Midmorning like a deserted room, apparition
上午似一间弃置的屋子，大衣柜
Of armoire and table weights,
和桌布坠子显着魅影，
Oblongs of flat light,
光线投下平薄的椭圆，
the rosy eyelids of lovers
情侣的眼睑有玫瑰的红润
Raised in their ghostly insurrection,
从这幕幽魂的骚动中浮起，
Decay in the compassed corners beating its black wings,
朽烂在四个圆角处拍打着黑色的翅膀，
Late June and the lilac just ajar.
六月之末，丁香半启半合。
Where the deer trail sinks down through the shadows of blue spruce,
麋鹿的踪迹隐没在蓝叶云杉的阴影，
Reeds rustle and bow their heads,
芦苇颔首致意、飒飒有声，
Creek waters murmur on like the lamentation of women
小溪潺潺如诉、宛若妇女哀叹
For faded, forgotten things.
淡忘的人、荏苒的事。
And always the black birds in the trees,
只有乌鸫鸟仍在树林婉转，
Always the ancient chambers thudding inside the heart.
只有古老的厢房仍在内心颤响。
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Swallow pure as a penknife
燕子纯洁如一把小刀
slick through the insected air.
划过蠓虫如云的半空。
Swallow poised on the housepost, beakful of mud and a short straw.
燕子兀立于屋前的邮筒，满嘴的泥巴、粘着一截稻草。
Swallow dun-orange, swallow blue,
暗黄的燕子、灰蓝的燕子，
mud purse and middle arch,
干的泥巴、中央拱起，
Home sweet home.
家，甜美的家。
Swallow unceasing, swallow unstill
夕阳西下，燕子仍不知停歇、燕子仍
At sundown, the mother's shade over silver water.
不愿栖息，母燕的暗影投落银光熠熠的水面。
At the edge of the forest, no sound in the grey stone,
森林的边缘，灰石头静寂无声，
No moan from the blue lupin.
蓝色的羽豆没有哀鸣。
The shadows of afternoon
下午的阴影
begin to gather their dark robes
开始收拢它们黑暗的罩袍
And unlid their crystal eyes.
并掀起它们水晶眸的眼皮。
Minute by minute, step by slow step,
一分一秒、一步缓似一步，
Like the small hand on a clock, we climb north, toward midnight.
犹如时钟的短针，我们向北方攀爬，进入午夜。
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I've made a small hole in the silence, a tiny one,
我在沉寂中凿开一个小洞，很小，
Just big enough for a word.
只是一个字的空间。
And when I rise from the dead, whenever that is, I'll say it.
当我从死亡之境升起，我将说出那个字，无论那是
I can't remember the word right now,
何年何月，而此刻我还记不起那是何字
But it will come back to me when the northwest wind
不过，当西北风从喀利勃山上吹来，
blows down off Mt. Caribou
那个字也将回到我的记忆，
The day that I rise from the dead, whenever that is.
在那一天，我会从死亡之境升起，无论那天何时来临。
Sunlight, on one leg, limps out to the meadow and settles in.
阳光单腿着地，一颠一簸地走出草坪，然后停驻、休憩。
Insects fall back inside their voices,
小蠓虫退缩在自己的嗓音中，
Little fanfares and muted repeats,
纤细的嘹亮、消了音的回响，
Inadequate language of sorrow,
语言难以尽诉忧伤，
inadequate language of silted joy,
语言无法抵达淤塞的欢乐，
As ours is.
我们的语言也是这样。
The birds join in. The sunlight opens her other leg.
鸟儿加入进来。阳光伸开她的另一条腿。
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At times the world falls away from us
世界时不时地从我们身边退避
with all its disguises,
带走它的所有伪装，
And we are left with ourselves
于是我们便只和我们自己一起
As though we were dead, or otherwised, our lips still moving,
似乎我们是死者，或者化为另一种可能，我们的双唇仍在嚅动，
The empty distance, the heart
空空的距离、我们的心
Like a votive little-red-wagon on top of a child's grave,
像供奉在一个孩童坟墓上的红色小马车，
Nothing touching, nothing close.
毫不令人感动、也不会令人亲近。
A long afternoon, and a long rain begins to fall.
一个漫长的下午，开始降落一场漫长的雨。
In some other poem, angels emerge from their cold rooms,
另有一首诗篇，那里会有天使从它们冰冷的房间冒起，
Their wings blackened by somebody's dream.
翅膀发黑，因为沾上某人的梦。
The rain stops, the robin resumes his post.
雨停了，知更鸟又回到它原来的标杆。
A whisper
一声低语
Out of the clouds and here comes the sun.
从云朵中传来，太阳于是出现。
A long afternoon, the robin flying from post back to post.
漫长的下午，知更鸟从标杆飞到标杆。
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The length of vowel sounds, by nature and by position,
元音通畅的声长，以其音质、以其音位，
Count out the morning's meters—
衡量着清晨的韵律——
bird song and squirrel bark, creek run,
鸟的歌、松鼠的叫、溪流的潺潺，
The housefly's languor and murmurous incantation.
苍蝇颓丧无力地嗡嗡念咒。
I put on my lavish robes
我披着宽松的睡袍
And walk at random among the day's
在白日的抑扬顿挫、平仄长短中
dactyls and anapests,
随意地行走，
A widening caesura with each step.
