《马克·罗斯科和我》两首
【韩】韩江? ? 陈子弘? 译
马克·罗斯科和我
——死于二月
没什么必要先申明，
马克·罗斯科与我没任何关系。
他于1903年9月25日出生，
1970年2月25日去世
我于1970年11月27日出生
仍然还活着。
就是说
有时我会想起他死与我生
之间间隔的 9 个月时间。
在那个清早
之后仅仅几天，在紧挨工作室的厨房里
他割开了双腕，
而我父母正身体交缠，
过不了多久，一小点生命
必定在温暖子宫中安顿。
而晚冬的纽约墓地
他的尸体必然还没腐败。
那并不算神奇，
那是个凄凉。
我必定若一粒尘埃
心脏其实尚没跳动，
对语言一无所知，
对光一无所知，
对泪水一无所知，
安顿在嫩红子宫中。
在死与生之间，
割裂的2月份
无止息，
无止息最终弥合，
雪半化愈发冰冷的土下
他的手一定也还没有腐坏。
马克·罗斯科和我2
如果你割裂一个人的灵魂
并揭示其内在，就会像这样。
故此
散发着血腥味。
在永恒的颜料敷设中，
不再用笔刷，用海绵涂画，
安静地红，
灵魂的血腥味。
就这样停下。
记忆，
预兆，
指南针，
还有虑及
我甚至我，
在泄漏的东西
在四溢的东西
像明显的波涛
涌入我微血管，
你的血。
黑暗与光明
之间。
深渊般的夜晚
没有任何声音或光线
可染尘嚣，
黄昏漫无止息
在千年前
爆炸的星云边上，
向上弥漫的东西，
向上伸展的东西，
口中叼着血腥黑夜
飞升的东西
像一只鸟
正好穿过一片云
鼓之以雷霆
进入我微血管
你灵魂的血
Mark Rothko and I
—Death in February
?With nothing to declare in advance,
there is no relationship between Mark Rothko and me.
He was born September 25, 1903,
died February 25, 1970.
I was born November 27, 1970
and am still alive.
It's just that
sometimes I think of the nine months' time
separating my birth from his death.
Only a few days
after that early morning when he slashed both his wrists
in the kitchen attached to his studio,
my parents united their bodies
and soon after that a speck of life
must have lodged inside the warm womb.
While in the late winter New York cemetery
his body must not yet have rotted.
That's not something wonderful,
it's something lonely.
I must have been lodged as a speck
whose heart had not yet begun to beat,
knowing nothing of language,
knowing nothing of light,
knowing nothing of tears,
inside a pink womb.
Between death and life,
a gap-like February
enduring,
enduring and finally healing,
In the half-melted, even colder ground
his hand must not yet have rotted, then.
Mark Rothko and I 2
If you split a person's soul
and reveal the inside, it will be like this.
Therefore
it's a smell of blood being given off.
Inside the eternally spreading paint
daubed on with a sponge instead of a brush,
quietly red,
the smell of a soul's blood.
It stops like this.
Memory,
premonition,
a compass,
and the fact
that I am I
Something seeping,
Something spreading,
like palpable waves
into my capillaries,
your blood.
Between darkness
and light.
A deep-sea night
untouched by any sound
or ray of light,
a long-lasting evening
beside a nebula
that exploded a thousand years ago.
Something permeating upward,
Something spreading upward,
Something rising holding bloody night
in its mouth
like a bird
that has just passed through a cloud
emitting thunderbolts
Into my capillaries
your soul's blood
Han Kang
English translated by Brother Anthony
and Eun-Gwi Chung
