Author: Yu Jian

 

T美国乔直翻译于坚诗



洗衣机的星期六
旋转的快感 将主人的布磨损
磨损它的鲜艳 磨损它的粗糙
磨损它不适应于宴会的部分
磨损 让人日复一日 保持干净
幸福的是一件羊毛衣
它要求与众不同的转速
它的愿望 是与女主人的
红裙子 匹配



On its Saturdays


the washing machine
revolves with pleasure,
wearing away the owner’s clothes--
wearing away the brightness,
wearing down the fibers,
rubbing out the stains.
All this wear
keeps us clean
day after day.
Blessed be the woolen sweater
on gentle cycle
that wants to match her red skirt.


--trans. by Mei Shenyou, Diana Shi & George O’Connell



无产者在星期日的大街上走
他的眼睛不是坚定地看着前方
而是犹豫不决地经常垂向地面
他想发现一个他决不会弯腰捡起来的
皮夹子



Sunday, a proletarian on the avenue.
His gaze not firmly fixed on the road ahead,
he casts timid glances toward the pavement,
seeking a wallet he won’t stoop for.



--trans. by Mei Shenyou, Diana Shi & George O’Connell


九十个诗人会在同一时刻
在黑暗的意义上
想起同一只乌鸦
但九万只乌鸦组成一片移动的黑暗
飞越过一只乌鸦
也不能令这只乌鸦想起
乌鸦



Ninety poets are reminded of darkness
at the same moment
by one crow.

Ninety thousand crows
like night in motion
fly over a single crow.

Yet that crow won’t think
crow.


--trans. by Mei Shenyou, Diana Shi & George O’Connell


如何 在石头的内部
捕获一头生动的豹子?
又如何 在豹子中 发现
纹丝不动的石头?



How to capture a live leopard
inside a rock?
And how to find a rock
that does not budge an inch
within the leopard?


--trans. by Mei Shenyou, Diana Shi & George O’Connell



在大地上种树
只要挖一个坑
把种子播到新鲜的黑暗中
然后盖土 浇水
等待着雨
等待着阳光和鸟

但在图书馆的地上种树
你得找到图纸 弄清结构
使用工具甚至炸药
把钢筋、混凝土、基石
一层层撬开
然后浇水 让最底层的
在松动中
回忆起那黑暗

 

To plant a tree in the earth,
dig a hole,
sow the seeds in fresh darkness,
cover with soil, water,
and wait
for rain,
sunshine,
birds.

To plant a tree in the floor of a library,
you need a structural blueprint,
tools, even dynamite
to tear through layer after layer
of steel rebar, concrete,
the whole foundation,
then pour water,
letting the lowest floor
come free
to recall the dark.

--trans. by Zhang Yajing, Diana Shi & George O’Connell


夏天最后一场风暴

夏天最后一场风暴
伸着黑色的舌头
把一整个大海都啄起来的舌头
无比锋利
藏着光芒
一下就削掉蚊子的双腿
世界的吸血者
曾使那么多动物手舞足蹈
突然就一只一只跌下
像是哑剧演员碰到并不存在的玻璃
皮肤从此安静如水
夜晚无事可干
凉快的风
像一块蓝色的绒布
把星星一颗一颗擦干
像是拭擦一只只用过的酒杯
它们大大小小远远近近
在明净清朗的天宇
呈现出本来的光辉


THE LAST SUMMER STORM


The last summer storm
sticks out its black tongue,
its edged gleam hidden,
a tongue that pecks the whole sea
and neatly chops mosquitoes’ legs,
those blood suckers of the world,
which used to make all animals shake their limbs
and drop down one by one
like mimes palming imaginary glass.
The skin then goes calm as water
with nothing to do all night.
Like a strip of blue flannel,
a cool breeze
wipes clean one star after another,
as if they’re used wine glasses.
Scattered in clear sky,
bright or dim,
glittering with their true brilliance.


--trans. by Mei Shenyou, Diana Shi & George O’Connell

 

 

My Voice | Poetry At Our Time | In The Name Of Poetry | Editor's Choice | Our Masters
 
Who We Are | Back Issues | Submission | Contact Us | Home