隐士以为，时候总是满的。
它不像月亮，有阴晴圆缺，
它无尽地孕育着未来。
它日日蹒跚着孕步
在同一条路上，朝着同一个方向，前行。
从未抵达，也从未生产。
抑或，时时抵达，时时生产。
隐士思考着如何理解
福音作者笔下奇怪的句子。
难道时间自身从时间里带出永恒，
来介入时间吗？-- 他头疼了。
蜡炬渐短，时光不再。
外面的新雪亮得晃眼。
揭开面纱的月亮，正是时候的满足。
In the Fullness of Time
Time, the hermit thinks, is always full.
Unlike the moon, it does not wax and wane,
But incubates the future endlessly.
It fares forth daily, with its pregnant waddle,
Plods the same road, points the same direction,
Never arrives or labors, or else incessantly
Arrives, every second is giving birth.
The hermit wonders how to understand
This strange phrase from the Gospel writer’s hand.
He thinks: Does time itself in time bring forth
Eternity, to intervene in time? –
His head hurts now.
The candle’s burning low
And won’t restore itself.
Outside, new snow
Shines. The moon, unveiled, is full in time.
秋天的下午，乌云密布，雷雨交加
在山峦上霹雳，从斜光中洗涤红尘。
最后的金光菊，惨淡凋零，
在隐士的门口伤心。
第一场冬霜有待降临，
雨水已让万物充满生机。
今天，他看见一只母鹿和尚未长成的幼鹿
徜徉在雨后的残枝落花里。
刹那间的一瞥，世界静止伫立。
恍惚间，鹿在跳跃、忽隐忽现
比手上的肌肤更真实。
他的心醉了，振作欣喜，欢呼雀跃
世界，比人心的想象更为真切。
这种纯粹的、看不见的智慧
令他震惊，使他顿悟。
鹿儿已悄然离去，他却没有看见。
Michaelmas
These autumn afternoons, black thundershowers
Break above the ridge, to rinse the dust
From the slanting light.
The last pale tattered coneflowers
Mourn at the hermit’s door. Before first frost,
The rain makes everything intense with life.
Today he sees a doe and half-grown fawn
Browsing his ruined garden. In one brief
Glimpse the world holds still.
They dapple and darken
On his vision,
are more present to him than his skin.
His heart’s lost to them. Charged, electric,
The world’s more real than human minds imagine.
Its pure unseen intelligences shock
Him into knowing more than he can know.
The deer depart. He does not see them go.
莎莉·托马斯（1964- ）为美国作家和诗人，现居北卡。
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