《聆听》

 ——译自造翼者24室诗歌之第1室第1首《 Listening》

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我听着这超世界的声音如看着梦里的夜景
音流指向摩尼宝珠那里面写满光灿的真相

它是隐在我里面的永恒天籁我正聆听着它
须臾间意识穿过中脉长梯到达了神秘书房

那些叛逆之书被不懈的光流镌刻成为不朽
灰色细小的字句犹如流沙般被印在书页上

这些字句好似精美的刺绣连接幽灵和上帝
此时我仿佛在望远镜里看自己灵魂的故乡

一团永不开花的灵感环绕着我想寻找答案
但它却像一艘没有舵手的帆船漂转于波浪

我像豹子般俯身倾听竟至忘记了身体存在
寂寞的身体曲蹲着犹如被秋飔掠过的山岗

那些声音随着心跳引发出某种神奇的牵引
让我无章的思绪归拢指往璀璨星辰的方向

我倾听一个自宇宙洪荒时就被释放的声音
它那么空无纯粹竟至于我能直视它的游荡

透过时间之暗我看到宇宙游移不定的远景
原来宇宙万象和我身皆是光影编织的幻象

当我看向罗盘的指针时看到一支谦卑剑身
它屈服于一种力量如狂暴雨水被窨井拢挡

流动在地下颤动着的混凝土管道里的雨水
似在向上嘲笑我们已迷失自己回不了天堂

我穿过灌木丛去聆听一个你声音里的声音
灌丛在你门前是我聆听另一边声音的地方

此时在你的心灵深处文字竟变得如此笨拙
而光与音浑然合一充满了你身体内的道场

我只能聆听我内边的声音我知道它的来处
那个声音正在不可说无疆界的国度里闪光

那声音的大能金光闪闪用尽语言不能说尽
让它无为而治吧它能医灵与肉的一切创伤

附：英文原诗

http://www.wingmakers.com/poetrychamber1.html   

          Listening

I am listening for a sound beyond sound
that stalks the nightland of my dreams,
entering rooms of fossil-light
so ancient they are swarmed by truth.

I am listening for a sound beyond us
that travels the spine's
invisible ladder to the orphic library.
Where rebel books revel in the unremitting light.
Printed in gray, tiny words with quicksand depth
embroidered with such care they
render spirit a ghost, and God,
a telescope turned backwards upon itself
dreaming us awake.

Never-blooming thoughts surround me
like a regatta of crewless ships.
I listen leopard-like,
canting off the quarantine of bodies
sickened by the monsoon of still hearts.
There is certain magic
in the heartbeat which crowds the sound I seek,
but it is still underneath the beating I wish to go.
Underneath the sound of all things
huddled against the tracking dishes
that turn their heads to the sound of stars.

I am listening for a sound unwound,
so vacant it stares straight with the purity to peer
into the black madness of time
sowing visions that oscillate in our wombs
bearing radiant forms as the substrate of our form.

When I look to the compass needle
I see a blade of humility
bent to a force waylaid like wild rain
channeled in sewer pipes.
Running underground

in concrete canals that quiver,
laughing up at us as though we were lost
in the sky-world with no channel for our ride.

I am listening for a sound
in your voice,
past the scrub terrain of your door
where my ear is listening on the other side.
Beneath your heart where words go awkward
and light consumes the delicate construction of mingled lives.
I can only listen for the sound I know is there,
glittering in that unpronounceable, stateless state
quarried of limbs so innocent
they mend the flesh of hearts.