THE UNNAMABLE RIVER (excerpt)

1
Is it in the anthracite face of a coal miner,
crystalized in the veins and lungs of a steel
worker, pulverized in the grimy hands of a railroad engineer?
Is it in a child naming a star, coconuts washing
ashore, dormant in a volcano along the Rio Grande?

You can travel the four thousand miles of the Nile
to its source and never find it.
You can climb the five highest peaks of the Himalayas
and never recognize it.
You can gaze through the largest telescope
and never see it.

But it’s in the capillaries of your lungs.
It’s in the space as you slice open a lemon.
It’s in a corpse burning on the Ganges,
in rain splashing on banana leaves.

Perhaps you have to know you are about to die
to hunger for it. Perhaps you have to go
alone into the jungle armed with a spear
to truly see it. Perhaps you have to
have pneumonia to sense its crush.

But it’s also in the scissor hands of a clock.
It’s in the precessing motion of a top
when a torque makes the axis of rotation describe a cone:
and the cone spinning on a point gathers
past, present, future.

 

叫不出名字的河流（節選）

1
它是否存在於煤礦工人無煙煤般的臉上，
是否在煉鋼工的脈管和肺葉中
結晶，是否為火車司爐工髒污的手上附著的塵屑？
它是否存在於一個孩童對一顆星星的命名，存在於
沖刷上岸的椰子，格蘭河沿岸火山的休眠？

即使你遊歷尼羅河四千英里
溯其源頭依然尋不到它。
即使你翻越喜馬拉雅五座高峰
依然認不出它。
你透過超大望遠鏡注目凝視
卻怎麽也看不到。

但它就在你肺部的毛細血管裏
在你切開的兩片檸檬之間。
在恆河岸邊火葬的屍骨中，
是雨水從香蕉葉上濺落。

或許只有瀕臨死亡
你才渴望它。只有獨自一人
走入叢林唯一根長矛護身
你才確鑿地看見它。或許你必須
染上肺炎才會感受到它的壓迫。

然而它存在於時鐘上指針的剪切。
存在於一只陀螺旋進的姿態
當力矩施加於轉軸繪出錐形軌跡：
旋轉的圓錐頂點凝聚起
過去，現在，未來。

翻譯 © 史春波

譯註：格蘭河（Rio Grande），北美南部的河流，全長三千多公里，跨越美國和墨西哥邊境。

THE CORONA

Knife-edge
days and shimmering nights.
Our child watches the shifting sunlight and leaves.
The world shimmers, shimmers.

Smoke goes up the flue,
and spins, unravels in the wind.
Something in me unravels after long thought.
And my mind flares:
as if the sun and moon lock in an eclipse,
and the sun’s corona flares out.

It is a fire
out of gasoline and rags
that makes us take nothing for granted.
And it is love, spontaneous,
flaring,
that makes us feel
like a cougar approaching a doe in labor,
makes us pause and move on.

 

日冕

刀刃上的
白日，閃爍不定的夜。
小孩子望著日光在綠葉間遊移。
全世界朦朧地跳動。

煙從煙囪口飄出，
兜轉著，在風中拆解。
我體內也有什麽也在拆解，經過一場漫長的沉思。
我的意識突然亮了：
像被困在一次日蝕裏的太陽和月亮，
驟然燒起一圈光暈。

一場汽油和布條
引發的火
讓我們不再聽憑理所當然。
正是那沒有預告的
自燃的愛
喚醒我們的感受
如同美洲豹走近一隻正在分娩的母鹿，
決定要駐足或是離開。

翻譯 © 史春波

AFTER A NEW MOON

Each evening you gaze in the southwest sky
as a crescent extends in argentine light.
When the moon was new, your mind was
desireless, but now both wax to the world.
While your neighbor’s field is cleared,
your corner plot is strewn with desiccated
sunflower stalks. You scrutinize the bare
apricot limbs that have never set fruit,
the wisteria that has never blossomed,
and wince, hearing how, at New Year’s,
teens bashed in a door and clubbed strangers.
Near a pond, someone kicks a dog out
of a pickup. Each second, a river edged
with ice shifts course. Last summer’s
exposed tractor tire is nearly buried
under silt. An owl lifts from a poplar,
while the moon, no, the human mind
moves from brightest bright to darkest dark.

 

寫在新月之後

每天夜裏你凝視西南方的天空
看月牙的銀輝逐漸拉長。
新月之時，你腦中
毫無慾望，而此刻，二者同時向世界盈滿。
你鄰居的田地已經清理好，
而你角落裏的一小塊地還遍佈著枯死的
葵花稈。你仔細查看光秃秃的
從不結果的杏樹枝
和從不開花的紫藤，
你的心刺痛，當你聽說新年之夜
有少年人闖進陌生人的房子肆意毆打。
池水邊，有人把狗從皮卡車上
踢下去。兩岸結冰的河水
每一秒都在變換水流。去夏
曝露在外的拖拉機輪胎如今已
埋進淤泥。貓頭鷹從白楊樹上起飛，
月亮，不，人的思緒
正在從至亮向至暗移動。

翻譯 © 史春波

THE CORNUCOPIA

Grapes grow up a difficult and
sloped terrain. A soft line of poplars
shimmer in the disappearing light.
At midnight, the poor move
into the train stations of Italy,
spread out blankets for the children,
and pretend to the police they have tickets
and are waiting for a train.

The statue of Bacchus is a contrast
with his right hand holding a shallow but
wine-brimming cup. His left hand
reaches easily into the cornucopia
where grapes ripen and burst open.
It is a vivid dream: to wake
from the statue’s grace and life-force
to the suffering in the streets.

But the truth is the cornucopia
is open to all who are alive,
who look and feel the world in
its pristine beauty—as a dragonfly
hovering in the sunlight over clear
water; and who feel the world
as a luminous world—as green plankton
drifting at night in the sea.

 

豐饒角

葡萄在一片難以耕作的坡地上
生長。一排柔和的白楊
翻動著即將消失的光。
午夜，窮人
遷進意大利的火車站，
為孩子們鋪開毛毯，
向巡警佯裝買了車票
正在候車。

而巴克斯的雕像引人注目，
他右手舉起一盞淺杯但
葡萄酒流溢不止。左手
輕鬆伸進豐饒角，
它盛載的葡萄圓熟欲裂。
多麽生動的夢：驚醒
從那雕像的優雅旺盛
到受難的街頭。

事實上，豐饒角
為所有活著的人打開，
他們以上古之美觀看
并感受這個世界——當一隻蜻蜓
懸浮在陽光之下
於清水之上；他們能觸摸到
世界的光——當綠色的浮游生物
在夜的海中漂移。

翻譯 © 史春波

譯註：
①豐饒角（cornucopia），希臘神話中象徵豐裕的山羊角，由母山羊阿瑪爾忒婭（Amaltheia）折斷的一隻角化來，宙斯賦予它源源不斷生出願望之物的神力。
②巴克斯（Bacchus）是羅馬神話中的酒神，對應希臘神話中的戴歐尼修斯（Dionysus）。

THE AXIS

I hear on the radio that Anastasio Somoza
has fled Managua, is already in Florida,

and about to disappear on a world cruise.
Investigators in this country are meanwhile

analyzing the volcanic eruptions on Io,
or are studying the erratic respiratory

pattern of a sea horse to find the origin
of life. The fact is, we know so little,

but are so quick to interpret, to fit facts
to our schemata. For instance, the final

collapse of the Nicaraguan dictatorship
makes me wonder if the process of change

is a dialectic. Or is our belief in a
pattern what sustains it? Is the recent

history a clear pattern: a dictatorship
followed by a popular revolt, followed by

a renewed dictatorship exercising greater
repression, ended by a violent revolution?

