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下午记忆&&& 偶尔，我会打开冰箱看看感觉芥菜，隐约的熟悉而西班牙的橄榄罐头。于我，却是第一次看见这儿，都放有些什么？奶油沙拉，两种玉米煎饼以及背后，腰身肥硕的布特沃斯夫人我会好好研究，这菜盘里放满了鸡腿
关掉冰箱，倚着厨房的柜台莫非是旧了？水龙头滴水当你走过时，油布开满了水泡冰箱的磁体揉捏着沉重的过期优惠券和医疗费单。有时我会从嘴里伸出舌头是这种可盼和切望？是这种疼痛或者我的脚即将睡觉？我知道我胃里的工厂，已经平静我站立时，头发落垂我的肺是风中消散的豆苗，我的身体发出信号。如同此刻一个健康的斑点漂浮于我的眼帘我看着她飞过我的眼帘它将攻击我身体右侧的一个病毒然后，沿着我的喉咙光顾膝盖疼痛的小门闩，我吞咽了三次我必须帮助我的部分器官。如酸酐，以及可靠的肾。我充满希望打开冰箱我曾看过这些材料。这是什么？击打着的镖麸？中国生姜？不！孩子们，这些是胡萝卜。我听说，橘子，会让你们看得更清晰
Afternoon Memoryby Gary Soto
Sometimes I'll look in the refrigeratorAnd decide that the mustard is vaguely familiarAnd that the jar of Spanish olives is new to me.What's this gathering? The butterAnd salsa, the two kinds of tortillasAnd, in back, the fat-waisted Mrs. Butterworth.I'll study the plate of cross-legged chicken,
And close the refrigerator and lean on the kitchen counter.Is this old age? The faucet drips.The linoleum blisters when you walk on it.The magnets on the refrigerator crawl downWith the gravity of expired coupons and doctor bills.Sometimes I'll roll my tongue in my mouth.Is this thirst or desire? Is this painOr my foot going to sleep? I know the factoryInside my stomach has gone quiet.My hair falls as I stand. My lungs are bean plantsOf disappearing air. My body sends signals, like now:A healthy fleck is floating across my vision.I watch it cross. It's going to attack a virusOn the right side of my bodyAnd, later, travel down my throat to take care of knee,Little latch of hurt. I swallow three times.I have to help my body parts. Fellas, sour liverAnd trusty kidney, I'm full of hope.I open the refrigerator.'ve seen this stuff before. What's this?The blow dart of bran? Chinese ginger?No, fellas, they're carrots. The orange, I hear,Is good for your eyes.
福罗斯特，应该是在挑弄他的秘书快活日子里的苹果仁被他咀嚼成痛苦之籽他或许缄默不言。厌恶死亡的蜥蜴凹落于他的手掌他的女人呢？她那直布罗陀一样的骨架一大块奶酪夹在两个腋下她老喘着大气晃动着鹅肉一般肥辣的屁股走进厨房那里，她把煎饼放到这个国家一般古老的煎锅福罗斯特。这个作家中的先锋大将正捡起自己的轻海狸铅笔写道：甜蜜的年轻时代…
&&&&&& 一切我不知该如何做读传记，死亡作家的亡灵文字蚀刻我的眼,随之消亡.我徜徉于它们漭漭撞撞地驾着赛车，碾过那些落叶那是我自己最后的死亡之垫。当然，我料想它如同镜子里的一个芯片随后我忘掉它们。这些意象这些耿直而又衷肠满腹的作家他们一点作用也没有我没能在重重的妒忌与整天酩酊大醉之中获救风穿梭在重重树叶，乱发如同麦子飘飘洒洒肝和疾病包啊！与没救的脓包一起膨胀！
摸摸自己的屁股, 我蹒跚着回家一只南瓜伸长于窗口上那些鸟抖抖翅膀,钻进它们污泥般的羽毛蟋蟀也在它们的腿部停止了小提琴似的鸣唱一场火事发生了，客厅里我点燃了自己我是个民主党，我要对着那些老板椅，我要说维纳斯是个明星，是一个飞翔的陷阱万能的上帝。我从中什么也明白
Reading Biographies by Gary Soto
Perhaps Frost was poking his secretary,The apple core of his good-living chewedTo the bitter seed. Perhaps he buttoned up,Disgusted with the dead lizard cupped in his palm.And his woman? She was as large as Gilbraltar,A chunk of cheese in each armpit.She took a deep breathAnd wiggled the goose of her tasty fannyInto the kitchen. There, she poured pancakesOnto a skillet as old as this country,And Frost, a pioneer for all writers,Picked up his beaver-thrashed pencil and proclaimed,O Sweet Youth, etc.
