当我还是个孩子 | 阿米亥

当我还是个孩子

海滨矗立着青草和桅杆,

每当我躺在那里

我就想，它们全都一样

因为它们全都伸向我头上的天空。

只有母亲的话陪伴着我

像三明治裹在沙沙作响的蜡纸里，

我不知道什么时候父亲会回来

因为空地上已长出另一片林子。

一切都伸出了手，

公牛用它的角尖挑破了太阳，

在夜里，街上的光亮爱抚着

我的脸颊，也爱抚着墙壁，

月亮，如同一只倾洒的大水罐，

浸润了我焦渴的睡眠。

When I was a Child

Grasses and masts stood at the seashore,

and as I lay there

I thought they were all the same

because all of them rose into the sky above me.

Only my mother’s words went with me

like a sandwich wrapped in rustling waxpaper,

and I didn’t know when my father would come back

because there was another forest beyond the clearing.

Everything stretched out a hand,

a bull gored the sun with its horns,

and in the nights the light of the streets caressed

my cheeks along with the walls,

and the moon, like a large pitcher, leaned over

and watered my thirsty sleep.

阿米亥 (以色列)