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黛博娜·艾泽诗选
武靖东 译
吉斯通·海茨之龟
我明白的时候，正下着雨。
冬日将尽。我好累。
穿着湿透了的衬衣，你消失在
西边飘满了云朵的天空里，
几英尺外超速行驶的小汽车——
为什么不会慢下来？
尽管还是午后，一张小便条样的月亮
就赶忙升起来了，
它得去表明些什么。
要是月亮没露面那该多好。
你把公路上那只被碾碎的龟
和她的那些蛋铲起来埋进泥土里。
那些柔软的、白色的蛋。
这是我爱你的样子：
被佛罗里达的雨淋得湿透了
我的模样有些像地狱里的鬼，
佛罗里达本身就是一个地狱，
月光照耀下的雨就是一场火焰的雨。
（选自《美国文学评论》）
吉斯·通海茨市（Keystone Heights），美国佛罗里达州克莱县（Clay county）的一个面积4.6 平方里的小城市。
Deborah Ager
The Tortoise In Keystone Heights
When I knew, it was raining.
Winter in decline. I was tired.
You in your soaked shirt diffused
into the western sky bulging with clouds,
speeding cars a few feet away—
why would they not slow down?
Though afternoon, a slip of moon
busied itself with rising,
and it had to mean something.
If only the moon were not out.
You shoveled the crushed tortoise
and her eggs off the highway into the dirt.
Those soft, white eggs.
This is how I love you：
drenched with Florida rain
and looking like hell,
Florida itself a hell,
the moonlit rain a rain of fire.
我与你相逢的城市
就让它是迈阿密，巴尔的摩，纽约。
让桑橙树的果实裂开。
你闻到它们濡染空气的苦香了吗？
让风将云朵铲到一旁
直到它们把西面弄得阴雨蒙蒙。
让它成为爱之城，心痛之城，
渴望之城。让雨打击我吧。
让人行道被你踩在脚下，
我会问它死是什么样子。
让我说说我爱的这个
丈夫。让我给你看看这个
不会出世的儿子。晚上你在这里；
这些影子在角落里活动，
我像信神一样相信它们。
这是黑暗。这是我的手
穿过你幽灵般的身体，
伸出来抚摸你的臂膀。
选自《尹尼斯夫瑞诗刊》
THE CITIES WHERE I MEET YOU
Let it be Miami, Baltimore, New York.
Let fruits of the osage-orange tree crack.
Do you smell their acrid perfume soiling air?
Let wind shovel the clouds aside
until they grey the west with rain.
Let it be the city of love, of heartache,
of longing. Let rain pelt me.
Let sidewalks buckle under you,
and I will ask what is it like to die.
Let me introduce this husband
I love. Let me show you this son
who is not to be. At night you're here;
the shadows move in the corners,
and I believe in them like a god.
This is the dark. This is my hand
extended to touch your arm,
passing through your ghostly body.
亲爱的戴博拉
他们告诉我已在爱荷华州
找到了你的心脏，
它在35号州际公路上向前跳动。
你想要它回来吗？
当寒冷这么快地接踵而来的
时候，它又出现在爱荷华州——
那儿花粉均匀地散布在
有凹痕的福特车上，
那儿白色的房屋
在城镇玉米筒仓旁边下陷,
屋子里的人们
都对玉米粉尘感到厌恶。
拍卖会要卖掉整个农场。
那令人烦透了的不是拍卖
而是他们所卖的东西，破烂的毛巾
或缺胳膊的洋娃娃，以一美元兜售。
我听说他们已在
奥斯西奥拉县找到一只你的眼睛
在戴维斯市同你的嘴打招呼。
那张嘴现在在酒吧里，
在那镇上剩下的唯一没卖掉的地方，
慢悠悠地跳舞和抽烟。
难怪你脸色看上去那么苍白。
曾希望你在三十年里
付出得更多些？
上星期见到你我想问问
你是否渴望天空
被银河充满
或着是否想在日落时分看到麦黄色的草场
衬托着安曼教派蓝衣少女们的景象。
这里，这些树说东道西。
它们正等着看你下一步要做什么。
（选自《La小杂志》）
奥斯西奥拉县（Osceola），位于美国佛罗里达州；戴维斯市（Davis City），美国加利福尼亚中部一城市。
安曼教派（Amish）：17世纪晚期从门诺教派脱离出来的一个再洗礼派正统教派，现在主要存在于美国宾夕法尼亚州东南部。
Dear Deborah
They tell me that your heart
has been found in Iowa,
pumping along Interstate 35.
