彼得·波伊爾，澳大利亞著名當(dāng)代詩(shī)人，創(chuàng)意寫作博士，出版了十一本詩(shī)集，曾獲新南威爾士州長(zhǎng)獎(jiǎng)和昆士蘭州長(zhǎng)獎(jiǎng)等獎(jiǎng)項(xiàng)，作品被譯成法語(yǔ)、西班牙語(yǔ)、瑞典語(yǔ)、馬其頓語(yǔ)、俄語(yǔ)、韓語(yǔ)、越南語(yǔ)和中文。彼得多次在國(guó)際詩(shī)歌節(jié)朗誦個(gè)人詩(shī)作，包括哥倫比亞麥德林國(guó)際詩(shī)歌節(jié)、馬其頓斯特魯加詩(shī)歌之夜和魁北克國(guó)際詩(shī)歌節(jié)。他精通法語(yǔ)和西班牙語(yǔ)，翻譯出版了九本詩(shī)集，包括委內(nèi)瑞拉詩(shī)人歐亨尼奧·蒙特霍和阿根廷女詩(shī)人奧爾加·奧羅茲科的作品。
生日倒序
讓我再次坐在你的身旁，
如母親布滿繁星的花瓶下
飄落窗前的繽紛花瓣。
在夢(mèng)中你如期而至
點(diǎn)燃我第一個(gè)生日的燭光
在蛾魚與蘆葦?shù)牡秴仓虚g
河流負(fù)載夜晚漫入地下。
夢(mèng)中我?guī)缀跤|摸到
你的背影，幾乎品味到
白色漣漪蕩漾的憂郁
仿佛蒼茫的湖泊忘記
湖水纖柔的重量。
我的身體已片片支離——
一根指頭，一顆牙齒，
一條手臂，半邊面孔。
而你目光里
假戲真做的鳥兒
以骷髏剎那之間
血流如注的方式
在你面前的鏡中破碎。
世事難料
也許巖石城中等待你我的
是一圈燃燒的光明。
My birthdays in reverse
I would like to sit with you again
as petals from my mother's star-flecked vase
drift and spin against the window.
I'd dreamt you'd returned
to light a row of candles
for my first birthday among the dragon fish
and knife-shaped reeds of the river
that carries night under the earth.
In the dream I am almost touching
your back, can almost taste
the white shimmer of sadness rippling there
like a vast lake that's forgotten
water's too fragile weight.
Part by part my body falls away --
a finger here, a tooth, an arm,
one side of my face.
The birds of make believe shatter
at one glance from your eyes
the way a skull will bleed
suddenly, all at once,
into the mirror before you.
It's possible a halo of fire
awaits us both in the city of stone
but nothing's guaranteed.
遠(yuǎn)房兄弟
光，如水，是神奇的造物。
以為日子除了漸漸變冷之外終將一事無(wú)成，光忽然出現(xiàn)了，從掩身的樹叢后信步而出，蒞臨房前窗外無(wú)所不在?；腥婚g已經(jīng)穿堂入室，此時(shí)棲息于地板上一小塊長(zhǎng)條的光斑。轉(zhuǎn)眼間又閃爍其詞輕輕安頓在我腳下的地毯。
所有的造物中我對(duì)光最缺乏了解。以我之見(jiàn)它即便恣意率性，童趣盎然，依然是生命中最莊嚴(yán)肅穆的旅伴。
這會(huì)兒它又堅(jiān)定果斷起來(lái)，穩(wěn)穩(wěn)抱起東窗上的蛛網(wǎng)和劃痕。光堪稱唯一本心奉獻(xiàn)的造物，可是我必須避免太多相關(guān)的話題，因?yàn)槿绻鲅圆簧髟獾秸`解，它可能會(huì)義無(wú)反顧地棄我而去。然而自降生以來(lái)，周而復(fù)始，我的心靈每每為之飛揚(yáng)。它肯定知道我多想與它隨行。我心底里也確信我們是骨肉至親。
My distant brother
Light, like water, is a strange creature.
Suddenly, when I thought the day could do nothing but steadily get colder, light appears, stepping beyond the trees that seem to block it to become a presence all along the front windows of my house. Then I notice it has already stepped inside and is now inhabiting a small oblong stripe on the wooden floor. A moment later it's settled into a glittering half-presence that gently laps the patch of carpet at my feet.
