哇塞

An Almost Made Up Poem
                                Charles Bukowsk


I see you drinking at a fountain with tiny
blue hands,no, your hands are not tiny
they are small, and the fountain is in France
where you wrote me that last letter and 
I answered and never heard from you again.

You used to write insane poems about 
ANGELS AND GOD, all in upper case,and you
knew famous artists and most of them
were your lovers, and I wrote back, it's all right,
go ahead, enter their lives, I'm not jealous,
because we've never met. We got close once in
New Orleans, one half block, but never met, never
touched. So you went with the famous and wrote
about the famous, and, of course,  what you found out
is that the famous are worried about 
their fame-not the beautiful young girl in bed
with them, who gives them that, and then awakens
in the morning to write upper case poems about 
ANGELS AND GOD. We know GOD is dead, they've told
us, but listening to you I wasn't sure. Maybe
it was the upper case. You were one of the 
best female poets and I told the publishers,
editors,"her, print her,she's mad but she's 
magic. There's no lie in her fire." I loved you 
like a man loves a woman he never touches, only
writes to, keeps little photograghs of. I would have
loved you more if I had sat in a  small room rolling a 
cigarette and listened to you piss in the bathroom.

But that didn't happen. Your letters got sadder,
your lovers betrayed you. I wrote back, all
you had a crying bench and it was by a bridge and 
the bridge was over a river and you sat on the crying 
bench every night and wept for the lovers who had 
hurt and forgotten you. I wrote back but never
heard again. A friend wrote me of your suicide
3 or 4 months after it happened. If I had met you 
I would probably have been unfair to you or you
to me. It was best like this.

我带着这首诗开始了我的桂林之旅
本来打算在闲暇之余喝着咖啡假惺惺的品味一番的
但始终不曾有这样的雅致
还是
很喜欢这首诗的感觉