Those Winter Sundays
Sundays too my father got up early
and put his clothes on in the blue black cold,
then with cracked hands that ached
from labor in the weekday weather made
banked fires blaze..no one ever thanked him.
I'dwake and hear the cold splintering ,breaking.
When the rooms were warm,he'd call,
and slowly i would rise and dress,
fearing the chronic angers of that house
Speaking indifferemtly to him,
who had driven out the cold
and polished my good shoes as well.
What did i know, what did i know
of love's austere and lonely offices?
那些冬季禮拜天的日子
就算禮拜天,父親照例起得很早
穿好衣服,天色黛藍而清冷
一大早就開始忙著活計,一雙手
皸裂得厲害,隱隱刺疼
壘起柴火,燒旺爐灶
對此我們早已習慣,從不知感恩
當屋子漸漸暖和的時候
我就會醒來,
就會聽見寒冷
被劈啪作響的火苗擊破,擊穿
然后父親叫我
我遲遲才肯坐起來穿衣服
心里害怕父親在那邊廂房
慢慢冒上來的火性
跟那個驅(qū)走寒冷的人
不冷不熱地打個招呼,
然后象往常一樣
我擦亮我自己珍愛的鞋子
對于愛的艱辛和責任的孤獨無助
當時的我又知道什么,知道什么?