《掸尘》 by 达夫

掸尘   林木译

丽塔·达夫 著

 

每天都是一片荒原——不见

阴影。比尤拉

在小摆设间很有耐心，

阳光房阳光

怒放，尘暴

随着她的灰布唤醒

黑木的生机。

 

在她手下卷纹与

饰章愈加

幽暗闪亮。他叫

什么来着，那个

在集市上

摆射击摊位的

傻小子？还有他的吻，

还有那只透明的碗，装着一条明亮的

鱼儿，波光荡漾的

伤口！

 

不是迈克尔——

是更优雅的名字。每掸尘一下

一次深呼吸，

金丝雀花开。

记忆摇晃：舞会

归来，前门被风

吹开，客厅

落满雪，她急忙

把鱼碗放到炉子上，看着

那冰坠

缓缓融化而他

游向自由。

 

那是在父亲

把她和她的名字

一并抛弃之前，也是她的名字

意指变成“希望”再变成

“安息之地”之前。

更是在阴影与

阳光的同谋，那棵树

出现之前。

 

莫里斯。

 

Dusting

By Rita Dove

 

Every day a wilderness—no

shade in sight. Beulah

patient among knickknacks,

the solarium a rage

of light, a grainstorm

as her gray cloth brings

dark wood to life.

 

Under her hand scrolls

and crests gleam

darker still. What

was his name, that

silly boy at the fair with

the rifle booth? And his kiss and

the clear bowl with one bright

fish, rippling

wound!

 

Not Michael—

something finer. Each dust

stroke a deep breath and

the canary in bloom.

Wavery memory: home

from a dance, the front door

blown open and the parlor

in snow, she rushed

the bowl to the stove, watched

as the locket of ice

dissolved and he

swam free.

 

That was years before

Father gave her up

with her name, years before

her name grew to mean

Promise, then

Desert-in-Peace.

Long before the shadow and

sun’s accomplice, the tree.

 

Maurice.