黃昏之晦暗

總有一天，我將放下筆
開始緩慢的散步。你能想像
我平靜的腳步略帶悲傷。那時
我已對我享用的一切付了賬
不再惶然。我不是一個逃難者
也沒有可以提起的榮耀
我只是讓一切圖景到來：
一棵杉樹，和一棵
菩提樹。我默默記下
偉大心靈的廣漠。無名生命的
倦怠。死去的願望的靜謐。

而我的夜幕將帶著我的新生
啟程。我依然笨拙，不識春風：
深邃只是一口古井。溫暖
是路上匆匆行人的心
一切都將改變，將消失
沒有一個可供回憶的湖畔。甚至
我最愛的曲子也不能把我唱盡
我不知道該朝左還是朝右。我千百次
將自己喚起，仰向千百次眺望過的
天空。而它終於等來晦暗——這
最真實的光，把我望進去
這難卸的絕望之美，讓我獨自出神。

DARKNESS AT DUSK

Someday, when I set down my pen,
moving slowly, you may picture
my calm steps weighed with grief.
That moment, no longer perplexed,
I’ll have paid for all my pleasures. Neither refugee
nor named for any glory,
I simply let things come:
that fir tree, this bo tree.
In silence I mark
empty stretches of the vast soul,
exhaustions of the numberless unnamed.
Serenities of murdered hopes.

Yet the veils of my nights unfurl
new life. Though my clumsiness
can’t sense spring wind,
sublimity’s the mouth
of an ancient well. Warm
beat the hearts of quick passersby.
Everything shifts, disappearing,
no lakeshore of memories.
Not even my favorite melody
can sing me through. Face left
or right? A hundred wakings
to the far off sky,
a hundred stares.
When dusk finally welcomes darkness,
its truest light, this look takes me in,
a despair exquisite,
impossible to leave. Alone
in this trance, let me be.

trans. © Diana Shi & George O’Connell

一秒鐘歸去來

風的綢子平滑地搭在肩上
摘過花的手按在額頭
淩空而去的靈魂
與影隨在後的肉體會合
我和我的體溫正相隔千里

做一些神做的事情，只要心靈願意
我的旅行是一次閃電
不帶一絲塵土
穿過幽深的黑洞
我看見所有的翅膀顫慄了一下
在一片葉子上消失

每一次自由的飛翔
都是一次誕生
已經造就的生命無法收回
眾多的閃電般的精靈
這些被我深藏的夥伴
為我以後更多的日子準備了風
芳香，和花莖美麗的蔓延

A MOMENT, TO AND FRO

Wind drapes silk across my shoulders.
The hand that plucks the flower pressed the brow.
A soul rides air
shadowed by the body,
my heat and I a thousand li apart.

If the heart so inclines, do as the gods.
My journey’s a thunderbolt
untouched by dust
through deep black caves.
Each quivering wing
flees beyond foliage.

Everything that soars
reborn; every life
beyond recall, already formed,
so many spirits sown
within me, how lightning
awaits its storms.
This fragrance, these flower stems,
reaching.

trans. © Diana Shi & George O’Connell

水穿石

成為一滴水，成為一陣穿過
空曠道路的寒風，成為
一個迷途者，在塑像之間
曳著一束淡藍色的光

成為風中飄散的聲音
聚攏成為背負之石
成為白髮，珍愛一本殘破的書
成為眼中燃了千年的燈

成為一座孤堡，在樹叢深處
重建一扇門
成為一份有關真理的證詞
一段旅程，被悄悄掩藏

成為耳聾者的歌聲
對著黑夜吟唱對著臉狠狠敲打鏈索
成為無聲的滿帆沒有耗盡
卸下翅膀成為潛行之光有誰知道
一閃而過的那是什麼

WATER PIERCING STONE

To become a water bead, a cold gust
rushing down an empty road, to become
a wanderer among statues,
trailing streams of thin blue light.

To become a sound adrift in wind,
to gather weight into a stone,
to become grey hair,
to treasure an unfinished book,
to burn in one’s eye
like a temple lamp
lit for a thousand years.

To become a solitary castle,
and in the depth of a thicket
make entrance.
To become truth’s witness,
a long and hidden path.

To become a song for the deaf,
chanting to dark night,
hammering the chain binding up the face.
To become the sail quietly filling,
to unload the wings
and be a prowling light.

Who can recognize
what just flashed by?

trans. © Diana Shi & George O’Connell

苦惱之夜

——兼致希姆博爾斯卡及C

多麼寂靜。我看見過的世界
比彩虹更使我驚訝。
如果我對一張紙牌說出希望
賭注一束逐漸黯淡的光
像一只虔誠的核桃等待年邁的魔法師，

我為何不能進行祈禱
像一個影子，說出罪？
你一直在飛翔。我閉上眼睛
卻不懂得祈禱，為一顆心靈贖罪，
而我們將相聚在一起
——「到這個年齡，風吹著窗外的樹」

我將呈上我的肖像
一個不夠靈敏的人，剝開漆黑的預感
在試驗室裏，解剖一本本單薄的書。
我無法忘記被鏟掉的青草
有著超常力量的樹。

你從這些樹中挖出迅速腐朽的土地
取走源頭。而我必須說
這一次，是短暫的空無
占據了所有樹林，
除了無法闡明的愛
窗外搖曳的樹，我們一無所有。

FRETFUL NIGHT

for Szymborska and C.

