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Jim Cohn
吉姆-科恩

Jim received a BA from the University of Colorado at Boulder in 1976, and a Certificate of Poetics in 1980 from Naropa University’s Jack Kerouac School of Disembodied Poetics where he was teaching assistant to Allen Ginsberg. In 1997, he founded the on-line Museum of American Poetics. He is the author of Green Sky (1980), Prairie Falcon (1989), Grasslands (1994), The Dance Of Yellow Lightning Over The Ridge (1998), The Ongoing Saga I Told My Daughter (2009), and Mantra Winds (2010).

吉姆-科恩于1976年从科罗拉多大学毕业,1980年从纳罗巴大学的杰克-克鲁亚克解体诗学院获得诗歌文凭,曾担任艾伦-金斯堡的助教。1997年,吉姆在互联网上创办“美国诗学馆”。他出版的诗集有:《绿天空》(1980);《大草原猎鹰》(1989);《草原》(1994);《山脉上黄色闪电之舞》(1998);《我告诉女儿的传奇故事》(2009);《祷文之风》(2010)。



译者
Translator


冯冬
Peter Feng

冯冬,1979年生于重庆,南京大学英文系博士毕业,现任教于暨南大学,译过游记《中华帝国纪行》、《亲密接触中国》、小说《蛛网与磐石》等,在海内外诗刊发表作品,与人合著诗集《残酷的乌鸦》(2011),主要研究诗歌、精神分析和当代哲学。

Peter Feng was born in Chongqing, China, in 1979. He has received a Ph.D degree in literature from Nanjing University and currently teaches English at Jinan University. He has co-translated A Journey through the Chinese Empire, Intimate China, and The Web and the Rock, and co-written a book of poems Cruel Raven (2011). His study includes poetry, psychoanalysis, and contemporary philosophy.

Treasures for Heaven

天堂的珍宝

I Forgive me, Angels, You had only wings, I poems That entered me as a man Enters the house Of unwavering light Thick as labyrinths Coming apart at the bottom Where all that could be I left for you. II Through the enduring memory Of the present I walk past the blue hells of Delusion's graffiti handcuffs That no matter how sublime Bring greatness to the empire For naught. III Soon I come to the confluence Of spring & forever, but I've no one to share a happy moment Save a vague voice calling But I'm thinking of no one special Round the entire Ghoulish star field As it begins again to shift. IV I give you emotional radio Live from the galaxies Of Mercy that linger So near Our understanding each other Like a woman Who always rises late & love that comes without bounds. V In your voice is an immensity Greater than near-death Along a stretch of cactus-dotted Power plants where We met on the corner Of love-at-first-sight With its violin wrapped tight In the cool silk of your arms. VI I heard things Only star dust hears–– The tiny white eyes Of garden shadows, The stillness of clotheslines under February's moon, The sadness Of empty baskets Having seen too much. VII Wolves circle the gold mosque, then Disappear like old Chinatown Record stores in Philadelphia As I see eternity in myself As a patchwork of mirrors Presented at the War Crimes Convention Where the jailer loved to watch you Roll down your nylons. VIII How old is the light At the core of yourself–– Does it go back to You Teaching men to break branches In a freight car of the slain Where the heat of your breath Is more delicate than A world filled with lies? IX I slipped into a theater To get out of the Thousand sheets of rain But the movie didn't touch me & just hearing the actors' words Turned my cheek's pale Because no one can tell me Where you are. X There were boarded up windows, & factories of corpses & Ninety miles out of town I can still hear the endless weeping Of mourners at the gate where No one has to ask why The Angels stopped Lighting themselves on fire. XI So much has changed In so little time & yet I still crave the sight of you Dancing in the park With the sun Coming out again From the stormy weather Of the joy we shared. XXIX Your notebook was washed ashore, But it was hardly The last change In the first realm of paradise Where Love Dreams of the way Beauty in all her languages says The work of the world is peace. XXXI I grieve the chaos Of the deceased in their smeared make-up Of slit throats Where in mid-sentence I repent the monsters Of unlicensed nihilism Because I am from the massacre & I am the massacre. XXXIII I've always been enchanted By the persimmon tree That requires So many years to bear fruit Even as you wipe away The hysterical pleasures Of self-conscious bitterness From the eternal circle of your heart. XXXIV Humanitarian disaster everywhere I turn Reminds me of someone else I'll never know. There's a tin cup on my table-- You left it here, maybe you left it for me. I take it out to catch the tears that harmlessly fall Thinking they've damaged the earth. XXXVIII You often talked with me About the spaces Between breaths as far richer than wealth & So I looked there for you-- Hoping to see, touch & hear All that is born Like a poem That once read is never found again. XXXIX At Crystal Pass Where I wait for you Flowers call out To their gypsy lovers That their tedious acceptance of praise For one's state of mind Is as ridiculous as Having two feet. LVI Angels, my Poem Never sleeps-- It watches over the planet The way a graveyard Watches over music, The way loss watches over war, The way failure Watches over the living. LXXI As the families arrive, The gold-toothed undertaker Turns off his Hearing aids That bleed In the light of the blue-grey snow As he covers her body In full sight of the peacekeepers. LXXIII Why do we hide Our weaknesses Like hangmen writing elegant postcards With ink made of urine In the emergency rooms of memory As doctors weigh the fingers of Deadmen sitting in chairs With shiny yellow badges? LXXXV Of one million families Ruined by the heavy toll Only a hundred endured. If I was President I'd paint the White House black-- Then I would write on its wall-- The fruits of their crackdowns Will also prove illusory. XCVIII No regrets, though I wish I'd been able to write the laughter of women. The wild river of laughter-- My whole life, Immersed in this laughter. The laughter of women-- Who can hope to reply To such exquisite songs? XCIX Those who commit The most ungodly acts Still do so with the assurance of the feeling That nothing will be done. This is why we have chosen to appear Through the madrone blossoms Willing to give our lives So that others might live. C Face to face, The mind in its holy vacuum, I have passed many seasons My endless phrases Addressed to no one-- Like the light dust Falling upon your shoulders As you ride past Jupiter hot springs.
 

