The Karst in August
Fiona Sampson
Bee-boards bleach
in the couch grass
on high fields.
No one goes there,
no one takes the steep goat tracks
past ruined farms.
I remember the secret you told me,
and the abandoned hulls
that turn nailed flanks to the sun
and sink
in a murmur of bees,
bees flecking the air brightly –
their hum is a rumour,
an old tune.
八月的岩溶
菲欧娜·桑普森
蜂窝架板在高地牧场的
茅草中
褪落出柔白。
没有人去那里，
没有人会挑选山羊攀爬的陡峭小道
穿越荒废的农庄。
我记得你告诉过我的秘密，
和那些被弃置的船身
布满钉痕的侧翼向阳光倾斜
又沉淹进
蜜蜂的一阵低语，
蜜蜂在空气中明快地缀饰斑点——
它们的嗡鸣是一种流言，
一种古老而准确的音高。
(梁俪真、陈东东 译)
