字體：小 中 大 |
|
|
|
| 2010/01/16 17:21:12瀏覽338｜回應0｜推薦3 | |
| The New Yorker Poetry by Mary Karr January 18, 2010 文盲祖先 我的父親生活之中遠離書面 他收到的郵件只標明給屋主 時代用戰爭掏空了他，他親自 繳帳單，相信肉體與家庭計畫 在那女書蠹成群的家中，他推上眼鏡 為了魚餌與化油器 訃聞，我的成績單，分數。 除此之外他不被書面文字稀釋 牌桌上，他講故事令一班漢子出神 所有天美時腕錶隨著脈搏頓跳 他們會像學童瞠目直看，即便他從桌中央 將堆高的賭金鈔票一掃而空 回家吧，我孤單，他用扭曲的字體寫著。我已 離家，去逐一攀登遠方珠峰般圖書館的大理石階 才能充耳不聞，不管他埋藏其中 以酒精恆久持續的無言沉默， 他抽菸不用濾嘴，喝牛奶不刮除油脂 他喜歡帶油花牛排，芥菜上面的肥肉 啃洋蔥像吃蘋果，蕪菁剝開 浸著岩鹽，黒豌豆淋著辣醋。 My father lived so far from the page the only mail he got was marked Occupant. The century had cored him with its war, and he paid bills in person, believed in flesh and the family plan. In that house of bookish females, his glasses slid on for fishing lures and carburetor work, the obits, my report cards, the scores. He was otherwise undiluted by the written word. At a card table, his tales could entrance a ring of guys till each Timex paused against each pulse, and they’d stare like schoolboys even as he wiped from the center the green bills anted up. Come home. I’m lonely, he wrote in undulating script. I’d left to scale each distant library’s marble steps like Everest till I was deaf to the wordlessness he was mired in, which drink made permanent. He took his smoke unfiltered, milk unskimmed. He liked his steaks marbled, fatback on mustard greens, onions eaten like apples, split turnips dipped into rock salt, hot-pepper vinegar on black beans. |
|
| ( 創作｜詩詞 ) |
