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
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