我常在清晨閱讀……

我常在清晨閱讀探入人心的文本
因為有一整天的慾望等著我
它們張大口，站在睡眼惺忪的我面前
一邊把我還在留戀著的夢境像舊睡衣一樣褪去
剝去，哦那江流中的鮮百合
我在心之淵潭，刺入一根根輝煌的探針
通天入地，我攀援它們度過水內水外遊戲著的日影
光影窸窣，我纏嬉它於水與空氣的觸面
滑膩。水泡。眩光。我向上和向下望去
都是重重世界的深潭。一晃，又心清得只剩下影子
而夜晚，睡前，我通常在床上閱讀遊記
帶著對這個世界的極度渴望，帶著與它脫離的痛苦
欣然入夢，在它的蕊間無限沉落
度過許多個許多個傷口，我的雪橇犬在一粒冰裏
我的冰在氣喘吁吁的銀河間

I OFTEN READ, EARLY MORNINGS

I often read, early mornings, words to sound one’s heart,
for the whole day’s desires await me,
mouths wide open, posed before my bleary face
while I peel my dreams off reluctantly as an old nightgown.
O in that river stream fresh lilies.
Into the heart’s deep pool I plunge the bright needles, one after another
joining heaven and earth. I cling to them,
drawing sun and shadow into the water and out,
the dappled light rustling, braiding liquid with air.
Creamy bubbles. Giddy light. Everywhere I look
deep wells of a layered world. A flash,
and again my heart clears to mere shadows.
In bed each night, I read travel books,
bearing my deep thirst for this world, bearing the pang of leaving it,
slipping agreeably asleep, tumbling forever through its pistils,
passing countless wounds. A frost grain’s my sled dog,
a wheezing galaxy my ice.

trans. © Diana Shi & George O’Connell

Aurore

有一首最溫柔的詩，要留在未來才寫。
那時，你不再屬於我，我也只屬於一些路過的水浪
我們可以分享對對方的恨意，如同人們剝開橘子，
遞給彼此一瓣
也可以爭相忘記，像搶先跳落瀑布的一場雨
那些輕輕看著你笑的時刻
已迎來它們的秋天，紛紛凋謝
我們紛紛離開曾經是的那個自己，
彷彿真的已去到生命最殘忍的邊界，
然後，那麼隨意地踏了過去
那些談話中突然闖入的沉默是殘忍的
你傾側而來的面龐是殘忍的，我熟知它的曲線
那麼，我也是殘忍的
你的手指，我的嘴唇，它們觸碰過的自由與不自由
都是殘忍的……那些不斷有雪降落、消融的肉體
被虛空緊緊懷抱著的生活，沙丘般坍塌與湧起
沙丘的黑暗裏，迴旋著的甜蜜的歌聲是殘忍的
熄滅是殘忍的，一些不說的話
不寫的字，不被等待的等待，都是殘忍的……
有一首最溫柔的詩，要為這些令人醉去的殘忍而作
為時間鏤刻它並不存在的花紋
你我離去的舞步裏，愛情是一位星辰間的盲人
在茫茫光明中，秉著自己的黑暗之燭

AURORE

There’s a most gentle poem, saved for the future to write.
By then, you’ll no longer belong to me, and I only to the breeze.
Then we’ll share, like wedges of a tangerine,
what each hated in the other. Or we’ll vie
to forget, like rain leaping through the waterfall.
Those moments I watched you smile
have met their autumn, dying off one by one.
One by one, we leave the selves we were,
as if coming to the cruelest edge of life,
then casually stepping over.
Cruel silence suddenly enters the conversation,
your profile cruel, pressing close, that curve I learned well,
for which I too am cruel.
Your fingers, my lips, the freedom and unfreedom they touched,
all cruel. The bodies in which snow falls and melts,
the lives embracing emptiness, the dark
collapsing and resurging like a dune, the sweet circling songs,
cruel. Extinguishment is cruel, what’s said, unsaid,
unwritten words, the wait unawaited, all cruel.
There’s a most gentle poem, composed only for venomous cruelty,
engraving for time its unseen pattern.
In your steps and mine dancing off, love is a blind man amid stars,
in boundless brightness, clasping his own dark candle.

