诗生活网

 找回密码
 立即注册
搜索
楼主: 剑郭琴符
收起左侧

(美)约翰.阿什贝利诗歌草译

[复制链接]
 楼主| 发表于 2020-9-6 23:07:09 | 显示全部楼层
本帖最后由 剑郭琴符 于 2020-9-6 23:08 编辑


71.

   他们必须怀恨
   火雨
   或者当有时候好像
   向上,手放下
   反对
   被嘲笑
   快卖掉她的方位
   没有完全显现
   她占上风
   五千英尺高

   72.

   这个村庄(使用新的头痛系统)被砍掉
   停止运行
   法国人或瑞士人
   已经触底回升
   自然空白是可能的
   黄金是“召唤”
   选择他的生活...跳蚤

   73.

   至少
   四天
   一个惊奇
   母亲
   假设
   不是一个“图像”
   “安排”
   他是一个后裔,例如
   瑞士银行——一个村庄

   74.

   为一个人而来的人是人性
   最低的扒手帮了忙

   75.

   像公众一样,
   反应
   来自水晶宫

   76.

   一声吼叫
   “甜蜜与光明”
   扒手——柄
   更可耻...好吧,忘记
   雪围绕暴风雨
   他轻蔑地嘲笑悬崖
   用了这个词

   77.

   “也许你听说过她。她是一个伟大的飞行女性。”

   “哦,是的,”陌生人回答说,“我见过
   她在报纸上的事迹。她经常飞吗?”

   78.

   为它自己鼓掌——更明智
   更多的枪 我来自这个地区
   四次拿着一个小的,
   椭圆的
   电影也是
   在整个晶体里

   79.

   在大街上漫步
   端庄的慈父般的形象
   电报——壮丽的

   倾倒
   门廊
   花朵 商店
   除掉当地亲戚
   哭哭啼啼

   80.

   群众指挥部在那里喊叫
   因为没有
   因为大多数有毒
   精致的感觉---像椒盐卷饼...
   他被派往州参议院
   工资掩盖他的不满
   这些争论状况律师一文不值郁闷的自助餐厅

   81.

   船歌

   82.

   消音器。“不是他……”

   83.

   午后不久,扛着一个狭窄的。

   84.

   关于她

   85.

   巨石的鬼魂
   挂在中途
   抛光
   ###谁缠绕
   坚强,悲伤的半城
   花园
   ###从桥上

   楼梯

   ###扫帚
   最近###过去的###象征
   头发###香蕉
   不能唤起一个具体的形象
   那壮丽的

   86.

   滋养在
   裸石栏杆---

   87.

   你这边
   是雄伟的——干燥的风
   永恒的石头,### 深深的叹息
   伴随着刺耳的尖叫声拖上来
   清新的,脆嫩的空气
   别墅上的衰老

   她浴缸的小开口
   的正面---都相似,大雨
   “这城堡的尊严。”

   88.

   入侵者
   刚才真糟糕
   上去看看那个衣衫褴褛的旅行者
   点了一品脱
   两点半,来访者,带着
   他的包,出发去旅游那
   村庄。 努力
   保留

   在他们身上打滚
   在晚上

   89.

   这辆车有一些私人的
   不止一间小屋轧光印花棉布是明亮的它的
   黄铜烛台被忘记
   25美分,
   能提供是一个无力的

   90.

   我有完美的记忆力而且

   天空好像要通过
   它们这一对就像一个大碗

   环绕地球

   91.

   位于他的中尉侧面——柠檬---
   他的上级在外面
   “如果我错了
   线筛
   电话 我没有
   一个在挨饿的时候给他写信的人的强大本性

   92.

   临死前,他会把他们登上杂志
   其中一些人又脏又疯
   好像几乎没有必要。

   我吓坏了。我为他感到难过。
   没有部门没有......
   沿着湖边那些装饰物
   青铜色——它不害怕

   手牵手如火
   在你的灵魂里

   93.

   探照灯扫着
   选择“大黄蜂”
   他刚脱衣服就
   又听到那低沉的沙沙声
   “大黄蜂”号从泰晤士河入海口的侦察回路回来
   巩固伪装

   谁死于车祸
   已经发展成一个
   然后,不知不觉地

   94.

   巴黎开始下雪
   还不到中午

   95.

   在她两腿间
   蛛网嘴唇读着咀嚼
   味道似乎不确定;
   无力创建图像
   闭嘴,离开我。安静!这
   两个男人有
   最深刻的
   岛民

   96.

   比恩先生呆在室内
   在小船上
   我们防御,我们意图的

   97.

   在村里几个月后,出去到草坪上

   大
   “就像我的一些朋友
   否则我们会砍掉他的头

   98.

   这是第三件事
   另一个巨人

   99

   深色羊毛,夏天
   和冬天

   100

   枪用金属---她的右脚在双手中
   东西

   101

   医生,梳子
   新芬党

   102

   连衣裙

   103

   流动清扫表面
   长柄树枝扫帚
   饥肠辘辘
   墙 大 树

   104

   燃烧 飞行员
   出去 残忍的

   105

   我们必须更加小心
   未来,亲爱的

   106

   她想弄明白
   什么叫快笑
   廉价旅馆为他们
   在床上挖洞
   一盒麦片

   不久一个信号灯亮了
   我不明白残骸

   107.

   蓝烟? ### 钢螺栓
   好像 ### 被取代
   她拥有 ### 被一幅画着
   河 ### 一根木头!
   在水面上 ### 罗尼,沉思

   ###消音器的
   密谋杀死我们两个,亲爱的。
   宠物

   哦

   她在那里

   108

   这座桥穿过
   龙 ### 船
   运河船闸
   是效果
   只有两个季节
   巴黎地图
   穿过床单的中心
   性格
   下水道倒空流入地下
   真窒息那河与
   尸体
   “在海边,我想...”

   越过

   109

   雄伟的树木——古老的
   庄园——他说他正
   回家满足他们的需要
   只有另一个---
   交换了另一个意思
   这儿最近
   客栈老板的

   110

   干燥,灌木丛
   解决 每个人

   认识他
   靠近斯威特
   接近
   书店
   隐蔽蹲伏着。
   睡一觉,狭窄的小路
   通往黑山山顶
   认出他
   厕所跟踪
   他的脚步声

   出海

   111

   半小时后
   罗纳德认出他。
   他们突然看到一束强烈的白光,
   一个非常明亮的微型探照灯,
   ---刺破黑暗,向着天空。

   它们现在被认为是乙炔,
   安装在汽缸上
   在一个铝制的轻型三脚架上
   气体喷射器后面有一个明亮的反射镜,
   光开始“眨眼”
   紧接着三次
   莫尔斯字母“S”

   光束慢慢地从北转向南,
   在云层上制造莫尔斯“S”,
   一次又一次。

   突然,光熄灭——五分钟后
   罗纳德的手表没有闪烁
   然后突然,又一次,S的系列重复
   从北到南的半圆
   接着又回来。

   黑暗中又过了五分钟

   灯又亮了开始
   发出莫尔斯闪光和耀斑信号,
   “N.F.”,“N.F.”
   接着是一根长长的光束
   光向天空,慢慢地绕成一圈

   呼吸


71.

   They must hold against
   The fire rain
   or when sometime it seems
   upward, hands down
   against
   pilloried
   sell quickly took her bearings
   did not appear entirely
   upper hand of her
   a height of five thousand feet

   72.

   The village (using the new headache system) were cut
   With the stops running
   A French or Swiss
   had hit bottom and gotten back up
   wild margins are possible
   The gold a “call”
   options his life ... flea

   73.

   A least
   four days
   A surprise
   mothers
   suppose
   Is not a “images”
   to “arrange”
   He is a descendant, for example
   The Swiss bank--a village

   74.

   Man come for one is humanity
   the lowest pickpocket helps

   75.

   Like the public,
   reactions
   from Crystal Palace

   76.

   A roar
   “sweetness and light”
   Pickpocket--stem
   and more scandalous . . . well, forgotten
   The snow is around storm
   He laughed lightly at cliff
   and used that term

   77.

   “Perhaps you’ve heard of her. She’s a great flying woman.”

   “Oh yes,” replied the stranger.“I’ve seen things about
   her in the papers. Does she fly much?”

   78.

   applauding itself--wiser
   more gun I come from the district
   four times carrying a small,
   oval
   the movie was also
   in the entire crystal

   79.

   to stroll down Main Street
   the dignified and paternal image
   telegraph--magnificent

   dump
   porch
   flowers store
   weed local relatives
   whine

   80.

   multitude headquarters shout there
   Because there are no
   because the majority is toxic
   An exquisite sense一like pretzels ...
   He was sent to the state senate
   wage conceal his disapproval
   The arguments situation lawyers worthlessness sullen cafeterias


   81.

   barcarolle

   82.

   The silencer. “Is he not...”

   83.

   Soon after noon, carrying a narrow.

   84.

   about her

   85.

   ghost of stone—massive
   hangs halfway
   polishing
   ###whose winding
   Strong, sad half-city
   gardens
   ###from the bridge of

   stair

   ### broom
   recent ### past### symbolized
   hair### banana
   does not evoke a concrete image
   the splendid

   86.

   nourished on the
   railings of bare stone---

   87.

   Your side
   is majestic---the dry wind
   timeless stones, ### a deep sigh
   dragged up with a piercing scream
   the clean, crisp air
   aging on the villas

   little openings for her bath
   facades of the---all alike,the hard rain
   “the dignity of this fortress.”

   88.

   the invaders
   so bad just now
   go up and see the shabby traveller
   ordered a pint
   At half-past two, the visitor, taking
   his bag, set out on a tour of the
   village. ###### An endeavor
   ######remained

   rolls on them
   at night

   89.

   This car has some private
   more than one cottage the chintzes were bright its
   brass candlestick forgotten
   twenty-five cents,
   could offer was a feeble

   90.

   I have a perfect memory and

   the sky seems to pass
   a couple of them like a huge bowl

   and encircle the earth

   91.

   flanked by his lieutenants---lemon---
   his chief outside
   “If I am wrong
   a line sieve
   telephones ### I do not
   strong nature who wrote of him while starving himself

   92.

   to be dying, he gets them into magazines
   and some of them mangy and rabid
   hardly seemed necessary.

   I was horrified. I felt sorry for him.
   No branch without...
   down to the lakes the ornamental
   bronze---isn't it fear that

   Hand in hand like fire
   and in your souls

   93.

   A searchlight sweeping
   picked up “The Hornet”
   Hardly had he undressed when he
   heard again that low swish of
   “The Hornet” on her return from scouting circuit of the Thames estuary
   solidifying disguises

   who died in an automobile accident
   had developed a
   then, imperceptibly

   94.

   The snow has begun to fall on Paris
   It is barely noon

   95.

   Between the legs of her
   Cobwebs the lip reads chewing
   and taste seem uncertain;
   powerless creating images
   shut up and leave me . . . Hush! This
   two men who have
   most profoundly
   the islanders

   96.

   Mr. Bean remained indoors
   at the small boats
   of our defences, our intentions

   97.

   out upon the lawn after a few months in the village

   big
   “Like some of my friends
   Otherwise we’ll chop off his head

   98.

   This was the third thing
   another giant

   99.

   dark wool, summer
   and winter

   100.

   gun metal---her right foot in both hands
   things

   101.

   the doctor, comb
   Sinn Fein

   102.

   dress

   103.

   streaming sweeping the surface
   long-handled twig-brooms
   starving
   wall### great### trees

   104.

   blaze ### ### aviators
   ### out ### dastardly

   105.

   We must be a litite more wary in
   future, dear

   106.

   she was trying to make sense of
   what was quick laugh
   hotel-cheap for them
   caverns the bed
   box of cereal

   Ere long a flare was lit
   I don't understand wreckage

   107.

   blue smoke? ###The steel bolts
   It was as though ### having been replaced
   She had ### by a painting of
   the river### one of wood!
   above the water### Ronnie, thoughtfully

   ### of the silencer
   plot to kill both of us, dear.
   pet

   oh

   it that she was there

   108.

   the bridge crosses
   dragon ### ships
   canal lock
   was effect
   There are but two seasons
   the map of Paris
   through the center of the sheet
   character
   sewers empty into under the
   literally choked the river with
   bodies
   “on the coast, I think ... ”

   passing over

   109.

   Magnificent trees---the old
   Chateau---he said he was
   going home for their needs
   only the other---
   exchanged another meaning
   here lately
   the inn-keeper's

   110.

   Dry, the bush
   settling### Everybody

   knows him
   close to the Thwaite
   passing close to where
   The bookshop
   were crouched in conceal.
   up a sleep, narrow path
   to the summit of Black Hill
   recognized him
   lavatory—dogging
   his footsteps

   out to sea

   111.

   Half an hour later
   Ronald recognized him.
   They suddenly saw a beam of intense, white light,
   A miniature searchlight of great brilliance,
   ---pierce the darkness, skyward.

   They now recognized to be a acetylene,
   a cylinder mounted
   upon a light tripod of aluminum
   with a bright reflector behind the gas jet,
   that the light began to “wink,”
   three times in quick succession
   the Morse letter “S.”

   Slowly the beam turned from north lo south,
   making the Morse “S.” upon the clouds,
   time after time.

   Suddenly the light was shut off---for five minutes by
   Ronald's watch no flicker was shown
   Then suddenly, once again, the series of S's was repeated
   in a semicircle from north to south
   and back again.

   Another five minutes passed in darkness

   Once more the light opened out and commenced
   to signal the Morse flashes and flares,
   “N.F.",“N.F.”
   followed by a long beam of
   light skyward, slowly sweeping in a circle
   the breath





 楼主| 发表于 2020-9-8 14:14:12 | 显示全部楼层
本帖最后由 剑郭琴符 于 2020-9-8 14:17 编辑




  
通往白色月亮的道路

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

   那里有一些小农舍他们
   看起来像农舍,是的,没有很多土地
   树,太多的树和一个错误
   深植于每样东西,相当迷人
   但一旦你看到了一件事,你不得不继续前进

   你得躺在草地上
   玩你的头发,抓挠你自己
   然后这种行为的空间,空气,
   突然翻了一番
   你已经长大了,可以填补这个额外空间
   回头看看那小小的,倒塌的避难所

   如果一条小溪蜿蜒流过这一切
   在一个废弃的针织厂旁边,它不会
   说它曾在哪里
   时间展开,像困在无法再讲述
   这个故事的书页上的音乐
   汹涌的

   在冬天变白的地方,我们出去了
   再看一眼,穿多点衣服
   这也是试图定义
   我们在一切环境中是怎样的
   又大又困
   内衣和帽子和我们说话
   就好像我们是猫
   依赖与独立
   有人喊指令
   早上变灰

   跟踪我们
   它是如此令人兴奋,但也如此巨大
   我们有方法来定义,但不是术语
   但是
   我们知道接下来会发生什么,我们正在行动
   危险而优雅
   走向时间的解决
   模糊不清但又活跃着许多独立的意义
   在这段对话中
  
  

  
  
The Path to the White Moon


   There were little farmhouses there they
   Looked like farmhouses yes without very much land
   And trees, too many trees and a mistake
   Built into each thing rather charmingly
   But once you have seen a thing you have to move on

   You have to lie in the grass
   And play with your hair, scratch yourself
   And then the space of this behavior, the air,
   Has suddenly doubled
   And you have grown to fill the extra place
   Looking back at the small, fallen shelter that was

   If a stream winds through all this
   Alongside an abandoned knitting mill it will not
   Say where it has been
   The time unfolds like music trapped on the page
   Unable to tell the story again
   Raging

   Where the winters grew white we went outside
   To look at things again, putting on more clothes
   This too an attempt to define
   How we were being in all the surroundings
   Big ones sleepy ones
   Underwear and hats speak to us
   As though we were cats
   Dependent and independent
   There were shouted instructions
   Grayed in the morning

   Keep track of us
   It gets to be so exciting but so big too
   And we have ways to define but not the terms
   Yet
   We know what is coming, that we are moving
   Dangerously and gracefully
   Toward the resolution of time
   Blurred but alive with many separate meanings
   Inside this conversation
  
  


  
同样,孩子

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

   你多么勇敢!有时候。禁令
   静静矗立,一堵白墙。更多未完成的事务。
   但这不正是商业的本质吗,别人说,轻松地。
   你不能在中途接电话,然后就离开。
   如果你反复听,直到
   它成为你灵魂的一部分,属于那里的外来物质,又如何?
   我请求你很多次,想想你正在继续的
   破裂,这场革命。时间还
   披在你肩上。天气预报
   没提到下雨,而你却深陷其中,是这样吗?
   找到其他预测。扔掉这些是有益的,
   昨天的报纸,以及之前几周的报纸
   向后传播,远离,几乎完美的顺序。都在那儿
   打断你的发言。过去没有其他用处

   直到那些时候,突然开车离开了公路
   进入田野,你静静地坐着,用咒语使时光出现。
   为这,我们小聊,谎言,
   让它们耳语,让每个人都能闻到真相,
   但现在,如同咬贬值的货币,它们变成了财产
   当星星出现。还有那个可笑的机器
   还在涓涓细语: “又喝多了…”“从我们家
   到你们家……”我们穿着这些一会儿,它们就变成我们。

   每一天似乎都充满了它自己,但它只是
   几颗彩豆和一些稻草躺在肮脏的地板
   在充满尘埃的光柱里。还有空间。是的,
   你通过离开创造了它。在某个地方,有人
   倾听你的笑声,像喝凉水一样吞下去,
   既不高兴也不惊骇。而且这立场,那里的立柱,就是你。
  
  

  
  
Ditto,Kiddo



   How brave you are! Sometimes. And the injunction
   Still stands, a plain white wall. More unfinished business.
   But isn’t that just the nature of business, someone else said, breezily.
   You can’t just pick up in the middle of it, and then leave off.
   What if you do listen to it over and over, until
   It becomes part of your soul, foreign matter that belongs there?
   I ask you so many times to think about this rupture you are
   Proceeding with, this revolution. And still time
   Is draped around your shoulders. The weather report
   Didn’t mention rain, and you are ass-deep in it, so?
   Find other predictions. These are good for throwing away,
   Yesterday’s newspapers, and those of the weeks before that spreading
   Backward, away, almost in perfect order. It’s all there
   To interrupt your speaking. There is no other use to the past

   Until those times when, driving abruptly off a road
   Into a field you sit still and conjure the hours.
   It was for this we made the small talk, the lies,
   And whispered them over to give each the smell of truth,
   But now, like biting devalued currency,they become possessions
   As the stars come out. And the ridiculous machine
   Still trickles mottoes: “Plastered again ...” “from our house
   To your house ...” We wore these for a while, and they became us.

   Each day seems full of itself, and yet it is only
   A few colored beans and some straw lying on a dirt floor
   In a mote-filled shaft of light. There was room. Yes,
   And you have created it by going away.Somewhere, someone
   Listens for your laugh, swallows it like a drink of cool water,
   Neither happy nor aghast. And the stance, that post standing there, is you.

  
  


  
简介

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

   作为一个作家写东西
   你一定有可以写下来的经历。
   光活着不行。我有一个理论
   关于杰作,如何写它们
   花费很少,而且它们每一点
   和别的一样好。你可以
   用同样的梦境材料,最后。

   这是一种没有输家只有一个赢家---那就是你的
   游戏。首先,疼痛
   闪回,通过故事和故事
   倒过来,纬线向上。这是
   没有人的故事!至少他们认为
   一段时间以来,故事就是建筑
   现在,然后是多样化的历史。
   一个空白的插曲,积木
   重嵌并且棕色更深。它结束
   无人的,无物为我们任何人
   除了烦躁不安,围绕着最重要的
   问题,它让我们更亲近,
   不管是好是坏,一直以来。
  
  

  
  
Introduction


   To be a writer and write things
   You must have experiences you can write about.
   Just living won’t do. I have a theory
   About masterpieces, how to make them
   At very little expense, and they’re every
   Bit as good as the others. You can
   Use the same materials of the dream, at last.

   It’s a kind of game with no losers and only one
   Winner—you. First, pain gets
   Flashed back through the story and the story
   Comes out backwards and woof-side up. This is
   No one’s story! At least they think that
   For a time and the story is architecture
   Now, and then history of a diversified kind.
   A vacant episode during which the bricks got
   Repointed and browner. And it ends up
   Nobody’s, there is nothing for any of us
   Except that fretful vacillating around the central
   Question that brings us closer,
   For better and worse, for all this time.
  
  


  
我懂了。盲人说,当他放下锤子看

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

   那首古老的音乐有些魅力
   他会倾倒,当夜风释放它的时候---
   离开是愉快的;石头会倒下;
   阴暗的小山在厨房的咆哮中就位完毕
   却带着回忆,像一堆洗衣物里红色的
   一块明亮的补丁。但车
   曾经会抽离,任何时候精神抖擞,他
   在梯子之间接受任务
   有人把占星术喷在面包片上
   直到它变成一个男人的形状,迟钝,从口袋
   也许,也许站在那里。

   你看不出我们多么需要这些毫不平静的停顿吗?
   而在风中邻居们等都同意
   这是一件很难的事,某种程度上是一个里程碑?
   因此窗帘它们能对奇观贡献的
   魅力是:满溢的污水池
   在宫廷生活的回忆录里,糖果,香烟,
   还有别的。它是什么类型,不止
   一种吗,人们会永远处于事物的
   边缘吗,即使是美好的事情,当它发生的时候
   我们会单独在一起吗?这些
   思想的盔甲自嘲着
   然而,距离总在增长
   在一切之间,之间。
  
  

  
  
I See. Said the Blind Man, as He Put Down His Hammer and Saw



   There is some charm in that old music
   He’d fall for when the night wind released it---
   Pleasant to be away; the stones fall back;
   The hill of gloom in place over the roar
   Of the kitchens but with remembrance like a bright patch
   Of red in a bunch of laundry. But will the car
   Ever pull away and spunky at all times he’d
   Got the mission between the ladder
   And the slices of bread someone had squirted astrology over
   Until it took the form of a man, obtuse, out of pocket
   Perhaps, probably standing there.

   Can’t you see how we need these far-from-restful pauses?
   And in the wind neighbors and such agree
   It’s a hard thing, a milestone of sorts in some way?
   So that the curtains contribute what charm they can
   To the spectacle: an overflowing cesspool
   Among the memoirs of court life, the candy, cigarettes,
   And what else. What kind is it, is there more than one
   Kind, are people forever going to be at the edge
   Of things, even the nice ones, and when it happens
   Will we all be alone together? The armor
   Of these thoughts laughs at itself
   Yet the distances are always growing
   With everything between, in between.
  
  

  
彼得斯版。莱比锡

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

   另一个蓝图:一些狐狸,毛茸茸的树叶
   在这个昏暗的神龛上
   在钢琴上的玻璃穹顶下
   让所有这些声音似乎都曾经是一个声音。
   外面,溃败还在继续:
   冲突就在门口爆发,但是
   门是安全的。这里还有空间思想
   像蕨类植物被整合
   进入另一个系统,某种把夜晚吓跑的东西,
   早晨来临的时候他们已经走了,只有露水
   留下。我们还想要什么?
   我很遗憾。我们相信不仅仅有属性
   和系数,那个巨大的勃起
   不仅仅是挂在我们生命上的木桩,
   我们的,你们的…核心不是担心
   而是下午忙于开百叶窗,坐立不安于
   搜索和摧毁任务,商业方法是新的
   又古老又醇厚在同一时刻。让他们获得
   他们的结局,在消失的天空中烟火的宁静,
   我们得费心。请欢迎三位疯狂的采访者
   每个人都带着他的星盘和问题。白昼流进大海。
  
  

  
  
Edition Peters. Leipzig  



   Another blueprint: some foxing, woolly the foliage
   On this dusky shrine
   Under the glass dome on the spinet
   To make it seem all these voices were once one.
   Outside, the rout continues:
   The clash erupting to the very door, but the
   Door is secure. There is room here still
   For thoughts like ferns being integrated
   Into another system, something to scare the night away,
   And when morning comes they have gone, only the dew
   Remains. What more did we want anyway?
   I’m sorry. We believe there is something more than attributes
   And coefficients, that the giant erection
   Is something more than the peg on which our lives hang,
   Ours, yours ... The core is not concern
   But for afternoon busy with blinds open, restless with
   Search-and-destroy missions, the approach to business is new
   And ancient and mellow at the same time. For them to gain
   Their end, the peace of fireworks on a vanishing sky,
   We have to bother. Please welcome the three insane interviewers
   Each with his astrolabe and question. And the days drain into the sea.


  
  

 楼主| 发表于 2020-9-9 15:29:16 | 显示全部楼层



  
37个俳句

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

   旧式影子垂下,那爱中的困难太快

   某个明星或别人出去了,而你,感谢你的书和年

   车库出了点事,我把它归因于血的交通

   对荨麻来说太低,但这正是人思想和感受的方式

   我想会有更多,除了齐腰高的

   夜晚每次出现得更暗,光线更小更方

   你有原创的艺术品挂在墙上,哦,我说编辑

   你差点破坏画笔,我现在把它放在球场上,争论着

   爱是一个环形的地点,从现在起两年后还会在那儿

   它是一个梦,航行在黑暗无保护的海湾

   海盗模仿普通人例如我自己的生活方式

   一次又一次种植的那片土地有着苦涩的余味

   一颗蓝色的锚一点沙粒在高高的天空缝纫

   他和别的每个人一样是个怪物,但如果你是个怪物你会干什么

   就像他感觉他从很远的地方来,然后走到他的车里

   婚礼很迷人每人都很高兴参加

   什么树,工具,为什么琢磨房子上的袜子

   到了谷仓的边缘,财产真的在那里开始

   在一个较小的塔楼里,关上百叶窗,放在那里

   你把你的头发搁在一边就像一本现在很重要以致不能读的书

   为什么女巫们要从这个国家的八边追捕野兽

   玻璃上的铅笔--碎裂!水顺着下水道流

   冬天有时你会看到这些东西,夏天也会看到

   一个孩子必须趴下,它必须站起来,并且坚持

   太晚了,最后一班快车穿过花园的尘土

   一件背心---即使在偏僻的房间也有很多东西要说

   犹豫,它集结并迅速通过没有解锁

   有一些地方与其他地方隔绝,是分开的,它们永远不存在

   我失去了我可笑的口音,却没有得到另一个

   在布法罗,布法罗,她在祈祷,夜晚像一本旧书的书页一样粘在一起

   梦像仙鹤降落在镀金的,健忘的翅膀上

   过去是什么,都是为了什么?精神三明治?

   你是说,听到头顶上的帆船,我们又回到了堰边?

   穿着破布和水晶,有时还带着一丝感受,一种奇怪的尊严

   那男孩一定知道这些粒子是在他之后从房子里掉下来的

   总的来说,我们慢慢来,大海返回--不再有海盗

   我小心走,有时只到扭曲的变成备用颜色的电线杆。
  
  
37 Haiku  


   Old-fashioned shadows hanging down, that difficulty in love too soon

   Some star or other went out, and you, thank you for your book and year

   Something happened in the garage and I owe it for the blood traffic

   Too low for nettles but it is exactly the way people think and feel

   And I think there’s going to be even more but waist-high

   Night occurs dimmer each time with the pieces of light smaller and squarer

   You have original artworks hanging on the walls oh I said edit

   You nearly undermined the brush I now place against the ball field arguing

   That love was a round place and will still be there two years from now

   And it is a dream sailing in a dark unprotected cove

   Pirates imitate the ways of ordinary people myself for instance

   Planted over and over that land has a bitter aftertaste

   A blue anchor grains of grit in a tall sky sewing

   He is a monster like everyone else but what do you do if you’re a monster

   Like him feeling him come from far away and then go down to his car

   The wedding was enchanted everyone was glad to be in it

   What trees, tools, why ponder socks on the premises

   Come to the edge of the barn the property really begins there

   In a smaller tower shuttered and put away there

   You lay aside your hair like a book that is too important to read now

   Why did witches pursue the beast from the eight sides of the country

   A pencil on glass一shattered! The water runs down the drain

   In winter sometimes you see those things and also in summer

   A child must go down it must stand and last

   Too late the last express passes through the dust of gardens

   A vest—there is so much to tell about even in the side rooms

   Hesitantly, it built up and passed quickly without unlocking

   There are some places kept from the others and are separate, they never exist

   I lost my ridiculous accent without acquiring another

   In Buffalo, Buffalo she was praying, the nights stick together like pages in an old book

   The dreams descend like cranes on gilded, forgetful wings

   What is the past, what is it all for? A mental sandwich?

   Did you say, hearing the schooner overhead, we turned back to the weir?

   In rags and crystals, sometimes with a shred of sense, an odd dignity

   The boy must have known the particles fell through the house after him

   All in all we were taking our time, the sea returned—no more pirates

   I inch and only sometimes as far as the twisted pole gone in spare colors

  
  
  
  


  
俳文

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

   想写点什么,我只能想到我自己的想法,虽然你肯定有你的独立,某些属于私人的,我永远不会走过的地方。然后是我们之间阴暗的空间,尽管里面可能充满有趣的东西,像树一样站着等待被发现。也许这就是知识世界。但如果是这样的话,贫穷---哪怕是那些尚未发现的东西,震惊我们,甚至我们的东西。它必须以某种方式提高,但变得残忍。这是一种发明,而不是一种真正的本能,这决不能被发明。然而,我被迫去发明,即使在这个过程中我变成了一个空想家,不准确的梦想家,然后这些发明就会被第一个出现在他们身上的人所宣称。我希望还没有出生的同性恋者能去打听一下,检查整个随机收集的东西就像它是一个球体。 痛苦的关键不正是它带来的一种可能性,即在一段时间内不痛苦地相处,在空气的紧身夹克中操纵我们的木偶般的四肢,然后写一些东西吗?冬季天空中无利可图的明暗变化非常直接地解决了这个困境。在将来的日子里,我们会把它们看作是我们曾经在某个假期里,短暂地走过的皱巴巴的亚麻布或风景。这是一个冻伤,脆弱的世界,但一旦你进入其中,你就想一直呆在那里。

   这一年---还没有被抛弃,而是一个活的外壳,一个教训
  
  
Haibun

   Wanting to write something I could think only of my own ideas, though you surely have your separate, private being in some place I will never walk through. And then of the dismal space between us, filled though it may be with interesting objects, standing around like trees waiting to be discovered. It may be that this is the intellectual world. But if so, what poverty—even the discoveries yet to be made, and which shall surprise us, even us. It must be heightened somehow, but not to brutality. That is an invention and not a true instinct, and this must never be invented. Yet I am forced to invent, even if during the process I become a songe-creux, inaccurate dreamer, and these inventions are then to be claimed by the first person who happens on them. I’m hoping that homosexuals not yet born get to inquire about it, inspect the whole random collection as though it were a sphere. Isn’t the point of pain the possibility it brings of being able to get along without pain, for awhile, of manipulating our marionette-like limbs in the strait-jacket of air, and so to have written something? Unprofitable shifts of light and dark in the winter sky address this dilemma very directly. In time to come we shall perceive them as the rumpled linen or scenery through which we did walk once, for a short time, during some sort of vacation. It is a frostbitten, brittle world but once you are inside it you want to stay there always.
   The year—not yet abandoned but a living husk, a lesson
  
  
  
  


  
俳文2

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

   ... 而且可以看到许多隐藏的方式,价值从已建立的和国际知名的容器流失,如一片干燥的天空。这是件大事。天空笼罩着一种富丽、阴郁、最终愚蠢的宏伟,就像勒布朗肖像画中的窗帘。这是为了表明,我们在这个小小的悲剧平台上的行动将更多:比通常的无微不至,考虑到我们必须操作的超人规模,而且我们不应该从我们的空虚处境中获得任何安慰;我们仍然是有工作要做的有效的生物,竞技场面对我们,尽管巨大,它并没翻滚到超越维度的概念。它不合适,它就在这里。阴影被抛出到事情的基础,与已经存在的规则阴影成直角,指向正确的方向。它们是微弱的,但不是看不见的,在树苗向两个方向伸展它的线条的基础上,开始吟诵维度的连祷文似乎是合适的。温度变硬了,水的气味和情绪这类事情突然变得更加强烈,可能会对我们有所帮助。我们永远不会知道他们是否有。
   水,波萨诺沃,大提琴居中,图书馆后面的灯光
  
  
Haibun 2

   ... and can see the many hidden ways merit drains out of the established and internationally acclaimed containers, like a dry patch of sky. It is an affair of some enormity. The sky is swathed in a rich, gloomy and finally silly grandeur, like drapery in a portrait by Lebrun. This is to indicate that our actions in this tiny, tragic platform are going to be more than usually infinitesimal, given the superhuman scale on which we have to operate, and also that we should not take any comfort from the inanity of our situation; we are still valid creatures with a job to perform, and the arena facing us, though titanic, hasn’t rolled itself beyond the notion of dimension. It isn’t suitable, and it’s here. Shadows are thrown out at the base of things at right angles to the regular shadows that are already there, pointing in the correct direction. They are faint but not invisible, and it seems appropriate to start intoning the litany of dimensions there, at the base of a sapling spreading its lines in two directions. The temperature hardens, and things like the smell and the mood of water are suddenly more acute, and may help us. We will never know whether they did.

   Water, a bossa nova, a cello is centred, the light behind the library

  
  
  
  


  
俳文3

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

   我游泳,水在我背上,有趣的是这次是真的。我是说这一次很管用。我们离海岸不远,向导们没注意。你工作总是有受伤的可能,但这一次,所有新的建设,新的羞辱,你必须看到它。估计看一下就行了。但是一杯茶---你不想洒出来。过了一会儿,一个葡萄柚(在刻有字的小卡片上拼写为“葡萄柚”)一会儿,还有新灰色西装。然后越来越多,它是一种树叶或某种内置的装置绊倒你。让你跌倒。遇到许可的宁静绵延开来,像月光照亮的到地平线的大海,任何真正的东西。希望你喜欢。它们要你喜欢它。在喜欢它之中尊敬它们。你在睡觉前会带来快乐,吸引你到你还在的地方。有些人认为这只是一个细节。他们也许是对的。我们可能是一个整体,其中真正发生的只是剥皮和树皮碎片。不是说我们比他们多。记住它们不会为此感谢你。

   减去的太阳,我走过这里的一切,带着男孩,这个新花招比风中的字母少

  
  
Haibun 3

   I was swimming with the water at my back, funny thing is it was real this time. I mean this time it was working. We weren’t too far from shore, the guides hadn’t noticed yet. Always you work out of the possibility of being injured, but this time, all the new construction, the new humiliation, you have to see it. Guess it’s OK to take a look. But a cup of tea—you wouldn’t want to spill it.And a grapefruit (spelled “grapfruit” on the small, painstakingly lettered card) after a while, and the new gray suit. Then more, and more, it was a kind of foliage or some built-in device to trip you. Make you fall. The encounter with the silence of permissiveness stretching away like a moonlit sea to the horizon, whatever that really is. They want you to like it. And you honor them in liking it. You cause pleasure before sleep insists, draws over to where you may yet be. And some believe this is merely a detail. And they may be right. And we may be the whole of which all that truly happens is only peelings and shreds of bark. Not that we are too much more than these. Remember they don’t have to thank you for it either.

