Fan Jinghua: The Ferry

　　The Ferry

As the night grows old, the names that lights leave behind,
one by one, turn gray and grow hairy and muffled.
Yesterday has been dragging along too far to listen for
the faint incantation from the reeds around the ferry.
River runs calm, but it shows its life by lapping the banks
where veiled roots are washed white.
He who has been conjuring the dream demon
is now too excited to be possessed.
Contrast eases the east.
The boatman pillowing on the windowsill of the hut
shouts to the first dawning light: do you need to cross the water?
The fog melts his voice away, and the figure in the midstream
raises one hand to the forehead. He does not know
whether it is summoning birds or beckoning his boat.
　　　　　　　　　　　　　　August 13-14, 2007

　　　　渡

当夜晚变得苍老，灯盏留下的名字
一个接一个地变灰、长毛、闷声。
昨夜从泥泞中拖着脚步而来，
到了渡口，却无心倾听芦苇中低微的咒语。
河水静静地流，然而它总要轻拍两岸，
将黑纱缠绕的芦苇根洗白，以显示自己的生命。
此刻，那个彻夜召唤梦魔的人
兴奋得难以被它附身。
对比度的低浅令东方变得平和。
船夫枕着小草屋的窗台，对着黎明中的第一道晨光
呼喊：你是不是需要渡水？
雾气将他的嗓音融化，而河流中央的那个影子
一手举过额头。他不知道
那是在招引鸟儿歇脚还是在呼渡。
　　　　　　　　　　2007年8月14日