Verdi

East is a huge camellia, the snow you walk in,
the red jacket flaps like her lips opening.
You approach where she breathes, then turn
and descend the cliff of her jaws, sliding like a sampan.

Before you, the wind, the water, everything flows
without color. You continue to walk, so small, leaden,
like a bullet of an unfired gun, a murder
without blood, an empty word, a preposition, a particle.

Adjectives have failed, you look for the verb
unconsummated, but it doesn’t drift or vibrate—
just proceeds little by little, soundless,
but heavy like inhaling— death turns

its camellia face, an eagle struggling on petaled wings 
greedy for a new life. People watch, and sigh.
Only you have gone there, and returned to tell me:
it’s so white, bring along a flowering dress.

(Translated by Ming Di and Tony Barnstone)
 

威尔第

东方一朵巨大的茶花。你在雪地走，
红色风雪衣，如她的嘴唇，在开合，
你走近呼吸处，又返身，走向
她下颚的悬崖，你走下去，轻如舢板，

前面是风，是水，是冰，是一切没有光色
的流动，你继续走，那么细微，那么弱，
是虚晃一枪的子弹，是杀人
不见血的潜台词，是虚词，是介词，

是一切形容词都失败了，你还在找那个
没有使用过的动词，它不飘动，不振动，
只是一点点移动，悄无声息，
又如呼吸一样笨重——死亡翻过身来——

茶花的脸，苍鹰一样高远，缓慢地飞，
如恋恋不忘一次贪生。很多人翘望，叹息，
只有你走过去，并回来告诉我，
那里很白，去时多带一件花衣。