   The subtracted sun, all I’m going by here, with the boy, this new maneuver is less than the letter in the wind

  
  
  
  


 楼主| 发表于 2020-9-10 16:26:40 | 显示全部楼层
俳文4
   
   (选自 A Wave )
   作者:(美)约翰.阿什贝利(John Ashberry)
   译者:剑郭琴符
   
   四点钟(天)又黑了。我悲哀地走过几乎一模一样的街道,一点一点地,它们被雨滴和弯曲的光线覆盖。他们通过苦难传递普遍兄弟情谊的信息是从顶部开始的,踩下踏板,这样第一个记录就会在整个片段回荡,而不会变得完全听得见。它聚集在城市的不同区域,而这些指定区域的漂移与其他地方不同。它是一个男人,一直是一个男人。不,不是的。他是一个有女人良心的男人,总是从某件事中走出来,转过身来看着你,想着可能得到的回报。我的悲伤多么甜蜜,这人的知识在他的未来,在现在黑暗的天空下真会产生的兄弟情谊。
   
   急迫的,急迫的低语,推进,直视
Haibun 4
   
   Dark at four again. Sadly I negotiate the almost identical streets as little by little they are obliterated under a rain of drips and squiggles of light. Their message of universal brotherhood through suffering is taken from the top, the pedal held down so that the first note echoes throughout the piece without becoming exactly audible. It collects over different parts of the city and the drift in those designated parts is different from elsewhere. It is a man, it was one all along. No it isn’t. It is a man with the conscience of a woman, always coming out of something, turning to look at you, wondering about a possible reward. How sweet to my sorrow is this man’s knowledge in his way of coming, the brotherhood that will surely result under now darkened skies.
   
   The pressing, pressing urgent whispers, pushing on, seeing directly
   
俳文5
   
   (选自 A Wave )
   作者:(美)约翰.阿什贝利(John Ashberry)
   译者:剑郭琴符
   
   把他们带回生活,戴着白手套,从他们还活着的梦中。松开把他们和死人的模式化观念,像流水声那样的陈词滥调绑在一起的粘合剂纽带。突然又是冬天。一个几块足球场宽的斜坡突然出现,从那片看不见的前景,在我身后的,向上解开了它那贫瘠的挑衅,带着天赋和威胁,以20度的角度—在上升的夜晚还有那意味着可以听到的声音,在左边的地平线上可以看到一座宝塔,没有太多意义:寒风的忙乱。我们也在里面,罗文莓哈哈大笑。那么多侵略性展开得多么快,就像一条快速流动、无声的溪流。沿着它的河岸,世界历史呈现为一系列半透明的画面,不知不觉地消失在彼此中,因此,1629年英国人占领魁北克,融入了马奎特和乔利特横渡密苏里河口的棒棒糖色彩。但是在中心,一条痛苦的绳索曾经更紧地缠绕着它自己,围绕着我们从旧地带来并准备在这里安排的一些财产。从一个一个地方到另一个别的地方的路上的武装信使的彬彬有礼但冷静的凝视是怎么回事,这是所有古老的,复活的爱的语言,带着敬意,关心着在你选择的这个梦里你不再孤单。暗黄色的光从天空的斜盘流出,从被爱的人群中发出一个巨大的圣歌:我们可以独立生存!
   因此,带着它的一线可能性回到城市,就像百老汇声名狼藉的夜晚,以及尴尬而坚持的各种消息的温暖糖浆,这些消息使你成为了这个世界上的你,为你创造了这个世界,只有当它被看到并成为进一步推测的对象时,它才会减少,就像铁路纽带一样,把目前不确定的领域绑住二维世界。
   一个终点站,底部有海藻的柱子,一个破碎的记忆
Haibun 5
   
   Bring them all back to life, with white gloves on, out of the dream in which they are still alive. Loosen the adhesive bonds that tie them to the stereotypes of the dead, cliches like the sound of running water. Abruptly it was winter again. A slope several football fields wide sprang out of the invisible foreground, the one behind me, and unlaced its barren provocation upwards,with flair and menace, at a 20-degree angle—the ascending night and also the voice in it that means to be heard, a pagoda of which is visible at the left horizon, not meaning much: the flurry of a cold wind. We’re in it too chortled the rowanberries. And how fast so much aggressiveness unfolded, like a swiftly flowing, silent stream. Along its banks world history presented itself as a series of translucent tableaux, fading imperceptibly into one another, so that the taking of Quebec by the British in 1629 melts into the lollipop tints of Marquette and Joliet crossing the mouth of the Missouri River. But at the center a rope of distress twists itself ever tighter around some of the possessions we brought from the old place and were going to arrange here. And what about the courteous but dispassionate gaze of an armed messenger on his way from someplace to someplace else that is the speech of all the old, resurrected loves, tinged with respect, caring to see that you are no longer alone now in this dream you chose. The dark yellowish flow of light drains out of the slanted dish of the sky and from the masses of the loved a tremendous chant arises: We are viable!
   And so back into the city with its glimmers of possibility like Broadway nights of notoriety and the warm syrup of embarrassed and insistent proclamations of all kinds of tidings that made you what you were in the world and made the world for you, only diminished once it had been seen and become the object of further speculation leading like railroad ties out of the present inconclusive sphere into the world of two dimensions.
   A terminus, pole fringed with seaweed at its base, a cracked memory

 楼主| 发表于 2020-9-15 19:51:10 | 显示全部楼层
本帖最后由 剑郭琴符 于 2020-9-17 14:38 编辑

俳文6
   
   (选自 A Wave )
   作者:(美)约翰.阿什贝利(John Ashberry)
   译者:剑郭琴符
   
   参与到导演、演戏、制作等各个阶段,一定会获得无限的回报。就像一只又大又胖,懒洋洋的青蛙从睡莲垫上跳下来,像一个被橡皮筋推动的口水球,然后带着热情的扑通一声消失在池塘的水中。它既不能改变也不能改进。生活中许多不太令人愉快的经历也是如此,比如雨下啊下啊,下得太久,以至于没有人记得是什么时候开始的,也不知道以前是什么天气,也不太关心;他们忙着堵住天花板上的洞,或者清空桶和其他容器,然后迅速地把它们推回去,以抓住溢出物。但似乎没有人渴求为这种情况提供理想的地位,我,比如说,希望知道为什么。难道我们没有意识到,在经历了这么多个世纪,那些现在开始像发霉的百科全书一样散落在一些被遗弃、尘封的档案中,我们不得不以苦带甜,或者很快所有的区别都将被对一切开始聚集力量和方向的不温不火的认可浪潮所淹没吗?当它巨大的吼声真的威胁到部分淹没的桥梁和农舍,把挣扎的牛抱起来放在树上等等,谁知道什么是真正可怕的恶作剧,那么,是时候真正反思这一点,并提出真正的评价标准了,但这当然为时已晚,一切都太晚了,除了能持续这么久的满足感。不过,遗憾。与此同时,我把我的玻璃杯举到这些黑色和银色条纹的夜晚。我相信雨从来没有淹没过更甜美、更平淡的东西,比我们这里,现在,我相信这将是足够的。
   条纹头发,好奇的手套,一张脸,一些叫欧内斯汀.斯罗克莫顿的女人,白色的歌剧眼镜等等
   
Haibun 6
   
   To be involved in every phase of directing, acting, producing and so on must be infinitely rewarding. Just as when a large, fat, lazy frog hops off his lily pad like a spitball propelled by a rubber band and disappears into the water of the pond with an enthusiastic plop. It cannot be either changed or improved on. So too with many of life’s little less-than-pleasurable experiences,like the rain that falls and falls for so long that no one can remember when it began or what weather used to be, or cares much either; they are much too busy trying to plug holes in ceilings or emptying pails and other containers and then quickly pushing them back to catch the overflow. But nobody seems eager to accord ideal status to this situation and I, for one, would love to know why. Don’t we realize that after all these centuries that are now starting to come apart like moldy encyclopedias in some abandoned, dusty archive that we have to take the bitter with the sweet or soon all distinctions will be submerged by the tide of tepid approval of everything that is beginning to gather force and direction as well? And when its mighty roar threatens in earnest the partially submerged bridges and cottages, picks up the floundering cattle to deposit them in trees and so on to who knows what truly horrible mischief, it will be time, then, to genuinely rethink this and come up with true standards of evaluation, only it will be too late of course, too late for anything but the satisfaction that lasts only just so long.
   A pity, though. Meanwhile I lift my glass to these black-and-silver striped nights. I believe that the rain never drowned sweeter, more prosaic things than those we have here, now, and I believe this is going to have to be enough.
   Striped hair, inquisitive gloves, a face, some woman named Ernestine Throckmorton, white opera glasses and more
   
圣诞节贺卡的变奏
   
   (选自 A Wave )
   作者:(美)约翰.阿什贝利(John Ashberry)
   译者:剑郭琴符
   
   “…当四周都是雪的时候,
   又深又脆,甚至……”
   
   离开猪圈一年,看看他。
   一个干渴的东西在一条倒流的溪流旁,
   男医生,上帝提供必要的药物
   如果圣水在世界的悲哀中找到,没有这样的地方。
   
   一个干渴的东西在一条倒流的溪流旁,
   为月亮感到羞耻,为一切把她的赤裸掩盖得太少的东西感到羞耻---
   如果圣水在世界的悲哀中找到,没有这样的地方,
   我们的解放应该是伟大的、稳定的。
   
   为月亮感到羞耻,为一切把她的赤裸掩盖得太少的东西感到羞耻---
   黄昏祈祷开始出现在一个乡村十字路口。
   我们的解放应该是伟大的、稳定的
   就像在这个房间里做填字游戏一样,这个后遗症。
   
   黄昏祈祷开始出现在一个乡村十字路口。
   在那里没有大海能与樱桃树的吸引力竞争。
   就像在这间屋子里做的填字游戏一样,这个后遗症。
   我看到整件事都写下来了。
   
   在那里没有大海能与樱桃树的吸引力竞争。
   除了爱,一切都被废除。它留下,一个继子。
   我看到整件事都写下来了:
   做生意,缺乏戏剧性。不管参加聚会的公众需要什么。
   
   除了爱,一切都被废除。它留下,一个继子。
   游戏室弯曲的钟楼升到开阔的事物
   做生意,缺乏戏剧性。不管参加聚会的公众需要什么
   善良,忘记,穿过隔壁的门。
   
   游戏室弯曲的钟楼升到开阔的事物。
   但如果你听到它,你又不想要它。
   善良,忘记,穿过隔壁的门
   (因为我们相信他并没有被放逐到天上)...
   
   但如果你听到它,你又不想要它,
   这么久我为什么要打电话给你?
   因为我们相信他并没有被放逐到天上
   因为我只想付出专家所能给予的,
   
   这么久我为什么要打电话给你?
   你自己的朋友,竞选市长,行为怪异
   因为我只想付出专家所能给予的,
   花费他们焦虑的东西。
   
   你自己的朋友,竞选市长,行为怪异,
   (而且我廉价地了解他)
   花费他们焦虑的东西。
   一种无知的构成,你可能会说。但我们离开那儿。
   
   而且我廉价地了解他
   同意消除所有的顾虑,另一次出走---
   一种无知的构成,你可能会说。但我们离开那儿。
   纯白是一种祝福,带我们走得更远。
   
   同意消除所有的顾虑,另一次出走。
   离开猪圈一年,看看他。
   纯白是一种祝福,带我们走得更远。
   男医生,上帝提供必要的药物。
Variation on a Noel
   
   “...when the snow lay round about,
   deep and crisp and even …”
   
   A year away from the pigpen, and look at him.
   A thirsty unit by an upending stream,
   Man doctors, God supplies the necessary medication
   If elixir were to be found in the world’s dolor, where is none.
   
   A thirsty unit by an upending stream,
   Ashamed of the moon, of everything that hides too little of her nakedness---
   If elixir were to be found in the world’s dolor, where is none,
   Our emancipation should be great and steady.
   
   Ashamed of the moon, of everything that hides too little of her nakedness---
   The twilight prayers begin to emerge on a country crossroads.
   Our emancipation should be great and steady
   As crossword puzzles done in this room, this after-effect.
   
   The twilight prayers begin to emerge on a country crossroads
   Where no sea contends with the interest of the cherry trees.
   As crossword puzzles done in this room, this after-effect,
   I see the whole thing written down.
   
   Where no sea contends with the interest of the cherry trees
   Everything but love was abolished. It stayed on, a stepchild.
   I see the whole thing written down:
   Business, a lack of drama. Whatever the partygoing public needs.
   
   Everything but love was abolished. It stayed on, a stepchild.
   The bent towers of the playroom advanced to something like openness,
   Business, a lack of drama. Whatever the partygoing public needs
   To be kind, and to forget, passing through the next doors.
   
   The bent towers of the playroom advanced to something like openness.
   But if you heard it, and you didn’t want it
   To be kind, and to forget, passing through the next doors
   (For we believe him not exiled from the skies)...
   
   But if you heard it, and if you didn’t want it,
   Why do I call to you after all this time?
   For we believe him not exiled from the skies.
   Because I wish to give only what the specialist can give,
   
   Why do I call to you after all this time?
   Your own friends, running for mayor, behaving outlandishly
   Because I wish to give only what the specialist can give,
   Spend what they care to.
   
   Your own friends, running for mayor, behaving outlandishly,
   (And I have known him cheaply)
   Spend what they care to.
   A form of ignorance, you might say. Let’s leave that though.
   
   And I have known him cheaply.
   Agree to remove all that concern, another exodus---
   A form of ignorance, you might say. Let’s leave that though.
   The mere whiteness was a blessing, taking us far.
   
   Agree to remove all that concern, another exodus.
   A year away from the pigpen, and look at him.
   The mere whiteness was a blessing,taking us far.
   Man doctors, God supplies the necessary medication.
陪衬(1)
   
   (选自 A Wave )
   作者:(美)约翰.阿什贝利(John Ashberry)
   译者:剑郭琴符
   
   先生,我是爱管闲事的害虫的
   新品种之一,他们喜欢我们完整性的
   这个思想,在黑暗的海洋上为我们编程
   编进小办公室,我们坐在那里和你们
   竞争,在你们自己的时间。
   我们只想被承认我们是什么;
   其他一切都是次要的。
   因此,我会坐在你家门口的台阶上
   直到你注意到我。我还太年轻
   不能被忽视,但年龄不够大到有资格
   得到完全关注。直到肉从
   你梦中细小的弯曲长出,让它们更丰满,
   果仁更多。当一层薄薄的尘烟聚集
   最终导致了对下一步
   愤怒的调查,我将到那里
   在另一边。
   我把我一半给你
   想怎么骂就怎么骂,忽略,暂时忘记。
   另一半我留着,我会感觉到
   充分的奖励,如果你没有意识到
   就通过了这个提议,故意后退
   到附近,不再谈
   损失,而是简洁:小睡片刻,保持舒适。
   
   (1)Staffage:德语 n 陪衬,点,添景物。  
   
Staffage
      
   Sir, I am one of a new breed
   Of inquisitive pest in love with the idea
   Of our integrity, programming us over dark seas
   Into small offices, where we sit and compete
   With you, on your own time.
   We want only to be recognized for what we are;
   Everything else is secondary.
   Consequently, I shall sit on your doorstep
   Till you notice me. I'm still too young
   To be overlooked, yet not old enough to qualify
   For full attention. Til flesh out
   The thin warp of your dreams, make them meatier,
   Nuttier. And when a thin pall gathers
   Leading finally to outraged investigation
   Into what matters next, I'll be there
   On the other side.
   Half of me I give
   To do with as you wish—scold, ignore,forget for awhile.
   The other half I keep, and shall feel
   Fully rewarded if you pass by this offer
   Without recognizing it, receding deliberately
   Into the near distance, which speaks no longer
   Of loss, but of brevity rather: short naps, keeping fit.




 楼主| 发表于 2020-9-17 15:18:02 | 显示全部楼层
本帖最后由 剑郭琴符 于 2020-9-17 15:23 编辑




隆戴尔的电报员(1)

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

   我曾看过的第一部电影是华特迪斯尼卡通《三只小猪》。我祖母带我去的。那是在你去“市中心”的那天。还有第二个特点,有现场演员,叫做“把他们活着带回来”,是一部关于探险家弗兰克•巴克的纪录片。在这部影片中,你看到一条蟒蛇吞下一头活猪。这并不可怕。事实上,这看起来很正常,就像你在电影里看到的那种事——“现实。”
   不一会我们又去市区看一部爱丽丝梦游仙境的电影,也有现场演员。这也不奇怪。我想我对这个故事有些了解,也许有人给我读过。不过,这并不是为什么这并不令人惊讶的原因。原因是这些著名的电影演员,像W.C.菲尔兹和加里•库珀,扮演着不同的角色,尽管我不知道他们是谁,但他们显然对其他类型的表演很重要,所以他们应该以这样一种特殊的方式来演戏,假装是那些人从一本书里已经知道的,这并不奇怪。 换言之,我只看到这一个例子,就想象出他们的特长。我也是对的,尽管与我喜欢的这部电影无关。
   几年后,我长大成人看它,觉得它很可怕。第一次我怎么可能错?我知道这不是没有经验,因为不知何故我第一次看电影就经验丰富。就好像我的品味改变了,虽然我没有,但我还是忍不住第一次觉得自己是对的,当我还是相对不受经验影响的时候。
   我忘了我接下来看的电影是什么,我会跳到我长大后看的一部《隆戴尔的电报员》,一部由D.W.格里菲斯创作的无声短片,拍摄于1911年,由布兰奇•斯威特主演。虽然我在现代艺术博物馆看到它的时候只有二十几岁,但它似乎和我第一次看爱丽丝梦游仙境一样遥远。我几乎什么都记不起来了,我记得的一点可能是在另一个格里菲斯短片《孤独别墅》中,它可能在同一个节目中。 布兰奇•斯威特似乎是一个英勇的电话接线员,他设法打通了警察局,挫败了一些试图抢劫一个铁路车辆段的歹徒,尽管我也看到了这个客厅---很小,尽管它本应在一个大房子里---玛丽•皮克福德到处跑来跑去,这可能是孤独别墅里的一幕。在那一刻,记忆停止了,恐怖,或沉闷,开始。很难分辨在这段记忆中哪个是哪个,因为生活在一个孤独的地方或有一份孤独的工作,甚至是在遥远的过去,不得不穿着那些奇怪的不舒服的衣服和发型的无聊是可怕的,更可怕的是情节,罪犯,不管他们是谁,蓄意的恐怖。
   想象一下,纯真(丽莲哈维)在经验之家(阿尔伯特•巴塞曼)遭遇浪漫(威利•弗里奇)。从那里,在外面滴水的树枝下,这只不过是恐怖的一步。任何事情都可以随心所欲地改变,而这样做可能会经历一个或多或少可怕的阶段,但真正可怕的是变化之快,前进或后退,总是滑得超出我们的控制范围。演员们就像吸毒的人,虽然他们没有做任何不寻常的事--确切地说,他们的表演非精彩绝伦。

   (1)《隆戴尔的电报员》(The Lonedale Operator)是一部1911年的美国无声剧情片,由大卫•格里菲斯执导,比奥格拉夫电影公司出品,时长17分钟。





The Lonedale Operator   
   The first movie I ever saw was the Walt Disney cartoon The Three Little Pigs. My grandmother took me to it. It was back in the days when you went “downtown.” There was a second feature, with live actors, called Bring 'Em Back Alive, a documentary about the explorer Frank Buck. In this film you saw a python swallow a live pig. This wasn’t scary. In fact, it seemed quite normal, the sort of thing you would see in a movie—“reality.”
   A little later we went downtown again to see a movie of Alice in Wonderland, also with live actors. This wasn’t very surprising either. I think I knew something about the story; maybe it had been read to me. That wasn’t why it wasn’t surprising, though. The reason was that these famous movie actors, like W. C. Fields and Gary Cooper, were playing different roles, and even though I didn’t know who they were, they were obviously important for doing other kinds of acting, and so it didn’t seem strange that they should be acting in a special way like this, pretending to be characters that people already knew about from a book. In other words, I imagined specialties for them just from having seen this one example. And I was right, too, though not about the film, which I liked.
   Years later I saw it when I was grown up and thought it was awful. How could I have been wrong the first time? I knew it wasn’t inexperience, because somehow I was experienced the first time I saw a movie. It was as though my taste had changed, though I had not, and I still can’t help feeling that I was right the first time, when I was still relatively unencumbered by my experience.
   I forget what were the next movies I saw and will skip ahead to one I saw when I was grown up, The Lonedale Operator, a silent short by D. W. Griffith, made in 1911 and starring Blanche Sweet. Although I was in my twenties when I saw it at the Museum of Modern Art, it seems as remote from me in time as my first viewing of Alice in Wonderland. I can remember almost none of it, and the little I can remember may have been in another Griffith short, The Lonely Villa, which may have been on the same program. It seems that Blanche Sweet was a heroic telephone operator who managed to get through to the police and foil some gangsters who were trying to rob a railroad depot, though I also see this living room--- small, though it was supposed to be in a large house---with Mary Pickford running around, and this may have been a scene in The Lonely Villa. At that moment the memories stop, and terror, or tedium, sets in. It’s hard to tell which is which in this memory, because the boredom of living in a lonely place or having a lonely job, and even of being so far in the past and having to wear those funny uncomfortable clothes and hairstyles is terrifying, more so than the intentional scariness of the plot, the criminals, whoever they were.
   Imagine that innocence (Lilian Harvey) encounters romance (Willy Fritsch) in the home of experience(Albert Basserman). From there it is only a step to terror, under the dripping boughs outside. Anything can change as fast as it wants to, and in doing so may pass through a more or less terrible phase, but the true terror is in the swiftness of changing, forward or backward, slipping always just beyond our control. The actors are like people on drugs, though they aren’t doing anything unusual---as a matter of fact, they are performing brilliantly.

  
普鲁斯特问卷

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

   我开始怀疑
   是否这样替代
   坐下来安静地做些事情
   似乎是个聪明的举措。它也是
   放松和阳光,分岔到
   强烈的忧郁,对未知事物的嫉妒之中;
   我们的思想,停在纽约上空,
   尽管如此仍然负有责任。夜晚
   当报纸来了
   你绕着街区走
   每隔五分钟就把自己从情人身边挣脱
   很痛,但没有什么是曾经真正干净的
   或是两面派的。你正在失去控制
   空气中仍然弥漫着鲜花和赞美:
   “你觉得上一个怎么样?”
   “我好吗?“我觉得它发臭。”
   这是一个问题的问题,首先:
   螺母和螺栓类型,你知道你能回答
   还有那些你回答的几乎毫无意义的非个人问题:
   “我最大的遗憾。”“是什么阻止了世界的崩溃。”
   然后,结果是辉煌的:
   有人被召集到一个名字,很快
   一大群人变得密集而轮廓分明
   从墙上说出来的话
   打破一代接一代的节奏。

   我再一次看到,一切如何
   必须由我决定:这里一场要平息的灾难
   就像耳环,幸运地解码
   这个单一的主密码
   第二种颜色,还有动物
   和我们一起在方舟里,很高兴能在那里安顿下来
   进入一个总是更加猛烈的大海。
  
  
Proust's Questionnaire




   I am beginning to wonder
   Whether this alternative to
   Sitting back and doing sometiiing quiet
   Is the clever initiative it seemed. It’s
   Also relaxation and sunlight branching into
   Passionate melancholy, jealousy of something unknown;
   And our minds, parked in the sky over New York,
   Are nonetheless responsible. Nights
   When the paper comes
   And you walk around the block
   Wrenching yourself from the lover every five minutes
   And it hurts, yet nothing is ever really clean
   Or two-faced. You are losing your grip
   And there are still flowers and compliments in the air:
   “How did you like the last one?”
   “Was I good?” “I think it stinks.”
   It’s a question of questions, first:
   The nuts-and-bolts kind you know you can answer
   And the impersonal ones you answer almost without meaning to:
   “My greatest regret.” “What keeps the world from falling down.”
   And then the results are brilliant:
   Someone is summoned to a name, and soon
   A rooinful of people becomes dense and contoured
   And words come out of the wall
   To batter the rhythm of generation following on generation.

   And I see once more how everything
   Must be up to me: here a calamity to be smoothed away
   Like ringlets, there the luck of uncoding
   This singular cipher of primary
   And secondary colors, and the animals
   With us in the ark, happy to be there as it settles
   Into an always more violent sea.


 楼主| 发表于 2020-9-18 12:07:13 | 显示全部楼层
      
                 
               
坏柄杯子
   
   (选自 A Wave )
   作者:(美)约翰.阿什贝利(John Ashberry)
   译者:剑郭琴符
   
   这么多变化
   在一个基本上只有一匹马的小镇:
   我的部分无聊,部分故意粗鲁,
   部分无意的轻率。
   谦虚与假谦虚携手漫步
   就像孪生女孩。但还有更抽象的东西
   发挥更大作用。一切激烈,断断续续的
   重复。你不知道,我们也不知道。
   
   从那里,它是一个很大的,虽然必要,跳跃到
   更微妙的概念条件:你在假设的
   真空中成形的观点,对或错,别人的,以及我们如何永远不能做自己
   当我们中的很多人都在别人的脑海里继续,
   你在街上遇到的奇怪地问候你的人
   好像想起了最近去巴哈马的旅行
   像这样说事:“它坏了。但我们应该听说
   你也听到了。旧东西,老学校,
   老盘子,无所事事,只能坐着等它们转身
   
   不是太糟糕了吗。同时,你
   看上去又绷紧了,注意力集中,当你没有
   从A点到B点,而只是猜测
   它怎么就是那样,就在那一刻
   看来确实在旅行,虽然我们都
   呆在家里,不是吗。我们的力量在于
   在运动的潜能上,而不是在成就上,它也
   会用完,这,在某种程度上,更有效。”
               
                 
               
                                 
                 
               
Cups with Broken Handles
      
   So much variation
   In what is basically a one-horse town:
   Part of me frivolous, part intentionally crude,
   And part unintentionally thoughtless.
   Modesty and false modesty stroll hand in hand
   Like twin girls. But there are more abstract things too
   That play a larger role. The intense, staccato repetitions
   Of whatever. You don’t know and we don't know either.
   
   From there it’s a big, though necessary, leap to
   The more subtly conceptual conditionings: your opinion
   Of you shaped in the vacuum-form of suppositions,
   Correct or false, of others, and how we can never be ourselves
   While so much of us is going on in the minds of other people,
   People you meet on the street who greet you strangely
   As though remembering a recent trip to the Bahamas
   And say things like: “It is broken. But we’d heard
   You heard too. Isn’t it too bad about old things, old schools,
   Old dishes, with nothing to do but sit and wait
   
   Their turn. Meanwhile you’re
   Looking stretched again, concentrated,as you do not pass
   From point A to point B but merely speculate
   On how it would be, and in that instant
   Do appear to be traveling, though we all
   Stay home, don’t we. Our strength lies
   In the potential for motion, not in accomplishments, and it gets
   Used up too, which is, in a way, more effective.”
               
                 
               
                                 
                 
               
只是你问好的人
   
   (选自 A Wave )
   作者:(美)约翰.阿什贝利(John Ashberry)
   译者:剑郭琴符
   
   但关于我,我
   很诧异,当降落伞释放
   它的旋转木马飞向我头顶的天空?
   我从没想过它
   除非我一直在想
   所以不知道,除了在梦里
   我如何表现得体,我对自己意味着什么。
   我还想知道更多
   我做得如何,更多打听你
   带着像生日礼物的脸
   降落伞飘荡着穿过我们,穿过
   褐色秋叶的蓝色山脊,我正在打开它?
   
   人们有趣---他们看到它
   然后就是他们想要的。
   怪不得我们看外面,从我们自己
   到其他人继续着。
   我棍子的终端又如何?
   我一直在想如果我能通过你
   我会返回到我,在这次旅行的
   下一阶段,但是帐篷的褶皱掉了,
   降落伞不会着陆,只会侧向飘移。
   狂欢节永远不会结束;苹果,
   土地,已被妥善藏起
   我们只剩下自己的感觉
   干涸的他者,就像紧握的拳头
   绕着油门,当我们降落,侧向下落。
               
                 
               
                                 
                 
               
Just Someone You Say Hi To
   
   
   But what about me, I
   Wondered as the parachute released
   Its carrousel into the sky over me?
   I never think about it
   Unless I think about it all the time
   And therefore don’t know except in dreams
   How I behave, what I mean to myself.
   Should I wonder more
   How I’m doing, inquire more after you
   With the face like a birthday present
   I am unwrapping as the parachute wanders
   Through us, across blue ridges brown with autumn leaves?
   
   People are funny—they see it
   And then it’s that that they want.
   No wonder we look out from ourselves
   To the other person going on.
   What about my end of the stick?
   I keep thinking if I could get through you
   I'd get back to me at a further stage
   Of this journey, but the tent flaps fall,
   The parachute won’t land, only drift sideways.
   The carnival never ends; the apples,
   The land, are duly tucked away
   And we are left with only sensations of ourselves
   And the dry otherness, like a clenched fist
   Around the throttle as we go down, sideways and down.
               
                 
               
                                 
                 
               
他们喜欢
   
   (选自 A Wave )
   作者:(美)约翰.阿什贝利(John Ashberry)
   译者:剑郭琴符
   
   他们喜欢喝啤酒,挥手吹口哨
   就像各地的人一样。暗色物体从夜幕
   隐约可见,被交谈的光芒吸引,
   他们注意到了这一点,想一切多么有趣。
   
   你开始于很久以前。晨曦乍现
   开放,事物在里面停留了很长一段时间,当形象
   在投影强烈的欲望消失之后。第三年,矛盾
   就像地平线上的烟一样升起,但很快就被制服。
   现在,第五年,你带着眼泪回来
   这是,我明白,一种形式,密封裸露的时间
   把它上面铺路,好让人走过。有一天
   它的草花和干果也是用来“张贴”的。
   
   在一个角落,你遇到那个让你高兴的人,像个陌生人
   去办些事。快点再回来。我会的,
   我会的。只有这一次,让你严肃的建议探出
   到海湾相当远的距离,像桥墩。记得
   我并不是看起来那么陌生,只是漫不经心
   而且冷酷无情,但友好。友好而奇怪。这不是警告。
   
   低空的耀斑不再雄心勃勃
   然而是一个稳定的,嗡嗡作响的红色。这是我中间那儿的首字母,
   徘徊在人口稠密的城市上空。到处都是鲜花和火焰,
   当然是个警告。但他们都适当引导生活
   到绝望中,似乎没有人感到惊讶。只有故事
   待在后面,当他们离开,坐在石头上。它越来越大。
   
               
                 
               
                                 
                 
               
They Like
   
   
   
   They like to drink beer and wave their hands and whistle
   Much as human beings everywhere do. Dark objects loom
   Out of the night, attracted by the light of conversations,
   And they take note of that, thinking how funny everything is.
   
   It was a long time ago that you began. The dawn was brittle
   And open, and things stayed in it for a long time as images
   After the projecting urge had left. In the third year a tension
   Arose like smoke on the horizon, but it was quickly subdued.
   And now in the fifth year you return with tears
   That are, I understand, a formality, to seal the naked time
   And pave it over so that it may be walked across. The day with
   Its straw flowers and dried fruits is for “putting up” too.
   
   At a corner you meet the one who makes you glad, like a stranger
   Off on some business. Come again soon. I will,
   I will. Only this time let your serious proposals stick out
   Into the bay a considerable distance, like piers. Remember
   I am not the stranger I seem to be, only casual
   And ruthless, but kind. Kind and strange. It isn’t a warning.
   
   The flares in the lower sky are no longer ambitious
   But a steady, droning red. That’s my middle initial up there,
   Hanging over a populous city. Flowers and fires everywhere,
   A warning surely. But they all lead their lives appropriately
   Into desperation, and nobody seems surprised. Only the story
   Stays behind, when they go away, sitting on a stone. It grew and grew.
   
               
                 
               
                                 
                 
               
这么多生命
   
   (选自 A Wave )
   作者:(美)约翰.阿什贝利(John Ashberry)
   译者:剑郭琴符
   
   有时我会喝得醉醺醺,当我想起或看着你,
   被我们的生活占上风,我也在其中。
   也有别的早晨
   你的关心就像一座城市,带着不舒服的部分
   闪烁其词,很难与计划联系起来
   它是,一种迅速涉及到所有突出的东西的
   雨的绿色对角线,
   以非法的方式这么做,但没关系,
   狂喜才是有价值的,很少
   有光明正大的,
   这就是它的本质,
   接受我们提示的东西。
   
   它伪装成忧虑,首先,然后伪装成我麻木的
   自我占有,想象我就是这个被困在城市主干道的
   焦油纸上的船只的幻觉,
   晚上,煤星闪闪发光,
   你的红宝石灯挂在高塔上,
   似乎拥有夜晚,与
   我们觉得属于我们的文明,
   我们过去行为的衬里,走得更近。
   
   
   我可以离开你
   因为我知道我可以随时打电话,最后我们会
   毫不犹豫地加入,
   嘲笑这个不会持续太久的
   共谋的字母表,因为外面
   我的城市有风,还有燃烧的稻草和其他一些不一致的东西,
   我们会受到谴责,也许,有一天。
   现在我们的和平就在我们的保证中,
   并且有这种味道,
   它自己盲目扣除,
   我们会变成的一切,如果
   我们独自一人,在这海岸上孕育一些寓言
   遮挡那遥远存在
   每一天都变得更感性,更温文尔雅地被领会的另一个。
   
   等警察给你钱的时候我会相信的。
   同时还有很多事情不能相信
   我们可以培养他们的爱好,只要我们继续支持
   私有财产原则。
   那么如果我们种植铁罐树呢
   总比一片林子里停满了熄灯的车要好,
   因为站在某人一边的努力
   对那些数字就是一切的人来说
   最终会拔出黑暗
   黑相思树作为象征,男人最终会
   停止对彼此做什么的情人们
   当我们可以安静下来,开始数羊,一起保持清醒。
               
                 
               
                                 
                 
               
So Many Lives
   
   
   
   
   Sometimes I get radiant drunk when I think of and/or look at you,
   Upstaged by our life, with me in it.
   And other mornings too
   Your care is like a city, with the uncomfortable parts
   Evasive, and difficult to connect with the plan
   That was, and the green diagonals of the rain kind of
   Fudging to rapidly involve everything that stood out,
   And doing so in an illegal way, but it doesn’t matter,
   It's rapture that counts, and what little
   There is of it is seldom aboveboard,
   That’s its nature,
   What we take our cue from.
   It masquerades as worry, first, then as self-possession
   In which I am numb, imagining I am this vision
   Of ships stuck on the tarpaper of an urban main,
   At night, coal stars glinting,
   And you the ruby lights hung far above on pylons,
   Seeming to own the night and the nearer reaches
   Of a civilization we feel as ours,
   The lining of our old doing.
   
