Wind

《风》泰特‧休斯

房子已在海面上漂了整夜，很远了，
断裂的树木穿透黑暗，群山轰鸣，
风在窗下的旷野中四窜
骑着黑挣扎，致盲的潮湿


直到日升；然后在一片橘色天空下
群山改变了从前的位置，而风在上面舞动
暗绿色闪着光的峰崖，
屈伸着象一只疯眼睛的晶状体。


正午，我从房子一侧
一直攀到煤房门口。我曾抬头看上去－
穿过那能把我两眼吹得凹陷的烈风，
群山是被风鼓击作响的帐篷，拽紧索链，


颤栗的旷野，天际线给了一个，
随时都会在劈啪一声中砰然消失的鬼脸；
风扔出一只鹊，和一只黑色－
黑色的鸥，象根铁棍似慢慢弓起身。房子


象只精致的绿色高脚杯，在风声中共鸣
随时会被声音粉碎。现在，
我们深陷在椅中，对着熊熊篝火，攥紧
了心，看不进书，不能思考，


或者是聊天。我们注视着燃烧的火焰，
感到房基挪蹭，但还就坐着，
看着窗户抖簌着倾进屋内，
听着石头在地平线下的呼嚎。

Eugene Richards, The Blue Room, "North of Keene, North Dakota, Decembre 2006"


Ted Hughes, Wind

This house has been far out at sea all night,
The woods crashing through darkness, the booming hills,
Winds stampeding the fields under the window
Floundering black astride and blinding wet

Till day rose; then under an orange sky
The hills had new places, and wind wielded
Blade-light, luminous black and emerald,
Flexing like the lens of a mad eye.

At noon I scaled along the house-side as far as
The coal-house door. Once I looked up -
Through the brunt wind that dented the balls of my eyes
The tent of the hills drummed and strained its guyrope,

The fields quivering, the skyline a grimace,
At any second to bang and vanish with a flap;
The wind flung a magpie away and a black-
Back gull bent like an iron bar slowly. The house

Rang like some fine green goblet in the note
That any second would shatter it. Now deep
In chairs, in front of the great fire, we grip
Our hearts and cannot entertain book, thought,

Or each other. We watch the fire blazing,
And feel the roots of the house move, but sit on,
Seeing the window tremble to come in,
Hearing the stones cry out under the horizons.

“偶尔会有这种可能，只是短暂的片刻，你会找到能打开你头脑中那些高楼大厦之门的词语，用这些词语去表达一些——或许不是很多，仅仅是一些——由挤入我们身体的信息而产生的抵牾。一只乌鸦飞走的方式，一个人走路的方式，一条街的样子，多年前的某一天我们曾经做过的事情。那些词语可以表达复杂的内心深处，而这种复杂则准确地反映着我们存在的方式”

休斯，《正在制造中的诗歌》，Poetry in the Making