I want to speak of opposites that depend
on and define each other: as in a

conversation, you feel silence in speech,
or speech in silence. Or, as in a

counterpoint when two melodies overlap and
resonate, you feel the sea in the desert,

or feel that the body and mind are
inseparable. Then you wonder if day and

night are indeed opposites. You knock the
gyroscope off the axis of its spinning,

so that one orientation in the world vanishes,
and the others appear infinite.

 

軸心

我從廣播上聽到安納斯塔西奧·蘇慕薩
已經逃離尼加拉瓜，抵達弗羅里達，

此後將繼續他的巡迴流亡之旅。
而這個國家的研究員與此同時

在潛心分析木衛一的火山活動，
或鑽研海馬不規則的

呼吸特徵，試圖從中發現生命
的起源。事實上，我們所知甚少，

但總是迫不及待去破譯，讓事實
符合我們的設想。比如，蘇慕薩家族

獨裁統治最後的陷落
讓我不禁思考事物的發展

是否是辯證的。抑或我們相信
某種模式在背後支撐？近年的歷史

還不夠明確嗎：獨裁政權
被一場熱烈的革命推翻，繼之以

復興的獨裁和變本加厲的
壓迫，再由另一場暴動終結？

我想談談那些彼此依賴
又彼此定義的對立物：比方說一次

交談，你能感受到對話中的靜默
或靜默中的敘說。又好比

對位法，當兩條旋律線交疊
共鳴，你能感受到沙漠中藏有大海，

或身與心無法
分割。然後你開始懷疑日與夜

是否真的對立。你向一個
旋轉中的陀螺儀施力，

世界的方向不再唯一，
而變為無窮。

翻譯 © 史春波

譯注：安納斯塔西奧·蘇慕薩（Anastasio Somoza）指安納斯塔西奧·蘇慕薩·德瓦伊萊（Anastasio Somoza Debayle），尼加拉瓜蘇慕薩家族統治時期（1936—1979）最後一任獨裁者。

THE LEAVES OF A DREAM ARE THE LEAVES OF AN ONION

1
Red oak leaves rustle in the wind.
Inside a dream, you dream the leaves
scattered on dirt, and feel it
as an instance of the chance configuration

to your life. All night you feel
red horses galloping in your blood,
hear a piercing siren, and are in love
with the inexplicable. You walk

to your car, find the hazard lights
blinking: find a rust-brown knife, a trout,
a smashed violin in your hands.
And then you wake, inside the dream,

to find tangerines ripening in the silence.
You peel the leaves of the dream
as you would peel the leaves off an onion.
The layers of the dream have no core,

no essence. You find a tattoo of
a red scorpion on your body.
You simply laugh, shiver in the frost,
and step back into the world.

2
A Galápagos turtle has nothing to do
with the world of the neutrino.
The ecology of the Galápagos Islands
has nothing to do with a pair of scissors.
The cactus by the window has nothing to do
with the invention of the wheel.
The invention of the telescope
has nothing to do with a red jaguar.
No. The invention of the scissors
has everything to do with the invention of the telescope.
A map of the world has everything to do
with the cactus by the window.
The world of the quark has everything to do
with a jaguar circling in the night.
The man who sacrifices himself and throws a Molotov
cocktail at a tank has everything to do
with a sunflower that bends to the light.

3
Open a window and touch the sun,
or feel the wet maple leaves flicker in the rain.
Watch a blue crab scuttle in clear water,
or find a starfish in the dirt.
Describe the color green to the colorblind,
or build a house out of pain.

The world is more than you surmise.
Take the pines, green-black, slashed by light,
etched by wind, on the island
across the riptide body of water.
Describe the thousand iridescent needles
to a blind albino Tarahumara.

In a bubble chamber, in a magnetic field,
an electron spirals and spirals in to the center,
but the world is more than such a dance:
a spiraling in to the point of origin,
a spiraling out in the form of a
wet leaf, a blue crab, or a green house.

4
The heat ripples ripple the cactus.
Crushed green glass in a parking lot
or a pile of rhinoceros bones
give off heat, though you might not notice it.

The heat of a star can be measured
under a spectrometer, but not
the heat of the mind, or the heat of Angkor Wat.
And the rubble of Angkor Wat

gives off heat; so do apricot blossoms
in the night, green fish, black bamboo,
or a fisherman fishing in the snow.
And an angstrom of shift turns the pleasure

into pain. The ice that rips the fingerprint
off your hand gives off heat;
and so does each moment of existence.
A red red leaf, disintegrating in the dirt,

burns with the heat of an acetylene flame.
And the heat rippling off
the tin roof of the adobe house
is simply the heat you see.

5
What is the secret to a Guarneri violin?
Wool dipped in an indigo bath turns bluer
when it oxidizes in the air. Marat is
changed in the minds of the living.
A shot of tequila is related to Antarctica
shrinking. A crow in a bar or red snapper on ice
is related to the twelve-tone method
of composition. And what does the tuning of tympani
have to do with the smell of your hair?
To feel, at thirty, you have come this far—
to see a bell over a door as a bell
over a door, to feel the care and precision
of this violin is no mistake, nor is the
sincerity and shudder of passion by which you live.

6
Crush an apple, crush a possibility.
No single method can describe the world;
therein is the pleasure
of chaos, of leaps in the mind.
A man slumped over a desk in an attorney’s office
is a parrot fish caught in a seaweed mass.
A man who turns to the conversation in a bar
is a bluefish hooked on a cigarette.
Is the desire and collapse of desire in an unemployed carpenter
the instinct of salmon to leap upstream?
The smell of eucalyptus can be incorporated
into a theory of aggression.
The pattern of interference in a hologram
replicates the apple, knife, horsetails on the table,
but misses the sense of chaos, distorts
in its singular view. Then
touch, shine, dance, sing, be, becoming, be.