   I can walk away from you
   Because I know I can always call, and in the end we will
   Be irresolutely joined,
   Laughing over this alphabet of connivance
   That never goes on too long, because outside
   My city there is wind, and burning straw and other things that don’t coincide,
   To which we’ll be condemned, perhaps, some day.
   Now our peace is in our assurance
   And has that savor,
   Its own blind deduction
   Of whatever would become of us if
   We were alone, to nurture on this shore some fable
   To block out that other whose remote being
   Becomes every day a little more sentient and more suavely realized.
   
   I'll believe it when the police pay you off.
   In the meantime there are so many things not to believe in
   We can make a hobby of them, as long as we continue to uphold
   The principle of private property.
   So what if ours is planted with tin-can trees
   It's better than a forest full of parked cars with the lights out,
   Because the effort of staying back to side with someone
   For whom number is everything
   Will finally unplug the dark
   And the black acacias stand out as symbols, lovers
   Of what men will at last stop doing to each other
   When we can be quiet, and start counting sheep to stay awake together.
   
               
                 
               
                                 
                 
               
永不试图说出你的爱
   
   (选自 A Wave )
   作者:(美)约翰.阿什贝利(John Ashberry)
   译者:剑郭琴符
   
   
   许多颜色会带你到它们自身
   但现在我想有人告诉我怎么回家。
   回去的路上有条纹和斑点,
   一个阴暗的地点。它属于它要去
   
   但不是它所是的地方。现在,花不和艾达说话。
   它们只会说花语,
   比如说,我是多么努力地去那里。
   一定意味着我还不在这里。但是你,
   你看起来那么正式,那么严肃。你不能读诗,
   不是他们在学校教我们的方式。
   
   回到要点总是主要的事,那么。
   我们曾经离开过它吗?我不这么认为。那是我们的北极。
   我们在那里躲藏,饿了好几年,现在,
   就像耀眼的昆虫掠过明亮的天空,
   你又回到了路上,这条路充满活力地
   向上引导,通过智能和清晰的空间。
   它们不再像我们这样做石头。
   
   
   抓住这条线,像蛛网一样纤细,但非常结实,
   我们每个人都进入自己的迷宫。
   隐身的天赋
   已经被赋予除神以外的所有人,所以我们说出这事,
   填满道路,用色彩、面孔、
   温柔的话语,直到它们用真实喂养我们。
               
                 
               
                                 
                 
               
Never Seek to Tell Thy Love
   
   
   Many colors will take you to themselves
   But now I want someone to tell me how to get home.
   The way back there is streaked and stippled,
   A shaded place. It belongs where it is going
   
   Not where it is. The flowers don’t talk to Ida now.
   They speak only the language of flowers,
   Saying things like, How hard I tried to get there.
   It must mean I'm not here yet. But you,
   You seem so formal, so serious. You can’t read poetry,
   Not the way they taught us back in school.
   
   Returning to the point was always the main thing, then.
   Did we ever leave it? I don’t think so. It was our North Pole.
   We skulked and hungered there for years, and now,
   Like dazzled insects skimming the bright airs,
   You are back on the road again, the path leading
   Vigorously upward, through intelligent and clear spaces.
   They don't make rocks like us any more.
   
   And holding on to the thread, fine as a cobweb, but incredibly strong,
   Each of us advances into his own labyrinth.
   The gift of invisibility
   Has been granted to all but the gods, so we say such things,
   Filling the road up with colors, faces,
   Tender speeches, until they feed us to the truth.
               
                 
               
                                 


 楼主| 发表于 2020-9-19 11:46:35 | 显示全部楼层


   命运华尔兹
   
   (选自 A Wave )
   作者:(美)约翰.阿什贝利(John Ashberry)
   译者:剑郭琴符
   
   每个人都有一些工作要做,
   之后他们可能会有一些乐趣。
   有时会分散注意力。
   比你的脸更老
   
   在天堂被旋转着离开
   知道什么风像秋天的彩叶。
   严肃也无济于事:
   正当你和它和睦相处,它却挣脱了拴绳,
   笑着,快乐地跑开。
   
   这是一个在岁月中忍耐的问题。
   问一问,但不要太频繁:这样一来,大多数
   通向真理的方法一开始
   都会怯懦地接近你,想了解你
   在其他道路上游荡之前
   (这条道路)导向离开你,同时又在安全的辖区。
   你的脚知道它们在做什么。
   
   如果今年晚些时候一些真正的恐惧,
   一个真正的恶魔来了,安装在
   什么都不做的冷静(1)上,
   鞋子在另一只脚上,
   这次,
   就这一次。
   
   浪漫消除了太多的这些,
   但它这么干的时候却留在后面,
   没办法鼓动
   打破这一年的最锋利
   最饱满地逼近的混乱。它是催眠。
   
   (1)sang-froid:法语, n.m.inv.冷静,镇定,沉着
Destiny Waltz
   
   
   Everyone has some work to be done
   And after that they may have some fun.
   Which sometimes leads to distraction.
   Older faces than yours
   
   Have been whirled away on heaven
   Knows what wind like painted leaves in autumn.
   Seriousness doesn’t help either:
   Just when you get on it it slips its tether,
   Laughing, runs happily away.
   
   It is a question of forbearance among the days.
   Ask, but not too often: that way most ways
   Of leading up to the truth will approach you
   Timidly at first, wanting to get to know you
   Before wandering away on other paths
   Leading out of your meanwhile safe precinct.
   Your feet know what they’re doing.
   
   And if later in the year some true fear,
   A real demon comes to be installed
   In the sang-froid of not doing anything,
   The shoe is on the other foot
   This time,
   Just this one time.
   
   Romance removes so much of this
   Yet staying behind while it does so
   Is no way to agitate
   To break the year’s commotion where it loomed
   Sharpest and most full. It's a trance.
试试我!我与众不同!
   
   (选自 A Wave )
   作者:(美)约翰.阿什贝利(John Ashberry)
   译者:剑郭琴符
   
   显然,勇气和美将再次被否定
   这一次,当我们都在黄昏相遇
   在一个被高大树木环绕的平坦的地方。这是另一种比赛。
   无论什么宣誓,承诺,密封
   带着吻,一次又一次,和海洋一样奇怪,不忠实
   与我们根本不同,当它充满
   深深的裂缝远离内陆,与陆地的联系,比任何人都怀疑的
   更加紧密。这是我们的游戏,
   
   
   在讲述背后的时刻,也有我们
   对它们的看法。现在,在玻璃下面
   它进展顺利。轮廓和颜色的对比
   更锋利,但没有声音。我并非故意
   努力隐藏我的野心,穿着同样的粗花呢夹克
   为第十四个季节;相反,我认为它门第的一些事
   要注意。但风格的问题已彻底转向
   在我们从未谋面的城镇里。
   
   
   我活这么久没有被责骂,我成长
   觉得我无可非议,直到我飞了
   离巢穴的那几步。现在,我明白了,
   我的特权意味着放弃对生命的一切要求
   就像偶然,犯罪的东西,它有时,有利于
   草书凹处的地平线,我们
   有时会隐藏,因为我们是图案的
   一部分。没有人会想念你。未来
   
   忽略那些带着如此沉重,强烈
   礼物的人,我们被轮廓征服。
   没有人批评我们缺乏深度,
   但丑闻的微光,在周围和其他地方。
   如果我们最终能撬开通往时代牧场的大门,
   没有疾病是明显的。我们所引证的颜色,
   提供给我们,我们自己的寓言,用我们自己的话说出来。
Try Me! I'm Different!   
   
   
   
   Obviously the guts and beauty are going to be denied again
   This time around, as we all meet at twilight
   In a level place surrounded by tall trees. It’s another kind of contest.
   Whatever is sworn, promised, sealed
   With kisses, over and over, is as strange, faithless
   And fundamentally unlike us as the ocean when it fills
   Deep crevices far inland, more deeply involved with the land
   Than anyone suspected. Such are our games,
   
   And so also the way we thought of them
   In the time behind the telling. Now it goes smoothly
   Under glass. The contours and color contrasts are
   Sharper, but there is no sound. And I didn’t deliberately
   Try to hide my ambition, wearing the same tweed jacket
   For the fourteenth season; instead I thought its pedigree something
   To notice. But the question of style has been
   Turned inside out in the towns where we never meet.
   
   I lived so long without being scolded that I grew
   To feel I was beyond criticism, until I flew
   Those few paces from the nest. Now, I understand,
   My privilege means giving up all claims on life
   As the casual, criminal thing it sometimes is, in favor of
   A horizon in whose cursive recesses we
   May sometimes lie concealed because we are part
   Of the pattern. No one misses you. The future
   
   Ignores those streaming with a present so heavy
   And intense we are subdued by the outline.
   No one criticizes us for lacking depth,
   But the scandal shimmers, around and elsewhere.
   If we could finally pry open the gate to the pastures of the times,
   No sickness would be evident. And the colors we adduced
   Would supply us, parables ourselves, told in our own words.
人生中最非凡的事情之一
   
   (选自 A Wave )
   作者:(美)约翰.阿什贝利(John Ashberry)
   译者:剑郭琴符
   
   绝不能被发明。它应该一直就是。
   一旦它的真理之伞被培养成
   而且高大的树木跟在后面,好像俄耳甫斯,
   它的音乐,在麻烦中,会减速到完全停止,
   
   仍然有麻烦,但已经变成了一个立方体,
   其所有的外表面都反映了
   我们来这里之前所做的事情。我们中的一个,
   比其他人差一点,半圈
   
   在浅浮雕里泄露真相,另一个
   信使会被杀,原因是:它不是
   让我们值得永远待在这里的等待,
   只是你读到的那些荒野的小树林,没人
   
   可能曾经见过。我听说他们有洞穴
   像地球一样老的人生活在那里,当
   这些人死了,什么也代替不了他们。
   所以,为什么我们哭泣,哀悼者,在周围
   
   一块普通的空间?
One of the Most Extraordinary Things in Life
   
   
   must never be invented. It shall have been.
   Once its umbrella of truth is raised to become
   And tall trees follow it as though it were Orpheus,
   Its music, in trouble, slows down to a complete standstill,
   
   Still in trouble but has become a cube With all the outside faces reflecting
   What we did before we got here. One of us,
   A little poorer than the others, half-turns
   
   To divulge a truth in low relief that another
   Messenger would have been killed for: it isn’t
   Our waiting that makes us worthy of having been here forever,
   Only the wild groves you read about,that no one
   
   Has probably ever seen. I hear they have caves
   In which men as old as the earth live, that when
   These die, nothing ever takes their place.
   Therefore, why weep we, mourners, around
   
   A common block of space?
  不管它是什么,不管你在哪里
   
   (选自 A Wave )
   作者:(美)约翰.阿什贝利(John Ashberry)
   译者:剑郭琴符
   
   交叉孵化技术使我们的祖先能够将某些遗传性状与其他人交换,以便立即为他们的后代提供一种比他们自己更多样化又更安全的生活方式,这种技术几乎已经耗尽了动力,让我们感到疑惑,又一次,这种舒适的孤独让我们觉得自己永远都会出去,甚至想出去。时钟的乌木指针似乎总是指向同一个时间。这就是为什么它看起来总是一样的,尽管它当然在不断地变化,微妙,好像是被地下水流所滋养。要是我们能像小时候一样,到后面去,抽烟,胡闹,只是不挡道,一会儿。但就这样——你没看见?我们是“从后面出去。”没人用过前门。我们一直生活在这个没有名字,没有羞耻感的地方,一个成年人谈笑风生,玩得开心的地方。当我们还是孩子的时候,似乎成年后就像爬树一样,从那里可以看到景色,惊险是因为稍显难以捉摸。因为有点难以捉摸。但现在我们只能向下看,先是透过树枝往下看,远看是一片令人惊讶的陡峭的从树的底部倾斜而下的草地。这当然是一个不同的观点,但不是我们期望的那样。
   他们要我们做什么?站在这里,监视每一次呼吸,检查每一次返回地址的冲动,不断地思考邪恶,直到我们必然陷入一种可能是所有罪恶中最严重的一种麻木状态?他们是为了什么目的交叉孵化,如此有效,以至于下面的发光表面被转换成另一个,同样发光,但如此变化,如此有活力,充满暗示性,就像流沙一样,迈出一步,就会从脆弱的不确定之网跌入确定性的泥沼,否则就称之为绝望泥沼?
   也许他们想让我们享受他们喜欢的东西,比如夏末的夜晚,希望我们能找到其他人,感谢他们为我们提供资金,找到并欣赏他们.他们唱歌的方式,在过去,我们有时可以透过组织和遗传过程在我们和他们之间留下痕迹。卷须可以暗示一只手,或者一种特定的颜色---比如郁金香的黄色---会以这样一种方式闪烁片刻,在它被抽走之后,我们可以确信这里没有任何想象,没有自动暗示,但同时它也变得和所有减去的记忆一样无用。它带来了无热无光的确定性。然而,还是在过去,在遥远的夏夜里,他们一定对此有过一个词,或者知道有一天我们会需要一个,并希望帮助。 然后一种呼噜声出现,就像风在房间的踢脚板周围悄悄地吹过:不是臭名昭著的“静止的,小声音”,而是一种辅助性的讲话,它与我们自己爬行的疑问的想象相平行,是我们从鼓励到绝望再到愤怒,然后又回来时发出的可见的声音,有时伴随一种姿态,就像一种向某个海角或岬角的中止的运动,从那里可以看到两个方向的伸展——向后和向前——但这只是一种礼貌的希望,和其他所有的纹理一样,皱缩着,放在一边,几乎与它们中的任何一个都没有区别,除了它知道我们知道,在“不知道”流动性就像银光一样闪烁的背景下,这似乎意味着一部电影已经曝光了,一幅图像将,肯定会,不像上次那样,在画面中考虑自己。
   那一定是你的一张旧照片,在院子里,在那时候城市的下午,在清爽,刮擦的灯光下,显得几乎害怕,不满足,不接受任何人的任何东西。那么还有什么新的呢?我来告诉你什么是:你现在接受了来自不可见的,未知的发送者,准备的光,你认为,只是为了扫视或瞥一眼,现在完全照在你的脸上,事实上一直如此,但是你努力眯着眼睛,害怕接受它,以至于你不知道这一点。它温暖还是燃烧是另一回事,我们不在这里讨论。
   关键是你正在接受它并握着它,就像爱一个你一直认为你无法忍受的人的爱,而你现在承认他是一个兄弟,一个平等的人。一个人的脸和照片中的你一样,但他是另一个人,所有的思想和感情都指向你,像一块柔和的光落下,最终会放松和化解顽固的怀疑,及时的自我憎恨,高效的冷淡直率,可怕的礼貌,明智的决定和毫无意义的夜晚在完全放纵中等待,它们已经成长为你,在看不见的树上;把你牢牢地放在你祖先善良的圈子,游戏和娱乐里。
   
Whatever It Is,Wherever You Are
   
   
   The cross-hatching technique which allowed our ancestors to exchange certain genetic traits for others, in order to provide their offspring with a way of life at once more variegated and more secure than their own, has just about run out of steam and has left us wondering, once more, what there is about this plush solitude that makes us think we will ever get out, or even want to. The ebony hands of the clock always seem to mark the same hour. That is why it always seems the same, though it is of course changing constantly, subtly, as though fed by an underground stream. If only we could go out in back, as when we were kids, and smoke and fool around and just stay out of the way, for a little while. But that's just it--don’t you see? We are “out in back.” No one has ever used the front door. We have always lived in this place without a name, without shame, a place for grownups to talk and laugh, having a good time. When we were children it seemed that adulthood would be like climbing a tree, that there would be a view from there, breathtaking because slightly more elusive. But now we can see only down, first down through the branches and further down the surprisingly steep grass patch that slopes away from the base of the tree. It certainly is a different view, but not the one we expected.
   What did they want us to do? Stand around this way, monitoring every breath, checking each impulse for the return address, wondering constantly about evil until necessarily we fall into a state of torpor that is probably the worst sin of all? To what purpose did they cross-hatch so effectively, so that the luminous surface that was underneath is transformed into another, also luminous but so shifting and so alive with suggestiveness that it is like quicksand, to take a step there would be to fall through the fragile net of uncertainties into the bog of certainty, otherwise known as the Slough of Despond?
   Probably they meant for us to enjoy the things they enjoyed, like late summer evenings, and hoped that we’d find others and thank them for providing us with the wherewithal to find and enjoy them .Singing the way they did, in the old time, we can sometimes see through the tissues and tracings the genetic process has laid down between us and them. The tendrils can suggest a hand, or a specific color---the yellow of the tulip, for instance---will flash for a moment in such a way that after it has been withdrawn we can be sure that there was no imagining, no auto-suggestion here,but at the same time it becomes as useless as all subtracted memories. It has brought certainty without heat or light. Yet still in the old time, in the faraway summer evenings, they must have had a word for this, or known that we would someday need one, and wished to help. Then it is that a kind of purring occurs, like the wind sneaking around the baseboards of a room: not the infamous “still, small voice” but an ancillary speech that is parallel to the slithering of our own doubt-fleshed imaginings, a visible soundtrack of the way we sound as we move from encouragement to despair to exasperation and back again, with a gesture sometimes that is like an aborted movement outward toward some cape or promontory from which the view would extend in two directions---backward and forward---but that is only a polite hope in the same vein as all the others, crumpled and put away, and almost not to be distinguished from any of them, except that it knows we know, and in the context of not knowing is a fluidity that flashes like silver, that seems to say a film has been exposed and an image will, most certainly will, not like the last time, come to consider itself within the frame.
   It must be an old photograph of you, out in the yard, looking almost afraid in the crisp, raking light that afternoons in the city held in those days, unappeased, not accepting anything from anybody. So what else is new? I’ll tell you what is: you are accepting this now from the invisible, unknown sender, and the light that was intended, you thought, only to rake or glance is now directed full in your face, as it in fact always was, but you were squinting so hard, fearful of accepting it, that you didn't know this. Whether it warms or burns is another matter, which we will not go into here.
   The point is that you are accepting it and holding on to it, like love from someone you always thought you couldn’t stand, and whom you now recognize as a brother, an equal. Someone whose face is the same as yours in the photograph but who is someone else, all of whose thoughts and feelings are directed at you, falling like a gentle slab of light that will ultimately loosen and dissolve the crusted suspicion, the timely self-hatred, the efficient cold directness, the horrible good manners, the sensible resolves and the senseless nights spent waiting in utter abandon, that have grown up to be you in the tree with no view; and place you firmly in the good-natured circle of your ancestors, games and entertainments.
   

 楼主| 发表于 2020-9-20 10:42:16 | 显示全部楼层


三叶草
   
   (选自 A Wave )
   作者:(美)约翰.阿什贝利(John Ashberry)
   译者:剑郭琴符
   
   想象多年前那些叮当作响的好奇心---
   时尚还不够老到看起来不时髦。
   这是一张有耐心的窗户的照片,有三心二意的树
   它们半截在嗡嗡声和光泽中,
   每个人想法的泡沫都像以前一样私人和不足。
   
   窗户教会了我们一件事:一个伟大的,正方形悲伤
   没有被任何东西减轻或分散,因为模式
   必须在它能变老之前建立自己,不能很好地渡过
   保持一种松鼠和孔雀的观念,给小字印刷品章节
   加上标点,当它们被碾碎,变得更精细,
   总有一天会取得沙土的严格称号。不,现在没有空间
   给海洋,暴风雪:只有夜晚,用钢铁般的手指
   按下失去的盖子,永远不安静地寻找机械装置
   解开这一切,变成啭鸣的阳光,这天
   憔悴的牧师来请求你的帮助。没有什么在飞,
   下沉;似乎所有事物对世界的抵抗
   有那么多随意的刺绣,岁月
   在制作过程中,在约定的时间几乎看不见。
   
   在这一切中,某人的固执坚持着
   他改变了她的主意,被你的论据感动,
   一直等到最后一刻才承认,
   让你知道你是被需要的,甚至比你想象的
   还要多。但这一切,正如他们所说,是另一个故事。
Trefoil
   
   
   Imagine some tinkling curiosity from the years back---
   The fashions aren’t old enough yet to look out of fashion.
   It is a picture of patient windows, with trees
   Of two minds half-caught in their buzz and luster,
   The froth of everyone’s ideas as personal and skimpy as ever.
   
   The windows taught us one thing: a great, square grief
   Not alleviated or distracted by anything, since the pattern
   Must establish itself before it can grow old, cannot weather nicely
   Keeping a notion of squirrels and peacocks to punctuate
   Chapters of fine print as they are ground down, growing ever finer
   To assume the strict title of dust someday. No, there is no room now
   For oceans, blizzards: only night, with fingers of steel
   Pressing the lost lid, searching forever unquietly the mechanism
   To unclasp all this into warbled sunlight, the day
   The gaunt parson comes to ask for your hand. Nothing is flying,
   Sinking; it is as though the resistance of all things
   To the earth were so much casual embroidery, years
   In the making, barely glimpsed at the appointed time.
   
   Through it all a stifiness persists
   Of someone who had changed her mind, moved by your arguments
   And waiting till the last possible moment to confess it,
   To let you know you were wanted, even a lot, more than you could
   Imagine. But all that is, as they say, another story.

难题
   
   (选自 A Wave )
   作者:(美)约翰.阿什贝利(John Ashberry)
   译者:剑郭琴符
   
   粗鲁的眼神,有时是一声招呼,
   一件可以携带的东西。是的,就这样
   一对一的感觉就像树叶在吹
   在这个想象的,真实的世界和天空之间
   它有时候颜色可怕
   但肯定总是而且只是我们想象的那样?
   我忘了说还有别的事。
   有一次,某人--我父亲---来找我说
   在当时的谨慎中的极端言辞。
   我喝得酩酊大醉,害怕得不知道我们周围
   都在说些什么,只知道这是最后的
   搁置,正是现在,
   绝不是事情发生的方式。
   你可以订阅这个。
   它总是让你知道你做得
   有多好,事情的发展有多顺利。
   它是小麦的图案
   在有斑点的墙上你想给我看
   或总是会来的这些东西,
   翻滚的,让我们摇摆不定的移动支座?
Problems   
   
   Rough stares, sometimes a hello,
   A something to carry. Yes and over it
   The feeling of one to one like leaves blowing
   Between this imaginary, real world and the sky
   Which is sometimes a terrible color
   But is surely always and only as we imagine it?
   I forgot to say there are extra things.
   Once, someone---my father---came to me and spoke
   Extreme words amid the caution of the time.
   I was too drunk, too scared to know what was being said
   Around us then, only that it was a final
   Shelving off, that it was now and never,
   The way things would come to pass.
   You can subscribe to this.
   It always lets you know how well
   You’re doing, how well along the thing is with its growing.
   Was it a pattern of wheat
   On the spotted walls you wanted to show me
   Or are these the things always coming,
   The churning, moving support that lets us rock still?

以埃拉.惠勒.威尔科克斯为主题的变奏曲,卡里普索和赋格
   
   (选自 The Double Dream of Spring )
   作者:(美)约翰.阿什贝利(John Ashberry)
   译者:剑郭琴符
   
   “因为许多人的快乐
   可能经常会追溯到一个
   就像种橡子的手
   为军队遮挡阳光。”
   在年降雨量为0.0071英寸的地方
   躺在树下,坐着,站着,在树下站起来,多么快乐!
   在可爱的五月
   那种感觉是永远不想离开树,
   主要是和平和放松。
   你是不是从树荫下走出去一会,
   它只是带着新的期待回来,期待实现。
   该死的不安全感!有一些东西对这一切,无法避开我们:
   在友好的树荫下长大,身边有我们的兄弟。
   事实上,年轻的成年人从来不是这样的:
   这样的喜悦,这样的体贴,这样的肯定,阻碍一起转的日子。
   是的,世界转得快得多
   当唇上有亮点,心中有没说出的真话,
   手不停地刷掉一缕栗色的头发,结果它又落回原处。
   但一切美好的事物都必须结束,因此,一个人必须向前迈进,
   某人的结论留下的空间。这越来越老?
   好吧,这是一个好经验,摆脱自己一些久经考验的理想,一些旧的备用物,
   甚至找不到任何东西放在其地点是一个好经验,
   准备,就这样,为即将到来的惊骇。
   但是---这就是它的要旨---如果我梦到了一切,
   树枝,午后的阳光,
   信任的友情,浇灌一切的爱,
   像它应该的那样迅速消失在根部,又如何?
   因为后来在城市无边的黑暗中,只有在那里你才能学到
   这些想法是多么好,仅仅是因为它们必须死,
   让你一个人光着身子,维萨利厄斯的画。
   这就是个中意味,一切都指向它:
   树在120度的高温下会枯萎,橡子
   像眼球一样躺在破旧的土地上,领队的士兵们耸肩溜走。
   
   
   所以我的青春在树下度过
   我总是很轻松地到处走动
   
   我这个年纪经常去巴黎旅行
   认识了许多著名的文学家
   
   凝视阿尔卑斯山相当壮观
   我感觉到眼泪尽全力流出来
   
   攀登雅典卫城对我来说意义重大
   我读过你看到的希腊哲学家
   
   在斗兽场,我想我的心会爆裂
   想想那些先到过那里的所有受害者
   
   在阿拉拉特山边我开始成长
   记得那儿的大洪水,很久以前
   
   我站在恒河岸边的泥里
   看着水像血一样发光
   
   中国的长城真是令人兴奋
   它像一颗银色的药丸在空气中裂开
   
   无论好坏,它都是人类亲手建造的
   在他决定不杀人的时候展示他能做什么
   
   但在我所看到的所有景色中
   在东方或西方,在陆地或海上,
   最好的地方是拼写为H-O-M-E的地方。
   
   既然我又成功地回到了家
   我应该克制一切漫游的冲动
   
   在绿色地球的地毯上有一个真理的洞
   一旦找到它,你就会像虫子一样舒服
   
   也许有些人不像你那么喜欢它
   这不是你要做的全部。
   
   你必须记住这是你
   为什么没人送你花的理由
   
   我传授给你这个古老的真理
   按照你的艺术命令行事
   
   因为如果你不这么做,没有别人会
   那个人不可能是你。
   
   风从远方来
   这是最远恒星的真相
   
   你很可能不需要这些
   所以轻松点,学你的ABC
   
   相信永远不会实现的梦想
   因为这是最适合你的计划
   还有最合适的闪光。
   
   “让我的梦想成真。”这条信息,开始于84分流浪汉类型,在早间的报纸版本中(让人)吓了一跳:旧的,半途而废的安全困扰着新的停顿。随着节日的临近,现在显然就在这里:具有特殊时刻意识的大铜管乐队侵入广场和狭窄的小巷。这个城市里四分之三的房子都是在狭窄的高跷上,比女孩的手腕还要细:这在很大程度上是一个保持脚干爽,隐私的问题。早上你忘了惩罚是什么。可能是像吃了椒盐卷饼或是去后院之类的事情。不过,你还是说不清。在不伤害任何人的情况下,这些事情可能会更清楚。但这并不意味着这些问题会为你带来最具活力的资本收益。
   
   星期五。我们真的很想你。
   
   不过,最合适的不是特别要求的那个,也不是挂在大堂周围的那个。这只是一个追问,一天又一天---溢出了什么,溢洪道声称。狗的区别,狗走路的方式。狗走路的想法。再也没有人提到这件事。此案正式结案。也许有默默感激的合唱,在春天的夜晚里像一柱云彩涌出,直达天空的椽子---但这是他们自己的事。关键是没人听说过。因此,这件事,用它的一个名字来称呼它---选择、行为、心不在焉的皱眉,可能会是别人的---觉得它不仅从未发生过,而且似乎永远也不会发生过。封闭在那即将到来的季节里。因此,对于少数人来说---杂工和堕落者,大都是---它变成唯一真实的版本。其他什么都不重要。是面包,早晚,树上没精打采地落下枣子的日子——男人、女人、孩子,溃烂,闪耀在一个球体中。回答“你好。”
   
   粉紫色和蓝色
   你以前的做法
   
   
   彼得和克莉丝汀奇怪地过了接下来的两天,这是他们所知道的最吸引人的日子之一。一方面,一个巨大的开阔的盆地---或海洋;另一方面,一片狭长的陆地的岬,尽头是一片树林,到处都是一些破烂不堪的建筑物。这一次,东方的州长--州-长-,君主,已经决定释放他们,这也没有什么区别,有一种有趣的感觉,他们应该一直在那里,一直向外望着以太,想念母亲和艾伦和其他人,但真是安静,在一种提供自己生活方式的活动中,太阳花锁在太阳上。它能解决吗?或者,一个人的思想形式是否像杜勒的《亚当与夏娃》中那样,被无情的法律所控制?如此相互排斥,如此陡峭的喜马拉雅山脉像纽约的公寓楼一样并排挤在一起。哦,这是罪魁祸首,减弱。我的缺点是担心。忘了吧。不断地分裂,震耳欲聋的极地冰盖的破裂,正是你想要的。你知道了,所以闭嘴。
   
   水晶般的薄雾
   一天又一天
   
   充足的睡眠是一个重要因素,揉眼睛。下了地铁,他突然觉得饿了。他走进一个地方,他熟悉的地方,点了一个汉堡包和一杯咖啡。他很长一段时间没来过这个社区了---从小就没来过。他过去常在街对面的空地上打棒球。有时候,他的一帮人会和一些大一点的男孩打架,他会累得流着血回家。不过,大多数日子都一样。他会和其他孩子说“嗨”,他们也会跟他说“嗨”。一群不错的伙计。最后,他决定从他小时候就读的那所旧小学转过去。那是一座四处延伸的黄砖结构,现在走进了邋遢,下午晚些时候的阴影已经仁慈地软化。前面的砾石操场上杂草丛生。大的树木和灌木丛不会对正门的两侧造成伤害。时间放屁。
   
   第一次电击摇晃他们站着的拐杖,
   第二把门从铰链上撕开。
   
   “我亲爱的朋友,”他温和地说,“你说你是教授赫兹,如果我说这些信息令我吃惊和困惑,请原谅。等你长大了,我有些问题要问你,如果你愿意回答的话。”
   没有人准备好接受那人对那显然无害的说法的回答。
   古斯塔夫斯.赫兹虽然身体虚弱,却用胳膊肘撑起身子。他发狂地看着他,恐惧地凝视着房间里阴暗的角落。
   “我什么也不告诉你!什么也不,你听到了吗?”他尖叫着。“走开!走开!”
   
  Variations, Calypso and Fugue on a Theme of Ella Wheeler Wilcox
   
   
   “For the pleasures of the many
   May be ofttimes traced to one
   As the hand that plants an acorn
   Shelters armies from the sun.”
   And in places where the annual rainfall is .0071 inches
   What a pleasure to lie under the tree, to sit, stand, and get up under the tree!
   Im wunderschonen Monat Mai
   The feeling is of never wanting to leave the tree,
   Of predominantly peace and relaxation.
   Do you step out from under the shade a moment,
   It is only to return with renewed expectation, of expectation fulfilled.
   Insecurity be damned! There is something to all this, that will not elude us:
   Growing up under the shade of friendly trees, with our brothers all around.
   And truly, young adulthood was never like this:
   Such delight, such consideration, such affirmation in the way the day goes ' round together.
   Yes, the world goes 'round a good deal faster
   When there are highlights on the lips, unspoken and true words in the heart,
   And the hand keeps brushing away a strand of chestnut hair, only to have it fall back into place again.
   But all good things must come to an end, and so one must move forward
   Into the space left by one’s conclusions. Is this growing old?
   Well, it is a good experience, to divest oneself of some tested ideals, some old standbys,
   And even finding nothing to put in their place is a good experience,
   Preparing one, as it does, for the consternation that is to come.
   But---and this is the gist of it---what if I dreamed it all,
   The branches, the late afternoon sun,
   The trusting camaraderie, the love that watered all,
   Disappearing promptly down into the roots as it should?
   For later in the vast gloom of cities, only there you learn
   How the ideas were good only because they had to die,
   Leaving you alone and skinless, a drawing by Vesalius.
   This is what was meant, and toward which everything directs:
   That the tree should shrivel in 120-degree heat, the acorns
   Lie around on the worn earth like eyeballs, and the lead soldiers shrug and slink off.
   
   So my youth was spent, underneath the trees
   I always moved around with perfect ease
   
   I voyaged to Paris at the age often
   And met many prominent literary men
   
   Gazing at the Alps was quite a sight
   I felt the tears flow forth with all their might
   
   A climb to the Acropolis meant a lot to me
   I had read the Greek philosophers you see
   
   In the Colosseum I thought my heart would burst
   Thinking of all the victims who had been there first
   
   On Mount Ararat's side I began to grow
   Remembering the Flood there, so long ago
   
   On the banks of the Ganges I stood in mud
   And watched the water light up like blood
   
   The Great Wall of China is really a thrill
   It cleaves through the air like a silver pill
   
   It was built by the hand of man for good or ill
   Showing what he can do when he decides not to kill
   
   But of all the sights that were seen by me
   In the East or West, on land or sea,
   The best was the place that is spelled H-O-M-E.
   
