Poem
Yang Lian
BUTTERFLY—NABOKOV
These smallest most iridescent LolitasHeld a needling scream inside their mouths
The air a microscope looking over the deep hidden glimmering tiger’s teeth
You’re getting fatter accent still slow as snowflower
Holding high the weird collecting net, the streetlamp
To make the tryst in a specimen volume
Holding high the weird collecting net, the streetlamp
To make the tryst in a specimen volume
A microscopic passion is always pouncing on sketches of wings
Always twisted & broken left behind in an emptied room
Next to every poet is a Tamara, dancing flying
Like powder brushed off a daydream Uncle
A butterfly is sometimes more difficult to understand than a catastrophe
Your blissful shouting & high style is not so innocent
Turn the page the bullet heading straight for the father is locked in the air
And hatching to become the colorful textbook the same snow still falling
The dead in orbiting flutter around the pistil of youth
And the eyes in the photos staring on the longest moment
It’s sure not enough to fly to the age of sky
You must learn to be the pages of a book to molt the human skin
It’s sure not enough to fly to the age of sky
You must learn to be the pages of a book to molt the human skin
Then to recognize the exquisite cosmic explosion from a single egg
The past, a daisy that hugs you tightly
Tamara always carries trees lightly darker tremulously beating wings
The transmutation you cherish elegantly laid down in layers
Holding up the world in its mouth nailed on high by a needle
A tiger roars indifferent to deaf-mute memory
Holding up the world in its mouth nailed on high by a needle
A tiger roars indifferent to deaf-mute memory
© Translation: 2013, Joshua Weiner and Yang Lian
VLINDER – NABOKOV
deze kleinste betoverendste Lolita’shebben een naaldachtige schreeuw in hun mond
lucht microscoop staart van ver naar diep verborgen glinsterende tijgertanden
je wordt dikker je accent nog steeds langzaam als sneeuwvlokken
je houdt de straatlamp dat vreemde vangnet omhoog
gaat naar een afspraakje met een voorbeeldboek
een microscopische passie stort zich op schetsen van vleugels
altijd gebogen en gebroken achtergelaten in een leegverhuisde kamer
naast iedere dichter een luchtig fladderende Tamara
als door dagdroomoom afgeveegd poeder
een vlinder is soms nog moeilijker te begrijpen dan rampspoed
jouw vreugdekreet en stijl zijn niet onschuldig
omslaan de in de lucht opgesloten kogel die de vader doodde
wordt uitgebroed tot een kleurrijk leerboek de sneeuw blijft vallen
de doden draaien rond de stamper van de jeugd
en de ogen op de foto staren naar het langste moment
vliegen naar het einde van de hemel is niet genoeg
je moet boekpagina’s leren zijn de menselijke huid afleggen
pas dan herken je de verfijnde oerknal van een ei
het verleden is een madeliefje dat jou stevig omhelst
Tamara draagt altijd struiken een tikje donker zacht de vleugels slaand
de metamorfose die je koestert is elegant overlappend
houdt de wereld op met zijn mond hoog vastgemaakt met een naald
een tijger brult onverschillig voor de doofstomheid van de herinnering
© Vertaling: 2013, Silvia Marijnissen
蝴蝶——纳博科夫
这些最小 最绚丽的洛丽塔嘴里含着针一样的叫声
大气显微镜 远眺深藏起闪光的虎牙
你胖了 口音还慢得像雪花
擎着路灯那张古怪的采集网
赴一个标本册的幽会
显微的激情扑向总被搓碎的
翅膀的草图 留在搬空的房间里
每个诗人身边翩翩流浪的塔玛拉*
像白日梦舅舅掸下的粉末
一只蝴蝶有时比劫难更难懂
你 幸福的大叫和风格不是无辜的
翻动 锁在空中的射杀父亲的子弹
孵化成彩色课本 一场雪仍在下
死者们绕着青春的蕊
而照片上的眼睛盯视最长的一刹那
飞到天尽头一定不够
得学书页 蜕掉一张人皮
才认出一枚卵精致的大爆炸
往昔是朵搂紧你的雏菊
塔玛拉 总带着树丛 微黑 轻弹双翼
你珍爱的变形优雅叠加
叼起世界 用一根针钉住的高
虎啸 全不理睬记忆的聋哑
© 2013, Yang Lian
Poems
Poems of Yang Lian
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BUTTERFLY—NABOKOV
These smallest most iridescent LolitasHeld a needling scream inside their mouths
The air a microscope looking over the deep hidden glimmering tiger’s teeth
You’re getting fatter accent still slow as snowflower
Holding high the weird collecting net, the streetlamp
To make the tryst in a specimen volume
Holding high the weird collecting net, the streetlamp
To make the tryst in a specimen volume
A microscopic passion is always pouncing on sketches of wings
Always twisted & broken left behind in an emptied room
Next to every poet is a Tamara, dancing flying
Like powder brushed off a daydream Uncle
A butterfly is sometimes more difficult to understand than a catastrophe
Your blissful shouting & high style is not so innocent
Turn the page the bullet heading straight for the father is locked in the air
And hatching to become the colorful textbook the same snow still falling
The dead in orbiting flutter around the pistil of youth
And the eyes in the photos staring on the longest moment
It’s sure not enough to fly to the age of sky
You must learn to be the pages of a book to molt the human skin
It’s sure not enough to fly to the age of sky
You must learn to be the pages of a book to molt the human skin
Then to recognize the exquisite cosmic explosion from a single egg
The past, a daisy that hugs you tightly
Tamara always carries trees lightly darker tremulously beating wings
The transmutation you cherish elegantly laid down in layers
Holding up the world in its mouth nailed on high by a needle
A tiger roars indifferent to deaf-mute memory
Holding up the world in its mouth nailed on high by a needle
A tiger roars indifferent to deaf-mute memory
© 2013, Joshua Weiner and Yang Lian
BUTTERFLY—NABOKOV
These smallest most iridescent LolitasHeld a needling scream inside their mouths
The air a microscope looking over the deep hidden glimmering tiger’s teeth
You’re getting fatter accent still slow as snowflower
Holding high the weird collecting net, the streetlamp
To make the tryst in a specimen volume
Holding high the weird collecting net, the streetlamp
To make the tryst in a specimen volume
A microscopic passion is always pouncing on sketches of wings
Always twisted & broken left behind in an emptied room
Next to every poet is a Tamara, dancing flying
Like powder brushed off a daydream Uncle
A butterfly is sometimes more difficult to understand than a catastrophe
Your blissful shouting & high style is not so innocent
Turn the page the bullet heading straight for the father is locked in the air
And hatching to become the colorful textbook the same snow still falling
The dead in orbiting flutter around the pistil of youth
And the eyes in the photos staring on the longest moment
It’s sure not enough to fly to the age of sky
You must learn to be the pages of a book to molt the human skin
It’s sure not enough to fly to the age of sky
You must learn to be the pages of a book to molt the human skin
Then to recognize the exquisite cosmic explosion from a single egg
The past, a daisy that hugs you tightly
Tamara always carries trees lightly darker tremulously beating wings
The transmutation you cherish elegantly laid down in layers
Holding up the world in its mouth nailed on high by a needle
A tiger roars indifferent to deaf-mute memory
Holding up the world in its mouth nailed on high by a needle
A tiger roars indifferent to deaf-mute memory
© 2013, Joshua Weiner and Yang Lian
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