安妮·麦克尔斯二首

  

花

 

在我的皮肤深处，还有另一层皮肤

簇拥着你的触摸，像一湖水簇拥着月光；

它松开了自己的记忆，它早已湮灭的语言

走进你的舌尖，

并把我擦拭一新。

 

当身体刚刚以为，它已经知道

怎样了解自己的时候，

这第二层皮肤就会继续回应。

 

在街上，咖啡馆的椅子空空地

弃在露台上，市井的摊点

放空了自己固体的亮光，

尽管铺好的路面还在呼吸着

夏日的葡萄和桃子。

正如这片新耕的土地上长出的

所有作物的光泽，

我的每一根毫发都在领受着你的触摸，

当风把我的长裙绕在我们的腿上，

你的上衣拧在我紧握的手心，花一样绽放。

 

 

Flowers

 

Anne Michaels

 

There’s another skin inside my skin

that gathers to your touch, a lake to the light;

that looses its memory, its lost language

into your tongue,

erasing me into newness.

 

Just when the body thinks it knows

the ways of knowing itself,

this second skin continues to answer.

 

In the streets – café chairs abandoned

on terraces market stalls emptied

of their solid light,

though pavement still breathes

summer grapes and peaches.

Like the light of anything that grows

from this newly turned earth,

every tip of me gathers under your touch,

wind wrapping my dress around our legs,

your shirt twisting to flowers in my fists.

 

 

无城不梦

  

没有一座城池不把梦

从根基做起。逝去的湖水

碎在烧砖人的手中，

光在河谷的底板上断裂，

还带着水流的记忆。所有的冬天

都存在那座地质

花园里。恐龙在布鲁尔夹肖街的地下甬道里

睡眠，一层白骨

铺在隆隆的车道下。一道响雷

点亮了城市，带着春天的

电压，那一年我们才十八岁，

在干净的大地上。那一次雨中的轮渡，

风带着婚礼音乐的湿气，每一种

在石头和骨头的碳素里歌唱的事物

都像一页爱情，未及拆阅，就被风从手中吹走。

 

 

There Is No City That Does Not Dream

 

Anne Michaels

 

There is no city that does not dream

from its foundations. The lost lake

crumbling in the hands of brickmakers,

the floor of the ravine where light lies broken

with the memory of rivers. All the winters

stored in the geologic

garden. Dinosaurs sleep in the subway

at Bloor and Shaw a bed of bones

under the rumbling track. The storm

that lit the city with the voltage

of spring, when we were eighteen

on the clean earth. The ferry ride in the rain,

wind wet with wedding music and everything that

sings in the carbon of stone and bone

like a page of love, wind-lost from a hand, unread.

 

 

阿九译