古寺——北島

古寺

消失的鐘聲

結(jié)成蛛網(wǎng)，在裂縫的柱子里

擴散成一圈圈年輪

沒有記憶，石頭

空蒙的山谷里傳播回聲的

石頭，沒有記憶

當小路繞開這里的時候

龍和怪鳥也飛走了

從房檐上帶走喑啞的鈴鐺

荒草一年一度

生長，那么漠然

不在乎它們屈從的主人

是僧侶的布鞋，還是風

石碑殘缺，上面的文字已經(jīng)磨損

仿佛只有在一場大火之中

才能辨認，也許

會隨著一道生者的目光

烏龜在泥土中復(fù)活

馱著沉重的秘密，爬出門檻

An Ancient Temple

The long ago songs of a bell

weaved this spider web; in the column's crevices,

grown outward, one sees annual rings there for the counting.

No memories are here; stones

that merely scattered the echoes in this mountain valley,

have no memories.

That little path, even, by-passed it;

its dragons and strange birds are gone.

They took with them the silent bells that hung from the eaves.

They took the unrecorded legends of the place, too.

The words on the walls are all worn clean and torn.

Maybe if it caught on fire

one could read the words on the inside.

See the annual growths of the wild grasses,

so indifferent.

They don't care if they submit to any master,

to the shoes of the old monks,

or to the winds, either.

Out front the sky is held up by a broken stone tablet.

Still, led by the gaze of some living person,

the tortoise may revive and

come out carrying his heavy secret,

crawl right out there on the temple's threshold.