我用什么才能留住你？

                                  博尔赫斯

我用什么才能留住你？
　　我给你瘦落的街道、绝望的落日、荒郊的月亮。
　　我给你一个久久地望着孤月的人的悲哀。

　　我给你我已死去的祖辈，后人们用大理石祭奠的先魂：我父亲的父亲，阵亡于布宜诺斯艾利斯的边境，两颗子弹射穿了他的胸膛，死的时候蓄着胡子，尸体被士兵们用牛皮裹起；我母亲的祖父——那年才二十四岁——在秘鲁率领三百人冲锋，如今都成了消失的马背上的亡魂。

 
　　我给你我的书中所能蕴含的一切悟力，以及我生活中所能有的男子气概和幽默。
　　我给你一个从未有过信仰的人的忠诚。
　　我给你我设法保全的我自己的核心——不营字造句，不和梦交易，不被时间、欢乐和逆境触动的核心。
　　我给你早在你出生前多年的一个傍晚看到的一朵黄玫瑰的记忆。
　　我给你关于你生命的诠释，关于你自己的理论，你的真实而惊人的存在。
　　我给你我的寂寞、我的黑暗、我心的饥渴；我试图用困惑、危险、失败来打动你。

What can I hold you with?
I offer you lean streets, desperate sunsets, the moon of the jagged suburbs.
I offer you the bitterness of a man who has looked long and long at the lonely moon.
I offer you my ancestors, my dead men, the ghosts that living men have honoured in marble: my father's father killed in the frontier of Buenos Aires, two bullets through his lungs, bearded and dead, wrapped by his soldiers in the hide of a cow; my mother's grandfather -just twentyfour- heading a charge of three hundred men in Perú, now ghosts on vanished horses.
I offer you whatever insight my books may hold. whatever manliness or humour my life.
I offer you the loyalty of a man who has never been loyal.
I offer you that kernel of myself that I have saved somehow -the central heart that deals not in words, traffics not with dreams and is untouched by time, by joy, by adversities.
I offer you the memory of a yellow rose seen at sunset, years before you were born.
I offer you explanationsof yourself, theories about yourself, authentic and surprising news of yourself.
I can give you my loneliness, my darkness, the hunger of my heart; I am trying to bribe you with uncertainty, with danger, with defeat.

见过这首诗几回。第一次读的时候十分懵懂。觉得是个怪蜀黍写的拗口诗。

如今读着，惊心动魄。不过也只惊动片刻。

想起两人。

一个是王小波写给李银河的情书。

一个是美剧中的某一镜头。这个镜头给我记忆如此深刻，对我影响如此之大，很抱歉不能说说某部电影以显得本人更加文艺一点。

很普通的一个镜头。甲之甘露乙之砒霜而已。所以迟了，我也懒得打字叙述这个画面。

读诗书，饮酒喝茶，好日子。

冷了自取被衾盖上。

博尔赫斯画的那大饼看看就好，诗人们尽是一群画饼的疯子。