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,
一阵红色的漂洗，
which is a red rinse,
照亮整个东边的天空；
which is flaring all over the eastern sky;
它不是从上帝钱包中落下的雨；
it is not the rain falling out of the purse of God;
它不是雨后天空的蓝色盔甲，
it is not the blue helmet of the sky afterward,
或者树，或者正钻进泥土的甲虫；
or the trees, or the beetle burrowing into the earth;
它不是嘲鸟，在开满繁花的梓树枝上，
it is not the mockingbird who, in his own cadence,
以它自己的旋律
will go on sizzling and clapping
继续咝咝鸣叫，拍打着翅膀，
from the branches of the catalpa that are thick with blossoms,
而那些花，正波浪似的翻腾，闪亮，
that are billowing and shining,
随风摇摆。
that are shaking in the wind.
2.
2.
有时，你仍会记起，曾祖父农场中的
You still recall, sometimes, the old barn on your
旧谷仓，你曾去过一次，
great-grandfather"s farm, a place you visited once,
独自走进去，而大人们正坐在屋子里
and went into, all alone, while the grownups sat and
交谈。
talked in the house.
它几乎是空的。地上铺着一层干草，
It was empty, or almost. Wisps of hay covered the floor,
一些黄蜂在窗上嗡嗡鸣叫，也许，
and some wasps sang at the windows, and maybe there was
高处有一只奇怪的鸟，受到惊扰，呼地叫
a strange fluttering bird high above, disturbed, hoo-ing
一声，停在凌乱的壁架上，用它野性的双目
a little and staring down from a messy ledge with wild,
向下瞪视。
binocular eyes.
虽然，里面主要充斥着牛奶与动物
Mostly, though, it smelled of milk, and the patience of
忍耐的气息；
animals; the give-offs of the body were still in the air,
虽然，主要是宁静与神秘，屋顶
a vague ammonia, not unpleasant.
高高拱起，未上漆的木板，简单质朴。
Mostly, though, it was restful and secret, the roof high
但是粪便的味道仍然散发在空中，
up and arched, the boards unpainted and plain.
一种模糊的氨，令人讨厌。
You could have stayed there forever, a small child in a corner,
你可能永远停留在那儿，角落里的一个小孩。
on the last raft of hay, dazzled by so much space that seemed
在剩下的干草堆上，被那看上去空虚
empty, but wasn"t.
其实并不空的空间弄晕。
Then--you still remember--you felt the rap of hunger--it was
然后——你仍然记得——你感到饥饿的折磨——正是
noon--and you turned from that twilight dream and hurried back
中午——而你从黎明的梦中醒来，匆匆回到
to the house, where the table was set, where an uncle patted you
房子，那里桌子已经摆好，一位叔叔
on the shoulder for welcome, and there was your place at the table.
拍拍你的肩，表示欢迎，桌上有你的位置。
3.
3.
Nothing lasts.
没有留下什么。
There is a graveyard where everything I am talking about is,
我正在说起的地方，现在，是一块
now.
墓地。
I stood there once, on the green grass, scattering flowers.
我曾站在那里，在绿色的草地上，撒下鲜花。
4.
4.
Nothing is so delicate or so finely hinged as the wings
没有什么能像青蛾的翅膀那样
of the green moth
灵敏或细微地扇动
against the lantern
扑向灯
against its heat
扑向它的炉火
against the beak of the crow
扑向乌鸦的喙
in the early morning.
在清晨。
Yet the moth has trim, and feistiness, and not a drop
飞蛾也有整洁，和生机，但是它没有一丝丝
of self-pity.
自怜。
Not in this world.
并不存在于这个世界。
5.
5.
My mother
我的母亲
was the blue wisteria,
是忧伤的紫藤，
my mother
我的母亲
was the mossy stream out behind the house,
是房后蔓生的青苔，
my mother, alas, alas,
我的母亲，唉，唉，
did not always love her life,
并不总是爱她的生活，
heavier than iron it was
它比熨斗还重
as she carried it in her arms, from room to room,
当她拎着它，从一个房间到另一个房间，
oh, unforgettable!
哦，令人难以释怀！
I bury her
我将她
in a box
装在盒子里
in the earth
葬入泥土
and turn away.
然后转身离开。
My father
我的父亲
was a demon of frustrated dreams,
是一个梦想落空的魔鬼，
was a breaker of trust,
一个信仰破灭者，
was a poor, thin boy with bad luck.
