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(美)约翰.阿什贝利诗歌草译

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 楼主| 发表于 2021-1-27 19:58:32 | 显示全部楼层



接上:《星星在闪烁》:
9
   
   新技术正在接近这座桥。
   堰,啊堰,梳理着瀑布,
   像一位美丽公主的白发。
   
   在氧化池里,他想到
   鱼,多么奇怪,它们能从水中获得
   所需的氧气,然后当它变成空白时---
   为什么,蒲团!你意识到过去的痛苦
   来自女佣的膝盖,当现在
   来临的时候,为什么没有人大声说话,
   而它只是移居进来,带着宠物…
   对于媒介的未来,我认为条纹长袜
   和一种像雾霭一样的胡须,只有
   在某些远古太阳神身上才能看到,他们全神贯注地
   走在田野里,当孩子们埋怨着
   番红花劈劈啪啪地说出这个难以置信的词。
   对,这绝对是我们的情况。
   我们可以出自于它,但不能简单地离开它。
   它会因为里面有那么多东西而死去,
   就像一个被树叶堵住的木桶。但迟早有一天,
   你知道,一个人浸在里面
   斑斑点点的草坪,厚长大衣出现了。
   这个蓄水池确实是
   你离开的时候工人们建的。
   它活泼而克制。
   这么多园艺家摇摇晃晃,
   陶醉于
   毛茛,唐菖蒲的坚韧。
   即便如此,他还是让请求我们让他
   一个人呆着,在晚上,想思考
   或一些什么,关于爱什么的,
   一些让他兴奋的事情。
   
   直到后来,当我们来享受
   他的友谊时,那只海生的眼睛让我们大吃一惊:
   在外面这么多的平原上,这杜沃普摇滚乐的风,
   你会认为它不会拼写“仪式”给他。
   但他只是剃掉了数字,拂晓去掉了
   指纹,为什么我和你
   以及这几个精灵在一起,没有人能拼凑起来:
   不是约瑟芬大姨妈或她的殡仪馆男朋友,
   也不是盗窃“夜校”绘画的强盗。
   我们转移,你和我,让划艇补充水。
   奇怪的是,几分贝如何能组成你的一天。
   
   10
   
   当然,我们中的一些人更可笑---那时。
   在一个下雪的夜晚,我在一个有不速之客的公寓里
   停下来,我被问及“其他的
   秘密”,而且,被迫推诿,注意到
   时间到了。
   
   当一个人从生活中被剥皮
   远处的排水口在地平线受阻,
   只有一条消息通过三重过滤器:
   从容不迫。你在这个海岸上的朋友们已经
   在斜面物体上努力工作了很久;
   如果你没有任何建议(你没有),
   让他们继续认为这是所缺乏的
   魔法。事实上,没有指向母矿脉方向的箭头
   向他们证明了它们的绿色,他们开始
   推理:“厨房不是这样一个坏地方,
   如果它是你要找的水槽。当然,卡鲁索在唱歌
   在锁着的天鹅绒门后面的某个地方,
   但是如果我们停留---不,逗留---在这里,问题
   就会自己反转。汤姆和杰里斯到处都是。”
   
   至于可口可乐女孩如此珍视的
   仪式捐赠,只是后来才到来
   证明它的潮湿和野性是非致命的
   就在太阳出来结成块之前。
   
   我们确实生活在一个奇异而狂暴的
   星系里,但现在这取决于我们把它变成
   一个让地图悄悄贴近的环境,
   像水蛭一样放心。见鬼,把“我们”
   放在地图上,当你在它上面的时候。
   这样我们就可以抽支烟,呆在那里摇摇晃晃,
   用夜色和她敏捷的海角拍摄微风。
   
   
   11
   
   “但是在人的灵魂里有
   无数的无限。”
   ---托马斯•特拉赫恩
   
   我还有一件事要做。
   “我从来没能做到这一点”
   我要在所有的街道上
   宣布这个,这些年来我们一直很难
   导向这个。这个图标。不管是不是偶尔
   走来走去,喋喋不休。钟声敲碎了冰
   我离开了,在某处旅行。堪萨斯州。
   它对我来说无关紧要
   对你来说太老了,像拖拉机一样遥远地抽泣。
   我们是我们来看的人
   或者也可能是的人,带着卷心菜作为礼物,
   不停地说话,带刺的铁丝网架在树上,
   雪茄的烟吼叫着。
   
   对我们来说,一切都一样,
   我们进进出出,
   像草莓一样深思熟虑,伟大的运动员颠覆了我们,
   使我们过时。现在就是那么一天,我可以
   通过一点脑力操来追踪
   发现我知道我在做什么,我和谁
   说话,国王,马车,都在那里。
   我的知道并没有
   从这些事件的平行架子中得到安慰。
   没有一点联系。就好像那个洋娃娃她自己知道
   你不该知道的事情,从阁楼的窗户掉下来后
   幸免于难,指控你有罪,
   就在气流把她扫进炉子之前。
   燃烧又开始了。
   
   但是有我们巨大的两个,
   残余,或产品,或一个复杂的
   四处竖立,然后在房间的一角
   假装不感兴趣,保险丝点燃
   蓝色的家具。这真是惊天动地,他们说,
   只要你遏制它,
   你不得不,能。大脑警报正在被召回
   但信息存在,即使没有文字造成它,
   没有诗节被珍惜。因为我们
   以被宽恕而结束,鸟儿的和弦应许
   陷进我们的喉咙,啊,最甜美的歌声,
   浆果的颜色,我为之撒谎,不可能地
   从给定的坟墓延伸了一小段距离。
   
   
   12
   
   一道最近的光线解读了
   什么是不能凭直觉知道的东西,
   只能推压,像一只手或裤子,
   当大海压在岩石上
   因为缺乏更好的事情
   要做---周围都是
   获得呼吸的伙伴,它总是这样伴随你,
   你离我足够近:
   哦,你经常在黄蜂
   和知更鸟筑巢的花园里
   找到线索;
   在楼梯上,在马甲房
   和有巨大的鼓的车库里找到线索。
   说些能使我坚强的话,
   让我喝一口世界上所有的可乐
   在跳水离开这个暗礁之前,到
   那些等待着我们的蕨类植物和泡泡的地方,
   那里的一切都不那么明亮,但也有一些是。
   我们紧握着我们的这些,我们的身体纹身
   寻求精神上的帮助,大地
   有节奏地暴饮,发出啧啧声。
   一条狗会因为这喜欢你,
   但这里没有声音说要一路进来。
   
   这里是私有财产,
   在刚刚擦伤你的
   城市的黄昏取得名字。你带来了教训?
   很好,我确信它。但再也不能
   从门卫身边出去了。给,还是拿这篮
   冰饼干。他欢呼。一切对他来说都是及时的,
   吃饭的能力,连同法语
   和摩托车社区,都是耳机告诉我们的。
   当我们不再彼此看着
   这些嗡嗡声而仍能产生共鸣时。从黑暗水罐
   或镜子我带给你的东西,从德卢斯,减去
   星体的影响,你感激不尽,一般来说是为了包装。
   这么快
   又到了宴会的时间。
   
   缓慢的乌鸦仍然聚集在刺穿的痕迹周围
   在丹麦人的天堂里,那里一个锯木架送来了
   迟来的阿斯匹林,缠绕着线轴
   为了比这更清晰的目的:
   很快,一切都将被隐藏起来,
   就像一个红色天鹅绒窗帘后面的舞台,
   你肩上的这鼹鼠---不必问它
   它的名字。在轻快隐蔽中
   它已成为普遍的,一切都茁壮成长:
   灌木丛,灯柱,机场边缘的汽车旅馆
   它们的蓝色灯光在即将到来的夜晚
   将下降的车辆引导到一个安全的泊位,
   当码头欢迎它们的船只,不管它们看起来
   多么简陋,张开双臂。
   我想这说明了很多关于我们的事情,关于
   我们的欢迎,那些日子不会打扰自己
   或想得太多,或管理
   那些原本是我们标志的杂乱无章的痕迹。
   无论如何,我们都太谨慎了
   不会被最精心复制的护照,
   提货单所欺骗。就好像我们从另一个星球
   精神饱满地来,立刻发现了这个星球所缺少的东西:
   一件橙色的、新鲜的亚麻布、墨水、钢笔。
   
   尽管如此,温室招手了。
   我以前告诉过你这让我有多害怕,
   但我想我们可以一起处理它,
   这和任何一个地方一样好
   可以打开我最后的惊喜:你,当你走的时候,
   缺乏自信,冷漠,但是天空是一个遮阳篷
   只要它愿意就可以掩护你很多天。
   这就是我所说的“抓住把柄”,正如我所说的,
   表面和潜台词都典型地消退
   死信办公室在春天的蓝色默许中溶化。
   
   13
   
   你饿了,
   你吃热食。
   家是一个传送寒冷的目的地。
   强调的鼻子使它暂停。
   俱乐部满了。
   我有点喜欢整夜的争吵
   虽然我发誓要保密,
   不管有没有猫。
   
   我让这么多人从我身边走过
   我有点渴望他们中的一个,任何
   一个,回到我身边,
   忘记这些眼泪。小时候,我们扮演成人。
   现在麻烦酿制在地平线。
   
   所以---如果你想和我一起来,
   或只是拉我的袖子,让它们做出那发现。
   夏天不会在你的膝上结束,
   星星也不会比平常更随意。
   和平,安静,一本字典---它是如此重要,
   但最后没有人有时间花在它上面。
   好像这一切都没有发生过,
   我的鞋带解开了,而且---我忘记了什么东西吗?

   
   
   IX
   
   New technology approaches the bridge.
   The weir, ah the weir, combing the falls,
   like the beautiful white hair of a princess.
   
   In the oxidation tank he thinks
   of fish, how strange they can get the oxygen
   they need from the water, and then when it goes blank---
   why, pouf! And you realized the past suffered
   from housemaid’s knee, and that when the present
   came along, why no one would speak up,
   and it just moved in, with pets ...
   For the medium future I had thought striped stockings
   and a kind of beard like a haze, seen only
   on certain ancient sun deities who walked
   absorbed in fields, as children groused
   and crocuses sputtered the unbelievable word.
   Right, it’s definitely our situation.
   We can come out of it but not simply leave it.
   It will die of having so many things in it,
   like a barrel choked with leaves. Yet sooner or later,
   you know, one is dipped in it
   and spotted lawns, greatcoats emerge.
   The cistern really was built
   by the workmen while you were away.
   It’s alive and containing.
   And so many horticulturalists sway,
   inebriated with the hardiness
   of the ranunculus, the gladiolus.
   Even so, he asked us to leave him
   alone, at night, wanted to think
   or something, about love or something,
   something that turned him on.
   
   Only later when we came to bask
   in his friendship, did that marine eye astonish us:
   Out over so much plains, such doo-wop wind,
   you’d think it wouldn’t spell “ceremonial” to him.
   But he merely shaved the numbers off, dawn removed
   the fingerprints, and why I am with you
   and these several elves, no one can piece together:
   not Great-aunt Josephine or her mortician boyfriend,
   not the robbers of the “School of Night” drawing.
   And we shifted, you and I, causing the rowboat to take on water.
   Strange, how a few decibels can make your day.
   
   X
   
   Of course some of us were more risible ---then.
   Stopping by an apartmentful of freeloaders
   on a snowy evening, I was asked about the other
   mysteries, and, forced to prevaricate, noted
   that time was setting in.
   
   As one gets peeled away from life
   and distant waterspouts put their kibosh on the horizon,
   just one message makes it through the triple filters:
   Go easy. Your chums on this shore have
   worked long and hard on the inclined-plane thing;
   if you haven’t any suggestions (and you haven’t),
   let them continue to think it was sorcery
   that was lacking. The fact that no directional
   arrows pointed the way to the mother lode
   proves their greenery to them, and they begin
   to reason: “The kitchen’s not such a bad place,
   if it’s sinks you’re after. Sure, Caruso was singing
   somewhere behind the padlocked velvet door,
   but if we stay---no, linger---here, the problem
   will reverse itself. Tom and Jerrys all around.”
   
   As for the ritual endowment
   so prized by the Coca-Cola girl, that only arrived later
   to prove its wetness and wildness non-fatal
   just before the sun came out and caked it.
   
   We sure live in a bizarre and furious
   galaxy, but now it’s up to us to make it
   into an environment for maps to sidle up to,
   as trustingly as leeches. Heck, put us
   on the map, while you’re at it.
   That way we can smoke a cigarette, and stay and sway,
   shooting the breeze with night and her swift promontories.
   
   
   XI
   
   “But in the soul of man there are
   innumerable infinities.”
   ---THOMAS TRAHERNE
   
   There is still another thing I have to do.
   I've never been able to do this
   and I have this announcement to make
   over all the streets, all the years we have been difficult
   leading to this. This icon. That walks and jabbers
   fortuitously or not. Bells splinter the ice
   and am away, on a trip somewhere. Kansas.
   It doesn’t matter for me
   and matters so old for you, sobs distant as tractors.
   We are the people we came to see
   or might as well be, bringing cabbages as gifts,
   talking nonstop, barbed wire stringing the trees,
   cigar smoke bellowing.
   
   It was all the same to us,
   we came in and out,
   were thoughtful as strawberries, and the great athlete overturned us,
   made us obsolete. Now that was a day I can trace
   with a little mental calisthenics
   and find I know what I was doing, to whom
   I spoke, the kings, carriages, it was all there.
   And my knowing derives no comfort
   from that parallel shelving of events.
   No kind of nexus. As if the doll herself knew
   what you weren’t supposed to know, and survived the fall
   from the attic window to incriminate you,
   just before the draft swept her into the furnace.
   The burning is beginning again.
   
   But there are a giant two of us,
   the remnant, or product, or a complex
   bristling-up-around, then a feigning of disinterest
   in a corner of the room, and the fuse ignites
   the furniture with blue. It’s earth-shattering, they say,
   as long as you contain it,
   and you have to, can. The brain-alarm is being recalled
   but the message exists even with no words to inflict it,
   no stanzas to be cherished. For we end
   as we are forgiven, with chords the bird promised
   caught in our throats, O sweetest song,
   color of berries, that I lied for and extended
   improbably a little distance from the given grave.
   
   
   XII
   
   A late glimmer read into it
   what is not to be intuited,
   only pressed, like a hand or pants,
   as the sea presses against rock
   for lack of anything
   better to do---surrounded by buddies
   taking a breather, it was always thus with you,
   you who come close enough to me:
   Oh, you’ve often found
   clues in the garden where the hornets
   and the robins make their nests;
   clues on the stairway, in the vestry
   and the garage with its enormous drums.
   Say something that will strengthen me,
   let me sip all the colas of the world
   before I dive off this reef, into
   that region of ferns and bubbles that awaits us,
   where all are not so bright, but a few are.
   These we clasp to us, our bodies’ tattoos
   seeking psychiatric help, and the earth
   guzzles and slurps rhythmically.
   A dog would like you for it,
   but here no voice says to come all the way in.
   
   Here are holdings,
   taking name in the urban dusk
   that grazed you just now. Have you brought the lesson?
   Good, I was sure of it. But can no longer
   go out past the doorman. Here, take this basket of iced cookies
   anyway. And he jubilates. Everything is in time for him,
   eating in the capacity, along with the French
   and motorcycle community, is what the headphones told us.
   And when we no longer have each other to look at
   these buzz and resonate still. From what dark pitcher
   or mirror I brought you, from Duluth, and minus
   astral influences, you are grateful, and for wrappings in general.
   It is time to feast
   so soon again.
   
   Slow crows still rally round that puncture mark
   in a Danish heaven where a sawhorse delivers
   the belated aspirin and spools are wound
   in the interests of a greater clarity than this:
   Soon, all will be hidden,
   like a stage behind a red velvet curtain,
   and this mole on your shoulder---no need to ask
   it its name. In the brisk concealment
   that has become general everything thrives:
   bushes, lampposts, motels at the edge of airports
   whose blue lights guide the descending vehicle
   to a safe berth in soon-to-be night,
   as wharves welcome their vessels, however frumpy
   they may seem, with open arms.
   And I think it says a lot about us, about
   our welcoming, that days don’t disturb themselves
   or think too much about it, or manage
   the disheveled trace that was to have been our signature.
   We’re too cagey for that in any case,
   wouldn’t be fooled by the most elaborately duplicated passport,
   bill of lading. It’s as though we’ve come refreshed
   from another planet, and spied immediately what was lacking in this one:
   an orange, fresh linens, ink, a pen.
   
   Still, the hothouse beckons.
   I’ve told you before how afraid this makes me,
   but I think we can handle it together,
   and this is as good a place as any
   to unseal my last surprise: you, as you go,
   diffident, indifferent, but with the sky for an awning
   for as many days as it pleases it to cover you.
   That’s what I meant by “get a handle,” and as I say it,
   both surface and subtext subside quintessentially
   and the dead-letter office dissolves in the blue acquiescence of spring.
   
   XIII
   
   You get hungry,
   you eat hot.
   Home’s a cold delivery destination.
   The emphatic nose puts it on hold.
   Clubs are full.
   I kind of like the all-night dust-up
   though I’m sworn to secrecy,
   with or without a cat.
   
   I let so many people go by me
   I sort of long for one of them, any
   one, to turn back toward me,
   forget these tears. As children we played at being grownups.
   Now there’s trouble brewing on the horizon.
   
   So---if you want to come with me,
   or just pull at my sleeve, let them make that discovery.
   Summer won’t end in your lap,
   nor are the stars more casual than usual.
   Peace, quiet, a dictionary---it was so important,
   yet at the end nobody had any time for any of it.
   It was as if all of it had never happened,
   my shoelaces were untied, and---am I forgetting anything?
   
   
   
   
   
   

---完-----!


 楼主| 发表于 2021-1-28 19:33:11 | 显示全部楼层
光的岔道
   
   (选自Hotel Lautreamont)
   作者:(美)约翰.阿什贝利(John Ashberry)
   译者:剑郭琴符
   
   亲爱的鬼魂,什么避难所
   在中午的人群里?我要写
   一个小时,然后读
   别人写的东西。
   
   你没有豪宅可以让这一切发生。
   但是你的冒险就像安全的房子,
   你知道在哪里停止
   另一个规则的冒险,就像抓住天气。
   
   我们也被卷入了发生的这一幕,
   当我们一起说同一句话:
   “我们习惯于有一个这样的人,”
   这就像在黑暗中开枪一样重要。
   
   我们中的一个留在后面。
   我们中的一个在桥上前进
   就像在地毯上。生活---是非凡的---
   跟随和落后。
Light Turnouts
   
   
   
   Dear ghost, what shelter
   in the noonday crowd? I’m going to write
   an hour, then read
   what someone else has written.
   
   You’ve no mansion for this to happen in.
   But your adventures are like safe houses,
   your knowing where to stop an adventure
   of another order, like seizing the weather.
   
   We too are embroiled in this scene of happening,
   and when we speak the same phrase together:
   “We used to have one of those,”
   it matters like a shot in the dark.
   
   One of us stays behind.
   One of us advances on the bridge
   as on a carpet. Life---it’s marvelous---
   follows and falls behind.
  
遗忘
   
   (选自Hotel Lautreamont)
   作者:(美)约翰.阿什贝利(John Ashberry)
   译者:剑郭琴符
   
   当我最后一次见到你的时候,为了赶回去诸如此类的,
   我们穿着卷尺,孩子们可以去看电影。
   
   我隐约出现在那个背景中。那老汉奇怪地看着大海。
   总是有脚来敲门
   如果不是这样的话,那就是某种东西或别的
   忧郁。总有人会发现你令人厌恶。
   我喜欢把你从最感兴趣的事上扯开
   带着沉迷的享受,我们
   互相交谈。以前奏效过,这次
   也会。
   
   在数字7中找那个奇怪的数字。你看
   我需要一个理由再次坐船
   下海。人们怎么做到?老汉
   从看着它中回过味来,他的回答很轻率。
   不管是不是橡皮蛇,我最珍贵的紫红色
   在水族馆里噼啪作响,所有的肩膀立刻
   开始支撑我。我们在一家旅馆里旅行。
   你要拿什么设计一个苹果?
   
   然后酒店的人喜欢我们,所以,
   可能是在暴风雨之前,我躺在后面
   让风奔向我,它来了,一些
   我不会想到的事情。我们可以
   在湖边的栏杆边吃饭。有些事要么办成,要么
   不会赢得隐藏在这个案子里的证据。
   到处都是千鸟---制造那些“恋人”,毕竟
   他们拿到了法律和医学学位,没有人会坚持
   在后面的空地上追逐它们,穿过沙土路
   我来过这里一次。
   
   这几天,这位老汉经常和我在一起,他的评论
   虽然不连贯,但也有点俏皮和
   诙谐。而我,我也有一些事情要瞒着他:
   一些没有人必须知道的事情。
   
   我相信他们会认为我们现在已经准备好了。
   我们没有,你知道。有一次那里长出了一个冰箱。
   把闲聊递给我,把饼干装满盘子,
   因为它们可以,它们必须,被通过。
And Forgetting
   
   
   When I last saw you, in a hurry to get back and stuff,
   we wore tape measures and the kids could go to the movies.
   
   I loomed in that background. The old man looked strangely at the sea.
   Always feet come knocking at the door
   and when it isn’t that, it’s something or other
   melancholy. There is always someone who will find you disgusting.
   I love to tear you away from most interests
   with besotted relish, and we
   talked to each other. Worked before, it'll
   work this time.
   
   Look for the strange number at number seven. You see
   I need a reason to go down to the sea in ships
   again. How does one do that? The old man
   came back from looking at it his replies were facile.
   Rubber snake or not, my most valued fuchsia
   sputtered in the aquarium, at once all shoulders
   began to support me. We were travelling in an inn.
   You were going to make what design an apple?
   
   Then the hotel people liked us so,
   it could have been before a storm, I lie back
   and let the wind come to me, and it does, something
   I wouldn’t have thought of. We can take our meals
   beside the lake balustrade. Something either does or
   will not win the evidence hidden in this case.
   The plovers are all over---make that “lovers”,after all
   they got their degrees in law and medicine, no one will persist
   in chasing them in back lots, the sanded way
   I came through here once.
   
   These days the old man often coincides with me; his remarks
   have something playful and witty about them, though they do not
   hold together. And I, I too have something to keep from him:
   something no one must know about.
   
   I’m sure they’ll think we’re ready now.
   We aren’t, you know. An icebox grew there once.
   Hand me the chatter and I’ll fill the plates with cookies,
   for they can, they must, be passed.
  
大工作室
   
   (选自Hotel Lautreamont)
   作者:(美)约翰.阿什贝利(John Ashberry)
   译者:剑郭琴符
   
   让他们承认是一回事,
   让肥皂进入你的眼睛又是另一回事。
   只要我能记住,我就一直受到照顾,
   受到打击,就像那样。似乎没人责骂。
   
   我经历了太多的身份危机
   在过去的五十年里,你不会相信。
   只要说我好就够了,
   如果你喜欢钢琴上的孔雀羽毛
   喜欢汽车比赛它们的发动机,
   喜欢等待那些从不做好他们的头发的约会对象。
   有那么多脚踏车,千足虫,
   和我毫无知觉的其他词。
   再给我拿一滴长生不老药来:
   这就是我的全部要求。
   
   但当你看到有多少颜色的东西进来
   这将是一个漫长的休息一天。
   “享受你的午后,”他说,那是你永远得不到满足的
   玫瑰,它们让你病态。
   
   那是一根缆绳
   靠着七枝烛台
   和松树树干上的羽毛
   在那片巫婆树林里,没有人应该呆在那里---
   说,你认为我可以吗?闻到玫瑰的味道?
   它像时间一样生存?
   
   瞧,是时候了。
   他把号角举到嘴边。
   如此丰富---你不介意我留下来,
   过夜?因为需要一个明天的情节
   来清理其中的楔子,与此同时,我足以
   持续地给我们一个目不转睛的,赤裸裸的真相,
   带着饮料,我们想要的,正确的老一套的假象?
   因为一个灰色的清洁工在不被注意的情况下
   溜了过去,一千种宣泄情绪的事情开始发生。
   只有我们对这些一无所知。没有什么能取代它们的位置。
   
   今天我又挤了几滴颜色
   希望能吸干你,我是说你的脸,然后这个
   特别高的访客问,这是不是我通常做的事。
   我经常违背发辫工作吗?
   当然,他的靴子大小合适。我替换
   我的小刷子,你要来的想法
   没有出现在我心里,在尘土和杜鹃花齐鸣之后。
   答案是一枚坚果。
   
   然后有那么多的泼妇在墙上
   到处都是,人们被鼓励不要对正在发生的一切
   进行严格的会计核算,我们已经洗过了,我们现在
   很好。而船首斜桅(一个
   我从来没有理解的词)松开,来到我全身,洗刷
   我的纯洁身份,从我---帮帮忙!与此同时,你的朋友甚至挖地道
   到了我们这里,天气变得又冷又潮湿
   因为白天已经没有意义,正在开锁
   我们把它们钉在锡制鸟笼里,现在没有人
   有什么好处,说温度
   和我们反对的其他统计数据有什么冲突
   当它出现,但现在谁还记得呢?
   我们第一次想到的时候谁甚至订婚了?
   
   我会咬你的脚趾,早上见。
   把雨篷放在那只旧箱子上
   让它能发出一些呼噜声和细雨,请,
   对你和你父亲说过的话不要再说一个词。
The Large Studio
   
   
   
   It’s one thing to get them to admit it,
   quite another to get soap in your eye.
   As long as I can remember I have been cared for,
   stricken, like that. No one seems to scold.
   
   I have had so many identity crises
   in the last fifty years you wouldn’t believe it.
   Suffice it to say I am well,
   if you like peacock’s feathers on pianos
   and cars racing their motors,
   waiting for dates who never get done with doing their hair.
   There have been so many velocipedes, millipedes,
   and other words that I'm token senseless.
   Just bring me one more drop of the elixir:
   that's all I ask.
   
   But when you saw how many colors things come in
   it was going to be a long rest of the day.
   “Enjoy your afternoon,” he said, and it was roses
   that you never get enough of and they make you sick.
   
   It was kind of a cable
   from which depended seven-branched candelabra
   and feathers on the pine trunks
   in that witch wood where nobody was supposed to stay---
   say, do you think I could? Smell the roses?
   Live like it was time?
   
   Lo, it is time.
   He raised the horn to his lips.
   Such an abundance of---do you mind if I stay,
   stay overnight? For the plot of a morrow
   is needed to sort out the pegs in, meanwhile enough of me
   lasts to give us the old semblance of a staring, naked truth,
   with drinks, that we wanted, right?
   And because a gray dustman slips by
   unnoticed, a thousand cathartic things begin to happen.
   Only we know nothing of these. Nothing can take their place.
   
   Today I squeezed a few more drops of color
   hoping to blot you out, your face I mean, and then this
   extraordinarily tall caller asked if this was something I usually did.
   Do I work against the plait often?
   And sure, his boots were the right size. I replaced
   my little brush and with it the thought of your coming
   to absent me after dust and bougainvillea had chimed.
   The answer was a nut.
   
   And then there are so many harridans all over
   the wall one is encouraged not toward a strict accounting
   of all that is taking place, and we have washed, we are nice
   for now. And the bowsprit (a word
   I have never understood) comes undone, comes all over me, washes
   my pure identity from me---help! In the meantime your friend has tunnelled
   even as far as us, and it gets to be cold and damp
   because the days are no longer making sense, are coming unlocked
   in the tin aviary where we pinned them, and no one
   right now has any good to say about what temperature
   clashes with what other kind statistic we were all against
   when it came out but who remembers that now?
   Who was even engaged when we first thought of that?
   
   I’ll bite your toes, see you in the morning.
   Place the canopy on that old chest
   allowing for a few grunts and drizzles, please,
   and not another word of what you spoke to your father.
   
  
伪造的文明花园
   
   (选自Hotel Lautreamont)
   作者:(美)约翰.阿什贝利(John Ashberry)
   译者:剑郭琴符
   
   你在哪里?你在哪里是我唯一的爱,
   但它总是逃避我,就像丁香花在它们的叶子中,
   太忙了,只有一个答案,一个回答。
   我最后一次见到你是我们在一起的
   时间的第一次开始,就像白天的光
   保持相同,即使它们变短了,
   步入冬天的甲胄。
   
   在看着油漆干和草生长之间
   没有什么太悲剧的事情跟着我。
   我给你准备了融化的长生不老药,最流行
   音乐会的前排票。
   我应该
   磨练我的风格,擦亮我的皮肤,以获得
   至关重要的光芒,这样一些人
   可以听到我说的话,而其他人则消失在
   难以理解的录音公告的混乱中。
   那天发生了很多事情,
   况且,来找我的
   不是纳税人,他们很重要,
   而是旅馆里的其他客人
   一些人可能会描述为陈腐的,
   暴躁的。少得可怜的是一个很好的词,用来描述
   进入和流出的潮水之间的奔腾
   就像谁后来在什么样的狭窄通道里曾经
   记起了那个时代敏锐的目击,
   奖赏和快乐。
   很快,它就滑出了大海
   最自然地,作为所在的地方。
   
   他们从不关心,也不再回来。
   但在大损失的帐篷里
   也都不错。另外,我们不是
   认真的,我应该补充。
The Garden of False Civility
   
   
   
   Where are you? Where you are is the one thing I love,
   yet it always escapes me, like the lilacs in their leaves,
   too busy for just one answer, one rejoinder.
   The last time I see you is the first
   commencing of our time to be together, as the light of the days
   remains the same even as they grow shorter,
   stepping into the harness of winter.
   
   Between watching the paint dry and the grass grow
   I have nothing too tragic in tow.
   I have this melting elixir for you, front row
   tickets for the concert to which all go.
   I ought to
   chasten my style, burnish my skin, to get that glow
   that is all-important, so that some
   may hear what I am saying as others disappear
   in the confusion of unintelligible recorded announcements.
   A great many things were taking place that day,
   besides, it was not the taxpayers
   who came up to me, who were important,
   but other guests of the hotel
   some might describe as dog-eared,
   apoplectic. Measly is a good word to describe
   the running between the incoming and the outgoing tide
   as who in what narrow channels shall ever
   afterwards remember the keen sightings of those times,
   the reward and the pleasure.
   Soon it was sliding out to sea
   most naturally, as the place to be.
   
   They never cared, nor came round again.
   But in the tent in the big loss
   it was all right too. Besides, we’ve not
   serious, I should have added.
   
  
秋天的电报
   
   (选自Hotel Lautreamont)
   作者:(美)约翰.阿什贝利(John Ashberry)
   译者:剑郭琴符
   
   今天早上在长凳上看到:一个穿着灰色外套
   打着苹果绿领带的男人。他不可能超过五十岁,
   他那温和的眼睛说,但他的举止却有点像极度年迈时
   冷酷无情的某种东西;我不知道是什么。
   角落里有一个警察;接着,一捆捆的麦子
   像玩偶一样小心翼翼地放在剥光的草地上,
   提示我希望再梦见你。在车站后
   我们再也没有进行过重要的接触。但一切顺利,
   不是吗?我的意思是说必须是这样。有这样的火
   在你用手指抵住鼻孔的方式中
   就像一些埋葬的传奇故事那样,有时会一下爆发出来:地下的
   力量,不,我的意思是在其中。如果所有
   失望的游客都没有站起来离开,我们仍然会
   在互相的拥有,疼痛中,这将是相同的,
   不是吗,就与插图和索引有关而言?
   
   就像我经常在停车前下车,这是我的
   不是出于谦虚,而是为保持敞开自己内部通信线路的
   一个失败。然后,出乎意料,我看到了一只狗
   让我用几个简短的,生硬的副词概括它的位置
   告诉它们这就是它们做的,为什么我们不能指望
   任何意想不到的事情。瀑布就在我们周围,
   我们一直生活在其中,然而要找到安静的材料
   正是这些日常练习强加于我们的。我指的是
   从一棵树到另一棵树,从一栋房子到另一栋房子的韵律,以及
   几乎每一个其他的都有一些亮丽的东西可以添加到
   谈话的泥沼中:不多,只是一个扬起的眉毛
   或裙子。我们都接受了,甚至在正确的地方大笑,
   其联系很少。仍然是一种表达方式,
   一种意味着某事已经完成,一件事,而听觉总是
   在之后出现。一旦你听到了,你就知道,
   页边空白可以原谅你。然后我们都回到
   专注状态,正确的信号同时发生。它停止了,而且难过。
  
Autumn Telegram   
   
   
   
   Seen on a bench this morning: a man in a gray coat
   and apple-green tie. He couldn't have been over fifty,
   his mild eyes said, and yet there was something of the ruthlessness
   of extreme old age about his bearing; I don’t know what.
   In the corner a policeman; next, sheaves of wheat
   laid carefully like dolls on the denuded sward,
   prompting me to wish of dreaming you again. After the station
   we never made significant contact again. But it’s all right,
   isn’t it, I mean the telling had to be it. There was such fire
   in the way you put your finger against your nostril
   as in some buried sagas erupts out at one sometimes: the power
   that is under the earth, no I mean in it. And if all the
   disappointed tourists hadn't got up and gone away, we would still
   be in each other's reserve, aching, and that would be the same,
   wouldn’t it, as far as the illustrations and the index were concerned?
   
   As it is I frequently get off before the stop that is mine
   not out of modesty but a failure to keep the lines of communication
   open within myself. And then, unexpectedly, I am shown a dog
   and asked to summarize its position in a few short, angular adverbs
   and tell them this is what they do, why we can’t count
   on anything unexpected. The waterfall is all around us,
   we have been living in it, yet to find the hush material
   is just what these daily exercises force on us. I mean
   the scansions of tree to tree, of house to house, and how
   almost every other one had something bright to add
   to the morass of conversation: not much, just a raised eyebrow
   or skirt. And we all take it in, even laughing in the right places,
   which get to be few and far between. Still it is a way of saying,
   a meaning that something has been done, a thing, and hearing always
   comes afterward. And once you have heard, you know,
   the margin can excuse you. We all go back to being attentive
   then, and the right signals concur. It stops, and smarts.
   
  
空中笔记
   
   (选自Hotel Lautreamont)
   作者:(美)约翰.阿什贝利(John Ashberry)
   译者:剑郭琴符
   
   牦牛是一种史前卷心菜:这点,至少,我们可以肯定。
   但告诉我们,日光浴室的圣贤们,为什么那光
   还藏在那里,在室内植物和橡胶海绵里?
   因为幸运的时刻肯定在正午到来
   
   现在到了午后,灯点着了,
   因为季节已晚。当它现在挣扎着
   踏入白昼,抱怨
   在黑暗的边缘发出声音:看,它说,
   
   必须是这样,没有其他。一个人抓住
   并带着的时间就像沙袋里的沙子
   在洞里流淌。这些沙质的时刻
   指责我们,正是我们的敌人的命令,
   
   坐在镶着黄金的王座上的那个
   暴躁的人。不管我们的故事是否
   有趣,孩子们是否停下来听,通过
   空气面纱的裂口,不朽的哨声被听到,
   
   尖叫,歌声并不意味着被听到了。
   这是一些陌生人偶尔说的话,在被风吹过的街道上
   偶尔听到了车辆的轰鸣声,然后扫到
   遥远的轨道上,文字在那里盘旋:“孤独”,它说,
   
   “但你睡着了。现在一切都要被赎回,
   即使邻接你家门口那块荒草,
   离你太近,你也看不见。”但其他的,孩子和其他人,会
   在适当的时候出现。同时我们混合,不是
   
   因为我们必须这样,因为一些主人或女主人
   已经提出了建议,超出了礼貌谈话的
   范围。而我们,他们也,意识到
   知道这一点,写在作为1882年圣诞节礼物赠送的
   
   一本书的扉页上。不要再谈琐事,请,而要谈
   所有领域的音乐,通向大师
   想和你说话的地方,把他的嘴放在你的嘴上,
   把人类的鱼钩从水晶般的肉中收回
   
   在它融化的地方,把你的衣服,小刀,麻线
   还回你。我们离开后要去哪里?什么树
   比包围我们的黑夜更大,充满了更多的东西,
   为眼睛看的路更少,为心灵霜冻的手指更少,
   
   为我们绝望的教诲,果实减半,风
   吸吮我们?如果只是锅炉没有爆炸,人们就可以
   召唤它们,出自雨中的冰柱,足够
   让每个人都能及时就坐的椅子来开始上课。
Notes from the Air
   
   
   A yak is a prehistoric cabbage: of that, at least, we may be sure.
   But tell us, sages of the solarium, why is that light
   still hidden back there, among house-plants and rubber sponges?
   For surely the blessed moment arrived at midday
   
   and now in mid-afternoon, lamps are lit,
   for it is late in the season. And as it struggles now
   and is ground down into day, complaints
   are voiced at the edges of darkness: look, it says,
   
   it has to be this way and no other. Time that one seizes
   and takes along with one is running through the holes
   like sand from a bag. And these sandy moments
   accuse us, are just what our enemy ordered,
   
   the surly one on his throne of impacted
   gold. No matter if our tale be interesting
   or not, whether children stop to listen and through the rent
   veil of the air the immortal whistle is heard,
   
   and screeches, songs not meant to be listened to.
   It was some stranger's casual words, overheard in the wind-blown
   street above the roar of the traffic and then swept
   to the distant orbit where words hover: alone, it says,
   
   but you slept. And now everything is being redeemed,
   even the square of barren grass that adjoins your doorstep,
   too near for you to see. But others, children and others, will
   when the right time comes. Meanwhile we mingle, and not
   
   because we have to, because some host or hostess
   has suggested it, beyond the limits of polite
   conversation. And we, they too, were conscious of having
   known it, written on the flyleaf of a book presented as a gift
   
   at Christmas 1882. No more trivia, please, but music
   in all the spheres leading up to where the master
   wants to talk to you, place his mouth over yours,
   withdraw that human fishhook from the crystalline flesh
   
   where it was melting, give you back your clothes, penknife,
   twine. And where shall we go when we leave? What tree is bigger
   than night that surrounds us, is full of more things,
   fewer paths for the eye and fingers of frost for the mind,
   
   fruits halved for our despairing instruction, winds
   to suck us up? If only the boiler hadn't exploded one
   could summon them, icicles out of the rain, chairs enough
   for everyone to be seated in time for the lesson to begin.
   
   
   
   

 楼主| 发表于 2021-1-29 17:31:03 | 显示全部楼层
带陌生人的静物
   
   (选自Hotel Lautreamont)
   作者:(美)约翰.阿什贝利(John Ashberry)
   译者:剑郭琴符
   
   来吧,乌尔里希,天空的八角形
   正从我们头上掠过。
   很快,世界将继续移动。
   你的恋情,除了
   茶壶里的暴风雨又是什么?
   
   但这样的风暴却散发出奇怪的
   共鸣:万能上帝的力量
   降到了它无穷小的根上
   悬吊如蜜蜂的吟唱,
   无风的秋日
   白桦乳白色下垂的叶子---
   
   称呼这些现象或精确位置,
   遥远得像天空里闪闪发光的垃圾,
   然而巨大的框架保留着,
   填满了悔恨,填满了稻草,
   或者在另一个层面上充满了
   歌声,飘落的雪的灵敏的优雅。
   
   你很善于说服
   他们和你一起唱歌。
   在你上方,马群
   在畜棚里吃草,忘记了白天。
   
   匍匐植物悬挂在岩石表面。
   尖顶就是明证。
   现在所有的角色阵容都是
   虚构的,但是在前面,在阴影中,过去等待着。
Still Life with Stranger   
   
   
   Come on, Ulrich, the great octagon
   of the sky is passing over us.
   Soon the world will have moved on.
   Your love affair, what is it
   but a tempest in a teapot?
   
   But such storms exude strange
   resonance: the power of the Almighty
   reduced to its infinitesimal root
   hangs like the chant of bees,
   the milky drooping leaves of the birch
   on a windless autumn day---
   
   Call these phenomena or pinpoints,
   remote as the glittering trash of heaven,
   yet the monstrous frame remains,
   filling up with regret, with straw,
   or on another level with the quick grace
   of the singing, falling snow.
   
   You are good at persuading
   them to sing with you.
   Above you,horses graze forgetting
   daylight inside the barn.
   
   Creeper dangles against rock-face.
   Pointed roofs bear witness.
   The whole cast of characters is imaginary
   now, but up ahead, in shadow, the past waits.
劳特瑞蒙特酒店
   
   (选自Hotel Lautreamont)
   作者:(美)约翰.阿什贝利(John Ashberry)
   译者:剑郭琴符
   
   1/
   
   研究表明,民谣是由所有社会
   作为一个团队创作的。它们不是刚刚发生的。没有臆测。
   人们,那时,知道他们想要什么,以及如何得到它。
   我们在“温莎森林”和“亚瑟的妻子”等作品中看到了不同的结果。
   
   作为一个团队,他们不是刚刚发生的。没有猜测。
   精灵的号角摇曳而过,几秒钟后
   我们在“温莎森林”和“亚瑟的妻子”等作品中看到了不同的结果,
   或者,在更现代的音符上,在西贝柳斯小提琴协奏曲的结尾中。
   
   精灵的号角摇曳而过,几秒钟后
   世界,我们所知的,陷入了痴呆,证明了叙事的过时,
   或是在西贝柳斯小提琴协奏曲的结尾。
   不用担心,许多手又开始造工作灯了。
   
   世界,我们所知的,陷入了痴呆,证明了叙事的过时,
   无论如何,这项裁决早就该作。
   不用担心,许多手又开始造工作灯了,
   所以我们呆在室内。这次探索只是另一次冒险。
   
   2/
   
   无论如何,这项裁决早就该作。
   人们不由自主地欣喜若狂,
   所以我们呆在室内。这次探索只是另一次冒险,
   解决问题的办法,至少在遥远的将来。
   
   人们不由自主地欣喜若狂
   但没有人想质疑这么多集体欢欣的来源:
   解决的办法:有问题,至少在遥远的将来。
   萨克斯管哀号,马提尼酒杯喝干。
   
   但没有人想质疑这么多集体欢欣的来源。
   在困难时期,人们向巫师或牧师寻求安慰和忠告。
   萨克斯管哀号,马提尼酒杯喝干,
   夜色般的黑色天鹅绒在城市里定居。
   
   在困难时期,人们向巫师或牧师寻求安慰和忠告
   现在,只有愿意接受死亡作为奖励的人才是命中注定的,
   夜色般的黑色天鹅绒在城市里定居,
   如果我们试图离开,赤身裸体对我们有帮助吗?
   
