| 蝼冢 |  | | 注册:2003-6-28 13:04 | | 等级:管理员 |
| ○带着半特拉姆泪水的推销员
众目睽睽的讲台，摇动的讲台，寻找
灵魂的面孔，至诚留心工作的
标志，我想，当我含泪背诵
自己写下的话：而不是泪水，
如果我早就明白父亲的买卖
我会去给人们卖衣服。我会
下跪，赞颂虚幻的
名利，撇紧嘴唇，喃喃自语。
那是我在嘲笑轻蔑中度过的
年轻时代，而我想生活
没有消遣和可粉饰的措辞。但现在
在寻找陌生人房间的眼睛，我想让
他们感觉到我所说的接触，易发觉察到地
一个袖子下滑到手腕，身着加厚
精纺毛衣男子的出现。那儿会有一阵骚动
在感激和怜悯地欢呼中：
他们走了。一个少年，窘迫不安
他自己和我，我笨拙地
搅着手指头，说了声谢谢。
Salesmanship, With Half A Dram Of Tears
Brooks Haxton
Gripping the lectern, rocking it, searching
the faces for the souls, for signs of heartfelt
mindfulness at work, I thought, as I recited
words I wrote in tears: instead of tears,
if I had understood my father's business,
I could be selling men's clothes. I could be
kneeling, complimenting someone at the bay
of mirrors, mumblingly, with pinpoints pressed
between my lips. That was the life I held
in scorn while young, because I thought to live
without distraction, using words. Yet, looking
now into the room of strangers' eyes, I wanted
them to feel what I said touch, as palpably
as when a man in double worsted felt
the cuff drop to his wrist. There was a rush
in the applause of gratitude and mercy:
they could go. A teenager, embarrassed
for himself and me, lefthandedly
squeezed my fingers, and said thanks.
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