第二篇 离别
走向蜘蛛泉
我吃惊地望着
路两旁
矗立的石壁。
我们的婴孩、他母亲
和我正在苦苦地寻找
正确的道路，
但我们找到的却是一条
车辙深深、
中间拱起的路。
我们尽力在寻找
那块可以重新开始的地方，
可是怎么也找不到。
在回去的路上，
我们又经过
那些石壁，
THE SECOND: LEAVING
Toward Spider Springs
I was amazed
at the wall of stones
by the roadside.
Our baby, his mother,
and I were trying to find
the right road,
but all we found
were ones deeply rutted
and high centered.
We were trying to find
a place to start all over
but couldn't.
On the way back,
we passed by
the stone walls again.
那些石头没有灰浆粘连，
只是些孤立的石头，
独立在天穹之下。
今晨在突然升起的浓雾中来到海边
昨夜，旅行
穿过赤裸裸的沙漠，
一段亚利桑那州，一段是加州，
种种艰难困苦
乘坐我可怜的身躯
穿过长距离的夜晚:
卡萨格兰德，得特兰德,
尤马，埃尔森特罗，而现在
今天拂晓，
它们已变成路边的幽灵，
消失在突然而起的浓雾之中。
The stones had no mortar;
they were just stones
balancing against the sky.
Arrival in Sudden Seaside Fog This Morning
Last night traveling
through the barebone desert
parts of Arizona and California,
a variety of discomforts
riding my poor body
through the long-distance night
of Casa Grande, Dateland,
Yuma, EI Centro, and now
this morning early,
they have become roadside ghosts
vanished into the sudden fog.
凤凰城弃客车站蓝调
等着我那班客车，
它今晚开来，
然后把我留下
坐在这里。
等着去，
等着来，
拜托了，
我认识凤凰城里的路，
灰冷又坚硬。
拜托了，
别打扰我，
在今宵。
坐在这儿来又去，
我在等着一切的
到来，
就这一次
是为了我。
Blues Song for the Phoenix Bus Depot Derelict
Waiting for my bus
that comes in tonight
then leaves me
sitting here.
Waiting to leave.
Waiting to come.
Please,
I know Phoenix streets
cold gray and hard.
Please,
leave me alone
for tonight.
Sitting here coming and going,
I'm waiting for everything
to arrive
just this one time for me.
梅尼法姆斯笔记
1973年春，去亚利桑那州梅尼法姆斯市的途中记
1.
雄鹰在风
的路上盘旋，
只有他知道
怎样才能
沿中心飞翔。
2.
雄鹰明亮的双眼，
分辩树林，岩石，
地平线上的点，
运动，以及风和影在玩
怎样的诡计，还有兔子
突然地逃窜，
这提醒他
肚子里没了东西。
3.
一个来自图巴市的姑娘问我
是不是照着画写的诗。
Many Farms Notes
taken on Many Farms,
Arizona, trip, Spring 1973
1
Hawk circles
on wind roads
only he knows
how to follow
to the center.
2
Hawk's bright eyes
read trees, stones,
points in horizon,
movements, how wind
and shadows play
tricks, and sudden
rabbit flurry
which reminds him
of his empty stomach.
3
A Tuba City girl asks me
if I ever write from paintings.
我告诉她我写作时
脑子里装的是幻想。
4.
我从盖洛普市走出去，
他叫到，“喂，朋友，
走这么快，上哪儿去？”
“梅尼法姆斯。”
“一路顺风啊。”
我为他的好意微笑。
5.
一幅风的幻像:
如果你沿钦利山谷看下去，
会看见那女人身上的罩衣，
那是她老母亲花了一千万年时间
为她绣出来的。
6.
站在岔路口南边的路上，
我向东北方望去，
弄不清远方
越过迪菲昂突起的那一点，
是森色拉山还是弗卢特山。
I tell her that I write
with visions in my head.
4
I'm walking out of Gallup.
He calls, "Hey, my fren,
where you going too fas'? "
"Many Farms."
"Good lucks."
I smile for his good thoughts.
5
A wind vision:
if you look into the Chinle Valley,
you will see the Woman's cover,
a tapestry her Old Mother worked
for 10 million years or so.
6
On the way south to the junction,
I looked to the northeast
and couldn't decide whether that point
in the distance beyond the Defiance uplift
was Sonsela Butte or Fluted Rock.
7.
从洛杉矶来的是个都市小孩，
也是纳瓦霍人竞技场上的女王，
她说从窗岩来的路上见过我，
她的朋友当时说，
“我觉得那就是他，
我们刚才路过的”，
她觉得很难受，
说，她生在洛城，
但其实不是个城里姑娘，
每个夏天都会回老家，
还说她母亲
是卢卡丘凯人。
8.
当然，大灰熊会出现那么几次:
去梅尼法姆斯的前一天
收到斯奈德寄来的明信片，(1)
说他“花了一天时间看大灰熊”
在圣地亚哥动物园呜咽。
7.
The L.A. Kid was a city child
and a Navajo rodeo queen,
who said she'd seen me on the road
coming out of Window Rock,
said her friend had said,
"I think that was him;
we just passed him up,"
and felt so bad,
said she was born in L.A.
but wasn't really a city girl
and visited her homeland
every Summer, and said
her mother was from Lukachukai.
8.
Bear occurs several times, of course:
The day before I went to Many Farms,
received a card from Snyder,
said he'd "spent a day watching grizzly bear,"
grizzling at the San Diego Zoo.
纳瓦霍姑娘有一幅灰熊的画。
灰熊向东边的天上望着，
一条线有彩虹般柔和的色彩，
穿过他的心脏直到尾部，
我说，“那条线好像是天边的地平线，
也是你出发的起始线。”
她告诉我当地人的话，
晚上不要在灰熊出没的地方打口哨，
因为母熊会打口哨
给附近的求偶的公熊。
记住: 千万不要
在公熊发情的黑夜打口哨。
那个纳瓦霍姑娘问我
对一夫多妻式婚姻怎么看，
我告诉她说那是个不错的想法，
但是不切实际，我们相视而笑。
我在想大灰熊有几个老婆？
9.