   Now that once again I have achieved home
   I shall forbear all further urge to roam
   
   There is a hole of truth in the green earth’s rug
   Once you find it you are as snug as a bug
   
   Maybe some do not like it quite as much as you
   That isn’t all you’re going to do.
   
   You must remember that it is yours
   Which is why nobody is sending you flowers
   
   This age-old truth I to thee impart
   Act according to the dictates of your art
   
   Because if you don't no one else is going to
   And that person isn’t likely to be you.
   
   It is the wind that comes from afar
   It is the truth of the farthest star
   
   In all likelihood you will not need these
   So take it easy and learn your ABC’s
   
   And trust in the dream that will never come true
   Cause that is the scheme that is best for you
   And the gleam that is the most suitable too.
   
   "MAKE MY DREAM COME TRUE." This message, set in 84-point Hobo type, startled in the morning editions of the paper: the old, halfwon security troubles the new pause. And with the approach of the holidays, the present is clearly here to stay: the big brass band of its particular moment's consciousness invades the plazas and the narrow alleys. Three-fourths of the houses in this city are on narrow stilts, finer than a girl’s wrists: it is largely a question of keeping one’s feet dry, and of privacy. In the morning you forget what the punishment was. Probably it was something like eating a pretzel or going into the back yard. Still, you can't tell. These things could be a lot clearer without hurting anybody. But it does not follow that such issues will produce the most dynamic capital gains for you.
   
   Friday. We are really missing you.
   
   The most suitable,however, was not the one specially asked for nor the one hanging around the lobby. It was just the one asked after, day after day---what spilled over, claimed by the spillway. The distinction of a dog, of how a dog walks. The thought of a dog walking. No one ever referred to the incident again. The case was officially closed. Maybe there were choruses of silent gratitude, welling up in the spring night like a column of cloud, reaching to the very rafters of the sky---but this was their own business. The point is no ear ever heard them. Thus, the incident, to call it by one of its names---choice, conduct, absent-minded frown might be others---came to be not only as though it had never happened, but as though it never could have happened. Sealed into the wall of all that season's coming on. And thus, for a mere handful of people---roustabouts and degenerates, most of them---it became the only true version. Nothing else mattered. It was bread by morning and night, the dates falling listlessly from the trees---man, woman, child, festering glistering in a single orb. The reply to “hello.”
   
   Pink purple and blue
   The way you used to do
   
   The next two days passed oddly for Peter and Christine, and were among the most absorbing they had ever known. On the one hand, a vast open basin---or sea; on the other a narrow spit of land, terminating in a copse, with a few broken-down out-buildings lying here and there. It made no difference that the bey—b-e-y this time, oriental potentate---had ordained their release, there was this funny feeling that they should always be there, sustained by looks out over the ether, missing Mother and Alan and the others but really quiet, in a kind of activity that offers its own way of life, sunflower chained to the sun. Can it ever be resolved?Or are the forms of a person’s thoughts controlled by inexorable laws, as in Durer's Adam and Eve? So mutually exclusive, and so steep—Himalayas jammed side by side like New York apartment buildings. Oh the blame of it, the de-crescendo. My vice is worry. Forget it. The continual splitting up, the ear-shattering volumes of a polar ice-cap breaking up are just what you wanted. You've got it, so shut up.
   
   The crystal haze
   For days and days
   
   Lots of sleep is an important factor, and rubbing the eyes. Getting off the subway he suddenly felt hungry. He went into one place, a place he knew, and ordered a hamburger and a cup of coffee. He hadn't been in this neighborhood in a long time---not since he was a kid. He used to play stickball in the vacant lot across the street. Sometimes his bunch would get into a fight with some of the older boys, and he'd go home tired and bleeding. Most days were the same though. He’d say “Hi” to the other kids and they"d say “Hi” to him. Nice bunch of guys. Finally he decided to take a turn past the old grade school he'd attended as a kid. It was a rambling structure of yellow brick, now gone in seediness and shabbiness which the late-afternoon shadows mercifully softened. The gravel playground in front was choked with weeds. Large trees and shrubbery would do no harm flanking the main entrance. Time farted.
   
   The first shock rattles the cruets in their stand,
   The second rips the door from its hinges.
   
   “My dear friend,” he said gently, “you said you were Professor Hertz.You must pardon me if I say that the information startles and mystifies me. When you are stronger I have some questions to ask you, if you will be kind enough to answer them."
   No one was prepared for the man's answer to that apparently harmless statement.
   Weak as he was, Gustavus Hertz raised himself on his elbow. He stared wildly about him, peering fearfully into the shadowy corners of the room.
   “I will tell you nothing! Nothing, do you hear?” he shrieked. “Go away! Go away!”
   

 楼主| 发表于 2020-9-21 13:48:39 | 显示全部楼层
乡村夜晚

   (选自 The Double Dream of Spring)
   作者:(美)约翰.阿什贝利(John Ashberry)
   译者:剑郭琴符

   我还是非常高兴。
   我赢更多的决心已经
   被丢掉,我被正在升起的太阳激动的感觉
   冲昏头脑。鸟和树,房子,
   这些只是在我里面的
   新迹象车站,它关闭得晚,在
   太阳下山,周围的田野
   和山丘上的黑暗降临之后。
   但如果呼吸可以杀人,那就不会有
   一段如此轻松的时光,男人们被锁在后面
   在城市的大烟囱和腐败中。
   现在,当我询问,但钦佩的凝视扩大到
   宏伟的前哨,在家我没有太多
   这些视觉纪念品,就像参观
   我最遥远的财产,还有幻像
   深入到每件事实际的“存在”中,
   树桩或灌木,它们把我带进
   一物多密集,多轻的
   静止探索,在它们开始让我精神焕发,
   更年轻以前,这些就已经完成。
   黑夜部署相当可怕的力量
   抵抗这种状况:一万名戴头盔的步兵,
   西班牙无敌舰队延伸到地平线,一切
   绝对静止,直到罢工的时刻
   但我认为没有太多事要说或做
   这些事最终会照顾好自己
   带着休息、新鲜空气和户外环境,对事物的美好看法。

   所以我们可以把这转移到
   我们真正关心的问题上,那就是
   你是否已经开始处在
   你现在感觉到危险已经消除的环境下?
   光照在你肩上,以它的方式,
   净化的过程愉快地继续,
   畅通无阻,但运动已经开始,
   那就是颤抖你的头,发出焦虑的光束
   到房间里满是灰尘的角落
   最后射向外面的风景
   在星辰和爆炸中?因为除了这个我们什么都不知道
   空间是一副棺材,天空会把光熄灭。

   我看到你热切地希望
   我们能加入它,如果它通过我们足够近:
   这就树立了你努力的成败的差别的印记。
   这方面的知识正在增长
   我们也许可以留在这里,谨慎而自由
   在边缘,当它滚动它不屈不挠的战车
   进入辽阔的开放的,令人难以置信的暴力和动乱爆发
   这就是我们的途径。
Evening in the Country

   I am still completely happy.
   My resolve to win further I have
   Thrown out, and am charged by the thrill
   Of the sun coming up. Birds and trees, houses,
   These are but the stations for the new sign of being
   In me that is to close late, long
   After the sun has set and darkness come
   To the surrounding fields and hills.
   But if breath could kill, then there would not be
   Such an easy time of it, with men locked back there
   In the smokestacks and corruption of the city.
   Now as my questioning but admiring gaze expands
   To magnificent outposts, I am not so much at home
   With these memorabilia of vision as on a tour
   Of my remotest properties, and the eidolon
   Sinks into the effective “being” of each thing,
   Stump or shrub, and they carry me inside
   On motionless explorations of how dense a thing can be,
   How light, and these are finished before they have begun
   Leaving me refreshed and somehow younger.
   Night has deployed rather awesome forces
   Against this state of affairs: ten thousand helmeted footsoldiers,
   A Spanish armada stretching to the horizon, all
   Absolutely motionless until the hour to strike
   But I think there is not too much to be said or be done
   And that these things eventually take care of themselves
   With rest and fresh air and the outdoors, and a good view of things.
   So we might pass over this to the real
   Subject of our concern, and that is
   Have you begun to be in the context you feel
   Now that the danger has been removed?
   Light falls on your shoulders, as is its way,
   And the process of purification continues happily,
   Unimpeded, but has the motion started
   That is to quiver your head, send anxious beams
   Into the dusty corners of the rooms
   Eventually shoot out over the landscape
   In stars and bursts? For other than this we know nothing
   And space is a coffin, and the sky will put out the light.
   I see you eager in your wishing it the way
   We may join it, if it passes close enough:
   This sets the seal of distinction on the success or failure of your attempt.
   There is growing in that knowledge
   We may perhaps remain here, cautious yet free
   On the edge, as it rolls its unblinking chariot
   Into the vast open, the incredible violence and yielding
   Turmoil that is to be our route.
  
给约翰.克莱尔
   
   (选自 The Double Dream of Spring)
   作者:(美)约翰.阿什贝利(John Ashberry)
   译者:剑郭琴符
   
   地球看万物的方式有点虚无,它站起来向天空致敬。这次比其他大多数更成功。感觉天空可能在某人脑海后面。然后就不知道有多少。他们美化了一切---灌木和树木---使捣乱者的注意力从他的颂歌中移开---所以就像一个平稳的后退开关。与他们之前的大发脾气相称。到处都可以看到很多东西,好像不习惯,只是有那么多东西从来不会让人觉得新鲜,从来不会有任何不同。
   
   你站在那里看着那座建筑,你不能全部吸收,某些细节已经变得模糊不清,难以理解。五年后当你试着回忆的时候会是什么样子?在草地和街道边缘之间会有木板吗?只要那对夫妇停下来看看那边的窗户,我们就不能去。我们觉得他们必须告诉我们我们可以,但他们从不看我们的路,他们已经走了,去了遥远的未来——时间的夜晚,如果我们可以看一张照片,说他们在那里,他们从来没有真正停止,但他们在那里。有那么多话要说,表面上看却说得很少。
   应该有空间容纳更多的东西,为了展开,就像。沉浸在岩石、田野和斜坡的细节中---让它们来找你一次,然后在中途相遇,就简单得多---如果它们对存在于某人的血液中有一种天真的自豪感。唉,我们感受它们,如果所有这一切都意味着被忽视---配角的服装或在狭窄的封闭街道尽头发出颤音的配角服装。你对他们无能为力。甚至不主动付钱。
   
   有可能最终,就像即将结束一场漫长的、几乎看不见的崛起一样,存在着相互的凝聚力和相互作用。整个场景都固定在你的脑海里,所有的音乐都在场,仿佛你能看到每个记录,也能听到它。我这么说是因为刚才事情有点不安。等待某件事结束后,你才被迫去注意它。有树桩的树几乎不挡风---但它强烈,会让你摔倒。天空噼啪作响。季节匆匆流逝。毕竟,这也是它们的时间——没什么说它们不想做点什么。至于珍妮•雷恩,她很在乎,希望在她的小树枝上蹦蹦跳跳,好像她想告诉我们什么,但就是这样,即使她想告诉我们,她也不能——哑鸟。但其他人——某种程度他们也必须知道——他们永远也不会想,即使他们能迈出可怕的旅程的第一步,去感受到有人应该采取行动,最终导致完全的混乱和绝望,在太阳的东边,月亮的西边。所以他们的评论是:“无可奉告”。与此同时,可能性的整个历史正在变得生动起来,从左上角开始,像一张帆。
   
  For John Clare
   
   Kind of empty in the way it sees everything, the earth gets to its feet and salutes the sky. More of a success at it this time than most others it is. The feeling that the sky might be in the back of someone's mind. Then there is no telling how many there are. They grace everything--- bush and tree---to take the roisterer's mind off his caroling---so it’s like a smooth switch back. To what was aired in their previous conniption fit. There is so much to be seen everywhere that it’s like not getting used to it, only there is so much it never feels new, never any different. You are standing looking at that building and you cannot take it all in, certain details are already hazy and the mind boggles. What will it all be like in five years' time when you try to remember? Will there have been boards in between the grass part and the edge of the street? As long as that couple is stopping to look in that window over there we cannot go. We feel like they have to tell us we can, but they never look our way and they are already gone, gone far into the future---the night of time, if we could look at a photograph of it and say there they are, they never really stopped but there they are. There is so much to be said, and on the surface of it very little gets said.
   There ought to be room for more things, for a spreading out, like. Being immersed in the details of rock and field and slope---letting them come to you for once, and then meeting them halfway would be so much easier---if they took an ingenuous pride in being in one's blood. Alas, we perceive them if at all as those things that were meant to be put aside---costumes of the supporting actors or voice trilling at the end of a narrow enclosed street. You can do nothing with them. Not even offer to pay.
   It is possible that finally, like coming to the end of a long, barely perceptible rise, there is mutual cohesion and interaction. The whole scene is fixed in your mind, the music all present, as though you could see each note as well as hear it. I say this because there is an uneasiness in things just now. Waiting for something to be over before you are forced to notice it. The pollarded trees scarcely bucking the wind---and yet it’s keen, it makes you fall over. Clabbered sky. Seasons that pass with a rush. After all it's their time too---nothing says they aren’t to make something of it. As for Jenny Wren, she cares, hopping about on her little twig like she was tryin’ to tell us somethin’,but that’s just it, she couldn’t even if she wanted to---dumb bird. But the others---and they in some way must know too---it would never occur to them to want to, even if they could take the first step of the terrible journey toward feeling somebody should act, that ends in utter confusion and hopelessness, east of the sun and west of the moon. So their comment is: “No comment.” Meanwhile the whole history of probabilities is coming to life, starting in the upper left-hand corner, like a sail.
   
  
乡村物品
   
   (选自 The Double Dream of Spring)
   作者:(美)约翰.阿什贝利(John Ashberry)
   译者:剑郭琴符
   
   你也明白存在某些方式
   像当时那样存在?
   一个黄金时刻,充满生命和健康?
   如我们已经变成的那样,为什么这时刻不够?
   
   因为它主要的构成是理解
   未来会怎样作为,当我们继续前进
   到别的地方,别的太阳,说一切都有时间,
   因为时间就是这个瞬间?
   
   即使在开始,沙漏的方式
   全部切断,即使断奶
   通向我们的美味的线,“诗篇孤独中的祝福”
   沙的塑造者,深情命运的哨声,火焰和果实。
   
   现在你成了在我之外的东西,
   作为它的代币,我是多么像你一样
   到位。其间是一些信息
   它在你周围流传,那些古老的一切东西,
   
   被带到这里,重新组装,又被用车运走
   到你梦想的后院。如果我们对任何东西
   更近,这个感觉不能包括,
   就像一本书的最后几页空白。
   
   这就是为什么我看着你
   用你曾经非常喜欢的动物中的眼睛:
   当,在这个感觉中,它存在吗?
   那一年中最温暖的一天
   
   伴随海滩上无法接近的光?
   在这种情况,你会回到岔路口
   毫无疑问走同样的路?第二次了解
   让它流畅,让它别无选择
   
   当你老了,在梦中触底。
   在荒芜的湖边,金链花变黑,密度更大;
   漫不经心地落下浆果的山灰:这一切都是为了谁?
   我告诉你,我们被召回
   
   因为忘记了这些名字
   因为忘记了我们正确的的名字,像无名的东西一样倒下
   在陌生的斜坡上。再被看到,粗暴地进入生活,
   返回,如回到犯罪现场。
   
   歌手就是这么说的,
   用含糊不清的词语,但结束一段永恒的干渴
   用一小杯水
   或一棵香石竹,在泡沫般的夜晚倚靠窗框上,
   
   我们出生的心灵。一切都是悲伤和真实的。
   他们一起睡在商学院。
   一本书的装订成了一个高V形,像一头松开的头发,
   “说一切从来没有时间。”
   
   指出从来没人问过会计
   不是胜利。
   这片土地平躺在焦虑的情绪永远被
   抚平的雨伞下
   
   好像需要一些象征性的东西来说明
   每个人是如何在不同的城市提前到达预约的。
   最少的怀疑都会瓦解,
   积极的,但最后你掠夺和阻挠
   
   是对的。她
   盯着自己的脚趾。这个论点
   可以完整地回到一点
   总结说这是一个多么廉价的方法:
   
   放你走,最后
   多么蓝的物体被造出,从
   潜力,死亡和退缩,返回,当你遇到它们
   永远感动,海水从海里涌出。
Rural Objects

   Wasn’t there some way in which you too understood
   About being there in the time as it was then?
   A golden moment, full of life and health?
   Why can’t this moment be enough for us as we have become?

   Is it because it was mostly made up of understanding
   How the future would behave when we had moved on
   To other lands, other suns, to say all there is time for
   Because time is just what this instant is?

   Even at the beginning the manner of the hourglass
   Was all-severing, weaning of that delicious thread
   That comes down even to us, “Benediction de Dieu dans la Solitude”
   Sand shaper, whistler of affectionate destinies, flames and fruit.

   And now you are this thing that is outside me,
   And how I in token of it am like you is
   In place. In between are the bits of information
   That circulate around you, all that ancient stuff,

   Brought here, reassembled, carted off again
   Into the back yard of your dream. If we are closer
   To anything, it is in this sense that doesn’t count,
   Like the last few blank pages of a book.

   This is why I look at you
   With the eyes you once liked so much in animals:
   When, in that sense, is it to be?
   An ultimate warm day of the year

   With the light unapproachable on the beaches?
   In which case you return to the fork in the road
   Doubtless to take the same path again? The second-time knowledge
   Gives it fluency, makes it less of a choice

   As you are older and in a dream touch bottom.
   The laburnum darkened, denser at the deserted lake;
   Mountain ash mindlessly dropping berries: to whom is all this?
   I tell you, we are being called back

   For having forgotten these names
   For forgetting our proper names, for falling like nameless things
   On unfamiliar slopes. To be seen again, churlishly into life,
   Returning, as to the scene of a crime.

   That is how the singer spoke,
   In vague terms, but with an eternity of thirst
   To end with a small tumbler of water
   Or a single pink, leaning against the window frame in the bubble evening,

   The mind of our birth. It was all sad and real.
   They slept together at the commercial school.
   The binding of a book made a tall V, like undone hair,
   “To say all there was never time for.”

   It is no triumph to point out
   That no accounting was ever asked.
   The land lies flat under the umbrella
   Of anxiety perpetually smoothed over

   As though some token were required of how each
   Arrived early for the appointment in different cities.
   The least suspicion would have crumbled,
   Positive, but in the end you were right to

   Pillage and obstruct. And she
   Stared at her toes. The argument
   Can be brought back intact to the point
   Of summarizing how it’s just a cheap way

   Of letting you off, and finally
   How blue objects protruded out of the
   Potential, dying and recoiling, returning as you meet them
   Touching forever, water lifted out of the sea.

   

 楼主| 发表于 2020-9-22 12:35:28 | 显示全部楼层


郊区日出
   
   (选自 The Double Dream of Spring)
   作者:(美)约翰.阿什贝利(John Ashberry)
   译者:剑郭琴符
   
   语气强硬,被听到
   力量来自黑夜:无所畏惧;
   颜色依然存在,它们
   问这个问题:什么出自于一个
   存在就是生命的可能性沙漠
   但就像一个悖论,死亡强化了生命,
   记忆中的声音,仿佛我们的倾听权
   隐藏着往日的不情愿继续下去
   或是一种转向窗前的手
   指挥空气的风格,没有设计的枝条,
   唯一不让它死去的协议。
   
   其他人尽可能偏离这些,
   一种新的模式晒太阳进入过去:
   提神,轻松表达
   回到安全的开始,因为它又一次
   开始,在温暖的呼吸流中来回拉着
   当火焰在希望和寒冷中开始
   那些最近的颜色,只温暖最远处。
   屈折推迟,
   不能彻底启动,在魔法下继续;
   它清晰地表达了平坦、目标、障碍和气候。
   
   穿过无拘无束的
   一年的混乱,醒来的第一个茫然的痕迹
   搅动如纸质般的云面、手肘的呼吸
   和昨天下午崩溃的迹象,它的
   变化建造得像一个百叶窗,
   带你滑进一月的跺脚,诅咒和呼吸咬伤。
   你需要的入口是
   五边形场地一侧提前的草书
   在春天的真相前
   声音让海洋进入发生的侧面
   就像地图向南倾斜,向北收缩。
   
   参与它是美好的,石头的标记,一直
   而且最终在某些有高视角的极限
   但越野踢脚板是下一课的一部分
   睡眠避开,他身上没有停车位
   为下一次在窗户下拖着的表情,从用木板围起来的地方
   说没有智慧进入溃败的中心。
   
   日复一日,它更明白的意思
   变成一个常数投射到移民。
   冻土带似乎精雕细琢。
   然后,一个永久的后退形成,标志着残余物
   就像一个小小的木篱笆,标志着厌恶和腐朽
   在一个本该关心但却毫不动心,特别是强行闯入的小山上:
   遗留物的平整度
   和外逃物的模型,
   决定适当的漫步,进入已知但难以想象的,浓密的
   边缘,期待夜晚
   一片光亮的口语荒野,并不
   刻薄,对于它们的一切盲目,
   一张每一天进入可见度低的前提的空白图表,
   其中没有地方,无处冲动,
   收回那声明,急剧地,在接下来的几分钟内。
   因为它似乎让你回头,
   你的眼睛透过最近发生的事情,当它们穿过你,
   一路上从不满意,但是
   我们有理由保证在路上不会再看到它,
   穿梭机的砰砰声,风的反复拍打,
   因为事后的想法同时发生:很多都是故意的。
   被记住是芦荟,朝着那个地点
   来自于它的生长,就像山外的森林,当后来有人说没有
   只有路的山,星星悬在上面,
   只有一块平坦的石头,在那儿它说得更多。
   
   这是一场低级比赛,累得睡不着觉,
   通过欠发达国家装备的感觉:
   “你把我搞糊涂了,我乐于四平八稳,
   任何老路,进进出出,上上下下。”
   激情离开他的头,而他的头报告。
   
   然后在某个早晨有一个细微差别:
   
   突然间,在城市的污垢和各种各样的
   垃圾观念中,蓝色的一天站起来
   突然有一种兴趣:
   躺在幼儿床上,靠近树影,
   在30多岁的人中有真正的消息来源:
   面对吻和绝妙的头发鬈曲进
   照顾而且又被扫过,就像树枝
   进入真正亲密的空白,
   还有那些能让白天轻松的小事
   行为的仁慈早已被遗忘
   它给了我们历史和信仰
   而在夜晚离别,依偎在海洋旁,如同死亡的崩塌。
   一切都被注意到了,以免为时已晚
   但它的不动并不能给人安慰,只有章节标题和对开本编号
   它自身可以继续保持神圣性
   既不被珍视,也不会在愤怒中被抛弃
   因为我们无法想象它的真实性。
   树枝对树枝的这种聋哑的敲击声
   就像是许多叠加的钟声中的一个不置可否的冷笑
   当我们分道扬镳
   将路径前景转换为带引号的空格:
   
   它们空空如也,超越惊愕,因为
   这些都是我们生活中的粪便
   它们不记得过去的豪华公寓
   只记得最后一个立方体。
   盗贼没有破门而入,城堡也没有遭到袭击。
   正是那天的圣洁滋养了我们的思想
   释放了它们,是厄洛斯狡猾的气息,
   编织城市周年纪念日哀歌,确保我们的到来
   几小时,几秒钟,呼吸,看着我们的薪水
   早上的灾难变成一个大熔炉,吸引住所有的热泪。

Sunrise in Suburbia
   
   The tone is hard is heard
   Is the coming of strength out of night: unfeared;
   Still the colors are there and they
   Ask the question of this what is to be
   Out of a desert of chance in which being is life
   But like a paradox, death reinforcing the life,
   Sound under memory, as though our right to hear
   Hid old unwillingness to continue
   Or a style of turning to the window
   Hands directing the air, and no design sticks,
   Only agreement not to let it die.
   
   Others will bend these as it is possible
   And a new mode will be sunning into the past:
   Refreshment and ease to the statement
   And back to the safe beginning, because it starts out
   Once more, drawn to and fro in a warm current of breathing
   As fires start in hope and cold and
   Color those nearest and only warm the most distant.
   The inflection is suspended,
   Not to be thoroughly initiated, under a spell to continue;
   Its articulate flatness, goal, barrier and climate.
   
   Through the clutter of
   The unbound year, the first dazed marks of waking
   Stir on the cloud-face like texture of paper, breath at elbow
   And the collapsed sign of yesterday afternoon, its
   Variance put up like a shutter,
   Taxing you into January of stomping, cursing and the breath-bite.
   The entrance you need is
   Sideways in pentagonal fields cursive in advance
   Before the fathoming of spring and
   Sound let deep into the flank of occurrence
   As maps lean south and shrivel toward the north.
   
   It is fine to be in on it, stone markings, always
   And eventually at some limit with a high view
   But cross-country skirtings were part of the next lesson
   That sleep evades, and in him was no parking space
   For looks dragged under windows next time, from boarded-up places
   Speaking no mind into the center of the rout.
   
   And as day followed day the plainer meaning of it
   Became a constant projected on the emigration.
   The tundra seemed elaborated.
   Then a permanent falling back shapes, signs the residue
   As a tiny wood fence’s the signature of disgust and decay
   On an otherwise concerned but unmoved, specially obtruded hill:
   Flatness of what remains
   And modelling of what fled,
   Decisions for a proper ramble into known but unimaginable, dense
   Fringe expecting night,
   A light wilderness of spoken words not
   Unkind for all their aimlessness,
   A blank chart of each day moving into the premise of difficult visibility
   And which is nowhere, the urge to nowhere,
   To retract that statement, sharply, within the next few minutes.
   For it is as though it turns you back,
   Your eyes through the recent happenings as they advance through you,
   Never satisfied on the way, but
   There is reasonable assurance in the way it is not seen again,
   Banging of the shuttle, repeated swipes of the wind,
   For the afterthought coincides: much of it was intentional.
   It is aloes to be remembered toward the place
   Out of which it grew like forest out of mountain, when later someone says there was no mountain
   Only roads, and stars hanging over them,
   Only a flat stone over the place where it says there is more.
   
   It is a low game, too tired to sleep,
   Feeling through equipment to the less developed:
   “You’ve gone and mixed me up I was happy just bumming along,
   Any old way, in and out, up and down.”
   The passion has left his head, and the head reports.
   
   And then some morning there is a nuance:
   Suddenly in the city dirt and varied
   Ideas of rubbish, the blue day stands and
   A sudden interest is there:
   Lying on the cot, near the tree-shadow,
   Out of the thirties having news of the true source:
   Face to kiss and the wonderful hair curling down
   Into margins that care and are swept up again like branches
   Into actual closeness
   And the little things that lighten the day
   The kindness of acts long forgotten
   Which give us history and faith
   And parting at night, next to oceans, like the collapse of dying.
   It is all noticed before it is too late
   But its immobility gives no comfort, only chapter headings and folio numbers
   And it can go on being divine in itself
   Neither treasured nor cast down in anger
   For we cannot imagine the truth of it.
   This deaf rasping of branch against branch
   Like a noncommittal sneer among many superimposed chimes
   As we go separate ways
   That have translated the foreground of paths into quoted spaces:
   They are empty beyond consternation because
   These are the droppings of all our lives
   And they recall no past de luxe quarters
   Only a last cube.
   The thieves were not breaking in, the castle was not being stormed.
   It was the holiness of the day that fed our notions
   And released them, sly breath of Eros,
   Anniversary on the woven city lament, that assures our arriving
   In hours, seconds, breath, watching our salary
   In the morning holocaust become one vast furnace, engaging all tears.
   

蓝色的定义
   
   (选自 The Double Dream of Spring)
   作者:(美)约翰.阿什贝利(John Ashberry)
   译者:剑郭琴符
   
   资本主义的兴起平行于浪漫主义的发展
   在十九世纪末之前,个人一直处于主导地位。
   在我们这个时代,大众实践试图通过忽视个性来
   淹没个性,这导致它向四面八方扩展
   远远不是像过去那样一直是“家”的概念的永久拖船。
   这些不同的激励来自各地
   而且立即绷断回来,击中寒冷的大气层
   在一根稳定,激烈的线条。
   
   这种取代旧感觉的“包装”没有补救办法。
   以前,建筑屏幕会出现在行动变得最困难的地方
   当一条小路穿过灌木丛---令人困惑,被遗忘,但仍继续存在。
   但今天,寻找富有想象力的新方法毫无意义
   因为它们都是经常使用的。对他们来说最重要的是
   侵蚀会产生一种灰尘还是夸张的浮石
   它填充空间并改变它,成为一种媒介
   在那里可以认出自己。
   
   每一次新的偏离都会给整体增添精确的感觉,因此
   一幅肖像画,像玻璃一样光滑,是在多次修正的基础上建立起来的
   它与它生活的空间和时间没有任何关系。
   只有它的存在才是一切存在的一部分,因此,我想,它值得珍视
   超越打击我们的黑夜裂隙
   通过隐藏和在场。
   但它会导致向下的运动,或者更确切地说是一种漂浮的运动
   蓝色的环境慢慢地向上漂过你
   总有一天会理解它们,当你,在这个不能更好的地狱
   每天早晨醒来,你所做所说的东西的确切价值,继续着。

Definition of Blue
   
   
   The rise of capitalism parallels the advance of romanticism
   And the individual is dominant until the close of the nineteenth century.
   In our own time, mass practices have sought to submerge the personality
   By ignoring it, which has caused it instead to branch out in all directions
   Far from the permanent tug that used to be its notion of “home.”
   These different impetuses are received from everywhere
   And are as instantly snapped back, hitting through the cold atmosphere
   In one steady, intense line.
   
   There is no remedy for this “packaging” which has supplanted the old sensations.
   Formerly there would have been architectural screens at the point where the action became most difficult
   As a path trails off into shrubbery---confusing, forgotten, yet continuing to exist.
   But today there is no point in looking to imaginative new methods
   Since all of them are in constant use. The most that can be said for them further
   Is that erosion produces a kind of dust or exaggerated pumice
   Which fills space and transforms it, becoming a medium
   In which it is possible to recognize oneself.
   
   Each new diversion adds its accurate touch to the ensemble, and so
   A portrait, smooth as glass, is built up out of multiple corrections
   And it has no relation to the space or time in which it was lived.
   Only its existence is a part of all being, and is therefore, I suppose, to be prized
   Beyond chasms of night that fight us
   By being hidden and present.
   And yet it results in a downward motion, or rather a floating one
   In which the blue surroundings drift slowly up and past you
   To realize themselves some day, while you, in this netherworld that could not be better
   Waken each morning to the exact value of what you did and said, which remains.
   

小工
   
   (选自 The Double Dream of Spring)
   作者:(美)约翰.阿什贝利(John Ashberry)
   译者:剑郭琴符
   
   你一直拒绝土地
   脆弱的延伸,其脸是我一半脸的中间值。
   你弯曲的遮阳帽舌是连接我们的推论。
   
   ##############我一直在思考你
   
   在一个干燥夏天后,在秋天做爱,
   反射在阿拉伯语言花纹中,它出现
   一定的反常,冬天聪明的
   微笑笼罩大地
   你的活动消失在雾中,或者太容易转化成
   一般的泥,某人的气质或游戏的想法---
   那石头你不能完善,那锋利的铁刃你无法阻止。
   
   但我们这新方式,瓜头
   半镜像,句子突然迸发的方式像气体
   或刺痛和猛击,是否我们接受了每一个并发症
   当它来到,所以对结果满意?
   或者是作为一种看到
   我们为季节提供帮助和安慰的条件
   
   ##############当每人都来乞讨
   
   而现在,它的信仰如此平淡,如此外在”
   正如它所坚持的,成为那条件
   实现的盲区;工作,成熟
   又累又坚决地维护一个人的权利
   意味着向星星倾斜
   
   ##############树向太阳倾斜的方式
   
   并不意味着接近
   
   ##############那只鸟径直走上了那棵树。
   
   你到达离目的地最近的地点
   
   哦,疲惫的灯塔
   统治平原
   但几乎看不见
   
   围绕你目标的智慧
   你完全被包含
   善行被抽离、浪费、丢弃
   就像在拮据时期。
   这些是地板,可以盯着看
   在内疚的时刻,当墙纸可以飘走,然而
   
   你不能宣布它?
   
   那么每一次呼吸都是一种救赎功能
   在改变中决定
   花的空虚变成完美的状态
   它们的温和只能推迟,不能改变。
   
   调查了百倍的夏季记录
   身材匀称的证人终于宣称她自己
   满足于结果:
   白浪在指南针的每一点都在畏缩
   商业的正当要求,艰难的离境,都
   进入一个没有信用的半球
   航运提供它自己的条款。
   
   这是自我维持
   避免失明
   
   一切衰老都是无尽的唠叨
   在这些浅黄色的平面上,隆起部分
   你在夜晚的风中
   
   所以这是一个更黑暗的夜晚
   
   死亡是一种疗法的预防
   其金属抛光剂和锯末
   轻磨进你的脚跟。

The Hod Carrier
   
   
   You have been declining the land’s
   Breakable extensions, median whose face is half my face.
   Your curved visor's the supposition that unites us.
   
   ##############I’ve been thinking about you
   
   After a dry summer, fucking in the autumn,
   Reflecting among arabesques of speech that arise
   The certain anomaly, the wise smile
   Of winter fitted over the land
   And your activity disappears in mist, or translates too easily
   Into a general puree, someone's aura or idea of games---
   The stone you cannot perfect, the sharp iron blade you cannot prevent.
   
   But this new way we are, the melon head
   Half-mirrored, the way sentences suddenly spurt up like gas
   Or sting and jab, is it that we accepted each complication
   As it came along, and are therefore happy with the result?
   Or was it as a condition of seeing
   That we vouchsafed aid and comfort to the seasons
   
   ##############As each came begging
   
   And the present, so flat in its belief, so outside it”
   As it maintains, becomes the blind side of
   The fulfillment of that condition; and work, ripeness
   And tired but resolute standing up for one's rights
   Mean leaning toward the stars
   
   ##############The way a tree leans toward the sun
   
   Not meaning to get close
   
   ##############And the bird walked right up that tree.
   
   You have reached the point closest to your destination
   
   O tired beacon
   Dominating the plain
   Yet all but invisible
   
   To the mind surrounding your purpose
   You are totally subsumed
   The good abstracted, squandered, thrown away
   As it was in the lean time.
   Are these floorboards, to be stared at
   In moments of guilt, as wallpaper can stream away and yet
   
   You cannot declare it?
   
