拿走圣诞树--珍.凯尼恩

“给我点光！”哈姆雷特的叔叔
在谋杀贡扎果一戏的
中途说。“光！ 光！”散开的
情妇们哭喊。这儿，就如在丹麦一样，
是凌晨四点的黑暗，
即使月亮只有半颗心
一样的发着光。

装饰品都走进了盒子：
银色的西班牙猎狗，我的宠物宝贝
的颈圈，来自伊利诺伊州妈妈
童年时代；巴尔杉木蹦跳玩具
我和哥哥争夺，
四肢都拉下来。妈妈又
用线把它牵引到一起
我看着，十岁的年纪
感觉到腐败。

不止谨慎
我小心翼翼地操纵它们，
灯光，它们小小的星形的反光面，
从一个家带到另一家，
它们硬纸板的玩具手提箱
逐渐地变得薄脆。
叮叮，叮叮，抽干的针头落下。

晚餐时间只剩下
香脂冷杉的香气。如果天黑了
我们只有，让它肆意挥洒。
“Give me some light!” cries Hamlet’s
uncle midway through the murder
of Gonzago. “Light! Light!” cry scattering
courtesans. Here, as in Denmark,
it’s dark at four, and even the moon
shines with only half a heart.

The ornaments go down into the box:
the silver spaniel, My Darling
on its collar, from Mother’s childhood
in Illinois; the balsa jumping jack
my brother and I fought over,
pulling limb from limb. Mother
drew it together again with thread
while I watched, feeling depraved
at the age of ten.

With something more than caution
I handle them, and the lights, with their
tin star-shaped reflectors, brought along
from house to house, their pasteboard
toy suitcase increasingly flimsy.
Tick, tick, the desiccated needles drop.

By suppertime all that remains is the scent
of balsam fir. If it’s darkness
we’re having, let it be extravagant.