《致你的诗》

作者：Simon Shieh

这首诗献给一位政治犯，这首诗是我能做的一切。因为这个世界由无情的暴君统治着。

欧阳京译

扌

在我们错过的生命中，
我坐在冰冷的牢房里
光线泛滥
想象你的手—
曾如何遮住我的眼睛
让我在夜晚带你穿过樱花园；
樱花耀眼，
响亮如囚犯之魂，
早已遗忘。没有预警，
一只谷仓鹰的黑翼
划过牢房
就像一台坏钟的时针。
而我所能做的
只是记住你，所有
能做的就是忘记。


亻

在我们错过的生命中，
你用温暖的手指
划过冰冷的玻璃
我不禁想象我就是玻璃—
浓雾之后被赋予了视力。
你说最终还是不曾知道更好：
那一刻剥着柑橘
嘴里叼着香烟，下一刻
却将你的影子浸在冰水中
两名守卫在看着。
他们把你带走
是在冬天。我能用只手，
数出生命剩下的日子。
我能看到伤痕累累的山脊，
草地干裂的嘴唇。
我能触碰你，却又不能。

木

在我们错过的生命中，
我从一村到一村搬运木柴，
你的名字刻在树皮上。
五月，雨水已冲毁河流，
唯一通往山上的路
是一条水和泥灰的辫子。
来吧，你告诉我，
你不能一生都在等待
世界的改变。

氵

在我们错过的生命中，
有一处喷泉
在那里像着你—--水
从你嘴里涌出。我在你面前脱去衣服，
在你的沉默中跋涉。
绳索 肌肉组织 齿痕
几乎
人类的 野兽的 桃核
血染白雪

乞求的开恩
你把它叫做什么
当它成为
相声的包袱？
狱卒的手
被你紧握着。海洋
在一块石头中汹涌。

火

在我们错过的生命中，
我把一本彼此都不懂的书
读给你听
你数着手里的硬币告诉我，
我们这样更快乐。
灯熄灭的那夜，你以为
自己瞎了。你第一次点燃火柴，
它燃烧成黑色。第二次你点燃火柴，
它燃烧成黑色。第三次你
点燃火柴，它的光浸满了房间
而所有光芒从你眼中流尽。
我仍然梦想着你，
悬浮着，背光
像一个天使。

廾

在我们错过的生命中，
你吹熄了祭坛上的蜡烛，
在黑暗中拍下我的照片，周围
香烟缭绕。在祭坛上
一只手从水中伸出的照片
蜷曲着。也许
这就是你记住我的方式：两个图
回到同一个黑暗。


口

在我们错过的生命中，
我们彼此倾诉一切，却只记得
破碎的沉默
开裂的冰
黑色的水
夜晚的地图
我越来越
接近你
更接近，
一点点，
更接近你

附原诗如下：

Poem Addressed to You
Simon Shieh

This poem is dedicated to a political prisoner who shall remain unnamed. I am sorry for what happened to you. I am sorry that this poem is all I have to offer. The world is ruled by heartless despots.
扌

In the life we do not lead, I sit in a cold jail cellflooded with light
and imagine your hands—how you once covered my eyes
and let me lead you through a cherry blossom orchard at night; the blossoms incandescent,
loud as the ghosts of prisoners long-forgotten. Without warning,
the dark wing of a barn owlcuts through the jail cell
like the hour hand of a broken clock.And all I can do
is remember you, allI can do is forget.
亻
In the life we do not lead, you run your warmfingers over the cold glass
and I cannot help but imagine that Iam the glass—gifted, after days of fog, with sight.
You say it is better, in the end, to neverhave known: one moment peeling clementines
dangling a cigarette from your lips, the nextbathing your shadow in ice water
as two guards look on.When they took you away
it was winter. I could count what life was lefton one hand.
I could see the mountain’s scarred back,the meadow’s cracked lips.
I could touch you and then I couldn’t.
木
In the life we do not lead, I carry firewood from villageto village, your name etched in its bark.
By March the rains have undone the riverand the only road leading
up the mountain is a braid of waterand cement. Come, you tell me,
you must not spend your life waitingfor the world to change.
氵
In the life we do not lead, there is a fountainsomewhere, that bears your likeness—water
rushing from your mouth. I undressin front of you, wade in your silence.tether musculature tooth-mark almost
human bestial peach pit bleeding in the snowWhat do you call mercywhen it is begged for,
when it is the punchlineof a joke? The hand of your jailor clutched
in your own. An oceanraging within a stone.
火
In the life we do not lead, I read to you from a bookwritten in a language that neither of us understand
and we are happier like thisyou tell me as you count the coins in your palm.
The night the lights went out you thoughtyou’d gone blind. The first time you lit the match,
it burned black. The second time you lit the match,it burned black. The third time you
lit the match, its light flooded the roomand all the light drained from your eyes.
I still have visions of youhanging in your cell
hovering and backlitlike an angel.
廾
In the life we do not lead, you blow out the candlesabove the altar,
photograph me in the dark surroundedby incense smoke. On the altar
a picture of a hand emerging from watercurls in on itself. Perhaps this
is how you’ll remember me: two imagesreturning to the same darkness.
口
In the life we do not lead,we tell each other everything but remember only
broken silencecracked iceblack waternight map
I am gettinga little closerto you a little closer a little closer