过冬的蚂蚁颤抖着翅膀
等待着贫瘠冬日的结束。
我用迟钝而愚蠢的方式爱你，
几近沉默，只偶尔说上一两句话。
是什么使我们每个人都隐匿着生活？
一道伤口，那风，一句话，一位父母。
有时候我们无助地等待着，
笨拙地等待着，残缺不全，伤口尚未愈合。
当我们遮住伤口，我们便从
人退化为一种带壳的动物。
此刻，我们感觉到那蚂蚁坚硬的胸部，
硬壳，沉默的舌头。
这定是那蚂蚁，那冬天的蚂蚁的
方式，那些被伤害却仍想
继续生活的人的方式：
呼吸，感受他人，等待。
WINTER POEM
by Robert Bly
The quivering wings of the winter ant
wait for lean winter to end.
I love you in slow, dim-witted ways,
hardly speaking, one or two words only.
What caused us each to live hidden?
A wound, the wind, a word, a parent.
Sometimes we wait in a helpless way,
awkwardly, not whole and not healed.
When we hid the wound, we fell back
from a human to a shelled life.
Now we feel the ant's hard chest,
the carapace, the silent tongue.
This must be the way of the ant,
the winter ant, the way of those
who are wounded and want to live:
to breathe, to sense another, and to wait.
等待着贫瘠冬日的结束。
我用迟钝而愚蠢的方式爱你，
几近沉默，只偶尔说上一两句话。
是什么使我们每个人都隐匿着生活？
一道伤口，那风，一句话，一位父母。
有时候我们无助地等待着，
笨拙地等待着，残缺不全，伤口尚未愈合。
当我们遮住伤口，我们便从
人退化为一种带壳的动物。
此刻，我们感觉到那蚂蚁坚硬的胸部，
硬壳，沉默的舌头。
这定是那蚂蚁，那冬天的蚂蚁的
方式，那些被伤害却仍想
继续生活的人的方式：
呼吸，感受他人，等待。
WINTER POEM
by Robert Bly
The quivering wings of the winter ant
wait for lean winter to end.
I love you in slow, dim-witted ways,
hardly speaking, one or two words only.
What caused us each to live hidden?
A wound, the wind, a word, a parent.
Sometimes we wait in a helpless way,
awkwardly, not whole and not healed.
When we hid the wound, we fell back
from a human to a shelled life.
Now we feel the ant's hard chest,
the carapace, the silent tongue.
This must be the way of the ant,
the winter ant, the way of those
who are wounded and want to live:
to breathe, to sense another, and to wait.
