belliwether翻译

秋日

郑小琼

秋日的平原传来虫鸣，生育的庄稼
沉浸繁茂的往事，晃晃荡荡的马车
运送白天的暖风与食盐的月光
风吹细雨，吹起轮回的轻烟
吹旧药方的中药，万物传递着
尘世的焦虑与痛苦，农业的疾病与
内心的罪恶，我不能说出的畏惧
细雨落着，垂头的柳树，泥土的虫子
群鸟飞过平原肮脏的胸脯
寂寥的叫声，像青烟从心里掠过
在沉默中丧失的和记忆的平原深处
断断续续的细雨，说出来的灰斑鸠与
说不出的苦闷与贫穷，灰暗的美，我爱着的
平原丰腴的肉体，迷人的孤独
我的爱无知而固执，平原沉默
风吹平原的秋天，万物抖动

an autumn day

it was an autumn day, insects sang on the plain.
wide crops were growing thicker, just like those mussy bygones.
swaying carts brought warm breeze in the daytime
and salt moonlight when nights fell.
wind with drizzles, smoke whirling slightly,
traditional medicines in the old pot seating on the fire.
everything was soaked in the anxiety and sorrow of life,
in the bleak agriculture, the innermost sins
and the fear mood which i could not express.
rain was dropping, willows with heads down, worms in the soil.
crowds of birds flew over the dirty bosom of the plain
with lonely cries which was like the blue fume
sweeping the bottom of the heart.
what was lost in the silence and the deep memory about the plain?
drizzles became loose, i could talk about the grey doves but
never the poverty, the distress and the gloomy Beauty.
i, loving the fertile body of the plain, which was so charmful and solitary.
my love was blind and stubborn, the plain kept quiet,
autumn wind blowing across it and everyting stirring.

垂柳

郑小琼

多少贫穷人沉默于贫穷的阴影中
他们，言语寂静，颓废哀伤
平原的疾病细雨像铁丝捆住生活的喉咙
它们，像薄暮光线间清冷的垂柳
低垂下绚丽的孤寂，平原上安宁的灯火
照着荒凉的幸福，黑暗中的痛苦
贫穷是懦弱而阴郁的
我的悲怆来自柳树的阴影
灰茫茫的平原上，垂柳颤抖地弯腰
它的脆弱来自内心的潦倒
清风吹拂垂柳，灰蒙蒙的平原
灰蒙蒙的浮世，这些贫穷的身体在疾病抽泣
弯成无助的垂柳，它们叹息声
朝着更低处，也卑微地弯下去……

the weeping willow

how many people keeping silent in the shadow of Poverty
they, talking in a quiet tone, dispirited and sad
the sickness and the drizzles on the plain,
like iron wires smothering the fire of life,
like this lonely willow in the dusk light with florid head down
the peaceful lamplight on the plain
illuminating the howling happiness and the darkness pain
being poor was timid and gloomy
my sorrow came from the shadow of this willow
on the grey and boundless plain, the willow, trembling,
bending from the waist, its weakness came from its frustrated heart
slight wind blew it on the misty plain and the misty world
these poor lives were sobbing in diseases,
bending their waist like the willow.
the menial sighs of them sank into Vague finally.

悼歌

郑小琼

生死的契约在墓地阳光里赤裸裸
我剥开爱与恨，剥开昏黄的光线
剥开内心几千里长的回忆，从朱漆的往事
到赭红的流水，竹林让出一块块安静
开着白菊花的静，纸钱与青烟让出空间
它们的低语闪动着火光，照亮纸花
纸楼，纸衣裳，低头的悲泣，秋天渐深
山水与人群，心里浮着难以言喻的孤单

the mourning song

the contract between Death and Life
was clear in the sunlight of graveyard
i peeled Love and Hate, pale yellow rays
and the inner recollection of several thousand miles:
from bygones of red paint to brown reddish current
bamboo forest was as quiet as white chrysanthemum
paper money and blue fume
flying, whispering and flashing
their flame illuminated paper flowers, paper buildings
and paper clothes, lowering the head weeping with grief
the autumn was deep gradually, the landscape and the crowd
were both sad, the loneliness floating in the heart
was too difficult to explain

距离

郑小琼

多少疼痛在磨损，移动在光线中的衣装
光线暗淡的火车长鸣在黑夜里

我们开着房门，向着莫名的岁月
河流正朝着我们的身世更深的地方奔涌

光像雪从各个方向吹来，你抬头看报纸里旧新闻
新故事，那些刊载的距离的幸福

我一个人在雪中经过，在通往恨与怨的路上
一棵树斜穿过，靠近我

这是异乡，这是岁末，我走着
在路上找着属于我的句子与语气

the distance

the clothes which moving in the light
were worn by too many painful things
gloomy trains blew a long whistle  
leaving for the night

we opened the door of the room wide,
facing the unknown times and seasons
rivers were rushing towards the place
where was deeper than our daily life

light was snowflakes
which flying from every direction
you raised your head, reading the old news
or the new stories in the newspaper,
the published happiness never belonged to you

i went alone through the snow, on the road
leading to the hate and resentment
a tree was bent and approaching me

this was a foreign land, this was the year's end
I was walking on the road,
looking for the sentences and tones of my own

图书馆

郑小琼
      
穿过风雪，这么坚硬的灵魂
它们开口说话，忏悔或热爱
执著于我衰老又疲惫的内心
的激动在它的楼角复活

这些年习惯他们名字的标志
却不知曾经历过岩石般黑暗
我突然想起一双冰冷的眼睛
在深夜十二点，经过图书馆

他们将要在这黑暗里发什么样的
光：对旧时代的放逐，牺牲，见证
你如今已不能倾注一生的热情
去读这些曾经让你激动的灵魂

世俗已开始把他们遗忘，在图书馆
你翻开登记簿，你孤零零地读着
人们已习惯了和谐的节日与盛景
他们的灵魂不再会有内心的颤栗

在官僚们的咳嗽与戏子们的呻吟里
谁又会停下来倾听冤屈者的低泣
他们站在书架前有白雪样的寒气
难道只有爆炸声音才能唤醒耳朵

这是深夜十二点，我经过图书馆
远方的雪无法说出我嘴角的缄默
近处的灯也不肯泄露时代的悲剧
只有冰冷的眼眺望着裸呈的黑暗

the library

penetrating through the wind snow, what rigid souls!
they open the mouth to speak, confess or love
the emotion in my senile and exhausted heart
turn alive again in the corner of its building

these years
i've been used to the labels with their names
but actually never know
the darkness like rock they had experienced
at 12 o'clock in the midnight
suddenly i recall a pair of cold eyes
passing through the library

what kind of light
they will shed in the darkness:
they exiled or sacrificed themselves
against the old and klunky time
they were the witnesses of their own age
now you've been unable to pour the enthusiasm
of your whole life into reading those souls
which once let you fevered so much

the world now starts to forget them, in the library
you open the registration book, reading alone
people have been used to harmonious festival
and flourish situation
they will no longer feel the trembling from the inner

in the coughs of bureaucrats and
yielding songs of actresses
who will stop to listen attentively
to the sobs of those being wrongfully treated
they stand in front of the bookshelf with chilly air
whether only the detonation sound
would awaken the ear?

it is 12 o'clock in the midnight
i pass through the library
the snowflakes faraway can not explain my silence
the lamps nearby are unwilling to reveal the Time tragedy
only the cold eyes dive into the bare darkness deep