原創詩：
Twelve people, most of us strangers, stand in a room
in Ann Arbor, drinking Cribari from jars.
Then two young men, who cooked him,
carry him to the table
on a large square of plywood: his body
striped, like a tiger cat’s, from the basting,
his legs long, much longer than a cat’s,
and the striped hide as shiny as vinyl.
Now I see his head, as he takes his place
at the center of the table,
his wide pig’s head; and he looks like the
javelina
that ran in front of the car, in the desert outside Tucson,
and I am drawn to him, my brother the pig,
with his large ears cocked forward,
with his tight snout, with his small ferocious teeth
in a jaw propped open
by an apple. How bizarre, this raw apple clenched
in a cooked face! Then I see his eyes,
his eyes cramped shut, his no-eyes, his eyes like X’s
in a comic strip, when the character gets knocked out.
This afternoon they read directions
from a book:
The eyeballs must be removed
or they will burst during roasting.
So they hacked them out.
"I nearly fainted," says someone.
"I never fainted before, in my whole life."
Then they gutted the pig and stuffed him,
and roasted him five hours, basting the long body.
??????????????????*
Now we examine him, exclaiming, and we marvel at him—
but no one picks up a knife.
Then a young woman cuts off his head.
It comes off so easily, like a detachable part.
With sudden enthusiasm we dismantle the pig,
we wrench his trotters off, we twist them
at shoulder and hip, and they come off so easily.
Then we cut open his belly and pull the skin back.
For myself, I scoop a portion of left thigh,
moist, tender, falling apart, fat, sweet.
We forage like an army starving in winter
that crosses a pass in the hills and discovers
a valley of full barns—
cattle fat and lowing in their stalls,
bins of potatoes in root cellars under white farmhouses.
barrels of cider, onions, hens squawking over eggs—
and the people nowhere, with bread still warm in the oven.
Maybe, south of the valley, refugees pull their carts
listening for Stukas or elephants, carrying
bedding, pans, and silk dresses,
old men and women, children, deserters, young wives.
No, we are here, eating the pig together.
??????????????????*
In ten minutes, the destruction is total.
His tiny ribs, delicate as birds’ feet, lie crisscrossed.
Or they are like crosshatching in a drawing,
lines doubling and redoubling on each other.
Bits of fat and muscle
mix with stuffing alien to the body,
walnuts and plums. His skin, like a parchment bag
soaked in oil, is pulled back and flattened,
with ridges and humps remaining, like a contour map,
like the map of a defeated country.
The army consumes every blade of grass in the valley,
every tree, every stream, every village,
every crossroad, every shack, every book, every graveyard.
His intact head
swivels around, to view the landscape of body
as if in dismay.
"For sixteen weeks I lived. For sixteen weeks
I took into myself nothing but the milk of my mother
who rolled on her side for me,
for my brothers and sisters. Only five hours roasting,
and this body so quickly dwindles away to nothing."
??????????????????*
By itself, isolated on this plywood,
among this puzzle of foregone possibilities,
his intact head seems to want affection.
Without knowing that I will do it,
I reach out and scratch his jaw,
and I stroke him behind his ears,
as if he might suddenly purr from his cooked head.
"When I stroke your pig’s ears,
and scratch the striped leather of your jowls,
the furrow between the sockets of your eyes,
I take into myself, and digest,
wheat that grew between
the Tigris and the Euphrates rivers.
"And I take into myself the flint carving tool,
and the savannah, and hairs in the tail
of Eohippus, and fingers of bamboo,
and Hannibal’s elephant, and Hannibal,
and everything that lived before us, everything born,
exalted, and dead, and historians who carved in the Old Kingdom
when the wall had not heard about China."
I speak these words
into the ear of the Stone Age pig, the Abraham
pig, the ocean pig, the Achilles pig,
and into the ears
of the fire pig that will eat our bodies up.
"Fire, brother and father,
twelve of us, in our different skins, older and younger,
opened your skin together
and tore your body apart, and took it
into our bodies."
