真困難，試圖寫作，不管是

It’s so hard, trying to write, be it

在家中，還是在俯瞰海洋、橫越

at home, on a plane above the ocean,

一片黑森林的飛機上，在黃昏的寧靜中。

over a black forest, in the evening stillness.

總是開始時新鮮，達到

Always starting afresh, reaching

全速，但十五分鐘後

full speed and fifteen minutes later

就放棄，不情願地投降。

giving up, in reluctant surrender.

我希望至少你可以聽見我，

I hope that you at least can hear me,

──因為，如你所知，理論家們一而再地，

—since, as you know, the theoreticians remind us

幾乎是天天提醒我們，說我們

insistently, almost daily, that we’ve missed

搞錯了，一如往常我們沒領會

the point, as usual we’ve skipped

更深刻的意義，我們一直

the deeper meaning, we’ve been reading

讀錯書，唉，

the wrong books, alas,

我們下錯結論。

we’ve drawn the wrong conclusions.

他們宣稱：詩歌在根本上是不可能的，

They claim poetry is fundamentally impossible,

一首詩是一個大堂，那兒眾多面孔消融

a poem is a hall where faces dissolve

在聚光燈的金色迷霧裏，那兒一群

in a golden haze of spotlights, where the fierce

憤怒的烏合之眾猛烈的抱怨聲淹沒

rumblings of an angry mob drown out

一個個無助的單獨聲音。

defenseless single voices.

那又怎樣呢？美好詞語快速消失，

So what then? Fine words perish quickly,

普通詞語很難服人。

ordinary words rarely persuade.

所有證據表明沉默

All the evidence suggests silentium

只能擁有幾個追隨者。

claims only a handful of adherents.

有時候我羨慕死去的詩人，

Sometimes I envy the dead poets,

他們不再有「壞日子」，他們不知道

they no longer have “bad days,” they don’t know

「厭煩」，他們已離開「空虛」、

“ennui,” they’ve parted ways with “vacancy,”

「雄辯」、雨、低氣壓地帶，

“rhetoric,” rain, low-pressure zones,

他們已停止看「尖銳的評論」，

they’ve stopped following the “shrewd reviews,”

但他們繼續跟我們說話。

but they keep speaking to us.

他們的懷疑隨他們消失，

Their doubts vanished with them,

他們的狂喜活著。

their rapture lives.