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partial impression of Ilya Kaminsky
translated by PLS
“homeland” is a distorted key.
I am unfamiliar with it, as with the snowflakes —
they refuse to dance in the cold blazing sun of the southern land.
your glasses and smile
remind me of a Chinese poet.
I dare not say, I know him well,
only know that he’s dead long ago
(I think he died of some kind of suffocation.)
he was trying to contain the splashing ink with words,
alleviate suffering, so that he could hold it tight.
suffering might happen
like the mysterious vibrations behind cities,
whose frequency resonates with the flapping wings of birds.
you were counting birds in the yard, and
listening to their flights with eyes —
“count me in too”
is perhaps what you would say.
对伊利亚·卡明斯基的片面印象
作者:胡悦然
“故土”是一把变形的钥匙。
我对其陌生,如对那些雪花——
它们拒绝在南方冷冽的艳阳下起舞。
你的眼镜和笑容
使我想起一个中国诗人。
我不敢说,我认识他,
只知道他很早就死了
(我想他是死于某种窒息。)
他用词语遏制四溅的墨水,
将苦难变轻,好将它紧握。
苦难或许降临
如城市背后的隐秘颤抖,
频率与拍打的鸟翼共振。
你在庭院里数鸟,并用眼睛
去听它们飞起——
“把我也数进去”
你或许会说。
From the publisher's feed
一首诗,两个世界,都只在倾听。