Anne Sexton (1928-1974) Sexton was born in Newton, Massachusetts, and spent most of her life near Boston, Massachusetts. Sexton is seen as the modern model of the confessional poet. Her honors include Pulitzer Prize in poetry, Guggenheim Foundation grant and many others. She suffered from complex mental illness and committed suicide on October 4, 1974.

安妮-塞克斯顿(1928-1974)生于麻省牛顿。她是美国自白派诗人的代表人物。 她曾获普利策奖、古根汉奖及其它奖项。她于1974年10月4日自杀。

倪志娟，1970年生于湖北。哲学博士，现任教于杭州电子科技大学人文学院。学术之余创作并翻译诗歌、随笔。

Zhijuan Ni was born in Hubei Province in China in 1970. She holds a PHD degree in philosophy. She has published a number of translations in poetry. She teaches and lives in Hangzhou.

Barefoot

赤脚

Loving me with my shows off
means loving my long brown legs,
sweet dears, as good as spoons;
and my feet, those two children
let out to play naked. Intricate nubs,
my toes. No longer bound.
And what's more, see toenails and
all ten stages, root by root.
All spirited and wild, this little
piggy went to market and this little piggy
stayed. Long brown legs and long brown toes.
Further up, my darling, the woman
is calling her secrets, little houses,
little tongues that tell you.

There is no one else but us
in this house on the land spit.
The sea wears a bell in its navel.
And I'm your barefoot wench for a
whole week. Do you care for salami?
No. You'd rather not have a scotch?
No. You don't really drink. You do
drink me. The gulls kill fish,
crying out like three-year-olds.
The surf's a narcotic, calling out,
I am, I am, I am 
all night long. Barefoot,
I drum up and down your back.
In the morning I run from door to door
of the cabin playing chase me.
Now you grab me by the ankles.
Now you work your way up the legs
and come to pierce me at my hunger mark
			

爱我和我的卖弄
意味着爱我棕色的长腿，
甜蜜的爱人，痴情的人儿； 
而我的脚，是两个孩子
赤裸着身体在外玩耍。我的脚趾， 
是错综复杂的核心，不再被束缚着。
此外，看看我的脚指甲
和十个指头，根根相连。
勇敢又疯狂，这头
小猪去逛市场，这头小猪
留下来。棕色的长腿，和棕色的长脚趾。
亲爱的，这个女人
正在呼唤她更多的秘密，小房子，
向你告密的小舌头。

只有我们俩  
呆在海角的这所房子里。
海的肚脐上戴着一个铃铛。
整整一个星期，我是你赤脚的
荡妇。你喜欢意大利腊肠吗？
不。你要来一杯苏格兰威士忌吗？
不。你并不饮酒。你只是
饮我。海鸥吃鱼时，
像三岁的孩子那样尖叫。
海浪是镇静剂，叫喊着
我是，我是，我是，
整个漫长的夜晚。我赤着脚，
敲打着你的背。
早上，我在小屋门之间
来回奔跑，玩着追逐游戏。
现在你抓住我的脚踝。
现在，你在我的腿上蜿蜒而上，
一直穿透我的渴望。
			

Red Roses

红玫瑰

Tommy is three and when he's bad
his mother dances with him.
She puts on the record,
"Red Roses for a Blue Lady"
and throws him across the room.
Mind you,
she never laid a hand on him.
He gets red roses in different places,
the head, that time he was as sleepy as a river,
the back, that time he was a broken scarecrow,
the arm like a diamond had bitten it,
the leg, twisted like a licorice stick,
all the dance they did together,
Blue Lady and Tommy.
You fell, she said, just remember you fell.
I fell, is all he told the doctors
in the big hospital.  A nice lady came
and asked him questions but because
he didn't want to be sent away he said, I fell.
He never said anything else although he could talk fine.
He never told about the music
or how she'd sing and shout
holding him up and throwing him.

