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发表于 2020-7-11 13:12:29 | 显示全部楼层 |阅读模式
本帖最后由 剑郭琴符 于 2020-7-11 21:56 编辑




旋律列车

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

一个有鲜红涂漆指甲的小女孩
问我什么时间---显然那是一块玩具手表
她戴着,为了好玩。穿着别的奇怪的东西
也是为了好玩,就像这欧石楠烟斗和粗花呢大衣

就像彩色日期锯齿状山脉,其接缝线条
此刻被草绘,突降,然后变成难以琢磨的
不能被坐在它--我之间的人的外形推论的
山谷, 而且恰好就像我们的道路平直地穿越
山谷和急流,仿佛我们的列车是一支铅笔

被一根直尺引导,抱住一张阿尔卑斯山脉的壁画式照片
我们俩看到远方就像非官方的
无人称的某种东西,并非不具备奇特的理由
就像一块停顿的表上的时间---一天正好两次。

在火车站的等待只是茫然的
无量纲的,就像一个人(等待)自身。他们如何确定每次花费了
多少时间?一个人开始怀疑没有
尺度或者这是偶然的应用。

月台上孩子们脸上的悲哀
影响到成年人之间的关系,和上计程车的
机会,因为这些事情没有时间表。
按道理你能找到一辆就上哪一辆

你总能找到一辆,但是在环形的确定性中的
机会的片段是这些给予
比萨斜塔身影顽强焦燥的外表的
事物, 向前倾斜飞行进风中。

简而言之,任何停止,在最后一个创造了我们自己的,我们生命的
焦虑,悲哀,遗憾的不耐烦的
云块,直到此时,我们一直和别人打交道的
方式。为什么我们不能
考虑得更周到?这些离开了

月台或等待上车的身影是我的兄弟
在一条路上真正想告诉我为什么世界上只有这么少的
恐慌和混乱,而又有如此多的不幸。
假如我现在俯身舒展,采取几个步骤

在疲倦和厌世的蒸汽云中,像巨大的
白苹果,我可不可以正好穿过附近,模仿
与他们传递我的关心的
姿势和姿态?他们参差不齐的姿态相当于我的,

他们的牢骚撞击回答的银铃
在我本人的胸口中,我知道,就像他们所做的那样,最后的停顿
如何成为最渴望的一个,虽然它意味着
立刻回家,代表快乐和不满的家?

一支可见的合唱曲仿佛唤起了旅途场景的
差异,唱出它们然后成为它们:
不但车站里的人,我对面的
有小葡萄干指甲的孩子,而且窗户,都看透了,

不完全地反射,无情地裂开带点蓝色的
如同一根拉链的模糊的风景。每个声音都有自己的
递减级别,以便在每个阶段让一个占据另一个的空间;
一个从不需要知道一个在哪里

除非一个放弃了倾听,睡眠,靠近一座西方的
除了一座风车磨房啥都没有的小镇。然后
最后剧烈的狂怒落下就像独奏的
声音讲述着它,以某种方式环绕着它,带着一种好运的

氛围和隆重的欢迎,来自于镇长和
居民委员会,向空中抛掷着他们的帽子。
听他们唱歌你该想到它已经发生了
我们的注意力已经重回到了天空中的设备。


Melodic Trains


A little girl with scarlet enameled fingernails
Asks me what time it is--evidently that's a toy wristwatch
She’s wearing, for fun. And it is fun to wear other
Odd things, like this briar pipe and tweed coat

Like date-colored sierras with the lines of seams
Sketched in and plunging now and then into unfathomable
Valleys that can’t be deduced by the shape of the person
Sitting inside it—me, and just as our way is flat across
Dales and gulches, as though our train were a pencil

Guided by a ruler held against a photomural of the Alps
We both come to see distance as something unofficial
And impersonal yet not without its curious justification
Like the time of a stopped watch—right twice a day.

Only the wait in stations is vague and
Dimensionless, like oneself. How do they decide how much
Time to spend in each? One begins to suspect there’s no
Rule or that it's applied haphazardly.

Sadness of the faces of children on the platform,
Concern of the grownups for connections, for the chances
Of getting a taxi, since these have no timetable.
You get one if you can find one though in principle

You can always find one, but the segment of chance
In the circle of certainty is what gives these leaning
Tower of Pisa figures their aspect of dogged
Impatience, banking forward into the wind.

In short any stop before the final one creates
Clouds of anxiety, of sad, regretful impatience
With ourselves, our lives, the way we have been dealing
With other people up until now. Why couldn’t
We have been more considerate? These figures leaving

The platform or waiting to board the train are my brothers
In a way that really wants to tell me why there is so little
Panic and disorder in the world, and so much unhappiness.
If I were to get down now to stretch, take a few steps

In the wearying and world-weary clouds of steam like great
White apples, might I just through proximity and aping
Of postures and attitudes communicate this concern of mine
To them? That their jagged attitudes correspond to mine,

That their beefing strikes answering silver bells within
My own chest, and that I know, as they do, how the last
Stop is the most anxious one of all, though it means
Getting home at last, to the pleasures and dissatisfactions of home?

It’s as though a visible chorus called up the different
Stages of the journey, singing about them and being them:
Not the people in the station, not the child opposite me
With currant fingernails, but the windows, seen through,

Reflecting imperfectly, ruthlessly splitting open the bluish
Vague landscape like a zipper. Each voice has its own
Descending scale to put one in one’s place at every stage;
One need never not know where one is

Unless one give up listening, sleeping, approaching a small
Western town that is nothing but a windmill. Then
The great fury of the end can drop as the solo
Voices tell about it, wreathing it somehow with an aura

Of good fortune and colossal welcomes from the mayor and
Citizens's committees tossing their hats into the air.
To hear them singing you’d think it had already happened
And we had focused back on the forniture of the air.



