我工作的房间是方形的如半副骰子。

The room I work in is as foursquare

一张木桌，一幅农夫的侧面肖像，

as half a pair of dice.

一把松松垮垮的扶手椅，一只茶壶

It holds a wooden table

撅着哈布斯堡王朝时代的嘴。

with a stubborn peasant’s profile,

从窗口我看见几棵枯瘦的树，

a sluggish armchair, and a teapot’s

几丝云彩，几个总是快乐而喧闹的儿童。

pouting Hapsburg’s lip.

有时候，挡风玻璃在远处闪烁

From the window I see a few skinny trees,

更高处，一架飞机银色的外壳闪过。

wispy clouds, and toddles,

显然，在我工作，在我

always happy and loud.

于地上或空中寻求冒险的时候，

Sometimes a windshield glints in the distance

别的人也没有浪费时间。

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

我工作的房间是一只相机的暗盒。

Clearly others aren’t wasting time

而我的工作是什么——静静的等待，

while I work, seeking adventures

翻动书本，耐心的沉思。

on earth or in the air.

我缓慢地写作仿佛我会活上二百年。

The room I work in is a camera obscura.

我寻求不存在的形象，

And what is my work -

如果存在，它们也是打皱的、隐蔽的

waiting motionless.

如夏天的衣服在冬天，

flipping pages, patient meditation,

当严寒刺痛嘴唇。

passivities not pleasing

我梦想完美的入定如果我找到它

to that judge with the greedy gaze.

我一定停止呼吸。

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

也许是好的，我只做完了这么一点点。

I seek images that don’t exist,

毕竟，我听到了第一场雪。

and if they do they’re crumpled and concealed

like summer clothes in winter,

when frost stings the mouth.

I dream of perfect concentration; if I found it

I’d surely stop breathing.

maybe it’s good I get so little done.

But after all, I hear the first snow hissing,

the frail melody of daylight,

and the city’s gloomy rumble.

I drink from a small spring,

my thirst exceeds the ocean.