50. 英诗汉译《橙树》

50. 橙树

作者：Janiru Liyanage
译者：黎历

我们邻居的橙树正盛放，
果实丰腴疯长，拳头般耀眼的金黄果实，
溢出篱笆，洒落在我们寂静的庭院，
在野草的低语间，甜蜜地腐烂，
滋养着迟迟未开的海葵，
全因我父亲选错了肥料，
pH值不对，矿物含量也不对。

他觉得，既然橙树的一半长在我们这边，
那果实也该有一半归我们，
尽管邻居的年龄比我们加起来还长，
而这棵树甚至比他更年长。

于是，星期天，我们聚在枝叶纠结的树下，
一颗又一颗地偷摘果实，
撕开果皮，将果瓣习惯性地塞进口中，
我父亲笑着——
他的牙齿参差不齐，斑驳黄染，
像是从牙龈中爆裂出的残碎阳光，
我也分享到他的丑陋，某天发现我们有着相同的命运。

多年后，我在炽热的阳光下，
看见他的影子映在汽车银色的引擎盖上，
他的鼻梁在我的鼻梁上绽放，
他的蛋黄色眼睛取代了我的，
他的黑唇像一条紧绷的丝带，
覆在我的嘴上，
他是一抹泥土与虫蛀的污迹，
蹭在牛仔布上，
胡须冒出，直到它长满下颌，
如同一颗玄武岩的齿，
漆黑如我们在那片无火山的田野中找到的那颗，
甚至连他这个无神论者也承认——
那是某种预兆。

一个月后，我在工具棚里找到他，
他手握他母亲的照片，像雏鸟般颤抖，
晨曦中，他浑身弥漫着威士忌的酸涩和烟雾的残香，
痛风在他脚踝上浮肿成团，
囊肿在他前额闪烁，
锈蚀吞噬着他廉价的劳力士，
直至化作尘埃。
“炼金术。” 他这样称呼它，
然后用手腕拨开母亲的发丝，
在她的脸颊上留下模糊的黑褐色指痕。

我父亲，
他只听说过苹果、桃子、梨，
却从未在我的诗里遇见柑橘与柿子，
他对战争的了解比我一生所能学到的都多，
他曾看着自己的兄弟溺亡，
看着自己的村庄燃烧，
看着一棵棵树木倒下，
如同初次敲响的琴键，
而我，是他的——
冷漠的儿子，
在他那沉重、令人费解的身影下，
伸手摘取一颗橙子，
有瘀伤的肩膀宽如天际，
我是那个在诗里缝补他痛苦人生的儿子，
写下那个带着破碎口音、布满皲裂双手的男人，
那个我曾发誓永远不会成为的人。

可我又如何能知道呢？
我又如何能知道一切？
最终，
我不过是他失败而丑陋的替身，
我们的血脉如同邪恶的针线交缠，
一种暴烈的炼金术，潜伏在我们不幸的肺叶之间。
但这一切——
都还遥远，遥远，埋在无数蚊蝇横飞的八月里。

而现在，我们仍然活着，
我与父亲，
站在一起，疑惑着——
为什么同一棵树上，
茉莉与柑橘的气息能交融共生？
我们咀嚼着偷来的果实，
果汁四溅，
大笑着，
看着自己双手制造出的混乱。

选自美国诗歌基金会，《诗歌》2025年1/2月刊。

ChatGTP 的诗歌评论

《橙树》 充满了浓烈的情感冲击，诗人通过细腻的描写，在橙树这一意象中交织出成长、家庭、记忆、遗传、命运和自我认同的复杂主题。整首诗以父子关系为核心，既充满对父亲的反感，也透露出无法摆脱的血缘羁绊。

诗歌分段推进，采用了电影般的剪辑手法，从现实的偷摘橙子，到父亲的残影浮现，再到回忆中的战争、苦难、死亡，最终回归到父子共同的时刻，展现了一种既抗拒又归属的情感循环。这种非线性叙述使得诗歌层次丰富，充满张力。

在意象运用上，“偷来的果实” 既象征着对父辈遗产的继承（无论是基因还是创伤），也暗示着一种偷尝禁果的原罪感；“炼金术” 这一比喻，将父亲的疾病、时间的侵蚀、甚至命运的扭曲，都归结为一种神秘而不可逆转的变化，使整个诗歌弥漫着一种宿命论的色彩。

诗歌的语言风格自由而充满音乐性，行与行之间的间隔、错落的韵律，以及富有冲击力的意象，使得整首诗在情感表达上极具爆发力。同时，结尾部分从沉重的家族命运回到当下的温馨时刻，形成了一种明暗对照，使诗歌既有悲剧色彩，又不失温暖与诗意。

这首诗不仅是对父子关系的描绘，更是对自我身份认同的探索。它展示了成长的必然痛苦——即使我们抗拒，也终将成为某种程度上的“父亲”，背负起那些无法挣脱的遗产。

附上原诗：

Orange Tree
BY JANIRU LIYANAGE

Our neighbor’s orange tree is in full bloom fat and overgrown and spilling
sun-bright fists over our fence onto our quiet
shouts of scutch grass sugaring tender rot over our anemones
which hardly grew all spring because my father chose a fertilizer

with the wrong pH and wrong mineral content
my father figures that since half of the tree is on our side half
of the fruit belongs to us though our neighbor has lived longer than
the two of us combined and the tree longer than him

still on a Sunday we gather beneath its wild knot of leaves steal fruit after
fruit tear their rinds and shove their segments down our chronic mouths
my father smiles      all his teeth crooked and stained like shards of terrible
sunlight bursting from his gums and I share his ugly find it one day

years later ghosting his car’s silver hood furling under the heat his nose
blooming onto my nose his yolk-bright eyes instead of my eyes his neat
ribbon of dark lips reaming over mine    my father a smear of silt and wood
-worm over denim clean shaven until he stops until his beard threads in

through his jaw thick as a tooth of basalt dark as one too dark as the one
we found together in a field with no volcano in sight      even he religionless
then admitted it was a sign and I found him a month later in the shed palm
-sized photo of his mother trembling in his hands like a fledgling

my father whiskey sour and smoke-balmed in the dawn light gout globing at his
ankle my father cyst blinking and blinking at his front lobe rust chewing at his
faux Rolex until it turns to dust     Alchemymy father calls it before fogging dirty
sable rings onto my mother’s cheek with his wrist as he brushes away her hair         my father

who has only ever heard of simple fruits like apple peach and pear never the tangerines
and persimmons of my poems    who knows more about the war than I ever could
who watched his brother drown and his village burn the trees falling one
by one like piano keys struck for the first time and I am his

cruel son      reaching for an orange beneath his baffling frame      bruised
shoulders wide as sky     son who’d sew his suffered life into all my poems
write the man with the broken accent and broken hands I promised I’d never become but how could I
have known how could I have known anything at all     that in the end

I would only finish as his failed ugly understudy         our biology knitted wicked like this
a violent alchemy lurking in both our luckless lungs        but this is allcountless gnat-bridled Augusts away

right now we are alive and together     my father and I     wondering how
the smell of jasmine and citrus can come from the same tree     chewing stolen fruit
spilling the pulp
laughing at the mess we are making     with just our hands.

Source: Poetry (January/February 2025)