在搜寻天展钓有关文献时偶然发现了这么一首英文诗。诗里讲了一位年老失忆，什么都忘了还不忘钓鱼的老父亲。唉！没办法，钓鱼的魅力就是这么大！
由于英文水平以及文化差异翻译水平有限，见谅！
天展钓
他早早起身顾不上吃饭，
带上奶茶、三明治，
鱼竿、毛钩还有天展线。
匆匆忙忙，跌跌撞撞，
他穿过门厅，
奶茶洒了，培根糊了，扣子扣错。
叫着他的名字，我强压怒火。
他回身，关门声吵醒了邻居
他低着头，试图平息我的怒气
不知，在他的记忆中
我是他的父亲？叔伯？还是兄弟？
我在他的记忆中逐渐模糊，
除了钓鱼，
他已经忘记了很多
比如一些重要的日子还有驾驶。
也包括我其实是他的孩子，
医生告诉我，他会逐渐失忆
可是，在那个夏天我们还曾一起
用天展钓的方式钓鱼，
当鱼看见飞蝇毛钩，
就误以为是那是天赐的美食
张大嘴巴一吞入口。
夏日的回忆犹如微风中的香气
草依旧绿
土地温软
父亲手把手教我抛竿
抬臂，抛线，
然后数个一二三
这些都不重要
只要父亲还在我身边
美好时光永远定格
就像把鱼飞上草地，
我把我的悲伤抛到明天
原诗如下：
The Tenkara Way
He rises early to gather his things: a flask
of black tea with just enough milk to color it,
a sandwich of bacon and Black Russian bread,
bamboo rod, fly, his tenkara line.
From the doorway, I watch him struggle. The tea
is spilled, the bacon burnt, his buttons askew.
I resist the urge to fix. I call him by name.
He turns to me with the startled confusion
of a man just woken by the slamming of a door.
He tilts his head, tries to place me. Am I
one of his brothers, uncles, his father, maybe?
The memory of me languishes in the lapsed
synapses of his heart. He has forgotten
so much—how to drive, appointments, words
like shroud and leaving, that I am his child.
The doctors tell me that he will forget and forget
until all is banished. But, on these last mornings
of an Indian summer, we cleave together
across the dark ground of loss to fish the tenkara way
where the fish sees the fly as a gift from the gods
and open mouthed leaps to receive it.
Summer’s last sweetness is a scent on the breeze.
The grass is still green, the ground, soft, warm.
My father puts his arms around me, teaching me:
lift your arms, he says, cast your line forward, timing
is not important. And so, with my father here
beside me, time leaves us to this moment
as we fly fish in a field of grass
and I save my grieving for another day
。
,