星期一的晚餐，我们吃了
羊排，牛排,
美味的小面包，墨西哥玉米卷，
Navajo girl had a painting of Bear.
He was facing east and looking up.
A line was drawn through him,
from chest to tail, rainbow muted colors,
and I said, "That line seems to be both
the horizon and the groundline where you start."
She told me what the people say.
Don't ever whistle at night where bears are,
because female bears do that
when there are courting bears around.
Remember that: don't whistle
in the dark, horny Bear night.
That Navajo girl asked me
what I thought about polygamy.
I told her I thought it was a good idea
but not for keeps, and we laughed.
I wonder how many wives Bear has?
9.
For Monday night supper, we had
mutton ribs, round steak,
good Isleta bread, tortillas,
西兰花，青辣椒，土豆
肉汁，咖啡和苹果馅饼。
羊排老得咬不动，弗兰西斯说，
“要想在这块土地上生活，
就必须要能吃才行。”
10.
从一辆红色的小卡车
车厢上跳下来，
步行了大约一英里,
在路上遇见三只山羊，
两只绵羊和一只羊羔。
我戴着一顶鲜红色的羊毛帽，
帽檐拉下来把双耳遮住，
他们大概会觉得我有点古怪，
因为他们都伸着耳朵，睁着眼睛。
我说: “喂，朋友，
我从阿科马来，只路过这儿。”
挂着小铃的山羊摇了几下铃
来欢迎我，
我好像听见年长的绵羊
对年幼的说，“能见到
阿科马诗人打咱们这儿经过不容易。”
broccoli, green chili, potatoes,
gravy, coffee, and apple pie.
The mutton was tough and Francis said,
"You gotta be tough
to live on this land."
10
After I got out of the back
of a red pickup truck,
I walked for about a mile
and met three goats, two sheep and a lamb
by the side of the road.
I was wearing a bright red wool cap
pulled over my ears,
and I suppose they thought I was maybe weird
because they were all ears and eyes.
I said, "Yaahteh, my friends.
I'm from Acoma, just passing through."
The goat with the bell jingled it
in greeting a couple of times.
I could almost hear the elder sheep
telling the younger, "You don't see many
Acoma poets passing through here."
11.
“你的诗歌主要
写的是什么？”
“最简单地说，
我这样来表达，就是
把我跟世界的各种联系写出来。”
我想清楚地知道
怎样从黑山东边
走到屋顶山那灰色的山头，
而不必担心
走的不是条捷径。
12.
我为这两个妇女担心，
因为她们正在商量
用什么方法打掉孩子最省事，
是去盖洛普的医院
还是去伽纳多的。
请原谅我的担心和顾虑。
13.
“你是去盖洛普吗，伙计?”
11
"What would you say that the main theme
of your poetry is?"
"To put it as simply as possible,
I say it this way: to recognize
the relationships I share with everything."
I would like to know well the path
from just east of Black Mountain
to the gray outcropping of Roof Butte
without having to worry
about the shortest way possible.
12
I worried about two women discussing how
to get rid of a Forming Child
without too much trouble, whether
it would be in the hospital in Gallup
or in Canado.
Please forgive my worry and my concern.
13
"Are you going to Gallup, shima?"
“是的。”
“一美元五十分。”
老山
在奥科迪洛维斯的西边，
山都非常古老。
事实上，那些山比路边的
指路牌都老，
比所有一千年来写牌子的人都老。
我带着
一群大学生去那儿。
他们要在沙漠中拍一部电影，
写的是一个印第安老人，
在沙漠中埋葬他死去的女儿，
把她放回地球之中。
电影拍完了，是彩色的，
可得六个学分，
写的是人生。导演
是个克劳族男青年，
"Yes."
"One dollar and fifty cents, please."
Old Hills
West of Ocotillo Wells,
the hills are pretty old.
In fact, they're older than any signs
telling tourists where they're at,
older than all of millennium's signpainters.
I was there with a number
of university students.
They were making a film
in the desert about an old Indian
who was burying his daughter,
planting her back into the earth.
The completed film, in color,
worth six semester credit hours,
was about life. The director
was a young Crow man
在洛杉矶长大的。
周围的岩石和仙人掌
默默地容忍我们的到来，
它们可能正带着那种微妙而古老的
幽默感看着我们微笑，而我们
兴奋的年轻人，还不知如何接受和分享。
比恩是个来自沃兹的黑人小伙子，
他在调试测光仪，
好像数字还没有调好，
道格, 那个从洛杉矶来的青年，
吼道: “比恩, 你一点不知道
太阳跟你的影子到底有什么关系。”
这些山非常古老，
有些已经风化成平坦的沙漠山谷，
有些石头还记得在水下的日子，
以及那凉爽清新的绿风。
who had grown up in Los Angeles.
The rocks and cacti tolerate us
very quietly, they probably laugh
softly at us with the subtle chuckle
of ancient humor that our jubilant youth
knows not yet to recognize and share.
Beane, a Black youth from Watts,
was adjusting a light meter,
and he had trouble with some figures,
and Doug, the Crow from L.A.,
hollered, "Beane, I don't think you understand
what the hell the sun has to do with your shadow."
These hills are pretty old.
Some have worn down to flat desert valley.
Some stones remember being underwater
and the cool fresh green winds.
