Επιμέλεια: Εύα Πετροπούλου Λιανού
For Helen Pletts
Our moon shines on the sea and on the ditches,
Shining on good people and poets alike.
Our moon is not insomnia,
Not a companion who doesn’t understand drinking,
Not the frost that never melts on the window,
Nor the jade disc of other people’s homeland.
The moon shines into the pine forest,
The moon surges from the Tianshan Mountain,
The moon stands alone before the empty golden goblet,
The moon seems small above towering mountain,
The moon illuminates the worn green collar of a returning traveller,
The moon ties to the tips of willow branches,
The moon curls up the pearl curtain like a hook,
The moon startles magpies into flight, the moon shifting shadows on walls,
Even the moon serves as a searchlight of the universe,
The moon gleams like a blade—none of these are our moon.
Our moon is a small seashell,
Walking step by step across the seven seas from the dark ocean floor.
As it walks, it sips on the sounds flowing through the light cables.
By the time it arrives at Cambridge,
A village floating over the river of flower fragrance,
And lands on the blue-painted wooden windowsill of the poetess,
It has already become a word cleansed of metaphor,
Smooth and transparent, like an ear,
Blushing in the morning light.
Mid-Autumn Festival, 17 September 2024, translated by Ma Yongbo
我们的月亮
赠海伦·普莱茨
我们的月亮照大海，也照沟渠
照好人，也照诗人
我们的月亮不是失眠
不是不解饮的伙伴
不是窗前永不融化的霜
也不是他人故乡的白玉盘
照进松林的月，涌出天山的月
独对空空的金樽的月
山高月小的月，照亮归人磨损的青青衣领的月
系在柳梢头的月，卷起珠帘如钩的月
惊飞乌鹊的月，花影移墙的月
甚至作为宇宙探照灯的月
刀光闪闪的月，都不是我们的月亮
我们的月亮是一只小小的贝壳
从漆黑的海底一步一步走过七海
一边走，一边吸吮着光缆里的声音
等它来到剑桥，一座漂浮在花香之河上的村庄
来到女诗人蓝油漆的木头窗台上
它已经成了一个洗净了隐喻的词语
光洁而透亮，像一只耳朵
在晨光中泛出红晕
