THE CROSS OF HISTORY

I dissolved in the crystals of undiscovered stones,
I live among the cities, invisible
as the air between slices of bread.
I’m contained in the rust
on the edges of the anchors.
In the whirlwind I am a child
beginning to believe in living gods.
I’m the equivalent of the migrant birds
that are always returning, without departing.
I want to exist among the continuous verbs,
in the roots that sleep
among the foundations of the abandoned houses.
In death I want to be
a soldier of undiscovered innocence,
crucified by history
on a glass cross through which
in the distance flowers can be seen.

trans. © Peggy and Graham W. Reid

歷史的十字架

我是未被挖掘的石頭裏
消融的水晶，
我在城市之間生活，隱形
如同兩片麵包間的空氣。
我包藏於鐵錨邊沿
的鏽斑。
在旋風中央
我是一個孩子
開始信仰活著的神。
我是候鳥的對等物，
牠們不停歸返，但從未離開。
我想活在動詞的進行時中，
與地下根莖一同沉睡
在無人問津的房子底下。
死後，我想成為一名士兵
帶著尚未察覺的天真
被歷史釘在
玻璃十字架上，透過它
可以看見遠方盛開的花。

翻譯  © 史春波

PERFECTION IS BORN

I want someone to tell me
about the messages in the water in our bodies,
about yesterday’s air
in telephone booths,
about flights postponed because of
poor visibility, despite
all the invisible angels on the calendars.
The fan that weeps for tropical winds,
the incense that smells best
as it vanishes—I want someone to tell me about these things.

I believe that when perfection is born
all forms and truths
crack like eggshells.

Only the sigh of gentle partings
can tear a cobweb apart
and the perfections of imagined lands
can postpone the secret
migration of souls.

And what can I do with my imperfect body:
I go and I return, go and return
like a plastic sandal on the waves
by the shore.

trans. © Peggy and Graham W. Reid

完美誕生

我希望有人告訴我
我身體裏的水的訊息，
告訴我昨天的空氣
關在電話亭裏的味道，
告訴我航班延誤因為
能見度太低，儘管日曆上
有那麼多看不見的天使。
風扇為熱帶的風哭泣，
香在燒盡時
最好聞——我希望有人告訴我這些事情。

我相信在完美誕生的時刻
一切形式和真相
像蛋殼一樣裂開。

只有最溫柔的告別時的歎息
可以將蛛網劃破，
只有想像中的完美地帶
可以延遲靈魂
秘密的遷徙。

我當如何對待這並不完美的身體：
我去了又回，來來回回
像一隻塑料拖鞋
在岸邊的海浪上沉浮。

翻譯  © 史春波

AWAKENING

In the temporary embrace
I speak of eternity.
The wind brings us the calls of the church bells
among the feathers where we rest
our sleepy heads.
It’s morning. Moist air passes
under the viaducts, clouds part
at a touch, buildings at the swallows’ flight,
the farmhands pray for rain that stops,
while the trees give up their leaves
and so the sky grows vaster.

Your hands are soft this morning
and soft is the blossom of the hard almond.

In the nearby church
they have spoken for centuries of a love
that will outlive us.

trans. © Peggy and Graham W. Reid

醒來

在短暫的擁抱裏
我訴說永恆。
風吹來教堂鐘聲的呼喚，
我們昏沉的頭
枕在羽毛上休息。
現在是早晨。濕潤的空氣
從橋洞下經過，雲彩
一碰就碎，樓聳立在燕子的飛翔中，
農人的手祈禱停歇的雨水，
樹木鬆開葉子
讓天空變得更廣闊。

你的手在這個早晨無比溫柔
像硬杏仁開出柔軟的花。

在不遠處的教堂
他們訴說了幾個世紀的愛
比我們活得更久。

翻譯  © 史春波

ERAS OF LONGING

I stand concealed
like a gull waiting for a fish to fly.
Passengers with the same oaths and expectations
come and go on the harbor wall,
the years slide slowly over the sails
like rainwater on a badly leveled path.
The eras of longing end up beyond the horizon,
in the village on the shore where at night
an old woman hides her coins in a kerchief
that once covered her hair.

trans. © Peggy and Graham W. Reid

渴望的年代

我隱蔽地站在這裏
像一隻海鳥在起飛前等待一隻魚。
行人揣著相同的誓言和期待
在防波堤上來來去去，
歲月慢慢鼓起風帆
像雨水在不平的路面上積存。
渴望的年代在地平線的另一邊終止，
在那海邊的村莊，夜裏
老婦人拿一塊方巾包裹起錢幣
她曾把它繫在頭上。

翻譯  © 史春波

NEW LANDS

One should scrape the wall
over which dampness has drawn
a map of the new world
and new separations should be applied.