1971年8月21日印第安人
生起一堆火，
用的是下午做木雕时
砍下来的木屑，我雕的是
小鸟或者像秋天一片淡淡的云彩，
木屑是从一段弯白皮松上砍下来的。
火起来得很慢，因为
木屑还是湿的，但火苗升起来了，
我把大一些的木屑扔进去。
刚才我以前的女友从这儿路过，
她身体肥胖，老了许多，
戴着一副大墨镜，
抱着一个胖嘟嘟的孩子。
我正好在做墨西哥玉米卷，
玉米粉还粘在手上，正用高脚酒杯
在和面板上把面擀开。
我和她丈夫聊天时，
她没有说一句话。
很高兴她没有问我
为什么没当个律师或工程师。
火很快就把薄木屑烧光了，
在大木屑下面已经熄灭，
21 August '71 Indian
Building the fire,
using shavings I made this afternoon
as I attempted a sculpture, a bird
or the wisp of high thin cloud in Fall,
from a length of curved white pine.
The fire is slow to catch,
wood is damp, but it begins to start,
and I throw on the larger pieces.
An old girlfriend came by a while ago,
fat and getting older,
wearing wide dark glasses;
she held a fat and healthy baby.
I was making tortillas then,
flour on my hands, rolling dough out
on a board with a tall drinking glass.
She didn't say anything
as her husband and I talked;
I was glad she didn't ask why
I was not a lawyer or an engineer.
Fire burns the thin shavings quickly
and soon dies down under larger pieces.
红色的木炭，火光微微，
我必须及时加些小木屑，
于是拿起刀，把大木屑劈开，
放在木炭上，小心翼翼。
今天的晚饭会很晚了，
可能那时候云彩会散开，
好让我看见星星。
已经，许多年过去了。
那时候我告诉她
在自己身上发生的许多变化。
晚上我喜欢长时间地漫步，
听河水潺潺，
每次她总会出来找我。
直到今天她也不知道，我有点怀疑，
我会做墨西哥玉米卷——
我学会了这种生存方式——
在柴火上做我一个人的晚餐。
火烧得正旺，木炭红红，
要把红豆和墨西哥玉米卷
拿来在木炭上烤热。
我的甜点要吃紫色李子。
现在我也看得见有些星星了。
The red coals are weak, have to watch
and put smaller pieces on next time.
Get knife and splinter larger into smaller
and feed the coals, being patient.
Will have a late supper tonight;
maybe the clouds will part some by then
and let me see some stars.
It's been years since.
I told her then of the things
I was discovering about myself.
I took long evening walks
and listened to the sounds of rivers,
and she would come looking for me.
She never knew, I don't think, until today
that I could make tortillas—
that I've learned to survive this way—
over a fire for my lone supper.
Fire burns good now, good red coals.
Will get the beans and tortillas
to warm over the glowing coals.
I will have purple plums for dessert.
I am able to see some stars now, too.
我不会做个工程师，
或者当个律师什么的。
于阿科马镇的赫斯普卢斯，
1971年夏
今天的小事
在赫斯普卢斯，我的露营地
下午三四点钟，拌着蜂蜜
吃了个墨西哥玉米卷，不错。
要是有辣椒就更好了。
闻到苹果和湿润的田野味，
在蓝色帐篷后面
放了一箱去年
阿尼玛斯山谷的苹果，快了，
秋天又会到来。
风在吹，把帐篷顶摇动，
水落到地上，
传来嘀嗒嘀嗒的水声。
I don't think I'll ever be an engineer
or at least even a lawyer.
Hesperus Acoma
Summer 1971
Small Things Today
at my Hesperus Camp
Had a tortilla with some honey
at midafternoon. It was good.
Wished I had some chili.
Smell of apples, wet fields,
in back of the blue tent
is a box of last season's
Animas Valley apples; soon,
it will be another Fall.
Wind blows, shakes the tarp，
water falls to the ground.
The sound of water splashing.
几个小时以前，看到
一只啄木鸟在看我，
我们两个都奇怪地
移动我们的头。
雷克斯和他那双忧伤的狗的眼睛。
有人在地里向四周张望，
在寻找丢失的东西。
注意到刚出土的嫩芽，
裸露着白嫩的身体。
雷克斯不喜欢吃鸡肝，
但鸡胗就没问题了。
在南方旅行
1. 得克萨斯东部
离开亚拉巴马的库沙塔部落时，
正是拂晓时分。
Several hours ago, watched
a woodpecker watching me.
We both moved our heads
with funny jerks.
Rex and his sad, dog eyes.
Somebody looking around in a field,
looking for lost things.
Notice bean sprouts growing.
They’re very pale and nude.
Rex doesn’t like chicken livers,
but gizzards are okay.
Travels in the South
1. EAST TEXAS
When I left the Alabama─Coushatta people,
it was early morning.
他们热情地接待了我，给我食物，
欢迎我，感谢我。
握着他们的手，保证说
我会再来。
路过亨茨维尔的得州监狱时，
我告诉印第安囚犯大家说的话，
我向他们致谢，觉得自己很渺小，
那时候太阳刚刚升起。
去达拉斯时我不想待在那儿。
我去见印第安事务局搬迁署的官员。
他告诉我说，“不清楚在达拉斯
有多少印第安人，不过每周都有来的。”
跟瑞依聊过，他是个纳瓦霍人，
没有工作，还在找，他是个焊工。
看见一个阿巴契族妇女在悲伤地哭泣。
第二天傍晚，
在一个叫卡多的湖边停息，
我问公园管理员，“卡多是谁啊？”
他说是以前的一个印第安部落。
在湖边我遇到两个钓鱼的黑人妇女，
我在她们旁边坐下来，她们很友好。
她们可能有七十岁了，她们大声笑，
They had treated me kindly, given me food,
spoken me words of welcome, and thanked me.
I touched them, their hands, and promised
I would be back.
When I passed by the Huntsville State Pen
I told the Indian prisoners what the people said
and thanked them and felt very humble.
The sun was rising then.
When I got to Dallas I did not want to be there.
