迄今，一个都没来过

【美】娜塔莎·奥拉多昆     陈子弘 译

说我们从没在路上相见，说我攀爬的绳子
在拽紧前从来没打好圈，说这些夜晚
我最后念及的不是不属于你的，说没有跑,
逃开或是背离，说这些全都是真的。

密歇根上空, 一颗流星陨落无踪,
像欲望一样冻结和燃烧，快得像
想念你时我的肚子，靠近了我。
我还没有学会区分快乐和恐惧--
都在黑暗中疾驰, 空间沉重的重量。

我不知道怎样跟你说。我不知道现在该怎么
说这一切, 我总是祈祷, 赞同这一世的末日
而不喜欢它的结果。

你知道还有更大的小行星
撞向我们的太阳系, 科学家说他们希望
能及时发现并疏散我们所有人, 假如那个真正危险的它
开始径直撞向地球的话？迄今, 一个都没来过。

                    世界倾覆不过如此，真的危险不过如此。

缺少一杆足够大的枪射向脱离轨道的异形
于是我开始飞行, 我未曾察觉仅有一次的逃离。
一位宣教士问我, 救主重临时我会在哪里？
但我想问一下, 你是否知道有小行星撞向
我们的太阳系？然则迄今一个都没来过？

噢，我对你归来信心全无——正是你让我
双目圆睁却措手不及。我的一生都在偏离，
对任何盘旋得太贴近去路的东西建立防御。
因为我还没有学会区分欣喜和欲望:
被拉平, 悬浮在我的肉身与某种天堂之间。

求求你，说这一切都是一个圈。

                                              说我也站在你的门前
敲门, 听另一边开锁的喀哒声, 虽然迄今一个人
都没来过。说这一切都是真的，说没办法了。

无语, 穿过黢黑、明亮和七零八落。

【诗人简介】娜塔莎·奥拉多昆（Natasha Oladokun） 是卡内姆洞穴基金会（成立于1996年，提供专门项目资助就读文艺学硕士和写作研习班的非裔美国诗人）2017年诗歌项目研究员, 当代美国诗人和作家，其作品已经发表在美国诗歌评论、 肯扬评论在线、昴宿星、哈佛评论在线等多个文学杂志及其网站。她是 StorySouth杂志的助理诗歌编辑，目前任霍林斯大学的客座教授，该校是她曾就读文艺学硕士的母校。

本译文及所附英文原文仅供个人研习、欣赏语言之用，谢绝任何转载及用于任何商业用途。本译文所涉法律后果均由本人承担。本人同意简书平台在接获有关著作权人的通知后，删除文章。

SO FAR, ONE ISN'T COMING

                     by Natasha Oladokun

Say we never met on any road at all. Say this rope I walk
isn't at all looping itself before the tug. Say these nights
my last thoughts are not of the not-of-you. Say there's no running,
away or in opposite directions. Say any of this is true.

Over Michigan, a meteor fell clean out of the sky,
frozen and burning like want, fast as my own stomach
at the thought of you, coming closer to me.
I am yet to learn the difference between pleasure and fear--
both streaks in the dark, the hard weight of space.

I don't know how to tell you this. I don't know how to say anything
to you now, praying always as I am for the end of this world
and not meaning a word of it.

You know there are much bigger asteroids
careening through our solar system, and scientists say they hope
they'll spot them in time to evacuate us all, if a truly dangerous one
starts heading straight to earth? But so far, one isn't coming.

                   So much for an apocalypse. So much for the truly dangerous.

In the absence of a gun big enough to shoot a foreign body
spinning out of orbit, I turn to flight, the only fight I've ever known.
A preacher asks me, Where will I be when our Savior returns?
and I want to ask, Do you know there are asteroids careening
through our solar system? And so far one isn't coming?

O me of little faith in your return—you who caught me off-guard
with both my eyes open. I have spent my life in deflection,
building defenses against anything circling too close on its path.
For I'm yet to learn the difference between rapture and desire:
to be caught up, suspended between my body and some kind of heaven.

So please. Say all of this is a circle.

                                                          Say I too am standing at your door
to knock, listening for a lock-click on the other side, though so far
one isn't coming. Say all of this is true. Say there's no other way of falling.

Silent, through the black, bright and scattered everywhere.