   3/
   
   现在,只有愿意接受死亡作为奖励的人才是命中注定的。
   孩子们旋转呼啦圈,想象一扇通向外面的门。
   如果我们试图离开,赤身裸体对我们有帮助吗?
   那么,更老、更轻的担忧怎么样?这条河怎么样?
   
   孩子们旋转呼啦圈,想象一扇通向外面的门,
   而我们所想的一切是我们能带多少东西。
   那么,更老、更轻的担忧怎么样?这条河怎么样?
   所有的庞然大物都列队穿越了时间的迷宫。
   
   我们所想的一切是我们能带多少东西,
   难怪那些在家里的人坐着,紧张地,在没有灯光的壁炉旁。
   所有的庞然大物都列队穿越了时间的迷宫。
   我们还得勉强接受“我们的”大众。
   
   难怪那些在家里的人坐着,紧张地,在没有灯光的壁炉旁。
   正是他们的选择,毕竟,激发了我们想象力的专长。
   我们还得勉强接受我们的大众
   这样做就剥夺了更多人质的时间。
   
   4/
   
   正是他们的选择,毕竟,激发了我们想象力的专长。
   现在,当一个人静静地登上楼梯时,我们公开出现,
   这样做就剥夺了更多人质的时间,
   结束了历史很久以前开始的对峙。
   
   现在,当一个人静静地登上楼梯时,我们公开出现,
   但它被遮蔽着,蒙着面纱:我们一定犯了一些可怕的错误。
   结束了历史很久以前开始的对峙,
   我们必须永远向前推进,进入反常吗?
   
   但它被遮蔽着,蒙着面纱:我们一定犯了一些可怕的错误。
   你用玫瑰擦额头,推荐它的刺。
   我们必须永远向前推进,进入反常吗?
   只有夜晚确实知道;秘密在她身边是安全的。
   
   你用玫瑰擦额头,推荐它的刺。
   研究表明,民谣是由所有社会,作为一个团队创作的。
   只有夜晚确实知道;秘密在她身边是安全的:
   人们,那时,知道他们想要什么,以及如何得到它。
Hotel Lautreamont
   
   
   1/
   
   Research has shown that ballads were produced by all of society
   working as a team. They didn’t just happen. There was no guesswork.
   The people, then, knew what they wanted and how to get it.
   We see the results in works as diverse as “Windsor Forest” and “The Wife of Usher’s Well.”
   
   Working as a team, they didn't just happen. There was no guesswork.
   The horns of elfland swing past, and in a few seconds
   We see the results in works as diverse as “Windsor Forest” and “The Wife of Usher’s Well,”
   or, on a more modern note, in the finale of the Sibelius violin concerto.
   
   The horns of elfland swing past, and in a few seconds
   The world, as we know it, sinks into dementia, proving narrative passe,
   or in the finale of the Sibelius violin concerto.
   Not to worry, many hands are making work light again.
   
   The world, as we know it, sinks into dementia, proving narrative passe.
   In any case the ruling was long overdue.
   Not to worry, many hands are making work light again,
   so we stay indoors. The quest was only another adventure.
   
   2/
   
   In any case, the ruling was long overdue.
   The people are beside themselves with rapture
   so we stay indoors. The quest was only another adventure
   and the solution problematic, at any rate far off in the future.
   
   The people are beside themselves with rapture
   yet no one thinks to question the source of so much collective euphoria,
   and the solution: problematic, at any rate far off in the future.
   The saxophone wails, the martini glass is drained.
   
   Yet no one thinks to question the source of so much collective euphoria.
   In troubled times one looked to the shaman or priest for comfort and counsel.
   The saxophone wails, the martini glass is drained,
   And night like black swansdown settles on the city.
   
   In troubled times one looked to the shaman or priest for comfort and counsel
   Now, only the willing are fated to receive death as a reward,
   and night like black swansdown settles on the city,
   If we tried to leave, would being naked help us?
   
   3/
   
   Now, only the willing are fated to receive death as a reward.
   Children twist hula-hoops, imagining a door to the outside.
   If we tried to leave, would being naked help us?
   And what of older, lighter concerns? What of the river?
   
   Children twist hula-hoops, imagining a door to the outside,
   when all we think of is how much we can carry with us.
   And what of older, lighter concerns? What of the river?
   All the behemoths have filed through the maze of time.
   
   When all we think of is how much we can carry with us
   Small wonder that those at home sit, nervous, by the unlit grate.
   All the behemoths have filed through the maze of time.
   It remains for us to come to terms with our commonalty.
   
   Small wonder that those at home sit nervous by the unlit grate.
   It was their choice, after all, that spurred us to feats of the imagination.
   It remains for us to come to terms with our commonalty
   And in so doing deprive time of further hostages.
   
   4/
   
   It was their choice, after all, that spurred us to feats of the imagination.
   Now, silently as one mounts a stair we emerge into the open
   and in so doing deprive time of further hostages,
   to end the standoff that history long ago began.
   
   Now, silently as one mounts a stair we emerge into the open
   but it is shrouded, veiled: we must have made some ghastly error.
   To end the standoff that history long ago began
   Must we thrust ever onward, into perversity?
   
   But it is shrouded, veiled: we must have made some ghastly error.
   You mop your forehead with a rose, recommending its thorns.
   Must we thrust ever onward, into perversity?
   Only night knows for sure; the secret is safe with her.
   
   You mop your forehead with a rose, ecommending its thorns.
   Research has shown that ballads were produced by all of society;
   Only night knows for sure. The secret is safe with her:
   the people, then, knew what they wanted and how to get it.
在皇后的心里
   
   (选自Hotel Lautreamont)
   作者:(美)约翰.阿什贝利(John Ashberry)
   译者:剑郭琴符
   
   让我们建立一个官僚机构。
   首先,我们可以有一长串旧的东西,
   新的东西重新包装成旧的。
   我们可以有炮塔,一道导向墙。
   很快全国都会来看它的。
   
   让我们,尽一切办法,把东西放在夜光下:
   部分可见。诗歌在沉默了几十年后
   所带来的粗鲁会有所帮助。许多人
   将被问责。这意味着,洗衣店
   在他们由来已久的方式将继续失败。摩托车
   疾驰而起,请求方向
   或彩色珠宝,这样人们就可以从容地去旅行
   比以前少一点麻烦,这有什么帮助吗?
   
   没人知道这是怎么回事。
   即使在开始的时候,人们也有严重的疑虑
   但离开的热情扫除它们
   在春天的绿色骚扰中。
   我们得到的信息是错误的,其中
   我们的生活建立在,一个码头
   远远延伸到一条肿胀的河。
   现在,连这些吸管都不见了。
   
   今晚的聚会会比以往任何时候都好。
   这么多神秘客人。雨水
   在呜咽的树上筛过,兴奋的小艇…
   其他人来了又走,没有造成损害。
   其他人抓住了,或造成了黑暗,一个长期发泄
   在原来的灾难中没有人见过。
   他们争论过。今晚将不同。对你更好吗?
On the Empress’s Mind
   
   
   
   Let’s make a bureaucracy.
   First, we can have long lists of old things,
   and new things repackaged as old ones.
   We can have turrets, a guiding wall.
   Soon the whole country will come to look over it.
   
   Let us, by all means, have things in night light:
   partly visible. The rudeness that poetry often brings
   after decades of silence will help. Many
   will be called to account. This means that laundries
   in their age-old way will go on foundering. Is it any help
   that motorbikes whiz up, to ask for directions
   or colored jewelry, so that one can go about one’s visit
   a tad less troubled than before, lightly composed?
   
   No one knows what it's about anymore.
   Even in the beginning one had grave misgivings
   but the enthusiasm of departure swept them away
   in the green molestation of spring.
   We were given false information on which
   our lives were built, a pier
   extending far out into a swollen river.
   Now, even these straws are gone.
   
   Tonight the party will be better than ever.
   So many mystery guests. And the rain that sifts
   through sobbing trees, that excited skiff...
   Others have come and gone and wrought no damage.
   Others have caught, or caused darkness, a long vent
   in the original catastrophe no one has seen.
   They have argued. Tonight will be different. Is it better for you?
   
   
幽灵代理人
   
   (选自Hotel Lautreamont)
   作者:(美)约翰.阿什贝利(John Ashberry)
   译者:剑郭琴符
   
   我们需要更多关于我们的例子,地球的数据---它会如何表现,在
   危机中,在压力下,
   或者仅仅是在一个没有人确定会爆发动乱的
   日子里。什么季节最自然适合它的
   生活方式?观察者,控制组是谁?
   
   为此,我们必须在破旧的电影院里寻找答案
   其阳台在几十年前就被围墙隔开了:在银幕上
   (那儿,在时髦的郊区,一个女人等着),
   在座位下、在毛茸茸的、古老的呕吐物和口香糖包装机里;
   或者在大厅里,那儿泛黄的大厅卡片宣布
   下周共和国系列的到来:某个
   重要的名字曾经,飘浮
   在过去的名字,就像夏日傍晚飘荡的蚊虫。
   
   世界上有谁差不多像我们一样
   鄙视我们的工作?我又开始反对竞选了,
   然后我的电话响了,摘下听筒。我告诉你…
   但要回到我们身边,用砂纸打磨更细的纹理
   并超过---这是书教给你们的,也是
   我们必须做的。成名,不知何故,
   在信用卡后面的云墙里,像一次
   二十一辆汽车在雾气缭绕的高速公路上相撞。
   这是它意味的东西,离开和运行,也离开
   一个人的坚果。但再过几年,
   为了好行为而休假…
The Phantom Agents
   
   
   
   We need more data re our example, earth—how it would behave in a
   crisis, under pressure,
   or simply on a day no one had staked out for unrest
   to erupt. What season would fit its lifestyle
   most naturally? Who would the observers, the control group be?
   
   For this we must seek the answer in decrepit cinemas
   whose balconies were walled off decades ago: on the screen
   (where, in posh suburbia, a woman waits),
   under the seats, in the fuzz and ancient vomit and gumwrappers;
   or in the lobby, where yellowing lobby cards announce
   the advent of next week's Republic serial: names
   of a certain importance once, names that float
   in the past, like a drift of gnats on a summer evening.
   
   Who in the world despises our work
   as much as we do? I was against campaigning again,
   then my phone started ringing off the hook. I tell you ...
   But to come back to us, sanded down to the finer grain
   and beyond---this is what books teach you, but also
   what we must do. Make a name, somehow,
   in the wall of clouds behind the credits, like a
   twenty-one-vehicle pileup on a fog-enclosed highway.
   This is what it means to be off and running, off
   one’s nut as well. But in a few more years,
   with time off for good behavior...
   
   
从河口,从赌场
   
   (选自Hotel Lautreamont)
   作者:(美)约翰.阿什贝利(John Ashberry)
   译者:剑郭琴符
   
   现在差不多两年。
   主题清晰,充满光芒。
   当我们讲述这件事的时候
   没有回忆的浪潮涌回来---
   好像战争从未发生过。
   相反这里有一个平滑的略微凹陷的空间:
   不是肚脐的鬼魂。有一些毫无意义的循环要做。
   
   看到你在上班的人,没人曾相信那事。
   你碾碎的记忆,破碎的完美:
   看,它枯萎了,但美丽的桌子的形状仍然存在。
   还有其他一些故事,甚至对我们的目的来说都太含糊不清了,
   但那没关系。我们会使用它们,总有一天,
   一个命名日,
   一个伟大的事件不会被报道。
   
   那么距离,你问,到太阳?
   当然,没有人会记得爬到
   它坚持的地方,在
   日常用语的摘要里到处戳?人们有更好的
   东西来处理他们的生活,比数有多少赌注
   输了,我们都知道鸟儿曾经在这里。
   在这里,他们蹒跚且平息,甚至幸存下来。
   
   历史上,最好的捕鸟者被带到国王面前,
   他做了些什么,尽管没人知道什么时候。
   那是在你拥有一切之前
   通过把水龙头打开,让它在一股炽热的水流中
   从房子流到车库之前---
   我们坐了下来,满足于让那东西的字母注意到我们,
   不受精神的困扰,谈论着下一只在水泥地平线上
   飞走的海鸥,不是诡辩,未说出口的。
   
   我们都应该回到那个让我们厌烦的夜晚
   但既然那是不可能的,梦想也许是唯一的出路:
   梦想上学,梦想旅行,梦想继续教育和取消教育我们
   因为心总是飞得有点远,
   也许是伴随着,也许不是。也许是一个熟悉的灵魂,
   可能是一个陌生人,一个还没有
   达到沸点的小敌人,在那时候
   我们的愿望会丰满,至少
   更清楚了,当我们审视它
   并得出尖锐的结论的时间来到?
   
   尽管我觉得自己像一条离开水的鱼,但我
   认出了在我前面走着的工人,
   正在把东西钉牢。
   谁问我的事情?
   我是可用的,我的心恍惚地钉在布告栏上,我内心的石头
   随时准备说话,如果这就是能拯救我们的一切。
   
   我认为有一种或两种方法;这并不重要
   只要一个人能飞掠而过,很容易
   陷入质疑,但又不是毒气的黑暗。
   看,这是一个姿势---
   你能遮住它,用披风盖住它?我
   不在乎,他说,下全部那些楼梯
   使你成为一个男孩。我有我想要
   只是现在我不想要的东西,没有它,但是它服从于
   一些东西,是肉和和平,一座木制的人行桥
   环绕着城镇,吸引着所有在其后的人。并解释该怎么走。
   
   在这一切之后,我觉得我
   很愉快。钟声敲响,天空痊愈。
   伟大的道路铺开了它巨大的负担,
   气候开始营救---它一直如此---
   我们像在帽子里一样被摇动,分散在地上。
   我希望我能说出下一件事。但在梦里我做不到,
   所以我会让这个东西代替它,这个我
   已经成为,这个爱你的任何方式。
From Estuaries,from Casinos
   
   
   
   It’s almost two years now.
   The theme was articulated, the brightness filled in.
   And when we tell about it
   no wave of recollection comes gushing back---
   it's as though the war had never happened.
   There’s a smooth slightly concave space there instead:
   not the ghost of a navel. There are pointless rounds to be made.
   
   No one who saw you at work would ever believe that.
   The memories you ground down, the smashed perfection:
   Look, it’s wilted, but the shape of a beautiful table remains.
   There are other stories, too ambiguous even for our purposes,
   but that’s no matter. We’ll use them and someday,
   a name-day,
   a great event will go unreported.
   
   All that distance, you ask, to the sun?
   Surely no one is going to remember to climb
   where it insists, poking about
   in an abstract of everyday phrases? People have better
   things to do with their lives than count how many
   bets have been lost, and we all know the birds were here once.
   Here they totter and subside, even in surviving.
   
   In history, the best bird catchers were brought before the king,
   and he did something, though nobody knows when.
   That was before you could have it all
   by just turning on the tap, letting it run
   in a fiery stream from house to garage---
   and we sat back, content to let the letter of the thing notice us,
   untroubled by the spirit, talking of the next gull to fly away
   on the cement horizon, not quibbling, unspoken for.
   
   We should all get back to the night that bore us
   but since that is impossible a dream may be the only way:
   dreams of school, of travel, continue to teach and unteach us
   as always the heart flies a little away,
   perhaps accompanying, perhaps not. Perhaps a familiar spirit,
   possibly a stranger, a small enemy whose boiling point
   hasn’t yet been reached, and in that time
   will our desire be fleshed out, at any rate
   made clearer as the time comes
   to examine it and draw the rasping conclusions?
   
   And though I feel like a fish out of water I
   recognize the workmen who proceed before me,
   nailing the thing down.
   Who asks anything of me?
   I am available, my heart pinned in a trance
   to the notice board, the stone
   inside me ready to speak, if that is all that can save us.
   
   And I think one way or perhaps two; it doesn’t matter
   as long as one can slip by, and easily
   into the questioning but not miasmal dark.
   Look, here is a stance---
   shall you cover it, cape it? I
   don’t care he said, going down all those stairs
   makes a boy of you. And I had what I want
   only now I don't want it, not having it, and yet it defers
   to some, is meat and peace and a wooden footbridge
   ringing the town, drawing all in after it. And explaining the way to go.
   
   After all this I think I
   feel pretty euphoric. Bells chimed, the sky healed.
   The great road unrolled its vast burden,
   the climate came to the rescue---it always does---
   and we were shaken as in a hat and distributed on the ground.
   I wish I could tell the next thing. But in dreams I can’t,
   so will let this thing stand in for it, this me
   I have become, this loving you either way.
   
  

 楼主| 发表于 2021-1-30 18:32:27 | 显示全部楼层
警察和毛衣
   (选自Hotel Lautreamont)
   作者:(美)约翰.阿什贝利(John Ashberry)
   译者:剑郭琴符
   
   这是关于波动的事情,
   当它开始的时候我们都是怎样的参与其中的初学者。
   一旦发生了这种情况,事情就有了另一种面貌:
   树木不再来到门口;季节
   总是“忘记”把你列入名单---
   诸如此类的事情。
   
   现在那些无家可归的被我们称为男人的体毛
   在我们的背上,我们的王国已经没有气息。
   有时会有一个计划
   把他们中的一个带走
   但是会有很长的停顿,其中草长得高高的
   在地基墙的上方
   后面是砖块,蝰蛇和贵重的奖品组成。
   是我们不介意的东西:
   我们每个人都采样那么多其他人的,
   现在音乐会很恶心。
   不再有雨回避,
   只有一棵黑暗中的紫杉
   它让一些人穿过
   进入等待的墓地
   与军人混在一起
   他们的徽章很快乐。
   
   一个人可以冲破这一切,排出“绝望的泥沼”,
   为鸟和人建立个人的栖息地,
   适当,也是愚蠢的。
   
   我相信这已经发生
   在一些沙漠沙的绿洲里
   在那里它们现在只等着知道
   这里接下来发生了什么,以便离开
   在满天星星的轨道上种下其他的命运
   月亮在水上制造。然后释放
   给酿酒厂和雨桶以幸福
   在那里很多事情会发生,运转,
   即使是今天!对小鹿的和平,
   系在后面的窗帘。这就是生活,
   如果我们要比音乐更多,那飘扬的
   披肩和扇子属于比我的、比我们的
   更大的可能性。所以我们总是看得到。
   来自环球精品店我们每个人蹒跚而行。
Cop and Sweater
   
   
   It’s about this undulation thing,
   how we were all beginners to get in on it when it began.
   Once that had happened, there was another face on things:
   trees no longer came to the door; the seasons
   were always “forgetting” to include you in the list---
   that sort of thing.
   
   Now those homeless hirsutes we call men
   are on our backs, there is no breath out of the kingdom.
   Sometimes a plan will come
   to take one of them away
   but there are long pauses in which grass grows tall
   above the elementary wall
   behind which bricks, adders and valuable prizes are combined.
   It is that we have no mind:
   each of us has sampled so many of the others',
   and now the concert is sick.
   No rain to stay away from any more,
   only a darkling yew
   that lets pass a few
   into the waiting cemetery
   to mingle with the military
   whose buttons are celebratory.
   
   A man could smash through this, drain the Slough of Despond,
   build individual habitats for bird and person,
   suitable, and folly too.
   
   I believe it already happened
   in some oasis of desert sand
   where they are only waiting to know now
   what went on back here, so as to leave
   and plant other destinies in the star-filled track
   the moon makes on water. Then release
   happiness to the wineries and rain barrels
   where so much could have happened, and does,
   even today! Peace to the fawns,
   the tied-back curtains. This is the living,
   and if we are to be more than music, the waving
   shawls and fanlights of a greater possibility
   than mine, than us. So we see always.
   From the universal boutique each of us stumbles on.
   
  
音乐珍藏
   
   (选自Hotel Lautreamont)
   作者:(美)约翰.阿什贝利(John Ashberry)
   译者:剑郭琴符
   
   然后我到了田野,我想
   这不是一个笑话不是一本书
   而是一首关于某事的诗---但它是什么?诗真是如此古怪的小玩意儿。
   这个人抓破了他自己,站起来,然后去房间的
   一个角落撒尿。后来在冬天的雪的映衬下
   他穿着白色的马裤,显得
   相当时髦,而且在他不情愿说话的时候,完全
   漫不经心地说:“我的爱会比害怕少……”
   
   他小跑起来,他小跑下来,他在镇上到处小跑。
   他的亲戚嫉妒他吗?
   尽管如此,滴答滴答的机器仍半埋在沙子里。
   有人走到窗前,波浪是一种姿态,什么也没有证明,
   什么也没有退去。一个人
   被这样的仆人抓住,必须丢掉绿叶,
   一个接一个,就像果园被偷一样,然后,带着幸运,
   金块确实在闪烁,诱饵陷阱滑开。
   我们在这里,我们的福利完好无损。
   
   哦,但另一次,在夜晚抗拒的边缘
   人们会想到恶作剧的东西在那里。
   是什么引导这条路在脚下疾驰
   通向灾难的绿洲,或者至少是未知?
   我们出生,被埋葬了一段时间,然后正好在一切都关闭的时候
   突然出现。我们的愿望非常简单:
   一杯紫牛奶,例如,或者一个
   在餐馆的梦。侍者鼓励我们,还有松鼠。
   没有告诉我们有多少人会习惯。
   
   我的朋友设计了一个白菜占星术
   每天都指向充足。他和所有其他人都回家了。
   这个房间的墙壁就像米克诺斯岛一样,果真,
   绿色的羽毛在外面的微风中摇摆
   强调这个我们
   从未拥有,或想要的地方的宁静。然而,很奇妙,这
   “真是”;指着一棵树说,难道我没在什么地方认识你?
   当然,现在我想起来了,那是在某个地方的风景里,
   我们都可以脱掉帽子。
   
   晚上太冷的时候
   啮齿动物对玻璃碎片说什么?
   我们任何一个人在干什么?哦,但是有
   一个派对,但也是一个梦。一群男孩
   在唱我的诗,音乐是一首无名的
   十五世纪勃艮第圣歌,它有点像这样:
   
   “这不是你应该听到的,
   但我们醒了,带着
   驴耳朵和背包的日子越过
   狭窄的峡谷小径,它
   像梦一样白和寂静,那就是
   “你”梦到的东西。
   资源溜走,或者被钉在
   一个太重而抬不起来的梯子下面。
   这就是为什么你会在这里,但是
   这段旅程的记忆是激动人心的。”
   
   这,至少,是我的希望。
Musica Reservata
   
   
   
   Then I reached the field and I thought
   this is not a joke not a book
   but a poem about something---but what? Poems are such odd little jiggers.
   This one scratches himself, gets up, then goes off to pee
   in a corner of the room. Later looking quite
   stylish in white jodhpurs against the winter
   snow, and in his reluctance to talk to the utterly
   discursive: “I will belove less than feared …”
   
   He trotted up, he trotted down, he trotted all around the town.
   Were his relatives jealous of him?
   Still the tock-tock machinery lies half-embedded in sand.
   Someone comes to the window, the wave is a gesture proving nothing,
   and that nothing has receded. One gets caught
   in servants like these and must lose the green leaves,
   one by one, as an orchard is pilfered, and then, with luck,
   nuggets do shine, the baited trap slides open.
   We are here with our welfare intact.
   
   Oh but another time, on the resistant edge of night
   one thinks of the pranks things are.
   What led the road that sped underfoot
   to oases of disaster, or at least the unknown?
   We are born, buried for a while, then spring up just as
   everything is closing. Our desires are extremely simple:
   a glass of purple milk, for example, or a dream
   of being in a restaurant. Waiters encourage us, and squirrels.
   There’s no telling how much of us will get used.
   
   My friend devises the cabbage horoscope
   that points daily to sufficiency. He and all those others go home.
   The walls of this room are like Mykonos, and sure enough,
   green plumes toss in the breeze outside
   that underscores the stillness of this place
   we never quite have, or want. Yet it’s wonderful, this
   being; to point to a tree and say don't I know you from somewhere?
   Sure, now I remember, it was in some landscape somewhere,
   and we can all take off our hats.
   
   At night when it’s too cold
   what does the rodent say to the glass shard?
   What are any of us doing up? Oh but there’s
   a party, but it too was a dream. A group of boys
   was singing my poetry, the music was an anonymous
   fifteenth-century Burgundian anthem, it went something like this:
   
   “This is not what you should hear,
   but we are awake, and days
   with donkey ears and packs negotiate
   the narrow canyon trail that is
   as white and silent as a dream, that is,
   something you dreamed.
   And resources slip away, or are pinned
   under a ladder too heavy to lift.
   Which is why you are here, but the mnemonics
   of the ride are stirring.”
   
   That, at least, is my hope.
   
  
苏珊
   
   (选自Hotel Lautreamont)
   作者:(美)约翰.阿什贝利(John Ashberry)
   译者:剑郭琴符
   
   
   漂浮物,我告诉过你,和船上投弃物不一样。
   后者是“由船长向船外抛下,
   以减轻危难时的负担。”
   至于系有浮标的投海货物,则完全不同,它是
   “从海上冲上来的碎片,拥有这些碎片的权利,”
   或者“为了可能再次被发现
   而抛入海中,并附上浮标的货物。”
   
   明白我的意思吗?这是民间艺术,
   正如船桨周围羞涩的卷轴所宣告的:
   免费战利品。为了每个人。为了那个潮湿的海滨上的每个人,
   总之。波浪竞相运送货物。
   我想买那些大袋的音乐中的一袋
   在太迟之前,在销售结束之前
   我们留下来,甚至没有一种时尚
   可以踮脚站立。虽然到了那个时候,我终于发现
   我的职业是什么,
   止住我职业生涯中的精力流失,
   重新开始工作。你知道吗?
   
   你有一条街道的名字,它保留
   阴谋诡计,咒语,路线,以记住
   制造我们的混乱。你穷得
   像个苹果。这里没有实质:
   粉色的天空,灰色的建筑物,白色的花朵,
   一个缺乏底座的杯子…
   
   它们是一年生植物还是多年生植物?
   一棵灌木在一年中生长了一段时间
   然后休息,直到我们决定用比喻来庆祝它
   这意味着什么?她说那位诗人也很快地跟着来了,
   然后半岛就静了下来。
Susan
   
   
   Flotsam, I told you, isn't the same as jetsam.
   The latter is “cast overboard by the master,
   to lighten the load in time of distress.”
   And as for lagan, it’s very different, it’s
   “debris washed up from the sea, the right to possess such debris,”
   or “goods thrown into the sea with a buoy attached
   in order that they may be found again. ”
   
   See what I mean? It's folk art,
   as the shy scrolls around the oarlocks announce:
   free booty. For everybody. For everybody on that wet strand,
   anyway. Waves race to deliver the goods.
   I want to get one of those big bags of music
   before it’s too late, before the sale ends
   and we’re left without even a fashion
   to stand tiptoe on. Though that's when I'll find out
   at last what my profession is,
   staunch the energy hemorrhaging from my career,
   and get back to work again. You know something?
   
   You have the name of a street, that holds
   wiles, incantations, thread, in memory of
   the mess that made us. You’re indigent
   as an apple. There is nothing of substance here:
   pink sky, gray buildings, white flowers,
   a cup that lacks a base …
   
   Are they annuals or perennials?
   What does it mean to be a bush that grows
   some of the year and then rests
   until we decide to celebrate it
   into trope? She said how quickly that poet followed too,
   and after that the peninsula was stilled.
   
   
  
国王
   
   (选自Hotel Lautreamont)
   作者:(美)约翰.阿什贝利(John Ashberry)
   译者:剑郭琴符
   
   我也如此听说, 并也大致相信。
   ---《哈姆雷特》(1)
   
   1/
   
   你原谅了那些杂种
   一段时间
   即使他们的报复令你如此吃惊。
   警报在我们的中午枯萎,蜿蜒的
   道路标志着山,小屋和修道院
   下降的坡度的变化。
   
   夜晚终于走近:
   “如你所愿,你用我,我的产业
   是你的;使它们成为圣洁,或玷污。”
   怎么会没有上帝来看到
   生锈的眼睑下
   渗出的泪水?这条路
   坑坑洼洼,不真实,但它恰好
   位于我们的领土上。
   我们要追击
   天国的
   强盗:
   
   雪的
   把手固定住了马口铁
   尖塔,这么多
   不是我们的,故事
   此外,贝多因人
   打破了沉默,就像河流
   冲击大坝。
   这些,我们冰冷的
   财产。众神永远不会被完全遗忘。
   
   2/
   
   在六月,编成的辫束仍然是
   做梦也想不到的;最高的
   预言只是一个片刻,聚集在
   一个女巫的喉咙里,就像一件衬衫的褶裥。
   在那一刻,过几个
   宁静的冬天。可以看到我们
   穿着最旧的衣服,当它
   突然转向黑暗的刺激:
   与熊一起倒下,我们的眼泪
   洗刷了过去,僵硬的建筑
   疲劳得闷闷不乐,真实的东西,
   有铰链的故事攫取睡眠,
   照亮了黎明。愚人和
   圣人都能读懂这,它关系到他们所有人。
   
   但是在那儿
   河湾看不见的地方,
   小心!在所有
   斜坡上,我们过去认为我们自己的
   千年铁轨穿透了
   含水层。没有提供
   解释,也没有必要。
   -------
   (1)指哈姆雷特父亲鬼魂出现的事:
   马赛洛: 那幽灵正在雄鸡啼时消散;
   也传说在圣诞前夕, 雄鸡夜不停啼,
   众鬼神均勿敢出游,
   因此夜晚清明, 天无邪星,
   精灵不闹, 女巫乏咒。
   此诚光华圣洁之辰也!
   赫瑞修: 我也如此听说, 并也大致相信。
   原文:
   MARCELLUS
   It faded on the crowing of the cock.
   Some say that ever 'gainst that season comes
   Wherein our Saviour's birth is celebrated,
   The bird of dawning singeth all night long:
   And then, they say, no spirit dares stir abroad;
   The nights are wholesome; then no planets strike,
   No fairy takes, nor witch hath power to charm,
   So hallow'd and so gracious is the time.
   
   HORATIO
   So have I heard and do in part believe it.
The King
   
   
   So have I heard and do in part believe it.
   ---Hamlet
   
   1/
   
   And you forgave the bastards
   For a time
   and even so their revenge amazes you.
   Alarms wilt in our noon, the winding
   roads mark the changing grades of the hills,
   hovel and monastery fall.
   
   At last night approached:
   “Use me as you will, my properties
   are yours; hallow or besmirch them.”
   How come no god sees
   the tears that ooze from under
   rusty eyelids? The road is
   pitted and incorrect but it happens
   to lie in territory that is ours.
   We shall chase
   the heavenly
   bandit:
   
   handlebars
   of snow anchor the tole
   steeple, so much
   that is not ours, and the tale
   besides, of bedouins
   who broke out of silence as a river
   assaults a dam.
   These, our cold
   possessions. The gods are never quite forgotten.
   
   2/
   
   In June the plaited sheaves are still
   undreamt of; the highest
   prophecy is only a moment gathering
   in a sibyl's throat like a tuck in a shirt.
   In that moment, live some of
   Winter’s peace. We can be seen
   wearing our oldest clothes when it
   shifts abruptly to darkness’s excitement:
   falling down with bears and our tears
   cleanse the past, stiff architecture
   too tired to mope, the actual thing,
   hinge the story wrests from sleep,
   lit in daybreak. And fools and
   sages can read this, and it concerns them all.
   
   But there where
   the bend in the river is unseen,
   watch out! And over all the
   slopes we used to think of as our own
   millennial rails have pierced
   to the aquifers. No explanation
   is offered, and none necessary.
   
  
整体令人钦佩的创作
   
   (选自Hotel Lautreamont)
   作者:(美)约翰.阿什贝利(John Ashberry)
   译者:剑郭琴符
   
   在雨夜,所有的脸看起来都像电话。
   帮助我!我在这条街上是因为我
   去过某个地方,而现在,不在那儿,而在这里。
   于是海岸上波涛聚集,我听见
   群山,秋天的潮水拖曳着
   曾经更厚,像一层眼泪,而且
   
   人们从事自己的事,如果和别人在一起
   就不关心。对于那些其孤独
   在我的粪便中呼喊着嫉妒的人,我说,在这最后一层楼,我在这里,在这
   最后的地板,哭泣和悲伤的房间。
   你最好知道实际地生活
   因为总会有一些意想不到的细节介入:
   他是如何在一个被遗忘的午后
   来到你的家的,它充满了鸟儿的翅膀
   而当时的标准已经瘫倒
   而另一个已经取而代之:
   
   在常春藤的高处,来自瀑布的水
   消失在光滑的岩石中,
   这名望,这嫉妒。绝大多数的挑战是睡眠带来的,它如何哄
   傻瓜走出巢穴,如何分享食物
   和到处穿行的耳语。然后,真正的男孩
   来到你身边,就像风中的风筝
   从沙漏的针孔中垂下---
   仿佛这就是顶峰。
   
   变化无常比你想听的
   还要多,与此同时,街道已经干涸,
   眼泪被储存,直到另一个时间,微笑
   画出所有人类活动中升起的
   轻松的水汽。我看到是时候质疑树木,
   树篱上的荆棘,再一次,同样的盲目调查
   导致你从一个陷阱到另一个陷阱,在讨价还价
   忘记你以前。而这只是地球表面的
   一个肿块,没有投射阴影,直到
   遥远誓言的白色和黑色果实
   再次飘入视野,失去控制,在黑暗中
   闪闪发光,在海洋中流失和
   收集。地图又被擦干净了。
The Whole Is Admirably Composed
   
   
   
   In rainy night all the faces look like telephones.
   Help me! I am in this street because I was
   going someplace, and now, not to be there is here.
   So billows pile up on the shore, I hear
   the mountains, the tide of autumn pulls in
   ever thicker like a blanket of tears, and
   
   people go about their business, unconcerned
   if with another. And to those whose loneliness
   shouts envy in my fece, I say I am here on this
   last floor, room of sobs and of grieving.
   It’s better you know to actually live it
   since always some unexpected detail intervenes:
   how he came to your house long ago
   on a forgotten afternoon filled with birds' wings
   and the standard that stood then has crumpled
   yet another has taken its place:
   
   high up in the ivy where the water from the
   falls disappears amid smooth boulders,
   this renown, this envy. And most of all
   the challenge sleep brings, how it coaxes
   the dunce out of his lair, how meals are shared
   and whispers passed around. Then the real boy
   comes to you like a kite on wind that is flagging
   through the needle hole of the hourglass---
   as though this were the summit.
   
   There is more to inconstancy than you will
   want to hear, and meanwhile the streets have dried,
   tears been put away until another time, and a smile
   paints the easy vapor that rises from all
   human activity. I see it is time to question trees,
   thorns in hedges, again, the same blind investigation
   that leads you from trap to trap before bargaining
   to forget you. And this is only a bump
   on the earth's surface, casting no shadow, until
   the white and dark fruits of the far pledge be
   wafted into view again, out of control, shimmering
   in the dark that runs off and is collected
   in oceans. And the map is again wiped clean.
   
   
  
被迫进军
   
   (选自Hotel Lautreamont)
   作者:(美)约翰.阿什贝利(John Ashberry)
   译者:剑郭琴符
   
   浪子返回---到什么样的机械
   惊骇,被屠宰牛的喧闹。
   在荒野里更好---至少思想
   在那里优雅地游荡,就像一条小溪蜿蜒流过
   草地,没有明显的原因。
   人们可以捕捉到一阵古老的叫声
   大约十七世纪前的某一天
   它们在这个地方开始出现之前是很好的。
   
   我们已经到达了一个长长的防波堤的顶端
   它将湖与更深更寂静的航道分隔开来。
   一个仍在运转的灯塔在那里闪烁,为它的目的
   和它在夜晚的倒影而自豪。
   
   没事可干,除了观察地平线,
   唯一一个,它似乎想与
   过往的天空分离。
   
   现在,我们留在后面的联系
   必须重新组装,因为这是我们来自的土地。
   它不是一个易心烦意乱的地方。但正如一根手指触发了
   一个弹射器,被释放的白昼也是如此。
   
   我们很多人在溪流的顶端。
   我蹲在附近,试图偷听水手们的
   谈话,了解他们要去哪里。最后
   一个人来找我,说如果我想的话,我可以得到这份工作。
   想要它!所以在这个棱柱形的漩涡里,我被更新了
   一段对我来说毫无意义的时间。
   
   门廊下有舞蹈---就是这样。
   我就是我拥有的全部。我很害怕。我一个人呆着。
   
   然而,这是获得某种满足的途径。
   我在镜子里亲吻自己。孩子们都很和善,
   木板路充当五彩斑斓的背景
   表演反复无常,孔雀舞和恰空舞
   在片段中迎接着人们的耳朵,必须说的
   旋律。古老的丰满感
   就在这里,尽管只是轻轻地勾勒。
By Forced Marches
   
   
   
   the prodigal returns---to what mechanical
   consternation, din of slaughtered cattle.
   It was better in the wilderness---there at least
   the mind wanders daintily as a stream meanders
   through a meadow, for no apparent reason.
   And one can catch snatches of the old cries
   that were good before this place began
   on a day some seventeen centuries ago.
   
   We have reached the tip of a long breakwater
   dividing the lake from the deeper and silenter ship channel.
   A still-functioning beacon flashes there, proud
   of its purpose and its reflection in the night.
   There is nothing to do except observe the horizon,
   the only one, that seems to want to sever itself
   from the passing sky.
   
   Now the links we had left behind
   must be reassembled, since this is the land we came from.
   It is no place for the squeamish. But as a finger triggers
   a catapult, so is the task of the day discharged.
   
   There were many of us at the stream’s tip.
   I squatted nearby trying to eavesdrop on the sailors’
   conversations, to learn where they were going. Finally
   one comes to me and says I can have the job if I want it.
   Want it! and so in this prismatic whirlpool I am renewed
   for a space of time that means nothing to me.
   
   And there is dancing under the porches---so be it.
   I am all I have. I am afraid. I am left alone.
   
   Yet it is the way to a certain kind of satisfaction.
   I kiss myself in the mirror. And children are kind,
   the boardwalk serves as a colorful backdrop
   to the caprices acted out, the pavanes and chaconnes
   that greet the ear in fragments, melodious
   ones it must be said. And the old sense of a fullness
   is here, though only lightly sketched in.
   
