加拿大 玛格丽特·阿特伍德 Margaret Atwood  加拿大   (1939~?)
Variations on the Word Love
You Fit Into Me
Eventual Proteus
九月
所有的事情只是一件
为一首永远不会被写出的诗所作的注释
大街上,爱情
小岛 cay
弃儿
分别 fractionate
小木屋
警句 aphorism
多首一页
外国诗歌 outland poetry
Variations on the Word Love

玛格丽特·阿特伍德


  This is a word we use to plug
  holes with. It's the right size for those warm
  blanks in speech, for those red heart-
  shaped vacancies on the page that look nothing
  like real hearts. Add lace
  and you can sell
  it. We _insert_ it also in the one empty
  space on the printed form
  that comes with no instructions. There are whole
  magazines with not much in them
  but the word love, you can
  rub it all over your body and you
  can cook with it too. How do we know
  it isn't what goes on at the cool
  debaucheries of slugs under damp
  pieces of cardboard? As for the weed-
  seedlings nosing their tough snouts up
  among the lettuces, they shout it.
  Love! Love! sing the soldiers, raising
  their glittering knives in salute.
  
  Then there's the two
  of us. This word
  is far too short for us, it has only
  four letters, too sparse
  to fill those deep bare
  vacuums between the stars
  that press on us with their deafness.
  It's not love we don't wish
  to fall into, but that fear.
  this word is not enough but it will
  have to do. It's a single
  vowel in this metallic
  silence, a mouth that says
  O again and again in wonder
  and pain, a breath, a finger
  grip on a cliffside. You can
  hold on or let go.

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