现代诗五首（汉译英）
作者：齐凤艳
翻译：齐凤艳
每一个人心底都有一个故事
他在月下磨刀
畜草磊满牲口棚，谷穗
聚在谷仓
双臂伸缩时
屋里和棚里的呼吸
更有节奏了
星星生起倦意
他眼力、手力都在
那摩擦上，石头
一来一回吐出苦味
为刃助威，为他助力
而他这几日总是回想
她的柔软，一次邂逅
就能成为一场病
离别就不再相遇是
不是最好
忽地他想收割
夜色
而镰刀却成了那天上的月
柔软地弯着
Everyone has a story buried in his heart.
He sharpens his sickle under the moon.
Cattle grass piled up in the stable,
Ears of grain in the barn.
His arms go to and fro,
The breathing inside the room and inside the stable
Becomes more rhythmic,
Stars are tired.
He has his eyes and hands focused
On the grinding, with the scythe coming and going,
The stone spits out bitter,
Cheering for the blade and him.
These days he always thinks about
Her softness, an encounter
Can be a disease.
Isn’t it much better two people no longer meet
After bidding farewell?
Suddenly he wants to harvest
The dim light of the night,
The sickle becomes the moon,
Soft and curving.
挎着柳筐的老头儿
他先拿出旱烟
慢慢地卷
树上的松针借着阳光伸长了一点
地上鸟鸣的影子向东倾斜
他左手倚着柳条筐梁
如这两三年他对往事的依靠
它们和风一起扶住
他的残年
迎着它们，他才觉得自己还硬朗
就像那扭在一起的柳条
曾经他用春柳比喻他的新婚妻子
摇曳的身姿，摇曳的笑
摇曳的手臂
他的语言是单一的
就像他的思念
整天紧紧地挎着他女人编的柳筐
想着还攥着她的手
The old man with a wicker basket
First he takes out his dry tobacco,
Rolling slowly.
The pine needles stretch a bit in the sunlight,
The shadows of birds singing on the ground tilt to the east,
He leans his left hand on the wicker beam
Such as his dependence in recent years on the past,
Which with the wind holds up
His days left,
And with them, he feels as strong
As the wicker twisted together.
He once used the spring willow as a metaphor for his new wife.
Swaying posture, swaying smile,
Swaying arms.
His words are simple,
So his way to cherish his wife,
All day long he holds tightly the wicker basket made by her,
As if still holding her hand.
在乡村小站
李花独占乡村小站的孤独
我刚想挪步走入
枝丫滤过一对年轻人的低语
将这片林木带回人间
没有站牌
似乎可以忘记身处何处
若非在等待
似乎可以忘记岁月
只是一个小树桩黢黑的年轮
令人哀婉这早夭之物
曝露的忧伤，我俯身拾几瓣月白
点缀其上
一阵铃响闪着银光
小狗与我对视几秒后
走向一条岔路
它路过我的人生
远去时，是否已两两相忘
如我和这小站
我低头上车
女孩的鞋边上有一丝草痕
At a bus stop in the country
At a bus stop in the country, plum tree flowers have to themselves
All the solitude in which I want to step.
The whispers of a young couple come through branches,
Bringing the wood back to man’s world.
No stop board,
It seems I can forget where I am.
If not waiting,
I shall have forgotten the time.
A little tree’s stump and its black growth rings.
It is a sad thing to die young.
Exposed sorrow. I bend to pick up a few white petals
And spread on it for ornament.
The tinkle of a bell glitters like silver,
The dog and I look at each other for a few seconds
Before it running in another direction.
Entering my life once
When it is far away, whether will we forget mutually?
How about this country bus stop and me?
I bow my head and get in.
There is a trace of grass on the edge of the girl’s shoes.
冬至
在这个季节
他把目光送给枯枝
傍晚它们烧红它的胸腔时
他就把自己交给酒
如黑熊在树洞里
用舌头温暖花朵
微醉时，他幻想自己是冷杉
在三千米高的阴坡
由雪锤炼品格
如果伊此时端来烧鹅
他就会生出羽翼
生出脾气
把窗外的狂嚎窒息在利爪
可伊递给他的总是一卷旱烟
他看着火星明灭
伊看着他，从肋骨里
取出一朵玉兰：
夜晚，适合恋爱
On the Winter Solstice Day
In this season
He gives his eyes to dead branches.
In the evening when they burn his chest,
He gives himself to the wine,
Like a black bear in the hollow of a tree
Warming flowers with his tongue.
Slightly drunk, he fancies himself as a fir
Standing on a north slope 3,000-meter high,
Tempered by snow.
If his wife brings a dish of fried goose,
Wings will grow out of his body,
His temper will get bigger,
And he will chock the howling outside the window in his claws.
While what she hands to him is always a roll of dry tobacco.
He looks at the sparks twinkling,
She looks at him and through her ribs
Takes out a magnolia:
Night is for love.
夜色降临
燕子飞回窝了
它告别风声
夜色开始加速西移
神秘的翅膀
时而倾斜，时而变形
我在寻找你或者你的影子
那么多的不确定
我需要得到足够的墨
才能辨别一朵花和它的香气
哪个更真实
鸟窝和它之外，再无世界
我目光的触脚
攫取到一张脸和湿漉漉的枝头
The night has fallen
Swallows fly back to nests
Bidding farewell to the wind.
The night begins to accelerate westward.
Mysterious wings,
Now leaning, then transforming.
I’m looking for you or your shadow.
So much uncertainty.
I need to get ink enough
To distinguish a flower and its fragrance.
Which is truer?
A nest or outside a nest, there is no other world.
The tentacles of my eye
Grab a face and many wet branches.
