Telling the time the old way
以老派的方式报时
（陈娟然译）
His old
half hunter
dictated the time
making a space for itself
parked
by the marmalade,
他古旧的猎怀表
宣读着时间
将自己置身于
橘子酱旁，
Introducing the bitter-sweet
summer fruits sharpening
sugared cereals
-milk blushed by raspberries.
带来甘美和苦涩交加的
夏日果实
把麦片染甜
牛奶被漆上覆盆子的红。
It would
be years before
my father would wear
a wrist watch.
那是多年以前
我的父亲还
没有腕表的时候
‘Till then breakfasts
were always at the mercy
of this scarred face
cracked the
length
of its enamel.
当时的早餐
总是被这张
结疤的脸控制
他的伤痕一直开裂到
唇边齿间。
Time rationed to the
top
of the hour slowly filtered
into the morning traffic,
when towns
seep out to work.
时间到达
整点之后，缓慢地渗入
车水马龙的晨曦，
城镇浸涌在劳碌的洪流中。
Then the ache poisoning
the pit of my
stomach.
A classroom reeking
of stale learning;
尔后，痛楚荼毒着
我的心扉。
课室瀰漫
学习的沉滞；
Victoriana by rote
and loathing.
维多利亚时期的死记硬背
与憎恶。
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I love gardening
(For Mum)
我爱园艺（致母亲）
（王侃瑜译）
I
love gardening, you said.
你说：我爱园艺。
I know, I remember
you knee deep
in damp autumns, drizzly praying into
beds of clogged
earth;
我知道，我记得你跪于
潮湿秋日里，蒙蒙细雨中
满是泥土的苗圃；
Trowelling at weeds till the light
going, went, and brought you in
to tea, sherry, and Evening Primrose.
你锄草直到天明
到来和离开，带你去往那
有着茶和雪利酒，以及月见草的地方。
I love gardening, you
said.
你说：我爱园艺。
I know, and you told me why;
a gardener
always looks forward, you said,
to another day, another season,
that
next patch of clear sky
and there to work in.
我知道，你告诉过我为何；
你说：园丁总是在期待
新的一天，新的一季
下一片澄澈的天空
可以让他继续工作的彼方
That’s why, you said;
as you toiled towards your next tomorrow
— until that next winter came,
and so quickly, took you.
你说：那便是原因
正如你为下一个明日辛劳
——直到下一个冬日来临
如此迅速地，带走了你
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Poet to poet
(To Elwyn Roberts, with thanks)
赠言诗友（致谢Elwyn Roberts）
（陈圆脸译）
I observed
as you held my words
in a half
nelson;
loose-leaf, limp bound,
the manuscript bent double
and
folded back
across its spine,
我觉察到，
你口中的话语，
欲言又止；
好似散落的纸张，蹒跚着前行，
折起的手稿不再齐整，
它的书脊上，
已爬上折痕。
And
you read me aloud
frog marching my own
ideas past me,
and for
the first time,
I understood what
the rumblings in my soul
sound like;
and the shape my thoughts
take in someone else’s
mouth.
你高声将我诵读，
而我已然嗓音嘶哑，
脑中闪过一丝念头，
哦，这是我第一次，
恍然悟出，
灵魂深处的轰鸣声，
听起来是什么模样；
自己的思想从旁人口中溢出，
会是什么形状。
Then you put my feelings down
and picked up a sheaf of papers
— all yours; you gave me
a reading of what was
going on in
inside your mind.
你竟将我的感情搁浅，
回身拾掇起一捆纸张，
它们都是你所珍视，
你将它们赠予我，
你的所想，以及那魂灵的轨迹。
I heard every word,
looked up to the oak beams
that crossed, re-crossed the ceiling;
they listened intently as well.
Then as they creaked,
your
home shifted slightly,
finding a more comfortable
posture in
relation
to the wind outside.
我清晰辨得个中字句，
举头张望，栎木梁盘枝错节，
在天花板上缱绻；
它们亦专注聆听。
却在嘎吱作响间，
你挪动了住所，
摆出更惬意的姿势，
你知道，
外面有风掠过。
You had read me
— and yourself —
before letting me go;
with good luck for a wish
on the shake
of a hand …
在我辞别以前，
你读我，
更是品读你自己，
愿我为你呈上福禄，
让彼此握一握手……
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