I went to see the BIA Relocation man.
He told me, "I don't know how many Indians
there are in Dallas; they come every week."
I talked with Ray, a Navajo; he didn't have a job,
was looking, and he was a welder.
I saw an Apache woman crying for her lost life．
When it was evening of the next day,
I stopped at a lake called Caddo.
I asked a park ranger, "Who was Caddo?"
And he said it used to be some Indian tribe.
I met two Black women fishing at the lake.
I sat by them, they were good to be with.
They were about seventy years old and laughed,
在我一生中唯一的一次，
把一只水龟的头切下来，因为，
像那两个女人说的，“太阳下山前它们不会放开的。”
太阳下山后，在得克萨斯东部，我祈祷，
为了力量，为了卡多，为了那两位黑人妇女，
为了我家中年幼的儿子，为了达拉斯，
为了早晨将升起的太阳。
2. 密西西比河东岸的克里克族人
以前在一个故事中，我讲过到处都是印第安人。
一点也不错。
在佛罗里达州的彭萨科拉, 热狗摊主
告诉我酋长麦吉的故事。
“我正在找印第安人，”我说。
他说: “我认识阿尔文·麦吉酋长。”
我买了只热狗，一杯啤酒，
“他家住在亚拉巴马的阿特莫尔附近，
穿过铁路，过了学校，
穿过去亚特兰大的高速路，有一里左右，
右手边第二幢就是他的房子。”
and for the first and only time in my life
I cut a terrapin's head off because,
as the women said, "They won't let go until sundown."
When it was after sundown in East Texas, I prayed
for strength and the Caddo and the Black women
and my young son at home and Dallas and when
it would be the morning, the Sun.
2. THE CREEK NATION EAST OF THE MISSISSIPPI
Once, in a story, I wrote that Indians are everywhere.
Goddamn right.
In Pensacola, Florida, some hotdog stand
operator told me about Chief McGee.
"I'm looking for Indians," I said.
"I know Chief Alvin McGee," he said.
I bought a hotdog and a beer.
"He lives near Atmore, Alabama,
cross the tracks, drive by the school,
over the freeway to Atlanta, about a mile.
He lives at the second house on the right."
在阿特莫尔我用公用电话打电话给他，
麦吉先生叫我直接去他家，
我没费劲就找到了他的家，
把车停在他家院子里时他走出来，
脸上带着热情的笑容。
以前在历史书中看到过他的脸，
多亏那些历史书写了克里克族人。
他给我讲阿西俄拉的故事。
麦吉酋长说: “他就生在这个县。”
他带我去看他的园子和地。
“我有七十公顷地”，他说，
“以前我们有自己的学校”，
但被他们拿走了。
这儿没有什么东西是他们不想拿的”。
我们一起看电视新闻。
亚拉巴马州的选举正在举行，
是乔治·瓦莱士对什么人，
不停地有人来他的家，
请求酋长的支持，“选瓦莱士”。
“选布鲁尔”。他们整夜都那样争论。
第二天早上投票开始了，
但吃完早餐我就离开了。
I called from a payphone in Atmore.
Mr. McGee told me to come on over.
I found his home right away,
and he came out when I stopped in his yard.
He had a big smile on his face.
I'd seen his face before in the history books
when they bothered to put Creeks in them.
He told me about Osceola.
"He was born in this county," Chief McGee said.
He showed me his garden and fields.
"I have seventy acres," he said.
"We used to have our own school,
but they took that away from us.
There ain't much they don't try to take."
We watched the news on TV.
It was election time in Alabama,
George Wallace against something.
People kept coming over to his house,
wanting the Chief's support. "Wallace is the one."
"Brewer is our man." They kept that up all night.
The next morning the election was on,
but I left right after breakfast.
阿尔文·麦吉酋长用手臂拥抱我，
为我祝福，我记起我的祖父，
山丘，我生长的土地，
我感谢他让我留夜，“团结起来，
不要为瓦莱士分心，不要分心。”
在去亚特兰大的高速路上，
听到肯塔基州发生的枪击案。
把车停在路边，在一个交通指示牌前面一点，
牌子上的文字是“紧急停车处”。
我拥抱了一棵树。
3. 跨过佐治亚边界进入佛罗里达
担心我的头发，就把车门紧锁住。
他们看着我，消瘦，苍白，神经质，
他们的嘴唇在嚅动，打着无言的信号。
我的头发长过双耳，
我祖父有这样的长发，
以前他经常戴一顶灰色的帽子，
帽子上沾满油渍，
人们称他为高个儿，
因为他是阿科马人中很高的人。
Chief Alvin McGee put his arms around me
and blessed me. I remembered my grandfather,
the mountains, the land from where I came,
and I thanked him for his home, "Keep together,
please don't worry about Wallace, don't worry."
I was on that free way to Atlanta
when I heard about the killings at Kent State.
I pulled off the road just past a sign which read
NO STOPPING EXCEPT IN CASE OF EMERGENCY
and hugged a tree.
3. CROSSING THE GEORGIA BORDER INTO FLORIDAI
worried about my hair, kept my car locked.
They'd look at me, lean, white, nervous,
their lips moving, making wordless gestures.
My hair is past my ears.
My Grandfather wore it like that.
He used to wear a hat, a gray one,
with grease stains on it.
The people called him Tall One
because he was tall for an Acoma.
