méi yòu tài yáng， guāng jiù jiàng lín Light breaks where no sun shines
shīrén: dí lán · tuō mǎ sī Dylan Thomas
méi yòu tài yáng， guāng jiù jiàng lín
méi yòu dà hǎi
xīn cháo jiù xiān qǐ bō tāo
pò suì de guǐ yǐng tóu dǐng zhe yíng huǒ chóng
méi yòu xuè ròu zhuāng shì de kū gǔ
guāng de shǒu què fǔ 'ài tā de jī fū
dà tuǐ shàng de zhú huǒ
wēn nuǎn zhe qīng chūn， què shāo jiāo liǎo suì yuè de bèi lěi
méi yòu zhǒng zǐ
rén de guǒ shí zài xīng guāng xià píng huá yuán rùn
xiàng wú huā guǒ yī yàng huī huáng
méi yòu là， zhú guāng zhǎn shì tā de róu fā
lí míng shēng qǐ zài tóng kǒng zhī hòu
hū xiào de rè xuè guàn tòu quán shēn
hǎi liú bān dì huá dòng
tiān kōng háo wú gù jì dì qīng xié zhe
jiāng 'ǒu wù pēn mǎn mó zhàng héng héng
zhèng wēi xiào zhe tàn xún lèi shuǐ de kuàng cáng
yè zài yǎn juàn sì zhōu jī jù
xiàng qī hēi de yuè liàng， xiàn zhì zhuóyǎn qiú de kuò zhāng
bái zhòu zhào liàng shī gǔ
méi yòu hán lěng， qīn jī de fēng
jiě kāi dōng tiān de yī cháng
chūn de róu fā zài yǎn jiǎn piāo dàng
sī xiǎng zài yǔ zhōng fā méi fǔ làn
guāng jiàng lín zài shén mì zhī tóu hé shǎn niàn de zhǐ jiān
dāng luó ji sǐ wáng
tǔ dì de mì mì tōng guò yǎn jīng tòu lù
nà shí， xuè jiù huì zài yáng guāng xià fēi yáng
lí míng zhǐ xī zài huāng fèi de jī yuán zhī shàng
Light breaks where no sun shines;
Where no sea runs, the waters of the heart
Push in their tides;
And, broken ghosts with glow-worms in their heads,
The things of light
File through the flesh where no flesh decks the bones.
A candle in the thighs
Warms youth and seed and burns the seeds of age;
Where no seed stirs,
The fruit of man unwrinkles in the stars,
Bright as a fig;
Where no wax is, the candle shows its hairs.
Dawn breaks behind the eyes;
From poles of skull and toe the windy blood
Slides like a sea;
Nor fenced, nor staked, the gushers of the sky
Sprout to the rod
Divining in a smile the oil of tears.
Night in the sockets rounds,
Like some pitch moon, the limit of the globes;
Day lights the bone;
Where no cold is, the skinning gales unpin
The winter's robes;
The film of spring is hanging from the lids.
Light breaks on secret lots,
On tips of thought where thoughts smell in the rain;
When logics die,
The secret of the soil grows through the eye,
And blood jumps in the sun;
Above the waste allotments the dawn halts. |
|
|