Simon Shieh is the author of Master (Sarabande Books, 2023), chosen by Terrance Hayes for the Kathryn A. Morton Prize. His poems and essays are published in Poetry, American Poetry Review, Best New Poets, Guernica, and The Yale Review, among others, and have been recognized with a National Endowment for the Arts Literature fellowship and a Ruth Lilly and Dorothy Sargent Rosenberg Fellowship from the Poetry Foundation.
大师 (夜歌五首）Simon Shieh/谢施茂 著昨非/译
1
每天晚上，我们听他喜爱的歌曲。这是太平盛世时你想听的音乐。可你被要求在沙漠掘一个坟墓用来收纳同胞的骨头，如某种语言的字母你将永不能领悟。乐曲可能来自停着的一辆汽车，你被要求用黑色手电筒的尾部砸碎汽车玻璃。
2
没有手电筒，没有北极星。
我把脸涂成黑色，关掉灯，等候他的莅临。
他来了，带着一个女孩身着红色的蕾丝，他们在歌声中起舞。她太年轻了，不记得这支歌。
在我影子最黑暗的角落，他用一把上将宝剑的刀锋除去她的衣服。
她发出的噪音，如笛子被一场台风俘虏。
他一进来，就乞求在月下一睹她的样子。这时我睁开双目——
啊，鲜亮的四个新月。
3
地球不会犯错。
汽车前灯里，一只小鹿的身影投向树林。
他说，我们的身体要有可塑性，一如流水。
那时的我，多么愚钝。
当他在暗夜游水，太平洋如千万张丝绸的毯子起伏。
他推开波澜，努力前进。
他在寻找什么？
我的肺里灌满海水，唱着自己也不懂的歌。
我在潮水退去的地方洗浴，希望他能找到我。
4
他走进屋子，拿着三幅肖像，全都是男人。音响里一个女人在哀求一个男人的原谅，乐音，让地板颤动。黑暗中，他将人像在地板上挨个摆开，然后用刀尖挖去他们的眼睛。可每一次眼珠子重现——眼白越来越亮。愤怒中他举剑穿刺音箱，女人的歌声越发疯狂，越加清亮。
5
在我面前，他点燃桌子上的蜡烛。三天了，我没有离开房间，厌恶自己的身体，黑色的胫骨，肿胀的右目紧闭。这里没有窗子，也没有天空。令我懊恼的是，他把月亮藏在一只长耳兔的阴影中，它的眼里是深不可测的陨石坑。当我恳请他展示夜空，他用剑把夜的身子劈得粉碎，夜的内脏摊开在木桌上。
它黑色的血，在烛火中闪耀，它的身子，问了一千个迫切的问题。
MASTER (FIVE NOCTURNES)
No. I
Every night we listento his favorite songs.The kind of music youwant to hear when your countryis at peace, but you’re told to diga grave in the desert sandanyway, to gather the bonesof your countrymenlike the alphabet of a languageyou will never understand.The kind of musicthat might come from a parkedcar whose window you are toldto shatter with the buttof a black flashlight.
No. II
No flashlight. No north star.
I paint myself black and wait for himwith the lights off.
He enters with a girl dressedin red lace. They dance to a songshe is too young to remember.
In the darkest corner of my shadowhe undresses herwith the tip of an admiral’s sword.
The noiseshe makes, like a flutecaught in a typhoon.
As he comes, he begs to see herin the moonlight, so I open my eyes—
four brightcrescent moons.
No. III
The earth makes no mistakes.
Caught in the headlights, a deer’s shadowbolts for the woods.
He says our bodies must bemalleable, like water.
I was foolish then.
When he swam through it late at night, the surface of the Pacific was like hudreds of silk blankets.He stripped them awayfrantically
looking for something.
I filled my lungs with water, sangsongs I did not understand.
I bathed in the low tide, hopinghe would find me.
No. IV
He walks into his house carryingthree portraits, all men. On the stereoa woman begs a man’s forgivenessto a beat that makes the floors tremble.In the pitch black, he lays the photoson the floor next to each other,scratches each man’seyes outwith a knife, but each time theyreappear— the whites of their eyesgrowing brighter and brighter. Furious,he puts his knife through the stereobut the woman’s voice only growslouder, more desperate.
No. V
He lights a candle on the table in front of me.Sickened by my own body, I have not left this roomin three days. Black shins, right eyeswollen shut. In here, no windows, no sky.To spite me, he hid the moonin the shadow of a jackrabbit, the deepest cratersin its eyes. When I beg him to show me the nightsky, he slices its body open in front of me, spillsits insides onto the wooden table.
Dark blood glistens in the candlelight.The body asks a thousand burning questions.
[诗人简介]
Simon Shieh, 当代美国诗人，今年九月刚刚推出诗集《大师》（Master）, Sarabande Books出版社发行。该诗集由Terrance Hayes 举荐，曾获得2022年度Kathryn A. Morton诗歌奖。其作品还散见于各种刊物，如《诗刊》（Poetry）, 《美国诗歌评论》（American Poetry Review）, 《诗坛新秀》（Best New Poets）, 《格尔尼卡》（Guernica）, 《耶鲁评论》（The Yale Review）等。曾获得国家艺术与文学基金会的奖励，并荣获诗歌基金会Ruth Lilly诗歌奖。