在亚特兰大我碰到倒霉的事，
我想可能是因为
我没有穿西装打领带。
我必须得住Dinkler Plaza，一家高级宾馆，
参加一个印第安人的会议，
前台服务员简直不相信我的话，
当我走上前说要订个房间，
手臂下挟着一张卷成筒的毛巾，
几本书，以及装着我诗歌的黑袋子，
逼得我告诉他我真的不是什么坏人。
他要我为一间房付二十美元，
我觉得很高兴，
因为我不是个坏人，
离开了亚特兰大我当然更高兴。
离佛罗里达边界几英里处，
在高速路旁摘了几束花，
把它们跟我在亚利桑那州采的鼠尾草放在一起，
过了佛罗里达边界，去一个州级公园，
付了两元五十分，公园管理员说:
“这地方很有名，是因为以前这儿
住过的印第安人。”他不清楚
他说的那些印第安人属什么部落。
I had a hard time in Atlanta;
I thought it was because
I did not have a suit and tie.
I had to stay at the Dinkler Plaza,
a classy joint, for an Indian meeting.
The desk clerk didn't believe it
when I walked up, requested a room,
towel rolled up under my arm,
a couple books, and my black bag of poems.
I had to tell him who I really wasn't.
He charged me twenty dollars for a room,
and I figured I'm sure glad
that I'm not a Black man,
and I was sure happy to leave Atlanta.
A few miles from the Florida line
I picked some flowers beside the highway
and put them with the sage I got in Arizona.
After the Florida line, I went to a State Park,
paid twofifty, and the park ranger told me,
"This place is noted for the Indians
that don't live here anymore."
He didn't know who they used to be.
走到我的露营点，
躺在地上，
一只小松鼠走过来，看着我，
我动了动双眼，他动了一下头，
“兄弟”，我说，
一只红色的鸟儿飞过来，跳着，
“兄弟，你好吗？”我问，
我拿出来一片面包，白色的有点陈，
在他们面前撒了些面包屑，
他们没有吃面包屑，
我也不责怪他们。
搬迁
不要跟我讲话，
不要吓我，
因为我就在让人眼瞎的城市。
灯光，
汽车，
死气的炫目
撕裂我的心，
封闭我的脑。
When I got to my campsite
and lay on the ground,
a squirrel came by and looked at me.
I moved my eyes. He moved his head.
"Brother," I said.
A red bird came, hopped.
"Brother, how are you?" I asked.
I took some bread, white, and kind of stale,
and scattered some crumbs before them.
They didn't take the crumbs,
and I didn't blame them.
Relocation
Don't talk me no words.
Don't frighten me
for I am in the blinding city.
The lights,
the cars,
the deadened glares
tear my heart
and close my mind.
谁问过我的痛苦，
那淤积在我心中的
愤怒的死结？
我常常艰难地咽下
自己的口痰，
味道是不好尝，
可谁问过我在想什么？
来这儿是因为我累了，
印第安事务局要我清洗自己，
每天活得明明白白，
从教会学来的效率，
修女教我用白色拼写上帝。
我到这儿是来找东西吃的——
玉米，土豆，辣椒，和羊肉，
她们说那对我都没有营养。
所以我同意离开。
我看见自己在梦游，
走在大街上，水泥灰色的街上，
炫目的玻璃，油腻的风，
用一瓶酒武装起来，
那是我骗我孩子们给买的。
我感到耻辱，
Who questions my pain,
the tight knot of anger
in my breast?
I swallow hard and often
and taste my spit
and it does not taste good.
Who questions my mind?
I came here because I was tired;
the BIA taught me to cleanse myself,
daily to keep a careful account of my time.
Efficiency was learned in catechism;
the nuns spelled me God in white.
And I came here to feed myself-
corn, potatoes, chili, and mutton
did not nourish me they said.
So I agreed to move.
I see me walking in sleep
down streets, down streets gray with cement
and glaring glass and oily wind,
armed with a pint of wine,
I cheated my children to buy.
I am ashamed.
我疲惫不堪，
我饥肠辘辘，
我说话，
我因山而孤独，
我因我而孤独。
客车上的谈话
她说，
“我是星期三
来的阿尔伯克基”。
她大约18岁。
“我有三副贝壳项链，
是卖的，
有人出过三十元”。
她有股酸臭的汗味，
在阿尔伯克基
住了几个晚上。
I am tired.
I am hungry.
I speak words.
I am lonely for hills.
I am lonely for myself.
Busride Conversation
She says,
"I came to Albuquerque
on Wednesday."
She's about eighteen.
"I have three shell necklaces
ready to sell.
A man offered me thirty dollars."
She smells slightly sour
with sweat, the several nights
in Albuquerque.
我们相互说出
几个名字，
我们认识的人，
我们去过的地方。
她说: “五月份
在盖洛普监狱，
跟一个阿科马女孩关在一起。”
我也去过那儿。
“厨师是个阿巴契人，
他偷偷递给我们
两个辣子汉堡，
他待我们特好。”
她咯咯地笑着，我也开怀大笑。
她在多明戈车站下了车。
“要听话”，我说，
“你也要啊”，她回答。
We mention names
to each other,
people we know,
places we've been.
She says, "In May,
I was in Gallup jail
with a girl from Acoma."
I've been there too.
"The cook was an Apache,
He sneaked two chiliburgers
in to us.
He was sure good to us."
She giggles, and I laugh.
She gets off at Domingo Junction.
"Be good," I say.
"You too," she says.
手里抱着一台康慰牌电视机的诗人自画像
在圣地亚哥大学路的John电视机店
我买了那台电视机，
乘坐大灰狗长途车
把它运回家。
坐在太阳城长途客车站的
候车室，腿上放着电视，
傻乎乎地看见
车站管理员抓住个
年老的流浪汉，
他当时正在不顾一切地倒腾
一个开着的储物柜。
他们把老汉推出去，
推到让人眩晕的美国都市。
在凌晨12点半，没有别的节目，
只有那个很晚、很晚的频道。
我知道我会回家，
但手中拿着电视机，
这是个全新的角度，我想
这肯定跟一种奇怪的疯狂有关。
Portrait of a Poet with a Console TV in Hand
I bought that TV at John's TV
on College Avenue in San Diego
and lugged it all the way home
on the Greyhound bus.
