Totem
图腾

The engine is killing the track, the track is silver,
火车头在吞噬轨道，银色轨道，

It stretches into the distance. It will be eaten nevertheless.
它伸向远方。它依然会被吞噬。

Its running is useless.
它的奔跑毫无用处。

At nightfall there is the beauty of drowned fields,
黄昏时分逐渐消失的田野之美，

Dawn gilds the farmers like pigs,
黎明让农夫们如猪一般披上晨曦，

Swaying slightly in their thick suits,
在他们厚重的衣服里轻微摇晃，

White towers of Smithfield ahead,
前方，斯密斯菲尔德的白色塔楼，

Fat haunches and blood on their minds.
他们惦记着肥厚的腰腿和血。

There is no mercy in the glitter of cleavers,
剁肉刀闪亮，没有怜悯，

The butcher’s guillotine that whispers:‘How’s this, how’s this?’
屠夫的铡刀低语：“这块可好？这块可好？”

In the bowl the hare is aborted,
碗中，流产的野兔胚胎，

Its baby head out of the way, embalmed in spice,
婴儿头异常，被涂抹了香料，

Flayed of fur and humanity.
被剥了皮，剥掉了人性。

Let us eat it like Plato’s afterbirth,
让我们吃它像吃柏拉图的胞衣，

Let us eat it like Christ.
让我们吃它像吃耶稣。

These are the people that were important——
他们可是重要人物——

Their round eyes, their teeth, their grimaces
他们圆圆的眼睛，牙齿，痛苦的表情

On a stick that rattles and clicks, a counterfeit snake.
在棍棒上，发出咯咯和咔嗒声，一条假蛇。

Shall the hood of the cobra appall me——
眼镜蛇的颈部皮褶使我惊恐——

The loneliness of its eye, the eye of the mountains
它眼中的寂寞，群山之眼

Through which the sky eternally threads itself?
天空可穿越，永恒连成一线？

The world is blood-hot and personal
这世间是个人的，充满了暴躁

Dawn says, with its blood-flush.
黎明诉说，散发血红色曙光。

There is no terminus, only suitcases
没有终点站，只有旅行箱

Out of which the same self unfolds like a suit
旅行箱打开，同一自我展现像西装

Bald and shiny, with pockets of wishes,
赤裸，闪烁，装满各种希望的口袋，

Notions and tickets, short circuits and folding mirrors.
缝纫物品和车票，短路和折叠镜子。

I am mad, calls the spider, waving its many arms.
我疯了，蜘蛛叫喊着，挥舞着众多手臂。

And in truth it is terrible,
它真的非常可怕，

Multiplied in the eyes of the flies.
在苍蝇的注视下繁殖。

They buzz like blue children
它们像沮丧的孩子嗡嗡地叫

In nets of the infinite,
在无限的网中，

Roped in at the end by the one
最终被死亡网住

Death with its many sticks.
死亡带着许多棍。

(1963/01/28. pp.264—265. No. 215)
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