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有时你不感到好奇吗 K•史密斯 林木译
1.
夜里，星星闪烁如冰，光线到达的终点
隐藏着某种本质。不是上帝，精确地讲。
更像臀部削瘦，闪耀的包威似的存在——一个明星人物
或者宇宙佼佼者，盘旋，摇摆，急切地想让我们看见。
我们会做什么，你和我，假如我们能确定
在那里有人瞇着眼睛看穿尘埃，
说没有失去，生存的一切只等着
被急切要回？即使只有几个夜晚，
到另一个生命里，在那里你和她初恋，
漠视未来一次，而且快乐，你会去吗？
我会穿上大衣回到
我父母坐着等候，晚饭在锅里热着的厨房吗？
包威将永远不死。没有东西会在他睡觉时接走他
或快速穿过他的静脉。他不会老去，
就像你失去的女人，将永远满头黑发
满面红光，跑向电子计时屏幕
还有几里路要走。就像
在生活中我永远是个小孩，从窗口仰望夜空
想着有一天我会赤手触摸世界
即使被烧伤
2.
他不留痕迹。轻快滑过，像一只猫。这就是包威
对你来讲：波普的教皇，腼腆如基督。
像剧中剧，他两次成为商标。时间
像来自窗户空调机的水，发着叮铃声流过。我们流汗，
学会等待。安静地，懒散地，有时垮掉。
但包威不会。他缩着头，笑着坏笑。
时间从未停止，但它是否会结束？有多少生命
在起飞之前，在自己之外发现自我之前，
闪烁如星，闪耀如金？
未来不会是老样子。即使包威
也在渴望某种好而冷的东西。飞机闪烁着飞过天空
像迁徙的灵魂。
3
鲍伊在我们中间。就在这儿
在纽约市。戴着棒球帽
穿着昂贵的牛仔裤。溜进
一家熟食店。 牙齿对门卫闪着白光
在他回客房时。
或在拉斐特拦出租车
当天空的云朵掠过黄昏。
他不急。不像你
想象中的样子。
不趾高气扬或心满意足。爱讲笑话。
这些年来我住在这儿
从没见过他。就像不知道
一颗来自流星的彗星。
但我敢打赌他明亮燃烧，
拖着一条白热的尾巴
正如我们中的某些人在卫生间里
拉出卫生纸。他把
整个世界踩在脚下，
我们在旁边显得渺小，
虽然有时候
当他这么高大男人的眼睛和你的
在瞬间相遇
传递给你闪光
闪光闪光闪光闪光的思想
直达你的心灵。鲍威，
我想信赖你。想感受
你的意愿，像雨前的风。
那种一切只是简单顺从，
被催眠似的舞蹈席卷
仿佛一种有能力这么做的东西
已看过它的路并且说：
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！