   Then each breath is a redeeming feature
   Resolving in alteration
   The inanity of flowers into perfect conditions
   That their mildness can only postpone, not change.
   
   And surveying the hundredfold record of the summer
   The shapely witness declares herself at last
   Content with the result:
   Whitecaps wincing at every point of the compass
   The justified demands of commerce, difficult departures and all
   Into a hemisphere where no credit is expected
   And the shipping is rendered into its own terms.
   
   It is what keeps itself
   From going blind
   
   All aging is perpetual chatter
   On these buff planes, protuberances
   And you are in the wind at night
   
   And so it is an even darker night
   
   And death is the prevention of which the cure’s
   Metal polish and sawdust
   Light grinding into your heels.
   

 楼主| 发表于 2020-9-23 15:46:12 | 显示全部楼层
友好提示
   
   (选自 Chinese Whispers )
   作者:(美)约翰.阿什贝利(John Ashberry)
   译者:剑郭琴符
   
   我性格友好,但健忘,虽然我只倾向于忘记重要的事。几天前的早晨,我躺在床上,听着附近一栋楼传来悠闲的锤击声。由于某些原因它让我想起了春天。听着,我还听到一个男人和一个女人在一起说话。我听不太清楚,但他们似乎在讨论正在干的工作。这让我笑了,他们听起来像是好人和亲爱的人,当电话铃响的时候,我又回到了梦中。当时没有人。
   
   一些人也许与世界上任何事情都有关系。我想离开,在一个漆黑的夜晚,离开人,把雨抛在身后,但我却被自己的自私思想和对此的欲望严重束缚。为了实现它,我必须睡着,并已经开始了我在世界各地自我发现的旅程。一个人一定会遇到许多人,听到许多奇怪的话。我在某种程度上喜欢这一点,但希望它能停止,因为它的不可预见性与我不断、深思熟虑地运动的愿望相冲突。从茶炊上喝茶。在亚洲人的土地上使用筷子。被太阳的蜜蜂蜇了,没有关系。
   
   
   大多数事情都无关紧要,但我认识的一位老妇人总是预言厄运和阴暗,她的预言很重要,尽管它们可能永远不会实现。这是我不太担心的一个原因,但我喜欢告诉她,她是对的,但也是错的,因为她说的不会发生。但我或其他人怎么能知道?因为季节确实悠闲地来到,人们根据自己的愿望和所留下的东西,从每个季节中取一点东西。不久前我对这件事左右为难,但现在为时已晚。
   
   夜幕降临,白杨树使繁星生动。一切都是关于这个天文台充斥的喊声。
A Nice Presentation   
   
   I have a friendly disposition but am forgetful, though I tend to forget only important things. Several mornings ago I was lying in my bed listening to a sound of leisurely hammering coming from a nearby building. For some reason it made me think of spring which it is. Listening I heard also a man and woman talking together. I couldn’t hear very well but it seemed they were discussing the work that was being done. This made me smile, they sounded like good and dear people and I was slipping back into dreams when the phone rang. No one was there.
   
   Some of these are perhaps people having to do with anything in the world. I wish to go away, on a dark night, to leave people and the rain behind but am too caught up in my own selfish thoughts and desires for this. For it to happen I would have to be asleep and already started on my voyage of self-discovery around the world. One is certain then to meet many people and to hear many strange things being said. I like this in a way but wish it would stop as the unexpectedness of it conflicts with my desire to revolve in a constant, deliberate motion. To drink tea from a samovar. To use chopsticks in the land of the Asiatics. To be stung by the sun’s bees and have it not matter.
   
   Most things don’t matter but an old woman of my acquaintance is always predicting doom and gloom and her prophecies matter though they may never be fulfilled. That’s one reason I don’t worry too much but I like to tell her she is right but also wrong because what she says won’t happen. Yet how can I or anyone know this? For the seasons do come round in leisurely fashion and one takes a pinch of something from each, according to one’s desires and what it leaves behind. Not long ago I was in a quandary about this but now it’s too late.
   
   The evening comes on and the aspens leaven its stars. It’s all about this observatory a shout fills.
集注版
   
   (选自 Chinese Whispers )
   作者:(美)约翰.阿什贝利(John Ashberry)
   译者:剑郭琴符
   
   在塌陷模式,鱼似乎在下游穿梭。
   夜幕降临
   照常有很多错误。可惜
   他们没有征求我的意见---我早就告诉了他们
   又一次,残余物如何逐渐减少
   导致气候变化。
   
   啤酒和椒盐卷饼是这里唯一的奢侈品。
   帐篷里的身影陪着悬崖走
   下面,一家豪华酒店正计划
   下一个十年的喜剧自杀。
   
   如果我们都再一次是一个
   整体,会像往常一样正当的生活多么和谐!
   我们不能老是梳理旧流程,
   让它押韵,
   
   我们也不能在阴影下的桌子上休息---
   一个匿名捐赠者提供的树
   我们只能继续提炼鱼钩
   从那些意在漫不经心的意义中。
   
   夜晚轻快降临,如羽毛掸子
   和胳膊下的破布,决意不太文明。
   似乎天空离开了我们
   垂落着,很久以前,现在想让我们不坚定,
   未经考验的绵羊嗅着雾气。
   感谢你曾经不是的,能处于
   更谨慎的情况的一切。对于书桌价值。鞋拔。
   
   我们的生活总在衰退,向中心,
   单框肖像。
  The Variorum Edition   
   
   In collapsed mode the fish seem to ply downriver.
   Evening settles in
   with as many errors as usual. Too bad
   they didn’t ask my advice---I’d have told ’em
   once more how the residuals taper off
   into climate change.
   
   Beer and pretzels is the one luxury here.
   Tented figures walk the escarpment
   behind which a luxury hotel is planned
   for comic suicides in the next decade.
   
   If all of us were one
   again, how right life as usual would chime!
   We can’t keep combing out the old process
   and have it rhyme,
   
   neither can we rest at the table under the shade---
   tree an anonymous donor provided.
   We can only go on extracting fishhooks
   from meanings that were intended to be casual.
   
   Night settles briskly as with feather duster
   and rag under arm, determined to be not too civilized.
   It seems the sky left us
   hanging, long ago, and now wants us undetermined,
   untried sheep nosing out of mist.
   Be thankful for all you haven’t been, and could be
   in a warier situation. For desk values. The shoehorn.
   
   Our lives ebbing always toward the center,
   the uniramed portrait.
沉睡的动物
   
   (选自 Chinese Whispers )
   作者:(美)约翰.阿什贝利(John Ashberry)
   译者:剑郭琴符
   
   我忘了它。我甚至
   忘了我忘了
   它。所以继续你的
   故事,但这次
   要快点。
   
   任何承认似乎都是治疗……
   你可以为此感谢我,
   事实上你可以为此加倍感谢我。
   我们两个都朝着同一个方向骑行,
   真的,有多少警力是必要的
   在天黑后惩罚人?
   
   晚上,熟睡的动物---
   都会装车运走,
   迟早。横笛和大鼓
   重新开始。正在这里,叙述,
   在我们感官中,内爆。
   卑鄙故事留下
   在机库里开始看起来更好,金色的
   眼角的亮点。
   
   但要做到这一点,我们必须相信
   叙述者。我们必须保持警惕。
   这个故事五彩缤纷,像风筝的尾巴
   来回猛推。
   如果他这么聪明,我们怎么不傻?
   我怎么能看到震中,
   聪明的冰冷的小球?不过,
   当它结束,它,就像,结束。
   
   上校恢复了理智。
The Sleeping Animals
   
   I forget it. I’ve even
   forgotten that I forgot
   it. So go on with your
   story, but make it
   quick this time.
   
   As if any admission were a cure ...
   You can thank me for that,
   in fact you can thank me double for that.
   We’re both riding in the same direction,
   and really, how much policing is necessary
   to punish people after dark?
   
   Night, the sleeping animals---
   it all gets carted away,
   sooner or later. The fife and drum
   rebegin. It’s here that narrative,
   in our sense, implodes.
   The shabby tale that was left
   in the hangar starts to look better, gold
   highlights in the corners of the eyes.
   
   But for this to happen we have to trust
   the narrator. We must stay vigilant.
   The tale is multicolored, and jerks
   back and forth like the tail of a kite.
   If he was so smart, how come we’re not dumber?
   How come I can see into the epicenter,
   brilliant little ball of cold? Still,
   when it’s over, it’s, like, over.
   
   The colonel returned to his senses.
声明
   (选自 Chinese Whispers )
   作者:(美)约翰.阿什贝利(John Ashberry)
   译者:剑郭琴符
   
   这里安静。邻居们,
   在更宽的弧线,互相了解。
   更新正在消失。
   一股甜蜜刚从黑暗中涌出。
   探险家把望远镜对准
   长椅上冰冷的紫罗兰。
   助理牧师在附近。
   
   青蛙和信封加入玩笑:
   那是某种程度的搏斗!他们说。今天我们学到太多的
   两件事:如何抽泣,和土地的秘密停滞。
   每次都是,回家
   你在小桥前停下来,叹口气,然后向前拐。
   水的真实时间给你一个小小的起伏空间,
   但没关系,因为一切都结束了。
   
   
   某个梦在收费公路上和我搭讪。我觉得有一会儿
   被束缚,然后想起你的哀歌,
   取消浴缸和d小调中提琴。
   它让我充满激情。我能回头
   带着干净的石板,注意可能的意义
   漂移,它立刻消失
   被照亮,然后又重新出现,就像从一阵愤怒的冲动。
Disclaimer
   
   
   
   Quiet around here. The neighbors,
   in wider arcs, getting to know each other.
   The fresh falling away.
   A sweetness wells out of the dark about now.
   The explorer angles his telescope
   at frigid violets on a settee.
   A curate is near.
   
   Frogs and envelopes join in the fun:
   That was some joust! they say. Today we learned two things
   too many: how to whimper, and the secret stasis of land.
   Always, coming home
   you pause before the little bridge, sigh, and turn ahead.
   The real time of water gives you little wiggling room,
   but it’s all right, because it’s all over.
   
   Some dream accosted me on the turnpike. I felt straitlaced
   for a moment, then remembered your threnody,
   a cassation of bathtubs and violas d’amore.
   It brought me to passion. I was able to turn back
   with a clean slate, noting possible drifts
   of meaning that disappeared as soon as
   illuminated, then reemerged as from a fit of pique.
不快的一瞥
   
   (选自 Chinese Whispers )
   作者:(美)约翰.阿什贝利(John Ashberry)
   译者:剑郭琴符
   
   我从十六楼摔下来后,我的骨头被关爱地组装。它们是透明的。我被抬进华丽的玩偶屋,躺在一张铺着灿烂罂粟花的昏昏欲睡的沙发上。可以说,我的船已经进港了。
   有其他人,情人,坐在旁边说话。“你是C伯爵夫人吗?”我要求。她笑了笑,把目光转向别人。有人送来一盘蛋糕,按照固定的计划分发给客人。“给,这是给你的。拿着,我看了看,只看见一只小猫在黑暗的排水沟的雪花里滚来滚去。“如果这是我的,那我就不要了。”弦乐四重奏的和弦突然结束。我在一个很浅的门廊上。村里的电影院正在出租。我以为我见过几年前的表弟。我还没来得及叫出来,她就转过身,面色苍白。我发现不是这个人。谈话继续流出在往日的暮色中,我走进收费站。南瓜黄的阳光照亮这一切,从脚踝慢慢爬到车把。
   
   他大约七年前刮了脸。这对恋人当时很无聊。他们不再在小溪边漫步,讲述和复述古老的秘密,仿佛生命的这段时间是一个反常的,一个预见到的障碍。“事实上,这些标签没有走多远。我是以唱歌为职业的,但也可以去别的地方。”
   
   真的吗?尘土扫它自己,取笑扫帚。太阳圆盘被逼近的问题毛发堵塞。他说要往哪个方向走?我现在有点困惑。据我所知,我们会携手受罚,老板会同情我们,狡猾的学徒会像擅自占地者的树屋一样不共鸣。不过,不是我指使……
   
   决定植物,门前荚莲的轨道。我刚给你打了电话,图像就分解了。一个除臭剂广告里的鱼的不安。天哪,泰德叔叔很快就要来。在它发生之前,你可以屏住呼吸,环顾熟悉的巢壁。但是他的航班延误了五个小时。现在有人感兴趣。其他人的旅行事故真的很吸引人。他从一个大的时间表上阅读,氦气球从城市里径直升起,进入了其他人漠不关心和愚昧无知关心的区域。不能让那个孩子停止练习吗?
   
   在另一次生活中,我们一间薄木板小屋里,在一个小湖面上。波浪的刺绣边激怒了海岸线。没有船,只有树和船库。
   
   离开那个钢制旋转木马挺好。树林是为音乐的回响而造的,虽然不是一下子都可以。太多的回声就像没有回声,或是单个高回声。用完后请将碗碟送回大堂。在自我防卫方面尝试一点巧妙;有帮助,你会发现的。
   
   小屋的木板裂开了,我们出去到海底的沙滩上。是时候让太阳来劝诫那些坐者、逢迎者的沉默的冷漠。通用疏浚作业的压舱物。这个装置叫做糖果。这一切我们以前都见过,但决不会泄露,直到邮递员忍受高贵的洪水来到门口。被投弃货物折磨,我们喊着要废料,堵住大广告上漏洞的任何东西。
   
   
   
   我们都很自然地来到这里。你看,我们是过去犯罪的打火机,拖着红色穿过人行道和分隔的高速公路。是的,她说,你现在肯定可以来这里,必将停留,挨饿,永远,如果我们愿意,尽管我们不会再观察黑暗的盘绕(呜咽)。你完全是下面那个,如果你愿意,我们都是邻居,但是在任何情况下都不要爬到管风琴那里寻求同情,你只会引爆导火索,其中的力量在哪里?我知道你的严肃性早就消失,面对另一个半球的粉红地平线。如果它没有,我们就会发怒。同时,有一把椅子也不错。椅子是件好事。我们都应该知道。
   
   最后的踪迹卷出俄亥俄州。
Disagreeable Glimpses
   
   After my fall from the sixteenth floor my bones were lovingly assembled. They were transparent. I was carried into the gorgeous dollhouse and placed on a fainting couch upholstered with brilliant poppies. My ship had come in, so to speak.
   There were others, lovers, sitting and speaking nearby. “Are you the Countess of C?” I demanded. She smiled and returned her gaze to the other. Someone brought in a tray of cakes which were distributed to the guests according to a fixed plan. “Here, this one’s for you. Take it, I looked and saw only a small cat rolling in the snow of the darkened gutter. “If this is mine, then I don’t want it.” Abruptly the chords of a string quartet finished. I was on a shallow porch. The village movie palaces were letting out. I thought I saw a cousin from years back. Before I could call out she turned, sallow. I saw that this was not the person. Conversations continued streaming in the erstwhile twilight, I betook myself to the tollbooth. The pumpkin-yellow sun lit all this up, climbing slowly from ankles to handlebar.
   He had shaved his head some seven years ago. The lovers were bored then. They no longer meandered by the brook’s side, telling and retelling ancient secrets, as though this time of life were an anomaly, a handicap that had been foreseen. “In truth these labels don’t go far. It was I who made a career in singing, but it could just as well have been somewhere else.”
   
   Indeed? The dust was sweeping itself up, making sport of the broom. The solar disk was clogged with the bristles of impending resolution. Which direction did he say to take? I’m confused now, a little. It was my understanding we would in joining hands be chastised, that the boss man would be sympathetic, the sly apprentice unresonant as a squatter’s tree house. See though, it wasn’t me that dictated...
   
   that dictated the orbits of the plants, the viburnum at the door. And just as I had called to you, the image decomposed. Restlessness of fish in a deodorant ad. By golly, Uncle Ted will soon be here. Until it happens you can catch your breath, looking about the walls of the familiar nest. But his flight was delayed for five hours. Now someone was interested. The travel mishaps of others are truly absorbing. He read from a large timetable and the helium balloon rose straight up out of the city, entered the region of others’ indifference and their benighted cares. Can’t that child be made to stop practicing?
   
   In another life we were in a cottage made of thin boards, above a small lake. The embroidered hems of waves annoyed the shoreline. There were no boats, only trees and boathouses.
   
   It’s good to step off that steel carousel. The woods were made for musicianly echoes, though not all at once. Too many echoes are like no echo, or a single tall one. Please return dishes to main room after using. Try a little subtlety in self-defense; it’11 help, you’11 find out.
   
   The boards of the cottage grew apart and we walked out into the sand under the sea. It was time for the sun to exhort the mute apathy of sitters, hangers-on. Ballast of the universal dredging operation. The device was called candy. We had seen it all before but would never let on, not until the postman came right up to the door, borne on the noble flood. Racked by jetsam, we cry out for flotsam, anything to stanch the hole in the big ad.
   
   We all came to be here quite naturally. You see we are the lamplighters of our criminal past, trailing red across the sidewalks and divided highways. Yes, she said, you most certainly can come here now and be assured of staying, of starving, forever if we wish, though we shall not observe the dark’s convolutions much longer (sob). Utterly you are the under one, we are all neighbors if you wish, but don’t under any circumstances go crawling to the barrel organ for sympathy, you would only blow a fuse and where’s the force in that? I know your seriousness is long gone, facing pink horizons in other hemispheres.We’d all blow up if it didn’t. Meanwhile it’s nice to have a chair. A chair is a good thing to be. We should all know that.
   
   The last trail unspools beyond Ohio.

 楼主| 发表于 2020-9-24 16:10:40 | 显示全部楼层
主题公园日
   
   (选自 Chinese Whispers )
   作者:(美)约翰.阿什贝利(John Ashberry)
   译者:剑郭琴符
   
   白痴,他们叫他,因为他的名字叫东,有轨电车范东。他小心翼翼地滑着胸前的小犹大,取回一个心形的圆盘。它似乎是从粗糙地钉在一起的厚厚的报纸上剪下来的。一边有字迹,“精神书写,”他动着头示意。然而,这一切似乎都是徒劳的,古老的股票市场行情,或是上个世纪囤积的粉笔信息,加号和减号都是显著的特征。“哦,你们所有人,”他喘着气,
   
   “在这片被围困的平原上,像乳草一样一起吹,你的脚一旦做了什么,会不会很快意味着什么?我想不是。同时,暴风雨咆哮,赞同被加了咖喱,秋天的塔夫绸滑向我们,越过磨砂的地板,这枇杷心是你的分界。卢森堡的帆船!清脆的早晨的振动扩散得更近,细木工加入,马夫养马,诱惑者勾引,根本没搅动他深红色吊床。在寒冷的下午,德尔菲的爆竹覆以马衣,评论家们喜欢它,吃了,不能得到足够。‘再来点流食!再来点流食!’不过,请小心,免得我告诉你的话擅自进入我们纵容的摊位。然而,它将蔓延,正如流行病必然变成我们选择生活的因素一样:我们以前的传染病实验。”
Theme Park Days   
   
   Dickhead, they called him, for his name was Dong, Tram Van Dong. Carefully he slid open the small judas in his chest and withdrew a heart-shaped disk. It appeared to be cut from thicknesses of newspaper crudely stapled together. There was handwriting on one side, “spirit writing,” he indicated with a motion of his head. Yet it all seemed for naught, ancient stock-market quotations or chalked messages on hoardings of the last century, with plus and minus signs featured prominently. “O vos omnes,” he breathed, “blown together like milkweed on the hither shore of this embattled plain, will your feet soon mean to you what once they did? I think not. Meanwhile the tempest brays, favor is curried, the taffetas of autumn slide toward us over the frosted parquet, and this loquat heart is yours for the dividing. Sailboat of the Luxembourg! Vibrations of crisp mornings ripple ever closer, the joiner joins, the ostler ostles, the seducer seduces, nor stirs far from his crimson hammock. Delphic squibs caparison the bleak afternoon and the critics love it, eat it up, can’t get enough of it. ‘More pap! More pap!’ Have a care, though, lest what I tell you here trespass beyond the booth of our conniving. Yet it will spread, as surely as an epidemic becomes the element we have chosen to live in: our old infectious experiment.”
以任何方式
   
   (选自 Chinese Whispers )
   作者:(美)约翰.阿什贝利(John Ashberry)
   译者:剑郭琴符
   
   “温柔地,”我们觉得。这让我们有点疏远。
   后来的善举驱散沉闷时代的
   遮阳篷。最后我们都令人厌烦。
   这就是它的目的。
   
   我把脚放在小路,
   看下面一条确定的路。当然,这一切
   都要结束,但是,同样肯定的是,我们知道自己和蔼可亲。
   
   一阵可接受的狂热激起它,暴风雨游动
   在天气的叶片。两个人往外看。
   “这是诱饵和转换时间。”仅当你意味着它,
   意味着,它是,别的星辰。
   
   这本书一整天没被选中。
   “我们能为你做什么……”一个陌生人,
   异乡人(1),喊道。宽阔的悲伤林荫道。
   
   除你外的其他人我都打过
   没有人情味的时候。现在,我回来找的
   是你。出于爱?那个成年人呜咽着。
   小心蔬菜,阴茎。
   
   她慢慢地从屋顶下来
   检查我手里那只枯萎的巢穴,一个迟钝的东西。
   我想象过你残忍,有点,披着夏日的围巾。
   现在唯一的出路就是退回,穿过扫除的混乱。
   
   回到乐团后排,
   不耐烦的沉默的市民在那里等候。
   但我们不能让他们走。给他们一个梨;
   看看主水道旁边的水沟多么晶莹剔透。
   有人要来吃早午餐。
   
   我们整个冬天都可以
   把它放在户外。那样的话,没人会介意。
   这是它的美,是落石的美。
   
   
   (1)Fremdes,德语:外国的,外地的,异乡的
In Whatever Mode
   
   “Tenderly,” we thought. It estranged us a little.
   A later kindness dissipates a sullen era’s
   awning. In the end we are all bores.
   That’s what it’s for.
   
   I plant my feet on the path
   and look down a certain way. Surely, all this is coming
   to an end, but, just as surely, we know ourselves as affable.
   
   A fine furor provoked it, storm swimming
   in the weather vane. Two looked out.
   “It’s bait and switch time.” Only if you mean it,
   mean, that is, other stars.
   
   The book hadn’t been checked out all day.
   “What are we to do for you...” A stranger,
   ein Fremdes, shouted. The wide avenue of lamentation.
   
   Others than you I’ve swatted
   when it was impersonal. Now, it’s you
   I come back to. Out of love? The grown man whimpers.
   Be careful with the vegetables, penises.
   
   It was slowly she came down from the roof
   to examine the withered nest in my hand, blunt thing.
   I’d imagined you brutal, somewhat, under summer scarves.
   Now the only way out is backward through the mess of cleaning.
   
   Back to the back rows of the orchestra
   where impatient silent citizens wait.
   But it’s not for us to let them go. Offer them a pear;
   see how crystal the ditch is beside the main waterway.
   Someone is coming to brunch.
   
   And we can just leave it outdoors
   all winter. That way, no one will mind.
   It’s the beauty of it, beauty of the fallen stone.
从一只鼹鼠的日记
   
   (选自 Chinese Whispers )
   作者:(美)约翰.阿什贝利(John Ashberry)
   译者:剑郭琴符
   
   硬塞进某人自己向执拗的致敬是他的另一种生活方式。然后有东西从我们身上消失。在异教徒的黎明,三只北极熊站在体积庞大的天空葡萄汁秘闻中。
   
   “是时候去沉思之家。”
   
   他们可能不会把你带到这里,也不会把你带到那里,他们可能不会把你带到任何地方,但他们将把你带到某个地方。然而,这项提案从未付诸投票,也未被投票通过。你看到它的现实性?不,你当然没有,因为还有其他东西还在,一个街区里某些东西替换掉了一切。关于溢洪道:他的罪行华丽,但现在不重要。稍后
   
   我们会叫他去找他们。当它消退。那是,一切。
   
   就一滴牛奶,谢谢。别相信那破布。它推断我们是青少年,有一次,性就像泥石流咆哮穿过我们,离开我们。我们迷失。如此迷茫,事实上,他母亲直到我向她走来才认出我,她认识我,并不害怕,事实上她很高兴,因为那天晚些时候,彩虹在云雾泡沫中飘荡,在盆地上方飘荡。然后我给他送了一件防缩毛衣,问他有没有别的东西。“没有,新鲜的微风。依旧,树叶睡着了。熊表现得好像没有人在那里。她蜷缩在鹬的巢里,为它的金蛋哭泣。几个世纪以来动物冲突的残酷带给我们的,只除了这些,和你,你为什么要这样做?哦,我
   
   没什么大不了的,我想。如果就这些,我就上路了。藏着野蛮笔迹的盒子,密密麻麻,你无法破译,如此荒凉,目前世界无法阐释,但就像他们说的,我要起诉你。所以直到圣诞节我能忍受它真的很好,一个矮子,我只是继续在我的盒子里开花,不知道睡觉的异教徒对我们说的话,很高兴撞车,丝绸帽子晕倒,花园完工了,我累得喘不过气。进来吧。世界是什么
From the Diary of a Mole
   
   
   Shoehorning in one’s own tribute to crustiness is another life-form for him. Something then went out of us. In the pagan dawn three polar bears stand in the volumetric sky’s grapeade revelation.
   
   “Time to go to the thoughtful house.”
   
   They may not get you here, they may not get you there, they may not get you everywhere, but they will get you somewhere. Yet the proposition never came to a vote, was not voted on. You see the realism in it? No, of course you don’t, for something else is still there, something to replace all of it in one block. Anent the spillway: His crimes are gorgeous but don’t matter just now. Later
   
   we will call him on them. When it subsides. That is, everything.
   
   Just a teardrop of milk, thanks. Don’t believe that rag. It inferred we were adolescents, once, that sex roared over us like a mudslide, leaving us. We were lost. So lost, in fact, that his mother didn’t know me till I came out toward her, and she knew me and was not afraid, was glad in fact, for the rainbow late in the day in its foam of cloud, poised above the basin. Then I had a preshrunk sweater sent to him and asked if there was anything else. “Nothing, a fresh breeze.Still, leaves are asleep. The bears act as if no one’s there. She curls up in the curlew’s nest, weeping on its golden eggs. It took the savagery of centuries of animal conflict to bring us just short of this, and you, why have you done? Oh, I
   
   don’t much matter I guess. If that’s all I’ll be on my way. To the box in which savage handwriting is hidden, too dense for you to decipher, too lorn for a world to unravel just now, but like they say I’ll be suing you. So really it’s fine until Christmas I can stand it, a runt, I’ll just go on blooming in my box, unaware of things sleeping pagans say about us, glad to crash, collapse the silk hat, garden’s done and I’m all in and breathless for a breather. Come right in. What world is
睡太多不好
   
   (选自 Chinese Whispers )
   作者:(美)约翰.阿什贝利(John Ashberry)
   译者:剑郭琴符
   
   我没有慢性咳嗽。
   猫不会对我流口水。
   你听不到被监控的变化。
   你只能参与你的生活---
   
   作必要的修正---
   
   他们最后弄错了。
Too Much Sleep Is Bad  
   
   
   I don’t have a chronic cough.
   Cats don’t drool over me.
   You can’t listen to the change that’s being monitored.
   You can only participate in your life---
   
   mutatis mutandis---
   
   and they finally get it wrong.
大创意
   
   (选自 Chinese Whispers )
   作者:(美)约翰.阿什贝利(John Ashberry)
   译者:剑郭琴符
   
   别打公牛的眼睛。
   漫长的冬天溃烂,无人看守的一天又一天。
   人们在“铲出”,
   夜晚星星的单调和
   其他事例。
   
   大创意
   兴盛了一会,然后疲乏
   达不到顶峰。
   人民共和国
   像失败的面包店一样沉没。
   总是,在边缘的阴影里,
   有时间说这些。和某些。
   
   十点半村里
   一片混乱,射击
   带着震颤性谵妄。
   明天我们要来这里
   想知道所有吵闹是怎么回事。
   呆瓜延续了误引的台词。
   一个是所有指尖,一个感觉某种东西
   像在边境,一缕没有踪影的光亮。
The Big Idea
   
   
   Don’t hit the bull’s-eye.
   The long winter festers, day after unguarded day.
   People are “shoveling out,”
   night a monotony of stars and
   other instances.
   
   The Big Idea
   flourished for a while, then flagged
   short of the summit.
   The people’s republics
   went under like failing bakeries.
   Always, in the shadows at the edge,
   there was time to say this. And something.
   
   Half past ten and the village
   is out of order, shot through
   with delirium tremens.
   Tomorrow we shall arrive here
   wondering what all the fuss was about.
   Gawkers perpetuate the misquoted line.
   One is all fingertips, one feels something
   like at the border, a nowhere shine.
为什么不打喷嚏?
   
   (选自 Chinese Whispers )
   作者:(美)约翰.阿什贝利(John Ashberry)
   译者:剑郭琴符
   
   哦,黑暗的日子和准时,
   总是回到我们的巷子里,
   无数次假装惊讶:
   
   你为什么不走开?
   把我们留在这片土地,
   它把我们和它自己束缚在现在的方法上。
   留下高尔夫球场在昏暗的光线中酝酿,它泡得
   太久。我们也一样,有些日子
   枯燥无味。
   
   醒来,你在看这本杂志。
Why Not Sneeze?
   
   
   Oh dark days and punctual,
   always backing into our alley,
   feigning surprise for the umpteenth time:
   
   Why don’t you just go away?
   Leave us to the land that binds
   us and itself to present methods.
   Leave the golf course simmering in light that has steeped
   too long. It’s the same with us, dull
   on certain days.
   Wake up, you’re looking at this magazine.

 楼主| 发表于 2020-9-25 19:59:45 | 显示全部楼层
  
甜蜜的地方
   
   (选自 Chinese Whispers )
   作者:(美)约翰.阿什贝利(John Ashberry)
   译者:剑郭琴符
   
   可可罐上的女孩多么幸福,
   好像世界上除了巧克力什么都没有!
   好像为了证实这一点,附近有一堵墙,
   展示各种博览会的奖章---
   格罗宁根1893年,安弗斯1887年---其法官有良好的判断力
   奖励高贵的巧克力商。所有的爱都是亮坏的甜蜜
   在那些光荣含片中闪烁。
   但是共鸣阀
   被关闭---纤维状的雾气
   侵入了他们顽固的脸颊和淡黄色头发。
   下次试镜时间到了。
   
   看谁?这是什么新名人的
   犹豫,用炽热的文字纪念?
   
   火炬在泥灰中熄灭。
   我要住在路中间的房子里,
   它在这里说。不准大便!
   我做了什么应受这个?谁控制
   这次愤怒的管理研讨会?他们对我有办法;
   我还是以前的样子。谢天谢地!如果我能记得
   那是怎么回事。总是,黄昏
   在树林,一些小路向下延伸,
   眺望着微恙的风景,人们会发现
   在开始的一种必要性。
   再往上一点就是雾。但它站就令人愉快:
   亲爱的,我们很快就要
   到家,干炉子等着我们,享受睡眠。
   如果我真的是个漂泊者,
   你喜欢我吗?你会投我的票
   在11月的民意调查中,等我
   在十二月的前厅,拥抱新年带来的,汹涌,
   灿烂夺目的天空,和我一劳永逸地躺下?
   
   收音机安静,烦躁;它在等待时机
   世界忘记考虑。有空间
   把它的千禧年奇迹编成表格,
   但其后果并不显著,被一股尖锐的风
   剔除得干干净净。
   
   然后我变成了一个跟随的人。
  
  
  
A Sweet Place
   
   How happy are the girls on the cocoa tin,
   as though there could be nothing in the world but chocolate!
   As though to confirm this, a wall stood nearby,
   displaying gold medals from various expositions---
   Groningen 1893, Anvers 1887—whose judges had had the good sense
   to reward the noble chocolatiers. All love’s bright-bad sweetness
   gleams in those glorious pastilles.
   But the empathy valve’s
   shut by someone---a fibrous mist
   invades their stubborn cheeks and flaxen hair.
   Time for the next audition.
   
   Who to watch? What new celeb’s dithering
   is this, commemorated in blazing script?
   
   The torches are extinguished in marl.
   I will live in a house in the middle of the road,
   it says here. No shit!
   What did I do to deserve this? Who controls
   this anger management seminar? They’ve had their way with me;
   I am as I was before. Thank heaven! If I could but remember
   how that was. Always, its nightfall
   in a wood, some paths are descended,
   and looking out over the ropy landscape, one sees
   a necessity that was at the beginning.
   Further up there is fog. But it’s nice being standing:
   We should be home soon,
   dearest, a dry hearth awaits us, and the indulgence of sleep.
   What if I really was a drifter,
   would you still like me? Would you vote
   for me in the straw polls of November, wait for me
   in the anteroom of December, embrace the turbulent, glittering skies
   the New Year brings? Lie down with me once and for all?
   
   The radio is silent, fretful; it bides its time
   and the world forgets to consider. There is room to
   tabulate the wonders of its sesquicentennials,
   but the aftermath’s unremarkable, picked
   clean by a snarky wind.
   
   Then I became as one who followed.
  
  
  
  
秋天的驭者
   
   (选自 Chinese Whispers )
   作者:(美)约翰.阿什贝利(John Ashberry)
   译者:剑郭琴符
   
   一到两个淋浴,老的风景
   就和新的一样好。斑点有点黄,
   但这就是所谓的进步。
   她彷徨,孤独地,像一只齐柏林飞艇,在低垂的
   山谷和树木上,一个自由的灵魂,或者类似
   那样的东西。
   我们已经到了小树林的尽头,
   是时候回头了,找到我们留在后面的东西
   等着我们。看到快乐的碎片
   聚集在一张脸上太好了。总的来说,尺寸减小的大管道
   能更好地承载光纤,
   聊天、悬念,有时残骸卡车经常出没
   在这些蓄水池的分沫器旁。
   在美国中西部相当惬意,他想说,但永远
   不明白一个问题怎么会
   像一盏领航灯一样熄灭,留下被擦掉和原始的需求
   在渴望的脸上。
  
  
  
Postilion of Autumn   
   
   A shower or two, and the old landscape
   is good as new. A bit yellow in spots,
   but that’s what’s called progress.
   She hovers, lonesomely, like a zeppelin, over downcast
   vales and trees, a free spirit, or something
   like that.
   We’d reached the end of the grove,
   it was time to turn back, to find what we’d left behind
   waiting for us. And it was good to see the scraps
   of pleasure assembling into a face. By and large conduits
   of reduced gauge carry the fiber optics better,
   the chatting, the suspense, lorries of debris
   haunted by the sometime catchall of these cisterns. It was quite
   cozy in the Midwest, he’d wanted to say, but never
   understood how a question can just go out
   like a pilot light, leaving the need rubbed and raw
   in hankered-after faces.
  
