A LAST BIRTHDAY IN AUSTRALIA

在澳大利亚度过的最后一个生日

格林 菲利普斯

火车在静寂的夜晚呼啸

如此漫长的尖啸声

穿越城郊漆黑的屋顶

夜风中弥漫着浓浓的煤烟味

曾有多少个日日夜夜

魂牵梦绕着隆隆的蒸汽声

钢轨车轮的铿锵声。

机车锅炉喷出的呼啸声

捎来世界各地的消息

返乡的憧憬 胜利的痛楚

丛林火灾的预警 还有些

琐碎的消息 飘过幽深的森林

森林里凄冷的清晨雾气迷朦

伫立在火车上，凝视

缕缕蒸汽烟雾像羽绒一样

弥漫在峡谷树林中 徐徐上升

河上桥梁的逐级上升的高架

烟雾笼罩，森林里的道路上

牛群奔跑扬起的尘埃也变得潮湿

在内陆，火红的云彩追随着

在震颤的铁轨上发出咔嗒咔嗒

回声的车轮，奔驰在交汇处时就像

张开的牙齿，也像混合货物中的黑毛虫

吱吱地穿过mugla与油桉树，

就像用镰刀劈开了丛林。

热气蒸腾隐隐发着微光

机车好像昂起了车头牵引

车厢从石垒的斜坡摇摇

晃晃地滑下，费力地运行在茫茫

的几公里沙原高地上

直到夜幕降临 隐约可见的灯光

预示城镇快要到了

我还记得四岁那年，我站在

砾石垒起的站台上翘望火车的情景

圆形的灯照亮时 我变得勇敢起来

而火车炉膛燃烧时释放的热气

又让我必须躲避灼热的蒸汽。

当时让我握紧手的那个人

如今躺在医院冰凉的床单上

弯弯的输液管嘶嘶地向他的面罩

下输液，就像夜车也要休息一样

他的鼾声渐渐平息，阒无一声

乘客纷纷匆匆离去。一切

都停滞关闭，行李也一定搬走了

问候成了别离，一排敞车停下

盖上了布单 我们只好面对黑夜的孤寂

清晨火车的尖啸声

打破了平静

梦似乎醒了 煤烟弥漫的旅程

又要开始

1998/6

                   巢利斌 译

A LAST BIRTHDAY IN AUSTRALIA

(XXXIst birthday poem)

a train shrilled in the evening’s quiet.

So long since I had heard

over the dark suburban roofs

the shuffle of a steam train. Or caught

the whiff of coal smoke thickly

on the wind’s night scents.

Yet in far off days of my growing up

Trains had haunted many a dream

with thunder of steam and steel.

Born of the furnace boiler,

whistles of trains brought world news

of wanted homecomings,

pangs of victory, bushfire warnings

and lesser messages hauled through

deep forests, where white mists

had hung all chill morning.

From standing trains too,

matching vapour fumes would plume up

among valley trees then settle slowly,

darken stepped trestles of a river bridge,

dampen dust of driven cattle on forest roads.

Inland, where grinding red clouds

followed echoing clack of steel wheels

over juggling rails, that moved at the joints

like loose teeth, maybe a dark

caterpillar of a mixed goods

muttered through mugla and mallee,

parting the bush in curving swathes.

Later, as heat haze shimmered,

the locomotive might seem

to hunch itself ahead of its trucks,

rocking down declivities of stone,

toiling up miles of sandplain rise.

Until, after dusk, a few lights winking ahead

told of some straggle of a country town.

I remember, as a four-year-old,

how I stood on that graveled platform

awaiting such a train. Brave at first

when the Cyclops light grew out of dark.

But had to turn away from sting of steam

as the wild rush of the fire-box glowed past.

That man who then had let me hold

his hand lies prone now

on cool hospital sheets. The long

curved tube hisses quietly into his mask

like that night train which also came to rest.

And as his snoring breaths slow to nothing,

nothing at all, the living passengers

move busily about. Everything

is closed down, switched off. Luggage

must be lifted. What were greetings

become farewells. Something like

a rake of trucks has halted

under the draped sheets. We turn

and face the night.

Later, a train did shrill

in early morning’s quiet.

But it seemed dreaming was done.

All those coal-smoke

Journey must have happened

in another life.

