I try to think of the cup of a hand,

我试着想象手端着酒杯

of legs in a tangle, and not the thistle

双腿踏着探戈舞步，而不是那些蓟子，

though even it, purpled, spiking away,

虽然它们紫色的小花向四方支楞着，

wants to be admired, wants to say, whistle

希望被我欣赏，对我

a little for me. O every little thing wants

轻轻说话：噢每个小东西

to be loved, wants to be marked by the cry

都渴望被爱，渴望用欲望的呼喊

that brings desire to it, even blue-eyed fly

让自己被人看见，即使死亡肿胀的嘶嘶声

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

对蓝眼蝇也是爱的召唤。去爱就是被忽视：

the horse alone in the wide flat field nods

那孤独的马在广阔的平地上点头

its head as if the bridle and bit were missed

就好像齐备的缰绳和嚼子

or mocked; the cow slung with the unmilked weight

已经丢失或者只是道具；奶牛晃着未被挤奶的

of her tremendous teats shoots a look back over her shoulder

沉重乳房回头凝视

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

那个孤独的我，我想要对她说安抚的话，

as if crooning could be enough,

仿佛轻声低吟就已经足够，

sweet, sweet mama . . . truth be told,

甜蜜的，甜蜜的妈妈……说实话，

the thousand lisping bees to the milkweeds' honey

那上千只嘟囔着扑向乳草花蜜的蜜蜂

terrifies me. When the stink of slurry season

让我感到恐惧。当泥泞季节的臭气

is over and the greened fields are slathered, fecund,

散尽，绿色的田野被厚厚的，生机盎然的

overtall foxgloves tip with the weight of their fruit.

毛地黄挂满果实的枝头填满。

Then I dream a little dream of you

到那时我会做一些小小的梦

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

关于你和我，一起蜷曲着就像两只幼虫坐在叶子上

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

被风推着迅速地滑过湖面。

All night we glide to its blue harbor

整夜整夜我们溜进它蓝色的港湾

and back again. The fattened slack of us

然后再回到这里。我们躺平的松弛的肉体唱着：

singing O darlin' darlin' darlin'.

“哦，亲爱的，亲爱的，亲爱的”。