詩的分析與詮釋
這首引人深思的詩敘述了一個圍繞烤豬和分享的共同體驗。場景設置在安阿伯，十二個大多不熟悉的人聚集在一起參加這個儀式。詩生動地描述了烹飪後豬的外觀，強調了它條紋的、閃亮的身體和寬大的頭，喚起了複雜的迷戀、親密感和不安。
這首詩探討了生命與死亡、社區以及人類與動物的相互聯繫等主題。豬幾乎被描繪成一個有歷史和個性的生物，被稱為「我的豬兄弟」，這加深了情感的影響。對豬身體的詳細描述——它的眼睛被移除，嘴裡含著蘋果，纖細的肋骨——強調了從活生生的生物到食物的轉變，突顯了吃的儀式性和原始性。
詩中還反映了人類與動物之間的歷史和進化聯繫，提及古代工具、地貌和文明。講述者撫摸豬頭的行為象徵著對這段共同過去和生命與死亡循環的尊重承認。
背景與作者介紹
雖然詩中並未明確提及作者，但它反映了一種當代詩歌中常見的風格，將個人敘事與生動的意象和哲學反思相結合。安阿伯的背景暗示了一個現代的、可能是學術或藝術社區的聚會，而對豬和儀式的詳細、幾乎人類學的描述則暗示了來自自然寫作和文化人類學的影響。
詩的語調在敬畏與赤裸誠實之間取得平衡，邀請讀者面對食物消費的現實以及人類與他們所吃動物之間常被忽視的聯繫。這種詩歌鼓勵對倫理飲食、傳統和人類與自然的關係進行反思。
教育價值與學習要點
學生和孩子們可以從這首詩中學到幾個重要的教訓：
- 對食物和動物的尊重：詩鼓勵讀者深入思考他們的食物來源，並欣賞維持他們生命的生命。
- 社區與分享：陌生人圍繞共享餐點的聚會突顯了聯繫與合作的主題。
- 描述性語言與意象：詩提供了隱喻、明喻和生動感官描述的豐富範例，對語言藝術學習非常有用。
- 文化與歷史意識：對古代工具、地理和歷史的參考邀請跨學科學習，涉及歷史、地理和人類學。
- 情感智力：詩中迷戀、不安和尊重的混合幫助學生探索與生命和死亡相關的複雜情感。
生活與學習中的應用
- 在文學課上：這首詩可以用來教導意象、象徵和敘事聲音。
- 在社會研究中：它可以引入有關食物傳統、儀式和文化實踐的討論。
- 在倫理與哲學中：詩引發有關人類與動物關係及倫理飲食的辯論。
- 在科學中：它可以成為探索動物生物學和食物鏈的起點。
- 在個人成長中：鼓勵對消費的正念和感恩。
閱讀理解問題
- 詩的場景發生在哪裡，涉及多少人？
- 烹飪後豬的描述是什麼，與哪些動物進行了比較？
- 講述者對豬表達了什麼情感？
- 豬嘴裡的蘋果有什麼意義？
- 詩中的人們在用餐時如何與豬的身體互動？
- 講述者提到了哪些歷史和進化的參考？
- 詩探討了哪些關於生命、死亡和社區的主題？
- 你認為講述者為什麼在詩的結尾撫摸豬的頭？
- 詩讓你如何思考人類與動物之間的關係？
- 從這首詩中可以學到哪些關於尊重和感恩的教訓？
答案
- 詩發生在安阿伯，有十二個人，大多是陌生人。
- 豬被描述為像老虎貓一樣有條紋，腿長且閃亮的皮膚，頭部與野豬相似。
- 講述者對豬感到親密，稱其為「我的兄弟」，並表現出迷戀、尊重和悲傷的混合情感。
- 豬嘴裡的蘋果是烤豬的傳統象徵，但它的生鮮感與烹飪後的身體形成對比，創造出一種奇異而引人注目的形象。
- 人們熱情地拆解豬，驚嘆於它，但最初對切割有所猶豫，然後熱切分享肉。
- 講述者提到古代工具、草原、漢尼拔等歷史人物以及早期文明，將豬與人類歷史聯繫起來。
- 詩探討了死亡、生命循環、共同分享和人類與自然的聯繫等主題。
- 撫摸豬的頭象徵著尊重、情感和對豬的生命與犧牲的承認。
- 詩鼓勵反思人類依賴動物的方式以及吃肉的倫理考量。
- 教訓包括對生命的尊重、對食物的感恩、對生命循環的認識以及社區的重要性。
這首詩提供了一個深刻的冥想，關於吃的儀式作為一種共同的人類經驗，將過去與現在、生命與死亡、以及因共同的滋養和紀念行為而聚集在一起的陌生人聯繫起來。
