晚秋的情趣

By Adrienne Rich （女）艾德里安娜。里奇
    The river-fog will do for privacy
    on the low road a breath
    here， there， a cloudiness floating on the black top
    sunflower heads turned black and bowed
    the seas of corn a stubble
    the old routes flowing north， if not to freedom
    no human figure now in sight
    （with whom do you believe your lot is cast？）
    only the functional figure of the scarecrow
    the cut corn， ground to shreds， heaped in a shape
    like an Indian burial mound
    a haunted-looking， ordinary thing
    The work of winter starts fermenting in my head
    how with the hands of a lover or a midwife
    to hold back till the time is right
    force nothing， be unforced
    accept no giant miracles of growth
    by counterfeit light
    trust roots， allow the days to shrink
    give credence to these slender means
    wait without sadness and with grave impatience
    here in the north where winter has a meaning
    where the heaped colors suddenly go ashen
    where nothing is promised
    learn what an underground journey
    has been， might have to be； speak in a winter code
    let fog， sleet， translate； wind， carry them.