罌粟

Poppies

Waking from comalike sleep，I saw the poppies，

with their limp necks and unregimented beauty.

Pause，I thought，say something true: it was night，

I wanted to kiss your lips，which remained supple，

but all the water in them had been replaced

with embalming compound. So I was angry.

I loved the poppies，with their wide-open faces，

how they carried themselves，beckoning to me，

instead of pushing away. The way in and the way out

are the same，essentially: emotions disrupting thought，

proximity to God，the pain of separation.

I loved the poppies，with their effortless existence，

like grief and fate，but tempered and formalized.

Your hair was black and curly; I combed it.

從昏睡中醒來，我看見了罌粟，

她們有柔軟無力的頸項，還有無拘無束的美麗。

我停下，想了想，說句實話：現在是夜里，

我想親吻你的嘴唇，它總是那么柔順，

可里面流淌的水分，已被香精混合物替代。

于是我憤怒了。

我愛罌粟，愛她們張揚的臉龐，

愛她們搖曳的體態，她們總是召喚著我，

而不是把我推開。入口和出口

基本是一樣的：情感沖破了理智，

我接近了上帝，我感到了痛苦的分離。

我愛罌粟，

她們可以毫不費力地存活，

像無處不在的宿命與悲傷，

但卻久經雕塑和打磨。

你的頭發烏黑卷曲，我來梳理。

譯者小感：最是那不經意的誘惑，久久縈繞在心中，看似有意，實則無形。在憤怒和憂傷之余，卻發現什么都沒有改變