美国 詹姆斯·泰特 James Tate  美国   (1943~?)
anthology
Multiple poems at a time
outland poetry

anthology
诗选

   James Tate

James Tate (James Tate) _Select_ed Poems
Yellow leaves with the fog of dawn rising regret squares stray animals
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Yellow leaves
(The following four poems translated from yellow Vatican)
Get rid of the man and his swirling mill,
Peach pink flesh of a woman, will be preserved.
Although the rapid, but the implicit anonymous love
Break the power of our peace,
Like an article full of dash
White excited. In a glacier in the
Maintaining eternal, where she crossed the
Violin-like valley: our happiness
Like the pheasant in the open outbreak.
When she brushed past
What a strong desire to contain
We head sparks and alarm!
Avalanche about to begin, perhaps
Will be buried in town. I think I know
Her name, her name is "yellow leaves":
I should not let other people know.
She is the immortal dream: lost love
With a slender fingers with the rotation,
She grabbed the loose, and it remains of the
Parts. The world needs a kind of love
It does not rely on chain and buy: untouchable
"Yellow leaves" to lead us beyond
Loss and Gain. Let grace is
We love parting, and failure -
Life in the rest of the first day.
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Dawn's Place
Consumption is not every place on earth;
Washed away a piece of the red machine drains.
Stern musicians
Be seen in their clarinet
Rare cactus is quietly approached them themselves.
Mosquitoes hovered in the air
Feathers like snow.
Has been flowing in the night what happened?
Pale, like the Arctic wolf.
A small coffin filled with buoyancy
Drift over the square; larvae in a lamp
Finally, the beam forming,
Laborious, as an old-fashioned excitement
Alphabet ink.
This novel works just as a feather
Clear in the alley
Sale kiss the angel of death.
Sitting in a yellow car train women in early
Lobe was taken ill at ease under the
Man biting nails, just as the ancestral quilt
In our town of fools
Green did not latch the door loose line.
Rents on the rise, the cat
Dead: we should go home.
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Unfortunately, with the mist rising
He had no past, and he has been conclusively
No future. All important
Shortly after the start of things in their
Coming to an end. He said the mother had been told
Earth is the way that he could not accept: I
Have been thinking about it and her world
Long contact. Expand the night
Numerous umbrella wings of fire, his
Gaze even narrower than the mercury.
Or not into the sky, the rain, when
Here the land was not the time
Half-dead fish floating exposed
Full body. He was familiar with it all.
She could spit out the word at any time will take
He has let go of everything,
Of course he should let go of everything.
I think he would be in pain
The end of May or in January, although the weather
Particularly clear, for I thought about anything
In addition to the solemn farce.
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Stray animals
This alone towards the end of summer
The beauty of life:
A dozen stray animals sleep in the veranda of Hong
Footsteps of my shadow,
And another block
The smell of burning leaves.
Near noon
Beating my brow shadow
I'm humming the beat in order to meet
A group of bats flying around the swaying,
Mimosa and the bees with shaking.
This is not a finished house of poetry,
Here is my unborn place.
  

【Source】 文学自由坛


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