1

1

I float over propane tanks, back lanes,

我飘浮在丙烷罐丶后巷丶

outhouses in pajamas, twelve, over shacks and the really more-

外屋上，穿着睡衣裤，十二岁，在棚屋和真的不只是

than-shacks, north of trolley wires and an edge of the city

棚屋上，在电车缆线以北和城市森林

forest. I drift just above the tips of elms, and am twelve. June.

边缘。我刚好漂泊在榆树顶尖上，十二岁。六月。

People are asleep below, the milkman’s

人们在下面熟睡，送奶人的马

horse waits on Connaught for the man to come through

在康诺特等待他穿过一道

a lilac hedge, marsupial pouch

丁香树篱，首先是袋鼠袋，

first, empties percussing in his iron basket.

空瓶在他的铁篮里敲击。

Someone, Yvonne I guess, the Pelletiers’ oldest

有人，我猜是伊冯娜，佩尔蒂埃家的大女儿，

sets kindling going to take off the chill.

点燃引火物，抵卸严寒。

The horse is motionless above its cake-sized,

那匹马一动不动，站在它那蛋糕大的

cement anchor.

混凝土系绳桩上。

The man next door comes onto his back step and lowers

隔壁男人来到后楼梯，把一根火柴放低

a match into a pipe bowl, a perfect 1938 maroon Cheverolet

到一个烟斗里，一辆完美的1938年栗色雪佛兰

sedan parked, never driven, in his garage, then the woman, Mrs. Garvin,

小轿车停泊在他的车库里，从未开过；接着，那女人，加尔文太太，

farther down walks into her earliest irises and John Pelletier loads

更远地走进她最早开的鸢尾花丛里，约翰·佩尔蒂埃则把

the family wash tub on the wagon

家庭洗衣盆搬上马车

and goes for water.

去取水。

2

2

a wolf inside that smoke rises from

烟雾里一匹狼冒出来

Wilfrid carried a straight razor he

威尔弗里德带着一把他用锉刀

shortened with a file

锉短的折叠式剃刀

              to flick easier.

     以方便甩动。

More operatic, chthonic device than the Hollywood

这玩艺比吉米·伊斯茨的神经病表弟查利·克罗

switchblade Charlie Crow, Jimmy Easts‘s psychotic cousin,

在月亮甜食店门口从长及足踝的黑外衣里

drew from an anklelength black coat,

拔出来打劫我弟弟的炸薯片和芬达橙汁的

to rob my brother of chips and a Fanta orange

那好莱坞弹簧刀还管用，

outside Moon’s Confectionary. Kryptonited

还致人死地。只要受意识形态

by ideology, Charlie’d still slice.

蛊惑，查利还会继续抹刀子。

But a shotgun was Wilf’s true, later wonder

但一支猎枪是威尔弗后来真正的神奇

instrument, his completer

器械，他的美学样式的实践者。瞧它，

of aesthetic shape. There it was

在他手里，在凌晨两点的夜总会，在那个蒸气表面的

 in his hand in the 2:00 am nightclub, under the stream-surface

旋转水晶灯下，一种在洞穴深处的苏醒。幸亏我们没有去

ball, a wakening deep in the cave. Lucky we didn’t go

找马丁，我弟弟说：否则我们会在监狱里了。

to Martin, says my brother. Be in jail now.

或者出来了，过气了，眨着

Or out, superannuated, blinking,

我们的眼睛，抚弄一处处硬结。

our eyes fondling a range of knots.

