赞美空气 西蒙•阿米蒂奇

赞美空气

我赞美空气。记得五六岁时

一位魔术师打开我紧攥的拳头

于是我的手握住了整个天空。

从此我一直把它带在身边。

让空气成为主神，它的气体

和触摸，它的乳汁总是翘向

吮吸的双唇。蜻蜓与波音飞机

悬晃在它透明的虚无中……

在那堆杂乱的古玩中我留着

一只锁住空气的宝盒

在思想吸多了烟霾迷糊的日子里

或者当文明穿过大街

用一块白手绢捂着鼻子

还有汽车飞吻我们的唇时

我就用钥匙打开盒盖，深呼吸。

我的，每个人的，第一个词，是空气。

In Praise of Air

I write in praise of air. I was six or five

when a conjurer opened my knotted fist

and I held in my palm the whole of the sky.

I've carried it with me ever since.

Let air be a major god, its being

and touch, its breast-milk always tilted

to the lips. Both dragonfly and Boeing

dangle in its see-through nothingness…

Among the jumbled bric-a-brac I keep

a padlocked treasure-chest of empty space

and on days when thoughts are fuddled with smog

or civilization crosses the street

with a white handkerchief over its mouth

and cars blow kisses to our lips from theirs

I turn the key, throw back the lid, breathe deep.

My first word, everyone's first word, was air.