 

夢的層葉洋蔥的層衣

1
紅櫟樹的葉子在風中摩挲。
在夢中，你夢見片片樹葉
散落土上，你知道
這是你命中巧合的

佈局。一整夜有紅色的馬
在你血液中疾馳，
你聽到一聲尖鋭的警報，突然
與這費解的世界相愛。你走向

你的車子，發現危險警示燈
閃爍不停：你找到一把生銹的刀，一條鱒魚，
你手上握著砸爛的小提琴。
你醒來時依然在夢裏，

看見橘子無聲地成熟。
你剝開夢的層葉
就像剝開洋蔥的表皮。
夢的層衣沒有果心，

沒有實質。你在自己身上
找到一隻紅蠍子紋身。
你只是笑了一下，在霜凍中打顫，
然後轉身走回這世界。

2
一隻加拉巴哥象龜
與微中子的世界毫無關聯。
加拉巴哥群島的生態
與一把剪刀毫無關聯。
窗邊的一盆仙人掌
與輪子的發明毫無關聯。
望遠鏡的發明
與一隻紅色美洲豹毫無關聯。
不。剪刀的發明
與望遠鏡的發明息息相關。
一張世界地圖
與一盆窗邊的仙人掌息息相關。
夸克的世界
與夜間逡巡的美洲豹息息相關。
一個男人舍棄自我面對坦克車
投出一枚燃燒瓶
與一棵躬身向陽的葵花息息相關。

3
打開窗戶碰一碰陽光，
或摸一摸被雨水淋濕的泛閃的楓葉。
透過清水看藍蟹倉皇游走，
或在沙土裏掘出一隻掩埋的海星。
向色盲者描述綠色，
或用痛苦修葺一座房屋。

世界永遠始料未及。
拿松樹來說，墨緑，接受光的斧鑿，
風的蝕刻，從一座島嶼
坐望入海口的沖潮。
請向一位眼盲的塔拉烏馬拉白化病人
描述那一千枚針葉尖頂的虹彩。

氣泡室裏，磁場中，
一粒電子向中心畫著螺旋，
但世界遠遠超過這單純的舞蹈：
螺旋向內一切回到起源，
螺旋向外形成一片
潮濕的葉子，一隻藍蟹，一座綠房子。

4
熱浪蕩漾著仙人掌。
停車場碾碎的綠玻璃
和一堆犀牛骨
同樣釋放熱量，你或許無緣察覺。

一顆恆星的熱可依照
光譜分類，但思維的熱
不可，吳哥窟的熱亦不可。
但吳哥窟的瓦礫

散發熱；夜晚開放的杏花
也是如此，還有綠魚，黑竹，
雪中垂釣的漁人。
一埃米的差距可將愉悅

轉化為痛苦。那奪走你指紋的冰
同樣具有熱量；
我們每一刻的生存亦不例外。
一枚鮮紅的葉在泥土中瓦解，

熱量媲美乙炔的火焰。
而那土坯房的鐵皮屋頂
波動的熱氣
正如你親眼所見。

5
一把瓜奈里小提琴的秘密是什麽？
從靛青色染缸裏撈起來的羊毛
遇空氣氧化後更加靛藍。世人
對馬拉的看法已今非昔比。
豪飲一杯龍舌蘭關乎南極洲
的萎縮。酒吧裏一隻烏鴉和冰上一條笛鯛
關乎十二音列
作曲法。為一架定音鼓調音
會否波及你頭髮的氣味？
三十歲，你深知你已行之至此——
你看到門上方的鈴鐺即一扇門
上方的鈴鐺，你充分體會到
這把小提琴的關照和精確，還有那
維持你熱情的誠摯和顫慄。

6
壓碎一個蘋果，壓碎一種可能性。
世界無法被單一秩序描述；
於是有樂趣
生於混亂，生於思維的跳躍。
一個人癱倒在律師的辦公桌前
是一條被海草圍困的鸚哥魚。
一個在吧檯邊攀談的人
是一隻叼著香菸的扁鰺。
一個失業木匠的慾望以及慾望的毀滅
是否一尾鮭魚溯流而上的本能？
桉樹的氣味會否收編為
攻擊理論的一種？
一張全像術形成的干擾圖形
可以複製一個蘋果，一把刀，桌上的一盆木賊，
它濾掉了視覺的混亂，聚焦
也是一種扭曲。那麽請
觸摸，發光，跳舞，歌唱，在，成為，在。

翻譯 © 史春波

譯註：塔拉烏馬拉人（Tarahumara）為北美原住民群體之一。

THE CURVATURE OF EARTH

Red beans in a flat basket catch sunlight—

we enter a village built in the shape
of an ox, stride up an arched bridge

over white lilies; along houses, water,
coursing in alleyways, connects ponds.

Kiwis hang from branches by a moon

door. We step into a two-story hall
with a light well and sandalwood panels:

in a closet off the mahjong room
is a bed for clandestine encounters.

A cassia tree shades a courtyard

corner; phoenix-tail bamboos line
the horse-head walls. The branching

of memory resembles these interconnected
waterways: a chrysanthemum odor

permeates the air, but I can’t locate it.

Soldiers fire mortars at enemy bunkers,
while Afghan farmers pause then resume

slicing poppy bulbs and draining resin.
A caretaker checks on his clients’ lawns

and swimming pools. The army calls—

he swerves a golf cart into a ditch—
the surf slams against black lava rock,

against black lava rock—and a welt
spreads across his face. Hunting for

a single glow-in-the-dark jigsaw piece,

we find incompletion a spark.
We volley an orange Ping-Pong ball

back and forth: hungers and fears
spiral through us, forming a filament

by which we heat into cesium light.

And, in the flowing current, we slice
back and forth—topspin, sidespin—

the erasure of history on the arcing ball.
Snow on the tips of forsythia dissolves

within hours. A kestrel circles overhead,

while we peer into a canyon and spot
caves but not a macaw petroglyph.

Yesterday, we looked from a mesa tip
across the valley to Chimayó, tin roofs

glinting in sunlight. Today, willows

extend one-inch shoots; mourning cloaks
flit along the roadside; a red-winged

blackbird calls. Though the March world
leafs and branches, I ache at how

mortality fissures the lungs:

and the pangs resemble ice forming,
ice crystals, ice that resembles the wings

of cicadas, ice flowers, drift ice, ice
that forms at the edges of a rock

midstream, thawing hole in ice, young

shore ice, crack in ice caused by the tides.
Scissors snip white chrysanthemum stalks—

auburn through a black tea-bowl rim—
is water to Siberian irises as art

is to life? You have not taken care

of tying your shoes—a few nanoseconds,
a few thousand years—water catlaps

up the Taf Estuary to a boathouse—
herring shimmer and twitch in a rising net—

rubbing blackthorn oil on her breasts—

in a shed, words; below the cliff, waves—
where å i åa ä e ö means island in the river—

while a veteran rummages through trash,
on Mars, a robot arm digs for ice—

when the bow lifts from the D string,

“This is no way to live,” echoes in his ears.
Sandhill cranes call from the marsh,

then, low, out of the southwest,
three appear and drop into the water:

their silhouettes sway in the twilight,

the marsh surface argentine and black.
Before darkness absorbs it all, I recall

locks inscribed with lovers’ names
on a waist-high chain extending along

a path at the top of Yellow Mountain.

She brushes her hair across his chest;
he runs his tongue along her neck—

reentering the earth’s atmosphere,
a satellite ignites. A wavering line

of cars issues north out of the bosque.

The last shapes of cranes dissolve
into vitreous darkness. Setting aside

binoculars, I adjust the side-view
mirror—our breath fogs the windshield.

A complex of vibrating strings:

this hand, that caress, this silk
gauze running across your throat,

your eyelids, this season where
tiny ants swarm large black ones

and pull apart their legs. Hail shreds

the rows of lettuces beyond the fence;
water, running through sprinklers,

swirls. A veteran’s wince coincides
with the pang a girl feels when

she masters hooked bows in a minuet.

And the bowing is a curved line,
loop, scrawl, macaw in air. A red-

winged blackbird nests in the dark;
where we pruned branches, starlight

floods in over the earth curvature.

