[加拿大]埃克作品

一个人的床

一个人的床。那时，那位少女的黑眼睛立即朝着世界睁开，她的黑发被枕头压平。她赤身裸体坐在床边，交叉着双臂抱着身子。外面，里面，风无休无止地吹拂。一个白夜。一根红色带子上的一个绿色大字母引起她的注意。她惊奇地离开，走进一个梦：一座蓝色的房子，一个年轻男子穿着裤衩等着她。那位少女注意到那男子的阳具。大地开始颤抖，一轮黄色的太阳出现在她上面。那位少女拉开画布，想看看那边究竟是什么。她幻想一场阴谋：人们宣布接管媒体。这座城市铺满了情书，孩子们坐在树上观看游行队列走过。每个人都在外面庆祝革命。

A BED FOR ONE

A bed for one.Then at once the girl's dark eyes open to the world， her black hair flattened by the pillow. She sits at the edge of the bed，naked，her arms crossed over her.Outside， inside，the wind blows without end.A white night.A large letter in green on a red band strikes her attention.She wonders off into a dream：a blue house， a young man in underpants waiting for her.The girl notices the man’s penis. The earth begins to tremble. A green moon， a yellow sun above her.The girl draws the canvas to see what lies beyond. She imagines a conspiracy：people announcing their take-over of the media. The city is decked with love letters，children sitting in trees watch the parade go by.Everyone is out celebrating the revolution.

靠近她

1快乐时而变得强烈，躯体无法忍受被触摸。一只蜜蜂在我翻开的书本上盘旋，我没有移动。从头到脚的快乐。一个女孩把手指抚过她的头发，她的躯体在这一刻里滑动。

这就是我的秘密，我的安息日，那将唤起一种美好的疯狂的事件。一位助产士脱掉我的衣服。我说我害怕，我的躯体即将崩溃。她大笑起来，呷了一口绿茶。她打开我的肚腹，拉出一块块部件，把它们聚集起来。到了早晨，她把一个精神的小环放在我的耳朵里面，那个小环在我的体内嗡嗡作响。

2她把我的形态和躯体、飞翔和欢乐的批评给了我。

她：庆祝父亲离开的每日欢宴。她怎样应付那疯狂的父亲呢。她使用她的心，仿佛她的心就是大卫的石头①。

我发现鲜血从她那美丽的大腿上滴下来：谁能说那能让不可能的事情发生的事情呢。

诗歌与革命穿过女人而来。

3一只真理的公羊用脑袋上的头角冲撞世界，发出爱情的呐喊。这个脑袋在我的壁画上开启海洋，把我归还绐大地的气息，给予我女人的力量。

我想给我的女人命名，给她留在我内心的痕迹命名。给她命名，说她的肉体怎样发光发热，她怎样给我她的哭泣、笑语和黄金。这很好。她给了我一切，她给了我虚无。这黄金，还有这虚无，让我感到幸福。她那活跃的血流遍我的灵与肉。我从不会抓住她，当她开启自我的空间，她就仅仅把笑容送给我。

她的皮肤呼吸，她的嗓音就如精美的网眼——她给我最初的诗歌发辫命名。我生活在她的歌声和旋律中。

4讲述她的歌。她在那里的气息与活力。她那教我写作的文字怎样歌唱的嗓音。聆听她歌唱多么愉快。我跟随并成为她的气息：我悬挂在她的五线谱上。我的音符属于她。她的音乐无处不在，她弥补童年的形象——她不让权威人物进来，她对着纪律做鬼脸，决不屈服。

我知道我的嘴唇上的语言绝不会是任何东西，而只是这种音乐和一点诀窍。一种清白的“诗歌道德准则”，清晰地表达自己，与女人的嗓音和工人的手和谐一致。复活节的水。

5肢解生活：这就是父亲的法则。肢解我们都需要的父亲，是女人的躯体和诗人写作的文字。这就是那把父亲的法则烧成煤渣的歌。

一个男人慢慢走向爱情。他并没有立即辨认出女人的实质、诗歌的质地、本性的厚重。这就是他对其褶皱、运动和推力都知之甚少的大地。

注：①指古代犹太国王大卫年幼时用计击杀巨人的石头。

NEAR HER

1 Pleasure at times becomes so strong， the body cannot bear to be touched.A bee hovers above my open book， I do not move.Pleasure from head to toe.A girl runs her fingers through her hair，her body gliding inside this moment.

This is my secret， my sabbath， the event that will evoke afine madness.A midwife pulls off my clothes.I say I am frightened，my body is about to crumble. She laughs and takes a sip of green tea.She opens my stomach， pulls out the pieces and gathers them.By morning she has placed in my ear the ring of the spirit which humsinside the body.

2 She has given me my shape and body， flight and joyful criticism.

She： daily feast celebrating the Father’s departure. How does she cope with this Wild Father.She uses her heart as if it were David’s stone.

I found the blood dripping down her thighs beautiful： who can say what makes the impossible happen.

Poetry and the revolution come through women.

3 A ram of truth charges head first into the world，shouting its love cry. This head on my mural opens oceans，returns me to the breath of the earth and gives me the strength of women.

I want to name my woman，her traces m me. Name her， say how her flesh glows，how she gives me her cry，laughter and gold.This is good. She gives me everything，she gives me nothing.This gold，and this nothing make me happy.Her lively blood disseminated throughout my bodyspirit.I never catch her，she only sends me her smile as she opens the room of self.

Her skin breathes， her voice like a fine mesh - she gave my first poem-plaits their names. I live in her song and melody.

4 To speak her song. Her breath and energy there. Her voice teaching my writing how to sing. What pleasure to listen to her sing. I follow and become her breath：I hang on her stave. My notes belong to her. Her music is everywhere， she makes up images of childhood——she does not let the figures of authority come in， she makes faces atdiscipline and never gives in.

I know language on my lips will never be anything but this music and a little know-how. A poethics of innocence， expressing itself clearly， in tune with the voices of women and the hands of workers.An Easter water.

5 To dismember life： this is the law of the father.And to dismember the father all we need are the bodies of women and the writings of poets. This is the song that bums the law of the father to a cinder.

A man walks slowly towards love.He does not immediately recognize the substance of women，the texture of poetry，the thickness of nature.This is the earth whose folds，movements and thrust he knows little of.