戈壁沙尘
洛尔娜·克罗齐
阿九译
来自戈壁的沙尘吹过萨斯卡川,
对眼睛构成了刺激。那些科学家都这么说;
他们能把最小的花粉从飞沙中分离出来,
鉴定其来源和名目。你不禁会想,
这旷野的沙尘究竟会飞到何处:津巴布韦,斐济,
伊斯坦布尔某家清真寺门口堆着的一排鞋子上,
或是吴哥窟玉器博物馆的某个肚腹那玉色的隆起?
我们的呼吸,不必再梳的一头白发,还有深影边磨蚀的线条呢?
此时,有个女人泪水中的盐分将一个看不见的吻轻轻放在了
我的上唇。她一直在巴黎的一条意思是“正午”的大街上哭泣,
尽管那里其实还是夜晚,而她也不想让白天来临。
要是她知道,在世界的另一边还有另一个女子尝到她的苦涩,是否会感到安慰?
如果可以的话,那另一个她会给她捎来几朵珍奇的雪花,
在太阳升起前落在这里,稍稍掩盖一下这太过干涸而
难为麦田的荒野,在冬天即将离去的时候。雪花留在她的睫毛上。
而那些苹果花是不是我父亲的骨灰,一片片飘走
而无法握住的心碎?要是知道风从不空空吹去,
是否能让此心得慰?阿尔罕布拉宫墙上阿拉伯绘饰里的一只麻雀
乘着从厨房溅出的一片笑语飞走了,其中的蒜香
让它所沉落的每一粒尘土都带着迷人的滋味。
Sand from the Gobi Desert
Lorna Crozier/Victoria, Canada
Sand from the Gobi Desert blows across Saskatchewan,
becomes the irritation in an eye. So say the scientists who
separate the smallest pollen from its wings of grit,
identify the origin and name. You have to wonder where
the dust from these fields ends up: Zimbabwe, Fiji,
on the row of shoes outside a mosque in Istanbul,
on the green rise of a belly in the Jade Museum in Angkor Vat?
And what of our breath, grey hair freed from a comb, the torn threads of shadows?
Just now the salt from a woman's tears settles finely its invisible kiss
on my upper lip. She's been crying in Paris on the street that means
Middle of the Day though it's night there, and she doesn't want the day to come.
Would it comfort her to know another, half way round the world, can taste her grief?
Another would send her, if she could, a few of the rare flakes of snow
falling here before the sunrise, snow that barely fleeces the brown back of what's
too dry to be a field of wheat, and winter's almost passed. Snow on her lashes.
What of apple blossoms, my father's ashes, small scraps of sadness
that slip out of reach? Is it comforting to know the wind
never travels empty? A sparrow in the Alhambra's arabesques
rides the laughter spilling from our kitchen, the smell of garlic
makes the dust delicious where and where it falls.