I read Jane Hirshfield'poem two weeks ago,and this is one of my favorite.Actually this is the only one i feel I could understand,like some light entering the water. The reat of them are just in a dull room with me,full of dust.
Late Self-Portrait by Rembrandt
By Jane Hirshfield
The dog, dead for years, keeps coming back in the dream.
We look at each other there with the old joy.
It was always her gift to bring me into the present—
Which sleeps, changes, awakens, dresses, leaves.
Happiness and unhappiness
differ as a bucket hammered from gold differs from one of pressed tin,
this painting proposes.
Each carries the same water, it says.
——模棱两可
| | 模棱两可 ambiguity (![[info]](http://l-stat.livejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif?v=92.2){kind=small} lower) wrote, |
- Mood:
depressed
A poem
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