Poem [“This poem is not addressed to you”]
 
By Donald Justice  
 
 
This poem is not addressed to you.
You may come into it briefly,
But no one will find you here, no one.
You will have changed before the poem will.
 
 
Even while you sit there, unmovable,
You have begun to vanish. And it does not
matter.
The poem will go on without you.
It has the spurious glamor of certain
voids.
 
 
It is not sad, really, only empty.
Once perhaps it was sad, no one knows why.
It prefers to remember nothing.
Nostalgias were peeled from it long ago.
 
 
Your type of beauty has no place here.
Night is the sky over this poem.
It is too black for stars.
And do not look for any illumination.
 
You neither can nor should understand what
it means.
Listen, it comes without guitar,
Neither in rags nor any purple fashion.
And there is nothing in it to comfort you.
 
 
Close your eyes, yawn. It will be over
soon.
You will forget the poem, but not before
It has forgotten you. And it does not
matter.
It has been most beautiful in its erasures.
 
 
O bleached mirrors! Oceans of the drowned!
Nor is one silence equal to another.
And it does not matter what you think.
This poem is not addressed to you.
 
 
 
诗（这首诗不是写给你）
 
 
 
这首诗不是写给你。
 
你也许轻快地一掠而过，
 
但没人能发现你，没人。
 
当诗还是那样，你已发生了改变。
 
 
 
即便你坐在那儿，一动不动，
 
你也已经开始消隐。这并没有关系。
 
没有你，诗行仍会继续，
 
在一些空白处散发虚假的魅力。
 
 
 
这并不悲伤，真的，只是有些空虚。
 
也许曾经是悲伤的，没人知晓原因。
 
它什么也不愿记得，
 
思念之情早已被剥去。
 
 
 
你那样的美不适合这里。
 
夜是遮蔽这首诗的天空，
 
黯淡无星。
 
不要在这里寻找光明。
 
 
 
你既不会也不该懂得其中的含义。
 
听，它没有吉他的伴奏。
 
既不衣衫褴褛也不光鲜贵气，
 
没有任何东西来安慰你。
 
 
 
闭上你的眼睛，打个哈欠。它就快结束了。
 
你会忘记这首诗，但不会早于
 
这首诗忘记你。这并没有什么关系。
 
在抹去的字词之间它最为美丽。
 
 
 
噢。漂泊的镜子！沉溺者的海洋！
 
没有相同的两种沉寂。
 
你怎么想并没有什么关系，
 
这首诗不是写给你。