他度日她的如年

我們辨認植物，在很近的山裡。
雪茄草和筆筒樹，漂浮的鳥鳴
和低降的湖。路是方形的，
我們也戴鬆軟的帽，遮堅硬
的陽。
空白的紙筆在樹群推擠的時候，
昇華成為一種，綠色。
花草的名字在閃爍，
隨著我們攀爬的高度，熄滅。
「聞聞看，」他說。
撕開的葉片裡，一隻眼瞳
燃燒，燃燒我們連綿的飢餓。
在很近的山裡，
我們辨認植物，並且儘可能地
食用。山的高度也方形。

‧In the Mountains Near at Hand‧

We identify the plants, in the mountains near at hand.
The cigar grass and the pencil-box tree, the airy songs of the
birds and
sinking lake. The road is quadrangular,
we also sport our floppy hats, to ward off the hard
sun.
When the empty pen and paper squeeze their way among the
trees,
the sublime becomes a kind, green.
The names of all the flowers and grassy plants begin to glimmer,
but as we climb are soon snuffed out.
“Sniff and see,” he says.
In a torn leaf a single pupil
burns, burning our interminable hunger.
In the mountains near at hand,
we identify the plants, moreover eat as many as we
can. The mountain heights are quadrangular too.

　　　　　　　　　　　 --Translated by Steve Bradbury (柏艾格)
　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　

【刊登於THE CHINESE PEN (當代台灣文學選譯) 2006夏季號】