幽暗的馬路通往何處？

Where can this dark road lead?

迎面而來的人看不見面孔

Others approach, unseen faces,

只感覺到散發熱能的身軀

flesh yielding up its heat.

與我前進步伐一樣緩慢地通過

Like mine, their slow steps

在身後轉入了一道窄長的階梯

steer toward a long and narrow stairway.

從未停竭的戰火至今漫延

The ceaseless flames of war blaze on.

又有炮彈降落在什麼地區？

How many bombs hit which country?

這暗街也潛藏呼號，一次又一次

The street buries its own cries. Again and again

Bartók的弓弦敲擊街道

Bartók’s bowstrings strike the pavement

重覆又重覆，嘶叫轉為喘息

and whimpers choke to gasps.

大廈窗外一團白色像一個懸吊的人

Outside a high window, a pale form

細看只是一堆曬晾衣物

limp as a hanging corpse,

刺眼車燈駛過後不會再回來

but it’s just laundry. The lights of cars

dazzle past and don’t come back.

所有攝入眼中的事物都遷移過

我在另一個途人眼中也只出現一次

Whatever’s seen must move.

我左右擺動的手，前後往復的腳

The eyes of passersby behold me only once.

像四把高低不同的提琴

My hands swing left and right, one foot after the other,

至中途僅餘一把，獨奏出變異的音

four stringed instruments at different pitch.

有一道電流通過街道，通過我

Walking melds their notes.

沉重疼痛的頭，模糊視線稍稍對準焦點

Voltage spikes along the street,

便能看見一張Bartók的臉

pulsing at my swollen brain.

平視的雙眼望穿我身軀

When my head clears,

一直朝向更幽暗的後方

Bartók’s face appears,

his leveled gaze slicing

straight through my body

toward all that lies beyond,

its shadows and its gloom.