Paganini

Flu season, viruses fly about like snow,
impossible to escape. The trick is to die fast,
needles only make it worse. Every four hours
I take allergy pills, the symptoms like specks of pollen
swirl around, stirring up my soul. Mother’s voice,
“Don’t listen, go to sleep.” But I’m obsessed.
The arrival is absurd, no turning back.
I’m allergic to sound, to color, only waves
in my dreams— I won’t fall in love with your red hair!
But you won’t go away, you whip my nerves fiercely.
Now only one string left, my fingers move in panic.
Meaning? Time as tempo? Theme? Melody? 
What are you suggesting? My body almost splits,
unable to overcome this drug’s side effects. I try to wake up.
What’s love? What’s fever? I don’t have the talent
to cut through ambiguities, desire is my only weapon—
life is endless at night, endless as the lights bouncing,
snowflakes beating, lips trembling, when the wind stops
the windmills spin, spelling out dramatic changes. Only
one thing steady: the approach of devils in windbreakers.

(Translated by Ming Di and Tony Barnstone)
 

帕格尼尼

流感季节，病毒，冰霄一样飞舞，
没能躲过。死亡的诀窍在于快速，
预防针只会加强力度。我每隔四小时
吞服一粒抗过敏药，病状还是花粉一样
旋转，惊心动魄。母亲的声音
“别听了，睡觉”，我还是如痴如迷。
难以置信的到来，不让你眨眼，反悔。
我对声音过敏，对色彩过敏，只有晃动
留在睡梦中——我不会爱上你一头红发！
你没有走开，而是死劲抽打我心脏。
我只剩下一根弦了，手指恐慌地移动，
意义呢，时间只是tempo？形式呢，
旋律呢，你在暗示什么？身体快分裂了
还是无法战胜药物的副作用。我拼命醒来，
痴与迷有巨大区别，但我不具有天赋
去分裂出歧义，欲望是我的武器——
那不勒斯夜晚，生，一望无际，灯火跳动，
冰霄跳动，嘴唇跳动，连风一停下来
就分化出的风俗，也在剧烈地变动，
只有魔鬼披着风衣朝我疾速，坚定不移。