科利内作品
作者： 董继平钟的衣服
她是早晨的住地。她清晰得一如她无形，静谧得一如被遗忘的土地。
她的头发呈金黄色，她那光滑的窗户交换瞥视。
她身披醒目、迷人的颜色而出现，一篮子漂亮的露水，受到一支水晶长枪的保护。
门阶上，一丛灌木摇落他的勋章。
门打开，但那丛灌木永远犹豫：他认为自己没受到邀请。
那座房子轻轻地倒空，她让衣服发出叮当声，她的心沙沙作响：那晕眩的灌丛并不明白。这是一场很复杂的游戏。
那支玻璃长枪时不时独自说话，还砸碎某件小东西。
THE BELL'S DRESS
She's morning's residence. She's as clear as she is invisible，as tranquil as forgotten lands.
Her hair isgolden， her smooth windows exchange glances.
She appears in bold alluring colors， a pretty basket of dew，protected by a long crystal rifle.
On the doorstep， a bush shakes off his medals.
The door is open， but the bush hesitates forever： he doesn't seehe's invited.
Gently， the house empties， she jingles her dress， her heartrustles： the dazed bush doesn't understand. It's a very complicatedgame.
From time to time，the glass rifle speaks all alone and shatterssome small thing.
家庭生活
一位叔父抽着烟斗，吹出烟雾，知道吹向什么靶子。
一位修道院院长追踪狮子，建起一个纸板圆锥体。
年纪最大的孩子研究自己的肩关节。
一位母亲戴上硕大的顶针，拿起针，打呵欠。
一位邻居带来一场散落四周的号角的展览，讲述他从奥地利而来的旅程，饮酒。
一张桌子在寓所里幸灾乐祸。
一个孩子潜伏在房子里。
一座房子有上千个窗户。
恶劣天气在一个乡下人的斗篷中悸动。
FAMILY LIFE
An uncle smokes a pipe， blows smoke， knows his target.
An abbot traces a lion， builds a cardboard cone.
The oldest child studies his shoulder joint.
A mother puts on her huge thimble， picks up a needle， yawns.
A neighbor brings in a display of horns that just lies about， tellsof his journey from Austria， drinks.
A table gloats in quarters.
A child lies in ambush in a house.
A house has a thousand windows.
Heavy weather throbs in a countryman's cloak.
梅里塞特
那是关于什么的问题？总共就一丝头发的气息。
一棵树正在着火，一个池塘在生闷气，醋栗丛把一颗洒在女仆身上的露水抚哄入睡。
那是关于什么的问题？一根细线。紧实的小小身影，赤裸的梅里塞特。
MERISETTE
What was it a question of？A hair's breath， in all.
A tree was catching fire，a pond was sulking，a dew sprinkledmaid-servant was lulled to sleep by currant bushes.
What was it a question of？ A tiny line. Compact little figure，naked Merisette．
上学的日子
因为乡野手掌上有霜和一个裸体少女，星期四始终令人愉快。云朵的商人数点令人惊异的房子的宝石：一盏诱人的灯。
森林中的少女，身披火焰的短暂的雪少女，穿着一件离别的外衣。
白色树木倦怠，无精打采。
房子是一根原木，那个商人，强壮的约翰，如风。
SCHOOLDAYS
Thursday is always pleasant with frost and a naked girl on thecountry's palm.
The merchant of clouds counts the precious stones of the amazinghouse： an inviting lamp.
The girl in the forest，brief snow-maid dressed in fire，in aleaving-coat.
The white trees are listless.
The house is a log， the merchant， Stout John， like the wind.
蜡烛
一把迟钝的小勺子给了我那个食谱：在仙女的房子吃的长寿花汤。
一天晚上，它把我诱惑到它的雨衣下面。黑暗中，以它的中心为背景，发出一丝光亮。一片微弱的浅红色小火苗，四周环绕着一个蓝色光环。
那是她——从此我就明白了——那就是对我哼唱那个食谱的她。
唉！我喘息得如此厉害，以至于她死于我的喘息。
THE CANDLE
The soup with jonquils that's eaten at the fairies' house，a dulllittle spoon gave me the recipe.
One evening it lured me under its raincoat. In the dark，againstits heart，a little light was living.A weak little reddish flame，surrounded by a blue halo.
It's her-I've understood it ever since-she's who hummedme the recipe.
Alas！My gasp was so strong that she died from it.
云
当黎明的心开始跳动，高飞的小云就降临下来，在树丛中吃早餐。
在那些敲着大鼓、戴着面具的云后面，真正的云，寂静而纠缠在梦中，保持静默。它们是天空的记忆。
厌倦了在无路可行的天空上独自流浪，一片乌云前往森林，死在那里。
THE CLOUDS
When the dawn's heart begins to beat，the high little cloudscome down to breakfast in the trees.
Behind the masked clouds playing the big drum，
real clouds，still and caught in dreams，are hushed up.They are the sky'smemory.
Tired from wandering alone in the roadless sky，a dark cloud hasgone to die in the forest.