Remembering Another Journey on the La Plata River Ferry
Wide as Lethe, this body of water can barely be called a river.

Those on the same ferry might not return together.

Heraclitus lamented before as did Confucius,

but the indisputable river claims its own precepts,

as a river is a tongue of the earth.

A few babies crawl in the cabin where the sun shines,

a city resembles a mottled dinosaur from a quick glance,

those standing at the stern appreciate the security.

The dead are named after rivers, one is left to stand on the shore

to watch, stomp to songs and bless with deep grief.

I think of the Yangtze, once a border river like La Plata,

between Zhenjiang and ancient Guazhou, in the consciousness

vast as a body of water, you converse with me

and contemplate, in an attempt to reach the other shore.

Then our lips become joined.



 

在拉普拉塔河渡船上对另一次旅行的回忆
这水域几乎不能称之为河，它宽得像忘河

一同渡河的人却不一定同归

赫拉克利特感叹过，孔子感叹过

但不容争辩的河流说着它自己的箴言

因为河流乃是大地的舌头

太阳照见船舱里几个爬来爬去的婴儿

城市在一瞥中像一个模糊光斑的恐龙

船尾的人感觉要站得稳些

河流被用来命名逝者，人就只能在岸上

目送、踏歌、深情缅邈地祝福

我想起长江，曾经是界河的另一条河

在镇江和古瓜州之间，在意识的同样

开阔的水域，你和我谈着话

沉思着，试探着将要抵达的对岸

我们的嘴唇贴在了一起