trans. © Diana Shi & George O’Connell

旅程

山——山——磊落，我們
穿行於亞熱帶，過分穠豔的綠
沿途引爆熱情

走一萬里不歇腳，談起煙水
我們也曾計劃在它的深處安家

但我還是離開了這一切
傾斜著，飛離整個亞熱帶
有光照徹層雲深處，我熱愛
我於一瞬穿梭它的心志
那曾誘惑的，只在下界湖泊中漸遠

也有海，在太陽下開，落，蒸騰
放棄，放棄那熱吻於空氣之你
噩夢中每每攥緊我的手指——我願意
那落水人攀枯枝，最黑那黑海之你
不初醒，不鬆開
——我願意

但我還是離開了這一切
如今，我只是熱愛我們之間的距離
——海到海底，那一場磷光盛大
渦流，搖轉於渦流之中

A JOURNEY

Mountains—upstanding mountains—
we trekked through subtropical greens, rich, gaudy,
sparking passion all the way.

Hiking ten miles non-stop, we spoke of hidden waters,
how we’d dwell beside their depths.

I left all that
as the wings banked from the subtropics
and light broke through heavy cloud. I love
that I pierce will in a glance.
What tempted once fell away with the lakes far below.

There are oceans too, opening in sunlight, tumbling, misting.
Give up, give up the air’s hot kiss
from you whose nightmares clasped at my fingers—I do.
Who falls into water clutches a withered branch—
you of the blackest sea
never once awakened, never let loose
—I do.

I left all that.
Now I love only the miles between us
—from sea to seabed, a grand phosphorescence.
Whirlpools rush within whirlpools.

trans. © Diana Shi & George O’Connell

羅馬的七個瞬間 （之一）
——天使天使，我的望遠鏡呢

羅馬是一匹螺紅色的絨馬，
你從我胯下騎走它，留萬神殿的塵埃給我。

萬神殿，一隻雪白眼珠的內部，我靜靜出現，
屬它無數瞳人中之一人。

雪與雪在天際搏鬥，飄落這巨大空蕩蕩的瞳孔，
天際的雪閃著銀色的血斑，就是我剛剛失落的馬腹。
——你在何處，我親愛的大天使，
千百萬對情人在羅馬飄雪的馬腹下取暖，
請用你的劍光將那交媾之姿庇護——

到最後，都是塵埃。

萬神殿用石塊講述塵埃，金碧的石料，
人類在一己之外尚能探尋到的最堅固的空間。
你知道東方易消弭的木頭，似乎同塵埃更相襯，
卻往往作了塵埃的雕塑。
石料則以對塵埃的推擋詮釋塵埃，
它是抗拒塵埃的雕塑，
就像杜尚的大玻璃。
則萬神殿是羅馬人向塵埃介紹自己的一個姿勢
——金風中迷目的羅馬人，要讓神靈這樣認識自己，
穩厚，篤定，以此修建通往空靈之路，
以深明自我表達敬意，高速路上的靈燕。

為大地撐起一座石的瞳孔，
中空的、唯一的瞳仁，
雨雪無聲撒入，
我們是那眼球內部

——原始黑暗的一羣。

from SEVEN MOMENTS IN ROME

Angel, angel, where is my telescope?

Rome is a crimson war horse
you rode from under me, leaving me
the dust of the Pantheon.

Inside the Pantheon’s snow-white eyeball, silent
beneath its gaze, I’m one of many.

Snow vies with snow on the horizon, entering this huge empty eye,
flashing silver blood spots, the horsebelly I just lost.
—Where are you, dear archangel,
lovers by the million bask beneath the horsebelly as snow drifts over Rome.
Shield if you please that sexual pose with your sword’s light.

Dust in the end, all dust.

The stone blocks of the Pantheon speak for dust, these jade-gold stones,
the strongest dome we’ve dared above ourselves.
The wood of the east soon crumbles into dust,
and then dust’s sculpture.
Not yet dust, stone clarifies dust,
just as sculpture, say Duchamp’s Large Glass,
stands before it.

Having lost their way in a gilded wind
the Pantheon is a posture
for Romans to present themselves to dust,
for the gods to see them so,
sedate, honest, unhasty, building a path toward purity.
Self-knowledge shows respect, like swallows on a high-speed road.

