1.
1.
欢迎来到这首无所事事的诗。
Welcome to the silly, comforting poem.
它不是日出，
It is not the sunrise,
一阵红色的漂染，
which is a red rinse,
印红了整个东边的天空；
which is flaring all over the eastern sky;
它不是上帝的钱包中落下的雨；
不是雨后天空的蓝色盔甲，
it is not the rain falling out of the purse of God;
也不是树或者正钻进泥土的甲虫；
它不是嘲鸟，在开满繁花的梓树枝上，
it is not the blue helmet of the sky afterward,
按照自己的旋律
咝咝鸣叫，拍打着翅膀，
or the trees, or the beetle burrowing into the earth;
而那些花，波浪似地翻腾，闪亮，
随风摇摆。
it is not the mockingbird who, in his own cadence,
will go on sizzling and clapping
from the branches of the catalpa that are thick with blossoms,
2.
that are billowing and shining,
that are shaking in the wind.
有时，你仍会记起，曾祖父农场中的
旧谷仓，你曾去过一次，
独自走进去，而大人们正坐在屋子里
2.
闲谈。
它几乎是空的。地上铺了一层干草，
You still recall, sometimes, the old barn on your
一些黄蜂在窗上嗡嗡鸣叫，也许，
great-grandfather"s farm, a place you visited once,
高处有一只奇怪的鸟，受到惊扰，突然
and went into, all alone, while the grownups sat and
大叫一声，停在凌乱的壁架上，用它野性的双目
talked in the house.
向下瞪视。
It was empty, or almost. Wisps of hay covered the floor,
虽然，谷仓里充斥着牛奶与动物
and some wasps sang at the windows, and maybe there was
隐忍的气息；
a strange fluttering bird high above, disturbed, hoo-ing
但是粪便的味道仍然散发在空气中，
a little and staring down from a messy ledge with wild,
一种模糊的氨，令人厌恶。
binocular eyes.
谷仓里充满宁静与神秘，
Mostly, though, it smelled of milk, and the patience of
屋顶高高拱起，
animals; the give-offs of the body were still in the air,
未上漆的木板，显得简单质朴。
a vague ammonia, not unpleasant.
你可能永远留在那儿，角落里的一个小孩，
Mostly, though, it was restful and secret, the roof high
在残留的干草堆上，晕眩于那看上去空
up and arched, the boards unpainted and plain.
其实并不空的空间。
You could have stayed there forever, a small child in a corner,
后来——你仍然记得——你感到饥饿的折磨——正是
on the last raft of hay, dazzled by so much space that seemed
中午——而你从黎明的梦中醒来，匆匆回到
empty, but wasn"t.
房子，那里桌子已经摆好，一位叔叔
Then--you still remember--you felt the rap of hunger--it was
拍拍你的肩，表示欢迎，桌上有你的位置。
noon--and you turned from that twilight dream and hurried back
to the house, where the table was set, where an uncle patted you
on the shoulder for welcome, and there was your place at the table.
3.
什么也没有留下。
3.
我正在说起的地方，现在，是一块
墓地。
Nothing lasts.
There is a graveyard where everything I am talking about is,
我曾站在那里，在绿色的草地上，撒下鲜花。
now.
I stood there once, on the green grass, scattering flowers.
4.
没有什么能像青蛾的翅膀那样，
4.
灵敏或细微地扇动，
在清晨，
Nothing is so delicate or so finely hinged as the wings
扑向灯，
of the green moth
扑向它的炉火，
against the lantern
扑向乌鸦的喙。
against its heat
against the beak of the crow
飞蛾也有生机和整饬的容颜，但是它没有一丝丝
in the early morning.
自怜。
Yet the moth has trim, and feistiness, and not a drop
它不存在于这个世界。
of self-pity.
Not in this world.
5.
我的母亲
5.
是忧伤的紫藤，
我的母亲
My mother
是房后蔓生的青苔，
was the blue wisteria,
我的母亲，唉，唉，
my mother
并不总是爱她的生活，
was the mossy stream out behind the house,
它比熨斗还重。
my mother, alas, alas,
当她拎着它，从一个房间走到另一个房间，
did not always love her life,
哦，令人难以释怀！
heavier than iron it was
as she carried it in her arms, from room to room,
我将她
oh, unforgettable!
装在盒子里
葬入泥土，
I bury her
然后转身离开了。
in a box
我的父亲，
in the earth
是一个梦想落空的魔鬼，
and turn away.
一个信仰破灭者，
My father
一个穷人，一个倒霉的瘦男孩。
was a demon of frustrated dreams,
他跟随上帝，在上帝面前吹牛，
was a breaker of trust,
除了上帝，
was a poor, thin boy with bad luck.
