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有時你不感到好奇嗎 K•史密斯 林木譯
1.
夜裏，星星閃爍如冰，光線到達的終點
隱藏著某種本質。不是上帝，精確地講。
更像臀部削瘦，閃耀的包威似的存在——一個明星人物
或者宇宙佼佼者，盤旋，搖擺，急切地想讓我們看見。
我們會做什麽，你和我，假如我們能確定
在那裏有人瞇著眼睛看穿塵埃，
說沒有失去，生存的一切隻等著
被急切要回？即使隻有幾個夜晚，
到另一個生命裏，在那裏你和她初戀，
漠視未來一次，而且快樂，你會去嗎？
我會穿上大衣回到
我父母坐著等候，晚飯在鍋裏熱著的廚房嗎？
包威將永遠不死。沒有東西會在他睡覺時接走他
或快速穿過他的靜脈。他不會老去，
就像你失去的女人，將永遠滿頭黑發
滿麵紅光，跑向電子計時屏幕
還有幾裏路要走。就像
在生活中我永遠是個小孩，從窗口仰望夜空
想著有一天我會赤手觸摸世界
即使被燒傷
2.
他不留痕跡。輕快滑過，像一隻貓。這就是包威
對你來講：波普的教皇，靦腆如基督。
像劇中劇，他兩次成為商標。時間
像來自窗戶空調機的水，發著叮鈴聲流過。我們流汗，
學會等待。安靜地，懶散地，有時垮掉。
但包威不會。他縮著頭，笑著壞笑。
時間從未停止，但它是否會結束？有多少生命
在起飛之前，在自己之外發現自我之前，
閃爍如星，閃耀如金？
未來不會是老樣子。即使包威
也在渴望某種好而冷的東西。飛機閃爍著飛過天空
像遷徙的靈魂。
3
鮑伊在我們中間。就在這兒
在紐約市。戴著棒球帽
穿著昂貴的牛仔褲。溜進
一家熟食店。 牙齒對門衛閃著白光
在他回客房時。
或在拉斐特攔出租車
當天空的雲朵掠過黃昏。
他不急。不像你
想象中的樣子。
不趾高氣揚或心滿意足。愛講笑話。
這些年來我住在這兒
從沒見過他。就像不知道
一顆來自流星的彗星。
但我敢打賭他明亮燃燒，
拖著一條白熱的尾巴
正如我們中的某些人在衛生間裏
拉出衛生紙。他把
整個世界踩在腳下，
我們在旁邊顯得渺小，
雖然有時候
當他這麽高大男人的眼睛和你的
在瞬間相遇
傳遞給你閃光
閃光閃光閃光閃光的思想
直達你的心靈。鮑威，
我想信賴你。想感受
你的意願，像雨前的風。
那種一切隻是簡單順從，
被催眠似的舞蹈席卷
仿佛一種有能力這麽做的東西
已看過它的路並且說：
往前走。
"Don't You Wonder Sometimes" by Tracy K. Smith
1.
After dark, stars glisten like ice, and the distance they span
Hides something elemental. Not God, exactly. More like
Some thin-hipped glittering Bowie-being - a Starman
Or cosmic ace hovering, swaying, aching to make us see.
And what would we do, you and I, if we could know for sure
That someone was there squinting through the dust,
Saying nothing is lost, that everything lives on waiting only
To be wanted back badly enough? Would you go then,
Even for a few nights, into that other life where you
And that first she loved, blind to the future once, and happy?
Would I put on coat and return to the kitchen where my
Mother and father sit waiting, dinner keeping warm on the stove?
Bowie will never die. Nothing will come for him in his sleep
Or charging through his veins. And he'll never grow old,
Just like the woman you lost, who will always be dark-haired
And flush-faced, running toward an electronic screen
That clocks the minutes, the miles left to go. Just like the life
In which I'm forever a child looking out my window at the night sky
Thinking one day I'll touch the world with bare hands
Even if it burns.
2.
He leaves no tracks. Slips past, quick as a cat. That's Bowie
For you: the Pope of Pop, coy as Christ. Like a play
Within a play, he's trademarked twice. The hours
Plink past like water from a window A/C. We sweat it out,
Teach ourselves to wait. Silently, lazily, collapse happens.
But not for Bowie. He cocks his head, grins that wicked grin.
Time never stops, but does it end? And how many lives
Before take-off, before we find ourselves
Beyond ourselves, all glam-glow, all twinkle and gold?
The future isn't what it used to be. Even Bowie thirsts
For something good and cold. Jets blink across the sky
Like migratory souls.
3
Bowie is among us. Right here
In New York City. In a baseball cap
And expensive jeans. Ducking into
A deli. Flashing all those teeth
At the doorman on his way back up.
Or he’s hailing a taxi on Lafayette
As the sky clouds over at dusk.
He’s in no rush. Doesn’t feel
The way you’d think he feels.
Doesn’t strut or gloat. Tells jokes.
I’ve lived here all these years
And never seen him. Like not knowing
A comet from a shooting star.
But I’ll bet he burns bright,
Dragging a tail of white-hot matter
The way some of us track tissue
Back from the toilet stall. He’s got
The whole world under his foot,
And we are small alongside,
Though there are occasions
When a man his size can meet
Your eyes for just a blip of time
And send a thought like SHINE
SHINE SHINE SHINE SHINE
Straight to your mind. Bowie,
I want to believe you. Want to feel
Your will like the wind before rain.
The kind everything simply obeys,
Swept up in that hypnotic dance
As if something with the power to do so
Had looked its way and said:
Go ahead.
哈哈！