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