Fan Jinghua: In the Office

　　　In the Office
Another usual afternoon, sunrays ooze down, growing
Impotent. A glass of fruit shake reminds me of the outside
Warmth and this moment of luxurious nothingness.
I am here, alone with all the authors, mostly dead,
And among the few alive, some friends remote as fish.

Trees erect defiantly, their leaves fingering the air
Like touching an invisible instrument. This music, so familiar,
Exists as echoes only, syncopated by Platonic sighs from caves.

Something precarious is brought out of me, yet still around,
Like a cloud, itchy, rubbing its back against the windowpane.
A seascape shimmers in distance. This is a beautiful office.
The dead authors, shelved, coerce the living who are dying
To make a standing in this wall of fame but lust for fresh life.

My arms propping on the desk and feet space-walking the floor,
A face between the splints of hands haunts the LCD widescreen,
As mermaids with hula skirts rustle by, outside, in the corridor.

As an email alert rises like a fish, I almost cry out:
Hi! Do not catch me here. I am absent in a space
I don’t know where. It is elsewhere, as you might know,
Where pure love is possible. Come to drown in my sound there,
Or when darkness falls, we make eyeless love a pair of bats or owls.
　　　　　　　　　　　　Feb. 5, 2009

　　　　在办公室

又一个寻常的下午，阳光从高处浓浓地涌下，
软塌塌的。桌子的左首，一杯水果奶昔
提醒我，外面很温暖，而此刻的虚无有点奢侈。
我一人在此，与众多的作者为伴，大多数都是死人，
为数不多的活人中，有几位是朋友，很遥远。

窗外，树示威般地挺着，叶子的手指在空气中弹动，
像演奏某件不可见的乐器。这音乐如此熟悉，
只存在于回音中，被洞穴里柏拉图式的叹息切分。

有一种危如累卵的东西，被这音乐带了出来，
没有消散，像一朵发痒的云，在玻璃窗上蹭来蹭去。
远处，大海闪烁碎光。这间办公室景色宽阔。
沿墙的书架上，活人被死人挟持着，他们拼死
也要插入这面名人墙，可我知道他们欲望生猛。

我的手臂墩在桌面上，双脚在桌下搓揉太空步，
一张被双手夹紧的脸从宽屏液晶桌面深处浮现，
仅穿着草裙的美人鱼从门外的走廊中飒飒地游过。

电邮提示像一条小鱼的尾巴扫出水面，我几乎喊出声来：
嗨，别！你别来这儿找我。我并不在此，我自己
也不知在何处。你或许也听说过，只有他处才可能有
生活。来吧，淹死在我的水域，或者，当夜幕降临，
我们化作一对蝙蝠或者猫头鹰，偷欢，不用眼睛，暗自幸福。
　　　　　　　　　　　2009年2月6日