                 Glen Phillips

                    July 1998

A LAST BIRTHDAY IN AUSTRALIA

在澳大利亚度过的最后一个生日

格林 菲利普斯

火车在静寂的夜晚呼啸

如此漫长的尖啸声

穿越城郊漆黑的屋顶

夜风中弥漫着浓浓的煤烟味

曾有多少个日日夜夜

魂牵梦绕着隆隆的蒸汽声

钢轨车轮的铿锵声。

机车锅炉喷出的呼啸声

捎来世界各地的消息

返乡的憧憬 胜利的痛楚

丛林火灾的预警 还有些

琐碎的消息 飘过幽深的森林

森林里凄冷的清晨雾气迷朦

伫立在火车上，凝视

缕缕蒸汽烟雾像羽绒一样

弥漫在峡谷树林中 徐徐上升

河上桥梁的逐级上升的高架

烟雾笼罩，森林里的道路上

牛群奔跑扬起的尘埃也变得潮湿

在内陆，火红的云彩追随着

在震颤的铁轨上发出咔嗒咔嗒

回声的车轮，奔驰在交汇处时就像

张开的牙齿，也像混合货物中的黑毛虫

吱吱地穿过mugla与油桉树，

就像用镰刀劈开了丛林。

热气蒸腾隐隐发着微光

机车好像昂起了车头牵引

车厢从石垒的斜坡摇摇

晃晃地滑下，费力地运行在茫茫

的几公里沙原高地上

直到夜幕降临 隐约可见的灯光

预示城镇快要到了

我还记得四岁那年，我站在

砾石垒起的站台上翘望火车的情景

圆形的灯照亮时 我变得勇敢起来

而火车炉膛燃烧时释放的热气

又让我必须躲避灼热的蒸汽。

当时让我握紧手的那个人

如今躺在医院冰凉的床单上

弯弯的输液管嘶嘶地向他的面罩

下输液，就像夜车也要休息一样

他的鼾声渐渐平息，阒无一声

乘客纷纷匆匆离去。一切

都停滞关闭，行李也一定搬走了

问候成了别离，一排敞车停下

盖上了布单 我们只好面对黑夜的孤寂

清晨火车的尖啸声

打破了平静

梦似乎醒了 煤烟弥漫的旅程

又要开始

1998/6

                   巢利斌 译

A LAST BIRTHDAY IN AUSTRALIA

(XXXIst birthday poem)

a train shrilled in the evening’s quiet.

So long since I had heard

over the dark suburban roofs

the shuffle of a steam train. Or caught

the whiff of coal smoke thickly

on the wind’s night scents.

Yet in far off days of my growing up

Trains had haunted many a dream

with thunder of steam and steel.

Born of the furnace boiler,

whistles of trains brought world news

of wanted homecomings,

pangs of victory, bushfire warnings

and lesser messages hauled through

deep forests, where white mists

had hung all chill morning.

From standing trains too,

matching vapour fumes would plume up

among valley trees then settle slowly,

darken stepped trestles of a river bridge,

dampen dust of driven cattle on forest roads.

Inland, where grinding red clouds

followed echoing clack of steel wheels

over juggling rails, that moved at the joints

like loose teeth, maybe a dark

caterpillar of a mixed goods

muttered through mugla and mallee,

parting the bush in curving swathes.

Later, as heat haze shimmered,

the locomotive might seem

to hunch itself ahead of its trucks,

rocking down declivities of stone,

toiling up miles of sandplain rise.

Until, after dusk, a few lights winking ahead

told of some straggle of a country town.

I remember, as a four-year-old,

how I stood on that graveled platform

awaiting such a train. Brave at first

when the Cyclops light grew out of dark.

But had to turn away from sting of steam

as the wild rush of the fire-box glowed past.

That man who then had let me hold

his hand lies prone now

on cool hospital sheets. The long

curved tube hisses quietly into his mask

like that night train which also came to rest.

And as his snoring breaths slow to nothing,

nothing at all, the living passengers

move busily about. Everything

is closed down, switched off. Luggage

must be lifted. What were greetings

become farewells. Something like

a rake of trucks has halted

under the draped sheets. We turn

and face the night.

Later, a train did shrill

in early morning’s quiet.

But it seemed dreaming was done.

All those coal-smoke

Journey must have happened

in another life.

