狄兰·托马斯诗11首
I see the boys of summer in their ruin
Setting no store by harvest, freeze the soils;
There in their heat the winter floods
Of frozen loves they fetch their girls,
And drown the cargoed apples in their tides.
These boys of light are curdlers in their folly,
Sour the boiling honey;
The jacks of frost they finger in the hives;
There in the sun the frigid threads
Of doubt and dark they feed their nerves;
The signal moon is zero in their voids.
I see the summer children in their mothers
Split up the brawned womb's weathers,
Divide the night and day with fairy thumbs;
There in the deep with quartered shades
Of sun and moon they paint their dams
As sunlight paints the shelling of their heads.
I see that from these boys shall men of nothing
Stature by seedy shifting,
Or lame the air with leaping from its heats;
There from their hearts the dogdayed pulse
Of love and light bursts in their throats.
O see the pulse of summer in the ice.
II
But seasons must be challenged or they totter
Into a chiming quarter
Where, punctual as death, we ring the stars;
There, in his night, the black-tongued bells
The sleepy man of winter pulls,
Nor blows back moon-and-midnight as she blows.
We are the dark deniers, let us summon
Death from a summer woman,
A muscling life from lovers in their cramp,
From the fair dead who flush the sea
The bright-eyed worm on Davy's lamp,
And from the planted womb the man of straw.
We summer boys in this four-winded spinning,
Green of the seaweeds' iron,
Hold up the noisy sea and drop her birds,
Pick the world's ball of wave and froth
To choke the deserts with her tides,
And comb the county gardens for a wreath.
In spring we cross our foreheads with the holly,
Heigh ho the blood and berry,
And nail the merry squires to the trees;
Here love's damp muscle dries and dies,
Here break a kiss in no love's quarry.
O see the poles of promise in the boys.
III
I see you boys of summer in your ruin.
Man in his maggot's barren.
And boys are full and foreign in the pouch.
I am the man your father was.
We are the sons of flint and pitch.
O see the poles are kissing as they cross.
这些光的男孩，累积几多的荒唐，
搅酸沸滚的蜂蜜；
他们在蜂巢里拨弄严寒的霜凌；
阳光下几丝寒冷的疑虑和幽暗
养育他们的神经；
一轮信号月消失在虚幻里。
我看见夏日的孩子在母胎中
撕裂强壮子宫的风风雨雨，
神奇的拇指划分出白昼和黑夜；
在日月分割的浓荫深处，
他们涂抹自己的堤坝，
仿佛日光涂抹他们脱落的颅壳。
我看见男孩一个个成了无名之辈，
随种子的变换渐渐成熟，
热情的跳跃或许让空气残缺；
三伏天涌动的阳光和爱情
从心里向喉口骤然迸发。
哦，看那冰雪中夏日的脉动。
2
但是，季节必须接受挑战或坠入
一处钟声齐鸣的地方；
在那儿，我们摇响星星，死亡般准时；
冬日里的男人，昏昏欲睡，
在夜晚，扯动黑舌的丧钟，
女人吹动风，却吹不回午夜的月光。
我们是黑色的反叛者，让我们
从夏日的女人召唤死亡，
从痉挛的情人处，召唤强悍的生命，
从漂浮大海的白净尸体上
召唤戴维神灯 上眼睛明亮的蠕虫，
从种植的子宫里召唤稻草人。
我们这群夏日男孩，在呼呼生风的旋转中，
海藻般的铁绿植物，
举起喧嚣的大海，放飞一群群海鸟，
捡拾世上球状的波浪和泡沫，
让潮汐窒息沙漠，
为扎一只花环，梳理乡间的花园。
在春天，我们用冬青枝缠绕前额，
嘿，还有鲜血和浆果，
快乐的乡绅被钉上树干；
湿漉漉的肉肌在此枯干而亡，
热吻在无情的采石场裂成碎片。
哦，看孩子们信誓旦旦的爱情柱。
3
夏日的男孩，我看见你们在毁灭。
男人在蛆虫遍布的荒野。
而男孩的袋囊鼓鼓，非同凡响。
我是男人，你的父亲也是。
我们是燧石和沥青的子孙。
哦，当他们穿过，看爱情柱在亲吻。
When once the twilight locks no longer
When once the twilight locks no longer
Locked in the long worm of my finger
Nor dammed the sea that sped about my fist,
The mouth of time sucked, like a sponge,
The milky acid on each hinge,
And swallowed dry the waters of the breast.