 楼主| 发表于 2020-7-11 22:36:40 | 显示全部楼层
本帖最后由 剑郭琴符 于 2020-7-11 22:38 编辑


好莱坞笨鸭

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

某些奇怪的东西正爬过我。
塞莱斯蒂娜刚在头几个酒吧
唱“我回想你”或《高卢的阿马迪吉》(亨德尔歌剧)
某些柔和的歌,什么---一块薄荷糖---都可以
拉姆雷德无铝泡打粉,胶片耳环,
飞毛腿冈萨雷斯,来自海伦.托普.米勒最新创意的
写字台,胚布上一捆性挑逗的照片,毛边的
存货---撞击声穿过彩虹的棚架
(那里)开心果大道塞进2300块投掷排房的
高地。他许诺他会把我从这一个地方弄出去,
那意味着老漫画家,但现在同时看一看
他对我做了什么吧!我很少敢接近我在那个轮毂中的杯子
减弱的反射,如此狭隘,如此狼狈
是它的典型特征---嬉戏,毫无疑问,为一些冒牌颅相学者的
羊齿阻塞等待房间,但你命名的几乎不是
友善的。事情都窒息到沉默的
那一点。刚才,一场磁性的暴风雨挂在福得斯车库上
天空的布样上,减弱着---激烈地--
直到铅黄绿日志关进
加兹登采购的纪念封面那个氛围。突然所有的事情
开始憎恶。我不再想走回头路。你遇到
足够茫然的人,在翡翠绿交通岛上---不,
没有人,来或去,更多的是: 喃喃自语,泼洒,
古怪而有效地装备着乐到疯的
蔬菜骚乱步兵,羽毛状,指向那稍微带点白色的
在磨坊上运转的硬纸板堡垒。“顺着
那懒洋洋的河,我们能多么快乐?”
它怎么终结? 阿拉罕(在加利福尼亚州)的天竺葵
发出的微光具有骚乱的行为,
被埃特纳火山大小的爆竹阅读,它最后一分钟炸为
一张招标地图,在它较低右手一角
(股癣沙坑坚固地环绕着
施虐色情狂夜晚分枝的芦笋斑
) 阿玛迪斯
正在哄骗克莱夫斯公主午夜排尿从中取乐
在塔米吉(沃尔特,布鲁松,和小
斯里泽克斯)在一条“借自”电影中的奥利的有金属丝的平底船上
瓦利特斯恐惧情妇的礼袍。等待!
我要宣布!这宽阔,不温不火蜿蜒而行,
文明的忘川(一个人几乎不能辨认出五朔节花柱
和莎草岸必要的披肩)流向地狱,那些
闹鬼的垃圾场,不太适合居住的旅游胜地
一些旅客从此返回!这整个瞬间是一个
至今还在缠绕我们沉睡的
先天性的巨人的大腿根。再见, 小树林,
皮革厂, 水草地。寓言无声无息来到
太快了;有蛀孔的桃花心木鱼叉密集落下
就是在龙卷风之间需要注意的全部。我仅仅拥有
间歇的生命在你的思想中活着
就像在另一个语言中思想着。一切
都依赖于是否某人提醒你想起我。
这是虚构, 那些“其他时间”
事实上都是灵魂的寂静,从冥河丝绒的
钻石上挑选出,问题比它应有的少。
时间的天才应该被安排去说服他们
我们生活在一个维度,他们在我们的维度中。在国外
当我穿过所有被黑暗破坏的海岸线,
为我们所有人寻求拯救,在那种语言中思考:它的
语法,虽然折磨人,却为道路
每段新路提供了亭子。彩粉画救护车
飞快抱起他们急驶到医院。
“都是零碎的东西, 闪光金属片,补丁,真的;没有东西
单独站立。创造性进化发生了什么?”
阿格拉文叹息道。然后对她,塞莉塞特(1)说:“如果他的
成就只是最终到达比别人少了厌倦的目的,
是什么让我们呆在这儿?为什么不马上离开?
他们坐在那儿时,我不得不呆在这儿,
发笑,喝酒,有快乐的时间。在我的日子
一个人躺在无情的绿叶下,
假装不在意他们怎么把血放进
天空的水中, 飘然而去,无色的区域假装
不关心我们。所以我们也
来到别人来的地方: 肉体忍耐力的黑夜,
或者如果,白天,我们的无政府行为
是恰当的,至少按新野性主义标准,以前的同意
后来都变成了沉默寡言。我们精神饱满
离开了平底驳船,在乳脂软糖黑暗的遮盖下。
它不是不完整的纠缠,但却是已经完成的
产品的诡异。实话说,问少了是愚蠢,然而
如果他是他自己的结果,对于他来说
我们应该是多少才更好!多少,最后,
我们把这考虑在内! 一箱皱茜草缎
一次握住一个决斗手枪夹子就是我们
仅有的对那颜色的承认吗?我不喜欢这个,
我想,但我们这失望的续篇
已经在伦敦和圣彼得堡被赞赏。在某地
渡鸦为我们祈祷。”暴风雨停止了冲泡。因此
她问所有那些走进大门的人,但她发现没有人
听说过阿马迪斯,
也没有(听说过)严厉的奥伦泽贝,他的第一个恋人。这些人
对于他们一点也不重要:因为所有
被定义的都是完备的(所以
在完全的黑暗中他们是合乎逻辑的),为什么不
接受它,就像愉快地展示它自己?就像
矮摩天大楼从更低挂的云在那儿显示
一座塔楼的时候那样, 一个建筑风格陡坡在这儿,最后也许是
可以承载感觉的形式,但
停留在隐藏的神秘的页码中。
不是我们看见的,而是我们如何看见它的影响。一切都
相似,相同,我们欢迎他宣告
变化,就像我们会欢迎变化自身。
一切生命只是一个虚构;相反,从你手上滑下的
袖珍典籍也许不是
与这看不见的野餐失踪的联系,它的影响
覆盖了我们关于它的感觉。因此, 我们在
这宽大的, 亚麻色公路临时露营, 含蓄的顾忌
疲惫的难题畅行无阻。早晨
是短暂的。抓紧性事,在地平线上
飘荡,就像一个男孩
在一次钓鱼的旅行。没人真的知道
或关心是否这就是全部,其部分
被给予---一次---但漫步在其
传统中多于妥善保管它。这覆盖消遣的东西
保持他们的兴趣和忙碌,当那巨大的,
模糊的玩意儿能确定它想要什么---什么地图,什么
模范城市,多少浪费的空间。生命,至少
我们的生命,都互相在其间。我们不再介意
或关注天空是绿色的,一只鹦鹉
一个人,但我们热心于它带我们到哪里去冒险,
虚伪,好奇,邀请更多的人,
总是援引回声,一个夏日的白天。


(1)《阿格拉凡和塞莉塞特》(1896)是梅特林克的最富灵感的戏剧

附记:本诗典故又很多,<圣经>中<最后的晚餐>关于你中有我,我中有你的典故是中心.


