曾经--帕特里克.菲利普斯

我儿子朋友的
父亲
看着他的父亲死去。

然后因为某种原因，
来到一处足球场
仍然悲伤着，

在这儿我是他认识的
或者有点熟悉的家伙，
和别人站在一起

尽力不盯着
那儿--
但托上帝的福--

我的目光走向他：
他的眼睛
在粗糙镜框的黑色眼镜的后面

成群的小身体
在我们周围
尖声叫喊着，飞跑而过

不管之前他是何许人
现在，一点痕迹，一点残韵罢了，
在灰色十月的风中抖动：

关于爱的真谛，关于我们大家，
他心中是那样明白
什么都没有留下

只是假装
我没有留意
我眼角里的余光

此时看见脏兮兮的狗，
弹跳的球，
和孩子们

追逐它
一切似乎都突然改变
在他心中消失了。
the father
of my son’s friend
watched his father die.

Then for some reason
came, still grieving,
to a soccer field where I,

a guy he knew,
or kind of knew,
stood with the others

trying not to stare
at the there-
but-for-the-grace-of God–

go-I of him:
his eyes raw-rimmed
behind dark glasses

as herds of little bodies
shrieked and galloped
all around us—

whoever he was before
a trace, a remnant now,
shaking in the gray October wind:

the truth about love, about all of us,
so plain in him
there was nothing left

but to pretend
I was not watching
out the corner of my eye

when the muddy dog,
and the bouncing ball,
and the children

chasing after it
all seemed to veer
and disappear inside him.
“Once” by Patrick Phillips from Elegy for a Broken Machine. © Knopf, 2017.