讀詩

午夜從陽台邊吹進一陣涼風，突然間不知為何我想起那段

讀詩的日子。你還記得我們會在客廳的木桌邊吟詩嗎？你還記得

曾經在電話中，在遠方的你聆聽著我為你讀的那些詩嗎？





無所不在的回憶把原本紛亂的心思攪和的更泥濘，忍不住，

我回頭翻出了詩集，緩緩的順著詩的韻律平穩下自己的呼息。

你知道嗎？沒有抓住節奏，一首詩的韻味就會全然走調，當然

每個人都可以有自己詮釋的方式，但怎麼說呢？節奏就是功力了。



今天我們來讀Seamus Heaney的詩好不好？就像你還在遠方一樣，

我們還是會圍在小桌邊，還是會在各自的電話邊，在不同的城市裡，

我們一起讀著詩。





Mossbawn: Two Poems in Dedication



by Seamus Heaney





I. Sunlight

There was a sunlit absence.

The helmeted pump in the yard

heated its iron,

water honeyed



in the slung bucket

and the sun stood

like a griddle cooling

against the wall



of each long afternoon.

So, her hands scuffled

over the bakeboard,

the reddening stove



sent its plaque of heat

against her where she stood

in a floury apron

by the window.



Now she dusts the board

with a goose's wing,

now sits, broad-lapped,

with whitened nails



and measling shins:

here is a space

again, the scone rising

to the tick of two clocks.



And here is love

like a tinsmith's scoop

sunk past its gleam

in the meal-bin.





2. The Seed Cutters



They seem hundreds of years away. Brueghel,

You'll know them if I can get them true.

They kneel under the hedge in a half-circle

Behind a windbreak wind is breaking through.

They are the seed cutters. The tuck and frill

Of leaf-sprout is on the seed potates

Buried under that straw. With time to kill,

They are taking their time. Each sharp knife goes

Lazily halving each root that falls apart

In the palm of the hand: a milky gleam,

And, at the centre, a dark watermark.

Oh, calendar customs! Under the broom

Yellowing over them, compose the frieze

With all of us there, our anonymities.