Moose의 동생이 다녀갔다 | "The Moose" by Bishop

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아침에 집 뒤뜰에

홀연히 Moose의 동생이 다녀갔다

Elk였나 막내 Deer였나, 잘 모르겠다

울타리 어디로 어떻게 들어왔을까

위풍당당하게 나가라고 문을 열어 놓았다

뜰에서 사라진 걸 오후에 확인했다

 

Elizabeth Bishop의 "The Moose"를 읽는다

 

 

 

 

 

 

아래는 Elizabeth Bishop의 28-연 시 "The Moose"의 마지막 7연이다. 

 

 

The Moose

 

 

Now, it’s all right now   

even to fall asleep

just as on all those nights.   

—Suddenly the bus driver   

stops with a jolt,

turns off his lights.

 

A moose has come out of

the impenetrable wood

and stands there, looms, rather,   

in the middle of the road.

It approaches; it sniffs at

the bus’s hot hood.

 

Towering, antlerless,   

high as a church,

homely as a house

(or, safe as houses).

A man’s voice assures us   

“Perfectly harmless....”

 

Some of the passengers   

exclaim in whispers,   

childishly, softly,

“Sure are big creatures.”   

“It’s awful plain.”   

“Look! It’s a she!”

 

Taking her time,

she looks the bus over,   

grand, otherworldly.   

Why, why do we feel   

(we all feel) this sweet   

sensation of joy?

 

“Curious creatures,”

says our quiet driver,   

rolling his r’s.

“Look at that, would you.”   

Then he shifts gears.

For a moment longer,

 

by craning backward,   

the moose can be seen

on the moonlit macadam;   

then there’s a dim

smell of moose, an acrid   

smell of gasoline.