加载中…【卡佛的诗】
(2016-10-08 17:04:54)1、Raymond Carver -
Bobber
Fear of seeing a police car
pull into the drive.
Fear of falling asleep at
night.
Fear of not falling
asleep.
Fear of the past rising
up.
Fear of the present taking
flight.
Fear of the telephone that
rings in the dead of night.
Fear of electrical
storms.
Fear of the cleaning woman
who has a spot on her cheek!
Fear of dogs I've been told
won't bite.
Fear of
anxiety!
Fear of having to identify
the body of a dead friend.
Fear of running out of
money.
Fear of having too much,
though people will not believe this.
Fear of psychological
profiles.
Fear of being late and fear
of arriving before anyone else.
Fear of my children's
handwriting on envelopes.
Fear they'll die before I
do, and I'll feel guilty.
Fear of having to live with
my mother in her old age, and mine.
Fear of
confusion.
Fear this day will end on an
unhappy note.
Fear of waking up to find
you gone.
Fear of not loving and fear
of not loving enough.
Fear that what I love will
prove lethal to those I love.
Fear of
death.
Fear of living too
long.
Fear of
death.
I've said
that.
————————————
2、Raymond Carver - This
Morning
This morning was something.
A little snow
lay on the ground. The sun
floated in a clear
blue sky. The sea was blue,
and blue-green,
as far as the eye could
see.
Scarcely a ripple. Calm. I
dressed and went
for a walk -- determined not
to return
until I took in what Nature
had to offer.
I passed close to some old,
bent-over trees.
Crossed a field strewn with
rocks
where snow had drifted. Kept
going
until I reached the
bluff.
Where I gazed at the sea,
and the sky, and
the gulls wheeling over the
white beach
far below. All lovely. All
bathed in a pure
cold light. But, as usual,
my thoughts
began to wander. I had to
will
myself to see what I was
seeing
and nothing else. I had to
tell myself this is what
mattered, not the other.
(And I did see it,
for a minute or two!) For a
minute or two
it crowded out the usual
musings on
what was right, and what was
wrong -- duty,
tender memories, thoughts of
death, how I should treat
with my former wife. All the
things
I hoped would go away this
morning.
The stuff I live with every
day. What
I've trampled on in order to
stay alive.
But for a minute or two I
did forget
myself and everything else.
I know I did.
For when I turned back i
didn't know
where I was. Until some
birds rose up
from the gnarled trees. And
flew
in the direction I needed to
be going.
——————————————
3、Raymond Carver - The
Cobweb
A few minutes ago, I stepped
onto the deck
of the house. From there I
could see and hear the water,
and everything that's
happened to me all these years.
It was hot and still. The
tide was out.
No birds sang. As I leaned
against the railing
a cobweb touched my
forehead.
It caught in my hair. No one
can blame me that I turned
and went inside. There was
no wind. The sea
was dead calm. I hung the
cobweb from the lampshade.
Where I watch it shudder now
and then when my breath
touches it. A fine thread.
Intricate.
Before long, before anyone
realizes,
I'll be gone from
here.
——————————————
4、Raymond Carver -
Stupid
It's what the kids nowadays
call weed. And it drifts
like clouds from his lips.
He hopes no one
comes along tonight, or
calls to ask for help.
Help is what he's most short
on tonight.
A storm thrashes outside.
Heavy seas
with gale winds from the
west. The table he sits at
is, say, two cubits long and
one wide.
The darkness in the room
teems with insight.
Could be he'll write an
adventure novel. Or else
a children's story. A play
for two female characters,
one of whom is blind.
Cutthroat should be coming
into the river. One thing
he'll do is learn
to tie his own flies. Maybe
he should give
more money to each of his
surviving
family members. The ones who
already expect a little
something in the mail first
of each month.
Every time they write they
tell him
they're coming up short. He
counts heads on his fingers
and finds they're all
survivng. So what
if he'd rather be remembered
in the dreams of strangers?
He raises his eyes to the
skylights where rain
hammers on. After a while
--
who knows how long? -- his
eyes ask
that they be closed. And he
closes them.
But the rain keeps
hammering. Is this a cloudburst?
Should he do something?
Secure the house
in some way? Uncle Bo stayed
married to Aunt Ruby for 47 years. Then hanged
himself.
He opens his eyes again.
Nothing adds up.
It all adds up. How long
will this storm go on?
————————
5、Raymond Carver - An
Afternoon
As he writes, without
looking at the sea,
he feels the tip of his pen
begin to tremble.
The tide is going out across
the shingle.
But it isn't that.
No,
it's because at that moment
she chooses
to walk into the room
without any clothes on.
Drowsy, not even sure where
she is
for a moment. She waves the
hair from her forehead.
Sits on the toilet with her
eyes closed,
head down. Legs sprawled. He
sees her
through the doorway.
Maybe
she's remembering what
happened that morning.
For after a time, she opens
one eye and looks at him.
And sweetly
smiles.
————————
6、Raymond Carver - Your Dog
Dies
it gets run over by a
van.
you find it at the side of
the road
and bury
it.
you feel bad about
it.
you feel bad
personally,
but you feel bad for your
daughter
because it was her
pet,
and she loved it
so.
she used to croon to
it
and let it sleep in her
bed.
you write a poem about
it.
you call it a poem for your
daughter,
about the dog getting run
over by a van
and how you looked after
it,
took it out into the
woods
and buried it deep,
deep,
and that poem turns out so
good
you're almost glad the
little dog
was run over, or else you'd
never
have written that good
poem.
then you sit down to
write
a poem about writing a
poem
about the death of that
dog,
but while you're writing
you
hear a woman
scream
your name, your first
name,
both
syllables,
and your heart
stops.
after a minute, you continue
writing.
she screams
again.
you wonder how long this can
go on.
————————————
7、Raymond Carver - The Best
Time Of The Day
Cool summer
nights.
Windows
open.
Lamps
burning.
Fruit in the
bowl.
And your head on my
shoulder.
These the happiest moments
in the day.
Next to the early morning
hours,
of course. And the
time
just before
lunch.
And the afternoon,
and
early evening
hours.
But I do
love
these summer
nights.
Even more, I
think,
than those other
times.
The work finished for the
day.
And no one who can reach us
now.
Or ever.
——————————
8、Raymond Carver - Drinking
While Driving
It's August and I have
not
Read a book in six
months
except something called The
Retreat from Moscow
by
Caulaincourt
Nevertheless, I am
happy
Riding in a car with my
brother
and drinking from a pint of
Old Crow.
We do not have any place in
mind to go,
we are just
driving.
If I closed my eyes for a
minute
I would be lost,
yet
I could gladly lie down and
sleep forever
beside this
road
My brother nudges
me.
Any minute now, something
will happen.
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