---    等待，尽管！我来到一个角落，那里    吸入了几袋茉莉花和薰衣草---    我的视野受到了限制，什么东西    刚刚在楼梯尽头的    所有楼层里性交，穿着    亚麻布，像一个穿西装的男人走过来。    我也要告诉那个人    虽然你不想听，    虽然它像山一样古老，    虽然不快现在是愤怒，但我要    为它的流体游说，不放弃，    这次不露面，    太接近母亲和困难的平静，    太接近今天，这个梦的果实的    过分扩张。

Swaying, the Apt Traveler Exited My House                It’s so easy to be attractive when    you’re young, even if not particularly favored by nature,    even if nerdy, spotted, and pacific,    even in the wrong clothes, rumpled with anxiety    like a maze, even if without interests    from the wrong side of the street.        Standing with one’s bother,    wiping off the strictures of dark, demented doubt,    one believes what one lives in.    The air freshens the rooms.        I float from the dormer down    to the brick path darkened by the lawn sprinkler.    It seems I was inside once.        Oh I’m careless to tell the advantage of that pact    with truth I made as I undress.    The truth is it would have gotten to me    after five or six seasons of that sort of thing.    But it wasn’t to be. Baby blushed anew at the air’s demands,    and the pine tree fell over on the back porch, causing it to cave in.    That wasn’t in my list of grievances though.    In fact there was never any list;    I coped by coping, living out life shred by shred    until a magma caught up with me. In the broken alley    one passed strollers and people pushing them. One comet caught my eye    but it was too late, too late to praise she always says.    My pants were wet    and someone is coming up the road, some zombie    or other.    This tune I never asked for    is a different one, a furious clarion    shrilling a hornet’s nest of replies.    The others will be older, other rapists    than the ones that were put down.        It would be time to plan an escape.    This is difficult in a hotel.    There are bands of bullies waiting to frisk    you, and on the esplanade the scenario doesn’t get much better:    Even the little girl with the balloon is planning to annex half of Western civilization,    and the ticket-of-leave man has his eye on the colored bastions    we plummet over, seeking release in the sea, the sea!    Two dolphins like two colons in a sentence    are rinsing me now, pouring me out from myself.    I feel as though I’ll never be big enough    to efface scars as an adult ideally should---    wait, though!I’m coming to the corner where    pockets of jasmine and lavender inhale---    Be my scope limited, it’s something    just to have been in the intimacy of all the stories    down the stairway to where it ends, to have worn    linen and passed as a man in suits.    I’ll tell that one too    though you don’t want to hear it,    though it’s as old as the hills,    though displeasure is now rage, I’ll canvass    for fluids for it, not giving up,    not showing myself up this time,    too close to Mother and the difficult calm,    to the overextended fruit of this day,    this dream.

  

幽谷里的出租车        （选自Can You Hear, Bird）    作者：(美)约翰.阿什贝利（John Ashberry）    译者:剑郭琴符        你把火柴扔在地板上。    我收集古董猪油罐头。        “你知道，总有一天人们会对这些    感兴趣，尽管它会，像潮水一样，    在无限的解脱中达到顶峰，第二天就会回来。    但总有人确实会记得---    那种金属的简洁的红色。    然后我们喝了里面所有的东西，贪婪地，    但我们并不渴。有些机制减弱    我们的极光，所以它必须    一直持续到醒来后的白昼都没有发现。    到那时，我已经是云杉之神了，但你，你    还是应该好好享受    迟来的青春期的优势。”    我在草地上给你穿衣，    为你歌唱，歌词就是音乐    音乐没有意义。让我擦擦你的乳头，我…        时间会快乐。“安静，小矮子。”    世界上最令人惊奇的植物不会    打扰你，也不会打扰冰库外的胖食人魔们。    百合花和甜豌豆认为你有趣。    我甚至还有一个侄子，他要    邀请你参加巴尔的摩的沙龙舞会，    又读了一会书后，说，    活着的人来到你面前的道路，    浑身是易燃的，可怕地流着泪，    把你燃烧的油井封顶，不是很酷吗？        你有朋友    在那儿，比你知道的还多，    但是时间不多了，我们必须做点什么。    一个漂亮的口哨怎么样，奶奶可以在后廊用的东西。或者订阅    《读者文摘》和黑甲烷出没的城市。    不管怎样，这将是一个和平的插曲    当你终于去做这事时---描绘风暴云    伴随着人们知道的你从前的    寒战---警告一只愤怒的绿头蝇    以平静他的浪漫希望。

Taxi in the Glen                You throw matches on the floor.    I collect antique lard cans.        “You know, some day there’ll be an interest    in these, though it will peak, like the tide,    in infinite relief, and be back next day.    But somebody will surely remember them---    the succinct red of that metal.    Then we drink everything in, avidly,    yet we are not thirsty. Some mechanism declines    our auroras, and so must it even be    until the day of waking up and not finding out.    I’ll be a spruce-god by then, but you, you    should still be savoring the advantages    of belated puberty.”    And I’ll dress you in grass    and sing to you, a song where the words are the music    and the music has no point. Let me chafe your nipple, I...        And time will be happy. Quiet, runt.    The world’s most astonishing plant couldn’t    faze you, nor the fat ogres beyond the icehouse.    Lilies and sweet peas think you’re swell.    I even have a nephew who is about    to invite you to the cotillion in Baltimore,    after taking a few more readings, and say,    wasn’t it cool the way the alive came up to you,    all combustible, dreadful with tears,    and capped your burning oil well?        You’ve got friends    out there, more than you know,    but time is running short and we have to do something about it.    How about a nice whistle, something Grandma    can use on her back porch. Or a subscription    to Reader’s Digest and the black methane-haunted city.    In any case it will be a peaceful interlude    when you get around to it---limning storm clouds    with the rigor one knows of old    of you---and caution an angered bluebottle    to calm his romantic hopes.

  

污渍的人        （选自Can You Hear, Bird）    作者：(美)约翰.阿什贝利（John Ashberry）    译者:剑郭琴符        有事不对，刚才有振动，    “共鸣”，片刻前。一丛灌木摩擦靠近天空的树皮。    悲惨的灌木丛里鞭炮的味道        我发现一切或多或少都有同样的顺序    当我到家的时候。尽管如此，很难记住    最初几个东西之后的顺序是什么：一条领带、一张沙发、    一张巧妙地放好的纸，以便指出    在我成熟的缺席的情况下，是谁动了它：    那青肿，陌生的东西，但熟悉得    像任何人脸上的微笑。        几个衣架从衣柜里吹来的微风中    轻轻地叮当作响。有人在这里。    有人可能会战胜另一个人。    一家人带着狗、收音机和鱼竿    从海上回来。    老渔夫在灯闪烁的红光中    迎接他们。这个囚犯，一个乔叔叔，    走了很远的路后回来---这么多英里，    这么多小时被拴在几天里    从这里到东方修筑了一条长长的原木路。

The Blot People                Something’s not right.There were vibrations,    “vibes,” a moment ago. A bush rubbed its bark against the sky.    The miserable thicket smelt of firecrackers        and I found everything in more or less the same order    when I got home. Still, it’s hard to remember    what the order was after the first few things: a tie, a sofa,    a sheet of paper artfully placed so as to point to    who might have moved it in my ripe absence:    the bruised, alien thing, but familiar    as a smile on the face of anyone.        A few coat hangers jingled slightly    in the breeze from the closet. Someone was here.    Someone may triumph over the other one.    The family returns from the sea    with dogs and radios and fishing rods.    Old fishermen greet them in the ruddy glow    of lamps. The prisoner, an Uncle Joe,    returns after a great distance---so many miles,    so many hours tethered into days    that built the long log road from here to the east.

  

被俘虏的感觉        （选自Can You Hear, Bird）    作者：(美)约翰.阿什贝利（John Ashberry）    译者:剑郭琴符        没有什么东西我曾想要拥有，    这种封建的不公平    通过计算机无声的抽搐    传递着它的阴霾。        我敢打赌在这只老鸟中有生命---    剃须膏的城堡是即将到来的最令人耳目一新的东西    因为剧院里的轮胎。    当我早上到达，我能把它寄到    对方付款的，在半壳上？不？不是我的错？        我不会告诉你关于规律和任何事，    我，摩西在我的小木筏上。到了    营救我的时候，他们会。即使四千年也    “像一个逝去的夜晚。”一些繁荣    从它的核心，等待的核心喷射。    不然怎么可能？夜晚的彩色喷泉，    吹奏到梦想鳄鱼的扬琴？        我的愿望把我囚禁，在里面生长    直到我确切地适应为止。现在占卜师可以接管。        总之电影中的梦是陈词滥调，某物    带着长矛的运输者和一个女人在纺织亚麻    在海边的小屋里，多么巨大的波浪带着她    到了这片令人愉快的高原，我们很高兴地把它当作    礼物，纵容身后某种骇人的    把我带回了从前的东西。从不知道我的心会如此渴望。        从蜀葵之家到好莱坞酒店    昏暗的水女神进化，甚至神气地走来。        谁能知道未来会是    这么一个大群，而我们在其中的份额被如此细致地勾勒？    不是恶魔，当然。但也不是朋友。

The Captive Sense            Nothing I’d ever want to own,    this feudal inequity transmits    its haze through the computer’s    silent convulsions.        I’d wager there’s life in the old bird yet---    the chateau of shaving cream is the most refreshing    thing to come along since tires in the theater.    When I arrive in the morning can I send it    collect, on the half shell? No? Not my fault?        I’m not going to tell you about regularity and anything,    me, Moses on my little raft. When it comes time    to rescue me, they will. Even four thousand years are    “like an evening gone.” Some prosperity spurts    from its core, the core of waiting.    How could it be otherwise? Colored fountains in the night,    playing to dulcimers who dream of crocodiles?        My wish kept me captive, growing in it    till I fitted it exactly. And now the soothsayers can take over.        The movie dream was corny anyway, something    with spear carriers and a woman spinning flax    in a hovel by the sea, how great waves carried her along    to this pleasant plateau we are pleased to think of as    the present, conniving with something eldritch behind there    that takes me back. Never knew my heart could be so yearny.        From Hollyhock House to the Hollywood Hotel    the ill-lit Undine evolves, sashays even.        Who could have known the future would    be such a big bunch, and our share in it so meticulously outlined?    Not fiends, surely. But not friends, either.

  

对抗者        （选自Can You Hear, Bird）    作者：(美)约翰.阿什贝利（John Ashberry）    译者:剑郭琴符        哪些难以置信的谎言会证明真实？    啊，你问我的事情    我希望我甚至不能问自己。        火在壁炉里燃烧。    杯子在窗台上。        一个人在工作。他移动。有那么多东西    要学，那么多老师。        狗从屋顶上嚎叫。    是狼吗？某人要它存在。        简而言之，有这些主题。    冬天和夏天都有。    其他季节调停    终结于有了更多的话题。        “没有蜜蜂的蜂巢，”你说。    这就是我如何通过一个血红色的    透明帘子，看起来像橡胶一样    记得他们。        各种各样的不平衡已经分配出去了，    现在。有郊区住宅    没有留下任何土地碎片。    不耐烦的黎明到达。

The Confronters                Which of the incredible lies will prove true?    Ah, you ask me things    I wish I could not even ask myself.        A fire burns in a fireplace.    Cups are on a sill.        A man is working. He moves along. There is so    much to learn, so many teachers.        A dog howls from a roof.    Is it a wolf? Someone wants it to be.    In short there are these topics.    In winter and in summer there were.    The other seasons mediate    and end up having more topics.        “Hives with no bees,” you said.    Which is how I remember them    through a bloodred transparent curtain, that looked    like rubber.        The various inequalities are parceled out,    now. There are suburban subdivisions    with no shards of land left on them.    Impatient dawns arrive.

剑郭琴符

  

海滩大道上荒凉的美容院        （选自Can You Hear, Bird）    作者：(美)约翰.阿什贝利（John Ashberry）    译者:剑郭琴符        在这里这么多损害    到达这里也是一样。这就是    我们以前在那里交易个人物品，然后分配    那些恰如其分的名叫“战利品”的地方。你知道    我指的是哪种污垢。僵尸打架，    那种东西。        不可能定位地狱或天堂    站在地下室里，检查    哪些管道可能通向楼上。    街上的小松树---    太甜了，但不比    在过渡期间被砍伐的更甜美。    我想知道现在人们把洗好的衣服挂在哪里    谁来卖。    然后我在食人海滩上看到了它---    一只月亮的大狒狒在丝绸石南上    来回飘荡。它给了我    与太阳运行方向相反的感觉。我在数着。    但是，一个很好的八角形教练---“他”提供某些    舒适的方式，眼镜可以选择去适合    如果它们这么倾向。我现在说的是    产品，以及由此产生的    新生产力。没人能再付得出    忽视它的代价。当然，羊    斥责它们的身份，为投票，    被否决而生气。但另一种色情的存在方式    已经被揭穿，受到干扰。我差点以为    它们不能确定它，但它这么新---    不过，等着结局。它是一个小的，拱形的封闭空间    为容纳破烂的激情而造，现在已经    倒空了它们。山谷扫过了    清醒的黎明。每一张脸都显示出    极度专注的迹象。现在这就    我喜欢注视你的方式。永远。    为了当快船吹入歧途    恶意中伤被隔离。

The Desolate Beauty Parlor on Beach Avenue            So much has impaired here    as well as getting here. It’s where    we used to trade personals, then divide up    the aptly named “spoils.” You know the kind of crud    I mean. Zombie set-tos,    the kind of thing.        It was impossible to locate hell or heaven    standing in the basement, inspecting    which pipes might have led to upstairs.    And the little pines off the street---    so sweet, but no sweeter    than what’s been taken down in the interim.    I wonder where people hang their laundry nowadays,    who’s for sale.    Then I saw it over Cannibal Beach---    a big baboon of a moon wafting this way    and that across the silken heather. It gave me    the widdershins. I’m still counting.    But the nice octagon trainer---he offered something    in the way of comfort, that eyeglasses can choose to go    and fit if they’re so inclined. I’m talking    product now, and the new productivity    that comes from it. No one can afford    to ignore it anymore. Sure, sheep    bawl at their station, mad at having voted,    at being voided. But another way of sexy being    has been unveiled, and disturbed. I almost think    they won’t be able to fix it, but it’s so new—    Wait for the end, though. It’s a small, arched close    built to contain ragged passions, and emptied    of them at present. The dale sweeps down    the sober dawn. Every face shows signs    of extreme concentration. Now that’s    the way I’d like to behold you. For always.    For when the clipper blows astray and the    cheap shot is parted.

  

心脏的虚弱        （选自Can You Hear, Bird）    作者：(美)约翰.阿什贝利（John Ashberry）    译者:剑郭琴符        对《武功歌》（1）这样的东西    总是正确的    为什么他们，当时，不能被打扰。    波尔多的于翁是一个非常重要的人    至少在波尔多，这是一个重要的法国城市，    闻起来比珀斯安博伊好，但比牛顿勒威洛斯差。    正如我自己和其他研究人员    所指出的，这个游戏的目标    是坐在冰冷的拨浪鼓上。        我喜欢华盛顿D.C.的宽阔大道，    都通向---什么？它们在逃避什么？    在这个伟大的城市里，谁会在乎这些    真理源泉的数据？电筒装饰    白宫前的田野，我们的总统就坐在那里，    国会，开会的时候。我遗漏了谁？    不，只有那个召唤总统计程车的男人    他太不重要了，不包括在你的名单上。    那匹运货马车马的鬐甲怎么样？啊，    我必须重新开始，    从头开始一切。命名法    本身就是奖励。    尖牙？它好看又实用。    测量员委员会是我们的。    我信任并钦佩它。    矿务局属于我们所有人    在这个该死可恶的国家。我们俩都分享明天。    那冬青树上的灯    让我想起了我的一个老同学室友。我们中没有一个人，    你看，曾经被剥夺过任何东西，    这就是为什么我们现在闹事，在字母编码的街道    和其他为纪念绣球花和青春的羞愧而命名的街道上。    他说：“装饰地板！”    冬天就要来了，会很壮观。    松鼠和毛茸茸的毛毛虫告诉我的。        检阅小组及时出现。    他们扛着格林机关枪，穿着十八世纪的李子色制服。    情绪阴郁。我提议追捕一名敌人    但结果并不顺利。然后“你”出现了，覆盖着    红宝石，决定我们应该“趴下。”    塞考克斯看上去更好。芦苇上的雪---        很快总统加入了我们。他很担心，但很有礼貌。    女儿们穿着简单的白色连衣裙，来到白宫草坪上    聊得很愉快。她们说这是一个寓言    或寡头政治，捶打着翻滚。活着    受到责难比在深渊的摇篮里摇摇欲坠更好，    有人说。但这正是我努力反对的---    “你好吗”？    ---    （1）11世纪至14世纪流行于法国的一种数千行乃至数万行的长篇故事诗

The Faint of Heart            were always right    about things like chansons de geste    and why they couldn’t, at the time, be bothered.    Huon de Bordeaux was a highly important person    at least in Bordeaux which is an important French city,    that smells better than Perth Amboy but worse than Newton-le-Willows.    As has been pointed out    by myself and by other researchers, the object of the game    is to sit on a cold rattle.        I love the broad avenues of Washington, D.C.,    all leading toward---what? What is it they are escaping from?    Who in this great city cares anything about these data    that are the wellspring of truth? Torches emblazon the field    in front of the White House, which is where our president sits,    and Congress, when it is in session.Have I omitted anybody?    No, only the man who summons the president’s taxi    who is too unimportant to figure in your list.    What about that dray horse’s withers?Ah,    I shall have to begin again,    to start all over again from the beginning. Nomenclature    being its own reward.    And the fang? It’s pleasant-looking and practical.    The board of surveyors is ours.    I trust in and admire it.    The Bureau of Mines belongs to all of us    in this dang-blasted country. Each of us has a share in tomorrow.    The light on that ilex    reminds me of an old school-chum of mine. None of us,    you see, was ever divested of anything,    which is why we’re running riot now, in the alphabet-coded streets    and others named in memory of hydrangeas and vernal blushes.    And he said, “Varnish the floor!”    Winter is coming and it’s going to be spectacular.    The squirrels and woolly caterpillars told me so.        In time the review squads appeared.    They carried Gatlings and were dressed in plum-colored eighteenth-century uniforms.    The mood was sour. I offered to chase a member of the enemy    but it wasn’t going down well. Then you appeared, covered    with rubies, and it was decided we should “get down.”    Secaucus had looked better. The snow on the reeds---        Soon the president joined us. He was worried but polite.    The daughters in their simple white frocks came out on the White House lawn    and had a very nice chat. They said it was an allegory    or oligarchy, and to roll with the punches. Better    alive and upbraided than rocked in the cradle of the deep,    someone said. But that’s what I’m trying to oppose---    how you been?

   

剑郭琴符

绿色木乃伊        （选自Can You Hear, Bird）    作者：(美)约翰.阿什贝利（John Ashberry）    译者:剑郭琴符        慈爱而丰盛，和蔼的行李    冲洗原始地址。谁最后    准备好，但我还是从什么该死的    表面乐观得到了一点乐趣。    他一点也不相信性行为---这是    对他有利的一点---但知道所有标准的    安东尼奥故事，并把它们告诉了漏洞女士    志愿队。你看，他一辈子    都想当教练，或者“什么的”，甚至    蛆虫。但命运乌鸦般的翅膀    对他另有计划。我们打算    在醒着学习的时候睡觉；相反，    作为空袭管理员，我们造就了米其林的好男人——肚子    总是在安睡，下巴几乎没有受到    嘲笑枯萎病颈羽的保护。但你是时候        把那条羊毛围巾脱了。在木筏上的    亚当和夏娃可以在这里说日安，在爱的作品中    笑声响起。然而苍白的嘲笑只是    注视，不会涌现。明年是电的，    这一年只会给我们分配和服务，洗浴我们，    就像我们知道的那样。腌海鳗    比丛林透视画好，充满了谁知道是什么的怪癖    和表面。但我喜欢他，他的白帽子    掉下来，落在声音里。收到羞耻，    他把我们赶进了门厅；我们带着    错误种类的枸杞。

The Green Mummies            Avuncular and teeming, the kind luggage    hosed down the original site. Who is ready    last, but I kind of get a kick    out of what-the-heck’s surface optimism.    He doesn’t believe in sex---that’s one point    in his favor---but knows all the standard    Antonio stories and has told them to the Ladies’    Auxiliary in Loophole. You see, all his life    he wanted to be a trainer, or something, maggots    even. But fate’s crow-like wing    had other plans for him. We were meant to have slept    during the time we were awake and learning; conversely,    as air-raid wardens we made good Michelin men---the tummy    always in repose, the chin barely protected by a ruff    of sneering blight. But it’s time        you took that old comforter off. Adam and Eve    on a raft could say good day here, laughter in the    loved opus sounding. Yet wan derision only    watches, won’t come forward. Next year is electric;    this one only divides and serves us, bathes us,    as we know how. Better pickled moray    than a jungle diorama, full of who-knows-what quirks    and surfaces. Yet I like him; his white hat    fell off and landed in the sound. Mortified,    he herded us into the vestibule; we had brought    the wrong kind of medlars.

  

拉脱维亚人        （选自Can You Hear, Bird）    作者：(美)约翰.阿什贝利（John Ashberry）    译者:剑郭琴符        认识约翰，可能已经认识。    还有，也许你认识他---    他干瘪的嘴上的食物，    帅气的一天，一个极好的    体型。        为什么这让我烦恼，“我”永远    不知道。我的地方就在下面这儿，和你们    异教徒和太阳崇拜者在一起，当    其他一切都耗尽的时候，我们转向向你们，事实上，    通常是这样。然后，在雨点的街道上    笑容爆发，格子塑料帽子    和鲜花出现。足够    把“牛”放回“恐怖”        我们一起编织    今天的课，我拿着纺纱球，    你在你的绣花圈。    解脱来得强烈。它让    人与鬼对峙，邻居对邻居，    就像软毛飞行一样摔倒。        谁知道大使馆有没有门票，    或者他们会不会卖一张？    那时已经是九点半了：    太晚了，不能给冷冻的空气除尘，    也太早而不能为曲棍球得分。    然而，如果我渗透进音乐的这一页，    像小提琴家吹奏莫扎特一样，接缝处，    亲爱的主题，变成现实。    我们都在坠入爱河。    让我们就这样离开它。

The Latvian                Knowing John, it might have been.    Then again, maybe you know him---    food on his dried-up puss,    handsome for a day, a stunning    figure.        Why any of this bothers me, I'll never    know. My place is down here, with you    pagans and sun-worshippers, to whom    we turn when all else is exhausted, as, in fact,    it usually is. Then smiles break out    on rain-stippled streets, plaid plastic hats    and flowers appear. It’s enough    to put the “cow” back in “macabre.”        And we weave together the lesson    of today, me holding the ball of yarn，    you at your embroidery hoop.    Relief comes on strong. It pits    man against ghost, neighbor to neighbor,    falling down as the fur flies.        Who knew if the embassy had tickets,    or if they would even sell one?    By that time it was half past nine:    too late to dust the refrigerated air,    too early for the hockey scores.    Yet if I infiltrate this page of music,    like a violinist inflating Mozart, the seams,    the dear themes, come true.    We are all a falling in love.    Let’s leave it that way.

  

军事基地        （选自Can You Hear, Bird）    作者：(美)约翰.阿什贝利（John Ashberry）    译者:剑郭琴符        现在，夏天，春天的手工艺品    就在我们周围。我们以为这些    卷须是用来干什么的，除了继续生长    再多一些，然后崩溃，完全    客观。“客观”可能是    我应该说的，但它们似乎喜欢这里。    无论如何，他们的秘密是这样说的，    就像一个降B调的单簧管在某些小树林的    拱门下。        房子受到了直接的撞击    但这并不重要；下一刻    它完好无损，尽管透明。    没有伤亡报告。    没有关于在祭坛后面发生抢劫    或疯狂鸡奸的报道。

The Military Base                Now, in summer, the handiwork of spring    is all around us. What did we think those    tendrils were for, except to go on growing    some more, and then collapse, totally    disinterested. “Uninterested” is probably    what I should say, but they seem to like it here.    At any rate, their secret says so,    like a B-flat clarinet under the arches    of some grove.        The house took a direct hit    but it didn’t matter; the next moment    it was intact, though transparent.    No injuries were reported.    There were no reports of looting    or insane buggery behind altars.

  

和平计划        （选自Can You Hear, Bird）    作者：(美)约翰.阿什贝利（John Ashberry）    译者:剑郭琴符        这是我向外凝视过的眼睛---    其他人的适合他们。不哭，    然而。我带来了风    和一个药剂师。你知道，螺母和螺栓。        曾经在安大略湖    天鹅就堆积她的哭声，然后风    知道该怎么办，以一个直角进来，    湖水堵塞，包裹着，诽谤让一切看起来更为平庸    就像平庸的事情所能显示的那样。        然后一个有执照的派对可能会引来注意    她想。那匹马，在马槽里羞怯地，从一只脚    转到另一只脚---这是我最后穿鞋的时间？    所有这些旧的分歧最终会毁灭我，    或者我必须等待桃树开花？        一个白头圣人    评论你的焦虑，走到    蒂尔西特和玛百利的角落    由此他突然被引向天堂。        这片绿洲把我们    带到了什么阴郁？    有没有一些异教徒的强盗    在我们不知情的情况下买下了我们？然后潜行    将是我的哭声，一季又一季，甚至    当处女们在门廊上围成一圈，继续着一堆    热情的微笑。

The Peace Plan                These are the eyes I have stared out---    the others’ suit them .Not to cry,    though. I brought the wind    and a pharmacist with me. You know, nuts and bolts.        Once on Lake Ontario    the swan heaped up her cries, the wind then    knew what to do, came in at a right angle,    the lake stoppered, parceled, traduced made it all seem plainer    as plain things can seem.        Then a licensed party might be drawn    she thinks. The horse, sheepish in his manger, shifts    from foot to foot---when was I last shod?    Will all these old differences unmake me at last,    or do I have to wait for a peach to blow?        A white-headed sage    remarks your angst, walks on    to the corner of Tilsit and Mulberry    whence he is abruptly inducted into heaven.        To what uncheer    has this oasis brought us?    Have some pagan robbers bought us    without our knowing? Then stealth    will be my cry, season after season, even    as the virgins on the porch circle round, take up a collection    of obliging smiles.

  

忏悔者        （选自Can You Hear, Bird）    作者：(美)约翰.阿什贝利（John Ashberry）    译者:剑郭琴符        这些苹果在这里干什么？    我想我告诉过你不要把他们带进来。        那结婚蛋糕---它认为它是什么？    承诺？是不是因为这个，我转租公寓，        把我自己奉献给假正经    而平庸满足的生活？我本可以把我的人生故事卖给        一位著名作家。但到那时    一切都结束了。写太多不是件好事。        他认出了我！那个名人    知道我的名字！他握着我的手    一秒钟。我为某人做那件事。    今晚图书馆太快了，        泻湖里有一些变质的东西，但是每个人    都期待着你的成年，        期待着钻石领带夹和帽子。    还有其他的抱怨，        寻烦恼，埋怨影子，    仿佛五两天总是阴沉的夜晚，        但你的脸在浴室的镜子里看起来不错。    我喜欢你的空气清新剂，你剃须后---        说，你是怎么做的，看起来和闻起来这么好？    据我看来一些可能会脱落        在森林里，伴随凉爽的天空    环绕着拓片。

The Penitent                What are these apples doing here?    I thought I told you never to bring them inside.        And that wedding cake---what does it think it is?    Promises? Was it for this I sublet the apartment,        consecrated myself to a life of prudery    and banal satisfaction? I could have sold my life        story to a famous writer. But by then    it would have been over. Too much to write about isn’t a good thing.        He recognized me! The famous man    knew my name! He held my hand        a second. I’d do that for someone.    The library is too fast tonight,        there’s some spoilage in the lagoon. but everyone    is looking forward to your coming of age,        to the diamond stickpin and the hat.    Yet others carp,        seek annoyance, complain of the shadow,    as though’twere always dusky night,        but your face looks good in the bathroom mirror.    I like your air freshener, your after-shave---        Say, what is it you do to look and smell so good?    Methinks some of it might come off on me        in the forest, with the cool sky    ambient with rubbings.

  

大海        （选自Can You Hear, Bird）    作者：(美)约翰.阿什贝利（John Ashberry）    译者:剑郭琴符        当我们离开这片土地去海外旅行时    我们带着对土地的焦虑。    她喊道：“这是你做过的    最阴暗的事！一直以来    从来没有如此东倒西歪，如此摩擦我的下巴。”        这是真的：我会离开我祖先的土地    十几次，在如果我认为    我可以逃脱它以前。    一个三角形的影子，它的顶点是我的脚趾    来告诉我我的权利，警告我    伪证罪，在一些书中最严重的罪行。        即使是草地上起皱的星星    也看不到另一条道路，迫使我    对自己有一个约束的想法。    我必须带着光出去，总有一天    会有人看穿我，爱我。    我低头看着这些紫菀，摇摇晃晃，    不确定该抓什么。无调的歌连着我。

The Sea                We carry our anxiety about the land with us    when we leave the land to travel overseas.    She shouts: “This is the dimmest    thing you ever did! In all time    was never such lurching, so much rubbing of the chin.”        It’s true: I’d have deserted the land of my forefathers    a dozen times before if I’d thought    I could get away with it.    And a triangular shadow whose apex is my toe    comes to tell me of my rights, warning me    of perjury, in some books the most serious crime of all.        Even the crinkled stars in the meadow    cannot look the other way, forcing me    into my constrained idea of myself.    I must go out with the light, and some day    someone will see through and love me.    I look down at these asters, unsteady,    unsure of what to grab. The tuneless sing to me.

  

震惊        （选自Can You Hear, Bird）    作者：(美)约翰.阿什贝利（John Ashberry）    译者:剑郭琴符        我能学到什么？这条突然的    白喉山谷不比一根弦还重要。    裸体主义等于恐怖。        我的大学，你让我毕业后    进入一个充满庄严砰砰声的世界，    回荡在南泽西的海湾，    从交付的漏斗蛋糕，一个当地的特产新产出。    冲浪的荆棘与    海滩的椽子纠缠。宁静的海洋。    你总会听到一种嗡嗡声。摘下    这些耳罩没用。况且天气还不够冷    不能戴。惊讶的人会看着你就像你疯了一样。    现在，我只想回到我的    小实验室里的桌子旁，观察盘子上的斑点，    试着调旧矿石收音机到商业电台。        这里的天气没有拴住空气。    房子头上的眼睛    望着外面一片斑驳的胆汁绿胸毛风景。    我相信我是个“不知从哪里来的人”。我期望。    出租车的因果报应盘旋在卵石路车道    穿过巨大的铁门离开了，它当啷一声关上了。    你看我必须待在这里。我“被”期待。    是的，我们会在喝鸡尾酒和午餐结束后    继续那些。        他们注定要再见面一次。    简要地。那是我袖子上的一只手吗…

The Shocker                What would I learn? That this vale    of sudden diphtheria matters less than a string.    That nudism equals terror.        My universities, you let me graduate    into a world riddled with solemn put-puts,    echoing across a bay in south Jersey,    fresh from delivering funnel cakes, a local specialty.    The brambles of the surf tangle    with the rafters of the beach. The Sea of Tranquility.    You’ll always get a kind of hum. No use    doffing those earmuffs. Besides it’s not cold enough    to be wearing them. Amazed people will look at you like you’re crazed.    Now, all I wanted was to be back at the table    in my little laboratory, observing water spots on a plate,    trying to tune the old crystal set to KDKA.        Here the weather is tethered to no air.    The eyes in the head in the house    look out over a spotty landscape of bilious green chest hair.    I believe I am the Man from Nowhere. I’m expected.    The taxi karma circled the pebbled drive and departed    through the great iron gates, which clanged shut.    You see I have to stay here. I am expected.    Yes well we’ll pursue that over cocktails    and lunch.        They were destined to meet one more time.    briefly. Is that a hand on my sleeve ...