  Daffy Duck in Hollywood


Something strange is creeping across me.
La Celestina has only to warble the first few bars
Of "I Thought about You" or something mellow from
Amadigi di Gaula for everything--a mint-condition can
Of Rumford's Baking Powder, a celluloid earring, Speedy
Gonzales, the latest from Helen Topping Miller's fertile
Escritoire, a sheaf of suggestive pix on greige, deckle-edged
Stock--to come clattering through the rainbow trellis
Where Pistachio Avenue rams the 2300 block of Highland
Fling Terrace. He promised he'd get me out of this one,
That mean old cartoonist, but just look what he's
Done to me now! I scarce dare approach me mug's attenuated
Reflection in yon hubcap, so jaundiced, so déconfit
Are its lineaments--fun, no doubt, for some quack phrenologist's
Fern-clogged waiting room, but hardly what you'd call
Companionable. But everything is getting choked to the point of
Silence. Just now a magnetic storm hung in the swatch of sky
Over the Fudds' garage, reducing it--drastically--
To the aura of a plumbago-blue log cabin on
A Gadsden Purchase commemorative cover. Suddenly all is
Loathing. I don't want to go back inside any more. You meet
Enough vague people on this emerald traffic-island--no,
Not people, comings and goings, more: mutterings, splatterings,
The bizarrely but effectively equipped infantries of happy-go-nutty
Vegetal jacqueries, plumed, pointed at the little
White cardboard castle over the mill run. "Up
The lazy river, how happy we could be?"
How will it end? That geranium glow
Over Anaheim's had the riot act read to it by the
Etna-size firecracker that exploded last minute into
A carte du Tendre in whose lower right-hand corner
(Hard by the jock-itch sand-trap that skirts
The asparagus patch of algolagnic nuits blanches) Amadis
Is cozening the Princesse de Cleves into a midnight micturition spree
On the Tamigi with the Wallets (Walt, Blossom, and little
Sleezix) on a lamé barge "borrowed" from Ollie
Of the Movies' dread mistress of the robes. Wait!
I have an announcement! This wide, tepidly meandering,
Civilized Lethe (one can barely make out the maypoles
And châlets de nécessitê on its sedgy shore)leads to Tophet, that
Landfill-haunted, not-so-residential resort from which
Some travellers return! This whole moment is the groin
Of a borborygmic giant who even now
Is rolling over on us in his sleep. Farewell bocages,
Tanneries, water-meadows. The allegory comes unsnarled
Too soon; a shower of pecky acajou harpoons is
About all there is to be noted between tornadoes. I have
Only my intermittent life in your thoughts to live
Which is like thinking in another language. Everything
Depends on whether somebody reminds you of me.
That this is a fabulation, and that those “other times”
Are in fact the silences of the soul, picked out in
Diamonds on stygian velvet, matters less than it should.
Prodigies of timing may be arranged to convince them
We live in one dimension, they in ours. While I
Abroad through all the coasts of dark destruction seek
Deliverance for us all, think in that language: its
Grammar, though tortured, offers pavillions
At each new parting of the ways. Pastel
Ambulances scoop up the quick and hie them to hospitals.
“It's all bits and pieces, spangles, patches, really; nothing
Stands alone. What happened to creative evolution?”
Sighed Aglavaine. Then to her Sélysette: “If his
Achievement is only to end up less boring than the others,
What's keeping us here? Why not leave at once?
I have to stay here while they sit in there,
Laugh, drink, have fine time. In my day
One lay under the tough green leaves,
Pretending not to notice how they bled into
The sky's aqua, the wafted-away no-color of regions supposed
Not to concern us. And so we too
Came where the others came: nights of physical endurance,
Or if, by day, our behavior was anarchically
Correct, at least by New Brutalism standards, all then
Grew taciturn by previous agreement. We were spirited
Away en bateau, under cover of fudge dark.
It's not the incomplete importunes, but the spookiness
Of the finished product. True, to ask less were folly, yet
If he is the result of himself, how much the better
For him we ought to be! And how little, finally,
We take this into account! Is the puckered garance satin
Of a case that once held a brace of dueling pistols our
Only acknowledging of that color? I like not this,
Methinks, yet this disappointing sequel to ourselves
Has been applauded in London and St. Petersburg. Somewhere
Ravens pray for us.” The storm finished brewing. And thus
She questioned all who came in at the great gate, but none
She found who ever heard of Amadis,
Nor of stern Aureng-Zebe, his first love. Some
They were to whom this mattered not a jot: since all
By definition is completeness (so
In utter darkness they reasoned), why not
Accept it as it pleases to reveal itself? As when
Low skyscrapers from lower-hanging clouds reveal
A turret there, an art-deco escarpment here, and last perhaps
The pattern that may carry the sense, but
Stays hidden in the mysteries of pagination.
Not what we see but how we see it matters; all's
Alike, the same, and we greet him who announces
The change as we would greet the change itself.
All life is but a figment; conversely, the tiny
Tome that slips from your hand is not perhaps the
Missing link in this invisible picnic whose leverage
Shrouds our sense of it. Therefore bivouac we
On this great, blond highway, unimpeded by
Veiled scruples, worn conundrums. Morning is
Impermanent. Grab sex things, swing up
Over the horizon like a boy
On a fishing expedition. No one really knows
Or cares whether this is the whole of which parts
Were vouchsafed--once--but to be ambling on's
The tradition more than the safekeeping of it. This mulch for
Play keeps them interested and busy while the big,
Vaguer stuff can decide what it wants--what maps, what
Model cities, how much waste space. Life, our
Life anyway, is between. We don't mind
Or notice any more that the sky is green, a parrot
One, but have our earnest where it chances on us,
Disingenuous, intrigued, inviting more,
Always invoking the echo, a summer's day.