&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&& I don't know how to readBiographies, the dead words of dead writersEtched on my eyes, then gone. I read them,And drive my car recklessly through leaves,The cushion for my own eventual death.Sure, I reflect, like a chip of mirror,And then I forget them, these subjects,These writers with lungs and straight-A penmanship.They're of no use. I'm not savedBy the repetitions of jealousy and all-day drinking.Wind frisked the trees, hair fell like wheat,And the liver, saddlebag of disease,Bulged with inoperable knots.
I touch my own hip, then hobble homeWhere a pumpkin glows in a window.Birds shrug into their coats of dirt.Crickets stop the violin action of their thighs.A fire is built, and I'm lit in the living room..I'm a democrat, I slur to the couch,And add, Venus is a star and fly trapThank God, I've learned nothing.
顾盼，确信
多么奇怪，任何时候我们都可以这样开始以一双腿，荡过街上以一只手，采折玫瑰以一只眼，仰视桃树让它胜放于风中——白色的樱花洒落于脚下。像今天，我开始在院子里头。和我女儿，妻子一块修剪着盆栽的天竺葵此刻，我在街上游荡。诧异太阳只有这么高只微高于房顶。一个小孩圆裹着报纸，当着喇叭唱歌一只绠犬如同跳蚤。跳来跃去我路经一家面包店，一只手掌如同一颗充满向心力的海星。被挤压——到窗口。我们一直很忙这样的，那样的制造着阴影比如：阳光里构造语言树丛里编撰歌曲
Looking Around, Believingby Gary Soto
How strange that we can begin at any time.With two feet we get down the street.With a hand we undo the rose.With an eye we lift up the peach treeAnd hold it up to the wind —& white blossomsAt our feet. Like today. I startedIn the yard with my daughter,With my wife poking at a potted geranium,And now I am walking down the street,Amazed that the sun is only so high,Just over the roof, and a childIs singing through a rolled newspaperAnd a terrier is leaping like a fleaAnd at the bakery I pass, a palm,Like a suctioning starfish, is pressedTo the window. We're keeping busyThis way, that way, we're making shadowsWhere sunlight was, making wordsWhere there was only noise in the trees.
一只红手掌
你在这棉花植物的梦里举起锄头，挥舞。第一次杂草伴着叹息落下。接着挖下一锄再挖，叹息再次传来直到每移动一步，就一次呼吸叹息直随你走入城镇
若干时辰过去，太阳变为一个红色气泡它从你的掌心升起。你的脊背是多么的强壮你年轻，一点也不显佝偻那布满了干燥的蜘蛛网的废弃学堂里灰尘沾满你的前额。脏泥在你的每个指甲里发笑你有步骤的接着挖。等待第一畦结束后你可以给妻子，和三个儿子买一条肥美的鱼再一行，再加一条鱼。直到做了足够多，你才去买牛奶面包和肉。十个钟头后，厨房咯吱发响你可以在自家后院的一棵树下歇息手环着膝。如同鱼儿，在码头，在船底。你喝杯冷茶刹那一颤，如是飞翔
&&&&&&& 天暗了，此刻夜了你的屋子灯亮着。厨房里黄色灯是发了钱的那是三十步。你对你的手说你看现在都成了茧子了你可以把它们放到眼帘：读书时，你向来很差。看看现在的你成了个棉花丛里的巨人现在你看着自己的大儿子。他正跑着爸爸，他喊。是时候进来了
你把他放在膝盖上问他的四十九次到底是多少他像你一样知道答案。你笑了柔和的风吹过树叶，潇潇的在暗幕中，星星闪烁着自己你从床上下来，带着棉花作物的叹息，向风声中走去去与你掌中的红色太阳一起入眠在第一次翻身时，你看到了疼痛的光亮
A Red Palmby Gary Soto
You're in this dream of cotton plants.You raise a hoe, swing, and the first weedsFall with a sigh. You take another step,Chop, and the sigh comes again,Until you yourself are breathing that wayWith each step, a sigh that will follow you into town.
That's hours later. The sun is a red blisterComing up in your palm. Your back is strong,Young, not yet the broken chairIn an abandoned school of dry spiders.Dust settles on your forehead, dirtSmiles under each fingernail.You chop, step, and by the end of the first row,You can buy one splendid fish for wifeAnd three sons. Another row, another fish,Until you have enough and move on to milk,Bread, meat. Ten hours and the cupboards creak.You can rest in the back yard under a tree.Your hands twitch on your lap,Not unlike the fish on a pier or the bottomOf a boat. You drink iced tea. The minutes jerkLike flies.