  

等待仪式        （选自Can You Hear, Bird）    作者：(美)约翰.阿什贝利（John Ashberry）    译者:剑郭琴符        有约束力的条款---    它关系到我们，    对我们有必要到对它有必要。    但我如此遥远    （我并不遥远）…        钢琴上的八十八个键---    它们怎么知道？    我是说，“知道”吗？哦，当然，    我知道它们怎么知道。    原谅我还活着。        偶尔    玩笑带出了    原本不该是玩笑的事情    这就是沸点，他们的意思是一的东西。        我看得脖子发僵。    但后来看来，老谷类食品（或期刊）    成了兼职的笑柄---就像桥的橡胶一样，    所有的桥都后退到远方，带到了    它们时间的公正。我会强调    房子非常白色的一面。继续，    把它送出去，给一个孩子    或一些免税的人。    （这没什么好自夸的。）        我们抓住了故事的    所有结尾，就像一张纸的四个角，    继续再继续。我们是厚的。    还有薄的。

The Waiting Ceremony                The binding clause---    It concerns us,    behooves us to behoove it.    Yet I’m so far away    ( I’m not far away)...        Eighty-eight keys on a piano---    how do they know that?    I mean, know that? Oh, sure,    I know how they know it.    Excuse me for living.        Once in a while    the fun gets taken out    of what wasn’t supposed to be fun.    That’s the boiling point, what    they mean by one.        I get a stiff neck watching.    But then it seems old cereals (or serials)    are the part-time joke---like this rubber of bridge,    with all the bridges receding into the distance, brought    to their time of rightness. I would stress    the very white side of a house. Go on,    give it away, give it to a child    or some tax-free person.    (Nothing bumptious about that.)        We hold all the ends    of the story, like the four corners of a sheet,    resuming and resuming. We are the thick.    And the thin.

剑郭琴符

  

过道        （选自Can You Hear, Bird）    作者：(美)约翰.阿什贝利（John Ashberry）    译者:剑郭琴符        要知道如何在黑夜中行走，要有一个目标，要在黑暗，阴影中达成目标。    ---朱伯特        你身后的那个人对着窗饰说话    因为它杀死了他。女巫的使者    给贵宾带来了一根象牙。    上面覆盖着枯燥无味的题词，关于    不要发掘过去，直到有一天    烟雾从地上警告小孩别来的一个洞里    冒出来，但然后一段像密码一样的旅程    精心制作了它的毁灭。在我的俄语短语书的书信体小说中    编织出猩红的真挚，并将它们克隆到污浊的完整性    一直是我的计划。没必要得到你    乱哄哄的球。现在，在小提琴家的一次持久的    加演节目中，马又开始发怒了，    拖着虚弱的马车和它珍贵的货物（两个吓坏了的    “年轻少女”），奔向地平线；紫罗兰色的丝带解开了    珍贵的古董字母撒胡椒粉给早春    带着轰鸣，哀鸽的抱怨的景色。        你为什么从来不给我写信？我从那小小的刺伤中    流血数个世纪。有一天我完整地醒过来    一切都是虚幻的，虽然我能听到    你指尖滑过天鹅绒，风景的音乐。    与此同时，我每天变得更强壮    没有任何人怀疑，尤其是我自己。    当我终于站起来时，我的头高耸在群山    和铜门之上，恐吓着下面的    小家伙，他们像蚂蚁一样向四面八方奔跑。    “现在”我已经不在乎。许多圣诞节以前送的    那些狂热的礼物已经不再恳求    或烦扰。我垂头丧气地看着它们。只有一张照片，一个赤脚的女孩    坐在篱笆上，按响了一个遥远的铃铛，那阴沉的，    深深地埋藏在今天的成长中，无法回答我明确的呼唤。        由此我明白你要接手了。    等等---这是钥匙。既然切斯特菲尔德勋爵加入了我们    你需要它来开启对话，伟大的对话，    因为伟大的风是伟大的。我很幸运能走这么远，只有这么远，    虽然万神殿接待了我们所有人。这就是它的方式。    被盖上屋顶和奴性的，然后被猿猴拆开，    是一个同类需要的一切，    这些现代的日子，蓬乱，在大门旁    哀恸，永远犹豫不决，    就像一把部分打开的伞。

The Walkways            To know how to walk in the night, to have    a goal, to reach it in the darkness, the shadows.    ---JOUBERT        The man behind you spoke to the tracery    as it killed him. The witches’ envoy    brought a tusk to the guest of honor.    It was covered with vapid inscriptions about not    exhuming the past until the day    when smoke rises from a hole in the ground    alarming no tots, but then a journey like a cipher    elaborates its undoing. To have knitted scarlet    earnests in the epistolary novel of my Russian phrase book    and cloned them to a besmirched integrity    was my plan all along. There was no need to get your    balls in an uproar. Now, during one of the violinist’s durable    encores the horse is teed off again, galloping toward the horizon    with the frail buggy and its precious cargo (two terrified    jeunes filles) in tow; the violet ribbon comes undone    and precious antique letters pepper the landscape    of early spring with plangent, mourning-dove complaints.        Why did you never write me? I bled for centuries    from that tiny puncture wound. One day I woke up whole    and it was all unreal, though I could hear the music    of your fingertips sliding over vellum, the scenery.    Meanwhile I had been getting stronger every day    without anyone’s suspecting it, myself least of all.    When I finally stood up my head towered above the hills    and brass gates, terrorizing the little folk    beneath, who raced like ants in all directions.    Now I was past caring. Those feverish gifts    from many Christmases ago ceased to implore    or annoy. I eyed them wanly. Only a picture of a barefoot girl    sitting on a fence rang a distant bell, and that sullenly,    too deeply buried in today’s growth to answer my clear call.        I understand by this that you are taking over.    Wait---here is the key. Now that Lord Chesterfield has joined us    you’ll need it to unlock conversations, great ones,    as a great wind is great. I am lucky to have come so far, only so far,    though the pantheon receives us all. Such is its way.    To be roofed and slavish, and then unstitched by apes,    is all a fellow needs, these modern days, unkempt, mourning    beside a gate, forever undecided,    like a partially opened umbrella.

  

运水车        （选自Can You Hear, Bird）    作者：(美)约翰.阿什贝利（John Ashberry）    译者:剑郭琴符        我没有，然后，    或后来，从洞里拔出我的手指    让我们尽可能舒服。        当开车沿着东乌鸦街    巴洛克风格和骄傲，    伸出我的手对离你最近    只有最近的。        我们的决定是在档案卡的日子里做出的。    现在，其他人强烈表露感情。    是吗---？啊这么长的夏天，    某人靴子里的沙砾---然后，在夜晚，    莴苣。        但继续向前    然后，就像现在一样，灵魂亲吻的    力量，一个接一个    进入难以忘怀的新的一天。        在干涸的混凝土码头旁    另一个人正在看着，    慢慢地，他的豆子涌出    到裤子，或者粥里，属于晚上的东西。        那时只有我们几个孤儿    又笑，又叫，    在粪堆旁徘徊        做一整天事。

The Water Carrier            I did not, then,    or later, pull my finger out of the hole    and make us as comfortable as possible.        While driving down East Raven Street    baroque and proud,    extend my hand to the nearest of you,    only the nearest.        Our decisions were made in filing-card days.    Now, someone else emotes.    Was it---? The oh-so-long summer,    gravel in one’s boots---then, at night,    lettuces.        But continuing along    then, as now, soul-kissed    the powers, one after the other    into a haunting new day.        By the dried-out concrete pier    another was watching,    slowly, spilling his beans    into the pants, or porridge, of the night thing.        Then there were only a few of us orphans    who laugh, and shout,    lingering by the manure pile        who do daylong things.

   

剑郭琴符

主题        （选自Can You Hear, Bird）    作者：(美)约翰.阿什贝利（John Ashberry）    译者:剑郭琴符        如果我是一个钢琴披巾    某人家的门廊    淹没了温和的音色…        然后四十岁，他，    一个独一无二的先生---    但他从来不想去观察它。        “你忘了你的小琪琪吗？”    从马鼻孔冒出的烟    包围了井边的水泵。        到处都是雪的    臭味。它看起来太好    这太糟糕了。        啊，美丽而真实    你在暴风雨中    闪烁，        开始讨论园艺。我    不想给这个    泼冷水。        那音乐改变了我的生活    很多，自从我犯了    学它的错误以后，。        又是一个没有激情的日子。桃子    在这条线的末端    形成了一个污点。        学会锁上爱，享受：    “我梦着的梦    没有拒绝我；        因此，我的爱是疯狂的---    一座城堡缎子似的墙    在鲜血中折起。”        副手归还了    玩具枪。我学会了    把黄蜂编成        青铜墓地。    只有在合适的    环境下，门票和水        才能持久，    “我亲爱的”托米。我认为这个主题    在这附近的某个地方        创造了自己，却找不到自己。

Theme            If I were a piano shawl    a porch on someone’s house    flooding the suave timbre …        Then forty, he,    a unique monsieur---    and yet he never wanted to look into it.        “Have you forgotten your little Kiki?”    Smoke from the horses’ nostrils    wreathed the pump by the well.        The stink of snow    was everywhere. Too bad it looks    so good.        O beautiful and true    thou that glitterest ,    in storms,        starting to discuss gardening. I don’t    want to throw cold water    on this.        That music has changed my life    a lot, since I made the    mistake of learning it.        Another passionless day. The peach    forms a stain    at the end of the line.        Learn to lock love enjoy:    “The dream I dreamed    was not denied me;        hence my love is mad---    a castle’s satin walls    folded in blood.”        The deputy returned    the peashooter. I have learned    to plait wasps        into a bronze necropolis.    The ticket and the water    only endure, as one can        in the right circumstances,    mon cher Tommy. I think the theme    created itself somewhere        around here and cannot find itself.

  

三个黄昏        （选自Can You Hear, Bird）    作者：(美)约翰.阿什贝利（John Ashberry）    译者:剑郭琴符        我想真是太好了    我能欣赏小房子的    这条海岸线：        坚固的轮廓。    排水管怎么    在晚上下陷，        留给最有弹性的    生物。    哎嗬！那是新风味吗？        *        总之，他们来来去去。    试图阻止他们    或打个招呼是毫无意义的：他们会误解    这是贪婪的表现    就你而言。我知道；    这就是为什么我撕开球门柱的原因。        *        没有人应该知道    多年来我被认为    知道什么，在樱桃    和缺乏中。胜利者戴着一顶烟囱帽。        你那黏糊糊的叙述来自某个地方：    我“知道”。我劝你用你的影响力    对付这位年轻的王子。他很任性，    有点困难，而且，有时。    你穿7号衣服真是太完美了，    你知道。是的，我知道。        但从我出来的东西    回到了黑暗中漫步。    表现我太多    不好，    只有红霓虹灯    能理解的东西，    对一个小弟弟耳语。        地里有成千上万顿    卷心菜。    现在，人们想要的是一点    加黄油的肉汤。        鹤群飞离它们的栖木很远…

Three Dusks            I think it’s nice of me    to admire this coastline    of small houses:        firm outlines.    How the drainpipes sag    in the eves,        reserved for the bounciest    critter.    Ouch! Was that a new flavor?        *        Anyway, they come and go.    No point in trying to stop ’em    or say hello: They’d misinterpret    this as a sign of greed    on your part. I know;    that’s why I ripped up the goalposts.        *        No one ought to know    what I was thought to know    for many years, among cherries    and without. The victor wears a stovepipe hat.        Your mucilaginous narratives come from somewhere:    I know that. I urge you to use your influence    with the young prince. He’s headstrong,    and a bit difficult, besides, at times.    You’re a perfect size 7,    you know. Yes, I know.        But what comes out of me    strolls back into dark.    It were not good    to show much of me,    only what red    neon can understand,    whisper to a little brother.        There were tens of thousands of cabbages    in the field.    Now, what one wanted was a little broth    with butter in it.        The cranes have flown far from their perch...

  

今天的院士        （选自Can You Hear, Bird）    作者：(美)约翰.阿什贝利（John Ashberry）    译者:剑郭琴符        又，那些迫使批评家把自己的议程    埋没在交错的文本性中，于是    带来过去与他的现在面对面的一切    不是顽皮，而是既愚蠢又错误的。    过去将不得不依靠勇气和魅力    过活，与无效和浪漫化事物的    趋势完全一致。痛苦    开始的方式。在这片特别的雨林里    飞翔的松鼠闷闷不乐地飞翔着；    观众已经为他们做了    力所能及的事；他们努力的纯粹光芒    表明了节目的谦逊：“仅仅？”    无政府状态。那些穿着斑点西装    打领带的男人们开始认真做它，只是在他们棺材里多加了    一颗钉子。这些肥胖乖戾的人    没有任何努力就获得尊严，而且大约    也和天气一样“正确”。在我的所有时间里。    更多流星魔法。好像是。

Today's Academicians            Again, what forces the critic to bury his    agenda in interleaving textualities and so    bring the past face-to-face with his present    isn’t naughty, but it is both silly and wrong.    The past will have to get by on sheer pluck    or charm, entirely consistent with its tendency    to nullify and romanticize things. The    way a pain begins. The flying squirrels of    this particular rain forest mope in flight;    the audience has already done what it can for    them; and the pure light of their endeavor    bespeaks the modesty of the program: “mere?”    anarchy. That the men with spotted suits    and ties get down to it is one more nail in    their coffin. These portly curmudgeons dignify    no endeavor and are also about as “right”    as the weather ever gets. All in my time.    More meteor magic. Seems like.

  

触摸，相似之处        （选自Can You Hear, Bird）    作者：(美)约翰.阿什贝利（John Ashberry）    译者:剑郭琴符        肯定是二十年前的那堵同样的空白墙。    过去如何认出每一种收藏品，    所以不只是我们所知道的东西。    穿白衣的女孩跑过小桥，驱散鸽子    到这里那里，没有满足它们    从葡萄藤下伸出的一座小房子。    在托普酒店喝几杯啤酒，    向木板投掷飞镖，全力以赴    敲打某人（1），在棺材下    度过余生。的确，这一定很容易。    这种相似之处一定是怪异的，    但在这个问题上，夜晚的钝角    是沉默的。    ----    （1）put someone's eyes out[美国方言] = knock someone's eyes out

Touching, the Similarities            Surely it was the same blank wall of twenty years ago.    How the past identified with every kind of collectible,    so there were not just the things we knew about.    The girl in white ran across the little bridge scattering pigeons    this way and that, there was no contenting them    A little house poked up from under the vines.    Have a few beers at the Topple Inn,    throw a few darts at the board, put    someone’s eye out, spend the rest of your life    under a pall. Granted, it must have been easy.    The similarities must have been monstrous then,    yet the obtuse angle of evening is mum    on the subject.

  

黑暗之塔        （选自Can You Hear, Bird）    作者：(美)约翰.阿什贝利（John Ashberry）    译者:剑郭琴符        我不能再呆在外面    在寒冷和无处不在的雨中。    我抓着我的裤裆，希望    在别人蓬松的内部有一个光球。    我要走了，没从地上取    一粒粮食，    小汽车，    具有攀爬的设计    我们知道且如此憎恶，轮到我们    死时，我们只是放弃，咕哝着一些借口。        你经常去看他们吗？    他们不可能有太多的理由    来这里旅行，但是他们的脚印，    被雪所排除…        正是拉客者不间断的说话声良好地开始了    这一切，在我们醒之前，进入了    变成灰色的黎明，现在，恐惧    被期待、被读到，    不像旧时的治疗，会再次及时降临。

Tower of Darkness            I cannot remain outside any longer    in the cold and pervasive rain.    I grab my crotch wishing for a ball of light    in the shaggy interior other people have.    I shall go away without fetching a grain    from the earth,    compact,    with the climbing design    we knew and hated so well, and when it was our turn    to die we just gave up, mumbling some excuse.        Do you often go to see them?    They can’t have much cause    to journey here, yet their footprints,    foreclosed by snow ...        It was the barker whose patter started it    well before we were awake, into the dawn    that grizzles, now, a fright    to be wished, to be read,    unlike the old healing that will come again in time.

  

惊人的流露        （选自Can You Hear, Bird）    作者：(美)约翰.阿什贝利（John Ashberry）    译者:剑郭琴符        按照这些人中的大多数，一个好的“长柄勺子”    很难得到---这些东西的母亲们，表姐妹们，加上，    泼洒和哭闹。我洗刷他。让其他人看一看    树墙的证据，锥形钟楼。人类阵风。    像那样的小东西---我想要求它吗？不。    在寒冷的夜晚，旋转出过去，    名字。弗罗斯特。一种隐晦的暴躁养肥了    头顶的椽子，窗帘鼓起来。香烟船    消失了。城市啤酒厂    与我裤子里叮当作响的声音同时出现    冷冻着这些方式。

Tremendous Outpouring            According to most of these people, a good “ladle”    is hard to get---mothers of such things, the cousins, added on,    splashing and crying. I brushed him. Let others watch    the espaliered proof, the tapered belfry. The human gust.    Little things like that---would I like to request it? No.    In the cold night, spun out of the past,    the names. Frost. An obscure petulance fattens the rafters    overhead, bulges the curtains. The cigarette boat    goes out. The urban brewery    coincided with the jingle in my pants    to chill those ways.

   

剑郭琴符

星期二晚上    （选自Can You Hear, Bird）    作者：(美)约翰.阿什贝利（John Ashberry）    译者:剑郭琴符    她抢了他头发中的乐趣。    别的被放了。    楼梯上有一颗湿星。    楼上显然下起了雪。    并不是每个人都在这站下车    海龟般的售票员说。    如果你想听那些豆子单脚跳的声音    可以在你的脑子里安排。    现在从每个角落，啦啦队员    和她们圆盘眼睛的男朋友来了。    后者安装了鸟食器。    鸟儿落在它们身上    因为期待着这顿饭而哑口无言。    我们这个时代    惩罚不是应得的，聪明的老鳗鱼说。    在一家工厂空置的蓝色标牌上    它的序曲仍然遥遥无期。你会知道    什么时候开始。该死！那就是我想的    关于它的，我说。难道某处没有锄头    把这些杂草根除吗？    或者庄园房间里    毯子上及时的椅子    某种程度上我们不该    感谢它的完美攀登吗？    径直走过马路，穿着裙裤    妇女们在进军。为什么要弄脏    那个棺材，选择红灯区    在一片鲜嫩桦树的上方？    阳台没能给人留下印象，    垂饰也是如此。    盆栽蕨类植物成了我的痴迷，    在枝形吊灯下跳华尔兹舞。    再也没有人向我哭泣。    然后站起来对蔬菜水果商弗雷德说：    “时间和爱情是一个娼妓    新闻后就有床    亲近。你不同意吗？    相信是孤独的，但它是半个    乐趣。来，带我去    撒尿，但在那边小牛旁。”    我们想命名的东西    现在是水晶。从车辆门道上你可以看到    现在一家小企业在发光，    现在是一些痴迷的梨皮。    这一切似乎是很久以前---那时候    不能选择    或想出一个韵律    为“这么多书要读    直到身体完蛋。”一只小鸡    可能路过，从没注意    我们站着，脸色苍白，像一个人体模特    抓着一把肌炎    好像某一天这对某个情人来说很重要    当时机成熟，我们的停泊处    被切成薄片。那么，是时候重新发现    一种似乎对成为古人    更具吸引力的泼溅。你看，过去    从未发生。在它长时间任性的拥抱中    什么都不能生存。我们的记忆是一个丢失的    惯例的联播，已经    淹没在它们的睡眠中。在某种程度上    我们长得快过了自己，藤本植物    超过地衣。因为    甜味只在晚上才    来到烟草，你的安排过于优裕，    陈腐。你可以考虑这个    一下。沿着他们的亭子，它们吃得过饱的    空气轻轻地、顽皮地飘着，爸爸和姐妹    在挥手，呼唤着你的名字,一遍    又一遍。但它就像一堵向内倾斜的    面纱墙。我们只能单独跳舞。罗孚    感觉到了一个优势---它又是    下一个街区的艾尔谷㹴狗。即使是维持和平    听起来也无关紧要，现在。我们需要    多少感觉？我们的动机先于    兑现它们。篱笆    会很乐意把你从    为一个小小的考虑而设的图标。你，    你呢？慢慢地解开，恰空舞曲    给我们定尺寸：正确的教堂长椅，    错误的教堂。哦，如果魔鬼曾    来要求他应得的，让它在    感人的仪式之后，但在狂欢    变得狂热，野心变成笑声之前。    抵抗，朋友们，最后一天正在死亡。    悦耳的风格获得。永远    记住这一点。在尝试的    时刻，练习解释的艺术。    仅仅因为有人给了你一些有价值的东西    不要以为你是为了钱。    你总是可以告诉一个女朋友你    更喜欢蛇根草香味的霸权。    或者出去走走。这也很重要。    在我迷人的疯癫中，我穿得    比以前他们惯于读错你的时候还要朴素，    但是在恩贾梅纳的旧北部教室里    发生的冲突中，正确的街头服饰    开始出现，我们软弱到分享一杯婴儿漾奶，    和男孩子们分享另一场大祭。    所有其他的大言不惭都完全是胡说八道。    这就是疲惫的埃涅阿斯    在盆栽棚外哭泣的密码，    当，脸贴在玻璃窗上时，他向林奈寻求    明智的建议。农场翻新，一片新叶出现。    我们无法抗拒，我们都笨手笨脚，似乎，    当贪婪的咒语到达时。    牛在下游等着我们；学院    没有研究植物的地方；密宗    对我们关闭。歌声和声音，钢琴和鲜花，    绑架我们到它们的高原。    看---平静的，一匹马    在一个古老城堡旁边的车辙中吞食毛茛。    如果这是关于当帝王的，那一定是日本    批准的。让我们把水上巴士    带到它去的地方。一根杏仁软糖海参    保证了礼节。船夫痛饮苦杏仁酒。    嗯，我一直都是这样做的。一个    来自这个山谷的摩擦音想要这么想。药膏罐    还没触及。病人总是那么沉默吗？    即使是杰里米？他赴约迟到了，    我必须乘一架斜面飞机    下到城市的蚁丘，只带着为同伴消除的    怒火。某些耐用的项链    应该获得警察的控制权，我们必须召唤魔法师    包扎创伤吗？舌尖只剩下    一点水分，这是一种流于形式的    约会信号。在大决裂之前，    还是一对搭档，周日早上我们    唱《诺玛》（1）的“圣洁女神”。现在一切都逆行了；    新开放性让人腻烦。铅笔要削尖，    但我的一直是钝的。我的帽徽    暗淡了，我的衣服微不足道，我的马革鞋    在床后面。有时我喜欢坐马车，    穿越山谷和丘陵。我的未婚妻是长曲棍球运动员。    月圆之时人们有结婚的心情，    暂时和蔼可亲。但是村里的占卜师    警告我们反对它，接下来日子的沉闷    除非我们进行大规模的互动。    谁又能预测到秘密的新发展？因为我们很早以前    就游过达达尼尔海峡，在我们年轻的时候，我们以为判决    现在将被封存。你知道，只有匿名的    恋人似乎才能到达祭坛。其他人都打上了    时间和地点的烙印，很少互相认识。与    《桥与桶》同名的主人，一位道德家，是慷慨的，    然而没有什么能阻止一只蓝眼睛的泪水。他徒劳地    喋喋不休，直到现在。所以我假设侵略者的命运。    门后的陶器神秘地    咔嗒作响，牧师目瞪口呆，样板    合同在泛滥的下午的酷热中    枯萎了。即使在粪车    抵达时，似乎也要等到    这个世纪才能赶上。与此同时，在遮阳的    大厅里，一声口哨也听不到，没有尖叫，没有嘘声，    除非你算上柳树的抽泣。    夜晚在喧闹中到达。在赞赏的人群面前    成功地完成单脚尖旋转和坐跌。恶魔们正    和进入滑雪板的任何东西厮混。只提供这    就太充分了。但是香蒲的什么    会像马利筋一样在空中散播种子？一个嘲笑者    不会走开，就这一次，因为最确定    盛行的是几年后    流行的：青绿色的豆荚伴随蛋白石汁    从它们渗出。沙、黑加仑子和杨梅的    果实，还有一群温和的微笑，一条连帽斗篷    蜿蜒的绳索。当需要对抗肠胃气胀时，    正确的药片成对出现。我把楼梯地毯上的刺绣    误认为是别的东西，把洋娃娃的任性    当成了上天的征兆。现在整个该死的动物园    都在追我；我只有一次谢幕的力量，    那是一次迅速的谢幕。但是批评家们    会叙述我的理由吗？幸运的是，在关键时刻    登陆实现了。幸运的是我的欲望不是很大。政治    压倒了我们所有人。在纷争的季节，我们组成栅栏    来对抗破坏者，收回我们信仰中    柔软的东西。到了晚上，它的异端    在八月的月亮下内爆；在红树林的背景下    反响扭动着。热烈的拾荒者    入侵目录履行中心，把我们醒来时的    病态能量转移到轻松的光，和白天。阁楼上    一些闲人对此感到不解，但大多数人都没有。环境的昏昏欲睡    在浴室的墙壁上，在木制的隧道里，刻着    它的花押字：也就是说，人在他的阴谋中扮演了一个角色，    因此，他不可能是一个受害者。在一个突然的    结局之后，气候又变得温和；它的背叛    太小了，无法记录在上帝的晴雨表上。    只有偶尔给《泰晤士报》的一封信    暗示一个变化可能已经发生。    除此之外，正是速度表上《永恒的美》    带着风车和类似的令人眩晕的附属物    奔向泥泞的土地。从远方，    从黑夜到清晨，创新来到学校，夜鹰们    在呼唤。意大利圆舞团欢迎新的拥护者，一辆    载着最高法院法官的电车像齐柏林飞艇漂浮在空中。    一切都在恍惚中结束了。现在是小说    把我们压得喘不过气来，一件铁胸衣。肾上腺素    被引导到新的，艺术鉴赏家的方式，其中收缩    被视为正常，抚慰作为一种罩布。    活在虚构的氛围更好，我说，比永远    在某人的花园里闲荡，在黄昏时    向美国宇航局祈祷，就像在米勒的祈祷钟声中，关上实质性    梦想的百叶窗。这，毕竟，就是我们所在的    地方。是时候在大尺度上    重建旋律了。重读莎士比亚；一个在这里和那里的骗子    不会破坏拙劣模仿的核心    烘烤进最空灵的本体论的拿破仑蛋糕，也不会把黄金    变回稻草。医生们知道他们在做什么    当他们通过直接成像切开疖。魅力获得了立足点，    然后爆炸成青铜色的神明。不管怎样，古人    所实行的养生法，即，吸入    水体附近的灰尘和空气，仍然在周围恢复    失去的智慧化石到活生生、生机勃勃的自我身上，揭开了    一份既熟悉又诱人的菜单。在    离开这个文艺复兴广场的背景之前，向    所有的来者敞开你的身心。它们既是工厂又是花园    对少数快乐的人来说，对一些人来说是雷雨，一种迟钝的武器    尽管凶猛，对其他人来说。随着人们态度变硬，    失去的光在凝视着，就像一个穿着睡衣的男人    穿过被蹂躏的街道。所有这些决策阶段都需要    大二学生的特技和急躁。从巴哈马群岛    到托基延伸了暗褐色的朝圣之旅。鸡尾酒    渗入其中，但男人知道他必须走    这么远并停下，这样那时候他的爱人就会    忘记他。他必须选择星辰还是雪，    一幅赤裸的简笔画。降临到    一个带着梳子和牙刷的男人身上的一切腐朽东西    已经发生在他，以前的联盟身上。没有    尽头。然而，过去是无利可图的泥泞，    和现在一样。明天暂停，挂起，    大蜥蜴渗透到达尔马提亚斑点狗的    天空。为了这个你放弃自己    出于一些原因或其他的，现在已经慢慢流走，点缀着    彩色圆球的？只有最后一次打嗝    坐在台阶上，等待命令。关于语言你错了，    看。它的箭像射出的豪猪羽毛雨点般    落下。一个弓箭手（罗宾汉，例如）可以测量出    相同小山之间的正确距离。这对我来说    很好，除了我不认为有人会注意到    把你带到这里来的指令。最好排列    次要的提示并忘掉可怕的旅程，在尸僵    开始之前。你是说没有？对。那时我还在马绍尔海，    我的依赖永远不会停止！有一种幸福，    虽然是痛苦的，在里面。我要把筹码兑现    等我赢了就离开。政治家    雕像的可爱幸存下来，它们    下垂的咽喉上滴落着一支船歌，生动如春。    三三两两，农民    消失在那边山脊后面。天上的哑剧    慢慢地吞没了他们。我们王国的    野鸡不如你们的丰满。没关系。    我敢打赌小气候有责任。你妹妹    借过你那三美元吗？不，赛艇会    在我们还盯着它的舰载艇时关闭了，恰恰在那一刻