When the galactic sea was sucked
And all the dry seabed unlocked,
I sent my creature scouting on the globe,
That globe itself of hair and bone
That, sewn to me by nerve and brain,
Had stringed my flask of matter to his rib.
My fuses timed to charge his heart,
He blew like powder to the light
And held a little sabbath with the sun,
But when the stars, assuming shape,
Drew in his eyes the straws of sleep,
He drowned his father's magics in a dream.
All issue armoured, of the grave,
The redhaired cancer still alive,
The cataracted eyes that filmed their cloth;
Some dead undid their bushy jaws,
And bags of blood let out their flies;
He had by heart the Christ-cross-row of death.
Sleep navigates the tides of time;
The dry Sargasso of the tomb
Gives up its dead to such a working sea;
And sleep rolls mute above the beds
Where fishes' food is fed the shades
Who periscope through flowers to the sky.
The hanged who lever from the limes
Ghostly propellers for their limbs,
The cypress lads who wither with the cock,
These, and the others in sleep's acres,
Of dreaming men make moony suckers,
And snipe the fools of vision in the back.
When once the twilight screws were turned,
And mother milk was stiff as sand,
I sent my own ambassador to light;
By trick or chance he fell asleep
And conjured up a carcass shape
To rob me of my fluids in his heart.
Awake, my sleeper, to the sun,
A worker in the morning town,
And leave the poppied pickthank where he lies;
The fences of the light are down,
All but the briskest riders thrown
And worlds hang on the trees.
当大海的乳汁被吸尽，
干涸的海底一览无余，
我派遣我的生灵巡视整个世界，
大地自身长满毛发和骨骼，
靠神经和大脑缝补我的肉身，
将我满瓶的物质系上他的肋骨。
我的引信定时引爆他的心，
他像点燃的火药爆裂，
随太阳度过一段短暂的安息，
但是当星星竞相现形，
在他的眼里拉动睡眠的麦秆，
他就会随父亲的魔法沉溺在梦里。
所有的问题披上盔甲，坟墓里
红发的癌肿依然存活人世，
患上白内障的眼睛被蒙上纱布；
死者松开灌木丛生的下颌，
成袋的血液放飞一群群苍蝇；
他的内心竖起耶稣受难的十字架。
睡眠航行在时间的浪潮；
坟地上干枯的马尾藻
将死者抛给咆哮无比的大海；
而睡眠无声地滑过海床，
鱼饵在此喂养片片阴影，
它们透过花丛的潜望镜眺望天空。
被绞杀的人撬离了界限，
幽灵般转动起四肢，
柏树少年随公鸡而枯萎，
这些那些入眠中的
追梦人成了月光的吮吸者，
在背后狙击想象的蠢材。
一旦晨曦的螺杆被转动，
母乳沙砾般僵硬，
我就派遣使节走访光明；
他却有意无意地坠落梦境，
念动咒语召唤尸体的身影，
从他的心中洗劫我的体液。
醒来吧，沉睡者，迎着阳光，
小镇早起忙碌的劳动者，
离别在此醉生梦死的马屁精；
光的栅栏大片坍塌，
除了敏捷的骑手，人人都被摔下，
而世界悬挂在树梢。
A process in the weather of the heart
A process in the weather of the heart
Turns damp to dry; the golden shot
Storms in the freezing tomb.
A weather in the quarter of the veins
Turns night to day; blood in their suns
Lights up the living worm.
