Another September
Dreams fled away, this country bedroom,
raw
With the touch of dawn, wrapped in a minor peace,
Hears through an open window the garden draw
Long pitch black breaths , lay bare its apple trees,
Ripe pear trees, brambles, windfall-sweethened soil,
Exhale rough sweetness against the starry slates.
Nearer the river sleeps St.Johns, all toil
Locked fast inside a dream with iron gates.
Domestic autumn, like an animal
Long used to handling by those countrymen,
Rubs her kind hide against the bedroom wall
Sensing a fragrant child come back again
- Not this half tolerated consciousness
That plants its grammar in her unyielding weather
But that unspeaking daughter, growing less
familiar where we fell asleep together.
Wakeful moth-wings blunder near a chair
Toss their light shell at the glass and go
To inhabit the living starlight,Stranded hair
Stirs on the still linen. It is as though
The black breathing that billows her sleep, her name,
Drugged under judgement, waned and - bearing daggers
And balances - down the lampless darkness they came,
Moving like women: Justice, Truth, such figures.
另一个九月
梦逃走了,这个乡间的卧室,陌生
有着黎明的触觉,包裹在小小的安静中,
从打开的窗口处听到花园
细长黑色的呼吸,揭起它的苹果树,
熟透的梨树,荆棘,落满风的甜味的泥土,
把粗糙的甜味吐向闪烁的板岩。
距离河流更近一些的地方沉睡着圣约翰,所有忙碌
紧锁在一个梦的铁栅里
乡间的秋,像一只
习惯被人类驾驭的小兽,
温柔的毛皮在墙上磨蹭
听到一个甜蜜的孩子再次回来;
不是这个勉强忍耐的家伙——
它将一些文字栽种在她冷冽的天气中。
而是那不发一言的女儿,
当我们一同入睡时变得陌生。
将他们纤细的外壳抛向玻璃然后
占据生命的光芒;孤单的发丝
在静止的亚麻布上苏醒。就像
黑色呼吸让她的梦溢满惊浪,她的名,
被判决而麻木,褪色,然后——带着短剑
与平等——来自没有灯火的黑暗,
有女子一般的脚步:正义,真实,诸如此类。
责任编辑:碉楼里的小妖 |