Do you want it back?
When the cold comes on
this fast, it's Iowa again—
where pollen disperses
evenly on the dented Fords,
where white houses sag
by the town's corn silos,
where people in the houses
sicken on corn dust.
Auctions sell entire farms.
It's not the auctions that's upsetting
but what they sell, the ragged towel
or the armless doll, for a dollar.
I hear they've found
an eye of yours in Osceola
calling out to your mouth in Davis City.
That mouth of yours is in the bar,
the only place left in town,
slow dancing and smoking.
It's no wonder you look so pale.
Ever wish you'd done more
with your thirty years?
Seeing you last week I wonder
if you crave that sky
filled with the milky way
or the sight of Amish girls in blue
at sunset against wheat-colored prairie grass.
Here, the trees are full of gossip.
They're waiting to see what you'll do next.
夜晚：旧金山
雨湿透了天井中的石头。
整整一夜空耗在对一场
地震的等待中，而水
用它粉红色的泡沫弄脏了沙滩。
昨天的脚印被灰螃蟹填满。
一只雾中喇叭发出男中音。一些油轮
受到警告，它挡住了日落后雾灯
绿色的闪光。在他不安宁的睡眠里
我爱人说梦话时喊叫着别人。
软百叶窗将路灯灯光切成片状，
光线盘绕在我腰部和我爱人膝盖周围，
将他分成数个百分之一。
那些碎片会让我更开心些吗？
我双手扭成了一只鳄鱼的样子。
我的食指就是它咬住高更的塔希提岛的
牙齿。我的拇指是一只加州鹌鹑
头顶的羽毛，它颤抖地哭喊着“芝—加—哥”
夜晚几乎停顿。这栋房子
还保持着原样吗？这只手就是会致我们于
死地的蝎子吗？欧文镇街道边的一些
小无花果树会把早晨来临的微风染成蓝色。
（选自《新英格兰评论》）
欧文镇（Irving）：得克萨斯州东北部一镇，达拉斯市的一个工业郊区。
Night： San Francisco
Rain drenches the patio stones.
All night was spent waiting
for an earthquake, and instead
water stains sand with its pink foam.
Yesterday's steps fill in with gray crabs.
Baritone of a fog horn. A misty light
warns tankers, which block the green
after-sunset flash. My lover's voice calls
to others in his restless sleep.
The venetian blinds slice streetlights,
light coils around my waist and my lover's neck,
dividing him into hundredths.
Would these fractions make me happier?
My hands twist into a crocodile.
My index finger the tooth that bites
Gauguin's Tahiti. My thumb is the head feather
of a California quail crying chi-ca-go.
Night barely continues. Is this the building
staying still? Is this hand the scorpion
that will do us in? A few of Irving Street's
sycamores will blue the air come morning.
爱荷华州之夜
带光晕的云抹掉了拉莫尼市上空的星辰。
患黄疸病的灯光。地窖。浪荡的狗。那些
使稀稀拉拉的住宅充满了臭气，用悲哀的叫声
满怀渴望地对着平原咆哮的母牛。
（选自《乔治亚评论》）
拉莫尼市（Lamoni），位于美国爱荷华州迪凯特县（Decatur County）的一个城市。
Night In Iowa
Nimbus clouds erasing stars above Lamoni.
Jaundiced lights. Silos. Loose dogs. Cows
whose stench infuses the handful of homes,
whose sad voices storm the plains with longing.
