Flu sea­son, virus­es fly about like snow,
impos­si­ble to escape. The trick is to die fast,
nee­dles only make it worse. Every four hours
I take aller­gy pills, the symp­toms like specks of pollen
swirl around, stir­ring up my soul. Mother’s voice,
“Don’t lis­ten, go to sleep.” But I’m obsessed.
The arrival is absurd, no turn­ing back.
I’m aller­gic to sound, to col­or, only waves
in my dreams— I won’t fall in love with your red hair!
But you won’t go away, you whip my nerves fiercely.
Now only one string left, my fin­gers move in panic.
Mean­ing? Time as tem­po? Theme? Melody? 
What are you sug­gest­ing? My body almost splits,
unable to over­come this drug’s side effects. I try to wake up.
What’s love? What’s fever? I don’t have the talent
to cut through ambi­gu­i­ties, desire is my only weapon—
life is end­less at night, end­less as the lights bouncing,
snowflakes beat­ing, lips trem­bling, when the wind stops
the wind­mills spin, spelling out dra­mat­ic changes. Only
one thing steady: the approach of dev­ils in windbreakers.

(Trans­lat­ed by Ming Di and Tony Barnstone)
 

 

 

帕格尼尼

流感季节,病毒,冰霄一样飞舞,
没能躲过。死亡的诀窍在于快速,
预防针只会加强力度。我每隔四小时
吞服一粒抗过敏药,病状还是花粉一样
旋转,惊心动魄。母亲的声音
“别听了,睡觉”,我还是如痴如迷。
难以置信的到来,不让你眨眼,反悔。
我对声音过敏,对色彩过敏,只有晃动
留在睡梦中——我不会爱上你一头红发!
你没有走开,而是死劲抽打我心脏。
我只剩下一根弦了,手指恐慌地移动,
意义呢,时间只是tempo?形式呢,
旋律呢,你在暗示什么?身体快分裂了
还是无法战胜药物的副作用。我拼命醒来,
痴与迷有巨大区别,但我不具有天赋
去分裂出歧义,欲望是我的武器——
那不勒斯夜晚,生,一望无际,灯火跳动,
冰霄跳动,嘴唇跳动,连风一停下来
就分化出的风俗,也在剧烈地变动,
只有魔鬼披着风衣朝我疾速,坚定不移。

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