夜的屋子
  -by Bill Collins, translated by JQZ

The Matter of Words Variation on the Word Sleep The Night House
  -by Bill Collins

每天我们的身体在这世界的田野上劳作
    修补那一座座石墙
    或者将镰刀在高高的草丛里挥过
    社会责任的草丛,或者金钱的草丛
每晚我们的身体蜷成婴儿模样
    等待聆听睡眠的钟声轻轻敲响

而我们的心是不倦的
    它在深夜里从身体上爬起来
    走出了这四壁雪白的卧房
    独自坐在厨房小桌边,在小锅里煮牛奶

我们的思维也起来了
    穿上一件家常袍子,走下楼来
    点上一根香烟,
    打开一本工程学的课本

我们的意识也睡眼惺忪的
    从一个房间游走到另一个房间
    像一条奇怪的小鱼般躲避着每一面镜子

我们的灵魂穿着睡裙飞上了屋顶
    骑坐在房脊上
    唱着一首关于海洋之狂野的歌

直到第一道粉色的裂缝在天边出现
他们才陆续回到熟睡的身体
就像一群归巢的鸟乖乖的落回同一棵树上
重新组成各自的小圈子
窃窃私语着,或者自言自语着
甚至只是对着冗长午后的暑气说个不停

所以我们的身体,一座住满了各种声音的小屋
    会有时挺下手中的铁铲,针线,或者笔,
    凝神望向远方
    仔细聆听所有的名字都被一一叫到
    再重新拾起手中的活计
    做下去

  Everyday the body works in a field of the world
   mending a stone wall
   swing a sickle through the tall grass
   the grass of civic, the grass of money
And every evening the body curls around itself
   and listens for the soft bells of sleep

But the heart is restless
   and it rises from the body in the middle of the night
   leaves the room with its picture-less walls to sit by itself
   at the kitchen table and heats milk in a pan

And the mind gets up too
   puts on a robe and goes downstairs,
   lights a cigarette
   and opens a book on Engineering

Even the conscious wakened
   and roam from room to room in the dark
   darting away from every mirror like a strange fish

And the soul is up on the roof in her night dress
   straddling the ridge,
   singing a song about the wildness of the sea

Until the first rip of pink appears in the sky
then they will all return to the sleeping body
the way a flock of birds settled back on a tree
Assuming their daily cliques
talking to each other or themselves
even to the heat of the long afternoons

that抯 how the body, that house of voices,
   sometimes put down its metal tongs,
   its needle or its pen to stare into the distance,
   to listen to all its names being called
   before bending again to its labor