Note: I first heard that å i åa ä e ö, in Swedish, means island in the river from the Dutch poet K. Michel. The Norwegian writer Dag Straumsvåg sourced this all-vowel sentence to Swedish poet Gustaf Fröding’s “Dumt Fôlk” (Stupid People). Thanks to David Caligiuri and Connie Wanek.

 

大地的弧度

紅豆在笸籃裏捕捉陽光——

我們走入一座水牛形的
村莊，越過白色百合花

大步踏上拱橋；沿著依水的住屋
曲折的巷弄連接片片池塘。

綴滿獼猴桃的枝條垂掛

月亮門邊。我們邁進一幢帶有天井
和檀木鑲板的兩層小樓：

挨著麻將室的小房間裏
一張幽會用的床。

一棵黃金雨蔭蔽庭院

一隅；鳳尾竹排開
掩映馬頭墻。記憶的枝杈

猶似這交錯的
水道：菊花香氣

在空氣中滲透，但來處不明。

兵士向敵人的戰壕發射迫擊炮，
與此同時阿富汗的農民停頓片刻又繼續

切割罌粟蒴果，收集膠汁。
門房例行檢查僱主的草坪

和游泳池。軍中來電——

他的高爾夫車一個急轉彎跌進溝渠——
海浪沖擊黑色的火山岩，

沖擊黑色的火山岩——彷彿鞭子
抽打過他的臉。當我們四下尋索

一塊散佚的夜光拼圖，

我們找到缺失的靈感。
我們接發一只橙色乒乓球

來來回回：飢餓與恐懼
在體內盤升，扭成一根燈絲

把我們加熱成銫的輝光。

然而，在不息的湍流中，我們切球削球
反反覆覆——上旋，側旋——

歷史在球的弧線中擦除。
雪落在銀翹枝頭沒幾個小時

便消融。一隻紅隼在頭頂徘徊，

我們張望峽谷，認出洞穴
卻看不到一幅金剛鸚鵡岩刻。

昨天，我們從一座方山頂遠眺
山谷對面的奇馬約，鐵皮屋頂

在陽光下閃熠。今天，柳樹

抽出一寸新芽；孝衣蝶
沿路翻飛；紅翅黑鸝

在啼叫。三月的世界
散葉開枝，但生之將死

以疼痛分裂我的肺：

那陣痛類似冰的形成，
冰之結晶，狀如

蟬翼，冰花，浮冰，冰
在中流的岩石邊緣

結成，中空的冰，初生的

岸冰，冰隨潮水鬆動。
剪刀掐斷白菊的命脈——

黑茶碗的口沿泛出赭紅——
水之於西伯利亞鳶尾是否等同於藝術

之於生命？你還沒有

繫好鞋帶——幾奈秒，
幾千年——塔夫河口的水

輕輕舔舐著流向船屋——
鯡魚閃閃發光在上升的漁網中摔打——

把黑刺李花油塗在她的胸脯上——

屋簷下，詞語；崖底，海浪——
它吞吐著å i åa ä e ö訴說河中之島——

與此同時一個老兵在垃圾堆裏翻找，
機械手臂在火星上挖掘冰——

當琴弓從D弦上擡起，

「生活本不該如此」如是在他耳畔迴盪。
濕地上傳來沙丘鶴的鳴叫，

從西南方，低低的，
三隻忽然躍起又再跌入水面：

牠們的剪影在夕光中搖曳，

沼面漆黑鍍著銀光。
在黑暗吞沒一切之前，我想起

那些刻著愛侶姓名的鎖頭
掛在及腰高的鐵鏈上

循著黃山的一條步道延伸。

她的長髮在他胸前拂拭；
他用舌頭親吻她的脖子——

再次衝入大氣層，
衛星開始燃燒。一條車河擺動著

流出山林駛向北方。

最後的鶴影逐漸消溶
於夜的琉璃。我放下

望遠鏡，調整車的後照鏡
——我們的呼吸在擋風玻璃上形成霧氣。

這龐雜的弦之顫動：

這手，這輕撫，這柔滑的輕紗
擦過你的喉頭，

你的眼睫，在這個季節
微小的螞蟻爬滿大黑蟻的軀體

將牠們肢解。冰雹

把籬笆裏的萵苣打得七零八落；
水從噴灑器噴射，

扭出漩渦。一個老兵的痛感
與一個女孩子的心跳重合

在她掌握一首小步舞曲連弓斷奏的剎那。

琴弓拉出一條曲線，
一個圈，狂草，空氣中的金剛鸚鵡。一隻

紅翅黑鸝在黑暗中安窩；
透過我們修剪的枝椏，星光

在大地的弧度上湧現。

翻譯 © 史春波

原注：
我最早從荷蘭詩人K. Michel處聽說「å i åa ä e ö」在瑞典語裏的意思是「河中之島」。挪威作家Dag Straumsvåg追查到這個全部由元音組成的句子出自瑞典詩人Gustaf Fröding的詩〈Dumt Fôlk〉（Stupid People / 愚蠢的人）。感謝David Caligiuri和Connie Wanek。

譯注：
①美國新墨西哥州的岩石雕刻國家保護區（Petroglyph National Monument）內有兩萬多幅可上溯至14世紀的印地安原住民及西班牙拓荒者留下的岩刻圖像，多為人形、動物形和十字形，金剛鸚鵡造型為其中之一。
②奇馬約（Chimayó），美國新墨西哥州一個人口普查指定地區。
③孝衣蝶（mourning cloak），黃緣蛺蝶的別名。
④船屋（boathouse）指威爾士詩人迪蘭·托馬斯（Dylan Thomas）與其家人在拉恩（Laugharne）居住過的房子，從那裏可眺望塔夫（Tâf）河口。

COMPASS ROSE (excerpts)

2 FAULT LINES

He pours water into a cup: at room temperature,
the cup is white, but, after he microwaves it,

and before steeping a tea bag with mint leaves,
he notices outlines of shards have formed

above the water. As the cup cools, the lines
disappear: now he glimpses fault lines

inside himself and feels a Siberian tiger
pace along the bars of a cell—black, orange,

white; black, orange, white—and feels how
the repeating chord sends waves through him.

His eyes glisten, and he tries to dispel the crests,
but what have I done, what can I do throbs

in his arteries and veins. Today he will
handle plutonium at the lab and won’t

consider beryllium casings. He situates the past
in the slight aroma of mint rising in the air.

Sometimes he feels like an astronaut suspended
above Earth twisting on an umbilical cord;

sometimes he’s in the crosshairs of a scope,
and tiger stripes flow in waves cross his body.

3 GLIMMER TRAIN

Red-winged blackbirds in the cattail pond—
today I kicked an elk hoof off the path,
read that armadillo eaters can catch
leprosy, but who eats armadillo and eats
it rare? Last night you wrote that, walking
to the stables, you glimpsed horses at twilight
in a field. We walk barefoot up a ridge
and roll down a dune; sip raki, savor
shish kebab and yogurt in an arcade.
Once we pored over divination lines incised
into tortoise shells, and once we stepped
through the keyhole entry into a garden
with pools of glimmering water. In the gaps
between my words, peonies rise through hoops
behind our bedroom—peonies are indeed
rising through hoops behind our bedroom—
you comb your hair at the sink as they unfold.

