今夜我多么想念你,华尔特·惠特曼,我走在人行道的树下,带着头痛的自我感觉,望着空中的圆月。

     What thoughts I have of you tonight. Walt Whitman, for I walked down the sidestreets under the trees with a headache self-conscious looking at the full moon.

我又饿又累,我要购买形象,我走进霓虹水果超级市场,梦想着你列举过的事物。

     In my hungry fatigue, and shopping for images, I went into the neon fruit supermarket, dreaming of your enumeration!

何等的桃子!何等的半影!全家在夜里采买!满走廊全是丈夫!妻子全在鳄犁中!小孩全在蕃茄里!——而你,加西亚·洛尔迦,你在西瓜边上干什么?

     What peaches and what penumbras! Whole families shopping at night? Aisle full of husbands! Wives in the avocados, babies in the tomatoes! - and you, Garcia Lorca, what were you doing by the watermelons?

我看见你,华尔特·惠特曼,你没有孩子, 孤独的老苦力,你手指戮着冰箱里的肉,眼睛瞟着食品柜伙计。

     I saw you, Walt Whitman, chidless, lonely old grubber, poking among the meats in the refrigerator and eyeing the grocery boys.

我听见你在问一个个问题:谁干掉了牛排?香蕉什么价?你是我的天使吗?

     I heard you asking questions of each: Who killed the pork chops? What price bananas? Are you my Angel?

我跟着你,在闪闪发光的罐头货架之间走进走出,在想象中被店家雇的侦探紧跟着。

     I wandered in and out of the brilliant stacks of cans following you, and followed in my imagination by the store detective.

我们在孤独的幻想中穿过开敞的通道,尝着洋蓟, 占有一切冰冻佳肴,但从不经过收款处。

     We strode down the open corridors together in our solitary fancy tasting artichokes, possessing every frozen delicacy, and never passing the cashier.

我们上哪儿去,华尔特·惠特曼?还有一个小时就要关门,你的胡子今夜指向何方?

     Where are we going, Walt Whitman? The doors close in an hour. Which way does your beard point tonight?

(我抚摩着你的书,梦想着我们在超级市场的冒险,觉得挺古怪。)

     ( I touch your book and dream of our odyssey in the supermarket and feel absurd.)

我们会不会整夜在空寂无人的街上流浪?树影叠着树影,屋子里灯都熄了,我们俩那么孤独。

     Will we walk all night through solitary streets? The trees add shade to shade, lights out in the houses, we'll both be lonely.

我们会不会就这么闲逛着,梦见迷路的美国,梦见爱情,从路上蓝色的汽车边上走过,回到我们寂静的茅屋?

     Will we stroll dreaming of the lost America of love past blue automobiles in driveways, home to our silent cottage?

啊亲爱的父亲,灰胡子,孤独的勇气教师,当卡龙停止撑篙,而你跨上烟雾笼罩的河岸,凝视渡船在忘川的黑水上消失,那时,你曾有个什么样的美国?

     Ah, dear father, graybeard, loney old courage-teacher, what America did you have when Charon quit poling his ferry and you got out on a smoking bank and stood watching the boat disappear on the black waters of Lethe?