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After pasturing the sheep, he rushes to the noodle shop
in town. The female boss hands over an opium pipe
like a bamboo chopstick or a Western flute.
Instantly, a beam of misty light suffuses— “Moonlight before my bed”,
like her double whiteness, her moist warmth, her mercury
hissing through time, and ah! that pair, that row of buttons.
Her exotic country fragrance as sensual as the homemade.
"Li Po, Li Po!"  Her sweet showers, things in flight,
cinnamon flowers on the hill’s belly, from the low delta up, spilling.
“Double Double” is her nickname, her moons eclipse him
in intimacy or war, comfortable together as a pair of bandits
they go thousands of miles, from the heights of anxiety
sliding down to a string of bass notes. Afterwards they run away like refugees,
her face maintaining an expression like a nanny’s apology.
What actually happened? History flows like rhythms of amnesia.

(Translated by Ming Di and Tony Barnstone)

 

 

李斯特

放完羊,他疾步赶到镇上的面馆。老板娘
递过来的烟具,仿佛竹筷,或西洋笛,
顷刻间,光雾弥漫于睡眼间——榻前明月光,
疑是炕头白晃晃,那温润,那水银
般的哗啦时光,啊一双,扣一排,
异乡的异香,流放于不逊色的仙境故乡,
“李白,李白!”高扬的季节,
坡地上的桂花,从低凹处向外,四散。
霜霜是她的乳名,与他胜负难分日食月蚀
亲密或战争,舒坦得像一对山贼,
欲穷千里从一个个焦虑的高度
滑下一串低音,事后像一个潜逃而去的难民,
脸上保持一种表情,犹如保姆的歉意。
历史善解人意,地点始终暧昧于抑扬之间。