信物 | 杨佳娴

信物

我给过你的

你不要再给我

岁月停下来又开走

重复的夏季里变换过

硝烟与萤火

你没有给我的那些

原来我当初已经

加倍给过你

你喜欢的老歌手

磨得更老，我们一直没有

一起去过的港湾

被填得更小

重复的八号风球

变幻的地震

深埋过几颗子弹

浮世里难免

浮出胸膛

住过的房间

仍能清晰望见天亮

海堤渐次熄灭的

那一排灯吗

你为我在信里

重绘过，你把不变的

风景当作信物

你搬离了那房间

信物有信，而写信那人

已然查无此人

你怕老的

但是你老了

我给过你的

你又转赠给时间吗

而时间给了你的

你却也如此慷慨

提早给了我

Keepsake

Don’t give back to me

what I’ve given you

The years stop and start

summers alternate between

gun smoke and fireflies

What you haven’t given me

I’ve already

given you twofold

Your favorite old singer

has grown older, the harbor

we never visited together

smaller from landfill

Recurring typhoon no. 8 signals

unpredictable earthquakes

In the floating world

bullets buried deep

inevitably float from my chest

In the room where you once lived

by the early light of dawn can you still clearly see

that row of lights

snuffed out one by one along the seawall?

In a letter you repainted it

for me, taking the unchanging

landscape as a keepsake

You’ve moved out of that room

the keepsake has been kept, but the letter writer

is nowhere to be found

You dread growing old

but now you’re old

Have you given time

what I gave you?

And what time has given you

you’ve also generously

left me, ahead of schedule

镇魂诗

不要靠近墙

它在抄写我们的脸

不要走过树下

它会纠缠我们的鞋履

不要相信雨季，那些透明

单调的小石在额头上

击出许多凹痕

水面下一切都平等

且平静

也许我们交换手足，眼睛，

将头发编缠在一起如同连体婴

或者你将生出背鳞

我将发现耳边有腮

在漂忽，逐流的时刻里

醒着也等于睡着

睡着了以后梦见醒来

死去以后仍瞻望云的步伐

把房子盖在最远的岸

灯光瞬逝，椅脚折断陷落

书倒立而园圃

开始种植自己

瓦盆尚未退霜，铁铲有痂，

虫豸如时间贴面而飞

琐碎，且搔痒

有时候也听见诸神翻身微响

当我们终于试着遗忘，啊摊开

如一张虚无的纸

擦过如炭的宇宙

大星升高如军乐手小喇叭上的辉光

当那久远一触，真久远如

一则肯定的箴言

从写出来到被遗忘——

那洋流总是徒劳

一张朽烂的羊皮地图

鱼骨的信物也将销磨为末

而谁能夹蹑出对方的灵魂？

当我们驾驶着单桅帆船

在不同的玻璃瓶内

你有你的手势

我有我的火光

Requiem

Don’t go too close to the wall

it’s copying our faces

Don’t walk under the tree

it’ll tangle with our shoes

Don’t trust the rainy season, those transparent

monotonous pebbles pelting the forehead

with so many dents

Everything below the water is equal

and calm

Perhaps we’ll exchange limbs and eyes

hair braided together like conjoined twins

or you’ll grow scales on your back

I’ll find gills in my ears

In moments of drifting and flowing

waking is the same as sleeping

After falling asleep, I dream that I’m awake

After dying, I still gaze up at the gait of the clouds

building a house on the farthest shore

Lights flicker out, chair legs snap and fall

books stand upside-down, while the garden

starts planting itself

earthen pots not yet free of frost, the shovel scabbed over,

insects band together and fly

as trivial and itching as time

Sometimes I hear the faint sound of gods turning over

when we finally try to forget, oh it unfurls

like a virtual sheet of paper

grazing past the charcoal-like universe

that big star rising like the glow of a military musician’s trumpet

when that far-off touch, as age-old as

a definitive proverb

that’s gone from being written to forgotten—

that ocean current always laboring in vain

a decaying sheepskin map

the fishbone keepsake also ground to dust

Who can be tweezed out of the other party’s soul?

When we sail a single-masted boat

in different glass bottles

you have your hand signals

I have my fire

Translated by Jennifer Feeley

♫