（美国）道格·安德森Doug Anderson诗选（3首）

Poetics Multilingual Mag

Performance

We knew about the advertising executive who roller-skated
through the village dressed as Tinkerbell, and then there
was that couple with shaved heads who showed up at
everything wearing matching silver jump suits and chrome
World War I helmets, but the best was always unexpected
like my first day in town walking down Hudson near 14th
Street, I see this black guy in a white tux, white vest,
white shoes, holding a white telephone receiver, its white
cord coiled down into his fly. He is frozen in the posture of
a royal guard, phone held at the ready. I give him plenty of
room but when I pass him he smiles beatifically, thrusts
the receiver in my face and says: It’s for you: it’s the
White House.

from Blues for Unemployed Secret Police. Curbstone Press. 2000.



表演

我们听说过那个广告主管，他打扮成叮当小仙女，
踩着旱冰鞋穿过村庄。还有那对剃着光头的夫妇，
无论什么场合都穿着配套的银色连体服，
戴着镀铬的一战头盔。但最精彩的表演总是出乎意料
就像我进城的第一天，沿哈德逊河往14街走时，
看到一个黑人男子穿着白色礼服，白色背心，
白色鞋子，手里拿着一个白色的电话听筒，
白色的电话线盘绕着垂进他的裤裆。他像皇家卫兵一样
一动不动，握着听筒随时待命。我给他留出足够的空间，
但当我从他身边经过时，他露出幸福的微笑，
把听筒猛地送到我面前说：是找你的：
是白宫。 All of This

For Jack Gilbert

The moist smell under the oleanders.
Water that has passed through pines.
Old bottles baked blue in hot sand
in the time I have been alive.
We don’t come with souls, we make them up
out of our ripening and our going to seed.
The burnt musk of a lightening-struck oak.
The way women are borne up when they walk
even as the earth pulls them down.
The last cedar log and the winter
far from over. The willow’s pale gold in autumn.
The smell of love on my fingers.
Coyotes who amble through town
in the dry season to drink from sprinklers.
The owl I surprised in the old ice house,
tall as a ten-year-old, widening its wings at me.
How someone I loved long ago shows up in my cells,
speaks through my mouth.
The way memory keeps safe under the wing
of forgetfulness. And the way
death is kinder to me now that I know his name.
All of this, and a longing that runs like a jackal
over a plane of mind so empty
it can hold everything, even as I forget myself in it.

from Blues for Unemployed Secret Police. Curbstone Press. 2000.

这一切

给杰克·吉尔伯特

夹竹桃下潮湿的气息。
流过松林的溪水。
在我活着的这些年里，
被炙热的沙子烤成蓝色的旧瓶子。
我们并非带着灵魂而来，而是
在成熟与衰败中将它们虚构出来。
一棵被闪电击中的橡树那焦灼的麝香。
女人们行走时被托起的姿态，
即使大地将她们向下拉。
最后一根雪松圆木和远未结束的
冬天。秋天里柳树的淡金色。
我手指上爱的气息。
旱季里漫步穿过小镇，
从洒水器中饮水的郊狼。
我在旧冰屋里惊扰到的那只猫头鹰，
像十岁孩子那么高，向我大大张开翅膀。
我很久以前爱过的人如何出现在我的细胞中，
通过我的嘴说话。
记忆如何在遗忘的翅膀下
安然无恙。以及死亡如何
在我知晓了它的名字后对我更加仁慈。
这一切，还有一种渴望，像一只豺狼
在一片如此空旷的心灵平原上奔跑，
它可以容纳一切，即便我在其中忘记了。

Oedipus Blind

My eyes which are not there
move as I say this.
You should have known Jocasta.
She was like figs which lie
in the sun till the beads of nectar
come and the courtyard
fills with bees. When I first
came to her she slipped the tunic
from my shoulders
with one finger and looked at me.
The sweat pooling in my collarbones.
The pulse in my cock.
You cannot know what this was like.
The smell of her.


盲目的俄狄浦斯

我的眼睛已不在那里
却随着我说这个的时候而移动。
你本该认识伊俄卡斯忒。
她就像无花果一样
躺在烈日下，直到蜜珠渗出
庭院里充满了蜜蜂。
当我第一次走向她时，
她用一根手指滑下
我肩上的无袖外衣，
凝视着我。
我锁骨间汇聚的汗水。
我阳具里跳动的脉搏。
你无法知道那是什么感觉。
她的气息。

Doug Anderson (born 1943) is an American poet, fiction writer, and memoirist. His most recent book is Horse Medicine (Barrow Street Books). He has written a memoir, Keep Your Head Down: Vietnam, the Sixties, and a Journey of Self-Discovery (W.W. Norton, 2009). His honors include grants and fellowships from the National Endowment for the Arts, the Massachusetts Artists Foundation, the Massachusetts Cultural Council, Poets & Writers, and the MacDowell Colony. His work has appeared in Ploughshares, the Connecticut Review, The Massachusetts Review, Virginia Quarterly, The Southern Review, Field, and The Autumn House Anthology of American Poetry, as well as this year's Contemporary American War Poetry. He also published a play, Short Timers, which was produced in New York in 1981.

He served in Vietnam as a corpsman with a Marine infantry battalion in 1967. He graduated from the University of Arizona. He worked in the theater, as an actor. He then settled in Northampton, Massachusetts, where he began to write plays and poems in a workshop with Jack Gilbert, and Linda Gregg. Anderson taught at the University of Connecticut, Eastern Connecticut State University, the William Joiner Center for the Study of War and Its Social Consequences, Mount Wachusett Community College and at a Massachusetts state prison. He is completing a book called Loose Cantos. In 2010, he began teaching in the Pacific University of Oregon MFA Program. He is currently a lecturer in the Institute of Liberal Arts and Interdisciplinary Studies at Emerson College, Boston.