布洛涅林中 / At the Bois de Boulogne

Chinese

湖水的碎银,在巴黎的左侧 / 狮子座越过火圈。
松针,你的仪式道具。
风数你变灰的头发, / 睫毛,影子凌乱的狂草。
桨,沉默之臂划过蓝天 / 兜着圈子,干燥像孩童挖掘的沙井 / 在梦之岸坍塌下来。/ 呼吸与风交替着 / 串串水珠的松林夕照 / 挂上隐居者的阁楼。
巨人头颅,无人授受 / 磨亮渡口的老钟远在西岱岛, / 敲打死囚的回忆。
火鹤,你渴慕的竖琴, / 弹拨湖心。 / 彩虹里盲目的金子挥霍着, / 覆盆子的受难日, / 林妖现身于马戏团, / 爻辞之梅酸涩, / 没有归期。
从水圈到水圈, / 星的王冠被夜叉击碎。
铁塔下边走来一个亡命者。

English Translation

The broken silver of the lake water, at the left side of Paris
The Leo jumps through the fire wheel.

Pine needles, your props for rituals.

The wind counts your graying hair,
Eyelashes, wild grasses with a messy shadow.

Paddle, the arm of silence rowing across the blue sky
making circles, dry as children’s wells dug on the sand
that collapse on the banks of dreams.
Breathe and the wind alternates
Reflecting the setting sun in the pine forest water drops
hang onto the attic of the hermit.

Nobody accepts the skull of the giant
In L’Île de la Cité, an old clock polishes the ferry crossing,
and knocks on the memory of the prisoner on death row.

The fiery crane, the harp you crave,
plucks the heart of the lake.
The blind spender of gold in the rainbow,
a day of suffering for the Korean raspberry,
the goblin in the woods appearing in a circus,
the plum of ancient divination lines tasting tart,
no date of return.

From one water circle to another
the star’s crown is shattered by the yaksha.

Along the iron tower walks an exile.

Printed from Cerise Press: http://www.cerisepress.com

Permalink URL: http://www.cerisepress.com/01/02/at-the-bois-de-boulogne