诗歌窃贼

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


我的朋友


这条街中,曾经
似乎在街上
与其

联系
与其相处
虽然

只是没闻到
一股汉堡包气味
那天

一块旧床垫
一根盒式弹簧
就像它

变暗
填充空白的
隆隆声

来自于在时间中腐朽的
一条街
它争吵说

不存在
剩余
是出于前进的

希望
还是沮丧
乐意呆在这儿

静静
站着
那一片刻

有别的计划
此刻在这
黑暗的丛林

未来还是要制订计划
啊准备设想
你的困境

更整全

那天

埋葬了一切,除了最迟钝的
仅有的最一般的
生存

低低的侧影
再一次变为一根连续的
大海线条

来自于涯岸
怀抱着


短暂的
再一次上升的自信
(上升)到新的

变迁
到明确的
胜利

浸泡在空间的
嗡嗡声
不真实的群星的


有独特的
新的发生方式

此刻
没人记得
沿着海滩

你走过一段确切路程的那一天
然后
走回去

它似乎
在你的足迹中
因为它

第一次
就结束了
是的,但此刻

是另一条路
延伸出去
通向终结

线状的风格
被丢弃
虽然几个世纪来

这没被理解
同时
另一个生活方式来了又去了

丢下了它的广度

现在旁边,高大的雪松

锁在
计划里
因此你锁着的

任何地方
正在燃烧
推理的

内部空间
不是为聚居人群
而是为已经关闭的

转向它自己
它的背后
与海一样美

你顺着(海)走
说出卓越的
词语

对你自己
居住着
一直居住着的一切

正在走向终结
再一次
进入平淡无奇的现在

它正在扩大
把它禁闭于修道院
这就是有点

太滑稽的寓言
因此确保那天的第二个
开始

看街对面
无论哪条路
你走着,谈论着

都知道,描述你的事情
都不知道
而且不知道

你比某种程度更有见识的
井高
承受

当你放松
仅仅一秒钟
尤其要紧

你回来如此难得
但一切都好
停留的方式

你开始回到
进入空中的火的
行列

你迷失了梦
加固了它
安心而牢记的白昼


The Thief of Poetry


To you
my friend who
was in this

street once
were on it
getting

in with it
getting on with it
though

only passing by
a smell of hamburgers
that day

an old mattress
and a box spring
as it

darkened
filling the empty
rumble

of a street
in decay of time
it fell out that

there was no
remaining
whether out of a wish

to be moving on
or frustrated
willingness to stay

here to stand
still
the moment

had other plans
and now in this
jungle of darkness

the future still makes plans
O ready to go
Conceive of your plight

more integrally
the snow
that day

buried all but the most obtuse
only the most generalized
survives

the low profile
becomes a constant again
the line of ocean

of shore
nestling
confident

impermanent
to rise again
in new

vicissitude
in explicit
triumph

drowns the hum
of space
the false point

of the stars
in specific
new way of happening

Now
no one remembers
the day you walked a certain distance

along the beach
and then
walked back

it seems
in your tracks
because it

was ending
for the first time
yes but now

is another way of
spreading out
toward the end

the linear style
is discarded
though this is

not realized for centuries
meanwhile
another way of living had come and gone

leaving its width
behind
now the tall cedars

had become locked into
the plan
so that everywhere

you looked
was burning
inferential

interior space
not for colonies
but already closed

turned in on itself
its back
as beautiful as the sea

where you go up
and say the word
eminence

to yourself
all was lived in
had been lived in

was coming to an end
again
in the featureless present

that was expanding to
cloister it
this just a little too

comic parable
and so insure the second
beginning

of that day seen against the street
of whichever way
you walked and talked

knowing not knowing
the thing that was describing you
and not knowing

your taller
well somehow more informed
bearing

as you wind down
only a second
it did matter

you come back so seldom
but it’s all right
the way of staying

you started comes back
procession into the fire
into the sky

the dream you lost
firm in its day
reassured and remembered


 楼主| 发表于 2020-7-11 22:48:25 | 显示全部楼层
 商务人事广告

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

  令人不安的沉思又来了: “遗留物”是什么?
  也许他们有关于它的完整的名字,他们忍受
  特权的旧招牌,其权力
  从年龄的堆积和黯淡的色彩中
  对今天的中心说话。漂流的心,为什么
  毫无意义地漫游?个子高高的昨日的守卫者
  就像悬崖上的影子一样陡峭;
  无论你走哪条路,都在对他们的大量感觉里。
  此刻一切都在下降,通向港口的视野。

  因此你的膝盖的确需要造得强壮,被奔跑。
  我们有地方锻炼,有一套特殊的设备:
  膝垫,平衡杆和其他。它工作
  在老化的感觉中:你走出来总是有一点提前
  不只是为了放松追随的群众的
  感觉。那是暴虐,
  暴行,傲慢。同时这帐篷让它自身
  安静了。它们的墙壁不透明,以至看不见
  道路;一段宜人的,能听到一半的旋律爬到它们的天花板--
  并不和谐,但残留物由医生处理。明天...
  歌声从附近篝火的火焰中爬出,
  苍白的,蜡笔画的东西在它们的脆弱中很精致
  带着一两个注释表明它没被丢失,
  至少在它们身上。歌声装饰我们关于世界的观念
  并且标示出其界限,就像一条肥皂泡的饰带。

  什么促使我们开始乐于助人?
  在开始只有莎草,一块水田
  被风吹皱。慢慢地
  树木加剧了一直孤独的新奇,
  其余的东西开始被画进了素描,然后...寂静,
  或空虚,伴随多年。一个人能回到
  概括了这些田园画的自然的观念中吗?
  然而现在已经完成了建设
  反对过去的城墙的工作,不是城墙,
  而是带刺铁丝网的藩篱。所以现在我们知道
  是什么职业紧跟着
  (骨饰,纺织漫长的历险记)
  加强阴影色彩的歌声的通道
  (那阴影)浸渍你的业余爱好,当你向它弯腰,斜视的
  时候。我能做一张
  我拥有的每件东西的列表,和指向它的
  方向,每件东西花费多少,多少木头,线,彩色墨水,等等。

  歌声没有提及方向。
  它最多扭曲地面上的经度线
  就像嫩枝搭起的粗糙的居所(船舰
  还没有到达,它只是一个梦。它在靠近合恩角的
  某个地方,尽管波瑞阿斯(北风神)努力吹送
  那些低垂的帆。)关于巨大距离的观念
  是允许的,甚至在诗琴漫长的滴出中
  也毫无疑问。如何逃离?
  这个巨人从不让我们逃出,除非我们弄瞎他。

  那就是,有一天,我回家的方法。
  没有被今天吊在破布上的
  老墙,被硬化进
  一个永恒的迟到的下午,从灵魂的底部
  诱出过长的阴影和鲁莽的彩虹
  震惊。如此简单的东西,
  我们从它们造出了如此复杂的一些东西
  几乎击败了我们。为什么每个东西不能再次简单,
  就像第一支歌的第一批词语,当它们出现在
  全神贯注,写下它们然后唱出它们的一个人(那里):
  “危险从柿子圆盘的中心
  它们最后休息的地方,
  转向箭头。你该告诫自己
  面临危险吗?什么时候它以露天看台的形状
  稀疏出现,由一个已经目击到
  你写作这个事件的观众,
  显著地,在你的日志中?真正承认
  它将消散如同苍白的粉红色和蓝色的手帕
  (那些手帕)绝迹了几个世纪,变成了包围我们的
  蓝色的穹顶,但它们,有些还在这里。”


  附言:熟悉《奥德赛》的读者不难看出本诗中的典故:塞壬,风神的皮袋,奥德修斯弄瞎巨人的眼睛,等等.



  Business Personals



  The disquieting muses again: what are “leftovers”?
  Perhaps they have names for it all, who come bearing
  Worn signs of privilege whose authority
  Speaks out of the accumulation of age and faded colors
  To the center of today. Floating heart, why
  Wander on senselessly? The tall guardians
  Of yesterday are steep as cliff shadows;
  Whatever path you take abounds in their sense.
  All presently lead downward, to the harbor view.

  Therefore do your knees need to be made strong, by running.
  We have places for the training and a special on equipment:
  Knee-pads, balancing poles and the rest. It works
  In the sense of aging: you come out always a little ahead
  And not so far as to lose a sense of the crowd
  Of disciples. That were tyranny,
  Outrage, hubris. Meanwhile this tent is silence
  Itself. Its walls are opaque, so as not to see
  The road; a pleasant, half-heard melody climbs to its ceiling—
  Not peace, but rest the doctor ordered. Tomorrow ...
  And songs climb out of the flames of the near campfires,
  Pale, pastel things exquisite in their frailness
  With a note or two to indicate it isn’t lost,
  On them at least. The songs decorate our notion of the world
  And mark its limits, like a frieze of soap-bubbles.

  What caused us to start caring?
  In the beginning was only sedge, a field of water
  Wrinkled by the wind. Slowly
  The trees increased the novelty of always being alone,
  The rest began to be sketched in, and then ... silence,
  Or blankness, for a number of years. Could one return
  To the idea of nature summed up in these pastoral images?
  Yet the present has done its work of building
  A rampart against the past, not a rampart,
  A barbed-wire fence. So now we know
  What occupations to stick to (scrimshaw, spinning tall tales)
  By the way the songs deepen the color of the shadow
  Impregnating your hobby as you bend over it,
  Squinting. I could make a list
  Of each one of my possessions and the direction it
  Pointed in, how much each thing cost, how much for wood, string, colored ink, etc.

  The song makes no mention of directions.
  At most it twists the longitude lines overhead
  Like twigs to form a crude shelter. (The ship
  Hasn’t arrived, it was only a dream. It’s somewhere near
  Cape Horn, despite all the efforts of Boreas to puff out
  Those drooping sails.) The idea of great distance
  Is permitted, even implicit in the slow dripping
  Of a lute. How to get out?
  This giant will never let us out unless we blind him.

