好詩獻給你 第29期:挖掘 Digging

Digging

挖掘

Between my finger and my thumb

在我手指和大拇指中間

The squat pen rests; as snug as a gun.

一支粗壯的筆躺著，舒適自在像一支槍。

Under my window a clean rasping sound

我的窗下，一個清晰而粗厲的響聲

When the spade sinks into gravelly ground:

鐵鏟切進了礫石累累的土地：

My father, digging. I look down

我爹在挖土。我向下望

Till his straining rump among the flowerbeds

看到花坪間他正使勁的臀部

Bends low, comes up twenty years away

彎下去，伸上來，二十年來

Stooping in rhythm through potato drills

穿過白薯壟有節(jié)奏地俯仰著，

Where he was digging.

他在挖土。

The coarse boot nestled on the lug, the shaft

粗劣的靴子踩在鐵鏟上，長柄

Against the inside knee was levered firmly.

貼著膝頭的內(nèi)側(cè)有力地撬動，

He rooted out tall tops, buried the bright edge deep

他把表面一層厚土連根掀起，把鐵鏟發(fā)亮的一邊深深埋下去，

To scatter new potatoes that we picked

使新薯四散，我們撿在手中，

Loving their cool hardness in our hands.

愛它們又涼又硬的味兒。

By God, the old man could handle a spade,

說真的，這老頭子使鐵鏟的巧勁

Just like his old man.

就像他那老頭子一樣。

My grandfather could cut more turf in a day

我爺爺?shù)耐良{的泥沼地

Than any other man on Toner's bog.

一天挖的泥炭比誰個都多。

Once I carried him milk in a bottle

有一次我給他送去一瓶牛奶，

Corked sloppily with paper. He straightened up

用紙團松松地塞住瓶口。

To drink it, then fell to right away

他直起腰喝了，馬上又干開了，

Nicking and slicing neatly, heaving sods

利索地把泥炭截短，切開，把土

Over his shoulder, digging down and down

撩過肩，為找好泥炭，

For the good turf. Digging.

一直向下，向下挖掘。

The cold smell of potato mold, the squelch and slap

白薯地的冷氣，潮濕泥炭地的

Of soggy peat, the curt cuts of an edge

咯吱聲、咕咕聲，鐵鏟切進活薯根的短促聲響

Through living roots awaken in my head.

在我頭腦中回蕩。

But I've no spade to follow men like them.

但我可沒有鐵鏟像他們那樣去干。

Between my finger and my thumb

在我手指和大拇指中間

The squat pen rests.

那支粗壯的筆躺著。

I'll dig with it.

我要用它去挖掘。