冈萨雷斯作品

◎董继平 译

蝙 蝠

那只蝙蝠热爱我的肚脐。 当山洞再也不够的时候， 它就从我的肚脐中飞出来。 成千上万的别的蝙蝠不理睬我， 同时我的蝙蝠吃掉了我的思想， 将其带往南方的群山， 在那里， 阿帕奇人科奇斯， 为了像塌鼻子的响尾蛇而涂绘自己的脸。 那一夜， 我的蝙蝠回到我的手中， 它发出的哔哔声让我想起我把跳绳留在骤雨中了，留在汗水和高于那围绕我的小车的蝙蝠线的兽栏中了。 那一夜，当我上床的时候， 某种朝我运动的东西开始奔跑， 因为那只热爱我肚脐的蝙蝠比我更了解我的躯体。 到了早晨， 当蝙蝠之云消失，我发现我那只孤独的蝙蝠在路上被压碎， 轮胎辙迹给它的翅膀加上衬里， 很像是手掌上的生命线。

THE BAT

The bat loved my belly button. It flew out of it when the caverns were no longer enough. Thousands of other bats ignored me， while my bat ate my thoughts and carried them south to the mountains where Cochise， the Apache， painted his face to resemble the flat-nosed rattler. My bat made it back into my hands that night， its beeping reminding me I left my jump rope in the shower， the sweat and pounds lifting higher than the line of bats encircling my car. When I went to bed that night， something motioned to me to start running because the bat that loved my belly button knew more about my body than I did. When the cloud of bats disappeared by morning， I found my lone bat crushed on the road， tire tracks lining its wings to resemble lifelines on the palms.

拿蓝色吉他的人 （毕加索绘画）

俯身拾起一张纸， 我听见一个出自于我的耳朵的声音。 抬头仰望， 皮肤发光发热， 仿佛我错了， 白日将消除分歧， 把它的琴弦带给我。 笔直而静谧， 木头被雕刻， 直到陌生的朋友把它握住。 我为了看见这一幕而活着。 当发明和弦的时候， 我挪动了一下， 让他坐在我的身边。 他脸上有某些东西。 看不见他的手指。没有要去界定的蓝色时刻。 这一切安排是为了发音， 如同一个日子展开， 我被放进去。 在我手中的那只小小的细颈瓶里， 我总是发现一个被焚烧过的蓝色城市。

MAN WITH BLUE GUITAR （PICASSO PAINTING）

Bending down to pick up a piece of paper， I hear a sound coming out of my ears. Looking up， the skin glows as if I am wrong and the day will settle its differences， bring its strings to me.Straight and quiet， the wood is carved until the unknown friend holds it. I am alive to see this. When the chord is invented， I move over， let him sit next to me. He has something on his face. His fingers cannot be seen. There is no blue moment to define. It is entirely arranged to sound as if a day has opened and I have been let in. And it is always a burned blue city I find inside the tiny flask in my hands.

蜗 牛

现在蜗牛众多。 在地窖中等待容易吗？ 我能感觉到你的回答，难以呼吸。 当门再次打开， 没有人会记得我们是谁。 遮蔽我们眼睛的话语是什么呢？ 当我们说话， 就有了果园和草甸， 一棵倒下的树。 有人让我们饮水， 一颗小小的种子， 有一种我们听不见的音乐的假设。 有蜗牛出现的夜晚， 它们在黑暗中慢慢移动， 消失在我们还没来得及看见就种植下的西红柿植物中。 在爆炸之后，逝者为你作出决定之前， 你关闭了多少窗户？ 我无法找到那知道我在想什么的头脑， 无法回想起我把那珠子磨损的念珠遗忘在何处， 为了标注蜗牛的旅程， 它那断裂的链条洒下黑色的圆点， 这条献给爬进树叶的沉默的项链。

SNAILS

There are many of them now. Is it easy to wait in the cellar? I can feel your answer it is difficult to breathe. When the doors are open again， no one will remember who we were. What are the words to shade our eyes? When we spoke， there were orchards and meadows， one fallen tree. Someone gave us a drink of water， a tiny seed， the assumption there is a music that we cannot hear. There are nights when the snails appear， moving slowly in darkness，disappearing in the tomato plants we grew before we couldn’t see.How many windows did you close after the explosion， before the dead made decisions for you? I can’t find the mind that knows what I am thinking， can’t recall where I left my rosary with the worn beads，its broken chain spilling black dots to mark a journey for snails， this necklace for a silence crawling into the leaves.

被甲虫叮刺

被一只硕大的飞行甲虫叮刺， 我把它从手臂上掐掉， 把这灰白的东西扔到墙上， 它那坚硬的外壳在砖石上咔哒作响， 阻拦那滚到草丛上的饥饿的大理石弹子， 在我屈服于那无害陨落的较小的星星的时候， 就像我踏上的被埋葬的烟雾一样抽搐。 随着那个红色的刺孔肿胀成皮肤的笛子， 我揉了揉手臂， 当我坐在草丛上，等待毒剂击中我那怦然跳动的心， 把那个对称之美的时代带给我——为了想象在桥上发光的三原色， 我吸入燃烧的尘埃， 我的肺叶就变得更短。 被一声撞上我的手臂的嗡嗡声所叮刺， 我消沉地坐在地上， 对那只在我散步时越过我的小径的红狐低语， 它的突然出现把我带向隐藏在黑暗中的动物遗骨， 它那蓬松的尾巴在月光下闪闪烁烁， 它沉默的警告先于我要去热爱的狂热而出现。

STUNG BY A BEETLE

Stung by a huge flying beetle， I pinch it off my arm and throw the gray thing against the wall， its hard shell clicking on the bricks， breaking into marbles of hunger that roll onto the grass，twitching like buried smoke I stepped on when I gave in to lesser stars that fell without harm. I rub my arm as the red hole swells into a flute of skin， my lungs growing shorter as I sit on the grass， wait for the poison to hit my pounding heart， bring me the age of symmetrical beauty - burning dust I breathe to imagine the primary colors glowing on the bridge. Stung by a buzzing that crashed into my arm， I sit low to the ground， whisper to the red fox that crossed my path during my walk， its sudden appearance taking me to the remains of animals hidden in the dark， its bushy tail glimmering in the moonlight， its silent warning staying ahead of a fever I am going to love.