   

 楼主| 发表于 2021-1-30 20:07:57 | 显示全部楼层
高速公路上的秋天
   
   (选自Hotel Lautreamont)
   作者:(美)约翰.阿什贝利(John Ashberry)
   译者:剑郭琴符
   
   说我的胳膊疼。
   说今天天空中有太多的但是。
   说我们需要彼此断断续续地去看如何感受。
   
   在那之后,很好地承诺要注意它,注意它
   不会再以这种方式发生,这样我们就可以
   在它发生的时候做些什么。
   
   或者说,真诚给我们披上了一件羞愧的外衣
   当我们的衣服在这个夜晚的营火旁晾干的时候
   这些夜晚意味着继续预先包装一些最初的火焰
   
   以便出售它,以弥补我们走上这条道路的
   一些损失,回报最初的投资者。
   那时多么甜蜜,交易,契约。你没有什么显著的事情
   
   害怕,天窗已经激活。
   最好呆在这里欣赏事物的新面貌。
   发明一顶新帽子。穿上生长的季节,把其他的
   
   钉在藏在荒野里的门上。损失是我们的,
   没有人在阳光下,一些荡妇,尖声哭泣。
   还有马眼罩---我也为他们签了。
   
   研究表明,它悬挂在霜中,穿着睡衣,在空中
   一只守门犬在下面晒太阳,它自己的雪洞
   就像一个信念中的苹果。给这一带的树浇水,它
   
   从不加快我们从最初的承诺中
   希望得到多少,是的,有一天在某种心情的
   描图纸上被描出来。我们永远无法真正解释它
   
   或它的原始主义有多豪华,在一开始,
   它脸上面纱的墙壁多么陡峭,或你已经走了多“远”,小纺纱机
   
   现在一切正常。我们如何开始被看见。
   然而,我们知道,我们必须付出代价
   
   不要在两者之间耗尽任何金钱,因为它
   
   变成了我们,然后全部失去,第二次
   但在一个快乐的中立智慧聚集的时候,被缝进
   
   内层,在那里你必须珍惜它。
   永远不要相信通往巧克力和土地的假护照,蜜蜂的
   理由,永远不要放弃,摆脱避难所
   一旦你习惯了它,它就会接管一切。不,这
   
   另一只手是我为你埋葬和保留的心愿,真的是我身边唯一的
   一个长久的,进入紧张的密集状态
   然后你撕扯,撕扯:啊,我们要多久
   
   直到风景安静下来,像一只心爱的狗的头放在手下,
   
   为了移动的东西移动,为了它曾设法获得一片阿斯匹林
   并在采石场边缘失去了脸。把那本神谱递给我
   然后就丢失了,不要读我的权利,请离开这里
   
   直到我能思考,然后我们两个,一天,来到我们两个
   分手而且在一天的地方。我想不出
   它是如何完成我的思想的,但我从来不知道它将如何开始。
   
   对当时长大的人来说也没有任何意义。
   我们只是---对它 “多愁善感”的描述,但这也可以是
   在一个人的呼吸中的爱,假如其他人也在其中移动,
   
   扰乱它。这不是伏尔加,但它是巨大的和沉闷的,它移动,
   一直移动。所以这是圣诞节的一个展示窗口,
   溢满光,暗示的记忆比它能处理的更多,我们,
   
   好吧,我们帮助它,为了我们的缘故,也就是说不太多。
   我们经常想到这件事。我在阁楼里排练了
   多少个身影,在那里你可以看到你的呼吸,在寒冷中
   
   重击我的身体。现在,写完了它,只是,
   似乎不温不火,一种冲突的难题的东西,人们
   走在它中间,沙沙作响的程序,眼泪溅到
   
   可恨的刺绣花边,哦,为什么不撕下朱丽叶帽子,扔掉它
   与可疑的清洁纸,任何为了
   避免一个神情的指责,说你刚才做了你做的事,
   
   没有别的,现在对你来说怎么样。愚蠢的云杉在灰泥角落
   发抖,为什么这不能归因于一些
   复仇,但也是善意的神的手?为什么只有我们单独
   
   要为一切看起来的样子负责,为什么我们被告诫
   每次我们走出去,看到事情又开始变成最近的
   过去的样子,就在昨天以前,当我们没有改变,
   
   只是变得粗俗,只是因为停留了几个太多的秒数,一种表情
   会变硬,当摄影师试图专注于它时,今天这就
   足够了,至少今天。他试着跟着走多远,当你
   
   经过柳树下摇曳的花环,经过溪流的
   绵延,在那里你沉到脚踝,到达干旱中和外面,
   他说,多么美好的时光,为什么要在这里呆这么久,
   
   只有你不来访。请派人来完成
   否则我们的指甲可能会被削掉,我们的蝗虫会枯萎,我们的白霜可能会被呼吸消除
   谁愿意享受这个危险?不是他。不是我,当然,
   
   尽管你要求的并不比你得到的少。
   她戴着一顶朝上的风车帽,抬起头来,显得那么严肃愚蠢
   那一刻你不得不忘记要带她出去。她的饮料需要补充。
   
   因此,从长远来看,所有这些都带我们远离了我们作为个体的海洋,
   更远离了那个时间,当所有这些都很重要,关系到一个单个
   个体,年龄太大,对于角色来说,尽管是一对。现在我们可以看到
   
   我们在大多数问题上的分歧有多大,欧洲人的烹饪不一样,
   此外,与美国人的朴素生活相比,它像一堵墙和溪流一样
   融化,小溪流出,像从屋顶,在阴沟里
   
   和你们汇合,在那里这一次生长侧目地
   开始。不要再坦率了,它倾向于阴云,会
   释放出水汽,在从真话里辨别出一种口音的时间里。
   
   因此,可爱的第二个主题多少被埋藏的
   复仇记忆所损伤,当到了重新创造
   最初阶段的时候,为什么,除了愚蠢的咧嘴笑之外,它把自己的牌
   
   交给了另一个玩家,朝池塘的方向飞去。
   等待!但是另一个大胆的解决方案
   永远也救不了两次渴望更多政治的预兆,在我们身边,尽管我们不想
   
   把它算作我们正在阐述的东西。桃金娘落下,
   黑纱窗帘。长矛
   慢慢地放下,就像为了最后一块窗帘。
   
   你得决定你的名字将是什么,
   拿它干什么。通过什么环我们被解码。蛇草
   和更多的缠结,虽然它不会
   
   谈论它,不是吗?为什么,既然我放学回家了,
   为什么我一定要这么做?谁是想要这个的人?他邀请了
   多少客人,他们来自哪里?谁不在
   
   追踪中?现在他的汉子们已经离开了。他们已经被送走了。那是不是
   意味着他们不会回来了?我们是否曾逃避自己的算计,即使
   当潮湿,温和的天空微笑着,铁闸门升起,
   
   吊桥降低,道路高兴地蜿蜒
   进入一个新的整洁的风景,尖锐地清新,它与我们一起
   逃走,把我们扫到某些东西,某种方式是
   
   快乐的,不太久,所以情绪停留着
   但不是固定的?如果只有我知道我在亚利桑那的
   那一天进入了什么,我会再绕道一次,但你看
   
   当你看到碎石时,你会想到路基,自然而然地,忘记了
   要让任何人出发,嗡嗡进入梦境的代价有多小。旧报纸和
   回忆录。在桌子下面的脚。微笑着准备好的小女孩。
   
   那是哪一年?当时谁掌权?我们
   被什么罪烧死了?总统有没有
   把他的指针指向黑板上的“清楚表达”这个词,那些脚
   
   有没有重申这个前提,经年累月抑制,新鲜,是的,
   但如此古老,就像一场疟疾。牙齿打颤,全都向垃圾场走去。
   毕竟,时间很快到了。
   
   毕竟,没人知道怎么做。你
   在他们的休息室里找不到我们。很快,很快,然而,天桥带我们回家。
   叶子都浪费了,躺在沟里。女孩们走了。音乐,马飞了。

   Autumn on the Thruway
   
   
   
   Say that my arm is hurting.
   Say that there are too many buts in the sky today.
   Say that we need each other off and on to see how it feels.
   
   After which well promise to see to it, see that it
   Doesn't happen this way again so that we may
   Do something about it when it does happen.
   
   Or that sincerity cover us with a cloak of shame
   While our clothes are drying by the campfire this night
   Of nights that means to go on and prepackage some of the original flame
   
   In order to sell it so as to recoup some of the losses that
   Started us on this path, repay the original investors.
   How sweet then the bargain, the transaction. And you fear nothing
   
   Notable, the skylight has been activated already.
   Best to stay around admiring the new look on things.
   Invent a new hat. Put on a growing season, staple the others
   
   To the door hidden in the wilderness. And the losses be ours,
   Not someone's in the sun, slut of some, weeping pointedly.
   And the blinders---I have signed for them too.
   
   Studies show it hanging in frost, in pajamas, up in the air
   And a cerberus basks underneath, its own snowhole round
   As an apple in belief. Water the tree in this area and it
   
   Never expedites how much we were hoping to receive out of
   What was promised originally, yes, traced on the tracing paper
   Of some mood one day. We can never actually account for it
   
   Or how lush its primitivism, in the beginning,
   How steep the wall of its veil over face, or how Far you had come, little
   
   Spinner that that's all right now. How we come to be seen.
   Yet we know we must pay
   
   Not use up any money in between, for it
   
   To become us, and then all lost, a second time
   But in a time the merry neutral wisdom is gathered, to be sewed
   
   Into the lining and you must cherish it there.
   Never believe a false passport to the land of chocolate and bees’
   Reasons and be forelost, freedom from a refuge
   That took over once you began to get used to it. No, this other
   
   Hand is the wish I bury and keep for you, really the only one
   Beside me long, into a tense’s dense conditions
   And then you tear, tearing: O how long was it going to be for us
   
   Until the scenery lay quiet like a beloved dog's head under the hand,
   
   For what was moving to be moving, for it to have courted an aspirin
   And lost face at the quarry edge. Hand me that theogony
   And then get lost, don’t read me my rights, please get out of here
   
   Until I can think and then two more of us, for a day, come to where we two
   Parted and it is on a day. I can’t think
   How it completes my thought but I never knew how that was going to begin.
   
   Nor did it mean anything for anyone growing up then.
   We were merely---“sentimental” about describes it, yet that can too be loving
   In one’s breath, provided other people also move around in it,
   
   Disturbing it. It’s no Volga but it’s vast and dreary and it moves,
   Keeps on moving. And so it is a show window at Christmas,
   Brimming with lights, with more suggested memories than it could deal with, and we,
   
   Well we help it along for our sakes, which is to say not very much.
   We thought about it so often. How many figures I had rehearsed
   In the garret where you could see your breath, whomping
   
   My sides from the cold. Now, to have written it, merely,
   Seems tepid, a kind of clashing conundrums thing, and
   People walk out in the middle of it, rustling programs, tears spatter
   
   The hateful embroidered lace, O why not tear off that Juliet cap and throw it
   With the papers of dubious cleanliness, anything so
   As to avoid the recrimination of a look that says you did just what you did,
   
   No other, and how is it now for you. Stupid spruces tremble at
   Stucco corners and why is this not to be attributed to the hand
   Of some vengeful but well-meaning deity too? Why are we alone
   
   Held responsible for the way everything gets to look, why are we admonished
   Every time we walk out and see things starting to be the way again
   They probably were in the near past, just yesterdays ago, when we haven’t changed,
   
   Only coarsened, merely from staying around a few too many seconds, an expression
   That hardens while the photographer tries to focus on it, that's enough
   For today, this day at least. And how much farther he tries to follow when you
   
   Have passed under the willows’ swinging garlands, past the sweep
   Of the stream where you sink in up to the ankles, on to the drought and out,
   And he says, what a fine time, why how much to be here,
   
   Only you don't come round. Please send somebody to finish
   Or our nails may be chipped, our locusts blighted, our hoarfrost dispelled by a breath
   That who wants to enjoy the risk of? Not him. Not me, certainly,
   
   Though what you ask for is not infrequently what you get.
   Under an upturned cartwheel hat she looked up, so solemnly silly
   That for a moment you had to forget to outtake her. And her drink needed replenishing.
   
   So in the long run all of it takes us far from the sea of what we were as individuals
   And more from the time when all that mattered, mattered as to a single
   Individual too old for the part, though a pair. Now it's possible to see
   
   How far apart we were on most issues, and the European cooks it differently,
   Besides, and set against the plainness of American lives it melts like a wall and
   Rivulets, runnels drain off it as though from a roof, rushing to join you
   
   In the gutter, and where the growing begins askance
   This time. No more frankness, it is apt to cloud, to
   Give off steam in the time it takes to distinguish one accent from the truth.
   
   So the lovely second theme is somewhat marred
   By buried memories of revenge, and when the time comes to
   Reinvent the initial phase, why, all but grinning stupidly, it hands
   
   Its cards to another player and takes off in the direction of the pond.
   Wait! But another's daring solution will never rescue twice the omen
   That hankered for more polity, and beside us though we were of no mind
   
   To reckon it into what we were being elaborated by. Myrtles fall,
   Crape drapes. The spear
   Is slowly lowered as for the last curtain.
   
   You’ve got to decide what your name is going to be,
   What to do about it. By what ring we are decoded. Tangles
   Of snake-grass and more, though it wouldn't
   
   Do to talk about it, would it? Why, since I have come home from school,
   Why must I intend it? Who is the person who wants this? How many
   Guests has he invited, where do they come from? Who isn't
   
   In on the trail? Now his men have departed. They have been sent away. Does that
   Mean they won't be back? Do we ever avoid our own reckoning, even
   When the moist, mild sky smiles and the portcullis is up,
   
   The drawbridge lowered, the road delighted to wind
   Into a newly dapper landscape, pointedly new, and it runs away
   With us, sweeps us up into something, some way to be
   
   With pleasure and not be too long about it so the mood stays
   But isn’t fixed? If only I’d known what I was getting into
   That day in Arizona, I'd have taken another detour, but you see
   
   When you see gravel, you think roadbed, automatically, forgetting how little
   It takes to set anybody off, buzzing into dreams. Old papers and
   Memoirs. Feet under the desk. A tiny girl who smiles and is prepared.
   
   What year was that? Who was in power then? By what
   Sin have we been burned? And did the president point
   His pointer at the blackboard to the word “articulate,” and did
   
   Those feet reiterate the premise, damp down through the ages, fresh, yes,
   But so ancient, like an ague. Teeth chattering, all proceeded to the dump.
   After all, it would be time soon.
   
   After all, nobody knows how to make this any more. You can't
   Find us in their lounges. Soon, soon, however, the overpass takes us home.
   The leaves are spent, lying in a ditch. Girls gone. The music, the horses took off.
   
   
   
    


 楼主| 发表于 2021-1-31 18:48:21 | 显示全部楼层
小黑裙
   
   (选自Hotel Lautreamont)
   作者:(美)约翰.阿什贝利(John Ashberry)
   译者:剑郭琴符
   
   我们最大胆地试图解开的
   就是等待,靠近道路。是的,
   但是步伐既放松又坚持,
   从下面游上来。你的计划听起来不错。
   
   我在奥马哈认识一个黑发女人,
   他说,这就像新闻一样撞击着我们。他
   离开卡车不久。在潮湿的土地上,新的
   柳叶躺着,这是对他和我们的责备。
   为什么粘土不能把我们绑得更牢些,
   直到他能阅读为止,
   从这些每天都到的符号中
   找些东西来,像信一样,啊不在空房子里。
The Little Black Dress
   
   
   All that we are trying most defiantly to unravel
   is waiting, close to the path. Yes,
   but the pace is both relaxed and insistent,
   a swimming up from under. Your plan sounds fine.
   
   I knew a brunette once in Omaha,
   he said, and that struck us as news. He hadn’t
   been out of the truck long. On the dank ground the new
   willow leaves lay, a reproof to him and us.
   Why can’t the clay bind us more firmly still,
   until he can read,
   get something out of these notations that arrive
   every day, like letters, O not in the empty house.
  
迷信的一部分
   
   (选自Hotel Lautreamont)
   作者:(美)约翰.阿什贝利(John Ashberry)
   译者:剑郭琴符
   
   帮助,当它到来时,来自一个意想不到的地方。
   太好了,他睡不着。每到一个新的体验场所
   我们的房间都会变暗。所有的玫瑰
   都承认这一点,生活继续,坐立不安,它们的梦
   沮丧,在逃亡,这是你的错,
   从来没有勇气什么都不知道,同时又
   留心。这就是秘密的来源,
   而且,正如你所料,这相当不愉快,
   尤其是如果你处于昏迷状态。现在我不想
   再和你说话了;我们正在走下坡路,
   那么多是确定的,长腿的增长必须在某处停止,
   至少在我的日子里是这样。关于购买什么颜色:
   这是每个院长和牧师
   自己决定的,然后他们融化,变成了头奖,
   这有点令人不安。别无地自容,
   不过,在通往和平的道路上我们事实上
   还可以住在别的房子里,就像蜗牛的壳,
   或者鸟的裤子。然后一个日历抓住你的手
   把你拉到未来,这就是剩下的
   所有空间。擦你的鼻子。别篡改
   地平线,否则它会像里斯本的地震一样
   劈劈啪啪地落在我们身上,但永远,
   要勇敢。然而,事实上,这些都是老太太的故事;
   事实上,没有什么坚持让你相信它们
   除了作为梦,它们像彩色雨滴一样
   渗透在我们一天的背景中,不久
   就这样消失。许多人在这一点上
   掉头了;这些尝试,这些踪迹,都是蓟,
   天生没有报酬。然而,那些想玩的人说
   许多人在那一天很高兴:
   高兴,一点也不害怕,但如果不是从那些
   快速移动的峭壁上,和平从何而来?
   
   这么多不同的刺激,我
   几乎要发疯了,因为它可能相信你,
   并为其他主人拥有。然而,这些激情,像步兵一样
   排列,继续轮流吸收
   和迷惑。对浪费大喊大叫是没有用的,这是
   你公寓里一个必要的角落,除了它自己的痴迷之外
   什么也填不进去。我们认为,当我们
   一定要玩的时候,一种特别的愤怒
   就像普罗米修斯的老鹰一样把它的嘴埋在我们身上,
   然而所有这些收益都来自于一种无能和对胜利的渴望
   导致了狭隘的渠道和虚假的期望。
   缩短习惯的结尾:
   它的翅膀仍在我们头顶翱翔,或将,而我们,我们将
   有一只手,梳理它们,一股
   接着染色的一股,确保生命由此浮肿起来:
   故事中的空白处。我的荣耀,
   当它来临的时候,会像你的一样,在它的装模作样
   和它命令侍者用脏围裙围着的方式中。
   我们都可以为了它的太多而回来。赶快,起来;
   一件大事发生在每个人身上。在那里,我们
   对自己的衣服如此谨慎,它被遗忘了,被
   潮湿的草坪弄得模糊不清。当总统
   从窗户往外看的时候,他看见了它,跑去告诉副总统,
   于是就留下了一份契约。我真希望
   它有可能把某人自身撑离海岸几英尺远
   但它似乎想要我们。我无法解释一只麝鼠怎么会
   知道这样的事,但它知道了。
   
   因此,在这两个季节之间有些时间
   在它们之间有些时间,当桃子飘落,
   舞者像树叶一样在舞台上撒下,
   这些是黑暗的时间。只记得那个图形
   深深地工作在织物内爆的那里;
   有下一个,一个休息的地方。正是从
   相似怪胎的配置的倍增,这些确实出现
   证明这种蓖麻油,这种药物的
   疗效。如果我们想离开的原因
   像你脸上的鼻子一样简单的话,被掩埋的村庄,
   用玫瑰花瓣石灰岩切割而成,仍然屹立不倒。也许
   有一种信仰从它流淌出来,并没有迷失
   在闪闪发光的草地上,而是坚持要变成一股洪流,
   然后一个炮塔,在别的地方。因为有一把钥匙,
   它通向你的门。但这只是重复,如很多
   季节的事。当你起身准备走的时候,你喃喃自语,
   就是这样!---幸运的危机总是会
   穿过我们而走,并解释了那么多
   关于汽车失事,邮票等。
   雨中再见;真是幸运,知道的
   和我们一样多,不知道的和我们
   一样多。或者被教导是正确的。报纸
   会解释,音乐会解释。这是一个承诺。
Part of the Superstition
   
   
   Help, when it came, came from an unexpected place.
   It was so nice he couldn’t sleep. Our rooms darken
   with every new place of experience. All roses
   admit this, and life stays on, fidgeting, their dream
   disappointed, on the run, and it’s your fault,
   who never had the courage to know nothing and simultaneously
   be attentive. That's where the secret comes in,
   and, as you might expect, it’s quite unhandy,
   especially if you're in a coma. Now I don't want
   to have to speak to you again; we're on the way down,
   that much is assured, and leggy growth has to stop somewhere,
   at least it did in my day. About what colors to buy:
   this is something each dean and priest decides
   for himself, and then they melt and turn into the jackpot,
   which is a little disturbing. Don't squirm,
   however, there are other houses on this road to peace
   we can actually live in, as a snail its shell,
   or bird pants. Then a calend grabs your hand
   and tugs you into the future, and that's about all the space
   there is left. Wipe your nose. Don’t fudge
   the horizon or it will come clattering down
   on us like the earthquake at Lisbon, but always,
   be brave. Yet these are old wives' tales,
   in truth; nothing insists you believe in them
   except as dreams, which permeate the background
   of our day like colored raindrops, and so go away
   before too long. Many have turned back
   at this point; the trials, the trails, are thistles,
   inherently unrewarding. Yet those who wish to play
   say many are pleased to be in that day:
   pleased, and not a little scared, but from where
   will peace come if not from those beetling crags?
   
   So many varied stimuli, and I
   was nigh to frantic, as it may believe you,
   and has for other hosts. Yet these passions, arrayed
   like infantry, continue to absorb and confuse
   by turns. No use shouting about waste, it was
   a necessary corner in your apartment that couldn't be filled
   by anything but its own besottedness. And we think, when we
   do play, that a special aggravation
   has sunk its beak in us like Prometheus' eagle,
   yet all proceeds from an inability and desire to win
   leading to narrow channels and bogus expectations.
   Cut short the customary peroration:
   its wings soar o'er us still, or will be, and we, we'll
   have a hand in sorting them out, strand
   by tinted strand, and be sure a life will arise swollen from this:
   a vacant place in the story. My glory
   when it comes will resemble yours in its feinting
   and the way it orders waiters with soiled aprons around.
   We can be back for much of it. Haste, arise;
   a big thing is happening to everyone. We were so prudent
   in our clothes back there it got forgotten, blurred
   with the wet lawn. And when the president
   looked out his window he saw it, and ran to tell the vice-president,
   and so a compact was kept. I sure wish
   it were possible to pole oneself more than a few feet off this shore
   but it seems to want us. And I can't explain how a muskrat
   would ever know about such a thing, yet it did.
   
   So there were times in between like the seasons
   and the times between them when peaches fall,
   and dancers sift across the stage like leaves,
   and these are dark times. Only remember that the figure
   worked deep into the fabric implodes there;
   has a next, a resting place. It is from the multiplication
   of similar wacko configurations that theses do arise
   to attest the efficacy of this castor oil,
   this medicine. And if why we want to go away
   is as plain as the nose on your face, the buried village,
   cut out of rose-petal limestone, is still standing. Haply
   some faith trickles out of it, and is not lost
   in the glittering grass, but persists to become a torrent,
   then a turret, somewhere else. For there is a key,
   and it leads to your door. Yet it is only repetition, something
   the seasons like a lot. And as you get up to go you mutter,
   and that’s it! ---the fortunate crisis that was always
   going to stave us off, and explain so much
   about car wrecks, and postage stamps and the like.
   Farewell in the rain; it is surely lucky to know
   as much as we do, and not to know as much
   as we do. Or were taught was proper. Papers
   will explain it, music it. That’s a promise.
  
超速的艺术
   
   (选自Hotel Lautreamont)
   作者:(美)约翰.阿什贝利(John Ashberry)
   译者:剑郭琴符
   
   当有人笨拙地侧翻时,
   为什么,小树林又绿了。猫粮两个人吃
   绰绰有余,她说。我想我属于这个棱镜。
   对我来说,白昼不仅仅意味着它自身的幸运,
   但我将被遗忘
   在一个被小船倒转的船壳弄得单调乏味的海岸上。
   我也有绰绰有余的时间,
   同情。我是不附属的帽子和铃铛。
   自由职业的艺术家。最后也是第一个浪漫主义者。
   
   有时一个柔软的季节把柔软的稻草编织成
   一个皇冠,而不是专门为任何人。
   这裂缝是我的遗产:
   一张有图案的地图,其对称性吸引探索
   却最终击退了冷漠的旅行者,被
   鼹鼠末端的灰色包裹。
   他看得更远,进入城市的愤怒上升的栏杆
   并关闭所有瘟疫般的象牙记忆。
   事实上,他是裸体的觅食者。
   
   但当西红柿成熟,姑娘们
   不介意,太阳又是文明的,那么
   看看你的鞋盒里有没有一捆捆快照
   它们从我们身上走过,在这里,像荒野一样狂野。
   我们忘了是谁在码头上和我们说话。
   它可能是一个卓越的陌生人。
   
   现在他的遮阳帽舌让我们注意不到
   他的一般外表,但我们都和蔼可亲地说
   我们有多么爱这个地方,多么快乐的
   收据。我们要做的就是留下来。
   
   然而,涉及到的图片比会计意识到的
   要多,他为自己的头痛而呻吟:有时说我们做的
   同意我们。然后比赛就更黑暗了,
   没有人在雨中停下来。
The Art of Speeding
   
   
   And when some sidle awkwardly,
   why, the grove is green again. There is more than enough catfood
   for two, she said. And I think I belong in this prism.
   Day means more than luck itself to me,
   but I shall be forgotten
   on a shore made monotonous by the inverted hulls of rowboats.
   There is more than enough time for me,
   sympathy too. I’m the cap and bells that don't belong.
   A free-lance artist. The last and first of the romantics.
   
   Sometimes a suppler season weaves pliant straws
   into a crown for no one in particular.
   This hiatus is my legacy:
   a patterned map whose symmetries invite exploration
   yet in the end repel the cold traveler, wrapped
   in gray at the end of the mole.
   He sees farther into the rising banister of the city's rage
   and shuts out all ivory memories like pestilence.
   Indeed he is the naked forager.
   
   But when tomatoes are ripe and girls
   don’t mind, and the sun is civil again, then
   look in your shoeboxes for sheaves of snapshots
   that came over us and were here, wild as the wilderness.
   We forgot who was talking to us on the quay.
   It just might have been a distinguished stranger.
   Now his visor keeps us from noticing
   his general appearance, but genially we all say
   how much we have loved this place, how gay
   are the receipts. All we have to do is stay.
   
   Yet more pictures are involved than the accountant
   realizes, moaning over his headache: sometimes it agrees
   with us to say we do. And then the game is darker;
   no one pauses in the rain.
  
美国酒吧
   
   (选自Hotel Lautreamont)
   作者:(美)约翰.阿什贝利(John Ashberry)
   译者:剑郭琴符
   
   我们每天烤十几种松饼
   我们心里却又冷又不安。
   我担心他的坐骨神经痛,尽管
   我们从来都不是恋人。
   让我来纪念这张床垫,伯爵
   先生,他会很体面
   在这一切都散发出的雾气中
   尽管空气清新,阳光明媚。想
   去河边漫游,看看
   水。它总是有那么多话要说,
   比它的一天倒立的雨桶
   还多。看到笼子里的猴子。
   明亮的眼睛一次次参加盛宴。
   
   不经意中,我阴茎的拉链轨道
   曾经被卡住,从那以后就一直这样:
   脚停在没有陷阱居住的地方,最好
   是逐渐平息,停止。也许北极圈附近的生活
   会更好,那里的建筑很朴素
   没有树木歌唱。一个人可以感觉完全在室内。
   无线电台播放一支瘦长的曲子;
   墙壁上有来自潮湿的污点
   你要么把它挡在外面,要么把它挡在里面。我忘了哪只鸟,
   也忘了鸟长什么样。几个世纪以来,冬夜一直在
   嗡嗡作响,而让我们心平气和的,其实是
   看到一个空笼子
   和几个孩子画的它。
   
   天啊,我们在这里竞相成为模棱两可的
   发明了什么符号?我们从什么地方爬到
   较低的水平,这里有什么紧凑的楼梯群
   依偎着?或因为害怕说最后一句话
   而删改相互间的精神错乱,把我们从页码吓跑?
   无论如何,拉开一个快乐的时间。野猪
   会再来这里,如你所知。
American Bar
   
   
   
   We bake a dozen kinds of muffins every day
   yet we are cold and disquieting at heart.
   I fear for his sciatica, though
   we were never lovers.
   Let me memorialize this mattress, M.
   le Comte, he will be decent
   in this fog that emanates from everything
   though the air is fresh and sunny. Thought
   about wandering down to the river to have a
   look at the water. It always has so much to say,
   more than the upended rain barrel in its day
   had. See the monkey in its cage.
   Bright eyes are feasting again and again.
   
   In the casual track of a zipper my penis
   once got stuck, and it's been like that ever since:
   feet stop where no snare lives, the best
   is to die down and desist. Perhaps life is better
   near the Arctic Circle, where the buildings are plain
   and no trees sing. One can feel totally indoors.
   The wireless plays a lanky tune;
   there are spots on the wall from the moisture
   you either keep out or keep in. I forget which,
   and what a bird looks like. The winter night drones on
   for centuries, and what keeps us at peace is actually
   the sight of an empty cage
   and a few children’s drawings of it.
   
   My, we have raced to be equivocally here
   and have invented what sign? Off of what do we climb
   to the lower level, what compact fleet of stairs
   is nestled here? Or did we bowdlerize each other's delirium
   in fear of having the last word, and it frightened us off the page?
   In any case have a ripping good time. The boars
   will be here around then, as you know.
   
  
来自《笨贼三人组》(1)
   
   (选自Hotel Lautreamont)
   作者:(美)约翰.阿什贝利(John Ashberry)
   译者:剑郭琴符
   
   “死亡取消所有债务。”
   ---克里夫顿.韦伯,在电影《劳拉》里
   
   侏儒们站在巨人们身上,巨人们站在侏儒们身上,
   在《笨贼三人组》
   尽管那一天有暴风雨,但它仍然带着一个人
   去“更远的地方”,在那里男孩们在玩耍,少女们厉声强要
   在月亮上
   在我的《笨贼三人组》
   在那里放屁的臭味在外面湿透,讽刺带着雪的尘土
   在那里,一切都被马上奉上
   给在哥特式的郊区上的历史书上的金发孩子们
   那里一切都被恰好解决
   在那里你可以看到一个巧合走了好几英里,沿着山谷
   沿着栈桥,当雪股骨叫喊
   拒绝并不明智地行动
   每次当中心在严格和谐中粉碎
   当怀疑在狐狸的召唤下
   日落就像婚礼
   
   我自愿从雅加达
   来到这里
   我和你一样老我敢这么说
   但是坠落的联络人吐出的口水像数英里的线
   是时间的一个简单的教训
   冲击像裂缝一样深和窄,狗队飞过
   在上方在周围
   没有对准讨人喜欢的道路
   它在访问,任务的捕捉敏捷度中行动---
   即使生活是一点点贬义
   但不是服装日历
   琐事彩绘的装饰
   来解开
   在你的怀抱中,这是你被派来的
   
   词语,这是所有
   无词,关于为什么有些人成为
   铁砧
   从这里奔跑的是灰尘的一切
   或清汤有恐惧又涂抹在行走上
   连续两天
   我们出去它相当安全
   到目前为止
   第五天银行倒闭了,小房子里
   有大瀑布和碘酒
   它这次闻起来更像是一个协议
   然后还有一些鸟你知道太软了
   这一次对于
   回答的大部分
   它们出现在钢拱廊下
   夜晚把它的生意带到
   摊位上就好像一次假装的得救那一天一个
   别的时间和现在到处都是马,所有人都认为
   它们受到挫伤或垄断
   肯定到处都是温暖的脸
   
   口音是遥远的就像钟声在另一个家乡
   故事往往血腥
   告诉为什么要请注意口音而且你自己的个人小插曲出现了
   没有一个数字,没有人解释原因
   某个小房间里一场暗淡的音乐会
   在网下折叠好像乌鸦站在旁边
   观看
   在毡垫下面,有一件不礼貌的东西急剧增长
   有人建议我们带走
   我们的痕迹,“深思熟虑地”处理掉它们
   以免留下任何争论的骨质
   为其他伤人的痕迹
   在灌木丛中
   黑色的人骑着白色的雪一滴纯净的,清晰的
   无神论的滴水,它拱得太宽,太靠近码头的
   周长,太多了以致说不出一个老人
   最近一天的所作所为,如果它
   在最近一天出现又如何,如果我们都这样做了又如何
   谁在郊游时推了温度计的
   步伐,谁羞辱了烤面包机
   谁会说
   
   ---
   (1)一部电影。
From Palookaville
   
   
   
   “Death cancels all engagements.”
   ---Clifton Webb, in the movie Laura
   
   
   The midgets stand on giants who stand on midgets
   in Palookaville
   that day of storm notwithstanding and it still takes one
   on out to the “farther reaches” where boys play and maids bay
   at the moon
   in my Palookaville
   where the stench of farts drenches outside irony with the dust of snow
   where all is served up right
   to blond kids in history books on the gothic outskirts
   where everything gets unravelled just right
   where you can see a coincidence coming for miles down the valley
   along the trestle when the snow the femurs the cries
   demur and act unwise
   at a time when centers shatter in strict unison
   when doubt is in the call of the fox
   and the sunsets are like weddings
   
   I came here of my own accord
   from Djakarta
   I'm as old as you are and dare to say so
   but the falling liaisons spat out like miles of thread
   are the lining of time’s one easy lesson
   the shocks deep and narrow like crevasses dog teams fly over
   over and around
   aiming no way to please
   and it does in the arrested quickness of the visit, task---
   even life is the least bit pejorative
   but not the costumes the calendar
   the trivia the painted trappings
   to come undone
   in your embrace and that’s the word
   
   You were sent for and that is all
   no word on why some became
   the anvil
   and from here all that runs is dust
   or consomme there was fear smeared again on the walk
   and for two consecutive days
   we go out on it it's pretty safe
   so far
   on the fifth day a bank fails there are great falls
   and iodine in the little house
   it smells more like an accord this time
   and then there were birds you know too soft
   this time for much
   of an answer
   and they came were there under steel arcades
   the night brings its business along
   stalls as though a feint saved the day one
   other time and now it's horses all around for anybody that thinks
   they’ve got a contusion or a monopoly
   surely it was warm faces all round
   
   The accents are distant as bells in that other hometown
   the stories often gory
   tell why please the accents and your own personal vignette came up
   without a number and no one explained the cause
   a dim musicale in some small room
   folded under netting as though the crows stood by
   to watch
   under the felt cushion something impolite zoomed
   it was suggested that we all carry away
   our traces that we dispose of them “thoughtfully”
   so as not to leave any bones of an argument around
   for others mauling traces
   in bushes
   black ones riding with white snow a pure, defined drop
   of atheism and it arches out too wide, too near the circumference
   of the pier too much to say for what an old man did
   on a recent day and what if it comes round
   on a recent day and what if we all did
   and who shoved the pace of the thermometer
   on an outing who shamed the toaster
   who is to say
   
   
  

 楼主| 发表于 2021-2-8 22:14:42 | 显示全部楼层
另一个例子
   
   (选自Hotel Lautreamont)
   作者:(美)约翰.阿什贝利(John Ashberry)
   译者:剑郭琴符
   
   我们的例子,地球,
   我们所知道的星状宇宙:
   分类,
   七月街道的
   某个地方。
   你坐在上面或里面的
   是一只桶?
   它们如何带领我们越过栅栏。
   那一匹马受辱。
   
   但它不健康,你说
   我们必须有另一个例子,
   就一个。
   
   想要的东西是窗户里的面孔
   很久以前消失的尖叫声。
   召回它们要说什么?
   
   像纸蚂蚁一样复活
   然后忍受来世前的漫长真空
   仍然被允许在站台上
   买东西?
   
   火车正在转弯---
   没有熟悉的语录。
   
   来,放一些在盘子里,他说。就是这样。
Another Example
   
   
   Of our example, earth,
   we know the star-shaped universe:
   divisions,
   somewhere,
   of July streets.
   Is it a bucket you sit in
   or on?
   How they led us past the fence.
   The one horse was mortified.
   
   But it’s unhealthy, you say
   we must have another example,
   just one.
   
   What’s wanted is faces in windows
   screams that went away a long time ago.
   What says to recall them?
   
   To be revived like paper ants
   and then endure the long vacuum of pre-eternity
   and still be allowed to buy something
   on the station platform?
   
   The train is turning away---
   There are no familiar quotations.
   
   Here, put some on a plate, he said. That's the way.
  
在离开这个地方之前
   
   (选自Hotel Lautreamont)
   作者:(美)约翰.阿什贝利(John Ashberry)
   译者:剑郭琴符
   
   他们看蓝色的雪。
   这是别人生命中的第五幕,
   但在这里,在中途岛,暗礁和浅滩干扰了
   这种想法。没有什么
   比季节许可的概念更紧凑的了
   这就是基调,至少是今天的。今天是星期二上午。
   他们唱了一首二重唱,
   向他们的小桌子告别,向似乎是他们的自己告别
   当他们坐在那里时。正午贯穿
   碗橱里盘子的节奏与肥鸟。我的爱人,
   他似乎在说,这就是为你的方式吗?那我们就得把这些
   破破烂烂的环境留给别人,但首先
   我要像星星一样在你的额头
   种下一个吻。船在码头边撞在一起,
   系索撞击,有比我们预期的
   更多的移动,当我们整理
   向经过的女像柱的点头。也许它们会给我们唱歌。
   
   在俄罗斯某地的一个避暑别墅里
   铁线莲吸收热量。一个人可以思想而不呼吸
   侵入田野的蓝雪,一个曾经被一些不知名的祖先
   所抛下的诅咒,现在这是一种习俗,每一个季节适当的小夜曲
   在苹果生锈
   和冬天接管的想法之前,立刻紧接着的是
   真正的东西。
   如果我们每个人都能过着从报纸上把东西剃下来,
   在针垫上锉它们的生活…但是没有。有父亲
   和早晨要处理,然后学生们就到了。
   节奏在他们中间被打破了。
   那是寒冷的一年,但不是
   最后一年。它将被记住。
   
   为什么总是你问我这个,还有这个:
   我们现在是如何在彼此的项目、情感之间相遇的
   在此挂毯后面没有疑问吗?或许,作为一个问题,
   这太弱了,虽然作为一个肯定,这足够强大,所以我们再次走出
   彼此。一个人自动遮挡他的眼睛,尽管天空
   是黑暗的。“我们无处可去”(第十五
   少校处境),如果上帝判决我们彼此喜欢,总有一天
   我们会在那里的石头上相遇,一切都不会好,
   但这是有用的。大河相撞,墓穴
   裂开,尘土的暴政演得好,要注意的
   如此少。而且我们一直都互相认识。
   除此之外,这是这一个世纪之前的
   无意识的世纪。因此,我们意识到过去时代的
   连续性,而时间本身显示出
   并不是一系列的房间,而是一条伸进
   真理的走廊:一片高山牧场,有几只山羊
   而且,远处,一间小屋。现在是正午。迪诺拉,
   失去了她的山羊,她唱着她生命中
   为之准备的疯狂的一幕,从白昼中,从头顶
   岩石的露头,从雪绒花和牛蹄草中唱出来。
   现在轮到山神了
   但他拒绝玩耍。蓝色的雪又回来了。店面用木板围起来。
   
   然而,人们永远不应该急于结束,将结束
   与之前离去的发音进行对比。诚然,这些只是空间,
   但在其中生活可以采取一个单一的和节省的
   作为教育本身的清晰度。这是一个生命
   正如我们所想,还有其他的歌,有些太真实了,没法提到
   其他的小重量,可选的,从大多数版本切下
   但在他们期望的地方默默等待。
   故事跌宕起伏,群山密谋,溪水犹豫不决,
   暴风雨持续。
Avant de Quitter Ces Lieux
   
   
   
   They watch the blue snow.
   It is the fifth act in someone else's life,
   but here, on Midway Island, reefs and shoals interfere
   with that notion. That nothing so compact
   as the idea of a season is to be allowed
   is the note, for today at least. It is Tuesday morning.
   They sing a duet of farewell
   to their little table, and to themselves as they were
   when they sat at it. Noon intersects with fat birds
   the rhythm of dishes in the cupboard. My love,
   he seems to say, is this the way it is for you? Then we shall have to leave
   these shabby surroundings for others, but first
   I want to plant a kiss like a star
   on your forehead. The ships are knocking together at the quayside,
   the lanyards struck, there is more moving
   than we were intended for, as we clear out
   nodding to the caryatids we pass. Perhaps they will sing to us.
   
   And in a summer house somewhere in Russia
   a clematis soaks up the heat. One can think without breathing
   of the blue snow that invades the fields, a curse some obscure ancestor
   once let fall and now it's the custom, duly serenaded each season
   before the apples rust
   and the idea of winter takes over, to be followed in short order
   by the real thing.
   If all of us could lead lives of razoring things out of the newspaper,
   filing them on pincushions ... but no. There is the father
   and morning to be dealt with, and after that the students arrive.
   The rhythm is broken up among them.
   That was a cold year, but not
   the last. It will be remembered.
   
   Why is it you always ask me this, and this:
   is there no question behind the arras of how we now meet
   seconding each other's projects, our emotions? Or is that too weak
   as a question, though strong enough as an affirmation, so that we again go out
   from each other. One shades one’s eyes automatically, though the sky
   is dark. “We have no place to go”(the fifteenth
   major situation), and if God decrees we like each other, someday
   we will meet on a stone up there, and all will not be well,
   but that is useful. Great rivers run into each other and graves
   have split open, the tyranny of dust plays well, there is
   so little to notice. Besides we have always known each other.
   Except for that it was automatically the century
   before this one. Thus we are made aware of the continuity
   of times that were, and time itself is revealed
   not as a series of rooms but a single corridor
   stretching into the truth: an alpine pasture, with a few goats
   and, in the distance, a hovel. It is high noon. Dinorah,
   who has lost her goat, sings the mad scene for which her life
   has been a preparation, sings it out of daylight, out of the outcropping
   of rock overhead, out of the edelweiss and cowslips.
   Now it is the turn of the mountain god
   but he refuses to play. The blue snow returns. Shopfronts are boarded up.
   
   Still one should never be in a hurry to end, to contrast the ending
   with the articulations that have gone before. True, these are merely space,
   but one in which lives can take on a single and sparing sharpness
   that is an education in itself. This is one life
   as we thought it over, and there are other songs, some too true to mention
   others of little weight, optional, cut from most editions
   but waiting silently in place where they are expected.
   The story falls, mountains conspire, brooks hesitate,
   the storm endures.
   
  
白衬衫
   
   (选自Hotel Lautreamont)
   作者:(美)约翰.阿什贝利(John Ashberry)
   译者:剑郭琴符
   
   突然一切又安静了。
   我想谈谈某些事。
   没那么容易。别在意。
   
   再多的养护也不会影响
   有皱纹的葫芦。干涸的海岸。
   内燃机
   意味着它不工作。
   
   过去的事,
   你在你的极限,
   成长,
   我的工作场所。
   扁带饰上升。
   
   但如果不是改变,
   我们会去哪里?只要
   有幻觉就够了。
   但要因为它指责他们,
   立刻服务。
The White Shirt
   
   
   
   Suddenly all is quiet again.
   I want to talk about something.
   It’s not that easy. Pay no attention.
   
   No amount of conservation affects
   the wrinkled gourd. The dry shore.
   A combustion engine
   means it’s not working.
   
   Thing of the past,
   you in your limits,
   growing,
   my working place.
   The band is up.
   
   But if it wasn’t for changes,
   where would we go? Just
   having the illusion is enough.
   But charge them for it;
   serve immediately.
   
     

 楼主| 发表于 2021-2-9 23:25:34 | 显示全部楼层
烈火阿拉斯加
   
   (选自Hotel Lautreamont)
   作者:(美)约翰.阿什贝利(John Ashberry)
   译者:剑郭琴符
   
   1/
   
   它会的。它
   并不完美,但它会
   直到更好的东西出现。
   
   它并不完美。
   真令人厌恶。我们要怎样
   才能避免拥有它
   直到有什么事情发生,一些旅行
   或其他?这将使我们回到
   主格,井然有序而且舒适。
   
   啊,但你要等多久
   等你等待的东西,等
   到来的任何东西?不会
   很久,你可以确信。
   它可能已经在这里。
   你今天查过邮箱了吗?
   
   我当然查过,但是听着。
   我知道会发生,发生什么。
   我已经准备好
   占据我的那一份日子,
   知道我不可能拥有所有的日子。什么东西,来这里
   发现你
   丢失了,其全部或部分。或者你
   从报纸上给我读一个小东西
   好像它代表了今天。
   我拒绝打开你的蜡笔盒。哦,是的,我知道
   在一些风格的组合中可能会有一些
   新的东西,在我们的头上添加一些不协调的
   颜色的礼物。但它对我来说
   太糟了。并不是说我一定要
   走上一条新理论的道路
   它可以让我们在走路的时候摆脱鞋子的束缚。
   倒不如说这公寓
   在一个小小的,阴影夹紧的皱眉中结束了。他穿过
   树林,小时候。他会在
   以后的日子里走在某些人的街上。
   他被认为是一个有问题的孩子,一个无知的人;
   因此,你为什么不能接受他
   在你的怀里,围着银色和黑色的
   兰花,喂他每天的食物?
   
   谁说他喜欢乌贼骨?
   但是你明白,这个想法
   是为了迎合他,因为苦恼
   会孵化出来,从对跟随着
   并清除头脑,像打喷嚏一样石头般的态度而来。
   搂着他很舒服,
   与其说是为了取暖,不如说是因为智力
   匮乏,二者是必须的。
   跳探戈需要两个人,
   据记载,更有甚者
   在那之后还要用龙牙的方式,
   然后高跷上出现
   特别人群,准备欢迎或毁灭我们,它
   还不是很重要,其实并不,至少。
   
   然后,当那个筋疲力尽的复仇者
   转过尾巴的时候,你就知道这一切都和你
   有关,从鞭炮中释放
   财富,就像放屁。谁说
   你没有得到属于你的那个?
   
