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◎ 萨迪·尤瑟夫《那个雨天》 (阅读2235次)



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     That Rainy Day
              Wr. & Tr. by Saadi Youssef (1934-)

Not because a rainy day is strangely knocking at my window like a thief.
Not because I am dwelling in this watery steppe. Not because the sun has dwelt
In the books of travelers and poets. And not because…
I say: I am burdened by waiting angels; the trees are only trees, while I am looking
for shade. The falling rain is not deep water. Through the skein of its pulse
Surge rivers, ships of timber and boats of papyrus. The rain does not reach me.
The rain does not moisten my lips. But the green railings there are shimmering
With watery light. And in the distance flowers and headstones quench their thirst.
No more squirrels or birds. My very pores open to the music.

She was in the balcony. The sun rose in the corner of her garden, a bower for
Grassy tones and dry, rustling leaves. The woman was neither looking nor being
looked at. The woman was absent. I, alone, was collecting the fragments of her
Image, her limbs, and the memory of a kiss one day in the corner café.
What planted this green in the blue?
Music. A sun from volcanoes islands. The woman is about moving, about taking a form.
Now I glimpse a tress of straight hair, the fullness of a lower lip. Music. The balcony
becomes the balcony of a house: a small table, two chairs, a bottle of wine, two glasses
and some Spanish peaches. And in the corner a cactus. The woman turns. Now we are two.
We shall dwell on the balcony. The sun will come to our glasses. We shall see the moment.
Music.

The falling rain is falling.

We are behind the balcony''s glass screen. The room is a bit cold. Her room
Was charged with the smell of paint and the aroma of the Kirghiz carpet. The wetness
of the day is sticky beneath my shirt. The woman gave me the ember of her lips. Did she
slip the ember under my shirt? I feel like a wanderer in a land of Hot Springs and tores.
My breathing is the continuous music of strings. My fingers are the bars. My breathing
is the continuous music of strings. The music throbs. I don''t see any rain. A crystal light
falls across the glass screen.
This falling rain is falling.
Falling…

I feel the hot rain.

Minutes.
Minutes only and I shall make with your love a narrow bed.
Music.


    那个雨天
          [伊拉克] 萨迪. 尤瑟夫 原作并英译
并非因为一个雨天像一个小蟊贼那样很奇怪地敲我的窗子。
并非因为我住在这个水汪汪的矮草原。并非因为太阳已经移居
于旅人与诗人的书中。并非因为……
我说:我已因为等待已久的天使而不胜重荷;树木不过是树木而已,而我在寻找荫蔽。落雨
不是深水。借由它结束的脉搏,
河流、大木船以及草编的小舟全都颠簸起伏。但是那儿有绿色的栏杆闪烁着
水灵灵的光。
更远处,花朵与墓碑啜饮解渴。
不再有松鼠或鸟。我所有的毛孔都想音乐张开。

那时,她在阳台。太阳从花园的了角落升起,一座凉亭
遮住了青草的不同色调和簌簌作响的枯叶。那女子既非观看又非被人观看。那女子并不在场。我,
独自一人,收集着有关她的碎片
形象、肢体、以及某日在街角咖啡馆的亲吻记忆。
是什么将这种绿色植入了一片蓝?
音乐。来自火山之岛的一只太阳。那女人有关运行、有关一个形状的形成。
此刻,我瞥见一缕直发、一片丰满的下唇。音乐。那阳台变成了一栋房子的阳台:一张小餐桌、两把
椅子、一瓶酒、两只杯子以及一些西班牙桃子。房间角落有一颗仙人掌。那女人转过身来。现在,是
两个人,我们。我们会住在阳台。太阳会照到我们的窗玻璃。我们会看到此时的瞬间。音乐。

落雨确实在落着。

我们在阳台的玻璃屏风背后。房间有点冷。她的房间
弥漫着油漆的味道和吉尔吉斯地毯的香味。我的衬衫下,白日的潮湿粘乎乎的。那女人曾经给予
我她双唇的微火。她可曾将那微火塞进我的衬衫下?我感觉像一个漫游者流浪于温泉与花托之地。
我的呼吸是弦乐的延绵不绝。我的手指是乐谱的小节线。我的音乐在颤动。一缕水晶之光斜落在
玻璃屏风上。
落雨确实在落着。
落着……

我感到那热雨。

几分钟。
只需要几分钟,我就要和你的爱铺出一张窄床。
音乐。


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