Tuesday Evening    She plundered the fun in his hair.    The others were let go.    There was a wet star on the stair.    Upstairs it had decided to snow.    Not everyone gets off at this stop    the turtlelike conductor said.    If you’d like to hear those beans hop    it could be arranged in your head.    Now from every side, cheerleaders    and their disc-eyed boyfriends come.    The latter put up bird feeders.    Birds alight on them and are dumb    with anticipation of the meal.    The punishment is not due    in our time said the wise old eel.    Its overture is still distant in the blue    sign of a vacant factory. You’ll know    when it starts up. Darn! That’s what I thought    it would be, I said. Isn’t there a hoe    somewhere to root these weeds out?    Or a chair on a blanket    of a manor house in time    and shouldn’t we somehow thank it    for the perfection of the climb?    Straight over roads, in culottes    the marching women go. Why besmirch    that casket, choose fleshpots    over a stand of young birch?    The veranda failed to make an impression,    ditto the lavaliere.    Potted ferns have become my obsession,    waltzing under the chandelier.    No one weeps to me anymore.    Then up and spake greengrocer Fred:    “Time and love are a whore    and after the news there is bed    to take to. Don’t you agree?    It’s lonely to believe, but it’s half    the fun. Here, take a pee    on me, but over there by that calf.”    The things we thought of naming    are crystals now. You can see from the porte cochere    now a small business flaming,    now the besotted rind of some pear.    It all seems ages ago---that time    of not being able to choose    or think of a rhyme    for “so many books to peruse    until the body is done.” A chicken    might pass by and never notice    us standing pale as a mannequin,    clutching a fistful of myositis    as though this would matter some day to some lover    when the time was ripe and our mooring    had been sliced. Then it would be time to rediscover    a plashing that would seem more alluring    for being ancient. You see, the past    never happened. Nothing can survive long in its heady    embrace. Our memories are a simulcast    of lost conventions, already    drowning in their sleep. In some such    wise we outgrew ourselves, lianas    over lichen. Forasmuch    as sweetness comes to the nicotianas    only at evening, your arrangement is overbred,    threadbare. You may want to think about this    a little. Down in their pavilion, whose overfed    airs waft lightly, naughtily, Dad and Sis    are waving, calling your name, over    and over again. But it’s like a wall of veil    tipped in. We can dance only alone. Rover    senses an advantage---it’s the Airedale    from the next block again. To keep even the peace    sounds extraneous, now. How many senses    do we need? Our motives predecease our    cashing them in. Fences    will be happy to relieve you of that icon    for a small consideration. And you,    what about you? Slowly unraveling, the chaconne    sizes us up: right pew,    wrong church. O if ever the devil    comes to claim his due, let it be after    the touching ceremony, yet before the revel    becomes frenzied, and ambitions turn to laughter.    Resist, friends, that last day’s dying.    The melodious mode obtains. Always    remember that. At trying    moments, practice the art of paraphrase.    Just because someone hands you something of value    Don’t imagine you’re in it for the money.    You can always tell a gal-pal you    prefer the snakeroot’s scented hegemony.    Or go for a walk. It counts too.    In my charming madness I dress plainer    than when they used to mispronounce you,    but what’s correct streetwear in N’Djamena    clashes in the old upstate classroom    Come, we’re weak enough to share a posset,    divide with the boys another hecatomb.    All other rodomontades are strictly bullshit.    Such are the passwords that tired Aeneas    wept for outside the potting shed,    when, face pressed to the pane, he sought Linnaeus’    sage advice. And the farm turned over a new leaf instead.    We can’t resist; we’re all thumbs, it seems,    when it comes to grasping mantras.    The oxen are waiting for us downstream; academe’s    no place for botanizing; the tantra’s    closed to us. Song and voice, piano and flowers,    abduct us to their plateau.    Look---becalmed, a horse devours    buttercups in the ruts by an old chateau.    If this is about being regal, it must be Japan    has assented. Let’s take the vaporetto    to where it goes. A sea cucumber of marzipan    promises decorum .The boatman quaffs Amaretto.    Well, and this is the way I’ve always done it. A fricative    voice from this valley wants to think so.Those jars of ointment    are still untouched. Were patients always so uncommunicative?    Even Jeremy? He’s late for his appointment,    and I must go down an inclined plane    to the city’s anthill, with only dissolved rage    for company. And should some perdurable chatelaine    gain control over the police, must we summon the archimage    to bandage the hurt? Only a little moisture    remains at the tip of the tongue, a pro forma    signal of engagement. Before the great rupture,    still a duo, we sang the “Casta Diva” from Norma    on Sunday morning. Now all’s retrograde;    the new openness cloys. Pencils are to sharpen,    yet I keep mine dull. My cockade    is tarnished, my dress puny, my shoes of cordovan    behind the bed. Sometimes I like to ride in a carriage,    over dales and downs. My fiancee is a lacrosse player.    When the moon is full one’s in the mood for marriage,    amiable for a while. But the village soothsayer    warned us against it, of dreary days to come    unless we interacted on a vast scale.    And who can predict furtive new developments? Because we’d swum    the Hellespont long ago, in our youth, we assumed the verdict    would be sealed by now. And you know, only anonymous    lovers seem to make it to the altar. The rest are branded    with a time and place, and rarely know each other. The eponymous    host of the Bridge and Barrel, a moralist,was openhanded,    yet nothing could bar the tear from one blue eye. He’d chattered    vainly till now. So I assumed the aggressor^ fate.    Behind the door crockery clattered    mysteriously, the beadle was stunned, the boilerplate    contract wilted in the intense heat    of the deluged afternoon. Even when the tumbrel    arrived, it seemed it would have to wait    for the century to catch up. Meanwhile, in the adumbral    hall not a whistle could be heard, no screams, no catcalls,    unless you counted the willows’s sobbing.    Evening came on boisterous. Pirouettes and pratfalls    were executed before an admiring crowd. Demons were hobnobbing    with whatever entered on skis. To have proffered    only this was sublimely sufficient. But what of cattails    loosing seeds on the air like milkweed? A scoffer’d    not turn away, just this once, for what prevails    is most certainly what will be current    years from now: celadon pods with opal juices    oozing from them. Fruits of the sand, blackcurrant    and bayberry, and a crowd of mild smiles, a burnoose’s    wandering cord. When needed to combat flatulence,    the correct pills turn up in pairs. I mistook embroidery    in the stair carpet for something else, the doll’s petulance    for a sign from the heavens. The whole darn menagerie    is after me now; I have strength for but one curtain call,    and that a swift one. But will the critics    recite my reasons? Luckily a landfall    materialized in the nick of time. Luckily my desire wasn’t great. Politics    overwhelms us all. In seasons of strife we compose palinodes    against the breakers, retracting what was lithe    in our believing. By evening, its heresy implodes    under an August moon; repercussions writhe    in a context of mangroves. Perfervid scroungers    invade the Catalog Fulfillment Center,diverting the sick energy    in our wake into easeful light, and day. A few loungers    on the mezzanine are puzzled, but most are not. The ambient lethargy    incises its monogram on the walls of bathhouses, in wooden    tunnels: To wit, man plays a role in his conspiracy,    ergo, he cannot be a victim. After a sudden    denouement, the climate again turns bland; its apostasy    was too minute to register on God’s barometer.    Only an occasional letter to the Times    hinted that a change might have occurred.    Otherwise it was beau fixe on the speedometer    as it raced toward clayey lands with windmills    and similar giddy appurtenances. From far,    from night and morning, innovations arrive in schools, whippoorwills    are calling. The Circolo Italiano welcomes new adherents, a streetcar    bearing members of the Supreme Court floats in the sky like a zeppelin.    It was all over in a trance. Now it’s the fiction    weighs us down, an iron corset. Adrenaline    is channeled into new, virtuoso ways, wherein constriction    is viewed as normal, soothing as an antimacassar.    Better to live in a fictive aura, I say, than putter    in one’s garden forever, praying to NASA    at dusk, as in Millet’s Angelus, closing a shutter    on substantive dreaming. That, after all, is where we’re    at. It is time for the rebuilding of melody    on a grand scale. Reread Shakespeare; a fakir here    and there won’t sabotage the kernel of parody    baked into the airiest ontological mille feuilles, nor change that gold    back into straw. The medicine men knew what they were doing when    they lanced boils with direct imaging.Charm gained a foothold,    then exploded into bronze deities. No matter, the regimen    practiced by the ancients, i.e., inhaling    dust and air near a body of water, is still around to restore    lost fossils of wit to their living, vibrant selves, unveiling    a menu both familiar and alluring.Before    quitting this backdrop of a Renaissance piazza, open    your body and mind to all comers. They are both factory and garden    to the happy few, thunderstorms to some, a dull weapon    though fierce, to others. And as attitudes harden,    the lost light stares as a man in pajamas    crosses the ravaged street. All this decision-making entails    sophomoric stunts and impatience. From the Bahamas    to Torquay stretches the dun pilgrimage. Cocktails    infiltrate it, but the man knows he must go    just so far and stop, that his beloved will have forgotten    him by then. He must choose the stars or the snow,    a naked stick figure. All the rotten    things that can befall a man with a comb and toothbrush    already happened to him，leagues ago.And there is no ending    it. Yet the past is profitless slush,    same as the present. Tomorrow is on hold, pending,    and great lizards infiltrate the Dalmatian-spotted    sky. Was it for this you gave yourself up    to some cause or other, that has now trickled away, dotted    with colored pom-poms? Only a final hiccup    sits on the step, awaiting orders. You were wrong about language,    see. Its arrows are raining down like ejected porcupine    quills. An archer (Robin Hood, for instance) could gauge    the correct distance between identical hummocks. Which is fine    with me, except I don’t think anybody’s going to notice    the directive that brought you here. Best to marshal the    secondary promptings and forget the awful journey before rigor mortis    sets in. You mean it hasn’t? Right. Then I’m still in the Marshalsea,    my dependency shall never cease! And there’s a kind of happiness,    though a bitter one, in that. I’m going to cash in my chips    and quit while I’m winning. The loveliness    of statues of statesmen survives, a barcarole drips    from their sagging jaws，graphic as springtime.    In twos and threes, peasants    vanish behind yon ridge. The celestial pantomime    engulfs them slowly. The pheasants    of our kingdom aren’t as plump as yours. No matter.    I’ll wager a microclimate’s responsible. And did your sister    ever loan you those three bucks? No, the regatta    closed down while we were still ogling its pinnaces, and a twister

未完待续。。。

剑郭琴符

续上页。

一个龙卷风劈过，没有地方    隐藏，在混乱中我们分开了。    现在我必须起来，去    飞鱼嬉戏的地方，罂粟花困扰着耕种的        平原。前进，我会注意事物，你可以放松    呼吸。这是我想要的：一张印满    音乐法杖的帆。我会拔出    爱的小灵狗拥抱我们所有人，即使罗孚        再也不会咆哮。“弹簧，当它们发生时，发生在别处。    某种性感…”王子大胆地说。但是哪里，哦哪里，是使我们    成为婴儿的甘露？我们的印刷品年久失修，    花坛褪色，放映机        失控地旋转。五十个年轻人    可以供养我们，在有芦苇的护城河中    游泳呼吸。前门空荡荡的摊位    的确阴郁。一只白鼬        在水上被我扫除，半路上被重新装修被淹没，    但我的触角表明没有任何合适的方法    来定形它的轨迹。玻利维亚人的安全通行证    临时代办在我房间的微风中飘动。在对面的窗户里，        映出了一场大屠杀。它的意思是补充    还是仅仅是自由形式的纠缠？不管怎样，夜晚又是    偶然的发现；燕子把我的窗台弄得乱七八糟；    蝙蝠正在庄严地表演阿拉伯式花饰。一次突然        向信仰的滑落最近一定发生了，但却没有留下它    逝去的诚意。一盘体育出丑的录像带    一直在播放，决心把它的教学大纲从永恒的熔炉中    解救出来；笨蛋受到粗暴对待。其中一阵维多利亚时代的黄色浓雾        正在平衡一切，山雀和翼手龙    都相似。当它再次流行的时候，我们会有丰富的    扬抑格。即使是好斗的双扬抑抑格    也会在一段时间内蓬勃发展，在主观性的        奥克弗诺基沼泽中。湖水将泛滥，便宜货    柜台萎缩成空无一物，大熊座将目光移开，易碎的    护身符在老虎窗爆炸。拉斯金警告反对的退化    又回来了，一堆冰冻的唾沫。        我们看到一件事挨着另一件事。它们被及时地叠加    那么谁看起来愚蠢？不是我们，正如你所想的那样，而是我们    绘制的曲线，交头接耳，一条在呕吐其公式的痛苦中的    抛物线，被白天阴郁的神韵        激怒，而夜晚又被吸走。因为狼獾    更喜欢密歇根州，所以这冬青树的民间分支被钉在你的门上，以免你    害怕我的到来，或任何不文明的慷慨陈词，或在海湾里    展开在我们面前的潜艇，或任何胶鞋。        千禧年临近的时候，我们将寻欢作乐。同时    我想谈你的脚。探矿者    可以定位你的满足区域。但是，你去了哪里，当    民间舞蹈爆发，五彩缤纷的彩罐，吵醒了狗窝里的        鲍瑟，让储藏室里最后的食物    变得引不起食欲？然而，这些脚将把我的口号的    荣耀强加给那些现在轻视它们的    毫无戒备的世界，却向它们吹《带着爱继续》的        口哨。这并不意味着“不惜任何代价的和平”，    而是一种对总是阻碍它们的    陈旧的、盲目的原则的熔池搅拌。自我牺牲    将被提上议事日程，降低期望，禁止市政        铁栅栏和野餐。人类必须回到大地，    体验它的季节、霜冻、迷宫的    过程，以及在自己的时间里    不断重生的景象。直到那时，每一个工作日        嵌入到箭袋的阳光才会扩大，直到春分    结束，然后每天再减少一点，    尽管总是会留下一点，即使是在冰川形成纬度边缘的    夸张气候里。在五月的一个美丽的日子里        你也许会忘记这一点，但它就在那里，总是悄悄地向你爬来。    那么请允许我第无数次重申    像水獭或鹬一样沉浸于太阳    并不是全部故事。明天可能会毁掉        你的项目和财产，给你的私人部门投下比赤道    还要长的阴影，也就是说，你计划乘气垫船    穿过泻湖，在那里吃午饭，给服务员留下    一笔可观的小费。因为尽管你的卫戍部队已经全员待命，        不久的将来，就像一个拥挤不堪的象轿，    吹响即将到来的号角，打开了    一千个丰富小病的闸门，破坏了杂烩    和游行协会一年一度的赛马会，让烟雾进入，窒息        棕榈树和桉树。一个人在当下的逆流中划桨，    嘲笑它的涂鸦，解开它的长袍，    抚平它的丝带，你瞧，一只不愉快的    鸸鹋挡住了这条路；它的一只好眼睛窥探着        你的前提和默许的理解，出游    被推迟到另一天。或者你可以斜倚    在一块岩石上，像弗拉.迪亚沃罗，让它悄悄地走近你，对这座城市    在阵雨后的样子赞不绝口，推测出        它的外围浅滩，从拆下和藏起来的    防风窗的数量中，因为它有一首奏鸣曲的形状---    弯曲、不屈。而且，一旦把它摆成一堆堆，    朝向艰难的过去，就像盘子里的鱼。        不要指望它有恶意，淡水    会冒出泡沫，在翻越高山时积聚力量。    但一种更为安静的现实主义探索了池塘的本质，就像傻子    崇拜湿润了水池和附近的草地的喷泉的        机器压花挽歌一样，很快清洁工    就要来了，在剩下的时间里，我理应    再次坚持男人发明的    欲望，然后珍惜。但既然我的情妇不同意，        我会乖乖听话。如果你问我为什么，先生，    我会说这是因为一个人的性欲驱动就像强迫性的洗手：    一生中早总比晚好。然而，我仍然精神抖擞，先生，    虽然也许不再像过去那样        风度翩翩，但他可以一口吞下    这个元素---它的“一个人做了某件事后会有多么不同的感觉：    平静，以一种近乎悲剧的平静方式；无论如何，我们远离了那个不健康的    人物，我们打断了别人的遐想，一个古怪的        不适合在公共场合看到的东西。”但正是这种不祥的贝都因人    其轮廓模糊了我们，当有人瞥见    我们时，这就是我们被记住的样子，因为没有人能看到我们真正的    一面沿着我们朗读式的姿态下四分五裂。他们对皮条客        一视同仁，无视拯救我们的所有缺点。当然，在我们生命的    这两个我们存在的不交流的血管之间是不可能进行贸易的。正如漆酚    会毒害常春藤，我们自己积极的自我形象    也会成为人们对我们所说和所想的一切的正面，我们在早晨        用尖刻无情的话漱口，就像其他人一样。然而，这种僵局    确实，写了一个逃避条款：计划中的    增强功能，他们称之为。因此，如果一个人“被”卑鄙的辱骂撞扁    他的屁股，他只需请教他的袖珍镜子：沙子        似乎会通过沙漏中向上流动；一个人    在自己的体液中被腌渍，然而从青年时代    拯救出来的被摧毁的理想仍然在跳动，可行，从    自我意识的反驳中滴入每个人的        个体意识的冰霜小瓶，注意到它和    所有其他人一样，只有一个至关重要的区别：它不属于任何人。    因此，一些可能会爬上人群之上的几级台阶，在一瞬间    获得名望和个人满足，为比        其他人更爱的一个人唱歌，但仍然珍惜在不断扩大的    《马尾藻海》总状花序中缠住所有个体的    魅力和诡异，而马尾藻海的阴暗    最终似乎是模范。所以，在蓝色距离中        隐藏的两个极端之间，自我的无量纲    区域确实有它们的白昼。我们喜欢这个，那个，    还有另一个；对某些事情有怀疑；比我们年轻的时候    更不喜欢骄傲；不屑于抛出一两个        警告；总之，在现实给予她每个孩子的    马鞍形的东西中感到舒服，同时    使我们每个人都相信我们是优越的，没有别人能像我们一样    优雅地跨过她的坐骑。当，一切外来的，        真相突然爆发，我们发现自己不过是一支过剩大军中的一员    举起长矛，对最后的二重奏敬礼    它在我们的自我和我们“相似”的无休止分支的    旅程之间，一位身着长袍的神父已经举起了药膏调味瓶        来膏抹整个症候群。他们正确的    观点最终会夹紧我们和事物，包括    我们的态度、希望、半生不熟的雄心壮志、精神病：窃听者已经知道的    关于我们的一切，还有我们穿的衣服和我们        栖息的阴暗内心。太晚了，盛会    向前渗出，第四幕还没到，黄昏也一样。    然而，成熟必须很快被直觉感知；冷却液    冻结了正在进行的悲剧幕。让我们        把它丰盛的耳朵削皮，忘掉额外的烦恼，    让妈妈和苹果派彻底崩溃，如果这真的是    他们的决心的话。因为，像掷壶那样令人满意，一旦泥浆    达到适当的稠度，最好还是在结束后        加入从它溃逃的状态。到目前为止，    是这样。等一下！你告诉我们永恒的流出    是这里的秩序原则，下一次呼吸你否认    开放的结尾。你把我们当成        什么样的笨蛋，总之？每个人都知道，一旦某件事完成，    腐烂会开始。但我们要智胜一切。因此    你的灵丹妙药现在在哪里？蛇油？烟雾和镜子？期望值的降低    永远无法取代仍然潮湿、半犹豫不决的画面        我们原本认为应该包括在其中，并在其中追求    我们的私人利益和命运，直到世界末日。嗯，我    从没说过我的系统是傻瓜式的。你也是！我没有。也是！    没有。也是。没有。也是。见鬼，我        只是说让我们等一会儿，看看会发生什么，也许    某事会，如果没有，好，我们    在这件事上的个人投资并没有那么大，你这个爱哭的男孩；    我们仍然可以毫发无损地浮现。这些是异常的        时期，毕竟。一直以来，我都认为    我被导向正确的方向，如果我仅仅保持我的座位    我就可以到达目的地。我知道指令是脱节的，    乱七八糟的，但我想我们最终会弥补失去的时间。然而，一个赖帐的人        可以污染整个宇宙。我们一直期待的感官的    绿色山丘不见踪影。取而代之的是，一片单调的    城市垃圾展现了它自己，一幅破碎砖石的景象，超出了    普通时间旅行者的界限。那么，他如何哄骗        我们，我和其他人，签约参加这次旅行？    靠暴露自己，假装    看不见。太阳风沙纸飞机场，    与此同时，仅几百码远，弯曲的        女主人溺爱带着面包片和朗姆潘趣酒的    搁浅的航行者。带着这些，在早期，    不是最早，而是几天后的正好一天    开始不知不觉变短！一个人的愤怒        是一件好事，对自己，甚至对别人都是    好事，在那个关键时刻。口干    很少是个问题。眨眼的旁白会使    最枯燥的教科书发酵。你的殿下        知道这一切，不过，如果她仅仅放任    我的摇摆幻想再久一点，我就…我在哪里？哦，然后    一场大飓风来了，带走了树叶。在蒲包草灌木丛里的    隆起物消失了。全体诸神啊，当        我下次见到他时，他是个同性恋者，和任何蛮横者一样的同性恋者。这    真的是你想要的吗，我问。    但他只是微笑着回答说：“不关你的事”，    然后走到小半岛上晒太阳        好像他是认真的。从玩笑之类的角度说，那些年的    俏皮感觉又回来了。我无法解释，    但也许这意味着，一旦你超过五十岁    你就摆脱了很多分贝。你有一只老虎，所以解开它        然后看看它们给出了什么解释。穿过    你的脚走到它后面的地方，空气    会吹皱你的胡须。你还年轻到可以    通宵聊天，和朋友们，就像你过去常常在某个地方所做。        字母表组成单词。我们这些看着他们的人    永远不会想象发它们的音，而且错过了另一个    机会。你一定要醒着去抢它们---    它们，以及它们散发出的不受惩罚的气味。        我们都加标识符，最后什么也    看不见---一无所有且许多。许多形式如轮廓，纹理，    世界。那种事。真正的乐趣和它的服装。    你可以忘了。接下来，你        计划一次短暂的旅行。也许去拜访一下保罗.班扬    和宝宝，蓝色的公牛。现在有时间了。食人鱼    梦想着，与自己和漂浮的世界和平共处。一条小银鱼    神经质地溜过去。酷热、寂静令人压抑。鬣蜥…        ---    （1）《诺玛》（Norma,opera），中文也译为《诺尔玛》，是贝里尼歌剧中具有代表性和影响力的剧目，于1831年12月首演。该剧主要讲述了族群女领袖与罗马官的生死之爱的故事。

slashed through at that precise moment, there was nowhere    to hide, in the confusion we got separated.    Now I must arise and go where    the flying fishes play, and poppies perplex the cultivated        plain. Go ahead, I’ll keep an eye on things, you can breathe    easy. It’s what I had in mind: a sail printed all over    with musical staves. I would unsheathe    love’s whippet and embrace us all, even if Rover        never growled again. “Springs, when they happen, happen elsewhere.    A certain sexiness ...” ventured the prince. But where, oh where, is the nectar    that makes babes of us? Our printout’s in disrepair,    the parterres are fading, and the projector        is spinning out of control. Half a hundred youths    could sustain us, swimming in the moat    with reeds to breathe through. The emptied booths    by the front gate are cheerless indeed. A stoat        swept by me on the waters, halfway to refurbished oblivion,    but my antennae suggest nothing apposite    to formalize his trajectory. A safe-conduct from the Bolivian    charge d’affaires flutters in the breeze of my room. In the windows opposite,        a massacre is reflected. Is it meant as codicil,    or mere free-form tangling? Anyway, night is serendipitous    again; swallows clutter my windowsill;    bats are executing stately arabesques. A precipitous        slide into belief must have occurred recently, but left no earnest    of its passing. A videotape of sports bloopers    keeps unreeling, determined to rescue its syllabus from the furnace    of eternity; airheads are treated roughly. One of those Victorian peasoupers        is equalizing everything, titmouse and pterodactyl    alike. When it will be the fashion again we’ll have trochees    galore. Even the bellicose double-dactyl    will flourish for a time, in Okefenokees        of subjectivity. Lakes will overflow, bargain    counters shrivel to nothing, the Great Bear look away, brittle    talismans explode at dormer windows.The degradation Ruskin    warned against is back, a heap of frozen spittle.        We see one thing next to another. In time they get superimposed    and then who looks silly? Not us, as you might think, but the curve    we are plotted on, head to head, a parabola in the throes    of vomiting its formula, piqued by the sullen verve        of day, while night is siphoned off again. And as wolverines    prefer Michigan, so this civil branch of holly is nailed to your door, lest you    fear my coming, or any uncivil declaiming, or submarines    in the bay that spreads out before us, or any gumshoe.        We’ll party when the millennium gets closer. Meanwhile    I wanted to mention your feet. A dowser    could locate your contentedness zone.But where have you been while    folk dancing broke out, and colorful pinatas, waking Bowser        in his kennel, rendering the last victuals in    the larder unappetizing? Yet those feet shall impose the glory    of my slogans on the unsuspecting world that belittles    them now, but shall whistle them con amore        anon. That doesn’t mean “peace at any price,”    but a shaking-down of old, purblind principles    that were always getting in the way. Self-sacrifice    will be on the agenda, a lowering of expectations, a ban on municipal        iron fences and picnics. Man must return to his earth,    experience its seasons, frosts, its labyrinthine    processes, the spectacle of continual rebirth    in one’s own time. Only then will the sunshine        each weekday lodges in its quiver expand till the vernal    equinox rounds it off, then subtracts a little more each day,    though always leaving a little, even in hyperboreal climes where eternal    ice floes fringe the latitudes. On a beautiful day in May        you might forget this, but there it is,always creeping up on you.    Permit me then for the umpteenth time to reiterate    that basking in the sun like an otter or curlew    isn’t the whole story. Tomorrow may obliterate        your projects and belongings, casting a shadow longer than the equator    into your private sector, to wit, your plan to take a Hovercraft    across the lagoon and have lunch there, leaving the waiter    a handsome tip. For though your garrison be fully staffed,        the near future, like an overcrowded howdah,    trumpets its imminent arrival, opens the floodgate    of a thousand teeming minor ills, spoiling the chowder    and marching society’s annual gymkhana, letting in smog to asphyxiate        palms and eucalpytuses. One paddles in the backwash of the present,    laughing at its doodles, unpinning its robes,    smoothing its ribbons, and lo and behold an unpleasant    emu is blocking the path; its one good eye probes        your premises and tacit understandings, and the outing    is postponed till another day. Or you could be reclining    on a rock, like Fra Diavolo, and have it sneak up on you, spouting    praise for the way the city looks after a shower, divining        its outer shallows from the number of storm windows    taken down and stashed away, for it has the shape of a sonata---    bent, unyielding. And, once it’s laid out in windrows,    open to the difficult past, that of a fish on a platter.        Expect no malice from it and freshets    will foam, gathering strength as they leapfrog the mountain.    But a quieter realism plumbs the essence of ponds, as nitwits    worship the machine-tooled elegies of the fountain,        that wets its basin and the nearby grass.In a moment the dustmen    will be here, and in the time remaining it behooves    me to insist again on the lust men    invent, then cherish. But since my mistress disapproves,        I’ll toe the line. And should you ask me why, sir,    I’ll say it’s because one’s sex drives are like compulsive handwashing:    better early on in life than late. Yet I’m still spry, sir,    though perhaps no longer as dashing        as in times gone by, and can wolf down the elemental    in one gulp---its “How different one feels after doing something:    calm, and in a calm way almost tragic; in any case far from the unwholesome    figure we cut in the reveries of others, a rum thing        not fit to be seen in public with.” Yet it is this ominous bedouin    whose contours blur us when someone glimpses    us, and is what we are remembered as, for no one can see our genuine    side falling to pieces all down our declamatory gestures. They treat pimps as        equals, ignoring all shortcomings save ours. And of course, no commerce    is possible between these two noncommunicating vessels of our being. As urushiol    is to poison ivy, so is our own positive self-image the obverse    of all that will ever be said and thought about us, the vitriol        we gargle with in the morning, just as others do. This impasse    does, however, have an escape clause written into it: planned    enhancements, they call it. So that if one is knocked flat on his ass    by vile opprobrium, he need only consult his pocket mirror: The sand        will seem to flow upward through the hourglass; one is pickled    in one’s own humors, yet the dismantled ideal    rescued from youth is still pulsing, viable, having trickled    from the retort of self-consciousness into the frosted vial        of everyone’s individual consciousness noting it’s the same    as all the others, with one vital difference: It belongs to no one.    Thus a few may climb several steps above the crowd, achieve fame    and personal fulfillment in a flaring instant, sing songs to one        more beloved than the rest, yet still cherish the charm and quirkiness    that entangle all individuals in the racemes    of an ever-expanding Sargasso Sea whose murkiness    comes at last to seem exemplary. So,between two extremes        hidden in blue distance, the dimensionless    regions of the self do have their day. We like this, that,    and the other; have our doubts about certain things; enjoy pretension less    than we did when we were young; are not above throwing out a caveat        or two; and in a word are comfortable in the saddle    reality offers to each of her children,simultaneously    convincing each of us we’re superior, that no one else could straddle    her mount as elegantly as we. And when, all extraneously,        the truth erupts, and we find we are but one of an army of supernumeraries    raising spears to salute the final duet    between our ego and the endlessly branching itineraries    of our semblables, a robed celebrant is already lifting the cruet        of salve to anoint the whole syndrome.And it’s their proper    perspective that finally gets clamped onto things and us, including    our attitudes, hopes, half-baked ambitions, psychoses: everything an eavesdropper    already knows about us, along with the clothes we wear and the brooding        interiors we inhabit. It’s getting late; the pageant    oozes forward, act four is yet to come, and so is dusk.    Still, ripeness must soon be intuited; a coolant    freeze the tragic act under construction. Let’s husk        the ear of its plenitude, forget additional worries,    let Mom and apple pie go down the tubes, if indeed    that’s their resolve. For, satisfying as it is to fling a pot, once the slurry’s    reached the proper consistency, better still is it to join the stampede        away from it once it’s finished. Which, as of now,    it is. Wait a minute! You told us eternal flux    was the ordering principle here, and in the next breath you disavow    open-endedness. What kind of clucks        do you take us for, anyway? Everyone knows that once something’s finished,    decay sets in. But we were going to outwit all that. So    where’s your panacea now? The snake oil? Smoke and mirrors? Diminished    expectations can never supplant the still-moist, half-hesitant tableau        we thought to be included in, and to pursue    our private interests and destinies in, till doomsday. Well, I    never said my system was foolproof.You did too! I did not. Did too!    Did not. Did too. Did not. Did too. Hell,I        only said let’s wait awhile and see what happens, maybe    something will, and if it doesn’t, well, our personal    investment in the thing hasn’t been that enormous, you crybaby;    we can still emerge unscathed. These are exceptional        times, after all. And all along I thought I was pointed    in the right direction, that if I just kept my seat    I’d get to a destination. I knew the instructions were disjointed,    garbled, but imagined we’d eventually make up the lost time. Yet one deadbeat        can pollute a whole universe. The sensuous green mounds    I’d been anticipating are nowhere to be seen. Instead, a dull    urban waste reveals itself, vistas of broken masonry, out of bounds    to the ordinary time traveler. How, then, did he lull        us, me and the others, into signing on for the trip?    By exposing himself, and pretending    not to see. Solar wind sandpapers the airstrip,    while only a few hundred yards away, bending        hostesses coddle stranded voyagers with canapes    and rum punch. To have had this in the early stage,    not the earliest, but the one right after the days    began to shorten imperceptibly! And one’s rage        was a good thing, good for oneself and even    for others, at that critical juncture. Dryness    of the mouth was seldom a problem.Winking asides would leaven    the dullest textbook. Your highness        knows all this, yet if she will but indulge    my wobbling fancies a bit longer, I’ll ...Where was I? Oh, and then    a great hurricane came, and took away the leaves. The bulge    in the calceolaria bush was gone. By all the gods, when        next I saw him, he was gay, gay as any jackanapes. Is    this really what you had in mind, I asked.    But he merely smiled and replied, “None of your biz,”    and walked out onto the little peninsula and basked        as though he meant it. And in a funny kind of way, the nifty    feeling of those years has returned. I can’t explain it,    but perhaps it means that once you’e over fifty    you’re rid of a lot of decibels. You’ve got a tiger; so unchain it        and then see what explanations they give. Walk through    your foot to the place behind it, the air    will frizz your whiskers. You’re still young enough to talk through    the night, among friends, the way you used to do somewhere.        An alphabet is forming words. We who watch them    never imagine pronouncing them, and another opportunity    is missed. You must be awake to snatch them---    them, and the scent they give off with impunity.        We all tagged along, and in the end there was nothing    to see---nothing and a lot. A lot in terms of contour, texture,    world. That sort of thing. The real fun and its clothing.    You can forget that. Next, you’re        planning a brief trip. Perhaps a visit to Paul Bunyan    and Babe, the blue ox. There’s time now. Piranhas    dream, at peace with themselves and with the floating world. A grunion    slips nervously past. The heat, the stillness are oppressive. Iguanas ...

剑郭琴符

黄昏公园        （选自Can You Hear, Bird）    作者：(美)约翰.阿什贝利（John Ashberry）    译者:剑郭琴符        房客肯定没回来。    他回来了，但她没听见他。    他在楼梯平台五步远的地方等着：    一块黑布在一只戴着黑色手套的手中，    一束街灯发出的光像胶带一样遮住了    他的眼睛。他想写些能“卖”的东西，    而这似乎是唯一的办法。    当一个人破产时，绝望是    补救办法，不再那么年轻或英俊。        注意，次要人物，这意味着你，    伊迪丝.费尔南德斯：雪已经不再苍白到足以    概括你的脚步声。一个人曾经如此不耐烦；    现在磁带掉了，现在狂欢节的音乐    在前门猛击。一个人不可能永远完全    正确，或错误：调味番茄酱还是番茄酱？我们必须重读一遍。    结局被认为特别好。

Twilight Park            Surely the lodger hadn’t returned yet.    He had, but she hadn’t heard him.    He was waiting five steps below the landing:    a black cloth in one black-gloved hand,    a band of light from the streetlanp like masking tape    across his eyes. He wanted to write something that would sell,    and this seemed the only way.    Desperate are the remedies    when one is broke, and no longer all that young or handsome.        Attention, secondary characters, and that means you,    Edith Fernandez: The snow is no longer pallid enough    to sum up your footfalls. One is ever so impatient;    now the tape falls, now carnival music    bashes in the front door. One can never be wholly    right, or wrong: catsup or ketchup? We must reread this.    The ending is considered particularly fine.

  

无数        （选自Can You Hear, Bird）    作者：(美)约翰.阿什贝利（John Ashberry）    译者:剑郭琴符        在这童年时期你可以    出于礼貌谈一点，像西红柿，    看起来像——也许---        就像可爱的没离开的怪物    但从来没有任何麻烦，    但背后是什么，这东西？        有东西在我们所说的话背后    当我们不孤单，不相隔太远，    否则被约束？        像是在船上读的小说    或是一部可能从来没有执行的    复杂舞台指示的老戏。        也许雪景太难了，    野牛逃窜得太有失体面。    我们醒了，而且是肉体的，早晨和        一千个神经末梢都在责骂，    叫嚷…一切是为了什么？    这些档案里没有你的资料。

Umpteen            In this childhood you can    sort of tell by manners, like tomatoes,    who looked to be---maybe---        like cute monsters who don’t go away    but are never any trouble,    but what’s behind it, this anything?        Is anything behind what we say    when we are not alone, not too far apart,    otherwise constricted?        Like a novel read on shipboard    or an old play with complicated stage directions    that may never have been carried out.        Perhaps the snow scene was too difficult,    the bison stampede too compromising.    We wake and are physical, the morning and        a thousand nerve endings are chiding,    clamoring ... and all for what?    These files have nothing on you.

  

植物说什么        （选自Can You Hear, Bird）    作者：(美)约翰.阿什贝利（John Ashberry）    译者:剑郭琴符        别哭，这是扁豆汤！    善良的玩偶驱赶我们    到干草被抵押的境地。    事实上，是时候在干草堆里打滚    在房地产经纪人橱窗里的    彩色宝丽来如此美丽地反射出来，但还    不是离开的时候。她输送我们    到银色平原的糊状物上---    难怪每个人都想要卡累利娅，    恙螨等等，然后时间“到”了，黄昏的时间。        如果只有一个粗暴的珠宝商思考    为什么，那么这一定是真的。一辆    带有铂金椒盐卷饼发动机装饰的凯迪拉克---    为什么不呢！你和你    带我去的一切都必须是真实的，    沉默的，大胆的。这就是我    喜欢她们的方式---扎着奶油色辫子    和朴素关怀的微型芯片的    神秘女孩，在荒芜的墙上。    这么多垃圾！或者废物…        好吧，鸟儿飞下井    那是每个人最后想要的药膏。    当然我们得走了。现在    是时候了，艾达。

What the Plants Say            Don’t cry it’s lentil soup!    Kind doll rush us away    to a situation where the hay is mortgaged.    It was in fact time for a roll in the hay    so beautifully reflected in the color Polaroid    in the estate agent’s window, but it    wasn’t time to go. And she channels us    out over the silver plain’s mush---    no wonder everybody wanted Karelia,    chiggers and all, and then it was    time, time for dusk.        If only one outrageous jeweler thought it    why then it must be true. A Cadillac    with a platinum pretzel hood ornament---    why not! You and all    you’re taking me to must be true,    and silent, bodacious. That’s the way    I like ’em---mystery girls    with buttermilk braids and a microchip of plain    caring, over the deserted wall.    So much rubbish! or trash ...        Well, the bird flew down the well    and that was the last ointment anyone wanted.    For sure we got to go. Now’s    the time, Ida.

