丹尼斯·李诗选（2）

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丹尼斯李的诗歌尤其受加拿大小朋友的喜欢，源于他一颗真挚的童心，在简单平实的语言下，隐藏着天真而智慧的美学，在童趣盎然的作品里，能读到温润真挚的纯净。他还被称为“鹅爸爸”。

诗塾在诗塾课73期里选了诗人几首诗，今天再选几首英文诗歌给大家欣赏。

……………………………………

COMING HOME

You are on the highway and the great light of

noon comes over the asphalt, the gravelled

shoulders.

You are on the highway, there is a kind of

laughter, the cars pound south.

Over your shoulder the scrub-grass, the fences,

the fields wait patiently as though someone believed in them.

The light has laid it upon them.

One crow scrawks.

The edges take care of themselves, there is

no strain, you can almost hear it,

you inhabit it.

Back in the city, many things you once lived for

are coming apart.

Transistor rock still fills

back yards, in the parks young men do things to

Hondas; there will be

heat lightning, beer on the porches, goings on.

That is not it.

And you are still on the highway.

There are no houses, no farms.

Across the median,

past the swish and thud of the northbound cars,

beyond the opposite fences,the fields,

the climbing escarpment, solitary in the

bright eye of the sun the

birches dance, and they dance.

They have their reasons.

You do not know anything.

Cicadas call now, in the darkening swollen air there is dust

in your nostrils;

a kind of laughter; you are still on the highway.

……………………………………

COMING BECOMES YOU

Coming be——comes you,little one:

rockabye world as you lie, and the great pang takes you in  waves.

Coming   becomes you.

With horses you come, with arabian

slather with jugular grunts and in

fretwork, in fistfuls, on Fridays we come in the

danger and midnight of horses.

Coming you come like a spill, like a

spell, like a spoonful of flesh in the

roaring, high on blood

ocean, come with your horses, you come to be played.

In after-come, you nuzzle;

you nestle and noodle and nest.

And the ghosts in your eyes

do their long-legged, chaste parade.

Each time such sadness  hushes me: slow

ache in your gaze—nostalgia for

now, for now as it  goes away.

You're beautiful, small

queen of the pillow drowse, and

rockabye world in my arms.

Coming becomes you.

JUNIPER AND BONE

Old momma teach me moonlight

Old momma teach me skin

Old momma teach me timing

When the ocean crashes in

And momma teach me heartland

And teach me highway fear

Old momma teach me hunger

At the turning of the year

Old momma teach me nerve ends

Made of juniper and bone

Old momma teach me homing

To the certainty of stone.

A PLAN FOR PRESERVING BIRDSONG

Is it true that tiny lawyers

Hatch in puddles in the spring?

I plan to capture orioles

And teach them how to sing;

But if they can't, the lawyers,

Dressed in tiny feathered suits,

Could congregate in sheltered spots

And play on tiny flutes.

A CAUTIONARY VERSE

My child, do not exaggerate,

Lest you incur a horrid fate—

As ancient oracles relate,

And modern texts corroborate.

For if you ever fabricate,

Dissimulate, prevaricate,

Or even minor facts inflate,

The fist of doom will crush you straight.

Suppose you choose to overstate

How long a spell you had to wait

Until a cab, two minutes late,

Responded to your calls irate.

Before this whopper can abate

Your heart will start to palpitate,

Your vital juices desiccate,

Your kidneys cease to operate.

Not only that: at lightning rate

Your mental functions, small and great,

Will shrivel and deteriorate

To pablum in your puny pate.

Thereafter, sentiments of hate

Will justly start to agitate

Your sturdy colleagues, man and mate,

And prompt them to vituperate,

Till through the world, a weary weight

Upon the modern welfare state,

You reel, you slump, you sob, you prate,

And choose your life to terminate.

But let me not too long dilate

Upon the horrors that await

A person who, disdaining fate,

Should ever once exaggerate.

THE SECRET PLACE

There's a place I go, inside myself,

Where nobody else can be,

And none of my friends can tell it's there—

Nobody knows but me.

It's hard to explain the way it feels,

Or even where I go.

It isn't a place in time or space,

But once I'm there, I know.

It's tiny, it's shiny, it can't be seen,

But it's big as the sky at night . . .

I try to explain and it hurts my brain,

But once I'm there, it's right.

There's a place I know inside myself,

And it's neither big nor small,

And whenever I go, it feels as though

I never left at all.

BLUE PSALM

Hush hush, little wanderer.

Hush your weary load.

Who touched down

once, once, once in America—

and over you flashed the net!

And they said,

You will forget your name and

your home and

it was so: already I had forgotten.

But how did I come to be here?

This place is not my place,

these ways are not my ways.

I do not understand their consumer index;

their life-style options; their bottom line —

weird abstract superstitions, and

when I settled in to stay,

it felt unclean.

But that was a life ago.

For I flourished,

I paddled in silks;

I wagged my tail for pay

I poured sweet liqueurs on my tongue, and cried,

Here's to the old ways,

here's to our roots . . .

What have I sunk to?

Though they hem me with filigree,

this is not my country.

Though I bask on a diamond leash it is not my home.

But what am I doing here still, how long will I

desecrate the name?

who was born to

another estate, in a

place I have nearly forgotten.

丹尼斯-李诗集合
丹尼斯-李诗选（1）：诗塾课（73）

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