通宵饮酒之后的黎明，
我与朋友乘船出去，
看谁能写出最好的诗
（罗伯特·布莱/作，张文武/译）
这些松树，这些秋天的栎树，这些岩石，
这被风拂过的幽暗的水——
你这幽暗的小船啊，我和你一样，
在冷泉汇成的水面上漂流着。
当我还是一个孩子的时候，
我就渴望着水底会有奇异的幽暗的珠宝，
不是金子，也不是奇异的石头，而是真实的
礼物，在明尼苏达这些苍白的湖底。
这个清晨也是一样，我在黎明的风中漂流着，
我感觉到我的双手，我的鞋子，还有这墨水——
就像这漂流的整个身体一样，漂流着，
在那肉体与石头的云朵之上。
几场友情，几番黎明，几片闪现的青草，
几副饱经日晒雨淋的船桨，
我们就这样漂向岸边，在清冷的水面上，
不再关心我们是随波漂流，还是一路直行。
After
Drinking All Night with a Friend,
We Go Out in a Boat at Dawn to See
Who Can Write the Best Poem
These pines, these fall oaks, these rocks,
This water dark and touched by wind –
I'm like you, you dark boat,
Drifting over water fed by cool springs.
Beneath the waters, since I was a boy,
I have dreamt of strange and dark treasures,
Not of gold, or strange stones, but the true
Gift, beneath the pale lakes of Minnesota.
This morning also, drifting in the dawn wind,
I sense my hands, and my shoes, and this ink –
Drifting, as all of this body drifts,
Above the clouds of the flesh and the stone.
A few friendships, a few dawns, a few glimpses of grass,
A few oars weathered by the snow and the heat,
So we drift toward shore, over cold waters,
No longer caring if we drift or go straight.
顶