Letters from a Poet Who Sleeps in a Chair
睡在椅子上的诗人来信
I
I call a spade a spade
We either know everything from the start
Or we'll never ever know a thing.
The only choice given us
Is to learn to speak correctly.
我就称铲子为铲子
我们要么从一开始就一切了然
要么永远也不会懂任何事
给予我们的惟一选择是
学会正确说话
II
All night long I dream of women
Some make fun of me
Others give me rabbit punches.
They won't leave me alone.
They're always fighting with me.
I get up with a thunderstruck look on my face.
Which means I'm either crazy
Or just scared to death.
彻夜，我梦着女人
她们有人嘲笑我
有人兔子一样抓挠我
就是不让我一人呆着
她们总是和我斗
我起床时，脸色看起来像雷击一样
这就是说我要么痴狂了
要么就是吓得要死
III
It's some struggle to believe
In a god who leaves his children
All on their own
Vulnerable to the winds of old age
And illness
Not to mention death.
要经过一番斗争才能相信
有这样的上帝，他让他的子孙
自生自灭
遭受着衰老与疾病的
风吹雨打
更不要说还有死亡
IV
I'm one of those who greets hearses.
有些人向灵车致意，我是之一
V
Young poets
Say whatever you want
Pick your own style
Too much blood has gone under the bridge
To still believe -I believe-
That there's only one way to cross the road:
You can do anything in poetry.
年轻人
想写什么就写什么
什么风格都行，只要你喜欢
桥下已流淌着太多的血
我想，不要再相信
只有一个方法可以过去
诗中百无禁忌
VI
Sickness
Old Age
and Death
Dance like innocent girls
Around Swan Lake
Half-naked
drunk
And with seductive coral lips.
疾病
衰老
与死亡
像无邪的女孩一样
围着天鹅湖跳舞
半裸
烂醉
珊瑚的嘴唇很诱人
VII
Anyone can see
That no one lives on the moon
That chairs are tables
Butterflies are flowers always fluttering
That truth is a collective error
That the soul dies with the body
Anyone can see
That wrinkles aren't scars.
人人都看得出
没人住在月亮上
椅子也是桌子
蝴蝶是一直翩翩的花朵
真理是一个集体错误
灵魂随着身体死去
每个人都看得出
皱纹不是伤疤
VIII
For one reason or another
When I've had to climb down
From my little wooden tower
I've come back shivering from the cold
The loneliness
the fear
the pain.
不知是何原因
每当我不得不从我的
小木楼爬下来
我就会浑身颤抖，冷
孤独
恐惧
痛苦
IX
The trolleys are all gone
They've chopped down the trees
Crosses line the horizon.
Marx has been betrayed seven times
And we're all still alive.
手推车都移走了
他们将树都砍倒了
十字架排向地平线
马克思被人背叛好几次
而我们都还活着
X
Feed bile to the bees
Introduce semen into the mouth
Kneel down in a puddle of blood
Sneeze in a funeral parlor
Go milk a cow
And throw the milk in her own face.
给蜜蜂喂胆汁
将精液射入嘴巴
跪倒在一汪血中
在葬礼大厅打喷嚏
给母牛挤奶
然后把奶甩到奶牛的脸上
XI
From the morning stormclouds
To the thunder at noon
And on to the lightning at night.
从早晨的暴雨云
到午间的雷鸣
再到夜晚的闪电
XII
It isn't easy for me to feel sad
To be honest
Even skulls make me laugh.
The poet asleep on the cross
Greets you with tears of blood.
让我感到悲伤可不容易
说实话
甚至脑袋骨也令我发笑
睡在十字架上的诗人
和我打招呼，泪水是血
XIII
The poet's job is
To improve on the blank page
I don't think that's possible.
诗人要做的是
让白纸增值
而我觉得那是不可能的
XIV
I can only accept beauty
Ugliness is something that I find painful.
我只能接受美
丑是某种我感到痛苦的东西
XV
I'll say it one last time
Worms are gods
Butterflies are flowers always fluttering
Rotting teeth
Brittle teeth
I go back to the days of silent movies.
Fucking is a literary act.
我要说最后一次
蛆虫是上帝
蝴蝶是一直翩翩的花朵
腐烂的牙
易碎的牙
我回到默片时代
肏是一个文学行动
XVI
Chilean aphorisms:
All redheads have freckles
The telephone knows what it's saying
The turtle never lost so much time
As when it took lessons from an eagle.
The automobile is a wheelchair.
And the traveler who looks over his shoulder
Runs the grave risk
That his shadow might not want to follow him.
智利格言：
所有红发佬都有雀斑
电话总知道它在说什么
乌龟从不会浪费时间
去听老鹰讲课
汽车就是一个轮椅
总看身后的旅行者
最严峻的危险是
他的影子可能不想跟他走
XVII
Analysis means self-denial
You can reason only in a circle
You see only what you want to see
A birth doesn't solve anything
I admit that tears are rolling down my cheeks.
A birth doesn't solve anything.
Only death tells the truth
Even poetry convinces no one.
They teach us that space doesn't exist
They teach us that time doesn't exist
But all the same
Old age is a fact of life.
What science says will be will be.
Reading my poems makes me drowsy
And yet they were written in blood.
分析意味着自我否定
你的推理只能绕着圈子
你看到的只是你想看到的
新生解决不了任何问题
我承认我的泪水滚下脸颊
新生解决不了任何问题
只有死亡说出真理
甚至诗歌也无法说服任何人
他们教导我们说空间并不存在
他们教导我们说空间并不存在
但一切都没变
衰老是生命的一个事实
科学说是什么就是什么
我读着自己的诗会打瞌睡
可是它们是用血写出来的
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