   但他谈论着,一直,以完美的角度,
   我们将要拥有的东西
   如果只有他不忙着去对它做些什么,是的,
   把我们变成了我们自己
   带着错过的东西。当划桨手
   划着短桨以惊人的速度顺流而下时,
   于是他,穿着斗篷,问道:
   最后一个还好吗?我知道
   我一直在说最后一个,但它还好吗?
   因为只有在一个无穷的系列
   避开我们之后,男孩的肖像
   才有意义,然后是这样一个三角形的一个人:
   他可能是一座尖塔,或者是一只海鸥。
   他把它放在汽车的散热器上
   当你掉头的时候它就不见了。
   
   2/
   
   过了一段时间,在普罗旺斯,
   你大谈一本书中
   结尾部分的热情,天哪,在本世纪
   它们怎么就不再这样了。
   它们当时有一种纤维,但现在已经不存在。
   这就是你能做的。
   意识到这一点,在湿透的流散中,许多烈酒
   等着,星星在空无的扇形边缘
   绽放,它开始
   流血,就像一颗炸弹或妓院。
   主题,毫发无损,
   没有任何东西依附。
   
   但正如我所说的,也许我们中的一些人受到了
   一种短暂的新鲜空气的鼓舞
   它被证明有吸引力,我们曾经在它里面
   住过,沐浴我们的庙宇很多年
   在它的精髓中。听着,记忆:
   为我做这一件事
   我就再也不会要求你做别的事:
   只告诉我它是怎么开始的!什么
   杂草在轮辐上被抓住
   因为它正在启动,时间的刹车轴分裂
   所有的小怪物愿意坐在
   你的乳头,或食指顶部。
   最后阳光如何盛行---
   但其间那涌出的是什么呢?
   那些泡沫
   不知从何而来---一定有源头吗?
   因为如果没有,那就意味着我们还没有付
   这张票的钱,会在出口大门停下来
   然后在回程被送回去,穿过犁过的田野
   回到不一定是出发地的地方,那座
   我们几乎记不起来的房子,挂着悲哀的
   玫瑰图案窗帘。
   
   所以反过来,被锁起来的他也会
   迷路,必须看着一艘船轻推他
   窗外的码头,永远,是的,
   鼻子,喉咙都会被
   完全正确的记忆堵住,关于
   我们认为我们在做什么的记忆,当一切开始发生的时候,
   沿着小巷,穿过山谷,进入开放的城市街道。
   
   它选择的那些人总是会说
   这很容易,一旦你学会了它,就像一门语言,
   然后不可以被驱逐。
   在你所有迷人的世俗中,你是否认为
   那些从购物清单上划掉的东西,
   再也不能呼吸,直到丧亲之日
   像一个女人一样公开赤裸地站在
   门廊前,那些与你交往的人
   在这件事上有没有发言权或手段?
   当然,它感觉就像是孩子的脚在推动我们前进
   
   在每个人都能解释之前。
   地狱,它只是一个梯子:结构
   把我们带到了这里,会在这里,当我们是
   清空蜜蜂的蜂巢,可以说
   这就是那里所有要说的,宝贝;给我一个
   好的。
   
   3/
   
   当忙乱的
   光线向上过滤成一卷卷乌云时,
   思考和日常生活之间就
   不再有反差了。光甚至会是某种东西,
   即使悔恨,那么。我说,把你的椅子
   转过来,什么东西关心,不是在黑暗的河里
   流灌的灯,不是在草地上热腾腾的脚,
   也不是从烤箱里冒出来的蛋糕,也不是在沙子上的
   银色喇叭:只是一个衬里
   指示着这个你和这另一些分离,
   而且,在纪念中,流口水。如果临终关怀
   能让你恢复,这将是你的喜鹊,这顶旧帽子,
   当一切都说了,做了。没有咖啡,没有面包卷---
   只有一个价值体系,就像在你的身高旁边
   印着的那一个,当它作为衡量你
   从小孩到顽童再到年轻成人等等的
   成长过程,回到那
   哭泣、叹息、歌声、铃声的缝合的荒野中,渴望
   在冰川上能看到的一切:
   传说,或者悲剧,或者滑石,在我们学会说话之前
   它从背后照亮了这些选择,
   现在的存在也是如此,一种像烟囱一样的姿势
   所有的人都要和它一起工作
   所有的人都要用我们自己的眼睛看,正像
   门关上一样,哦,光明之轴,哦,杰出的,哦,易怒的。
Baked Alaska
   
   
   I/
   
   It will do. It’s not
   perfect, but it will do
   until something better comes along.
   
   It’s not perfect.
   It stinks. How are we
   going to get out of having it
   until something comes along, some ride
   or other? That will return us
   to the nominative case, shipshape and easy.
   
   O but how long are you going to wait
   for what you are waiting for, for
   whatever is to come? Not
   for long, you may be sure.
   It may be here already.
   Have you checked the mailbox today?
   
   Sure I have, but listen.
   I know what comes, comes.
   I am prepared
   to occupy my share of days,
   knowing I can't have all of them. What is, is
   coming over here to find you
   missing, all or in part. Or you read me
   one small item out of the newspaper
   as though it would stand for today.
   I refuse to open your box of crayons. Oh yes, I know
   there may be something new in some combination
   of styles, some gift in adding the addled
   colors to our pate. But it’s just too mush
   for me. It isn't that I necessarily
   set out on the trail of a new theory
   that could liberate us from our shoes as we walked.
   It's rather that the apartment comes to an end
   in a small, pinched frown of shadow. He walked
   through the wood, as a child. He will walk
   on somebody's street in the days that come after.
   He's noted as a problem child, an ignoramus;
   therefore why can you not accept him in
   your arms, girdled with silver and black
   orchids, feed him everyday food?
   
   Who says he likes cuttlebone?
   But you get the idea, the idea
   is to humor him for what vexations
   may hatch from the stone attitude
   that follows and clears the head, like a sneeze.
   It’s cozy to cuddle up to him,
   not so much for warmth as that brains
   are scarce, and two will have to do.
   It takes two to tango,
   it is written, and much
   in the way of dragons’ teeth after that,
   and then the ad hoc population that arises
   on stilts, ready to greet or destroy us, it
   doesn't matter which, not quite yet, at least.
   
   Then when the spent avenger
   turns tail you know it had all to do with
   you, that discharge of fortunes
   out of firecrackers, like farts. And who's to say
   you don’t get the one that belongs to you?
   
   But he speaks, always, in terms of perfection,
   of what we were going to have
   if only he hadn't gotten busy and done something about it, yea,
   and turned us back into ourselves
   with something missing. And as oarsmen
   paddle a scull downstream with phenomenal speed,
   so he, in his cape, queries:
   Is the last one all right? I know
   I keep speaking of the last one, but is it all right?
   For only after an infinite series
   has eluded us, does the portrait
   of the boy make sense, and then such a triangular one:
   he might have been a minaret, or a seagull.
   He laid that on the car’s radiator
   and when you turned around it is gone.
   
   II/
   
   Some time later, in Provence,
   you waxed enthusiastic about the tail
   piece in a book, gosh how they
   don't make them like that in this century, any more.
   They had a fiber then that doesn’t exist now.
   That's all you can do about it.
   Sensing this, in the sopping diaspora, many a tanglefoot
   waits, stars bloom at scalloped edges
   of no thing, and it begins to
   bleed, like a bomb or bordello.
   The theme, unscathed,
   with nothing to attach it to.
   
   But like I was saying, probably some of us were encouraged
   by a momentary freshness in the air
   that proved attractive, once we had dwelt in
   it, and bathed for many years
   our temples in its essence. Listen, memory:
   do this one thing for me
   and I’ll never ask you again for anything else:
   just tell me how it began! What
   were the weeds that got caught in the spokes
   as it was starting up, the time the brakeshaft split
   and about all the little monsters that were willing to sit
   on the top of your tit, or index finger.
   How in the end sunshine prevailed---
   but what was that welling in between?
   those bubbles
   that proceeded from nowhere---surely there must be a source?
   Because if there isn't it means that we haven't paid
   for this ticket, and will be stopped at the exit-gate
   and sent back on a return journey through ploughed fields
   to not necessarily the starting place, that house
   we can hardly remember, with the plangent
   rose-patterned curtains.
   
   And so in turn he who gets locked up is lost
   too, and must watch a boat nudge the pier
   outside his window, forever, and for aye,
   and the nose, the throat will be stopped
   by absolutely correct memories of what did
   we think we were doing when it all began happening,
   down the lanes, across vales, out into the open city street.
   
   And those it chooses can always say
   it's easy, once you learn it, like a language,
   and can’t be dislodged thereafter.
   In all your attractive worldliness, do you consider
   the items crossed off the shopping list,
   never to breathe again until the day
   of bereavement stands open and naked like a woman
   on a front porch, and do those you hobnob
   with have any say or leverage in the matter?
   Surely it feels like a child’s feet propel us along
   
   until everyone can explain.
   Hell, it’s only a ladder: structure
   brought us here, and will be here when we're
   honeycombs emptied of bees, and can say
   that’s all there is to say, babe; make it a good one
   for me.
   
   III/
   
   And when the hectic
   light leaches upward into rolls of dark cloud,
   there will no longer be a contrast between thinking
   and daily living. Light will be something even,
   if remorseful, then. I say, swivel
   your chair around, something cares, not the lamps purling
   in the dark river, not the hot feet on the grass,
   nor the cake emerging from the oven, nor the silver
   trumpets on the sand: only a lining
   that dictates the separation of this you from this some other,
   and, in memorializing, drools. And if the hospice
   gets over you this will be your magpie, this old hat,
   when all is said, and done. No coffee, no rolls---
   only a system of values, like the one printed
   beside your height as it was measured as you grew
   from child to urchin to young adult
   and so on, back into the stitched wilderness
   of sobs, sighs, songs, bells ringing, athirst
   for whatever could be discerned in the glacier:
   tale, or tragedy, or talc, that backlit
   these choices before we learned to talk,
   and so is a presence now, a posture like a chimney
   that all men take to work with them
   and that all see with our own eyes just
   as the door is shutting, O shaft of light, O excellent, O irascible.
  
私有语法
   
   (选自Hotel Lautreamont)
   作者:(美)约翰.阿什贝利(John Ashberry)
   译者:剑郭琴符
   
   我所承担的义务是一种不讨人喜欢的义务。
   直到很高兴回到风景画和
   
   马车的城市,在继续向
   平等的新标准前进之前。雨水冲刷烟囱;
   
   庞大的工作组把我们拉到不明智的信任中
   重复着霓虹灯中的渐强:这大约和它得到的
   
   一样血腥,所以为什么要在边缘颤抖?跳跃,如果你必须的话,
   只是不要因为你给自己带来的东西而责怪过程,
   
   用一种狂躁的潜在音乐的画笔也给别人涂上焦油
   它关心自己,不喜欢有油光轮的水坑
   
   和它做人体实验差不多。谁的风格降低你
   对这一切的沉思,直到你认为你想出了什么:
   
   任何事,不要分享。别特别,别傻,别客气。
   葡萄及时长胖。波浪接受了更多的杂务,或者海岸,
   
   所有的事情都完成了,平均分配到你的计划中
   减少工作量,实际赚些钱,为找零。
Private Syntax
   
   
   
   The obligation I have assumed is an unprepossessing one.
   Til be glad to get back to the city of painted scenery
   
   and horse-drawn carts, before resuming the march toward
   new standards of equality. Rain washes in the chimney;
   
   the immense task-force that drew us out into unwise confidences
   repeats the crescendo in neon: this is about as sanguinary
   
   as it gets, so why tremble on the edge? Leap, if you must,
   only don't blame the processus for what you brought on yourself,
   
   tarring others too with the brush of a rabid potential music
   that cares for itself and dislikes oil-aureoled puddles
   
   as much as it does human experimentation. Whose style degrades your
   ruminating on it all until you think you've come up with something:
   
   anything, don't share it. Don't be special, silly or civil.
   In time grapes fatten. Waves accept one more chore, or shore,
   
   and everything gets done, is distributed equally into your plan
   of reducing the workload and actually making some money, for a change.
   
  
不是现在而是四十五分钟后
   
   (选自Hotel Lautreamont)
   作者:(美)约翰.阿什贝利(John Ashberry)
   译者:剑郭琴符
   
   不管怎样,那一天的睡眠来到
   并不是便于你注意到
   什么现出轮廓,紧靠什么---
   它是枕头还是
   那杯水旁边的袋子?
   我的意思是我们没有进入雌雄同体?
   你最好相信它。那些塔楼说
   白天的礼物是批发给
   雨篷下的
   男人的,恼怒的店主
   在你摸了东西之后
   把东西放好的手势可以
   相信
   
   不,这是一个总而言之更有趣的案例。
   我们常说把孩子和洗澡水一起扔掉
   窃听者很少听到自己的善行
   植物的臭味
   通过一个劈开的棍棒舔蜂蜜。
   除此之外,这对你来说是没有前提的
   它会及时平静,充满乐趣
   远离别人的问题
   它们也会在时间之前拥有你
   带着朝圣者的经典的好品味
   我被污蔑,我是早午餐
   
   我知道如何解决
   你,我爱你
   于是猫
   最后走进了一个开放的栅栏
   时间和尖塔都没有贬低
   
   我知道我打算
   我要遍及于你
   我感谢一千个笨蛋,这有蹼的,珍贵的
   知识礼物
   不到任何人的高度,我被授权
   留在这里,在手铐
   和猪油之后,我被你的
   倒影
   和污渍
   
   冻住了
   它在美丽的部分上面
   现在必须用它来阅读
   我是所有的苹果
   谢谢
   你
   
   没有人知道我们在做什么,当我们分开的时候
   我们分开生活的日子蒙上了一层面纱
   当我们有麻烦的时候,我们回到课堂上
   但是现在做那些乏味的算术
   需要有爱,在这过程中
   耸耸肩
   如果他们在如此这般的一天经过那所学校
   一切都将是正常的,从打瞌睡的炉子
   到在门上的牛奶柱
   
   我们都应该聚在一起,然后
   把我们其他的关注
   摆在桌上
   我们都应该全法式接吻地被选
   不要陷入
   在理性的怒吼中站起来的麻烦
Not Now but in Forty-five Minutes
   
   
   Anyway, sleep came that day
   not so that you’d notice
   what was silhouetted against what---was it the pillow or the bags
   over by that glass of water?
   I mean we’re not getting into androgyny?
   You better believe it. Those towers say
   the gift of day is wholesale
   to men
   under the awning, the annoyed shopkeeper's
   gesture of putting something right
   after you’ve touched it can be
   believed
   
   No it was an altogether more interesting case.
   We often said throw out the baby with the bathwater
   eavesdroppers seldom hear good of themselves
   the plant stinks
   lick honey through a cleft stick.
   Other than that it is no premise to you
   in time it will be calm be gay
   stay away from others’ questions
   they will have you before time too
   with the pilgrim’s classic good taste
   I’m spattered I am brunch
   
   I know how to solve
   you I love you
   with that the cat
   walked last into an open barrier
   neither time nor spires were demeaning
   
   I know I planned
   it me to be all over you
   I thank a thousand dunces for this webbed, precious
   gift of knowledge
   to no man’s height I am authorized
   to stay here after the handcuffs
   and the lard I am chilled
   by the reflection
   of you
   
   and the stain stays
   It was on the beautiful part
   must now be read with it
   I am all apple
   to thank
   you
   
   No one knows what we do when we’re apart
   A veil veins the days of our separate living
   when we're in trouble we're back in class
   but now to do those tedious sums
   requires having loved and in the course of it
   shrugged
   and if they came by that schoolhouse on such-and-such a day
   everything would be normal from the dozing stove
   to the pillar of milk on the door
   
   and we should all get together afterward
   put our other concerns
   on the table
   and we should all french kiss get elected
   not to be trouble
   to stand up in reason’s roar
   
   

 楼主| 发表于 2021-2-22 23:03:25 | 显示全部楼层
本帖最后由 剑郭琴符 于 2021-2-22 23:11 编辑



枯燥无味的恭维

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

   小心别让
   别人镶有宝石的的词语
   逼着你行动,你也一样:“令人开心的。
   我爱你。再见。”因为在那秋日
   话语之后,奇异的欲望激荡。
   光是把手放在自己身上
   是不够的,

   光看到他们行骗而不采取行动
   是不够的。这也不够,
   最后,仅仅转身
   走回失望的父母
   等待的房子,还不足以
   微笑着通过辱骂,把他们聚集在
   那巨大的,忙碌的怀抱中。

   这些天还有其他的担忧需要评估。
   那一片灌木丛怎么长得这么急剧
   以至于剩下的风景都黯淡了,
   承认无知?植树人的脑海里
   有别的东西,土地测量员也一样。
   如果你也能看到大海那么远
   你的力量可能会崩溃。他们,虽然,
   泰然自若地接受它,但这也可能是一个警告:
   地球,空气,轮胎,水,

   让所有的立场,在周围,
   和我们围绕它们
   在日子外面的限制一样多。
   一种缓慢的下午在这里,也。
   余震并不令人惊奇。



Withered Compliments



   Have a care lest
   the jewelled words of others
   force you to act, you too: “Delicious.
   I love you. Goodbye.” For in that autumn
   after speech strange desires stir.
   It is not enough
   to have kept one's hands to oneself,

   not enough to see them cheating
   and take no action. It is not enough,
   finally, to turn
   and walk back to the house
   where disappointed parents wait, not
   enough to smile through abuse and gather them
   into the big, hectic embrace.

   These days there are other worries to assess.
   How did that band of shrubbery grow so sharp
   that the rest of the landscape is dim,
   pleading ignorance? And the arborist has other
   things on his mind, as does the land-surveyor.
   If you too could see that far out to sea
   your forces might crumble. They, though,
   take it in stride, but that too might be a warning:
   earth, air, tire, water,

   let all stand, be around
   as much as we wrap around them
   at days outer limits.
   A kind of slow afternoon here, too.
   The aftershock holds no surprises.






风的谈话

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

   忠心的我不停地过来解决问题,
   任何人都无法忍受的病痛,或任何“觉得”温暖的事,
   傲慢和顽固较少,也许,超速行驶,
   在受伤的日历上,忠心的你来找我,喔唷
   计划快乐没有人能抗拒,时间
   滚下床,跑出白色的门,进入恰当的
   呕吐。接近。等待---
   太多的树木与此相连,为渴望的
   雄心壮志被人知晓。我跟你说
   你四周多正常,我频繁地来
   是合适的。年轻的战士们惊呆了---谁也
   没想到。那只是不断地把书,变成游戏,
   天气的游戏,那里雪球飞过舞台。
   演员们狂怒。别解释,你什么也做不了
   除了置身于伤害的方式之外,等待,在门口---
   我喜欢你在这里,在木堆旁,想到
   这是在某事之后,但没人来。而且门稍微半开,
   也,可以认为是关着的。欢迎光临!也许
   你比我想象的更老,更精神,让我们
   来试试,继续,螃蟹导弹说
   这一切为什么只是普通的灰尘和内脏。任何人都能抓住他,
   我试过了,现在你回来了。他的
   圣歌的音量扩展了我,与你在一起,飘落,在生命中。

   夜晚的海角可能很粘,还有别的一整套
   无毛的某件东西粘在我真空吸尘器的会议记录上。
   然后下来爬向它,进入想象不到的空间,那是
   真的,在那儿。我仍然在设法解决这个问题。就像一个迷路的人。
   囚禁中最古老的下水道。我也可以缩小它,
   拼命地叫喊,你知道没有人来舔它,
   在它旁边,在窗台上推断我们。我们很关心。
   嘘,现在这才是最重要的。在这把椅子的
   腿下面,我能看到滑道。临近午夜。

   让我们脱掉衣服,躺在花岗岩上的
   粗麻布上。嘘。他听到了。老鼠的智慧列出了
   有人不会告诉我们的所有关于冒险的
   不可能的财政支持,就在它降低的时候。海上的灯
   灭了。那就跳华尔兹吧。
   时间的疾病已经深深地印在了吝啬鬼的
   头骨上,当她慢慢地从圣诞浆果变成了
   中心的时候,我的嗉囊里就再也没有什么了。
   上次我是怎么过来的?我都糊涂了。
   再说,我刚出去的时候你就逮到我了,你们都要说
   我等着,在正规的车库里编辫子,一切都绝望
   太整洁了,不能出来。但我出来了。我就像
   害羞的公牛,我的自行车有后知后觉,我的屁股很干净,
   我被一只不确定的手隆重地
   耙在煤块上,窗帘是一场骚乱,它可能都会

   严重起泡。看,我有吸尘器。
   在看门人的手中,一定要计划一些
   淫秽的乐趣,我会去洗衣机决定我
   进入小鸽舍开口的地方,这是为鸟类准备的。请
   友好地接受我给你的路的
   踏脚板,第五大道上幸运的黄昏。他们唱着
   各种各样的歌,灯光分开成了坟墓的提醒。
   好吧,我也来了,不太喜欢
   你在波浪中的进步。似乎它们是分居者,
   或者某种东西,在你和其他可恶的人想到这件事之前
   很久就被珍视了。
   想想看,我知道那个人的名字,但不知道他的身份,但我
   正在致力于所有这些命令。如果我们必须来,他可以来。

   与此同时,在火灾前,一个人慢条斯理地吸收了那么多的
   地板,就像回到了一个自然的极乐世界
   一个人打算永远不离开。太久了,山谷里
   太干了,灰尘都不能接收,我们三个
   在星星的保护伞下喊着下井,进入下一场
   表演,它会更加丰富多彩。

   我很高兴警钟吸收了所有的订单电话,它们一定是
   在一棵或另一棵散发着气味的树下被发现欠缺的,都是
   一样的,样本。我的裤子想要吊带
   我也想要,在它飘荡的地方,在整齐的
   桥梁和人行道下。我们好像买了花
   却被死亡抹去了,它经过
   进入了我习惯穿的天空可爱的物质。
   这里我所爱的男人已经准备好了,在地下的秘密房间里
   用他的光辉,也在天堂的树上,
   最后的音符。狼吞虎咽而又空虚。不满意,
   却在睡梦的树梢上前所未有地翻滚,在光
   与月光的交汇处,在大地睡眠的褶皱处。
   他是个了解的人。你们都会把我累坏的。我是绿色和灰色的;
   当下是无声的,偶然的。




The Wind Talking


   Faithful I keep coming over to address the issues,
   the ills no man can stomach, or anything that feels warm,
   less bumptious and froward perhaps, speeding,
   on wounded calendar, and faithful you coming to me ouch
   plans pleasure no person can resist, the time
   to roll out of bed, run out the white door, into the sickness
   of the apt. Approach. Wait---
   too many trees are tied to this, for desire's
   ambitions to become known. I’ll say to you
   how usually around you are and my coming frequently
   fits. Young warriors are aghast---no one
   had foreseen it. That just keeps making book, into play,
   the play of the weather, where snowballs flew across the stage.
   The cast was furious. Don’t explain, there’s nothing you can do
   except stay out of harm's way, waiting, in a doorway---
   I like you here, and by the woodpile, and think
   it's after something, but no one came. And the door was slightly ajar,
   too, it could be considered closed. Some welcome! Maybe
   you are older and more spirited than I think, let's
   have a try, go on, the crab missile told
   how it was all just plain dust and guts. Any can hold him,
   I've tried, and now you are back. The volume
   of his chant extended me, to be with you, falling off, in the life.

   Night promontories can be sticky there is a whole other suite of
   glabrous thingamabobs adhering to the minutes of my vacuum.
   Then to get down and crawl it, into the unimagined spaces that
   were, it’s true, there. I still address it. Like a lost man.
   The oldest sewer in captivity. I can shrink it too,
   and desperately bawling you knows no man's coming to lick it,
   be beside it, extrapolate us on the ledge. We're caring.
   Shoo, that's all-important now. Under the legs
   of this chair I can see into the runnels. Midnights near.

   Let's doff with the clothes, lay on burlap
   over granite. Ssh. He hears. The mouse's wits list
   all somebody isn't going to tell us about the improbable
   financial backing of the adventure just as it sinks. The lights
   go out at sea. Try a waltz then.
   The disease of timing's etched itself into the very skull
   of the churl as plodding she shifts from Yule berries
   to centerpiece, nothing more’s in my craw.
   How did I come over the last time? I'm all confused.
   Besides, you got me when I was just out, and you were all going to say
   I waited, plaited at the formal garage, all despair
   and too tidy to come out. But I do. I’m like the
   bashful bull, my bicycle has hindsight, my ass is clean,
   I'm being raked over the coals by an uncertain
   hand ceremoniously, the curtain’s a riot, it could all

   be badly blistered. Look, I have a vacuum cleaner.
   In the janitor's hand some prurient
   fun must be planned and I’ll go where the washer decides me
   into small dovecot openings that are for the birds. Please,
   accept kindly the running board of my road
   to you, the lucky dusk that was over Fifth Avenue. They chanted
   variously, the lights separated into grave reminders.
   Well I am coming up too and don't much like
   your progress with the waves. Seems they are dividers,
   or something, something that was cherished long before
   you and the odious others came to think about it.
   Come to think of it I know that man’s name, but not his station, but I am
   working on all those orders. If we have to come, he can come.

   Meanwhile before the fire one putters and absorbs so much
   of the floor it’s like returning to a natural Elysium
   one was meant never to have left. So long, it's so dry
   in the dells that dust can’t get accepted and we three
   under the umbrella of stars shout down the well into the next
   performance, which will be more varied.

   I'm so glad the tocsin assimilated all the calls to order that must have
   been found wanting under one odoriferous tree or another, it's all
   the same, sample. My britches are wanting suspenders
   and I too want, where it wanders, under regular
   bridges and pavements. We seem to buy flowers
   but are erased from death, it passes over
   into the lovely material of the sky I get used to wearing.
   The man I love is ready here in the faceless backrooms
   under ground and by his shining, in the trees of heaven too,
   a final note. Gorged and empty. Dissatisfied,
   yet rolling in sleep's tresses as never, and in front of a junction
   of light to lunar light, to folds of earth’s sleep.
   He's one to know. You'll all wear me out. I'm green and gray;
   the current is voiceless and occasionally.






欢乐

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

   天堂和皇帝的老鼠被关在无聊的地方
   把这个想象成上帝释放的一些
   奇思妙想。先生的愤怒
   是冷酷的,在这些时候,钉住失败,清晰准确地
   解释错误所在,明白易懂的
   句子。此外,一个不完美的拥抱
   像一个风琴尖一样从过去延续。因此,在原始文件中
   不是将你归为“我”,
   追求我们的优势并不更安全,尽管
   这是温和的一个。场景很经典;
   最后一场龙卷风腐蚀成了恐怖。

   以这样的规模生活。旧鼓
   像灰烬一样倒塌。明天
   在多样化的睡眠中
   在应许的风景中寻找它。



Joy

   Think of it as some god-liberating whimsy
   that heaven and the emperor’s mice detain
   in the province of boredom. The signor's wrath
   is cold at these times, to nail the fizzle, explain
   exactly what went wrong in clear, easy-to-understand
   sentences. Besides, an imperfect embrace continues
   from the past like an organ-point. So it was not you
   in the original documents attributed to “I,”
   and was no safer to pursue our advantage albeit
   a mild one. The scene is classical;
   the last twister corrodes into terror.

   To be living on this scale. An old drum
   collapses like ash. Seek it tomorrow
   in the diversity of sleep,
   the promised landscape.





关于拉罗什福科主题的犹豫不决

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

   “我们都坚强到足够承受别人的不幸。”



   我们忽略过去的遗憾
   当人们发现它们在草地上
   几乎混合,它们可能是
   苹果茎的影子,或来自另一个国家的拼贴画。
   我们将,在峭壁上,霸占
   那张床能胜任的一切,然后沉入沉睡的盘中。

   把水带到喷泉,热天的
   休息,太快它就驱逐了
   坐在我们旁边的人的快乐,他们,
   接近于摆脱困境,决定再次
   开始争论,这次是在公平的精神中
   因为我们大家都必须合作,否则地球会
   稍微失去平衡,它的转动
   关闭了几秒钟,足够在你最想不到的地方
   制造气候变化---

   一天,老鼠变得可疑。这就是我们
   重新开始所需要的一切,这次
   计划奢侈的旅行---徒步,乘飞机
   痛苦地穿过荒芜的夜晚,寻找它
   想象中的重叠的,射向日出的
   带着可以籍以阅读的闪光,一个奇迹---

   一个人应该填写
   表格,但是紧张已经减轻了,尽管
   我们需要知道我们生活在一个爆炸性的时代;
   我们可以从拐角处看到
   我们给鸟穿衣服的地方。它们喜欢我们给它们的
   衣服,喜欢我们,但它们仍然
   想回家,不是去森林
   或大草原,而是去它们一直知道的
   被囚禁的地方,学校里某个地方的笼子。
   因此,每一天的困境
   显出差异,但同样的---你想
   让鸟儿在你的肩上和手腕上,用大自然的歌声
   纵容,但总会有一些东西
   离开你。突然间,不再有失望
   最懒惰的人因他们的努力而被加冕和选定:
   在这件事的某个地方,我们看到了羞怯的错误,
   心的一些角落,鸟---
   闹鬼,被鸟叫声闹鬼,好像我们两个
   离得很远,而这些其他的却奇怪地离得很近---
   一个天堂,如果我们有事实来打开它。

   当一个小精灵
   坐在你面前的高尔夫球座上,你身后的人
   要求打球:那么,那么
   吉普赛干瘪老太婆中哪一个真的是
   化装成公主,有飘逸的
   巧克力辫子,橄榄灰的肤色就不重要了!啊愿她
   医治我们的创伤,给我们
   留下默许,在那里我们会找到
   一个合适的墓地,一切都会
   像我们从来没有说谎一样,
   从来没有用执着的问题来纠缠我们必死的父母
   一切都会像黎明随时都会
   轻易降临一样。当我抱着你的时候
   山峦在我的手中分崩离析:那儿,三座山
   已经被抚平,还有
   五座山要来,在美味的早餐之前,
   我试着去珍惜你。



Irresolutions on a Theme of La Rochefoucauld  


   “we are all strong enough to bear the misfortunes of others.”


   We leave out old regrets
   that when they be found are almost blended
   in the grass, shadows of apple stems
   they might be or collages from another country.
   We shall, at the steeps, commandeer all
   that bed is good for, then sink into a platter of sleep.

   Bringing water to the fountain, a hot day's
   rest, and too soon is it excluded
   to the delight of those sitting near us, who,
   on the verge of bailing out, decided to approach
   the argument again in a spirit of fairness this time
   since we all have to cooperate, or else the earth
   will get slightly out of kilter, its revolutions
   a few seconds off, enough to produce climatic changes
   in places you least think of---

   One day the mice became suspicious. That was all
   we needed to get going again, in plans
   of luxurious travel this time---on foot, by plane
   aching through the deserted night for its
   imagined double, shot against the sunrise
   with blips to read by, a miracle---

   One should be filling out
   the forms, but tension has lessened, though
   we need to know we live in explosive times;
   we can see our way around corners to where
   we dressed the birds. They liked the clothes
   we gave them, liked us, but still they
   wanted to go home, not to a forest
   or savannah, but to the place of captivity
   they had always known, a cage somewhere inside a school.
   So each day the predicament
   emerges different, yet the same---you want
   to have birds at your shoulders and wrists, to connive
   with nature in her song, but something always
   leaves you. Suddenly there are no more disappointments to be had
   and the laziest are crowned and anointed for their efforts:
   somewhere we see in this something which is shyly wrong,
   some corner of the heart, bird---
   haunted, by birdsong haunted, as though we two
   were far away, and these others strangely near---
   a paradise, if we had the facts to open it.

   And when an elf
   sits on a golf tee before you, and someone
   behind you asks to play through: then, then
   it doesn’t matter much which of the old gypsy crones is
   really a princess in disguise, with flowing
   chocolate braids, and olive-dusted complexion! O may she
   redress our wounds, and leave
   connivance to us, where we shall find
   it a suitable burial ground and all
   will be as if we never had lied,
   never hounded our mortal parents with persistent questions
   and all shall be as though dawn came easily
   anytime. The mountains fall apart
   in my hand as I hold you: there, three
   are smoothed over already with
   five more to come before a delicious breakfast,
   and I try to cherish you.






征文启事

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

   雨落在一些老人的雕像上
   这没什么用。呼叫消失
   全国各地,论文
   不断地开炉。这个疯狂的小家伙和一个
   非常有趣的男人聚在一起,他就在这里
   以一种古老的视角:
   胃口很大,供应无限。
   有十五个人在读论文
   去年这个时候,该组织说。
   在波士顿-克利夫兰或哈特福德-费城的案例中
   你不会因为狠狠地踢一个标志而被捕
   但当水仙花和雨滴前奏曲
   从充满象征的天堂落下时,你可能会被指控
   因为忘记、忽视你和其他人观点的地下室
   直到它们像流浪猫一样扑攻击你
   这不是它们的错误。记住这一点。

   规模下降到
   一种着陆,然后再下降一些。
   更冷静的头脑占了上风
   作品不太类似的一些东西
   让你讨厌去发现。

   不管我是不是在闲逛,历史的妓院
   都有义务举起床单
   用豆子投票赞成或反对死刑。
   你没看到
   这是唯一的方法来测量
   斑马的移动来警告我们,
   扎着推销员领带的爬行动物通过?
   继续,乌鸦。
   同时,睡眠轻轻地束缚着我们
   这样我们就可以很容易地溜走,就像季节
   在乌龟的腿上临近。在午夜的
   拐角处,今早在千里之外?
   湿度计有什么好处,还有什么人
   比他们需要空气或防御更需要我们?

   我们在月底会去看你!他们喊道。
   小浪爆发了,当它们
   穿过海湾的波涛汹涌的水域中重新形成时
   在这次会议和下一次会议
   和之后的一次会议上。



A Call for Papers



   It buttered no parsnips that it was raining
   on some statues of older men. The call had gone out
   and from all across the country, papers
   kept blowing in. The little crazy guy converged
   with a very interesting man who was right here
   in an antique perspective:
   The appetites were enormous, the provisions limitless.
   Fifteen read their papers
   last year at this time, the group said.
   In the case of Boston-Cleveland or Hartford-Philadelphia
   you don’t get arrested for heavily kicking a sign
   But as daffodils and raindrop-preludes fall
   from the symbol-laden heavens, you can be charged
   for forgetting, for ignoring the very basement of your and others’
   ideas until they come at you like stray cats
   and it isn’t their fault. Remember that.

   The scale descends
   to a kind of landing, then descends some more.
   Cooler heads prevailed
   and something that the work was not resembling
   gave you a distaste for discovery.
   Whether I'm fooling around or not it is incumbent
   on the brothels of history to raise up their sheets
   and vote with a bean for or against capital punishment.
   Don’t you see
   it's the only way to measure
   the zebras moving to warn us,
   reptiles in rep ties at the pass?
   Carry on, crow.
   Meanwhile sleep binds us lightly
   so that we can easily slip away as the season
   approaches on tortoise feet. Around the corner
   of midnight, and a thousand miles away this morning?
   What good are hygrometers, and what men need us
   more than they need air or defense?

   We’ll see you at the end of the month! they cried.
   Small waves broke as they re-formed
   across the bay's lumpy waters
   in time for this session and for the next
   one and for the one after that.





 楼主| 发表于 2021-2-24 13:34:38 | 显示全部楼层
本帖最后由 剑郭琴符 于 2021-2-24 22:34 编辑




  
爱的甜蜜老歌

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

   因为如果所有的生命都只是上周天气底部的一个光点或某种感叹号(一片几乎被雪充满的田地,杂草从中喷出;我们应该坚持为它们找个家吗?),这意味着,是不是,我们被许可回溯我们曾经不管怎样倒退进的泥沼,这一次从中真正了解我们自己?我的意思是,泥潭是一个整洁的地方,可以在开波酒之间停下来;一切都有那么多,但这不是一个无足轻重的监狱院子,可以让你得到最重要的锻炼。

   带着一个新鲜的蓝色信封,一个人流口水;即使不是停下执行,而是命令同样立即执行,也有一些东西需要学习。这可不像两只猫在一个地下室通道互相忽视。我的意思是它会导致一些事情,然后很快就,发生了。总比扫一扫多毛的沙地宣布援军到来的羽状物要好;在这种情况下,人们总是会跳到不久的将来的一刻,那时每个人都会再次快乐起来,一枚订婚戒指会自动滑到无名指上。但末尾,

   我说,见鬼的结局。我想我不想穿那些袜子。在一周中的任何别的一天,我的态度都会引起一些注视;我的价值判断就像他们过去所说的“过度穿着”的女人,我的影子对我来说是看不见的,但我还不知道这一点。传统观念认为,我们渴望得到难以达到的东西(斜倚的云层、远处的工厂烟囱)正是因为这个原因。其中可能隐藏的善良不被允许,就像在一个舌头打结的孩子的爱,一个人掐他的脸颊,当这个人向更大更好的失望走过。我们永远不知道我们能走回到什么,除非我们真的回去了,然后就好像不知道和知道是一回事。

   我渴望我们周围有更多的天气,
   但这是不可能发生的,
   除非我们在它发生的过程中,知道结果却看不到。
   过去的时间已经过去了,只有傻瓜才会不这么想。
   然而,我知道我需要一些评估,高大而幸运的图腾在较高的草地上被创立。
  
  

  
  Love’s old Sweet Song


   Because if all of life is just a blip or some kind of exclamation mark at the bottom of last week’s weather (an almost snow-filled field from which some weeds extrude; should we persist in trying to find a home for these?),it means, doesn’t it,that we’re allowed to backtrack to the slough we were backsliding into anyway, and really learn about ourselves from it this time? I mean a quagmire’s a tidy place for pausing between highballs; there is so much more to everything but this is a not inconsiderable prison yard for getting that all-important exercise.

   bearing an envelope that is fresh and blue; one salivates; even if it’s not a stay of execution but an order for the immediate putting-into-effect of same, there's something to learn. It's not like two cats ignoring each other in a basement areaway. By that I mean it was going to lead up to something and then did, quite quickly. Better than scanning hirsute sands for plumes announcing the arrival of reinforcements; in those cases one invariably skips forward to a time in the near future when everybody is happy again and an engagement ring slips onto a ring finger of its own accord. But back,

   I say, the heck with endings. I don't think I want to wear those socks.On any other day of the week my attitude would elicit a few stares; my value-judgments are like what they used to call an “overdressed” woman, and it has come about that my shadow is invisible to me, but I don’t know this yet. The conventional wisdom is that we desire what's unattainable (reclining clouds, distant factory chimneys) for precisely that reason. No allowance is made for the goodness that might be lurking therein, like love in a tongue-tied child whose cheek one pinches as one passes along to bigger and better disappointments. We never know what we could walk back to except when we do go back, and then it's as if not knowing and knowing were the same thing.

   I long for more weather around us,
   but it’s just not going to happen till we’re in the middle
   of its happening and know the results without being able to see them.
   The time for passing is past and none but an idiot would think otherwise.
   Yet I see I shall be needing some appraisals, tall and lucky totems foundered in taller grass.
  
  




  
路上的野男孩

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

   “呃,那消息坍塌的地方有口井:
   生锈的链子还在闪闪发光。还有一个很开心的人,
   她很少从大多数场合被赦免。
   眨眼的太阳现在绕着它转,最后一幕,
   注意到它的动作在地毯上被召唤得多么少
   (或者它会使地毯褪色),结果是
   像刀子,或者夜晚的一条蛇一样自由行动。当一切结束时
   我们说我可以时不时地喝,
   大约一周三次。但天上的喧嚣
   更为严重,风暴在今天和这个时代
   意味着生意。唯一可行的
   方式是走出去;你会发现光滑的街道和你的推进合拍
   推进到它被出售时真正看到的东西。

   “新鲜空气会注意到池塘的瀑布,延龄草如何
   从下面投掷出,但却
   无话可说,没有理由呆在那里,
   尽管也许有一个以前有什么的理由,就像一个追随者
   闭上的眼皮,就在这样一个深刻的事实前:一个人
   坐着忍受,通过考验,然后
   一切都好了;太阳似乎已经改变了
   它的位置,让灰色的天空,疯狂的男孩
   遍地开花,然而我们在这里,安全,不睡觉,
   给一个男人作伪证,但我猜
   这就是被排除的东西。你必须
   返回到老年。岁月为你创造了新的光辉。
   我们要考虑的事情太多
   没注意到这个呆板的骑手再次回来
   核对的颜色。除此之外,剃须后
   站起来的紫丁香味,让他长成一头新的,
   完全的牛,所有的哨兵都从院子里散开了。
   在一部史诗里很难,但当它像风筝线一样
   鞭打着的时候,要抓住线就更难了,
   我们中的一些人确实要拿回我们的存款。但大部分
   只有陆地,这一点很明显,
   离月球裂口太近,不能依赖
   也太聪明了,不给我们溜走的机会
   在时机恰当的时候。”

   当一切都说了做了,我们避开了朋友
   不是因为我们的恐惧,而是出于不引起骚动的
   神圣愿望。可怜的孩子,你以为
   从中间啜饮是一件容易,精确的事,
   就像跪在教堂里一样。但是你现在看到了守望者
   如何摧毁一个人碰巧所构成它的一切,盗取
   期待的凸出的眼睛,在它们的位置上
   留下好奇的鹅卵石,然而
   或者更好的是,没有任何东西,触摸无法确定
   任何东西:奇怪的,椭圆的事件
   在词汇表中没有它们的名字。植物现在将
   如何接管:我们将再次停滞不前,劣质的
   味道接近于再次发生,门柱上的
   锡花束毫不在意,仿佛这是
   150年前的事。有些事情必须停止,
   但我告诉你敌人是为了我们,在我们的耳朵里喊叫。
   顶上的叶子太少了,
   年复一年,很好,它们看起来也太小了,又小又漂亮,
   虽然我想不会太久,我似乎听到
   有什么东西会让我们苦恼,把我们一方面
   从极端的虔诚,另一方面从淫秽的羞怯中拽出来:只够
   让这歌咏和睦相处,就像我们那样,
   对我们来说又好又容易,有草的边缘的石头基座。
  
  

  
Wild Boys of the Road



   “Why,there’s the well where the message fell apart:
   its rusted chain gleams still. And there's the happy one,
   so little she was excused from most occasions.
   The blinkered sun circles it now, the last act,
   noting how little its motions will be called on the carpet
   (or it will fade the carpet), with the resulting freedom to act
   like a knife, or a snake in the night. When it's all over
   we say I could drink it now and then,
   about three times a week. But the heavenly uproar
   is heavier; storms mean business
   in this day and age. The only viable
   mode is to walk out; you'll find the slick streets keep time
   with your advancing to what is really seen when it is sold.

