《Rain》
Quite suddenly the evening clears at last
as now outside the soft small rain is falling.
Falling or fallen. Rain itself is something
undoubtedly which happens in the past.
Whoever hears it falling has remembered
a time in which a curious twist of fate
brought back to him a flower whose name was “rose”
and the perplexing redness of its red.
This rain which spreads its blind across the pane
must also brighten in forgotten suburbs
the black grapes on a vine across a shrouded
patio now no more. The evening’s rain
brings me the voice, the dear voice of my father,
who comes back now, who never has been dead.
——A.R.（博尔赫斯）
《雨》——译：王河
正如悠然而至的霏霏阴雨
晴空也在傍晚不请自来
雨和积雨都是别样的存在
我感觉它却发生在过往的时间
听见雨声簌簌落下，便沉入回忆
命运曾驶入奇异的弯道
为他送回一朵名为玫瑰的花
困惑的是，红是否还是那抹红
雨漫过窗棂，多了一层朦胧
在被人遗忘的城郊野隅
也擦亮藤蔓间，藏在幽深庭院里的黑葡萄
旧日庭院早已消散无踪。这场暮雨
为
我捎来父亲温润熟悉的和声
他在此刻归来，仿佛从来不曾远去
