She said, “The lake is like an open book,
她说：“湖泊像一本翻开的书，
day like the steady gaze of a reader.”
白昼像一位读者恒久的凝视。”
I said, “The day is a book we open between us,
我说：“白昼是我们在彼此之间翻开的一本书，
the lake a sentence we read together
湖泊是我们在一起反复阅读的
over and over, our voices
一个句子，我们的声音
ghost, bread, and horizon.”
是鬼魂、面包和地平线。”
She said, “A spoken song in several voices
她说：“一首以多种声音唱起的
moving in and out of many rooms.”
在许多房间回旋飘荡的歌。”
I said, “The mind like a lake,
我说：“心思像一个湖泊，
and your voice a figure of the foam.”
而你的声音泡沫状。”
She said, “The book a voice, its pages
她说：“书像一个声音，每天晚上
burning in rooms birds foretell every evening.”
它的书页在鸟儿们预言的房间里燃烧。”
I said, “The lake keeps changing its mind,
我说：“湖泊持续地变化着它的心思，
undecided between
在八月末这个词
the word for the end of August
和葡萄成熟前夕的颜色之间
and the color just before grapes ripen.”
犹豫不决。”
She said, “The book summons the reader
她说：“书召唤读者来读
to read the laws of water, wind, fire, dust,
水、风、火、尘土的规律
and the destiny of voices.”
和声音的命数。”
I said, “Voices in a room by the lake,
我说：“一个临湖房间里的声音，
the lake itself an older voice, unutterable
湖泊本身就像是一个古老的声音，一种
law and companion
难以言传的规律，为彼此讲起
to a brother and sister telling
各自故事中丢失部分的
each other the missing parts
哥哥和姐姐的
of each other’s stories.”
一个伙伴。”
She said, “The lake is a book. Open the book
她说：“湖泊是一本书。翻开
and the book says:
这书说：
The world is full of people, but seldom
‘这世界满是人，但很少
is a person to be found.
有人被发现。
The world is full of light, yet who
这世界满是光，然而谁
has seen such a thing?
见过这东西？
The world is all dark, yet a hand finds its way
这世界全黑，然而一只手找到了抵达另一只手的
to other hands, a mouth its way to another mouth.”
途径，一张嘴发现了通往另一张嘴的路线。’”
I said, “The lake keeps changing its mind,
我说：“湖泊持续地变化着它的心思，
a book turning,
一本翻页的书，
now the shadows of clouds on the pages,
现在云影投在书页上，
now the shadows of pages on the waves.”
现在书页的影子投在水波上。”
She said, “Shadows of birds
她说：“落在这书上
and leaves blown in a wind
鸟儿的和风刮起的
have fallen on the book
树叶的影子，
birds and clouds and leaves in silent tumult
书页之中处于静默之骚乱状态的
among the pages.
鸟儿、云朵和树叶。
Day is a get, an illegible stone,
白昼是一道大门，一块难以辨识的石头，
a garden, a woman with a book open in her lap.
一座园子，一个膝上翻开着一本书的女人。
And the book says: Silver,
而这书说：‘银白的，
the women sing of their bodies and the men.
歌唱她们的身体和男人的女人。
Darker, the men sing of their ancestors and the women.
更暗的，歌唱他们的祖先和女人的男人。
Darkest is the children’s ambition
最为黑暗的是孩子们歌唱
to sing every circle wider.
一切更大的圈的抱负。
Dying, each sings at the edge of what he knows.
垂死的，每个在自己认知的边缘歌唱的人。
Inside us is the unknown, that chasm
未知的在我们心里，那唱歌的
singing makes visible by overleaping.”
裂口通过跳跃变得可见。’”
I said, “The lake is an unblinking glare,
我说：“湖泊是坚定的瞪视，
a single page turning in day’s fire.”
一张在白昼之火里翻动的书页。”
She said, “The page is shadowed by a reader’s face.”
她说：“这书页被一位读者的脸投影。”
I said, “The book turns in the clear fire
我说：“书在这读者凝视
of the readers’ gaze.
之明亮火焰里翻动。
The voices in the book arrive like waves.”
书中的声音波浪一般抵达。”
She said, “The waves arrive like the unfolding
她说：“波浪像我们白天展开的
sum of our days speaking.”
所有言谈一样抵达。”
I said, “The pages are traveling,
我说：“书页正在旅行，
the book is without horizon,
书没有地平线，
and over the form-flecked body of fire,
而在火焰汗迹斑斑的身体上面，
hands keep changing places with wings.
长翅膀的手持续地变换位置。
Therefore, a voice was first, the world comes after,
因此，一个声音首先传来，这世界随后赶到，
and the book comes last.
而书最后抵达。
Open the book and the book says:
翻开，这书说：
Ash and dew sing the founding notes
‘灰烬和露水歌唱那些关于世界、书籍、
of world, book, time, and body.
时间和身体的编撰中的笔记。
The page remains the place where we can hear them.”
这书页提示我们可以听到它们的地方。’”
She said, “Voices lie toppled, confused
她说：“撒谎的声音倒塌在这些翻开的
on the open pages, When the voices move,
书页上，困惑不解。当这些声音飘荡，
we hear who is who.
我们便听出谁是谁。
A wind blows, the book is open
一阵风吹起，这书便翻开
to a voice at evening
朝向一个在夜里问询的
asking, Are we many or one?
声音：‘我们是众多还是一个？
What do the past lives of the color blue have to do
对于字词的命运和愿望的未来，蓝
with the fate of words and the future of wishing?”
这颜色其过去的生活不得不做些什么？’”
I said, “The lake’s blue is the very memory of green.
我说：“湖泊的蓝正是绿的记忆。
The waves whiten as evening grows darker.”
夜晚愈发黑暗时，波浪变白。”
She said, “Time is a roasted egg, a sewing basket.
她说：“时间是一颗烤好的蛋，一只缝制中的篮子。
Time is the names of ships, a history of kite making.
时间是舟船的名字，一只制作中的风筝的历史。
Birds, turning in a flock, are a fleeting shape
变作一群的鸟儿，是时间震耳欲聋之声
of Time’s deafening voice.”
其转瞬即逝之形。”
I said, “The shadows of birds on a page
我说：“一张书页上鸟儿的影子
almost tell a story.”
简直是在讲述一则故事。”
She said, “My gaze clouds the page of your face.”
她说：“我的凝视荫翳你脸之书页。”
I said, “Even in this boundless space,
我说：“即便在这无边际的空间里，
if both of us turned our faces
假如我俩同时把脸
toward each other at the same time
转向彼此
our mouths would be separated by an interval
我们的嘴将被
a moth could not fly through without touching
一只蛾子不触及我俩谈话内容
both of what we said.”
便无法飞越的一个间隔分开。”
She said, “The lake, the first and last page of the day,
她说：“湖泊，白昼的首页和末页，
overwhelms every word written there.”
覆盖写在那儿的每一个字。”
I said, “So who was running down the steps
我说：“那么，曾是谁在雨中沿着
in front of the museum in the rain?
博物馆前的台阶奔跑？
Who woke up sitting in the window of a moving train?"
谁醒来坐在一列行驶的火车车窗内？”