4 ORCHID HOUR

Orchid leaves are dark against the brighter glass;
two translucent blooms expand at the tip

of a segmented stalk, and, through the window,
an orange hue limns the Jemez Mountains.

At the lab a technician prepares a response
to a hypothetical anthrax attack, and what

is imagined can be: lionfish proliferate
in the Caribbean, traces of uranium appear

in an aquifer, and the beads of an abacus
register a moment in time: the cost of cabbage,

catfish crammed in a bubbling tank—and words
in the dictionary are spores: xeriscape, fugu,

cloister, equanimity. In the orchid hour,
you believe you know where you are, looking

before and through a window, but a pang lodges—
out of all the possible worlds, this, this.

5 THE CURTAIN

Inside each galaxy is a black hole—
           we will never see your birth mother’s face—
our solar system has eight, not nine, planets—
           we will never know the place of your birth—
who anticipated five dwarf planets
           in our solar system
           or that ice lodged on one of Jupiter’s moons?

When three caretakers brought three babies
           into the room, your mother leapt out of her chair,
           knowing at a glance your face.
We do not want anyone to be like the rings of Saturn,
           glinting in orbit,
           or inhabiting the gaps between rings;
we do not want anyone to be like Uranus.

On a whiteboard, you draw a heart, an infinity sign,
           star, and attune to a gyroscope’s tilt.
At night I’ve pulled the curtain
and stopped at the point
           where you twirled and transfixed—
           but tonight I pull the curtain to the end:
inside our planet is a molten core.

7 COMET HYAKUTAKE

Comet Hyakutake’s tail stretches for 360 million miles—

in 1996, we saw Hyakutake through binoculars—

the ion tail contains the time we saw bats emerge out of a cavern at dusk—

in the cavern, we first heard stalactites dripping—

first silence, then reverberating sound—

our touch reverberates and makes a blossoming track—

a comet’s nucleus emits X-rays and leaves tracks—

two thousand miles away, you box up books and, in two days, will step
           through the invisible rays of an airport scanner—

we write on invisible pages in an invisible book with invisible ink—

in nature’s book, we read a few pages—

in the sky, we read the ion tracks from the orchard—

the apple orchard where blossoms unfold, where we unfold—

budding, the child who writes, “the puzzle comes to life”—

elated, puzzled, shocked, dismayed, confident, loving: minutes to
           an hour—

a minute, a pinhole lens through which light passes—

Comet Hyakutake will not pass Earth for another 100,000 years—

no matter, ardor is here—

and to the writer of fragments, each fragment is a whole—

 

羅盤玫瑰（節選）

2 斷層線

他向茶杯中倒水：室溫下，
杯子呈白色，可是，在微波爐加熱後，

在浸入薄荷葉茶包前，
他注意到水面上的杯壁露出

細微的裂紋。當茶杯漸涼，裂紋
消失了：此刻他瞥見自己

身體裏的斷層線並感受到一隻西伯利亞虎
在獸籠的鐵條後徘徊——黑，橘，

白；黑，橘，白——
一個和絃反復向他激盪。

他雙目炯然，試圖壓抑那湧動，
但「我做錯了什麽」「我怎麽辦」

在他的動脈和靜脈中抽動。今天他將
在實驗室處理鈽而避免思考

它外層的鈹包殻。他將過往浸入
綿綿的薄荷香彌散於空氣。

有時他感覺自己像太空人漂浮
在地球之外扭纏在一根臍帶上；

有時他被瞄準鏡上的十字星圈住，
老虎的條紋如潮水在他體內沖刷。

3 微光列車

紅翅黑鸝棲於香蒲之地——
今天我從路中間踢開一隻馬鹿的蹄子，
讀到吃犰狳的人可能染上
麻風病，但什麽人吃犰狳
還不煮熟呢？昨夜你寫下，走在
去馬廄的路上，你瞥見馬兒在微明的
田間。我們赤腳踏上山脊
從坡地上滾下來；在拱廊裏喝茴香酒，
品嘗土耳其烤肉和酸奶。
我們曾一起研究刻在龜殻上的
線條的凶吉，一起穿過
鎖眼形的門走入
池水泛光的花園。在我詞語的
空隙間，牡丹花從臥室外的
環形藤架中盛放——的確有牡丹
從臥室外的環形藤架中盛放——
你在水槽邊梳頭當花瓣片片展開。

4 蘭花之時

蘭葉幽暗映襯在明亮的玻璃窗前；
兩朵剔透之花膨脹

在一枝花莖的頂端，隔窗望去，
橙色柔輝烘托著傑梅茲山脈。

實驗室裏一位實驗員在準備應答
可能發生的炭疽病毒襲擊，以下為

合理想像：獅子魚在加勒比海域
繁殖擴散，含水層發現了

鈾元素，算盤上的算珠
凝結在某一時刻：捲心菜的價格，

擠滿鯰魚的冒泡水池——還有字典裏
孢子般的詞語：省水花園，河豚，

與世隔絶，泰然。在蘭花之時，
你無比確信自己身在何處，從窗口

眺望窗外，一陣錐心之痛——
在塵世一切的發生之中，此刻，此刻。

5 窗簾

每一個星系的中心都有一個黑洞——
        你生母的面孔永遠缺席——
我們的太陽系有八（非九）大行星——
        你的出生地永遠未知——
誰曾預料太陽系
        有五顆矮行星
        而木星的一顆衛星被冰封鎖？

三個護士抱著三個嬰孩
        走進房間，你的母親從椅子上躍起，
        一眼認出你的臉。
但願無人像土星環
        在軌道上發光
        或處於環間空隙；
但願無人像天王星。

你在白板上畫一顆心，一個無限符號，
        恆星，對應陀螺儀的角度。
我在夜裏拉上窗簾
常常留一個縫隙
        供你暈眩，出神——
        但今晚我把窗簾拉到底：
我們的行星之核岩漿湧動。

7 百武慧星

百武慧星拖著3.6億英里的彗尾——

那是1996年，我們通過望遠鏡觀看它——

在它離子尾藴含的時間裏我們看到蝙蝠飛出黃昏的洞穴——

在那岩洞，我們第一次聽到鐘乳石滴水的聲音——

寂靜，迴盪——

我們的碰觸迴盪，開出行跡的花——

彗核釋放X射線亦留下行跡——

兩千英里外，你把書籍裝箱，再過兩天，你將走過機場安檢看不見的射線——

我們在看不見的書裏用看不見的墨水寫下看不見的記錄——

大自然的書我們翻了幾頁——

我們閲讀果園上空的離子軌跡——

蘋果花在果園綻放，我們也在那裏綻放——

含苞，一個孩子寫道，「謎語活了」——

得意，迷惘，驚詫，沮喪，自信，關愛：分鐘匯集成小時——

一分鐘，光從針孔相機的孔洞穿過——

百武慧星再次經過地球將在一萬年以後——

不要緊，此地有灼光——

記錄碎片的人相信，碎片即完整——

翻譯 © 史春波

譯注：
①傑梅茲山脈（Jemez Mountains），美國新墨西哥州的火山群。
②第五首，原文中木星以羅馬神話眾神之王Jupiter（朱庇特）命名；土星以羅馬神話農業之神Saturn（薩圖爾努斯）命名；天王星以希臘神話天空之神Uranus（烏拉諾斯）命名。

THE UNFOLDING CENTER (excerpts)

10

The sky lightens behind the heart-shaped
leaves. While we slept, a truck filled
with plutonium lumbered down the highway.
At six a.m. the willow branches swing,
and I tilt on waves. I will tilt when I rake
gravel, uncoil a hose, loosen the spigot.
Green are the lilac and willow leaves;
now my tongue runs along your scar,
our sighs bead, and we wick into flame.
Reflected on glass, a row of track lights
is superimposed on cordate leaves
outside the window. A smallmouth bass
aligns with a cottonwood shadow
in the pond. To wait is to ache, joy,
despair, crave, fret, whirl, bloom, relax
at the unfolding center of emptiness.
I tilt on the outgoing tide of my breath.

