岛（组诗）

Isle 王梆

到苏格兰Carradale岛旅行，白天剪草护林，观看海豚和鸬鹚，晚上在炉边烤火读书，过了一段时间与世隔绝的生活。这几首诗献给Carradale静寂的夜晚。

囚禁

像中世纪的傍晚一样，在熄灭的灯塔旁散步

偶尔，也和岛上的人谈论天气，和鳕鱼的价格

学习用夏天的沙漏，灌制不朽的香肠

学习对冬天的忍耐，像秃鹰，含着

分解的尸身，在一根黑色的羽毛里

观看满天黑色的羽毛。这里，自由是

二十四小时的放风，我可以伸手

触摸所有死去的星辰

你那被火车穿过却永不到站的身体

和我的锁骨，一起，成了岛的一部分

成了这片无尽的，银浪交织的铁丝网

我甚至爱上自己在一小片鳞形阳光下的

强大波纹——这是人类囚禁体验中最阴暗

也最暧昧的一幕。每天凌晨

握着削尖的鹅毛笔，爬上燧石造的房顶

跳下为自己折好的纸船，追捕

一个又一个，企图通过海底逃往彼岸的梦

Imprisonment

ramble around the unlit lighthouse

in medieval gloom

occasionally chat to the island people

about weather，or the price of cod

learn to make perennial bread

with the sand timer

learn to endure winter，like a vulture

savouring decomposed bodies，gazing into

a sky full of black feathers in a black feather

here，freedom is a 24 hour routine release

I can reach out to all the dead stars

your never arrived train-penetrated body

and my collarbones，together

have become a portion of this island

and its infinite，silvery wave of wire mesh

through a tiny piece of scaly sunshine

I even fall in love with my own ripple

blinking，relentless-this is the darkest

yet most ambiguous experience of imprisonment，

every dawn，I sharpen my quill

climb onto the flint roof

jump into my paper boat，chasing

the dreams of attempted escape

one after another，underneath the unfathomable sea

恐懼

三个音符的岛。早上八九点

还是冷煤灰色的。半个世纪来它几乎没有新生儿

早产的守陵人之妻，也已经97岁了

她在教堂门口扫落叶的身影，被一阵齿间的寒风

吹到松动的墙上。那里经常跳出一个

1612年的九岁女童，踢掉鞋子，赤脚站在证人席上

指控自己的母亲是女巫。围观吊刑的人群

像围观烟花，脸上涂着荧光漆

她没有朋友、财产和邮差，没有马车

其他人也和她一样。在防波堤上

海鸥追扑裂口里掉下面包屑的行人

本来只是出来遛狗，却沉默不语

仿佛连风都是潜在的告密者

即使如此，也没有多少人死去

他们守着蜡烛，老鼠，干硬的黄油，内心的暗房

那些不敢曝光的胶片，度过千禧年

连远方的盲人，都能听见乌鸦的手语

断裂的云骨，锈水，在浴缸里

穿过脉搏，流入地下。我却突然

决定在这里落脚（梦从不让人选择）

像落魄、失聪的钢琴师

找一份活下去的职业

向矮生长，到水下，为所有的不安裹上海草

盼望苏醒，盼望你回到我的身边

Fear

This is an island composed of 3 notes.

9am it will still be ash-gray

No newborns have arrived for over half a century

the premature girl

now wife of the late undertaker is 97

The shadow of her sweeping leaves

blown by a brisk wind

from a slit between the teeth

& dropped onto the sprawling church wall

There，a 9-year-old girl in 1612

would often jump from the shadows

kicking off her shoes

barefoot on the witness stand

asserting her mother to be a witch

Hanging becomes a death-foreplay applauded by onlookers

the excited faces at a firework display

framed with luminance

She has no friends，the same as everyone，

possessions，postmen，nor carriages，

On the seawall，the seagulls

chase the pedestrians，who drop crumbs

from their dead mouths

& walk their dogs in absolute silence

to prevent the wind from becoming informer

People idle the day away

by candles，rats and dry butter

Darkroom films inside hearts unexposed

Even a distant blind man could hear

the sign language of the crows

the spine of the clouds break

the rusting water in the bathtub

plunges through my pulse

& leaks underground

Still，I decide to stay here

（dreams are never chosen）

like a near-deaf pianist

Looking for odd jobs

shrinking lower and lower

seaweeds veiling the uncanny

longing to be awake

calling your return to me

接受

只有九月，知道如何用它的琥珀，让风静下来

同样的平静，也让海盐结晶，黑鸟在芦苇丛中畅歌

果实进入果核，生产远离连绵的疼痛

只有九月，苏格兰的印度夏天，蜜蜂才会尝到球兰中

最甜蜜的部分。我才会，穿上你寄来的开襟羊毛衫

到海滩上，会见天堂里泄漏的阳光

Conceiving

Only September knows

how to dye in amber

to still the wind’s heart

the same stillness

makes sea-salt crystals，

blackbirds sing in reeds

fruits enter their core

and the pain

in labour is distanced

Only in September

in the Carradale Indian summer

I will wear the cashmere cardigan

that you sent me

to walk on the beach

while bees are savouring

the nectars of blooms

the sunlight carried

in the hollow of a cloud

encircling me

（寫于苏格兰Carradale ）

梦

在工厂里杀鱼

每天十小时

像一根潮湿的火柴

厌恶着自己的味道

生活是，那些

洒阿玛尼，吃鱼子酱的人

制造的空心塑料袋

填满着新割的鱼鳃

我是披着玻璃斗篷的海风

在对闪电的追逐中

爱上了一朵湿地紫罗兰

为了与她在同色的曙光里苏醒

我用被海水穿透的身体

堵住了通往现实的大门

Dream

Killing fish in the factory，10 hours a day

a damp match in hate with its sweat

Life is a hollow plastic bag

made by those who wear Armani and eat caviar

replete with fresh-cut gills

I am the wind in a raincoat of glass

after a battle against lightning

falling in love with a marsh violet

to wake with her in the colour of her dawn light

I stop up the door of reality with my body

drenched through by the sea

责任编辑 杜小烨