Sitting in Phoenix bus depot
waiting room, TV sitting on my lap,
I felt foolish as I watched
depot officials grab an old man
derelict as he searched dazedly
into an open locker compartment.
They pushed him reeling out
into deadly stunning American city.
At 12:30 A.M., there wasn't anything else on,
just that already too late, late channel.
I had known that I would be coming home
but the TV-in-hand bit
was an entirely new angle, and I think
that it must have to do with an odd madness.
吃了一惊
星期五，我们穿过
山谷，
走过一个叫阿尔彭的地方，
手写的指路牌
挂在路边苹果饮料铺的门框上，
一湾湖泊，几丛松树，
更高处是弯曲的白桦树，
在亚利桑那和新墨西哥的边界上
让我沉迷。
昨天，下雪了，
在库亚马克山脉，
圣地亚哥东南七十英里地带。
星期一早晨，我头脑
非常清醒——意识到
上周末我没有喝醉过。
奇怪吧，在清醒的时候，
我愿意向它们学习。
Surprise
On Friday we passed
through mountains,
through place called Alpine,
handlettered signs
on apple cider roadside stands,
a small lake, lots of pine
and higher up twisted aspen
made me lonesome for Crystal
on Arizona-New Mexico line.
Yesterday, it snowed
only seventy miles southeast
of San Diego in the Cuyamac Mtns.
Monday morning, I am very clear
in my head─realize
I didn’t get drunk all weekend.
Surprises, I like to learn
from them when I’m clear.
一大早
一个人知道
对运动的
一些本能反应。
模糊不清的低语，
轻轻地，轻轻地
离去。
最微弱的颤动，
悬在半梦半醒的
边缘。
安静，小孩，
我的灵魂——
别动，
安静，
再等一会儿。
今天凌晨，
至少有三次
我听到有人扫街。
此时，我在想
那是不是
我梦中
发生的事情。
Early Morning
One knows
some instinctive response
to movements.
Shadowed murmurs,
softly, softly
go away.
The faintest quiver
at the edge
of awakedness.
Quiet, child,
my soul—
don't move now,
not yet.
Wait just a while.
I heard streetsweepers
at least three times
early this morning.
Now, I wonder
if they were
only occurrences
in my dreams.
另外有几次，
感觉更静，
比我此前在街上
感觉到的还静，
一大片一大片的
寂静。
月亮在哪里？
交友
我光着脚在外行走，
走在铺着柏油的滚烫的前院。
霍华德是我的新房东，他说，
“今年的夏天肯定是个骚娘儿们”。
奇怪，我想，他的话指什么。
他有一张棕色的中年人的脸，
以前在俄亥俄州做房地产，
后来卖了公司，搬到西部来。
谈着将到的夏天，
我们熟络起来。
The other times
there was more silence
than I have ever felt
in the streets before.
Acres and acres
of silence.
Where was the moon?
Making an Acquaintance
I walk outside without my shoes
on searing hot asphalt front yard.
Howard, my new landlord, says,
"It’s gonna be a bitch of a Summer."
Strange, I think, what words mean.
He has a tanned middle-aged face,
used to be in real estate in Ohio,
sold his business and moved west.
We get acquainted by talking
about the coming Summer.
“是啊”，我附和着说，
“肯定是的”，
我的脚急着想找个清凉处。
没有你
没有你了该怎么办？
这是夜的疯狂。
有一次你打电话来，
“我正在过街，
突然我周围
什么都没有了。”
你周围什么都没有，
你是一座孤岛，
大洋已涨满，
有时候太晚了
去想别的事。
你说，
"Yeah," I agree with him
"it's gonna be a bitch."
My feet are burning for coolness.
Without you
What to do without you
is night madness.
Once you called up,
"I was crossing the street
and suddenly there was nothing
around me."
There is nothing around you.
You are an island.
The ocean is overbrimmed.
Sometimes it is too late
for anything else.
You said,
“我要赶回家，
但周围都是车。”
“好吧”，我说，
我等你回来，
终于看见了
你幽暗的身子
向家的方向游来。
我弄丢的诗歌
她说要乘L号线地铁
去……
我知道我把它们落在哪儿了——
在她家的地板上，
她的家有5道锁，
位于美国别处市第13街。
我肯定是不会再回去的。
一对年轻人让我上车
"I'll try to make it home,
but there's all that traffic."
"Okay," I said,
and I watched for you
and finally saw
your shadowed figure
come swimming homeward.
The Poems I Have Lost
She said to take the L-Train
to ...
I know where I left them—
on the floor of her apartment
with five locks on Thirteenth Street,
Somewhere Else City, USA.
I don't think I'll ever go back.
A young couple picked me up
在安什维尔东边几英里处——
我的诗也刚写了个开头，
我们停下车，
在路边的桌子旁抽烟，
旁边是六月的烟叶田。
我把它们弄丢了，
在那里和大西洋之间。
我给达菲写了封
长信，把它称为诗歌，
在纳什维尔写的，因为
我想念着科罗拉多
春天的落日，写好后，
然后把信投进邮箱。
不知道这封信
能不能在阿拉斯加的朱诺找到她。
我记得的最后一件事，
是躺在一棵矮松树的
树根中，不是
那匹马把我扔下来，
也不是麦卡利斯特扔的,
他是那匹马的主人。
全是那堆啤酒的过错，
我们喝了整整一下午。
east miles out of Asheville─
had just started a poem too─
and we stopped and smoked
at a roadside table
at the edge of June tobacco fields.
I lost them somewhere
between there and the Atlantic Ocean.
I wrote Duffie a long rambling
Letter, called it a poem,
from Nashville, because
I got lonesome for sunsets
in Colorado Springtime and then
dropped the letter in the mailbox.
I wonder if it ever found her in Juneau, Alaska.