It erects for the whole planet a pupil of stone,
isolate in mid-air,
addressed by rain and snow.

Inside its eye, we’re this crowd,
dark, primitive, barbaric.

trans. © Diana Shi & George O’Connell

加泰隆尼亞耶穌像

是更細更小的圖釘
把他固定在一段白牆上
比瑪麗亞的心思更白
上面有她兒子灰而更灰的影
一百個瑪麗亞在另一間展館哭泣

你當然看不到那棵圖釘
因為白牆不是當年乾郁的山嶺
有人在各各他咳嗽
有人開汽車
土霧一起，山嶺連同一段天空
在壁畫破損處消失

什麽都消失的牆壁
但無法摘除
他那合適任何十字架的灰影
因為他被一雙十世紀的手
從一棵樹裏找了出來

他的手臂折成三段
身軀也是
手指和腳趾，長得超出了
這個時代的比例
像要擁抱我們
但更像剛錯過一場無邊的漩渦
尾韻還擦在他的指尖上

JESUS IN CATALONIA

Small slender thumbtacks
fix his image to a white run of wall
whiter than Mary’s thoughts
imprinted with the greys of her son’s grey shadow.
A hundred Marys weep in the museums.

You can’t of course see the thumbtacks
for that white wall’s no mountain
from those dry and barren days.
Someone coughs on Golgotha,
someone drives by,
their dust swirling the mountain
and its streak of sky
off the flaking fresco.

The wall where nothing lasts
cannot pick out
his grey shadow, ripe for any cross,
his form cut from a tree
by tenth-century hands.

His arms make three sections
just like his body,
its fingers and toes
grown longer than our own,
as if to close us in,
as if they’d snatched at some infinite spiral,
his nails just grazing its end.

trans. © Diana Shi & George O’Connell

你我同時行走於山崗的兩面

你我同時行走於山崗的兩面
更多的山崗在我們外側行走
蜥蜴在遠星上轉動眼球
巨大的樹冠聚起寒氣——那是風的前身
爲什麽這一切難以忍受
只有灘塗不產生陰影
只有塵世的化學靜悄悄發生

YOU AND I WALK OPPOSITE SLOPES OF A HILL

You and I walk opposite slopes of a hill
More hills walk beside us
On a distant planet a lizard rolls its eyeballs
All the tree’s leaves gather the chill—wind’s prelife
Why is all this so unbearable
Only shoals don’t make shadows
Only the chemistry of this dusty world takes place in silence

trans. © Diana Shi & George O’Connell

紫霧

遇上暴雨深處的紫霧
遇上這一刻
我越過你的肩頭，看見
潔白的人潮滾滾而來
哦船，你的船
浮在千百萬細小的漩渦上
電之海上，航行，遠離
遠離任何稱之為岸的方向
親愛的，看這昏澹天色多美
那樣輕輕、輕輕
撲上你的雙肩
我們呼吸世界的毒霧
並不屑于尋找一絲黎明
我在胸口別了一枚星
同你一起墜落
潔白的人潮倏忽而至
又紛披、如鬼魅而去
去他們潔白而無辜的世界
而我們在暴雨、輕笑間遠離
星屑。微塵。濃霧遮蔽一切
不肯道出那明亮

PURPLE FOG

In this purple fog amid a rainstorm,
in this moment,
I see past your shoulder
a coming tidal wave of people.
Oh boat, your boat
adrift on millions of small eddies
in an ocean of electrons, sailing
far from known shores.
Sweetheart, how fine this faint and tranquil colored sky,
let down so soft upon your shoulders.
We breathe the world’s toxic mist,
disdaining the search for dawns.
On my chest I pin the star
that falls with yours.
The tide of people suddenly arrives,
suddenly recedes, gone like ghosts
to their pure and innocent world.
Yet in the storm, with our small laughter, we’re remote
from cosmic dust, earth dust. Dense fog shrouds anything
unwilling to speak its brightness.

