0725抄诗

William Carlos Williams, "9/30," from The Descent of Winter

There are no perfect waves—
Your writings are a sea
full of misspellings and
faulty sentences. Level. Troubled

A center distant from the land
touched by the wings
of nearly silent birds
that never seem to rest—

This is the sadness of the sea—
waves like words, all broken—
a sameness of lifting and falling mood.

I lean watching the detail
of brittle crest, the delicate
imperfect foam, yellow weed
one piece like another—

There is no hope—if not a coral
island slowly forming
to wait for birds to drop
the seeds will make it habitable

并没有完美的波浪—
你写下的是一片海
满是错字和
病句。平展。焦灼

远离陆地的中心
被几乎沉默的鸟儿
翅膀拂过
它们似乎从不休憩—

这是海的悲伤—
波浪像言辞，全都碎裂—
起伏不定的情绪雷同。

我倚身观看诸般细节
那坚薄的浪花，精致
而不完美的泡沫，棕黄的野草
一片类似另一片—

这里没有希望—若不是有珊瑚
岛在缓慢成形
只等鸟儿投下
那种子会让它适合居住