  

当她的邻居都来了        （选自Can You Hear, Bird）    作者：(美)约翰.阿什贝利（John Ashberry）    译者:剑郭琴符        最漂亮的组合出现    在游戏面板上。通常我们不会对彼此    做这些事。总有少量的亲吻，    哈哈。你可以肯定。是的，但大多数情况下    它们并不一起到处走，被束缚在一个中位数上    它扮演成“审判”这个角色（1）。嗯我不能    一边摘苹果同时一边弹钢琴，    现在，我能吗？一只枯萎的小鸟喝彩。总有一天，    它说，你会回到温室里，摆弄    我们都学的东西，从第一天起。你的麦芽酒色    衬衫只是个负担。里面其他的都是干的。        其他学校的“给予与接受”    不是我想的，谢谢你。一条蛇，    在它的恐怖中完美无缺。而那些奴隶们也渐渐离开，    这一决定被埋没在报纸里一两个世纪，    而我们，为什么我们也一样，精神的朴素，    对最新的消息作出反应。这位艾菊夫人    是必不可少的调羹。我们可以活得更明快，    更有期待，现在。        ----    （1） the Judgment：似指某个游戏中的“审判”这个角色（ SEGA射击游戏《死亡之屋2》的Boss）。

When All Her Neighbors Came                the most beautiful combination appeared    on the game board. Normally we don’t do these things    to each other. There’s always a little kissing,    ha ha. Of that you may be sure. Yes, but mostly    they don’t go round together, tethered to a median    that takes itself for the Judgment. Well I can’t be    picking apples and playing the piano simultaneously,    now, can I? A withered little bird applauds. Some day,    it says, you may go back to the glasshouse and fiddle    what we all were taught, from day one. Your ale-colored    shirt is only an onus. Inside the others are dry.        The “give and take” of the other schools    isn’t what I had in mind，thank you. A snake,    perfect in its horror, is. And the bondsmen drift off,    the decision buried in papers for a century or two,    and we, why then we are too, frugal of spirit,    reacting to the latest news. This lady of costmary    is the essential spoon. We may live more patently,    more expectantly, now.

  

决定应该把我们带到哪里        （选自Can You Hear, Bird）    作者：(美)约翰.阿什贝利（John Ashberry）    译者:剑郭琴符        你的名字在这里看不见，因为头痛    又开始了，我们无助地在树林间滚动---我们本应该    看到它来的，但没有多少人    能够做到这一点。所以我们    掸去了膝盖上的灰尘，很高兴    再次收你的信音在这么多    其中有星星的月亮上，现在    成为让你再次感到舒适的时间    这不是浪漫的就像绣球花    不是浪漫的除非你想象    一个棚子，让它们在里面在    黑暗中像百合花一样，过度地挥洒    它们的光芒似乎，总是在地毯上    为某物，在即将到来的    许多面孔包围的潮水上。    说在    某个洞穴里你可以听到头顶上的飞机声    但这次没有什么极差的，每个人    都想贡献一般性的努力    它被        基特.卡森国家另一边的一位将军所做出。    我告诉过你我的爱好了吗？它是---    好吧，如果你愿意，我们可以谈谈我的梦想。    前几天晚上我有很好的一个    当时一切都很平静    早上醒来时我戴着一顶红色的    睡帽，真是一顶迟钝的学生帽，没人    见过一顶的。我有个朋友    想在城堡的某个房间里收集    它们。但他不能。    没有一顶。        另一天我和皮维斯小姐出去    付电话费，好像没人在家    你得走这么远才能在台阶上留下    一张卡片然后一只青蛙    在路中间---“对抗，”    她喃喃地说。只要他们问一个“一个人”。    蛋糕是可选的，还有信用卡。    他们走近灯塔的    范围，大衣滑了下来，    暴露---从某种程度上看男孩总是    碍手碍脚。理性和习惯    已经踏平一条他“一直”绕行的路，    但“这条路”！永远不会有一个人---        这些口音让我们轻轻地    落在一片树林的躯干上    在那里捕鸟者们用约德尔唱法歌唱，美洲鹑吱吱叫。    不会走得太远，就像向门走去    在推销员滑进通用矿井后。    当一个人出去，是时候也去，    就好像母亲和钢琴从来没有离开过    那些中国把手你从来没有放好。    在荆棘上喂马月亮快出来了

Where It Was Decided We Should Be Taken            Your name here invisible as a headache    starts it off again and we are rolling    helplessly between the trees---we should    have seen it coming, but not many    are able to do just that. So we    dusted off our knees it was nice    to hear from you again over so many moons    with stars in them and now it has    become time for you to become comfortable again    which is not romantic as hydrangeas    aren’t romantic until you imagine    a shed for them to be in to be in    the darkness like lilies, overspending    their light it seems, always on the carpet    for something, on the incoming tide    that many faces surround.    Say it was    in some burrow you could hear planes overhead    but nothing was nasty this time, everybody    wanted to contribute to a general effort    which was being made        by a general on the other side of Kit Carson country.    Did I tell you about my hobby? It’s ---    Well, we can talk about my dreams if you wish.    I had a good one the other night    when everything was still    and in the morning I awoke with a red nightcap    on, really a dunce cap, of which    no one has ever seen one. I have a friend who    wants to collect them for a certain room in a    castle. But he can’t.    There aren’t any.        Another day I was out with Miss Peevish    paying calls, it seems like nobody’s home anymore    and you have to walk so far to leave a card    over a stile and then a frog’s in the    middle of the path---“Confrontational,”    she murmured. If only they asked one.    Cakes are optional, and credit.    They moved closer toward the sphere    of the lighthouse, the overcoat slid off,    revealing---in some way the boy gets in the way    all the time. Reason and habit    have beaten a path he’s always circumnavigating,    but this！ No one would ever---        These accents let us down    gently onto the torso of a wood    where birdcatchers yodel and bobwhites cheep.    It’s not going very far, it’s like going to the door    after the salesmen have slid into the universal pit.    And when one goes out it’s time to go too,    as though Mother and the piano had never exited    and those china knobs you never put away.    Feed the horse on brambles the moon is coming

  

女人斜靠着        （选自Can You Hear, Bird）    作者：(美)约翰.阿什贝利（John Ashberry）    译者:剑郭琴符            不管怎样，它会回到你    一切似乎都不错。一开始。    直到进行这些意识的人    意识到，早上一点    叫你到他们的办公室。        我说把散热器修好。    这些灰葡萄摆在我们面前    在一个宴会的环境中。但谁能解释    我们为什么要在这里设宴呢？        然后，在她扑通一声中---    一个独奏者训练带领我们    走出历史荆棘丛，    一直就在这里的陷阱。    我们，我们倾听。这很明显。    帐篷里有更多的话要说，    但我只记得和划船有关。    然后，莫名其妙地，我们安全了。        没有人为此爱我们，但    他们现在可以在一张多年制作的    条纹沙发上对我们发号施令。    他们告诉我们要写的东西没有区别    但有足够的光亮让我们看到。    每个人都安全地跳过篱笆。        剩下的只是哭泣的柳树下的    一本书，在其目录里，溪水喉音的坚持    无休止地重复着，就像为了我们的利益    流下的眼泪，如果我们曾开始了解它们的话。

Woman Leaning                However it may come back to you    it’ll seem all right. At first.    Till the ones who do the realizing    realize, and call you to their office    at one in the morning.        I said fix the radiator.    These gray grapes are spread out before us    in a feast situation. Yet who can explain    why we should banquet here?        Then, in she plops---    a soloist trained to lead us    out of the briar patch of history,    trap that was always here.    And we, we listen. That’s obvious.    There was more said in the tent,    but what I remember only has to do with paddling.    Then, inexplicably, we’re safe.        No one loves us for it, yet    they can dictate to us now    from a striped sofa that was years in the making.    And what they tell us to write makes no difference    but is enough light for us to see by.    Everyone jumped over the fence safely.        All that was left was a book under a weeping    willow, in whose table of contents the glottal insistence    of the stream was repeated endlessly, like tears    for our benefit, if we should ever get to know them.

  

是的。格伦茨默博士。我能为您效劳吗？什么！你说病人逃走了？        （选自Can You Hear, Bird）    作者：(美)约翰.阿什贝利（John Ashberry）    译者:剑郭琴符        我们呆在金色某物或其他。    不管怎样，现在还怕什么？    船卷起了彩色的帆。    城市就像一个中枢。早晨它的玻璃    大梁在光线发红，下午就被    流干了，但是接下来发生了一些滑稽事情：    朝西的建筑物反射太阳光    比投射的更强烈。    它们成为东方一个竞争的落日。那是异端，    或者至少是重婚罪。高楼    “哺乳傻瓜们和编年史小啤酒”；这是我的故事，    但我很高兴有这个机会告诉你    尽管我们在无声电影中只能说    涂有牛奶的话。但有人开始关心他们：    总有人需要关心，在某个地方，        但是警长肆意破坏他们回来的那一天。    我没让你做关于它的梦。    正因为如此，我正受到    比国会改革更严厉的惩罚。    他们有规矩要遵守，有罪要赎：    我，我只有失重    和一种模糊感觉，它是我应该把时间花在    做别的事上---打扫房间，    用肥皂洗孩子的嘴。    那没价值。他们给我们吃美味佳肴    而我们却在等待棉被的订单到达---    或者短褶裙？约书亚有一种萦绕在心头的感觉    他从一开始就从没有完成它，当一切    都应该开始时，但相反，却很高兴    在港中游来荡去。总之，有发票。他几乎    可以肯定。有几个少女    来站在他所坐的树旁---    是“他们”下了方格呢短裙的订单吗？    或者他们只是葡萄干爱好者？“你会看到    当天气变干变黄的时候，葡萄干    会自己形成一切，独自在树枝上，    没有人会在意。而那些喜欢从盒子里    快速吃掉它们的人没有一点线索    对为什么那个旧的马项圈会挂在    垂柳的树枝上，让它哭得（也就是说，    振作它的叶子）甚至更厉害。一些人在某处准备让一些事情发生，不算我们或我们的    直系亲属。一辆苹果绿的棚车在远处的铁路上    滑行，渴望着峡谷尽头    那难以形容的东西。不是    一把葡萄干，也许，但你明白我的意思。”    很快一切都漂浮。他们有一种感觉    他们最好进去，但没有人能向那个方向    移动。所有人都惊呆了。“告诉他们，”    吟游诗人继续说，“但只有他们问起，    这种情况是怎么发生的。到时候我们再看看    陪审团会判我什么罪，就因为我觉得自己像一个    被男人身体捕获的女人，但只有一点点---不足以    想穿裙子，但足以让我想穿短裙，即使这样    只要在苏格兰，如果我有幸    有一天发现自己在那儿。”震颤    搅动着小乐队；人们显然对他的困境    表示同情，还夹杂着一些更尖刻的东西，    就像腌制香料。所有女孩都转身    哭了，但都变成了常春藤等    诸如此类的东西。我为什么要告诉你这些？    安抚我的良心，也许，希望噩梦    会消失，或者至少能更自由地    与美德混合，因为没有一个人是完全好的    或坏的，就像那些不断走进它们的人    一样，还有那些风景，尽管是熟悉的或明显的。        除此之外，我提出了一个主要问题---    至少这要归功于我。这将是一个很长的时间    在这变成虚无之前，与此同时    我们可以坐在地上，讲述宠物生活的    悲惨故事，因为土地冻结和解冻    很多次---它是过去的关怀。我们内心所发生的一切    将被我们图表上跳舞的针所铭记，    供其他人参考和作来源。    我以为这一切都会随随便便地结束在一堆    鲜花上，但唉，一个真正的银行正从它长出来    带有出纳员和警卫。他们喜欢这些花。

Yes. Dr. Grenzmer. How May I Be of Assistance to You? What! You Say the Patient Has Escaped?            We were staying at the Golden Something-or-Other.    Anyway, what does it matter now?    The boats have rolled up their colored sails.    The city is like a hinge. In the morning its glass    girders are flushed with light that gets drained    in the afternoon, but then something funny happens:    The westward-looking buildings reflect the sun’s    rays more fiercely than they are projected.    They become a rival sunset in the east.That’s heresy,    or at any rate bigamy. Tall buildings    “to suckle fools and chronicle small beer”； such is my story,    but I’m glad to be having this chance to tell it to you    even though we are in a silent movie and can speak only words    painted with milk. Yet someone comes to care about them:    There is always someone to care, somewhere,        but the sheriff vandalizes the day they return.    I didn’t let you dream about it.    It is for this I am being punished    by reforms harder than the ones in Congress.    They have rules to go by, sins to atone for:    I, I have only weightlessness    and a vague feeling that I should be spending my time    doing other things---sweeping the apartment,    washing out a child’s mouth with soap.    It was nugatory. They fed us delicacies    while we waited for the order of quilts to arrive---    or was it kilts? Joshua had this haunted feeling    he’d never finalized it at the start, when all    should have been beginning, but instead was pleased to slosh around    in mid-harbor. Anyway, there were invoices. Of that    he was almost certain. And a number of young girls    came and stood around the tree in which he was sitting---    were they the ones who had placed orders for the kilts?    Or were they mere raisin fanciers? “You’ll see    when the weather gets dry and yellow the raisins    will form all by themselves, alone on the branches,    and no one will care. And those that like to eat them    real fast out of boxes won’t have a clue    as to why that old horse-collar is draped over a branch    of the weeping willow, causing it to weep (that is,    bestir its leaves) even harder. Some people somewhere are prepared    for a few things to happen, but that’s not counting us or our    immediate families. An apple-green boxcar slithers along    a distant railway, yearning for something    unnameable at the end of the canyon. Not a    handful of raisins, probably, but you catch my drift.”    Soon all was drift. They had a feeling    they had better go inside, yet none could make a move    in that direction. All remained transfixed. “Tell them，”    the skald continued, “but only if they ask,    how this situation came about. We’ll see then    what jury will convict me, just because I feel like a woman    trapped in a man’s body, but only a little---not enough    to want to wear a skirt, but enough to make me feel like putting on a kilt,and even then    only in Scotland, if I should be so lucky    as to find myself there some day.” Tremors    stirred the little band; there was obvious sympathy    for his plight, mingled with something more acidulous,    like pickling spices. And all the girls turned away    to weep, but were changed to ivy    and stuff like that. Why am I telling you this?    To assuage my conscience, perhaps,hoping the bad dreams    will go away, or at least become more liberally mixed    with the good, for none are totally good    or bad, just like the people who keep walking into    them, and the scenery, familiar or obvious though it be.        Besides, I’ve raised one major issue---    at least credit me with that. It will be a long time    before this turns to nothing, and in the meantime    we can sit upon the ground, and tell sad stories    of the lives of pets, as the ground freezes and thaws    many times---it is past caring. And what goes on within us    will be inscribed by the dancing needle on our chart,    for others to consult and be derived from.    I thought it would all end casually on a bank    of flowers, but alas, a real bank was growing out of it    with tellers and guards. Who liked the flowers.

  

剑郭琴符

昨天，例如        （选自Can You Hear, Bird）    作者：(美)约翰.阿什贝利（John Ashberry）    译者:剑郭琴符        不再可用，那是一只乳白色皮毛的野兔    在记忆的三叶草上吃草。    哦，漂亮的篮球！码头伸展得多远，    比我漂亮的水手离我还远。        鸽子在移动。天空是糖浆和粉金。    我不能再撒谎。我必须告诉它“就像这样。”    但是，会把我赶到森林交叉口的    雨衣在哪里？因为认识和学习    都是一种方便，或许对我来说没什么好处。    我必须抓住地面求恩典。这些可怜的根系    在信仰上不会更好。我得考虑一下猛打    脚趾头上隐藏的怪物，让他代替        我用蒲公英幼枝做的防护栏。然后我要离开    去找知道谁陷入那块用木板封住的指示牌    不能拼写的麻烦中的人。然后年复一年    我回来了---但这就像是售票员手表上的两秒钟。    他光顾我，我只能说，“哇，    这真傻！”他喜欢我在它里面，戴着槌球发。    海盗说太早了，    我在草地陷阱里发现，这就是为什么    我附和的原因。即使是孩子们也不能注意到    所有的事情，而所有这些事情肯定    是我们在哪里。别再把谎言制成蜜饯。电影预告片结束时    我会出来。我保证太阳是一个开关，或难题。

Yesterday, for Instance                No longer available is the hare    with milky fur grazing on the clover of memory.    O beautiful basketballs! How far stretch the docks,    farther than my bonny sailor is from me.        The pigeons shift. The sky is syrup and pink gold.    I can no longer lie. I must tell it “like it is.”    But where is the raincoat that will hustle me    to the forest crossing? For it is a convenience    to know and to learn, and haply no good is in me.    I must claw the ground for grace. These poor root-systems    are in faith no better. I must see about clobbering    the backstairs monster on his toes, let him cover        my rail of defense with dandelion slips. Then I’ll be off    into who knows whose trouble that the boarded-up sign    couldn’t spell. And then after years and years    I’m back---but it’s like two seconds on a conductor’s watch.    He patronized me, and all I could say was, “Wow,    this is goofy!” And he liked me in it,with the croquet tresses.    And the buccaneer said it was too soon,    that we’d find out in the grass trap, which is why        I echoed. Even children couldn’t pay attention    to all of it, and all of it is most certainly    where we are. No more candied lies. I’ll come out as the movie    trailer ends. I promise the sun was a switch, or tickler.

  

你掉了东西        （选自Can You Hear, Bird）    作者：(美)约翰.阿什贝利（John Ashberry）    译者:剑郭琴符        所以如果它是微咸的我的爱又怎么样    今天的垃圾邮件充满了你的手臂    贫民窟房东的色情编织    隐士和小便般优雅的诽谤：    不再为你招手    至少暂时不    这是任何人的马厩        用悔恨铺就    用反律法主义的异端邪说铺盖    用大量的“和”和“但是”来包围的失去的夜晚    对你来说，不是任何人的梦的周期    比赛和小狗的竞技场        进一步滑入    浪漫的混乱    说他们不再跟踪    受伤的小姐突然快速    疯狂，越来越多的煤驳船    来到了港口的    光滑表面上        然后说他们又不舒服了    跳过铁环训练    我自己来吸引别人的注意    有时我总是努力吸引    聪明的眼睛        你出去或走进来    穿过回忆的多重城堡    你今晚是单身还是孤独    阉人歌手吐出一些    被认为不适合    今天的刺激和晶洞的空气        她也会在房子周围    更快地变成粒状；一些新闻界的好东西    在疯狂地追求青春期前的自由时被忽视    他们的思想不匹配        向石头扔了更多的匕首    它毕竟是古老的    你引用了多少连环画    什么焦油脚人    在时髦的混乱中    今早更多的划桨动作        你来到了这一行的末尾    你可以切换或者在错误的一端    开始一个新的，回到上一个开始    我们真的想看到正确结果吗    她甲板上训练的枪是双桅帆船        和你真的放得进的东西吗        这是一个过得去的优雅的解决方案    在古代数英里的风    吹拂耙子之前，它是    唯一的地产局        所有人都站着    只欢迎你    你和你果馅饼眼睛的纪念品箱    还有你从东区带回来的新娘    被钉在太阳上

You Dropped Something                So what if it’s brackish my love    today’s junk mail is full of arms for you    the erotic weavings of slumlord    hermits and piss-elegant diatribes:    No more waving for you    at least for the time being    which is anybody’s stable        The lost nights thatched with regrets    shingled with antinomian heresy and hedged    about with its ands and buts    are nobody’s dream cycle to you    the arena of matches and pups        and further slide    into romantic chaos    Say they’re not keeping track anymore    that the wounded demoiselle is hopping    mad and more coal barges    have arrived on the harbor’s    slippery surface        Say then that they’re not well again    Jumping through hoops to train    myself to attract attention was always    sometimes my endeavor to attract    smart eyes        You that go out and go in    through memory’s many castles    are you single or just alone this evening    castrati belch forth some    air thought to be unfit    for today’s goads and geodes        She’ll be corning round the house    and faster too; some press goodies    overlooked in the mad rush to prepubescent freedom    whose minds got mismatched        Throw many more daggers at the stone    It’s ancient after all    how many comic strips do you invoke    what tarheels    in fashionable disarray    more strokes this morning        You come to the end of the row    you could switch over or begin a new one    at the wrong end and work back to the previous beginning    Do we really want to see it turn out all right    Are the guns trained on her quarterdeck what about the ketch        And you do really go in        It’s a passably elegant solution    for what was only land office before    ancient miles of wind picking    the harrow clean        All standing around    just to welcome you    you and your pie-eyed souvenir chest and    the bride you brought from back east    nailed to the sun

  

你，我的学院        （选自Can You Hear, Bird）    作者：(美)约翰.阿什贝利（John Ashberry）    译者:剑郭琴符        或许拆开我的呼吸，就像。    去掉我胸毛上被抛弃的响板。    这样更好。我能在远处看到更多。    我不会随时很快放弃这一点        但商业已经不再像过去的日子    那样运作。小企业    开始走上桃花丽人的路，    跟着“穿花衣的吹笛手”和他的老鼠    进入山下的洞穴。即使大企业    也对自己陌生，不知道自己梦想什么，    或想要什么。如果它不时地瞥一下    镜子，它只能看到一个空白，补充的墙。    获利回吐是一个前所未闻的概念。        只有昏聩的享受才会感觉到一次跨界    发生在最近的过去。无家可归者的    蜷缩形状，隐藏在肮脏的被子下，    正是这种恶毒轨迹的一个迹象    它让街道充满了像马粪一样的炮弹。    在这样的阶层中，享受变成了一种稀土元素，    女房东本来有事想告诉你    但是在楼梯口你对她来说太快了。    现在它已经在比赛形式中扩散。        菲奥娜和伊洛娜，刚从里加回来，    不明白什么是大惊小怪。“十七个故事的    联邦调查局特工也没有回来吗？不管怎么说，孩子们    还没把石蕊变成粉红色---或“变成了”？    高尔夫球手用什么方式    能从这种绝望的局面中有所收获？”    请一位情景画家，女士，我在这里要免费的小吃    和杜松子酒。        沥青睾丸在外面撒布的沙子上颠簸。    是时候去图书馆，找出    是谁杀了教堂司事。“不是我，”屎壳郎说，    “也不是我，”蠕虫说。但你们中的一个    在他去拿裤子的几秒钟内让他惊奇。我的理论    几乎是建立---一个宏伟的    南瓜，茄子，洋蓟，韭菜，芹菜等等的金字塔。    现在吸收那些是不是太晚了？        这就是为什么长篇大论被写的原因---为字典    阅读它们然后得出结论    也许是35年前，曾经是令人吃惊的，    但现在不再有震撼的力量，或甚至魅力    就像童年时蝴蝶对我们笑一样，    沼泽地上的奶油帆充满了光和风。        你现在所处的地方一定要像火盆一样    光明且明亮。你要给我们传真一些快乐吗？    我就坐在马桶上，梦见一个诡计    想让你们各派服从，你在这儿按了我的门铃    递给我一个包装得像小丑一样的大盒子---    满是盘子吗？你会成为我的“一个小家伙”    一旦律师航行回来了？        或者我们在荒凉的峡谷里失去了彼此    似乎世界大部分由它组成？    那是你的尖脚趾指向的地方吗？    我为你跳楼，攀爬马戏团的帐篷，    尽管我知道不全是你想的那样。    郊区怎么样？“为这些心烦意乱的时代    悲伤的帕凡舞。”大沼泽地如何，    那么？红树林是一个神奇的东西    永不停止生长，不像    我们铅笔一样薄的项目，为收获红利    一旦穴居人拥有和我们在一起的方式，    并被我们同化。这不会持续几个世纪，    但时间的任性是一张天然的信用卡，压缩生命    到几个星期或几个月的空间里，如果需要的话，    有时。    而且有时    当我的马看着我，这是一个巨大的乐趣，    或是一个巨大的恐吓。动物们几乎是最后一个倾听者    当你读《时间之书》的时候---它们活蹦乱跳地    听着，而大自然的一切美    也希望它如此---被切割成镜头吞食，    或者模糊而透明地像传票一样，当拖拉机    停下来把我们运送到最近的月经来潮的太阳。

You，My Academy            Maybe untwine my breath, like.    Remove the cast-off castanets from my chest hair.    That’s better. I can see more in the distance.    I won’t be giving this up any time soon,        yet commerce no longer functions the way it used to    in the days gone by. Small businesses    are beginning to go the way of the peacherino,    following the Pied Piper and his rats    into the cavity beneath the hill. Even big business    is foreign to itself, knows not what it dreams,    or wants. If it glances into the mirror    at times, it sees only a blank, supplemental wall.    Profit-taking is an unheard-of concept.        Only muddled enjoyment perceives that a crossover    took place in the recent past. Huddled shapes    of the homeless, hidden under dirty quilts,    are the one sign of that baleful trajectory    that left the street full of cannonballs like horse manure.    Enjoyment becomes a rare earth amid such strata,    something the landlady was going to tell you    but you were too quick for her on the landing.    It’s diffused now in the racing forms.        Fiona and Ilona, just back from Riga,    can’t understand what’s the fuss. “Weren’t there    seventeen-story G-men back when, too? Anyway, the kids    haven’t turned litmus pink---or have they?    What manner of golfer stands to reap anything    from this desperate situation?”    Ask a situationist, lady, I’m here for the free canapes    and the gin.        Bituminous ballocks thrash the sand spread outside.    It were time for the library, and to ferret out    who killed the sexton. “Not I,” says the dung beetle,    “Nor I,” the worm. But one of you surprised him in    the few seconds he went to get his pants. And my theory    is all but erected---an imposing pyramid    of squashes, eggplants, artichokes, leeks, celery, et al.    Is it too late to absorb that?        That’s why screeds were written---for dictionaries    to read theirs and then come to conclusions    that would have been startling once, maybe thirty-five years ago,    but now no longer have power to shock, or even charm    as butterflies laughed to us in childhood,    and the creamy sails on the marsh filled with the light and the wind.        It must be light and bright as a brazier    down where you are now. Are you going to fax us any fun?    I was just sitting on the toilet, dreaming a ruse    to make you factions obey, and here you ring my doorbell    and hand me a large box wrapped like a harlequin---    Is it full of dishes? Are you going to be my “wee one”    once the attorneys have sailed back?        Or do we lose each other in the desolate glens    it seems the world is largely composed of?    Is that where your pointed toe is leading?    I’d jump off buildings for you, scale circus tents,    though I know its not exactly what you had in mind.    How about suburbia? “A sad pavane    for these distracted times. ”How about the Everglades,    then? A mangrove is a wondrous thing    that never stops growing, unlike    our pencil-thin projects for reaping dividends    once the troglodytes have had their way with us,    and been assimilated by us. That won’t be for centuries,    but time’s caprice is a wild card, conpressing lives    into a space of weeks or months, if need be,    sometimes.    And sometimes    when my horse looks at me, it’s a great treat,    or a great fright. Animals are about the last to listen    as you read from the Book of Hours---they get frisky    with listening, and the natural beauty of everything    wants it so---cut up for lenses to devour,    or vague and transparent as a subpoena when a tractor    stops to give us a lift to the nearest menstruating sun.

  

你会想        （选自Can You Hear, Bird）    作者：(美)约翰.阿什贝利（John Ashberry）    译者:剑郭琴符        与此同时，回到    没有灵魂的美国，人们像往常一样    玩乐。        一只鸟访问水盆。    一个年轻女孩参加了历史    进修课程。我的巨大单元正    在春天的束缚下扭伤。    一年一度的比赛在继续---        某人头发上的白花。    他在虚无的空气中跳着华尔兹进来，        沉思着你箱子里的蓝色音符。    皮带很有弹性，能容纳    但我担心这次我太过    沉湎于自己做的云朵。        另一次，雨水从树上    滴落到房子里，滴落到地上---    每样东西都在自救，另一样东西    也前进了一点。接受答案的这些日子    和咄咄逼人的询问会是不可想象的。        惯例都太熟悉，        石路让人疲惫不堪。

You Would Have Thought                Meanwhile, back in    soulless America, people are having fun    as usual.        A bird visits a birdbath.    A young girl takes a refresher course    in polyhistory. My mega-units are straining    at the leash of spring.    The annual race is on---        white flowers in someone’s hair.    He comes in waltzing on empty airs,        mulling the blue notes of your case.    The leash is elastic and receptive    but I fear I am too wrapped up in cloudlets    of my own making this time.        In the other time it was rain dripping    from a tree to a house to the ground---    each thing helping itself and another thing    along a little. That would be inconceivable    these days of receptive answers and aggressive querying.        The routine is all too familiar,        the stone path wearying.

  

年轻人        （选自Can You Hear, Bird）    作者：(美)约翰.阿什贝利（John Ashberry）    译者:剑郭琴符        他慢慢地吃着星星---    它们对他来说就像书的脊椎，    但是不要把两个女人或地点扔给他        他称这个为“游牧民族的土地”    但它是干净和严肃的。不，这是真的，    令人愉快。绝对不是。然而，穿着睡衣的老人们        悠闲地出现。    美好的时光在留声机上。    肯定有人能做他的妻子，        肯定有坚强丈夫为这样的女人，    她们把步枪放在杂物室    从不要求身份证。她们的颜色：        一条橘黄色海滩上的那些，在    失望的八月傍晚。我们和雨燕一起站起，    从不知道与我们断绝关系的东西。

Young People                Slowly he is eating the stars---    they are like the spines of books to him,    but don’t throw two ladies or locations at him        He called this Nomad’s Land    Yet it was clean and serious. Not, it is true,    cheerful. Not by any means. Yet the old men        in pajamas made a leisurely appearance.    Good times were on the phonograph.    Surely somebody can be his wife,        surely there are strong husbands for such women,    who keep a rifle in the broom closet    and never ask for i.d. Their colors:        those of a saffron strand at evening    in disappointed August. We rise with the swifts,    never to know what cut us loose.

  

被冒犯        （选自 A Worldly Country）    作者：(美)约翰.阿什贝利（John Ashberry）    译者:剑郭琴符        有一段时间，我们捕捉到了事物的精神    当它们漂浮在过去中。我们开始    真正了解它们。蜘蛛网    在海岸上方航行。无所畏惧地，那女孩    从云中挑选它们，全都神秘    而有弹性。后来，裹尸布把它们举起到    出租车和生活的水泥梦想之上。    这或多或少是被期待的    事情耗尽，然后又    回到一起的方式。我们所看不到的是    令人愉快的。七月过得很快。        比这更麻烦，甚至比    靠近中间和尽头未完成的圆圈    更麻烦的，是站在拱顶上，    对着天气咕哝着可怕的事情的蜡烛，    山墙。想象一部电影和某人的生活一样，长度一样，收视率一样。    现在想象你在它里面，扮演第二个主角，    一部分实际上比校长更重要的角色。    当它超过一半你怎么    判断？当粉彩的苔原    像曼陀罗从四面八方涌来    这个很小的女孩无处可去。    她和我们一起玩，在我们的盛会中；一个人    为离开这么久而感到羞耻，任凭任何东西    达到其现在的状态。太晚了，在时间    刚刚过去的时候，壁炉架上野猪的头    在孤独的原型烦恼中发光。        现在对于背景中的骑兵和弯腰的人来说    已经太迟了：当我年轻的时候，我    认为他是一个巫师，或者是一个    来自遥远首都的被遗忘的江湖骗子。现在我不这么确定。

To Be Affronted                For a while we caught the spirit of things    as they had drifted in the past. And we got    to know them really well. Cobwebs sailed    above the shore. Undaunted, the girl picked    them out of clouds, all being mysterious    and rubbery. Later a shroud lifted    them above the cement dream of taxis and life.    This was the more or less expected    way of things running out, and back    together again. What we couldn’t see was    delightful. July passed very quickly.        More than the matter with it, more even    than circles coming undone near the middle    and the end, was the candle that stood in the vault,    muttering inclement things to the weather,    the gables. Imagine a movie that is the same as someone’s life，same length，same ratings.    Now imagine you are in it, playing the second lead,    a part actually more important than the principals’.    How do you judge when it’s more than    half over? As pastel tundra    crowds in from all sides like a mandala    there is nowhere for the very little girl to go.    She plays with us, in our pageant; one is ashamed    at having been away this long and let whatever    get to the state it’s in now. Too late，the boar’s    head on the mantel glows in solitary    archetypal annoyance at the way time has just passed.        It’s too late for the hussars and the bent figure    in the background: When I was young I    thought he was a wizard, or perhaps a forgotten    charlatan from a far-off capital. Now I’m not so sure.

