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多洛希娅.格罗斯蔓（Dorothea Grossman）诗九首
//一树 译 （原载“诗生活论坛”）
午间音乐会
这些脆弱，白晰的寡妇
每周都把头发做成
紧绷的鬈儿，
像朵朵小花，
低垂着头
直到掌声响起
告诉她们
再次成为悍妇。
Noon Concert
These frail, white widows
who get their hair done weekly
in tight curls,
like little flowers,
bend their heads
until the applause
says it’s time
to be brave again.
最爱你在车上的两次
那是你的主意
在小湖边
虚拟的游猎中
停车观看大象
像皇族一样
在树丛中晃动
体形庞大却悄然无声
我对此一点也不懂。
还有一次，在一条昏暗的荒漠之路上
你停下来
让我看那些星星
骚动地爬在彼此的身上
像昆虫
像管弦乐队
奋力前行
穿越时间本身
我再也没有见过
那样的光。
The Two Times I Loved You the Most In a Car
It was your idea
to park and watch the elephants
swaying among the trees
like royalty
at that make-believe safari
near Laguna.
I didn’t know anything that big
could be so quiet.
And once, you stopped
on a dark desert road
to show me the stars
climbing over each other
riotously
like insects
like an orchestra
thrashing its way
through time itself
I never saw light that way
again.
致艾伦.金斯伯格
另外，
感谢您解释了
老树的
慷慨之死
如何成就了
森林的
红色土地
For Allen Ginsberg
Among other things,
thanks for explaining
how the generous death
of old trees
forms
the red powdered floor
of the forest.
我必须告诉你
我必须告诉你，
当太阳
像一面锣
撞击我的那些时候，
我记得一切，
甚至你的耳朵。
I have to tell you
I have to tell you,
there are times when
the sun strikes me
like a gong,
and I remember everything,
even your ears.
无题
我不具有夜行的灵敏方向
――道格.伯尼兹拉
突然想，
当我死后，
人们可能发现
我掉在床下的项链，
并想知道
它丢了多久，
我是否遗忘。
但他们会不会关心
我喜爱的颜色，
我的长远打算，
以及我搜寻我自身
锈迹的习惯？
[Untitled]
I don't own an exquisite way to move around in the night
—Doug Benezra
It occurs to me that,
when I die,
they might find the necklace
I dropped behind the bed
and wonder
how long it was there,
and whether I’d missed it.
But will they care
about my favorite color,
my long-range plans,
or my habit of searching myself
for signs of rust?
错谬
我知道有什么出错了
那天当我试图窃取
一小片阳光
它悠悠滑过我的手指，
不复成形。
其他一切事物维持原状――
椅子和地毯
以及期待仍在继续的
每个角落。
I knew something was wrong
I knew something was wrong
the day I tried to pick up a
small piece of sunlight
and it slithered through my fingers,
not wanting to take shape.
Everything else stayed the same—
the chairs and the carpet
and all the corners
where the waiting continued.
放任
我准许自己
享用奢华的早餐
（我非修女，因基督之故）。
我如此迷恋
炙烤得噼㕷作响的熏肉，
令人瞪目结舌的鸡蛋
道具，
唯有咖啡
才是真正的圣餐。
过去的日子里，
我在吐司上涂抹
火、洪水和瘟疫。
如今，我更加精挑细选，
只借助果酱寂静的光辉
阅览我的占星图。
I allow myself
I allow myself
the luxury of breakfast
(I am no nun, for Christ’s sake).
Charmed as I am
by the sputter of bacon,
and the eye-opening properties
of eggs,
it’s the coffee
that’s really sacramental.
In the old days,
I spread fires and floods and pestilence
on my toast.
Nowadays, I’m more selective,
I only read my horoscope
by the quiet glow of the marmalade.
并非如此想你
除了更加积极之外
我想铭记是一种思念的形式，
但我并非像铭记那样
想你，
如同停电时
恐惧成为我的唯一反应
伴随着黑暗的爱。
It is not so much that I miss you
It is not so much that I miss you
as the remembering
which I suppose is a form of missing
except more positive,
like the time of the blackout
when fear was my first response
followed by love of the dark.
情诗
在回忆的
闪电中，
我看见我们的佛雕
（吉恩叔叔给我们的结婚礼物）
总是坐在
音箱的顶部。
一位客人来访时问道，
“那么，佛喜欢爵士？”
你说，“但愿如此。
他的腚曾经被举起
很久。”
Love Poem
In a lightning bolt
of memory,
I see our statue of Buddha
(a wedding gift from Uncle Gene)
which always sat
on top of the speaker cabinet.
When a visitor asked,
“So, does Buddha like jazz?”
you said, “I hope so.
He’s been getting it up the ass
for a long time.” |
发表于 2015-8-9 00:18
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发表于 2015-8-9 19:05
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