Life marches on, but I've been staying on that island.
(T. Roethke, translated by Viv)
爸爸的华尔兹
你的气息里夹杂威士忌,
可熏得小男孩儿晕了头;
但我仍拼命抓着你,
这华尔兹的步子不好走。
父子俩舞步轻快不休,
直到厨房那锅也滚下来;
母亲这可发了愁,
嗔怒的眉头紧锁不开。
你的指关节伤了一处,
手中还握着我的腕;
每当你跳错了一步,
我的右耳便擦过你的裤扣。
你在我头上打着节奏,
掌心结满了厚厚尘土。
你跳着舞送我上床睡熟,
我还把你的衬衫紧紧抓住。
-----
My Papa’s Waltz
The whiskey on your breath
Could make a smal boy dizzy;
But I hung on like death:
Such waltzing was not easy.
We romped until the pans
Slid from the kitchen shelf;
My mother's countenance
Could not unfrown itself.
The hand that held my wrist
Was battered on one knuckle;
At every step you missed
My right ear scraped a buckle.
You beat time on my head
With a palm caked hard by dirt,
Then waltzed me off to bed
Still clinging to your shirt.