中國詩

亞當 札加耶夫斯基

我讀一首中國詩

寫於一千年前

作者談到整夜

下雨，雨點敲擊

他的船的竹篷

以及他內心終於

獲得的平靜

現在又是十一月

一個有濃霧的鉛灰色黃昏

這僅僅是巧合嗎？

另一個人正活著

這僅僅是偶然嗎？

詩人們都十分重視

獲獎和成功

但是一個秋天接著一個秋天

把葉子從那些驕傲的樹上撕走

如果有什麼剩下來

也只是他們詩中的雨聲的

低語，不悲不喜

唯有純粹是看不見的

而黃昏趁著光和影

把我們遺忘一會兒的時候

趕忙把神秘的事物移來移去

（黃燦然譯）

Chinese Poem

Adam Zagajewski

I read a Chinese poem

written a thousand years ago.

The author talks about the rain

that fell all night

on the bamboo roof of his boat

and the peace that finally

settled in his heart.

Is it just coincidence

that it’s November again, with fog

and a leaden twilight?

Is it just chance

that someone else is living?

poets attach great importance

to prizes and success

but autumn after autumn

tears leaves from the proud trees

and if anything remains

it’s only the soft murmur of the rain

in poems

neither happy nor sad.

Only purity can’t be seen,

and evening, when both light and shadow

forget us for a moment,

busily shuffling mysteries.