How quiet. The world I’ve seen
more startling than a rainbow.
If I speak my wish to a playing card,
betting a bouquet of dim light
as a tranquil walnut awaits the old magician,

why can’t I pray
and like a shadow tell the sin?
You’ve been flying. Though my eyes close
I can’t see how to pray, to atone for a soul,
but finally we will meet
—”at this age, wind brushes the trees beyond the window.”

I offer my portrait,
unclever self,
skinning the pitch-dark premonition,
dissecting a thin pamphlet in a lab.
I can’t forget the peeled green sod,
the trees’ great powers.

You dredge soil from these dying roots,
digging out the source. At this very moment,
transient emptiness
floods the groves.
Aside from inexplicable love,
the motions of those trees
outside the window,
we own nothing.

trans. © Diana Shi & George O’Connell

所有野獸都戴花

所有野獸都戴花，所有神都穿布衣。
這最深的峽谷，應和著河流。
太陽神的圖案對著藍霧。

影子們長出白牙，照料
各自的呼吸。鋒刃與枯骨
互相追逐。佈滿青苔的石像
吞吐哀歌：願流水結冰。

我選擇了沉默。有人曾在這裏遇害。
折斷的大樹，橫倒在未亡人的體內。
泥土的哭泣一片寂靜。

但那划皮艇的男孩才十二歲，
他不知道血色的河流，曾漫上山崖。
殺戮已被抹去，沒有人被告誡。

EACH BEAST WEARS FLOWERS

Each beast wears flowers, each god cotton robes.
This deep gorge answers rivers.
Apollo’s track trails blue fog.

Shadows grow white incisors, minding
their own respiration. The cutting edge, the withered bone
pursue each other. The statue, mossed over,
breathes elegies in and out:
may rushing water freeze.

I choose silence. Someone died here.
That big tree, fallen forever in the minds of survivors.
Earth mourns, a vast, silent sheet.

That boy rowing a skiff’s only twelve,
can’t know the blood-red river
plunging over falls, the slaughter
now rinsed clear. No warning.

trans. © Diana Shi & George O’Connell

瑪麗娜在深夜寫詩

在孤獨中入睡，在寂寞中醒來
上帝知道你是什麼樣的人，瑪麗娜
妳從貧窮中汲取，妳歌唱
讓已經斷送掉的一切重新回到椅子上。
妳把暗紅的炭火藏在心裏
像一輪對夜色傾身的月亮。
可是妳知道黑暗是怎麼一回事
妳的眼睛除了深淵已沒有別的。
沒有魔法師，沒有與大海談心的人
親愛的，一百年以後依然如此
篝火已經冷卻。沒有人可以讓我們快樂
「人太多了，我感到從未有過的寂寞」
為此我悄悄流淚，在深夜送上問候。
除此之外，只有又甘甜又刺痛的漆黑的柏樹
只有耀眼的刀尖，那寧靜而奔騰的光。

MIDNIGHT, MARINA WRITING

for Tsvetaeva

Falling asleep alone, waking alone,
God knows what you are, Marina,
drawing song from poverty,
from your chair reclaiming all that’s lost.
You hide in your heart a glowing coal,
tilt like the moon wheels toward darkness,
knowing night’s ways.
But for the abyss, your gaze gains nothing.
There’s no wizard. No one confides in the ocean.
My dear, it’s the same this century,
the fire gone cold. No one makes us happy.
“So many people, so much loneliness.”
For this I weep in silence, saluting midnight.
Now there’s only the sweet stab of black cypress,
only the gleaming blade,
that swift, serene gash of light.

trans. © Diana Shi & George O’Connell

巫術

陽光給不出一絲溫暖
河流給不出一滴清澈的水
播種給不出晚年的稻米
從窗口，給不出一片樹林和曠野。

沉默給不出安靜
生日給不出新的生命
笑容給不出幸福
一面鏡子給不出一個真實可信的人。

思考給不出一個真理
孤獨給不出自由的一秒
花園給不出芳香
受傷的心靈，給不出流淚的理由。

信件給不出確切的地址
思念給不出一個親愛的人
光給不出凝視的眼睛
黑暗給不出醜陋和不公開之惡。

雕像給不出真實的面貌
擁抱給不出血肉之軀
傳記給不出一個完整的人生
望著蒼穹，我無力的詩行給不出一把燃燒的火。

INCANTATION

Sunlight can’t convey the faintest warmth.
A river won’t bear one clear drop of water.
Planting can’t bring rice to old age.
No window can frame
a handful of groves, a patch of wilderness.

