如今我接續的是，掉在空中，你們的笑聲
你們的笑聲。透過隱隱顫抖的網
如果丟過來的是一個比屋頂還大的球呢？
那會使你們突然憂鬱起來嗎？
一個像地球一樣的球，把沒有栓緊的島嶼，湖泊
（像鬆了螺絲釘的獨輪車）傾倒在你的臉上
那些紫黑的瘀傷是與山脈的碰撞
比鐵輪還堅硬的形而上的山脈
形而上的負擔，焦慮，形而上的美感……
而所謂美感，對於在空中顫抖的我
也許只是忍住噴嚏，忍住癢，繼續
把頭仰起來
同時輾過來的是所有大陸與次大陸的
笑話系統，河流般交織於你的體內
不大好笑的笑話：黑色幽默，白色恐怖
紅色的血液。紅色，因為你曾經為所愛的女子
臉紅心跳過（你自然更無法忘記因為嫉妒
因為憤怒，因為愛所引起的恨，引發的
鮮紅的血液……）而你只是一個走索者
一個行走於地球，又不甘心只是行走於地球的
走索者
如今我接續的是離去的馬戲團留下的
主題：時間，愛情，死亡，孤獨，信仰
夢。你就這樣把包裹攤開在滿屋子靜默的
觀眾前面嗎？哄堂大笑後突然嚴肅的時刻
你只是把地球的內臟掏出來，擦拭，重組
那些讓世界移動，讓陽光跳躍，讓雌性與
雄性動物達到高潮的零件……
他們甚至不知道你為什麼停在那裡
停在那裡（忍住噴嚏，忍住癢）
一隻沒有羽翼，原地翻筋斗的蝴蝶
所以你在空中顫抖。戰戰兢兢地在
懸空的繩索上構築玩笑的花園
戰戰兢兢地走過地球，撐起
浮生
以一支傾斜的竹竿
以一支虛構的筆
一九九五．三
——————————————————————————–
The Ropewalker
Now what I sustain is, floating in the air, your laughter,
your laughter, through the obscure quivering net.
What if a ball larger than a roof should be thrown over?
Would it drive you into sudden melancholy?
A ball like the earth, pouring onto your face the unfastened
islands and lakes ( just like a wheelbarrow with a loose screw).
Those black and blue bruises are the collisions with mountains,
the metaphysical mountain ranges harder than iron wheels,
the metaphysical burdens, anxiety, metaphysical aestheticism…
And the so-called aestheticism, to me, who tremble in the air,
is perhaps only a restraint from a sneeze, an itch, with
the head still up.
What runs over you at the same time is the joke system of
all continents and subcontinents, interwoven in your body like tributaries,
a joke not very funny: black humor, white terrorism,
red blood. Red, because you once blushed with your heart fluttering
for the beloved girl (of course you can’t forget the hatred and bright red blood
aroused by jealousy and fury…) But you’re simply a ropewalker
walking on the earth, yet discontented with only being a ropewalker
walking on the earth.
Now what I sustain are the subjects left behind by the
departed circus: time, love, death, loneliness, belief,
dreams. Will you thus unpack the parcel before a houseful of
silent audience? The moment of sudden solemnity after roaring laughter.
You simply pull out, wipe, rearrange the earth’s internal organs,
those spare parts that make the world move, sunshine leap,
the male and the female animals reach their orgasms…
They don’t even know why you stay there,
stay there (restrain from sneezing and itching),
a wingless butterfly turning a somersault where it is.
So you tremble in the air, cautiously constructing
a garden of jokes on the dangling rope,
cautiously walking across the earth, propping up
the floating life,
with a slanting bamboo cane,
with a fictitious pen.
1995. 3
