American Gothic — by Dana Robbins

我们在缅因州的一个小城发现它，
这条柔软的破被子，用黑色
红色和白色的条带缝合的
.
就是我们搬到一座旧农舍的
那年，离开布鲁克林区到
这个有趣却略显粗俗的小城，我们的福地。
那是20世纪30年代，这位贸易商说，
一百一十五美元。
我们买了，我们说，渴望地来不及，
当我们把它带回家，我们注意到
小小的倾斜的白色十字架图案
印在黑底的布料上。
万字符滚遍床，像战车。
黑色代表党卫军的靴子
红色代表被杀害的婴儿的血。
白色代表白雪
落到裸体的波兰犹太人身上
在1943年的冬天。
这条被子是纳粹的手缝的吗
这样爱着他们的事业以至于
他们把孩子裹进这样的万字符中？
烧掉它！
不，这条被子是古董，精心设计的，
手工缝制。或许，
它们真的不是万字符...
我们决定留下它。
叠起来放进衣橱里，这条被子
嘶嘶地冒出毒气，你不属于这儿
与你的美国梦无关。
你在耍弄谁呢?
你只是戴龙虾围嘴的一名犹太佬。
而涂鸦被乱涂进
犹太人的墓园，
这条被子预言：
你爱上了这个地方，
爱上了其丁香花的夏天，
和银装素裹的树的冬天，
这朗费罗的新英格兰，
这个平静的地方，即使这儿
在你爱的这个地方，
你也是不安全的。
我们把被子拿给一位专家。
一条小木屋拼布挂毯，她说，
出自维多利亚时代的内衣，
至少一百年老了。
那种图案，印度教的，不是纳粹。
我们把这条被子捐给了博物馆，
在那里，目前来说，
它停止了讲话。
We found it in a small Maine town,
the softly worn quilt, sewn from strips
of black, red and white.
That was the year we moved
to an old farmhouse, leaving Brooklyn
for this salty city, our promised land
That’s nineteen thirties, said the dealer,
one hundred fifteen dollars.
We’ll take it, we said, quick and greedy.
When we got it home, we noticed
the tiny pattern of angled crosses
in white on the black fabric.
Swastikas rolled across the bed, like tanks.
Black for the boots of the SS.
Red for the blood of the murdered infants.
White for the snow falling
over the naked Jews of Poland
in the winter of 1943.
Was this quilt stitched by Nazi hands
so in love with their cause that they
swaddled their children in swastikas?
Burn it !
No, the quilt was antique, well crafted,
hand sewn. And perhaps,
they weren’t really swastikas . . .
We decided to keep it.
Folded in a closet, the quilt hissed
poison, You don’t belong here
with your Americana dreams.
Who are you fooling?
you’re just a yid in a lobster bib.
When graffiti was scrawled
in the Jewish graveyard,
the quilt prophesied:
This place you fell in love with,
with its lilac summers,
and silver tree winters,
this New England of Longfellow,
this tranquil place, even here
in this place you love,
you are not safe.
We took the quilt to an expert.
A Log Cabin quilt, she said,
from Victorian underclothes,
at least a hundred years old.
      And that pattern, Hindu, not Nazi.
We donated the quilt to a museum,
where, for the time being,
it has stopped talking.