你喝酒吗？
（查尔斯·布可夫斯基/作，张文武/译）
完蛋了，那个破旧的黄色笔记本
又暴露在岸上
我从床上写
就像我
去年那样。
要去看医生，
星期一。
“是的，医生，虚弱的腿，晕眩，
头痛，
背也受伤了。”
“你喝酒吗？”他会问。
“你一直在
锻炼吗？
吃维生素吗？”
我想，我生病只是因为
生活，那些陈腐
而又动荡的
因素。
甚至，看着马儿
在跑道上跑着，
也似乎
毫无意义。
买票进场之后，比赛没结束，
我就早早离场了。
“脱衣服吗？”
汽车旅馆的店员问。
“是的，真是无聊。”
我对他说。
“如果你在那里
觉得无聊，”他对我说，“就应该
回到这里来。”
于是我来了
又来
枕着我的枕头
只是一个老家伙
只是一个老作家
拿着黄色的
笔记本。
有东西
正从地板的另一头
向我
走来。
哦，
这次
只是
我的猫。
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washed-up, on shore, the
old yellow notebook
out again
I write from the bed
as I did last
year.
will see the doctor,
Monday.
"yes, doctor, weak legs, vertigo, head-
aches and my back
hurts."
"are you drinking?" he will ask.
"are you getting your
exercise, your
vitamins?"
I think that I am just ill
with life, the same stale yet
fluctuating
factors.
even at the track
I watch the horses run by
and it seems
meaningless.
I leave early after buying tickets on the
remaining races.
"taking off?" asks the motel
clerk.
"yes, it's boring,"
I tell him.
"If you think it's boring
out there," he tells me, "you oughta be
back here."
so here I am
propped up against my pillows
again
just an old guy
just an old writer
with a yellow
notebook.
something is
walking across the
floor
toward
me.
oh, it's just
my cat
this
time.
Charles Bukowski
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