   “Fresh air will have noticed the pond waterfall, how
   the trillium darted out from underneath but
   had nothing to say, no excuse for being there,
   though perhaps one for what was there before, as a henchman's
   eyelids close just before the deep fact of one
   sitters enduring, to pass the test, and then
   everything is all right; the sun seems to have shifted
   its position, allowing gray skies, crazy boys to bloom
   all over the place, and yet we are here, safe, unsleeping,
   perjured to a man but that’s
   what gets removed I guess. You have to
   return to the old. And age builds it shining new for you.
   We have too many things to think about
   not to notice the dull horseman's color of coming
   back to check once again. Besides, the lilac
   flavor of after-shave stood up, grew him a new one,
   and all cattle, all sentries were dispersed from the yard.
   It’s hard being in an epic but harder still
   to hold on to the thread as it whips like a kite-string,
   and some of us do get our deposit back. But for the most part
   there is only land and that is obvious,
   too near the lunar chasm to be depended on
   and too smart not to give us the slip
   as the occasion warrants.”

   When all is said and done we avoid our friends
   not from fear of us but from a holy desire
   not to cause a commotion. Poor boy, you thought
   to have sipped from the center would be such an easy, exact thing,
   like kneeling in church. But you see now how the watchman
   destroys whatever it is one happens to be made of, purloins
   the bulging eyes of expectation, leaving
   curious pebbles in their place, or better
   yet, no things, nothing of which the touch
   can be determined: strange, elliptical events
   with no name for them in the glossary. How the vegetation
   would take over now: we’d be stalled again, the bad
   smell on the verge of happening once again, the tin
   posy in the doorjamb as unconcerned as if this
   were a hundred and fifty years ago. Something has got to stop,
   yet I tell you the enemies are for us, shouting in our ears.
   The leaves are too little at the top,
   and the years, well they come to seem little too, little and nifty,
   though I suppose not for long, and I seem to hear
   something will wring us, wrench us from the extremes
   of piety on the one hand and salacious diffidence on the other: just
   enough for the sing-song to get along, as we were,
   nice and easy for us, stone plinths with fringe of grass.
  
  


尼娜.彼得罗夫娜的谎言(1)
   
   (选自Hotel Lautreamont)
   作者:(美)约翰.阿什贝利(John Ashberry)
   译者:剑郭琴符
   
   这个奴隶给我端茶,
   而且高兴,我坐了一会儿,有空的
   时候。时间在树下流逝,
   那些我没有做的事情
   找到了我!哦,我的灵魂将被
   审计!不知名的读者
   领悟我的话的分量
   因为它们羽毛般的外壳被吹走了
   在后面留下了晦涩阴沉的
   种子。其中有多少会生长?
   我真的认为它是自主的,
   就像鸟儿的歌声,秃鹫的睡眠,
   在峭壁下,美好的梦
   降临,折磨它们醒来:
   
   孤身一人,唯恐有人
   走得太靠近我,在一种
   绑着睡眠边缘的狂热中
   在那儿它模糊到歇斯底里的必要性,
   在这些时间里,我是某个人。
   一片潮湿永远无法抵挡
   飓风撞击它希望的地方,
   圣诞树上的装饰物也很可能
   散去,它们看起来如此完美,
   挂在一起,
   像我们所有人必须一样,吸引着远处的高中生
   在游戏中的欢呼声
   他们没有恶意
   但他们的好话救不了我们
   
   或完全把我们留在孤独中
   就像时钟的一只手回到
   它所选数字的家。
   服装和记忆中的诗是
   今晚的秩序
   就像透过巨大的糕点管
   云朵在星星周围渗出,唯恐
   (它们如此脆弱和不重要)
   缺乏必要的财力
   使地球在天空下形成某种
   统一的假象
   它嘲笑我们,永远不会
   让我们都完全
   成为我们有朝一日所是。
   
   ----
   (1)一部法国电影名。
  Le Mensonge de Nina Petrovna
   
   
   This slave brings me tea,
   and happy, I sit for a moment, a spare
   moment. Time under the tree passes,
   and those things which I have left undone
   find me out! O my spirit shall be
   audited! and unknown readers
   grasp the weight of my words
   as their feathery hulls blow away
   leaving the crabbed and sullen seed
   behind. And how many of these shall grow?
   Really I thought it was autonomous
   as the birds’ song, the vultures’ sleep,
   under crags to whom virtuous
   dreams come and torture them awake:
   
   all alone lest someone
   approach too near, in a fever
   that binds the edge of sleep
   where it blurs to hysterical necessity,
   in these hours I am someone.
   A patch of damp cannot ever overcome
   the hurricane that blows where it wishes,
   and the Christmas tree ornaments may well be
   dispersed, that look so perfect,
   hanging together,
   as must we all, to the distant cheering
   of high-school students at a game
   who mean no harm
   but their kind words cannot save us
   
   or quite leave us alone
   as one hand of the clock homes
   in on its chosen numeral.
   Costumes and memorized poems are the order
   of this night
   as through an enormous pastry tube
   clouds ooze around the stars, lest
   (so brittle and unimportant are they)
   the wherewithal be lacking
   to bring earth into some semblance
   of unity under the sky
   that mocks us and will never
   let us be entirely
   all that we were someday to be.
   
  
属于红雀和迟钝的时光
   
   (选自Hotel Lautreamont)
   作者:(美)约翰.阿什贝利(John Ashberry)
   译者:剑郭琴符
   
   你说你不想
   比现在更了解,可能成为一个人的
   每一件事。这就是欺骗。那很紧急。
   如果我们要让这么多方面意义重大
   就把它们都砍掉。
   那样的话我们就知道你正在长大。
   
   我为那些必须死去的人难过。
   期待像狙击手一样
   成扇形散开的东西的线条。那就是一切,
   我想。但我失去了东西,现在。
   当空袭演习结束时
   厕所的美丽形状插入了生存能力。
   我们得做点什么。
   他现在可能在那里,想找到我们。
   如果你让我,我开车送你回游乐场。
  Of Linnets and Dull Time
   
   
   You said you don't want to know any more
   than you do now, of every thing that might be
   a person. It would be cheating. That is urgent.
   If we are going to mean in so many ways
   let them all be lopped off.
   That way we’ll know you’re getting older.
   
   I feel sorry for anyone that has to die.
   The lines of what’s expected fan out like beaters. That’s all,
   I think. But I lose things, now.
   The beautiful shape of the toilet interposed
   a viability as the air-raid drill ended.
   We’ve got to do something.
   He may be up there now, trying to find us.
   If you let me, I'll drive you back to the fairgrounds.
  
韩国肥皂剧
   
   (选自Hotel Lautreamont)
   作者:(美)约翰.阿什贝利(John Ashberry)
   译者:剑郭琴符
   
   我妹妹和我似乎相处得不太好。
   她总是要让家里的每件东西新。珍视的理想
   不适合她的青色、锈色和蛋壳色方案。
   当然,当她还在街上挨家挨户兜售
   《共产主义青年》周刊时,我是个买主。我有市场营销
   学位。她男朋友认为我很守旧。
   嗯,我想我确实有一种守旧的心态。
   
   是什么样的心理
   导致男人们在空调玻璃盒子里自杀?
   这是一个调整的生活。我适应了战后的繁荣
   尽管它使我的家庭破裂了。有些人把荣誉带到山上,
   靠木头和水生活。但是,这些年的投资
   给风景造成了巨大的破坏。现在一切都是模块化的,甚至树。
   
   在铁路桥那令人目眩的抛物线下,洗衣槌的
   砰砰声曾经回荡,湍急的水流
   像绿色的奶油,像不适合充盈的台面呢。
   方法太老了,
   午餐人们可以选择一个大的发臭的萝卜。
   在街上,一如既往地,有一股
   没有人注意到的炸鱼味。雨下不定决心。
   其他人喜欢别的方式。
   
   我需要和邮政员工,公务员,诸如此类的人交流。
   光睡觉是不够的。
   无论我处于何种睡眠压倒为的境地,我都必须大声
   反对不公正。只有这样,我才能明白世界和仆人所说的
   自我废除是什么意思,关键,据说,
   通向成功。站在那里沉思大海
   就是理解包裹的部分。我们需要的,因此,
   是市场花园带来的一种时间感,
   属于这一次的,被磨到剃刀的锋利度。然而,整个计划
   对任何股东来说都是看不见的,因此这种感觉
   减轻了,一幅合成肖像画
   可能不重要的想法首先穿过,像磨坊轮的
   肩膀一样,在水下耐心地苦干,然后又回到
   巅峰,那里大概就是口号所在的地方。
   在学校,他们教加减法之类的东西
   但不在峡谷里,也不在沸腾的泥浆里。
   地区居民被推搡着发现,实际上
   是一片巨大的沼泽,蟒蛇和一切,在他们的公共前院里。
   对我来说,这是无情的。我不能忍受背上的风
   把我造就成无,被
   移交,反过来,给
   这个男人,这个男人。因为他虽然耐心地风化
   那个名字,我们所有人都会想到的那一个,他出去
   又进来,不是为富足的最好益处,
   也不是,似乎,绝对不会落下的东西。
   
   对你来说,这是一个悖论:如果男人们被隔离
   那么为什么女人们没有?
   如果富人能够幸免于沙尘暴,那是因为他们红色和金色穿制服的
   车夫们,那么你在这里玩字母表:你发明的任何东西
   都不能成为全权代表,
   把它自己翻过来,在迷你景观上
   放射出铁辐条,于是站在
   一群熊一边,谁知道?谁知道任何一件事物
   有多少,如果另一件事物停止存在?你对这个男人
   说的话,这个男人,很冷,
   化石燃料。
   
   一个在洗衣房里打鼾,另一个
   在床边被打破。第三个悬在
   猴面包树上,因为所有的罪
   没有人知道,因为疏忽的罪就像珍珠
   紧挨着不知道的罪,并被原谅了
   这个。因此,这一切都围绕着
   个人的责任和意识,
   尘土戏剧的马戏团,剥光森林和汽车经销商,一个
   任何事情都可能发生和确实发生的地方,一个小时一个小时地过去。
Korean Soap Opera
   
   
   My sister and I don't seem to get along too well anymore.
   She always has to have everything new in her house. Cherished ideals
   don’t suit her teal,rust and eggshell color scheme.
   Of course, I was a buyer when she was still on the street
   peddling the Communist Youth weekly. I have a degree
   in marketing. Her boyfriend thinks I'm old-fashioned.
   Well, I guess I do have an old-fashioned mentality.
   
   What kind of a mentality
   causes men to commit suicide in their air-conditioned glass boxes?
   It has been a life of adjustments. I adjusted to the postwar boom
   though it broke up my family. Some took their honor to the mountains,
   to live on wood and water. But the investment years
   wrought havoc with the landscape. Everything is modular now, even the trees.
   
   Under the dizzying parabolas of the railroad bridge, where the thud
   of laundry mallets used to resound, the swiftly flowing
   current is like green cream, like baize unfit for fulling.
   So old are the ways,
   for lunch one might select a large smelly radish.
   In the streets, as always, there is a smell of frying fish
   no one notices. The rain cannot make up its mind.
   Other people like it other ways.
   
   I need to interact with postal employees, civil servants, that sort of thing.
   Just being asleep isn't enough.
   I must cry out against injustice in whatever position
   sleep overtakes me. Only then will I have understood what the world
   and servants mean by self-abolishment, the key, it is said,
   to success. To stand and contemplate the sea
   is to comprehend part of the package. What we need, therefore,
   is market gardens bringing a sense of time with them,
   of this time, honed to razor-sharpness. Yet the whole
   scheme is invisible to any shareholder, and so the feeling
   lessens, the idea that a composite portrait
   may not be so important after all takes over like the shoulder
   of a mill-wheel, slogging patiently underwater, then back
   to the zenith, where the watchword presumably is.
   In schools they teach things like plus and minus
   but not in the gorge, not in boiling mud.
   Area residents were jolted to find what in essence
   was a large swamp, pythons and all, in their communal front yard.
   To me, this is insensate. I cannot stand the wind at my back
   making of me nothing, to be handed
   over, in turn, to this
   man, this man. For though he weathered patiently
   the name, the one that occurs to all of us, he went out
   and came in, not in the best interests of abundance;
   not, it seems, being anything but about to fall.
   
   Here’s a paradox for you: if the men are segregated
   then why are the women not?
   If the rich can survive dust-storms thanks to their red-and-gold liveried
   postilions, then you are playing with an alphabet here: nothing
   you invent can be a plenipotentiary,
   turn itself inside-out, radiate
   iron spokes at the mini-landscape, and so side with a population
   of bears, who knows? Who knows how much there can be
   of any one thing if another one stops existing? And the word you give to this
   man, this man, is cold,
   fossil fuel.
   
   One snorts in the laundry, another
   is broken beside the bed. A third is suspended
   in a baobab for all the sins
   no one ever knew, for sins of omission are like pearls
   next to the sin of not knowing, and being excused
   for it. So it all comes round
   to individual responsibility and awareness,
   that circus of dusty dramas, denuded forests and car dealerships, a place
   where anything can and does happen, and hours and hours go by.
   
  
 楼主| 发表于 2021-2-26 12:28:26 | 显示全部楼层

  
浮木祭坛

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

   我来告诉你它像什么:
   如果你能负担得起它,你可能已经拥有了它,
   不问任何问题。如果它跑得好,把路拥抱得好,
   把你的身体像宽松舒适的西服一样成圆状托起,那就只有
   首付了;剩下的就是未来的回忆。
   在这个阶段所有走近他的人中,只有
   少数人能确切地描述他:漂泊者
   是共识,对老人彬彬有礼,
   对孩子漠不关心,对年轻人极为感兴趣,
   但至今,为什么还记得他?很少有人记得,
   这是很肯定的。我在卡尔弗市的一个后廊上
   追上了他,交换必要的
   点头,衬衫咬进脖子。你和一些
   没有意义的人,怎么什么都不属于他们,
   然而空虚总是伴随着你,
   排挤着悲伤,一面异教徒
   警觉的鼓,交换着目光,
   有人,后来没人能回忆起来的人,溜出侧门?

   浴室里有相当大的尴尬。
   其中一个在没有通知的情况下就出发了,在淤泥中
   在海滩上冲刷,是要签名的文件,
   要粘上的密封件。哦,为什么在这种情况下打扰一个陌生人,我们有
   足够的人来审查关注,记录;甚至有
   温暖,在这些深冬,一个没有季节的寒冷的夜晚,记得
   它是多么炎热和尖锐,只是几个季节前
   当它们穿着外套,如此这般的长度
   和汽车开过去,甚至就像它们现在在某些
   地区,那里道路被冲洗而且,小三角架形状的花
   出现了就消失了,为了安抚麝香之神,最肯定地,
   人们从大堂里涌出,他们的问候
   像冰川径流中的淤泥一样浓密,是标准的态度
   被撞击,没有喊声,没有逃避它们?
   啊你们中间必定有一个人知道这一切,
   为他预先谋划,却不说一句话。你们中间必定
   有一个人带着这消息跑到路上去,去寻求帮助,也许。

   然后,偶像眨眼,独木舟与它们倾斜的
   一排划手被看到,带着过度匆忙向后离开。
   现在是时候想想春天了,在没有极度绝望的口袋里
   或者在一片参差不齐但仁慈的乌云的威胁下,一个想法
   出现了:我们并不总是这样,似乎有什么东西在这里干预了
   大约一半;无论如何,大量的行动
   把我们正在做的事情刮成了形状,暂时。虽然我迷路了
   但我可以看到岛上的其他地方,野餐的遗迹
   比人们想象的要近,而前来解决这一切的人
   离我们更近,只要你签署一份文件
   免除其他人永久的责任,发誓
   你喜欢这光,这些鸟,这喋喋不休的教义
   和砰砰响的快门一样熟悉,首先,承诺不仅
   要着手从事你的生意,而且要做这件事,看到它被抽干,被清空,
   一个四季都能重新适应的盒子
   就像它们曾经做过的那样,在大火吞噬天空之前
   有斑点羽毛的飞机被看到摇摆着,下沉着,随着
   风的旋律飘荡,它在这里进入裂缝,同样的
   旧孔,这东西已经学会了。
   因为持续太长是下流的:
   你在镜子里惊呆的一个镜头就完全够了;雾爬上了
   多节的树根,人们仍然可以
   及时阻止它。不必有故事,尽管现在是
   睡觉时间,保育动物摆出充满期待,同情的姿势。
   然后在一个安静但紧张的时刻,划线的
   身份被揭示,合法的继承人站在门口。
   的确,这只是一幅画,但有人装裱它并挂了起来;
   这很适当。当太多的情绪一致时,当所有的窗户
   向着毁灭,它的宵禁使我们抛锚
   在逻辑之中,不再受到谴责,甚至不具有示范性,
   尽管是象征性的,像一些其他人在一辆旧车里讲话那样。
  
  

  
A Driftwood Altar


   I’ll tell you what it was like:
   If you could afford it, you could probably have had it,
   no questions asked. If it ran well, hugged the road well,
   cupped your body like a loose-fitting suit, there was only
   the down payment; the rest is future memories.
   Of all those who came near him at this stage, only
   a few can describe him with any certainty: a drifter
   was the consensus, polite with old people,
   indifferent to children, extremely interested in young adults,
   but so far, why remember him? And few did,
   that much is certain. I caught up with him
   on a back porch in Culver City, exchanged the requisite
   nod, shirt biting into the neck. How is it with you and some
   who have no meaning, to whom nothing pertains,
   yet the emptiness is always with you,
   crowding out sadness, a drum
   to which the pagan is alerted, glances are exchanged,
   and someone, whom later no one can recall, slips out the side door?

   In the bathroom there was considerable embarrassment.
   One had taken off without notice, and in the sludge
   that washes up on the beach are papers to be signed,
   seals to be affixed. O why in this case bother a stranger, there are
   enough of us to oversee the caring, the docketing; there is even
   warmth on these chilly evenings of late winter, a no-season, remembering
   how hot and sharp it was only a few seasons ago
   when they wore their coats such-and-such a length
   and cars drove by, even as they do now in certain
   precincts where the roads are washed and small, trivet-shaped flowers
   appear a moment and are gone, to appease the musk-god, most certainly,
   and people spill out of lobbies and their greetings thicken like silt
   in the runoff from a glacier and it is the standard attitudes
   that are struck, there is no cry, no escape from them?
   O certainly one of you must have known all this,
   had it plotted for him ahead of time and said nothing: certainly
   one of you runs down to the road with the news, or to get help, perhaps.

   Then the idol winks and pirogues with their slanting
   rows of oarsmen are seen departing backwards with undue haste.
   It is time to think of spring and in pockets of not extreme despair
   or under the threat of a ragged-looking but benevolent cloud, a thought
   occurs: we weren’t always like this, something seemed to intervene
   about halfway here; at any rate a great deal of action
   scrapes what we are doing into shape, for the time being. Though I am lost
   I can see other points on the island, remains of picnics nearer
   than one had thought, and closer still the one who comes
   to resolve it all, provided you sign a document
   absolving others from their eternal responsibility, swearing
   that you like this light, these birds, this rattling credo
   as familiar as a banging shutter, and above all, promising not
   just to go about your business but to do the thing, see it drained, emptied,
   a box in which four seasons will again fit
   just as they did once before fire took the sky
   and airplanes in their spotted plumage were seen to waver, and sink, drifting
   on the wind's tune that gets in cracks here, the same
   old bore, the thing already learned.
   For it is indecent to last long:
   one shot of you aghast in the mirror is quite enough; fog mounts
   gnarled roots of the trees and one could still
   stop it in time. There has to be no story, although it is
   bedtime and the nursery animals strike expectant, sympathetic poses.
   And then in a quiet but tense moment the crossed
   identities are revealed, the rightful heir stands in the doorway.
   True, it is only a picture, but someone framed and hung it;
   it is apposite. And when too many moods coincide, when all windows
   give on destruction, its curfew anchors us
   in logic, not reprehensible anymore, not even exemplary,
   though emblematic, as some other person talking in an old car would be.


  
  




  
新年的诗

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

   有一次,在外面的水上,在清澈的,19世纪初的暮色中,
   你请求时间暂停它的飞行。如果希望招致得比哭泣更多
   那将是我对你的希望,我亲爱的,我的天使。但在这个
   阴郁的避难所,其他的原则占了上风,不是吗?如果是这样的话。

   然后风就不由自主地吹下。
   我们出去看到事情真的发生了。
   季节一动不动,警觉地站着。我不知道滴在毛刺上
   有多静。我带着所有的
   包装和宁静来了,但我不断失去东西,

   我想知道澳大利亚。有点像加拿大?
   鸽子会飞吗?那儿有没有一种陌生感,来完成
   我中的那一个?或者我必须重新学习我的归档系统?
   我们能相信别人起诉我们
   他们只在晚上急促的时间看到我们
   从不停下来思考?哦,我对你如此光明,
   我的歌之鸟,曾经。现在,香蒲被献祭
   在冰冻的沼泽里,就是我有时间干的一切。
   日子如此两极分化。然而时间本身偏离了中心。
   至少我是这么感受的。

   我了解它,也了解我想象中的工业城市地图上的
   所有街道。但它也有自己的路要滑过。
   永远不会有任何将到的满足感;
   你排队等待着东西,污浊的光线
   是顽固的。钉子般的是我脑海中浮现的一个形容词,

   然而对它上升或下降的所有水平,我都接近这条运河。
   那时正是冬天。咖啡馆里和外面
   都用管道排烟,那只灰白色的大鸟
   从刻有字母的橱窗里飘出来,在不远处
   等着。另一次机会。这从来没有变成一种姿态。
  
  

  
Poem at the New Year


   Once, out on the water in the clear, early nineteenth-century twilight,
   you asked time to suspend its flight. If wishes could beget more than sobs
   that would be my wish for you, my darling, my angel. But other
   principles prevail in this glum haven, don’t they? If that’s what it is.

   Then the wind fell of its own accord.
   We went out and saw that it had actually happened.
   The season stood motionless, alert. How still the drop was
   on the burr I know not. I come all
   packaged and serene, yet I keep losing things,

   I wonder about Australia. Is it anything like Canada?
   Do pigeons flutter? Is there a strangeness there, to complete
   the one in me? Or must I relearn my filing system?
   Can we trust others to indict us
   who see us only in the evening rush hour
   and never stop to think? O I was so bright about you,
   my song bird, once. Now, cattails immolated
   in the frozen swamp are about all I have time for.
   The days are so polarized. Yet time itself is off-center.
   At least that’s how it feels to me.

   I know it as well as all the streets in the map of my imagined
   industrial city. But it has its own way of slipping past.
   There was never any fullness that was going to be;
   you stood in line for things, and the soiled light was
   impenitent. Spiky was one adjective that came to mind,

   yet for all its raised or lowered levels I approach this canal.
   Its time was right in winter. There was pipe smoke
   in cafes and outside the great ashen bird
   streamed from lettered display-windows, and waited
   a little way off. Another chance. It never became a gesture.
  
  




  
中央空调

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

   不是所有的花蕾都会开放,今年或任何一年。
   但树的框架发现这是
   走在一起的东西如何编织在一起的。解脱
   是这里的东西,是所有
   愿望的关键,包括我自己的---我说,“包括我自己”是什么意思?
   只不过,鲨鱼在啜饮了几口
   潜在的受害者后会感到疲倦,然后潜入
   海底下腹。那些信号交叉了。
   仙女们穿着拳击手的短裤盛开。

   好吧,但是今天呢,
   神秘的发酵过程从来没有发生过,
   让我们像薄饼一样扁平?从那里到这里
   我怎么得到的只有显示我的一个侧面?
   我不能脱裤子,这是革命的
   罪过,类似于侧着身子扭动。这种口香糖或
   乳胶把我拴在上面。这栋楼的楼层
   太多了,我觉得我们再也下不去了,
   或者在这个过程中,我会变成一个
   只适合于肠占卜的秘密葫芦。编有索引吗?

   不管怎样,这是一个下坡的过程。
   一旦意识到,我们就可以变成
   我们的父母,与他们携手共进
   就像启封致命的击鼓。
   这时,一只猫从木制品里跳出来
   说这都是个错误,它将如何等待
   你的反应,就像皮毛呈现薄雾的光环,
   金鱼转身离开一样急切。

   同样,一些其他的小过失也失踪了,
   其结果是一个幸运的巧合
   引领介绍给一个请愿者
   他刚刚翻开了一个激动人心的浪漫故事的页面
   在其中,国王戴着绿帽,钻石变成了眼泪。
   但被告知关于你的都好;
   它涂黄油于烤面包,就像他们在皮奥里亚说的那样。

   但是你---在这里的这家餐厅里---
   你是怎么到那里的?

   十五秒前我不再是活的。
   但没关系。你发现突然有一本
   你正读的新书鼓起
   你的精神,幸福地,当印刷的飞镖

   像百灵鸟飞过田野一样穿过书页时。现在,放下它。
   这儿有人说他或她认识你。

   所有人都从房子出去!
   毕竟,这只是一个女巫标签的游戏。
   菠菜的天空,反映在海洋的
   精确排泄音,是我们所拥有的:
   剥皮海报在一个古老的度假胜地
   宣布在某个7月25日的比赛。
   我们必须走吗?这里有更多的颜色,更多的选择,
   更多的缰绳,更多的翼形钢琴音符被卷入。
   没有别的只有生意,还有商人的
   沙色西装,他是怎么看你的,
   不太清楚如何去除你前面的油渍,
   但不确定吸尘器能不能去除它们。
   及时地我们刚刚疏远了,
   这说明了很多---
   上面说的是主要的,皮革断路器的漂流声。
   及时地我们两个在这里。

   正当杰克确定他的朋友考狄莉娅出去了
   正准备按前门铃的时候,一队
   蓝黄相间的飞机,像疯狂的蝴蝶,
   袭击了福克兰群岛的前哨站,那里有些人
   相信一个秘密被禁闭,可以救我们。
   但没人曾来过。杰克回到他现在演讲的城市。
   至于考狄莉娅,它几分钟就结束了---
   她猜想喘息意味着虚构,继续
   采取了必要的措施,太阳又被树林
   求爱,高兴地接受王位,如果它
   被奉献,高兴地退到老年,如果没有:
   这不重要,这只是一种方式,另一种方式,事情发生了,
   带一个人定期到牙医的候诊室
   带着它巨大的,吸引人的杂志。与此同时…

  
  

  
Central Air



   Not all the buds will open, this year or any year.
   But the frame of the tree discovers this is how
   what goes together gets woven together. Relief
   is the thing here, the key
   to all aspirations, including my own---what
   do I mean,“including my own”?
   Just that the shark gets tired after a few sips
   of potential victims and dives off deep into
   the underbelly of the sea. That signals are crossed.
   That the fairies bloom in boxer shorts.

   All right, but what about today,
   the mystical leavening process that never occurs,
   leaving us flat as crepes? How do I get
   from there to here with only one side of me showing?
   I can’t take my pants off, that is a revolutionary
   sin, akin to wiggling sideways. And this gum or
   latex keeps me chained to it. There are so many floors
   in this building I feel we shall never get down,
   or that in the process I shall become a secret gourd
   fit only for haruspication. Does that get indexed?

   Anyhow, it's a downhill process.
   Once that gets realized we can turn
   into our parents, joining hands with them
   just as the fatal drumroll is unsealed.
   At that point a cat jumps out of the woodwork
   to say it’s all a mistake, how it’ll await
   your reaction as eagerly as fur takes on the aura of mist,
   and goldfish turn away.

   Too, some other peccadillo is missing,
   which turns out to be a lucky coincidence
   leading to an introduction to a memorialist
   who has just turned the pages of a thrilling romance
   in which a king is cuckolded and diamonds get turned into tears.
   But that is all right that gets told about you;
   it butters the toast, as they say in Peoria.
   Yet you---here in this trattoria---
   how did you get there?

   Fifteen seconds ago I was no longer living.
   But that’s all right. You see it peps you up
   to suddenly have a new book that you
   are reading, happily, as print darts across pages

   like larks across a field. Now, put it down.
   There is someone here who says he or she knows you.

   Everyone out of the house!
   It was only a game of witch-tag, after all.
   The spinach sky, reflected in the sea’s
   precise excremental tone, is what we have:
   peeling posters in an old resort
   announcing races on a certain July 25th.
   Did we have to go? Here was more color, more options,
   more reins to take, more flugel notes to be involved in.
   There is nothing but business, and a businessman’s
   sand-colored suit, how he looked at you,
   not quite sure how to take the grease-spots on your front,
   yet unsure that a vacuum cleaner could remove them.
   In time we just drifted apart,
   and that says a lot---
   says it above the drifting sound of the main, the leather breakers.
   And in time we two are here.

   Just as Jack had made sure that his friend Cordelia was out
   and was preparing to ring the front doorbell a fleet
   of blue and yellow airplanes, like frenzied butterflies,
   attacked the outpost in the Falkland Islands where some
   believe a secret is immured that shall save us.
   But nobody ever came. Jack returned to the city where he now lectures.
   As for Cordelia, it was all over in a few minutes---
   she guessed that the gasp meant fiction, and proceeded
   to take the necessary measures, and the sun was again wooed out
   of the woods, happy to accept the throne if it
   were offered, happy to retreat into senility if it were not:
   it doesn't matter, it's just the way, the other way things happen,
   that brings one regularly to the dentist's waiting room
   with its large, appealing magazines. Meanwhile ...
  
  




 楼主| 发表于 2021-2-27 20:58:48 | 显示全部楼层


青春的魔角
   
   (选自Hotel Lautreamont)
   作者:(美)约翰.阿什贝利(John Ashberry)
   译者:剑郭琴符
   
   灰色的人争论别人晾衣架的高度
   “只是送给我们一些水,也许”
   让他向自动扶梯上最后一卷移动
   “很苦,苦是它的味道”
   
   我们不付钱给贡献者
   “只是送给我们一些水,也许”
   我们会谈论新的平淡
   “很苦,苦是它的味道”
   
   我可能会和你睡在一起从现在到下个星期的某个时候
   “只是送给我们一些水,也许”
   我没有做出军队没有实施的威胁
   “很苦,苦是它的味道”
   
   一个四月天为它的模型渴望一根拉绳毫无意义
   “只是送给我们一些水,也许”
   沿着旁边广告牌的咔嗒声缺乏变化
   “很苦,苦是它的味道”
   
   在这里和太平洋之间的某个地方时间揉成一团
   “只是送给我们一些水,也许”
   但我的拼写,一如既往,是难以忍受地正确
   “很苦,苦是它的味道”
   
   我欢迎像太阳这样的入侵
   “只是送给我们一些水,也许”
   我们周围的蓄水层都枯竭了,热量飙升,
   “很苦,苦是它的味道。”
   
   首先在梦里我问了齿轮的包装谜团呈现
   “你是屁股上的痛我的爱人”
   两只乌鸦打嗝走了,那一天歌曲遮掩了天空
   “一英里内我不得不停”
   
   世纪从它的褶皱里抽搐并呕吐侏儒
   “你是屁股上的痛我的爱人”
   骡灰色的朝圣者被看见离开
   “一英里内我不得不停”
   
   我从来不知道这个牌子的侮辱的名字
   “你是屁股上的痛我的爱人”
   相信我我想玩的海岸仍然美丽
   “一英里内我不得不停”
   
   我们能不能在晚上吃饭并寄生于睡眠
   “你是屁股上的痛我的爱人”
   早晨会给我们带来惊喜,风就像多变的硬币
   “一英里内我不得不停”
   
   你是我杯中的真理,记忆边缘的紫罗兰
   “你是屁股上的痛我的爱人”
   在我垂死的那一刻找回我于是我们的心将腐烂
   “一英里内我不得不停”
   
   记住坐在你旁边的石头---
   “你是屁股上的痛我的爱人”
   有时它们来找你并忘记
   “一英里内我不得不停”
The Youth’s Magic Horn  
   
   The gray person disputes the other's clothes-horse stature
   just send us some water maybe
   herding him onto the escalator for a last roll
   and bitter, bitter is its taste
   
   We don’t pay contributors
   just send us some water maybe
   We’ll talk about the new flatness
   and bitter, bitter is its taste
   
   I'll probably be sleeping with you sometime between now and next week
   just send us some water maybe
   I haven’t made a threat that the army hasn’t carried out
   and bitter, bitter is its taste
   
   Meaningless an April day hungers for its model a drawstring
   just send us some water maybe
   Billboards empty of change rattle along beside
   and bitter, bitter is its taste
   
   Somewhere between here and the Pacific the time got screwed up
   just send us some water maybe
   but my spelling, as always, is excruciatingly correct
   and bitter, bitter is its taste
   
   and I welcome intrusions like the sun
   just send us some water maybe
   and all around us aquifers are depleted, the heat soars,
   and bitter, bitter is its taste.
   
   First in dreams I questioned the casing of the gears the enigma presented
   You’re a pain in the ass my beloved
   The twa corbies belched and were gone, song veiled sky that day
   I have to stop in one mile
   
   The century twitched and spewed gnomes from its folds
   You’re a pain in the ass my beloved
   The mule-gray pilgrim was seen departing
   I have to stop in one mile
   
   I never knew the name for this brand of contumely
   You’re a pain in the ass my beloved
   Believe me I wanted to play the shores are still beautiful
   I have to stop in one mile
   
   Here shall we sup and infest sleep for the night
   You’re a pain in the ass my beloved
   Morning will surprise us with winds like variable coins
   I have to stop in one mile
   
   You're the truth in my cup, violet in the edge of memory
   You’re a pain in the ass my beloved
   Retrieve me at my dying moment so shall our hearts decay
   I have to stop in one mile
   
   Remember the stone that sits beside you---
   You’re a pain in the ass my beloved
   Sometimes they come for you and forget
   I have to stop in one mile
   
   
属于梦与做梦
   
   (选自Hotel Lautreamont)
   作者:(美)约翰.阿什贝利(John Ashberry)
   译者:剑郭琴符
   
   告诉我更多关于那条长街的事。事实上,我们承担了过多义务;
   时间不多了。当所有的一切仍然对所有的人来说,我们
   不再在日出留下的游泳池里游泳。不,
   一片森林恢复了严格的叙述。一个人戴上手套
   来避开东西。它是什么?居住在一把椅子旁
   离温度计如此之近,谁也数不出来,这是一项业务,
   也就是说,它不能放在一边,走到你的客人面前,
   警告他们,是我们喜欢的娱乐的一面,所有的
   一切,所有沉默的生产者,他们让这些干草
   进入隧道,从睡眠远远的另一边出来。真的,你的生活太迷人了。我不明白。我也不干---
   我是说我原来是这里的击剑教练。
   现在,我的头埋在阅读的面粉中
   这半透明的一页就像一个空白的增长,
   所以到床上。真的太糟糕了,虽然没有经过计算,
   也永远不可能---微小雪晶的珠穆朗玛峰
   要先算出来的,这不太可能。
   
   与此同时,我们生活在涡流暴风雪的镇纸中
   小玩具巴士涂成了天一样的朱红色
   当它合理地升起来保卫我们,在日出后
   或日落前的半小时里,而且喜欢,它喜欢
   博物馆的想法。然后我们这么多人被接走了。
   通常你认为你可以看到甚至闻到它的一部分
   在它也被收起来,使用和收起来之前。但是这些
   如此近的夜晚将成为详尽的过去的一部分,那个古老的
   奇妙装置,一个我们从来都不确定的东西---
   
   它仍然有活力,玩耍到拥挤的房子里。
   今天的分析家们一定会想的,那些为了价值
   而剥它皮的人,然后会来和我们玩游戏
   由于自己危险行为的结果。
   那是一个似乎就在那里的山上的夜晚,我们
   乐意而且很有用地把自己扔在地上,被动物的情绪
   弄湿,哽咽着咒骂:十二月一日!那个口交者
   最近不在我们穿过死尸的缝隙
   或休眠的植被看到的附近。我们中的一个现在必须全力以赴:
   我们抽签吗?别太可笑了,但也别
   朝海象的任何方向看,大海的洞穴
   容纳着我们,尽管我们在这条简陋的街道上
   似乎对你要求这么少。第三次发生的时候,我以为我从一个新的角度
   看到了它。随后,跟进电话来了。我是不是想让它
   和我的想象,那些别的东西的滑轮一起传递,
   如果是这样的话,我该怎么处理这些标记着魔术师空间的
   损伤,如果他离开了什么地方,如果我唱过
   一首大胆的歌?尽管今夜我将扰乱
   最顽固的,根深蒂固的目标的呼吸,这样我就可以说,你
   可以来找我,一次像那些所说的攻击,及时达到了
   一个疯狂的目标,这就是我们所说的历史;那么,它将不会比
   一个决议,上帝作出的,更近;如果这一团糟是留在我家门口的东西
   我必须大声喊叫。今后我们
   再也没有像这样中伤对话的时间。
   分歧将被搁置一边。是啊,还有彩虹,叙述的
   片段,即使是我们中最优秀的人,也能紧跟到
   在狂野的野草中,在这里风中结束的东西中。安,如果我女儿
   把它带给你,还是有用,对在你的城堡里
   发现一只老鼠,结果变成了盲目的白昼,有些人
   认为这种激情是在晚上产生的。我们都在你身边。
   
   突然到了我的时间。我不知道看守人从哪里
   消失了。他告诉我们那晚,然后就消失了。
   星星在小密西西比河中呼噜呼噜地叫着,纯净的
   径流,鼓胀的天空。毫无疑问,是我们的。如果当我们还清它的
   债务,全部,它仍然向我们跑来,太纠缠,想不起来
   还有什么其他储藏的故事要讲,只有最后的男人们
   把它们带走。再也没有见过这些。我的牙痛正在消退
   但我想我不会是最终的一个,顾名思义,谁拯救了
   一个人追求的东西,矢车菊迫使我们从不出现
   在唯一它是想要的瞬间,但在那房子后面的某个地方,
   不,另一个。此外,当你怀疑是否能点一根火柴。
Of Dreams and Dreaming
   
   
   
   Tell me more about that long street. Actually we’ve overextended;
   time is running out. While still all things to all people we
   are no longer swimming in the pool left by the sunrise. No,
   a forest has resumed the strict narration. One puts gloves on
   to ward off something. What is it? And living by a chair
   so close to a thermometer no one can count is business,
   that is, it can't be put aside, and coming out to your guests,
   to warn them, is the recreational side we love, that, and all
   things, all producers of silence that let this hay
   into the tunnel and came out the far side of sleep. Really, your life is so fascinating. I don’t get it. Neither do I---
   I mean I was originally the fencing instructor here.
   Now my head gets buried in the flour
   of reading this translucent page as a vacuum mounts,
   and so off to bed. Really it's too bad, though not calculated,
   and can never be---Everests of tiny snow crystals would
   have to be accounted for first, and that's not likely.
   
   Meanwhile we live in the paperweight of swirling blizzards
   and little toy buses painted vermilion like the sky
   when it rises up reasonably to our defense in the half-hour
   after sunrise or before sunset and likes to, it likes
   the idea of museums. Then so much of us is fetched away.
   Often you think you can see or even smell some part of it
   before it too is put away, used and put away. But then these
   so recent nights would be part of the elaborate past, that old
   contraption, the one we were never sure about---
   
   It is lively still, playing to packed houses.
   What must the present-day analysts think, the ones who husk it
   for what that's worth, then come to play games with us
   as a consequence of their own dangerous behavior.
   It was night over a mountain that seemed to be there, readily
   and so useful we threw ourselves on the ground dank with animal
   emotions and choked-out expletives: December first! The cocksucker
   hasn’t been around lately we see through gaps in the dead
   or is it dormant vegetation. One of us has to go the whole way now:
   shall we draw straws? Don't be ridiculous but don't look
   either in the direction of the walrus, the caves of the sea
   hold us, though we appear to you here on this simple street
   asking so little. The third time it happened I thought I was seeing
   it in a new light. Then the follow-up call came. Did I want it
   delivered with the sheaves of my imagination, those other ones,
   and if so what would I do with these lesions marking the enchanter’s
   space if he is off somewhere, bold song
   if ever I sang one? Though this night I shall untune
   the most insistent, entrenched breaths of purpose just so I can say you
   can come to me, an attack like those told of in time to
   an insane purpose that is what we call history; then it will be no nearer
   to a resolution, by God; I have to cry out if this mess is what is
   left at my doorstep. In the future we’ll
   have no time for backbiting conversations like this one.
   Differences will be put aside. Aye, and rainbows too, slugs
   of narrative even the best of us could follow to what ends
   in wild weeds, here at the wind. An’ (1)if my daughter
   bring it over to you there'll be no less use for a mouse
   found in your castle and turned out into blind day, the passion
   some think comes at night. And we're all over you.
   
   Suddenly it was my time. I don't know whither the watchman
   vanished. He told us of the night, then vanished.
   The stars are purring in the little Mississippi runoff of the
   pure, bulging sky. Ours to consider, no doubt. And what if when we pay
   it off, in full, it still runs toward us, too badgered to think
   to mention what other tales might have been in store, only the last men
   took them away. These were never seen again. My toothache is subsiding
   but I won't I guess be the ultimate one, the who-by-definition-saves
   what one is after, cornflower that obliges us by never appearing
   in the sole instant it is wanted, but is somewhere behind that house,
   no, that other one. Besides, when in doubt you can strike a match.
   