A process in the eye forwarns
The bones of blindness; and the womb
Drives in a death as life leaks out.
A darkness in the weather of the eye
Is half its light; the fathomed sea
Breaks on unangled land.
The seed that makes a forest of the loin
Forks half its fruit; and half drops down,
Slow in a sleeping wind.
A weather in the flesh and bone
Is damp and dry; the quick and dead
Move like two ghosts before the eye.
A process in the weather of the world
Turns ghost to ghost; each mothered child
Sits in their double shade.
A process blows the moon into the sun,
Pulls down the shabby curtains of the skin;
And the heart gives up its dead.
心的气候进程
心的气候进程
由潮变干；金色的炮弹
在冰封的墓穴里怒吼。
四分之一血脉里的气候
变黑夜为白昼；太阳下的血
点燃活生生的蠕虫。
眼中的进程
预警盲目的骨头；而子宫
随生命脱泄而驶入死亡。
眼中气候里的黑暗
一半是光；深深的海洋
拍打棱角光滑的堤岸。
种子在耻骨区，打造一片森林
叉开一半的果实；另一半坠落，
顺沉睡的风缓缓而落。
肉体和骨骼里的气候
又潮又干；生者和死者
像两个幽灵在眼前游荡。
世界的气候进程
变幽灵为幽灵；每位受宠的孩子
坐在双重的阴影里。
月光吹入阳光的进程，
扯下了皮肤那褴褛的帘幕；
而心放弃死亡。
Before I knocked
Before I knocked and flesh let enter,
With liquid hands tapped on the womb,
I who was shapeless as the water
That shaped the Jordan near my home
Was brother to Mnetha's daughter
And sister to the fathering worm.
I who was deaf to spring and summer,
Who knew not sun nor moon by name,
Felt thud beneath my flesh's armour,
As yet was in a molten form,
The leaden stars, the rainy hammer
Swung by my father from his dome.
I knew the message of the winter,
The darted hail, the childish snow,
And the wind was my sister suitor;
Wind in me leaped, the hellborn dew;
My veins flowed with the Eastern weather;
Ungotten I knew night and day.
As yet ungotten, I did suffer;
The rack of dreams my lily bones
Did twist into a living cipher,
And flesh was snipped to cross the lines
Of gallow crosses on the liver
And brambles in the wringing brains.
My throat knew thirst before the structure
Of skin and vein around the well
Where words and water make a mixture
Unfailing till the blood runs foul;
My heart knew love, my belly hunger;
I smelt the maggot in my stool.
And time cast forth my mortal creature
To drift or drown upon the seas
Acquainted with the salt adventure
Of tides that never touch the shores.
I who was rich was made the richer
By sipping at the vine of days.
I, born of flesh and ghost, was neither
A ghost nor man, but mortal ghost.
And I was struck down by death's feather.
I was a mortal to the last
Long breath that carried to my father
The message of his dying christ.
You who bow down at cross and altar,
Remember me and pity Him
Who took my flesh and bone for armour
And doublecrossed my mother's womb.