Of all the creatures I know it is the one I least understand. I could call it wilful as so it seems to me, but it also strikes me as the most solemn of life's companions though not without a distinct flair for playfulness.
And now it turns firm and resolute, holding the scratch marks and spiderwebs of my east-facing windows in a steady embrace. I think it must be the sole creature whose only instinct is to give. At the same time I am loath to talk about light too much. For fear my words might be judged ill-considered and it would turn its back on me forever. Yet, over and over, since my first days my heart rises to meet it. It surely knows I want to follow it. Somehow I trust that we are kin.
雨珠
我戴上雨珠的項(xiàng)鏈，
經(jīng)大地頑強(qiáng)的引力塑造，
由天空不負(fù)重荷的平衡
打磨，粒粒比淚珠更圓。
當(dāng)我返身入室，雨珠
依然在窗外流連，為永訣
署下紛亂無(wú)序的條痕。
我無(wú)法挽留任何一滴，
沒(méi)有足夠的時(shí)間
吟誦一篇短小的禱文。
凝視之下的存在
個(gè)個(gè)完美，具有長(zhǎng)空
賦予最低等生物的絮語(yǔ)——
蜒蚰、螞蟻、毛蟲、蚱蜢
以及樹葉搖搖欲墜時(shí)
伸展的手臂。
Raindrops
I am wearing a necklace of raindrops, more judiciously
rounded than teardrops, moulded into shape
by the greater gravity of earth and the sky's
overburdened need for equanimity.
And when I come back inside
raindrops linger for a while along the windows
to sign their disappearance with random streaks.
I cannot hold onto a single one of them
long enough to recite even a short prayer
for their death.
Gazed at for the moment of their being
they each have the perfection of utterances
the sky makes for the lowliest of creatures --
the slug, the ant, the caterpillar, the grasshopper
and for the outstretched hands of leaves
also waiting to fall.
成樹
玲瓏走廊里群星密布，
失去的世界在我眼前
重現(xiàn)。采摘一顆，
剝開(kāi)，向下折疊每個(gè)角落，
觀看那成灰的蝴蝶
蠢蠢掙脫
閃亮的紙棺。
你所在之處
樹葉是否也知夏天？
經(jīng)常來(lái)信啊——告訴我
你在地底世界的際遇。
Becoming tree
The lost world is there again
before me in this small corridor
of stars. Pluck one and
open, fold down at every corner
and watch the butterfly of ash
wriggle free from its glittering
origami casket.
Is it summer
in the leaves of where you are? Write to me
often -- tell me of how
the underearth is treating you.
向獨(dú)角獸道歉
向獨(dú)角獸道歉并非輕而易舉。我們的良苦用心它們很難理解。溫情款款往往被錯(cuò)認(rèn)為故作姿態(tài)的恐懼，欲將本身或?qū)Ψ街糜谒赖?。交通高峰時(shí)段獨(dú)角獸睡得最為香甜，上班族旁若無(wú)人地低吟淺唱，對(duì)它們視而不見(jiàn)。在森林里尋找獨(dú)角獸恰似希望自己說(shuō)著英語(yǔ)入睡，說(shuō)著流利的普什圖語(yǔ)醒來(lái)。也許真有這樣的先例。獨(dú)角獸洞察我們渺茫的自我，缺乏歸屬感，不善于在奇跡面前順其自然。赤裸到原始的褻瀆，我們的心靈依然渴望獨(dú)角獸。在天空撐開(kāi)的池塘，我們拖著云翳的水鑒。獨(dú)角獸絕不向我們尋求食物或棲身之所，卻難以割舍關(guān)于我們的傳說(shuō)。唯一的童真是在我們降生之前。
APOLOGISING TO UNICORNS
Apologising to unicorns is problematic. They rarely understand our purposes. Tenderness will often be seen as the manipulative gestures of a fear that seeks death - for itself and others. Unicorns sleep most comfortably in heavy traffic where the hum of self-absorbed commuters leaves them invisible. To find a unicorn in a forest is like falling asleep in English and waking up fluent in Pashtun. Someone may well have done it. Unicorns sense above all our uncertainty of ourselves, our not belonging, our poor talent for letting the miraculous be. Stripped back to primal desecration, our hearts still yearn for unicorns. We trail our clouded mirrors in the waters of sky-stretched ponds. Although they will never look to us for food or shelter unicorns are reluctant to abandon their legend of our existence. Our one virginity is that we are not yet born.
