黄昏三章 / Three Chapters on Dusk

Chinese

1 / 云阵带着尘土从高高的塔吊上飘过 / 俄罗斯风格的建筑门厅高大,飞进乌鸦 / 夕阳重复一遍:它是美的,与梦想契合 / 霞光铺在街上请不要挽起袖子擦洗
请不要,请不要问我为什么 / 离开晨光 / 一个消失在众人之中的家伙 / 大家都在寻找着他	/ 祝他万事如意
缓缓的歌声飞出小教堂的彩窗 / 心灵的边缘一带远景荒凉 / 这是秋天的第八个黄昏 / 松鸡拔着羽毛,青春隔河相望 / 一柄刮胡刀传到了儿子的手上
2 / 望见群山,望见群山下的家园 / 抬高灵魂的位置 / 望见生命的最后一站 / 当久逝的歌声重又传来,红色的波斯菊 / 在远方聚首,犹如内心的景色 / 被众鸟的合唱队再度点燃 / 这时你望见群山的第一片落叶 / 啊,秋天的大地向晚
在城市的尽头展开旷野 / 在旷野的尽头矗立群山 / 在迎向群山的高处—— / 楼顶的窗子或大桥拱起的桥面—— / 阳光抚摸着逝者的手 / 他们白色的身影在轻颤 / 而你的骨头是凉的;在盛大的阴影内 / 凉风已吹刮了多年
3 / 大风吹来的傍晚,门窗动荡 / 在迎面而来的秋天 / 我望见异样的塔楼、灯光和广场 / 似乎这个傍晚我只是偶然碰上 / 偶然的人群跑过草地,偶然的心境 / 聆听一个盲人的偶然的琴音
大风吹来的傍晚灵魂动荡 / 多少面孔争相浮现,又急忙躲藏 / 唯有鸽子乳白色的胸脯在风中闪光 / 我聆听着一曲 / 来自心灵深处的音乐 / 服从它的指引,在黑暗中缅想
作为一种光线,我们就是历史 / 这一页已经翻过 / 我要写下尽善尽美的诗篇 / 我要养育尽善尽美的孩子
1991

English Translation

1
Clouds send dust drifting off the high-up cranes
crows fly into the immense Russian vestibule
the setting sun repeats itself: beauty, it is in concert with dreams
morning rays unfold against the street, please don’t roll up your sleeves to scrub it away

please, please do not ask me why
I am leaving the light of dawn
someone disappears in a crowd
everyone looks for him
to wish him the best

a gradual tune flies out the chapel’s stained window
around psyche’s edges a desolate prospect
this is the eighth dawn of autumn
a grouse plucks its feathers, lovers gaze across the river
a razor passed to the hand of a son

2
Look to the mountains, look to the houses under the mountains
look to life’s last station
when the long-deceased song passes on again and red Persian asters
assemble in the distance, like a chorus of birds
reigniting an internal landscape
you will look to the first leaf falling in the mountains
oh, the land of autumn growing late

plains push out from the edge of the city
mountains lift up at the edge of the plains
in the heights greeting mountains —
skylights or arching bridge floors —
sunlight caresses the hand of the dead
their white shadows quiver
and your bones are cold; within the grand shadows
a cold wind has been blowing for years

3
Evening blown in on the wind, rattling windows and doors
in a headwind of autumn
I see aberrant turrets, lamps, and squares
like I’d only happened on this evening
a happening of people running through a meadow, a happenstance mindset
hearing a blind man’s haphazard fiddle

evening blown in on the wind rattling souls
how many faces vie to appear, then hurry away hiding
only a pigeon milk white breast glimmers in the wind
I hear music
coming from the psyche’s depths
submitting to its guidance, recollecting in the dark

a ray of light, we become history
that page has been turned
I will write a poem of perfect beauty
I will raise a child of perfect goodness

1991

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