在我敲开之前
在我伸出流动的手指，
轻叩子宫，敲开肉体大门之前，
我像水一样飘忽无形，
那水汇成了家乡附近的约旦河 ，
我是摩尼莎 女儿的兄弟，
我也是繁衍蠕虫的姐妹。
我充耳不闻春天和夏天，
叫不出太阳和月亮的名字，
我感到血肉盔甲之下，
砰然作响，迄今还在熔合，
父亲在穹顶下挥舞
雨点般的铁锤，铅星飞溅。
我知晓冬天的讯息，
冰雹纷飞，雪花如嬉，
而寒风追逐我的姐妹；
风在我体内跳动，恶露降临；
我的血管随东方的天气流动；
未出生我就知晓黑夜与白昼。
还未出生，我就饱经风霜；
噩梦折磨着我，百合般的骨头
绞成一组活生生的密码。
而被肢解的血肉穿越一排排
耸立在肝区的十字架，
穿越脑海里缠结的荆棘丛。
在肌肤和血管围拢井口之前，
我的喉咙早已知道干渴，
言词和水在那儿融为一体，
无穷无尽，直到血发臭；
我的心感受到爱，胃饱尝饥饿；
我在自己的粪便嗅到蛆虫。
时光抛出我凡夫俗子的躯体
追随咸潮奔涌的冒险
在海上漂泊沉浮
却未曾触及到岸。
我啜饮时光的葡萄汁
愈加变得奢华富有。
我的灵与肉天生一体，非人
亦非魔，却是凡间的幽灵。
我被死亡的羽毛击倒在地。
终有一死，我最后
一口长长的呼吸捎给父亲
那基督临终的口信。
你俯首眼前的十字架和祭坛，
记着我，并怜悯基督，
是他误将我的骨肉当成盔甲，
欺骗了我母亲的子宫。
The force that through the green fuse drives the flower
The force that through the green fuse drives the flower
Drives my green age; that blasts the roots of trees
Is my destroyer.
And I am dumb to tell the crooked rose
My youth is bent by the same wintry fever.
The force that drives the water through the rocks
Drives my red blood; that dries the mouthing streams
Turns mine to wax.
And I am dumb to mouth unto my veins
How at the mountain spring the same mouth sucks.
The hand that whirls the water in the pool
Stirs the quicksand; that ropes the blowing wind
Hauls my shroud sail.
And I am dumb to tell the hanging man
How of my clay is made the hangman's lime.
The lips of time leech to the fountain head;
Love drips and gathers, but the fallen blood
Shall calm her sores.
And I am dumb to tell a weather's wind
How time has ticked a heaven round the stars.
And I am dumb to tell the lover's tomb
How at my sheet goes the same crooked worm.
穿过绿色茎管催动花朵的力
穿过绿色茎管催动花朵的力
催动我绿色的年华；摧毁树根的力
摧毁我的一切。
我无言相告佝偻的玫瑰
一样的寒冬热病压弯了我的青春。
催动流水穿透岩石的力
催动我鲜红的血液；驱使溪流干涸的力
驱使我的血流衰微。
我无言相告我的血管
同是这张嘴怎样吸干山涧的清泉。
搅动一泓池水旋转的手
搅动沙的流动；牵动风前行的手
扯动我尸布般的风帆。
我无言相告那绞死的人
我的泥土怎样制成刽子手的石灰。
时间的嘴唇水蛭般贴紧泉眼；
爱滴落又聚集，但是流淌的血
一定会抚慰她的伤痛。
我无言相告一个季候的风
时光怎样围绕星星滴答出一个天堂。
我无言相告恋人的坟墓
我的被褥上蠕动着一样扭曲的蛆虫。
My hero bares his nerves
My hero bares his nerves along my wrist
That rules from wrist to shoulder,
Unpacks the head that, like a sleepy ghost,
Leans on my mortal ruler,
The proud spine spurning turn and twist.
And these poor nerves so wired to the skull
Ache on the lovelorn paper
I hug to love with my unruly scrawl
That utters all love hunger
And tells the page the empty ill.
My hero bares my side and sees his heart
Tread, like a naked Venus,
The beach of flesh, and wind her bloodred plait;
Stripping my loin of promise,
He promises a secret heat.
He holds the wire from this box of nerves
Praising the mortal error
Of birth and death, the two sad knaves of thieves,
And the hunger's emperor;
He pulls that chain, the cistern moves.