                 Glen Phillips

                    July 1998

A LAST BIRTHDAY IN AUSTRALIA

在澳大利亚度过的最后一个生日

格林 菲利普斯

火车在静寂的夜晚呼啸

如此漫长的尖啸声

穿越城郊漆黑的屋顶

夜风中弥漫着浓浓的煤烟味

曾有多少个日日夜夜

魂牵梦绕着隆隆的蒸汽声

钢轨车轮的铿锵声。

机车锅炉喷出的呼啸声

捎来世界各地的消息

返乡的憧憬 胜利的痛楚

丛林火灾的预警 还有些

琐碎的消息 飘过幽深的森林

森林里凄冷的清晨雾气迷朦

伫立在火车上，凝视

缕缕蒸汽烟雾像羽绒一样

弥漫在峡谷树林中 徐徐上升

河上桥梁的逐级上升的高架

烟雾笼罩，森林里的道路上

牛群奔跑扬起的尘埃也变得潮湿

在内陆，火红的云彩追随着

在震颤的铁轨上发出咔嗒咔嗒

回声的车轮，奔驰在交汇处时就像

张开的牙齿，也像混合货物中的黑毛虫

吱吱地穿过mugla与油桉树，

就像用镰刀劈开了丛林。

热气蒸腾隐隐发着微光

机车好像昂起了车头牵引

车厢从石垒的斜坡摇摇

晃晃地滑下，费力地运行在茫茫

的几公里沙原高地上

直到夜幕降临 隐约可见的灯光

预示城镇快要到了

我还记得四岁那年，我站在

砾石垒起的站台上翘望火车的情景

圆形的灯照亮时 我变得勇敢起来

而火车炉膛燃烧时释放的热气

又让我必须躲避灼热的蒸汽。

当时让我握紧手的那个人

如今躺在医院冰凉的床单上

弯弯的输液管嘶嘶地向他的面罩

下输液，就像夜车也要休息一样

他的鼾声渐渐平息，阒无一声

乘客纷纷匆匆离去。一切

都停滞关闭，行李也一定搬走了

问候成了别离，一排敞车停下

盖上了布单 我们只好面对黑夜的孤寂

清晨火车的尖啸声

打破了平静

梦似乎醒了 煤烟弥漫的旅程

又要开始

1998/6

                   果河子译

A LAST BIRTHDAY IN AUSTRALIA

(XXXIst birthday poem)

a train shrilled in the evening’s quiet.

So long since I had heard

over the dark suburban roofs

the shuffle of a steam train. Or caught

the whiff of coal smoke thickly

on the wind’s night scents.

Yet in far off days of my growing up

Trains had haunted many a dream

with thunder of steam and steel.

Born of the furnace boiler,

whistles of trains brought world news

of wanted homecomings,

pangs of victory, bushfire warnings

and lesser messages hauled through

deep forests, where white mists

had hung all chill morning.

From standing trains too,

matching vapour fumes would plume up

among valley trees then settle slowly,

darken stepped trestles of a river bridge,

dampen dust of driven cattle on forest roads.

Inland, where grinding red clouds

followed echoing clack of steel wheels

over juggling rails, that moved at the joints

like loose teeth, maybe a dark

caterpillar of a mixed goods

muttered through mugla and mallee,

parting the bush in curving swathes.

Later, as heat haze shimmered,

the locomotive might seem

to hunch itself ahead of its trucks,

rocking down declivities of stone,

toiling up miles of sandplain rise.

Until, after dusk, a few lights winking ahead

told of some straggle of a country town.

I remember, as a four-year-old,

how I stood on that graveled platform

awaiting such a train. Brave at first

when the Cyclops light grew out of dark.

But had to turn away from sting of steam

as the wild rush of the fire-box glowed past.

That man who then had let me hold

his hand lies prone now

on cool hospital sheets. The long

curved tube hisses quietly into his mask

like that night train which also came to rest.

And as his snoring breaths slow to nothing,

nothing at all, the living passengers

move busily about. Everything

is closed down, switched off. Luggage

must be lifted. What were greetings

become farewells. Something like

a rake of trucks has halted

under the draped sheets. We turn

and face the night.

Later, a train did shrill

in early morning’s quiet.

But it seemed dreaming was done.

All those coal-smoke

Journey must have happened

in another life.

                 Glen Phillips

                    July 1998