一个穷人，倒霉的瘦男孩。
He followed God, there being no one else
他跟随上帝，在上帝面前吹牛，
he could talk to;
除了上帝，
he swaggered before God, there being no one else
他无人交谈，无人
who would listen.
愿意倾听。
Listen,
倾听，
this was his life.
这是他的生活。
I bury it in the earth.
我将它葬入泥土。
I sweep the closets.
我清空壁橱。
I leave the house.
我离开房子。
6.
6.
I mention them now,
此刻我提起他们，
I will not mention them again.
我不会再提起。
It is not lack of love
不是不爱
nor lack of sorrow.
也不是不悲伤。
But the iron thing they carried, I will not carry.
但是他们拎着的铁东西，我不会再拎着。
I give them--one, two, three, four--the kiss of courtesy,
我给他们——一个，两个，三个，四个——礼节性的吻，
of sweet thanks,
甜蜜的致谢之吻，
of anger, of good luck in the deep earth.
生气的吻，祝他们在泥土中好运的吻。
May they sleep well. May they soften.
他们也许睡得很安稳。他们也许变柔和了。
But I will not give them the kiss of complicity.
但是我不会给他们同类的吻。
I will not give them the responsibility for my life.
我不需要他们为我的生活负责。
7.
7.
Did you know that the ant has a tongue
你知道吗，蚂蚁有一只舌头
with which to gather in all that it can
用来收集它所能收集的
of sweetness?
全部甜蜜？
Did you know that?
你知道这点吗？
8.
8.
The poem is not the world.
诗不是世界。
It isn"t even the first page of the world.
它甚至不是世界的首页。
But the poem wants to flower, like a flower.
但是诗歌想开放，像一朵花那样。
It knows that much.
它非常清楚这点。
It wants to open itself,
它想打开自己，
like the door of a little temple,
像一座小修道院的门，
so that you might step inside and be cooled and refreshed,
以便你能走进去，平静下来，重新振作，
and less yourself than part of everything.
使你自己卑微如尘埃。
9.
9.
The voice of the child crying out of the mouth of the
从成熟妇女嘴中喊出的
grown woman
孩子气声音
is a misery and a disappointment.
是一种痛苦和失望。
The voice of the child howling out of the tall, bearded,
从身材高大、长胡须的壮实男人嘴中
muscular man
嚎出的孩子气声音
is a misery, and a terror.
是一种痛苦，一种恐怖。
10.
10.
Therefore, tell me:
那么，告诉我：
what will engage you?
什么将吸引你？
What will open the dark fields of your mind,
什么将打开你精神的黑暗领域，
like a lover
像初次亲热的
at first touching?
情人那样？
11.
11.
Anyway,
无论如何，
there was no barn.
没有谷仓。
No child in the barn.
没有孩子在谷仓里。
No uncle no table no kitchen.
没有叔叔没有桌子没有厨房。
Only a long lovely field full of bobolinks.
只有一块狭长可爱的田野，停满了食米鸟。
12.
12.
When loneliness comes stalking, go into the fields, consider
当孤独偷偷潜来，进入田野，思考
the orderliness of the world. Notice
世界的秩序。留意
something you have never noticed before,
你以前从未留意过的，
like the tambourine sound of the snow-cricket
比如蟋蟀的鼓声
whose pale green body is no longer than your thumb.
它淡绿色的身体比你的拇指长不了多少。
Stare hard at the hummingbird, in the summer rain,
在夏天的雨中，努力注视蜂雀，
shaking the water-sparks from its wings.
看它如何抖落翅膀上的水珠。
Let grief be your sister, she will whether or no.
让忧伤做你的妹妹，无论她是否愿意。
Rise up from the stump of sorrow, and be green also,
从悲痛的树桩上站起，和勤奋的叶子一样，
like the diligent leaves.
也长成绿色。
A lifetime isn"t long enough for the beauty of this world
对于这个世界的美，和你生活的责任
and the responsibilities of your life.
一生的时间并不够用。
Scatter your flowers over the graves, and walk away.
在坟墓上撒下你的鲜花，然后离开。
Be good-natured and untidy in your exuberance.
在你的生机勃勃中，保持善良和懒散。
In the glare of your mind, be modest.
在你精神的闪耀中，保持谦逊。
And beholden to what is tactile, and thrilling.
对可触而动人的事物充满感激。
Live with the beetle, and the wind.
与甲虫和风生活在一起。
This is the dark bread of the poem.
这是诗歌隐秘的面包。
This is the dark and nourishing bread of the poem.
这是诗歌隐秘而富有营养的面包。