rising toward a saint
still honored in these parts,
the paper chambers flush and fill with light
that comes and goes, like hearts.

Once up against the sky it's hard
to tell them from the stars—
planets, that is—the tinted ones:
Venus going down, or Mars,

or the pale green one. With a wins,
they flare and falter, wobble and toss;
but if it's still they steer between
the kite sticks of the Southern Cross,

receding, dwindling, solemnly
and steadily forsaking us,
or, in the downdraft from a peak,
suddenly turning dangerous.

Last night another big one fell.
It splattered like an egg of fire
against the cliff behind the house.
The flame ran down. We saw the pair

of owls who nest there flying up
and up, their whirling black-and-white
stained bright pink underneath, until
they shrieked up out of sight.

The ancient owl's nest must have burned.
Hastily, all alone,
a glistening armadillo left the scene,
rose-flecked, head down, tail down,

and then a baby rabbit jumped out,
shot -eared, to our surprise.
So soft!—a handful of intangible ash
with fixed, ignited eyes.

Too pretty, dreamlike mimicry!
O falling fire and piercing cry
and panic, and a weak mailed fist
clenched ignorant against the sky!

每年的這個時節
幾乎每晚
那薄弱、不法的天燈浮現天界。
攀升直到山的頂端，

登向那聖徒
在當地仍被崇尚，
那紙糊的燈體緋紅且光輝滿盈
光影明滅穿梭，好似一顆顆心臟。

ㄧ但飛升至高空即很難
將它們與星晨辨明─
星球，即是─ 那些覆上色彩的球體：
是金星翩翩降落，或是火星，

或是那淡綠色的星球。乘著風，
它們忽明忽滅搖曳生姿，晃晃蕩蕩展轉浮現；
但假如風息平靜它們便航行
於南十字星那如紙鳶的骨架間，

退縮退卻，逐漸消逝，如此孤獨地
且平穩地離我們遠去，
亦或，從山頂順著氣流而下，
突然間變得危險引人恐懼。

昨夜另ㄧ只巨大的天燈墜落。
它噴濺著火花好似一顆著火的蛋型物
緊挨著屋後的山峰。
火焰俯衝而下。我們看到一對

蹲踞在那兒的夜梟振翅
飛起，舞動著那黑白並現
綴上亮粉紅色的翅膀底部，直到
牠們驚叫著飛出視線。

這夜梟的舊巢必定已焚毀了。
一瞬間，萬物孤寂，
一隻閃亮的犰狳逃開
玫瑰色花火紛紛，低頭，放平尾巴，

緊接著一隻兔寶寶跳出，
短耳 ，真出乎人意料之外。
是這麼柔軟！─ 一把迷離的塵灰
有著專注，灼熱的雙眼。

太美麗了，如夢境般的模擬！
噢 紛落的火花與穿刺過空氣的哭嚎
甚至惶恐，與覆著殘甲的拳頭
緊握著，無知的伸向蒼穹。

As Bishop puts in the subtitle, this poem is dedicated to her life-long friend, Robert Lowell. In 1957, Bishop went to New York and met Lowell in Boston and Castine. In Boston , 1957, Robert Lowell heard Bishop read this poem for the first time. He loved this poem and was inspired by it. After read “The Armadillo,” Lowell wrote “Skunk Hour,” which was dedicated to Bishop. As he mentioned,

The dedication is to Elizabeth Bishop, because reading her suggested a way of breaking through the shell of my old manner. Her rhythms, idiom, images and stanza structure seemed to belong to a later century. “Skunk Hour” is modeled on Miss Bishop's “The Armadillo,” a much better poem and one I had had heard her read and later carried around with me. Both “Skunk Hour” and “The Armadillo” use short line stanzas, start with drifting description, and end with a single animal (qtd. in Goldenshorn 184).

Works Cited