2022年普利策诗歌奖得主戴安·苏斯诗选丨我是，我是在哀号吗？
It’s a real Garden of Eden story, the mother of the little
compound, founder, embracer, died of cancer, then some
goof from Arkansas moved in thinking he could plant corn
after they told him you can’t plant corn in the mountains,
there will be a freeze on one end or the other, planted corn,
it froze, and now he’s out there most nights burning husks
for God knows what purpose, and he’s got keep out signs
all over the range so Shawn can’t walk his dogs out there
and the half-coyote Rico sits smack in front of Shawn and stares
into his eyes like hypnotism, but you know how coyotes are,
that high laugh-cry that throws salt into your wound at the time
of night you’re already bedded down in your loneliness,
and Arkansas out there setting fires and the dry trees rattling
their leaves like some golden currency no one uses anymore
母亲，创建者和信奉者，死于癌症，而后某个
阿肯色州的傻瓜搬了进来，在别人告诉他你不能在山上
种玉米而且山的各处都会结冰之后，
他还认为自己可以种玉米，他种完的玉米，
冻上了，而今大多数夜里他都在外面烧玉米壳子
因为只有天知道他的目的是什么，他全方位地设置
禁入标志，所以肖恩不能出去遛狗，
而混血丛林狼里科砰的一声坐在肖恩前面好像
催眠一样凝视着他的眼睛，但是你知道丛林狼多么厉害，
它高声笑着叫着在你已经孤独卧床的
夜晚时分把盐撒进你的伤口，
烧火的阿肯色人就在那边，叶子嘎嘎作响的
枯树好像某种没人再用的金币
It is abominable, unquenchable by touch
It is abominable, unquenchable by touch, closer
to the sublime than sentimental, more animal
than hominid, I’ve seen it in the eyes of birds
weaving on a stem of ragweed, voracious,
singular, there is no one like me, Dickinson in
her narrow bed, her cold clenched hands, her
penmanship elegant, unreadable, even following
a recipe for black cake her black cake came out
strange, lusher than the template, and every freak
I ever met had that same look in their eyes, armless,
rolling a cigarette with their lips and teeth, legless,
rounding a corner on their handmade cart,
monarchic, imperious, wild, sad, and like every
queen the need for love revolting and grand
它让人讨厌，触摸也满足不了
桑克 译
它让人讨厌，触摸也满足不了，更接近
崇高而非伤感，更接近动物
而非原始人，我从在一根豚草上编织的
鸟的眼中看到过，贪婪，
奇怪，没人像我一样，躺在窄床之中的
狄金森，冰冷而攥紧的双手，
书写优雅而难以辨认，甚至按照
黑蛋糕食谱做出来的黑蛋糕也很
出人意料，比模具奢华，而我见过的
每一个怪胎眼睛里都有同样的表情，没有胳膊，
用唇齿把烟卷转来转去，没有腿，
坐着手工制作的手推车转过一个街角，
专制，蛮横，野蛮，悲伤，像每一位
女王对叛逆而堂皇的爱之需要
Mountains black today, hiding when the wind cooperates
Mountains black today, hiding when the wind cooperates behind Whitman
beards, legless homeless talking to themselves on red dirt corners, laughing
at the nothing there is to laugh at, holding up blank cardboard signs,
the want so great they can’t put words to it, and I belong nowhere, have
never belonged anywhere, not where I was raised, not where I was not raised,
not in any classroom or strip motel or restaurant of any false or real ethnicity,
not chic, not invisible, not urban but no farm where my apron can flap
in the wind, not in any workplace, my god, workplaces, I know this is
the wail of a teenager and yet I’m not really wailing, am I, am I wailing,
I’m saying this body has never been a home, my shack a shackle, dog
is a good boy but he bites, poems are someone else’s clothes I slipped
into so I could skip town, even the hospital where I was born was borrowed
from the Catholics, nuns thought I was odd and tried to foist me off
on the Buddhists but they reached through the fog and handed me back
群山今天黑沉沉的，当风配合时藏起
少况 译
群山今天黑沉沉的，当风配合时藏起在惠特曼的胡子
后面，没有腿，无家可归，在红土角落自言自语，嘲笑着
所有可以嘲笑的虚无，高举空白的硬纸板
穷得叮当响不知道写啥，我哪儿也不属于，也从未
属于过哪儿，不属于养育我的地方，也不属于弃养我的地方，
不属于任何教室和脱衣舞汽车旅馆，也不属于任何真的或假的种族的餐馆，
那里不时髦，不都市，但又不是我的围裙可以飘在风中的
农场，我不属于工作场所，天哪，各种工作场所，我知道这是
一个青少年的哀号，而我真不是在哀号，我是，我是在哀号吗？
我在说这个身体从来不是一个家，这窝棚也不是镣铐，狗
是个好男孩，但他咬人，诗是我轻易穿上了的别人的
衣服，这样我可以逃离城市，甚至逃离我出生并被从天主教徒们
那里借来的医院，嬷嬷们认为我古怪，试图把我打发给
佛教徒们，但他们穿过迷雾抵达，把我交还