中英双语诗选（王大建 译）
你走了
没有看你说什么，
你的疲倦我也没有看见。
办公室外，葱茏的树丫被绿色笼罩，
一年四季没有变化，
倒是树后面的山时隐时现，
藏着一些超自然的能量。
你坐在左边，谈着一米之外的事情：
生活与负债，爱情与家庭，
还有协议，一些你省略的焦虑。
窗外连苍蝇都带着人性化的飞痕，
然后在安静中享受早餐。
从你的头，往外，我注意到
鸟儿在树枝上跳跃，蝴蝶带着花粉
在树叶上飞起，又停下。
清晨的阳光照射出，撒下不少阴影。
阴影下，你的轮廓突出，脸没有表情，
你坐在窗边，紫色的窗帘反射着光，
像花园里细细密密的露珠。
房间外，门被风轻轻吹开，
秋天的凉意顿时弥漫在整个房间。
从你握住门把手那刻开始，
你开始新的生活。门被你关上。你走了。
You Hit the Road
I didn’t catch you saying anything
Neither did I notice your exhaustion
The office is overshadowed by lush green twigs
And lush and green they remain throughout the seasons
Only the distant hills flick through
Lurking within them is some supernatural energy
You sat on the left, talking of the things at your arm’s length
Life and debt, family and affection
And the agreements, insinuating worries
Outside the window, even flies flew as humans would
Before enjoying their breakfast in peace
My eyes roamed over your head, out of the window,
And fell upon the birds hopping, the butterflies with pollen
Winging off, and dipping again on the leaves
The morning sun’s casting generous shades
On your profile, your protruding features, without expression
You sat by the window, the purplish curtain diffusing the light
Like a garden sprayed with morning dews
From outside, a breeze timidly pushed the door ajar
The autumn chill at once filled up the room
The moment you grabbed the door knob
You started anew, you shut the door, you hit the road
苍老
想起自己的一生，已经老了。
没有回城的班车，也没有雾，
山下，是山楂树的爱情。
我在爱中神游，
而故国已近黄昏。
像一个垂危的老者，
在屋内收集着过错，以及字上的伤疤。
坐在轮椅上，
推走我的是苍老中的病痛，
我的女人，在门外看着夕阳。
风一如既往地在翻墙而入。
一株害羞的冬青树看着，
我的青春吹皱一池的荷花。
每天下午，一些老者在桥上瞌睡，
他们的面目一如侠士，在民间流传。
没有血管中的内伤。
金沙江畔，落花流水汇集能量，
我的整个生活黯淡无光。
睡着了，如睡眠般平静，
在梦中我一边纠正错字，一边擦着眼睛。
Savaged by Time
As I think about life, I’ve already been savaged by time
No more bus back to town, no fog around
At the foot of the hills, hawthorns are in love
While my soul is strolling in their midst
My home country is sneaking to dusk
Like any aged one barely breathing
I’m gathering the blunders, and verbal scars
As I sit in a wheelchair at home
Being wheeled away by my senile suffering
My woman is outside, eyes fixed on the sun_set_’s glow
The wind is crawling over the wall as usual
A shy holly brush is watching
My youth being rumpled like the pond’s lotus-petals
Every afternoon, some seniors lean on the bridge and doze off
Their features like those of the legendary justice-doers, widely retold
My blood vessels remain as intact
As the Jinsha River, current drifting flowers and mustering
power
My whole life is lusterless and dim
I ‘m asleep, as peaceful as I’m deeply so
And correcting typos and dabbing eyes in a dream
情 歌
我不会住进你的骨髓。
哪怕所有的房子都倒塌，
所有的江河都遭殃。
我依然不会，不会白白去爱，
那些游来游去，游手好闲的
云朵。哪怕所有蓝天都照进你的
骨头，你拥有的芳香是稀有的金属。
我也不会去钢铁里倾听。
哪怕父亲只剩下一口烂锅，
女儿没有文具盒。
我会端来黑色的琴凳，
在那架生锈的钢琴旁，
听你色斑苍苍的双手弹奏，
那首一百年前老掉牙的情歌。
即使那样的声音我依然不爱。
我嫌弃屋前的江山，也嫌弃门后的河水。
在一块老得起青苔的瓦片上，
写下我的爱，画一幅会说话的青铜器。
我希望你能看尽人世间百态，
那些会说话的骨头，生锈的绿铜，
会记下我的脚步，我的遗嘱。
我希望你不要去摆弄桌上的烟斗，
书籍，键盘，那是我通向死亡的入口。
A Lover’s Song
I’d never squeeze into your bones for shelter
Even if all the houses had crumbled
And all the rivers had been ruined, in a disaster
I’d still refuse to waste my affection
For those clouds loitering or hanging idle
Even if your bones are soaked with the tint of the sky
What you possess is the scent of a rare metal
I wouldn’t put my ears to iron and steel
Though all father has is a wok broken
And daughter doesn’t have a pencil box
I would fetch a black music stool
And sit by that rusty piano
Listening to your tainted hands play
That century-old ballad of passion
Even that would not stir up my love
I hate the landscape in front of the house, and the river behind it
Only on a moss-shrouded tile
Would I spell LOVE, and sketch a talking bronze craft
I hope you won’t lose sight of any worldly dramas
Nor of blabbering skeletons or green-crusted copper
I hope you’ll place my foot-prints, and My Will, in record
I hope you’ll not fumble that pipe on the table
Or books, or the keyboard, out of which my life is to tumble
曾蒙Zeng Meng，中国四川达县渡市人，原名冉超，现供职于中国四川攀枝花市中心医院，毕业于西南大学。16 岁开始发表大量作品，并被收入多种选本，为当代中国七零后代表诗人之一。前期创办中国艺术批评网，后创办中国南方艺术网。出版诗集《故国》《世界突然安静》等。
Zeng Meng was born in Sichuan, China. He published his first poems at 16. He is the founder of China Artistic Critique and Arts of Southern China (two websites). His publications include Home Country and The World Suddenly Quiets Down.