Liszt

After pas­tur­ing the sheep, he rush­es to the noo­dle shop
in town. The female boss hands over an opi­um pipe
like a bam­boo chop­stick or a West­ern flute.
Instant­ly, a beam of misty light suf­fus­es— “Moon­light before my bed”,
like her dou­ble white­ness, her moist warmth, her mercury
hiss­ing through time, and ah! that pair, that row of buttons.
Her exot­ic coun­try fra­grance as sen­su­al as the homemade.
“Li Po, Li Po!”  Her sweet show­ers, things in flight,
cin­na­mon flow­ers on the hill’s bel­ly, from the low delta up, spilling.
“Dou­ble Dou­ble” is her nick­name, her moons eclipse him
in inti­ma­cy or war, com­fort­able togeth­er as a pair of bandits
they go thou­sands of miles, from the heights of anxiety
slid­ing down to a string of bass notes. After­wards they run away like refugees,
her face main­tain­ing an expres­sion like a nanny’s apology.
What actu­al­ly hap­pened? His­to­ry flows like rhythms of amnesia.

(Trans­lat­ed by Ming Di and Tony Barnstone)

李斯特

放完羊，他疾步赶到镇上的面馆。老板娘
递过来的烟具，仿佛竹筷，或西洋笛，
顷刻间，光雾弥漫于睡眼间——榻前明月光，
疑是炕头白晃晃，那温润，那水银
般的哗啦时光，啊一双，扣一排，
异乡的异香，流放于不逊色的仙境故乡，
“李白，李白！”高扬的季节，
坡地上的桂花，从低凹处向外，四散。
霜霜是她的乳名，与他胜负难分日食月蚀
亲密或战争，舒坦得像一对山贼，
欲穷千里从一个个焦虑的高度
滑下一串低音，事后像一个潜逃而去的难民，
脸上保持一种表情，犹如保姆的歉意。
历史善解人意，地点始终暧昧于抑扬之间。