The Bay
James K. Baxter (詹姆斯.巴克斯特)
On the road to the bay was a lake of rushes
Where we bathed at times and changed in the bamboos.
Now it is rather to stand and say：
How many roads we take that lead to
Nowhere，
The allcy overgrown，no meaning now but loss：
Not that veritable garden where everything
comes easy.
And by the bay itself were cliffs with carved names
And a hut on the shore beside the Maori ovens.
We raced boats from the banks of the pumice creeck
Or swam in those autumnal shallows
Growing cold in amber water，riding
the logs
Upstream，and waiting for the taniwha.
So now I remember the bay and the
little spiders
On driftwood，so poisonous and quick.
The carved cliffs and the great outcrying surf
with currents round the rocks and the
birds rising.
A thousand times an hour is torn across
And burned for the sake of going on living.
But I remember the bay that never was
And stand like stone and cannot turn away.
港湾
译者 / 黎翠珍
通向港湾的路上有个蔺草湖
我们从前有时在湖里洗澡在竹林里更衣，
现在我宁可站着说：
走过的多少路都是没头没出路。
小巷长满青草，没有意思只有失落；
不再是不折不扣的花园，在里面什么都来得
容易。
港湾旁边的峭壁上刻满了名字，
滩上毛利人的烤炉边有间茅屋。
我们在轻石溪里划船比赛，
又到秋凉的浅滩游泳，
浸在琥珀色的波浪里觉得凉意侵入，
还骑着木段逆流而上，等待水怪出现。
我现在还记得港湾和浮木上的
小蜘蛛，又敏捷又有毒。
刻满字的峭壁，镗鞳的巨浪，
急流绕礁岩，水鸟惊飞起。
一小时被撕裂千百次，而且
遭烧灼，为了继续生存下去。
可我回忆起以前的港湾绝非如此，
便呆立着如石头，无法转身离去。
