The Kingfisher by Mary Oliver

翠鸟从黑波中飞起来
像一朵蓝花，他的喙中
衔着一片银色的树叶。我认为
这就是最美的世界--只要你不在意
一点濒死，你整个的人生中
怎么也会有那么一天
那不会有气幸福的飞溅？
有比一千棵树上的叶子还多的鱼，总之
翠鸟天生不会思考那个，或任何其他的事情。
当波浪不受控制地淹没其蓝色的脑袋时,
这些水,
仍然是水--渴求是唯一的故事
他曾经在他可能相信的人生中听见过
我不说他是对的.我也不说
他是错的.十分认真地他
吞下了这片银树叶
顺着其断流的红河,随着一声
粗野,简单的喊叫.
我不能唤里我思考型的身体
如果我的生命依靠它,他反身回去
飞过明晃晃的海洋做同样的事情,去做这事
(就如我渴望做某件事,做任何事情)
The kingfisher rises out of the black wave
like a blue flower, in his beak
he carries a silver leaf. I think this is
the prettiest world--so long as you don't mind
a little dying, how could there be a day in your
whole life
that doesn't have its splash of happiness?
There are more fish than there are leaves
on a thousand trees, and anyway the kingfisher
wasn't born to think about it, or anything else.
When the wave snaps shut over his blue head, the
water
remains water--hunger is the only story
he has ever heard in his life that he could
believe.
I don't say he's right. Neither
do I say he's wrong. Religiously he swallows the
silver leaf
with its broken red river, and with a rough and
easy cry
I couldn't rouse out of my thoughtful body
if my life depended on it, he swings back
over the bright sea to do the same thing, to do it
(as I long to do something, anything) perfectly.