   ---
   (1)原文如此,实在不知道是何意。
   
   
季节性
   
   (选自Hotel Lautreamont)
   作者:(美)约翰.阿什贝利(John Ashberry)
   译者:剑郭琴符
   
   延长的季节意味着什么,
   一个单一音符周围的光环?
   投射在屏幕上的生硬文字
   是我们的意思,不是我们写的。
   
   一个单一音符周围的光环
   让人抬头看。小心的打击
   是我们的意思,不是我们写的。
   一个撒谎的作家所知道的
   
   让人抬头看。小心的打击
   松开一个长久以来寻求的定义。
   一个撒谎的作家所知道的
   是快乐,被磨蚀所神圣化。
   
   松开一个长期寻求的定义:
   延长季节意味着什么?
   是被磨蚀所神圣化的快乐
     在屏幕上投射的生硬文字?
Seasonal
   
   
   
   What does the lengthening season mean,
   the halo round a single note?
   Blunt words projected on a screen
   are what we mean, not what we wrote.
   
   The halo round a single note
   makes one look up. The careful blows
   are what we mean, not what we wrote.
   And what a lying writer knows
   
   makes one look up. The careful blows
   unclench a long-sought definition.
   And what a lying writer knows
   is pleasure, hallowed by attrition.
   
   Unclench a long-sought definition:
   what does the lengthening season mean?
   Is pleasure hallowed by attrition
   blunt words projected on a screen?
   
   
卡马林斯卡亚(1)
   
   (选自Hotel Lautreamont)
   作者:(美)约翰.阿什贝利(John Ashberry)
   译者:剑郭琴符
   
   这是独一无二的天气,啊冰瓜形甜点大学!
   
   他们真的在那里建了什么东西吗?
   轮到谁去查明。
   巨量的云层倾泻而来,从那边,他们说。
   嘴里塞满了新闻,虽然没有什么特别的新闻,
   堵住了走廊。后来的面貌被发现,
   被研制,像往常一样,它们三三两两地成扇形散开
   或者稍微站在一边讨论正在讨论的任何东西。
   对我们所有人来说,伟大的时刻的范例已经到来。
   我们中的一些人获得了立竿见影的好处。正是那天下午
   我们五个人在看大海;海岸开始无情地审问
   我们为这裂口感到高兴,它没有产生任何东西和知识,
   等待的自由。
   
   “看看你的心和责难。但不要扔外文文章。”
   从高原,高地上下来之后,我们惊讶于
   每一件事物所拥抱的可能性的力量,但首要的是
   它们持续了多长时间---比意识本身更长。我们可以继续建筑
   和结构,连接我们的棚子,将永远在那里,
   宽容,侵蚀。力量不确定
   压倒了一个人。总有法律,人们违反它们,但这不是重点。
   什么是雄伟的血统,仅仅是空气的神经末梢,加上香料。
   我们不常用这种方式来指某事,说:
   
   “这一定是勇敢的,否则我就不会去做,
   不自觉地;也许是在我睡觉的时候。可是有桌子就在我的附近,
   近得可以偷听到,他只说是爸爸带来你的,
   我们必须弥补。想弥补什么弥补编什么。从杂志上
   偷来,没人会知道区别。利用它的共振
   把剩下的扔掉,顺着陡峭的峡谷扔进垃圾堆。
   这样威胁就消除了。女招待甜甜地问
   还有什么别的我需要的,我说“膨胀”,
   它正在摆脱牵制,油毡的展开如此快,我
   住在幻想的王国,正是我也来了。
   我周围都是赞许
   还有一个昂贵的灯座,那里的秒融化了,在一个
   太深的为睡眠的裂缝里,我已经画好了,有人告诉我;
   光和篱笆已经说过了它。我被从树叶快速运输到高高的草地上
   不知道我是否做到了,也不知道其他人是否做到了,确实只有
   一条信息在瞬间的港湾里:写书生还的
   唯一真正的方法。的确,
   波旁酒的酸味已经止住了;现在将宣布
   剩下的楼梯,然后我们会看到。
   那么一个火车头可以像大象一样通过,没有人
   抬起他们的眼睛,这是真的。她说,时间已经过去了。
   但即使是这首乏力的天鹅之歌对我来说也似乎是新闻---
   还有那么多其他人出去了并变得---
   无论发生什么事,都会像消防车一样变成红色和金色。
   现在他说,她说他不知道他们把它放在哪里
   她说,他说法律很快就结束了,在土地的过渡期
   我们没有一个人会哭,但是很多人,还有我们会看到
   灾难的样子,月亮退到那里,人们缺乏
   关注。”然后他马上出来这样说。做了。但是州长
   和他的人在那里。这意思是---?但是一个女人读了《骚扰取缔令》。
   现在一切都是歌声,紧贴着
   晶石,那珍贵的一个,总是
   出现的东西,光芒四射,为书籍的一个,这些你必须告诉
   他们,真的。那是不是说我们被放出?
   听着,密码就像市中心,没有和平
   被禁止,现在我们可以到我们想去的地方
   而且不能到达,但陡峭的旅程
   是安全的。你还想我怎么样?真的。
   ----
   (1)卡玛林斯卡亚,管弦乐曲。俄国作曲家格林卡作于1848年。
Kamarinskaya
   
   
   
   And it was uniquely the weather, O bombes-glaceés university!
   
   Had they actually built something there?
   It was whose turn to find out.
   Tremendous lashings of cloud were pouring in, from over there, they said.
   Mouths choked with news, though no news in particular,
   blocked the corridor. Later aspects were discovered,
   developed, and as always, they fanned out in twos and threes
   or stood a little to one side to discuss whatever was being discussed.
   The great moment paradigm had arrived for all of us.
   Some of us reaped instant benefits. That very afternoon
   we were five looking at the sea; the shore began its pitiless interrogation
   and we were glad of the cleft that produced nothing and knowledge,
   the freedom to wait.
   
   look in thy heart and wite. But don't throw foreign articles.
   And after coming down from the plateau, the heights, we are amazed
   at the power of the possibilities enfolded in each thing, but above all how long
   they have lasted---longer than consciousness itself. We can go on building
   and the structure, the shed that joins ours, will always be there,
   kind, undermining. And the strength to be indeterminate
   overtakes one. There are always laws, and people to break them; that’s not the point.
   What is is the majestic lineage that is merely nerve endings of the air, plus spice.
   It's not often we get to point to something this way, saying:
   
   “It must be daring or I would not have done it,
   not consciously; in my sleep perhaps. And yet there are tables near mine,
   close enough to overhear, and all he says is Daddy brought you,
   we must make it up. Make up anything you like. Steal it
   from a magazine, no one will know the difference. Use its resonance
   and throw the rest away, down the steep ravine into the dump.
   That way the menace is erased. And the waitress asked sweetly
   if there was anything else I would be needing and I said Swell,
   it's the unpinning, the unrolling of the linoleum so soon, and I
   who had dwelt in realm of fancy it was I who was coming too.
   There was approval all around me
   and a costly lamp-base where the seconds melted and in a
   gash too deep for sleep I had plotted it already, I was being told;
   the light and the fences had said it. I was being rushed from leaves to tall grass
   not knowing whether I had made it or whether the others had, sure only of
   one piece of information in the instant harbor: the one true way
   to make a book and get out alive. Surely,
   the bourbon sours have stopped; now will be the declaration
   of the rest of the stairway, and then we'll see.
   And it’s true then a locomotive may pass through like an elephant and no
   one raise their eyes. The time is past, she said.
   But even this wan swan song looks like news to me---
   there are so many others out and getting---
   and whatever happens will be red and gold like a fire engine.
   Now he said that she said that he didn't know where they put it
   and she said that he said that the law was over soon, that in the interim of the land
   not one of us was going to cry, but many, besides we’d see
   what a disaster looked like, with the moon back there and people’s lack
   of attention.” Then he got right out and said so. Did it. But the sheriff
   and his men were there. Did that mean---? But a woman read the riot act.
   Now all was song, and cleaving
   to the spar, that precious one, thing
   that always turns up, radiant, one for the books, you must tell
   them about this, really. Did that mean we had been let out?
   Listen, the password is like downtown, no peace
   prohibited, we can get where we want now
   and can’t get to but the steep ride
   is safe. What do you want with me anymore? True.
   
   

 楼主| 发表于 2021-2-27 21:00:14 | 显示全部楼层
大象游客
   
   (选自Hotel Lautreamont)
   作者:(美)约翰.阿什贝利(John Ashberry)
   译者:剑郭琴符
   
   甜蜜的年轻人:“你们为什么都垂头丧气?”
   暴躁的绅士:“我们都在做变老的事,
   或者看起来是这样;我们在继续前进。白天的临近
   会让你失望。坐在这一刻,
   停在这甲板上。如果地球落到你身上会怎么样?
   但谎言,等等,有关暗杀的肮脏的色拉
   正在临近。找不到什么东西。”
   
   来,试试“这”房间的阴暗。
   我想你会觉得舒服多了
   既然刺客已经走了。
   或者逃走了。花一周时间并关掉引擎。
   但我们必须设法呆在这儿的山里,或者至少
   徘徊,在正确的位置。有些事我还没告诉你。
   新斯科舍的州花是什么?
   我们依靠谁
   当我们缠绕在降落伞里向下扭动时
   地面来迎接我们的速度太快了?
   那时候你可以用报纸,
   但努力在大草原上找一份。我被
   这一切的优雅所蒙蔽
   但现在我要迈出一步,哪怕只是为了拯救自己
   是的,还有其他人。医生
   
   永远不会告诉你为什么这些四足四足动物是朋友,
   如果只有恶劣天气的。有很多东西在信封里,
   和房子后面的洞里,
   但如果我们认为我们在这种情况下更好,
   就给它们一些它们“想要的”。饰有流苏的树。
   等到我们签字的时候---等待,莲花
   想说一句话:它是“日本制造的”。
Elephant Visitors
   
   
   Sweet young thing: “why are you all down in the mouth?”
   Testy Gent: “We’re all in the business of getting older,
   or so it seems; we're moving on. The daytime approach
   can fail you. Sit on this moment,
   pause on this deck. What if the earth fell on you?
   But the dirty salad of lies, etc., about assassination
   is approaching. Something has not been found. ”
   
   Here, try the gloom in this room.
   I think you’ll find it more comfortable
   now that the assassins have gone away.
   Or got away. Take a week and shut off the engines.
   But we do have to manage to stay here in the mountains, or at least
   hover, in place. There are things I still haven't told you.
   What is the state flower of Nova Scotia?
   On whom do we depend
   when we twist downward tangled in the parachute
   and the ground is coming to greet us too quickly?
   That’s when you could use a newspaper,
   but try and find one in the prairie. I was muffled
   by the elegance of it all
   but now I’ll take one step if only to save myself,
   yes, and others. Doctors
   
   never tell you why these four-footed quadrupeds are friends,
   if only foul-weather ones. There's a lot in envelopes,
   and in a hole behind the house,
   but if we think we’re better in this instance,
   give them something they WANT. Tasseled trees.
   Until which time we sign off---wait, the lotus
   wants to say something: it’s MADE IN JAPAN.
   
生命的大桥游戏
   
   (选自Hotel Lautreamont)
   作者:(美)约翰.阿什贝利(John Ashberry)
   译者:剑郭琴符
   
   因为一件又一件事情,它们都
   太复杂了。有人看见我离开了。
   天哪,一只青蛙。太好笑了,那块
   脚手架在那片深红色的云层上
   飞来飞去,为了他们的共同改善,实际上。
   试着大声说出来。一个很好的军事
   气氛,然后在散步的地方
   我弄错了,而且再次发生。
   我们都摔倒在我们的数字上,如果一看见
   就相信,就像楼梯上单调的挥手。
   
   不,伤疤。你忘了包
   一些。世界将在没有它们的情况下
   生存,我们必须赶紧梦想出
   一些其他同样的危机。先是男人
   然后是我,在箱子里
   过夜,有时。有时我们在上升
   有时我们在下降。需要我们中的一个来
   重新定位我们,到那时危险已经把这一天磨损
   成其核心。最好不要
   在这里。但是,如果我们在水和美分之后徘徊
   那么没有什么是太迟钝的,对于气候、时间
   和我们向后旅行的一切来说:一个好的形象,
   其余的被围墙隔离。
   
   你觉得对这一切冲突
   你能更好吗?萨格勒布屋顶上的
   跷跷板消失了,是它的一部分。
   那天报纸上没有扁桃体,没有面条。
   
   一个人试图保持哎哟,对那么多
   想到的外国的东西,但是当芥末
   从日记中渗出时,优雅已经从生活中消失了。
   现在没什么可修复的。
The Great Bridge Game of Life
   
   
   
   What with one thing and another they were all
   too complicated. I was seen leaving.
   Good grief, a frog. How funny that piece
   of scaffolding flits against
   yon crimson cloud, to their mutual betterment, actually.
   Try saying that aloud. A nice military
   mood and then where in the walk
   I was mistaken and that took again.
   We all fell over our numbers, if seeing
   is to believing as the flat wave is on the stair.
   
   No, scars. You forgot to pack
   some. The world will live
   without them and we must scurry to dream up
   some other identical crisis. First it's men and
   then it’s me, that stayed nights
   in a box, sometimes. Sometimes we were up and
   sometimes we were down. It takes one of us to
   reposition us and by that time danger has worn the day
   down to its nub. It's best not to be
   here. But if we linger after waters and cents
   nothing is then too obtuse for the clime, the time
   and all we travelled backward for: one good image,
   the rest fenced off.
   
   Do you think you’re better for
   all that clashing? The seesaw on the roof
   in Zagreb disappeared, part of it.
   There were no tonsils, no noodles in the paper that day.
   
   One tries to keep oh so many
   foreign things in mind but as mustard
   seeps from a diary, the elegance had gone out of life.
   Now there was nothing to repair.
   
逝去的光泽
   
   (选自Hotel Lautreamont)
   作者:(美)约翰.阿什贝利(John Ashberry)
   译者:剑郭琴符
   
   哦,我是哦,如此
   哦,于是
   这里事情有点问题,
   一个夏天的感冒。
   
   “但我不知道他们胜任什么是否他们胜任什么
   别的事因为”
   
   我们几年前就让它适应
   让它适应
   一个原型的适应
   
   当它不能继续下去
   当它扎根
   船不得不离开去岛上---不管是哪一个都没关系。
   那里总是太热
   勺子微微弯曲
   有人,总有其他人,拯救了这一天
   尽管为了丁香花不顾一切,
   无视火山警告的打嗝
   是的,火灾是为了那一天而储存。
   
   是的,如同一条鱼我喜欢上游泳课。
   进入伴随我们的寒冷,我们已经掌握了感官
   现在所能教给我们的一切。只有我们赤裸裸的智慧
   稍微忍受疏远
   在弯腰的树下弯腰。
   
   现在在信中如此之快---
   笔如何和文字竞赛,强调
   它的快乐,所有的圆点和花体
   都升起在同一个天堂之下!
   它对我的意义大于对它的意义
   我被乌鸦通过的叫声所照亮
   像落日中的果酱一样被弄脏
   它们拥有这里,
   
   随着地球摇摆的触感
   加深,通向许多东西
   
   极光高耸在
   
   可想而知的十月能是的东西的光环上
   
   山上的粘液每天都
   变硬,令我惊讶。花园里的
   勃起使我们惊奇。
   当致命的美丽睡眠接管了
   黑暗,囚禁了那些拥有钥匙的拥护者,
   把钥匙给你看,把它压在你手里
   但这就像一个梦,你说
   它永远不会比其瞬间持久,所以我们
   在这里的地面上
   一个孩子给你带来了另一把
   比上一把更白的钥匙
   来打开小齿轮,位置,书柜里的声音
   可以不声不响地居住
   有那么多可以赞美,
   仇恨,
   一是对模式的感激,
   那模糊,素净的面孔,
   大写的“T”在“The:”中
The Departed Lustre
   
   
   Oh I am oh so
   oh so
   Something is slightly wrong here,
   a summer cold.
   
   but I dont know what they’re up to whether they’re up to something
   else because
   
   We made it fit years ago
   made it fit in
   an archetypal fit
   
   and when it didn’t go on
   when it took root
   the ship was obliged to leave for the islands---it doesn’t matter which ones.
   Where it’s always too hot
   and the spoons are slightly bent
   and someone, always some other one, saves the day
   though hell-bent for the lilacs,
   heedless of the volcano’s warning belch
   yes, and the fires are put away for that day.
   
   Yes, like a fish I enjoy swimming lessons.
   Out into the cold with us, we have mastered all that the senses
   can teach us now. Only our naked intelligence
   stands somewhat apart
   bowed under the bowing tree.
   
   Such speed in the letter now---
   how the pen races over words, underscoring
   its happiness, and all the dots and curlicues
   arise under a single heaven!
   It means more to me than to it
   and I am lightened by the passing cry of crows
   blotted like jam in the sunsets
   they have here,
   
   as the swinging touch of the earth
   deepens, leads to much
   
   and the aurora stands tall on the nimbus
   
   of what imaginable October could be
   
   and the mucus of mountains hardens
   each day, to my surprise. Erections
   surprise us in gardens.
   When the fatal beauty-sleep takes over
   darkness imprisons the advocates who had the key,
   showed it to you, pressed it into your hand
   but it was like a dream you said
   it could never outlast its moment so here
   we are on the ground
   and a child brings you another key
   whiter than the last one
   to unlock pinions, positions, bookcases
   
   where the voice can dwell unsinging
   There is so much to praise,
   to hate,
   one is grateful for the patterns
   the obscure, plain faces,
   The capital “T” in “The:”
   
维拉内拉诗
   
   (选自Hotel Lautreamont)
   作者:(美)约翰.阿什贝利(John Ashberry)
   译者:剑郭琴符
   
   当它展开,呈现出雨中花园的
   某些方面时,其他人迎接它的
   欢呼声也散去,消失。现在谁
   能说,当破旧的夜晚来临,你
   心烦意乱地看你的肩膀,那夜的主人是否
   有权去掉它在条状和面具状的
   碎片的任何一部分,这样到了早晨
   除了杯子下面新月形的重音外
   就什么也没有留下?它们被视为真的消失了,
   空虚的弓形魔王,它停留了片刻
   来发亮?如果我告诉你,这一原因的
   方方面面都是事先注定的,从
   风骗子的经纪人到谷粒
   在其休克中的肿胀的耳朵,没有人,没有一台收音机,
   被指责对这一幕的
   逐渐揭开不专心?
   
   这会凄凉地有关系,对那些,种植者,
   留下来在蝙蝠和金链花中设计藏头诗的理事
   其动机将是苍白的,其设计,
   奇怪地在横幅上滚动,很容易
   翻译成乌尔都语:“让我们把男孩们的火扑灭。”
   不,还有别的人也很悲伤,但是让我们听听它
   在马贩子的佩戴珠宝的雨中丛林体育馆,
   那消失的铜币,其耳朵,大号的铜色,疯狂地闪光了
   一点点,在每一个新的领奖台恶作剧锵锵
   就位的时候,就像一群蜜蜂,质疑,不确定日期是不是
   去年的。如果是,给予它们一个警告:
   早晨是及时的,当然没有脚拖着,然而一种
   像狼一样的疲倦会把这一刻炸成碎片。我们就像
   在床上一样好,我们
   真正想知道的一切是另一个家伙表上的时间。
   他多么艰难地制造它,变成了什么样的两人组,可怕的微笑
   传递着双手、舞会约会、喉咙里的捕捉物,可怕的
   男子气概,对他来说,时间是一个上升斜坡,由几百个烟头组成的
   月光加冕,而向城里的
   返回是巫婆,一对拴着皮带的苏格兰人。
   
   其他人聚集得多快啊!我们是不是像去年一样
   被用虹吸管吸抽走了,用绳子别着?我们
   富裕直到某一天,现在,游荡着,小星星
   轻蔑地摇着她的珠子:不,我们甚至还没有开始
   明白罪行在哪里,我们
   被召唤到多么简洁的存在,如果它消失了!
   那些线,在背后,似乎与我们的父亲们运球时的画面
   相吻合,但反过来,画面是大街,
   泰特斯维尔,没有别的家,除了这些
   鹅卵石,平静而受人尊敬。小径上有鬼魂,
   也,但在我们完成跳房子之前,小女孩
   爬走了,孪生的下沉者从暮色中
   像水滴一样冒出来,撞击没有意义,也没有终点。
   这房子很暴露。她说应该这样。哦,我的
   第一个恐惧,引线,永不
   翻身,永不回头看,明天的议程上有
   什么?你会怎么做?
Villanelle
   
   
   As it unfolded and took on something of the aspect
   of a garden in the rain, the acclaim with which others
   greeted it scattered too, evaporated. Now who
   is to say when battered night comes and you look
   distractedly over your shoulder, whether the owners
   of that night had the right to remove any of it
   in strips and mask-shaped pieces, so that by morning
   nothing of it remained except crescent
   accents under cups? And they were seen as truly gone,
   arch-fiends of emptiness, that it stayed
   to lighten awhile? What if I told you that every
   aspect of the cause had been pre-ordained, from
   the brokers in wind-cheaters to the tumescent
   ear of corn in its shock, and that no one, not one radio,
   had ever been accused of inattentiveness to the
   gradual unravelling of the scene?
   
   This would have mattered bleakly to those, the growers,
   who stay behind and amid bats and laburnum devise acrostic
   governors whose motives shall be colorless and whose device,
   strangely scrolled across a banner, translates
   easily into Urdu as: “Let’s put the boys’ fire out.”
   No, there were sad others too, but let’s hear it
   in the rain-bejewelled jungle gym for the copers, the
   coppers-out whose ears, the brass color of tubas, flare insanely
   just a little as each new podium prank thunks
   into place, like a hive of bees, questioning, unsure if the date
   was last year’s. And if so, deliver them a warning:
   mornings are timely, sure no feet drag, and yet a weariness
   as of a wolfs blasts the moment into shards. We were as good
   as in bed, and all
   we really wanted to know was the time on the other fellow’s watch.
   How hard he made it, and into what twosomes the grisly smile
   delivered hands, prom-dates, catches in throats, the horrible
   manliness for which time is an ascending ramp crowned by moonglow
   made of hundreds of cigarette ends, and the return
   to town is witchy, twin scotties on a leash.
   
   How fast the others collected! Were we to be siphoned off
   as casually as last year, pinned with a string? We who
   were well off until a certain day, and now, loitering, the starlet
   shakes her beads in contempt: no we had not even begun to
   understand where the crime is, to what
   succinctness of being we are summoned if it ever goes away!
   The threads, at the back, seem to match an image our fathers
   dribbled, but reversed, the image is Main Street,
   Titusville, and there is no other home than these
   pebbles, placid and revered. There are ghosts on the trail,
   too, but until we have done with hopscotch, the little girl
   crawls away and twin sinkers emerge like blobs
   out of the twilight, there is no point to the crash, and no end.
   The house is very revealing. She said it ought to. Oh my
   first fears, leaders, never
   turning over, never looking back, what is it on tomorrow’s
   agenda? What would you have done?
   
   
定居的生活
   
   (选自Hotel Lautreamont)
   作者:(美)约翰.阿什贝利(John Ashberry)
   译者:剑郭琴符
   
   有时你无意中听到他们在讨论它:
   真相---这东西我认为我正在说。
   我说的能是什么?
   多多少少像其他男人和女人
   然后一点也不像---就像
   
   写一本既漂亮又令人厌恶的书。
   因为我们现在做不到。然而,我和我
   要说的话之间的空间
   是鼓舞人心的。有清新的
   空气;第五大道上的人群
   是相关的,未来的日子,
   仍然是无形的,看不见的。
   
   多多少少阐明
   人们自己的善良,注意
   别人脸上的表情,为什么
   这就是入场券。这都是今天的全部
   表情,你知道我们如何关注
   
   今天。它留在一艘疾驶的船上。
   
A Sedentary Existence
   
   
   Sometimes you overhear them discussing it:
   the truth---that thing I thought I was telling.
   What could it have been that I said?
   To be more or less like other men and women
   and then to not be at all---it’s
   
   like writing a book that is both beautiful and disgusting.
   Because we can't do it now. Yet this space
   between me and what I had to say
   is inspiring. There's a freshness
   to the air; the crowds on Fifth Avenue
   are pertinent, and the days up ahead,
   still formless, unseen.
   
   To be more or less unravelling
   one’s own kindness, noting
   the look on others’ faces, why
   that's the ticket. It is all the expression
   of today, and you know how we keep an eye on
   
   today. It left on a speeding ship.
   
   
埃里伯斯
   
   (选自Hotel Lautreamont)
   作者:(美)约翰.阿什贝利(John Ashberry)
   译者:剑郭琴符
   
   1/
   
   今晚,我们将尝试一道不同的菜
   一些忧心忡忡的救世主带给我们:
   
   一场香草味的悲剧
   关于市场如何关闭。
   
   从窗口挥手:那很好。
   人们听到席状的死人
   在一盒铅笔里嘶叫
   在小溪的那弯道旁,
   
   想知道事情会变得多么糟糕。
   当然,还有更糟糕的事情
   
   比看书,深夜,在床上。
   我想写一本维多利亚时代的恐怖
   
   小说,讲述一个十字路口清洁工对生活的
   报复,有点
   《奥德利夫人的秘密》的兴致。他们可以炒你鱿鱼,为此
   
   或因为牵引着一缕烟的方式
   它确实是从烟囱里出来的,只是
   
   忘了它。真相不是想要的。
   企鹅比赛是。是的,但你认识一个
   曾经认识企鹅的人。这没关系:
   
   把这些都写进你的书里,你要
   说,和一个影子一同醒来,
   
   墙上没有什么意义的东西。
   
   2/
   
   太糟糕的方式,孩子们
   在上学的路上被丢失
   市场也关门了。
   
   蜜糖般的风在你的喉咙上抓来抓去。
   我以为你是个顺境中的朋友
   但现在我发现你在这里,泪流满面,
   
   求我放弃我奋斗了一辈子
   才完美的策略,
   
   我宁愿为你做这件事,也不愿
   在某种成就的壁垒上晒太阳:总是
   
   没有工作,没有眼泪,如果孩子们
   这样玩,那就没事了。
   我没有错
   
   除了在梦里。
   
   然后,北欧冠军来
   告诉你你是如何失败的
   差一根头发,
   一口呼吸。你继续
   相信他们。你继续相信他们
   
   因为银色的
   夜晚在那些拼命
   等待续集的人的口袋里发生了什么。
   
   但它转了一圈
   到了这里:构成喜剧的不再是
   愚蠢的,你是第一个
   了解它,可以对它保持沉默
   获取暴利的人。同时
   你的门像雪一样白。
Erebus
   
   I/
   
   Tonight we are going to try a different dish
   some worried savior brought us:
   
   a vanilla-flavored tragedy
   on how the market closed.
   
   Waving from a window: that's nice.
   One hears the sheeted dead
   braying in a box of pencils
   by that curve in the creek,
   
   and wonders how worse things can get.
   Surely there are worse things
   
   than reading, late at night, in bed.
   I would like to write a Victorian novel
   
   of terror about a crossing-sweeper's revenge
   on life, somewhat in the vein of
   Lady Audley’s Secret. They can can you for that
   
   or for drawing smoke in puffs the way
   it does come out of chimneys only forget
   
   about it. The truth isn’t what’s wanted.
   Penguin races are. Yes but you knew someone
   who once knew a penguin. That doesn't matter:
   
   put it all in your book, what you were going
   to say, and wake up with a shadow,
   
   something less meaningful on the wall.
   
   II/
   
   Too bad the way children
   on their way to school get mislaid
   and the market closes.
   
   The honeyed wind claws at your throat.
   I thought you were a fair-weather friend
   but I find you here now, in tears,
   
   begging me to give up that stratagem
   I've fought a lifetime to perfect,
   
   and I’d rather do it—for you—than bask on
   the rampart of some accomplishment: always
   
   no work, no tears, and if children
   play this way, then it's all right.
   I wasn’t mistaken
   
   except in dreams.
   
   Then, Nordic champions come
   to tell you how you failed
   by a hair,
   a breath. And you go on,
   believing them. And you go on believing them
   
   for what silver
   night incurs in the pockets
   of all those waiting desperately for a sequel.
   
   But it comes round
   to this: what is comic is no longer
   fatuous, and you're the first to learn
   about it and can keep silent about it
   and make a killing. In the mean-
   time your door is white as snow.
   
  

 楼主| 发表于 2021-2-28 16:52:46 | 显示全部楼层
旧情结
   
   (选自Hotel Lautreamont)
   作者:(美)约翰.阿什贝利(John Ashberry)
   译者:剑郭琴符
   
   和一般结构相比,它并不是那么糟糕的一个,
   它填满了眼前的空间
   用爱、险恶的补丁。一个适度
   难看的东西。它把它们缩减成了一种糊状物
   在其中每个人都找到了自己的账户,离去
   住在猛击海岸的废船中。
   
   当然,你得真的吃药。
   为了让它发挥作用,我是说。现在花了很多时间
   在楼上,我可以调节孤独,
   愤怒的崎岖刀片,注意
   偶尔的黑色骏马。夜色啭鸣着离开。
   
   你现在可以自由地走,自由地走。
   不过,如果你再多呆一天会有帮助的。
   我按她的手,奇怪的东西。
The Old Complex
   
   
   As structures go, it wasn't such a bad one,
   and it filled the space before the eye
   with loving, sinister patches. A modest
   eyesore. It reduced them to a sort of paste
   wherein each finds his account, goes off
   to live among the shore’s bashed-in hulks.
   
   Of course you have to actually take the medicine.
   For it to work, I mean. Spending much time upstairs
   now, I can regulate the solitude,
   the rugged blade of anger, note
   the occasional black steed. Evening warbles away.
   
   You are free to go now, to go free.
   Still, it would help if you'd stay one more day.
   I press her hand, strange thing.
   
我们去哪里吃午饭
   
   (选自Hotel Lautreamont)
   作者:(美)约翰.阿什贝利(John Ashberry)
   译者:剑郭琴符
   
   1/
   
   老板正式宣布了。
   有一个小天使出来对我们出言不逊。
   “你为什么要听这些‘室内乐’?
   你为什么从来不听教堂的音乐?”
   
   事实上,我以为我一直都是这样做的,
   但现在我有其他事情要操心。
   “其他要操心的事”---他不断重复这句话
   好像它是一个吊闸上的孔罩。
   这是什么样的嘲笑方式?当然
   没什么好担心的,除了你的反应,
   这正是溶于音乐中的东西---你知道其种类,
   它不断地再次出现,就像一个
   附近酒吧的顾客,一些很好的交流
   发生在几个小提琴手之间,然后他们决定一起走回家。
   
   妈的,如果这是纽约…
   在下一集里,他用猫的眼睛看我。
   “你记得…带来…金色的东西?”
   哦,当然,但我不是目录,也不是
   这里要的东西。我是一个比利时人,
   有很多比利时的事情要考虑
   比如报纸和塞满了同样东西的旧鞋---说我想
   我也会离开这里。我不了解你。这条
   水泥人行道在我看起来相当陡,虽然很宽…
   (哈,那部分总是愚弄他们。)我说,
   如果我们在下面的灌木丛里转弯如何---
   也许能让我们的眼睛清醒过来, “如果你知道我的意思。”
   
   我会。但我一直回到
   梦中的我,不确定我是否正确,这个地方是否合适。
   我认为我会躺在岸边,和沙子搏斗,
   一会儿,如果你不介意的话。然后那些鹦鹉中的一只---
   我们可能会看到一个,嗯?哦,他认为他现在是克鲁索。
   普通民众对孤独的看法就这么多---
   我以为他们几年前就放弃了它,但他们还是
   喜欢继续装腔作势。“你以为‘你是’孤独的吗?”
   不,我从来没有说过,你是故意歪曲我的话,
   但你必须扭曲它们,如果你认为你必须。
   现在我希望是一个某物长时间冷却的扭曲。
   
   的确,她和一些男人一起出去。
   但那并不意味着你…哦,见鬼,
   那儿我又开始尝试利用
   某物。是时候吸引人们的号角了,我的伙计,如果你
   明白我的意思的话。如果我们没有呢?然后它会抓住你,当然,当
   小波在沙洲上一点一点地啃
   它们不知道在不到几分钟的时间里完全覆盖
   比播放一张每分钟78转的旧唱片,说,
   这一次把它弄好,德沃夏克的《幽默曲》怎么样?
   我正要问你那个词。他们
   不再造它们了。我们没有存货。
   我们要大喊一声。
   
   为什么,到了闲逛的时候,为什么
   我们也要这么做。我是维也纳音乐节的第一张办公桌。
   那是在第二所维也纳学校。诗人为什么喜欢吃东西?
   为什么,你做了某事,你想让人们知道,就这么
   简单,至少在我看来是这样,但
   我可能错了,我已经在过去了,有关的事情
   比你多,霍雷肖。顺便问一下,那座桥进展如何?
   
   2/
   
   “当我们睡觉”,我们看到了甜蜜的东西
   第二天我们会变得更聪明。
   我昨天忘了玩了。我今天浑身僵硬。
   
   3/
   
   说真的,我们要谈什么?只是地板上的脚轮,然而总是留下一些痕迹。我得把遗嘱念给你听。这和我们曾经开过的一个玩笑一样近。这部电梯刚掉了七层,没人知道。没人认为他们会死。你能忍受愚蠢的人吗?是的,我也是,有些事是这样,嗯,愚蠢围绕它们,它们就像蚯蚓穿过一堆泥土,你只有爱它们。他们是有激情的人。现在,我想拥有一点东西。很多时候,我都被指责我假定缺乏它,这也是理所当然的。哦,我知道如果我有一些我会怎么做,我会先去见谁。但如果你不能拥有它,你就得不到它。这就是所谓的“智力”所在的地方。看,它比你想的还多---比“我”想的。如果我们能找到我们的智慧,每个人都有一些,我们可以用它来从橡皮泥做一些小木棍状的人物,我们可以弯曲他们的胳膊肘,那么再没有比这更动人的表情了,天哪,一想到它我就得到了全部疯狂的眼睛。我们可以进行自己的小型比赛,而且他们有合适的车。但我已经超越了我自己,我的故事,真的。但我已经告诉你了。我们可以看着彼此并眨眼。或不。我们可以一起睡。
   
   当我正在吃午饭的时候
   我听到这个声音在歌唱着
   其他星球的气息吹着。
   我是说,需要提醒谁?
   毕竟我在你家门口,
   从门上滑下来,我拿起门环,轻轻地把它放回原处。
   似乎无处可去,
   无事可做。
   
   我可以找个借口约你出去,
   只是不要寂寞,
   明白?
   这个漩涡里有足够多不快乐的人。
   但我从来都不是他们中的一员,现在你也将是。
Where We Went for Lunch
   
   I/
   
   The boss made it official.
   Then a cherub came out and sassed us.
   “Why do you listen to all this chamber music?
   Why don’t you ever listen to church music?”
   
   Indeed, I thought I had always done so,
   but now I had other things to worry about.
   “Other things to worry about”---he keeps repeating that phrase
   as though it were an escutcheon on a portcullis.
   What manner of ridicule is this? Of course
   there's nothing to worry about, except your response,
   which is precisely what dissolves in music---you know the kind,
   that keeps coming round again, like a customer
   to a neighborhood bar, and some good exchanges
   take place between a couple of fiddles, who then decide to walk home together.
   
   Shit, if this were New York ...
   In the next episode he sees me with the eyes of a cat.
   “You remembered ... to bring ... the gold stuff?”
   Oh sure, but I'm not a catalog, nor
   what’s wanted here. I’m a Belgian
   with lots of Belgian things to think about
   such as newspapers and old shoes stuffed with same---say I think
   I’ll get out of here too. I don’t know about you. This
   cement sidewalk looks pretty steep to me, though it's broad ...
   (Hah, that part always fools them.) I say,
   what if we took a turn through the thicket down there---
   might clear our eyes out, if you know what I mean.
   
   I do. But I keep returning to what is in dreams
   for me, not certain I’m correct, that this place is suitable.
   I think I’ll lie on the shore, fighting with the sand,
   For a little, if you don't mind. And then one of those parrots---
   we might see one, eh? Oh he thinks he's Crusoe now.
   So much for the general populace’s idea of loneliness—
   I thought they'd abandoned it years ago, but they still
   like to keep up the pretense. “You think you’re alone?”
   No, I never said that, you are deliberately twisting my words,
   but twist them you must, if you think you must.
   Right now I’d like a long cool twist of something.
   
   Sure, she goes out with some men.
   But that don’t mean you ...Oh, hell,
   there I go trying to make something of something
   again. Time to pull in one’s horns, me buckoes, if you
   catch my drift. And if we don’t? Then it will catch you, sure as
   wavelets nibble little by little at the sandbar
   they have no idea of covering completely in fewer minutes
   than it takes to play an old 78 r.p.m. record, say,
   make it nice this time, how about Dvorak's Humoreske?
   I was just going to ask you about that word. They don’t
   make ’em any more. We don’t have any in stock.
   We are about a shout.
   
   Why, when it comes time to saunter, why
   we'll do that too. I was first desk at the Vienna Musikyerein.
   It was during the second Viennese school. Why do poets like to eat?
   Why, you do something, you want people to know about it, it's as
   simple as that, at least it seems so to me, but
   I could be wrong, I have been in the past, and about more things
   than you, Horatio. By the way, how's that bridge coming along?
   
   II/
   
   When We Sleep we see sweet things
   and are wiser next day.
   I forgot to play yesterday. I'm all stiff today.
   
   III/
   
   Seriously, what were we made to talk about? Just casters on a floor, that always leave something of a mark nevertheless. I will have to have my will read to you. That's as close to a tease as we ever get. This elevator just dropped seven floors and no one knew anything about it. Nobody thought they were going to die. Can you stand stupid people? Yes, me too, there's something so, well, stupid about them, they're like earthworms coming through a mound of dirt, you just have to love them. They’ve the ones with the passion. Now, there’s something I’d like to have. Many's the time I've been chided for my presumed lack of it, and rightly too. Oh I know what I'd do if I had some, who I'd go over and see first. But if you can’t have it you can’t get it. That’s where this thing called “intelligence” comes in. See,there’s more to it than you thought---than I thought. If we can find our intelligence, and everybody has some, we can use it to make little stick figures out of Plasticine whose elbows we can bend, and then there is no expression more touching, my God I'm getting all crazy-eyed just thinking about it. We can make our own little race, and they have cars to fit. But I'm getting ahead of myself, my story, really. But I've told it to you. We can just look at each other and blink. Or not. We can just sleep together.
   
   And when I was having lunch
   I heard this voice singing
   about the breath of other planets blowing.
   I mean, who needs to be reminded?
   I am at your doorstep after all,
   sliding down the door, I pick up the knocker and replace it softly.
   There seems nowhere to go,
   nothing to do.
   
   I can ask you out on some pretext,
   only don’t be lonely,
   see?
   There are enough unhappy people in this gyre.
   But I was never one of them and now you will be too.
   
   
   
每次它碰巧
   
   (选自Hotel Lautreamont)
   作者:(美)约翰.阿什贝利(John Ashberry)
   译者:剑郭琴符
   
   你只能看着一个土堆或坚果
   在透视法发明之后,它就会变成一条车辙。
   每个人都在看和做它。
   这就是为什么少数人选择混乱
   作为风景,以适应他们立场的积极忧郁,
   这意味着在尴尬的气氛中完成事情。
   背信弃义的天空撕裂了它们,
   其丝带流淌着反抗,很快,
   不是立刻,是走到街上的时候
   居住在你行走的外壳里
   此时此刻,我们任何一方都知道另一方,
   但这“是某物”。
   
   “收拾你的房间”。
   你的客人正从人行道上走来,
   门铃响了。现在如果我能在一秒钟内发明
   我想与之进行商业往来的富商联盟;但不能,
   这仍然是个寓言。山上的房子,
   荆棘丛,邻居,沿着
   那合适的视角消失了。
   如果方便,你相信它;否则,
   你可能不管怎样还是相信了,一切都
   被抖落,就像衣服。
   
   但在这个房间里,同样的守护者会按自己的方式
   拥有它。尽管这永远不会引起温度的变化,
   但在前厅里仍充满其他人
   带着雾气,许愿暂时没有
   表达出来,直到它变得令人讨厌并烧成灰烬以便
   不拥有它们,以它们的方式,当它们在我们头上
   形成顶峰。任何人都能想到它,但是,有趣的是,
   从来没有人想到过,直到那详尽的时间
   在我们继续观看,和订单被拿来的时间中。
As Oft It Chanceth
   
   
   You had but to look at a mound or nut
   after the invention of perspective for it to become a rut.
   Everybody was seeing and doing it.
   That is why some few choose disorder
   as scenery befitting the positive melancholy of their stance,
   which means to get things done in a climate of awkwardness.
   The perfidious sky tore past them,
   its ribbons streaming revolt, and soon,
   not right away, it would be time to go down to the street
   to inhabit that walking shell of you
   that by this time is all either of us knows of the other,
   but it is something.
   
   Pick up your room.
   Your visitor is coming up the walk,
   the door-chime sounds. Now if only in a second I could invent
   the leagues of prosperous businessmen I mean to have commerce with; but no,
   it is allegory still. The house on the hill,
   the bramble bush, the neighbor, disappearing
   along that appropriate perspective.
   You believed it if it was convenient; otherwise
   you may have believed it anyway, and it was all
   shaken out, like clothes.
   
   But in the room the guardians of same will have it
   their way. And though this will never cause the temperature to change,
   there are still others filling up the anteroom
   with the breath of fog, with wishes not voiced
   for a while, until it becomes obnoxious and incinerating not to
   have them, in their way, as they crest down
   on us. Anybody could've thought it up, but, funny,
   no one ever did until that elaborate hour
   wherein we go on seeing, and our order is taken.
   