  And that’s how, one day, I got home.
  Don't be shocked that the old walls
  Hang in rags now, that the rainbow has hardened
  Into a permanent late afternoon that elicits too-long
  Shadows and indiscretions from the bottom
  Of the soul. Such simple things,
  And we make of them something so complex it defeats us,
  Almost. Why can’t everything be simple again,
  Like the first words of the first song as they occurred
  To one who, rapt, wrote them down and later sang them:
  “Only danger deflects
  The arrow from the center of the persimmon disc,
  Its final resting place. And should you be addressing yourself
  To danger? When it takes the form of bleachers
  Sparsely occupied by an audience which has
  Already witnessed the events of which you write,
  Tellingly, in your log? Properly acknowledged
  It will dissipate like the pale pink and blue handkerchiefs
  That vanished centuries ago into the blue dome
  That surrounds us, but which are, some maintain still here.”

 楼主| 发表于 2020-7-14 14:08:08 | 显示全部楼层
本帖最后由 剑郭琴符 于 2020-7-14 14:18 编辑



圣瓦伦廷节情人卡
  
   
(选自  Houseboat Days  )  
作者: (美)约翰.阿什贝利( John Ashberry)
  译者:剑郭琴符
  
   
Valentine :n. (在2月14日常匿名寄送的)圣瓦伦廷节情人卡;(收受圣瓦伦廷节贺卡的)情人
  
   


  
就像玫瑰中的大蛇,就像干枯的
  闹羊花中的角蝰,我盘绕着  
你。城堡的名字就是你,  
埃尔雷伊。它是一个通宵卡车停靠站  
在犹他州提供最好的咖啡和汉堡包。  
在白天它是最美和最夜间的。  
有七层:苔藓玛瑙,珊瑚,洒金玻璃,  
红玛瑙,瑞士青金石,黑曜石---也许还有别的。  
现在你知道,它有一根线性  
四重奏的形式。不同的部分总是互相干扰,  
互相纠缠,互相阻碍彼此的道路  
以便熟练地撤回到末端,丢失了---什么?  
一种新型的空虚,也许沐浴着新鲜,  
也许不是。也许只是一种新型的空虚。
  
你聪明,但今天的天气嘲弄,吓坏了我。你来自于它的碎片。总是追求你是我在那儿不能转身,不能对抗你的他性的知识。这是我的另一间房子,在汉普斯特得的那一间,在街区中间,虽然你多次经过那条街但你从没见过的一间砖房,在春天,有时一缕光洒下让你转过凝视的脸的风,有时在夏天高处,树宏伟的构思淹没了你对一切的思想,以至于你再也看不见我的房子。它靠近亚瑟.拉克姆的住地。我确实不记得那街道的名称---一定程度是清晰的维多利亚时代的瓮的文字:E,后面是 MEL(E?),也许是一个拉丁语关于苹果或英雄主义的训词,下面像是失去光泽的“罗斯特”名字的一部分,但那也太低了。听着,我从没意味着你不在我的房子中。但你不能,因为你似乎在它里面。  
这部分我回想变成你的困难和惊奇。它可能永远不会被写下来。一些东西同时来到,太令人厌倦,太使人兴奋,以至于不能写下。这必须是它们中的一个。某些日子,当我们晕晕乎乎……与此同时,写信给我。我欣赏,感激你的电话,但得到贺卡和信件也是令人愉快的---所以“让他们继续”!  
穿过胡须的微光我听到了如“现在看这儿,年轻人”或“亨利.格罗金斯,你这老堕落者”或“一个小时莱斯特一直在开始做预算,没有进展”的声音。我知道这些事情就是他们的存在。晚上有些许东西,它们滑着,为别的东西腾出空间。穿过一个椭圆支架看,一间客厅的墙中的一堵。壁纸是传统的图案,切片的黄秋葵和八角茴香,用天然涂胶把不同的彩色纸粘在一起,紫色占优势,背景是一堆装饰画,画有灰色牧羊女和对着防火消防栓小便的狗。回想艺术家呈献的完美的落下的技巧:当它们从消防栓上反弹并且汇集到一股闪耀的太阳黄色的水坑,下面,起控制作用的是冷静的经验。仅仅壁炉台的架子展示。在每一个末端,坐在互相之间稍微转向的基座上,两幅贵族斗牛士图像,一个男孩在精致的樱桃中,一个女孩在矢车菊的蓝色中。他们的阴影进入一个怪诞的轮廓。在中间,是一座旧钟,其滴答就像它们高高的话语声音的节拍器。此刻图像的嘴打开,关闭,在平常交谈的风格以后。  

  
今天下午  
我想划向你,  
我的伊琳娜!一直写你亲爱的文章,  
我明白了。就发生在最近的一个更进步的杂志上。  
绚丽夺目的书写,或者看起来是这样,但按现在的标准  
你的想法难道不是有点太进步吗?当然,你说的  
有很多真理,但难道你没觉得有时候公众比  
它能应付的有更多真理?我没意味着你应该…好,“谎言”,  
但也许,好,嘿,嘿,  风对已剪过毛的羔羊的一点  
怒气。嗯?怎么样,老男孩?  
或者在爱中,带着“进步的”其他的任何事情似乎是旧帽子,  
包括我毫无疑问的交谈想法,你也是这样?在那种情况下  
我应该继续下去。啊呀,我在四点半有一个约会  
但现在已经五点多了。你把我的帽子放哪儿了?  

  
这些事我写给你,只给你。  
评判它们不要太严厉。风的十倍,  
当他正在说的时候。它们是供婴儿用的东西  
可以长大成孩子,也许---谁知道?---  
甚至某一天成年人,但此刻它们仅仅存在于  
你爱我的盲目中,并且是它的证明。  
你不能想它们太久  
而没有撞翻它们。你的城堡是一间贺卡的房子,  
老式的纸牌类型,远远超过  
眼睛能看到的云的范围,它也建造于  
流沙之上,它的基座发出啧啧声,也超出了视野。我是适合居住的一个。  
但我的后面是你的一扇门,现在打开,现在关闭,  
你的吻就像梦,或镭的  
圣水,或一些种类的花朵。  
记住我对你说的话。
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
Valentine//



Like a serpent among roses,  like an asp
Among withered thornapples I  coil to  
And at you. The name of the  castle is you,  
El Rey. It is an all-night  truck-stop  
Offering the best coffee and  hamburgers in Utah.  
It is most beautiful and  nocturnal by daylight.  
Seven layers: moss-agate,  coral,aventurine,  
Carnelian, Swiss lapis,  obsidian— maybe others.  
You know now that it has the  form of a string  
Quartet. The different parts  are always meddling with each other,  
Pestering each other, getting  in each other’s way  
So as to withdraw skillfully  at the end, leaving---what?  
A new kind of emptiness,  maybe bathed in freshness,  
Maybe not. Maybe just a new  kind of emptiness.