Silence won’t grant peace,
birthdays no rebirth,
nor smiles happiness.
No mirror shows one’s self.

Thinking yields no solitary truth,
solitude no free moment.
Gardens can’t surrender fragrance,
nor the wounded soul explain its tears.

A letter can’t carry a definite address.
Longing won’t deliver the beloved.
Light cannot open staring eyes.
Darkness reveals neither ugliness nor buried evil.

Statues can’t show real faces.
An embrace won’t contain a flesh and blood body.
Biography can’t account for an entire life.
When I behold the sky,
my feeble words do not strike fire.

trans. © Diana Shi & George O’Connell

一個針灸的下午

銀針在她的手中，細長的光
被皮膚下面的黑吸引，
每一次穿刺都是快速的，品嘗著嘶嘶聲
總有一些奉獻之物在托起它
承受詢問。

獲得標注的荒地
微微下陷的部位快要開花了，
我知道她要尋找一個終點
或一個廢棄的港口
一艘船的倒影和帆的形態。

變化經過曲折的洞穴而來
她的臉已變得模糊，沒有溫度
像回憶中的燕麥出借給饑餓的時辰。
我想起見過很多次的光芒，
空寂的下午，一個聲音對針尖說：
「吃吧，吃吧。去獲取你的生活！」

AFTERNOON, ACUPUNCTURE

In her hand the glinting needle,
silvery zhen, drawn
toward the shadowed subcutaneous.
Swift stabs hiss their own savor.
As ever, sacrificial flesh
bears interrogation.

The empty territory marked,
the dimpled skin pricked open,
she seeks a destination,
disused harbor,
a boat’s inverted shadow, a sail’s shape.

Through twists and hollows, something comes.
Her face blurs, cools, like the time
borrowed oatmeal answered hunger.
I recall a light I’d seen before,
a mild, quiet afternoon, a voice
whispering as if to the needle:
“Eat, eat. Earn your living.”

trans. © Diana Shi & George O’Connell

寂靜製造了風

寂靜製造了風，河流在泥土中延續
一個又一個落日哺育灰色的屋宇
它的空洞有著熾烈的過去
在每一個積滿塵土的蓄水池
有黎明前的長嘆和平息之後的火焰
我開口，卻已沒有歌謠
初春的明鏡，早已碎在揉皺的地圖上
如果我還能低聲歌唱
是因為確信煙塵也能永恆，愁苦的面容
感到被死亡珍惜的擁抱。

SILENCE STIRS THE BREEZE

Silence stirs the breeze. Rivers
extend themselves across the earth.
Once more grey rooftops suckle sunset,
at its core a blazing past.
Before dawn, dust-filled reservoirs
exhale, aglow in silence.
I open my mouth, no ballads.
Bright mirror of early spring
fractured on a crumpled map.
If I can sing still, softly,
it’s because smoke, I believe,
perpetuates, these worried faces
revering death’s embrace.

trans. © Diana Shi & George O’Connell

一種詩藝

發現一棵樹的記憶，是不可能的。
尋找一塊鵝卵石的經驗
也不可能。我們窺探水的運動
卻始終無法觸及它的核心。
雲朵一直存在，我們耗費力氣
理解它的意志，卻無法祈望它
洩露空中的奧秘。

詩歌也有雲朵的意志。
言辭如雨水，為逃避瘋狂
製造更多的瘋狂。就像愛情
被寫下，就失去一半純真。
意義經過闡釋，只留一層黏糊的
薄霧。沒有人能做到眼明手快
捕獲長久的詩意。一切完美
都存在一個黑洞。

我無法說清黑洞的誘惑。
一種寂靜，帶著更大的犧牲
不被光所詮釋。一種暈眩
從此岸到彼岸，自由過渡。
所有的金手指都受過它奴役：
沉積岩的色彩。黑暗中的
凝視。羞於空蕩蕩的行旅的羽毛
溫柔地穿過銹蝕的鏈條
我至今不知它要去往何方。

ONE KIND OF POETICS

To know a tree’s remembered life,
or where a pebble’s been, impossible.
We probe water’s motions
but cannot touch its core.
Clouds pass—we strain
to guess their intention, but none
confess the secrets of the sky.

This may resemble poetry,
words like fallen rain
rushing from the untamed
to the untamed. Love,
once uttered, forfeits its pure source.
Meaning, pursued, may leave only curdled fog.
No hand, no eye quick or deft
enough to seize whole truth.
Each perfection hides its black void.

I can’t describe the void’s dark lure.
A silence, a larger sacrifice
light can’t explain. Giddy
from this shore to the next, ferried free.
All gifted fingers addicted:
the sheen of sedimentary stone.
Staring toward darkness.
The feather shamed by aimless drift
slips through rusted chain.
Even now, I can’t see where it’s going.

trans. © Diana Shi & George O’Connell