我的英雄裸露他的神经
我的英雄裸露他的神经
沿着手腕到臂膀，
掀开斜靠我肉身之上的头颅，
像个昏昏欲睡的幽灵，
那高傲的脊梁巍然挺立。
而可怜的神经线圈般连接头颅
在失恋的纸笺上疼痛不已
我以狂放的草书拥抱爱情
倾诉所有爱的饥渴
在纸页书写空虚的病痛。
我的英雄剥开我的一侧，看见
他的心，像赤裸的维纳斯，
踏着血肉之滨，舞动血染的辫子；
他剥开我耻骨区的诺言，
允诺一次秘密的欢情。
他握住这盒神经的线圈，
颂扬凡间的生死错误，
这一对悲痛欲绝的无赖贼子，
以及饥渴的帝王；
他拉动链子，水随之流动。
Where once the waters of your face
Where once the waters of your face
Spun to my screws, your dry ghost blows,
The dead turns up its eye;
Where once the mermen through your ice
Pushed up their hair, the dry wind steers
Through salt and root and roe.
Where once your green knots sank their splice
Into the tided cord, there goes
The green unraveller,
His scissors oiled, his knife hung loose
To cut the channels at their source
And lay the wet fruits low.
Invisible, your clocking tides
Break on the lovebeds of the weeds;
The weed of love's left dry;
There round about your stones the shades
Of children go who, from their voids,
Cry to the dolphined sea.
Dry as a tomb, your coloured lids
Shall not be latched while magic glides
Sage on the earth and sky;
There shall be corals in your beds,
There shall be serpents in your tides,
Till all our sea-faiths die.
在你脸上的水
在你脸上的水曾经被我螺杆
搅动的地方，掠过你枯干的灵魂，
死者的眼睛上翻着；
在美人鱼撩起头发曾经穿越
你冰层的地方，刮过干枯的风
穿越盐粒、草根和鱼卵。
在你下沉的绿色绳结曾经紧缚
潮汐下的船索，走来
那绿色的解缚人，
剪刀抹上油，刀片松弛地悬着，
从源头切断他们的通道，
摘下湿漉漉的果实。
来去无踪，潮升汐落
拍打水草丛生的爱情之床；
爱的水草枯萎而亡；
孩子们的身影晃动在岩石的四周，
他们各自从空旷中，向着
海豚游戈的大海呼喊。
虽然坟墓般干枯，你斑斓的眼睑
绝不会锁闭，圣贤施展魔力
滑过大地和天空；
你的床笫将铺满珊瑚，
你的潮汐将游动起蛇群，
直到大海所有的信念消逝。
If I were tickled by the rub of love
If I were tickled by the rub of love,
A rooking girl who stole me for her side,
Broke through her straws, breaking my bandaged string,
If the red tickle as the cattle calve
Still set to scratch a laughter from my lung,
I would not fear the apple nor the flood
Nor the bad blood of spring.
Shall it be male or female? say the cells,
And drop the plum like fire from the flesh.
If I were tickled by the hatching hair,
The winging bone that sprouted in the heels,
The itch of man upon the baby's thigh,
I would not fear the gallows nor the axe
Nor the crossed sticks of war.
Shall it be male or female? say the fingers
That chalk the walls with green girls and their men.
I would not fear the muscling-in of love
If I were tickled by the urchin hungers
Rehearsing heat upon a raw-edged nerve.
I would not fear the devil in the loin
Nor the outspoken grave.
If I were tickled by the lovers' rub
That wipes away not crow's-foot nor the lock
Of sick old manhood on the fallen jaws,
Time and the crabs and the sweethearting crib
Would leave me cold as butter for the flies,
The sea of scums could drown me as it broke
Dead on the sweethearts' toes.
This world is half the devil's and my own,
Daft with the drug that's smoking in a girl
And curling round the bud that forks her eye.
An old man's shank one-marrowed with my bone,
And all the herrings smelling in the sea,
I sit and watch the worm beneath my nail
Wearing the quick away.
And that's the rub, the only rub that tickles.
The knobbly ape that swings along his sex
From damp love-darkness and the nurse's twist
Can never raise the midnight of a chuckle,
Nor when he finds a beauty in the breast
Of lover, mother, lovers, or his six
Feet in the rubbing dust.
And what's the rub? Death's feather on the nerve?
Your mouth, my love, the thistle in the kiss?
My Jack of Christ born thorny on the tree?
The words of death are dryer than his stiff,
My wordy wounds are printed with your hair.
