[译诗]Sara Howe:天空总是最坚硬的部分
Sky is always the hardest part
天空总是最坚硬的部分
By Sara Howe
Qiuhan/译
1
I need to skype to tell you the Mayans
我需要用skype才能告诉你玛雅人
independently imagined the wheel
曾独立构思出轮子
but dawn is still three weeks hours away
但破晓还有三个小时才能抵达
in Petersburg: in your hotel room’s dark
彼得堡:你旅馆房间的黑暗里
a clock throbs its terminator eyebeam
一只钟把它的晨昏线都急得眼棱般地
red. Ever wonder how you died in your
红了。想没想过你是怎么结束的
last life? No, you wouldn’t would you.
上辈子?不,你才没想过呢不是吗。
Besides a bunch of early civilizations
不过好几个早期文明
share the selfsame gong. Maybe they burned you
发明过一模一样的圆盘。也许他们烧死了你,
at the Salem stake. The ancient Maya,
在古耶路撒冷的木桩上。古代玛雅
seeing no practical application
觉得可笑的圆盘滚起来
for the funny rollable disks, confined
没有什么实际意义,仅仅当作
them to children’s toys. What I mean to say
孩子们的玩具。我想说的
is, those who hurt you, I will eat their eyes.
是谁敢伤害你,我就吃掉他们的眼睛。
2
The sun stutters up like a porny .gif
太阳断断续续地升起,像黄色gif
which for you pans the tracking shot of noon.
你摇动镜头,摄出一个全景正午。
A fathomed ringtone gargles. Our breathy
深邃的铃声汩汩作响。我们气喘吁吁的
pixels mingle, split, miss each other down
像素混合,分离,思念着彼此并穿过
the wire. Does material physics call
电缆。有实体的物质需要
for a personable God? You have spent
一个慈爱的上帝吗?你已经花了
the morning caught in a shoal of tourists
整个早晨捕捉一群游客
muscling against the Hermitage’s stream,
推搡着穿过隐士的小溪,
instincts thick as curdled spawn. We invent
本能如同凝固的鱼籽般粘稠。我们虚构
Him in our webcams’ image: electrons
真主出现在我们网络摄像头里的画面:电子
made flesh, that panting beat, window onto
化作血肉,那喘息的节奏,窗子透出
haloed elsewhere. We play at a game called
别处的光晕。我们玩一个游戏叫做
‘guessing thoughts’. My staticky words ping back
“猜字”。我静止的字词回溯
like ozoned heat, solipsistic plainsong.
像臭氧层的热气,自我主义的无伴奏圣歌合唱。
3
The pesky moon, always bouncing away
讨人嫌的月亮,总是跳出来
on urgent business, its huffed thumbprint hangs
打扰我们的紧急任务,那傲慢的拇指印挂在
in the afternoon’s viewfinder. Same old
下午的取景框里。同样古老
misery squeaks by on miniature wheels –
而悲戚的尖叫从迷你轮子上传来——
pinned through a clay llama’s ankles. This is
固定在一只陶土羊驼的脚腕上。这
not a trope. Your on-train wi-fi means I
并非比喻。你的列车wifi让我
can hear how the tooth is hurting again.
可以得知牙如何又疼了起来。
The Mayans thought time was a wheel. This side,
玛雅人认为时间是一个轮子。这边,
only the busker’s plastic violin.
只是街头艺人的塑料小提琴。
Is that a tunnel’s roar? Your jigsawed thoughts
那是隧道里的呼啸吗?你拼图一样的思绪
I rotate, sort into piles of graded
被我旋转,拣成小堆,按照不同级别的
cyan, the pieces with a telltale tranche
青色,碎片带着无需言说的一期
of moon. I have no idea what goes in
月亮。我不知道这里
here. Continents swim and shrink around you.
发生了什么。大陆在你周围游曳着,收缩着。
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