《撣塵》 by 達夫

撣塵   林木譯

麗塔·達夫 著

 

每天都是一片荒原——不見

陰影。比尤拉

在小擺設間很有耐心，

陽光房陽光

怒放，塵暴

隨著她的灰布喚醒

黑木的生機。

 

在她手下卷紋與

飾章愈加

幽暗閃亮。他叫

什麽來著，那個

在集市上

擺射擊攤位的

傻小子？還有他的吻，

還有那隻透明的碗，裝著一條明亮的

魚兒，波光蕩漾的

傷口！

 

不是邁克爾——

是更優雅的名字。每撣塵一下

一次深呼吸，

金絲雀花開。

記憶搖晃：舞會

歸來，前門被風

吹開，客廳

落滿雪，她急忙

把魚碗放到爐子上，看著

那冰墜

緩緩融化而他

遊向自由。

 

那是在父親

把她和她的名字

一並拋棄之前，也是她的名字

意指變成“希望”再變成

“安息之地”之前。

更是在陰影與

陽光的同謀，那棵樹

出現之前。

 

莫裏斯。

 

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.