少况 译
这个夜晚应该听科莱里、杰米尼亚尼
或曼弗雷蒂尼。桌子已铺好漂亮的白布，
摆上花束。大玻璃窗外面
雨水无情地钻进岩石花园，一点不在乎
整个事情。商业和娱乐都张开嘴
等着，因为这么多保持一个人的情感
同时又记住它的新方式
已经得到无言的表达。就连侍者也开心。
这是一个例子，关于一个人能够如何茁壮成长
又不弄破裹着我们的舒适之壳，
以及所有事情。“我们花了这么多时间
试图说服自己我们是幸福的以至于当真东西
到来时我们竟然没认出，”迪斯尼官员说。
他说得有道理，你必须承认。如果我们更加紧密地
追随自然，我们会意识到这个，我的意思是把你的脸压进
它的淤泥和摇摆不定。然后我们
仿佛是在幸福中成长，而不是相反，如普遍
认为的那样。我们是它小说中的人物，
任何怀疑这个的人只需向窗外看去，
越过他或她自己的影像，望着逗留在外面
那明亮的、带图案的、永恒的非官方的真相，
等待信号，通电似的进入一个人群场景，
充满喜悦和威胁，没关系，只要我们知道
它在里面，和我们在一起。
但人们确实在生活中改变，
和在小说中一样。然后发生了什么？是不是因为我们认为它来的
那天没人在听，那删去你自己的冲动。
如他们所说，“把自己拿掉”？仿佛这个是重要的，
甚至对周围围拢的相关人而言，
他们脸上轻松平和的表情，
你也许没有参与其中，但即使如此，
他们也是为你开心，这是你的生日，甚至
当气球和软糖同来自各个地方
无关的良好祝愿纠缠在一起，我相信它是专门定制
给你的质疑立场，还有某个你已经
认同的双壳类留在你的快乐
里面的那个印象。无疑，
从未有什么是足够完美的，但那是它如何适应
这混合袋里
剩下的人物特征的一部分，在变化发生之前
它们曾经是你的一部分，
也是所有那些充满活力和幽默感的熟人中的
一部分，仿佛他们想要叫你下来
和你亲近，不是因为离得近，或舒适什么的，
但是因为他们相信你天生适应这个独特的
有价值的情况，它的盖子正在升起，整个地
进入牵牛花色的未来。记住，不要扔掉
未使用的情况的象限，仅仅因为它们在这里：
它们也许不会总是在这里，你还没有全部
浏览完它们。这么多发生的都以小的方式发生
以至于有人想要四处走走制成表，然后从未做到，
而这一切表明新鲜，清晰，甚至是一种电机驱动，
将我们从睡梦中哄醒，开始思考这一次
什么样的新的一轮印象和招呼会紧随
其后。而形式，准则，由你随心处置，
如同海洋生出青草，并用它在一座远山上
将灯塔装修一新，否则就让整个画面滑进泡沫。
Someone You Have Seen Before It was a night for listening to Corelli, Geminiani
Or Manfredini. The tables had been set with beautiful white cloths
And bouquets of flowers. Outside the big glass windows
The rain drilled mercilessly into the rock garden, which made light
Of the whole thing. Both business and entertainment waited
With parted lips, because so much new way of being
With one’s emotion and keeping track of it at the same time
Had been silently expressed. Even the waiters were happy.
It was an example of how much one can grow lustily
Without fracturing the shell of coziness that surrounds us,
And all things as well. “We spend so much time
Trying to convince ourselves we’re happy that we don’t recognize
The real thing when it comes along,” the Disney official said.
He’s got a point, you must admit. If we followed nature
More closely we’d realize that, I mean really getting your face pressed
Into the muck and indecision of it. Then it’s as if
We grew out of our happiness, not the other way round, as is
Commonly supposed. We’re the characters in its novel,
And anybody who doubts that need only look out of the window
Past his or her own reflection, to the bright, patterned,
Timeless unofficial truth hanging around out there,
Waiting for the signal to be galvanized into a crowd scene,
Joyful or threatening, it doesn’t matter, so long as we know
It’s inside, here with us.
But people do change in life,
As well as in fiction. And what happens then? Is it because we think nobody’s
Listening that one day it comes, the urge to delete yourself,
“Take yourself out,” as they say? As though this could matter
Even to the concerned ones who crowd around,
Expressions of lightness and peace on their faces,
In which you play no part perhaps, but even so
Their happiness is for you, it’s your birthday, and even
When the balloons and fudge get tangled with extraneous
Good wishes from everywhere, it is, I believe, made to order
For your questioning stance and that impression
Left on the inside of your pleasure by some bivalve
With which you have been identified. Sure,
Nothing is ever perfect enough, but that’s part of how it fits
The mixed bag
Of leftover character traits that used to be part of you
Before the change was performed
And of all those acquaintances bursting with vigor and
Humor, as though they wanted to call you down
Into closeness, not for being close, or snug, or whatever,
But because they believe you were made to fit this unique
And valuable situation whose lid is rising, totally
Into the morning-glory-colored future. Remember, don’t throw away
The quadrant of unused situations just because they’re here:
They may not always be, and you haven’t finished looking
Through them all yet. So much that happens happens in small ways
That someone was going to get around to tabulate, and then never did,
Yet it all bespeaks freshness, clarity and an even motor drive
To coax us out of sleep and start us wondering what the new round
Of impressions and salutations is going to leave in its wake
This time. And the form, the precepts, are yours to dispose of as you will,
As the ocean makes grasses, and in doing so refurbishes a lighthouse
On a distant hill, or else lets the whole pictures lip into foam.