I would be tickled by the rub that is:
Man be my metaphor.
假如我被爱的抚摸撩得心醉
假如我被爱的抚摸撩得心醉，
偷我到她身旁的骗子女郎，
就会穿过她的草窟，扯掉我绷带的约束，
假如红色的撩拨，像母牛产仔般
依然从我的肺中挠出一串欢笑，
我就不畏苹果，不惧洪流，
更不怕败血的春天。
男孩还是女孩？细胞问，
从肉身扔下一团梅子样的火。
假如我被孵化的毛发撩得心醉，
翼骨在脚后跟一阵阵发芽，
婴儿的腿窝挠得人发痒，
我就不畏绞架，不惧刀斧，
更不怕战火下交错的刀剑。
男孩还是女孩？手指问，
在墙上涂画绿衣少女和她的男人。
假如我被顽皮的饥渴撩得心醉，
预演的热流窜过神经元的边沿，
我就不畏爱的侵入，
不惧耻骨区的魔头，
更不怕直言不讳的坟墓。
假如我被恋人的抚爱撩得心醉，
却又抹不平额上乌鸦的足迹，
抹不去患病老人颌下的垂锁，
时光、蟹肿和情人的温床就会
留给我寒冷，如同黄油留给飞蝇，
沉渣浮动的大海就会淹没我，
海浪拍打爱人沉尸的脚趾。
这个世界半属魔鬼，半属我身，
愚蠢的女孩疯狂地吸毒
烟雾缠绕她眼上交错的花蕾。
老人的胫骨流动着与我相同的骨髓，
鲱鱼的气息弥漫整个大海，
我坐看指甲下的蠕虫
迅即消逝无踪。
这就是抚爱，撩人心醉的抚爱。
从湿润的爱的私处到护士的扭动
一脸疙瘩的莽汉摇曳一身的情欲
却永远无法撩拨午夜吃吃的笑语，
即便他发现了美，从恋人、母亲
和众情人的胸乳上，或从他
风尘撩动的六尺身躯。
抚爱是什么？是死亡的羽叶撩动着神经？
是你的嘴、我的爱亲吻中开放的蓟花？
是我的基督杰克毛茸茸地诞生在枝头？
死亡的话语比他的僵尸更为干枯，
我喋喋不休的伤口印着你的毛发。
我愿被爱的抚摸撩得心醉，即
男人就是我的隐喻。
Our eunuch dreams
I
Our eunuch dreams, all seedless in the light,
Of light and love, the tempers of the heart,
Whack their boys' limbs,
And, winding-footed in their shawl and sheet,
Groom the dark brides, the widows of the night
Fold in their arms.
The shades of girls, all flavoured from their shrouds,
When sunlight goes are sundered from the worm,
The bones of men, the broken in their beds,
By midnight pulleys that unhouse the tomb.
II
In this our age the gunman and his moll,
Two one-dimensioned ghosts, love on a reel,
Strange to our solid eye,
And speak their midnight nothings as they swell;
When cameras shut they hurry to their hole
Down in the yard of day.
They dance between their arclamps and our skull,
Impose their shots, throwing the nights away;
We watch the show of shadows kiss or kill,
Flavoured of celluloid give love the lie.
III
Which is the world? Of our two sleepings, which
Shall fall awake when cures and their itch
Raise up this red-eyed earth?
Pack off the shapes of daylight and their starch,
The sunny gentlemen, the Welshing rich,
Or drive the night-geared forth.
The photograph is married to the eye,
Grafts on its bride one-sided skins of truth;
The dream has sucked the sleeper of his faith
That shrouded men might marrow as they fly.
IV
This is the world: the lying likeness of
Our strips of stuff that tatter as we move
Loving and being loth;
The dream that kicks the buried from their sack
And lets their trash be honoured as the quick.
This is the world. Have faith.
For we shall be a shouter like the cock,
Blowing the old dead back; our shots shall smack
The image from the plates;
And we shall be fit fellows for a life,
And who remain shall flower as they love,
Praise to our faring hearts.