  
  
  
极其聪明
   
   (选自 Chinese Whispers )
   作者:(美)约翰.阿什贝利(John Ashberry)
   译者:剑郭琴符
   
   是什么事。没有它就看不见。
   或是这,多年来的拖欠,
   笼罩在一个顽皮的隐私之中?不。
   这是我们的事。
   
   真正的危机现在才平息。
   小鸟,在你的树上,
   我喜欢你。我们不是朋友吗?为什么这可怕的
   氧气会让我们担心?
   说真的,我想让你下来。
   在窗户、派对、歌曲的翅膀上,
   喜剧和神秘,世界浸透了我们。
   世界和以前一样。只有时间爆炸。
   我们不能从中得出很多结论,只要
   保持距离,就好像岁月
   对我们的教育很重要。我们像以前一样喜欢我们。
   没关系,没有争论,
   也没有祝福。
   
   这个月看起来和以前一样难看。
   是谁训练我把它带进去,
   轻拍,小题大做,
   准备它小小的晚餐?这甚至不是不祥的。
   一位监察员解释说不关
   我们为了安顿下来的事,我们总有一天会回来。
   
   他把它放在绳子上回家了。
   说他需要一台呼吸器。第二天,他带着一张说明书
   回来了。邻居不同意,
   说都是胡说八道。没有他的参与,
   就没有集体谈判。我在类似的场合
   注意到,他把帽子留在大厅。
   
   问到为什么要这样做,那个票贩子暴躁地转身,
   然后有严格的礼貌。是你同意的,
   他解释说,甚至不用你签字;
   然后在更远的一个关头开始讨论,
   概括而言,只与目前局势有模糊的关系。
   声称它是欺瞒的掌掴,
   更糟。但和平会一路走来,
   最终---
   
   如果我们的影子冒犯
   我们将用面纱代替争论,再一次。
   不能有太多的软角,蹒跚进入。
   房间没有被客人
   无情的跟踪。地毯像月光一样清新,
   我想,就像在那些古老的百叶窗仓库里。
  
  
  
This Deuced Cleverness
   
   is what’s the matter. Can’t see without it.
   Or was it, over the years of arrears,
   swathed in a hoydenish privacy? No.
   It’s ours to deal.
   
   The true crisis is only now coming to rest.
   Birdie, on your tree,
   I like you. Can’t we be friends? Why is this awful
   oxygen all that concerns us?
   Seriously, I’d like you to come down.
   On wings of windows, parties, songs,
   comedy and mystery, the world drenches us.
   It’s the same world as before. Only time has exploded.
   We mustn’t draw many conclusions from that, only
   keep our distance, as though the years mattered
   to our education. We like us as we were before.
   That’s all right, no argument there,
   no benediction either.
   
   The month looks just as unsightly as before.
   So who trained me to bring it inside,
   pat it, make a fuss over it,
   prepare its little dinner? It’s not even ominous.
   An ombudsman explained the nexus wasn’t ours
   to roost in, that we’d all be moving back in someday.
   
   He laid it on the line and went home.
   Said he needed a breather. The next day he was back
   with a sheet of instructions. The neighbor dissented,
   said it was all poppycock. There’d be no collective bargaining
   without his input. As I’d noticed
   on similar occasions, he left his cap in the hall.
   
   Asked why he did so, the tout turned surly,
   then stringently polite. It’s your agreement,
   he explained, you don’t even have to sign it;
   then took up the discussion at a farther juncture,
   spoke in general terms
   only vaguely related to the present situation.
   Claimed it smacked of pettifoggery
   and worse. But there would be peace along the way,
   eventually---
   
   If we shadows have offended
   we’ll replace the argument with the veil,again.
   There can’t be too many soft corners to lurch into.
   The rooms have been spared the mindless tracking in
   of guests. The carpets are fresh as moonlight,
   I think, as in those ancient jalousie warehouses.
  
  
  
  
未修改的分段
   
   (选自 Chinese Whispers )
   作者:(美)约翰.阿什贝利(John Ashberry)
   译者:剑郭琴符
   
   金羊毛,你在哪里,金羊毛?
   ---奥西普.曼德尔斯塔姆
   
   抄写员一致同意:
   十年后孩子出生
   再过二十年,不快乐
   就会害羞地建成幸福
   一会儿郊区的路基
   就被改头换面,悲伤从凸窗笑出,
   一个涌出的下降。
   
   屋顶倒了,就铺放得不太紧迫。
   乞丐,处女,收税人,自我
   治疗的粘液,我们接着
   被所有这些
   打败。我们说了晚安。
   
   (各种拨奏曲称量体重。)
   我望过马槽,向远处结结巴巴的田野:
   是你来带我去那个地方
   擦亮我,
   在一个被迫宽恕的世界里?
   
   然后它在四只脚上转身,
   好像忘了什么东西,
   走过来呈现它:
   
   我一直说它是你。
   我应该站在屋檐下,当雷声
   在新的一天里打哈欠。
   
   也许我太老,或者还不够
   老到承担一个“人生旅程”,
   另一集的新阶段,
   
   但是大海提供休息。
   他满脸通红地看着树叶;
   秋天把他叼进嘴里,
   给我们大家涂上一些忧愁的感觉。
   
   中间的开始就像那样。
   回头看到处都是山谷,漂浮在粉状小山上的神龛,
   
   矛盾心理有时洪水般涌来,
   虽然温暖,一直,为下一个房客逗留在那里。
  
  
  
Unpolished Segment   
   
   Golden Fleece, where are you, Golden Fleece?
   —Osip Mandelstam
   
   The scribes are in agreement:
   It would be a decade before the child is born
   and two more before unhappiness
   erects shyly into happiness
   for a while till the suburban roadbed
   is made over and grief laughs from oriels,
   a billowing decline.
   
   Roof down, it lay less urgent.
   Panhandlers, virgins, tax collectors, the
   self-medicating slime we were
   overcame all that was
   then. We said good night.
   
   (Various pizzicati weighed in.)
   I looked past the manger to the stuttering fields beyond:
   Is it you who’ve come to take me to that place,
   polish me,
   in a world pressed into forgiving?
   
   Then on four feet it turned,
   as though having forgotten something,
   came and presented it:
   
   I said it was you all along.
   I should have gotten up under the eaves, when thunders
   yawned in the new day.
   Perhaps I was too old, or not yet
   old enough to undertake a new stage
   of “life’s journey,” another episode.
   
   But the sea gave repose.
   He turned his face full to the leaves;
   autumn caught him in the mouth,
   slapped some worried sense into all of us.
   
   The beginning of the middle is like that.
   Looking back it was all valleys, shrines floating on the powdered hill,
   
   ambivalence that came in a flood sometimes,
   though warm, always, for the next tenant to abide there.
  
  
  
  
莫德雷德(1)
   
   (选自 Chinese Whispers )
   作者:(美)约翰.阿什贝利(John Ashberry)
   译者:剑郭琴符
   
   现在我既不向后也不向前。
   我是某些人的道路
   他们从不告诉你他们是怎样的,
   但你知道他们像你,并且他们是。
   
   我异常明智
   但这是春天,没有人关心或行动。
   那是春天,洒水器开着。
   
   海湾,凹坑,黏稠的岩石
   它是某些人的乐趣。快乐永不消逝
   但不要完全留下,
   保持它们意味着存在的方式。
   我抓到有翅膀的一个,
   紧紧地看着它的眼睛:
   你的猜测是什么?哦,我只喜欢活下去,
   剩下的对我来说并不重要,
   一点也不,如果你愿意。
   但我愿意,我说。然后,好吧,就像你看不见的
   黑暗中的一块空地。
   黑暗意味着我们所有人。
   我们渐渐习惯。然后天又亮了。
   这就是我所说的生活
   它可以继续,去别的地方,
   但它不在,它在这里,或多或少。
   你必须捍卫它,然后它为你而战,
   但这不是必须的。它会继续活下去,不管怎样。
   我说,你介意我累了吗。
   
   但关于你我还有最后一件事要知道。
   你还记得午夜的熔炉
   周围匍匐麻风病人的鬼魂,他们是铁匠
   在一段时间里一直无法辨认,然后你就这样走了?
   你记得锤子怎么慢慢落下
   带着那首歌的所有。
   你记得草拟的马的音乐
   它们只能靠着墙制造。
   好吧,那它花了你多少钱?
   你是小学生,现在已经过了中年,
   伟大的图画还没有出现。
   
   我知道我必须走。
   我只喜欢生活,
   只喜欢生活。
   有时候你必须告诉我你的意图,
   但现在我必须留在这里,在快速轨道上
   万一我不需要的
   给养来到,作为一个活生生的,会呼吸的生物。
   但我问过你帽子的事。
   哦,是的,有顶帽子很重要。

  
(1)Mordred ['mɔ:dred] n. (亚瑟王传奇中的)莫德雷德(亚瑟王的侄子和骑士)
  
  
Mordred
   
   Now I have neither back nor front.
   I am the way certain persons are
   who never tell you how they are
   yet you know they are like you and they are.
   
   I was preternaturally wise
   but it was spring, there was no one to care or do.
   It was spring and the sprinklers were on.
   
   Bay, indentation, viscous rocks
   that are somebody’s pleasure. Pleasures that don’t go away
   but don’t exactly stay,
   stay the way they were meant to be.
   I caught a winged one,
   looked it firmly in the eyes:
   What is your surmise? Oh, I only like living on,
   the rest isn’t so important to me,
   not at all, if you wish.
   But I do, I said. Then, well, it’s like a clearing
   in the darkness that you can’t see.
   Darkness is meant for all of us.
   We grow used to it. Then daylight comes again.
   That’s what I mean when I say about living
   it could be going on, going somewhere else,
   but it’s not, it’s here, more or less.
   You have to champion it, then it fights for you,
   but that isn’t necessary. It will go on living anyway.
   I say do you mind I’m getting tired.
   
   But there is one last thing I must know about you.
   Do you remember a midnight forge
   around which crept the ghosts of lepers, who were blacksmiths
   in a time persistently unidentifiable, and then you went like this?
   You remember how the hammer fell slowly
   taking all that song with you.
   You remember the music of the draft horses
   they could only make against a wall.
   All right, how little does it all cost you then?
   You were a schoolchild, now you are past middle age,
   and the great drawing hasn’t occurred.
   
   I see I must be going.
   I just like living,
   only like living.
   Sometime you must tell me of your intentions,
   but now I have to stay here on this fast track
   in case the provisions come along
   which I won’t need, being a living, breathing creature.
   But I asked you about your hat.
   Oh yes well it is important to have a hat.
  
  

 楼主| 发表于 2020-9-26 17:59:17 | 显示全部楼层
本帖最后由 剑郭琴符 于 2020-9-26 18:06 编辑


避雷针
   
   (选自 Chinese Whispers )
   作者:(美)约翰.阿什贝利(John Ashberry)
   译者:剑郭琴符
   
   将军总是对他的马肩隆很挑剔,
   住在一个报纸帐篷里
   有人在安乐椅旁透漏。
   告诉那个没有手指的男人二十年代抽烟
   是什么感觉,我们自然地去找你的表弟朱尼乌斯。
   他的计划是超过现在正超速行驶的乌龟
   在其路上挖某种火沟,
   这会让它产生怀疑,
   致命的,一会儿
   然后我们就可以回去引导新闻。
   这里有一个故事,说的是一种生长在亚马逊河流域的草,
   它太高了,鸟儿飞不过去---
   它们飞过去了---
   然而水蛭在它们曲折的堆中毫无困难,
   而且习惯于在事后举办庆祝宴会,
   奖品发了---一个时期作品的最佳服装
   太被急流分心以至于意识不到它是什么时期,等等。
   退休前,将军喜欢玩一种全白多米诺骨牌游戏,
   之后他会心烦意乱地把睡帽放在另一个人用钩针编织的室内锅盖上。
   沉入断断续续的沉睡中,他小心翼翼地梦见
   那只巨手从天上落下
   像一条冰碛的斜坡,它的手指上俗不可耐地戴着戒指
   从中,宇宙中曾经发生过的每一件事有时都能分辨出。
   
   有时候,你最终到达一滩泥沼,不管发生了什么,
   不管采取了多少预防措施,从壁毯上摘下的线
   这些线给我们提供内衣,现在却像没有草的季节一样
   赤裸,在你选择的任何海岸上。
   悲哀的是,很多都被留在后面
   但对米黄色房子里的蓝鸟来说,这是件好事。
   他们从来没有看到任何理由加入这个庞大,混乱的移民队伍,
   他妈的,就像水貂,直到斑驳的地平线。
   它不再变得极度寒冷,这当然也是一个幸运的反常现象。
  The Lightning Conductor   
   
   The general was always particular about his withers,
   lived in a newspaper tent
   someone had let fall beside an easy chair.
   Telling the man with no fingers what it was like to smoke a cigarette
   in the Twenties, we proceeded naturally to your cousin Junius.
   His plan was to overtake the now speeding tortoise
   by digging some kind of a fire trench in its path,
   which would cause it to wonder,
   fatally, for a second,
   after which we could all go back to channeling the news.
   There’s a story here about a kind of grass that grows in the Amazon
   valley that is too tall for birds to fly over ---
   they fly past it instead---
   yet leeches have no trouble navigating its circuitous heaps
   and are wont to throw celebratory banquets afterward,
   at which awards are given out---best costume in a period piece
   too distracted by the rapids to notice what period it is, and so on.
   Before retiring the general liked to play a game of all-white dominoes,
   after which he would place his nightcap distractedly on the other man’s crocheted chamber-pot lid.
   Subsiding into fitful slumber, warily he dreams
   of the giant hand descended from heaven
   like the slope of a moraine, whose fingers were bedizened with rings
   in which every event that had ever happened in the universe could sometimes be discerned.
   
   Sometimes you end up in a slough no matter what happens,
   no matter how many precautions have been taken, threads picked from the tapestry
   that was to have provided us with underwear, and now is bare as any
   grassless season, on whatever coast you choose to engage.
   It’s sad that many were left behind,
   but a good thing for the bluebirds in their beige houses.
   They never saw any reason to join the vast, confused migration,
   fucking like minks as far as the spotty horizon.
   It doesn’t get desperately cold any more, and that’s certainly a lucky anomaly too.
   
我问迪瑟斯先生是否到时间了他说不等了
   
   (选自 Chinese Whispers )
   作者:(美)约翰.阿什贝利(John Ashberry)
   译者:剑郭琴符
   
   时间,你这个老不法之徒!最近杀雷龙(恐龙的一种)吗?你---
   琢磨了六十天,我看着他浏览碱,舔吃,
   一点权力总是衰退,从高窗台流下来。
   在这下面,神经不正常者很孤独。他们什么也做不了。
   除了吐口水。
   
   我们对商务回信感觉好些了
   一旦由此产生的狂妄自大被遗传,
   慢慢地,一根枯萎鼠尾草穿着木屐
   和一件三角洲般巨大的斗篷,用一些橡胶般的绸缎状材料
   制成。又是
   除夕。是时候收回打孔碗,
   作出某些决定,
   我不认为。
I Asked Mr. Dithers Whether It Was Time Yet He Said No to Wait   
   
   Time, you old miscreant! Slain any brontosauruses lately? You---
   Sixty wondering days I watched him navigate the alkali lick,
   always a little power ebbing, streaming from high windowsills.
   Down here the tetched are lonely.There’s nothing they can do
   except spit.
   
   We felt better about answering the business letter
   once the resulting hubris had been grandfathered in,
   slowly, by a withered sage in clogs
   and a poncho vast as a delta, made of some rubbery satinlike
   material. It was New Year’s Eve
   again. Time to get out the punch bowl,
   make some resolutions,
   I don’t think.
什么都没听到
   
   (选自 Chinese Whispers )
   作者:(美)约翰.阿什贝利(John Ashberry)
   译者:剑郭琴符
   
   最初的几个小时悄无声息地离开,很开心。
   起初我们左右为难,后来打湿了我们的口哨
   在附近的酒吧。人群来得强劲。
   
   太远了听不见那边的人,
   某人说。也许我们应该走,
   另一个说。也许。但是我们大错特错
   沙子上的车辙只通向一个地方。
   
   当风沙盖过我们的安逸
   我们就会知道一切都结束了。
   
   闷闷不乐的司机哭了起来,表示他的情况
   某种程度上更紧急。比其他乘客的。
   其中一些是我们拿出来的。
   香草冰激凌,我痛饮着说,
   因为它似乎不错,有一会儿时间。
   诗人想给我们介绍他的组曲。
   但他真正想做的
   是玩一会儿。嗯,那很自然---
   我是说,我们当中谁没有试过?
   很少,如果是真的,有人成功。
   
   另一个早晨,他对诗歌的状态
   感到震惊。“没有人能像潘登尼斯少校那样
   穿透人心的凹室,”
   他认为。我们看到它来了,
   或者说应该有:
   一个巨大的空斗篷
   搭在最年长的人的肩膀上,
   他似乎在前进。
   
   他不是古人,但他那样打动了我们。
   如果我们从来没有到过镇上,有时听到
   灯光,我们就会到处都是邻居,舔着,
   分发那家伙的免费样本。但对他们来说
   太谨慎了,我们都不想退休。
   
   从那一天起,我识别的记忆
   在我的模板上跳动。我不知道用我所学到的知识干什么。
   我可以把它给别人,我想。等等,不,然后
   他们不知道用它干什么。
   我想我可以放松一下。
   是的,我们笑了是更多的入场券。
Haven’t Heard Anything
   
   Quietly the first hours left, amused.
   We were in a quandary at first then wet our whistles
   in some neighborhood bar. The throng came on strong.
   
   It’s too far off to hear the people over there,
   someone said. Perhaps we should move,
   another one said. Perhaps. But we were way off
   and the rut in the sand only led to one place.
   
   When the sand closes over our ease
   we’ll know it done.
   
   The morose driver wept, represented his case
   as somehow more urgent. Than other passengers’.
   Some of them we got out.
   Vanilla ice cream, I quaffed,
   for it seemed good, for a little time at that.
   The poet wanted to introduce us to his suite.
   But what he really wanted to do
   was play for a little time. Well, that’s natural---
   I mean, who among us hasn’t tried?
   Few, it’s true, have succeeded.
   
   Another morn he would lie in shock
   over the state of poetry. “None could penetrate
   the recesses of the human mind like Major Pendennis,”
   he opined. We saw it coming,
   or should have:
   a big empty cape
   on the shoulders of the oldest,
   who seemed to be advancing.
   
   He wasn’t ancient, but he struck us that way.
   If we’d never been to town, and heard the lights
   sometime, we’d be all over a neighbor, licking,
   passing out free samples of dude. But it was like
   too cagey for them, none of us wanted to retire.
   
   Since that day the memory of recognition beats
   at my template. I don’t know what to do with all my acquired knowledge.
   I could give it to someone, I suppose. Wait, no then
   they wouldn’t know what to do with it.
   I suppose I could be relaxed.
   Yes, that’s more the ticket we smiled.
中国耳语
   
   (选自 Chinese Whispers )
   作者:(美)约翰.阿什贝利(John Ashberry)
   译者:剑郭琴符
   
   不一会儿,我们就在压力下崩溃:
   化脓令人恶心,想要更高,
   虽然这只是关于神秘,也就是说,不是更高,
   就像任何森林里的任何一棵树。
   哑巴,煎饼描述了你。
   它的边缘嵌有微小的罗马数字。
   那是个煎饼钟。他们在那时候拥有过它们,
   总是变小,这就是它们最终灭绝的原因。
   一百年后才有人注意到。
   总督
   称之为“蜿蜒曲折”。但我们,我们有它的其他名字,
   知道它会存在很长一段时间,
   即使灭绝了。当然,当橡木棍从树上
   掉到冰冷的门阶上,当它的所有记忆
   都从普通大脑中抹去
   它又出现了。
   每个人都想试试那种新的煎饼钟。
   隔壁镇的一个男朋友有一个
   但每次我们顺便邀请他时,他都忘了带过来。
   最后,谣言变得比真事更惊人:
   我听说它们都被野蔷薇乱糟糟结壳,
   如此密集
   连寻找睡美人的王子都进不去。
   还有,它们的数量比它们灭绝时还要多,
   但价格却在不断上涨。他们把它们安置在金苹果园
   和已知世界边缘的棚户区,
   冷得发蓝。以前所有的市中心都有它们的特色。
   
   照相机暗箱,
   那一年,也很大。但是为什么有那么多人
   想知道叫喊是怎么回事,却没人能找到最初的秘诀?
   都太快,没人在乎。我们重新开始为彼此做一些小事,
   把邮票粘在一起形成一个小小的火车轨道,以及其他,
   一些不太引人注意的事情。过去被遗忘,直到下次。
   如何描述这些年?有些像是最苍白的蜂蜜糖块,
   不小心被碰过。有些人把对方的劣质品拿出来,
   把对方的眼睛都挖出来。有那么多人
   在没有人注意到之前就被扔了出去,这就像一个奔溃云朵的
   明暗对比。
   我多么渴望能在那所老房子里再见到你!但你聋了,
   或者死了。我们的信错过了。一艘摩托艇正越过礁石
   把我摆渡出来,岸上的人看起来像填满告密的玩偶。
   
   更多
   关于狗的事持续显露。当然,简单拥抱
   一条游动的鱼,在某些时期肯定会被拒绝。不是现在。
   这片土地上有年复一年的饥荒,女人很漂亮,
   但过早衰老,疲惫。情况没有好转。半埋在沙层中的
   岩石,和自发的诅咒。
   我对着船的前门喊叫,
   想再高一点,但在中间的某个地方,所有这些都消失了。
   我作为一个幽灵过了一天。我的朋友们带我到处走。
   结果总是有很多可以挽救。
   鸡笼没有在洪水中漂走。鞋匠们又开始了复仇的生意。
   所有的锁匠都在夜里离开小镇。
   这是一个美丽的季节,春天或秋天,
   空气是可消化的,鱼在他们的轮床上
   束紧爱的结。是的,旅行
   
   也是显而易见的:有人说要保存外观,
   在正午,墙壁只是有点太蓝了。
   曾经有这样的时刻吗?我想对付你,
   用吻擦伤你,但总有一件事短暂阻止了我:
   知道这不是历史,
   不管多少次
   我们把它错当成现在,每天的
   头条新闻都在吹嘘。但在难看的校舍后面,现在是一个腌菜
   仓库,事情的真实本质是肯定的,不可推翻:
   你的选票和其他人一样。骗子在投票箱,
   装满花边情人节礼物和自动比例的财富,
   分配一种崇高的慈善,似乎这对我们
   很重要,这些曲调
   是由几英里外的
   一个管风琴吹来的。不,现在不是
   向我们揭露你的骗局的时候。等到雨和年老
   使我们更温和一点。
   然后我们将看到不同种族
   怎么灭绝,岁月如何忍受
   他们的描述,无论多么误导,
   以及解散的军队在这里呆多久。我必须祝贺你的
   侦探工作,因为我是一个近距离
   刺绣鉴赏家,虽然我没有文凭显示这一点。
   
   这些树,贫瘠的树,已经不止一次被描述过。
   他们总是更高,似乎,而且河水经过他们
   没有注意到。我们,也更高了,
   我们的天花板更高,我们的墙壁被更多
   生动的壁画着色,我们的门庭更空旷更模糊,
   随着时间的流逝和编织
   进进出出的小骗局,一条暗线。
   和平是一个句号。
   虽然我们有机会滑过封锁线,
   但现在只有时间会同意与我们有任何关系,
   为了什么目的,我们不知道。
Chinese Whispers
   
   And in a Little while we broke under the strain:
   Suppurations ad nauseam, the wanting to be taller,
   though it’s simply about being mysterious, i.e., not taller,
   like any tree in any forest.
   Mute, the pancake describes you.
   It had tiny Roman numerals embedded in its rim.
   It was a pancake clock. They had ’em in those days,
   always getting smaller, which is why they finally became extinct.
   It was a hundred years before anyone noticed.
   The governor-general
   called it “sinuous.” But we, we had other names for it,
   knew it was going to be around for a long time,
   even though extinct. And sure as shillelaghs fall from trees
   onto frozen doorsteps, it came round again
   when all memory of it had been expunged
   from the common brain.
   Everybody wants to try one of those new pancake clocks.
   A boyfriend in the next town had one
   but conveniently forgot to bring it over each time we invited him.
   Finally the rumors grew more fabulous than the real thing:
   I hear they are encrusted with tangles of briar rose,
   so dense
   not even a prince seeking the Sleeping Beauty could get inside.
   What’s more, there are more of them than when they were extinct,
   yet the prices keep on rising. They have them in the Hesperides
   and in shantytowns on the edge of the known world,
   blue with cold. All downtowns used to feature them.
   
   Camera obscuras,
   too, were big that year. But why is it that with so many people
   who want to know what a shout is about, nobody can find the original recipe?
   All too soon, no one cares. We go back to doing little things for each other,
   pasting stamps together to form a tiny train track, and other,
   less noticeable things. The past is forgotten till next time.
   How to describe the years? Some were like blocks of the palest halvah,
   careless of being touched. Some took each other’s trash out,
   put each other’s eyes out. So many got thrown out
   before anyone noticed, it was like a chiaroscuro
   of collapsing clouds.
   How I longed to visit you again in that old house! But you were deaf,
   or dead. Our letters crossed. A motorboat was ferrying me out past
   the reef, people on shore looked like dolls fingering stuffs.
   
   More
   keeps coming out about the dogs. Surely a simple embrace
   from an itinerant fish would have been spurned at certain periods. Not now.
   There’s a famine of years in the land, the women are beautiful,
   but prematurely old and worn. It doesn’t get better. Rocks half-buried
   in bands of sand, and spontaneous execrations.
   I yell to the ship’s front door,
   wanting to be taller, and somewhere in the middle all this gets lost.
   I was a phantom for a day. My friends carried me around with them.
   It always turns out that much is salvageable.
   Chicken coops haven’t floated away on the flood.Lacemakers are back in business with a vengeance.
   All the locksmiths had left town during the night.
   It happened to be a beautiful time of season, spring or fall,
   the air was digestible, the fish tied in love knots
   on their gurneys. Yes, and journeys
   
   were palpable too: Someone had spoken of saving appearances
   and the walls were just a little too blue in mid-morning.
   Was there ever such a time? I’d like to handle you,
   bruise you with kisses for it, yet something always stops me short:
   the knowledge that this isn’t history,
   no matter how many
   times we keep mistaking it for the present, that headlines
   trumpet each day. But behind the unsightly school building, now a pickle
   warehouse, the true nature of things is known, is not overridden:
   Yours is a vote like any other. And there is fraud at the ballot boxes,
   stuffed with lace valentines and fortunes from automatic scales,
   dispensed with a lofty kind of charity, as though this could matter
   to us, these tunes
   carried by the wind
   from a barrel organ several leagues away. No, this is not the time
   to reveal your deception to us. Wait till rain and old age
   have softened us up a little more.
   Then we’ll see how extinct
   the various races have become, how the years stand up
   to their descriptions, no matter how misleading,
   and how long the disbanded armies stay around. I must congratulate you
   on your detective work, for I am a connoisseur
   of close embroidery, though I don’t have a diploma to show for it.
   
   The trees, the barren trees, have been described more than once.
   Always they are taller, it seems, and the river passes them
   without noticing. We, too, are taller,
   our ceilings higher, our walls more tinctured
   with telling frescoes, our dooryards both airier and vaguer,
   according as time passes and weaves its
   minute deceptions in and out, a secret thread.
   Peace is a full stop.
   And though we had some chance of slipping past the blockade,
   now only time will consent to have anything to do with us,
   for what purposes we do not know.


 楼主| 发表于 2020-9-27 20:03:32 | 显示全部楼层


在褪色柳时代
   
   (选自 Chinese Whispers )
   作者:(美)约翰.阿什贝利(John Ashberry)
   译者:剑郭琴符
   
   这需要一些时间。
   不,快结束了。为了今天,不管怎样。
   我们会有一个美丽的故事,搜寻一个
   古老的故事,当他的喘息消失。
   
   我做梦也没想到懊恼之池
   会对我产生如此大的影响。看,我在发抖,
   和魔鬼一起萎缩
   在他设计的舞台日出中。
   这样,将没有字母给什么是真理,
   编造它的文字。它将静静站立
   因为一切都值得。一个雇工牧羊人走过来,
   吹着口哨,眼睛盯着树。他是两个主人的仆人,
   这是一些借口,虽然不是真正的一个那么多。
   不管怎么说,他的欢迎逗留太久。最后一班火车已经开走了。
   
   在这样的环境,一个人如何引导他的生活,
   亲爱的蛇,只要你不受其伤害,
   谁想我们最好?
   天啊,我以为我看到了很多代人,
   但它们无穷无尽,一个接一个,
   踩在它的列车上,发出嘶嘶声。
   
   这是一个多么美丽的古老故事
   如果坐在后排的人停止咯咯笑一分钟。
   白天,我们划桨和套利
   到达这个地方。晚上它几乎不重要。
   奇怪的我们没有预料到这个,
   但最愚蠢的线索被最聪明的套鞋忽视,
   我们回到某些恋物癖的黑胶唱片天堂
   没有线索关乎我们怎么到了这里
   除了你枕头上的小钻石---一定是眼泪
   从梦中孵化出来,当你知道自己实际上在做什么的时候。
   现在,一切都是恐惧。恐惧和坏事。
   
   我们的舷外发动机发出噼啪声,然后沉寂的
   从天空中的每一点跳动。当我们年轻的时候
   就消化了这些,感觉到一组球出现了…
   也许雷电是二维的,
   从来没有真正的恐惧之地,
   其他人被困,和我们一样,然后弥补
   有趣的故事,掩盖他们的踪迹。等待,
   在城堡主楼,某人想说他的段子。老鼠,
   现在他也走了。
   
   是的,他滑了一跤,死在你面前,
   你想把这变成一种风气?
   去编别的故事。
   
   窗户反映在泡沫中,
   我努力向你祈祷得多么频繁,
   但你的球体什么都没有。
   我几乎觉得倒霉。然后一只蜘蛛带路
   回到房间
   我知道为什么我们一直没有离开。外面是丛林大火。
   这里是腓利门和鲍西的和平,
   为这个衣衫褴褛的陌生人提供大块的面包和意大利腊肠,
   还有一烧杯比最深的暮色还要深的酒,
   一张桌子摆满了我们
   绝望和悲惨的奇观。
   
   天使,请回来。让我们再次闻到你神圣的气息。
In the Time of Pussy Willows   
   
   This is going to take some time.
   Nope, it’s almost over. For today anyway.
   We’ll have a beautifbl story, old story
   to fish for as his gasps come undone.
   
   I never dreamed the pond of chagrin
   would affect me this much. Look, I’m shaking,
   shrinking with the devil
   in the stagy sunrise he devised.
   Then there will be no letters for what is truth,
   to make up the words of it. It will be standing still
   for all it’s worth. A hireling shepherd came along,
   whistling, his eyes on the trees. He was a servant of two masters,
   which is some excuse, although not really all that much of a one.
   Anyway, he overstayed his welcome. The last train had already left.
   
   How does one conduct one’s life amid such circumstances,
   dear snake, who want the best for us
   as long as you’re not hurt by it?
   My goodness, I thought I’d seen a whole lot of generations,
   but they are endless, one keeps following another,
   treading on its train, hissing.
   
   What a beautiful old story it could be after all
   if those in the back rows would stop giggling for a minute.
   By day, we paddled and arbitraged
   to get to this spot. By night it hardly matters.
   Strange we didn’t anticipate this,
   but the dumbest clues get overlooked by the smartest gumshoe
   and we’re back in some fetishist’s vinyl paradise
   with no clue as to how we got here
   except the tiny diamond on your pillow ---it must have been a tear
   hatched from a dream, when you actually knew what you were doing.
   Now, it’s all fear. Fear and wrongdoing.
   
   Our outboard motor sputters and quits, and silence
   beats down from every point in the sky.To have digested this
   when we were younger, and felt a set of balls coming on...
   It may be that thunder and lightning are two-dimensional,
   that there was never really any place for fear,
   that others get trapped, same as us, and make up
   amusing stories to cover their tracks. Wait,
   there’s one in the donjon wants to speak his piece. Rats,
   now he’s gone too.
   
   Yes, he slipped and died in front of you,
   and you intend to twist this into an ethos?
   Go make up other stories.
   Window reflected in the bubble,
   how often I’ve tried to pray to you,
   but your sphere would have nothing of it.
   I felt almost jinxed. Then a spider led the way
   back into the room
   and I knew why we’d never left. Outside was brushfires.
   Here was the peace of Philemon and Baucis,
   offering chunks of bread and salami to the tattered stranger,
   and a beaker of wine darker than the deepest twilight,
   a table spread with singularities
   for the desperate and tragic among us.
   
   Angel, come back please. Let us smell your heavenly smell again.

美国人
   
   (选自 Chinese Whispers )
   作者:(美)约翰.阿什贝利(John Ashberry)
   译者:剑郭琴符
   
   很无聊,没有现实主义。无色彩。我们
   承诺了什么无形?我多么喜欢
   它吹掉沉思的寄宿生
   他坐在丁香花中间,
   沉思的寄宿生,一只育雏器,就像肉爱盐。
   这样的场景并不少见,在这个体面的杜松子酒世界,这垃圾箱邪恶的
   恶臭掠夺了一本可保存的日记的所有插页。
   
   为什么叫它们石头?
   交换和欺骗对所有相关的人来说
   都是一种爱的劳动。我试图把一些感觉
   读进几分钟,但通常都被拒绝,
   就像烧焦的亚麻布
   对着熨衣板诡计的装饰音叫喊。迟早
   我们会把他们打包,然后他们就离开我们---这么
   简单?你不喜欢?稍后再问
   我们和他们是否被爱。应该有人知道。在150年,160年
   他们会感谢,你可以打赌。不知道
   其他人想要什么,自始至终就是一瞬间。
   大陆架都被取消
   从亚得里亚海到南极大陆,我的脚步投下
   难以置信的长长的阴影,尽管这不是让你去浸泡的。
   或者咀嚼。我这个被录取的人,也许
   意味着你的情人
   穿过风雨不息的舷窗---亲爱的,我们
   在这里,因为他让我们再等一等。
The American
   
   It’s dull, no realism. A no-color. To what
   formlessness have we committed? How fond I am
   of it blew off the pensive boarder
   hunkered amid lilacs, a hoverer, as meat loves salt.
   Such scenes are not uncommon in this
   world of decent gin, this midden whose ungodly
   stench plunders all inserts of a keepable diary.
   
