Clever, defensive, seasoned animals
Plato and Christ deny your grave. But man,
Who slept for years alone, will turn his face
Alone to the common wall before his time.
Between the woodchuck and the cross, alone
All afternoon, I take my time to mourn.
I am too cold to cry against the snow
Of roots and stars, drifting above your face.
俄亥俄，一个冬日
1957年晚春，P.W.T去世
历练的动物，精明、防卫，
柏拉图和基督拒绝给你们坟墓。而人，
独自睡了多年，会在时限之前
把脸独自转向那面公共的墙。
整个下午我独自一人，在旱獭
与十字之间，把时间投入悼亡。
我太冷，无法迎着雪痛哭，
任草根与星星的雪，飘过你脸的上方。
Arriving in the Country Again
The white house is silent.
My friends can’t hear me yet.
The flicker who lives in the bare tree at the field’s edge
Pecks once and is still for a long time.
I stand still in the late afternoon.
My face is turned away from the sun.
A horse grazes in my long shadow.
又到乡下
那白房子安安静静。
我的朋友们还听不到我已到来。
住在田边秃树上的啄木鸟
啄了一次，就安静很长一段时间。
我静静地站在傍晚。
我脸转开，避开太阳。
一匹马在我长长的影子里吃草。
Rain
It is the sinking of things.
Flashlights drift over dark trees,
Girls kneel,
An owl’s eyelids fall.
The sad bones of my hands descend into a valley
Of strange rocks.
雨
这是万物的沉陷。
手电光在黑暗的树上漂浮，
女孩们跪下，
猫头鹰的眼皮耷下。
我双手悲哀的骨头降入一座
怪石的峡谷。
I Was Afraid of Dying
Once,
I was afraid of dying
In a field of dry weeds.
But now,
All day long I have been walking among damp fields,
Trying to keep still, listening
To insects that move patiently.
Perhaps they are sampling the fresh dew that gathers slowly
In empty snail shells
And in the secret shelters of sparrow feathers fallen on the earth.
我曾害怕死去
曾经，
我很害怕死在
一片枯草地。
而如今，
我整天在潮湿的地里走，
尽量安静，倾听
耐心移动的虫子。
也许它们正在品嚐新鲜露水，缓慢凝集
在空蜗牛壳中
或麻雀羽毛在地上支起的隐秘庇护下。
