鸟和复写纸

那时刻到来

当用袖子擦拭复印纸上的痕迹

诗人们返回鸟季。

我们凭鸟的姿势认得鸟

那些飞逝的弧线

同样的弧线导游们用箭头来做

当他们沿街驻足于

滑铁卢、伊萨卡[1]、开罗、柏林......

那就是历史，你的和我的，

停歇一会儿做个深呼吸的地方。

时间静站

余生，但冒烟[2]，行李被举起又放下

导演的小旗在我们的想像中挥舞。

我记不起{zh1}一次屏住呼吸是何时－－

夏天？八月？天空刮出

鲜红的线痕

像园丁的手掌。一对鸟儿

欢快地盘绕我的家。

我呼气，而在原野上颤抖的一棵孤树

把它们变成两张纸

并永受此谴

在风中翻筋斗。

[1]伊萨卡岛(希腊西部爱奥尼亚海中群岛之一,为希腊神话中Ulysses的故乡)。 [据iCIBA]

[2]smoke作名词在此有点难解。暂存此译。

BIRDS AND CARBON

The time arrives
when wiping traces of carbon off with their sleeves
poets return to the season of birds.

We recognize birds by their poses
the fleeting arcs of flight
the same arcs tour guides make with pointers
when stopping along the streets of
Waterloo, Ithaca, Cairo, Berlin....

That's where history, mine and everyone's,
rests for a moment to take a deep breath.
Time stands still
the rest of life but smoke, luggage lifted and set down,
a conductor's small flag waving in our imaginations.

I can't remember the last time I held my breath—
was it summer? August? The sky scratched
with fresh red lines
like a gardener's palm. A pair of birds
joyfully encircled my home.
I exhaled, and a lone tree quivering in a field
transformed them into two pieces of paper
condemned to forever

somersault in the wind.