[譯詩] Frank O'Hara, Why I Am Not a Painter

[hahastarr (漫步中的哈哈星人)]

＜為什麼我不是畫家＞



我不是畫家，我是個詩人。
為什麼？我想我寧願是
一個畫家，但我不是。唉，

像是，麥可‧高柏格*
正要開始一幅畫。我去拜訪
「坐下喝一杯吧」他
說。我喝酒；我們喝酒。我抬
頭。「你這裡面有沙丁魚。」
「是的，那裡必須有些東西。」
「噢。」我離開而日子就這樣過去
然後我又去拜訪。他
還在畫，我離開，而日子就
這樣過去。我去拜訪。那幅畫已經
完成了。「沙丁魚哪去了？」
全部剩下的只有
字母，「那太多餘了」，麥可說。

那我呢？有一天我想到
一種顏色：橘色。我寫了一個句子
有關橘色。很快的就有了一
整頁的字，沒有句子。
然後另一頁。應該要有
更多的，無關橘色，的
字詞，說橘色是多麼可佈
和生活。日子就這樣過去。那都已經
成了散文了，我實在是個詩人。我的詩
已經完成了而我都還未提到
橘色。總共有十二首詩，我稱
它「橘色們」。然後有一天在畫廊
我看見麥可的畫作，名為「沙丁魚們」。





* http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Michael_Goldberg





原文：

Why I Am Not a Painter
by Frank O'Hara



I am not a painter, I am a poet.
Why? I think I would rather be
a painter, but I am not. Well,

for instance, Mike Goldberg
is starting a painting. I drop in.
"Sit down and have a drink" he
says. I drink; we drink. I look
up. "You have SARDINES in it."
"Yes, it needed something there."
"Oh." I go and the days go by
and I drop in again. The painting
is going on, and I go, and the days
go by. I drop in. The painting is
finished. "Where's SARDINES?"
All that's left is just
letters, "It was too much," Mike says.

But me? One day I am thinking of
a color: orange. I write a line
about orange. Pretty soon it is a
whole page of words, not lines.
Then another page. There should be
so much more, not of orange, of
words, of how terrible orange is
and life. Days go by. It is even in
prose, I am a real poet. My poem
is finished and I haven't mentioned
orange yet. It's twelve poems, I call
it ORANGES. And one day in a gallery
I see Mike's painting, called SARDINES.








ref:http://www.poets.org/viewmedia.php/prmMID/20422

--
"ppl write some pretty interesting things
when they think no one's looking."--<Chicago>

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