吉尔伯特诗69首(10)

痛苦和丧失。总在试图命名和追随
我们胸中扬帆的进取心。
现实不是我们所结合的那种感觉。而是
走上泥泞的小路、穿过酷热
和高远的天空，以及无尽延伸的大海。
他继续走，经过修道院到旧别墅，
他将和她坐在那儿的露台上，偎依着。
在宁静中。宁静是那儿的音乐，
是寂静和无风的区别。
Music Is in the Piano Only When It Is Played
We are not one with this world. We are not
the complexity our body is, nor the summer air
idling in the big maple without purpose.
We are a shape the wind makes in these leaves
as it passes through. We are not the wood
any more than the fire, but the heat which is a marriage
between the two. We are certainly not the lake
nor the fish in it, but the something that is
pleased by them. We are the stillness when
a mighty Mediterranean noon subtracts even the voices of
insects by the broken farmhouse. We are evident
when the orchestra plays, and yet are not part
of the strings or brass. Like the song that exists
only in the singing, and is not the singer.
God does not live among the church bells
but is briefly resident there. We are occasional