秋歌
又一年将尽,处处留下了
气味浓郁的残余:藤蔓,落叶,
吃剩的果实在阴影中
腐烂,消融,
撤离这个夏天的
孤岛,这个此刻,无处可寻。
除了腐烂,在脚下,
在不可知的
黑暗神秘的地下城堡中——根和带壳的种子
和水的渗透。当时间的轮盘
艰难地转动,我试图记住
这些,譬如,当秋天
终于闪现,喧闹着,像我们那样渴望
停驻——明亮的景物变换更替,在这转瞬即逝的
草场中,万物如何
进入永恒。
Fall Song
by Mary Oliver
Another year gone, leaving everywhere
its rich spiced residues: vines, leaves,
the uneaten fruits crumbling damply
in the shadows, unmattering back
from the particular island
of this summer, this NOW, that now is nowhere
except underfoot, moldering
in that black subterranean castle
of unobservable mysteries - roots and sealed seeds
and the wanderings of water. This
I try to remember when time"s measure
painfully chafes, for instance when autumn
flares out at the last, boisterous and like us longing
to stay - how everything lives, shifting
from one bright vision to another, forever
in these momentary pastures.