Winter '22 Issue Bilingual Readings

海感

翻译：诗验室

锈迹斑斑

且被遗弃的卡车

像哨兵一样立在那里

我确定我可以听到鸟声

和海浪

然后我对自己起誓

在下一道山坡过后

大海会在等我

它不会像我上次看见时那般黑

它会是闪烁着光亮的海

会发出轻柔的声音 

源自舒缓之浪

与热情好客的海洋

我不会再对鸟声

仅仅半信半疑

我会信心十足

因为我会亲眼

看见他们

在温柔低语的海浪边上下窜动

Sea Sense 

by Declan Geraghty

The corroded 

abandoned trucks 

stood up like sentries

and I was sure I could hear the birds

and the waves

and I promised myself

that after the next hill

that the sea would await me

and it wasn’t black like it was last time I saw it

that it was a sea that sparkled

and made soft noises

of soft waves

of welcoming oceans

I wouldn’t be only half sure

about the sounds of birds any more

I’d be positive

because I’d see them

with my own eyes

dipping and swooping about the soft sounding waves.

light slants at an angle

translated by PLS

it must have been a wintry afternoon

the singing in the church dragged bitterly

retelling the past of the son of God

apart from heartbreaks

we haven’t had doubts about God

the seals on the Bible locking inexplicable despair

the air strewn with stress from breathing

the poet gazing at the churning of the heart

ambushing in the shadow

because light, slants at an angle

光以一定角度倾斜

作者：萧祖弸

一定在冬天的下午

大教堂的曲调拖得又酸又长

重述那圣子的往事

除了心灵的伤痕

我们并未对上帝有所怀疑

经书的封条锁住不可名状的绝望

空气中弥漫着呼吸的压抑

诗人凝视内心的来回

在阴影中潜藏

因为光，以一定角度倾斜

林中仙女答牧羊人

翻译：谢雪茹

若世界与爱情皆能永葆青春

牧羊人口中所述句句如实

这些乐事或可使我动心

诱我走入你的生活，成为你的爱人

可当河流泛滥，岩石嶙峋

暮光将羊群从田野逐向羊栏

夜莺也停止了嘤啼

大地幽怨着未来

百花凋残，那芳草萋萋的原野

也被残暴的冬天蹂躏得一片荒芜

口中的甜言蜜语，胸中的恶毒阴险

恰如那春的美奂，秋的悲凉

你的华服，秀履，以及你那玫瑰花床

你的美冠，绿裳，以及你那精致花束

倏忽即破，倏忽即枯，倏忽即被遗忘

即便是在痴念中丰硕，也将在理智中腐烂。

你许的麦草与常春藤织成的腰带，

你许的珊瑚的襻扣，琥珀的饰纽，

恐难使我动心

诱我走向你，成为你的爱人

但若青春不朽，爱能长久

若欢愉无穷，时光无尽

这些乐事或可让我动心

诱我走入你的生活，成为你的爱人。

The Nymph’s Reply to the Shepherd

by Sir Walter Raleigh

If all the world and love were young,    

And truth in every Shepherd’s tongue,  

These pretty pleasures might me move, 

To live with thee, and be thy love.    

Time drives the flocks from field to fold, 

When Rivers rage and Rocks grow cold, 

And Philomel becometh dumb, 

The rest complains of cares to come. 

The flowers do fade, and wanton fields, 

To wayward winter reckoning yields, 

A honey tongue, a heart of gall, 

Is fancy’s spring, but sorrow’s fall. 

Thy gowns, thy shoes, thy beds of Roses, 

Thy cap, thy kirtle, and thy posies 

Soon break, soon wither, soon forgotten: 

In folly ripe, in reason rotten. 

Thy belt of straw and Ivy buds, 

The Coral clasps and amber studs, 

All these in me no means can move 

To come to thee and be thy love. 

But could youth last, and love still breed, 

Had joys no date, nor age no need, 

Then these delights my mind might move 

To live with thee, and be thy love.

电蓝

写于新冠疫情期间

翻译：诗验室

有些清晨会被蓝色主宰

仿佛在这个旋转的地球上

除了地方的神圣感以外别无他物，

然后蒸发至黎明模糊的精致中

猫用咕噜声将你唤醒

你把水壶接上，研磨咖啡豆

在安静的房子里，一群鸟儿

在朦胧的光中歌唱，接近

下雨的味道从门下的缝渗入。

外面，世界危机重重，

一种来去自如的

传染病。我们冒着险出去，

疾步跑回家的安全港湾

那里我们可以望着窗外，看

一只蜜蜂将头埋入一朵花的腹部，

沾着微露的花瓣将其紧紧裹住

如一个在母亲的怀抱中熟睡的婴孩

Electric Blue

in the years of Covid

by Barbara Southard

There are mornings when blue takes over,

as if nothing else exists but a divine sense 

of place on this spinning globe,

then vaporizes into the faint filigree of dawn

when the cat purrs you into wakefulness. 

You put the kettle on, grind coffee beans

in a silent house, a chorus of birds 

now singing in hazed light, smell

of almost-rain seeping in under the door.

Outside, the world holds menace,

a contagion that comes and goes

of its own choosing. We venture out,

scurry back to the safety of home

where we can look out the window, watch

a bee burrow in the center of a flower,

soft dewed petals enclosing her

like an infant cradled in the arms of its mother.

there is nothing to write about in a romantic relationship

translated by PLS

need to write about curiosity devotion and sense of shame

or the dusk of a summer

the never-ending road

the lullaby in my left ear and your right ear

waning in the still moonlight

hypnotised by the chants of cicadas

write about the intangible hair

hands that won’t part even

when soaked with nervous sweat

write about right now

standing in front of the apartment building, giant-like

yet still wishing to squeeze into your room

through the thirteenth floor window

breaking the clock on the wall, handle of the fridge, E string of the guitar

empty bookshelf, cat

my skin, blood and flesh exchanging in grains

shrieking

all of a sudden the water’s boiled, and stopped again.

about my shadow imprinted on the window having already told your shadow about 

every little secret in a romantic relationship

yet we are still contemplating on our own on

the last coffee on the table

the last train, razor

and the night lit by vehicles

“I am already back to normal,” you said

“hold on.” I still need to

wear shoes in order to fly away

爱情里没有什么可写

作者：铲子

要去写好奇 奉献 和羞耻心

还是写夏天的傍晚

怎么也走不完的路

我左耳与你右耳中的夜曲

消失于被蝉鸣催眠得

纹丝不动的月光

写怎么也摸不到的发丝

紧张的汗水也

分不开的手

写此时

站在公寓楼前，巨人模样

却仍想像曾经一样

从十三楼的窗户挤入

你的房间

挤坏了墙上的时针，冰箱的把手，吉他的E弦

空空如也的书架，猫

我的皮肤、血肉一粒粒交换着

叫嚷着

突然水开了，又停了。

写映在窗上的我的影子已经对你的影子说出了

爱情中的一切秘密

而我们却还在各自思考

桌上的最后一杯咖啡

末班火车，刮胡刀

和被车灯点燃的黑夜

“我已经正常了”，你说

“等一等。” 我却还是

要穿上鞋才能飞走