trans. © Diana Shi & George O’Connell

花園故事

你在暗色的虹霓中滑動
我倦極而坐
靜靜看第一隻劃過天空的青鷹
它那麼驕傲
所有晨曦都是它清亮的鏡子
這世界還不存在你的倒影
倒影會是你在黑蜜花園中殘存的夢境
你在我懷裏的小花園啜蜜時的夢境
而此刻我的世界裏
車聲人聲漸密
它們中有清晨的樹葉狼等著愛你
而我只能等待我們的分離
等待你自己的第一束光
將我們劃傷
這傷口是爲了讓我們記得
我們曾經怎樣深深的在一起

有如虹霓裏那些在一處的顏色
讓我們記得世界是痛而甜的
像第一隻劃過晨曦的青鷹
用倒影，瞬疾擁抱那麼多事物

STORY IN A GARDEN

You’re gliding in the dim second rainbow.
I sit quietly exhausted, beholding
the first black kite sweeping the sky.
How proud it looks,
every lightbeam its mirror.
This world hasn’t claimed your inverted shadow.
It would be what’s left of the dreamland from your black honeygarden,
the dreamland where you sip honey from the garden of my arms.
This moment in my world
the noise of traffic builds
and the story of the leaf wolf awaits to love you.
I await only our separation,
when the first bundle of your own light
cuts, the wound to remind us
how deeply we were joined once.

Close as the colors banded in the second rainbow
speaking the world’s pained sweetness.
Like the first black kite swept in sunlight,
its inverted shadow at once enfolding everything.

trans. © Diana Shi & George O’Connell

忠實

他從垃圾桶裏
撿出一盒檸檬茶
在黑夜和白晝之間
把已折斷的塑料管放進嘴裏
四面八方匯流
年輪從內部緩慢轉動
內螺旋地雕刻我們
我看見他衝上邊笑
輕膩的白肉包好那張臉
瞳仁在肉裏面很遠
代我們射出目光
代我們品嚐別人的味道
代我們衝上邊笑
兔子火星上打鼓
羣山地球上聽

FAITHFULNESS

From the trash can
he fished a box of lemon tea.
Between day and night
his mouth attends the angled straw
that turns in each direction.
Annular rings grow from within, wheeling slowly
in the curve that carves us.
I see him smile, looking up,
the smooth white flesh swaddling his face,
deep sunk pupils
casting for us their gaze.
For us he tastes others’ flavor,
for us his smiling head upturned.
On Mars the rabbit beats its drum,
on earth the mountains listen.

trans. © Diana Shi & George O’Connell

粉蝶
——給祖母

那個夏天落在一車陽光裏
濺出沿途野菊，鼓著小腮幫
看我們遠去

加大油門，沒有誰
再提起她了，地面的風裹起碎石
我看見公路上遊著骨灰的薄光

父親抱著我的肩膀，指點我
辨認大豆的葉子，停車時
我摸到它們的眼淚，還很小

很硬，鼓在狹長的綠眼角裏
成羣的粉蝶拐彎抹角，也有一隻
摟住草杆，儘量貼緊發抖的翅膀

哦，我認出了她的老年斑，這些
她咒駡過的斑點，我走近一步
她的臉就折叠著飛開了

父親從玉米地裏彎腰出來，已經
埋好了，他說，再過些日子
會有粗根築一座碉堡給她

回去的時候，也是野菊引路
一隻兜風的金龜子在擋風玻璃上撞死
父親抱著我，誰都不再提起她了

PINK BUTTERFLIES

for grandmother

That summer day, sunlight spilled onto the car,
splashing wild asters by the road, their cheeks plumped
as they watched us disappear.

We picked up speed. No one
spoke her name. Stones whipped from the dirt road
beneath a hazy drift of bone ash.

Father touched my shoulder, pointing
at a field of soybeans. When the car pulled up
I got out and felt the beans. Small,

hard, their long green eyes swelling in the pods.
Clouds of pink butterflies swerved and danced. One
clinging to a weedstalk fanned its shivery wings.

Oh, it bore her liver spots, those
stains she cursed. At my first step
it folded up her face and flew.

Bent over, father emerged from a corn field.
Buried well, he said, and soon
thick roots will build her fortress.

Asters the whole way back,
and a gleaming beetle splattered on the windshield.
Father held me. No one spoke her name.

trans. © Diana Shi & George O’Connell