You are smart but the weather  of this day startles and japes at you. You come out of it in pieces. Always  pursuing you is the knowledge that I am there unable to turn around, unable  to confront you with your otherness. This is another one of my houses, the  one in Hampstead, the brick one in the middle of the block that you never saw  though you passed along that street many times, sometimes in spring with a  light drizzle blowing that made you avert your gaze, sometimes at the height  of summer where the grandeur of the ideas of the trees swamped your ideas  about everything, so you never saw my house. It was near where Arthur Rackham  lived. I can’t quite remember the name of the street—some  partly legible inscription on a Victorian urn: E and then MEL(E?), perhaps a  Latin exhortation to apples or heroism, and down in the dim part a name like “Rossiter,” but that is too far down.  Listen, I never meant for you not to be in my house. But you couldn’t because you were it.  
In this part I reflect on the  difficulty and surprise of being you. It may never get written. Some things  are simultaneously too boring and too exciting to write about. This has to be  one of them. Some day, when we’re stoned ... Meanwhile, write to  me. I enjoy and appreciate your phone calls, but it’s  nice to get cards and letters too—so keep‘em cornin’ !  
Through bearded twilight I  hear things like “Now see here, young man!” or “Henry Groggins, you old reprobate!” or “For an hour Lester has been staring at budget figures, making no  progress.” I know these things are, that they are. At  night there are a few things, and they slide along to make room for others.  Seen through an oval frame, one of the walls of a parlor. The wallpaper is a  conventionalized pattern, the sliced okra and star-anise one, held together  with crudely gummed links of different colored paper, among which purple  predominates, stamped over a flocked background of grisaille shepherdesses  and dogs urinating against fire hydrants. To reflect on the consummate skill  with which the artist has rendered the drops as they bounce off the hydrant  and collect in a gleaming sun-yellow pool below the curb is a sobering  experience. Only the shelf of the mantelpiece shows. At each end, seated on  pedestals turned slightly away from one another, two aristocratic bisque  figures, a boy in delicate cerise and a girl in cornflower blue. Their  shadows join in a grotesque silhouette. In the center, an ancient clock whose  tick acts as the metronome for the sound of their high voices. Presently the  mouths of the figures open and shut, after the mode of ordinary conversation.   

  
Thought I’d  
Row across to you this  afternoon,  
My Irina! Always writing your  beloved articles,  
I see. Happened on one only  recently in one of the more progressive journals.  
Brilliantly written, or so it  seemed, but isn’t your thought a bit too  
Advanced by present-day  standards? Of course, there was much truth  
In what you said, but don’t you feel  the public sometimes has more truth
Than it can cope with? I don’t mean that  you should ... well, “fib,”  
But perhaps, well, heh heh,  temper the wind to the shorn lamb  
A bit. Eh? How about it, old  boy?  
Or are you so in love with  your “advanced” thinking that everything else  
Seems old hat to you,  including my conversation no doubt? In that  
Case I ought to be getting  on. Goodness, I’ve a four-thirty appointment and it’s  
Already five after. What have  you done with my hat?  

  
These things I write for you  and you only.  
Do not judge them too  harshly. Tenper the wind,  
As he was saying. They are  infant things
That may grow up to be  children, perhaps—who knows?—  
Even adults some day, but now  they exist only in the blindness  
Of your love for me and are  the proof of it.  
You can’t think  about them too long  
Without knocking them over.  Your castle is a house of cards,  
The old-fashioned kind of  playing cards, towering farther  
Than the eye can see into the  clouds, and it is also built on  
Shifting sands, its base  slurps out of sight too. I am the inhabitable one.  
But my back is as a door to  you, now open, now shut,  
And your kisses are as  dreams, or an elixir  
Of radium, or flowers of some  kind.  
Remember about what I told  you.
  
  


 楼主| 发表于 2020-7-14 21:56:55 | 显示全部楼层
本帖最后由 剑郭琴符 于 2020-7-14 22:20 编辑


【正文2020028:《另外那个女人》】-2020-6-29

读完《另外那个女人-多丽丝.莱辛(英),傅惟慈等译》,12万字。
这是一部小说集,《另外那个女人》是第一篇,最长。感觉英国人性比较自由,大概就像今天的中国,想得很开,听别人说,老二周末到老大家,老大说:“今天你做饭!”笑死我了。要放在潘金莲的时代恐怕要发生枪战,如果她们有枪的话。
最近看《金色笔记》,这又不算什么了,那里,性似乎就是男女的交流方式,不身体交流反而很难受。

《另外那个女人》说的是第三者的事,有妇之夫和一个姑娘同居,都很想得开,最后,其老婆和姑娘成了生意伙伴。
多丽丝似乎主张一夫多妻制:
【男人都信奉一夫多妻制。”他兴致勃勃地说

“…问题的根本是:我们两个人他谁都想要。他自己就说,从本性上看,男人都赞成一夫多妻。”“一点儿不错。”柔斯又一次很快接口说。
“对啦,我决定,我赞成一夫多妻制。”多萝西郑重其事地说

她的男友正跟另外一个女孩子鬼混,但接着又说,她一点儿也不往心里去。“大海里有的是鱼。”她说。“咳,每人都有一本难念的经。”
这特像顾城,《英儿》说:
【“可是,G确确实实说过:一夫一妻制是天主教闹出来的,把中国害苦了。我们中国人不能忘了祖宗。”

对顾城不敬啦!这是传记和八卦,和顾城的诗歌水平和成就无关。中国人最喜欢用道德绑架一切,结果是道德也没有,水平更没有。




【“如果把你倒着从树篱另一边扯出来,看来你的头发也会一丝不乱。”柔斯的回答多半是:“你别逗我笑了。那怎么可能?”就是乔治跟她说句笑话,她也总是那么严肃。
这一段,我想起了歌剧《佩莉阿斯与梅丽桑德》(梅特林克编剧,德彪西谱曲),也许我想多了,歌剧中,梅丽桑德头发很长,在楼上的房间里披散下来,佩莉阿斯刚好在下面,摸着她的头发,赞美之,结果摸出了感情,呵呵。

 楼主| 发表于 2020-7-17 11:56:58 | 显示全部楼层
 楼主| 发表于 2020-10-8 17:10:39 | 显示全部楼层
对宝宝吃v
 楼主| 发表于 2020-10-8 17:11:48 | 显示全部楼层
本帖最后由 剑郭琴符 于 2020-10-8 17:21 编辑


塞尔玛.乔丹的档案

   (选自 Your Name Here )
   作者:(美)约翰.阿什贝利(John Ashberry)
   译者:剑郭琴符

   冷冷地,我们放好舱里的餐具。
   明天,运输罢工。结果是假期受损。
   他妈的,我们已经合为一体,总得开始赶上生活,你知道,
   体育和娱乐活动围绕着。也有虔诚的反应。
   那么现在关于苹果?你知道,它怎么样?
   到处是模糊的印花棉布,她的头发被门捕捉。