  

条纹        （选自 A Worldly Country）    作者：(美)约翰.阿什贝利（John Ashberry）    译者:剑郭琴符        经过矮桥时，某人的念珠发出    一阵辱骂的齐射。栗树    一片一片脱落叶子。试着    一个又一个话题，门    单独地接待了来访者。为什么不？        是不是因为这个，我们在广场上    避开了引起注意的时刻，在太阳    完成生闷气以后？绿洲里有兔子    没有人告诉我们，更不用说    那些近距离的牛轧糖商人了。一首    摇篮曲适合所有人。听力中没有任何条款，    只有敏捷的透视吞咽的巨人    或孤独维护自身，毫无特征    尽管在光的药丸中被挑选出来。

Streakiness                Passing the low bridge, one’s beads give vent    to a volley of abuse. The chestnut trees    shed their leaves one by one. Trying one    topic of conversation after another, the door    admitted visitors singly. Why not?        Was it for this we eschewed attention-getting    moments in the plaza after the sun    finished sulking? There were rabbits in the oasis    no one told us about, least of all    nougat merchants in close quarters. One    lullaby fits all. There is no clause in hearing,    only nimble perspective-gulping giants    or loneliness asserts itself, featureless    though picked out in pills of light.

  

白菊花        （选自 A Worldly Country）    作者：(美)约翰.阿什贝利（John Ashberry）    译者:剑郭琴符        这一切都发生在很久以前---    一种特定年份的浑浊的、乳白色的    沉淀物，然后接近尾声，    像暴雨水道的剧变。道路狂暴地爆裂了它的侧翼；    在否定神学中一切都是不确定的    除了返回的确定性，返回到    近似。        早和晚号角吹响，    召唤忠实信徒祷告，不忠实信徒欢乐。    在那条不体面的小巷里，我第一次    对你那滑稽的、面包屑外皮的嘴唇吐出一句嘲笑：    如果我们都不知道发生在我们身上的一切，    午夜开始的歌，    后来的梦，羔羊的莴苣和苔藓    靠近冥河曾经流过的地方，会如何？        但只有我，现在，我来是因为你哭了，我不得不。    编成辫子的树皮遮住了门环，但门铃    深深地穿透了住在这里的人的大脑。    哦，咸云和危险，    月亮是明确的。

Feverfew            It all happened long ago---    a murky, milky precipitate    of certain years then drawing to a close,    like a storm sewer upheaval. Road rage had burst its flanks;    all was uncertain on the Via Negativa    except the certainty of return，return    to the approximate.        Night and morning a horn sounded,    summoning the faithful to prayer, the unfaithful to pleasure.    In that unseemly alley I first exhaled    a jest to your comic, crumb-crusted lips:    What if we are all ignorant of all that has happened to us,    the song starting up at midnight,    the dream later, of lamb’s lettuce and moss    near where Acheron used to flow?        But it’s only me, now, I came because you cried and I had to.    Plaited bark muffles the knocker, but the doorbell    penetrates deep into the brain of one who lived here.    O brackish clouds and dangerous,    the moon is unambiguous.

   

剑郭琴符

悬念        （选自 A Worldly Country）    作者：(美)约翰.阿什贝利（John Ashberry）    译者:剑郭琴符        在所有的戏剧中，即使是《哈姆雷特》，风景    也是最好的部分。城垛，冬日的灌木丛    把它们的边缘压在你的身上，咳出它们的承诺    当诗句星星般行进时。你会空手离开，    别人会比你知道的更多。时间衰老，“恐惧感”    越来越接近我，就像    哑剧里的老鼠。然后提词员    沮丧地扬起双手。你“是”凡人，    你为什么什么都不说？回到为你砖块般的    基础上，伙计。我们会改天去看    波浪在水边上得太少，    这反过来也证明了我们的分歧是合理的：    我们“曾经”是，对的？无论哪位圣徒    从雨篷中呼喊，都是属于我们的，为了救助和骚扰，否则    为什么还要喋喋不休地谈论我们之间的差异呢？为什么要斥责    那些几乎总是存在的界限上    产生分歧或懒散的东西？        英法塔斯    现在可以凭直觉知道有更好的运气，如果我们之间的一切    都棒极了，那么日冕会散开其形状    进入我们的视野，警告比评估更少。    现在连最远的窗户都变黑了。黑暗    想要我们。谢谢你的呼叫。

Cliffhanger                    In all plays, even Hamlet， the scenery    is the best part. Battlements, wintry thickets    forcing their edge on you, cough up their promise    as the verse goes starry. You will leave empty-handed,    others will know more than you. Time’s aged frisson    gets to me more and more, like mice    in a pantomime. And then the prompter    throws up his hands in dismay. You were mortal,    so why didn’t you say anything? Back to brick basics    for you, my man. We’ll see another day    the wave coming up short at water’s edge,    which in turn justifies our divagations:    We were once，right? Whichever saint calls out    of an awning is ours to succor and molest, else    why harp on the differences between us? Why castigate    what divides or loll on the boundary    that was almost always there?        Infantas    would now intuit better fortunes if all    were copacetic between us, the corona lift its shape    into our ken, less warning than appraisal.    Now even the farthest windows have gone dark.    And the dark    wants, needs us. Thank you for calling.

  

狂喜    （选自 A Worldly Country）    作者：(美)约翰.阿什贝利（John Ashberry）    译者:剑郭琴符        我们在历史上    一所大房子的大厅内外闲逛。    一开始还可以看见一点，    后来我们的眼睛慢慢习惯了黑暗    我们可以辨认出桥上有人    向我们招手，似乎想让我们走近一点。        我们决定不那样做。    你觉得那地方很吓人。    我发现它很放松，甚至兴致勃勃。    有一种麝香的味道    它不仅仅是一种警告，更是一种确认。    家具都是一模一样的，    唉，空气越来越近了。    这是我的呼吸，因为我经常假装它。        第二天走下斜坡    没有灿烂的，可怕的记录    让我们正好看到    页边空白，且不太远。    我现在想出去。    我在这个国家旅行的时间    比任何人可能，或已有的都长。    想要一点甜点以防饥饿    是很自然的，不要把任何东西放在一边    因为在这个起泡的冬天当友谊来临，就像    扎染的围巾不打结，风向标是一个伴侣，    只有你看不到它指向后面。        我们很早就去参加招待会，    虽然着迷和冰激凌似乎不再可行，    所有这些中都有一个间接税。    然而，我们待得越来越久。舞会结束了，    然后又开始了，没有人对这件事有发言权。    早上天气很暖和，一段时间。我找借口出去    住了二十年。    我回来时，你问我是否忘了什么，    我回答没有，只有牛奶。这是事实。

The Ecstasy                We wandered in and out of the lobby    of a large house in history.    There was litte to see at first,    then our eyes growing accustomed to the darkness    we could make out figures on a bridge    who waved to us, seeming to want us to come nearer.        We decided not to do that.    You thought the place was scary.    I found it relaxing, invigorating even.    There was a smell of that kind of musk    that is less than a warning, more than a confirmation.    The furniture was all of a piece,    alas; the air moved nearer.    It was my breathing as I had often feigned it.        Going down the slope the next day    there was nothing in the brilliant, awful annals    that let us see    just to the margin, and no further.    I want out now.    I have traveled in this country    longer than anyone should, or has.    It’s natural to want a little sweetness    along with one’s hunger, to put nothing aside    for the blistery winter when friendships come unknotted    like tie-dyed scarves, and the weathervane’s a mate,    only you can’t see it pointing backwards.        We left early for the reception,    though swooning and sherbets no longer seemed viable,    and there was a hidden tax in all this.    Yet we stayed, longer and longer. The dancing came to an end,    then started up again, one had no say in the matter.    In the morning it was warm, period. I went out on some pretext    and stayed for twenty years.    When I returned you asked if I had forgotten anything,    and I answered no, only the milk. Which was the truth.

  

水印        （选自 A Worldly Country）    作者：(美)约翰.阿什贝利（John Ashberry）    译者:剑郭琴符        “我已经把它和水一起带到了这里，现在    更多的轮辐正在松开。    给我一个文字编辑，或者一杯好的    稠饮料，如果你愿意的话。我们的资源被搁置了    一代人，这就是结果。    像往常一样，这区域，一个‘敏感地区’，    正在撤离。没有人知道他们的立足点能支撑多久。”        我们的代表将与你联系，    但与此同时，重要的是不要移动    或以任何方式将你的行踪泄露给倾听的    敌人。他场所的感觉很长，    但不是无限的。海市蜃楼控制用光封闭了    边界，无休止的羞怯光产生了。    你可以向你的母亲而不是你的叔叔阿姨们    忏悔你的罪恶---一个人会害怕    被烧烁的结果，在这个丑陋的、悬崖住所般的    宇宙中，冒着再次碰到这个问题的危险    在一个有太多升半音的小调里。    请问，有人试图打电话到送货站    把在合适的地址摆脱眼泪吗？    这是“西方”第五，不是西南。雪人    可以给你指认台阶。只是    有一点哄骗的意思。        但我以前被问过一些愚蠢的问题。现在不是    活动非常灵活的时候，甚至也不是问向什么圣人    祈祷的时候，假定他们都是一样的，    那就是，神圣的。在最新的令人困惑的公式中。

Filigrane            “I’ve had it up to here with water, and now    further spokes are coming undone.    Get me a copy editor, or a good stiff    drink, if you will. Our resources have been on hold    for a generation, and this is the result.    As usual, the region, a ‘sensitive area，’    is being evacuated. No one knows how    long their toehold can hold out.”        Our representative will be contacting you,    but meanwhile it is important not to move    or in any way betray your whereabouts to the listening    enemy. His sense of place is long,    but not endless. Mirage control has sealed the borders    with light and the endless diffidence light begets.    You may confess your sins to your mother    but not your aunts and uncles---one would fear    the cauterized result, and in this ugly, cliff-dwelling    universe risk bumping against the question again    in a minor key with too many sharps in it.    Please, would somebody try to telephone the delivery station    and unload the tears at the proper address?    It’s West Fifth，not Southwest. A snowman    can point you toward the steps. Wheedle on    for just a little bit.        But I’ve been asked silly questions before. Now is not the    moment to turn on a dime, or even ask what saint    to pray to, given that they are all alike,    that is, holy. In the latest bewildering formulation.

  

敕令        （选自 A Worldly Country）    作者：(美)约翰.阿什贝利（John Ashberry）    译者:剑郭琴符        当你沉迷于词库，    或者，更准确地，被沉迷，    文字兔子出现了嬉皮士跳跃。    很快就是黄昏。疲倦的河流经过    再次请求你同一首歌；鸟儿们    （它们现在已经知道这一切）沉默了；    现在是时候把分析塑造成    时间敏感型了。也就是说，    事情已经发生了，我们也没有    因此而变得更糟。的确，天空    和附近的谷仓似乎在鸣响    当我们收拾东西，准备    离开的时候，就像往常一样，尽管还没有决定    接受什么样的供品，如果夜晚会带来什么。        什么样的一个笨蛋！请原谅我…    我要对风和野花说这些    事后的想法，如果它们能像这样    有尊严。我离题了，也，    在朦胧的暮色，这一切都可以用巧计干的地方    当我们无可救药地、无可否认地衰老时，    只有我不知道那是什么感觉---    如此真实！不是什么时候，而是如果。    但是，我们会在事情发生之前知道---我们会    从我们看待彼此的方式中认出我们，    而不是从任何紧急的前进    或诸如此类的事情。

Ukase                And as you were indulging in the thesaurus,    or, more precisely, being indulged,    the word-rabbits came hippity-hopping along.    Soon it was dusk. The weary river passed    to ask you the same song over again; the birds    (who knew it all by now) were silent;    and it was time to mold the analytical    to the time-sensitive. That is,    to say that it had happened and we were    no worse for it. Indeed, the sky    and nearby barns seemed about to chime    as we were getting our stuff together, ready    to leave, as always, though not quite decided    what tributes to accept, if night should bring any.        What a chump! Excuse me ...    It is to the wind and the wildflowers I address these    afterthoughts, if they can be dignified    as such. And I digress, too,    in the gloaming where all can be finessed    as we are incurably, undeniably aging,    only I can’t tell what that feels like---    It’s so true! Not when, but if.    But we’ll know it before it happens---we’ll    recognize us from the way we look at each other,    not from any urgent movement forward    or anything like that.

  

诡辩        （选自 A Worldly Country）    作者：(美)约翰.阿什贝利（John Ashberry）    译者:剑郭琴符        虚假的黎明被纠缠，它的圆    被视为对诚实人的谴责，诚实人是大脑的    第三大城市。其他人很快就加入了    争论。这么多人在二月减弱的光中    显得似是而非，这不是我们的错：    谁，真的，他们会呼吁？    它明显的健康没有先例，    不是昨天的点点滴滴，这是别人    宴席的残羹剩饭，我打赌。如果    他们中的很多人回来决定和父母一起    安顿下来，突然被家里的厨艺迷住    又怎么样？他们会打折扣吗？    在另一个假定晴朗的日子    有什么在等着我们？过分怀疑？我们自己的幻想曲？

Casuistry                The false dawn had been implicated, its circularity    seen as a rebuke to honest folks, a third largest city    of the brain. Others were quick to join    the fray. It wasn’t our fault that so many    appeared specious in the waning light of February:    Who, indeed, would they appeal to?    There were no precedents for its apparent soundness,    not yesterday’s dribs and drabs, the remnants    of someone else’s feast, I’d wager. And what if    a lot of them come back and decide to settle down    with their parents, enraptured with home cooking    all of a sudden? Will they make the cut?    And what’s out there for us on another    putative fine day? Oversubtlety? Our own quodlibets?

  

最喜欢行板        （选自 A Worldly Country）    作者：(美)约翰.阿什贝利（John Ashberry）    译者:剑郭琴符        在夏末，我们会一遍又一遍地    互相打电话，直到苦涩的泡沫消退。    信件开始比落叶来得快    是巧合吗？对从未寄出的信件的    答复，还是我们所想的那样？        最后，每一件都整齐地装进    另一件。灰尘从这幅画上被抹去，    它清澈的蓝色刺痛着，像一个被记住的承诺。    短纤维挥舞着，驱散了早产的泪水。    留下的箱子打开---意外地---光倾泻入    它的主题，一篇出自大师之手的迟来的文章。    四周，明亮被原谅，转移了    松懈的光泽在信笺和长期挂在    衣柜里的衣服上。我们可以试着离开    但时机不对，边界正在改变。        对坐着看他插图的    他的尊敬。祝贺他的波浪的    倒退的编织物。    朝圣者慢慢散去。怪人要么死，要么活，    但每一个人都把星光洒在鹅卵石表面，    命令睡觉，留下来，或者要求撤换    一个融化的夹鼻眼镜，消磨浮华的一个小时。

Andante Favori                In late summer we would call each other    over and over until the bitter foam subsided.    Was it a coincidence that letters began arriving    faster than fallen leaves, answers to ones    never sent, or so we thought?        In the end each piece fits neatly    next to another. Dust is wiped from the picture,    whose clear blue stings like a remembered promise.    Flocks are waving，dispelling tears that were premature.    The box has been left open---accidentally?---and light pours    into its subject, a late essay from the master’s hand.    All around，brightness is forgiven, diverting    a lax sheen on letterheads and clothes    long hung in closets. We could try to leave    but the timing’s wrong，borders are changing.        Honor to him who sits and consults    his illustration. The backward weave    of the waves congratulates him.    Pilgrims scatter slowly. Eccentrics die or live,    but each casts starshine on the pebbled surface,    commanded to sleep, stay or recuse    a melting pince-nez, spin out a foppish hour.

   

剑郭琴符

握手，咳嗽，亲吻        （选自 A Worldly Country）    作者：(美)约翰.阿什贝利（John Ashberry）    译者:剑郭琴符        因为那清脆的声音突然歌唱，在修道院的墙上的高处，    较老灌木丛的气味，大厅里的运动印花，    夏天的槌球比赛，握手，咳嗽，亲吻，    总有一个邪恶的秘密，一个私人原因为此。    ---W.H.奥登，“秘密终于出现”        当他们经过一座城市时，别人先知道。    那人声称他鞋子里没有电梯，只不过是    最后仅有的一条街上留下的舞蹈广告。    一个有粉刺的年轻人指向警察。    楼下有人叫了辆出租车，    车来了，堵住了交通。司机    好像迷路了，车里已经有乘客了。    我知道克里特电影院在哪里吗？    哦，是的，我自信地说，用法语。我们    爬到其他人旁边，他们很好，打算接待我们。        每年的一天这个时候，我都会感到    疼痛，就像百里香或无花果干一样。    没有人需要知道是什么使我不舒服，    这是可悲的，但告诉他们会更糟。    我说，你介意我在酒吧里点灯吗？    没有地方可以抽烟了。我想知道出租车的事。    我以前在里面抽烟，因为地铁里禁止吸烟。    那是在我戒烟之前，    看着苍蝇或卷宗向上飘扬，在灰蒙蒙的中午很厚。        如果一个孩子过来玩    会被问到其名字，然后给一剂白兰地    为了不再玩。不管怎样，我们冒着风险，    在变暗的冰面上    似乎从下面    低语。当心，它是雪女王。    有人说。只要她不参与    她就喜欢玩。这似乎是有道理的，    但我该怎么办，因为早上才有火车，    而且有幽默感的好感觉，几个选区马屁精都同意？        第二天，山是羊皮纸，    从远处看很好，反正我们    通常都在那里。我匆匆穿好衣服，    匆匆吃了早饭。现在好像有一对一对的人    群集，告诉我该怎么办。父亲在他的小屋里    洗了一个澡。快到新闻时间了。    我们向大教堂走去。    它两次错过了我们。我想。白巧克力的    人行道弯弯曲曲，    一条斑马线。        岛上的人和你联系过吗？    结果账单寄错    地址。我们没有    信用等级。我们必须试着生活在没有它，    和不适当的去健身房    或国家的老人爱抚。一面墙    有广告牌的特征，提供45分钟的    海滨之旅。和，我们    可以捡起并丢失的东西一起。一直持续到深夜，一场争论    缝合它的方式。我们还能继续理解多久？        很多，很不幸。所以好好享受生活。这是真的。我是说真的，    就像你想象不到的。不管怎样，这座城市正离开，    他身后的队伍也在逐渐缩小。很快，没人    会记得那个穿着破烂衣服的男孩，他过去常常    从滑板里盯着废弃的家具仓库。    这也不是一种责备，不是因为他    带着他的图表和其他用具来的，因为没有人，    甚至连他的母亲，都不知道该问他什么，    也不知道他会想出什么样的古怪的回答，    即使他回答，事实上他从来没有做过。    所以他们在第一学期相处得很好。        那一天，这座城市和它的胡椒圆顶    是一个很好的进去的时机。一股    宜人的微风从格子间飘出，    在微风中，混合着旋律的    音调，像调剂过的香料。然后一切都结束了。    他感觉很好，谁也没这么说。我不知道，    它在他下面经过，直到他要在    胃坑里生病，那里是疾病的居住地。    那天没人提醒男孩    把鞋挂上，他已经穿上了，    蹒跚着去鞋匠买一些他出生时    在港口城市穿过的新鞋带，但直到    这个时候，他才注意到风筝在飞，唾沫球    垂下，试图拉开那一年。        他们都知道他在那个古老，神奇和悲惨的小镇    是当地的业余历史学家和一种    只有天堂女神知道的辣椒销售商。    然后，他把脸转过去，他试着    猜他们谜语的答案。如果正确的话，    一个吻会奖励给他。如果不是，退隐到    一张纸上或承诺在几公里外的巨大学术大厅里    是更好的自己，但他们    没有告诉他这些。对他那凌乱的笔迹    没有正式的调查，因为这一切带领他    获得了他梦寐以求的博士学位    在一座靠近大桥交通的小屋里，那里每天晚上    接缝都会被泄露。如果安静的话    那是个相当不错的地方。一个人必须忍受    某些制度，然后再从中获利，        我们拒绝这些。哦，我相信那时候    和现在一样努力是同样严重的。我们是孩子，这让事情变得更容易，    但也更难，因为我们什么都不知道。你可能会说，    现在我们活了下来。新的因素已经进入平衡，但周围    仍然是杂乱无章的，仍然是无限的。那接受这些借口的地区    对我们来说是陌生的。常去和浸信会的人在一起，    喝节制的饮料，是另一种    教育，人们在秋夜里渐渐习惯了它。    毫无意外，冬天就要来临了，    有岬角和钻石冠羽。和轻盈。        还饿吗？继续读。    一群萎靡不振的孩子把沥青    从灰烬薄膜上看出来的地方    倒到单杠上。或者    被安排在看起来像一些其它不知名的时刻，    一个让紫色袭击者感到困惑的腰围的环境。    然后他让鼓继续。从暖气片到市中心，    这导致了不雅的吹牛和纠葛。    也许是时候    改变我们周围所见的    频率，离开宫殿回家。    一辆战车在门边等着。    进门的路被入口堵住了，就在它附近。        他们打电话说    我应该想办法    修改程序，    让一些光线和空气进来，    引进一些有新想法的新人。    我和德鲁西拉.林克谈过这件事。    结果我们共同关心的很多问题是相同的。    但---在这里她强调---    我们谁也不知道别人能力的范围。        因为干扰故事的东西    他的梦境变得更加危险。    我们去了那里。        以为一切都不是我们离开时的样子。    没有为一切而死，    卡尔萨维娜停了下来，耸了耸肩，继续    干下去，回到车上，    一直到几周前在北方。    欧洲的集体节奏以叹息穿透了面纱。    新里茨海滨游憩胜地从尘埃中升起。    为什么它一定要爆炸？        我不知道---今年春天来了又去得太快了，    在河里做爱---一个人观察它。    顺便说一句，只允许未成年人。    最后我去找他说---听着，    如果这就是你能带到桌子上的一切，我们为什么在这里？    我们有很多事情要做---比我们的份额还多。你可以听到汽车    在下一个山谷加速行驶，但是在时间还不够。    只有怀疑，和疑心，存在。把这个星期减半。    搅拌冰块托盘。带个素描本，一个孩子的说明，    一份小的投资，然后更多的物质，因为有人监督它，    一个和谐的融合，通过一个有缺陷的窗口看，对死亡的痛苦。    最好是找出这条路，而不是穿过悲伤的回忆，    鸣鸟啊！你请求我们相信你    但路很短。我们过去的同伴坚持，    一个小的，泥泞的团体，粘附竞争对手的海岸，贪婪，并终止。        相信它，他们能感觉到空气。    这里的曲调太冗长，    歌词太乏味。我不说出---我看见他们了。天哪，    葡萄和其他橘子可以吃人    一旦钻孔被禁止，如果我们让他们吃的话。取而代之的是，    在岩石上跳跃是没人感兴趣的新主题。    也许有一天，古老甜美的理性，“让真理盛行的艺术，”将刺激    混合的积极性。同时我们，我们只是，回到任何真相    正在到来的地方，就像雷霆一样，沿着地平线，一个失败者    列队过去的学院，而现在没有实现，    所有的果实都在季节里。

The Handshake, the Cough, the Kiss                For the clear voice suddenly singing, high up in the convent wall,    The scent of the elder bushes, the sporting prints in the hall,    The croquet matches in summer, the handshake, the cough，the kiss,    There is always a wicked secret, a private reason for this.    ---W.H.AUDEN, “At Last the Secret Is Out”        When they passed through a city, it was others knew it first.    The man claimed no lift in his shoe but an advertisement for the dance    left over from the last street but one.    A spotty youth pointed toward the policeman.    Someone downstairs had called for a cab;    it had arrived, was blocking traffic. The driver    seemed lost, and there were already passengers inside.    Did I know where the Cinema Kriter was？    Oh yes, I said confidently, in French. We    climbed in next to the others, who were nice, disposed to receive us.        Every year at this time of day I get a feeling    of a pain, like thyme or dried figs.    Nobody needs to know what is ailing me，    which is sad, but telling them would be worse.    I say, would you mind if I light up in bars?    There’s no place left to smoke. I wonder about taxis.    I used to smoke in them, because it was forbidden in the subway.    That was before I gave up smoking,    watching the flies or files drift upward, thick in gray noon.        And if a child came over to play    it would be asked its name, then given a dose of brandy    so as not to play any more. We risked it anyway,    out on the ice where it darkens    and seems to whisper    from down below. Watch out, it’s the Snow Queen,    one said. She likes playing    as long as she’s not involved. That seemed to make sense,    but what was I to do, with no trains till morning,    and a good sense of humor, several ward heelers concurred?        Next day the hills were parchment,    good to look at from far away, which is    where we usually are anyway. I dressed hurriedly,    consumed a hasty breakfast. Now it seemed there were pairs    of people thronging, telling me what to do. Father in his little house    took a bath. It was almost time for the news.    We took a walk toward the cathedral.    It missed us twice. I think. The pavement    of white chocolate curves around,    a zebra crossing.        Did the islands ever get in touch with you?    Turns out the bill was sent    to the wrong address. We have no credit rating    any more. We must try to live without it,    and the unsuitable caresses of oldsters    gone to the gym or the country. One    wall features billboards offering a trip to the seashore    in forty-five minutes. With that, we    can pick up and get lost. Far into the night an argument    stitches its way. How long can we go on comprehending?        A lot, unfortunately. So get a life. It’s been real. I mean really real,    like you can’t imagine it. The city was leaving anyway,    closing its ranks behind him. Soon no one    would remember the boy in dross who used to come    and stare through the skateboards at the abandoned furniture warehouses.    Nor was this a reproach, not to him for coming    with his charts and other paraphernalia, for no one,    not even his mother, could figure out what to ask him,    or what outlandish reply he would come up with,    even if he answered, as indeed he never did.    So they got on well during the first semester.        The city and its pepperpot domes that day    were a good time to be in. Out from    lattices a pleasant breeze was wafting,    and in that breeze, mingled tones    of melody like adjusted spices. Then it was all over.    He felt well, who never said so. I don’t know,    it traveled under him, until he was going to be sick    in the pit of his stomach, where ailments dwell.    Nobody had to remind the boy    to hang up his shoes that day, he was already in them,    hobbling off to the cobbler’s to buy some new laces    of the kind worn in the port city of his birth, but never    noticed until this hour, of the flying kite, and the spitball    hanging down, trying to unlatch the year.        They all knew him in that ancient, wondrous and miserable town    as the local amateur historian and vendor    of a kind of chili only the houris knew about.    Then, turning his face away, he’d try    to guess the answers to their riddles. If correct,    a kiss would reward him. If not, a retreat    to a sheet of paper or promise to better himself    in huge academic halls some kilometers away, but they    didn’t tell him this. There was no formal inquiry    into his tousled penmanship, for all it led him    unto the doctorate of his dreams and    a cottage close to the bridge traffic where daily    the seams are let out at evening. It was a pretty    enough place if quiet. One has to endure    certain systems, then profit by them later,        and we reject these. Oh I am sure it was as serious then    to be struggling as it is now. We were children, which made it easier,    but harder as well because we didn’t know anything. Now we have survived，    you might say. New factors have entered the equation, but the surround    is as messy as ever and still limitless. The one district that accepts these    excuses is strange to us. Hanging out with Baptists,    drinking temperance beverages, is another kind of    education, to which one grows accustomed during the autumn nights.    It comes as no surprise to learn that winter is on the way,    with headlands and diamond aigrettes. And the lightness.        Still hungry? Read on.    A group of wilted children poured the tar    from where it looked out on a film    of ashes to the horizontal bars. Or    it was arranged to look like some other unknown hour,    a circumstance of such girth as to bemuse purple assailants.    Then he left the drum on. From the radiator to the city center,    it led to indecent bragging and imbroglios.    Perhaps it’s time to    change the frequency of what is seen    around us, leave the palace and go home.    A chariot waits beside the door.    The way in is blocked by the entrance, near it.        They called and said    I was supposed to be thinking    of a way to revise the program,    let in some light and air,    bring in some new people with new ideas.    I was speaking with Drusilla Link about it.    Turns out many of our shared concerns are identical.    But---and here she was emphatic---    None of us knows the extent of the other’s capacity.        Because of what ails the story    his dreamaround became more dangerous.    We went there.        Think that all is not as we left it.    And not dying for everything,    Karsavina paused, shrugged, got on    with it, got back on the bus,    north until a few weeks ago.    A collective European rhythm pierced the veil with sighs.    Out of the dust rose a new Ritz de la Riviera.    Why must it explode?        I don’t know---spring came and went so fast this year,    sex on the river---and one observes it.    By the way, only minors are allowed.    Finally I just went to him and said---look,    if that’s all you can bring to the table, why are we here?    We’ve got lots to do---more than our share. You can hear cars    revving up in the next valley, but there’s still not enough time.    Only doubt, and suspicion, subsist. Cut the week in half.    Stir the ice-cube tray. Bring a sketch pad, a child’s illustration,    a small investment, then more material as someone oversees it,    a harmonic convergence viewed through a flawed window, on pain of death.    And better to be finding out this way than across rued reminiscence,    O songbird! You asked us to believe    in you but the way was short. Our quondam companions persist,    a small, muddy group, adhere to the rival shore, ravenous, and expire.        Believe it, they feel the air.    The tunes here are overstuffed,    the lyrics threadbare. I don’t get out---I see them. Good my lord,    grapes and other oranges could eat people    once the drill had been proscribed, if we let them. Instead,    gamboling on rocks is the new theme nobody is interested in.    Maybe one day, old sweet reason, “the art of making truth prevail, ” will stimulate    hybrid initiatives. Meanwhile we, we only, take a back place to whatever truth    is coming on like thunderheads, all along the horizon, an academy    where losers file past, and the present is unredeemed,    and all fruits are in season.

剑郭琴符

是的，绒毛“先生”    （选自 A Worldly Country）    作者：(美)约翰.阿什贝利（John Ashberry）    译者:剑郭琴符    云朵烦躁，飞舞，仿佛    它们心烦意乱的行为是有原因的。    也许有，当然，但在这样的距离，    最好装聋作哑，把不可避免的事情    当作期待已久的惊喜来接受。那么，如果    你盘子里的东西愤怒地盯着你和其他客人    “不能等待”地想听到你的反应，为什么，现在是    在凉亭结账的时候了，没有人会过于热情地忘记你    因为店里下一个到最后一个旁观者总是在那里瞥见，    假装对肯定把你标记为凶手的    受害者的关心。至于下次再和    你们各位联系，我们会慎重考虑。    所以在发车站台上，这一刻的震动与其他的    交织在一起。谁知道它会这么愚蠢，    这么密集？然而，我们有权知道，    调整和校准我们的冲动，以利于    更远和更微弱的反射。当然，    你会把你的权利读给你听    早于你指望的。让这群单调的    听众向你灌输细节，我们会在中途站提供    后备和终点站的狂喜。    这不可能是别的方式。你知道。    你在那儿叫什么名字？    尽管有疑虑，这个故事还是戛然而止，    像往常一样。信贷激增。人们匆忙离开。    另一个时代的闪亮汽车    正把我们带到我们希望被带到的地方，以免我们    过了受欢迎的时间，陷入另一种    情绪的怀抱。

Yes，“Señor” Fluffy    And the clouds fretted and flew, as though    there was a reason for their acting distraught.    There may have been, of course, but at this distance,    better to act dumb and accept the inevitable    as a long-anticipated surprise. Then if what lands    on your plate stares angrily at you and the other guests    “can’t wait” to hear your reaction, why，it’s checkout time    at the gazebo and no one will forget you too heartily    as the next-to-last spectator always glimpsed on the premises,    feigning the concern for the victim that marks you as the killer,    for sure. As for being in touch with you guys    another time, we’ll take it under advisement.    So this moment’s tremors mingle with others    on the departure platform. Who knew it would be this silly,    and so dense? Nevertheless, we have a right to know,    to have our impulses regulated and calibrated in the    interests of farther and fainter reaction-shots. Sure,    you’ll get your rights read to you and sooner    than you may have counted on. Let the monotonous    group of listeners pump you for details, we’ll provide    backup and terminal ecstasy at the way stations.    It couldn’t have been any other way. You knew that.    What’s your name down there?    Despite misgivings, the story clicks to a halt,    as always. The credits surge. People rush to leave.    The shiny cars of another era are coming    to take us where we wish to be taken，lest we    outstay our welcome and sink in the embrace    of another mood.

