Allen Ginsberg A Supermarket in California 加州超市
I heard you asking questions of each: Who killed the pork chops? What price bananas? Are you my Angel?
我听见你提出一个又一个的问题：谁剔出的猪排骨？香蕉多少售价？你可是我的天使？
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What thoughts I have of you tonight, Walt Whitman, for I walked down the sidestreets under the trees with a headache self-conscious looking at the full moon.
In my hungry fatigue, and shopping for images, I went into the neon fruit supermarket, dreaming of your enumerations!
What peaches and what penumbras! Whole families shopping at night! Aisles full of husbands! Wives in the avocados, babies in the tomatoes!—and you, Garcia Lorca, what were you doing down by the watermelons?
I saw you, Walt Whitman, childless, lonely old grubber, poking among the meats in the refrigerator and eyeing the grocery boys.
I heard you asking questions of each: Who killed the pork chops? What price bananas? Are you my Angel?
I wandered in and out of the brilliant stacks of cans following you, and followed in my imagination by the store detective.
We strode down the open corridors together in our solitary fancy tasting artichokes, possessing every frozen delicacy, and never passing the cashier.
Where are we going, Walt Whitman? The doors close in an hour. Which way does your beard point tonight?
(I touch your book and dream of our odyssey in the supermarket and feel absurd.)
Will we walk all night through solitary streets? The trees add shade to shade, lights out in the houses, we'll both be lonely.
Will we stroll dreaming of the lost America of love past blue automobiles in driveways, home to our silent cottage?
Ah, dear father, graybeard, lonely old courage-teacher, what America did you have when Charon quit poling his ferry and you got out on a smoking bank and stood watching the boat disappear on the black waters of Lethe?
艾伦金斯伯格（著）
今夜一想到你我就思绪连翩，沃尔特·惠特曼，因为我漫步在树阴下的小巷里心事重重举头眺望那一轮满月。
饥饿，疲惫，为了采购意向，我走进灯红酒绿的水果超级市场，幻想着你在这儿逐一挑选！
多美的鲜桃，明暗交加多么诱人！整家整户在晚上逛市场！走廊挤满了丈夫们！妻子们在鳄梨堆前挑选，孩子们对着番茄不转眼！-而你，加西亚·洛尔伽，你站在西瓜堆旁边寻思什么？
我看见你，沃尔特·惠特曼，没有子女，孤独年迈的穷文人，翻弄着冰箱里的冻肉用目光对杂货食品店的伙计示意。
我听见你提出一个又一个的问题：谁剔出的猪排骨？香蕉多少售价？你可是我的天使？
我跟着你从一排排五光十色的罐头架穿进穿出，猜想商店保安准在我们后面跟踪。
我们一起来到宽敞的过道在寂寞中奇想品尝洋蓟，拥有每一种冰冻美食而无须从收款员面前经过。
我们要到哪儿去，沃尔特·惠特曼？一个小时后商店就要关门。你的胡子今夜可指向何方？
（我翻动你的诗集梦见我们在超级市场上的奥德赛式的冒险顿觉奇怪荒唐。）
我们可要整夜穿行在凋索的街道？树影重重斑驳，家家户户熄灭灯火，我们俩都会倍感寂寞。
我们可就这样漫步梦见美国已失去的美好的东西从车道上那蓝色汽车旁走过，返回我们那冷清安静的小屋？
啊，亲爱的父亲，灰胡子，孤独年迈给人以勇气的教师，当卡戎停止摆渡，而你登上烟雾缭绕的河岸伫立着凝视渡船在幽深的忘川河波涛中消失，在你心中美国将是何等模样？
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Ginsberg和惠特曼相隔一百年，但面对这飞驰的物质时代，后者又会如何反应呢？