Beneath them, the stones should be
rearranged haphazardly, like
the footprints of a man running from his fears.

One should be
a round mirror in a half-open palm
and reflect others’ embraces
as sharp as scissor blades which touch each other
only when there’s something to be cut.

New lands should be invented,
so one can walk on water once again.

trans. © Peggy and Graham W. Reid

新大陸

應該刮掉那面墻
因為濕氣在上面繪製了
新世界的地圖，
邊界需要重新定義。

界線底下石頭應重新排列
錯亂地，像一個人驚慌逃走時
留下的腳印。

我們最好成為
能嵌在掌中的小圓鏡
清晰映照出別人的擁抱
像剪刀的兩葉在交叉時
必定斬斷一些什麼。

新大陸需要被發明
為了我們能再一次行走於水上。

翻譯  © 史春波

FAST IS THE CENTURY

Fast is the century. If I were wind
I would have peeled the bark off the trees
and the facades off the buildings in the outskirts.

If I were gold, I would have been hidden in cellars,
into crumbly earth and among broken toys,
I would have been forgotten by the fathers,
and their sons would remember me forever.
 
If I were a dog, I wouldn’t have been afraid of
refugees, if I were a moon
I wouldn’t have been scared of executions.
 
If I were a wall clock
I would have covered the cracks on the wall.
 
Fast is the century. We survive the weak earthquakes
watching towards the sky, yet not towards the ground.
We open the windows to let in the air
of the places we have never been.
Wars don’t exist,
since someone wounds our heart every day.
Fast is the century.
Faster than the word.
If I were dead, everyone would have believed me
when I kept silent.

trans. © Peggy and Graham W. Reid

一個世紀快速湮滅

一個世紀快速湮滅。假如我是風
我將撕下樹皮
和郊區樓房的外表。

假如我是金子，我將被藏在地窖裏，
埋進土堆，與壞掉的玩具為伍，
父親們將把我遺忘，
但兒子們永遠記得我。

假如我是一條狗，我就不會害怕
難民，假如我是月亮
死刑也不會讓我恐懼。

假如我是一隻壁鐘
我會把墻上的裂痕遮蓋。

一個世紀快速湮滅。我們從小型地震中存活下來
望向天空，但從來不望向大地。
我們推開窗感受
我們從未去過之處的空氣。
戰爭不存在，
因為每天都有人刺傷我們的心。
一個世紀快速湮滅。
比說出這個詞還快。
假如我死了，每個人都會相信我
因為我將保持沉默。

翻譯  © 史春波

TWO MOONS

A woman looked at her reflection
in the town’s translucent fences.
Two moons settled in her eyes
while her gaze brought together the ends
of worlds already explored.
Above her the shadows wove moss
on the rooftops,
below her endemic species were dying
of loneliness.
From the hollow
between her hip and her rib cage
light streamed out each night.

trans. © Peggy and Graham W. Reid

兩個月亮

女人望著自己的倒影
在小鎮半透明的圍牆上。
她的瞳孔裏住了兩個月亮
兩個她曾經探索過的世界盡頭
在她的凝視中融為一體。
她的上方，陰影織就了
屋頂的苔蘚，
下方，一些當地的物種
正死於孤獨。
她臀部和胸腔之間的
窪地
每個夜晚都流泄出光。

翻譯  © 陳育虹

SEPARATED

I separated myself from each truth about the beginnings
of rivers, trees, and cities.
I have a name that will be a street of goodbyes
and a heart that appears on X-ray films.
I separated myself even from you, mother of all skies
and carefree houses.
Now my blood is a refugee that belongs
to several souls and open wounds.
My god lives in the phosphorus of a match,
in the ashes holding the shape of the firewood.
I don’t need a map of the world when I fall asleep.
Now the shadow of a stalk of wheat covers my hope,
and my word is as valuable
as an old family watch that doesn’t keep time.
I separated from myself, to arrive at your skin
smelling of honey and wind, at your name
signifying restlessness that calms me down,
opening the doors to the cities in which I sleep,
but don’t live.
I separated myself from the air, the water, the fire.
The earth I was made from
is built into my home.