我们的阉人梦见
1
我们的阉人梦见光与爱，
光影中未留下种子，烦躁的心情
猛捶男孩的肢体，
他们裹着披肩和床单蜿蜒而行，
装扮黑暗中的新娘，黑夜的寡妇
搂在他们的怀里。
尸布的气味弥漫一切，姑娘的影子随光线的西沉从蠕虫分离，
男人的身骨，在床笫衰败，
午夜的滑车掘开了坟墓。
2
在我们这个时代，杀手和他的情妇，
两个一丘之貉的鬼影，在胶片上做爱，
诉说子夜情欲高涨时的呓语，
在我们肉眼下尤为陌生；
当相机收起，他们就匆匆赶往
时光庭院里的窝穴。
他们手舞足蹈，在弧光灯和我们的颅骨间，
强行拍摄，消磨夜晚的时光；
我们亲眼目睹影子们的亲吻或杀戮，
爱充满谎言，散发着赛璐珞 的气味。
3
哪里是真实的世界？我们两人入睡，
谁会从梦中醒来，当药剂及痛痒
养育这红眼的世界？
快乐的绅士，威尔士的富人，
打发片片阳光和古板的风范，
或是挂上夜档前行。
相片嫁给了眼睛，
新娘植上真理的单面皮肤；
梦境吸走入眠人身上的信仰，
裹着尸布的男人或注入骨髓飞翔。
4
这就是世界：我们躺着
一样的衣衫褴褛，我们相爱
却又勉强如愿；
梦境将掩埋的尸体踢出眠床，
也让残骸像生者一样受人敬仰。
这就是世界。信心满满。
因为我们将像公鸡一样叫唤，
唤回昔日的死者；我们的拍摄将毁去
碟中的影像；
我们将是顺应生活的伙伴，
活着的人们将开出爱的花朵，
颂扬我们远去的心。
Especially when the October wind
Especially when the October wind
With frosty fingers punishes my hair,
Caught by the crabbing sun I walk on fire
And cast a shadow crab upon the land,
By the sea's side, hearing the noise of birds,
Hearing the raven cough in winter sticks,
My busy heart who shudders as she talks
Sheds the syllabic blood and drains her words.
Shut, too, in a tower of words, I mark
On the horizon walking like the trees
The wordy shapes of women, and the rows
Of the star-gestured children in the park.
Some let me make you of the vowelled beeches,
Some of the oaken voices, from the roots
Of many a thorny shire tell you notes,
Some let me make you of the water's speeches.
Behind a pot of ferns the wagging clock
Tells me the hour's word, the neural meaning
Flies on the shafted disc, declaims the morning
And tells the windy weather in the cock.
Some let me make you of the meadow's signs;
The signal grass that tells me all I know
Breaks with the wormy winter through the eye.
Some let me tell you of the raven's sins.
Especially when the October wind
(Some let me make you of autumnal spells,
The spider-tongued, and the loud hill of Wales)
With fist of turnips punishes the land,
Some let me make of you the heartless words.
The heart is drained that, spelling in the scurry
Of chemic blood, warned of the coming fury.
By the sea's side hear the dark-vowelled birds.
