#珍的诗
我一直在将人生转成文字 |【珍的诗】连载七
01
有人神奇地
解开了我的狗链
而我却如此害怕
我假装它
仍在那儿甚至
比以前更紧。
“你自由了——
难道你没注意到吗?
你为何不跑开
像任何一只幸运的
动物?”
而我说,“别说谎!
我不会听你的。”
那是多年以前。
现在我颤抖,疲倦,
独自被绑在
黑风里。
我继续拉扯
不在那儿
却如此真实的
狗链。
真实的剪刀
剪不断
那种链子。
所以我在制造
想像的剪刀
把那梦链
剪成
一千个银色的
碎片——
融化在我
亦梦亦真的眼前。
1
01
Someone magically
took my leash off
and I was so scared
I pretended it was
still there even
tighter than before.
"Ahem," said the magic voice.
"You're free—
didn't you notice?
Why don't you run off
like any lucky
animal?"
And I said, "Don't tell lies.
I won't listen".
That was years ago.
Now I'm shivering, tired,
tied out alone in the
black wind.
I keep tugging
at the leash that isn't there
but seems so real.
Real scissors
won't cut
that kind of leash.
So I'm making
imaginary ones
which snip
the dream leash
into a thousand silver
pieces—
that melt before my
dream-real eyes.
02
我做梦的自己
望进窗户
看见我在床上。
我沉睡的头
洒满月光
我裸身静静躺着。
我做梦的自己
进来
游荡徘徊。
我觉得门把似乎在转,
打开了我脑子里的
房间。
我做梦的自己
有钥匙般的双眼
在黑暗中闪闪发光。
在我的骨头里
没有它们打不开的
密室。
我做梦的自己
穿越我灵魂的框架。
他一边走一边开灯。
外面的夜色
黑而冷。
我做梦的自己
躺在床上。
我则敬畏地站立一旁。
“唉呀,我俩原是一个!”我说。
他说:“我以为你早知道。”
2
02
My dreaming self
Looked in the window
And saw me on the bed.
Moonlight filled
My sleeping skull.
I lay nude and still.
My dreaming self
Came in
And walked about.
I felt as if doorknobs turned,
Opening rooms up
In my head.
My dreaming self
Had eyes like keys
That glinted in the dark.
There was no closet
Within my bones
They could not unlock.
My dreaming self
Walked through
The framework of my soul.
He switched lights on as
he passed. Outside the night
Was dark and cold.
My dreaming self
Lay on the bed.
I stood aside with awe.
“Why, both of us are one, ” I said.
He said, “I thought you knew.”
03
我一直在将我的人生转成文字,
有一天它会完全存在于
书面的名词和元音里,
干净的段落
甚至在死亡之前
我就在规划心灵的安息之所
会升起第二度生命
没有眼、手或血肉,
却超越了
大脑的小范畴,
自给自足,终于真的活了;
像个心灵的气球
飞越未曾探索的天空
终于进入了安全的航线
当抓着气球的手
放它走了。
3
03
I've always transferred my life to letters,
and one day it will reside
exclusively in written nouns and vowels,
clean paragraphs
distilled from mysterious life's days.
Even before death's event
I plan my mind's resting place
as if there is a second life
in thought's products that defies
the brain's shorter span, and rises
sans blood, flesh, hand or eye,
self-contained, truly alive at last;
like some mental balloon
set on a safe course finally
through unexplored skies
when the hand that holds it
lets it go.
没有一艘舰船 能像一本书 带我们遨游远方
没有一匹骏马 能像一页诗行 如此欢悦飞扬
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编译:Laujenny婷/ 美编:周周
《赛斯说●第184期》
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文章标题:我一直在将人生转成文字 |【珍的诗】连载七发布于2022-05-10 10:04:07