The room I work in is as foursquare

我工作的房间，四四方方，

as half a pair of dice.

如一对骰子的一半。

It holds a wooden table

里面放得下一张木桌，

with a stubborn peasant’s profile,

如一个倔强老农的廓影，

a sluggish armchair, and a teapot’s

一把松垮垮的扶手椅，一只茶壶

pouting Hapsburg’s lip.

撅着哈布斯堡王朝的嘴。

From the window I see a few skinny trees,

窗外，几棵枯瘦的树，

wispy clouds, and toddles,

几朵薄云，几个幼儿园孩子

always happy and loud.

总是那么快乐而喧闹。

Sometimes a windshield glints in the distance

有时候，一扇挡风玻璃在远处发光，

or, higher up, an airplane’s silver husk.

或者更高处，一架飞机银壳闪烁。

Clearly others aren’t wasting time

很显然，我工作时

while I work, seeking adventures

别人也没闲着，

on earth or in the air.

他们在地面或天空冒险。

The room I work in is a camera obscura.

我工作的房间是照相机暗盒。

And what is my work -

而我的工作是什么呢——

waiting motionless.

一动不动地等待，

flipping pages, patient meditation,

翻页，耐心寻思，

passivities not pleasing

这样的被动难以满足

to that judge with the greedy gaze.

审判官的贪心注视。

I write as slowly as if I’ll live two hundred years.

我不紧不慢地写，仿佛可以活两百岁。

I seek images that don’t exist,

我寻找不存在的意象，

and if they do they’re crumpled and concealed

即使存在，也是卷缩，隐蔽的，

like summer clothes in winter,

仿佛在冬天穿夏衣，

when frost stings the mouth.

冷霜刺痛嘴唇。

I dream of perfect concentration; if I found it

我幻想一种绝对的专注，一旦进入

I’d surely stop breathing.

我会停止呼吸。

maybe it’s good I get so little done.

我写得少，也许这样很好。

But after all, I hear the first snow hissing,

毕竟，我听到了初雪的澌澌声，

the frail melody of daylight,

日光的轻柔旋律，

and the city’s gloomy rumble.

以及这个城市郁闷的隆隆声。

I drink from a small spring,

我从细小的源泉里饮水，

my thirst exceeds the ocean.

而我的渴大于一座海。