郑敏诗二首

◎灵石



Modigliani’s Woman with Red Hair


The fire-red hair,
A burning dahlia,
Roots in black soil.
That black velvet gown wraps
An autumnal body, its declining
Shoulder, half-revealed its plumpish arm,
That slim brown neck
Connecting thoughts and torso,
The waist lingering in girlhood.

Black eyes barely awakened,
Hypnotized again
By the confusion of this Western début-de-siècle.
A downward locked-in glance,
No sleep in those young eyes,
Dislocated time. What erupts in that complexion?

She seems to feel the broad leaves of plane trees
Hardening.
The sun, a past midnight ball.
Dahlias and roses,
Tireless dancers, singing,
Shouting like crazy.
Summer abandoned like a spent rocket.
The necklace hangs on her chest,
Beads, hopes, tears, wistful gazes,
Dripping down.
The black velvet gown drapes
Her autumnal body, that dahlia,
Her red hair, burns on.

Traveling from her pink infancy
To the clawed joints of arthritis,
She stares at a half-opened door in time
Leading to the evening sky,
Cold, quiet, vanishing in cloudy palettes.

《戴项链的女人》
(意画家莫迪里阿尼一九一七年作)

火红的头发
一朵燃烧着的大丽花
长在黑色的土地上
那黑丝绒长袍裹着
秋天的身体,下溜的
半露的肩,微胖的臂膀
和那连接着思维和躯体的
细长、棕色的脖子
腰仍在留连着少女的年月。

深隽的一双黑眸子
醒悟了的意识又被
世纪初西方的迷惘催眠
怔怔地半垂着的视线
然而眼睑却没有松弛
时间的脱节引起了肌理的失调。

仿佛感到法国梧桐的大叶子
在变硬,
太阳是午夜后的舞会
大丽花和月季
这不知疲倦的舞伴还在
拼命地唱、跳和呼喊
然而夏天终于是被摔弃的火箭
项链断断续续地挂在胸前
珠子、希望、眼泪、多情的凝视
都从这胸前滴下
当黑色的丝绒长袍裹住
秋天的身体,而大丽花仍在
燃烧、火红的头发。

从粉红色的婴儿走向
长着鹰爪样关节的风湿老年
她正瞧着一扇半开的时间的门
从那里通向
晚霞消逝后冷静的晚空。

Crossing Boston Suburbs in Snow

Snow
Squeezing in
Swept again
By the wind
So quickly veils
The snake, grey road, its leaden face
In winter woods,
The restless car rubs through
Foggy wintry trees,
Where we can see
Gaping mouths,
Twisted arms,
Voiceless cries,
Drilling our ears.
So silent
These dark woods.


We talk of childhood.
Traces in the snow
As if in a line,
Tracks ahead,
Tracks left behind us.
A few words now and then,
About today, yesterday,
Here, there.

The grey snake threads through.
Snow squeezes in.
In a dream, the car heads for home.
Words rise above the water,
And sink again into the chaotic ocean:
The grey rhythm of the whale’s back,
Childhood, Boston, snow.
The revived woods
Never utters a sound.

穿过波士顿雪郊

雪,
挤进来
又被风
扫出去
这样渴望遮住
  穿过冬林的灰蛇长路,
它的铅色的脸,
焦虑的车擦过
  雾中的冬林
    它只剩下
大张着的嘴
拧着的手臂
祈求的姿态
无声的呼喊
刺痛耳朵
这些沉寂的
    黑色的树林

我们谈到童年
雪地上的痕迹
迤逦追随
前面的轨迹,
加上我们的,
加上
我们后面的。
偶尔说几句话
今天的,以前的
这儿的,那儿的。

灰蛇蜿蜒进出树林
雪在挤进来
车在梦中开回家
对话浮出混沌的水面
又沉入海洋
鲸鱼的灰背的浮沉
童年,波士顿,雪
活过来的树林
更真实的部分
却没有发出声音。

(与Stephen Haven合译,发表于The Common杂志)


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