波斯维亚托夫斯卡作品

◎董继平 译

你 说

你说： “夜里我要走向你，那时你如同打着呼噜声的温暖的猫，蜷成一团，在熟睡。”现在穿过所有的黄昏等你。我让我的嘴唇诱惑枕头的绒毛，在光滑、凉爽的床单上，我搓捻我那枯叶色的头发。

我把手陷入黑暗，我把沉默的树枝缠绕在指头上。鸟儿在熟睡。沉重的云层上，群星无法展开翅膀。一分钟又一分钟，夜晚在我体内成长，一滴滴鲜红的血脉动，小心翼翼地掠过水面。

关闭的窗口踮起脚尖，慢慢进入轮廓分明的冷月。

YOU SAID

You said:"I will come to you at night when you are asleep wound in a ball like a warm purring cat."

And now I await you through all the evenings.

I mash my mouth against the down of pillows I strand my hair the color of dried leaves over the smooth cool bed-sheet.

I sink my hands into darkness and I wind around my fingers the silent branches of trees.The birds are asleep.The stars are unable to put wings on the heavy clouds.The night is growing within me-by minutes-the red drops of pulsating blood skitter by cautiously.

Slowly on tiptoe through the shut window enters the sharp cold moon.

写给手的颂歌

向你们致意，我的手掌，我那抓攫的手指，我那被车门压碎的手指。我那在X光透视下的手掌，看起来犹如一只扭伤的翅膀，犹如一块被它自己的轮廓线描绘的小骨头。如今，我左手曾经装饰着一枚戒指的无名指变成了寡妇，被剥夺了饰物。那很久以前把戒指送给我的人没有手指。他的手臂用树根编织了一枚戒指。

我的手多么频繁地触摸到死者僵硬、冻结的手掌，生者强有力的手掌。它们知道怎样通过触摸来予以不同寻常地爱抚，爱抚那把存在从存在、天空从大地分离出来的丧失的空间。我那了解无助的痛苦的手相互依恋，犹如两只受惊的鸟，无家可归，到处盲目地寻找你的手的踪迹。

ODE TO HANDS

Greetings to you my palms， my grasping fingers， and my finger smashed by the car door.My X-rayed palm looks like a sprained wing， like a tiny piece of bone drawn by its own contour.My left hand's ring finger once decorated by a band is widowed now，deprived of its adornment.The one who gave me the ring long since has no fingers.His arms are woven with the tree's roots into one.

My hands have so often touched the frozen palms of the dead，and the warm，strong palms of the living.They know how to caress unusually by touch losing the space that separates existence from existence， and heaven from earth.My hands knowing the pain of helplessness cling to each other like two frightened birds，homeless， blindly seeking everywhere the trace of your hands.

是 的

是的，心灵无疑是一种发明创造，否则根本就不存在。心灵是那热爱事物之物，那热爱的事物瞬息短暂，无处不在。因此它只可能是一个念头，指尖上的一丝温暖，一缕呼出的空气，一种被打湿的嗓音颜色，只不过是一声低语。……