题画诗：巴尔蒂斯《大街》

                
                
斯蒂芬·道宾斯：生于１９４１年，美国当代诗人、小说家。这首《大街》非常黑色幽默，冷，确是在暖的底子上，因为诗人有着暗暗的期望。
大街
斯蒂芬·道宾斯
穿过大街，木匠的一个肩上扛着一块
金色的木板，就像他担负着生活的
重担。穿着白衣，这是他唯一的缺点
引诱。现在他建起另一堵墙屏蔽自己。
小女孩追着她那不听话的红球，用蓝色球拍
打它一下，又打一下。她必须
教给球它该有的规矩而它却翘着嘴角
嘲笑她，还挤眉弄眼，这让她气得发疯。
那对东方夫妇总是要像这样一般跳舞：
旋转着挤过拥挤的街道，他紧抓
她的腰她的一只膝盖向前滑出而音乐从
鹅卵石上升起——有些日子是拉威尔，有些日子比才。
那个正在离去的神职志愿者对自己歌唱。她
曾经看见世界的拯救熟睡在摇篮里，
挂在一棵树上。女孩的歌制造了
阳光，制造了摇晃摇篮的微风。
面包师有那么一点游思。现在他像根柱子般站着
等待另一根。他看见白面粉雪花般洒落，
盖住那些开始还在走路，后来爬起来的人们，
他们最后变成了圆圆的东西，这么多面包。
被他冷漠的母亲带走的婴儿是非常老相而且
很多年他是默片里的明星。他很想解释
他是意外地在公车上和另一个孩子调了包，但是他
找不到词语好像又一次他被携回家里去洗那可怕的澡。
开始那幻想着的工人构想了一个巨大的大厅，然后
他将自己送上舞台，解释，解释：
太阳在晚上去了哪里，苍蝇在冬天去了哪里，
而警觉的猫狗群安静地一堆堆静听着。
彼此漠然不知不觉，这９个人围绕着彼此
在一个狭窄的城市街道上。每个人执意地
专注于他们面前的几步，没有人可以看见
他们的邻居绕着他们转着完全不同
却又完全相似的圈子：同样的生命
始于孤独，活过孤独，终于孤独——疏离
像夜空中的光点，像星星和所有它们之间
无限幽黑的空间一样疏离。
The Street by Stephen Dobyns
Across the street, the carpenter carries a golden
board across one shoulder, much as he bears the burdens
of his life. Dressed in white, his only weakness is
temptation. Now he builds another wall to screen him.
The little girl pursues her bad red ball, hits it once
with her blue racket, hits it once again. She must
teach it the rules balls must follow and it turns her
quite wild to see how it leers at her, then winks.
The oriental couple wants always to dance like this:
swirling across a crowded street, while he grips
her waist and she slides to one knee and music rises
from cobblestones--some days Ravel, some days Bizet.
The departing postulant is singing to herself. She
has seen the world's salvation asleep in a cradle,
hanging in a tree. The girl's song makes
the sunlight, makes the breeze that rocks the cradle.
The baker's had half a thought. Now he stands like a pillar
awaiting another. He sees white flour falling like snow,
covering people who first try to walk, then crawl,
then become rounded shapes: so many loaves of bread.
The baby carried off by his heartless mother is very old and
for years has starred in silent films. He tries to explain
he was accidentally exchanged for a baby on a bus, but he can
find no words as once more he is borne home to his awful bath.
First the visionary workman conjures a great hall, then
he puts himself on the stage, explaining, explaining:
where the sun goes at night, where flies go in winter, while
attentive crowds of dogs and cats listen in quiet heaps.
Unaware of one another, these nine people circle around
each other on a narrow city street. Each concentrates
so intently on the few steps before him, that not one
can see his neighbor turning in exactly different,
yet exactly similar circles around them: identical lives
begun alone, spent alone, ending alone--as separate
as points of light in a night sky, as separate as stars
and all that immense black space between them.