For my mother,born March 1902,died March 1959
and my fafther,born February 1900,died June 1959
Gone,I say,and walk from church,
refusing the stiff procession to the grave,
lrtting the dead ride alone in the hearse.
It is June.I am tired of being brave.
We drive to the cape.I cultivate
Myself where the sun gutters from the sky,
where the sea swings in like an iron gate
and we touch.In another country people die.
My darling,the wind falls in like stones
from the whitehearted water and when we touvh
we enter touch entirely.No one's alone.
Men kill for this,or for as much.
And what of the dead?They lie without shoes
in their stone boats.They are more like stone
than the sea would be if it stopped.They refuse
to be blessed,throat,eye,and knucklebone.
我的母亲，生于1902年三月，死于1959年三月
我的父亲，生于1900年二月，死于1959年六月
走了，我说，走出教堂，
拒绝向墓地送葬的行列，
只让他们自己坐着灵车前去
这是六月的季节。我已疲于勇敢。
我们开车前往海呷
阳光从空中流淌下来
海浪像一扇铁门 摇摆着登岸
从这我追寻到了自我
而在别的城市里人们死去。
我亲爱的，风如碎石般塌陷
自白色之心的流水之中
当我们触摸，我们已全然地触摸
没有人是孤独的。
人们因此死去，或是更多。
而死者怎样呢？
他们在棺材里躺着，光着脚
如果停止，他们更像石头甚于像海
他们拒绝被祝福
喉咙，眼睛和关节骨。
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