芒特·普莱森特市街头
在露台上消磨午后的时光
吃着浸透了塔巴斯科辣沙司的芒果
听砰砰砰的鸣炮声
街坊们点头招呼从一辆小车上下来的
兜售盗版梅伦格舞磁带的危地马拉人
又老练地绕过公交回车道
买来十月的南瓜，在那儿
看谁能最好地切刻出把它咧嘴而笑的模样。
一辆辆汽车经过时卷走了路上散落的垃圾。
那些帘子像红色的水一样在车窗里动来动去。
（选自《尹尼斯夫瑞诗刊》）
芒特普莱森特市（Mount Pleasant），美国密歇根州中部城市。
南瓜是西方传统的“鬼节”——万圣节（每年的10月31日）的宠物。万圣节时，孩子们都会穿上五颜六色的化妆服，戴上千奇百怪的面具，提着一盏用南瓜雕刻成的“杰克灯”走家窜户，向大人们索要节日的礼物。 “杰克灯”的做法很简单：将南瓜掏空，然后在外面刻上笑眯眯的眼睛和大嘴巴，再在瓜中插上一支蜡烛，把它点燃，人们在很远的地方便能看到这张憨态可掬的笑脸。
Mount Pleasant Street
Afternoons were spent on the stoop
eating mangos drenched with Tabasco sauce
and listening for the pop pop of guns.
Neighbors nodded at the Guatemalan
selling bootleg merengue tapes from a car
and knew to skirt Bus Turnaround Park
where October pumpkins were bought
to see who slices the best grin.
Cars sucked uncollected trash in their wakes.
Curtains moved like red water in the windows.
几乎
夜晚变幻不定。
尖细的叶丛在九月摇晃的
风中战栗。一只残忍的猫
哦，竟然如此轻柔地用嘴搬运一只蝈蝈。
中秋夜在展开的火红色中
滑向远方，我希望
世界就能像太阳那样转动过去。
一辆卡车一次擦蹭了小轿车的车门，
尔后就弥漫着油炒迷迭香的气味，
那我妹妹说的事物已使风平息，
木材冒出的烟缕，一月的斜光
不停地涌入睡眠昏朦的房间。
没人想听幸免于难的那些故事。
那些跳下金门桥之后又活过来的人们
决不愿再去找死；
他们宣称已杀死黑暗
已获得了更美好的第二次生命。
（选自《尹尼斯夫瑞诗刊》）
金门大桥（Golden Gate Bridge），是美国旧金山最明显的地理标志，是世界上最长的悬吊桥，耗资三千五百万美元兴建，于1937年通车启用。有许多人在此跳桥自杀，因而它又被称为全球五大“自杀圣地”之一。
THE ALMOST
The night brimmed with maybes.
Sharp leaves shuddered in September's
rickety wind. There was a heartless cat
that carried a katydid in her mouth oh so gently.
There were autumn nights that slipped away
in displays of red so fiery I wished the world
could roll away with the sun just like that.
One time a truck grazed the sedan's door,
then scent of rosemary sauteed in oil,
something my sister said that flattened wind,
curls of wood smoke, angles of January light
flooding rooms where sleep strayed, restless.
No one wants to hear stories of near misses.
Those who jumped from the Golden Gate Bridge
and lived never wanted to try dying again;
they claimed to have killed the darkness
and to have risen into a second, better life.
夏夜——爱荷华州拉莫尼市
工厂的汽笛提醒工人们回家的时间到了
提醒他们傍晚已来临。
与我并不爱的高个子男人
同居的日子，我会一边浪迹街头，
一边梦想着意大利。
和他一起牛拉车般慢慢走在
为数不多的几条林荫道上时，他会说看那儿
粉红的鹅卵石间，
有灰泥一样的牲口粪。
它散发出香味，在星期三晚上
在拍卖前的那个夜里，
在我穿过城镇回家
目睹母牛悲惨境遇的时候。
湖泊平静下来，厌烦了我的谎言。
啥时候我会再次说出真相？
汽笛。我的爱人就是家。
每日每夜，我呆在家里，X。
（选自《集萃》）
Summer Nights
Lamoni, Iowa
The factory siren tells workers time to go home
tells them the evening has begun.
When living with the tall man
whom I didn't love, I would wander
the streets, dreaming of Italy.
