A Cat at the End of the Experiential World

A masochistic cat is more at ease than you
while you sleep, soft paws stepping over your body.
The iron-barred window, a perfect two-way path.
This cat isn’t the cat
I'm talking about now,
nor any imagined, scruffy cat.
It washes its face in a strange fashion.
Its tail shoots up; its shadow falls over the river.
When raining, its hopes mildew in the corner.
However deep your sleep,
your brain will detect the patter of its paws.
Excited, it whaps the newspaper from your hands,
spilling a bottle of milk on the table.
Its eyes glare at you with impatience and animosity.
When you awake, it still hovers near,
weird, cold, moustache spearing the air.
At the end of the experiential world
it cuddles up wearily, like a postman stranded
in magnificent snow.
And so you wait in vain. I believe
this sort of cat treats itself worse than it treats you.

(1986)

一只猫在经验世界的尽头

一只猫在经验世界的尽头

一只自虐的猫比你轻松 
当你睡着，它柔软的步子 
从你身上踩过，窗上相互监视的铁条 
正好让它遛进遛出
这样的一只猫
不是我现在提到的那只猫 
也不是想象中有杂色皮毛的任何一种
怪模样地洗脸
尾巴从身后竖起，影子投在河面上 
雨中它的期待在墙角发霉
无论怎样睡去
它走动的声音都会被你的大脑听见
兴致勃勃地玩弄你手上的报纸
直到打翻了牛奶
目光中它的不耐烦不容敌视
醒来，你继续回忆它的容貌
非凡，冷峻，髭须刺入空气
在经验世界的尽头
它讨厌地倦伏着，像被灿烂雪景
耽搁远方的一个邮差
使你徒然等待。这样的一只猫
我深信它对待自己比你残忍  

(1986)