11

“Dead? How can that BE?”
           a woman sobs as
                      the airplane taxis to the gate;

flames on water; the whir
           of a hummingbird behind my eyelids;
                      these are means

by which we live: joy, grief, delight—
           straw mushrooms
                      rising into the visible world;

wisps of rabbitbrush are all
           that remain of generals’ dreams;
                      a branch of a river rejoins a river;

flip a house and it’s shelter,
           flip it again and cabinets
                      open, wine is poured, dogs yap,

people joke and laugh;
           sandhill cranes swirl
                      and descend into a cornfield;

we ampere each other;
           a bus stops: a child gets off,
                      starts waking on a red-clod road:

nothing in sight
           in all directions;
                      a rose flame under our skin,

hummingbird whirring its wings;
           a rose flame,
                      nothing in sight, in all directions:

Note: “The Unfolding Center,” in collaboration with twenty-two graphite drawings by Susan York, will be exhibited at the Santa Fe Art Institute in December 2013.

“Flip a house and it’s shelter” and the following three lines are based on an interview with Santa Fe architect Trey Jordan.

 

展開的中心（節選）

10

透過那些心形的葉子，天空
漸漸亮了。我們睡著時，一輛卡車裝載鈽
從高速公路上隆隆駛過。
清晨六點的柳枝搖盪，
我在波浪之巔傾斜。我將傾斜，當我用耙子
平整碎石，解下盤繞的水管，擰開水閥。
多麽綠啊丁香和柳樹的葉片；
現在我用舌頭舔舐你的傷疤，
我們的嘆息串在一起，結成一根燃燒的蠋芯。
燈影映照在玻璃窗上
與窗外的心形葉簇疊印。一尾小嘴鱸魚
與池上棉白楊的倒影
吻合。在等待中疼痛，欣喜
絶望，渴盼，焦躁，迴旋，綻開，釋放
一個空無的中心在展開。
當我的氣息潮水般呼出，我傾斜。

11

「死了？怎麽會？」
        女人啜泣著
                當飛機滑向閘口；

火焰在水面延伸；閉上眼睛
        蜂鳥的翅膀飛速扇動；
                藉由此道

我們生活：喜悅，悲傷，欣然——
        草菇
                在肉眼的世界醒來；

叢生的一枝黃
        覆蓋了將軍全部的夢；
                河水的分流匯入主流；

翻修一座房子提供庇護，
        再翻修一次，櫥櫃
                打開，紅酒杯注滿，狗兒歡叫，

人們有說有笑；
        沙丘鶴盤旋
                降落在一片玉米地；

我們是彼此的安培；
        巴士停靠：一個孩童下車，
                走在紅土塊的路上：

視線所及無一物
        從四面八方；
                玫瑰之火在皮膚下點燃，

蜂鳥的翅膀嗡鳴；
        一朵玫瑰之火，
                視線所及無一物，從四面八方：

翻譯 © 史春波

原注：
①2013年12月，〈展開的中心〉組詩與藝術家Susan York創作的22幅石墨畫在聖塔菲藝術學院舉辦聯展。
②「翻修一座房子」一節從聖塔菲建築設計師Trey Jordan的一篇訪談而來。

譯注：一枝黃（rabbitbrush）是一種開金色小花的菊科灌木，常見於美國西部地區。

TRANSFIGURATIONS

Though neither you nor I saw flowering pistachio trees
in the Hanging Gardens of Babylon, though neither
you nor I saw the Tigris River stained with ink,
though we never heard a pistachio shell dehisce,
we have taken turns holding a panda as it munched
on bamboo leaves, and I know that rustle now.
I have awakened beside you and inhaled August
sunlight in your hair. I’ve listened to the scroll
and unscroll of your breath—dolphins arc along
the surface between white-capped waves; here,
years after we sifted yarrow and read from the Book
of Changes, I mark the dissolving hues in the west
as the sky brightens above overhanging willows.
The panda fidgets as it pushes a stalk farther
into its mouth. We step into a clearing with budding
chanterelles; and, though this space shrinks and
is obscured in the traffic of a day, here is the anchor
I drop into the depths of teal water. I gaze deeply
at the panda’s black patches around its eyes;
how did it evolve from carnivore to eater of bamboo?
So many transfigurations I will never fathom.
The arc of our lives is a brightening then dimming,
brightening then dimming—a woman catches
fireflies in an orchard with the swish of a net.
I pick an openmouthed pistachio from a bowl
and crack it apart: a hint of Assyria spills
into the alluvial fan of sunlight. I read spring in
autumn in the scroll of your breath; though
neither you nor I saw the completion of the Great Wall,
I wake to the unrepeatable contour of this breath.

 

轉化

儘管你我從未見過阿月渾子樹
在巴比倫的空中花園開花，從未見過
底格里斯河流出墨水，
儘管我們從未聽到阿月渾子輕輕裂開，
但我們輪流抱過一隻大聲咀嚼竹葉的
貓熊，那沙沙聲依稀分明。
在你身邊醒來，我從你的髮絲中
嗅聞八月。我曾認真傾聽
你呼吸的畫卷開闔——海豚躍出水面
消失於弧線盡頭的白色浪花；多年前
我們在這裏研讀易經推演蓍草，此時
我注意到西天的色彩正在消散，
垂柳上空忽然明朗。
貓熊扭動了起來，把一根竹莖
塞進嘴裏。我們走入一塊空地，鷄油菌的菇蕾
正從土地冒出；那麽，即便這壓縮的時空
被一整天的奔忙遮蔽，此刻依然是
鳬綠的深水處我的落錨點。我癡癡凝望
貓熊眼睛周圍的黑色圓圈；
牠是怎樣從肉食動物進化到以竹為食？
這麽多我無法測量的轉化。
我們生命的弧線不停明滅，
時明時滅——嗖地
一個女孩用網子捕到果園裏的螢火蟲。
我拿起碗中一顆開口的阿月渾子
掰開它：亞述國的影子
湧出這日光的沖積扇。我在你呼吸的
秋日畫卷中閲讀春天；儘管你我
從未見證長城的完工，我醒來，
眼前是這不可重複的呼吸的等高線。

翻譯 © 史春波

譯註：
①阿月渾子（pistachio）即開心果。
②鷄油菌（chanterelle），亦稱黃菇、酒杯菇，是一種野生食用菇，常見外表金黃色。

PYROCUMULUS

Peony shoots rise out of the earth;
at five a.m., walking up the ridge,
I mark how, in April, Orion’s left arm
was an apex in the sky, and, by May,
only Venus flickered above the ridge
against the blue edge of sunrise.
In daylight, a pear tree explodes
with white blossoms—no black-
footed ferret slips across my path,
no boreal owl stirs on a branch.
At three a.m., dogs seethed and howled
when a black bear snagged a shriveled
apple off a branch; and, waking out
of a black pool, I glimpsed how
fire creates its own weather
in rising pyrocumulus. Reaching
the ditch, I drop the gate: it’s time
for the downhill pipes to fill,
time for bamboo at the house
to suck up water, time to see sunlight
flare between leaves before
the scorching edge of afternoon.

