《信仰的速度 》（節選）by K?史密斯

信仰的速度   K•史密斯  林木譯       

 

我不想跪著等待

在一個因等待而變得安靜的房間裏。

 

一個我們可以聽到呼吸加快，

他喉嚨裏發出嘟囔聲的房間。

 

我不想讓蘭花或一盤食物

強化寂靜，

 

或祈禱留住他，或讓他走

然後最終走向狂喜之光，

 

我不願相信

在那些房間裏我們相信的東西：

 

我們很幸運，放手，

讓某個人，任何人，

 

拉開帷簾，把我們舉回到

盲目，明亮的生活。

 

當你自己親愛的父親去世時

你在天亮之前醒來

吃了半碟的雞蛋和玉米糊，

喝一杯牛奶。

      

在你離開之後，我坐在你的位置

吃完塗果醬的烤麵包丁

涼雞蛋，很多肥肉的

厚培根，細細品味。

 

然後我入睡了，太年幼還意識不到

在你麵前的路是多狹窄艱難

所有房屋緊閉，夜晚

幾朵雲渾濁如冷咖啡

 

你去了一星期，我們是誰，

沒有你的清晰形象阻擋

任何使我們恐懼的東西？

一個鄰居送來蛋糕，我們吃了

 

烤雞，蜂蜜火腿。

我們低頭祈禱

你會平安歸來，

確信你會。

 

暴風雨讓什麽自由？他們慢走時靈魂脫離肉體

城裏的窮人學會：假如沒有地方躺下，行走

 

晚上，街道就是地雷區。隻有汽笛淹沒哭泣。

如果你被跟蹤，不要放棄，奔跑——不——行走

 

我走過亮著窗戶的夜晚，牆內傳出笑聲。

街燈，行為出格的星光下僅有的腳步。沒有其它東西在行走

 

當我們相信有陰間，我們為我們的亡靈埋葬財富

狗和奴仆的低賤國家，那裏鬼魂身穿金袍行走。

 

舊情人在夢中出現，還會因每次受冷落而憤怒。表現出來。

擠滿了床。入睡後我們的四肢糾纏在一起，但我們的影子在行走。

 

可能有朝一日活上幾個季節就已足夠，然後變回灰燼。

沒有子女繼承我們的姓名。不悲傷。生活會是短暫而空虛的行走。

 

我父親不會靜靜躺著，不過他的腿穿著褲子和襪子。

但在他曾知道的哪些地方——現在該知道的——行走？

 

The Speed of Belief      K. Smith

In memoriam, Floyd William Smith 1935–2008

 

I didn’t want to wait on my knees
In a room made quiet by waiting.

 

A room where we’d listen for the rise
Of breath, the burble in his throat.

 

I didn’t want the orchids or the trays
Of food meant to fortify that silence,

 

Or to pray for him to stay or to go then
Finally toward that ecstatic light,

 

I didn’t want to believe
What we believe in those rooms:

 

That we are blessed, letting go,
Letting someone, anyone,

 

Drag open the drapes and heave us
Back into our blinding, bright lives.

 

When your own sweet father died                 

You woke before first light                             

And ate half a plate of eggs and grits,            

And drank a glass of milk.                             

 

After you’d left, I sat in your place                  

And finished the toast bits with jam                

And the cold eggs, the thick bacon                

Flanged in fat, savoring the taste.                  

 

Then I slept, too young to know how narrow  

And grave the road before you seemed—     

All the houses zipped tight, the night’s           

Few clouds muddy as cold coffee.                 

 

You stayed gone a week, and who were we  

Without your clean profile nicking away         

At anything that made us afraid?                    

One neighbor sent a cake. We ate                  

 

The baked chickens, the honeyed hams.       

We bowed our heads and prayed                  

You’d come back safe,                                   

Knowing you would.                                       

 

What does the storm set free? Spirits stripped of flesh on their slow walk.

The poor in cities learn: when there is no place to lie down, walk.

 

At night, the streets are minefields. Only sirens drown out the cries.

If you're being followed, hang on to yourself and run -- no -- walk.

 

I wandered through evenings of lit windows, laughter inside walls.

The sole steps amid streetlamps, errant stars. Nothing else below walked.

 

When we believed in the underworld, we buried fortunes for our dead.

Low country of dogs and servants, where ghosts in gold-stitched robes walk.

 

Old loves turn up in dreams, still livid at every slight. Show them out.

This bed is full. Our limbs tangle in sleep, but our shadows walk.

 

Perhaps one day it will be enough to live a few seasons and return to ash.

No children to carry our names. No grief. Life will be a brief, hollow walk.

 

My father won't lie still, though his legs are buried in trousers and socks.

But where does all he knew -- and all he must now know -- walk?