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Yang Xiaobin

 

 

  信件·面包·书签(三首)

 



  信件


  午餐之前,你听见信封里的叫喊。
  你把它打开:一封
  寄自本埠的情书,落款是
  小夜曲。

  你坚持把它封死。就象
  埋掉一只夜莺。你怕

  那首歌。你把它扔回邮筒
  直到第二天
  它又在你的信箱里呻吟

 



  面包


  你用梳子切开面包。那里
  有死者的发丝,娇嗔
  烤热的爱。

  面包越来越黑,碎屑
  越来越理不清:

  梳洗之前,你的脸已烧焦。
  难以下咽的五官
  带着美的饥饿。

 



  书签


  你打开一本尘封已久的书:
  一只手
  夹在书签的位置。

  它不愿意离开,它死死地
  抓住这个字
  一个句号。

  枯萎的手,书页上的化石
  等待另一只手的掌声

 

 

 

  Three Short Poems

 



  1. The Letter


  Before lunch, you heard a cry come from inside the envelope.
  You opened it: a
  love letter from across town, signed
  “Serenade.”

  You carefully resealed it, as though
  burying a nightingale.  Such pure music

  terrifies you.  You dropped it off at the post office
  but the next day
  you heard it in your mailbox again, weeping.

 



  2. Bread


  You sliced the loaf of bread with a comb,
  finding inside it hairs of the dead, a squeamish voice,
  and dry, warmed-over love.

  The bread turned darker and darker, its crumbs
  more and more seared and shriveled:

  Before you could wash and dress, your face too was burnt:
  your senses’ appetite for beauty
  had become too hard to swallow.

 



  3. The Bookmark


  You opened a long neglected book:
  A hand
  was inserted in place of a bookmark.

  Unwilling to let go, it held on tightly,
  grasping at characters,
  clinging to a period.

  That poor shrunken hand, a relic on the page,
  still waiting for another hand to clap with.

 



  (Translated by John Gery with Yang Xiaobin)

 

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