The last thing I remember
was leaning into the roots
of a piñon tree. It wasn't
the horse that had thrown me;
it wasn't McCallister either
who owned the horse. It was
all that damn beer we had
been drinking all afternoon.
收到一封来自明州圣保罗市的信，
邀请我去那儿朗诵诗歌。
在丹佛我从飞机上掉下来，
弄丢了机票和大部分诗歌，
但我还是坚持拿稳
剩下的几样东西。
记忆，我猜是记忆
把我挤满，因为我错过了
所有的信号，是诗歌
一片一片不断地回来。
那些碎片当然还随着我，
摸一摸那些空空的骨架子，
嗅一下这些旧物，看见新的景象
一次又一次打眼前飘过。
这些就足够了。
多么近
我在想我是否曾经走近过
第一粒种子，那万物之源头，
I got a letter from St. Paul, Minn.
inviting me up there to read poems.
I fell off the plane in Denver,
lost my ticket and most of my poems
but managed to hold on enough
to a few remaining things.
Memories, I guess they are,
crowd me because of all the signals
I've missed, the poems that keep
coming back in pieces.
Fragments remain with me, of course;
I touch the bare skeletons, smell
the old things, and see new visages pass
many, many times.
These are enough.
How Close
I wonder if I have ever come close
to seeing the first seed, the origin,
但在哪里？
我想过这件事，土狼说。
曾经觉得看见过它，
在一丝云母岩的闪光中。
那时我还是个孩子，
躺在母亲的怀抱，
我们在挖灰色的黏土
来做陶器。
那是许多年前在阿科马南边，
那是我靠得最近的一次。
我想过这件事，土狼说。
昨夜
昨夜在肯尼迪机场，
纽约市差点儿没把我吞没。
稀里糊涂，
and where?
I've thought about it, says Coyote.
Once I thought I saw it in the glint
of a mica stratum a hair width deep.
I was a child then,
cradled in my mother's arm.
We were digging for the gray clay
to make pottery with.
That was south of Acoma years back
that was the closest I've gotten yet.
I've thought about it, says Coyote.
Last Night
New York City almost got me
last night at Kennedy Airport.
so messed up,
给四处打电话，
我自己都记不清的地方。
只是紧紧地抓住
那袋子诗歌，我的生命，
跟睡意打仗，
那时刻会马上把你吞没，
你还来不及明白
栽到了何处。
终于，上了出租车，
终于，到了朋友的家，
给你打电话，
躺在地毯上，
吃几个大苹果，
喝一杯葡萄酒，
已经是清晨。
终于，接通了电话，
跟你说话，很好，
在地板上睡去，
旁边是电话和两个苹果核。
making phone calls to places
I can't even remember.
Just held on tight
to my bag of poems, my life,
fighting off sleep,
the moments that can swallow you
without your knowledge of where
you are disappearing to.
Finally, got a cab,
finally, got to a friend's place.
A phone call to you then,
lay on a carpet,
ate couple good apples,
drank glass of bourbon,
and it was already morning.
But, finally, I got to talk to you.
It was good, that part,
and I went to sleep on the floor
beside the phone and two apple cores.
今天，乘A号线地铁，从168街到14街
……A号线地铁抖得厉害，
让这个印第安人感到难受。
看见许多茫然的脸，老妇人，黑人男子，
还有个女人拼命地按住她的包。
我看见飞驰而过的数字，
黑乎乎的字轰隆隆地一个接着一个，
另一辆地铁呼呼驶过，驶向城北，
我根本看不清任何人。
下车让人松口气，我步行，
想靠半明半暗的太阳认出
脚下的街名，望见在施工的
建筑工地，想到调停
这类事情，走过几条街，
寻找时间，想它的意义。
我甚至已经忘记了
跟你见面的时间。
Today, the A-Train, 168th to 14th
…The A-Train shakes bad
for this Indian.
I see blank faces, an old woman, a Black man,
somebody clutching a bag for her life.
I watch the numbers flashing by,
one blackness thunders into another,
another train crashes by headed uptown,
I can't even recognize anybody.
It is a relief to get off, and I walk,
trying to judge by the vague sun
which way I'm going, and I watch some construction
going on. I think of arbitration or something
like that, cross several streets and look
for the time, trying to make it meaningful.
I had even forgotten when it was
I was supposed to meet you.
在纽约城的饥饿
饥饿爬进你的体内，
大概是从你的肌肉
或是从水泥建筑或者地面
或者是那阵推动你的风进来的。
它来到你跟前，向你要
食物，语言，智慧，问你新近在哪里进餐，
在哪里喝过清凉的泉水，
在哪里握住了某人的手，
或者是去了有轻歌曼舞、
法力无边的众神之家，
你所熟悉的世界。
饥饿把你搜查个遍，
它总是在问你，
吃过了吗，孩子？你在哪儿？
你吃得好吗？
你做的事
对得起我们的人民吗？
这个城市的水泥建筑，
那油腻的风，灼热的窗户，
以及自动机器的尖叫，不能，
Hunger in New York City
Hunger crawls into you
from somewhere out of your muscles
or the concrete or the land
or the wind pushing you.
It comes to you, asking
for food, words, wisdom, young memories
of places you ate at, drank cold spring water,
or held somebody's hand,
or home of the gentle, slow dances,
the songs, the strong gods, the world
you know.
That is, hunger searches you out.
It always asks you,
How are you, son? Where are you?
Have you eaten well?
Have you done what you as a person
of our people is supposed to do?
And the concrete of this city,
the oily wind, the blazing windows,
the shrieks of automation cannot,
真的不能，解除那种饥饿，
虽然我曾经切切实实地
渴望过用它们来
填满我的肚囊。
所以我轻声地唱起来:
我用周围
卑微的一切所在
喂我，
我用
你的灵魂喂我，地球母亲，
让我冷静，让我谦卑。
保佑我吧。
一路到纽约
你好！
你好！
这儿碰到你。
truly cannot, answer for that hunger
although I have hungered,
truthfully and honestly, for them
to feed myself with.