凌晨時(shí)分
凌晨三點(diǎn)
很多鐘點(diǎn)不會(huì)有你的一天。
你所在之處
步行的雙腳還沐浴著昨日的艷陽(yáng)
而今晚聽(tīng)著你的聲音
我擔(dān)心終有一日
將失去所有摯愛(ài)的形象。
外面的城市依然騷動(dòng)不安：
出租車亮麗機(jī)敏如金鳥
等待黎明的嗟來(lái)之食。
五十五歲，我對(duì)如何生活知之甚少。
城市的咖啡店里
戀人手牽著手
杯子平衡在桌子邊緣。
黑暗如柔軟的雪在四周飄落。
窄床邊的夜燈
目不轉(zhuǎn)睛凝視著我。
我將竭盡所能長(zhǎng)久回憶你的聲音。
當(dāng)我酣然入睡你會(huì)繼續(xù)前行
腳下步步綻放白色的花朵。
IN THE SMALL HOURS
It’s three a.m. in the morning
of a day you won’t enter for so many hours.
Where you are
yesterday’s sunlight still bathes your feet as you walk
and tonight hearing your voice
I worried that one day
I’ll lose my images of all those I love.
Outside the city’s still restless:
taxis alert and shiny as golden birds
waiting for the crumbs of dawn.
At fifty five I know so little how to live.
In cafes across this city
lovers still hold hands
and cups balance on the edges of tables.
Darkness falls around me like soft snow.
Beside the narrow bed
my night-light is staring right into me.
I will hold your voice inside me as long as I can.
When I sleep you’ll go on walking
through a steady explosion of white flowers.
天下攘攘
世界壓倒進(jìn)來(lái)，
高聳的瓦礫之河閃爍
連綿不斷爆破的斑點(diǎn)。
所有人都在變形，
每張面孔重疊多張面孔，雙眼
從時(shí)間盡頭瞻望。靜坐，
聽(tīng)任肌膚從一個(gè)國(guó)度
漫游到另一個(gè)國(guó)度
而壁鐘始終保持著
凍僵的秒針。
千年前的少女
從我們深處浮升
到表面，漸行漸近
滿腔柔情令人戰(zhàn)栗。
在我們忽然屏吸之處
一個(gè)孩子抬頭觀看
樹木飛速旋轉(zhuǎn)。巨大
空蕩的思想酒吧里
骨架舉著葡萄酒杯
對(duì)我們親切頷首。
鳥兒飛進(jìn)飛出
重重胸廓
在樊籠間穿梭。
喉間一聲啼鳴
是白光足以刺透
黑暗的線索。
如此巨大，不可思議——
我們雙手顫抖
捧著這個(gè)世界。
Crowded out
The world presses in,
a towering river of debris glittering
with specks of one on-going explosion.
All of us are morphing,
our faces layered with many faces, two eyes
gazing upward from the ending of time.
Our skin is travelling from country to country
even as we sit still
and the second hand stays
frozen on the wall clock.
From somewhere far inside us
a young woman from a millennium ago
rises to the surface, comes close
and we shiver with all her tenderness.
At the place where our breath is suddenly held back
a child is there, watching the trees above him
spin in fast motion. In the vast
empty bar room of the mind
a skeleton holding a wineglass
gives us a familiar nod.
Birds fly in and out
of the multiple cages
that are our rib cage.
A single cry from any one of their throats
is enough to thread
white light across the darkness.
So large, so impossible --
our hands shake
as we carry the world.
蟬
搖搖欲墜
倒掛在
自己的天堂
蟬放聲歌唱：
“吃過(guò)了，肚子飽了。
真是
太好了?！?/span>
它的歌是唱給我們聽(tīng)的嗎？
也許。
如果我們也曾被烈火洗禮，
也曾長(zhǎng)時(shí)間在大地
無(wú)盡的孔隙里保持平衡
體會(huì)棺木里的節(jié)拍機(jī)
為變形計(jì)時(shí)的滋味，
如果我們的頭和臂有時(shí)動(dòng)搖
精致的甲殼浸透天空
意欲我們的一覽無(wú)余，
如果我們能夠想象干燥的風(fēng)
在炎熱的白晝里
在黑夜的火焰里
撫摸我們黑色的外殼
雙眼成為黑硬的珠子
骨架破裂
迎接無(wú)家可歸的風(fēng)之語(yǔ)，
如果我們可以想象
成為外殼與肉身的組合
被漠然的生命隨手散播，
如果我們能將這一切
稱之為幸福。
Cicada
Hanging upside down
perched in its own
Heaven
the cicada sings:
“I have eaten and am full.
