丛文 : 马克

马克-斯特兰德

你坐在椅子里，为空旷感动，感觉
衰老的自己在变得更成熟，设想
水才有的耐心，和石头的厌倦。
你料想沉默只是一篇附页，
没有什么好或者坏，甚至
当你坐视黑暗来临，
坐视它溢满房间，也没什么。
你曾目睹过它的降临。你的朋友们
面带悔恨的污渍，从窗前走过。
你想挥手致意但无法举起手臂。
你，坐在椅子里，
颠茄在房屋四周撒布催眠的毒汁，你借助它
品尝缺席的甜蜜。
无论你身在何处，都一样，
无论音容先于身躯朽去，还是
身躯先于音容朽去。你知道
欲望仅仅通向愁苦，而愁苦通向
那终归于空的成就。
你知道这次不一样，
这是一次庆典，唯一的庆典
你知道把自己交还给虚无
就能得到治愈。你知道这里尚存欢乐
当你感觉到自己的肺脏准备着将成为灰烬
于是你等待，凝视，等待，当尘埃落定
当那一幕幕奇幻的童年时光在黑暗中飘逸。

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In Celebration
You sit in a chair, touched by nothing, feeling  
the old self become the older self, imagining  
only the patience of water, the boredom of stone.  
You think that silence is the extra page,  
you think that nothing is good or bad, not even
the darkness that fills the house while you sit watching
it happen. You’ve seen it happen before. Your friends
move past the window, their faces soiled with regret.
You want to wave but cannot raise your hand.
You sit in a chair. You turn to the nightshade spreading
a poisonous net around the house. You taste  
the honey of absence. It is the same wherever  
you are, the same if the voice rots before  
the body, or the body rots before the voice.
You know that desire leads only to sorrow, that sorrow
leads to achievement which leads to emptiness.  
You know that this is different, that this  
is the celebration, the only celebration,  
that by giving yourself over to nothing,
you shall be healed. You know there is joy in feeling
your lungs prepare themselves for an ashen future,
so you wait, you stare and you wait, and the dust settles
and the miraculous hours of childhood wander in darkness.

by Mark Strand