&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&& It's dusk, now night,And the lights in your home are on.That costs money, yellow lightIn the kitchen. That's thirty steps,You say to your hands,Now shaped into binoculars.You could raise them to your eyes:You were a fool in school, now look at you.You're a giant among cotton plants.Now you see your oldest boy, also running.Papa, he says, it's time to come in.
You pull him into your lapAnd ask, What's forty times nine?He knows as well as you, and you smileThe wind makes peace with the trees,The stars strike themselves in the dark.You get up and walk with the sigh of cotton plants.You go to sleep with a red sun on your palm,The sore light you see when you first stir in bed.
谁会明白我们？　　——致雅罗斯拉夫·塞弗特
天气冷寒，冷瑟得像一个便士我在一列火车上，摇摆着前往公墓去拜访亡者。此刻他通过草，和我，呼吸通过亲人的祭奠，来问你在哪里？ 真冷！火车上冷冰冰的煤货。卖票人松散的纽扣，彷仿佛钉在十字架的圣人的头颅他疯狂的穿孔器穿国票面，露出零孔
透过窗璃，看着石板上点映的残雪牛群。铁网深嵌于白色民房笼罩于黑暗。一匹发抖的马后拖一个无盖的货车这是我的国度。白得无一丝言语万籁寂寥的屋子，马不前行马儿，不投一丝新的阴影。栅栏柱是人民，杂斑的牛是机器喂养那些当官的。我没啥更准确的可言。我喜欢巴黎喜欢写作。“巴黎永远存在”我喜欢雅典和笔的耕耘“最伟大的先知之书仍在她的手上”蝙蝠诱惑着我
粉红的丁香叶茎我期望在英国的的一场雨里撑开一把伞。点着烟不让自己逃离。喝酒并穿过房间呼朋叫友在最渺小的玩笑中踩踏自我的脚然而这是我的国度多数时候，我行走，或者睡觉我在我的屋里吃饭、读书在脑海构建女人对往昔充满了回首：战前的打火机、香烟，美丽的人儿，眼泪流进滋养它的根
火车。邪恶的红色的煤我们都是乘客。老的小的一样谁会明白我们?当我们通过草残存
Who Will Know Us?by Gary Soto
for Jaroslav Seifert
It is cold, bitter as a penny.I'm on a train, rocking toward the cemeteryTo visit the dead who nowBreathe through the grass, through me,Through relatives who will comeAnd ask, Where are you?Cold. The train with its cargoOf icy coal, the conductorWith his loose buttons like heads of crucified saints,His mad puncher biting zeros through tickets.
The window that looks onto its slate of old snow.Cows. The barbed fences throat-deep in white.Farm houses dark, one wagonWith a shivering horse.This is my country, white with no words,House of silence, horse that won't budgeTo cast a new shadow. Fence postsThat are the people, spotted cows the machineryThat feed Officials. I have nothingGood to say. I love ParisAnd write, "Long Live Paris!" I love Athens and write,"The great book is still in her lap."Bats have intrigued me,
The pink vein in a lilac.I've longed to open an umbrellaIn an English rain, smokeAnd not give myself away,Drink and call a friend across the room,Stomp my feet at the smallest joke.But this is my country.I walk a lot, sleep.I eat in my room, read in my room, And make up women in my head —Nostalgia, the cigarette lighter from before the war,Beauty, tears that flow inward to feed its roots.
The train. Red coal of evil.We are its passengers, the old and young alike.Who will know us when we breathe through the grass?
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下午记忆&&& 偶尔，我会打开冰箱看看感觉芥菜，隐约的熟悉而西班牙的橄榄罐头。于我，却是第一次看见这儿，都放有些什么？奶油沙拉，两种玉米煎饼以及背后，腰身肥硕的布特沃斯夫人我会好好研究，这菜盘里放满了鸡腿
关掉冰箱，倚着厨房的柜台莫非是旧了？水龙头滴水当你走过时，油布开满了水泡冰箱的磁体揉捏着沉重的过期优惠券和医疗费单。有时我会从嘴里伸出舌头是这种可盼和切望？是这种疼痛或者我的脚即将睡觉？我知道我胃里的工厂，已经平静我站立时，头发落垂我的肺是风中消散的豆苗，我的身体发出信号。如同此刻一个健康的斑点漂浮于我的眼帘我看着她飞过我的眼帘它将攻击我身体右侧的一个病毒然后，沿着我的喉咙光顾膝盖疼痛的小门闩，我吞咽了三次我必须帮助我的部分器官。如酸酐，以及可靠的肾。我充满希望打开冰箱',
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