101－CENSUS（人口调查）

CENSUS

On the hill where Troy once stood,

they've dug up seven cities.

Seven cities. Six too many

for a single epic.

What's to be done with them? What?

Hexameters burst,

nonfictional bricks appear between the cracks,

ruined walls rise mutely as in silent films,

charred beams, broken chains,

bottomless pitchers drained dry,

fertility charms, olive pits

and skulls as palpable as tomorrow's moon.

Our stockpile of antiquity grows constantly,

it's overflowing,

reckless squatters jostle for a place in history,

hordes of sword fodder,

Hector's nameless extras, no less brave than he,

thousands upon thousands of singular faces,

each the first and last for all time,

in each a pair of inimitable eyes.

How easy it was to live not knowing this,

so sentimental, so spacious.

What should we give them? What do they need?

Some more or less unpeopled century?

Some small appreciation for their goldsmiths' art?

We three billion judges

have problems of our own,

our own inarticulate rabble,

railroad stations, bleachers, protests and processions,

vast numbers of remote streets, floors, and walls.

We pass each other once for all time in department stores

shopping for a new pitcher.

Homer is working in the census bureau.

No one knows what he does in his spare time.

人口调查

诗：辛波丝卡 译：介末花花

在特洛伊曾经屹立过的山丘上，

挖出了七座城市。

七座城市啊。对于一部史诗来说

六座都太多了。

对它们该怎么办呢？怎么办？

史诗的六步格膨裂而开，

缝隙里出现了非虚构的砖石，

曾倒塌的城墙就像默片电影那样无声地升起，

还有烧焦的梁柱，断裂的锁链，

已经枯干了的无底的破碎瓷器，

保佑生育的护身符，橄榄核

以及像未来触手可摸的月球一样的颅骨。

我们掌握的古人数不断增多，

已经数不胜数，

鲁莽的擅占者抢夺了历史的位置，

那群征杀的无名勇士，

虽在赫克托耳手下未曾闻名，但英勇绝不逊色，

成千上万的单张面孔，

每一张脸都永远首屈一指，

每一张脸都有着一双独特的双眼。

如果我们不知道这点，不这么多愁善感，

不这么知识广博，那会活得多么轻松。

我们能给予他们什么？他们又需要什么？

是某个几乎无人居留的世纪么？

是给他们的金银艺术一点无足轻重的赏识么？

我们这三十亿的评判员

还有着我们自己的问题，

有着我们自己互不交流的混乱人群，

在火车站，在露天看台，在抗议队伍中，

以及无数相距遥远的街区、楼层和墙院。

我们在百货商店购买新水罐时

彼此擦身而过的机会终生只有一次。

荷马正工作在人口调查局里。

谁也不知道他在业余时间会干些什么。