英奇普岩    （选自 A Worldly Country）    作者：(美)约翰.阿什贝利（John Ashberry）    译者:剑郭琴符    撑起“意义”，    把垃圾拿出来，遛狗，    给旧球一个刮痕，星期五前    为三件事道歉---哦我灵魂的    宁静本体，就是这样，对吧？    你丢了密钥，答案就在里面的    某个地方，你要在哪里呼吸？    知道你和你所有朋友的盒子    都关上了，    可以代表你利益说话的声音…    为什么，你要我怎么处理它们？    半个文件就足够应付这种    天气，野蛮的时间，赘肉，更多    谣言筛选一份光秃的辩解书。    脚在这里。

The Inchcape Rock    Prop up the “meaning，”    take the trash out, the dog for a walk,    give the old balls a scratch, apologize for three things    by Friday---oh quiet noumenon    of my soul, this is it, right?    You lost the key and the answer is inside    somewhere, and where are you going to breathe?    The box is shut that knew you    and all your friends,    voices that could have spoken in your behalf ...    Why, what did you want me to do with them?    Half a document is sufficient to this    weather, wild time, excrescence, more.    Rumors sift across a bald apologia.    The feet are here.

泪水重流    （选自 A Worldly Country）    作者：(美)约翰.阿什贝利（John Ashberry）    译者:剑郭琴符    说这正在退出的一天是值得回味的，    小学生的唠叨声是对他人的    敬礼，或是对纹理的敬意。    我们一起度过了我们的季节。    在这座城市的歌剧中，我们竭尽全力把压力    转移到其他支点，当它们变得可用。    我们从不知道是什么提示我们微笑    或拥抱。那是城市动力的一部分，    在人行道下面深处。我们有时梦见哲学    在餐馆里，或在喋喋不休的小溪旁。    我们所有的资源    都在我们命运史上的关键时刻接受训练。    它不再是一部小说或童谣，    一首歌曲片段或重唱歌曲，而是一个无休止连续的布道。    他们这些天来后门，    要一块肉，任何东西。    这就是为什么我们倾向于忘记在感谢你们的话中提到特殊名字。    祝贺数学、科学、音乐、诗歌    以及其他一切，包括我所遗忘的一切。    它们的日子很快就要到了。但现在在我想归咎于    不可能的山脊和凹坑之上    闹鬼的天空。曾经有什么东西    带着绝望被用交叉平行线表现得如此成熟？

Lacrimae Rerun    Say that the withdrawing day is ponderable,    the nattering voices of schoolchildren an obeisance    among others, or an homage to texture.    We had our season together.    Operatic in the city, we shifted mightily    the stress to other fulcra as they became available.    We never knew what prompted us to smile    or to embrace. That was part of the city’s dynamic,    deep under the pavements. We dreamed of philosophy sometimes    in restaurants, or beside a chattering brook.    All our resources are being trained    on this critical juncture in our fates’ history.    It’s no longer a novel or nursery rhyme,    a catch or glee, but a sermon grinding on continuously.    They come to the back door these days,    asking for a piece of meat, anything.    Which is why we tend to forget mentioning specific names in our thank-yous.    Congrats to math and the sciences, music and poetry    and all the rest, including any I’ve forgotten.    Their day will come soon. But for now it’s the haunted sky    over impossible ridges and hollows    that I wish to impute. Was ever anything    crosshatched so ripe with despair?

完美的帽子    （选自 A Worldly Country）    作者：(美)约翰.阿什贝利（John Ashberry）    译者:剑郭琴符    我忘了我宁愿做什么。    花朵的和言语的，我在浓浓的    我宁愿做的事中，跳下悬崖，    激励下属。有这么多的事    一个人宁愿干的时候被发现，如测量树，    威胁我们和蓝知更鸟的敏捷的阴影。    哦，磨坊里唱着很多东西，但不管你    注意不注意，它的轮子总是在滚动。    至今静止的轮子却要大得多。    它提醒我们离开，但我们睡了    一个确切想法的持续时间，现在从没离开我们。

A Perfect Hat    I forget what it is I would rather be doing.    Floral and verbal, I am in the thick    of what I would rather be doing, jumping off a cliff,    rousing subordinates. There are just so many things    one would rather be caught out doing, like measuring the tree,    the swift shadow of which menaces us and bluebirds.    Oh the mill sang of many things but its wheel    was always rolling whether you noticed it or not.    The wheel that is still today but much larger.    It cautioned us to leave but we slept    the exact duration of the idea that never leaves us now.

所以，对    （选自 A Worldly Country）    作者：(美)约翰.阿什贝利（John Ashberry）    译者:剑郭琴符    孩子们可能不知道他们在说什么，    而我们，我们是所有来这里的继子中    乱丢的一个。在更奇怪的时刻，我们凝望着    那条通向地平线的水带    假装是草地绕了一圈，    甚至到这条奶油色和赭色砖砌成的人行道上。那些    侵入我们的人溜进了重新照相的树林，    可证实，至少目前是。    他蹒跚在伟大发现中，    不知所措，许多年来，他都会支持    狐狸及其随从，生活地图的一部分，他认为。从他    晚年事业的阴影中浮现，他溜进了    毗邻的美国各州，到处都是樱桃树    和献花。我们像我们已经做的那样表现是对的，    他断言，把孩子们送到学校的    路上，经过墓地。傍晚最盛大的研讨会    不能减弱那叛逆的力量。所以，对，    别人不得不领先我们，意味着我们和同代人一起迷失在沼泽里    他们喜欢我们因为我们喜欢和他们一起做事，    在这种情况下，强行行军是完全有道理的。    那么让我们庆祝一下，让一些令人耳目一新的变化    超越我们本该实现而没有实现的一切。    从实际的角度看，他们的球队似乎输了    而我们的球队却没有萎靡不振，缺乏一个令人信服的理由这么做。

So, Yes    Kids probably don’t know what they’re saying，    and we, we’re one shy of all the stepchildren    it took to get here. In odder moments we’d contemplate    the swathe of water leading to the horizon    and pretend it was the grass had come full circle,    even to this sidewalk of cream and ocher brick. Those    who trespass against us slipped into rephotographed woods,    verifiable, at least for the time being.    He who stumbles at the brink of some great discovery,    perplexed, will endorse for many years    the fox and its entourage, part of some map    of life, he thinks. Emerging    from the shadow of his later career, he slides    into the contiguous states of America, all cherry trees    and floral tributes. It was right to behave as we have done,    he asserts, sending the children on their way    to school, past the graveyard. Evening’s loftiest seminars    can’t dim the force of that apostasy. So, yes,    others had to precede us, meaning we’re lost in a swamp with coevals    who like us because we like to do things with them.    The forced march makes perfect sense under such conditions.    Let’s celebrate then, let there be some refreshing change    overtaking all we were meant to achieve and didn’t.    On the practical side it looks as though their team lost    and ours failed to languish, absent a compelling reason to do so.

“东方”河魅力的    （选自 A Worldly Country）    作者：(美)约翰.阿什贝利（John Ashberry）    译者:剑郭琴符    向塞缪尔.格林伯格致敬（1893-1917）    我们读《纪念幸福》，把我们的桌子盖上大花。    ---S.G.“欢乐歌谣”    教诲，好的，坏的，或漠不关心的，都是一种警告。它不会    很容易。    其他的东西太恶心不想说    弄脏了歌曲的薄绸    这样它可以经得起你的洗衣条件。    在重甲护卫下，求婚者们短暂前进。    这是对今天的误解的    评论，一些“此外”吗？    这些人穿着男高音知道的    各种稍纵即逝的长袍，就像他看到他们的那样。    歌曲被这个伪造的    女低音用写下来的词唱出，    在明天的匆忙中被遗忘。    我们的假自然主义到此为止，    自我，我的兄弟，比我们两个更快。    关于什么？那么让我问你，    当潮水挑选标签，我们之间的河流在成长，    仅仅是对敏捷的文学思想的评论    垃圾箱的老生常谈。然而，这里和那里闪烁着    一颗宝石，夜晚黑暗的幻想，在它开始之前。    向某物致敬！让幸福    在鲁莽行为解释的角落被开襟。    两个染色，一个新的，没有人知道    一个诚实的外围，而不是押韵的    外壳。完美的注意力在睡梦中    雪花般飘落，没有人问他们    对剩下的绅士们的意见，在一条新切线上偏离。    “我有个约会。”    吗哪摔在地上的条幅中    这是好的，    我听到有人说。    被可能性威吓，被围困，    一个人退到了内部畜栏的一个角落。    这是你对我许的愿吗？    难道我所有的关心不是赤身裸体的一个人吗？    我超然了，像野兽一样    在街上怒冲冲地走？    我们不是“被告知”了，这样就有利于休息    只要镜子接受我们暂时的    善良本性，我们的镇定？    我们的孩子以外的人嚼橡皮筋，咒骂    没有意义。在此期间，小睡    准备一个惊喜，    无止境旅行，但我们认为我们有一个，    但它还没有结束---然后---可能露出牙齿    在一个露牙的笑中，像一个长长的队伍。    只是一个小小的批判性思考，    甚至连建筑也最终    对城市贫瘠的喧嚣    给出不情愿的同意。    墨色的眼睛把我们限制在邻居的    阴谋上，所有人都游向彩虹色的，    好像没有去处，    或者在好的一天退出协议    在不寻常的情况下。

Of the “East” River’s Charm       homage to Samuel Greenberg (1893—1917)    We read memorial happiness and cover Our tables with the great blossoms.    ---S.G.，“Ballad on Joy”    The teachings, good, bad, or indifferent, were a warning. It wasn’t    going to be easy.    Other things too nasty to mention    mottle the chiffon of a chanson    so it can outlast your laundry condition.    In heavy armor’s care    the suitors advanced temporarily.    Was it a comment on today’s    mistmstingness，some “moreover”？    These are clad in various fleeting robes    that the tenor knows, as he sees them.    Songs are sung by this counterfeit    contralto to words written down,    and in tomorrow’s haste forgotten.    So much for our sham naturalism,    ego, my brother, faster of us two.    Of what? Let me then ask you,    as tide picks up tab, river that between us grew,    mere commentary on agile literary thoughts’    dustbin commonplaces. Yet here and there a jewel    gleamed，night’s dark fantasy，over before it began.    Hail to something! Let bliss be unbuttoned    in corners of the rash act’s explanation of it.    And dyed two, one new, none knew    an honest periphery as other than rind    of rhyme. The perfect attention snowed    in sleep and no one asked their opinion    of the remaining gents, off on a new tangent.    “I have an engagement.”    Manna fell to the ground in streamers    and this was OK,    I heard someone say.    Hectored by possibility, beset,    one withdraws into a corner of the inner corral.    Is this what you wished upon me?    Weren’t all my cares naked ones，    and I detached, stalking the streets    like some beast?    Weren’t we “apprised，” hence good for rest    as long as the mirror accepted our tentative    good nature, our composure?    Others than our children chew rubber bands, cursing    not meaning. In the meantime a nap    prepares a surprise,    travels to no end, but we thought we had one,    but it wasn’t over---then---yet the possible bares its teeth    in a grin like a long line.    Just a little critical wondering,    and even architecture finally    gives its reluctant consent    to city’s barren din.    The inky eye constrains us to a neighbor’s    plot, and all swims iridescently,    as though there were no whither,    or backing out of agreement on a good day    in one’s unusual situation.

女佣之歌    （选自 A Worldly Country）    作者：(美)约翰.阿什贝利（John Ashberry）    译者:剑郭琴符    这是他能做的一切，有人喊道。    他们俯下身，他就不见了，    尸体溶在春天的花丝里。    当他们更快地来到，这是一场灾难，你    不会相信有多少祈求者变节，    他准备改写全部历史    如果一个偶然的脚注奉献自身。    他甚至试着把我的马分成薄片，    说这样会更好。哦，我告诉你，    我们拥有的东西，在我们的时代    太多了，岸上的鹅卵石太多了。    我们后来回来了，但他们大多数都走了。    几个反射回严格的星光    这就是我要对你说的全部。他会生气，    他们会驱逐我们。我们会在极度的谵妄中游泳。

La Bonne Chanson    It was all he could do, someone shouted.    They leaned over and he was gone,    the body dissolved in spring filaments.    When they came faster, it was disaster, you    wouldn’t believe how many supplicants defected，    and him all ready to rewrite history    if a chance footnote offered itself.    He even tried to laminate my horse,    said it would go better. O I tell you,    the things we had, too many    in our time, too many pebbles on the shore.    We came back later but most of them were gone.    A few shot back the light of the strict stars    and that was all I had to say to you. He’d get mad，    they’d banish us. We’d swim in steep delirium.

节日或饥荒    （选自 A Worldly Country）    作者：(美)约翰.阿什贝利（John Ashberry）    译者:剑郭琴符    你会听到不同的故事    在这边。不管怎样，事情    就是这样发生的。一定是，如果    一定是的话，但只能在地上，    然后，只要他    这样说。很简单，真的：    厨房里的灯斜视。    这是相当近的时期    他们认真对待建筑时    积累起来的灵气。    现在只是关于内部，    他们如何杂乱地撞入了    彼此，或是消失。    又是一个没有现实主义    包装的日子，叫喊着，除此以外    有点恭维。然后它又绕着海角    离开。    我说，在战争时期    我们构成好战士。    在和平中，我们什么都不是：    好爸爸或银行家。    但是，看看潮水    第无数次上涨的地方，试着    给它套上马鞍。然后    拍拍你的手。整个场景    或暗礁已经撤退。除了内衣    什么也没有，    它们还可以，但缺少衣服的    活力。说，    给我寄一些，好吗？

Feast or Famine    You’ll hear a different story    on this side. Anyway, it happens    this way. It must be, if    it must be, but only on the ground,    and then, only if he tells it    this way. It’s quite simple, really:    Light in the kitchen goes askance.    It’s a stored-up nimbus    from fairly recent times when they    took architecture seriously.    Now it’s only about interiors，    how they run into each other    promiscuously, or are gone.    Another day packed    with no realism, shouting, a    little fawning for good measure.    Then it’s off around the cape    again.    I said, in times of war    we make good warriors.    In peace we are as nothing:    good dads or bankers.    But see where the tide is rising    for the umpteenth time, and try    to put a saddle on that. Then    clap your hands. The whole scene    or reef has retreated. There’s    nothing much but undergarments,    which are OK, but they lack    the vibrancy of clothes. Say,    send me some, will you?

剑郭琴符

不完美的同情    （选自 A Worldly Country）    作者：(美)约翰.阿什贝利（John Ashberry）    译者:剑郭琴符    所以为什么不，真正地，尝试一些新的？    事实上，我能想到很多原因。    等等---我突然想不起来了！    现在就在这里，它的鸟和蜜蜂，    生命的本源，触摸者的疯狂    甚至感染了文明阶层---    这些都不是“从”生活“开始”的理由，    尽管不可否认的是，有些是蒙上面纱的警告    从爱与拜物教和性欲增盛    居住在一起的悬崖上返回。    没有必要让这些人不同居，只要马    能忍受。    市中心被迷住了    另一年。只是谁是这些    到来的如此强壮的陌生人？    然而，记住自己卑微的    出身，反省我们是如何    走上这条道路的，这是件好事。    我们一直在想什么？是谁绘制了    这张焦虑的“世界地图”，没有旁道    和身份危机？    时间来到，羊毛    塞满了你的嘴，但要说的那么多。

Imperfect Sympathies    So why not, indeed, try something new?    Actually, I can think of a number of reasons.    Wait---suddenly I can’t think of any!    The present is here, its birds and bees,    fons et origo of life,folie de toucher    that infects even the civilized classes---    none of these are a reason to “start with” life,    though some are undeniably a veiled warning    back from the precipice where love dwells    along with fetishism and nympholepsy.    No need for these not to cohabit as long as the horses    can stand it.    Downtown was mesmerized    another year. Just who are these strangers    who come on so strong?    Yet it is good to remember    one’s humble origins, and reflect    on how we came to look this way.    What were we thinking all along? Who charted    this anxious mappemonde，barren of side roads    and identity crises?    There comes a time when the fleece    fills your mouth, but there was so much left to say.

黑王子    （选自 A Worldly Country）    作者：(美)约翰.阿什贝利（John Ashberry）    译者:剑郭琴符    这可能是森林中的一阵脚步声    也可能是老鼠王的一个过时的快信，    说，回到边境，一切都被原谅了。    他迷路了，在一些未知小岛的海岸上    胡言乱语。他的手势和言语合在一起形成了    完美的意义。只有当风把它们吹散    它们才无关紧要，只对一些重要。

The Black Prince    It might be a footfall in the forest    or an outdated dispatch from the Mouse King,    saying, come back to the frontier, all is forgiven.    And he was lost, gibbering on the coast of some    uncharted isle. His gestures and speech made perfect sense    when taken together. It was only when the wind blew them apart    that they didn’t matter, mattered only to some.

转发    （选自 A Worldly Country）    作者：(美)约翰.阿什贝利（John Ashberry）    译者:剑郭琴符    又是六点钟    来了。    太阳排练了一篇精心制作的    小演讲,严格地    形式上——不，等等---    它在说些什么，比如    很高兴它结束了。    我们在等你。    我爱你，    这些就是结果：    明亮的夜晚，明亮的大海，    涂黄油的屋顶，蒲公英气息    梦想看到这一切。    明年让我们生活在危险的方式下，    在大顶下。不协调，    蓝色会发现我们，还有太阳。    就像一只友好的狗的咆哮    它后退，颤抖着    离开这里…    “从没听说过…不再。”

Forwarded    It’s coming on six o’clock    again.    The sun rehearses an elaborate    little speech，strictly    pro forma---no, wait---    it’s saying something，like    Be glad it’s over.    We waited for you.    I loved you,    and these were the consequences:    bright nights, lit sea,    buttered roofs, dandelion breath.    The dream of seeing it all.    Next year let’s live in harm’s way，    under the big top. Incongruous,    blue will find us, and the sun.    Like the growl of a friendly dog    it backs up, shivers itself    out of here ...    “Never heard... anymore.”

剑郭琴符

他们还是相当可爱的        （选自 A Worldly Country）    作者：(美)约翰.阿什贝利（John Ashberry）    译者:剑郭琴符        奥维德，在广告中，开始监测“他的”痛苦，    然后放弃尝试。一秒钟后，图像    通过一个近乎不透明的玻璃横框消失了。那是一只脚踝，    裹着丝带。现在撇号，正是叙事的东西，    颤抖着，痉挛地转弯。是的，女孩们都在这里，    好像是说，但是她们都下去看桥。    你在选择同伴时很小心，做了    别人期望你做的事，早起迎接吊球，    抖掉牙刷上的水滴，诸如此类。    在我们所处的千禧年里，你有没有想到？    是的，好东西泰然自若回来，但屏幕崩溃了，    对我们没有任何帮助，在现在退去的水下。    我想买一个定冠词，但没那么容易。    唯唯诺诺的人必须有发言权。陌生人的轻拍声引起了我们的    注意，在穹顶下被追捕。书面的纪念是好的，    放在玻璃下面的一个寒冷的房间较好 。    被猛击的消防队员去了    哪里？他们送给我们恭维的话，还有一个装满    果冻和蜜饯的篮子，一小瓶白兰地带来    在晚上，最好是在凌晨时分。        我看了看，从我的回忆录造成的混乱中退下来---    都是关于猎狐的，不是吗，而且比其他一两个人    先到那里，他们现在害羞地    看了一眼，后退了一两步？当然，都知道    你会赢，然后接受第二名，但我不能说这些    仍然引起我的兴趣。我会留心你妈妈。    她可能在放学回来的路上，以你成年的姐姐的声音    给你打电话？她的声音。我们能不能习惯，仍然    喋喋不休于这些事，平稳地，从一个十年到下一个十年？    这完全取决于你爸爸在荆棘丛后面发现了什么，    在第七天堂伴随你，最不可能被困的病房，    一旦穿过阶梯。冬天的交通工具开始滑落，    缓慢地向最真实的情感雪崩，被雾凇包着外壳，    或者被留在外面供每个人享用，奴隶主    和平民都一样。这不是它的错，我们数十年就预料到    它的到来，而且是虚伪的，迫不及待地    说出定居下来的情况，然后分散到    罗盘的四个点，一次不文明的溃败    但这是必须的一次，在这里结束，以这种方式，今天。那个胖夫人    正完成充满蒸汽的脑袋。售票员在微笑，    森林的背景正在展开。我们现在可以拥有礼物吗？

They Are Still Rather Lovely                Ovid, in the infomercial, starts to monitor his pain,    then gives up trying. A second later the image is lost    through a neariy opaque glass transom. It was an ankle，    sheathed in ribbons. Now apostrophe, the very stuff of narrative,    shivers and turns spasmodic. Yes, the girls were here,    it seems to say, but all have gone down to look at the bridge.    You were careful about choosing your companions, did what    was expected of you, rose early to greet the punching ball,    shook droplets off the toothbrush, and like so.    Does it ever occur to you in what millennia we are standing?    Yes, the good stuff was poised to return, but the screen crashed,    and there is no help in us, over and under the now receding water.    I’d like to buy a definite article, but it’s not that easy.    The yes-men must have their say. Patter of the stranger causing us    to be noted, hunted down under the dome. Written memorials are fine,    better if placed beneath glass in a cold room.    Where did the smitten    firemen go? They sent us compliments and a basket heaped high    with jellies and preserves, a small bottle of cognac to be taken    in the night, preferably in the early hours of the morning.        I look and stand down from this mess my memoirs have created---    it was all about foxhunting，wasn’t it，and getting there    ahead of one or two others, who glance sheepishly    now, falling back one or two paces? Sure, it was understood    you’d win, then accept second place, but I can’t say any of this    intrigues me still. I’ll look out for your mother.    She’s probably on the way back from school, calling to you    in your grown sister’s voice. Can we have habits and still    rattle on like this, smoothly, from one decade to the next?    It all depends on what your pappy found behind the briar bush,    with you in seventh heaven, the unlikeliest ward to be trapped in,    once over the stile. The vehicle of winter begins its slide,    slow avalanche toward the truest sentiments, encrusted in rime,    or left out in the open for everyone to enjoy, slave master    and commoner alike. It’s not its fault we anticipated its arrival    by several decades and are disingenuous, bursting    to tell the circumstances of having settled, then scattered    to the four points of the compass, an uncivil rout    but a necessary one for ending here, this way, this day. The fat lady    is working up a full head of steam. The conductor is smiling,    the sylvan backdrop is unscrolling. Can we have our presents now?

  

浪漫的震颤        （选自 A Worldly Country）    作者：(美)约翰.阿什贝利（John Ashberry）    译者:剑郭琴符        打嗝的时候不同。    一切都是---那么多快乐的手在争夺    你的注意力，一条围巾，一股烟尘的肿块，    或者只是收音机里沉默的一阵风。    它是什么？那是了让你学会    沮丧，当在自助餐厅长长的    队伍的尽头，手里拿着托盘，他们告诉你第二次世界大战后    大门关闭时。锡拉丘兹被宣布为一个莫名不适的    国家的首都，但该理事会    还有其他，隐藏的目标。宣称逻辑    是真理的受害者就是其一。        每个人的孤独（以及产生的滥交）    弥漫在我们认为文明村庄的小路上。    我看见你在等有轨电车而且往前挤。    唉，你还只是个盔甲中的孩子。现在，当下流的有口皆碑者    绕着一张摆得太漂亮的桌子扬帆起航时，为什么后果    只有灰尘、疾病和老年。美好的回忆    就是这样。所以我把任何东西导入    我的偶然事件中，一条水星的血管    不断地爆发，越高，每次都    越准时。少女装用过时的花弄脏，    又在城里穿着，促进了公开讨论。

Thrill of a Romance            It’s different when you have hiccups.    Everything is---so many glad hands competing    for your attention, a scarf, a puff of soot,    or just a blast of silence from a radio.    What is it? That’s for you to learn    to your dismay when, at the end of a long queue    in the cafeteria, tray in hand, they tell you the gate closed down    after the Second World War. Syracuse was declared capital    of a nation in malaise, but the directorate    had other, hidden goals. To proclaim logic    a casualty of truth was one.        Everyone’s solitude (and resulting promiscuity)    perfumed the byways of villages we had thought civilized.    I saw you waiting for a streetcar and pressed forward.    Alas, you were only a child in armor. Now when ribald toasts    sail round a table too fair laid out, why the consequences    are only dust, disease and old age. Pleasant memories    are just that. So I channel whatever    into my contingency, a vein of mercury    that keeps breaking out，higher up, more on time    every time. Dirndls spotted with obsolete flowers,    worn in the city again, promote open discussion.

  

石蕊传说        （选自 A Worldly Country）    作者：(美)约翰.阿什贝利（John Ashberry）    译者:剑郭琴符        抄写员惊奇地沉陷。    这不是一个访问权已被确定的    分级文件。它是    更奇妙的事：草地上一块不透明的鹅卵石。        我几乎总是在寻找    可以分解的主题，以进一步研究    中午疏离和庄严的倒退气候。    一个，比这里有些更远，    今天与不寻常的坦率产生共鸣：    我自己对我们每个人    在某个时间或另一个时间居住的    杂乱无章的坦率的看法。远离部落的阳光    以便毫无疑问完整地生活在自己的内疚之中。

A Litmus Tale            The scribes sank in wonderment.    This was not the hierarchical file to which    access had been deeded. It was something    far more wonderful: an opaque pebble in the grass.        I am almost always looking    for themes to break down to further my research    into backward climes of noon alienation and majesty.    One, a litle farther than here,    resonates today with unusual candor:    my own take on the disheveled    frankness we all inhabit    at one time or another. Backing away from tribal sunshine    so as to inhabit a no doubt intact compunction of one’s own.

  

二项式定理        （选自 A Worldly Country）    作者：(美)约翰.阿什贝利（John Ashberry）    译者:剑郭琴符        悲剧，在这个文化的时代，除以    已经一分为二的差额。        节俭者则认为不然，在朦胧的仪式中保持自我    这些仪式的最终目的    被热情的园林设计的新趋势所吸干。        我们做得更好吗?我问你。地铁鸣笛，    鬼魂朝圣者穿过旋转门流动。    所有变化都让闲聊的阶层安心。    他们可以得到他们想要的东西，只要没人    对它太感兴趣。朦胧的洪水        使我们恢复了知觉。现在几点？    或那时几点？你说那些数字准确吗？    当你上床睡觉    转向另一个从犯，他等了那么久    生命从他的环境中耗尽，一个梦公布了你？        想象一下，这一次你可以用任何容易得到的    方法，一位医生给你开了一张野性欢乐的    药方，他们说如果你稍等片刻    他们就可以装满它。想到什么春天？    你会转身走出药店，专心致志地        坐在停在23街拐角处的公共汽车上    然后在红灯变绿的时候    一个永恒停了下来，发出嘶嘶声？    你已经上气不接下气，愚蠢地奔跑。    站在门口的人正在调查    公交用户。是时候制定一个严格的    礼仪，从球迷俱乐部展开到大海。听！    这是做不到的。回家的所有路上，我们一直在争论    退款是用现金还是以防未来购买。    这是唯一的办法，你说。我们不管怎样，会不再想要这些。

The Binomial Theorem            Tragic，in these times of culture，to be divided    by a shortfall that is already riven in two.    The abstemious think otherwise, keep to themselves    in hazy rituals whose ultimate purpose    gets blotted out by new trends in passionate landscapery.        Are we better for it? I ask you. Subway chiming，    ghost pilgrims flowing through revolving doors.    All change reassures the nattering classes.    They can have what they want as long as nobody    much takes an interest in it. The        dim flood restores us to our senses. What time is it?    Or was it? Would you say those figures are accurate?    Did a dream publish you as you turned in sleep    to that other accessory, who waited so long    that the life drained out of his circumstance?        Imagine that you can have this time any way it comes    easily, that a doctor wrote you a prescription    for savage joy and they say they can fill it    if you’ll wait a moment. What springs to mind?    Do you turn and walk out of the drugstore, intent        on the bus that stops at the conner of 23rd Street    and after an eternity pulls up with a hiss    just as the red light is changing to green?    You are out of breath and silly from running.    Someone standing near the door is doing a survey    of transit users. There’s time to compose a strict    etiquette unfolding from the fan club to the sea. Hark!    It’s unattainable. All the way home we argued about whether    refunds would be made in cash or against future purchases.    It’s the only way, you said. We’ll end up wanting these anyway.

  

又饿了        （选自 A Worldly Country）    作者：(美)约翰.阿什贝利（John Ashberry）    译者:剑郭琴符        因为我喊不出声来    我就站在喷口附近    雨水快用完了。    雨水，哨兵们，    使我大伤脑筋地露面。    很快它的一切老得像粘土。        为什么要等另一天？    你知道这件事正在发生    发生之后也会一样。    没有什么会取代它的位置    那会很好，很好。    虽然不残忍，但我们可以    扮演与上帝相似的角色，    上帝不会带走我们。        另一次我在你家。    里面突然一片漆黑。    一阵风扫过一些    树皮。已经过期了，    它们说。所有的暴风雨都无能。    是时候找到心灵水晶，    注视我们所拥有的，    我们所拥有的巨大资源。

Hungry Again                Since I could not shout    I stood near the spout    the rainwater was running out of.    The rain, sentries,    taxed me with appearing.    Soon it was all old as clay.        Why wait for another day?    You know this one is happening    and will be the same after it has happened.    Nothing will come to take its place    and that will be fine, good.    Though not inhuman, we can play    at what it would be like to be God,    and God will not take us away.        Another time I was at your house.    It was suddenly dark inside.    A wind swept past the bark    of some trees. It was overdue,    they said. All storms are inept.    It was time to find the mind-crystal,    pore over what we still had,    the huge resource we owed.

  

漫步        （选自 A Worldly Country）    作者：(美)约翰.阿什贝利（John Ashberry）    译者:剑郭琴符        我的脑子被什么东西占据了，    我注意到枯叶的浅滩    被风吹得嘎嘎作响，像一只    开始躺下的狗一样涌起，    一个像我母亲那样的声音说，    “那你就只得学会    没有它。叶子是贝壳。”        另一次，声音把我    从不远处带回来。    我在想象姐妹们，一扇门如何支配着    一个人的长寿，仅仅终结于    一种“愚蠢的一致性，”    到那时，一个人已经通过了所有    合理的反对，    在一个人自己的时间。    我怎么能在乎这张宽大的椅子    是不是由单调组成，或者    奇怪的夜晚在任何一个地方有没有一只手？    是时候回到一个人    没有提供，把我们染成蓝色机会。        所有的清算都是错误的。    哈里发的卡钳赎回的东西    不意味着为我们，远离    土星环的边缘，    下降，它的气味回荡着，抚慰着，    尽管这是任何一天，因为它是    （街道和上面的闲聊），    虽然安静会粘附    到反面，使它的特权    在另一天，同一天被人知晓。

Promenade            My mind occupied by something,    I notice shoals of dry leaves    rattled by the wind, upsurging    like a dog that’s starting to lie down,    and a voice like that of my mother says,    “Then you’ll just have to learn    to do without it. The leaves are shells.”        Another time the voice brings me    back from not too far away.    I was imagining sisters, how a door holds sway    over one’s long life, only coming at the end    to a “foolish consistency,”    by which time one has passed all    the reasonable objections,    is on one’s own.    And how can I care if this broad chair    is made of monotony, or whether    queer night had a hand in any of it?    It’s time to return to the chances    one wasn’t offered, that stain us blue.        All the reckoning is wrong.    What the caliph’s calipers redeemed    isn’t meant for us, far out    at the edge of Saturn’s rings,    the drop-off, whose scent echoes and soothes,    though it’s any day，as it is    (jabbering of the streets and above)，    though quiet will adhere    to the reverse side, make its prerogatives known    another day, same day.

