John Ashbery (1927-2017) was a prolific American poet who won nearly every major American awards for poetry, including Pulitzer, Bollingen, National Book Award, etc.

约翰·阿什贝利（1927-2017）是美国当代诗人，著作甚丰，获得了几乎每一项美国诗歌大奖，包括普利策、波林根、国家图书奖等。

少况，诗人，译者，出版了诗集《次要的雪》和《Cy Twombly的邮戳》，翻译出版了巴塞尔姆的《白雪公主》、布劳提根的《在西瓜糖里》。

Shao Kuang, born in Shanghai and now living in Nanjing. His collections of poetry include Secondary Snow (2020) and Postmarks of Cy Twombly (2022). His translations of American fictions include Snow White by Donald Barthelme and In Watermelon Sugar by Richard Brautigan.

A Snowball In Hell

一个地狱里的雪球

In the beginning there are those who don't quite fit in
But are somehow okay. And then some morning
There are places that suddenly seem wonderful:
Weather and water seem wonderful,
And the peaceful night sky that arrives
In time to protect us, like a sword
Cutting the blue cloak of a prince.

But one night the door opened
And there was nothing to say, the relationships
Had gotten strangely tilted, like price tags.
That girl you loved, that former patient of mine,
Arrives soused on a Monday
After the crunch it seems.
Please play this back. All the recording
In the world won't help unless you or someone else listens
At some point in time to what the mountain
Is helplessly trying to tell us, season
After season, whose streams roar fatally
In and out of one chapter in our lives.

The book was a present.
Best to throw it away, to the bottom
Of the sea where ingenuous fish may read it
Or not. A little striving here,
Some relaxation there, and no one will know the difference.
Oh, but what you said about the season –
Is it dull, or exhausting, or has it left
And will be right back with something truly splendid
For us, for once in a lifetime?
			

起初，有些人不完全融入，
但不管怎样还行。然后某个早晨，
有些地方突然看上去棒极了：
天气和水看上去棒极了，
还有宁静的夜空及时
降临来保护我们，如同一把剑
划破王子蓝色的披风。

但有一天夜晚，门打开了，
没什么可说的，关系
已经奇怪地倾斜，像价签。
那个你爱的女孩，那个我曾经的病人，
在一个周一醉醺醺地来了，
似乎在被挤压之后。
请回放这一段。世界上
所有的录音都无济于事，除非你或别人
在时间的某个点上倾听山脉
无助地试图告诉我们什么，一季
又一季，它的溪流在我们生命的
一个章节里致命地咆哮，进进出出。

这本书是一个礼物。
最好扔掉，扔到大海
底部，那里纯真的鱼也许会读，
也许不会。这里一点奋斗，
那里一些放松，没有人会看出不同。
啊，但是关于季节你说了什么——
它是否枯燥？令人筋疲力尽？或已经离开？
还会不会回来，带给我们
真正的壮丽，一生只此一次？
			

A Mood Of Quiet Beauty

一种安静之美的情绪

The evening light was like honey in the trees
When you left me and walked to the end of the street
Where the sunset abruptly ended.
The wedding-cake drawbridge lowered itself
To the fragile forget-me-not flower.
You climbed aboard.

Burnt horizons suddenly paved with golden stones,
Dreams I had, including suicide,
Puff out the hot-air balloon now.
It is bursting, it is about to burst
With something invisible
Just during the days.
We hear, and sometimes learn,
Pressing so close

And fetch the blood down, and things like that.
Museums then became generous, they live in our breath.
			

傍晚的光像树上的蜜
当你离开我，走到街的尽头，
日落在那里骤然终结。
婚礼蛋糕吊桥自己降低
落向脆弱的勿忘我。
你爬上了船。

燃烧过的地平线突然铺满金色的石头，
我做过的梦，包括自杀，
现在吐出热气球。
它在爆裂，它马上要爆裂
带着只是在白天
才看不见的东西。
我们听见，有时还学会，
贴得如此近，

把血取下来，以及类似的东西。
博物馆然后变得慷慨，它们活在我们的呼吸中。
			

When Half The Time They Don't Know Themselves…

当一半时间他们不了解自己……

Old cathedrals, old markets, good and firm things
And old streets, one always feels intercepted
As they walk quickly past, no nonsense, cabbages
And turnips, the way they get put into songs:

One needn't feel offended
Or shut out just because the slow purpose
Under it is evident,
Because someone is simply there.

Yet it's a relief to look up
To the moist, imprecise sky,
Thrashing about in loneliness,
Inconsolable...

There has to be a heart to this.
The words are there already.
Just because the river looks like it's flowing backwards
Doesn't mean that motion doesn't mean something,
That it's incorrect as a metaphor.

And the way stones sink,
So gracefully,
Doesn't rob them of the dignity
Of their cantankerous gravity.

They are what they are and what they seem.
Maybe our not getting closer to them
Puts some kind of shine on us
We didn't consent to,
As though we were someone's car:
Large, animated, calm.
			

老教堂，老市场，结实的好东西，
还有老街，一个人总是感到被拦截了，
当他们快快走过去，没有废话，卷心菜，
大头菜，它们被写进歌曲的方式：

一个人不需要感到被冒犯，
或关在门外，仅仅因为它下面
缓慢的目的明显，
因为某个人就在那里。

不过令人宽慰的是抬头
看潮湿、不确切的天空，
在孤独中辗转反侧，
难于慰藉……

这个一定要有一颗心。
文字已经在那里。
仅仅是因为河流看上去在倒流，
并不意味着运动不意味着什么，
还有它作为隐喻是不正确的。

石头下沉的样子，
如此优雅，
没有剥夺它们脾气暴躁的
重力中的尊严。

它们就是它们自己和它们的样子。
也许我们没有更靠近它们
赋予了我们一些自己
并不认同的光泽，
仿佛我们是某个人的车：
大，生气勃勃，镇定。