我试着想象手端着酒杯

I try to think of the cup of a hand,

双腿踏着探戈舞步，而不是那些蓟子，

of legs in a tangle, and not the thistle

虽然它们紫色的小花向四方支楞着，

though even it, purpled, spiking away,

希望被我欣赏，对我

wants to be admired, wants to say, whistle

轻轻说话：噢每个小东西

a little for me. O every little thing wants

都渴望被爱，渴望用欲望的呼喊

to be loved, wants to be marked by the cry

让自己被人看见，即使死亡肿胀的嘶嘶声

that brings desire to it, even blue-eyed fly

对蓝眼蝇也是爱的召唤。去爱就是被忽视：

to the bloated hiss of death. To love is to be remiss:

那孤独的马在广阔的平地上点头

the horse alone in the wide flat field nods

就好像齐备的缰绳和嚼子

its head as if the bridle and bit were missed

已经丢失或者只是道具；奶牛晃着未被挤奶的

or mocked; the cow slung with the unmilked weight

沉重乳房回头凝视

of her tremendous teats shoots a look back over her shoulder

那个孤独的我，我想要对她说安抚的话，

at O lonesome me. I want to say to her need

仿佛轻声低吟就已经足够，

as if crooning could be enough,

甜蜜的，甜蜜的妈妈……说实话，

sweet, sweet mama . . . truth be told,

那上千只嘟囔着扑向乳草花蜜的蜜蜂

the thousand lisping bees to the milkweeds' honey

让我感到恐惧。当泥泞季节的臭气

terrifies me. When the stink of slurry season

散尽，绿色的田野被厚厚的，生机盎然的

is over and the greened fields are slathered, fecund,

毛地黄挂满果实的枝头填满。

overtall foxgloves tip with the weight of their fruit.

到那时我会做一些小小的梦

Then I dream a little dream of you

关于你和我，一起蜷曲着就像两只幼虫坐在叶子上

and me, curled like two grubs on the top of a leaf

被风推着迅速地滑过湖面。

wind-driven and scudding along the lake's surface.

整夜整夜我们溜进它蓝色的港湾

All night we glide to its blue harbor

然后再回到这里。我们躺平的松弛的肉体唱着：

and back again. The fattened slack of us

“哦，亲爱的，亲爱的，亲爱的”。

singing O darlin' darlin' darlin'.