致吉赛尔的十二节诗
[多米尼加] 弗兰克·巴埃兹
闫梓萌 译
为了遇见你，我必须把野兽关进笼子，
必须搬到一座北方的城，
必须给楼梯上的积雪撒盐，
必须喂一只猫，必须惧怕黑夜。
我到访纽约，从帝国大厦
向下望，你不在那。
有人在火车站里奔跑，像爱情电影，
她不是你。
有人被市中心的雾气吞没，她不是你。
有人飘在奥萨马河1上，她不是你。
有人在拉斯维加斯的赌场里吹骰子2，
更不是你。
有人留我在公园里空等，她不是你。
有人举着剪刀威胁要捅死我，她不是你。
玛丽娜·茨维塔耶娃3吊死在绳子上，
她不是你。
我在公寓里等过你，
松鼠进进出出，绑走我的诗句。
雪花从窗外飘落。
月亮在苍穹咳嗽。
她在哪里？我问路过的女侍者，
她们不理会我。你在哪里？
我这样问着，切断双手，
扔下芝加哥的一座桥。
她在哪里？我这样问着
像一栋着火的楼房里住第二十层的
男人，像破晓时分的巴黎
波德莱尔坐在长椅上。
你不在沙滩上，只有
浪花对砂砾耳语你的名字。
（耀眼日光，海鸥笨拙地啄食
一只自杀者的鞋）
我唇间叼着烟卷，打探你的下落，
洗乱一副多米诺骨牌，颤抖着，
像一棵消沉的树
任凭叶子落尽，寒意来袭。
在博物馆里，在图书馆里，我找过你，
我在图书馆里睡去，忧郁地译下：
我梦见她被爱或死去
因为这城市太过微小。
我找过你，在梦里，在波莱罗舞曲4中，
在低成本电影的群演里，
我找过你，
睁大或是紧闭双眼。
爱人啊，我找过你，
像柏拉图对话录里
阿里斯托芬的话：
一个人的两半，终生彼此寻觅。5
注：
1. 多米尼加共和国的一条河流。
2. 吹骰子被认为能带来好运。
3. 玛丽娜·茨维塔耶娃（1892—1941），俄罗斯“白银时代”重要诗人，系自缢身亡。
4. 一种西班牙舞曲。
5. 柏拉图《会饮》中阿里斯托芬谈到人的起源的神话，每个人的样子从前都是整个圆，四只手，四只脚，所有的器官都成双。宙斯决定想一个办法，既让人继续活着又削弱他们的力量：“我把他们再切一次，让他们只能晃晃荡荡地走路。”被切开后的人想回复自己原本的自然，让分开的两半合为一体，当他们遇到原本的另一半时，就会体验到令人惊颤的爱与亲密体验，两人的心都明显渴望着某种东西。
Twelve Strophes for Giselle
Frank Báez
To meet you I had to cage the beast,
move to a city in the north,
pour salt on the snow along the stairs,
feed a cat, fear the night.
I visited New York and looked down
from the Empire State and you weren’t there.
You weren’t the woman at the train station
who was running like in romantic movies.
You weren’t the one who’d swallowed the mist
Downtown. Weren’t the one who floated in the Ozama.
Weren’t even the one who blew on the dice
in a casino in Las Vegas, Nevada.
You weren’t the one who left me waiting
in a park. Weren’t the one who threatened to kill me
with scissors in her fist. Weren’t Marina Tsvetaeva
hanging from a rope.
I waited for you in an apartment where squirrels
climbed in and kidnapped my poetry.
Snow was falling behind the windows.
The moon was coughing in the sky.
Where is she? I asked the waitresses
who went by and ignored me. Where are
you? I asked cutting my hands off and
dropping them from a Chicago bridge
Where is she? I asked like the man
on the twentieth floor of a building
that’s on fire, like Baudelaire sitting
on a bench in Paris at dawn.
You weren’t on the beach while
the waves whispered your name to the sand.
(The sun shone and a seagull clumsily fished up
some woman’s shoe who’d killed herself.)
I asked for you with a cigarette between my lips.
shuffling the dominoes and trembling,
like a depressive tree that’s shed
all its leaves and feels cold.
I looked for you in museums and libraries
where I slept and translated in my melancholy:
I dream of her either loved or killed
because the town’s too small.
I looked for you in a dream, in a bolero,
among the extras in a low-budget
movie, I looked for you
with closed eyes and open eyes.
I looked for you, my love,
the way Aristophanes says
in one of Plato’s dialogues
two halves look for each other.
Translated from Spanish by Hoyt Rogers
我给米盖尔打电话
问他觉得我是做DJ好还是做诗人好
米盖尔说我应该继续做诗人
我女友也说我应该做诗人
我女友的兄弟也说我应该做诗人
但是我最近刚认识的
电影院里排在我前面的小女孩儿说我应该做DJ
小姑娘们都说我更适合做DJ
在超市里购物的女人们
则劝我继续写诗
我妈妈说我应该做诗人
水管维修工说我应该做诗人
我认识的五位诗人却告诉我
我更适合做DJ
我的姐姐则投了弃权票
我去看铁斯托的演唱会
一个外国女孩儿拉住我的手
告诉我DJ们由神创造，是天使
在她讲着这些的同时
我想象DJ们飞在空中的样子
他们的打碟机围在上帝周围
像一群蚊子
被上帝挥手驱赶
总之，问题在于诗人和DJ
可不可以共存呢
是否可以融为一体
有没有可能一只手用来写诗
另一只手用来打碟
能不能一半是诗人一半是DJ
可不可以肚脐以上是诗人
肚脐以下是DJ
或反之
亦或者诗人可以在月圆之夜
变身DJ
再或者我有点夸张了
所有DJ在内心深处都想成为诗人
而所有诗人都想成为DJ
有一个寓言故事，讲的是
DJ和诗人掉进同一口深井
他们叫啊喊啊
直到一个人探出头，扔给他们一根绳子
让他们慢慢爬上来
DJ先上去了，他们又把绳子扔给诗人
诗人大喊着告诉他们，就把他留在下面吧
那人和DJ这样做了，他们静静地等了一会儿
接着便离开
Last Night I Dreamt I was a DJ
Frank Báez
I call Miguel on the phone and ask him
if he thinks I would be better off as a DJ or as a poet
and Miguel answers as a Poet.
My girlfriend also says Poet.
My girlfriend’s brother says Poet
and the chick I met when she was in line behind me at the movies
says DJ.
Girls tend to see me more as a DJ
while the women shopping at supermarkets
say that I should stick with the poems.
My mother says Poet.
The plumber says Poet.
The five poets I know all say
I’d be better off as a DJ.
My sister abstained from voting.
I went to see DJ Tiësto
and a gringa grabbed my hands
and said that DJs are creatures of God.
They’re angels, she said and while she was talking
I imagined all the DJs with their turntables
flying around God like mosquitoes
and God shooing them away
with his hand.
But the question is whether the poets and the DJs
can be reconciled;
if they can be One,
if it’s possible to write poems with one hand
and with the other scratch records,
if it’s possible to be half-poet, half-DJ,
to be a poet above the waist
and below the waist a DJ
or vice versa
or maybe, during a full moon, a poet
could transform into a DJ
or maybe I’m complicating everything
and the fact is every DJ wants to be a poet
and every poet wants to be a DJ.
There’s a legend in which a DJ and a poet
fall into a well.
They shout and shout until
a man appears and throws down
a rope. The DJ climbs up first but when
they throw the rope back to the poet he screams, Leave me down here,
and the man and the DJ do so. They wait in silence
for a little while, and then they leave.
Translated from Spanish by Scott Cunningham
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