火

我记住的并不是一个女人寻找女儿时
嘴里冒出的烟，
也不是践踏过的路径上

留下的稻草拖鞋。我什么也没看见。
头发遮住我的眼睛，在梦中
我无法闭上我的嘴。大多数时候

那里有盐的味道，和造船工人
的勤奋。偶尔，我会听到
我兄弟在我脚下呻吟。

那里有平静，和放弃
的自由决定权。有屋顶。
有木板，树液，碎片。

我母亲皮肤黝黑，头上裹着红布。
她的生活比她背上抗着的火
还要沉重。

这就是过去意味着什么，孩子。
有地图和经文
刻在我手心，刻在整个镇上，

我走进镇上，寂静无声。但我记得
我不饿。我母亲把她的眼泪变成水稻，
只要她哭，就有食物。

作者 / [美国] 特伦斯·海斯
翻译 / 明迪

FIRE

It was not smoke rising from the mouth
of a woman in search of her daughter,
nor the straw slipper left on the trampled path

that I remembered. I saw nothing.
Hair covered my eyes, & in the dream
I could not close my mouth. Mostly

it smelled of salt and the diligence
of shipbuilders. Occasionally, I’d hear
my brother groan beneath my footsteps.

There was the calm & discretion
of giving up. The roof.
Boards yielding sap and splinters.

My mother was a dark red head wrap.
Her life had been heavier
than the fire she carried on her back.

This is the meaning of the past, Boy.
There were maps & scriptures
carved into my palms, whole towns

I entered sleeping. But I was not hungry,
I remember. My mother turned her tears to rice
& as long as she wept, there was food.

Terrance Hayes

今天这首诗，又来自每月一期的“诗歌来到美术馆”活动，明天下午2点，来到上海民生现代美术馆的是美国诗人特伦斯·海斯，照例是王寅策划，胡续冬主持，现场翻译是包慧怡。这后面几位都是读睡推荐过（不止一次）的诗人了，感兴趣的朋友不妨前往美术馆，探看一遭。

特伦斯·海斯在美国拿奖无数，目前在匹兹堡大学教书。他对种族、亲情涉足很多，今天这一首便是关于母亲的杰作。

虽是起笔落笔都是写母亲，但前几段里所描绘出的整个生活场景，把架子拉得足够高、足够大。这就让“母亲”不再囿于某个家庭，更有了普世的情怀。

荐诗 / 照朗
2016/08/2

题图 / Oleg Oprisco, Fire Water