他无人交谈，无人
He followed God, there being no one else
愿意倾听。
he could talk to;
倾听，
he swaggered before God, there being no one else
这是他的生活。
who would listen.
我将它葬入泥土。
Listen,
我清空壁橱。
this was his life.
我离开了房子。
I bury it in the earth.
I sweep the closets.
I leave the house.
6.
此刻我提起他们，
6.
我绝不会再提起。
I mention them now,
不是不爱，
I will not mention them again.
也不是不悲伤。
但是他们拎着的铁东西，我不会再拎着。
It is not lack of love
nor lack of sorrow.
我给他们——一个，两个，三个，四个——礼节性的吻，
But the iron thing they carried, I will not carry.
甜蜜的致谢之吻，
愤怒的吻，祝他们在泥土中好运的吻。
I give them--one, two, three, four--the kiss of courtesy,
他们也许睡得很安稳。他们也许变柔和了。
of sweet thanks,
of anger, of good luck in the deep earth.
但是我不会给他们同类的吻。
May they sleep well. May they soften.
我不需要他们为我的生活负责。
But I will not give them the kiss of complicity.
I will not give them the responsibility for my life.
7.
你知道吗？蚂蚁有一只舌头
7.
用来收集它所能收集的
全部甜蜜。
Did you know that the ant has a tongue
with which to gather in all that it can
你知道这一点吗？
of sweetness?
Did you know that?
8.
诗不是世界。
8.
它甚至不是世界的首页。
The poem is not the world.
但是诗歌渴望像一朵花那样开放。
It isn"t even the first page of the world.
它非常清楚这点。
But the poem wants to flower, like a flower.
它渴望打开自己，
It knows that much.
像一座小修道院的门，
以便你能走进去，平静下来，重新振作，
It wants to open itself,
使你自己卑微如尘埃。
like the door of a little temple,
so that you might step inside and be cooled and refreshed,
and less yourself than part of everything.
9.
从成熟妇女嘴中哭喊出的
9.
孩子气声音，
是一种悲哀和失望。
The voice of the child crying out of the mouth of the
从身材高大、长胡须的壮实男人嘴中吼出的
grown woman
孩子气声音，
is a misery and a disappointment.
是一种悲哀，一种恐怖。
The voice of the child howling out of the tall, bearded,
muscular man
is a misery, and a terror.
10.
因此，告诉我：
10.
什么能吸引你？
什么能打开你精神的黑暗领域，
Therefore, tell me:
像初次亲热的
what will engage you?
情人那样？
What will open the dark fields of your mind,
like a lover
at first touching?
11.
无论如何，
11.
没有谷仓。
没有孩子在谷仓里。
Anyway,
there was no barn.
没有叔叔没有桌子没有厨房。
No child in the barn.
只有一块狭长可爱的田野，停满了食米鸟。
No uncle no table no kitchen.
Only a long lovely field full of bobolinks.
12.
当孤独偷偷潜来，进入田野，思考
12.
世界的秩序。留意
你以前从未在意过的，
When loneliness comes stalking, go into the fields, consider
the orderliness of the world. Notice
比如蟋蟀的鼓声，
something you have never noticed before,
它淡绿色的身体比你的拇指长不了多少。
like the tambourine sound of the snow-cricket
在夏天的雨中，努力盯住蜂雀，
whose pale green body is no longer than your thumb.
看它如何抖落翅膀上的水珠。
Stare hard at the hummingbird, in the summer rain,
让忧伤做你的妹妹，无论她是否愿意。
shaking the water-sparks from its wings.
从悲痛的树桩上站起，像勤奋的叶子那样
变绿。
Let grief be your sister, she will whether or no.
Rise up from the stump of sorrow, and be green also,
对于这个世界的美和你生活的责任
like the diligent leaves.
一生的时间并不够用。
A lifetime isn"t long enough for the beauty of this world
在坟墓上撒下你的鲜花，然后离开。
and the responsibilities of your life.
当你奋发向上时，保持善良和懒散。
Scatter your flowers over the graves, and walk away.
在你精神的锋芒中，保持谦逊。
Be good-natured and untidy in your exuberance.
对可触可感的事物充满感恩。
In the glare of your mind, be modest.
与甲虫和风生活在一起。
And beholden to what is tactile, and thrilling.
这是诗歌隐秘的面包。
Live with the beetle, and the wind.
这是诗歌隐秘而富有营养的面包。
This is the dark bread of the poem.
This is the dark and nourishing bread of the poem.