 

火積雲

牡丹幼苗從泥土中拔起；
在凌晨五點鐘，走上山脊，
我觀察到，四月裏獵戶座的左臂
位於天空的頂點，到了五月，
唯有金星貼著黎明的黯藍天際
於山稜線上閃爍。
白天，梨樹的白花
爆炸——沒有黑足鼬
從我面前的小徑上竄過，
沒有鬼鴞在樹枝間攪動。
凌晨三點鐘，狗吠聲此起彼伏
當黑熊從一根枝上折下
枯萎的蘋果；此刻，我走出
這一池黑暗，看到火
如何以上升的火積雲創造
它獨有的季候。終於抵達
灌溉渠，我放下閘門：是時候
讓山下的水管注滿，
是時候讓屋外的竹林
豪飲，是時候看見陽光
透過葉簇的縫隙跳耀
趁那午後灼人的鋒芒還未降臨。

翻譯 © 史春波

WHITEOUT

Honey mushrooms glow in the dark;
in a sweat, a journalist wakes

to a roadside bomb; when a woman
outside a bakery offers to wash

your car windshield, you give her
some cash, and what will suffice?

Cottonwood seeds swirl in the air;
in Medellín, your host invites you

to lunch at his house; you sip
potato and cilantro soup, glance

at a door open to an enclosed yard
with a hammock and mango tree,

the space a refuge inside bullet-
pocked walls. A narwhal pokes

its tusk through ice into the air;
it exhales: whiteout: how to live,

where to go: in the yard, you hear
a circular saw rip the length of a plank.

 

雪盲

蜜環菌在黑暗中發光；
大汗淋漓，一個記者

從路邊的炸彈中醒來；假如
一個麵包店外的女人為你提供

清洗擋風玻璃的服務，你給她
一些現金，這樣就夠了嗎？

楊絮在風中打旋；
在麥德林，主人邀你

在他房內共進午餐；你呷飲著
香菜土豆湯，目光投向

敞開的門外封閉的院落，
那裏有一棵芒果樹和吊床

以及佈滿麻點的包容逃難者的
圍墻。一隻獨角鯨將長牙

鑽透冰層侵入空氣；
氣體呼出：雪盲：何為生活，

何去何從：在院子裏，你聽見
圓鋸縱切木板的聲音。

翻譯 © 史春波

THE OPEN WATER

1
Peaches redden on branches; in the dark,
I drop the irrigation gate—each month

a woman crosses Havana Bay and, looking

at the open water, reclaims her mother—
I smell the bloodred strawberries

in the garden; at a flaking green tank,

I listen: yellow light shines at a neighbor’s
octagonal window; Orion dims as the sky lightens—

what am I but a wandering speck

rambling, smudging, stumbling, writing—
someone opens a car door and steals quarters—

across the valley, two lights flicker from houses;

standing before a sharp descent, I look
at a waxing moon—the Big Bang’s

always present—I latch a green metal

gate near the empty stable and smell
your neck as you turn in your sleep;

daylight reaches the porch post columns;

I open a glass door and sit at a table,
where light pools onto the wood floor.

2
A black butterfly opens its wings—

sitting in a bus on a metal seat, I notice the steel above the driver has corroded,
       and pinpricks of daylight stream through—

two destroyers moored offshore—

on a scaffold, he uses a roller and paints the building marine blue—

a mime in a silver top hat, silver jacket—hands and face, silvered—inches
       through a restaurant—

standing in the shade looking up into the branches and leaves of a thorned ceiba
       tree—

a street sweeper emigrates and founds a chain of restaurants—

two men push pig carcasses on a cart through the doorway—

a singer shaking maracas sways to the music—

3
Russian sage scents the air—

                   the aroma of flickering candles
                   on the fireplace mantel—

that I am even here standing on a ridge looking at Venus low in the sky—

      a black bear overturns a dumpster in the garage
      and eats remnants
                                     of a chicken enchilada—

                         soldiers move through the airport with dogs on leashes—

                   I rub oil on your breasts—

      in Old Delhi, uncovered bins with saffron, cardamom,
                                     ginger, turmeric—

      a poster warns of an imminent terrorist attack—

                         I jot things down so that when I lose them in the darkness
                         I may recover them quickly with the dawn—

                         dancers emerge wearing Yoruba masks—

                   I taste the salt on your neck—

that the rivers of the world flow into the seas—

that I am alive and hear rotating sprinklers jet water onto the grass—

                   that we go through the day humming in our bodies—

Russian sage emerges out of darkness—

4
In August sunlight, basil plants go to seed—
a mime dressed as a construction worker

with gold skin, gold goggles, helmet,
and sledge hammer, stands in the shady

side of a cobbled street; when you drop
some cash in the box, he smiles and bows—

a woman gives you a book of poetry;
when you read la pobreza del lugar,

you bristle: no place is impoverished
if the mind sparks; if not, the dunes

of a Sahara have no end; the sun sets,
and a cooling range is under the stars—

when the mind seeds, a camel emerges
out of a dune and you ride it to an oasis,

where you imbibe ayahuasca: up all night,
when the man leading the vigil puts on

a jaguar mask and becomes a jaguar,
you raise your hands, and they spark butterflies.

5
A singer shaking maracas sways to the music—

in the street, a black man pushing a cart with strings of onions dangling from the
       frame sings, “Onions for sale”—

a girl with silvered face and hands, blouse and skirt, holds a silver bouquet of
       flowers—

a purple 1953 Chevy with polished chrome parked alongside an azure Bonneville—

in the yard, a flowering boojum tree—

his mother’s father was the owner of a sugar plantation and disinherited his mother
       after she married a mulatto street sweeper—

sitting in the oven of a bus—

a mime dressed as a deep-sea diver, helmet in hand, inches up the stairs—

a black butterfly closes its wings—

6
Clusters of conical thorns on the tree trunk—
I recall screech owls perched on a post
protected from sunlight by wisteria leaves,
the hush in the courtyard during a snowfall,
cinders from a forest fire alighting on
the roof, and how winter starlight shifted
to summer sunshine within a single day.
In the eyehook between shelves, I see
the upright primary wing feather of an eagle,
the red and orange bougainvilleas,
entwined, rising from a pot pressing
against the ceiling and against glass doors;
twice I stepped on lye-softened floorboards
and caught splinters. I mark presence
in absence and absence in presence:
as a May snow landing on a walkway
dissolves as it lands, as surf rises
and sweeps across the plazas and boulevards.

