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看着手中的一只死去的鹪鹩--罗伯特.布莱

已有 187 次阅读2017-1-9 15:15 |个人分类:robert bly|系统分类:诗歌

原谅我听收音机度过的那些时间,
充满感激之情的话语,我没有对老师说,
我喜欢你小小的米粒样的腿
那是空荡荡的教堂里演奏的音乐小段,
这条雌性的尾巴,
没有成群的蠕虫睡过
深黄色的胸脯,让眼泪流出。
你尾巴上的羽毛张开着像尖桩篱栅,
你的鸟喙是褐色的,
带着悲痛的拉比,他的女儿嫁给了一位运动员。
你头上的黑点是你自己的丧帽。
Forgive the hours spent listening to radio,
and the words of gratitude I did not say to teachers ,
I love your tiny rice-like legs
that are bars of music played in an empty church,
and the feminine tail,
where no worms of Empire have ever slept
and the intense yellow chest that makes tears come.
Your tail feathers open like a picket fence,
and your bill is brown,
with the sorrow of rabbi whose daughter has married an athlete.
The black spot on your head is your own mourning cap.

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