   似乎是大巴到维也纳去接雅克的时候
   别的波士顿梗犬似乎也要过一天,
   但没有这样的运气---一只蓝宝石眼睛,迷茫,
   差不多就是它。你也可以走了。

   一个装腔作势的人举起一卷卷轴,不出所料,它像瀑布一样落到地板上。
   关于年度慈善义卖。我们
   又忘了,在花园里,今年。为什么事情一定要
   在你说完关于它的俏皮话之前就浮出水面。这一切
   意味着什么?你在什么样的发情期中出生?我得
   修好孩子的东西。我在去阁楼的路上。别来。
   我向你保证一切都在控制之中。它不重要。
   住手。我说它没那么重要。什么不重要?
   什么不能在蓝帆下滴下
   当它们发展,发展它们关于我们的理论,
   粘土的记忆萦绕在乙醚里?我们没穿
   一针。鲁姆森的正在拍卖。我以为我能
   摆脱那一个。哦不?一辆车正跟她一起上路,
   载着我们去海滩,违背我们的意愿,好像施了魔法。
   林木工人合唱团举起他们的步枪,无声的
   姿势表示与逝者团结一致。在那里,我以为
   我会完成这个故事,在犯下另一个错误之前,现在它
   发生了。哦,亲爱的!格蕾丝,去拿点番茄酱,好吗?
   现在,一切都好。就像我说的…
   陌生人在街上向你致敬,
   勇敢的多年侯爵。你的愿望是什么?
   一顿海鲜餐会很不错,然后也许在船上
   我们可以品尝贻贝。我喜欢这样,
   让我想起一本下午读过的百科全书。
   哦是的,好吧,总是有很多
   关于你如何比赛和谁赢的故事。没有人对
   他们中的任何一个储存太多,但是现在你们两个就像
   烟囱里的砖头,没有人会把你们分开,或者把你们带走
   或者在你们身边站得更久,一旦办公室关门。
   是吗?现在五点,没有玫瑰……
   我以为我会沿着那条街走到尽头
   但那只是开始的结尾,其余的都是透明的
   针线一样纯净。“最好看看它。”太阳在这些地方
   啪的一声落下,就像一个鸡蛋落在柜台上,
   谁能数一数无尽的水禽、河鸟、
   背着水獭的海狸?我将拿着那个棋盘。

   我是说我现在要它回来。但是在城市里
   滚动的坦克暗示了另一种情况,
   另一种最坏的一个。听听美丽的雪花。
   哦,在这么短的时间里,我是多么爱你。
   我们还得继续生活似乎是耻辱。我是说,
   我们可以多点爱。我不会放弃。
   我是说,我是,但我不是一个轻举妄动的人。
   无论谁说你是?爬上大提琴休息一下。
   早上我必须见会计。

   就这么回事,在旧国家还是新国家。
   鹈鹕让我们惊奇,然后有一些理由为一座建筑
   墙上的活口,它有一家书店
   现在正在出售。最不可能的竞购者来来去去,
   迎合了下层社会的要求,我说
   还有那些使这一切成为可能的药膏。让我们帮助他们…

   嘿,你不觉得地平线上
   还有更多的事?如果有,我不确定我能忍受,
   我是说它们的脸。哦,他们将回家过圣诞节
   某时,我敢肯定。你为什么不去旅行一下
   去一个痛苦的村庄?你看起来很累。你没事吧?
   刚我哥哥从威奇托打来电话。他说市区着火了。
   唉如果我是你我就不会去那里。
   不,我无意这么做。
   现在,关于那些丢失的“鱼”牌,你的保姆
   在脑海把它们“藏”在她的工作篮里,
   还是希拉拐骗它们?

   我不是说孩子们不负责。

   在一个盒子里它们两个给我们一个。
   队伍欢呼后,冰箱就自己打开,猛烈地,
   就像一个春天的暴风雨撕碎树木的想法,
   不顾下面的高架桥。人们多戴猎犬牙。

   那是一种你可以感觉到
   普通人行为变化的方法。我正试图拆开
   这些毫无价值的德拉克马,好让这对双胞胎上学,
   嘿,结果其中有些会很值钱。
   说谁,除了下一条街和镇上到处都在下雨。
   鳍类动物蹒跚而过。我们下次一定要试着油炸
   菊苣。在此期间,我的酒杯会得意地戴上一顶红色的高尔夫球帽
   假使有人在附近看到,在这个时候不太可能,
   我承认,但我打算让那些旧铁杆随时准备好
   以防万一,这肯定会犯规。别摇动那个。
   它属于我。这是爱德加.爱伦.坡本人
   给我曾祖父的一只填充乌鸦。说他已经完成它。他花了一首诗,
   尽管,伟大的一首。想听见…
The File on Thelma Jordan

   Coldly, we put away the cabin flatware.
   Tomorrow, a transport strike. Damaged vacations will result.
   What the fuck, we’re already in one and have somehow
   got to make it what with the living, you know,
   the sport and recreation around. Pious reflexes too.
   So now about the apple? You know,what about it?
   Vague chintzes all around, her hair caught in the door.

   It seemed time when the bus came for Jacques in Vienna
   that the other Boston terriers would be having their day too,
   but no such luck---the sapphire eyes of one, confused,
   were just about it. You could go away, too.

   A poseur held up a scroll which, predictably, cascaded to the floor.
   Something about an annual charity bazaar. We’d forgotten
   it again, in the garden, this year. Why must things emerge
   before you’ve finished wisecracking about them. What
   does it all mean? In what rut were you born? I’ve got to
   fix the baby’s things. I’m on my way to the garret. Don’t come.
   I assure you everything is under control.It’s of no importance.
   stop it. I said it’s not that important.What’s not important?
   What couldn’t be under the blue sails dripping
   as they develop, develop their theories about us,
   haunting the ether with memories of clay? We haven’t a stitch
   to wear. Rumson’s is having a sale. I thought I’d
   got out of that one. Oh no? A car is having its way with her,
   carrying us down to the beach, against our will, as if by magic.
   The chorus of foresters raises their muskets in a silent
   gesture of solidarity with the departed. There, I thought
   I’d finish this story before making another mistake and now it’s
   happening. Oh, dear! Grace, fetch some ketchup, will you?
   Now, there it’s all better. As I was saying...
   Strangers salute you in the street,
   brave marquis of many years. What are thy wishes?
   A shore dinner would be nice, perhaps on the boat launch
   where we could feel for mussels afterwards. I like that,
   reminds me of an encyclopedia I once read in an afternoon.
   Oh yes, well, there were always a lot of stories
   about how you played and who won. Nobody set much
   store by any of them, but now you two men are like bricks
   in a chimney, nobody is going to separate you or carry you off
   or stand by you much longer, once the office closes.
   Did it? It’s five o’clock and there are no roses ...
   I thought I’d followed that street to the end
   but it was only the end of the beginning, the rest was transparent
   and needle-pure. “Best have a look at it.” The sun goes down
   with a plop in these parts, like an egg falling on a counter,
   and who is there to count the endless waterfowl, water ouzels,
   beavers with otters on their backs?I’ll take that chessboard.
   I mean I want it back now. But the tanks
   rolling in the city hinted at another scenario,
   another worst-case one. Listen to the pretty snowflakes.
   Oh, I love you so much in such a little time.
   It seems a shame we have to go on living. I mean,
   we could get more loving into it. I’m not quitting.
   I mean, I am but I’m not a quitter.
   Whoever said you were? Climb up that cello and try to get some rest.
   In the morning I’ve got to see the accountant.

   So it goes, in the old country as well as in the new.
   Pelicans startle us, then some reason for living gapes
   in the wall of a building that once housed a bookstore
   and is now for sale. The unlikeliest bidders come and go,
   pandering to the lower orders shall I say
   and the unguents who made all this possible. Let’s give them a hand ...

   Hey, you don’t think there’s any more
   over the horizon? I’m not sure I could stand it if there was,
   I mean their faces. Oh, they’11 all be home for Christmas
   sometime, I’m sure. Why don’t you take a little trip
   to an aching village? You look tired. Are you OK?
   It was just my brother calling from Wichita. He says the downtown’s on fire.
   Well if I was you I wouldn’t go there.
   No, I have no intention of doing so.
   Now, about those missing “fish” cards, did your nanny
   take it into her head to “hide” them in her workbasket
   or did Sheila abscond with them?