   Why call them stones?
   Swapping and cheating are as a labor of love
   for all concerned. I try to read some sense
   into the minutes but am usually rebuffed,
   as scorched linen yells at the ironing board’s
   grace note of intrigue. Sooner or later
   we send them packing, and they leave us —it’s
   so simple? Don’t you love it? Ask later whether
   we and they were loved. Someone should know. In 150, 160 years
   they’ll be beholden, you can bet. And not knowing what
   those others want has all along been a jiffy.
   The shelf’s canceled
   from the Adriatic to the Antarctic, my footsteps cast
   incredibly long shadows, though that’s not for you to macerate.
   Or masticate. I who matriculated was perhaps
   meant to be a lover unto you
   through the unabated storm’s portholes--- dear, we’re
   here because he asked us to wait some more.

七十年代
   
   (选自 Chinese Whispers )
   作者:(美)约翰.阿什贝利(John Ashberry)
   译者:剑郭琴符
   
   长期以来,事情似乎进展得顺利。
   每晚四点钟,放缆退绕向我们
   展示它友好的面孔。“我会好好对待你,
   以我的名誉。”那些日子,没有人记录
   也没有人太注意事情。作为
   一个实体活着是可能的。
   
   依然,令人惊讶的事偶尔被听到,
   不时地,声音似乎来自一个车库
   带着一个没人听说过的第三个选择。
   
   关于海难的事。也许不错。
   
   我们开始对和平和战争
   越来越失去耐心,在忙碌的一天放松之后
   我们周围几乎没有人能控制或理解。
   钱鱼已经绑在我大腿上。
   否则,我可能会成为告密者,过着我的日子
   在都铎时代的一间平房里,根据证人的保护计划。
   我需要现金。剩下的只是净利润和亏损。
The Seventies
   
   For a long time things seemed to go astutely.
   Every evening at four the unspooling showed us
   its friendly face. “I will treat you well,
   on my honor.” In those days, no one kept records
   or took notice of things much. It was
   possible to live as an entity.
   
   Still, surprising things were overheard
   from time to time, Voices that seemed to come from a garage
   with a third option no one had been told about.
   
   Something about a shipwreck. It was probably OK.
   
   We began to grow impatient
   about peace and war, after a busy day of relaxation
   few around us could contain or apprehend.
   The money fish had been strapped to my thigh.
   Otherwise I might have turned informant, living out my days
   in a Tudor bungalow under the witness protection program.
   I needed the cash. The rest was just net profit and loss.

现在一切
   
   (选自 Chinese Whispers )
   作者:(美)约翰.阿什贝利(John Ashberry)
   译者:剑郭琴符
   
   多大?鱼和湖
   一起游来游去,很容易无聊。
   侍从的肚子向上倾斜。
   天气温和。我们就知道这么多。
   
   我们知道这么多,不能拥有它
   在我们的小手里。老鼠上床睡觉。
   一个邻居把他的假牙
   放在一杯水里。你说,不是这样,
   
   是这样,但太多水井---
   枫树脸的耐心轮廓,
   小溪跑得太远,
   进入一些智慧或其他。
   
   琥珀和香草都是我们所知道的,
   怎么会这样?你是谁的
   小可爱,一次?大象
   悄悄地走过你的房子,一天
   
   晚上你出去的时候?
   没有一个孩子逃脱---
   大坝,瀑布,我们怎么能
   在撞击的噪音中听到它?谁的投诉
   
   没有登记?我们有多少人?
   不管怎样?或者,一些,有的时候,
   也许在梦中
   一位女士亲吻远处的航天机,
   
   警告远离堪萨斯州
   和外郊区的景象,那里有奶牛在工作。
   你从粪堆里回来
   就像从另一个世界回来,
   
   一个创造,毁掉你
   四次的世界,在你的生命历程中。
   但是,你“太棒了”
   你回答了每个问题。
All That Now
   
   How old? The fish and the lake
   swam around together, easily bored.
   The belly of a courtier leans forth.
   It is mild weather. Just so much we know.
   
   So much we know and cannot have it
   in our little hands. The mouse goes to bed.
   A neighbor is placing his false teeth
   in a glass of water. You say, not like this,
   
   like this, but too much wells up---
   the patient outline of the maples’ faces,
   the brook that ran too far,
   into some intelligence or other.
   
   Amber and vanilla are all what we know,
   how can it be so? Whose little tootsie
   are you, once? Did the elephant
   walk silently past your house, one
   
   night when you were out?
   None of the children escapes---
   dam, waterfall, how could we hear
   it in the crashing noise? Whose complaint
   
   goes unregistered? How many of us are there,
   anyway? Or were, some, some of the time.
   Mayhap in dreams
   a lady kisses a far shuttle,
   
   warning away visions of Kansas
   and outer suburbia, where cows work.
   You came back from that dung
   as from another world,
   
   one that made you and broke you
   four times in the course of your life.
   Yet, you were “splendid.”
   You have answered every question.
真理闪光
   
   (选自 Chinese Whispers )
   作者:(美)约翰.阿什贝利(John Ashberry)
   译者:剑郭琴符
   
   “我在干洗店的刺绣上撒了个发网。没过多久,就有东西从雨水管里喷出来,在我的脚踝之间。一种敌意避开了我。液面破裂。你为什么来这里,老人?把你的荨麻花束留在小街的祭坛。我们今天一件事都不要太多。但你和你的狗可以逗留。”
   
   “我也不知道吃什么,当她绕过香蕉的曲线。除了闲聊,祭坛几乎没有奉献什么。如果是秋天,你已经走了多远,瘟疫会紧张地包围着你,等待着一个机会。它可能是任何东西,或只是关于任何东西,似乎。在这条黑乎乎的花生小贩的小巷里等着,我很紧张。也许有人会来打听我的情况。毕竟,我年轻的时候也是你们摄政委员会的。也许这不算什么。我向你献上爱,是从一个曾经跟踪我们来这里提供保险的陌生人的世俗草药茶中提炼出来的。”
   
   “我不能再往前走。在黑暗中是戏剧,我是更好的,虽然我已掠过…当贝克鲁生产线接手时,包装纸会发出巨大的起皱声,这些母鸡不会认识我们,除非星期六晚上生效。如果砂纸都是…”
   
   “听着,我有一个谜语给你。什么摇摆,站立就位?如果你知道的话,现在你不必回答,把祭坛的石头留给其他人,更年轻的——我的天!会吗?我们熬了三个晚上,故意剥夺自己的睡眠,有助于一个更伟大的神的虚构。现在我似乎看到这些骡子在余晖中,从山的一侧下来,它们的马鞍包里装满了来自帝王谷的蓝宝石。母牛真的逃走了,公鸡也起来了,对所有无差别闪烁的东西表示敬意。毕竟最近的才是最好的。思想就像芬芳的腋窝,生根和断开,与其说是没有年鉴,倒不如说是现代历史书籍的出现,证明了我们突如其来的懊恼,用红色和橄榄色装订,它们的金字在潮水中发噼啪声。玛丽,如果是我的话,我只会告诉他们一次真相,就这么说吧。他们那黑貂的一面一点也不让步,没有责备,甚至没有一点反映,在某一点上 一次。”
   
   “是的,但如果是你,你会做得不同。”
   
   “是的,我会的,但是人们会知道为什么是我和为什么。不确定的锁链刺激不能让一个年轻的母亲快乐,她的眼泪太绿,但如果有人能想出一个有效的停泊处,谁知道我们最终会有多宽?就像在艰难的一天洒下玫瑰水。然后我们都出来在垃圾堆里玩,什么感觉都没有。将死!我把你难住了,不是吗?这儿,拿着这个焦糖,这对你和沙子的价值来说已经足够了。每天潮水都会向东移动,重新配置海岸。如果我需要的话,我终于可以得到我想要的东西。”
   
   “我的衬衫脱给你了,我要在三场暴风雪中流血,在我们会走到不是我自己扩散的十字路口以前,但你就是这样脱下来的,其代价是,僵硬。大会不再有蜉蝣。与此同时,你可以确定有人在看,有人非常想加入我们的针线,不管是被劈开的,但它粘在一边,他们看不见,潮水退去,黑夜也不见了。任何人想要这些东西都可以拿去。那些看过太多的宝贝们,被牵牛花枯萎病所强化,它们悄然蔓延在最近结束的本世纪最后20年,直到那个‘我’能看到。咖啡?”
   
Truth Gleams
   
   “I threw a hairnet over the dry cleaner’s embroidery. It wasn’t long before something shot out of the rain pipe, between my ankles. An animus avoided me. The surface was fractured. Why do you come here, old man? Leave your nosegay of nettles on the altar in the side street. We don’t want too much of any one thing today. But you and your dog can stay.”
   
   “Nor will I know what to eat, when she rounds the curve of bananas. The altar offered little but idle chitchat. How far you’ve come if it’s autumn, and the plagues will surround you nervously, waiting for an opening. It could be anything, or just about anything, it seems. I am nervous with waiting in this alley of darkened peanut vendors. Mayhap some will come to inquire about me. After all, I was on your board of regents, too, when I was young. Maybe this may not be made to count. I offer you affection, distilled from the worldly tisanes of the stranger who stalked us here, once, offering insurance.”
   
   “I can go no further. In the dark is drama and I am the better for it, though I have skimmed ... When the Bakerloo line takes over there will be loud crumpling as of wrapping paper, and those hens won’t know us, will become effective barring Saturday night. If only sandpaper were all…”
   
   “Listen, I have a riddle for you. What swings and stands in place? Now you are not to answer if you know, leaving the sacrificial stone for other, younger--- my heavens! Can it be? We stayed up three nights, purposely depriving ourselves of sleep in the interests of a greater god-fiction. Now I seem to see these mules in the afterglow, coming down the side of the mountain, their saddlebags packed with sapphires from the monarch’s glen. Truly the cows have escaped, the cock has risen, paying respects to all that gleams regardless. And the nearest is best after all. Like a perfumed armpit, thoughts take root and break off, and it is not so much the absence of an almanac but the presence of modern history books that testifies to our sudden chagrin, bound in red and olive, their gold lettering sputtering through the tides. Marry, if it was me I’d tell them the truth just for once, to be off on it. And their sable sides yield nothing, no rebuke, not even a reflection, for once in a way.”
   
   “Aye but if it was you you’d do it differently.”
   
   “Aye and that I would, but folks’d know why it was me and why. The tentative chains that stimulate can’t make a young mother happy, her tears are too green for that, yet if sometime somebody could come up with an effective mooring, who knows how wide of us we’d end up? Like a shower of rosewater on a difficult day. Then we all come out to play in the garbage, and the sense of nothing is no more. Checkmate! I’ve baffled you, hasn’t it? Here, take this caramel, it’s little enough for what you and the sand are worth. And every day the tide shifts a little to the east, reconfiguring the shore. I could get what I want at last if I needed it.”
   
   “My shirt is off to you, I’ll bleed through three blizzards ere we come to a crossways not of my own pullulating, but that’s just how you got off and what it takes, stiff. No more mayflies for the convention. Meanwhile you can be sure someone’s watching, someone wants ever so much to join our stitchery be it cloven, yet it is glued to one side, they pass through unseeing, the tide’s out, the night too. Anybody wants some of these can take’em. Babes who’ve seen too much, underscored by the petunia blight that crept over the last two decades of the century that recently ended, as far as the ‘I’ can see. Coffee?”
   

 楼主| 发表于 2020-9-28 17:33:54 | 显示全部楼层
  
小病诗
   
   (选自 Chinese Whispers )
   作者:(美)约翰.阿什贝利(John Ashberry)
   译者:剑郭琴符
   
   如果生活是一种仇恨犯罪,那就随它去。
   但是嘿嘿---当他们发明加的夫巨人的时候我就在附近。
   我不骗你。上帝想让你知道,
   所以你会记得爱他。是的,他经常向我倾诉,
   
   提示我有价值垃圾的行踪,
   但不想让我假装我们是勾结的。
   这盏灯,被锈覆盖,有价值
   虽然不老。它是可以收藏的,
   就像我们所有人一样,在某种意义上。我爱你,
   它是性骚扰,但我们走上了那条路,
   穿过怒号,穿过干燥空旷的田野。
   
   
   如果我是你,我会得到一个未列出的号码,
   然后想想成长,就一点点。
   
   我不能告诉你该选哪根占卜的骨头,那是你的工作,
   当你靠近时,我希望它就在我周围,
   
   围绕着我。你帽子的叮当声安慰了我,
   使我在最坏的方面得到了证实。除了小丑我将决不是任何东西。
   现在。还有那么多的工作要做,
   那么多的迷惑要忽略。
  
  
  
Little Sick Poem
   
   
   
   If living is a hate crime, so be it.
   But hey---I was around when they invented the Cardiff giant.
   I kid you not. God wanted you to know,
   so you’d remember to love Him. Yes, He often confides in me,
   
   tips me off to the whereabouts of valuable junk
   but doesn’t want me to let on we are in cahoots.
   This lamp, covered in rust, is valuable
   though not old. It is collectible,
   as we all are, in a sense. I love you,
   it’s sexual harassment, but we get on that way,
   through bluster, through dried open fields.
   
   If I were you I’d get an unlisted number,
   then think about growing up, just a little.
   I can’t tell you which divining bones to choose, that’s your job,
   and when you come close, I wish it was all around,
   
   around over me. The jingle of your hat comforts me,
   confirms me in my worst aspects. I shall never be anything but a clown,
   now. And there’s so much work to do,
   so many puzzles to ignore.
  
  
  
一个男人叫嚷着
   
   (选自 Chinese Whispers )
   作者:(美)约翰.阿什贝利(John Ashberry)
   译者:剑郭琴符
   
   那次罢工结束,另一次又开始。
   它们都不长。一个进一步的循环。
   在橄榄谷,他们的生活方式
   和我们一百年前一样。
   猜测源于山谷
   陡峭一侧的裂缝。
   那里再也没有地方
   洗澡。她看到我们
   眼神交流。
   
   警察,其中一些人,已经有一些岁数。
   对一个可能永远不会结束的故事来说
   这是一个很好的开始,所以我们选择了更谨慎的
   一个。它是现在落在树上的自由。
   暮色也许是一家公司。鞋匠的
   孩子们穿鞋上学,甚至在雨中。
   他们和我们也许是时候了。
   你穿着一件黄色的裙子,戴着精选的耳环。
  
  
  
A Man Clamored   
   
   That strike ended and another one began.
   None of them were long. One farther loop.
   In the olive valleys they live
   the way we did a hundred years ago.
   Speculation stems from a fissure
   in the valley’s steep side.
   There is no room for bathing
   any more in that. She saw us
   make eye contact.
   
   The police, a few of them, are years old.
   It was a nice beginning for a story
   that might never end, so we chose a more careful
   one instead. It’s free fall in the trees now.
   Twilight is a firm maybe. The cobbler’s
   children wear shoes to school, even in the rain.
   Perhaps it’s time for them and us.
   You wore a yellow dress and selected earrings.
  
  
  
本地传奇
   
   (选自 Chinese Whispers )
   作者:(美)约翰.阿什贝利(John Ashberry)
   译者:剑郭琴符
   
   一天晚上,我很晚才抵达歌剧院,
   遇到了格拉杜斯.阿德.帕纳斯苏姆博士,他急匆匆地走下大理石楼梯。
   像天鹅,“如果我是你,我就不烦扰了,”他吐露。
   “这是威尔第在他出生前写的作品。
   诚然,他浮士德传奇版本是独一无二的:
   
   浮士德诱使梅菲斯特想出
   除了同样古老欺骗的东西。最后,在他智穷的时候,魔鬼
   敦促瓦伦丁接替他的位置,答应他一大笔奖励,
   不超过《老烟》。那么你不知道,格雷琴.盖尔斯也参与了吗。
   他们决定把它变成一个骚扰案。浮士德
   一上街,微风就在他额头絮叨,
   他不能说出他从哪里来,或者他是否有一个
   被诱惑回来青春。”
   蝙蝠抵达。那是他们的时刻。
   都有两千万只蝙蝠从一个低矮的令人惊讶的涵洞飞出来。
   每晚,应时。我不骗你。经过一两次粗略的
   猛扑,它们都飞回来了。这一切都发生在
   几分钟,几秒钟,几乎。这提醒了我,你选择第二个吗?
   梅菲斯特要你用这个金属箔。效果更好。
   不,没什么问题。
   
   几个小时后,我和那位好医生站在
   一个被雪覆盖的果园里。他向我强调
   芥末膏药的价值。“看,这是有道理的。”
   
   然而,我们都知道它们在某些气候有毒,
   尽管只有少量服用。
   
   再见,老兄。
  
  
  
Local Legend
   
   Arriving late at the opera one night
   I ran into Dr. Gradus ad Parnassum hastening down the marble stair,
   swan-like. “I wouldn’t bother if I was you,” he confided.
   “It’s a Verdi work written before he was born.
   True, his version of the Faust legend is unique:
   Faust tempts Mephistopheles to come up with something
   besides the same old shit. Finally, at his wit’s end, the devil
   urges Valentine to take his place,promising him big rewards
   this side of Old Smoky. Then wouldn’t you know, Gretchen gels involved.
   They decide to make it into a harassment case. No sooner
   does Faust hit the street than the breeze waffles his brow,
   he can’t say where he came from, or if he ever had a youth
   to be tempted back into.”
   The bats arrived. It was their moment.
   Twenty million bats fly out of an astonishingly low culvert
   every night, in season. I kid you not.After a cursory swoop
   or two, they all fly back in. It all happens in a matter of
   minutes, seconds, almost. Which reminds me, have you chosen your second?
   Mephisto wants you to use this foil. It works better.
   No, there’s nothing wrong with it.
   
   Hours later I stood with the good doctor
   in a snow-encrusted orchard. He urged the value
   of mustard plasters on me.“See, it makes sense.”
   Yet we both knew they are poisonous in some climates,
   though only if taken in minute quantities.
   
   See you again, old thing.
  
  
  
今晚梦见我
   
   (选自 Chinese Whispers )
   作者:(美)约翰.阿什贝利(John Ashberry)
   译者:剑郭琴符
   
   一个小时前。我走上楼去了梦乡。打了一辆出租车出来,有人回来了。现在我们实际上并不是在梦境地面。那是以后的事。看,这些是适当的计划,植物。他们以前在这里有一个肖陶扩湖,进入湖很远。现在它被剥皮。实际上没有人来这里。但也有人。你几乎没见过他们。不,我不谦虚。有些人出去在地板上,一年好几次,他们的紫色玻璃在人行道落下怪异可怕的光芒,正如惠特曼所说的那样。或者痰盂。看,我们差不多半英里后,它必须连接。田纳西漂流者鲨鱼般笑着。然后是本地棋盘游戏。
   
   我喝高了。
   
   其中一个,叫“臭鼬”,你是一只黄鼠狼,在波普的时候追着一只小兔回到它的洞里!黄鼠狼妈妈,大约有十层楼高,用她的围裙带把你困住,围裙上有罂粟花和腐烂的船坞图案。你看,你认为每个名词都必须有一个形容词,甚至“精子”,这就是你犯的第一个大错误。后来下雨,我们就要坐车了。但是游戏还没结束---有一万六千个大理石台阶在上面,你可以随心所欲地沿着它们轻松滑行,就像骑自行车,拖着黄鼠狼。它是一辆健身自行车。真是个好时机告诉我,太阳风把一切磨平,像石英一样光滑。现在和你又回到终点。
   
   你还没完全出森林。梦境还有别的牧草,别的旋律细细品味。蜂鸟和蜻蜓在破碎的天空圆屋顶下交配,三点钟太阳正下着矿物色的糖果。我想要一个。这是你的。我很高兴我们来了。但我讨厌草图,虽然太阳慢慢地离开了。我站在船尾甲板上,它在煤色的冰山上摇动着五颜六色的三角旗,它似乎对我们很好奇,在这条路上滑来滑去,然后突然回到远处有着正确山丘的沼泽地。如果是我,我会终生每天都这样旅行。
  
  
  
Meet Me Tonight in Dreamland
   
   It was an hour ago. I walked upstairs to dreamland. Took a cab and got out and somebody else backed in. Now we weren’t actually on the Dreamland floor. That would be for later. Look, these are the proper plans, plants. They used to have a Chautauqua here, far out into the lake. Now it’s peeled. No one actually comes here. Yet there are people. You just hardly ever see them .No I wasn’t being modest. Some get out on the floor, several a year, whose purple glass sheds an eldritch glow on the trottoirs, as Whitman called them. Or spittoons. Look, we are almost a half a mile later, it must link up. The Tennessee drifter smiled sharkly. Then it was on to native board games.
   
   Je bois trop.
   
   In one of these, called “Skunk,” you are a weasel chasing a leveret back to its hole when Bop! the mother weasel, about ten stories tall, traps you with her apron string, patterned with poppies and rotted docks. You see, you thought every noun had to have an adjective, even “sperm,” and that’s where you made your first big mistake. Later it’s raining and we have to take a car. But the game isn’t over---there are sixteen thousand marble steps coming up, down which you glide as effortlessly as you please, as though on a bicycle, weasel in tow.It’s an exercise bike. What a time to tell me, the solar wind has sandpapered everything as smooth as quartz. Now it’s back to the finish line with you.
   
   You’re not quite out of the woods yet. Dreamland has other pastures, other melodies to chew on. Hummingbirds mate with dragonflies beneath the broken dome of the air, and it’s three o’clock the sun is raining mineral-colored candy. I’d like one of these. It’s yours. Now I’m glad we came. I hate drafts though and the sun is slowly moving away. I’m standing on the poop deck wiggling colored pennants at the coal-colored iceberg that seems to be curious about us, is sliding this way and that, then turns abruptly back into the moors with their correct hills in the distance. If it was me I’d take a trip like this every day of my life.
   
  
  
  
坏脾气的鱼
   
   (选自 Chinese Whispers )
   作者:(美)约翰.阿什贝利(John Ashberry)
   译者:剑郭琴符
   
   把你的路缠绕到地板上,
   宝贝。今天没有激情。
   我们被醋充满,
   被雨诅咒因为被雨淋湿。
   
   这通行证已过期。
   我认为我们已经撤退,
   直到我注意到你在远处的田野,
   挥舞着一条深红色的手帕。
   
   向我看不见的某人
   就这样发生:我
   回来,然后你返回到我。
   我们的头在暮色茶中混合。
   
   有一次,我们认为一切结束。
   一个男人声称要把他的一切
   泄露出去。实际上他留了很多。
   现在,他不能把送给别人,
   
   或者在尤蒂卡被捕。我在其中
   如此重要的一部分的暴力
   现在主要是紫丁香---紫色,
   迅速庇护。它向你爬去
   
   就像被围困的
   城墙上的梯子。问题是,这座城市
   已经沦陷,饥饿的居民
   正在用彩带欢迎我们侵略者;
   
   高尔夫球场所在的地方有一个深坑
   但牛奶供应又恢复
   正常。从壁画游乐宫的塔楼
   处女们恳求:让这一切再次
   
   发生,让这一切再次降临到我们,
   像波浪或时间在我们身上旅行,
   从中伸出一只小拳头
   紧握橙色或黄色的花朵。
   
  
  
  
Ornery Fish
   
   Wind your way to the floor,
   sweet. No passions obtain today.
   We are full of vinaigrette,
   cursed by the rain for being rained on.
   
   This pass has expired.
   I thought we had retreated
   until I noticed you far out in the field,
   waving a crimson handkerchief
   
   toward someone I couldn’t see.
   This is the way it goes: I
   come back, then you come back to me.
   Our heads blend in the twilight tea.
   
   Once, we thought it was over.
   A man claimed to be giving away
   all he had. Actually he kept much of it.
   Now, he can’t give it away,
   
   or get arrested in Utica. The violence
   of which I was so important a part
   is chiefly lilacs now---purple,
   speedy shelter. Toward you it climbs
   
   like a ladder in the wall
   of a besieged city. Trouble is, the city
   has already fallen, the starved inhabitants
   are welcoming us invaders with streamers;
   
   there is a pit where the golf course was
   but milk supplies are normal
   again. From the towers of the frescoed fun house
   the virgins are beseeching: let it all happen
   
   again, let this come over us,
   travel over us like a wave or time,
   from which protrudes a tiny fist
   clutching orange or yellow flowers.
  
  
  
山羊肖像画
   
   (选自 Chinese Whispers )
   作者:(美)约翰.阿什贝利(John Ashberry)
   译者:剑郭琴符
   
   我们读给自己听。有时读给别人。
   我正静静读页边空白
   当鸽子掉下来的时候,外面是
   蓝色的。也许过一会儿,
   他说。那一刻从未到来。
   我现在在读别的东西,
   没关系。别的人来
   投递简历。我没有闲着,
   正是如此。有人想在这个
   荒诞的季节彻底离开。
  
  
  
Portrait with a Goat
   
   We were reading to ourselves.Sometimes to others.
   I was quietly reading the margin
   when the doves fell, it was blue
   outside. Perhaps in a moment,
   he said. The moment never came.
   I was reading something else now,
   it didn’t matter. Other people came and
   dropped off their resumes. I wasn’t being idle,
   exactly. Someone wanted to go away
   altogether in this preposterous season.
  
  

 楼主| 发表于 2020-9-29 17:35:58 | 显示全部楼层
  
走廊上的贴纸
   
   (选自 Chinese Whispers )
   作者:(美)约翰.阿什贝利(John Ashberry)
   译者:剑郭琴符
   
   把马格里归还给先前的意外事件:
   艾萨克先生渔猎恭维
   在混乱的水中,诸如此类。一瞬间,一颗恒星
   释放了它们对地球的抑制。母亲的
   发网没解开。她一生涉猎
   极乐,很早就知道属于完美的毒刺。
   他吸收了岳父的权威
   就好像它是脓水。有时,移植
   到象脚的雨伞架站在
   门厅,他会诅咒孩子们以及
   他们留下的不可能追踪的难题。它
   就像他,她想,在他们
   秘密行动的午夜前夜离开,
   秘密地计划大约在第二天早上
   当海鸥漂走,引擎熄火的
   时候。
   多么甜蜜,直接注视
   即时性的未来。彩虹女神和孩子们跑到街上,
   街角传来喊声,像是碟子心不在焉地
   落在彼此身上。
   另一个绝色佳丽,她计划。相反,
   呼吁发出:多元化!这样做
   偶然缓和你的一些愚蠢的嗜好。这里,
   全世界麻醉的市场等待,
   俯卧着,时代手术刀的霍布森.乔布森,
   笨蛋们在煎饼树下惊慌失措,兜售迷醉万能药,
   早期吸引力的外溢,与“老人自己”的搭售交易。
   
   出色的邀请现在申请。
   每一个派别都想拥有自己的行为,
   尽管我们那时还不是现代人。远非如此:
   
   我们想投币,在皮亚佐拉广场上的
   恶心悲伤中,在那里没有一个遗嘱修改附录能到达青年时代
   不加过滤。然而,遭遇陨石坑的洞
   知道吞咽哪种解药。亨利勋爵远涉入
   螃蟹的私人河口,然而水却从未擦过他的膝盖。
   太阳驱动的天空的佩斯利羽状图案和伪证一样好;作为抵押品,
   它可能已经达到高峰;然而,这些营地的追随者到底是谁,
   他们认为我们做了什么,他们想问我们?
   
   作为一个突起的青春期,我被抛出,一次又一次在一床毛毯上。
   有时候我觉得我还住在那里。当时对某些下坡感兴趣,
   让我想起了研究生院,如果只是
   为了摆脱那些古老的隆隆声。
   我将面对一个冻疮的珠穆朗玛峰,只是为了暗示自己
   和狼,再一次。他们告诉我们他出去了,不要等。
   他们在开玩笑,他们说。
   他们很快就会回来。
  
  
  
The Decals in the Hallway
   
   remanded Margery to an earlier contingency:
   Sir Isaac fishing for compliments
   in troubled waters, and like that. In a flash, a star
   o’erspread their terrestrial inhibitions. Mother’s
   hairnet came unknotted. She dabbled in bliss
   all her life, early knew perfection’s spiteful sting.
   He’d imbibed his father-in-law’s authority
   as though it were ichor. Sometimes, transplanted
   to the elephant’s-foot umbrella stand
   in the vestibule, he’d curse children and the impossible
   trail of conundrums they leave behind.It’d
   be just like him, she thought, to leave
   on the eve of the midnight of their secrecy,
   secretly planning to be around next morning
   when the gulls had drifted away and the engines given
   out.
   And sweet it was to contemplate the immediate
   future of immediacy. Iris and the little ones had run out onto the street,
   cries came from the corner, like dishes falling
   absentmindedly against each other.
   Another corker, she planned. Instead
   the call went out: Diversify! And in so doing
   casually assuage some of your dopiest penchants. Here,
   the anesthetized markets of the world await,
   prostrate, time’s scalpel’s hobson-jobson,
   while ninnies panic under the pancake tree, touting wired panaceas,
   spillovers of earlier attractions, tie-in deals
   with the Old One himself.
   
   Cool invitations now apply.
   Every faction would like to own its kind of behavior,
   though we weren’t being modern just then. Far from it:
   
   We were thinking money shots in Piazzola plazas
   of retching grief, where not one codicil reaches striplinghood
   unsieved. Yet the hole that encounters a crater
   knows which antidote to swallow. Lord Henry waded far out
   into the crabs’ private estuary, yet the water never grazed his knees.
   The sun-driven sky’s paisley was as good as perjured; as collateral
   it had probably peaked; yet who precisely are these camp followers,
   and what is it that they think we have done that they want to ask us about?
   
   As one protuberant pubescent I was tossed, over and over again in a blanket.
   Sometimes I think I live there still. Certain declivities interested me then,
   made me think about grad school, if only
   to get away from the archaic rumblings.
   I’d face an Everest of chilblains just to insinuate myself
   with the wolf, one more time. They told us he was out,not to wait.
   The joke was on them, they said.
   They’ll be back soon.
  
  
  
  
仿语破布
   
   (选自 Chinese Whispers )
   作者:(美)约翰.阿什贝利(John Ashberry)
   译者:剑郭琴符
   
   1
   
   车库门没锁。你的
   “诱人的香味”向我怒吼。
   像一个词
   什么词?
   好啦我不说了,
   今天不行。太晚了。
   由于今天,很晚了。
   
   我们明天可以坐火车回去。
   还有时间赶上最后一趟。
   太阳仍然高高挂在天上
   
   2
   
   我的上帝,所有鸡
   在任何鸡笼
   高高骑行,
   在我们的道路上前进,
   另一个传说,显然不真实,但它将存在很长一段时间。
   
   人为失误造成了一场
   犬牙花纹检查
   和火车烟雾的喘息
   
   以及苹果花的碰撞。
   这是给你的花---
   你知道,“栖息地”,
   该放进什么
   现在。
   
   3
   
   当姜饼男孩
   干他郁闷的差事,
   它在地上融化,
   感觉到地板上的管子,
   像一个虔诚的恐惧
   不再在周围,
   就像你知道
   它会来你车里,太阳,
   在威士忌上融化奶酪:
   别打喷嚏。
  
  
  
Echolalia Rag
   
   
   1
   
   The garage door is unlocked.
   Your “tantalizing fragrance” roars over me
   like a word.
   What word?
   Well I wasn’t going to utter that,
   not today. It’s too late.
   For today, it’s late.
   
   We can take the train back tomorrow.
   There’s still time to catch the last one.
   The sun was still high in the heavens
   
   2.
   
   My gawd all the chickens
   in whatever coop
   riding high,
   heading our way,
   another legend, palpably untrue, but which will be around for a long time.
   
   Human error caused a collision
   of houndstooth check and puffs
   of train smoke
   
   and apple blossoms.
   Here are blossoms for you---
   you know, “habitat,”
   and what to put into it
   now.
   
   3.
   
   When the gingerbread boy
   did his morose errand
   it was melting on the ground,
   felt tubing on the floor,
   like a good scare
   isn’t around anymore,
   like even you knew
   it coming on in your car, the sun,
   melted cheese over whiskey down:
   Don’t sneeze yet.
  
  
  
  
格乐兹之夜(1)
   
   (选自 Chinese Whispers )
   作者:(美)约翰.阿什贝利(John Ashberry)
   译者:剑郭琴符
   
   作为一个群体,我们有点脆弱,
   今天也是如此。我的姐夫在磨坊里
   给我修好了一座塔,从它的窗台上
   我可以看到青蝇,它们在天堂唠叨
   用它们的不足道。但是他们想干什么?
   抚养家庭?成为执事?如果这样,我的计算
   崩溃成小摆设,我的方程式
   就毁掉了。
   在马路对面,他们正在盖一座水泥房。
   它看起来没有窗户。水泥鸽用的
   骨灰龛。几十年来,当我在信中
   和你交谈时,有一件事是不确定的:
   你的答复。现在我们又像死鸟一样
   濒临灭绝,秋天的红宝石唾沫
   像龙卷风一样在天空中攀登。在这间
   空荡荡的房间里尽量保持寒冷和空旷
   在工作室检查镜子。
   蜥蜴的光芒,马匹的天鹅绒毯子
   总有一天会让你惊喜,带着一丝含蓄的
   希望。
   
   (1)Greuze:格乐兹(Jean Baptiste,1725-1805,法国画家)。
  
  
  
The Evening of Greuze
   
   
   As a group we were somewhat vulnerable
   and are so today. My brother-in-law has fixed
   me a tower in the mill, from whose oriel
   I can see the bluebottles who nag heaven
   with their unimportance. But what are they expected to do?
   Raise families? Become deacons? If so my calculations
   collapse into bric-a-brac, my equations
   are undone.
   Across the road they are building a cement house.
   It will seemingly have no windows. A columbarium
   for cement pigeons. And ever as I talked to you
   down the decades in my letters one thing was unsure:
   your reply. Now we are again endangered,
   like dead birds, and autumn’s ruby spittle mounts
   in the sky like a tornado. Try to keep
   cold and empty in this bare room
   Examine mirrors in the studio.
   The lizard’s glint, the horse’s velvet blanket
   will surprise you into veiled hope one
   day.
  
