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镇州大萝卜

http://www.wenaus.com/poetry/snyder.html

镇州大萝卜

After Work

The shack and a few trees
float in the blowing fog

I pull out your blouse,
warm my cold hands
     on your breasts.
you laugh and shudder
peeling garlic by the
     hot iron stove.
bring in the axe, the rake,
the wood

we'll lean on the wall
against each other
stew simmering on the fire
as it grows dark
            drinking wine.


A Walk

Sunday the only day we don't work:
Mules farting around the meadow,
                            Murphy fishing,
The tent flaps in the warm
Early sun: I've eaten breakfast and I'll
                              Take a walk
To Benson Lake. Packed a lunch,
Goodbye. Hopping on creekbed boulders
Up the rock throat three miles
                              Puite Creek –
In steep gorge glacier-slick rattlesnake country
Jump, land by a pool, trout skitter,
The clear sky. Deer tracks.
Bad place by a falls, boulders big as houses,
Lunch tied to belt,
I stemmed up a crack and almost fell
But rolled out safe on a ledge
                              and ambled on.
Quail chicks freeze underfoot, color of stone
Then run cheep! away, hen quail fussing.
Craggy west end of Benson Lake – after edging
Past dark creek pools on a long white slope –
Lookt down in the ice-black lake
                             lined with cliff
From far above: deep shimmering trout.
A lone duck in a gunsightpass
                             steep side hill
Through slide-aspen and talus, to the east end,
Down to grass, wading a wide smooth stream
Into camp. At last.
            By the rusty three-year-
Ago left-behind cookstove
Of the old trail crew,
Stoppt and swam and ate my lunch.


Civilization

Those are the people who do complicated things.

     they'll grab us by the thousands
     and put us to work.

World's going to hell, with all these
     villages and trails.
Wild duck flocks aren't
     what they used to be.
Aurochs grow rare.

Fetch me my feathers and amber

         *

A small cricket
on the typescript page of
"Kyoto born in spring song"
grooms himself
in time with The Well-Tempered Clavier.
I quit typing and watch him through a glass.
How well articulated! How neat!

Nobody understands the ANIMAL KINGDOM.

         *

When creeks are full
The poems flow
When creeks are down
We heap stones.

this poem is for deer

I dance on all the mountains
On five mountains, I have a dancing place
When they shoot at me I run
To my five mountains"

Missed a last shot
At the Buck, in twilight
So we came back sliding
On dry needles through cold pines.
Scared out a cottontail
Whipped up the winchester
Shot off its head.
The white body rolls and twitches
In the dark ravine
As we run down the hill to the car.

                        deer foot down scree
Picasso's fawn, Issa's fawn,
Deer on the autumn mountain
Howling like a wise man
Stiff springy jumps down the snowfields
Head held back, forefeet out,
Balls tight in a tough hair sack
Keeping the human soul from care
                   on the autumn mountain
Standing in late sun, ear-flick
Tail-flick, gold mist of flies
Whirling from nostril to eyes.

Home by night
               drunken eye
Still picks out Taurus
Low, and growing high:
               four-point buck
Dancing in the headlights
               on the lonely road
A mile past the mill-pond,
With the car stopped, shot
That wild silly blinded creature down.

Pull out the hot guts
               with hard bare hands
While night-frost chills the tongue
               and eye
The cold horn-bones.
The hunter's belt
               just below the sky
Warm blood in the car trunk.
Deer-smell,
               the limp tongue.

Deer don't want to die for me.
               I'll drink sea-water
Sleep on beach pebbles in the rain
Until the deer come down to die
               in pity for my pain.


from  Logging

"Lodgepole Pine: the wonderful reproductive
power of this species on areas over which its
stand has been killed by fire is dependent upon
the ability of the closed cones to endure a fire
which kills the tree without injuring its seed.
After fire, the cones open and shed their seeds
on the bared ground and a new growth springs up."

Stood straight
                     holding the choker high
As the Cat swung back the arch
                     piss-firs falling,
Limbs snapping on the tin hat
                     bright D caught on
Swinging butt-hooks
                     ringing against cold steel.

Hsu Fang lived on leeks and pumpkins.
Goosefoot,
          wild herbs,
                     fields lying fallow!

But it's hard to farm
Between the stumps:
The cows get thin, the milk tastes funny,
The kids grow up and go to college
They don't come back
                     the little fir trees do

                     Rocks the same blue as sky
Only icefields, a mile up,
                          are the mountain
Hovering over ten thousand acres
Of young fir.


Manzanita

Before dawn the coyotes
        weave medicine songs
        dream nets – spirit baskets –
        milky way music
                they cook young girls with
                to be woman;
        or the whirling dance of
        striped boys –

At moon-set the pines are gold-purple
Just before sunrise.

The dog hastens into the undergrowth
Comes back panting
Huge, on the small dry flowers.

A woodpecker
Drums and echoes
Across the still meadow

One man draws, and releases      an arrow
Humming, flat,
Misses a gray stump, and splitting
A smooth red twisty manzanita bough.

Manzanita     the tips in fruit,
Clusters of hard green berries
The longer you look
The bigger they seem,

        `little apples'


No Matter, Never Mind

The Father is the Void
The Wife    Waves

Their child is Matter.

Matter makes it with his mother
And their child is Life,
                        a daughter.

The Daughter is the Great Mother
Who, with her father/brother Matter
                     as her lover,

Gives birth to the Mind.



Once Only

almost at the equator
almost at the equinox
exactly at midnight
from a ship
the full

moon
                  
in the center of the sky.



Hiking in the Totsugawa Gorge


           pissing

           watching

           a waterfall

                           Gary Snyder

黑天才

好，谢谢，看到了





中文呢！！！