So I sang to myself quietly:
I am feeding myself
with the humble presence
of all around me;
I am feeding myself
with your soul, my mother earth;
make me cool and humble.
Bless me.
Traveled All the Way to New York City
How are you?
Fine, and you?
It was good to touch you.
你的黑软帽真棒。
我喜欢我们去的那地方。
你喝了三瓶啤酒，
我喝了三瓶——
要是我没记错。
忘了把鼠尾草给你，
我放在塑料袋里带着的。
是我在亚利桑那采的。
下次来，我会记住。
那家熟食店相当不错，
是个真正的犹太人美食迪斯尼，
我像个小孩，
本该多待一会儿。
你住的地方不坏，
即便你需要5把锁锁门。
你的猫叫什么名字呢？
后来，我说——用了句老话——
“我一路来纽约，
只是为了看你”。啊哎！
I liked your floppy black hat,
I liked that place we went to.
You had three beers,
I had three beers—
if I remember correctly.
I forgot to give you some sage
I had brought in a plastic bag.
I picked it in Arizona.
Next time, I'll remember.
That delicatessen was wild,
a real Jewish gourmet disneyland,
and I was like a little boy.
I could have stayed a long time.
You live in a nice place
even though you need five locks.
What was your cat's name?
Later, I said─an old line─
"I traveled all the way to New York
just to see you." Aaaiiieee!
大笑，高兴就好了。
1970年在纽约的印第安人
给盖洛普的兄弟姐妹们
他是桥下扭成一团的
阴影: 他是那根
被折断的树根，
我知道他从哪儿来: 我
认识你很久了，
想把你带回家。
他是在市区外被撞的:
有一次
在盖洛普东边，
我看见一滩血肉，
轧碎在高速路上。
汽车轮子
颤抖着碾过一堆东西，
我的身体和灵魂也在
颤抖，啊，我的天。
Laughing, it’s so good to laugh.
—Indian 1970 in NYC
For Those Sisters & Brothers in Gallup
He is that twisted shadow
under the bridge: he is
that broken root.
I know where he came from: I've
known you for so long
I want to take you home.
He got hit outside the city limits:
once
I saw a scatter of flesh and blood
mashed into the highway
east of Gallup.
The car wheels
shuddered over a lump,
and my body and soul shud-
dered, o my god.
我掉转
车头，沿着来路慢慢地
开回去，
啊，我的天，
是一只狗，躺在一堆
碾碎的皮、骨头
和血中，我拉出来一块碎肉，
那是一只腿，用我的力气
把它扔到
很远很远
远离州际高速公路，
我为我们祈祷和悲伤。
是的，我知道我叫什么名字:
她像个人形模特儿
绊倒在我身上，用她木讷、
充满懊悔的眼睛往我嘴里看，
求我给她买瓶酒。
在你们这个狗娘养的城市
我喝醉了，想杀死我的愤怒，
我为你和我的安全担心，
一旦我又转回来。
别生气，我的姐妹，别生气，
I turned
around up the road and drove
slowly back,
o my god.
It was a dog left in tatters
of skin, splintered bone,
blood, and I dragged raggy meat
which was the leg and threw it
as hard
and as far as I could
away from the Interstate
and prayed and moaned for us.
O my god, I know what is my name:
she stumbled like a stuffed dummy
against me, looked into my mouth
with her opaque remorseful eyes
and asked me for a drink.
I HAVE DRUNK AND TRIED TO KILL
MY ANGER IN YOUR GODDAMNED TOWN
AND I'M AFRAID FOR YOU AND ME
WHEN I WILL COME BACK AGAIN.
Be kind, sister, be kind;
会清洗干净的。
天会下雨，你的双眼
会放光，会深深地
看进我看进我看进我的。
傍晚在海滩散步
开初，
我并不想去散步，
但不知怎么的觉得我必须去
因为我这么远
来
到这边，
所以我去散步。
太阳在沉落
或者从一点到另一点行进，
我明白我正面对
另一条地平线。
一只狗跑过来嗅我的双膝，
it shall come cleansing again.
It shall rain and your eyes
will shine and look so deeply
into me into me into me into me.
Evening Beach Walk
I don't really feel like walking
at first
but somehow feel I must
since I have come
this far
to this edge,
and so I walk.
The sun is going downwards
or rather one point changes to another,
and I know I am confronting
another horizon.
A dog comes sniffing at my knees
我把手伸给它，
它闻了一下，摇摇尾巴，
跑开去找一对年轻人，
它的朋友，我们见面时他们笑了。
很多次太阳下山时我都在张望，
不知道为什么我看不见
脑海中的那条地平线。
或许是因为云雾，烟霾，
或许是因为变化。
去找那条地平线，
我知道，是我的责任，
在大海边我不停地走，
在昏暗的光线中寻找。
给小孩的我讲耐心的诗
要有耐心，小孩子，
要有耐心，静一静。
江河流入地球的
中心，
and I hold my hand to him,
and he sniffs, wags his tail
and trots away to join a young couple,
his friends, who smile as we meet.
I look many times as the sun sets
and I don't know why I can't see
clearly the horizon that I've imagined.
Maybe it's the clouds, the smog,
maybe it's the changing.
It's a duty with me,
I know, to find the horizons,
and I keep on walking on the ocean's edge,
looking for things in the dim light.
A Patience Poem for the Child That Is Me
Be patient child,
be patient, quiet.
The rivers run into the center
of the earth
万物
旋转，
汇入
那个中心。
要有耐心，小孩子，
静一静。
and around
revolve all things
and flow
into the center.
Be patient, child,
quiet.
----------------------
(1) Gary Snyder，当代美国诗人。
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