女相命者
在我们的时代到来之前 她就被称作老人了
但是她还是每天走在同一条道路上
她的年龄太过古老 像森林一样
已经让人无法用年轮计算
而是只能用世纪了
她站在黄昏之下
每一次矗立的位置都相同 未来亦可见
她是一个空洞的 布满皱纹的躯壳
颜色漆黑如烈火焚烧后的碉堡
她必须要把蜂拥而至的话语放缓
否则 它们将会太过拥挤 无法释放
拍打着翅膀尖叫着 在她的四周飞扬
然后 倦鸟归巢
它们在她的眉毛底下找到了栖息之地
于阴影之中 等待夜晚的降临
～～～～～～～～～～～
Long before our time they called her old,
But she'd walk down the same road every day.
Her age became too much to say
In years — and, like a forest's, would be told
In centuries. She comes to stand at dusk —
Her spot each time the same — and to foretell.
She is a hollow, wrinkled husk,
Dark as a fire-gutted citadel.
She has to turn her flock of talking loose
Or it will grow too crowded to relieve.
Flapping and screaming, words are flying all
Around her. Then, returning home to roost,
They find a perch beneath her eyebrows' eaves,
And in that shadow wait for night to fall.
（Translated by Leonard Cottrell https://allpoetry.com/A-Sybil）
