PAULA MEEHAN
The January Bee
who comes to the winter-flowering shrub,
grief in his empty pouches, who sups
alone in the stilled garden this dusk:
I would have missed him only I stopped
mid-argument to watch the moonrise
over the wet roofs of the suburb
and caught him at work deep in the musk,
shaking the bells of the scarce blossoms,
tolling our angers, ringing in peace.
宝拉·米汉(爱尔兰)
一月蜂
他来到冬日的灌木花丛
空空的袋子里装着忧伤,独自啜饮
在这个黄昏的幽静的园子里:
如果我不停止争论,去看月亮
从近郊的湿漉漉的屋顶升起
我就会错过他
我看到他正在花香深处劳作
摇动那些少有的几朵铃铛
敲击着我们那,在和平中回响的怒火。
卞兆康译
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