〈為花朵賦名〉 安妮·史蒂文森(試譯:淺白)
對花而言沒兩樣:
那些裏外翻轉的高大環柄菇,
結了蛛網、且佶屈了的針葉;
濛濛灰白的冠毛,時鐘似的,長自
那夏日的山羊鬍菊,從來
對其自己而言,都不曾是
「種子」,或甚麼「散播系統」;
——自然更不是真的山羊鬍了,
但對我們來說,它們預示了
光禿的田圃、人的老暮,和寒冬。
它們令我們在當下說出
那些我們渴欲保存的。
而我回憶的田野
早已是漫黃着一片柳穿魚了。
天空藍的菊苣的輪子,如迴針
織進叢叢的紫山蘄裏;
大豕草亦已高過我兒子們了。
那段我將走下的路,束豎着
多個未完成的尖塔;
「毛地黃」,我想是吧,然後「香脂樹」,
「柳蘭」,「紅石竹」。
我會特別留意
我種的那些「手指」——甜沒藥
的莢實,那瘦伶伶的、甘草的味性。
在陷進我那灰藍底厥睡前,藍盆花
將是最後的存照;教人記起天空裏,那點
圓葉風鈴草的、如貝殼脆弱的顏色。
冬天來時,我那光禿的田畝
將會纍纍的滿載着名字。
我只是個命名的人罷了;
唯有那些名字才是種子。
24/7/2025初稿
Naming the Flowers
By Anne Stevenson (from her 1989 collection Winter Time & Other Poems)
makes no difference to the flowers,
These inside-out parasols,
orb webs on crooked needles,
grey filmy cups in the clockwork
of summer goatsbeard
are to themselves not ‘seeds’,
not ‘system of distribution’,
never the beards of goats,
but to us they anticipate
bare patches, old age, winter-time.
They tell us to pronounce now
all that we wish to keep.
My fields of recollection
already are yellow with toadflax.
Wheels of sky-blue chicory
purl into purple angelica;
hogweed is taller than my sons.
The path I will follow is
shocking with unfinished steeples;
‘foxglove’, I’ll say, then ‘balsam’,
‘rose bay willow herb’, ‘red campion’.
I’ll note particularly
the pinched liquorice temper of my fingers,
pods of sweet cicely. Scabious
will be last into my grey-blue coma,
reminding me of heaven,
the shell-frail colour of harebells.
In winter-time my bare patch
will be heavy with names.
I am only a namer.
Only the names are seeds.



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