尤其当十月的风
尤其当十月的风
伸出寒冷的手指痛击我的发丝，
受制于蟹行的太阳，我踏着烈火而来，
在地面投下一片影子，蟹一样爬行，
我站在海边，倾听群鸟的喧鸣，
倾听渡鸦咳叫在冬日的枝头，
我忙碌的心一阵阵颤栗，当她
倾泻音节般的血液，倾吐她的话语。
也被关入言词之塔，我留意
地平线上树林般行走的
女人身姿喋喋不休，以及公园里
一排排孩子星星般显露。
有人让我制作你，用发元音的山毛榉，
有人让我用橡树的声音，从荆棘丛生的
州郡根须告知你音符，
有人让我塑造你，用水的言词。
在一盆羊齿草后面，摇摆的钟
告诉我时辰的讯息，神经的意图
盘旋于茎秆的花盘，在雄鸡啼晓时，
宣告早晨降临，并预报刮风的天气。
有人让我制作你，用草地的标志；
草符告诉我知晓的一切
透过目光挣脱蠕虫似的冬天。
有人让我告知你渡鸦的罪过。
尤其当十月的风
（有人让我塑造你，用秋天的字符，
蜘蛛的话语，以及威尔士喧闹的山岗）
握紧萝卜般的拳头惩处大地，
有人让我塑造你，用无情的词语。
When, like a running grave, time tracks you down,
Your calm and cuddled is a scythe of hairs,
Love in her gear is slowly through the house,
Up naked stairs, a turtle in a hearse,
Hauled to the dome,
Comes, like a scissors stalking, tailor age,
Deliver me who, timid in my tribe,
Of love am barer than Cadaver's trap
Robbed of the foxy tongue, his footed tape
Of the bone inch,
Deliver me, my masters, head and heart,
Heart of Cadaver's candle waxes thin,
When blood, spade-handed, and the logic time
Drive children up like bruises to the thumb,
From maid and head,
For, sunday faced, with dusters in my glove,
Chaste and the chaser, man with the cockshut eye,
I, that time's jacket or the coat of ice
May fail to fasten with a virgin o
In the straight grave,
Stride through Cadaver's country in my force,
My pickbrain masters morsing on the stone
Despair of blood, faith in the maiden's slime,
Halt among eunuchs, and the nitric stain
On fork and face.
Time is a foolish fancy, time and fool.
No, no, you lover skull, descending hammer
Descends, my masters, on the entered honour.
You hero skull, Cadaver in the hangar
Tells the stick, 'fail.'
Joy is no knocking nation, sir and madam,
The cancer's fashion, or the summer feather
Lit on the cuddled tree, the cross of fever,
Not city tar and subway bored to foster
Man through macadam.
I damp the waxlights in your tower dome.
Joy is the knock of dust, Cadaver's shoot
Of bud of Adam through his boxy shift,
Love's twilit nation and the skull of state,
Sir, is your doom.
Everything ends, the tower ending and,
(Have with the house of wind), the leaning scene,
Ball of the foot depending from the sun,
(Give, summer, over), the cemented skin,
The actions' end.
All, men my madmen, the unwholesome wind
With whistler's cough contages, time on track
Shapes in a cinder death; love for his trick,
Happy Cadaver's hunger as you take
像一把剪刀，昂首阔步来裁剪岁月，
向部落中胆怯的我
传递比死亡陷阱更为外露的爱，
剥夺狡诈的口舌，他的带尺
丈量寸寸肉骨，
我的主人，传给我大脑和内心，
一颗蜡烛般消瘦的死亡之心，
当手铲之下的血和严密的时间
驱动孩子们成长，像青肿袭上拇指，
从少女及大脑，
因面对周日，手套里塞着抹布，
贞洁和猎手，男子的目光昏暗，
我，一身时令夹克或冰冷的外套，
也许无法和一位零形处女相守
僵直的墓穴，
我大步跨过死亡的国度，
我讨教的主人在石头上敲动密码，
血液绝望，可信的处女黏液，
在阉人间停留，裤裆和脸上
留下硝石的污迹。
时光是一种愚蠢的幻觉，时光与傻瓜。
不！不！情人的脑瓜，垂落的锤子
落下，我的主人，敲打获取的荣誉。
英雄的颅骨，机棚里的死尸
向手杖诉说“失败”。
快乐不是叮当作响的国度，先生和女士，
癌肿的风尚，或夏日的羽叶
在相拥的绿树和狂热十字架上闪亮，
城市的沥青和地铁不倦于养育
人类穿过碎石的小道。
我浇湿你圆形塔顶里的烛光。
快乐是尘埃的敲击，死尸穿越
盒内的突变，抽发亚当的芽胚，
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