英文诗歌:The Writer

时间:2022-12-09 13:05:31 英文诗歌 我要投稿
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英文诗歌:The Writer

  The Writer

英文诗歌:The Writer

  by Richard Wilbur

  In her room at the prow of the house

  Where light breaks, and the windows are tossed with linden,

  My daughter is writing a story.

  I pause in the stairwell, hearing

  From her shut door a commotion of typewriter-keys

  Like a chain hauled over a gunwale.

  Young as she is, the stuff

  Of her life is a great cargo, and some of it heavy:

  I wish her a lucky passage.

  But now it is she who pauses,

  As if to reject my thought and its easy figure.

  A stillness greatens, in which

  The whole house seems to be thinking,

  And then she is at it again with a bunched clamor

  Of strokes, and again is silent.

  I remember the dazed starling

  Which was trapped in that very room, two years ago;

  How we stole in, lifted a sash

  And retreated, not to affright it;

  And how for a helpless hour, through the crack of the door,

  We watched the sleek, wild, dark

  And iridescent creature

  Batter against the brilliance, drop like a glove

  To the hard floor, or the desk-top,

  And wait then, humped and bloody,

  For the wits to try it again; and how our spirits

  Rose when, suddenly sure,

  It lifted off from a chair-back,

  Beating a smooth course for the right window

  And clearing the sill of the world.

  It is always a matter, my darling,

  Of life or death, as I had forgotten. I wish

  What I wished you before, but harder.

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