 

開放水域

1
桃子在枝梢轉紅；黑暗中，
我放下灌溉渠的閘門——有個女人

每月橫穿哈瓦那灣前來，凝視

開闊的水域，召喚她的母親——
我聞到花園裏

血紅的草莓；駐足綠漆剝落的水箱前

我側耳聆聽：一束黃光投射在鄰居
八角形的窗上；天色漸明，獵戶座趨於黯淡——

我只不過是一顆漫遊的塵埃

徘徊著，髒污著，顛躓著，書寫著——
有人打開車門偷取25美分硬幣——

峽谷對面，兩戶人家燈影綽綽；

我站在一個陡坡上，諦視
逐漸充盈的月亮——大爆炸

一直在場——我閂住綠鐵門

走過空蕩蕩的馬廄，聞到你睡夢中翻身時
脖子的氣息；

日光已照亮露臺的廊柱；

我拉開玻璃門坐在桌邊，
光在木地板上匯成一池。

2
黑蝴蝶舉平雙翼——

坐在一輛巴士的金屬座位上，我發現司機頭頂的金屬板已經銹蝕，點點日光
      川流而過——

兩艘驅逐艦停泊近海——

他在腳手架上用油漆滾把大樓刷成大海的藍——

默劇演員頭戴銀帽，身穿銀衣——銀色的手和臉——在餐館裏尺蠖般移動——

站在樹蔭裏擡頭凝望一棵佈滿瘤刺的吉貝木棉樹的枝葉——

一個掃街人背井離鄉創立了連鎖餐館——

兩個男人推著屠豬骨架從門口穿過——

歌手晃著沙槌隨音樂搖擺——

3
俄羅斯鼠尾草誘惑著空氣——

                    壁爐架上燭火跳動
                    芬芳升起——

我竟然站在這山脊上注視天邊低垂的金星——

      一隻黑熊掀翻車庫裏的垃圾桶
      吃掉了剩餘的
                                  墨西哥鷄肉捲——

                           士兵們牽著狗在機場大廳穿行——

                    我在你胸脯上塗油——

      在舊德里，敞口的筐子裝著番紅花，小豆蔻，
                                  生薑，寶鼎香——

      一張告示提醒恐怖襲擊隨時發生——

                           我草草記下所想以便即使在黑暗中將之忘卻
                           亦可在天明時失而復得——

                           舞者們戴著約魯巴面具登場了——

                    我嘗到你脖子上鹽的味道——

竟然全世界的河流都匯入大海——

竟然我還活著聽見迴旋的灑水器把水噴向草地——

                    竟然我們的身體哼唱著日復一日——

俄羅斯鼠尾草從黑暗中顯形——

4
八月的太陽，羅勒的結籽期——
一個默劇演員扮成建築工人

塗著金色的皮膚，戴金色的護目鏡，頭盔，
拿金色長柄錘，站在石磚馬路

蔭涼的一邊；當你把零錢
投進箱子，他微笑鞠躬——

一個女人送你一本詩集；
當你讀到「貧窮之地」

你面生慍色：如果思想閃耀火花
便沒有不毛之地；否則，撒哈拉沙漠的丘陵

將綿亙不止；太陽落山，
涼爽的沙稜在星空下展開——

而思想結籽時，駱駝出沒於沙丘
載你去往一片綠洲，

你將在那裏飲用死藤水：一夜未眠過後，
守夜禮的引領者戴上美洲豹的面具

變身為美洲豹，
你舉起雙手，它們閃耀蝴蝶的火花。

5
歌手晃著沙槌隨音樂搖擺——

街邊，一個黑人推著掛架上一串串洋蔥懸擺的手推車唱誦著「賣洋蔥啦」——

一個女孩露出銀色的臉和手，穿銀色的襯衫裙裾，手捧一束銀色的花——

一輛1953年的紫色雪佛蘭擦得熠熠發光與一台天藍色龐帝克並排停靠——

院子裏，觀峰玉開花——

他母親的父親曾擁有一片甘蔗園但在他母親嫁給一個黑白混血掃街人之後剝奪了
       她的財產繼承權——

坐在巴士烤箱中——

默劇演員身穿深海潛水衣，頭盔在手，一步步登上樓梯——

黑蝴蝶斂翼——

6
樹幹上分佈密集的瘤刺——
我想起鳴角鴞在木樁上歇息
被紫藤的茂葉蔭蔽——
落雪的院子闃寂無聲，
森林大火的餘燼
飄墜屋頂，冬季的星空
在一天之內轉為夏日的朗照。
我看見藤架間的眼型吊鈎上
竪直別著一根老鷹的撥風羽，
紅色與橙色的九重葛
從陶盆向上交纏探索
壓向天花板和玻璃門；
兩次我踩到鹸蝕的地板
腳上扎了刺。我感知到缺席的
在場與在場的缺席：
當五月的輕雪落在走道上
旋即消融，當激浪翻湧
席捲過廣場和林蔭大道。

翻譯 © 史春波

譯註：
①約魯巴（Yoruba），西非主要民族之一。
②死藤水（ayahuasca），飲用後可致幻，被南美洲亞馬遜原住民廣泛用於宗教儀式。
③雪佛蘭（Chevy），龐帝克（Bonneville），均為美國通用汽車旗下的汽車品牌，因古巴在1959年之後禁運美國汽車與零件，導致老牌汽車翻新作業普遍流行。
④全詩最後一句：2018年12月，古巴受海嘯襲擊，海浪淹過哈瓦那的馬雷貢築堤，淹進市區的商場和街道。海浪在此也作為一種象徵。

TRANSPIRATIONS

Leafing branches of a backyard plum—

branches of water on a dissolving ice sheet—

chatter of magpies when you approach—

lilacs lean over the road, weighted with purple blossoms—

then the noon sun shimmers the grasses—

you ride the surge into summer—

smell of piñon crackling in the fireplace—

blued notes of a saxophone in the air—

not by sand running through an hourglass but by our bodies igniting—

passing in the form of vapors from a living body—

this world of orange sunlight and wildfire haze—

world of iron filings pulled toward magnetic south and north—

pool of quicksilver when you bend to tie your shoes—

standing, you well up with glistening eyes—

have you lived with utmost care?—

have you articulated emotions like the edges of leaves?—

adjusting your breath to the seasonal rhythm of grasses—

gazing into a lake on a salt flat and drinking, in reflection, the Milky Way—

 

蒸騰作用

後院的李樹枝萌發新葉——

冰蓋融化時分叉的水流——

當你走近喋喋不休的喜鵲——

丁香樹探向路邊，枝頭的紫花顫危危——

正午的陽光迷濛了青草——

你順勢進入夏日的波動——

矮松氣味在壁爐中畢剝作響——

薩克斯風的藍調音符隱入空氣——

不是沙漏中沙子在逃逸而是我們的身體在點燃——

以水蒸氣的形式從一個生命體中揮發——

這橘色太陽與野火煙霧的世界——

這鐵屑向南北極拉伸的世界——

你低頭繫鞋帶時水銀迅速流動——

當你站起身，兩眼如井水充盈——

你是否曾以最大的謹慎生活？——

你是否曾像樹葉的邊緣那樣表達情感？——

請把你的呼吸調至草木季節性的節奏——

一邊凝視鹽灘上的湖水，一邊啜飲一道銀河的倒影——

翻譯 © 史春波