Fan Jinghua: Night Song

　　　Night Song
Every dream bleeds secret hope in the dark,
And the night can become thicker than words.
The instant you stir under the blanket,
You turn to a flower that blooms and dies from any human eyes.
So many ephemeral lives!
Their insomnia fragrances blend and do not linger long,
For morning light will dissolve them like vampires.

Except for the cliff where day suddenly thrusts into night,
Time goes at its own pace, like the pouches on a trellis.
When there is wind, they all dangle with the same rhythm.
Very occasionally, a hummingbird or a fruit bat may come,
A few gourds will then touch each other or touch the vine;
And then far into the night they are still half-heartedly restoring
Their former balance, when there were no bruises.

Now, on the textured petals, your blood wriggles and stirs,
And words begin to sprout out between the lines in my memo pad;
I know their plainness will eclipse the slickest romances,
But a scene of starlight in a suburban yard or on a downtown balcony
Can always consume me like an enormous pump,
And then my lungs will shudder with unstoppable knee jerks.
Sour, sour is the cold electricity that glues to the heart-tips.

We cannot fly, not even with the help of electric words,
Not even after their meaning is drained into the pool between us,
For truth about loving desire is an impossible wing.
What we each carry and shamefully hide are but assorted feathers
Stuck to two truncated olive sprigs.
Even if the bird in your hand may not sing sweet as those in the bush,
Still, it is its fluttering that can tickle and scratch like love.

Wrapped in synthetic fabrics, you may sweat before midnight,
And you alone can still hope not to catch cold in the small hours
Of the chilly no man’s land where love and life retreat from their vestige.
Dewdrops are not more than I can bear, as I can sleep away
The early morning that smells of musk and soybean milk.
In the personal dark, flowers open from inside and bloom all the time,
But they have colors only when there is light.
　　　　　　　　　　　　　　September 6-9, 2008

　　　夜歌
每个梦都在黑暗中流着隐秘希望的血，
黑夜因此会比文字更加稠密。
当你在毯子下辗转反侧，
你就是一朵花，独自开放、暗中死亡，
无人看见，那么多的短暂生命！
它们失眠的香味彼此混合，仍不能久留，
晨光降临时，消散，如吸血鬼遇见阳光。

除了在白昼突然插入黑夜的悬崖上，
时间总是安步当车，犹如棚架上的小袋子，
以相同的节奏晃动在摇摆的风中。
偶尔有一只蜂鸟或者食果蝙蝠盘旋其间，
几只小葫芦就会彼此轻抚或者触碰藤蔓；
然后直到夜深，它们还在心不在焉地
恢复着从前没有一丝撞伤时的平衡。

那纹理清晰的花瓣上，你的血在蠕动，
字芽儿开始从我记事簿的线条之间钻出；
它们的朴实将令最浮华的言情小说黯然失色，
而无论是城郊小院还是市内阳台，那星光下的一夜
倾谈，总会令我难以自禁，犹如一支水泵插入心底；
肺叶随着那阀门翕张，带动膝盖的反射弹动。
那冷丝丝的电流，刻薄而酸涩，胶合着心尖。

我们无法飞翔，甚至电子的词语也无能为力，
即便它们的意义沥干，郁积在我们之间的池塘，
爱的欲望，其真相永远是不可能的翅膀。
我们各自携带的，我们羞耻地隐藏着，那不过是
杂乱的羽毛被胶液粘在两根截断的橄榄枝上。
即便你手中的那只小鸟不如树丛中的唱得甜美，
毕竟它会振翅，犹如爱情的暖意在你手中搔痒。

午夜之前，你可以在人造纤维的床褥中出汗，
而无论黎明前的世界多么空无，生命与爱情退出
其残迹，你依然能够在凌晨的寒意中独自回暖。
变冷的露水并非我最不能忍受的，我会在清晨
睡去，呼吸麝香与豆浆的味道入梦。
在个人的黑暗中，花朵从内部绽开，四季如春，
只是它们只有在光照下才有色彩。
　　　　　　　　　　　　　2008年9月14-16日