House of Light
书名:House of Light
作者:Mary Oliver
[1]
I saw the heron
poise
like a branch of white petals
in the swamp,
in the mud that lies
like a glaze,
in the water
that swirls its pale panels
of reflected clouds;
I saw the heron shaking
its damp wings—
and then I felt
an explosion—
a pain—
also a happiness
I can hardly mention
as I slid free—
as I saw the world
through those yellow eyes—
as I stood like that, rippling,
under the mottled sky
of the evening
that was beginning to throw
its dense shadows.
No! said my heart, and drew back.
But my bones knew something wonderful
about the darkness—
and they thrashed in their cords,
they fought, they wanted
to lie down in that silky mash
of the swamp, the sooner
to fly.
[2]
Don’t ask if it was the fire of honey
or the fire of death, don’t ask
if we were determined to live, at last,
with merciful hearts. We sat
among the unforgettable flowers.
We let the white cups cool before
we raised them to our lips.
[3]
cries for three days, in the gray mist.
cries for the north it hopes it can find.
plunges, and comes up with a slapping pickerel.
blinks its red eye.
cries again.
you come every afternoon, and wait to hear it.
you sit a long time, quiet, under the thick pines,
in the silence that follows.
as though it were your own twilight.
as though it were your own vanishing song.
[4]
The ripe, floating caps
of the fly amanita
glow in the pinewoods.
I don’t even think
of the eventual corruption of my body,
but of how quaint and humorous they are,
like a collection of doorknobs,
half-moons,
then a yellow drizzle of flying saucers.
In any case
they won’t hurt me unless
I take them between my lips
and swallow, which I know enough
not to do. Once, in the south,
I had this happen:
the soft rope of a watermoccasin
slid down the red knees
of a mangrove, the hundreds of ribs
housed in their smooth, white
sleeves of muscle moving it
like a happiness
toward the water, where some bubbles
on the surface of that underworld announced
a fatal carelessness. I didn’t
even then move toward the fine point
of the story, but stood in my lonely body
amazed and full of attention as it fell
like a stream of glowing syrup into
the dark water, as death
blurted out of that perfectly arranged mouth.
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