发信人: nola1998 (cougar2012), 信区: LeisureTime
标 题: Those Winter Sundays BY ROBERT HAYDEN 翻译一首给父亲的诗
发信站: BBS 未名空间站 (Wed Jun 20 13:51:43 2018, 美东)
Those Winter Sundays
BY ROBERT HAYDEN
Sundays too my father got up early
and put his clothes on in the blueblack cold,
then with cracked hands that ached
from labor in the weekday weather made
banked fires blaze. No one ever thanked him.
I’d wake 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 indifferently 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?
※ 修改:·nola1998 於 Jun 20 14:53:49 2018 修改本文·[FROM: 192.]
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