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Mary Oliver,这位曾于1984年获得普利策诗歌奖的美国女诗人所创作的诗歌,无论是刊登在CR2009年12月号里的Scenic Route(《风景线》),还是这期选登的A Letter from Home(《一封家书》),总能触动人心。她在诗歌里引用的意象常是朴实无华的,却又让人充满联想。她的诗歌写到最后,总能编织出一幅纯朴动人的图画,让人心生怜惜。A Letter from Home写的其实就是一份淡淡的乡愁,以及母女之间的一份浓浓的思念。这思念超越彼此之间的距离,超越流逝着的年月,沉沉的,却芳香满怀。
She sends me news of 1)blue jays, frost,
Of stars and now the 2)harvest moon
That rides above the 3)stricken hills.
Lightly, she speaks of cold, of pain,
And lists what is already lost.
Here where my life seems hard and slow,
I read of glowing melons piled
Beside the door, and baskets filled
With 4)fennel, 5)rosemary and 6)dill,
While all she could not gather in
Or hid in leaves, grow black and falls.
Here where my life seems hard and strange,
I read her wild excitement when
Stars climb, frost comes, and blue jays sing.
The broken year will make no change
Upon her wise and 7)whirling heart;—
She knows how people always plan
To live their lives, and never do.
She will not tell me if she cries.
I touch the crosses by her name;
I fold the pages as I rise,
And 8)tip the envelope, from which
Drift 9)scraps of 10)borage, 11)woodbine, 12)rue.
她给我寄来蓝松鸦、霜、
星星,和此刻悬挂在愁山之上
那秋夜圆月的消息。
她轻描淡写地谈起寒冷,谈起痛苦,
并列出已丧失的一切。
在我这里,日子似是既苦也慢,
我读到堆在门边那
充满光泽的瓜,篮子里装满
茴香、迷迭香和莳萝,
而所有那些她无法收集起来,
或是藏在叶子里的东西,都变黑、落下。
在我这里,日子似是既苦也怪,
我读到她的极度兴奋,每当
星星升起,霜降下来,蓝松鸦唱起歌来时。
纷乱的岁月一点也没改变
她那聪慧灵动的心;——
她知道人们总是计划着
如何过自己的生活,却从不把这些计划兑现。
她不会告诉我她有没有哭。
我抚摸着她名字旁那些十字符号;
我折好信,站起来,
倾斜信封,从里面
倒出了琉璃苣、忍冬、芸香的碎片。
She sends me news of 1)blue jays, frost,
Of stars and now the 2)harvest moon
That rides above the 3)stricken hills.
Lightly, she speaks of cold, of pain,
And lists what is already lost.
Here where my life seems hard and slow,
I read of glowing melons piled
Beside the door, and baskets filled
With 4)fennel, 5)rosemary and 6)dill,
While all she could not gather in
Or hid in leaves, grow black and falls.
Here where my life seems hard and strange,
I read her wild excitement when
Stars climb, frost comes, and blue jays sing.
The broken year will make no change
Upon her wise and 7)whirling heart;—
She knows how people always plan
To live their lives, and never do.
She will not tell me if she cries.
I touch the crosses by her name;
I fold the pages as I rise,
And 8)tip the envelope, from which
Drift 9)scraps of 10)borage, 11)woodbine, 12)rue.
她给我寄来蓝松鸦、霜、
星星,和此刻悬挂在愁山之上
那秋夜圆月的消息。
她轻描淡写地谈起寒冷,谈起痛苦,
并列出已丧失的一切。
在我这里,日子似是既苦也慢,
我读到堆在门边那
充满光泽的瓜,篮子里装满
茴香、迷迭香和莳萝,
而所有那些她无法收集起来,
或是藏在叶子里的东西,都变黑、落下。
在我这里,日子似是既苦也怪,
我读到她的极度兴奋,每当
星星升起,霜降下来,蓝松鸦唱起歌来时。
纷乱的岁月一点也没改变
她那聪慧灵动的心;——
她知道人们总是计划着
如何过自己的生活,却从不把这些计划兑现。
她不会告诉我她有没有哭。
我抚摸着她名字旁那些十字符号;
我折好信,站起来,
倾斜信封,从里面
倒出了琉璃苣、忍冬、芸香的碎片。