Page 115 - AI WEIWEI CAHIERS D ART

城市
一切的路都朝向城市去。
从浓雾的深处，
那边，带着它所有的层次
和它所有的大的梯级
和一直到天上的
层次与梯级的运转，
朝向最高的层次，它梦似地出现着。
那边，
是些跳跃的，凭空跨过的
铁骨编成的桥梁;
是些为神怪的雕像所制御着的
墙垒和圆柱，
是些郊外的钟楼，
是些屋顶与屋顶的尖角——
像止住了的飞翔，在房屋之上，
这是感触底的城市，
站着在
土地与原野的边际。
赤红的光
煽动在
电杆和支柱之上，
就在午时，依然
像金色的可怕的鸡蛋般燃灼着，
辉耀的太阳瞧不见了:
那发光的嘴，已被
煤灰和黑烟蒙住。
却徒劳地在寻找着
应该暝目的静寂的时刻。
THE TOWN
All roads lead towards the town
From the depths of mists,
With all its levels travelling
As far as the sky, toward the highest levels, As if out of a dream, it exhumes itself.
Over there,
There are bridges muscled with iron, Launched, in leaps, across the air;
There are blocks and columns
That are adorned by Sphinxes and Gorgons; There are towers over suburbs;
There are the millions of roofs
Raising their right angles to the sky:
This is the sprawling town
Standing,
Where the plains and fields end.
The red brightnesses
That move
On posts and main-masts,
Even at noon, they burn still Like eggs of purple and of gold; The high sun cannot be seen: Mouth of light, sealed
By coal and smoke.
A river of naphtha and pitch
Beats against the stone moles and wooden pontoons; The raucous whistles of passing ships
Shriek with fear in the fog;
A green beacon is their gaze
Towards the ocean and open spaces.
Wharves ring with the shocks of heavy wagons;
Tip up trucks creak like hinges;
The scales of iron let drop cubes of shadow
And slide them suddenly into basements of fire; Bridges opening halfway,
Between the dense masts raised like dark gibbets And letters of copper inscribe the universe, Immensely, across
Roofs, walls, and cornices
Face to face, as in battle.
And further over there, pass horses and wheels, The trains speed, effort glides
To the stations, raised, like immobile
Prows, mile upon mile, a pediment of gold.
Branches of rails descend underground
As in wells and craters
To reappear far off in clear skeins of lightning In the din and the dust.
This is the sprawling town.
The street – and its eddies like cables Knotted around the monuments – Flees and returns in long interlacing And its inextricable crowds
With crazed hands, feverish steps
Hate in the eyes,
Snap up and bite time, which outpaces them. At dawn, in the evening, at night
In haste, tumult, noise,
They scatter to chance the bitter seed
Of their toil that the hour takes away.
And the counters dreary and black
And the desks counterfeit and shady
And doors of the banks go slamming Windblown by insanity.
Along the river, a soft light
Murky and heavy like a burning rag,
From streetlamp to streetlamp recedes.
With streams of alcohol life is fermented.
Bars open onto the pavement
Their tabernacles of mirrors
Where drunkenness and battle are reflected;
A blind man leans against the wall
And sells light, in boxes for a penny;
Debauchery and theft couple together in their hole; A fog vast and reddish
Sometimes recedes to the sea and rolls up
And then it’s as if a huge cry is let out
Towards the sun and its brightness;
Palaces, bazaars, stations, markets,
Excite so much their monstrous turbulence
That the dying seek in vain the moment of silence They must find for their eyes to close.
Such it is, the day – yet, when the evenings
Sculpt the firmament, with their ebony hammers, The distant town spreads and dominates the plain Like some nocturnal and colossal hope;
It looms up: desire, magnificence, obsession;
Its brightness projected in flashes to the heavens, Its myriad lamps in bushes of gold are kindled, Its rails are audacious pathways
Towards a deceptive bliss
Accompanied by force and fortune;
Its walls stand out like an army
And what still comes from it of fog and smoke Arrives in clear appeals towards the countryside.
This is the sprawling town,
The ardent octopus and ossuary And carcass of solemnity.
And the ways from here go on to infinity: Towards it.
Emile Verhaeren
The Hallucinated Lands, 1893.
Translation Will Stone
一道沥青与石油的河流
冲击着木的浮桥和石的长堤;
放肆的汽笛，从驶过的船只上
在浓雾里叫出了恐怖:
一盏绿色的警灯
是它们的
朝向海洋与空阔的瞻望。
那些码头在沉重的榻车的冲击里鸣响
着，
那些重载的车辆门钮似地轧轹着
那些铁的秤机堕下了黑暗的立体
又把它们滑进了燃火的地窑，
那些桥梁从中间打开着，
在那些竖立着灰暗的十字架的繁杂的
支柱
和那些记录着万物的铜字中间，
无边际地，跨越着
成千的屋顶，成千的檐角，
成千的墙垣，相对着，像在斗争似的。
在它的上面，马车过去，车轮闪着，
列车在驰，急疾地飞过，一直到车站，
停着成千
不动的机头，像一个金色辉煌的殿额。
那些错杂的铁轨
向隧道和喷烟的洞穴爬到地底去——
为的再出现在喧嚣与尘埃里的
明亮而闪光的铁路网上。
这是感触底的城市。
街道——和它那些像被电线 结住在纪念碑四周的激浪—— 长长地交织地消逝着，出现着， 而它的那不可计数的群众 ——狂乱的手，激动的步伐呀-—— 眼里储满着憎恶， 用牙齿在攫取那越过他们的时刻。 在黎明，在黄昏，夜间， 在哄乱与争吵里，或是在烦忧里， 他们朝向命运，掷出 那时间所带来的他们的劳作之辛酸的 种子。
而那些阴暗的忧郁的柜台
那些虚伪的不正的账房
那些打开着门的银行
就在他们的狂乱之风的吹打里。
外面，如烧着的敝衣，
一种混浊而赤红的光
闪闪反射地滞留着。
生活啊，已同着酒精的波涛发酵了。
那些小酒店在人行道旁打开着
它们的那些镜龛
映照着酩酊与争斗;
一个盲女靠着墙
卖着五个生丁一盒的火柴，
饕餮与饥饿在它们的巢穴里交合着，
而肉欲的苦闷之黑色的突击
在那些小弄里激越地跳踏着。
而色欲依然不绝地高涨着
而热狂呀变成骚动了:
人在磷光与金色的欢乐之搜求里
不相容地轧碎了，
女人们——苍白的宠妇呀
前进着，同着她们的头发之性的标记。
暗赭的煤色的大气呀
常常远着阳光伸向海，又撩起
于是像是从整个的哄乱
朝向光明掷去的巨大的叫喊:
广场呀，旅馆呀，商铺呀，市场呀，
这般强烈地叫嚣着激动着暴力
——而垂死者们
这般的白日——同样，当着夜
用它的深黑的锤，刻划着苍穹，
城市在远处展开着而且制伏了原野
有如一个深邃而又广阔的希冀，
它发长着:祈愿，荣华，烦愁，
它的光辉一直向天上升出余力，
它的金色丛簇的煤气灯闪射着，
它的铁轨是些
幸运与权力相伴着
朝向伪诈的幸福的大胆的道路，
它的那些墙壁像军队似地接连着
而从它那里还有迷雾浓烟
带着嘹亮的叫喊到达这些村野里来了。
这是感触的城市啊，
热烈的虔诚
和庄严的骸骨与骷髅啊。
而无数的道路从这里到无限地
朝向它去。
Translation Ai Qing
107