Trekking the handful of avenues
with him, he would say look there
between pink cobblestones,
there's manure like mortar.
The sweet smell of it Wednesday nights,
the night before auction,
when the misery of cows greets me
heading home through town.
Lake quiets, tired of my lies.
When will I tell truths again?
The siren. My love is home.
Nights, we stay in and X the days.
湖
院子半个院子，
蓝得像具僵尸的半个湖。
这湖将告诉你渴望听到的事情：
逃离这儿。
3点钟。枯叶像沙球一样发出沙沙声。
每走一步就会踩坏
威士忌酒颜色一样的草，树木
正慢慢地意识到它们是赤裸的。
你要呆多久？
这湖，也在询问你应该听到的那些问题。
此后几个月过去，哦，
一切也都过去了。尔后那些建筑物在天空的
衬托下处于黑暗之中，雨溅在人行道上发出嘶嘶声
又盘旋在你周围。
哦，那些林荫道看起来曾经是多么险恶！
我知道你想念什么
咏唱这个湖吧。在车辆拥堵时段呻吟着的
汽车喇叭。香甜的咖啡。像锤子
一样连续敲击的风。一个爱人的温暖。
嗡嗡嗡地对着街道唱情歌的那些蟋蟀。
（选自《康涅狄格评论》）
The Lake
The yard half a yard,
half a lake blue as a corpse.
The lake will tell things you long to hear：
get away from here.
Three o'clock. Dry leaves rat-tat like maracas.
Whisky-colored grass
breaks at every step and trees
are slowly realizing they are nude.
How long will you stay?
For the lake asks questions you want to hear, too.
Months have passed since, well,
everything. Since buildings stood
black against sky, rain hissed from sidewalks
and curled around you.
O, how those avenues once seemed menacing!
I know what you miss
sings this lake. Car horns groaning
in rush hour. Sweet coffee. Wind
pounding like hammers. Warmth of a lover.
Crickets humming love songs to the street.
佛罗里达太空海岸
一只艾尔达犬踉踉跄跄经过新落的霜，
棕榈用叶片指责着
它，性急的波浪在我脚下碎裂。
离开它们我跑起来。夜里，黄色的光
擦洗沙滩。除了搂着她们所爱的男人的
那些穿裙子的女人
星期五那天究竟找到了什么？没有一个人注意我。
这儿，怎么成了这样，就在那
药用植物的名字被记录下的地方
在那用红色图示出条条小路的地方？
夜晚，天空是被啄出了许多小孔的黑纸。
乌龟把蛋推入暖融融的沙地。
现在才来是不是太迟了？
每件事物都被察看过。每件事物都被打问过。
空气中充满了盐味。我爱人的身体。
或许真的太迟了。我想在海滩上
跑上一段，因为它没有尽头。
那贫瘠的海滩。这些艾尔达犬
坚硬的头上长出了鳍，溺死的冲浪运动员
一一重新浮上水面，那些
没能脱险的小姑娘也被发现了。
（选自《美国文学评论》）
The Space Coast Florida
An Airedale rolling through green frost,
cabbage palms pointing their accusing leaves
at whom, petulant waves breaking at my feet.
I ran from them. Nights, yellow lights
scoured sand. What was ever found
but women in skirts folded around the men
they loved that Friday? No one found me.
And how could that have been, here, where
even botanical names were recorded
and small roads mapped in red?
Night, the sky is black paper pecked with pinholes.
Tortoises push eggs into warm sand.
Was it too late to have come here?
Everything's discovered. Everything's spoken for.
The air smells of salt. My lover's body.
Perhaps it is too late. I want to run
the beach's length, because it never ends.
The barren beach. Airedales grow
fins on their hard heads, drowned surfers
resurface, and those little girls
who would not be called back to safety are found.
