作者：埃德温·摩根
如此灰蒙蒙平静的一天，什么是它的症结？
果真有吗？还是得有一个？
是否小既美，即灰色，即平静？
更精确地说，我们感觉到逃避，遮掩，
一小片遮掩物，一片薄膜，一张不喜欢光亮的眼皮？
天气确实用一些老议题来愚弄
动向之爱，愚弄颜色，和差别——
并不华丽地枯萎和死亡的基本体（我们大家）
跳起舞或下起毛毛细雨。
坐下别动，把这静止带入你。
如果你愿意怎么说，思忖着这些缺失——
太阳，月亮，星星，雨，风，雾，还有雪。
然后什么也不想，将它们一扫而尽。
看着灰蒙蒙的天，沉重的房子，
不黑也不亮一条条的路，不是洗过
也不是没洗过的汽车，这里的
和那里的人，体面的，平淡无奇的，
世间所能显示的
一种何等平常的事务，如同某种程度的杠杆
压制着艺术与敬畏和差异与爱
在此时，此刻，此日
是如此灰色，如此平淡，如此以它的立场讨人喜欢！
让我们离开窗户，去写作。
不必等待湛蓝
破云而出。我们必须生活，对付。
Grey
Written by Edwin Morgan
What is the nub of such a plain grey day?
Does it have one? Does it have to have one?
If small is beautiful, is grey, is plain?
Or rather do we sense withdrawal, veiling,
a patch, a membrane, an eyelid hating light?
Does weather have some old remit to mock
the love of movement, colour, contrast –
primitives, all of us, that wilt and die
without some gorgeous dance or drizzle-dazzle.
Sit still, and take the stillness into you.
Think, if you will, about the absences –
sun, moon, stars, rain, wind, fog and snow.
Think nothing then, sweep them all away.
Look at the grey sky, houses of lead,
roads neither dark nor light, cars
neither washed nor unwashed, people
there, and there, decent, featureless,
what an ordinariness of business
the world can show, as if some level lever
had kept down art and fear and difference and love
this while, this moment, this day
so grey, so plain, so pleasing in its way!
Let’s leave the window, and write.
No need to wait for a fine blue
to break through. We must live, make do.
