When old crones wandered in the woods,

当老巫婆们在树林中徘徊，

I was the hero on the hill

我是山上的英雄

in clear sunlight.

在明亮的阳光下。

Death’s hounds feared me.

死神的猎犬畏惧我。

Smell of wild fennel,

野茴香的气味，

high loft of sweet fruit high in the branche-s

香甜果子的高高阁楼，高耸于

of the flowering plum.

开花的梅树枝枒间。

Then I am cast down

然后我被下抛

into the terror of childhood,

到童年的恐惧中，

into the mirror and the greasy knives,

到那面镜子与油污满布的刀丛里，

the dark

黑暗中的

woodpile under the fig trees

无花果树群底下的

in the dark.

黑暗材堆。

It is only

如今想起来那只不过是

the malice of voices, the old horror

言辞间的恶毒，微不足道的

that is nothing, parents

古老的惊惧，爸妈

quarreling, somebody

吵架，有人

drunk.

喝醉。

I don’t know how we survive it.

我不知道我们是怎么活过来的。

On this sunny morning

在成年岁月里的

in my life as an adult, I am looking

这个晴朗早晨，我定睛

at one clear pure peach

注视乔琪亚．欧姬芙画作里

in a painting by Georgia O’Keefe.

一颗纯净的桃子。

It is all the fullness that there is

它如是圆熟地静置于

in light. A towhee scratches in the leaves

光中。红眼雀在我敞开的门外

outside my open door.

树叶间刮擦作响。

He always does.

他一向如此。

A moment ago I felt so sick

片刻之前我还觉得难受，

and so cold

发冷，

I could hardly move.

几乎动弹不得。