trans. © Peggy and Graham W. Reid

分離

我把自己從每一個真相分離，那些關於
河流、樹木、城市起源的真相。
我的名字將變成一條告別的街道，
我的心臟在X光片上顯現。
我甚至把我從你分離，你統領所有天空
和無人照看的房子。
如今我的血液是流亡的難民，屬於
不只一個靈魂和敞開的傷口。
我的上帝住在一根火柴的磷光裏，
住在那維持著燃燒過的木柴形狀的灰裏。
入睡時我不需要一張世界地圖。
如今一根麥稈的陰影投射出我的希望，
我的詞語珍貴如一隻只家傳手錶
不再顯示正確的時間。
我把自己從自己分離，以便抵達
你那帶有蜜和風的味道的肌膚，
抵達你那象征不安卻使我安寧的名字，
我在它朝向城市的門中睡眠
卻不在那裏生活。
我把自己從空氣、從水、從火分離。
那做成我肉身的泥土
已建成我的家園。

翻譯  © 史春波

A WAY OF EXISTING

Too many rises and falls
are not recorded in the books
that are burned in usual wars.
Has anyone written that crumbs
thrown from a window fall faster
than snowflakes, that waterfalls are merely
victims of their names? They write of the fall
of empires and epochs but not
of the old man who looks at a toy
dug up by a bulldozer.
Traffic-lights cannot stop time
and our uncertainty is just
a way of existence for secrets.
Fear exists in the distance
when soot splits off
from the sparks flying skyward,
but no one so far has written
a tractate on the candles’ smoke
that melts into night
or on the drops of wax
that harden on our shoes;
everyone speaks of the flame
that illuminates our faces.

trans. © Peggy and Graham W. Reid

一種存在方式

有太多興衰
沒有記錄在
那些戰爭燒毀的書籍裏。
是否有人寫過
從窗口丟出去的麵包屑
墜落的速度大於雪花，瀑布只是受到
名字的牽累？他們書寫帝國
和時代的衰敗，但沒人去寫一位老人
他看見了推土機
挖出來的玩具。
交通燈無法阻止時間，
我們的不確定僅僅是
一種秘密的存在方式。
恐懼總是在遠方
當灰燼
從升騰的火星中剝離，
可是至今無人
用論文去描寫蠟燭的輕煙
如何融入黑夜
或滴落的蠟液
如何在我們鞋子上凝固；
每個人都在談論
那照亮我們面龐的火焰。

翻譯  © 史春波

THE ONE WHO WRITES

You write. About the things that already exist.
And they say you fantasize.

You keep quiet. Like the sunken nets
of poachers. Like an angel
who knows what the night may bring.

And you travel. You forgot,
so that you can come back.

You write and you don’t want to remember
the stone, the sea, the believers
sleeping with their hands apart.

trans. © Peggy and Graham W. Reid

寫作的人

你寫作。寫那些已經存在的事物。
他們說你在幻想。

你保持沉默。像偷獵者
凹陷的網。像天使
知道黑夜中將發生什麼。

你出走。你遺忘
以便再次歸來。

你寫作但你不願記起
石頭，大海，信徒入睡時
雙手並不合十。

翻譯  © 史春波

HOME

I lived at the edge of the town
like a street lamp whose light bulb
no one ever replaces.
Cobwebs held the walls together,
and sweat our clasped hands.
I hid my teddy bear
in holes in crudely built stone walls
saving him from dreams.

Day and night I made the threshold come alive
returning like a bee that
always returns to the previous flower.
It was a time of peace when I left home:

the bitten apple was not bruised,
on the letter a stamp with an old abandoned house.

From birth I’ve migrated to quiet places
and voids have clung beneath me
like snow that doesn’t know if it belongs
to the earth or to the air.

trans. © Peggy and Graham W. Reid

家

我住在城鎮的邊緣
像一盞街燈，它的燈泡
從未有人換過。
蛛網支撐起墻角
像汗水黏住握著的手。
在粗陋的石頭墻洞裏
我藏起我的泰迪熊
使他免於做夢。

日以繼夜我一次次歸來
讓門檻復活
像蜜蜂執拗地重返上一朵花。
我在和平年代離開家：

剛咬了一口的蘋果還沒有瘀青，
信的郵票上印著一座廢棄的老房子。

從出生起我一直向寧靜的地方遷徙，
虛無懸掛在我身上
像雪不知該屬於大地
還是空氣。

翻譯  © 史春波

WE HAVE NO SLEEP

All forms of farewell without touching
have been forgotten. We think of tomorrow,
as we feed the swans
with yesterday’s bread. From our memory
flows water enough to sustain several
fields of wheat. We watch how the rain
repeats itself immaculately, stealing
the dust. We have no sleep,
belong to no one night
nor any candle can lengthen
our shadows onto the walls of the wind.

