东欧三联画

一

扩音喇叭里点我们的名字

我们迅速站起。我们的名字

被人写错并念错，

但我们还是热忱地微笑。

我们带走酒店里的肥皂，

早早就赶到火车站。

到处都能见到拖着沉重皮箱、

穿着肥大裤子的我们的同胞。

列车载着我们驶向错误的方向，

我们付款时，零钱滚落一地。

我们在边境上害怕，在边境外

迷路，但是我们能够彼此认出。

即使在地球的另一半我们也能认出

因怯场而被冷汗湿透的衣裳。

滚梯在我们脚下，装满东西的塑料袋

断了提手，我们离开商店时，

防盗器发出刺耳的蜂鸣。

犯罪感的芯片，像一件闪光的首饰

植在我们的皮下。

二

我知道你的住址，我熟悉这座城市

我熟悉那黑色的瀑布，

你妈妈去屋顶晒太阳，

夏天你们在矿湖里游泳。

我认识那个没腿的人，

他住在大门洞里。

我熟悉这个国家，熟悉它的那些

火车、哭泣、漂白粉味的天、

酸雨、缓慢的飞雪、

穿得过多、面色苍白的婴孩。

我知道你住在哪里。不管你活到何地，

只要一想家，路两边枝断叶枯的

槐树，就会在梦中陪伴你。

节日过后，你拖着圣诞树，

就像抓着脚拖一具很沉的尸首，

你站住，环顾，把它跟别人的扔到一起。

我知道你看到了什么。你看到成堆的人体

堆成小山，在他们枯黄的胳膊上有一个个

被遗忘的首饰：蓝色和金色的

皱巴巴的糖纸。

三

我的名字叫奥莉娜·摩尔多瓦。

我来自东欧，

身高170厘米，

预期寿命56岁。

我嘴里有用银汞补的牙，

我心里揣着与生俱来的焦虑。

我不懂英语，

也不懂法语，

我只能不带口音地

讲恐惧的语言。

我的名字叫奥莉娜·摩尔多瓦。

我的心瓣是无人看守的拦路杆，

毒素在我的血管里流淌，

我的预期寿命56岁。

我能抱着十岁的儿子，

拎着面粉，跳上开动的列车。

你可以殴打我，推搡我，

只有我的耳环会哗啦作响，

像个松动的零件

在还旋转的马达里。

East-Europe Triptych

I

The loudspeaker calls out our names

and we jump up. Our names are

misspelled and mispronounced,

but we smile graciously.

We take the soap from the hotel,

and arrive too early at the station.

With heavy suitcases, in baggy trousers,

everywhere one of our compatriots loitering.

The trains go with us in the wrong directions,

and if we pay, the small change rolls everywhere.

At our borders we’re afraid, and beyond that

we get lost, but recognize each other.

We know the other side of the world,

the sweat-drenched clothes beneath the coat.

Below us stands the escalator, the handle

of the shopping bag filled to bursting rips, and when

we leave, the alarm goes off.

Beneath our skin, like a radiating jewel,

is the microchip of a guilty conscience.

II

I know where you live, I know that city well.

I know that black waterfall.

Your mother used to sunbathe on the roof,

in the summer you swam in the quarry lake.

I know that man, his legs amputated,

who lives in the entranceway.

I know that country, I know

its trains, its cries, its chlorine heavens,

its acid rains, its lingering snowfalls,

its pale overly-swaddled infants.

I know where you live. No matter where it is,

if you happen to think of home, the road bordered

with the stumps of acacia trees

haunts you in your dreams.

After the feast, when they drag in

the tree, like a dead man, too heavy, grabbing at the foot,

you stop and look, as it is cast out to the others.

I know what you see: the disheveled heap of human bodies,

on every one of their extended yellow hands

a forgotten jewel: plundered

blue and gold Christmas-candy wrappers.

III

My name is Alina Moldova.

I come from Eastern Europe,

I am 170 centimeters in height,

my life expectancy is 56 years.

I have amalgam fillings in my teeth,

in my heart I carry an inherited dread.

When I speak English, no one understands me,

when I speak French, no one understands me,

it is only the language of fear

that I speak without an accent.

My name is Alina Moldova.

My heart valves are an unmanned rail-crossing,

poisons circulate within my veins,

my life expectancy is 56 years.

I support my ten-year-old son,

I get hold of some flour, step onto moving trains.

You can hit me, you can shake me,

but my earring only jangles a little,

like a loosened part

in a motor still running.

老鼠

在诗人的书里，她已不再活着，

诗外的文字里，写了一个女人，

她已经死了，就像一朵蒲公英

守护的我的猫的足印：

牠总是悄然凑近，因为

纸页间的缝隙使牠兴奋，

等待，突然从里面钻出一只老鼠

（这只猫也已丢了很久），

果真，在那纸隧洞的

深处有什么东西一直晃动：

我们在纸页间放这放那，

为了压扁偶然。

After a Mouse

In a book by a long-dead poet,

by the poem in which he fixes a woman

long-dead, is a flowerhead of mud

pressed flat; the foot-stamp of my cat.

Forever sniffing round, she was

transfixed by lurking-space between the pages,

and froze there, once, for the out-race of a mouse

(and now my cat, my pet, is long-gone, too),

And true enough, in the spine-dark deep

of the paper hidey-holes there’s something trapped:

we’re forever slipping this or that between the sheets

to keep a hold on all, our every accident.

中文翻译：余泽民

Translated from Hungarian to English by Ottilie Mulzet and  Antony Dunn

♫