But­ter­flies fly to her and don’t know
their chro­mat­ic wings fas­ci­nate her,

they just fly, flood­ing her, like Spring,
irre­sistible. With the speed of wind

they rush over, arrest­ing her attention
and her love, they beat her eye­lids, the chambers

of her heart, they almost see her eyes,
her feel­ings, but they don’t know her hands

could catch and crush their fly­ing spirits.
They don’t know her obsession

could pin them into glo­ri­ous specimens.
They just fly, reck­less­ly fly, towards

her infat­u­at­ed eyes, like fly­ing to a funeral.
They don’t have return tick­ets, one-way flight

like gam­blers, death squads. They drop tear gas,
but she doesn’t blink, as hard­head­ed as them,

resist­ing their blind rush, the temp­ta­tion. She sees
beneath the beau­ti­ful wings the gross

meta­mor­pho­sis when they break the pupa, and sees
the secret of how they fly, her arms are stretched out,

ready— she will, with even more col­ors and knowing
she might end up on a pin, fly back to them.

(Trans­lat­ed by Ming Di and Tony Barnstone)
 

 

 

瓦格纳

蝴蝶向她飞来时,并不知道
色彩斑澜的翅膀会令她着迷

它们飞过来,铺天盖地,春天一样
势不可挡,以风的速度

扑过来,不假思索地劫持她的视线
和爱慕,它们扑向她的眼睛

和左心房,它们几乎看见了她
的眼睛和心思,但不知道她一伸手

就可以一把捏死正在飞翔的爱
它们不知道,她可以因为迷恋

而轻易地制作一个美丽的标本
它们只是飞,不顾一切地,飞

向她痴迷的眼睛,如同飞向葬礼
它们没有回程票,赌徒一样单向飞

以敢死队的迅猛,投下催泪弹
她不眨眼,而是以惊人的固执

抵制它们的偏执,诱惑,她已看清
漂亮的轻纱翅膀下,狰狞,丑陋

恐怖的破蛹,变态,也看清
它们飞起的秘密,手臂随时准备

伸展——她将以更迷人的颜色和
姿势,以标本的精神,向它们反扑

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