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一个白色，冷谈的早晨的天空，
一只乌鸦，在它的巢里虚张声势
在高耸的铁杉树上，一个鸟巢
大如洗衣服的篮子...
在我的童年
我站在一棵湿淋淋的橡树下，
当时秋天的雾在我的脚边回旋，
等着校车
害怕让我无法呼吸
这条潮湿的泥路散发出
这同样混合的有机污染物的气味
我拿着我的新书--词语，和数字
我不理解算术运算--
没有用坏的蜡笔
在蓝色的帆布书包里
有红色的皮革带。
云杉，不足，陌生，
我站在路边，
那是我唯一的人生。
A white, indifferent morning sky,
and a crow, hectoring from its nest
high in the hemlock, a nest as big
as a laundry basket....
In my childhood
I stood under a dripping oak,
while autumnal fog eddied around my feet,
waiting for the school bus
with a dread that took my breath away.
The damp dirt road gave off
this same complex organic scent.
I had my new books—words, numbers
and operations with numbers I did not
comprehend—and crayons unspoiled
by use, in a blue canvas satchel
with red leather straps.
Spruce, inadequate, and alien,
I stood at the side of the road.
It was the only life I had.
A selection from "Three Songs at the End of Summer" by Jane Kenyon, from Collected Poems. © Graywolf Press, 2005. Reprinted with permission. |
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发表于 2013-10-6 17:05:30