I’m jotting down these lines,

我草草写下几行字，

having borrowed a pen from a waitress

用向女服务员借来的笔，

in this roadside restaurant. Three rusty pines

在这间路边小餐馆里。铁锈红的松树

prop up the sky in the windows.

在窗外支楞着冲向天空。

My soup gets cold, which implies

我的汤凉了。这说明

I’ll eat it cold. Soon I too

我将会喝凉汤。很快我将会

will leave a tip on the table, merge

在桌上留下一个纸条，隐身在

into the beehive of travelers

游客的蜂巢中

and board one of the ferries,

登上一艘渡船，

where there’s always a line to the loo

在那里总是有一条通向厕所的小路

and no one knows where the captain is.

却没有人知道船长在哪里。

Slightly seasick, I keep on writing

有一点晕船，我接着写

of the wind-rose and lobster traps,

风向图和龙虾笼子，

seagulls, if any—and there always are.

海鸥，如果这里有的话——还真总能看见它们。

Check the air and you’ll see them

只要看空中你就会看到它们

above straw hats and caps.

在草帽和布帽上面。

The sun at noon glides like a monstrous star-

中午的太空在天空滑动就如巨大的海星

fish through clouds. Others drink iced tea,

穿过云朵。别人在喝着冰茶，

training binoculars on a tugboat.

用远处的拖船试验双筒望远镜。

When I finish this letter, I’ll take a gulp

当我完成了这封信，我会

from the flask you gave me for the road

从铁皮酒瓶里倒出一大口酒，

in days when I was too young to care about

这酒瓶是你送我“路上用”的，

those on the pier who waved goodbye.

那时我还太年轻，

甚至对码头上的挥手告别心有感念。

I miss them now: cousins in linen dresses,

my mother, you, boys in light summer shirts.

现在我怀念他们：

Life is too long. The compass needle dances.

穿着亚麻布的表姐妹们，

Everything passes by. The ferry passes

我的妈妈，还有你，还有穿着轻薄夏天衬衣的男孩们。

by ragged yellow shores.

生命太长了。在罗盘指针的舞蹈中，

万事匆匆走过。就像渡船

漂过起起伏伏的黄色海岸。