   
彩塑男孩
   
   (选自Hotel Lautreamont)
   作者:(美)约翰.阿什贝利(John Ashberry)
   译者:剑郭琴符
   
   它摇摇晃晃地下来后,出来就没事了。
   药店卖它。被委托了这个可怕的使命
   那被禁止,当然,发表评论
   当它在法庭上被搁置的时候
   你的家人或律师也不能,
   这是不幸的,在这样一个
   很大程度上依赖于顺从和冒险的时候,你总是
   这样,当然,
   除了现在这还不够,是吗,
   就像这样某些天
   灰蒙蒙,狂风暴雨,但在其他方面却很平淡无奇,令人
   难以忘怀。你必须做出选择。
   我忘了提那件事?它和包裹一起送来
   必须剥掉并寄回去,但即使
   厄运的预感也没有给一个注脚划分等级,而其他的,不那么
   显眼、可能也不那么令人讨厌的地方
   从石头的额头上掉了下来,留下了黑色,
   值得同情的东西,几乎是。
   
   更多的东西被解开,在
   摇铃绳的过程中,当然铃铛令人发狂的混乱
   本身---它们就在你的脑海里恢复正常---
   以至于总会有人停下来问,嘿,嗨这到底是什么
   救赎的东西,所有这些关于债券和代管的讨论---
   难道不应该在一个更具灵性的架子上
   在那里圣贤们在场,互相点头,互相攻击,
   互相到处睡着,
   到了中午,猎犬们跑着,死去,好像这些
   树屋是为其他人准备的,他们会以不同的方式来
   布置它们,都是多余的和海上的?船长,你得告诉我,
   这疯狂的航行是为了什么?我甚至还没买票,
   而且我正在旱地上回去看我的姑姑和表妹,啊,
   你有一颗心吗?还有大堡礁那边
   那些垃圾斑驳的浅滩,你不能告诉我那些
   橙毛发色的荡妇是警报器!见鬼,我能听见她们。
   “我”什么地方也不去,这是非常肯定的,我知道你
   知道在这个真空中,你给别人的生活贴上了兴趣的标签,
   看到他们如何完成他们开始做的事情。
   
   也许雨从来没有松开,
   尽管你知道,但它松过,就像玻璃纸面条
   从被划破的信封里逃走。我有一件透明的雨衣来证明这一点,
   但这还不够,这还不够,没有什么足够让小校舍
   安静下来,但足够知道上一节课
   在很多个季节以前就结束了。曾经学过一些东西,但
   它已经从地板中央的一圈铁锈中流淌出来了,
   而且那些主管队长们再也没有过
   这么好的时光,但当然,在那些日子里,知道的东西较少:
   只有几个背带铃铛,还有一堆灰尘和稻草。
   这提醒了我:你为什么在马毯下发抖
   当你有那么多事情要做,通过归档
   最后的多年生植物,每一个都在分开的书套里,不让杰克逃走。
   
   他还有更多的事要做,比我们任何人
   曾梦想的更多,它的整个口袋和
   山脉,让它进入云山的一边。
   接着,忧虑开始了,一股疼痛新生的的泄露
   从胶带中喷涌而出,很快绷带就松了,
   在我一直站着的草地上,绷带毫无用处,一张照片
   留给了我自己。于是,长长的雨波流干了;
   有一种紧凑的感觉,甚至什么都没有,虽然所有的船都
   从冰岛回来了,带着星星,带着送它们去那里的围巾。
Retablo
   
   
   After it had jiggled down it came out OK.
   Drugstores sold it. You to whom this awful mission has been
   entrusted are barred, of course, from commenting
   while it is held up in the courts
   and none of your family or lawyers can, either,
   which is unfortunate at a time
   when such a lot depends on being supple and risky, the way
   you always were, of course,
   except that now it isn't quite enough, is it,
   as was the case on certain days
   gray and blustery, but otherwise quite undistinguished, quite
   unmemorable. You had to choose.
   Did I forget to mention that? It came with the package
   and had to be peeled off and mailed back, but even that
   foretaste of doom didn't rate a footnote, while other, less
   notable and possibly less objectionable aspects dropped
   out of the stone forehead, leaving it black,
   something to be pitied, almost.
   
   So much more came untied during the swinging
   of the bell ropes and of course the maddening pandemonium of the bells
   themselves---they get right inside your head---
   that someone would invariably stop to ask, Hey what is this
   redemption stuff anyway, all this talk about bonds and escrow---
   wasn’t it supposed to be on a more spiritual shelf
   where presences of sages nod and fall on each other,
   falling asleep all over each other,
   and at noon the terriers run and die as though these
   treehouses were meant for someone else who would fit them out
   differently, all spare and nautical? Captain, you've got to tell me,
   what is this insane voyage about? I haven't even bought a ticket
   and besides am on dry land heading back to see my aunts and cousin, aw,
   have a heart will you? And these garbage-flecked
   shoals beyond the barrier reef, you can't tell me those orange-
   haired floozies are sirens! Hell, I can hear’em.
   And I’m going nowhere, that's for damn sure, as I know you
   know in this vacuum you label interest in other people’s lives,
   in seeing how they accomplish what they set out to do.
   
   Probably the rain never got loose
   for all you know, but it did, it was like cellophane noodles escaping
   from a slashed envelope. I had a transparent raincoat to prove it,
   but it wasn’t enough, that wasn’t enough, nothing was enough to be quiet
   in the little schoolhouse, but it was enough to know the last
   class was over many seasons ago. There was something learned once but
   it had drained out through a ring of rust in the middle of the floor,
   and besides the desk-captains never kept such good time
   any more, but of course there was less to know in those days:
   only a few harness-bells, and a heap of dust and straw.
   Which reminds me: why are you shivering under that horse-blanket
   when there’s so much to be done by way of filing
   the last perennials, each in its separate slipcase, and of not letting Jack get away.
   
   He’s got more to do; there’s more to be done
   than any of us ever dreamed of, whole pockets and mountains
   of it, let into the side of a cloud hill.
   Then the worrying starts, a fresh leak of pain
   squirts through the tape and soon the bandage is loosened,
   useless in the grass where I was standing all along, a picture
   to myself. So the long rain waves drain;
   there's a sense of compactness, or even nothing, though all the ships
   have returned from Iceland, with stars, and with the scarves that sent them there.
   
   
      

 楼主| 发表于 2021-3-3 09:03:24 | 显示全部楼层
哀伤冷峻的告别演说
   
   (选自Hotel Lautreamont)
   作者:(美)约翰.阿什贝利(John Ashberry)
   译者:剑郭琴符
   
   谁,当一切都说了又做了,
   像我一样关心你?我知道。“你的”名字
   我知道,如果你受苦,如塞壬
   撕裂的暴风,我就有信心,相信别人的
   劝说。香水像棺罩一样湿透
   是旧气味,亲爱的,真的;它的名声
   随太阳膨胀
   不像,而且,失去的弟兄。
   
   当光荣的骏马触到大地,
   时辰冰冷坚硬,然而对某些人来说
   它是从最深的盆地里发出的命令,谁又能说
   哪一个重组分子记住了下一个生搬硬套
   当朗诵者下落,而且在一个
   卡在时间裂缝里的日子,欢乐是一块
   不适合分享的面包屑,只有一种
   像它本身的声音,无尽的鱼腥味或受精卵。
   
   这里什么都没有,一年
   成熟,冻结,我四周站着
   审查员---蒙着面纱,肿胀的外皮
   在季节的蜕皮中终于洁净了,对他们的起源之城
   毫不怀疑。他们也,在记忆的细雨中
   迅速抓住,圣费迪南
   否定的地方,周围的高楼大厦,仅仅是
   糠秕,或者孕育石头的力量
   将有很多话要说,来吧,夜晚---
   秋天,我们周围可怕的水泡与
   融化的桁架一致,追踪周游的松鸡
   或是在护城河的外面不让傻瓜和敏捷的学者进入的行为
   它在浮萍绿色开襟毛衣的笼罩下
   哭泣了好几次,而且,都是典型的,她的
   鼻子伸出到一些人看到的海湾的
   轮廓之外,还有她的雨衣。
   
   把这个习惯从我们存在的立场上刮下来,而且,一旦
   它完成,就把它从羞怯中拯救出来,从快乐的洞穴
   向更大的快乐之丘,地点所在的东西
   指向一个名字,如果它的
   微量元素被添加,规则从游戏中
   一点一点减去也是如此。因此,
   有人赢了。我是
   傻瓜吗?你的老汉也是,你这个蠢货。
   
   一加仑又一加仑的水从堰上滑过
   但由于是夜晚,没有人知道也没有人关心。这只猫头鹰,
   虽然全是羽毛,但还是感冒了。和平分段躺在
   马戏团圆环的凸起边缘,在那里锯屑
   让肚皮的空虚变戏法地出现,最近的选举
   被批评。男人们
   在最近被遗弃的码头旁徘徊
   从任何概念、计算、别人
   
   疏忽的外壳、我们的认知中跳出。
   啊滑得太远,否则背包,追踪到
   一场争执依稀可见,似时光毫发无损的
   干草里。我们纪念碑上的大理石越多
   未来对我们来说就越不会缺少真实,裹紧在
   北极的难题中---这也许是。在丛林中开路
   从这里到布什瓦克到佩塔卢马,再到偶然
   失败的灌溉渠,断层,是我变酸的唯一的灵魂表皮。
A Mourning Forbidding Valediction
   
   
   And who, when all is said and done,
   Cares for thee like me? I know. Thy name
   Is known to me, and if thou sufferest like a squall
   That sirens rend, I'll be confident and of the other
   Persuasion. Perfume that drenches like a pall
   Is the old scent, and dear, true; its fame
   Waxeth with the sun
   And is not like, moreover, a lost brother.
   
   When glory’s steed pawed the ground,
   Frozen and flinty the hour, yet for some
   It was command out of the deepest basin, and who shall say
   Which recombinant molecules have memorized the next rote
   And when the reciters have fall’n, on a day
   Stuck in time’s craw, that merriment is a crumb
   Unfit for sharing, only a sound
   Like itself, endless fishy smell or zygote.
   
   Nothing's here; the year
   Is ripe, and frozen, all about me stand
   Censors---veiled, tumescent husks who at the last
   Come clean in the moulting of the season, and make no bones
   About their city of origin. Them too, held fast
   In Memory’s drizzle, the Place St. Ferdinand
   Negates, and surrounding highrises, mere
   Chaff, or the power which breeds stones
   And shall have much to say, come night---
   Fall, and all around us awful blisters concur
   In melting trusses, stalk the errant ptarmigan
   Or deed no entry to fools and nimble savants beyond the moat
   That weeps for times when the green cardigan
   Of duckweed shrouded it, and, all exemplary, her
   Nose protruded beyond the outline of the bight
   Some saw beyond, and her raincoat.
   
   To scrape the habit from our stand of being, and, once
   It's accomplished, rescue it from shyness, out of a burrow
   Of pleasure up toward greater mounds of pleasure, is to a name
   What places are, and so be it
   if trace elements are added and rules from the game
   Subtracted little by little. Ergo,
   Someone's won it. Dunce
   Am I? So’s your old man, you stupid shit.
   
   Gallons and gallons of water slid over the weir
   But since it was night, no one knew or cared. The owl,
   For all his feathers, was a-cold. Peace lay in sections
   On the raised edge of a circus ring, where sawdust
   Conjures belly's emptiness and the recent elections
   Are commented. Men prowl
   Beside the recently abandoned pier
   Sprung from any concept, from reckonings, crust
   
   Of someone else's negligence, our cognizance.
   O skate too far away, or else backpack, backtrack
   Into the hay of an argument dimly seen, unscathed
   Like time. The more marbles to our monument
   The more the future won't be any less real to us, enswathed
   In Hyperborean conundrums---that’s as may be. To bushwhack
   From here to Petaluma, then chance
   Failed irrigation canals, faults, is my sours sole integument.
  
  
我找到了他们的建议
   
   (选自Hotel Lautreamont)
   作者:(美)约翰.阿什贝利(John Ashberry)
   译者:剑郭琴符
   
   当你听到语言
   (而不是语言的精神)时,它就像一个架子一样展开
   只是为了与你所提升到的水平相等。
   发生了变化。城市入口处
   钢铁巨兽不再竖立。云层已经降下来
   成为它们和我们长久以来所恐惧的一部分。
   
   我们这些好奇地依附在像泡沫链一样的
   透明表面上的人,我们这些说话和演讲的人,
   知道现在已经五点半了,我们所学的
   已经开始了。
   
   以为我们没有学习,因为我们没有停止学习的人,
   知道所有的学习都在进行。在寂静中,可爱的灰色
   缝隙一如既往可以理解。但是知道
   时间是一个模糊的东西安慰了我们,把我们密封在
   遗传的光之外,太快,太杂乱无章了:谁
   知道那里含有什么有机物,
   对环境有什么不同?
   
   最后一次的火灾堆积,脱衣搜查就不那么精确了。
   现在他们只是问你在这里做什么,
   或者你过去在这里做什么;这不是一个仪式
   但它没有推挤。我恐怕赞美之声中
   包括了花园、中庭,还有沉睡的藤蔓
   为这种不得不离开的感觉加工成型:
   任性,我们的一个机会。
I Found Their Advice  
   
   
   
   When you hear the language
   (not the spirit of the language) it unfolds like a shelf
   just to be equal with the level you have risen to.
   A change takes place. No longer are steel leviathans erected
   at points of entry to the city. The clouds have come down
   to be a part of what they and we so long dreaded.
   
   And we who cling in wonderment to a sheer surface
   like chains of bubbles, we who talk and lecture,
   know that it is half-past five, that what we were learning
   has begun.
   
   Who thought we weren't learning because we hadn't stopped learning,
   know all learning is going. In the silence, the dear gray
   crevices are scrutable as ever. But knowing
   time as a blur comforts us, seals us
   from inherited light, too fast and unsorted: who
   knows what organic matter is contained there,
   what difference to the environment?
   
   The last fires are banked, the strip-search is less precise.
   Now they just ask you what you’re doing here,
   or were doing here; it’s not a ceremonial
   but it doesn't jostle. The garden, the atrium are included
   I’m afraid in the voice of praise, and the sleeping vines
   machined for this feeling that has to leave:
   willful, a chance for us.
   
  
  
法国歌剧
   
   (选自Hotel Lautreamont)
   作者:(美)约翰.阿什贝利(John Ashberry)
   译者:剑郭琴符
   
   你好。我是鲍勃。
   长途飞行结束了
   他们已经回到了
   他们居住的地方的地面。
   亲爱的过去
   已近,谨慎乐观:
   我铺了很多画
   在这个空荡荡的,原始广场上,它
   几乎把人物
   和地面,情节和腐朽的
   人物,去年和明年联结起来。
   
   我就像画的守护者:
   它脆弱,有时寂寞,
   像最好的朋友竖立在黑暗的
   某时奏鸣曲的花边。只是让我不要
   让我的脸呈现方格图案,和下面这些英勇行为一起,如
   曾经到过某处,从山上
   被带下来
   出庭作证,然后又回去,
   毫无意义地,速记员提醒
   我们。我们努力坚持
   下去,给你点钱告诉她
   你来这儿。在回应中我们
   我们可以把它带到某个地方,绕着
   跑道转,如果你愿意,但是我们知道
   他们在哪里教吗?他们唱歌吗?
   ,
   在法国歌剧,卡彭特的《朱利安》,
   例如,问题总是在于听众:
   努力理解这一切,为角色
   感到遗憾,仍然对自己
   和他人的所作所为保持信心,勤奋,
   不但如此,热情,回报
   总是在下一个院子里。
   
   不过,没有建筑物倒塌。
   增援部队在路上。
   有一大堆彩色
   图像需要整理和筛选,
   要小心别把它弄到
   人们的衣服上。有叉车
   和软呢帽。简言之,这就是
   你曾经想知道的那个古老的教堂
   场景,除了移动的沙子
   一如既往地覆盖着木板。
   你也许想在椅子中移动。
French Opera
   
   Hi. I'm bob.
   The long flight is over
   and they have returned to the places
   where they live in the ground.
   
   The beloved past
   is near, cautiously optimistic:
   I've laid so much drawing over
   the empty, original square, that it
   almost ties figure
   to ground, plot to decaying
   character, last year with next.
   
   I’m like a keeper of drawings:
   They’re fragile, lonely sometimes,
   like best friends erected on the dark lace
   of the sometime sonatas. Only let me not
   checker my face with the derring-do of
   having once been somewhere, of
   having been brought down from the mountains
   to testify in court, and gone back up again,
   senseless, the stenographer reminds
   us. We're trying to adhere
   to it, to give you some money to tell her
   you’re here. In the responsory we could make
   it go somewhere, round and round
   the track if you wish, but do we
   know where they teach? Do they sing?
   
   In French opera, Charpentier's Julien,
   for example, the problem is always the listener’s:
   trying to make sense of it all and feel sorry
   for the characters and still keep faith
   in ourselves and what others are doing, industriously,
   nay, zealously, and the payoff
   is always in the next yard.
   
   Still, no building collapses.
   Reinforcements are on the way.
   There is a whole lot of colored
   imagery to sort out and sift away,
   being careful not to get any of it
   on one's clothes. There are forklifts
   and fedoras. In short this is that
   old chapel scene you once wanted to know
   about, except that moving sands cover
   the boards then as always.
   You might wish to shift in your chair.
   
  
  
令人窒息的符号
   
   (选自Hotel Lautreamont)
   作者:(美)约翰.阿什贝利(John Ashberry)
   译者:剑郭琴符
   
   没有人永远睡过头
   直到你要改善你生活的时刻,然后
   或多或少是一个迷信?
   
   是生命,我想。最好是关于事情的早期,不要喝太多酒,
   以免在它的毁灭中看到模式。
   法官们向后走上台阶。
   
   好吧,你已经解决了这个星期的问题,
   但是风在哭泣,有点太热情
   因为花园在一个不可能再孤独
   和有效的点上占用赋格曲。
   鱼儿在游动,鸟儿分开苍穹的叫声中
   发霉地蹒跚而行,直到整个世界似乎都在
   对你许下的悲伤的厌倦中湿透,
   而且
   也为爱和自欺欺人而疯狂。有时冰箱的木炭素描
   应该是边缘。
   你对别的光线有多长时间没有其他的目标。
A Stifled Notation
   
   
   
   No one ever oversleeps
   until the time you are to improve your life, and then
   what’s one superstition more or less?
   The lives, I guess. And it’s best to be early
   about things, not drink too much,
   lest the pattern be seen in its undoing.
   The judges march backward up the steps.
   
   Well, you’ve solved this week’s problem,
   but the wind is wailing a little too enthusiastically
   as the garden takes up the fugue at a point
   where it’s impossible to be lonesome and valid anymore.
   The fishes swim, birds plod fustily
   with heaven-dividing cries, until the whole world seems soaked
   in the boredom of that sorrow you were promised,
   but also
   crazy with love and self-deception. Sometimes a charcoal sketch
   of a refrigerator is supposed to be the edge.
   How long you had no aim for no other stream.
  
   

 楼主| 发表于 2021-3-9 22:42:47 | 显示全部楼层
闹鬼的诗节
   
   (选自Hotel Lautreamont)
   作者:(美)约翰.阿什贝利(John Ashberry)
   译者:剑郭琴符
   
   现在已经断断续续地下了一个星期的雨:
   滴下,滴下。我们已经开始感受到这种影响
   当生命不知不觉地向前滑动时。在一个角落
   一个大键琴正在剥豌豆。小心划艇!
   
   当新的练习曲系列出版时
   在音乐界引起了不小的轰动。
   黑暗更完美。幸福不再是
   一个可以握紧的东西,而是变成一根伟大的曲线,
   倾听取而代之。我们不知道什么压力
   让你像我们一样行动。我们这样做只是
   出于恐惧和爱,像守护天使一样
   干涉事实上与我们有点关系的
   事情。
   
   暴风雨没有受挫地上演着,就像一只狮子幼崽,
   闪电巨大,地下室仍在分裂。
   我不那么热心,尽管不同的水平谨慎地显示
   将是这儿恰当的音符。做过的事,
   还有紧随其后的围裙。
   
   我不准备为了几幅画而放弃我的生命。
   尽管如此,我还是想保证,好像这是中生代
   人们把自己不同地看作有那么多肉和胡须。
   我不确定我不会被这些优点
   施魔法,看到女人如何生活,当她们
   远离男人,不用去想的时候。
   
   所以木匠列出了一个
   可能需要的清单,仪式
   从中获得了透明度。
   
   即使是校园里的一小堆灰尘也有它们的说法
   它们的想法也不一样,只是它们最终成为
   航海者从未要求过的东西:整个旋转星图
   都像葡萄干一样压在人们手里。
   
   谁称赞严苛?
   那些可失去的较少的人。他们生活在
   危险之中,诗歌是他们的恶习。不要
   介意,更重要的是,定居者孜孜不倦,
   因为,给我们最美好的日子,我们都。所以我觉得很有关系,
   车子向前滑,同时
   
   让我舔你的衬衫。我有一个诚实的建议要
   向你提出,我希望你会发现是有益的一个:转过
   你的背,以免看到成群结队的囚犯逃跑。
   对他们都有好处,对你有好处。你有力量
   在燃烧着的气体和你的神经
   嗡嗡作响的塔中提供方程式的证明。嗯?
   
   你不该离开和奔跑吗?直到另一天,那么。
   他给马套上马鞍,他称之为“旧油漆”(从来
   不知道为什么,只是它粗糙的外表有点像旧油漆),
   就是这样。但我想为你祈祷,整个
   下午都是值得的,我祈祷。但有时雪橇是诚实的。它把我们带走了。
Haunted Stanzas
   
   
   It has been raining on and off for a week now:
   drip, drip. Already we are beginning to feel the effects of this,
   as life slides insensibly onward. In one corner
   a harpsichord is shelling peas. Watch out for rowboats!
   
   When the new series of etudes was published it
   caused quite a stir in the musical world.
   Darkness was more perfect. Happiness no longer
   was a thing to hold on to, but became a great curve,
   listening instead. We don't know what pressures
   you to behave as we do. We only do it out
   of fear and love, meddling like
   guardian angels with what does in fact concern us
   a little.
   
   Unbattered the storm plays, like a lion cub,
   the bolts tremendous, and the basement is still coming apart.
   I am less than enthused though a cautious display of differentiated
   levels would be the appropriate note here. The thing done,
   and the apron that came after.
   
   I am not prepared to give up my life for a few drawings.
   Nevertheless I want reassurance, as if this were the Mesozoic era and
   people saw themselves differently as so much meat and whiskers.
   I’m not sure I wouldn’t have been enchanted
   to have those advantages and see how women live when they’re away
   from men and don't have to think about it.
   
   So the carpenter makes a list of
   whatever might be needed and the ritual
   gains in transparency from that.
   
   Even the little piles of dust in the schoolyard had their say
   and thought differently about it only they came to be in the end
   what navigators had never asked for: the whole planisphere
   pressed into one's hand like currants.
   
   Who praises rigor?
   The ones who have less to lose. Who live
   in harm’s way and poetry is as a vice to them. Never
   mind, it is more meaningful that the settlers were unwearied,
   as, given our best days, we all are. So I feel connected,
   the car slithers forward, meanwhile
   
   let me lick your shirt. I have an honest proposition to make
   to you, one that I hope you’ll find rewarding: turn
   your back so as not to see the parade of prisoners escaping.
   It’ll do them good and it’ll do you good. You have it in your power
   to offer proof of the equations amid the alembics of the tower
   where the gas flares and your nerves buzz. Well?
   
   Shouldn’t you be off and running? Until another day, then.
   And he saddles his horse, which he called “Old Paint”(never
   knew why, except that its rough exterior was somewhat suggestive of old paint)
   and that was it. But I want to pray for you, whole
   afternoons-worth, I do. But sometimes the sledge is honest. It bears us away.
   
   
   
漫长的白昼
   
   (选自Hotel Lautreamont)
   作者:(美)约翰.阿什贝利(John Ashberry)
   译者:剑郭琴符
   
   你帽子里的羽毛?不是因为注意到了
   你所珍视和想忘记的
   其他作家半明半暗的信息。
   我坐在办公桌前;暴风雨
   在四月的一个早晨酝酿着。太阳仍然发光
   花苞已经枯萎。地面上有阴影。
   但我坐着,什么都不做,不担心我们生活在它之中是否正确。
   当她妹妹发现我是谁,
   为什么,那会获得优先权。当然,
   我们都会在这里多待片刻
   这意味着需要时间去发现,
   去测试小提琴向上滚动的张力
   假如一切顺利。
   
   那是住在麻袋里的日子,
   是答复门的轻松的一个。
   邻居们让你整夜不眠
   窃窃私语,犹豫不决,是时候去
   考察“阿加莎阿姨久经考验的食谱”,只是看看
   是谁在琢磨它,是否它们能
   在关节冷的时候莫名其妙回到你。
   唉,这些话只明确地说得恰到好处,
   说得太多了,事实上。平静恐惧的
   余烬,召集草坪椅子的通知
   促使人们检查最近的其他法令,在哪里?门垫像鬼魂一样
   在门缝下的草图中摇曳着,但有许多话要说
   没有人愿意下去,长途跋涉,如果需要的话,在这夏日
   病态阳光的的潮汐中
   看不见尽头的彩绘楼梯
   不管脚选择哪里,在这里
   杂草和粮食中,在那里的懊悔中,
   把我们建造的一切,我们所建造的一切都变成了糠秕。
   
   这是一种存在方式,它说。好吧,
   我不会争辩,但是给我看看增量,细如绒布,
   很明显,它会倾斜,结彩
   房间里的一棵树,最后在门关上的时候
   把书交给出版商。我不会羡慕它。
   如果我有天使的翅膀,有些东西,或者所有的东西,
   会有点不同,你会看到:它会
   在游戏中出现。使我们现在变得不精确的差异
   将驱使我们从那个空间学习,那种对刚刚过去的
   停顿的纯粹渴望,像神话、苹果一样成倍增长。
Livelong Days
   
   
   
   Feather in your cap? Not from heeding
   the half-lit messages of other writers
   you cherish and would like to forget.
   I sat at my desk; the storm was brewing
   on an April morning. The sun still shone
   and the bud had blasted. There were shadows on the ground.
   Yet I sat, not doing, not worrying whether we're living in it right.
   And when her younger sister found out who I was,
   why, that would take precedence. Certainly
   we’d all be here a while longer
   that would mean time to find out,
   to test the fiddle's scrolled-up tensions
   in case everything came out all right.
   
   Those were the days for living in a sack,
   a loose one for answering the door in.
   The neighbors kept you up all night
   with whispering and indecisions, it was time to
   look into “Aunt Agatha’s Tried and True Recipes” just to see
   who was mulling it and if they could
   somehow get back to you once the joint was cold.
   Alas, these spoke only in terms appropriate to the occasion,
   too much so, in fact. Where was the residue
   of calm fear, the notices
   to convene with the lawn chairs, that prompted inspection of other
   recent ordinances? And the doormat wiggled like a ghost
   in the draft under the door but there was quite a lot to be said
   and none willing to go down, slog down if need be, the painted stair
   whose ends were invisible
   in this tide of sick summer light
   wherever feet chose to take one, here
   among the weeds and provisions, there in the rue,
   and make chaff of all we built, all we had constructed against.
   
   That is a way of being, it said. All right,
   I won’t argue, but show me the increment, fine as lint,
   apparently, that tips it, festoons
   a tree in the room, and finally delivers the book
   to a publisher just as the door is closing. I won’t envy it.
   If I had the wings of an angel something, or everything,
   would be slightly different, and you'd see: it would
   come out in play. The differences that make us inexact now would
   chase us into learning from that space, that pure longing
   for the pauses just past, multiplying like mythologies, apples.
  

 楼主| 发表于 2021-3-17 22:43:13 | 显示全部楼层


四重奏
   
   (选自Hotel Lautreamont)
   作者:(美)约翰.阿什贝利(John Ashberry)
   译者:剑郭琴符
   
   一直
   
   因为我看到最美丽的
   名字在我的名字前面被打败
   
   我就被放逐到一颗小行星上
   (它)完美地融合了湿透的常识
   其中某处,一个松散的联系,
   
   只是不会让我觉得它
   总是
   让我弄清楚之前什么离去
   伴随来得太晚的那一个:
   
   邀请参加一个游泳池聚会
   那里开胃小菜和第一杯饮料
   都是免费的,但不是
   后来的那一杯
   在这季节这对我来说
   
   相当晚,我告诉一个疲惫的隐形客人
   但一个人必须侵入新居所
   不时地寻找
   新的地点,我说,他似乎
   同意
   
   我的约会已经有一段时间没人看到了
   哦,好吧,我正在努力失去她的猜测
   我们上楼去,只是看看周围
   闪光灯泡爆裂
   我说
   好,无论如何,因为它被烘烤,所以它将忍受
   
   协调的腹部在10:30
   准时急剧地到这里,没有人移动
   每只手都在舞台上之前,我想
   我知道这意味着什么,他说
   不会有更多的咖啡和甜甜圈
   在此顺利介绍之前我相信我是
   你的一个朋友当然他说给斯科特小姐腾出地方
   
   我想我没空担心
   别人会怎么接受寒冷
   它像毯子一样属于我们每个人
   就像恐惧没有消失
   虽然它确实在晚上消失
   早上又回来
   我们每个人都像肠子
   或膀胱一样处理它像
   
   它或不像我说我们是每个
   一台机器用来碾磨或分类任何
   被消化或淘汰的东西没有
   计划停下来一段时间
   短暂休假
   去一些剧院或看老电影
   这没用因为糟糕
   我们宣布自己是
   联合协议的一部分
   
   事实上我只是想回来一会儿
   以确保我没有留下任何事情在后面
   你瞧我是这个小屋里的中心主角
   所有要对我隐藏的东西都被隐藏起来了
   一切看起来都很正常
   所以我会批准这个文件
   没有世俗的理由不
   有
   我说而且他说不这一切都在气候里经过
   
   无论什么私人协会
   被调动通过这一思想列车没有
   改变会曾是答案
   我看到他正通往的地方
   几个世纪在我能解脱
   我所想的从法律义务的权利的感觉以前
   把一切都捆成一捆
   在你的镜子上认出我自己
   当我们俩都回到黑暗的池塘时
   同意最好来滋养这种感情
   用干杯和机智的安慰
   
   而不是承担一首新的史诗
   可能会陷入生产
   任何东西而不是那些被覆盖的货车
   汇聚在一个新的一天他说我和你在一起
   我不明白提示卡的意思
   是什么外面下着雪疗养院
   日光浴这是真的吗我花了我的一生都在干涉
   别人的欲望然后把一切拼凑
   在一起就在一切爆发之前我可以
   说是一旦我有了它的意义这是相当好的
   现在所有人都可以看到它的意义我已经忘记了
   一切但这一切似乎仍然相当好我猜他说
   
Quartet
   
   
   
   
   Always
   
   because I saw the most beautiful
   name go down ahead of mine
   
   I’m banished to an asteroid
   perfect meld of soppy common sense
   with somewhere a loose connection
   
   only don’t make me think it
   always
   I'm figuring out what went just before
   with that which comes too late:
   
   invitation to a pool party
   where the hors-d'oeuvres are free
   as well as the first drink but not
   the later ones
   this was pretty late in the season
   
   for me I told a tired invisible guest
   but one must invade new premises
   scout new locations
   from time to time I said he seemed
   to agree
   
   that my date hadn't been seen in some time
   oh well I was trying to lose her suppose
   we go upstairs and just have a look round
   flash bulbs popping
   I said
   well anyway as it is baked so shall it endure
   
   and the co-ordinated midriffs be here
   at 10:30 sharp no one moves
   before every hand is on stage I
   think I know what that meant he said
   there’d be no more coffee and doughnuts
   before this smooth introduction I believe I'm
   one of your friends of course he said make room for Miss Scott
   
   I suppose it’s idle of me to worry
   how other people will take the cold
   it belongs to each of us like a blanket
   and like fear doesn’t go away
   though it does go away in the evening
   and return in the morning
   and each of us deals with it
   like bowels or bladder like
   
   it or not I said we is each
   a machine for milling or sorting whatever
   gets digested or eliminated there's no
   planning to stop for a while
   taking a brief vacation
   taking in some theater or old film
   it's useless because bad
   we pronounced ourselves part of the
   joint agreement
   
   and indeed I just meant to come back for a moment
   to make sure I hadn't left anything behind
   and lo and behold I am the central protagonist
   in this cabana and all that was
   going to be hid from me is hid
   and everything looks quite normal
   and so I shall approve the document
   there's no earthly reason not to
   is there
   I said and he said no it’s all past in the weather
   
   and no matter what private associations are
   set in motion by this train of thought no
   change can ever be the result
   I saw where he was leading
   and it was centuries before I could disentangle
   my sense of what I thought was right from the legal
   obligation to bind everything into a sheaf
   to recognize myself on your mirror
   when we both returned to the dark pond
   agreeing it best to nourish the affection
   with toasts and witty consolation
   
   rather than undertake a new epic
   that might get bogged down in production
   anything rather than those covered wagons
   converging on a new day and he said I'm with you
   I can’t understand what the cue cards
   mean about it snowing outside the sanitarium
   solarium and is it true I am to spend my entire life meddling
   with someone else’s desires and then piecing
   everything together just before it all blows up and I can
   say yes once I had the meaning of it it was pretty good
   and now all can see the meaning in it and I have forgotten
   it all but it all still seems pretty good I guess he said
   
   
  

无题
   
   (选自Hotel Lautreamont)
   作者:(美)约翰.阿什贝利(John Ashberry)
   译者:剑郭琴符
   
   现在我不记得我会如何得到它。它不是管道(合流?)但是一个地方。地方,运动和秩序的。旧秩序的地方。但这场运动的尾声是新的。驱使我们说出我们正想的。毕竟,这很像一个海滩,你站在那里,不想再往前走了。当你不再前进的时候,它是好的。它像一个会把你挑选出来并把你放到你一直想去的地方的理由。如此遥远。正在横越,已经横越是公平的。然后在另一个里没有承诺。给你。钢铁和空气,斑驳的存在,为我们的小灵丹妙药和幸运。然后它变得很酷。
Untitled
   
   
   
   And now I cannot remember how I would have had it. It is not a conduit (confluence?) but a place. The place, of movement and an order. The place of old order. But the tail end of the movement is new. Driving us to say what we are thinking. It is so much like a beach after all, where you stand and think of going no further. And it is good when you get to no further.It is like a reason that picks you up and places you where you always wanted to be. This far. It is fair to be crossing, to have crossed. Then there is no promise in the other. Here it is. Steel and air, a mottled presence, small panacea and lucky for us. And then it got very cool.
  

作品完成
   
   (选自Hotel Lautreamont)
   作者:(美)约翰.阿什贝利(John Ashberry)
   译者:剑郭琴符
   
   每个人似乎都很高兴,甚至那些当时隐形的统计学家
   他们把我们带到了这个阶段。我的气压计工作得很好,
   一滴在擦掉的蓝色中的牛奶也这样认为。
   如果我再矮一点,天空也许
   会站起来轻蔑地迎接我
   以其有时具有的那样可爱的方式。我的火车被招呼停下。
   
   当然是时候去他们想让我们去的地方。
   我从不热衷于阅读
   虽然我喜欢唱歌,当我认识并不那样
   频繁出现的单词。而且你,你在晚上和我一起
   唱了一会儿,米妮和乔这山羊也加入了。
   
   要享受这份礼物的不体面
   就和不忘掉它,用阵雨来掩盖它
   一旦春天一到一样不可能。一旦春天一到
   一匹巨大的马尾的投影越过砰砰作响的大门。
   尾巴,我是说故事,对我们来说又开始了
   其方式太复杂了,无法细究,但我们确实提出了一系列问题。
   然后采访者说这就是那天的一切。
   副总统看起来很累。
   
   低潮时回到我的小屋
   我排练了一场我永远没有机会发表的演讲。
   曾经我把鹅卵石放进嘴里
   尽管我正在注释的野花列表没有说服力。
   我想说,总的来说,这是一次很好的经历
   但我也要说,一切都是一次很好的经历。
   我摸了摸针,知道它们是多么锋利。
   后来我成了一个敏捷的化妆师
   掌握了混合和搭配的艺术。
   我想我现在要回家了,喝茶,昏昏欲睡:
   只说也许先生,问合适的绅士
   关于这个,他总是做对了
   然后我们就走上了正确的道路,这总是一种解脱,
   
   是吗?“但我有话要告诉你。
   你玩这么远是不对的,首先;当你结束后
   你不应该抬起眼睛看着大海,它透过敞开的门
   把我们弄瞎了,即使你认为你已经和它结婚
   而且你不得不。或诸如此类的事。照这样下去,我们谁也不能及时得到
   我们的海绵,而河里却挤满了鱼。
   小心那水坑。
   如果他们知道我们彼此放纵了对方---但这一切
   又有什么世俗的用途?我们为什么在这里?”我告诉你:
   就这样,小小的裸体男人可以跑到高耸在
   他头顶的草地,洒上露珠,
   去屠杀寒冷
   去掌握那些改变了的军团
   他们的呼吸从来不会伤害
   任何东西,但你是被爱的,这是你的责任。
Oeuvres Completes
   
   
   Everyone seemed pleased, even the then-invisible statisticians
   who brought us to this pass. My barometer is working well;
   a drop of milk in the scudding blue thinks so.
   Maybe if I were shorter
   the sky would stand up to greet me contemptuously
   in that endearing way it sometimes has. My train is being flagged down.
   
   Surely it’s time to go where they want us to go.
   I was never big on reading
   though I enjoyed singing when I knew the words
   which wasn't that often. And you, you sang with me
   in the evenings for a while, and Minnie and Joe the goat joined in.
   
   It was as impossible to enjoy the unseemliness of that present
   as it was not to forget it, to cover it with showers
   once spring had come. Once spring had come
   the gigantic tail of a horse projected beyond the bam door.
   The tail, I mean the tale, was beginning for us again
   in ways too complicated to scrutinize, but we did come up with a set of questions.
   Then the interviewer said that was all for that day.
   The vice-president looked tired.
   
   Back in my shack at low tide
   I rehearsed the speech I would never have occasion to deliver.
   Once I put pebbles in my mouth
   though it lent no conviction to the list of wildflowers I was annotating.
   I would say that on the whole it has been a good experience,
   but I would also say that everything has been a good experience.
   I touched needles, and learned how they were sharp.
   Later I became a sharp dresser
   having mastered the art of mix and match.
   I think I’m going home now, to tea, it’s sleepy:
   just say maybe sir, ask the right gent
   about it, he always gets it right
   and then we're on the right track, which is always a relief,
   
   isn’t? But I have something to tell you.
   It was wrong of you to play this far, first; and when you had finished
   you should not have raised your eyes to the sea that blinded us
   through the open doors, even as you thought you had married it
   and were obliged to. Or something. At this rate none of us will get our
   sponge in time, while the river overflow with fish.
   Be careful of that puddle.
   If they knew we had indulged each other---but what earthly
   use does anything have? Why are we here? I’ll tell you:
   it’s so the little naked man can run out into the grass
   that towers over him, sprayed with dewdrops,
   to massacre the cold
   and master the changed legions
   whose breath never hurt
   anything, but you are loved and it's your responsibility.
   
  

就在星期三
   
   (选自Hotel Lautreamont)
   作者:(美)约翰.阿什贝利(John Ashberry)
   译者:剑郭琴符
   
   所以它喜欢光,喜欢
   由于它被取笑---请
   不要照我的字面意思理解。冬天的光
   在其所有的辉煌里很快就会照在我们身上---
   我现在可以看到了—对富人的喜欢
   应该混合着穷人们,这次
   某种意义上,我们都希望,在选择的过程中
   编码的自豪感,使我们成为现在的我们,
   使我们伟大的宗教适合我们,
   将得到部署,像地图一样的扇子,这样你就可以
   实际地坐下来
   
   找到我们来自哪里。诚然,一些人
   一开始声称他们认识到了这一点,后来
   承认他们没有,就好像历史的缓慢崛起
   只是某些曲调。这并没有阻止其他人
   真正完成这项工作,在这个过程中
   出现了金色的点,我们说,这些东西
   我们将拥有,现在。那欢快的
   木匠曲调只是作为伴奏和这一切
   一起演奏,但总有一天
   入住在自己的力量中。
   一种疲惫的胜利感接踵而至,但它是创造的
   现实。没有两种方法。
   
   所以人们出现,被对这件事的恐惧烫伤,
   就是这样。你给了我一分钱,我
   给了你两份同一个词的复制品,就像
   橡胶耳朵一样适合你。那是我的错吗,如果在这场
   轰动的尘埃中,有什么东西被故意强调、污损,
   成为整个国家的耻辱?
   毕竟,这很合适,当你穿着
   紫红色衣服出发,妈妈要在旅途的中点
   迎接我们时,但是她被带走了,一个
   穿着脏花边的老裁缝的假人
   在这个关头代替了复杂的知识。
   草越来越松,但互相靠得越来越近,
   花像树一样沙哑而凶猛。在松软的
   地面上,没有人下注,几分钟
   的缺席是蜜蜂的膝盖。如果月亮
   
   戴上了头巾你就应该离开。
   你放弃的那条无家可归的毯子---
   多年前就该送给他们俩。一些
   密友仍然聚集在那里,那里的海岸
   被解释,现在海浪
   用新的优势和泡沫解释它。差不多
   是守望人该告诉点灯的人的时候
   我也该换班,过了这么多年后。
   
Just Wednesday
   
   
   So it likes light and likes
   to be teased about it---please
   don’t take me literally. That winter light
   should be upon us soon in all its splendor---
   I can see it now---and the likes of the haves
   shall mingle with the have-nots, to some point
   this time, we all hope, and the pride encoded
   in the selection process that made us what we are,
   that made our great religions fit us,
   will be deployed, a map-like fan so you can
   actually sit down
   
   and find us where we came from. True, some
   at first claimed they recognized it and later
   admitted they didn’t, as though the slow rise
   of history were just some tune. That didn't prevent others
   from really finishing the job, and in the process
   turning up points of gold that are we say these
   things we shall have, now. And the jolly
   carpentered tune merely played along with all that
   as an obbligato, but on a day
   took up residence in its own strength.
   A weary sense of triumph ensued but it was the reality
   of creation. There were no two ways.
   
   And so one emerged scalded with the apprehension of this,
   that this was what it was like. You gave me a penny, I
   gave you two copies of the same word that were to fit
   you like rubber ears. Is it my fault if in the dust
   of the sensation something got knowingly underscored, defaced,
   a shame to all the nation?
   After all, it suited when you set out dressed
   in plum and Mama was to meet us at the midpoint
   of the journey but she got taken away and an old
   dressmaker's dummy draped in soiled lace was substituted
   for the intricate knowledge at this juncture.
   The grass grew looser but closer together,
   the flowers husky and fierce as trees. On the spiffy
   ground no wagers were taken and a few minutes’
   absence is the bee’s knees. It behooves
   
   you to depart if the moon is cowled.
   That homeless blanket you gave up---
   you should have sent them both years ago. A few
   cronies still gather there where the shore
   was explained and now the waves
   explain it with renewed mastery and suds. Almost
   time for the watchman to tell it to the lamplighter
   and I’ll be switched, after all these years.
   
