一层油漆

【美】约翰·阿什贝利　   陈子弘 译

看来我们都得再坚持坚持，
现在似乎就那样。或许意味着“提前退休”
对某些人而言，哪怕只是一下午瞎逛逛
买点鞋带之类。这或者可能指在某
魔法师的洞穴里待一须臾，醒来时已过几个世纪
你顿觉奇妙神清气爽，急于要返回到
填字游戏，只是没人知道你的名字
或究竟你是谁，或真在意这个。去诱使
事实变成物体，一个讨喜的，带有点
美学品质，还能给知识储备添砖
加瓦甚至延伸到历史的几个
层面，如一根针穿过断裂的腕骨，
以如此动态的方式连接这些，迫使人
承认一种新的优越感，没有它世界的
业务就无法运作，就算简单从井里
取水回家，铲煤碳到炉边，当然会是
其最优形式，但无论如何事情必须
成形，要产生点什么，否则我们
剩下的只有分歧、相嫌，诸如此类。
哦，你没看到亲历有多么必要吗，
被渡船从这里运到咫尺处微笑的岸边
再返回那些爱我们的人的怀抱，
虽不多，却有无限、脱俗的甜蜜
他们的谎言为我们吐露，变得蓬首垢面，
最终以一种恼人的镀金方式，变成
真理加点余料，如星星般精致而黯淡，
如一滴牛奶般瞻前顾后，以至于让我们
逃脱这些，有些人确实做到了？

诗人简介：约翰·阿什贝利（John Ashbery，1927年7月28日–2017年9月3日）是美国当代最杰出的诗人之一，被誉为20世纪后半叶英语诗歌的代表人物。他出生于纽约州罗切斯特，在哈佛大学和哥伦比亚大学接受教育，后成为“纽约派”诗歌运动的核心人物之一。阿什贝利的作品以其复杂的语言、创新的形式和对日常经验的深刻反思而著称，影响了无数后辈诗人。晚年的阿什贝利依然保持旺盛的创作力，出版了《Where Shall I Wander》（2005）等诗集。他以对语言的革新和对现代生活的敏锐观察，赢得“美国桂冠诗人”（2011-2012）的殊荣。阿什贝利不仅是诗歌巨匠，也是文化与艺术交汇处的重要声音。

JOHN ASHBERY

One Coat of Paint

We will all have to just hang on for awhile,
It seems, now. This could mean “early retirement”
For some, if only for an afternoon of pottering around
Buying shoelaces and the like. Or it could mean a spell
In some enchanter’s cave, after several centuries of which
You wake up curiously refreshed, eager to get back
To the crossword puzzle, only no one knows your name
Or who you are, really, or cares much either. To seduce
A fact into becoming an object, a pleasing one, with some
Kind of esthetic quality, which would also add to the store
Of knowledge and even extend through several strata
Of history, like a pin through a cracked wrist-bone,
Connecting these in such a dynamic way that one would be forced
To acknowledge a new kind of superiority without which the world
Could no longer conduct its business, even simple stuff like bringing
Water home from wells, coals to hearths, would of course be
An optimal form of it but in any case the thing’s got to
Come into being, something has to happen, or all
We'll have left is disagreements, désagréments, to name a few.
Oh don’t you see how necessary it is to be around,
To be ferried from here to that near, smiling shore
And back again into the arms of those that love us,
Not many, but of such infinite, superior sweetness
That their lie is for us and it becomes stained, encrusted,
Finally gilded in some exasperating way that turns it
To a truth plus something, delicate and dismal as a star,
Cautious as a drop of milk, so that they let us
Get away with it, some do at any rate?

                                                        from Shenandoah