I 原谅我,天使, 你只有翅膀,我只有诗 它进入我如一个人 进入光的房子 坚定、繁复、厚重的光 在底端分离 我留给你 一切可能之事。 II 穿过关于现时的 持久的记忆 我路过 幻想的 涂鸦手铐的 蓝色地狱 无论它多崇高 也不能使帝国变伟大。 III 很快我来到春天与永恒 的交汇处,但 没人可分享这幸福时刻 除了模糊的呼喊 在这食尸鬼似的 星球大地上 我没想到任何特别的人 它很快又开始挪移。 IV 我给你的情感收音机 从慈悲的银河 现场直播 如此靠近 我们之间的默契 如一个起得很晚 的女人 如无边无际的爱。 V 你的嗓音有一种巨大 比仙人掌点缀的 一排发电厂 更接近死亡 我们邂逅于 一见钟情的角落 小提琴紧紧裹在 你冰凉的丝般的手中。 VI 我听见惟有 星尘能听见的事物—— 园中阴影的 小小的白眼睛, 二月的月光下,寂静的晾衣绳, 空篮子的 忧伤 见得太多。 VII 狼群围绕金色清真寺 随即消失如费城 旧日唐人街上的唱片店 此刻我在我自己身上目睹永恒 如镜子的拼凑物 在战争犯大会上展览 那儿狱卒喜欢看着你 脱下你的尼龙袜。 VIII 你中心的 光芒有多苍老—— 它是否返回你自身 教会人们在被杀害者的 货车车厢内折断树枝 那儿你温热的气息 比充满谎言的世界 更加易碎? IX 我悄悄走进剧院 为躲避 一千层的雨 但电影并不吸引我 演员的台词 让我面色苍白 因为没人能告诉我 你在哪里。 X 那儿有木板封住的窗, 尸体的工厂 离市区九十英里外 我仍听见哀悼者在门口 无尽地哭喊 别问为什么天使 不再用火焰 点亮自己。 XI 转眼间 许多已改变 而我仍渴望见到你 在公园 与太阳一起跳舞 再度从 我俩所分享的喜悦 的风暴中出走 XXIX 你的笔记本被冲到岸边 但它已不再是 天堂第一层 的最终修改 爱在那儿 梦见了美 以她所有的语言说 世界的作品乃是和平 XXXI 我悲痛于 死者的混乱,弄污的化妆 割断的喉咙 在句子中途 我忏悔,为无节制的 虚无主义怪物 因为我从屠杀中来 我即是这屠杀 XXXIII 我一直醉心于 柿子树 它需要许多年 才结出果实 哪怕你从心的 永恒之圆中 擦掉了痛苦的自我意识 的歇斯底里般快感 XXXIV 我四面观看 到处是人道主义的灾难 它使我想起我永远 无法知道的某些事。 我桌上有个锡杯—— 你放在那儿,也许是留给我。 我拿它来盛 毁坏大地的无辜眼泪。 XXXVIII 你经常与我谈论 呼吸的空间 那比财富更丰盛 于是我在那儿寻找你—— 希望见到、触摸并听到 一切新生之物 它们如诗 阅后即无处可寻 XXXIX 我在水晶的关口 等待你 鲜花呼唤着 它们的吉普赛情人 单调地接受 关于情绪的赞美 与拥有两只脚 一样可笑。 LVI 天使们,我的诗 从不沉睡—— 它守望着星球 如墓园 守望着音乐, 如丧失守望着战争, 如失败 守望活着的人。 LXXI 家人抵达时, 镶金牙的抬棺者 关闭他的 助听器 它在蓝灰色雪的 光芒中流血 他当着众多维护和平的人 盖上她的尸体。 LXXIII 我们为何隐藏 我们的缺陷 如刽子手用尿做的墨水 填写精致的明信片? 记忆的急诊室里 戴闪亮黄色勋章的死者 坐在椅子上 让医生称量其手指。 LXXXV 如果有一百万个家庭 被沉痛的伤亡毁坏 只有一百个维持下来。 如果我是总统 我将把白宫漆成黑色—— 然后在墙上写下—— 他们镇压的成果 将被证明是虚幻。 XCVIII 没有悔恨,虽然 我希望写下女人的欢笑。 狂野的河的欢笑—— 我的一生, 沉浸在这欢笑中。 女人的欢笑—— 谁指望回答 这般精致的歌? XCIX 那些犯下 极端亵渎罪行的人 还在继续,他们满以为 什么也不会发生。 这就是为什么我们选择 从浆果鹃花丛中现身 我们愿意献出自己的生命 好让其他人活下来。 C 面对面, 精神处于神圣的真空, 我经历许多季节 我无尽的话语 向着无人述说—— 如轻轻的灰尘 落在你肩上 当你骑马经过朱庇特温泉。
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