   
  

 楼主| 发表于 2021-3-18 22:33:09 | 显示全部楼层
以我的方式/我在路上
   
   (选自Hotel Lautreamont)
   作者:(美)约翰.阿什贝利(John Ashberry)
   译者:剑郭琴符
   
   请原谅我的出现。我现在老了,
   尽管总有一天我会再次年轻。不,真的,在不久的将来。
   然而,怀抱着年轻的
   希望,在今天的孩子成为年轻的祖父母之前,
   在今天的吉普赛难民营还未开始上车并进入
   看不见的夜晚之前,那夜看见,
   不停地看见,像沐浴着我们
   仪式般的良知,从其密集的曲线我们知道
   我们永远逃不掉。我们在这里喜欢它,就像审判开始,
   变暖的趋势,更多空气,甚至在辖区花园恶意的微笑---
   我们同样喜欢它在那里吗?不,因为我们只喜欢我们
   已经知道的,熟悉的。任何不同的东西
   都将成为我们的废墟,就像站在
   城市的柱子和山麓上,
   悲切地评判我们的人,从他那达到顶点的注视中,没有
   转身离去,只回头直勾勾望着夜水坑的黑暗。
   
   有一次,我试图蠕动着摆脱人们叽叽喳喳叫着我名字建议的
   松散绞纱。如果一个人富有,他就可以做到。但对其他人来说,一个不好的
   假设从中出现,最后会有更多的死亡和痛苦,
   所以一个人最好走出家门,睡在野外
   恙虫寄生于紫丁香的地方,一只闷闷不乐的蟾蜍坐着,
   沉浸在自我沉思中。凭荣耀我更好地
   知道不久的判决是什么。正如我所说,当警铃响起时
   我正换上更舒适的衣服。
   这就是为什么我是你,为什么我们也
   似乎从来没有完全摆脱彼此的阴影。
   也许喝酒和它
   和海滩伞的彩色圆盘有关,那是很久以前顶着太阳建造的。
   
   然而,即使那里出了问题,也似乎会比通常的有更多的
   鼓声,更多的咔哒声。没有人能解释
   精力的剩余,尽管我试图
   和别人一起鄙视我自己的方式,但我还是忍不住
   把东西放在正确的光中。我要
   在成堆的云层中狂喜,每一片都在默默地渴望着
   上层的以太,弯着背,在聋子到来之前
   挡道的一切似乎都已成形。
   啊,从某种意义上说,从下面这些
   只会阻碍进一步学习和边界的
   死气沉沉的空气中走出来是一种精神,就好像这些人也是来看海的
   如此之后,回到了
   被墙围起来的自私的建筑里。他们的自负
   再也没有像被记得但不再的那一次
   那么贴切,在一片布满棉絮的塔架和极度焦虑的海洋上
   远离那件华丽的长袍,想象和无法想象的,直到那根从我们而来的
   杆子。在池塘周围,几鱼杆远的地方,液体
   表演开始并重复,不断地。
   我们现在住在“那灰尘”中
   但没有人动摇它,没有结局值得珍视、珍视和遗忘。
   
   就像当我们蹒跚着,坚定地认为我们的真理中没有生命,
   草丛中没有方位,不管怎样,谁在乎,为什么他指尖上的盐
   就是生命,足够我们在目前的情况下,
   一些事情总是把注意力集中在我们从学校以来所做的一切,
   我们是如何赤身裸体,摔倒,后面的人
   出现,尽职尽责地挑选我们,把我们作为证据提供
   法庭在一个重大的转变中决定听取辩论
   一切都很悲伤,这是判决,暂时的,
   直到意味深长的停顿被抛弃,迷你裙回来了,它们
   对时尚选择的未来充满了渴望,
   在舒适的沙漠中点缀着土方工程,
   各种水果缓和了口渴
   还有你的领导近乎疯狂的声音
   提醒我们实用的解决方案,如此过时,几乎被遗忘。
   
   远离人群绊倒的恐惧,
   应该刺激你的是一种新的渴望,无论今天是什么时候
   对所有角度的渴望,放在来自许多不同方面的
   毫无疑问的赞同上。
   诚然,我们扔出的一切
   都回来拜访,刺刀式的钟也真的
   恢复了,这种沉着有时是
   上帝赐予的礼物,有时是上帝赐予的,有时不是;他们的理由在一种情况下
   和在另一种情况下一样留下了神秘,即使在阳光似乎
   刚洗过的苹果味的地方的早晨,在青春年华的年华中
   参差不齐的树木,小房子比以前更明智
   就像一艘船驶过,默许着
   空旷,海岸,无精打采的海浪,都把我们
   从淫乱和忧郁中引开,每一次。然而,有些东西在等待。
   我能听到蟾蜍的吟唱。快到休息时间。
   客人登记册等待签字。这是另一次,某人的,航行。
In My Way/On My Way
   
   
   Pardon my appearance. I am old now,
   though someday I shall be young again. Not, it’s true, in the near future.
   Yet one cherishes a hope
   of being young before today’s children are young grandparents,
   before the gipsy camp of today has picked up and moved
   into the invisible night, that sees,
   and sees on and on like a ritual conscience
   that bathes us, from whose dense curves we know
   we shall never escape. We like it here as the trial begins,
   the warming trend, more air, even the malicious smile in the prefecture garden---
   would we like it as much there? No, for we only like what we already
   know, what is familiar. Anything different
   is to be our ruin, as who stands
   on pillars and pediments of the city,
   judging us mournfully, from whose cresting gaze is no
   turning away, only peering back into the blackness of the pit of water of night.
   
   Once I tried to wriggle free of the loose skein of people's suggestions
   chirping my name. One can do that if one is rich. But for others a bad
   supposition comes of it, there is more death and pain at the end,
   so that one is better off out of the house, sleeping in the open
   where chiggers infest the lilacs, and a sullen toad sits,
   steeped in self-contemplation. By glory I had
   better know before too long what the verdict is. As I said I was changing
   to more comfortable clothing when the alarm bell sounded.
   Which is why I am you, why we too
   never quite seem to escape each other’s shadow.
   Perhaps drinking has something to do with it
   and the colored disc of a beach umbrella, put up long ago against the sun.
   
   Yet even where things go wrong there is more
   drumming, more clatter than seems normal. There is a remnant of energy
   no one can account for, and though I try
   to despise my own ways along with others, I can’t help placing
   things in the proper light. I am to exult
   in the stacks of cloud banks, each silently yearning
   for the upper ether and curving its back, and in the way all things
   seem to have of shaping up before the deaf man comes.
   O in a way it is spiritual to be out from under these
   dead packages of the air that only inhibit
   further learning and borders, as though these too came to see the sea
   and having done so, returned
   to selfish buildings enclosed by walls. Their conceit
   was never again to be quite as apt as that time that is remembered
   but no more, on a quilted sea of pylons and terminal anxiety
   far from the rich robe, imagined and unimagined, as far as the pole
   is from us. As around the pond, several rods away, the liquid
   performance starts and repeats, endlessly.
   We live now in that dust
   but no one shakes it, no finish is yet prized, prized and forgotten.
   
   As when we bumble, maintaining steadfastly that there is no life in the truth of us,
   no bearings in the grass, and who cares anyway, why the salt
   on his fingertip is life enough for us under the present circumstances,
   something always focuses attention on all we have done since school,
   how we were naked, and fell, and those
   coming up behind dutifully picked us up and presented us as evidence
   and the court in a major shift decided to hear the arguments
   and all was sadness, it was decreed, for a while,
   till pregnant pauses were abandoned, and miniskirts returned, and with them
   a longing for a future of fashionable choices,
   dotted earthworks in the comforting desert,
   various fruits to assuage thirst
   and the almost maniacal voice of your leader
   reminding us of practical solutions so out of date they were all but forgotten.
   
   Far from fear of crowds stumbling,
   what ought to incite you is a new hunger for all the angles of whatever
   day this is, placed against the sandstone of undoubted
   approval from many different quarters.
   True, all that we hurled
   returns to visit, and true too that the bayoneted
   clock recovers, that composure is a gift
   that sometimes the gods bestow, and sometimes not; their reasons in the one
   as in the other case remaining inscrutable even to apple-
   scented mornings where the light seems newly washed, the gnarled trees in the prime
   of youth, and the little house more sensible than ever before
   as a boat passes, acquiescing to
   the open, the shore, the listless waves that distract us
   out of prurience and melancholy, every time. Yet something waits.
   I can hear the toad crooning. It's almost time for intermission.
   The guest register awaits signing. It's another, someone's, voyage.
   
不好的名字
   
   (选自Hotel Lautreamont)
   作者:(美)约翰.阿什贝利(John Ashberry)
   译者:剑郭琴符
   
   我们在这里够久。
   过去就像一个夸张的长长的阴影,退进
   有先见之明的,新东西中---
   我最初是来做研究的。
   我有我的笔记,谢谢你。火车
   在封闭的小院子里等着。我现在唯一的责任
   就是感谢所有那些长期以来容忍我
   和信任我的人。这似乎
   像一个漫长的过程。我也要感谢
   那些我从未接触过的其他人,
   他们也许不在人世,但
   不知怎么我们是同位语,当我的钢笔
   猛击自己,我想记住的
   主要是那些其他人。总之,“谢谢”。
   
   在旅途的任意阶段他看到
   我们想要看到的东西:晾衣绳上的内衣,
   飞舞的树叶,一片片肮脏的雪,真的没有人
   在这些没有什么不同的东西上曾经测试你
   如果你还没有看到他们的全部,但由于浮现
   它们已经成为画面的一部分,如此巨大而充满活力
   谁也看不见。后来,在车站,
   你问候了一小群亲密且没有如此亲密的朋友,
   争论这个交易会有所不同
   如果它发生在一个类似于时间框架的事情上,
   或者一个风景,甚至是一个人们只听说过的风景。
   你们互相炫耀你们的衣服,害羞地微笑,
   谈论大家这几天服用的
   药物的后遗症,似乎创造了
   差异,把广场上的叶子拿出来。
   
   伟大的游记必须以这种方式创作
   因为沙漠的闪光重新沉入某种温顺
   而冰冷的触角,在当天的收盘价面前止步不前。
   一瞬间可怕的巫术不够大地吞食而
   变得完整,让人们以
   适合自己的方式变得明智。
No Good at Names
   
   
   We’ve been out here long enough.
   The past recedes like an exaggeratedly long shadow
   into what is prescient, and new---
   what I originally came to do research on.
   I have my notes, thank you. The train is waiting
   in the little enclosed yard. My only duty
   now is to thank all those who put up with me
   and trusted me so long. It must have seemed
   like a long process. My thanks are due, too,
   to others with whom I never came in contact,
   who may not have been alive, but
   somehow we were in apposition, and as my pen
   strikes out on its own, it is chiefly those others
   I wish to remember. In a word, merci.
   
   And at random stages of the journey he sees
   what we were meant to see: underwear on a clothesline,
   flying leaves, patches of dirty snow, It's true no one
   ever tests you on these things, that nothing would have been different
   if you hadn’t seen them all, yet by emerging
   they have become part of the picture, so vast and energetic
   it gets seen by nobody. Later, in the station,
   you greet a small group of close and not-so-close friends,
   sparring about would the bargain have been different
   if it had happened in something resembling a time-frame,
   or a landscape, even a landscape one has only heard about.
   And you show each other your clothes, smiling shyly,
   and talk about the after-effects of the medication
   everyone's taking these days, and it seems to have made
   a difference, brought out the leaves in the public squares.
   
   Great travel writing has to be manufactured this way
   for the desert's glitter to sink back into something tractable
   and frozen antennae to balk at the day's closing prices.
   A moment of horrible witchcraft isn’t too much to be swallowed
   for the land to become whole, and people wise
   in the way that suits them.
   
  

 楼主| 发表于 2021-3-31 22:37:53 | 显示全部楼层
拍摄黑色天使电影
   
   (选自Hotel Lautreamont)
   作者:(美)约翰.阿什贝利(John Ashberry)
   译者:剑郭琴符
   
   洗他下面的地板
   仅仅是希望的动机。如果在什么珍贵的东西里
   有一个瑕疵,这意味着一个或多个人
   已经被感应。当他们听说这件事时
   似乎丰富的背景是你,你的空间。它借给你
   一种狂暴的,你轻松正确穿过的尊严。
   仪表板上不再有苹果,
   这正在欺骗真实的东西,认真地
   带着生命和自信。当你死了
   他们首先记得你。这是一艘划船上的
   两盏灯,离岸半英里处
   当夜风渐渐接近,凝结人际关系。
   他们似乎总是听到你,大声的你,
   否则除了便利,没有人记得。
   
   当不可避免的突然变化到来时,
   我留心你对我所发生的事情
   反射的确认,不幸的是得到了它。
   下午的窗户在洪水中泄露了他们的秘密
   好像从来没有人有过。倾盆大雨中
   独特的鼻子和亚当的苹果,可以确定
   在即将到来的祝贺声加剧的寂静中
   被火车刺耳的汽笛击碎:
   门滑着关闭,除了等另一列火车
   什么也不能做,但这趟车仍然留在站台上。
   在某些现代气氛和环境中
   太糟糕的自杀是令人气馁的;它造出
   这样一个优雅的结局;然而,我们会洗刷,
   坚持分离的想法,好像它们制定了一个模式。
   一切都会受到侮辱
   到了最后,在事情变得棘手的地方
   除了道歉,干豆和随便的性行为,甚至
   邻居在校园里的女孩,在半个世纪前
   当事情看起来还很现代
   潜在的动机是一样的
   虽然不是黑暗,复杂地造出他们。
   说我们刚降落,就像在一个洞里的陌生人:
   我们被砍掉了什么样的举止,什么帆
   为降落到太阳的问题修剪。
   美国人是否更性感,她喘着气,或者是什么
   使他们的裸体在这个经常排练的企业上
   有一个潜意识的变化,直到我们能
   看进它,安排差异?你听到的呻吟
   只是闲聊,有人四处奔波
   在规则、修辞或其他一些讲述命运的事情上
   教导我们同情心的店员
   如果我们要重新得到它。
   
   但是在住宅街的路边
   当风吹起,当地人
   摆脱对风景的任何联系,回到糟糕的,
   同样的两分法也得到了。我们和他们。
   这不比那简单得多。
   当我接近主人的开关
   求教,到处都没有什么认可的
   微笑,在凝云中,在不情愿的岸边
   告诉我们回家是安全的。
   
   “我希望他们能来。
   他们可以睡在我床下。”
Film Noir
   
   
   Just the washing of the floors
   under him was cause for hope.If there was a flaw
   in something precious, it meant one or more persons
   had been inducted already. When they heard about it
   it would come to seem as though the rich background
   was you, your space. It lent you
   a furious dignity that you breezed right through.
   No more apples on the dashboard,
   this is cheating the real thing, earnest
   with life and self-assurance. And when you died
   they remembered you chiefly. It was two
   lights on a rowboat, a half-mile offshore
   as the evening breeze drew nigh, cementing relationships.
   And it seemed as though they always heard you, loud you,
   that otherwise nobody remembered except conveniently.
   
   When the inevitable abrupt change arrived
   I looked to you for reflected confirmation of what
   was happening to me, and unfortunately got it.
   The afternoon windows released their secrets in a flood
   as though no one had ever had any. In the downpour
   distinct noses and adam's-apples could be determined
   in a mounting hush of congratulation soon to be
   shattered by a train’s ear-piercing whistle:
   the doors slid shut, there was nothing to do except wait
   for another train, yet this one still stayed at the platform.
   Too bad suicide is discouraged
   in certain modern climates and situations; it makes
   for such a neat ending; nevertheless we will brush on,
   clinging to separate ideas as though they made a pattern.
   And all shall be insulted
   at the end where the going gets sticky
   beyond any apology, beyond dried beans and casual sex, beyond even
   the neighbor's girl in a schoolyard, half a century ago
   when things still seemed pretty modern
   and underlying motives were the same
   though not the dark, intricate working out of them.
   Say we just landed, like strangers in a hole:
   what manner of manners is to be cut out of us, what sails
   trimmed for the descent into the matter of the sun.
   Are Americans sexier, she breathed, or what is it
   that gives their nudes a subliminal variation
   on this often rehearsed enterprise, until we can see
   into it, arranging differences? And that moan
   you heard was just idle gossip, someone running around
   to instruct the clerks of our compassion
   in rules, rhetoric or some other tell-tale destiny
   if we are about to get it right again.
   
   But on the curb of the residential street
   where wind thrives and the locals
   shrug off any connection to the scenery, back where it was bad,
   the same dichotomy obtains. We and they.
   It's not much more simple than that.
   And as I approach the master switch
   for instructions, there are little smiles of recognition
   everywhere, in the curdled clouds, on the reluctant shore
   to tell us it’s safe to go home.
   
   I hope they can come.
   They can sleep under my bed.
   

  
徒劳,因此
   
   (选自Hotel Lautreamont)
   作者:(美)约翰.阿什贝利(John Ashberry)
   译者:剑郭琴符
   
   投弃货物叹息着,
   淹没了前厅,
   易脆的暴力铭刻在
   船长的前额:
   
   有人在倒数第二站下车;
   其他人,没那么幸运
   在小路上迷路,
   松树和薄雾转运过来
   直到出口的小门
   
   移开了对从前,人类时代的所有想法。
   我们,按理说,
   过着下流的生活,属于熊。
   
   极少数携带足够的能量
   以创造一个动力学的键合安排。
   这些人就是所谓的伤心人
   一个人在餐馆吃饭,
   弄干头发…
   
   蒲公英死了,夏天的
   泥巴。他们
   说着烤肉,被遗忘
   但十年后
   瀑布,未使用
   被毁了,它被毁了,没站起来。
In Vain, Therefore
   
   
   
   the jetsam sighs,
   flooding the front hall,
   with the fragile violence etched
   on the captain’s forehead:
   
   some got off at the next-to-last stop;
   others, less fortunate
   were lost on the trail,
   pines and mist carrying over
   until the exit wicket
   
   displaced all thoughts of a former, human time.
   We, it was reasoned,
   led lewd lives, belong with the bears.
   
   A very few carry enough energy to
   create a kinetic bonding arrangement.
   These are the so-called sad ones
   eating alone in restaurants,
   drying their hair...
   
   The dandelions are dead and the mud
   of summer. They
   tell of roasted meats, be oblivion
   but a decade away
   and the waterfall, unused,
   is ruined, it is ruined, is not to stand.
  
啤酒客
   
   (选自Hotel Lautreamont)
   作者:(美)约翰.阿什贝利(John Ashberry)
   译者:剑郭琴符
   
   把它想象成正在发生的事情
   或者只是在路上的事情,没有命名
   直到我们召集会议,重温它,吃它。
   当然,后来发现的比实际需要的
   多得多。看看这个季节。
   树木闪闪发光,被困在棱镜中。雨伞
   是一种新的,未加工的颜色。温度
   还不是应该是的模样。看。享受。
   你的房子像绳子上的珠子一样
   在你周围噼啪作响。那
   很好。每一个都有它的力量,它的潜意识的魔力
   并且知道如何避开
   直到它的表达时间被划入
   粗糙的石头。它将如何永恒。
   
   你不能做到那么年轻。现在,
   你开始着手于离去的东西,已经
   发现它焕然一新。新的一年又如何?
   最后一次见到它的时候,它有一种终结的空气
   但是天气洗刷了我们的许多东西,它
   最后似乎跛脚了,然后挤进了公共汽车
   带着所有命运、愤怒、当然
   还有我们,还有来自家乡的庶民。到目前为止,我们如何
   再次处理它,对现在的报纸来说是
   一个故事,但这种
   谨慎的说法如何能
   给贮存一个苗圃,仍然是
   让当局不断感到困惑的事情。所有
   出售的颜色,都是它们意味着
   经过我们两个,有什么变化的意思。
   
   在他们的行动中有着
   巨大的力量,这些美国人,接下来你
   知道,从口袋里取出的一枚硬币
   将被视为真正的真理血清,
   只是你现在无法逃脱
   着秋天道路结冰了。
   然后他当然给他们
   增加了距离和公正,他们惊奇地
   分开了,他在别人的营地里
   却能给你写信。你穿着浴衣
   很尴尬,他们都闭嘴了。
   他只是迫不及待地想把这些银莲花当作真理来夸耀
   真理射得他遍及全身
   他来了,当然有一个事实摧毁了他。
   现在该干杯了,亲爱的?我
   宁愿想,希望我能看到他很久
   一天晚上,在新雪开始前。
The Beer Drinkers
   
   
   Think of it as something that is happening
   or something that is merely in the way, unnamed
   until we call a meeting, go over it, eat it.
   And then of course so much more of it is found
   than was really necessary. Look at this season.
   Trees are shiny, trapped in prisms. Umbrellas
   are a new, raw color. The temperature's
   not what it’s supposed to be yet. Look. Enjoy.
   Your house comes clattering down around you
   like beads from a string. That’s
   nice. Each has its strength, its subliminal magic
   and knows just how to keep out of the way
   until the time for its expression is scratched
   into the rude stone. How it will be forever.
   
   You couldn't do that young. Now,
   you set about what is going, and already
   find it refreshed. And what of the new year?
   It had an air of finality to it when last seen
   but weathers wash so many of what we are, it
   seems lame at last, then crowded into the omnibus
   with all the fates, and furies, and us
   of course, and the folks from home. How we
   managed it yet again is a tale
   for the newspapers by now, but how
   the wariness of the telling could so
   stock a nursery is something that continues
   to baffle authorities. And all the colors
   put up for sale, were they meant to
   go by us two, and what is the change.
   
   They have this tremendous power
   in their doing, these Americans, and next you
   know a coin extracted from a pouch
   will be seen to be the real truth serum,
   only you cannot get away just now
   and in the autumn the roads freeze over.
   And then of course he added distance
   and rightness to them, and they came
   apart amazed, and he was in someone else's camp
   but could write to you. And you were embarrassed
   in a bathrobe and it shut them all up.
   He was only dying to air these anemones as a truth
   and the truth shot all over him
   and he came, and of course that one fact annihilated him.
   Time for toasts now, darling? I think
   rather, and hope I shall see him long
   one of these evenings before the new snow starts.
   

 楼主| 发表于 2021-4-2 09:53:54 | 显示全部楼层
你告诉的
   
   (选自Hotel Lautreamont)
   作者:(美)约翰.阿什贝利(John Ashberry)
   译者:剑郭琴符
   
   大炮挥手告别夏天
   长长的呼吸弧线占据了它们离开的地方:
   无语。有人看见一辆轮子摇摇晃晃的老爷车一瘸一拐地
   驶进一个废弃的加油站。秋天插入
   你的喉咙;你现在做任何事都一定有理由,
   比如找一个你确信
   它们不是的地方,然后你就发现了什么。金钱叮当作响,
   愉快了一秒钟。然后汽车、乌鸦和奶牛都走开了。
   
   十六年中,它不是这样的……这
   交响乐的延伸。空间是如何被创造出来的
   在进入它的概念的东西真正存在之前,
   但通过生成,它确实。而且已经有一段历史了。
   你,你也在里面。它开始卷曲回到我们身上
   就像一张晚上的床单,而且选择不知何故是有限的,
   说明远远没有完成。你必须下到
   湍急的河边去,安抚
   那里它们称为神的任何事物。然后反射的闪烁给光亮
   涂蜡。这是开场白。虹膜是黑暗
   和谨慎的,我喜欢我的男性模式秃顶。在遥远的海上
   海豚和商人们睡着了
   把我们带到了比想象中更远的地方,带到上面的地板上。
   
   我跪下来倾听。没有什么不寻常的事,
   也没有不正当的表现。饭菜又准备好了,
   夏天的麦捆突袭而来,雨水淹没了农民眼皮底下
   草地的混乱。是我被单独
   挑出来,诉说这个的那些,而旷课的主要人群
   都逃到了附近的山上吗?如果是,那就这样:
   我已经接受了我的立场,并差不多准备
   让它把我搞得筋疲力尽。我们所说的不合时宜的
   话的坩埚也不会回来促使一种新的自满,在
   狮身人面像的爪子之间保持安静,也不会有任何电气干扰。
   
   我知道空气本身是有害的。我必须为那些不能的人
   呼吸它;只让节点被保护起来不受他们之害
   他们在一些欢乐的山谷里,远离这里,野餐
   可以发生在藤蔓下,最微小的
   成分被分类、排干,并得到认可。
   
   反对派总有他们的
   一套。看到霓虹灯栅栏吗?它拼写出太多的常识,
   这是一件好事,在这个意义上,记忆是无效的。
   后来,这些巨石变得无人看管;
   天空中有些奇怪和肮脏的东西,尽管
   经过几十年的斗争,集中化
   终于实现了,一个人可以住在
   这些小房子里,有他们的花园,而且一切
   还要再完整几年。但我认为,这种隐秘
   是隐藏在某个地方的寄生虫,很快
   其他城镇和银行就会对新来者望而却步,最重要的商品
   也出现短缺,甚至时间
   也几乎所剩无几。现在,告诉你的老师们,
   孩子们,我们有多富裕,关于转变你打算在你的文章里
   写些什么。浩瀚的东西也是空旷,
   粗糙的年龄,在虚假的谦虚和来自不同来源的抱怨
   包括死亡上打洞。似乎
   真理是关于别的东西,各种各样的和邪恶的,或者正是
   这些十足的因素,但主要
   是一个拖延的跨度。当一切都结束了,这就是真理:
   一窝还藏着的蛋,一只鸟的假飞。
  That You Tell
   
   
   The cannons waved summer goodbye
   and the long arcs of breathing took up where they left off:
   speechless. An old jalopy with wobbly wheels was seen to limp
   into an abandoned filling station. Autumn sticks
   in your throat; you must have a reason for doing anything now,
   such as looking in a place you were sure
   they weren't. Then you find something. Money jingles,
   brightness is for a second. Then the cars, crows and cows walk away.
   
   In sixteen years it hadn’t been like this …this
   symphonic stretch. How room had been created
   before the notion of what was to go in it actually existed,
   and yet by becoming, it did. And already had a history.
   You, you were in it too. It started to curl back on us
   like a sheet at night, and the choices were somehow limited,
   the instructions far from complete. You must go down
   to the shore of the steeply flowing river and assuage
   whatever they call gods there. Then the reflected shimmer waxes bright
   again. This is the prologue. The irises are dark
   and prudent, and I like my male-pattern baldness. Far at sea
   porpoises and businessmen are asleep
   taking us farther than can be imagined, to the floor above.
   
   I knelt and listened. There was nothing unusual,
   no appearance of impropriety. Meals were prepared again,
   the summer's sheaf raided, rains drowned the meadows pell-mell
   under the eyes of peasants. Is what I'm being singled
   out for, to tell of this, while the main population
   of truants escapes over nearby hills? If so, so be it:
   I've taken my stand and am pretty much prepared
   to let it wear me out. Nor does the crucible of what we said
   out of turn return to urge a new complacency, quiet
   between the paws of the sphinx, nor does anything electrical have to interfere.
   
   I know the air itself is noxious. I must breathe it
   for those who can’t; only let the nodes be protected from themselves
   that in some joyous valley, far from here, picnicking
   can occur under the vines, and the
   tiniest constituents be sorted and drained, and approved.
   
   The opposition has its way
   always. See that neon fence? It spells out too much common sense,
   which is a good thing, in the sense that memory is voided.
   Afterwards, the monoliths grow untended;
   something strange and seedy in the sky though centralization
   has finally been realized after how many decades
   of struggle and one may live
   in these little homes, with their gardens, and all
   be complete for a few more years. But I think the stealth
   is a parasite hidden in it somewhere, that soon
   other towns and banks discourage newcomers and there is a shortage
   of the most vital commodities and even time
   has almost run short. Now, tell it to your teachers,
   kids, how well off we were and what you were going to write
   in your essay about the conversion. What is vast is also hollow,
   ragged with age, riddled with false modesty and complaints
   from divers sources, including death. It seems
   the truth was about something else, various and vicious, or it was
   these very elements but mostly
   a protracted span. And when it was over, that was the truth:
   a nest of eggs still hidden, the false flight of a bird.
   
   
   
你袜子上的一个洞
   
   (选自Hotel Lautreamont)
   作者:(美)约翰.阿什贝利(John Ashberry)
   译者:剑郭琴符
   
   一个男人走在一座城市里
   好像在某个地方突然转向。
   他们伸出双臂,触摸双手。
   就是这样做的,每天。
   
   我的电话被窃听。
   我想报警。
   不,不明显,是“程序”的一部分,
   信息控制得很平滑。
   
   我们凝视着早已死去的甲壳类动物的
   外壳,等待着青铜时代的结束。
   我们走得更远,车船费更糟。
   他们还回了我们小雨衣。
   
   然后政府加入行动
   其他人挤进挤出。
   那是某种东西,同一类的
   圣徒。你必须接受。
   
   他们简直就是…死。那就是它。
   当我们在偶然的
   天气里回来
   魅力在天空之外倍增,
   
   作为一种成分,
   曾经是如此的现代。
   班长们,无聊的演员们
   继续走。一滴泪珠
   矗立在半空中。
   
   这个未来对我们有好处。
A Hole in Your Sock

   
   A man walks at a city
   as though veering off somewhere.
   They extend arms, touch hands.
   This is how it is done, everyday.
   
   My phone is tapped.
   I wish to call the police.
   Not, not obviously, part of the “proceedings,”
   the message takes control smoothly.
   
   We contemplate the shells of crustaceans
   long dead, waiting for the Bronze Age to end.
   We go farther, fare worse.
   And they gave us our little raincoat back.
   
   Then the government gets into the act
   and the others crowd in and out.
   That was something, sainthood
   of a sort. You have to take it.
   
   They simply... die. And that’s it.
   When we come back
   in fortuitous weather
   the charm has multiplied beyond the sky,
   
   is ever so contemporary,
   as an ingredient should be.
   The class marshals, boring thespians
   have walked on. A teardrop
   stands in the middle air.
   
   This future does us good.
   
   
社交
   
   (选自Hotel Lautreamont)
   作者:(美)约翰.阿什贝利(John Ashberry)
   译者:剑郭琴符
   
   他吃过早饭回来,三十五年前,
   他蹒跚着,在阳光下发现了一个新的点头。
   这并不是说我们比一秒钟前更富裕了。
   这些日子,庄严与惊惶交替,我们的日子,
   属于曾经在这里的某个人。我们不能说的更多。
   
   然而,一种模糊的同情驱使他们进入我们的方向。
   “等一会,”它说,“也许可以
   达成妥协,谁知道呢?”但我们正处于违背的
   模式。整个秋天,猎人们的
   红色外套点缀着橡胶般的腐朽树叶:
   
   “看来似乎经历了很多。”
   所以当我们说对不起的时候,那只是
   一点点地成熟得太快,没有人听到我们。
   吹号的时间到了,刚刚过去。天哪,
   我正要起来开门,等我
   
   到那儿时没人在。哦,好吧,
   为洒了的花生哭泣是没有用的。
   但我想让我爱的人知道
   我们都是懦夫,不仅仅是我,正是如此
   我们在平凡的到来带来的时间里取得了
   
   正常的胜利,扎根于
   热情地四处寻找同伙;
   当没有人决定性地在那里的时候,为什么,它变得更酷了,
   我们可以无休止地讨论这个问题,在藤蔓下,
   狂饮抽象的月光。
And Socializing
   
   
   Back from his breakfast, thirty-five years ago,
   he stumbles, finds in the sun a nod that’s new.
   Which is not to say we are any better off than a second ago.
   These days, by turns solemn and skittish, our days,
   belong to someone who once was here. More we cannot say.
   
   Yet a vague pathos urges them in our direction.
   “Wait a moment,” it says, “perhaps a compromise
   could be reached, who knows?” But we are in the departure
   mode. All along the autumn, the hunters'
   red coats star the rubbery and decaying foliage:
   
   “It looks as though it’s been through a lot.”
   So that when we say we are sorry, that was just
   a little growing accomplished too fast, no one hears us.
   The time for trumpets is here, has just passed. Gosh,
   and I was getting up to answer the door, and by the time
   
   I got there no one was there. Oh, well,
   there's no use crying over spilled peanuts.
   But I want the one I love to be aware
   that we are all cowards, not just me, and just so
   we have our normal victory in the time that ordinary
   
   arriving brought, and rooting about
   enthusiastically in search of cohorts;
   and when none are definitively there, why, it has grown cooler
   and we can talk this over endlessly, under the vine,
   quaff the abstract moonlight.
   
   
修正主义号角协奏曲
   
   (选自Hotel Lautreamont)
   作者:(美)约翰.阿什贝利(John Ashberry)
   译者:剑郭琴符
   
   还有什么云彩能说明
   这一切对我们有多重要?按钮、字符串、一点点绒毛:
   它们都在那里,被替换的图像的词汇表,
   所以如果它的信息加起来不多,那是
   谁的错?我可以想象正确地给出答案
   但它不起作用,没有任何问题被暗示
   在那些华丽的、编结的细棉中。对它们
   知之甚少,对它们的家乡、背景等
   一无所知。实际上,它们不过是一种
   处理沉默的专横方法,把沉默留在那里,然后
   去做某些探险。所以什么都
   没用。但是没有什么能伤害我们。
   
   不要害怕让它伤害你,让它
   在清晨的铁丝网下翩翩起舞,重新思考尼罗河的无限定时炸弹
   和今天的鞋带之间的调换。此外,这些时期
   有一种消逝的方式,也就是所谓的愈合过程。
   有人在乎,再次,它去了哪里吗?或者它用
   自己设计的独特的不和谐
   打断了谁的睡眠?它们总是在
   给收银机拍照,一些人进来说应该是这样的。
   从现在起,你就陷入了众所周知的困境。然而,承诺的
   等于减去的,而在院子里
   社交的时间弥补了钱是如何花费的。直到
   几年后,有人四处走动才注意到光秃的,
   最初隐藏在那里的滑稽错误
   把它等同于生命的开始。那时它已经满帆了,
   在大门上摇曳了多久,我们
   还得探出火车车厢,摇曳着,歌唱着。
   这臭嘴现在应该和泥土和杂草粘结在一起。
   但我们不会让这样的小事
   破坏这个惊喜的生日,是吧?
   除了杆子
   还在转动之外,在梦中,就像人力车的
   巨大轮子,从近处看,现在
   浸入泥泞和混乱之中,现在像叹息一样升起,像一只
   正在修补的云雀,提醒我们一切都好,或者应该是好的,
   或者很快就会是好的,如果对它的影子感兴趣。
   
Revisionist Horn Concerto
   
   
   
   What more clouds are there to say
   how it all matters to us? Buttons, strings, bits of fluff:
   it's all there, the vocabulary of displaced images,
   so that if its message doesn't add up to much, whose
   fault is it? I can imagine casting the answer correctly
   but it doesn’t work, there’s no question implied
   in those gorgeous, plaited ravellings. Only a little
   is known about them, and nothing about their hometowns,
   backgrounds, etc. Really nothing more than a masterful
   way of dealing with silence, of leaving it there, and then
   being off on some expedition. So nothing works. But there is nothing there that can harm us.
   
   Don’t be afraid to let it hurt you, dance it
   under morning's wire, ponder anew the shuffle between the infinite
   time bomb of the Nile and today's shoelaces. Besides, these periods
   have a way of elapsing, and the so-called healing process.
   Does anybody care, anymore, where it went? Or whose sleep
   it interrupted with a unique dissonance
   of its own devising? They were always photographing
   the cash register, some men came in and said it should be this way.
   From now on you're in the proverbial fix. Yet what was promised
   was equal to what was subtracted, while periods of socializing
   in the yard made up for how the money was spent. It wasn't until
   years later that someone got around to noticing the bald,
   comic error that had been hidden there in the first place
   to equate it with life’s beginning. By then it was in full sail,
   swinging on the gate of how much longer we
   have to lean out of the railroad car, swaying, singing.
   The foul mouth should be caked with mud and weeds by now.
   But we’re not going to let a little thing like that
   spoil this surprise birthday, are we?
   In addition to which the pole
   still turns, in dreams, like the enormous wheel
   of a rickshaw, viewed from up close, now
   dipping into the mud and chaos, now rising like a sigh, a lark
   on the mend, to remind us that all is well, or should be,
   or will be shortly, given the interest in its shadow.
   
   
狮子应该保护的女人
   
   (选自Hotel Lautreamont)
   作者:(美)约翰.阿什贝利(John Ashberry)
   译者:剑郭琴符
   
   有时你想要,它却不:
   一个约德尔唱法周围的空间变得震耳欲聋,
   然后呕吐到管弦乐池。
   
   然而,这一切都在等待着我,
   拥抱着我,进入接受我以为
   自己正在失去的东西之中,一桶桶光从楼梯上落下。
   
   你知道,当我们短时间离开家
   我们永远不能确定,当我们回来时
   那地方是什么---一些黄色的租客在适当的地方
   胡言乱语,或者,更可能的家具
   将是一个阴暗的黑人。当然,这得
   由你自己做主去查明---你是“你的”难题。
   
   这就是为什么我能如此准确地直觉到
   你所退缩的一切的边缘:
   准确地说,这条道路被遗弃边缘
   
   割穿了许多时间和我们自己。
   别讨好它---树
   会管闲事;青蛙在自己的时间里,
   
   一个无聊的抄表员。如果我们下不了车
   为什么我们男人们会喜欢那片豹子灰的地方
   那里是小学生们聚集的地方。
   
   如果我有过性行为---或性行为不当---
   在宇宙的某个地方,总有一个古老的
   真理在谈论它。多么寂静,一切
   
   都引导到了这过去的一天,迫切要求着,没有压力,
   我们大自然的纪念碑,在你知道之前
   我们又梦见了光谱。有些日子
   
   是用来洗衣服的(“这是”我们洗衣服的方式),
   其他日子是用来偷偷摸摸,吃东西的。有人听到
   那个拼凑的女孩在她的工作室里唱歌。在我下车后的
   
   几个星期里,我就像一个着魔的人---找不到
   合适的形式。寂静是可怕的。
   但在遭受了天气和海岸的磨损之后,
   
   一些乳脂状的东西滑了进来,一楔子
   或多或少的脾气复合成你,
   设计你,等待你倒下,监督。
   
   冰的雪撬在春天的阳光下融化---
   更多的水来哭泣。很快第一次野餐…
   但是他们导致了黑湾
   
   海盗们经常互相溺死。承包的东西
   是现在的脚手架,浸泡在蓝色中。
   我们有办法和你保持联系。
The Woman the Lion Was Supposed to Defend
   
   
   And sometimes when you want it to it won’t:
   the space around a yodel grows deafening,
   then vomits into the orchestra pit.
   
   Yet all of this was waiting for me,
   to hug me into accepting what I thought
   I was losing, barrel of light down the stairs.
   
   You know when we leave home for a short time
   we can never be sure what that place will be
   when we get back---some yellow tenant gibbering
   
   in place, or, more likely the furniture
   will be a shade blacker. And of course it’s
   up to you to find out---you’re your problem.
   
   Which is why I so precisely intuit
   the edge of all you gave to hold back:
   precisely the forlorn edge of the road
   
   that slices through much of time and ourselves.
   Don’t butter it---the trees
   will be officious; the frog on his own time,
   
   a bored meter-reader. And if we can’t get off the bus
   why men we'll adore that patch of leopard-gray
   where the schoolchildren would have assembled.
   
   And if I had gotten laid---or mislaid---
   somewhere in the cosmos, there was always an ancient
   truth to speak about it. How quietly everything
   
   conducts to this day past, urges, without pressing,
   nature's monuments on us, and before you know it
   we have dreamed the spectrum again. Some days
   
   are for washing (“this is the way we wash our clothes”) ,
   others for sneaking about, eating. The patchwork girl
   was heard singing in her studio. For a few weeks
   
   after I got off I was like one possessed ---couldn’t
   find the proper forms. The silence was terrible.
   But after being battered by weather and coasts,
   
   something creamy slips in, a wedge
   more or less of the temper that compounded you,
   drafted you, waited for you to fall, oversaw.
   
   The sledge of ice melts in spring sun---
   more water to weep over. Soon the first picnics ...
   But they led to the black cove
   
   pirates used to drown each other in. What was
   contracted for is now scaffolding, steeped in blue.
   We have ways to keep in touch with you.
   
   
   
   
港口活动
   
   (选自Hotel Lautreamont)
   作者:(美)约翰.阿什贝利(John Ashberry)
   译者:剑郭琴符
   
   前景:屋顶,更多的屋顶。
   还要找一个街道指南:
   任何能吸引一个名字的东西。
   
   但这并不意味着
   新生儿的团聚
   使“破落户”像椽子一样
   形成一个确定的形状。凝块、
   狭缝、倒转的
   微风是任何人类巫师都无法想象的。
   他们拆掉的摊位
   不可理喻地争论。这很好。一个月内
   当自行车的眼睛仔细观察
   这片风景,我们就会变得乏味,知道该怎么做。
   每只手都有一个玩家;
   每一个玩家都有一只新手。
   
   像垂钓者一样投注意识,
   你让他们停下来欣赏你。
   还有什么比这更伟大的形式,更好的力量?
   
   这是某人早餐时的
   报纸页上散布的?
   不过是一件小事,
   
   为左手钢琴,
   为四手钢琴。
   稍后,我们坐火车。
Harbor Activities


   The prospect: roofs and more roofs.
   Look for a street-guide too:
   anything that will attract a name.
   
   But it doesn't mean that the getting-together
   of the newborn
   casts the Lumpen in a definitive shape
   like a rafter. The clots,
   cloth slits, upended
   breezes could be imagined by no human wizard.
   The stalls they take down argue
   impenetrably. That’s good. In a month's time
   when the bicycle’s eye scrutinizes
   this landscape, we'll be vapid and know how.
   Every hand has a player;
   every player a new hand.
   
   Casting for consciousness like an angler,
   you make them stop to admire you.
   What greater form, better force, than this?
   
   This spreading out over the page
   of someone’s newspaper at breakfast?
   A small thing nevertheless,
   
   for piano left-hand,
   for piano four-hands.
   Later, we take the train.
   
   
   

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