trans. © Peggy and Graham W. Reid

無眠

一切形式的道別，未經碰觸
已經被遺忘。我們一邊想著明天
一邊用昨天的面包
喂天鵝。從我們的記憶
涌流的水足夠灌溉
好幾畝麥田。我們看著雨
如何無誤的重複自己，偷走了
塵埃。我們沒睡著，
不屬於任何一個夜晚
也沒有任何燭光可以延長
風牆上我們的身影。

翻譯  © 陳育虹

HOPE CLIMBED

Once upon a time I saw:
hope climbing jagged crags,
while our eyes were lowered to its reality.
Our life was a garden
longing for footsteps,
a short journey
in unhitched sleeping-cars.
Once upon a time I saw:
the doorstep moving to meet
the weary body of the traveller,
a hand lowered to the clothes on the chair,
a bird landing on the dust on the lampshade
seeking attention.
A hope
was climbing towards the roof of the house
and no one woke to throw a stone at it.

trans. © Peggy and Graham W. Reid

希望曾經爬動

曾經我看見
希望在懸崖絕壁上攀爬，
但我們的目光聚在崖底的現實裏。
我們的生命曾是一座花園
夢想著腳步聲，
一段短暫的旅程
在脫節的臥鋪車廂裏度過。
曾經我看見
門檻向旅行者疲憊的雙腳移動，
一隻手朝椅子上的衣服伸去，
鳥兒落在蒙了灰的吊燈上
尋求一雙眼睛。
希望
曾悄悄爬上屋頂
但沒有人醒來
朝它扔石頭。

翻譯  © 史春波

LIGHT AND DUST

In the space between
the four seasons I’ll find you,
when children are taken out for a walk,
and souls come back
like dirty dishes in
a workers’ canteen.

We are not a religion
and nobody believes in our
holy scriptures.

Our looks hide
in the curtains’ folds
which let other people’s prayers through
and the falling light.

Will our angels touch
when we hug each other
in the dark, will someone light a candle
to proclaim a kingdom?

We are the light of a burnt match
which turns to dust
when touched.

trans. © Peggy and Graham W. Reid

光與塵

我將在四季的縫隙間
找到你，
當孩子們被帶出去散步，
靈魂歸來
像工人食堂裏
堆疊的臟盤子。

我們不是一種宗教
也沒有人會相信我們
奉為神聖的經文。

我們的目光停在
窗簾的褶皺上，
人們的祈禱聲從那裏穿過，
光從那裏衰退。

我們的天使會相遇嗎
當我們在黑暗中
擁抱彼此？會有人點燃蠟燭
宣示一個王國嗎？

我們是一根劃過的火柴上的光
輕輕一碰
就化為塵。

翻譯  © 史春波

SHADOWS PASS US BY

We’ll meet one day,
like a paper boat and
a watermelon that’s been cooling in the river.
The anxiety of the world will
be with us. Our palms
will eclipse the sun and we’ll
approach each other holding lanterns.

One day, the wind won’t
change direction.
The birch will send away leaves
into our shoes on the doorstep.
The wolves will come after
our innocence.
The butterflies will leave
their dust on our cheeks.

An old woman will tell stories
about us in the waiting room every morning.
Even what I’m saying has
been said already: we’re waiting for the wind
like two flags on a border.

One day every shadow
                                 will pass us by.

trans. © Magdalena Horvat

陰影經過我們身上

有一天我們將相遇，
像一隻紙船遇見
泡在河水裏降溫的西瓜。
整個世界的焦慮
如影隨行。我們用手掌
遮住半邊太陽
然後打著燈籠彼此尋找。

有一天，風將不再
變換方向。
白樺樹打發樹葉
到我們門階上的鞋窠裏。
狼群將獵食
我們的天真。
蝴蝶在我們面頰上
留下花粉。

總有一位老婦人在清晨的候車室
講述我們的事。
儘管我的話
早已有人說過：我們等待風
像邊境線上的兩面旗子。

有一天，我們身上將經過
                                           一切事物的陰影。

翻譯  © 史春波