  
  
  
就像雨伞跟着雨
   
   (选自 Chinese Whispers )
   作者:(美)约翰.阿什贝利(John Ashberry)
   译者:剑郭琴符
   
   可惜他从没试过---
   他可能会喜欢它。
   
   她看到我们眼神交流。
   那天就是这样。
   
   他也太糟糕,当
   我的
   
   意思是如果我来就
   已经太晚。
   
   一些天鹅成群飞。
   春天过去了---不该
   是这样。
   
   现在他们看着他畏缩不前。
   他们是谁?他是谁?
   
   我们决定飞中国。
   食物没那么好。
   
   哦,欧文,我有没有告诉过你
   那个人——那个人——我不知道
   
   我该不该。
   他无精打采地爬回来,
   
   手里拿着一堆女歌唱家。
   拿出这些是难事,
   
   但你有权做的任何事情也一样:
   要上的课。
   
   学校的早晨。
   晚上快结束了,
   
   他们偏离了安全规则。
   又是一颗雾弹的时候。
   
   看,他们所有人栖息的方式。
   可怜的灵魂一起冲突
   
   直到树根的屋顶
   几乎从一开始就分开了我们。
   
   在我们的时代,我们杀了许多巨人,
   烧毁了许多图书馆。
   
   环形交叉口,秋千,
   都是我们幸运的碎片。
   
   现在我们完蛋了,天快冷了。
   不至于坏到可以站起来。
   
   出于这种渴望,我们创作了一首赞歌。
   现在每一个跨过这座桥的人更聪明。
   
   它不怎么倾斜。
   看,海岸从侧面抵达。
   
   有些人真的认为他们知道很多,
   让他们陷入麻烦,我们必须清理
   
   咖啡馆,寻找老鼠和爆炸的婴儿。
   上周有一个都太多。
   
   我不知道你是否在编码。
   警察把我们拉到路边
   
   用披肩。你为什么要围着我转
   当有别的公函
   
   在手上要看?
   我从没想过要永远被禁足。
   
   这是家庭教师。摘下帽子。
   没必要,我上周四来过。
   
   一切最好的生物都受挫
   因为痛苦。他灵巧地卸下我的锁链,
   
   用胶泥处理我的护照。
   
   现在,五只大雁两次
   
   飞过新月,在这小公园,
   是时候认真对待事实。
   
   有牧师扮成修女,
   榅桲等等。
   
   把我往太阳那边倾斜一点,
   我想看它最后一次。那儿,
   
   没关系。我见过它。
   你可以把我卷进去。翅膀上有什么扰动?
   
   他是来喝冰镇薄荷酒的。
   他马上就走了。
   
   我们哭得太多
   为淹死的狗。
   
   他上周也来过。
   说他认识你或别人。
   
   只是回答让他们中的许多人
   采取不同的路线就是痛苦。
   
   太多的货物---我们确实被宠坏。
   如果我们学会了少靠
   
   世界的变化也许会有所不同来生存,
   地球会来迎接我们。我说,椅子又长回来了。
   
   这对夫妇坐在餐具排水器里,
   思索着不确定的未来。
   
   厨房从未看起来这么荒凉
   除了炉子旁边的两只龙猫,一大杯
   
   煮过的红葡萄酒,剃须皂闻起来
   那么清新和新鲜,像烟一样,几乎。
   
   他说让它留在这里,
   他来到这里。
   
   好吧,驾驭德索托,
   我们有别的计划
   
   为了新奇,为了更新,有点儿---
   在单独的小屋野餐
   
   这样就没人为此睡着,梦见
   她是一把中提琴,照料的乐器,差不多。
   
   我们回来时你应该看到他。
   他绝对疯狂。不想让我们去
   
   看画展。但在某种程度上一切都结束了,
   我们回来,伤害已经造成。
   
   他逐渐意识到了这一点
   在很多年间,跨越
   
   两次世界大战和一次大萧条。
   从那以后,是时候站起来走了,
   
   但是谁又能站起来走?一个孩子的
   聚会,彩绘的纸帽子,一大碗的柠檬水,
   
   不再在柠檬水摊位上,卖完了。
   那是愉快的。一个男人正好走在你后面,
   
   他有两张通往门口的票。
   我们不需要再挨饿
   
   但宗教也是有弹性的---
   也许在将来某个时候会想要一些---
   
   要是这样,你会在这里找到。
   现在我们得赶紧进去,
   
   快走吧,是一回事
   她说雨来了和偷走国王。
  
  
  
As Umbrellas Follow Rain
   
   Too bad he never tried it---
   he might have liked it.
   
   She saw us make eye contact.
   And that was that for that day.
   
   Too bad he too, when I
   am
   
   meaning if I came along it’d
   already be too late.
   
   Some of the swans are swarming.
   The spring has gone under---it wasn’t
   supposed to be like this.
   
   Now they watch him and cringe.
   Who are they? Who is he?
   
   We decided to fly Chinese.
   The food wasn’t that good.
   
   And oh Erwin did I tell you
   that man---the one---I didn’t
   
   know if I was supposed to or not.
   He crawled back listlessly,
   
   holding a bunch of divas.
   It’s hard work getting these out,
   
   but so’s any thing you’re entitled to do:
   classes to attend.
   
   The morning of school.
   Evening almost over,
   
   they bend the security rules.
   It’s time for another fog bomb.
   
   Lookit the way they all roost.
   Poor souls clashed together
   
   until almost the root’s roof
   separates us from our beginning.
   
   We slew many giants in our day,
   burned many libraries.
   
   Roundabouts, swings,
   it was all one piece of luck to us.
   
   Now we’re washed up it’s almost cold.
   Not bad enough to put up a stand.
   
   Out of that longing we built a paean.
   Now everyone who crosses this bridge is wiser.
   
   It doesn’t tilt much.
   Look, the shore is arriving laterally.
   
   Some people literally think they know a lot,
   gets ’em in trouble, we must rake out
   
   cafes looking for rats and exploded babies.
   There was one too many last week.
   
   I don’t know if you’re coding.
   The cop pulled us over
   
   in a shawl. Why do you want to go around me
   when there are other circulars
   
   to be had for the looking?
   I never thought about being grounded forever.
   
   This is Mademoiselle. Take your hat off.
   There’s no need, I was here last Thursday.
   
   All the best creatures are thwarted
   for their pains. He removed my chains deftly,
   
   processed my passport with gunk.
   Now two times five geese fly across
   
   the crescent moon, it is time to get down to
   facts, in the tiny park.
   
   There were priests posing as nuns,
   quinces and stuff.
   
   Tilt me a little more to the sun,
   I want to see it one last time. There,
   
   that’s just fine. I’ve seen it.
   You can roll me inside. On wings of what perturbation?
   
   He came for the julep.
   He was gone in an instant.
   
   We cry too much over
   drowned dogs.
   
   He came in last week too.
   Said he knew you or somebody else.
   
   It’s the pain just of replying
   that makes so many of them take up different lines.
   
   Too many goods---we are spoiled indeed.
   Had we learned to subsist on less
   
   the changing of the world might be different,
   earth come to greet us. I say, the chairs have grown back.
   
   The couple sat in the dish drainer
   pondering an uncertain future.
   
   The kitchen had never looked bleaker
   except for two chinchillas near the stove, a beaker
   
   of mulled claret, shaving soap smelling
   so fresh and new, like smoke, almost.
   
   He says leave it here,
   that he comes here.
   
   OK harness the DeSoto,
   we’ll have other plans
   
   for newness, for a renewing, kind of---
   picnics in the individual cells
   
   so no one falls asleep for it, dreams
   she is a viola, instrument of care, of sorts.
   
   You should have seen him when we got back.
   He was absolutely wild. Hadn’t wanted us to go
   
   to the picture show. But in a way it was all over,
   we were back, the harm had been done.
   
   Gradually he came to realize this
   over a period of many years, spanning
   
   two world wars and a major depression.
   After that it was time to get up and go,
   
   but who had the get up and go? A child’s
   party, painted paper hats, bowlfuls of lemonade,
   
   no more at the lemonade stand, it sold out.
   That was cheerful. A man came right up behind you,
   
   he had two tickets to the door.
   We need starve no more
   
   but religion is elastic too---
   might want some at some future date---
   
   if so you’ll find it here.
   We have to hurry in now,
   
   hurry away, it’s the same thing
   she said as rain came and stole the king.
  
  

 楼主| 发表于 2020-9-30 19:28:44 | 显示全部楼层


玻璃纸下
   
   (选自 Chinese Whispers )
   作者:(美)约翰.阿什贝利(John Ashberry)
   译者:剑郭琴符
   
   它没什么帮助,
   甚至连我心爱的哲学也没有,
   沮丧地坐着,她双手放在膝上,
   头慢慢地左右移动。
   “你这个淘气,恶劣的男孩……”
   
   但我昨晚很珍视你……
   这没什么区别,夜晚就像那样---
   不同,古怪。我们积累的收获
   在寒冷的日光中消散,随手
   可触。看那柳树模糊的
   绿色如何颤抖。昨晚又是另一个故事,
   某种鸟在唱歌。
   我脑子里有一种颤音
   却无法摆脱我的长裤…
   
   如果一切都结束,从一边到另一边,摇摆
   像一个心烦意乱的母亲摇着摇篮,
   对尖叫的婴儿视而不见,
   如果一切都到了这地步,当我们走下楼梯时,
   我们对别人有什么好处?
   灯光,这,那,从管子的一端
   开始关注,另一只手
   扣紧项链扣---
   哦,你也有过美好的时光,
   早晨像纸板反射
   舞动的房子里的光,一个
   世界奇妙,如一朵蓓蕾开放。
   
   你记得我被锁在一个壁橱
   当某人来让我出去,
   说:这个可爱的花园是什么,
   但我刚刚在的那个更可爱的花园在哪里?
   所以一切都被打破:
   
   约书亚树木堆得更高
   它们的忧伤在温室的空白玻璃窗下,
   你今晚的样子,
   旋转你的轮胎的样子
   在潮湿的排水沟,在碎石上,在沙滩上。
   
   吃下这最后一片药:
   你被发现你剩下的垃圾
   都快死或死了。只有你表现出
   一些适当的好奇心
   它现在开始煽起好学的
   道德火焰,而这正是我们关心的一切。
Under Cellophane   
   
   None of it helped much,
   not even my beloved Philosophy,
   sitting dejected, hands in her lap,
   moving her head slowly from side to side.
   “You naughty, wicked boy …”
   
   But I cherished you last night...
   It makes no difference, night is like that ---
   different, odd. The gains we rack up
   dissipate in cold daylight, random
   to the touch. Look how the faint green
   of the willow shudders. Last night it was another story,
   some kind of bird was singing.
   I have this warble in my head
   yet can’t get out of my long johns ...
   
   And if it was over, from side to side, rocking
   as a distraught mother rocks her cradle
   mindless of the screaming babe,
   and if it all comes to this, what good are we to others
   when we do descend the stair?
   Lamplight and this and that, caring
   out of one end of the tube, with the other hand
   fastening the necklace clasp---
   Oh you had some fine times too,
   morning like pasteboard reflecting the light
   at the dancing houses, and
   a world wondering, opening like a bud.
   
   You remember I was locked in a closet
   and when someone came to let me out,
   said, what is this lovely garden,
   but where is the even lovelier one I was just in?
   So all things come to bust:
   
   the Joshua trees piling ever higher
   their grief under the conservatory’s blank panes,
   the way you look tonight,
   the way you spun your tires
   in the wet gutter, on gravel, in the sand.
   
   And take this last piece of medicine:
   You were found with the rest of your litter
   dying or dead. Only you showed
   some appropriate curiosity
   that’s gone now to fan the flames
   of scholarly ethics, and that’s just about all we’re about.


矩尺星座的回忆
   
   (选自 Chinese Whispers )
   作者:(美)约翰.阿什贝利(John Ashberry)
   译者:剑郭琴符
   
   知识渊博,她对许多事情都很有见地---
   星星在它们不定的轨道上运行,一个花蕾
   滑过芙蓉花,一朵云像
   泰迪熊脸上的皱眉。然后,更多的东西。
   审问官们有无穷的耐心,愉快---
   你不得不,在那件事中。
   如果他们喜欢你的回答,你是自由的。
   它不必是真的。彩带,派对礼物,
   五彩纸屑---都是你的。
   
   我现在知道为什么有些人看到太阳下山
   它满足了他们的饥饿,他们来了也不衰退。
   我的主人很乐意配对?
   在这种情况下,我们有不同大小和颜色的蹦蹦跷。
   但他可能刚走了
   以为那一天就够了。
   
   自行车在雨雪中疾驰而来---
Reminiscences of Norma
   
   Knowledgeably, she is knowledgeable about many things---
   the stars in their errant orbits, a bud
   sliding over a hibiscus, a cloud like a frown
   on the face of a teddy bear. And then, more stuff.
   The inquisitors were endlessly patient, amused---
   you had to be, in that business.
   And if they liked your answer, you were free.
   It didn’t have to be true. Streamers, party favors,
   Confetti---all were yours.
   I know now why some have seen the sun sink
   and it fed their hunger, they came on unabated.
   Is it my lord’s pleasure to mate?
   In that case we have pogo sticks of different sizes and colors.
   But he may just go away
   thinking it enough for that day.
   
   Bicycle came barreling through the sleet---


黑曜石屋
   
   (选自 Chinese Whispers )
   作者:(美)约翰.阿什贝利(John Ashberry)
   译者:剑郭琴符
   
   水果成熟,浸在火里,煮熟
   在地球上这儿测试。
   ---荷尔德林,理查德.希伯思译
   
   作为被证明
   他们走进
   牧师所在的屋子,
   忧郁而诚恳
   
   像所有的诠释者。齐柏林飞艇
   在他头上盘旋,灌木丛喜欢他,
   但令人失望的是,在世界上
   他们都拥抱歌唱。
   
   再者,有人确信
   有一个发生了,
   但没有不修边幅的证据
   曾经被发送。
   
   线条摇摆
   前前后后,
   家庭主妇们排队等羊排
   所有这些节奏意味着
   
   从上面
   受到严厉的谴责。
   
   旅游者转移了他的位置。
   这些棕榈树在我们心中都是幸运的。
   不管暴君的真相说什么,
   在我童年的墙上
   
   我一直希望(正在希望)这个封闭
   但不太热情。
   一种愉快的情绪孵化,
   很快人口泛滥在土地上。
   
   我们轻轻地下到小船
   听水手长的
   歌声,从绞盘上唱着,讲述着生命如何侵入
   单调的海浪
   
   当一颗巨大的骨髓被啃咬
   没人对干燥有把握。
   
   仿佛一场盛宴发生
   显而易见。我们忘记了
   宝藏,忘了它已发生
   在旋转麦子的疯狂里。
Obsidian House
   
   The fruits are ripe,dipped in fire,cooked and
   tested here on earth.
   ---Hölderlin, translated by Richard Sieburth
   
   as was proven
   when they entered the house
   in which the priest was,
   moping and sincere
   
   like all exegetes. Zeppelin
   hovered o’er him, bushes fancied him,
   but it was to be let down on earth
   they all embraced singing.
   
   Further, one was sure
   one had come to pass,
   yet no slovenly proof was
   ever forwarded.
   
   The lines swayed
   backwards and forth,
   housewives queuing up for lamb chops
   and all that this rhythm implies
   
   excoriated
   from above.
   
   The tourist metastasizes his position.
   These palms are lucky being within us
   no matter what the tyrant truth says.
   All along my childhood’s wall
   
   I hoped (was hoping) for this occlusion
   but not passionately.
   A cheerful emotion hatched,
   soon population o’erran the land.
   
   We descended gently toward boats
   to hear the boatswain’s
   song, sung from the capstan, about how life intrudes
   on the plodding waves
   
   and no one is certain of desiccation
   as a great marrow bone is gnawed.
   It is as though a feast had happened
   in plain sight. We forgot about the
   treasure, forgot it had happened
   among the madness of whirling wheat.

哦晚上
   
   (选自 Chinese Whispers )
   作者:(美)约翰.阿什贝利(John Ashberry)
   译者:剑郭琴符
   
   那人站在那里,另一个陌生人,
   很容易滑进背景
   好像停止是他脑子里最后一件事。
   
   另一个,由于他缺乏信念的勇气,
   喝了海水发疯。那是一次彻底的失败。
   
   哦晚上!学习在哪里查找它
   本身就成了目的。为此
   训练有素的跳蚤被雇来做算术。
   在通往幸福的路上,蚂蚁们
   在数字上停下来:看起来像是三
   还是只有三?这是我进来的地方吗?
   
   更可能的是,我们都需要为他
   那野蛮争论中的漏洞祝福。当然,经过这个小镇,
   我们为地区经济做出了一点贡献,
   因为露脸而获得声望。
   
   如果镇上唯一的剧院
   变成了殡仪馆怎么样?
   有人推测,没有什么比死亡
   更戏剧化,尽管人们并不知道。
   这就引出了我最初的论点。
   啊,争论是什么?保持我们的位置,
   假设没有比我们温顺的光泽,
   我们的积极的光芒更多的功劳。然后人们出去
   到城里,传播病菌,过着去年那样的生活。
Oh Evenings
   
   The man standing there, the other stranger,
   slips easily into the background
   as though stopping were the last thing on his mind.
   
   Another, lacking the courage of his convictions,
   went mad from drinking seawater. That was an absolute rout.
   
   Oh evenings! Learning where to look it up
   became an end in itself. To this purpose
   trained fleas were engaged to do sums.
   Ants on their way to happiness paused
   over the numbers: Did it seem like three
   or was it just three? Is this where I came in?
   
   More likely we all need to be blessed for the hole
   in his savage argument. Surely, passing through town,
   we contributed a little to the regional economy,
   received credit for showing our faces.
   So what if the only theater in town
   had been turned into a funeral parlor?
   There are few things more theatrical than death,
   one supposes, though one doesn’t know.
   Which brings me to my original argument.
   Ah, what was the argument? Keeping our places,
   assuming no more credit than what is due
   our tame luster, our positive shine. Then people will go out
   into the city, spreading germs, living like it was last year.
复杂的斋戒
   
   (选自 Chinese Whispers )
   作者:(美)约翰.阿什贝利(John Ashberry)
   译者:剑郭琴符
   
   这座小桥
   他们三个
   在岩石上炸了一个凹处
   用真空吸尘器清扫那座山
   和一只叫骨瘦如柴的松鼠玩
   (死亡食指上的倒刺)
   离我家一百码远
   什么家你没有拥有一个家
   我真的有一个家
   
   斑驳的图案后来退到
   我非凡的生活
   嘿,你的生活怎么
   从来没有更好过
   那很好
   因为我要你照顾好你自己
   明白
   是的,我明白
   哦,为了皮特的爱
   现在图案穿上蘑菇
   穿上有磁铁的土著人衣服
   他们正在给你送一艘
   私人汽艇
   
   厌倦在这脏地方喂麝鼠
   准备收拾一下,离开
   这个不爱我的木结构
   等着有一两个小项目要调节
   在你走之前
   我重复我想让我的生活从这里
   消失在记忆中
   带来芳香疗法
   男孩们有一份工作要完成
   
   我总是在中间
   我抱怨
   我可能毕竟不是一个那么好的人
   我在球场上
   我波斯扁豆在可怕的蓝色海峡
   我直到我悲哀的脚踝
   我为实现我的完美而欣喜
   
   海龟们下来
   他们等你
   在船舱里
   请这边走
   
   应该是对的---
Intricate Fasting
   
   This little bridge
   three of them
   blasted a recess in the rock
   hoovered the mountains
   played with a squirrel called Scrawny
   (hangnail on the forefinger of Death)
   a hundred yards from my home
   what home you haven’t got a home
   I do so have a home
   
   Mottled later the pattern recedes
   into my marvelous life
   Hey how are you life
   never been better
   that’s good
   ’cause I want you to take care of yourself
   understand
   Yeah I understand
   Aw for the love of Pete
   The pattern’s got on mushrooms now
   on the clothes of aborigines on magnets
   They are sending a boat for you a
   private launch
   
   Tired of feeding the muskrats in this shithole
   getting ready to tidy up and go
   leave this wooden structure that doesn’t love me
   Wait there are one or two small items to regulate
   before you can go
   I repeat I want my life out of here
   dissolved in memory
   Bring on the aromatherapy
   boys there’s a job to get done
   
   Me always in the middle
   me whining
   me probably not such a nice person after all
   me on the stadium
   me persiflating in the dire blue strait
   me up to my ankles in woe
   me rejoicing in the realization of my perfectibility
   
   Loggerheads come on down
   They’re waiting for you
   in the cabin
   this way please,
   
   And that should be about right---

 楼主| 发表于 2020-10-1 13:50:04 | 显示全部楼层


孤独,我
   
   (选自 Chinese Whispers )
   作者:(美)约翰.阿什贝利(John Ashberry)
   译者:剑郭琴符
   
   认识他。我不想
   提他。他很杰出。
   他的内衣很灿烂。
   戴维斯杯
   在他手里裂开。老练的小丑。
   一个废人。母亲带来孩子们。
   我们比网球活得长。
   大风刮来。
   
   建筑物在其中挥舞,一只
   巨型乌贼的触须,在唐纳山口附近
   寻找几年前丢失的纪念品。
   严肃地,我要回我的纪念品!
   晨光边缘的座舱巡洋舰
   暂时更近---为什么,这都是假的!
   白马王子把烟灰
   撒在林木造型艺术棋子上。丑姐妹多变。
   灰姑娘出去了。一段时间。魔界使者的需求量很大,
   但如果是这样的话,为什么要这么说?你将回来,带着童年
   对邪恶食品的渴望,还有更多的东西要照顾。
   青春浪费在老人身上。
   就像我说的,日子,这些日子,来校准。
Alone,I   
   
   know of him .I don’t want
   to speak of him .He’s brilliant.
   His underwear is radiant.
   The Davis Cup
   came apart in his hands. A seasoned jester.
   A basket case. Mother brought the children.
   We all survived tennis.
   The gale picked up.
   
   Buildings waved in it, and the tentacles
   of a giant squid, seeking a memento
   lost some years ago near the Donner Pass.
   Seriously, I want my memento back!
   The cabin cruisers of morning
   edge tentatively closer— why, it’s all a sham!
   Prince Charming’s dropping cigarette ash
   on topiary chessmen. The ugly sisters are uncertain.
   Cinderella is out. Period. Gargoyles are in great demand,
   but if so, why say so? You’11 come back, with childhood lusting
   after evil groceries, and more of them to take care of.
   Youth is wasted on the old.
   Like I said, the days, these days, come calibrated.

冬天白日梦
   
   (选自 Chinese Whispers )
   作者:(美)约翰.阿什贝利(John Ashberry)
   译者:剑郭琴符
   
   在林荫大道上,我经过一只大乌贼。
   它表现得对我的兴趣不大
   或它的环境,虽然一个吸盘杯子
   若有所思地擦过林荫大道树周围的一圈尖刺
   就像一个人心不在焉地
   把一块单片眼镜放在报纸上,然后像
   工蚁一样的话迅速活跃起来:
   “被告人已经不是第一次受到这样的恳求。
   据他自己承认,四次别的骚乱已经发生
   在第一年之后…”
   
   然后我几乎回家了,这是因为借口或纯粹的勇气。
   在灌木丛中,一只海象在啼叫,所有的体面脱落,或者碎裂。
   难怪家是一个光明的地方,如果生活是你的事。
Winter Daydreams   
   
   On the boulevard I passed a giant squid.
   It manifested but a puny interest in me
   or its surroundings, though one suction cup
   thoughtfully grazed a ring of spikes around a boulevard tree
   like a monocle one puts down absentmindedly
   on the page of a newspaper and words like
   worker ants quickly spring into action:
   “It was not the FIRST TIME THE accused has been so solicited.
   By his OWN ADMISsion four other rumpuses were given rise to
   after that first Year…”
   
   I was almost home then, by subterfuge or sheer pluck.
   In the underbrush a walrus crows, all decency shed, or shredded.
   Little wonder that home is a bright place to be if living’s your thing.

跑道
   
   (选自 Chinese Whispers )
   作者:(美)约翰.阿什贝利(John Ashberry)
   译者:剑郭琴符
   
   我们爬出汽车
   进入休息站。巴尔的摩夫人蛋糕
   由极像杜巴里.艾利克斯夫人的夫人提供。
   “别着急,刽子手先生,”一个人尖声说,
   把不需要的面包屑压在我的嘴唇上。
   “一切马上就结束了,”她鼓励地补充道。
   
   瑞德.斯凯尔顿问我是否有一本书要出版。他似乎沉浸在
   琐事清单和发痒的粉末梦幻中---
   让你醒来
   然后又重新入睡的类型。
   他哥哥在大象后清洗。他
   穿着一件清爽的白色制服。可能是冷饮售货员,
   或者只是个笨蛋。我那有香味的手套惹恼了
   他们中最讲究的人,因为他们没别的依靠
   除了旧伦敦的叫喊声——这是一首详尽的剧目,
   第一个想法,但很快,它的尾声响起——
   一撮尖刻的尖叫声。
   
   我以为那是巫艺时刻。
   没有异常发生。很快,我们就要永远
   离家,在暴风雨中颠簸的海面上颠簸,
   明目张胆地回到多重方向。因为虽然有一些人
   可以没有指南针而生活,但溶接了一切复杂性
   如果一个人永远消息灵通。睡觉,方位——这就是
   我在我纯洁的炉边所需要的一切,去吸收风景,
   就像风开始刮,黑暗渴望
   把我们带到木桩上。
Runway
   
   We crawled out of the car
   into the rest stop. Lady Baltimore cake
   was served by Madame du Barry look-alikes.
   “Don’t hurry, Mr. Executioner,” one chirped,
   pressing the unwanted crumbs against my lips.
   “It’ll all be over in a second,” she added encouragingly.
   
   Red Skelton asked me if I had a book coming out. He seemed drowned
   in lists of trivia and itching-powder dreams—
   the kind that make you wake up
   and then sort of fall back into sleep again.
   His brother was cleaning up after the elephants. He
   wore a crisp white uniform. Could have been a soda jerk,
   or just a jerk. My scented glove offends
   the daintiest among them, for they have no recourse
   but cries of old London---an exhaustive repertory,
   one first thought, but soon its coda reared---
   a clutch of mordant shrieks.
   
   I supposed it was the witching hour.
   Nothing unusual happened. Soon we were leaving home
   forever, to be pitched about on storm-tossed seas,
   flagrant to be back amid multiple directions. For though there are some
   who can live without compasses, it dissolves all complexity
   if one is perpetually in the know. Sleep, directions---that’s all
   I need at my chaste fireside, to take in the sights,
   just as the wind starts and darkness longs
   to take us down a peg.

老人的散记
   
   (选自 Chinese Whispers )
   作者:(美)约翰.阿什贝利(John Ashberry)
   译者:剑郭琴符
   
   像个傻瓜,我让他进了我家,
   他开始到处乱扔便笺。
   曾经是绉纸花的地方,
   便笺从脸盆里溢到抽水马桶里。
   
   城市事务让他留下来——
   关于和海藻约会的事。“快点,
   大自然的道路正在
   向波纹齿爬行。如果今晚是老明星的
   闪电战!“我身体里有些东西斜靠在空荡荡的门框。
   这是一个瓶子和半开半掩的静物
   曾经盛着冷霜。我们不能在这里
   等他,这是他想要的,如果
   我们这样做了,他将想吃我们。
   
   今早我们不再在一起,
   在杯子和碎片之间。栏杆上不再有粘贴的地方。
   我们也在那里牵手,一次,好几年,看着
   棕榈树搬出到港口。
   那架钢琴再也没有从失败中恢复。
   
   今天,空气带着豆荚又变得明亮,新鲜。
   驿道上没有看到哀悼者。
   他来到我们面前,咧嘴一笑,带着轻松的意思,
   用棍棒,哄骗我们,给我们讲
   一个寡妇在鸡舍里的轻松故事。
   
   所有的遗憾都装进口袋后,柜台扫清
   可怕的指纹,肯定有人向西
   进入牧羊国。农场主不会喜欢它,
   但他们会让我们活下去,比现在许多昆虫
   都更接近死亡,被收银机的叫声和闪光所吸引。
   
   其他的誓言,其他的选择也会
   跟着春天的苏醒。
   
   数百万窗棂醒来,向我们做手势。
Random Jottings of an Old Man
   
   Like a fool, I let him into my house,
   and he began dropping jottings everywhere.
   Where once crepe-paper flowers had been,
   jottings overflowed the basin into the water closet.
   
   Urban affairs had kept him---
   something about a rendezvous with kelp.“Hurry,
   the paths of nature are creeping
   to the corrugated tooth. And it’s a blitz of old stars,
   tonight!” Something in me leaned into the vacant doorframe.
   It was a still life of bottles and ajar
   that once had held cold cream. We mustn’t wait here
   for him, that’s what he wants, and
   if we do so he’ll want to eat us.
   
   No more us to be with in the morning,
   among the cups and shards. No more sticky places on the railing.
   We held hands there too, once, for years, watching the
   palms move out into the harbor.
   The pianola never recovered from the loss.
   
   Today the air is bright again and fresh with pods.
   No mourners were sighted on the post road.
   He came down to us with relaxed meaning in his grin,
   cudgeled, cajoled us, told us breezy stories
   about a widow in the henhouse.
   
   After all regrets have been pocketed, the counter wiped clean
   of terrible fingerprints, assuredly one moves westward
   into sheepherding country. The ranchers won’t like it,
   but they’ll let us live, closer to dying
   than many insects are now, attracted by the chiming and gleams of the cash register.
   
   Other oaths, other options will follow
   in the wake of spring.
   
   Millions of mullions waken, gesticulate to us.

她的纸板情人
   
   (选自 Chinese Whispers )
   作者:(美)约翰.阿什贝利(John Ashberry)
   译者:剑郭琴符
   
   你今晚的样子
   是短暂的,不可摄影,可笑的。有时
   诵读困难会在中年晚期发作。你就是
   我今晚的样子。我的爱
   终于出现。
   你终于是我的。
   管弦乐队妻子们慢慢挑选布景,
   走到墙后。大笑脸男人在想,
   以为他有主意了!好吧,如果他这么说,
   你得相信他。一个管弦乐队妻子回来了。
   她忘记她的珍珠。管弦乐队在周围重复,
   他们回来了。“好吧,我从不!所有事情中!”
   哦,它演奏
   
   到终止。你看到它。她的情人和最好的朋友
   沿着大厅走了过来。“对不起,丹。
   但我只是不能。”所以没关系,
   他想。他认为它是一个秘密。
Her Cardboard Lover
   
   The way you look tonight
   is perishable, unphotographable, laughable. Sometimes
   dyslexia strikes in late middle age. You are
   the way I look tonight. At last
   my love has come along.
   And you are mine at last.
   Slowly the orchestra wives pick over the set,
   go behind a wall. The big smiley man is thinking,
   thinking he has an IDEA! Well, if he says so,
   You gotta believe him. One orchestra wife comes back.
   She has forgotten her pearls. The orchestra riffs around,
   they come back. “Well, I never! Of all things!”
   Oh, it plays
   
   to the breach. You see it. Her lover and best friend came
   along the hall. “I’m sorry, Dan.
   But I just couldn’t.” So it’s all alright,
   he thinks. He thinks it’s a secret.

月亮,月亮
   
   (选自 Chinese Whispers )
   作者:(美)约翰.阿什贝利(John Ashberry)
   译者:剑郭琴符
   
   冬天的声音调整着:“就像我说的
   (在我被粗暴打断之前),
   我们不必下楼去拿植物。
   他们有些人,至少,已经在这里。”
   
   更多无辜的人,被害虫啃咬。
   死神同意暂时保持沉默。
   没人很感激。“毕竟,
   要不是他,食蚁兽
   可能已经注意到我们了。现在锅贴开始
   叫喊:‘有你在那个峡谷里真好!’”
   
   外面冰上的孩子们正在生病
   当成年人到处打转
   恶魔穿着燕尾服。“他爱好稻草镶嵌术。
   除此之外,他和他的后代
   鲜为人知。”
   
   在学校的山谷里一切都恢复了生机。
   “我告诉过你,总有一天
   一切都会好起来。”那条小溪
   会流过雪白的堤岸,唱着一月份
   突然解冻的歌声。
   
   “我们每个人检出其余,
   开始工作。”他的伪装起作用了,
   他穿过了面包线,用
   在他镀锌的手腕上戴着的蓝色伊特鲁里亚花:
   
   “是时候开始借记,
   夜晚的急流。”“没人喜欢被遗弃
   在一块迅速瓦解的浮冰上,黎明即将来临。”
   他就站在外面。
   
   我们现在是不配的人,虽然他的温暖
   把我们放入摇篮,
   就像路变成了一个吻。
Moon,Moon
   
   The winter voice adjusts: “As I was saying
   (before I was so rudely interrupted),
   we don’t have to go downstairs and get the plants.
   Some of them, at least, are already here.”
   
   More innocent people, gnawed by pests.
   Death agreed to lie low for a while.
   Nobody was very grateful. “After all,
   if it hadn’t been for him the anteaters
   might have noticed us. Now potstickers take up
   the cry: ‘It was great to have you in that glen!’”
   
   Out on the ice children are being sick
   as grown men whirl round and round
   the devil in coattails. “He had a passion for straw marquetry.
   Other than that, little is known
   Of him or of his descendants.”
   
   In the valley of the school all is well anew.
   “I told you all would be well
   on a certain day.” That rivulets
   would course past their snowy banks, singing the song of
   a sudden thaw in January.
   
   “Each of us checked out the others,
   got down to work” His disguise worked,
   he made it through the breadline with blue
   Etruscan flowers in his galvanized wrists:
   
   “It is time for the debit to begin,
   the rush of evening.” “No one likes being abandoned
   on a rapidly disintegrating floe, and dawn coming.”
   He stood just outside.
   
   We were the undeserving ones now, though his warmth
   cradles us,
   as the road becomes a kiss.

手机版|诗生活网 ( 粤ICP备18148997号 )

GMT+8, 2020-11-27 05:43 , Processed in 0.211100 second(s), 9 queries , Gzip On, File On.

Powered by Discuz! X3.4

Copyright © 2001-2020, Tencent Cloud.

快速回复 返回顶部 返回列表