翻译：莫笑愚
《飲酒歌》
作者：W. B. 葉芝
红酒到來，在口腔
愛情到來，在眼裡；
這是我們所知的全部真相
在我們老死之际。
我拿起酒杯送至唇邊，
我看著你，我嘆息。
《以藍色的音符》
作者：巴勃羅.梅迪納
致凱倫.本提文伽
有時，在雪的熱度裡
你想放聲大哭
為了如鈴鐺般的快樂或痛苦。
而你最終彼此相擁，
聆聽這字裡行間未盡之語
儘管深淵就在桌子的邊緣。
見鬼去吧。馬爾格魯.米勒演奏得活像一隻
大蜘蛛，雙手著火，鋼琴
像水晶顫抖，
這水下森林的味道和氣息。
酒吧侍者用蝴蝶翅膀和電線
給我們調了一杯酒。
苦寒在外面，巨大的沉默，
一隻鯨魚在我們體內生長。
《沉默》
作者：菲利普.舒爾茨
給RJ
你總是很晚打來電話，醉醺醺地，
你的聲音，奢侈的痛苦，
我緊裹在夢中，
聽你訴說，彷彿一個幽靈。
今晚，一個朋友打來電話，說在你的
公寓裡發現你的軀體，你在那裡
躺了許多日子。你丟了工作，
停止了寫作，閉門不出好幾週了。
你的心臟，他說。酗酒毀掉了你。
我們在一個大學城相遇，那時剛開始教職，
詩歌從我們供奉的憂傷中湧出
充滿神秘和酒精。我曾嫉妒
女人看你的神情，一頭莽撞憤怒的熊，
撕裂一座越來越黑暗的樹林。
我們曾交換詩歌，彷彿交換女人的照片
她們的美麗曾測試神的信仰。 “讀讀這一首
關於年輕人的友誼怎樣不能長久，
它將從你的胸腔扯出你的心臟！ ”
有一次你打來電話說J要離開，
痛苦卡在你的喉嚨彷彿銳利的刀片。
一個女人在叫我回去睡覺
所以我說我再打給你。但我從未做到。
這深深的淒涼有苔蘚和松树的味道
在你的石頭房子後面，你漫不經心地
彈唱洛爾卡、瓦列霍、德.安德雷德，
彷彿每個音節都有血的味道，
彷彿你在這世上擁有所有的時間...
你知道你的天使們愛你
你也知道她們將離開你
當她們無法拯救你。
（莫笑愚譯，2014-04-07初稿於上海）
附英文原文：
A Drinking Song
By W. B. Yeats
Wine comes in at the mouth
And love comes in at the eye;
That’s all we shall know for truth
Before we grow old and die.
I lift the glass to my mouth,
I look at you, and I sigh.
At the Blue Note
By Pablo Medina
for Karen Bentivenga
Sometimes in the heat of the snow
you want to cry out
for pleasure or pain like a bell.
And you wind up holding each other,
listening to the in-between
despite the abyss at the edge of the table.
Hell. Mulgrew Miller plays like a big
bad spider, hands on fire, the piano
trembling like crystal,
the taste and smell of a forest under water.
The bartender made us a drink
with butterfly wings and electric wire.
Bitter cold outside, big silence,
a whale growing inside us.
The Silence
By Philip Schultz
for RJ
You always called late and drunk,
your voice luxurious with pain,
I, tightly wrapped in dreaming,
listening as if to a ghost.
Tonight a friend called to say your body
was found in your apartment, where
it had lain for days. You'd lost your job,
stopped writing, saw nobody for weeks.
Your heart, he said. Drink had destroyed you.
We met in a college town, first teaching jobs,
poems flowing from a grief we enshrined
with myth and alcohol. I envied the way
women looked at you, a bear blunt with rage,
tearing through an ever-darkening wood.
Once we traded poems like photos of women
whose beauty tested God's faith. 'Read this one
about how friendship among the young can't last,
it will rip your heart out of your chest!'
Once you called to say J was leaving,
the pain stuck in your throat like a razor blade.
A woman was calling me back to bed
so I said I'd call back. But I never did.
The deep forlorn smell of moss and pine
behind your stone house, you strumming
and singing Lorca, Vallejo, De Andrade,
as if each syllable tasted of blood,
as if you had all the time in the world. . .
You knew your angels loved you
but you also knew they would leave
someone they could not save.
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