The mahogany table-top you smashed

你砸破的红木桌面

Had been the broad plank top

又宽又厚，是我母亲的

Of my mother's heirloom sideboard-

祖传家俱，上面留有

Mapped with the scars of my whole life.

我整个生命的伤痕。

That came under the hammer.

它遭到了锤击的命运。

That high stool you swung that day

你因为我迟来20分钟照料小孩

Demented by my being

而发狂，在那天，

Twenty minutes late for baby-minding.

你挥舞着高脚凳。

'Marvellous!' I shouted, 'Go on,

“太好了！”我大声说，“别歇手，

Smash it into kindling.

把它砸碎烧光。那是你

That's the stuff you're keeping out of your poems!'

置于你的诗歌以外的东西！”

And later, considered and calmer,

稍后，考虑以后平静下来，

'Get that shoulder under your stanzas

“把劲头使在你的诗里，立刻动手吧！”

And we'll be away.' Deep in the cave of your ear

深藏在你耳眼里的妖怪

The goblin snapped his fingers.

劈劈啪啪地捻他的手指。

So what had I given him?

我给了他什么呢？

The bloody end of the skein

解开你婚姻的

That unravelled your marriage,

一团乱麻的糟糕末端

Left your children echoing

给你的孩子们留下的是

Like tunnels in a labyrinth.

像迷宫地道里的回声。

Left your mother a dead-end,

给你母亲留下一条死巷。

Brought you to the horned, bellowing

把你带到你已站起身的父亲的坟墓，

Grave of your risen father

那被牛角抵破而发出牛吼的坟墓——

And your own corpse in it.

你自己的尸体也在其中。