独处
越过栅栏，游逛的
死人闯入了。九点钟。
今天你第一次
独处。男孩们睡了。丈夫外出。
一个啤酒瓶子在你手中渗出水珠
空气中粘结着海洋熏衣草花的
香味。关心你自己。
你的双臂现在有空闲休息
在为照顾别人忙了几星期之后。
你想到黄油
这一周是否够用，靠
油箱里的那点油料汽车能跑多久。
（选自《La petite 杂志》）
Alone
Over the fence, the dead settle in
for a journey. Nine o'clock.
You are alone for the first time
today. Boys asleep. Husband out.
A beer bottle sweats in your hand,
and sea lavender clogs the air
with perfume. Think of yourself.
Your arms rest with nothing to do
after weeks spent attending to others.
Your thoughts turn to whether
butter will last the week, how much
longer the car can run on its partial tank of gas.
早晨
我们就是我们重复多次的所做所为。
——亚里士多德
你知道是怎样从一场
你能飞起来的、确实的梦中醒来的。
那个人，离开了很久，又回来了
有那么短暂的一瞬，
你满怀渴望，驶离
公路，什么也没感觉到
或者说看见了所爱的人，感受到
所有的一切。可能某个早晨，
拿刷子刷头发的时候
你对因这事，或者签名
或者在雾里摸黑起床为干活的作准备
耗费了自己一生的多少光阴
而感到惊讶。一到白天
就要先去满足他人的需要
这时你的这些想法就像一口气一样消散。
昼夜中间的那段时间，是孤寂的时分，
早晨，所有的人
渐渐再现，如同汽车一辆接着一辆。
（选自《La petite 杂志》）
Morning
We are what we repeatedly do.
—Aristotle
You know how it is waking
from a dream certain you can fly
and that someone, long gone, returned
and you are filled with longing,
for a brief moment, to drive off
the road and feel nothing
or to see the loved one and feel
everything. Perhaps one morning,
taking brush to hair you'll wonder
how much of your life you've spent
at this task or signing your name
or rising in fog in near darkness
to ready for work. Day begins
with other people's needs first
and your thoughts disperse like breath.
In the in-between hour, the solitary hour,
before day begins all the world
gradually reappears car by car.
冬天的圣达菲
入夜城市正在关闭。
商店一个接一个地拉上了百叶窗,
天又黑了下来，除了
暗淡而又稀少的路灯，灯柱颈部
像承重的植物茎干弯垂。岁月已把
鳞次栉比的城市建起来了： 道道栏杆
砌满了砖块，土砖建筑物被钢铁加固，
白水泥把圆形拱门
抹得平滑溜光。市区
骡道已变成了
街道，裸露在夜晚——
没有行人，没有车辆，没有狗。
就在白天，那些住房变成了画廊
商店变成敞开的餐馆——
纳瓦霍人穿着毛织外套
聚集在州首府广场
兜售他们的手工毛毯，
银戒指和项链
给旅游者，他们会像买任何东西一样
买下珠宝——
作为自己又一种有趣游历的纪念。
（选自《新英格兰评论》）
圣达菲（Santa Fe），美国新墨西哥州首府，位于该州中北部。西班牙人于1609年在原美洲印第安人的废墟上建起了此住宅区，并在以后的200年里把它建成了一个贸易中心。它在1846年被美国部队占领，于1851年成为地区首府，并于1912年成为州首府。
纳瓦霍族（Navajo）：美国最大的印第安部落，居住亚利桑那、新墨西哥和犹他州东南部的美洲印第安人。纳瓦霍族人以制陶、豢养家禽、纺织技术熟练、银器工艺精良而著名。
Santa Fe In Winter
The city is closing for the night.
Stores draw their blinds one by one,
and it's dark again, save for the dim
infrequent streetlight bending at the neck
like a weighted stem. Years have built
the city in layers： balustrades filled in
with brick, adobe reinforced with steel,
and the rounded arches smoothed
with white cement. Neighborhoods
have changed the burro trails
to streets, bare at night—
no pedestrians, no cars, no dogs.
With daylight, the houses turned galleries
and stores turned restaurants open—
the Navajos wrapped in wool
crowd the Palace of the Governors plaza
to sell their handmade blankets,
silver rings, and necklaces
to travelers who will buy jewelry
as they buy everything—
another charming history for themselves.
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