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他发现三爷可以像睡鼠一样蛰伏  

2017-04-17 18:04:24|  分类: Me和三爷 |  标签: |举报 |字号 订阅

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  他发现三爷可以像睡鼠一样蛰伏

 

自我是他迷恋的本质,那足以支撑他写写独处的诗,

尤其在深夜到黎明之前,当所有联系人

都已暗淡,或者,按他邪恶的祝愿,都已

舒服得疲乏,不得打扰。

每当此时,那一列列的熟人中,还有谁可以念想,

除了三爷这没影子、没重量的生灵?

哦,你别那么想,他从不睥睨俗常的舒适,对那诱惑

他有一股辛辣的虔诚,因为上帝的儿子都抵挡不了。

然而,仅在脑子里偷窥并不能给他带来什么愉悦,

所以他开始把自己的里面翻到外面,试图抓住

什么又热又硬的东西。哦,记住诗的要旨:思无邪。

他一心要找回藏身在他里面的人,无论是谁,

找到总能怡心,可他只能以心的眼看到三爷朦胧的身影,

令他想到一个修补得不错的傀人。

在那种东西的背面,三爷蛰伏如一只睡鼠,

谨慎、狡黠,皮毛温暖,嘴从未停止咀嚼。

夜晚如此流逝。

破晓时分,他匆匆挑出一条结论,犹如从菜单中单点:

牵手应该是一件难以满足的暖心之事,

无论是他们俩还是任何两个灵魂。

但他的贪心不止这一点,因为他一直透过三爷的项背

望过去,看到那片人居的天景,有着滋味异常的美。

三爷肯定心知肚明,而他也知道三爷知道,

但他假装不知,将三爷当成一个隐匿的人,

偷偷体会他日记中的话外之意。

可是无法假装的是信念和默契,

犹如嗓音美学有着挑逗人心的肉身本质。

例如,他在一个梦中看见,三爷正以冰草莓逗弄

一对乳头,而春雨轻轻拍打窗户,

他看到自己的影子叠印在那两只盈盈一握的乳房上,

那么沉静、抽离。

那场景犹如一片被虫咬出锯齿的悬铃木叶子,

贴在他记忆的幕墙上,令他感到一阵阵恐慌的畅爽,

几乎刺激得颤抖;相比之下,水渍斑斑的墙上的影舞者

相形见绌,在那租来的房间,三爷蜷曲着,

像夏日午后的一个孤独的暗喻。

         2017417


【按】看到英文原稿是2016年9月16日的,昨天修改了一下,今天写成中文。

 

  He Finds that Sanye Can Be Dormant Like a Dormouse

 

He can be self-obsessed, enough for him to write

About his solitude, especially in the wee hours

When all contacts are dimmed, or, in his evilly benedictory thought,

Comfortably tired and not to be disturbed.

Who else among the files of acquaintances could he miss and yearn for,

Except for Sanye, the shadowless, the weightless creature?

No, he never sneers at banal comfort, and he has spicy piety 

For the temptation that even God’s son cannot resist.

But peeping in the mind does not give him much pleasure,

And he begins to turn himself inside out, 

Hoping to grab at something hot and hard. Oh, bear in mind 

The principle of poetry: Think no evil. 

His sole purpose (yes, it may be soul) is to retrieve 

Whoever is down there, and always he can only see with mind’s eye

Sanye’s vague figure reminding him of a golem in good repair.

On the other side of something, Sanye is dormant like a mouse,

Rodent, cagey and warm-furred. 

So the night flows, from light-littered emptiness to bottomless darkness.

When the day dawns, he picks up a conclusion, a la carte,

That joining hands between them or any two souls should be

An endearingly insatiably good thing.

But he is greedier than this.

He has been looking beyond Sanye’s shoulders and nape,

And has noticed a more savory beauty in the inhabited skyscape.

Sanye must have known this,

And he knows Sanye's knowing and pretends unaware,

Taking Sanye as a lurker reading beyond the lines of his diaries.

But belief and privity cannot be pretended,

Like vocal aesthetics is titillatingly body-based.

In one of his dreams, he saw Sanye tit-wanking with iced strawberries,

As the spring rain taps at the windowpane, while he saw his reflection

Serene and detached upon the palmable boobs.

That scene is like a worm-nibbled sycamore leave

Stuck on the wall of his memory, and he feels a fit of horrifying jouissance,

Almost a thrill, overshadowing the shadow dancers 

On the leakage-stained wall of a rented room where Sanye cowers

Like a lonely metaphor in a summer afternoon.

          Sept. 16, 2016 first version

          April 16, 2017 revision


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