译诗：紧急时刻的冥想（弗兰克·奥哈拉）

我会变得放荡吗，仿佛我是位金发女郎？或者变得虔诚，仿佛我是法国人？

每一次心碎都会让我感觉更喜欢冒险（怎么都是同样的名字在那张冗长的清单上反复出现！）但总有一天，会没有什么可供勇敢前行的了。

我为什么要分享你？你为什么不摆脱某人，改变一下？

我是男人中最不难相处的人。我想要的只是无尽的爱。

连树都能理解我！天哪，我也躺在它们下面，不是吗？我就像一堆树叶。

不过，我从来没有用对田园生活的赞美以及对牧场上堕落行为的纯真过往的怀旧，来填满自己。不。一个人永远不需要离开纽约半步就能得到所有想要的绿色草木——我甚至不能享受一片草叶，除非我知道附近有地铁，唱片店，或者其他一些标志，使得人们不至于完全后悔生活。更重要的是确认最不真诚的；现在云得到了足够的关注，即使它们继续飘过。它们知道自己错过什么了吗？啊哈。

我的眼睛是淡蓝色的，像天空一样，并总是在变化；它们一视同仁，但飘忽不定，完全特定而不忠，因此没有人信任我。我总是把目光移开。或者再次看着某个东西，在它放弃了我之后。它使我不安，使我不幸，但我不能让它们保持静止。要是我有灰色的、绿色的、黑色地、棕色的、黄色的眼睛就好了；我就会待在家里做些事。不是因为我好奇。相反，我很无聊，但我的职责是专注，事情需要我，就像天空一定高于大地。最近，它们的焦虑越发严重，我几乎没有时间睡觉。

现在只有一个男人能让我在他没刮胡子时也愿意吻他。异性恋！你正在势不可挡地接近。（如何使她气馁？）

圣塞拉皮翁，我把自己裹在像你一样洁白的袍子里，它就像陀思妥耶夫斯基的午夜。我将如何成为一个传奇，亲爱的？我试着去爱，那却使你躲入另一个人的怀抱，我总是像莲花一样从中生长出来——那是永远迸发的狂喜！（但是一个人绝不能被它分心！）或者像风信子一样，“远离生命的污秽”，是的，哪怕在心中，污秽也被注入，然后诋毁、污染并主宰。我坚持我的意志，尽管我可能会因为温室里那个部门的神秘空缺而出名。

如果你不知道，那就毁灭你自己！

美丽是容易的；但显得美丽很难。我崇拜你，亲爱的，因为你布下的陷阱。它就像没人读的最后一章，因为情节已经结束了。

“范妮·布朗跑了——跟一名骑兵少尉跑掉了；我的确爱那个小妖精，希望她能快活，虽然她的勇敢之举让我有点恼火。——可怜的蠢货塞西娅！或F：B：我们过去就这么叫她。——我希望她能被好好地鞭打一顿，并有一万英镑。”——特拉里太太

我得离开这里。我选了一条围巾和我最脏的军服。我会回来，我会从山谷里，挫败的，重新现身；你不想让我去你去的地方，所以我去你不想让我去的地方。现在才下午，前面还有很多时间。楼下不会有邮件。转过身来，我向锁里吐口水，门把转动了。

注：

圣塞拉皮翁：St. Serapion，中世纪爱尔兰的天主教修士，据说他曾将天主教战士裹在他的白袍子里，从摩尔人手里救下他们。

参考文章：https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poetrymagazine/articles/69919/meditations-in-an-emergency

Meditations in an Emergency

BY FRANK O'HARA　

Am I to become profligate as if I were a blonde? Or religious as if I were French?

Each time my heart is broken it makes me feel more adventurous (and how the same names keep recurring on that interminable list!), but one of these days there’ll be nothing left with which to venture forth.

Why should I share you? Why don’t you get rid of someone else for a change?

I am the least difficult of men. All I want is boundless love.

Even trees understand me! Good heavens, I lie under them, too, don’t I? I’m just like a pile of leaves.

However, I have never clogged myself with the praises of pastoral life, nor with nostalgia for an innocent past of perverted acts in pastures. No. One need never leave the confines of New York to get all the greenery one wishes—I can’t even enjoy a blade of grass unless I know there’s a subway handy, or a record store or some other sign that people do not totally regret life. It is more important to affirm the least sincere; the clouds get enough attention as it is and even they continue to pass. Do they know what they’re missing? Uh huh.

My eyes are vague blue, like the sky, and change all the time; they are indiscriminate but fleeting, entirely specific and disloyal, so that no one trusts me. I am always looking away. Or again at something after it has given me up. It makes me restless and that makes me unhappy, but I cannot keep them still. If only i had grey, green, black, brown, yellow eyes; I would stay at home and do something. It’s not that I’m curious. On the contrary, I am bored but it’s my duty to be attentive, I am needed by things as the sky must be above the earth. And lately, so great has their anxiety become, I can spare myself little sleep.

Now there is only one man I like to kiss when he is unshaven. Heterosexuality! you are inexorably approaching. (How discourage her?)

St. Serapion, I wrap myself in the robes of your whiteness which is like midnight in Dostoevsky. How I am to become a legend, my dear? I’ve tried love, but that hides you in the bosom of another and I am always springing forth from it like the lotus—the ecstasy of always bursting forth! (but one must not be distracted by it!) or like a hyacinth, “to keep the filth of life away," yes, there, even in the heart, where the filth is pumped in and slanders and pollutes and determines. I will my will, though I may become famous for a mysterious vacancy in that department, that greenhouse.

Destroy yourself, if you don’t know!

It is easy to be beautiful; it is difficult to appear so. I admire you, beloved, for the trap you’ve set. It’s like a final chapter no one reads because the plot is over.

“Fanny Brown is run away—scampered off with a Cornet of Horse; I do love that little Minx, & hope She may be happy, tho’ She has vexed me by this Exploit a little too.—Poor silly Cecchina! or F:B: as we used to call her.—I wish She had a good Whipping and 10,000 pounds.”—Mrs. Thrale.

I’ve got to get out of here. I choose a piece of shawl and my dirtiest suntans. I’ll be back, I’ll re-emerge, defeated, from the valley; you don’t want me to go where you go, so I go where you don’t want me to. It’s only afternoon, there’s a lot ahead. There won’t be any mail downstairs. Turning, I spit in the lock and the knob turns.

几处很拿不准的地方：

1，It is more important to affirm the least sincere; the clouds get enough attention as it is and even they continue to pass.

2， I will my will, though I may become famous for a mysterious vacancy in that department, that greenhouse.