  

食谱        （选自 A Worldly Country）    作者：(美)约翰.阿什贝利（John Ashberry）    译者:剑郭琴符        “你为什么要去做那件事，你这个笨蛋，难道你从来没有厌倦过当贵族吗？”    ---棕榈滩的故事        我希望你没在听（但你在，某处）。    你还需要手帕吗？不，    只要一个永久地址。        我认为排它势力连交好运地    回来了。“水气球”效应    引爆，彩虹比雨还多。        你有文件，等等，所以…        躺在草地上。这就是我们来的目的。    再没有什么比这更像天鹅绒，    离地面那么近。我的凝视几英寻的胡须。    不是这样的。我们在错误的阶层    在错误的时间，甚至在摄像机滚动的时候。        “你一定是玛丽。”“不，我不相信我们见过面。”        这个食谱矢量化了很久以前一个码头的撞击    在阳光的鳍边内部和出自于其中，    现在贴上标签并放在一边，还有很多其他的东西，    在那个靠近温暖和混乱之源的    特别的下午    所需要的东西太少了。        我说过会是这样吗？    别怪我。另一方面，如果你愿意的话，    我可以是杂货商，蔬菜商，水果商，    卖鱼妇，全能的好家伙，我们可以处理它，    空气差异，餐桌上的相互疑虑    只向把我们带到这里的声音屈服一次。    为什么不？我是游戏。对什么都不说不是我的信条    和袖珍否决权。所有的加入者都是平滑的，低出价者    和无可救药的浪漫主义者一样。        直到张贴结婚预告，发出邀请，擦亮脚趾甲，    向持怀疑态度的人描述没有实际意义的情况。你们其余的人都一样。

The Recipe                “What did you have to go and do that for, you fathead？Don't you ever get tired of being noble?”    ---The Palm Beach Story        I hope you’re not listening (but you are, somewhere).    Do you still need the handkerchief? No,    just a permanent address.        I figured the exclusionary forces were back    on a roll. The “water balloon” effect    detonated, more rainbow than rain.        You have the papers, etc. So ...        Lie in that grass. It’s what we came for.    Nothing could ever be that velvety again,    so close to the ground. My gaze fathoms whiskers.    It wasn’t to be. We were on the wrong set    at the wrong time, even as the cameras rolled.        “You must be Mary.” “No, I don’t believe we’ve ever met.”        The recipe vectored a long-ago collision by a pier    in and out of fins of sun,    now labeled and put away, with much else,    and too little of what was needed    that particular afternoon    close to the source of warmth and confusion.        Did I say it would be like this?    Don’t blame me. On the other hand, if you want to,    and I could be chandler, greengrocer, fruiterer,    fishwife, all-around good guy, we can handle it,    air differences, table mutual misgivings and    give in just once to the sound that brought us here.    Why not?I’m game. Say no to nothing is my credo    and pocket veto. All joiners are smooth, low-bidders    and incurable romantics alike.        Til post the banns, send out invitations, polish toenails,    describe moot situations to the skeptical. You rest the same.

  

街上的一张小桌子        （选自 A Worldly Country）    作者：(美)约翰.阿什贝利（John Ashberry）    译者:剑郭琴符        好看的越来越少，上帝！    你昨天发给我们的廉价照片    今天又回来生效了，无论包装纸反面上    印着什么样的智慧，都能    准确地说出。不要让任何人从中吸取力量。        我们的气候又转向了    高地。在旧历法中，这将是    一次强大的灵魂冒险。    现在它只是随意的喷发：    鞭炮和可能在邻近街道的镜头。    好吧，把车开过来    当我们蹒跚地朝着这个奇怪的东西走去：一个反常事物。        别以为风是在帮你忙    籍由拒绝减弱。这是你的衬衫，    虽然你们两个都可以自由地    卑躬屈膝时，如果它似乎合适    这样做。只是不要再回到过去的借口上，即，    作为不作为的借口。我们不再是孩子。    为什么不给现实生活一个机会？        “我在这里    却什么也没做。”因此，我注定要    受到正义者的惩罚：长长的，松散卷绕的游行    沿着服务路线。有完成时态为此吗？

A Small Table in the Street                Less and less sightly, Lord!    The cheap shots you sent us yesterday    are back today in force, mouthing with precision    whatever wisdom is printed on the wrapper’s    verso. Let no one draw strength from that.        Our climate turns its face toward the heights    again. This would have been a powerful    soul adventure in the old calendar.    Now it’s just random effusiveness:    firecrackers and maybe shots in adjacent streets.    Well, have the car sent round    while we stumble toward this strange thing: an anomaly.        Don’t think the wind is doing you a favor    by refusing to die down. It’s your shirt of its,    though both of you are free    to grovel when and if it seems appropriate    to do so. Only don’t fall back on the old excuses，i.e.，    action as an excuse for inaction. We’re not children anymore.    Why not give real life a chance?        I was here    and did nothing about it. Therefore I am condemned    to the punishment of the just: long, loose-skeined parades    along service routes. Is there a perfect tense for that?

  

它，或者某事        （选自 A Worldly Country）    作者：(美)约翰.阿什贝利（John Ashberry）    译者:剑郭琴符        昨晚没有希望。    他们跟什么都一样---我一想到    要上楼，就没想到    在楼梯口停下来。更不用说    走回去，围着    楼梯附近行走，然后---哦，为什么不---    出去，到隔壁房间    甚至外面。会发生    什么事？    我们每个人有时都会出去    同样可以肯定，我们很高兴回到    家里，在那里我们可以继续做一些    我们以前放弃的事情，一些任务，甚至一些    很愚蠢的事情，如果我们    想这样做的话。        奇怪的美女皇后，    她既不睡觉也不游泳。    她家门口有一个富丽堂皇的蓄水池。    许多人羡慕地走过它，    往里面扔石头，发誓    改天天气像今天一样好的时候    再回来。        不确定她是否注意到了。

It, or Something            No hope for last night.    They’re as much like that as anything---when I thought    of going upstairs it didn’t occur to me    to stop at the landing. Even less    to walk back down, walk around    near the stairs, and then---oh why not---    go out, into the next room    or even outside. What    would be the matter with that?    All of us go out at times    and just as surely, we’re glad to get back    in, where we can resume doing something    we abandoned before, some task or something,    even something quite silly if that’s    the way we want it.        Strange beauty queen,    she neither slept nor swam.    There was an opulent reservoir at her door.    Many passed it admiringly,    threw stones in it, swore    to return another day when the weather    was as beautiful as it is today.        It’s not certain she ever noticed it.

  

剑郭琴符

他的一首自然诗    （选自 A Worldly Country）    作者：(美)约翰.阿什贝利（John Ashberry）    译者:剑郭琴符    其他解决办法提出。    我们可以向西移动，致力于熵。    我们可以在炮眼中拥抱。总的来说，    这听起来是最有希望的。或者我们会忘记我们曾经见过。    反省一下，它似乎很重要。    像我们一样，拖曳太平洋为了海星，    一股波动像影子，像人们的影子。    描画真理不总是生动的，    也不是不加掩饰的阿拉伯花饰，直率而冷静。    我希望我们深思熟虑地生活在这样的纯净中    它不会被白兰地和雪茄所迷惑。    它在失步的房间里等待。    每件事都有一片银色的内衬；这是一件    把它翻过来，把一些感觉擦进去的大事。    到那时，最后很少的几名观众将放弃    落伍回家，穿过狂风、泥泞和混乱，    在陆地、海洋或泡沫中，在为一天但受人支配的学者中。

One of His Nature Poems    Other solutions proposed themselves.    We could move west, devote ourselves to entropy.    We could embrace in embrasures. That, on the whole,    sounded most promising. Or we could forget we ever met.    It seemed pretty distinguished on reflection.    Dragging the Pacific for starfish, like we do,    one fluctuates as a shadow, like one’s shadow.    Painted truths can’t always be lively,    nor unvarnished arabesques straightforward and cool.    This purity I’d like us to contemplate living in    isn’t flummoxed by brandy and cigars.    It waits in the room of lost steps.    Everything has a silver lining; it’s a matter    of turning it over and scrubbing some sense into it.    By then the last few spectators will have given up    to straggle home through a rude wind, mud, and chaos,    by land, sea, or foam, literate for a day but other-directed.

别的故事    （选自 A Worldly Country）    作者：(美)约翰.阿什贝利（John Ashberry）    译者:剑郭琴符    就像威尔基.柯林斯所说明的那样，他闲荡着    沿着两旁都是服务员卧室的低矮天花板走廊，    寻找一个不真实的表情：这是浴室吗？    晚上居民们传播着。一张粗糙的留声机唱片    录制了“露西亚”的六重奏；他们唱的    是什么，那么重要？    露西亚有她那疯狂的一幕，毕竟；她对某件事感到高兴，    不像我们其余的人。我们继续    为要测量的东西计时。我们对此    无能为力。    当主管让我走进他的办公室时，我觉得就像是一位    身着维罗内塞壁画的新娘：还有那么多事情要做，    安排杂乱无章，客人在最后一刻就要    被邀请。幸运的是，他们中很少有人知道，    因为没有人来，或者是我的想象？大厅里    挤满了人？我哭了吗，我的小女儿被送到    北方的寄宿学校了吗？她那桃花片的脸颊    和玫瑰色的绸缎胸衣表明了秘密的悲伤，    现在这悲伤已经淹没住所。我们得回室内。    钟快要敲了。你知道的事情，    从来没有发生！我在那儿的时候没有，反正。    有喊声，总是一样的，无用的喊声    和愤怒的风开始在树篱    但无法表达，像我和其他客人。    又到了逃跑的时候了。一片荆棘湖奉献自己    像一个保护性的垫子，向局外人，你和我。这是可以预见的，    但就像一次迁徙，随着它的展开，呈现出    另一种意义，现在的天空皇家伍斯特，    一种即使没有人读过，    也会持续多年的叙事。下课了，他说得很著名。学校永远    停课。承受特雷门琴，爱是放荡。

And Other Stories    As though illustrated by Wilkie Collins, he swans    along low-ceilinged corridors lined with servants’ bedrooms,    searching the one inauthentic expression: Is it a bathroom?    At night denizens circulate. A scratchy phonograph    record confides the sextet from Lucia； What was it    they were singing, that mattered so much?    Lucia had her mad scene, after all; she was happy about something,    unlike the rest of us. We go on clocking    what’s there to be measured. There’s not much    we can do about it.    When the supervisor asked me to step into his office I felt like a bride    in a Veronese fresco: So much still to be done,    arrangements unkempt, guests to be invited    at the last minute. Luckily few of them knew,    since none came, or was it my imagination? Were the halls    full of people? Was I crying, was my little daughter being sent away    to a boarding school in the North? Her peach-blow cheeks    and rose-colored satin bodice indicated secret grief,    which was now flooding the place. We had to get back inside.    The clock was on the verge of striking. And you know something,    it never did! Not while I was there, anyway.    There were shouts, always the same, unusable shouts    and an angry wind starting up in the hedges    but unable to articulate, like me and the other guests.    Again it was time to flee. A lake of brambles offered itself    like a protective cushion to the outsider，you and me. This had been foreseen，    but like a migration, took on another sense    as it unfolded, the sky Royal Worcester by now,    a narrative that will endure for many years,    even if no one reads it. Class dismissed，he said famously. School’s out    forever. Saddle the theremins, love is on the loose.

英勇的必需    （选自 A Worldly Country）    作者：(美)约翰.阿什贝利（John Ashberry）    译者:剑郭琴符    这顶帽子没戴得太好。也没有，开始    考虑，裤子。衬衫和帽子微不足道。    至于内裤…    就是这样。发衣服的时候    时间在走下坡路。没有人    想再穿了，这是    可以理解的，被给予的那些衣服是许多人的进行中的    经营。用同性恋的东西修补，他们会    在另一个时间服务，像披肩绑在烟囱    周围。    告别噩梦，模拟物。    所有时间一点点生长。就像汤是要炖的，    于是大海向了支撑“意义”的裂缝起泡。    好就是足够好。只是别指望感谢。

The Gallant Needful    The hat hasn’t worn too well. Nor, come to think    of it, have the pants. The shirt and cap are negligible.    As for the drawers ...    So it went. Time was running    downhill while the clothes gave out. No one    wanted to wear them any more, which was    understandable, given that clothes are a going concern    to many. Mended with gay stuffs, they’ll serve    another time, tied like shawls around    a stovepipe.    Farewell nightmares, simulacra.    All the time a little is growing. As soup is to stew,    so the sea to bubbling chasms that prop up the “meaning.”    Nice is nice enough. Just don’t expect thanks.

美国可爱的    （选自 A Worldly Country）    作者：(美)约翰.阿什贝利（John Ashberry）    译者:剑郭琴符    如果你想要可爱的话，来，拿一些，    黑精灵嘶嘶地说。等待弦乐四重奏，    在角落里，被变性我想知道是什么该死的东西。    我也要一些。他们称之为建筑，    我被告知。任何能从封顶暴徒的暴徒    筛选出洞察力的东西，他们僵硬恐惧的假发    迎着微风行进，不可能回到    殖民地的梦想和日子。看那只臭貂？    他是你的，如果你想的话。你要的只是小心，    她警告。在这里塔塔鲁斯我们有你这样    笨蛋的名字。慌乱，我松开了紧急刹车，    转身警告正在接近的其他人。    这是真事：    闪光来得很敏捷，第二天它沉思的迹象    像白霜散落。闪烁，两颗心    停下来分享一个冬梨    和贴在冰箱门上的腐烂笔记。    是为了这个，我们旅行得这么远    乘令人放心的宾夕法尼亚草原篷车？    相信现在的夜晚是凄凉的，    尽管也许不比我们最早    在街对面的房子里写情诗的尝试多。    异教徒与其他异教徒作战，    有两个连字符名字的人堵住到    内河码头的通道。    翻案诗迷住我们的听力    当新的狭窄出现在喧嚣中，或许，适时。    然后它也消失了。

America the Lovely    If it’s loveliness you want, here, take some,    hissed the black fairy. Waiting for the string quartet,    on the corner, denatured I wondered what the heck.    I’ll have some too. They call it architecture,    I was told. Anything to sift the discerning    from the mob-capped mob, their stiffened fright wigs    marching against the breeze improbably back    into colonial dreams and days. See that polecat?    He’s yours, if you want it. Only be careful what you ask for,    she warned. Here in hither Tartarus we have names    for jerks like you. Flustered, I released the emergency brake,    turned to warn the approaching others.    This was the real thing:    The flash comes handily, signs of its musing scattered next day    like hoarfrost. The glittering, the of-two-minds    pause to share a winter pear and notes on decomposition    glued to the door of the fridge.    Was it for this we journeyed so far    by prairie schooner from reassuring Pennsylvania?    Believe the nights are bleak now,    though perhaps no more than our earliest attempts    at love poetry in a house across the street.    Pagans do combat with other pagans,    men with two hyphenated names block access    to the embarcadero.    Palinodes charm our hearing    as new strictures emerge in the ruckus, belike, betimes.    Then it too went away.

预期的陌生人，    （选自 A Worldly Country）    作者：(美)约翰.阿什贝利（John Ashberry）    译者:剑郭琴符    瘀伤过一会儿就会停止    现在，疼痛在一轮中暂停，    记录白昼的时间，病人的体温，    给代用人物留下一个备忘录：你想做    什么钟？我是说…    好吧，说得越少越好，他们都说。    直到把这个贴在桌子上。    上帝会找到模式并打破它。

Anticipated Stranger,    the bruise will stop by later.    For now, pain pauses in its round,    notes the time of day, the patient’s temperature,    leaves a memo for the surrogate: What the bell    did you think you were doing? I mean ...    Oh well, less said the better, they all say.    Til post this at the desk.    God will find the pattern and break it.

幻影    （选自 A Worldly Country）    作者：(美)约翰.阿什贝利（John Ashberry）    译者:剑郭琴符    为什么他的生意要出售我不能精确揭露。    总之，廉价思想的束缚使我们重新定位，    再加上你必须成为一个幽灵才能欣赏它。    就像你看到他们这么多一样。    总之，廉价思想的束缚使我们重新定位。    我们发现我们很迷人，被我们的伙伴们激动    （就像你看到他们这么多一样）。    沿途有山羊的一个育儿室    它们发现我们很迷人，被我们的伙伴激动。    那天和第二天的所有光线都被暗淡打蜡。    沿途有山羊的一个育儿室，    跑得很早，现在的孩子们，如果只是为了轻松。    那天和第二天，所有光线都被暗淡打蜡。    信天翁在迷雾中升高并消失。    跑得很早，现在的孩子们，如果只是为了轻松，    我们沿着沙滩加标识符，挥手直到它去除最后的轮廓。    信天翁在迷雾中升高并消失。    海雀在怒声叫，鸸鹋在尖叫。    我们沿着沙滩加标识符，挥手直到它去除最后的轮廓。    紫鸸鹋下了另一个蛋。    海雀在怒声叫，鸸鹋在尖叫。    葡萄和樱桃添加味道。后来它们加了蘑菇。    紫鸸鹋下了另一个蛋。    在我们不再适应以后。    葡萄和樱桃添加味道。后来它们加了蘑菇。    我们是葡萄园的孩子，努力应付蘑菇世界。    在我们不再适应以后。    他们学习打球，挥球棒。    我们是葡萄园的孩子，努力应付蘑菇世界。    得到的回应不太好。或好？    他们学习打球，挥球棒。    午饭后是时候退出某个女孩。    得到的回应不太好。或好？    沃巴克斯爸爸很伤心，但他对自己的理由讳莫如深。    午饭后是时候退出某个女孩。    他原谅自己。欧洲在召唤。    沃巴克斯很伤心，但他对自己的理由讳莫如深。    其他人都离开在房间的一个很远的角落里。    他原谅自己---欧洲在召唤。    此外，他还得为这个场景继续工作。    其他人都离开在房间的一个很远的角落里。    暗语招手。“看，我回来了。    此外，他还得为这个场景继续工作。”    很容易说，如果你是一个幽灵，    暗语招手。看，我回来了。    一切都是关于你的，从第一天开始。    “很容易说，如果你是一个幽灵。    他们拥有这个旧铁锅可能有什么用？”    一切都是关于你的，从第一天开始。    只有你才重要，在桌子上和大楼的正面。    他们拥有这个旧铁锅可能有什么用？    游戏改变了，或者消失了。    只有你才重要，在桌子上和大楼的正面，    在自助餐厅和运动场上，人群在移动    游戏改变了，或者消失了。    “没关系，只是个肉堆。几乎痊愈了。”    在自助餐厅和运动场上，人群在移动。    为什么他的生意要出售我不能精确揭露    （没关系，只是个肉堆。几乎痊愈了），    加上你必须是个鬼魂才能欣赏它。

Phantoum    Why his business was for sale I can’t exactly expose.    The bonds of cheap thinking repositioned us anyway,    plus you had to be a ghost to appreciate it.    Like you see so many of them.    The bonds of cheap thinking repositioned us anyway.    We found us enchanting, whirled by our partners    (like you see so many of them).    Along for the ride was a nursery of goats    who found us enchanting, whirled by our partners.    All that day and the next the light waxed dim.    Along for the ride was a nursery of goats,    running early, kids now, if only for the ease of it.    All that day and the next, the light waxed dim.    The albatross held and dissolved in mid-mist.    Running early, kids now, if only for the ease of it,    we tagged along on the sand, waving until it shed a last outline.    The albatross held and dissolved in mid-mist.    The auks were squawking，the emus shrieking.    We tagged along on the sand, waving until it shed a last outline.    The purple emu laid another egg.    The auks were squawking，the emus shrieking.    Grape and cherry were the flavors. Later they added mushroom.    The purple emu laid another egg.    After that we didn’t fit in any more.    Grape and cherry were the flavors. Later they added mushroom.    We were grape children, trying to cope in a mushroom world.    After that we didn’t fit in any more.    They studied ball playing, swinging the bat.    We were grape children, trying to cope in a mushroom world.    That didn’t go down well. Or did it?    They studied ball playing, swinging the bat.    After lunch it was time to quit over some girl.    That didn’t go down well. Or did it?    Daddy Warbucks was sad，but kept his reasons to himself.    After lunch it was time to quit over some girl.    He excused himself. Europe was calling.    Warbucks was sad, but kept his reasons to himself.    The others were off in a far corner of the room.    He excused himself---Europe was calling!    Besides, he had to work on the scenario.    The others were off in a far corner of the room.    The unspoken word beckoned.“Look, I came back.    Besides，I had to work on the scenario.”    Easy enough to say，if you’re a ghost    and the unspoken word beckons. Look, I came back.    It was all about you, from day one.    “Easy enough to say，if you’re a ghost.    What possible use could they have for this old iron pot? ”    It was all about you, from day one.    Only you mattered，on the desks and on the building’s facade.    What possible use could we have for this old iron pot?    And the game changed, or fell away.    Only you mattered on the desks. On the building’s facade,    in cafeterias and on playing fields the crowds shifted    and the game changed, or fell away.    It’s OK， it’s only a flesh mound. it’s almost healed.    In cafeterias and on playing fields the crowds shifted.    Why his business was on sale I can’t exactly expose    (it’s 〇K，it’s only a flesh wound, it’s almost healed)，    plus you had to be a ghost to appreciate it.

孤独    （选自 A Worldly Country）    作者：(美)约翰.阿什贝利（John Ashberry）    译者:剑郭琴符    “约束和决心”一个人写一封信    到街上，用通俗的语言，希望朋友    能找到、保存并分析它。    这么多，是未来    准备担保，带着条件：    你可以在家里设计一些东西。    别人内心的平静不是你所关心的，    直到有一天它事与愿违，    结果冲刷你，留给你含盐的，    未经检查的。    好的，直到再次努力：    和平，这次。当然每个人都喜欢光    轻拍船坞门，用糖    挖石头。似乎一条消息    有待收获，我给你的文书工作。    我们以为我们迷失了。    有多少次我们没有绝望地放弃，    只是被时间提醒    它对我们幸福的承诺    坚定，或不坚定？

The Loneliness    “Bound and determined” one writes a letter    to the street, in demotic, hoping a friend    will find, keep it, and analyze it.    This much the future    is prepared to vouchsafe, with conditions:    You could design something at home.    Another’s peace of mind isn’t your concern    until the day it backfires,    and consequences wash over you, leaving you brackish,    untried.    OK, Til try again:    peaceful, this time. Of course everyone likes light    lapping at the boathouse door, dredging    stones with sugar. It’s as though a message    remained to be harvested, paperwork from me to you.    And we thought we were lost.    How many times haven’t we given up in despair,    only to be reminded by time    of the firmness of its commitment    to our well-being, or lack thereof?

在椅子上看到旧风尚的复制    （选自 A Worldly Country）    作者：(美)约翰.阿什贝利（John Ashberry）    译者:剑郭琴符    据我所知，我注定要成为那些在不久的将来    向微分音进军的人中的一员，他们的一堆已经磨损掉了---    其他人，他们单调的表演直到今天仍然引起不安，    如此公平，如此平静，这是我喜欢的卡通人物的礼物。    唉，幸福的结局和悲惨都是注定的；    最好是走进为你敞开大门的地方    几乎没有抱怨的痕迹，就像炖肉里的盐    或他带你去的音乐会礼貌的嘘声。    草不再为我们躺在其上的复仇    编织被子，或者虚弱的微风不再搅动夫人的刘海。    被证明无病的东西被证明。与别的东西调情，    虚荣，会把路吓跑。    沼泽退后时，青蛙发出通知，蝴蝶    不必比它们待得久。    看，它们已经走了！    在某个地方，某人的早餐正在展出。

On Seeing an Old Copy of Vogue on a Chair    For all I know I was meant to be one of those marchers    into a microtonal near-future whose pile has worn away---    the others, whose drab histrionics provoke unease to this day,    so fair, so calm, a gift from cartoon characters I loved.    Alas, the happy ending and the tragic are alike doomed;    better to enter where the door is held open for you    with scarcely a soupcon of complaint, like salt in stew    or polite booing at a concert he took you to.    No longer shall the grasses weave quilts for our revenge    of lying down on, or a faint breeze stir milady’s bangs.    What is attested is attested to. To flirt with other thangs,    peacockish, would scare the road away.    Frogs give notice when the swamp backs up, and butterflies    Aren’t obliged to stay longer than they do.    Look，they’re already gone!    And somewhere, somebody’s breakfast is on exhibit.

十一月    （选自 A Worldly Country）    作者：(美)约翰.阿什贝利（John Ashberry）    译者:剑郭琴符    调羹刚好    进去，    搅了搅咖啡，    被拿走    放在茶碟上，一声不响。    图书馆丢失的书    幻想着    它们会终结的地方，    而不是    意识到它们已经终结的地方。    他说的我什么都    听不懂，我过来的    朋友。    当他说“高兴”时    我同样    确信    他是指    被痛苦    或感情压得喘不过气来。    他不可能    被明年的事情清单所困扰，    留下没有开垦的地方。    政府介入了。    这就是为什么没有地方的原因。

A November    The spoon went in    just right,    stirred the coffee,    was removed and lay    on the saucer, silent.    The lost library    books fantasized    about where they’d end up，    not    realizing they already had.    I don’t understand anything    he says, my friend    who comes over.    When he says delighted    I am just    as sure    he means weighted down    with affliction    or affection.    He can’t have been bothered    by next year’s list of things，    places left unplanted.    The government went in.    That’s why there isn’t room.

沉睡者婚礼    （选自 A Worldly Country）    作者：(美)约翰.阿什贝利（John Ashberry）    译者:剑郭琴符    我身边的钟声在冒烟，    内华达州的沙拉    无处不在，深及脚踝，    我对一切的渴望超过了我。    为什么我要在野外    吃三明治？    为什么狗在岸上作乐？    西里伯斯岛名流们致力于    什么是对的    和黏糊糊的。    我甚至刷过它们。    蓝鸟想建造一个    直径三千英尺的智囊团，    在地下或地上三十层。    国王告诉我，我是一个    需要学习的大师，但    仍然是一个大师。    我的答复是谁需要国王。    在这张纸条上    也许我们可以让这里暖和一点。

Sleeper Wedding    The bells smoking beside me,    the salad of Nevada    everywhere ankle deep,    my thirst for everything overtakes me.    Why am I with this sandwich    in open country?    Why do the dogs make merry on the shore?    The Celebes celebs attend    to what is right    and gooey.    I even brushed’em.    The blue jays wanted to build a think tank    three thousand feet in diameter,    thirty stories below the earth or above it.    The king told me I was a master    who needed to study, but    a master all the same.    My answer was who needs kings.    And on that note    maybe we could have it a little warmer in here.

剑郭琴符

献给海伦.特威尔翠丝的帕瓦娜舞曲    （选自 A Worldly Country）    作者：(美)约翰.阿什贝利（John Ashberry）    译者:剑郭琴符    1.    生硬的家务活是一种特长。    然后，50岁自杀。    不是一条不反映    卑鄙，不知何故，坦率的后街。    被笨拙英俊的菲利普斯.福尔摩斯紧抱着    在哈瓦那一辆敞篷马车上：    “圣帕特里克节，不是让你感觉很伟大吗？”    有暴躁的女房东要应付    也有惯常的酒鬼。否则，    时间流逝，确保脆弱性。    我说，你从来没有克服过    这些肿块，这就是它们的目的。    否则，你可以谨慎地遵守。    或者简单地大喊大叫。    客户回来了。快点，小胡子杯子。    2.    我们周围的潮汐，挑衅    抽象的天空和水。    赞美鼓起了杜鹃花。是啊，也表扬    它们，当我们在这里，每件事    都值得一点赞扬，除了那些    没得到它的人。还有更多，在续集里    上帝最终会写。    他翻动一本很大的八开书的    书页，把食指    放在下巴上。嗯，如果我    注意的话，结果可能会不一样。    让我们修改天空中的    角色分配召唤，看看谁的天赋开花。那样的话    下个千年就会有一些事情要谈了。    鸟儿听到，跌到草地上。    萤火虫的交流参差不齐，但准确。    整个项目很简单。    灯心草看起来不错。    正是因为这个，你才织出了你的小网，    亲爱的，而且不知怎么地得到奖赏。有人写道    只有最不可能的人才会抓住。    明天会有烟火，然后，    回到生与死的链条，    愉悦与暴躁。过程快照与    风景克服单调，门廊的坐落一致，    今晚我们有紧张和统一，    神秘，振奋人心。被遗忘的小明星    和未成年贵族很容易出现在里面。    所以他说不要去，    站在那里结结巴巴的    比我们习惯居住的    公园里的梦还要松软。

Pavane pour Helen Twelvetrees    I.    Abrasive chores were a specialty.    Then, suicide at fifty.    Not a back street that didn’t reflect    meanness, and somehow, candor.    To be clasped by the awkwardly handsome Phillips Holmes    in an open carriage in Havana:    “St. Patrick’s Day, don’t it make you feel great?”    There were fiery landladies to cope with    and the usual drunks. Otherwise,    time passes, assuring vulnerability.    I was saying, you never get over    some of these lumps, that’s what they’re for.    Otherwise, you can abide in discretion,    or just plain bawl.    The clients are coming back. Quick, the moustache cup.    II.    All around us tides, provocation    of abstracted sky and water.    Praise bellies the azaleas. Yeah, praise    them too while we’re at it, everything    deserves a modicum of praise, except those    who don’t get it. There’s more, in a sequel    God will ultimately be writing.    He turns the pages of a vast    octavo volume, brings forefinger    to chin. H’m, that one might have turned out    differently, if I’d been paying attention.    Let’s revamp the casting call    in the sky, see whose talent effloresces. That way    there’ll be something to talk about next millennium.    The birds hear and drop to the grass.    Fireflies communicate spottily, but accurately.    The whole project is plain.    The rushes look good.    It was for this you spun your little web,    dear, and have somehow been rewarded. It is written    that only the unlikeliest take hold.    Tomorrow there will be fireworks, and then,    back to the chain of living and dying,    pleasing and ornery. The process shot whereby    scenery overcomes tedium, porch sitting.    Tonight we have tension and oneness,    arcane，arousing. Forgotten starlets    and minor nobility are apt to turn up in it.    And so he said not to go,    is standing stuttering there    fluffier than a dream in the park setting    where we were accustomed to dwell.

你怕痒吗？    （选自 A Worldly Country）    作者：(美)约翰.阿什贝利（John Ashberry）    译者:剑郭琴符    我们又一次出于自己的意愿离开了，    去了一片图案伪造的平原，地图的碎片    像海滩上的波浪一样反复出现，每一个都是不可想象的    而且很可能继续如此。    但有时他们会，你知道，困惑，    改变他们的誓言或维持我们所有人的    基本规则。令人愉快，那么，反思过去    和它带给我们的一切。把石书从架子上    拿下来。事实上，让现在过去    而不评论它所说的未来是好的。    在预兆变成前兆的过程中没有任何肉欲的东西。    事实：我的胃口都很好。我只是    不想按照下一个男人的侵入来生活，    同时从我胸口拿到几句牢骚，    如果可以的话。我们直觉到周而复始的变化    当时间对我们的创造力有其他的要求。    里面有很多零售数字。一个人每天的星座    都有蛋壳、茄子，和，最糟的是，    黑色。够了不想说了。交易取消了。剩下的就是沉默。

Are You Ticklish?    We’re leaving again of our own volition    for bogus-patterned plains, shreds of maps recurring    like waves on a beach, each unimaginable    and likely to go on being so.    But sometimes they get, you know, confused,    and change their vows or the ground rules    that sustain all of us. It’s cheery, then, to reflect on the past    and what it brought us. To take stone books down    from the shelf. It is good, in fact,    to let the present pass without commentary    for what it says about the future.    There was nothing carnal in the way omens became portents.    Fact: All my appetites are friendly. I just    Don’t want to live according to the next guy’s trespass,    meanwhile getting a few beefs off my chest,    if that’s OK. The wraparound flux we intuit    as time has other claims on our inventiveness.    A lot of retail figures in it. One’s daily horoscope    comes in eggshell, eggplant, and, just for the heck of it,    black. ’Nuf said. The deal is off. The rest is silence.

琉特琴上的旁白    （选自 A Worldly Country）    作者：(美)约翰.阿什贝利（John Ashberry）    译者:剑郭琴符    没关系，他们说，不知道这些是从哪里来的    没关系。相信你的判断。    会好起来，亲爱的，她说，不然就从田野    打电话来。他们会派替补。    如果他筋疲力尽，那嘲笑又会如何？    为什么它很完美。领养老金的人永远不会知道，    新兵训练营的乌合之众也不会知道。她会给你展示凉廊。    在这里一切似乎是一个奇迹，    一览无余的眼睛可以看到，    老万灵药重新布线且新的一样好。    我们会在曲线上拼出你。它应该    可以，如果不行我们会派出一支搜救队    来救出伤员并安慰幸存者。    这是我们一直想知道的一切。    她祝贺我们以为我们完成的一切。

Asides on the Theorbo    It’s OK they said，it’s all right not to know    where any of this is coming from. Trust your judgment.    It’ll get better, dear, she said, otherwise call in    from the field. They’ll send replacements.    And if he was all in, how would that jibe?    Why it’ll be perfect. The pensioners will never know,    nor yet the boot camp riffraff. She’ll show you to the loggia.    From here it all seems like a miracle,    clean sweep as far as the eye can see,    old panaceas rewired and good as new.    We’ll spell you on the curve. It should be    OK, if not we’ll send in a search party    to bring out the wounded and console survivors.    It was everything we had always wanted to know.    She congratulated us on what we thought we accomplished.

