菊花

我从市集给你带来黄色的

菊花，市集已收拾得七七八八，

渔贩所站的附近，放着一条三文鱼的尸体和

一条没有眼睛的鲱鱼，暴露在阳光下，鱼腥熏天，

群鸟已经清理过此处，只有生菜

叶和曾经绿过的萝卜叶，现在平坦得像

铺路的石板，粉身碎骨，撒满

整个地方，支离破碎的蘑菇以及

一片片苹果，色彩缤纷的花瓣，随风飘散

甚至在那里可以看到小孩的凉鞋，想必是搁置

已久，只有一块生菜叶像合成杯状的双手

往上曲起，一束萝卜叶在枯萎的木茎下，

像是防风草般的绿色，等待清理的一个个桶子，

当清洁工人快要沿着路边出发，把一条条的木板

运到载货区，就像所有颜色胶条，报纸的残骸，

沾满芥末和血的硬纸板中的社会新闻，

低低地在地面上，穿过这道光线飘动着。

带走我，在此站着阅读，周围的店铺已关闭，

云雾把他们肥厚的肚皮推至初夜，

你带走一些东西吧，这几乎仍旧在

晃动的生菜叶，在疲惫的弧形肋骨上

阅读，只有像扫地机似的声音才是你的

说话，回家吧，一架车在利希滕贝格开近

路人，在这里乌鸦的双翼锯穿超级市场的大门。

Chrysanthemums

i brought yellow chyrsanthemums from the market

for you, it was almost cleared away, and in place of the fish-

monger’s stand, lay a salmon carcass and the

eyeless head of a herring in the sunlight, it stank, the

birds had already cleaned up a bit here only the lettuce

leaves and what were once green carrot tops, now flat as

cobblestones, nestled in their cracks over the whole area,

the remnants of trampled mushrooms and

apple pieces, the colorful flower petals, scattered by the wind,

there too, a child’s sandal, it must have lain here

a long time, only one leaf of lettuce curved like a cupped hand

upward, a thread of carrot tops under the wilting stems,

some parsnip greens, one or the other pails still being emptied,

while along the edge the street sweeper powered up as rough planks

flew onto the loading areas, fluttering, too, like fait divers

in all colors swaths of plastic, newspaper remnants, mustard and

blood stained cardboard close to the ground through this light.

take me they read, the surrounding shops were closed,

and coming from the land, clouds pushed their thick bellies

into the early evening, take something with you, this almost

still waving lettuce leaf, read in its wearily curved

ribs that only noise as from the sweeping machine is what you say,

just go home, a car in lichtenberg drove into pedestrians,

here crows’ wings sawed through the door of the supermarket.

周末

风景考古学家在旅客地图的那处

向我们展示的空洞，是真正的弹坑。

七十年后这处又有什么仍是真实？

弹坑再也无法看到，空洞也只是一个

深不见底的词语。地面无止境地下陷

变得平坦，使我们彼此

能平躺下来。你的身体在我的胸前，甚至

手臂弯曲，撑起下巴，这一切

都无法掩盖眼睛。现在坐着

准备拍照手提电话的镜头聚焦

着我的性别，鼬鼠注视着你，

在大约距离黑色斑点的母牛

二十五米之外，一座直立的建筑物

消失在风景的纪念碑中，它的图像却在

眼毛挥动之前，变成你的一团云，

直到下个指令为止，保存完整。我们还有时间

来个最后的亲吻，然后两次用半个周末，

坐回电车准时回家。

Weekend

The hollow there, that’s what the landscape archeologist

says, on the hiking map, a real bomb crater.

Is anything here real after seventy years?

No crater to be seen any more, and hollow is also

much too deep a word. The ground sinks without border

gradually into a flat shape, in which together we

could lie. Your head on my chest, even

the chin propped in a hand, arm bent at the elbow, are no

longer shielded from view. Since you now sit up

for the photo shoot the smartphone lens aimed at my

organ, a weasel watches you

and about twenty-five meters beyond a

black-spotted cow. Only the erection vanishes

in the landscape monument, its image, though

after the blink of an eye, already in your cloud until

further notice, saved in space. We still have time

for a last kiss, then the commuter train takes us

back punctually in twice a half weekend each.

♫