   I’m not saying the boys isn’t responsible.

   It was two of them to one of us in one box.
   After the team finished cheering the fridge opened by itself, violently,
   as one thinks of spring tempests tearing into trees,
   mindless of viaducts below. People are wearing hound’s-tooth more.
   That’s one way you can sense the change
   in the average person’s deportment. I’m trying to unpack
   these worthless drachmas so as to get the twins off to school,
   Hey, some of those could turn out to be valuable.
   Says who, and besides it’s raining in the next street and all around town.
   Finny creatures lurch by. We must try frying the endive
   next time. In the meantime my noggin will sport a red golfing cap
   in case there’s anyone around to see, which at this hour is unlikely,
   I admit, but I intend to have the old niblicks at the ready
   just in case, and it’s sure foul out. Don’t jolt that.
   It pertains to me. It’s a stuffed raven given to my great-grandfather by
   Edgar Allan Poe himself. Said he was finished with it. It had cost him a poem,
   though, a great one. Want to hear ...


 楼主| 发表于 2020-10-8 17:25:22 | 显示全部楼层


满倾斜
          
    (选自 Your Name Here )
    作者:(美)约翰.阿什贝利(John Ashberry)
    译者:剑郭琴符
          
    令人不安的消息从风隧道散发:
    他走了,他从不缺少冠军,
    被夏令时杀害,或是一场可怕的教学大纲事故。
          
    枯叶,枫树或白杨,都是生命的象征。
    让我们让一切保持原样,
    在阳光下弄干,浸泡在
    每件事物的甜蜜。
    这就是关于冒险的一切,看看它把我们带到了哪里!
    从根本上说,它似乎是人类的苦难。
    痛苦,起来,坐下。你的头发乱糟糟
    衣服也恐怖。但你那凝固的腋窝
    跟我们说话。有时候,当你讲述今天发生的事
    最好什么都不说。
    这么多,毕竟,那个病态的议程。
          
    现在,为什么不调查这一切
    最终变得美好的方式?不只那个
    在街角等最后一辆出租车薄片走了的妓女,
    第二天晚上在百货商店的橱窗里被重新包装
    这样你就可以假装你买了它?我在这里,露易丝,
    我们都在这里,等着你到本垒
    给我们打一个漂亮的。哦,但我
    一小时前就该到车站。
    这就是它的表现方式:
    你们四个在辛辛那提,在平原上向我们
    挥手,柠檬在紧追,导致学生骚乱。
          
    我们现在不担心那些---
    明天或以后一样好。
    友爱已经在等待永生。只有把星星
    诱出,你的袜子或短裤里才会产生你需要的果实。
          
    然后这一幕也像寓言一样消失。
Full Tilt
          
          
          
    Disturbing news emanates from the wind tunnel:
    He’s gone, who never lacked for champions,
    killed by daylight saving time, or a terrible syllabus accident.
          
    The dead leaves, maple or aspen, are a sign of life.
    Let’s leave things as they are,
    drying in the sun, soaking up the sweetness
    that’s in everything.
    This is what taking chances was all about, and look where it’s led us!
    To the root, it seems of human misery.
    Misery, get up, get down. Your hair is a mess
    and your dress a fright. Yet your curdled armpits
    speak to us. Sometimes it’s better to have nothing to say
    when you are telling about what happened today.
    It was so much, after all, that morbid agenda.
          
    Now, why not investigate the way
    all this can end up being pretty? Not just the whore
    who waits on the corner till the last sliver of taxi is gone,
    to be repackaged next night in a department store window
    so you can pretend you bought it? I’m up here, Louise,
    we’re all up here, waiting for you to step up to home plate
    and bat us a cool one. Oh, but
    I was supposed to be in the station an hour ago.
    That’s the way it gets illustrated:
    the four of you in Cincinnati, waving across the plain
    to us, the lemon in hot pursuit, leading to student unrest.
          
    We don’t have to worry about that now ---
    tomorrow or the day after will be just as good.
    The fraternity has already waited an eternity. Only coaxing the stars
    out could produce the fruit you need to have in your stocking or shorts.
          
    Then this scene too faded away like a fable.

 楼主| 发表于 2020-10-8 17:26:59 | 显示全部楼层
奇怪的职业
          
    (选自 Your Name Here )
    作者:(美)约翰.阿什贝利(John Ashberry)
    译者:剑郭琴符
          
    有一次放学后,蹒跚着从一个地方到另一个地方,
    我记得你喜欢那种干饼干
    只加一点糖调味。
          
    我记得你喜欢惠特娜。
    你是我认识的唯一一个这样的人。
    你不记得我们以前是怎么寻找海带的吗?
    来到带着一个轻松的、郊区的名字的小镇,
    想起那里的树木是多么的绿,
    比四月突然尴尬的草坪还要绿。
    我们想要如何生活在那里,
    不是一个不同的生活,而且。我们酷热难受
    穿着我们工会服装,过去的标语写着“回答”
    和“忏悔”,尝试二者,以及别的事情。
          
    然后---惊奇!天鹅绒般的阳光
    为我们提供后盾,给我们提供
    永远属于我们的勇气,如果我们
    知道如何在楼下访问它。
    我们过去常常一起爬到这么多活动:一首丁香树中的
    猪的交响乐,别的,可能更精彩,
    直到眼皮收回。
          
    现在我可以体验你的短裤。
    现在有更多为我们---
    跑到威胁淹死那个无动于衷的
    在他们身上平整脚趾的人。
    更多,更多光。
          
    明天我们去谁的办公室?
    我想听键盘变奏曲的
    新录音。哦,帮帮我们!
    扑灭黑夜和火,其反向气流
    甚至现在还在哼着她那首不相容的老歌。
 楼主| 发表于 2020-10-8 17:28:55 | 显示全部楼层
Strange Occupations
          
          
          
          
    Once after school, hobbling from place to place,
    I remember you liked the dry kind of cookies
    with only a little sugar to flavor them.
          
    I remember that you liked Wheatena.
    You were the only person I knew who did.
    Don’t you remember how we used to fish for kelp?
    Got to the town with the relaxed,suburban name,
    remembering how trees were green there,
    greener than a sudden embarrassed lawn in April.
    How we would like to live there,
    and not in a different life, either. We sweltered
    along in our union suits, past signs marked “Answer”
    and “Repent,” and tried both, and other things.
 楼主| 发表于 2020-10-8 17:30:51 | 显示全部楼层
Then---surprise! Velvet daylight
    came along to back us up, providing the courage
    that was always ours, had we but
    known how to access it downstairs.
    We used to crawl to so many events together: a symphony
    of hogs in a lilac tree, and other, possibly more splendid,
    things until the eyelid withdrew.
          
    Now I can sample your shorts.
    So much more is there for us now---
    runnels that threaten to drown the indifferent one
    who slicks his toe in them.
    Much, much more light.
          
    To whose office shall we go tomorrow?
    I’d like to hear the new recording of clavier
    variations. Oh, help us someone!
    Put out the night and the fire, whose backdraft
    is even now humming her old song of antipathies.
 楼主| 发表于 2020-10-8 17:49:26 | 显示全部楼层
To whose office shall we go tomorrow?

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