秋天的茶叶    （选自 A Worldly Country）    作者：(美)约翰.阿什贝利（John Ashberry）    译者:剑郭琴符    在整个欧洲，一场日偏食    正在上演：毫无意外的惊喜    和它的妹妹，疲倦的不耐烦，    在水闸打开一小段后    标记着水流。然后就这样，    一个即兴的地平线被夹住了。    因此，    我问这个螺旋有什么特别之处，如果    真的有。你能看到它，    它的区别，半色调中的区分，    难以捕捉的色调，测量上升的水平    即使它窒息了我们？时间是    看起来像一个聚会的一切，甚至在    工人被开除前的一天的工作。    那时的梦是积极的天堂，而不仅仅是    为睡眠者的指示装裱的    照片，对，快乐。    所以，如果今晚水银再次    暴跌，就像今晚应该的那样，你认为    哪一块毯子足够应付这个场合，    恐惧或狂喜，或者只是想被掩盖？    低烧安装自己。    这些曾经是舞者，有着面孔    和幽默感。当然，当然不是    问得太多了，所以她一直面带微笑，    和蔼可亲地来了。端上来的蛋糕---    那些有记录吗？或是在树桩洞里    收集的树叶，某种人们    希望把它包括在计算中的东西    即使永远也不会被计算，    或是冲击明显潮汐的小帆    在永恒的港湾上来回航行，就这一次？

Autumn Tea Leaves    All across Europe a partial eclipse    is checking in: Unsudden surprise    and its sister, weary impatience,    mark the flow once the sluices    have been opened a little. Then it just goes,    an impromptu horizon clipped to it.    Therefore,    I ask what is special about this helix, if    indeed anything is. Can you see it,    its difference, distinguish among halftones,    fugitive tints, measure the rising level    even as it suffocates us? Time was    it all seemed like a party, even work    before the workers were expelled for the day.    Dreams were positive heaven then, not just    framed pictures for the sleeper’s instruction    and, yes, delight.    So if the mercury plummets    again, as it’s supposed to tonight, what shred    of blanket will you deem sufficient for the occasion,    dread or ecstasy, or just wanting to be covered?    A low-grade fever installs itself.    These were dancers once, with faces    and senses of humor. Which of course wasn’t    too much to ask, and so she came through smiling,    good-natured to the end. The cakes that were served---    is there a record of those? Or leaves collected    in the hollow of a stump, something one    would wish to have included in the reckoning    even if it was never going to be reckoned,    or small sail breasting the apparent tide,    on and out of the forever harbor, just this once?

反对有效    （选自 A Worldly Country）    作者：(美)约翰.阿什贝利（John Ashberry）    译者:剑郭琴符    就像一个法国国王，我    知道也不知道我是什么。    毫无目的地，毫无意义地受苦，    我想我现在就在现场。    其他的页边空白会邀请我们    走向生活，在一天的通知中    离开站点。动人地    人群停下来，向我们耸肩，    传递一些判断。    不管怎样，事情就是这样发生的。    冰罐滑动，破裂。    我世俗的财产不再    那么世俗。有时    在梦中，一切巨大的桃色    像波浪一样冲击着你    你回过头来看，知道    你看到了它，已经投入到    某些他物中。    上周所有的精力    都在我们之前进入了迷宫。我们可以在前面听到    他们的惊讶，但决定    在关键问题上阐明    我们自己的看法。渐渐地，我失去了    接触这些东西的机会。我不知道其他人是谁。    他后来在其他电影中去世。

Objection Sustained    Like a French king, I    know and do not know what it is I am.    Suffering aimlessly, pointlessly,    I think I’m on the spot right now.    Other margins will invite us    toward life, pull out the stops    on a day’s notice. Invitingly    the crowd stops, shrugs toward us,    passes some judgment.    Anyway, it happens this way.    The can of ice slipped and cracked.    All my worldly belongings weren’t    so worldly anymore. Sometimes    in a dream the tremendous peachiness    of everything assaults you like a wave    you look back at, knowing    you saw it, already invested in    some otherness.    All of last week’s energy preceded    us into the maze. We could hear their    surprise up ahead but were determined    to unravel our own opinion    on key issues. Gradually I lost    access to these. I don’t know who the others are.    He died later in other films.

再见，圣诞老人    （选自 A Worldly Country）    作者：(美)约翰.阿什贝利（John Ashberry）    译者:剑郭琴符    你对我们很好，    但我们必须自己想清楚    这些事情，稍后再和你    联系---我为什么说这些？    不是所有的东西    都要像地球一样大，一样完整。    当他在投币口发现一百万美元后    男孩持续着，死了也没发现多少。    痛苦很好    因为它会再次出现    我们不会准备好：    芭芭拉.艾伦的残酷，夜风    抓住丝巾，行人匆匆前行。    如果我如此渴望你，以至于    让最初千禧一代的脸红消失，    让我们回到我们的宠物身边，让我们    在学校学到的东西，    我会为我和你的距离    感到羞愧，因为像时间和治疗一样    不可或缺---    只是得到正确的事情的权利，就这一次。    做完一切后    我支付经纪人打的一个正式电话。    雪莉喝醉了    很快就要考虑下一套情况了。    啊地狱一切都是那样，    这样，那样，在耐力的阳光下    扭曲---    回到那时的方法，    下次没有庆祝的    正式声明。    这就是我们任何人都能得到的，    为什么我和你在一起很开心，一个人，只有我们。

So Long, Santa    You were good to us,    but we’ve got to think these things    out for ourselves, check in with you    later---why did I say that?    Not everything has to be    as big and as full as earth.    After he found a million dollars in a slot    the boy persisted, dying without uncovering a lot.    It’s good to be painful    because it will come round again    and we won’t be ready:    Barbara Allen’s cruelty, the night wind    biting at scarves, pedestrians hurrying along.    And if I so longed for you as    to make the original millennial blush go away,    us back to our pets, things we had    to learn at school,    I’d be ashamed of my distance    from you, for being indispensable    as time and cures---    just getting the right thing right, for once.    After finishing everything up    I pay a formal call to the broker.    Sherry is drunk    and it will soon be time to think of the next set of circumstances.    Oh hell everything is that way,    this way, that way, twisted in the sun    of endurance---    the back way in then,    the assertion of formality without    a celebration next time.    That’s all any of us gets,    why I am happy with you, alone, just us.

歌咏会    （选自 A Worldly Country）    作者：(美)约翰.阿什贝利（John Ashberry）    译者:剑郭琴符    你穿着街服看。为什么不    接受这个简单的方法？    提供的那个？善良的那个？    因为这不容易，也不够仁慈。    一定很难    把我们带到这么远。    随时很快    我们都会设法建造谷仓，    油漆，锁上挂锁，搁置任何    可怕的事情。这样，我们认为，它会为我们    保留一段时间。我们除了睡觉，像池塘边的    芦苇一样点头。    那些未被种植的地方将被    另一个，或其他人耕种。回首往事    会觉得不错。雄伟的阳台。    所有的船都被编号。    树篱像秋天一样    吃草，或者枯萎，    像果实。

Singalong    You watch in street clothes. Why not    accept the easy way, the one    that’s offered? The kind one?    Because it isn’t easy or kind enough.    It has to be hard    to have brought us this far.    Any time soon    we’ll manage to build barns，    paint, lock the padlocks, waive anything    dire. That way, we think, it will keep    for us and for a while. Other    than that we sleep, nod    like reeds at the edge of a pond.    Those places left unplanted will be cultivated    by another, by others. Looking back it    will seem good. The majestic verandah.    All the ships numbered.    The hedges grazed    like autumn, or a blight,    like fruit.

剑郭琴符

不懂法律不是借口    （选自Where Shall I Wander）    作者：(美)约翰.阿什贝利（John Ashberry）    译者:剑郭琴符    我们被警告注意蜘蛛,和偶尔的饥荒。    我们开车去市区看邻居。他们都不在家。    我们依偎在市政当局建造的院子里，    回忆起其他的，不同的地方---    但它们在吗？我们以前不是都知道吗？    在蜜蜂赞美诗淹没单调的葡萄园里，    我们因为和平而入睡，加入了伟大的运转。    他向我走来。    一切都和过去一样，    除了现在的沉重，    它破坏了我们与天堂缔结的契约。    事实上，没有理由高兴，    也不需要回头。    我们迷失于只是站着，    听着头顶电线的嗡嗡声。    我们为那个英才政治感到悲哀，因为它野蛮的生机，    把食物一直放在桌上，把牛奶放在杯子里。    在贫民窟，草率风格    我们又回到了他原来变成的岩石水晶    所有的担心，我们所有的恐惧。    我们轻轻地走到    最下面的台阶上。在那里你可以悲伤和呼吸，    在寒冷的春天中冲洗你的财产。    只需提防频繁出现的熊和狼    以及你期待黎明时出现的阴影。

Ignorance of the Law Is No Excuse    We were warned about spiders, and the occasional famine.    We drove downtown to see our neighbors. None of them were home.    We nestled in yards the municipality had created,    reminisced about other, different places---    but were they? Hadn’t we known it all before?    In vineyards where the bees hymn drowns the monotony,    we slept for peace, joining in the great run.    He came up to me.    It was all as it had been,    except for the weight of the present,    that scuttled the pact we made with heaven.    In truth there was no cause for rejoicing,    nor need to turn around, either.    We were lost just by standing,    listening to the hum of wires overhead.    We mourned that meritocracy which, wildly vibrant,    had kept food on the table and milk in the glass.    In skid-row, slapdash style    we walked back to the original rock crystal he had become,    all concern, all fears for us.    We went down gently    to the bottom-most step. There you can grieve and breathe,    rinse your possessions in the chilly spring.    Only beware the bears and wolves that frequent it    and the shadow that comes when you expect dawn.

啊福耳图那（1）    （选自Where Shall I Wander）    作者：(美)约翰.阿什贝利（John Ashberry）    译者:剑郭琴符    好运！最美好的祝福！祝好运！    最好的！祝成功！上帝保佑你！    愿和平与你同在！    愿你的影子永远不会少！    我们可以看到另一边，    你看。这是你的问题，我们知道，    但我还是忍不住感到有点嫉妒。    如果黑暗现在变得精神错乱怎么办？    轰轰烈烈地，人们顺利地重新安装电流。    这里是阴凉所在的地方，花儿的暗示，    还有宁静，在另一个地方。    我们的竞争就像某种秩序的工具。    一开始没人会发现它们有用。    直到真正的紧急情况出现，才有人    意识到它是什么意义。    所有的地狱并没有散去，它就像一首升起的赞美诗，    像雪在看不见的山上突然出现。    一切在脚下的都是美好的，但是失去了。    ----    （1）福尔图娜是罗马神话最古老的女神之一。作为时运女神，她司掌着人间的幸福和机遇。

O Fortuna    Good luck! Best wishes! The best of luck!    The very best! Godspeed! God bless you!    Peace be with you!    May your shadow never be less!    We can see through to the other side,    you see. It’s your problem, we know,    but I can’t help feeling a little envious.    What if darkness became unhinged right now?    Boomingly, swimmingly one remounts the current.    Here is where the shade was, the suggestion of flowers,    and peace, in another place.    Our competition is like tools of a certain order.    No one would have found them useful at first.    It wasn’t until a real emergency arose, that someone    had the sense to recognize for what it was.    All hell didn’t break loose, it was like a rising psalm    materializing like snow on an unseen mountain.    All that was underfoot was good, but lost.

买得起的种类    （选自Where Shall I Wander）    作者：(美)约翰.阿什贝利（John Ashberry）    译者:剑郭琴符    孩子绑架父母是一回事。    对父母来说，和孩子坐在一起，    挡住小路和孩子最喜欢的苔藓是另一回事。    全神贯注坐着金色的马车早早到达。    我们看到东西停在周围，    迷宫陷入迷宫，    喉咙的葡萄结，地平线。    我们不能让它一直来。    就是这样。    这是一个被侵略的国家。    黎明将放弃你所有的书。    走来走去会告诉一些重要的事情：    打折方式、一桶桶 拍岸的白浪、    日子扫进存在。    孩子随着这些东西的成长而成长，    倾听着，并为那些从官方记录中滴下的    刻板时刻而忧心忡忡。我们买了裤子    和西装，偶尔买灰色衬衫。    到了周末，一切都是沉默和勤奋。

Affordable Variety    It is one thing for a child to kidnap a parent.    It is quite another for the parent to sit down with the child,    blocking the path and its favorite mosses.    Cathexis arrives early in a golden coach.    We see stuff perched around,    mazes stuck in mazes,    knot of grapes at the throat, the horizon.    And we couldn’t keep it coming.    That is so.    This is an invaded country.    Dawn will abdicate all your book.    Walking around will tell the important things:    discount ways, barrels of breakers,    days swept into being.    The child grew up as these things grew,    listened and was worried for the starched moments    dropped from the official record. We bought pants    and suits, the occasional gray shirt.    By weeks end all was silence and industry.

剑郭琴符

清算日        （选自Where Shall I Wander）    作者：(美)约翰.阿什贝利（John Ashberry）    译者:剑郭琴符        关于时间被侵入的    问题。黎明前的    最后一个客户在一定距离    被看到。然后他们提出的        另一个整体问题是归属感。    尽管我们一连几代人    都住在蜀葵屋    似乎却不受欢迎。        然后，一个更遥远的客户提出了    更接近于一个问题的“问题”，就像从海角吹来的暖风，    被视为在一个争论中的摆动---    烦恼的粒子。首领对那个        真的很伤心。他挨家挨户地来    卖东西，时不时地。受人爱戴    却很少被人想到的名流。    他买了第一个周界        六岁时就长了一颗乳牙。    后来，当他们问他对此有何    感想，他闪烁其词，但以一种    令每个听众都着迷的方式。狗认识他        作为一个忠实的朋友，修补匠们    总是有一个离群的水坝为他准备。    在这所房子里活泼地长大，    他的耳朵很快就穿透了屋顶。        十六岁时，他参加了第一次舞会，    遇到了迷人的莱蒂小姐。    还有另一个索赔人，难以捉摸，    掠夺成性，转向精灵的混乱        当领土最终被瓜分的时候。    女仆派人来说，如果要把它做成一个干净的乳房    她们可以下来。    一切发生了，就在那天晚上，我和其他人        可以证明。首领的衣着看上去很时髦。    红宝石潜伏在灯光的珠子里，节点    被雕刻，泪水被酒冲走    酒的苦味一直持续到今天。

Days of Reckoning                Questions about the timing    intruded. The last client    before dawn was seen at a certain    distance. Then they brought up        the whole other issue of belonging.    Seems we weren’t welcome despite    having occupied Hollyhock House    for generations upon generations.        Then a more remote client raised “issues”    closer to one, like a warm breeze from the cape,    seen to oscillate in an argument---    vexed particles. The captain was really sad        about that one. He came selling articles    door to door, from time to time. A personage    much beloved and little thought of.    He’d bought his first perimeter        with a baby tooth at the age of six.    Afterwards, when they asked him how he felt    about it, he was evasive, but in a way    that charmed every hearer. Dogs knew him        as a faithful friend, and tinkers    always had a stray dam for him.    Growing up lively in the house,    his ears soon pierced its roof.        At sixteen he attended his first dance,    met the charming Miss Letty.    There was another claimant, elusive,    predatory, veering to elvish embroilment        when the territories were divvied up at last.    The maid sent to say they could come down    if a clean breast were to be made of it.    As happened, that very evening, as I and others        can attest. The captain looked spiffy in his garb.    Rubies lurked in beads of lamplight, the joint    was carved and tears washed down with wine    whose bitter taste endures to this day.

  

浪子        （选自Where Shall I Wander）    作者：(美)约翰.阿什贝利（John Ashberry）    译者:剑郭琴符        亲爱的唾液，这星期全世界都在    翻天覆地。一切都在外面愤怒地喊叫。    我想要圣乌苏拉的一个处女    最后看一眼倾斜的石头和树，    驶进必定无法形容的一切    如果它真的对自身有什么意义。        明天，石头法官将在这里，    然后越来越多的先驱者，    覆盖盆地，直到人们可以看到    蓝色的开端。它们在种群中占有    一席之地，但名义上    并不比我们多，种在这里是为了测量它们    并随着潮水的啜饮而向后移动。        我们知道塔桥是被陪审团操纵的，    圣灵在上帝的眼中戏弄了一条细流    我们从一个必要的距离的询问中    看到了。夏天是草帽和甘草，    它们，褪色了，留下了其他新奇事物    和杂物的味道。隐身，哀悼自己，    或其他不规则的幽灵永远不会太迟。

Wastrel            Dear spit, the week is turning over    with the world. All is angry shouting outdoors.    I feel like one of St. Ursulas virgins    taking a last look at shelving rock and tree,    sailing into what must be the ineffable    if indeed it means anything to itself.        Tomorrow the stone judge will be here,    then more and more pioneers,    covering the basin as far as one can see    into blue beginnings. They have their place    in the populations, but are nominally    no more than we, planted here to survey them    and moving backward with sips of the tide.        We knew the tower bridge was jury-rigged,    the spirit spoof a trickle in the eye of God    we behold from a questioning though necessary    distance. In summer it was straw hats and licorice,    which, fading, leave a taste for other novelties    and sundries. It is never too late for stealth,    mourning itself, or the other irregular phantoms.

  

后发星座（1）    （选自Where Shall I Wander）    作者：(美)约翰.阿什贝利（John Ashberry）    译者:剑郭琴符        这意味着，这些鸡尾酒越来越指向大众的处境---伊迪、波加斯基夫人、她两腿之间的空隙、冯.克伦克。所以雪球在前面消失了。它成功地完成了它的任务，那就是把每个人都赶出门外十五分钟。当他们回来的时候，就好像回到了后来的一幕破旧的古装剧里，一切都像布雷亚焦油一样嵌入其中。有一些新的解决方案摆动着实施，而一些旧的解决方案已经被取代，尽管它们仍然存在于公众意识中，就像一位受人喜爱的歌剧明星和她在一间新哥特式客厅墙壁上的牢房里的头发一样。担心雪球抵达灭绝，或者担心它已经在昏迷中被致命地偏离到了后发星座，它自己的变态自我投射穿越了主妇们危险的白日梦，她们的手依赖于厨房水槽的洗碗水，或者退休人员和空巢老人欲将其房屋抵押的再融资，或移到较小的一处或部分出租，证明为时过早。从竞争对手到消费者，从草根老板到新外包的顾问，刺激地激发了这些人想象力的东西，就是板凳权证是多么包罗万象。不要在这里打称心如意的算盘！        伊迪隐约感到不安，因为那天下午出去的时候，一个戴黑帽子的男人打电话来。他说他有试水东西，他的女仆玛丽亚告诉她。以前水从来没有出过问题。也许这是某种想进屋翻卡尔的文件的诡计的一部分。他既没打电话也没回来。然而，留给她这样一个事实：他曾经在那里；某物或某人想要她注意的一部分；也就是说，她的一部分。        五点钟，她调好了鸡尾酒---为自己和卡尔，他露面了吗---在拉维尼老太太离开她的摇壶里。孟买蓝宝石马丁尼酒。卡尔在班加罗尔爱上了她们，在那里他被通知去执行一项任务。不知怎的，当他们从摇床里出来的时候总是一种失望，无色而不是蓝色。蓝宝石的颜色在瓶子里。她想知道卡尔是否注意到了这一点，或者，更重要的是，是否给他造成麻烦。他最近一直守口如瓶---尽管他们在卡尤加乡村俱乐部初次见面时，他总是那么亲切。嗯，他脑子里想了很多。再融资并不顺利---至少这是她的印象，因为他没有谈过它。当事情进展顺利时，他变得友善健谈，语调也变得像长辈。“好，让我们看看昨晚小精灵们在储藏室里留下了什么。或许来点奶酪白葡萄酒？”        前线的热浪一直烫煳每个人的神经。玛丽亚，穷困，曾抱怨背痛。神秘的唤醒已经如期发生了。随后，传讯上升。执行期望、期望表达、期望艺术品，即视觉艺术。艺术品还没到。        “符合要求，曲线美。这种残酷的舞蹈不可能永远持续。我在市中心，看到你的形象在城市上空登上王位，透过格栅，拖拖拉拉；猿猴和蚜虫不断涌入这个地方。很快我们就会看到更平静的住处，一罐月光映照着过去的月亮。”这也是我的感想。唉，伊迪，我们不再是我们自己了。有什么东西在夜里经过又把我撞倒了。我相信你会注意到。但是第二天和后来来了又去，从那以后就不确定天文台八重奏是否结束了在液体穹顶下鸣叫。我们都应受谴责。集体犯罪是唯一确定的赌注。但现在我希望你把给编辑的信编织，日期是明天。科罗曼德尔的屏风只对它自己有耐心，但一股白兰地的味道能洞察并穿透我们知道如何应对的靠近雾的区域。        雪球是灵魂的一个模型，因为数以亿计的灵魂被嵌入其中，尽管没有人能控制甚至刻画它。在这一点上，雪球就像曾行走在地球上最卑微的灵魂。贪婪的，原始的，是它的卫星。它想让你相信它的核心是宇宙最外层的外壳，这可能是也可能不是真的，也可能不是真的。我们每个人都可以选择相信它，但我们不能在不脱离我们的谜团核心的情况下同时相信这两件事，其士兵们在好的时候和坏的时候，保护我们不受不作为和被误导的热情的影响。雪球还没来得及把我们从誓言中释放出来就已经融化了。        在莫斯科（爱达荷州）度过了主要痛苦的几年之后，我们改去了伊利诺伊州。起初，在经历了与世隔绝之后，住在大学城的文化优势是一项福利。但渐渐地，更严酷的现实开始让他们感觉到。一部法国电影，一晚在芭蕾舞晚会或一场音乐会（主要是交响乐战马，如《1812年序曲》（2））每隔几个月几乎都不足以让我们在大城市里错过的东西一直回响，不要透过我们生活中破旧的窗帘表现出来。从街上看，我们殖民地复兴之家的缎面屋顶看起来不错，但当你站在它下面时，你会感到被二十世纪的重压压垮了。大学广播电台不断地排放老歌或后勋伯格时代的拨弦声永久的洪流。即使是书籍讨论（“圆桌会议”）似乎也主要针对“年轻人”。你注意，斯图和我都不反对年轻一代---我们自己也离这不远，有点像婴儿潮时代的末端。但这么多的严肃的关注给后果可疑的主题带来的影响片刻后就可以到达你。很多时候我们会隔着客厅互相凝视，然后想，“那又怎样？“然后有一天发生了显著的变化。        我们中的一些人，相当一部分人，被束缚着，许多人没有。林木造型艺术的特洛伊木马站在大门外，不想被允许进来。自由职业者是蓝色的，职员是黄色的。一阵凛冽的微风正在西边集结，对那些在它的路径躺着被磁化或匆忙寻找一些原始的住所，一个中空的原木或翻转独木舟的人漠不关心。贾维斯和阿普里尔，在含羞草中直到他们的脖子，本可以对在现在笼罩着一切的巨大额头上刻下了什么样的意图少些关心。一股刺耳的香味，对有些人太香了，站在前面的田野里。我是祝福，它唱道；其他人可能会注意到或回到他们的囚犯身份。但我们，我们都，是传说中的东西，我们怂恿。一个安静的空间用来洗澡，可爱的床可以追逐你进入梦乡，晚餐可以吃一盘煮海鹦蛋。小心，你会打扰害虫，呃，宠物，阿普里尔呼吸。如果他们中有几个能在明天的比赛前被放出？去吧，和他们一起受苦。屠杀，混乱冲击它，作为他们的习惯。楼下潜伏着一位老仆人，对墙纸图案的片刻变化漠不关心，我们独特的遗产。        今天改变一下比较好。玛妮和瓦尔正在去新英格兰各州旅行的路上。八月，莫尔停下来“只是为了参观”，我们去了一个新的渔场，很不错。二月份，两个男孩带我去参加辛辛那提的花样滑冰锦标赛，我尽量不错过。一个月后，我们沿着卡罗莱纳州海岸攀爬，希望能看到春天的迹象。它们很少，大多是盛开的紫荆花。不是一朵特别吸引人的花，但在一年中的那个时候，人们会对任何一小块颜色心存感激。在四月下旬和五月，这个季节有点触底了。雨水太多了。到处都有交配的证据。我真的错过了春天很多平常的鲜花，被古怪的天气毁了。在这种时候，呆在家里真是一件幸事。        夏天很安静，除了平常的“瞬间”。弗兰和唐在去苏格兰高地参加传统运动会的路上停下。它们有几百年的历史，一幅令人惊叹的景象，似乎。每人从苏格兰寄了一张卡片。玛丽和她的小男孩八月份来过。我们去了钓鱼的地方，但我不确定兰斯（她的儿子）是否欣赏它。孩子们有着如此明显的嗜好，对此可能相当固执。九月下旬的一个最佳时间是秋天的叶子，这是今年的壮丽景象。卡斯帕带我和他的妻子在佛蒙特州的两个姑姑旅行在佛蒙特州北部的“窥视树叶”。我们在加拿大附近，但实际上没有越过边境。马克斯说，你可以用更少的钱在这边买到同样的废旧纪念品。他就是这样一张卡。        十一月。因南希.史密斯而悲伤。        总之，这是一个相当活跃和令人满意的一年，我期待着下一年。我不知道它会带我去哪里。我只是坚持住，试着享受这段旅程。雪带来冬天的回忆。这里面有一个警告，但我不知道它是否会被传送出去。        ------    （1）Coma Berenices直译为：昏迷的贝伦尼斯王后，贝伦尼斯为古埃及国王托勒玫三世的妻子，她头发很美，剪下来为其丈夫许愿。神接受她的秀发，把它变成一群星星，就是“后发星座”。    （2）《1812年序曲》，柴可夫斯基作曲。

Coma Berenices                That meant that these cocktails became more and more pointed at the situation of the masses---at Edie, at Mrs. Pogarski, at the space between her legs, at von Klunk. So the snowball got lost up ahead. It had succeeded in its mission, which was to put everybody out of doors for fifteen minutes. When they returned it was as though to a later act of the shabby costume drama in which all had become embedded like La Brea tar. There were new solutions wiggling to be applied and old ones which had been superseded though they lived on in the public consciousness like the memory of a beloved opera star and her tresses in a cell in the walls of an alveolate neo-gothic parlor. Fears that the snowball had reached extinction, or that it had been fatally sidetracked in the Coma Berenices of its own perverse self-projection through the dangerous daydreams of housewives, their hands at rest in the dishwater of a kitchen sink, or retirees and empty-nesters wishing to refinance the mortgage on their house or move to a smaller one or rent out part of it, proved premature. What piquantly captured the imagination of each, from competitor to consumer to straw boss to newly outsourced consultant, was how all-inclusive the bench warrant was. No beating about the bed of roses here!        Edie had felt vaguely apprehensive since the afternoon a dark-hatted man had called while she was out. He had said something about testing the water, her maid Maria told her. There had never been a problem with the water before. Maybe it was part of some ruse to get into the house and rummage around in Carl’s papers. He hadn’t called or returned. Yet she was left with the fact that he had been there; that something or someone wanted part of her attention; that is to say, part of her.        At five o’clock she mixed cocktails---for herself and Carl, should he show up---in the shaker old Mrs. Lavergne had left her. Bombay Sapphire martinis. Carl had fallen in love with them in Bangalore where he had been posted on an assignment. Somehow it was always a disappointment when they came out of the shaker colorless instead of blue. The sapphire color was in the bottle. She wondered if Carl had noticed this, or, more important, whether it bothered him. He had been so tight-lipped lately---though always the affectionate dear he had been on the day they first met at the Cayuga Country Club. Well, he’d had a lot on his mind. The refinancing hadn’t been going too well---at least that was her impression，since he hadn’t talked about it. When things went well he grew expansive, his tone avuncular. “Well, let’s see what the pixies left in the larder last night. Maybe some little cheesie-biskies?”        The battlefront heat had been singeing everybody’s nerves. Maria, badly off, had complained of backache. The arcane arousing had taken place on schedule. Then the arraignment was ascendant. The executive expectation, expecting expression, expectorated artwork, i.e., visual arts. The work of art had not arrived.        “Cut the mustard, curvaceous. This cutthroat-dance can’t continue forever. I was downtown, saw your image enthroned above the city, through the grille, dilatory; apes and aphids continued pouring into the place. Soon we’ll be looking at calmer quarters, a jar of moonshine reflecting the moon as in days gone by.” Those were my sentiments too. Alas, Edie, we are no longer ourselves. Something came by and cut me down in the night. I was sure you'd notice. But the next day and the day after that came and went, and after that it was uncertain whether the observatory octet had finished chiming beneath the liquid dome. We were all to blame. Collective guilt is the only sure bet. But now I want you weaving in and out of my letter to the editor, dated tomorrow. A Coromandel screen has patience only with itself, but a quaff of grappa sees into and pierces the region of near mists we know we know how to deal with.        The snowball is a model for the soul because billions of souls are embedded in it, though none can dominate or even characterize it. In this the snowball is like the humblest soul that ever walked the earth. The rapacious, the raw, are its satellites. It wants you to believe its core is the outermost shell of the universe, which may or may not be true. Each of us has the choice of believing it, but we cannot believe in both things without becoming separated from our core of enigma, which soldiers on in good times and bad, protecting us alike from the consequences of inaction and misguided enthusiasm. The snowball would melt before it would release us from our vows.        After a mostly painful few years spent in Moscow (Idaho!), we changed to Illinois. At first the cultural advantages of living in a large university town were a boon, after the isolation we’d experienced. But gradually harsher realities began to make themselves felt. A French film, an evening at the ballet or a concert (mostly symphonic warhorses, like the 1812 Overture) every couple of months were hardly sufficient to keep reflections on what we were missing out on in the big city from showing through the threadbare drapes of our lives. The satin roof of our Colonial Revival house looked fine from the street, but when you were under it you felt crushed by the weight of the old twentieth century. The college radio station emitted a perpetual flood of oldies or post-Schoenbergian twangs. Even the book discussions (“round tables”）seemed mostly aimed at a “young adult”audience. Mind you, neither Stu nor I have anything against the younger generation---we’re not that far from it ourselves, kind of at the tail end of the baby-boom era. But so much serious attention brought to bear on subjects of doubtful consequence can get to you after a while. Many’s the time we’d stare at each other across the living room and wonder, “So what?” Then one day a remarkable change occurred.        Some of us, quite a few, were fettered, many were not. The topiary Trojan horse stood outside the gate, not wanting to be let in. The free-lance were blue; the staff yellow. A stiff breeze was gathering itself in the west, indifferent to those who lay magnetized in its path or scurried to find some primitive shelter, a hollow log or overturned canoe. Jarvis and April, up to their necks in mimosa, could have cared less what intentions had etched themselves into the gigantic forehead that now loomed over all. A shrill fragrance, too aromatic for some, stood in the forward fields.I am benison, it sang; others may take heed or go back to their status as prisoners. But we, we all, are the stuff of legends, we urged. A quiet space for bathing, adorable beds that chase you into sleep, for dinner a dish of boiled puffins eggs. Be careful, you’ll disturb the pests, er, pets, April breathed. And if a few of them were released in time for tomorrow’s match? Go, suffer with them. The carnage, the pandemonium go at it, as is their custom. Downstairs an old servant lurks, indifferent to minute changes in the wallpaper pattern, our unique heritage.        Today was nicer for a change. Marnie and Val are on their way to a trip through the New England states. In August, Merle stopped by “just to visit.” We went to the new fish place and it was good. In February the two boys took me to the figure skating championships in Cincinnati, which I try never to miss. A month later we scrambled along the Carolina coast hoping for signs of spring. They were few and far between, mostly redbuds in bloom. Not a particularly attractive flower but one is grateful for any little swatch of color at that time of year. In late April and May the season kind of bottomed out. Too much rain. Evidence of copulation everywhere. I’m sure I missed a lot of the usual flowers of the spring, destroyed by the eccentric weather. At such times staying home can be a real blessing.        Summer was quiet except for the usual “transients.” Fran and Don stopped by on their way to the traditional games in the Scottish highlands. They are centuries old and an amazing sight, it seems. Each sent a card from Scotland. Mary and her little boy came by in August. We went to the fish place but I’m not sure if Lance (her boy) appreciated it. Children have such pronounced tastes and can be quite stubborn about it. In late September a high point was the autumn foliage which was magnificent this year. Casper took me and his wife’s two aunts on a “leaf-peeping” trip in northern Vermont. We were near Canada but didn’t actually cross the border. You can get the same souvenir junk on this side for less money Max said. He is such a card.        November. Grief over Nancy Smith.        All in all this has been a fairly active and satisfying year, and I’m looking forward to the next one. Where it will take me I do not know. I just hang on and try to enjoy the ride. Snow brings winter memories. There is a warning somewhere in this but I do not know if it will be transmitted.