安妮·塞克斯顿与马可欣·库敏（右）
《应邀写一首诗纪念安妮·塞克斯顿》
麋鹿每年春天都会丢弃鹿角。
它们重新萌发，生长，每天长出
一寸，在我们说着话的时候，
长成一个五英尺宽的洛可可式鹿角架：
起初是软骨，覆盖着茸毛；
可弯曲，柔嫩的筋膜，然而
注定要骨化变硬，嫩皮脱落，
破烂似的挂在赤杨和灌木丛中。
现在看起来再坚硬，都曾很痛。
雪地上的血迹，来自摩擦、摩擦、摩擦。
多么重的枝型烛台啊，每年都要
抬出来，每一年都变得更精致：
专刊专号，以她命名的奖项。
壁炉上方，已故麋鹿的角闪闪发光。
On Being Asked to Write a Poem in Memory of Anne Sexton
The elk discards his antlers every spring.
They rebud, they grow, they are growing
an inch a day to form a rococo rack
with a five-foot spread even as we speak:
cartilage at first, covered with velvet;
bendable, tender gristle, yet
destined to ossify, the velvet sloughed off,
hanging in tatters from alders and scrub growth.
No matter how hardened it seems there was pain.
Blood on the snow from rubbing, rubbing, rubbing.
What a heavy candelabrum to be borne
forth, each year more elaborately turned:
the special issues, the prizes in her name.
Above the mantle the late elk’s antlers gleam.
《欢爱之后》
事后，妥协。
身体再续它们的疆界。
譬如，这腿，我的。
你的手臂将你牵回。
我们手指的调羹，嘴唇
承认它们的所有权。
床单打哈欠，一扇门
无目的地吹开一半
而头上，一架飞机
哼唱着下降。
一切没变，除了
有一刻，有只狼，
那逡巡的狼
站在自我之外
轻轻躺下，睡了。
After Love
Afterward, the compromise.
Bodies resume their boundaries.
These legs, for instance, mine.
Your arms take you back in.
Spoons of our fingers, lips
admit their ownership.
The bedding yawns, a door
blows aimlessly ajar
and overhead, a plane
singsongs coming down.
Nothing is changed, except
there was a moment when
the wolf, the mongering wolf
who stands outside the self
lay lightly down, and slept.
《炼狱》
假设，那一对宝贝到了曼陀阿，
假设他们逃出了墓穴，以后会怎样？他，
开始不刮胡须。我敢保证，虽说不是
令人讨厌的好斗的公鸡，但下巴沾着蛋黄。
脏兮兮的袍子敞着，喉咙鼻子黏嗒嗒的。
那可怜人儿，炒菜的油烟熏她的眼。
另一个小蒙塔古又已经在肚里动弹，
尽管第一个宝贝的屁股还整天湿哒哒。
她每星期草草写一封信给她的奶娘，
而她私下通过鲍尔萨泽寄来一件罩衫，
每个月，他的父亲转送一袋钱给他。
维罗纳有什么消息？总是战争的新闻。
为报一时冤仇得要糟蹋掉多少年！
这第五幕冗长得简直没有良心。
【译按】曼陀阿，《罗密欧与朱丽叶》中神父安排这对恋人最终的藏身地。
鲍尔萨泽是罗密欧的仆从。第五幕是《罗密欧与朱丽叶》的最后一幕。
Purgatory
And suppose the darlings get to Mantua,
suppose they cheat the crypt, what next? Begin
with him, unshaven. Though not, I grant you, a
displeasing cockerel, there's egg yolk on his chin.
His seedy robe's aflap, he's got the rheum.
Poor dear, the cooking lard has smoked her eye.
Another Montague is in the womb
although the first babe's bottom's not yet dry.
She scrolls a weekly letter to her Nurse
who dares to send a smock through Balthasar,
and once a month, his father posts a purse.
News from Verona? Always news of war.
Such sour years it takes to right this wrong!
The fifth act runs unconscionably long.
《晨泳》
我空荡荡的脑海里浮现
一片棉质的海滩，一个码头，
我从那里出发，油滑而赤裸，
在寒冷的孤独中，穿过薄雾。
没有一条线，没有屋顶或地板，
