grindingoinground

华莱士·史蒂文斯

III

长久的容貌在长久的灌木中， 一张岩石的脸在无尽的红色中， 红翠绿，红隙蓝，一张石板脸，

古老的额头同沉重毛发悬挂， 雨的沟渠，红玫瑰红 跟风化的跟红宝石水打磨的，

绕喉咙的藤蔓，无形的嘴唇， 一个皱眉像蟒蛇般晒在眉梢， 被耗尽的感觉它什么也不剩，

红中红的重复从未 褪去，一点点生锈，一点点胭脂， 一点点更粗糙更粗鲁，一个王冠

目光无法逃避，一个红色的声望 向疲累的耳畔吹去自己。 一种光芒四射渐隐，黯淡的红玉髓

被过受尊敬地使用。或许曾被。 它或许并或许曾被。可正如曾经那样， 一位死去的牧羊人从地狱带来轰烈的和音

而羔羊败坏地寻欢作乐。他们就这么说的。 爱着它们的孩童带来了早开的花 又将它们散落，没有两朵相似。

Notes Toward a Supreme Fiction

Wallace Stevens

III

A lasting visage in a lasting bush, A face of stone in an unending red, Red-emerald, red-slitted-blue, a face of slate,

An ancient forehead hung with heavy hair, The channel slots of rain, the red-rose-red And weathered and the ruby-water-worn,

The vines around the throat, the shapeless lips, The frown like serpents basking on the brow, The spent feeling leaving nothing of itself,

Red-in-red repetitions never going Away, a little rusty, a little rouged, A little roughened and ruder, a crown

The eye could not escape, a red renown Blowing itself upon the tedious ear. An effulgence faded, dull cornelian

Too venerably used. That might have bee. It might and might have been. But as it was, A dead shepherd brought tremendous chords from hell

And bad the sheep carouse. Or so they said. Children in love with them brought early flowers And scattered them about, no two alike.