“腺人”鲍勃·库克，在酒店

Bob Cooke, the Gland, in the giant lobby

大堂里，二十一岁，被手枪拽倒，

of the hotel, twenty-one, handgunned,

多肌腱的寂静在他周围孵化，

tendoned stillness hatched around him,

一个男声最高音悬搁着，

a single counter-tenor note held,

悬搁着，现在才开始消失，后退

held, just now starting to fade, lose ground

然后消失，那个感情声音，如今

and fade, that emotion-sound, now

向前伸长脖子要求

cranes his neck forward and asks

夜班职员打开保险箱，

the night-clerk to open the safe,

通往保险箱洞穴的门敞开着，

wide the door to the grotto of the safe,

动物在低矮灌木丛中

ovoid hole the animal’s body made

因进进出出而形成的卵形洞穴。

in the mat of low bushes by passing in and out.

3

3

“美味的专注”

“delectable absorption”

          阿维拉的圣德肋撒

                       St. Teresa of Avila

这个可吃的世界斜身倚着我们，

The Eatable world leans against us,

               神经元的小径，美的光华，

                                     neuronal pathways, beauty sheen,

鱼遮蔽鼓起的四壁，

fish clouds bulging walls,

驯鹿鼓膜似的搏动

tympanic throb of reindeer

在穿过峡谷时收窄。

narrowing through gorges.

我把我的手，已有一段时间，事实上是

I put my hand, quite a while ago, years ago

多年前的手，搁在鱼王的膝盖上，

actually onto the knee of the Fish-Lord

          个性于是显露。

                             and individuality appeared.

是的，我这样做。没有痛苦。

Yes, I did it. There was no pain.

在那些日子里，我坐在鱼鹰小木屋区

Those days when I sat in that room

那个房间里，雨打

in Osprey Cabins, rain chipping

窗户，我常常起身

the window, I would rise

跪下来，耳朵紧贴地板。

to kneel and set my ear to the floor.

我听到发生的大部分事情。

I heard most of what occurred.

那些日子几乎把它们所有的火坑留在我身上。

Those days left almost all of their firepits in me.

                         我说哈罗。

                                                            I say hello.

那华丽的浪涛，

The gorgeous wave,

如同用绿叶素和皮肤给形而上学涂上圣油，

metaphysics chrismed with chlorophyll and skin,

在靠近腰际的身体半途中升起，然后翻滚而去。

lifts midway through the body, near the waist, and rolls

                                                                through.

4

4

我仍在沉睡，在街区上漂浮，

吃着锦鸡儿叶丶榆树叶丶夏天的宁静。

I am asleep still and drift over the neighbourhood,

两英里外是那条小溪，接着，在香蒲

grazing carragana leaves, elm leaves, summer still.

后面那边，是皇家加拿大骑警训练站，而现在

There’s the creek, two miles away, then beyond

它几乎就在我下面，因为我刚越过

behind cattails, the RCMP Training Depot and almost

迪尤德尼大道，现已空置的代总督

beneath me now that I’ve crossed over

官邸的小塔楼和烟囱，

Dewdney Ave., the turret and chimneys

除了死人的呼吸或

of the Lieutenant Governor’s residence now empty,

灵魂甲壳，我们可以透彻地看清满是尘埃的底层窗子。

except for breath or soul carapaces

一只麝鼠正在撕裂小溪的表面，而回来的

of dead people we can see clearly through dusty groundfloor windows.

约翰，抖掉边缘溅起的水花，

A muskrat’s splitting the surface of the creek and John,

在人行道上。他已

returning, sheds rim splashes,

转入康诺特并把马车停在后门，

on the sidewalk. Behind him,

他背后水在摇晃，

now that he’s turned into Connaught

最早几辆无轨电车碰出火花格格作响朝着市中心驶去

and has the wagon at the back door, water swaying,

而我正在安顿下来，刚穿过焦土

the first trolley bus sparks and rattles toward downtown

从头顶的电线降落，看不见，赤足，

and I am settling, descended through the scorch

直立，在我父母的草坪上。

from overhead wires, unseen, barefoot,

upright, on my parents’ lawn.

题解：此诗也是写作者的童年，充满了童年的想像力。作者成长于依然由马匹挨家挨户送牛奶的年代。童年和青少年时代的周围环境是田园式的，同时隐含暴力。