He pretends he is her ball.
He tries to fold up and bounce
but he squashes like fruit.
For he loves Blue Lady and the spots
of red roses he gives her
			

托米三岁，当他调皮时，
他的母亲就和他跳舞。
她放上唱片，
“送给一位忧郁女孩的红玫瑰”，
然后将他扔出房间。
请注意，
她从不打他。
他在不同的身体部位得到了红玫瑰，
在头上得到，这一次他像一条沉睡的河流，
在背上得到，这一次他是一个邋遢的稻草人，
在胳膊上得到，仿佛被一颗钻石击中了，
在腿上得到，扭成一根洋甘草，
他们一起跳所有的舞，
忧郁女孩和托米。
你摔倒了，她说，记住是你自己摔倒了。
我摔倒了，他在大医院里
对医生说。一个漂亮的小姐走来，
问他问题，因为
他不想被赶走，他说，我摔倒了。
他从没提起其他的事，虽然他可以说得很好。
他从没说起音乐，
以及她如何唱，叫喊，
举起他，摔他。

他假装是她的篮球。
他试图折叠起来，弹跳，
但是他像水果一样被摔裂了。
因为他爱忧郁女孩
以及他送给她的红玫瑰。
			

The Black Art

黑色的艺术

A woman who writes feels too much,
those trances and portents!
As if cycles and children and islands
weren't enough; as if mourners and gossips
and vegetables were never enough.
She thinks she can warn the stars.
A writer is essentially a spy.
Dear love, I am that girl.

A man who writes knows too much,
such spells and fetiches!
As if erections and congresses and products
weren't enough; as if machines and galleons
and wars were never enough.
With used furniture he makes a tree.
A writer is essentially a crook.
Dear love, you are that man.

Never loving ourselves,
hating even our shoes and our hats,
we love each other, precious, precious.
Our hands are light blue and gentle.
Our eyes are full of terrible confessions.
But when we marry,
the children leave in disgust.
There is too much food and no one left over
to eat up all the weird abundance.
			

一个写了太多感觉的女人，
这些晕眩和奇迹！
仿佛月经、孩子和岛屿
还不够多；仿佛忏悔、闲话
和蔬菜永远都不够多。
她以为她能警告星星。
一个作家在本质上是一个间谍。
亲爱的，我就是那个女人。

一个懂得太多的男人，
那些符咒和迷信！
仿佛勃起、集会和产品
还不够多；仿佛机器和帆船
和战争永远都不够地盘。
他用旧家具做了一棵树。
一个作家在本质上是一个骗子。
亲爱的，你就是那个男人。

从不爱我们自己，
甚至恨我们的鞋子和帽子，
我们彼此相爱，珍惜，珍惜。
我们的手是淡蓝色的，温柔的。
我们的眼中充满了可怕的坦白。
但是当我们结婚时，
孩子们厌恶地离开了。
有太多的食物，却没有一个人留下
吃光所有的风味美食。
			

Frenzy

疯狂

I am not lazy.                       
I am on the amphetamine of the soul.    
I am, each day,                     
typing out the God           
my typewriter believes in.  
Very quick. Very intense,    
like a wolf at a live heart.    
Not lazy.               
When a lazy man, they say, 
looks toward heaven,    
the angels close the windows. 

Oh angels,       
keep the windows open
so that I may reach in   
and steal each object,  
objects that tell me the sea is not dying, 
objects that tell me the dirt has a life-wish,
 that the Christ who walked for me,       
walked on true ground         
and that this frenzy,     
like bees stinging the heart all morning,   
will keep the angels  
with their windows open,  
wide as an English bathtub. 
			

我并不懒。
我处于精神亢奋之中。
每天，我都会打印出
我的打字机信仰的
上帝。
非常快，非常急切，
像动荡心灵中的一匹狼。
我并不懒。
他们说，当一个懒惰的人
仰望天空时，
天使们会关上窗。

哦，天使，
请开着窗吧，
让我可以进去，
偷走所有的东西——
它们将告诉我海不会死去，
告诉我泥土也渴望拥有生命，
告诉我，陪伴我的基督
行走在真正的大地，
而这种像蜜蜂一样
每天清晨刺痛心灵的疯狂，
将促使天使们
打开窗，
开得和英国人的浴缸一样大。