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2012年12月17日 星期一

Ruins of Yore (昔日的殘跡)



in the ruins  

we drank in the remains
of ruined buildings
and we sat in a cave or
wrecked houses on farms given back to the bank
listening to men who'd been raised
in ways that were lost
and we strained to make out
the use of their news
they were crazy or passed out
speed notched with a cross
they drank from the flask and the mouth
they came in and shook off the rain
inflamed and dismayed
calm and arcane
the least one seethed chanting whitman for
hours 
then wept at the dregs of the fire
foam formed at the edge of their lips
we drank and waited for something to drop 
you and I looking and sifting
for signs written in wax
we were young we knew how to die
but not how to last
a small man who claimed he was blake raged
all night and probably he was
he had god in his sights 
white crosses shone in our eyes or acid mandalic
in the ruins the men talked:
seraphic and broken
glowing with gnosis and rubbish
we sorted their mad sacred words
these dog-headed guides to the life after
and the life after that

by Mark Conway

廢屋中

我們在廢屋的                                              
殘餘中喝酒                                                    我們坐在洞或                                           
已還給河岸的破農舍                                    聆聽那用                                                    
早已遺失的方式教養的人                              我們歇力探求                                              
他們傳聞的意義                                           
他們或曾瘋狂或逝去                                    他們用十字彫劃的速度                                 直接從水壺那開口上                                    吞飲並抖開雨點                                           
激動和失望                                                 
冷靜和古老                                                  
那最小的不斷咬牙切齒地誦念著惠特文       然後對著餘燼啕哭                                           他們咀角泛出泡沫                                       
我們喝著喝著等著東西掉下                          你和我尋找和挑出                                       
以燭臘劃寫的符號                                           我們那時尚年青我們知道怎麼樣死                但不知怎麼樣歷久常新                                 一自稱布萊克的小子整晚亢奮                       可能他是說真的                                           
他眼中滿是神靈                                              白色的十字也在我們眼中閃耀
也許是曼佗羅酸    
在廢屋中那些人在談論                                  猶熾愛天使般亦復心碎                                 為諾斯替神祕主義和廢物發熱                       我們挑出他們瘋癲神聖的話語                        這些領犬為首的來生                                    和來生後之生命導遊    

馬克. 康威  (譯  tr.  El Zorro)
































































2 則留言:

  1. A gloomy poem and a scene that suits horror films...
    [版主回覆12/18/2012 14:19:29]yes, the color of the red hot water flask and the sombre atmosphere of the deserted houses may suggest the presence of something eerie.

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  2. In ruins like these, with a limited mind, I always feel nothing lasts but mother nature.
    Like #6 and #13.
    Thanks for sharing the pictures and the poem.
    [版主回覆12/23/2012 21:52:36]I enjoy thinking and appreciating such beauty as I may find in this world.
    [Gravel回覆12/22/2012 16:56:29]You have the point and you have an amazingly analytical mind to go with your artistic talents.
    [版主回覆12/22/2012 13:29:02]Everything lasts, artificial, or natural, but Nature seems more enduring and more perpetually "destructively creative". Really appreciate your comments.

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