▲ Yozô Hamaguchi
Black Cherries (1965)
樱桃
马雁
我听过痛苦的声音，
从那一刻我缓慢病变。
那是沉郁的哀求，
不带抱怨，也没有
幻想。痛苦就是直接。
而痛苦是没有力量进入，
是软弱，不敢顽固并沉默。
我不敢把手探入它的核心，
不敢挖出血淋淋的鬼。
眼望着谎言的清洁。
当时我哀哀地哭泣，
转过脸，以缺席
担演无知，人人如此。
这一切就在面前：
痛苦，或者空无。
今天，我吃一颗樱桃，
想起一个女人在我面前，
缓慢，忍耐尔后大声喘息，
她曾经，作为母亲，
放一颗糖樱桃在我嘴里。
我缓慢吞食这蜜样的
嫣红尸体。是如此的红，
像那针管中涌动的血，
又红如她脸颊上消失的
欲望──这迷人之食。
Cherry
Ma Yan
I heard the cry of pain,
then changed slowly, pathologically,
that muffled plea
neither complaint nor fantasy,
the pain direct, immediate,
yet powerless to enter—
weak, sporadic, mute.
I dared not plunge my hand deep
to grasp the bloody ghost.
My eyes fixed helpless on pure lies.
I turned my face to mourn,
pretending like us all
that absence could play innocent.
Still this pain, this emptiness before me.
Today I ate a cherry,
suddenly recalling my mother,
how she’d patiently endure, then exhale.
Once she placed in my mouth a candied cherry
I slowly swallowed, a honeyed,
sweet-red corpse, its scarlet
surging like blood in a hypo,
or desire’s vermilion fading
from her cheeks—that bewitching taste.
translated by Diana Shi & George O’Connell
此刻荐读
翟永明丨母亲
鲁列塔·柳沙那库丨沉郁，是战争的常规武器库
编辑 | 排版：文煜
