by Thom Gunn
The snail pushes through a green
night, for the grass is heavy
with water and meets over
the bright path he makes, where rain
has darkened the earth's dark. He
moves in a wood of desire,
pale antlers barely stirring
as he hunts. I cannot tell
what power is at work, drenched there
with purpose, knowing nothing.
What is a snail's fury? All
I think is that if later
I parted the blades above
the tunnel and saw the thin
trail of broken white across
litter, I would never have
imagined the slow passion
to that deliberate progress.
蝸牛感懷
蝸牛用觸角推進(jìn)墨綠色的
夜晚，因?yàn)椴萑~上濕漉漉
沾滿水珠，耷拉著交織在
它推出的明亮小徑，雨在上面
使大地的昏暗更加昏暗。它
在欲望之林中緩緩蠕動。
它捕食時，蒼白的觸角
幾乎不動。我無法說出
什么力量起作用，在那里
浸透于百思不解的思緒中。
蝸牛的憤懣何在?我僅僅
這樣遐想：即使稍后一些時候
我撥開蝸牛爬過的路上的葉片，
但見它留下的細(xì)細(xì)痕跡
粘著破碎的白色微粒，穿過
垃圾碎屑，那我也難以想像
伴隨它從容前進(jìn)的
徐遲緩慢的激情。