每一步都在拓宽韵脚的间隙。
I walk through my life as though I were a bookmark, a holder of place,
我走过我的人生，像我一张书签，将地点固定，
An overnight interruption
像阅读别人的叙事
in somebody else's narrative.
为了过夜而暂时中断。
What is it that causes this?
这一结果因为什么缘由？
What is it that pulls my feet down, and keeps on keeping my eyes
是什么绊住我的双脚，逼得我的双眼一直紧盯着脚下的地面？
fixed to the ground?
不管是何原因，山中的狼群将会因此
Whatever the answer, it will start
惊起而狂奔下山，
the wolf pack down from the mountain,
乌鸦因此从树上飞落。
The raven down from the tree.
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时间啃着我们的颈项犹如狗
Time gnaws on our necks like a dog
啃着炖过的骨头。
gnaws on a stew bone.
它的白牙将我们消蚀。
It whittles us down with its white teeth,
它令我们卷起行囊，在尘封的路途上不留下任何足迹。
It sends us packing, leaving no footprints on the dust-dour road.
这还只是一种说法而已。
That's one way of putting it.
时间，犹如一块金币，躺在我们舌头的顶端。
Time, like a golden coin, lies on our tongue's another.
它在我们两排牙齿之间的黑水上漂来滑去，
We slide it between our teeth on the black water,
另一枚随时都能接替。
ready for what's next.
淹死的孩子眼皮泛白，犹如受惊的鸟，
The white eyelids of dead boys, like flushed birds, flutter up
从船骨边缘猛然窜飞。
At the edge of the timber.
庭院中的大叶羽豆，
Domestic lupin Crayolas the yard.
牧场上的高杆草
Slow lopes of tall grasses
受着风的驱赶，迈着大步向南方慢跑。
Southbound in the meadow, hurled along by the wind.
翅膀的每一次扑闪都越发强劲，
In wingbeats and increments,
那消失的又回到我们身边，那有灵的又回到了树上。
The disappeared come back to us, the soul returns to the tree.
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溪流间歇的赋格曲，
The intermittent fugues of the creek,
一会儿说好、一会儿说歹，
saying yes, saying no,
阳光的主音
Master music of sunlight
和着云杉与落叶松下黛绿的幽暗，
And black-green darkness under the spruce and tamaracks,
引诱得我们屏息以待。
Lull us and take our breath away.
我们的双唇涡成纤细的文字，
Our lips form fine words,
却没有任何声音流出。
But nothing comes out.
嘴唇只是信使，不会有任何信息。
Our lips are the messengers, but nothing can come out.
当疾风刮走了一日，黄昏的宁静其美无边。
After a day of high winds, how beautiful is the stillness of dusk.
石头的沉默恢弘无比。
Enormous silence of stones.
幻象，犹如一口空棺，暗示着某种缺失。
Illusion, like an empty coffin, that something is missing.
花朵沾上污渍
Monotonous psalm of underbrush
矮树丛低咏起单调的圣歌。
and smudged flowers.
黄昏之后，黑暗降临。
After the twilight, darkness.
黑暗之后，还是黑暗，随之而来的自然会紧随其后。
After the darkness, darkness, and then what follows that.
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那拥有这一切的，仍未呈现，而我们留给未来的少之又少，
The unborn own all of this, what little we leave them,
圣托马斯的手，
St. Thomas's hand
一再回到那个伤口，
returning repeatedly to the wound,
它们仍未完成的嘴在半睡半醒之间难以自持，
Their half-formed mouths irrepressible in their half-sleep,
先是要求所有，然后只要一些。
Asking for everything, and then some.
它们的来临伴着忧郁，已经
Already the melancholy of their arrival
像远山上的日出和白日梦一样
Swells like a sunrise and daydream
在东方涨涌。
over the eastern ridge line.
傍晚的矿石巷道内，
Inside the pyrite corridors of late afternoon,
图像一帧接一帧，云朵
Image follows image, clouds
一片片展示自身，
Reveal themselves,
而阴影犹如天使，静卧在万物的脚旁。
and shadows, like angels, lie at the feet of all things.
来生的厢房在树林深处敞开，
Chambers of the afterlife open deep in the woods,
它们隐秘的象形字突然可以读解，
Their secret hieroglyphics suddenly readable
只需闭上一只眼，然后闭上另一只。
With one eye closed, then with the other.
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一颗星与一次黑色旅程，
One star and a black voyage,
飘渺的雾霭可用来许愿，
drifting mists to wish on,
夜鹰和它们的催眠曲——
Bullbats and their lullabye—
暮色渐紧，犹如一层橡皮套裹着山峦。
Evening tightens like an elastic around the hills.
低浅的声音、白昼就此结束，
Small sounds and the close of day,
犹如一具尸体不知从草场深处的何方冒出了地面
As if a corpse had risen from somewhere deep in the meadow
带着多重阴影潜行。
And walked in its shadows quietly.
我的体内有一张嘴，长满金牙，
The mouth inside me with its gold teeth
它开始张开。
Begins to open.
嘴唇间没有言词，
No words appear on its lips,
也没有声音的泡泡从舌上滚出。
no syllables bubble along its tongue.
夜之嘴，沉默的嘴。
Night mouth, silent mouth.
像吸了毒的鸟儿停在树上，
Like drugged birds in the trees,
天使低垂着潮湿的脑门，休歇了。
angels with damp foreheads settle down.
起风了，涌起了云，又是一个晦暗无星的夜晚。
Wind rises, clouds arrive, another night without stars.