那些冬季的星期天

文/罗伯特·海顿 译/邹仲之

那些冬季的星期天

文/罗伯特·海顿 译/邹仲之

Sundays too my father got up early

And put his clothes on in the blueblack cold,

then with cracked hands that ached

from labor in the weekday weather made

banked fi res blaze. No one ever thanked him.

星期天，我父亲也起得很早，

在天亮前的冰冷中穿上衣服，

然后用他皴裂的手把火生旺，

那手是平时露天干活给糟蹋的。

没有谁谢过他。

I’d wake and hear the cold splintering, breaking.

When the rooms were warm, he’d call,

and slowly I would rise and dress,

fearing the chronic angers of that house,

我会醒着，听严寒土崩瓦解。

等房间都暖和了，他就喊，

我就慢腾腾地起床、穿衣，

害怕家里久积的怒气，

Speaking indifferently to him,

who had driven out the cold

and polished my good shoes as well.

What did I know, what did I know

of love’s austere and lonely of fi ces?

我冷冷地跟他说话，

他已经驱散了寒冷，

还擦好了我漂亮的鞋。

什么是朴素的爱和默默奉献，

那时我懂吗，我懂吗？

Those Winter Sundays

By Robert Hayden

【注】这首美国诗人罗伯特·海顿（1913—1980）作于1962年的诗回顾了许多年前家里的不愉快。从事体力劳动的父亲星期天也照样早起，他同样严格要求家人，而他们却想睡懒觉；所以父亲费力不讨好，没人感谢过他。诗人写这首诗时49岁，显然父亲已经过世，他后悔当年对父亲的不理解和冷淡。这首诗之所以有名，是因为它道出存在于许多家庭中的矛盾或不幸，已为人父母的读者无论年轻或年长都可从中得到启示。

诗中第2行the blueblack cold即the pre-dawn cold。最后一行lonely of fi ces直译为“孤单地履行职责”。