Jean Valentine | 吉恩·瓦伦汀

 

 

English

 

“ACTUARIAL FILE”

 

 

Orange peels, burned letters, the car lights shining on the grass,

everything goes somewhere—and everything we do—nothing

ever disappears. But changes. The roar of the sun in photographs.

Inching shorelines. Ice lines. The cells of our skin; our meetings,

our solitudes. Our eyes.

 

A bee careens at the window here; flies out, released: a life

without harm, without shame.      That woman, my friend,

circling against her life, a married life; that man, my friend,

solitary, anarchic, driving away from home; them driving, to each

other—

 

I know, the hard, half-lost, knowing will; the cold first loneliness

again, outside the commonweal, unmoving;

 

But to say, I know—is there any touch in it?

 

      The words in my dream: “actuarial file.” Actuary, I. A registrar or

      notary, who keeps records of the acts of a court…

 

To be there; to listen; not invade. Another solitude…

 

I watch her face. The lines of will, kindness, hunger. Silence. She

moves from one thing to another thing in the kitchen, looks out

the window at the other apartment windows…A woman moves

around, across the courtyard, making supper. How many people is

she making supper for? Now the woman waters the plants. What

is she thinking about. Her head, her arm, look peaceful…

 

Everything that happens, happens once and for all. Is this true?

If so, what then?”

 

Yes. Your story; all of your hope; what you do, breaks. Changes.

“If so, what then?” Nothing disappears. And you do last;

 

The words in the open page of her notebook, I’m so cold. My

head hurts.

 

Come stay here, at my place, a while.—Someday we will be able

to say, I did this thing; I did that other thing; I was that woman.

Someday, we will be able to take it in, that violence, hold it in our

hands … And the ones who come after us, maybe they can

understand us; forgive us; as we do forgive our parents, our

grandparents, moving so distantly through their lives…their

silences…

And the ones we were with     maybe our friendship can change,

can mend…

 

Come stay here. Things change…

 

She stays home;

 

Not to invade     Wait, here, in the quiet

 

中文

 

“记录在案”

 

 

橘子皮,烧掉的信,照亮草丛的车灯,

全部有目的地——我们所做的一切——全部

不曾消失。但转变。照片中太阳的咆哮。

挪移的海岸线。结冰线。我们皮肤中的细胞;我们的聚会,

我们的独处。我们的眼睛。

 

蜜蜂在窗边冲撞;飞出去,自由:一个生命

不伤害,不羞愧。     那个女人,我的朋友,

逆着她的生活绕圈,一种婚姻生活;那个男人,我的朋友,

孤僻,不受约束,开车离家出走;他们开着车,驶向

彼此——

 

我知道,那坚定的,一半缺失的,自觉的意志;那最初寒冷的孤独

一再地,在公共生活之外,维持原样;

 

然而,说出我知道——是否意味着接近?

 

        我梦中出现的词:“记录在案。”录入员,1.法庭上

        录入事实,做记录或公证的人……

 

在场,倾听;不侵犯。另一种孤独……

 

我观察她的脸。线条里透出意志、善意、饥饿。沉默。她

从厨房的一件事物走向另一件,看看窗外

别人家公寓的窗户……一个女人

走来走去,在天井对面,烹煮晚餐。她在为多少人

做饭?现在她给植物浇水。她在思考着

什么?她的头,她的手臂,看上去那么和谐……

 

一切发生的事,发生一次便终止。 真的吗?

真的,又如何?”

 

是的。你的故事;你全部的希望;你完成,你打破。转变,

“真的,又如何?”一切未曾消失。你将是最后一个;

 

她笔记本上摊开的一页写着,我好冷,我

头疼。

 

到这里来,来我这里,待一会。——有一天我们终将

说出,这件事是我所为;还有那一件;我就是那个女人。

有一天,我们终将接受这一切,暴力,把它握在我们的

手里……那在我们之后到来的人,或许会

理解我们;原谅我们;正如我们原谅我们的父母,我们的

祖父母,他们游离于远处的生活,他们的

静默……

还有那些曾经亲近的人        但愿我们的情谊会改变,

会修补……

 

到这里来。事情会改变……

 

她留在家里;

 

不侵犯        期待着,在原地,在安宁中

 

翻译 © 史春波

 

more by Jean Valentine

Mandelstam | 曼德尔施塔姆

Snow Landscape, In a Glass Globe | 雪景,在玻璃球里

Moon Man | 月亮男人

Do flies remember us | 苍蝇会否记住我们

God of rooms | 房间的上帝

The Pen |

“As with rosy steps the morn” | “当黎明迈着玫瑰色歩子”

The Missouri Speaks | 密苏里河在说话

Home |

Outside the Frame | 框架之外

“Actuarial File” | “记录在案”

A Bit of Rice | 一些米

About Love | 关于爱

The Needle North | 指北针

We Go Through Our Mother’s Things | 我们拣选母亲的东西

Spring 2016

树才 | Shu Cai

王良和 | Wong Leung-wo

Ink and Brush Painting © 车前子 | Che Qianzi