This
is good.”
Does it sing for us?
Possibly.
If we too have been touched all over by fire
If we have balanced for hours
on the infinite porosity of earth
and know what it’s like
to be the casket of a time-beat
ticking away at metamorphosis
If at times our head and arms have wavered
like a delicate carapace flooded
by all the sky wants us to take in
If we can imagine the dryness of wind
caressing our black shell
all through the hot days
all through the fire of nights
when our eyes are beads of hard blackness
and our frame
breaks open to the homeless language of wind
If we can imagine ourselves
an assemblage of shell and flesh
scattered by the serene indifference of life
If we can call all this
happiness.
羅伯特·弗羅斯特八十高齡
世上定有比我所知更偉大更神奇的詩(shī)篇。
為此我上下求索。
它們不在古籍蒼老的紙頁(yè)上
不在吟哦念誦的混沌口齒間。
也不在美人魚的語(yǔ)匯里，
或尖嘴薄舌消失的形容詞中。
仿佛是沿著鋪路石斷落逃脫的線索，
它們龜裂如同老人的腦殼。
在鏡中它們呼之欲出，
五十歲，
八十歲。
我不斷側(cè)耳傾聽(tīng)
然而海濱寒冷。
海潮由遠(yuǎn)及近。
它們像烏鴉在板球場(chǎng)上遷徙。
乘我不在家的時(shí)候登門拜訪。
我已不在意寫作技巧。
如何抵得過(guò)狡黠的鬼魂
運(yùn)用圓滑的悖論和巧妙的韻腳
將偏見(jiàn)翻云覆雨
成為似是而非的智慧翡翠?
即使將所有擁有或愛(ài)惜埋葬
即使我的肌膚比樹木活得更長(zhǎng)
即使詩(shī)行墜落如開(kāi)山裂石
我依然對(duì)它們望塵莫及。
它們具有我見(jiàn)到過(guò)
但沒(méi)進(jìn)去過(guò)的房屋流暢的口吻。
它們是孩子聆聽(tīng)的聲音——
水，下午，天空。
我看得到它們
在敞開(kāi)的鏡中滴落。
我們偶爾也許能夠，但幾乎永遠(yuǎn)難以
觸摸到夢(mèng)寐以求的渴望。
ROBERT FROST AT EIGHTY
I think there are poems greater and stranger than any I have known.
I would like to find them.
They are not on the greying paper of old books
or chanted on obscure lips.
They are not in the language of mermaids
or the sharp-tongued adjectives of vanishing.
They run like torn threads along paving stones.
They are cracked as the skull of an old man.
They stir in the mirror
at fifty,
at eighty.
My ear keeps trying to hear them
but the seafront is cold.
The tide moves in.
They migrate like crows at a cricket ground.
They knock at the door when I am out.
I have done with craft.
How can I front ghosts with cleverness,
the slick glide of paradox and rhyme
that transforms prejudice
to brittle gems of seeming wisdom?
Though I bury all I own or hold close
though my skin outlives the trees
though the lines fall shattering the stone
I cannot catch them.
They have the lilting accent
of a house I saw but never entered.
They are the sounds a child hears –
the water, the afternoon, the sky.
I watch them now
trickling through the open mirror.
Sometimes, but almost never,
we touch what we desire.
李牧原，原籍沈陽(yáng)，現(xiàn)居悉尼，作家，創(chuàng)意寫作博士。作品多次入選《澳大利亞年度最佳短篇小說(shuō)》。短篇小說(shuō)集《中國(guó)情結(jié)》于2016年出版。翻譯詩(shī)歌和散文見(jiàn)于《世界文學(xué)》，《作品》和《悉尼書評(píng)》。2021年翻譯出版愛(ài)爾蘭作家塞巴斯蒂安·巴里的長(zhǎng)篇小說(shuō)《絕密手稿》。
讓我對(duì)南方的鐘情
成為絕世的傳奇
——西渡
南方詩(shī)歌編輯部
顧問(wèn)：
西 渡 臧 棣 敬文東 周 瓚 姜 濤
凸 凹 李自國(guó) 啞 石 余 怒 印子君
主編：
胡先其
編輯：
蘇 波 崖麗娟 楊 勇
張媛媛 張雪萌
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《南方詩(shī)歌》2025年2月目錄
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