我倆來這裡成婚 --Laksmi Pamuntjak (1971- ), 羅浩原 譯 十二月中旬，Chiesa di San Francisco，Trevi 「…而靈魂就是新娘 置身靜處…」—Sylvia Plath 耶穌瞪著我們，懸垂著 現已滿是鏽色 更悲涼的是，身上三處傷口裂張 於午後的銀光 管風琴是一座流產製造器 現之霜白處原本任色彩 氾濫在音樂中：紅色 澄色、紫色與珍珠白 我們以內疚與責難 整晚互相重擊 現已十二月。到了歲末 是評鑑功過的時候了，再者 你與我正扒著爬著到了 床沿，一結結打上 又一辮辮解開，以夏日瞥見的那片 罌粟催送那致命的一記 到了早上我們談論著 那灰颯颯的古比歐墓園 如凍僵後又緩緩倒出 在半亮中，逐一注入瓶口 但在教堂打磨光滑的稜角上 今日此景已兀自溶去 不喧不囂，我們步向祭壇 沿著蛇虺般的淚痕遍佈 的牆面。在沉靜中， 一面面被布覆蓋的鏡子 竭力想要聽見答案 那只有新娘知曉的答案 We Have Come Here to Get Married --Laksmi Pamuntjak (1971- ) Mid-December in Chiesa di San Francisco, Trevi “…and the soul is a bride In a still place…”—Sylvia Plath Christ who stares at us pendent is now the color of rust. Sadder still, three months on, in the afternoon silver light. The organ is a mill of miscarriages. Hoar frost where color used to flood with music: red, orange, purple, pearl. All night we have bashed each other with guilt and admonishments. This is December. An end-of-year evaluation of good and bad, and You and I clawing to the edge of the bed, knotting and unbraiding, rushing the death-blow of poppies glimpsed in summer. In the morning we talked about the gray-swept graveyards of Gubbio, chilled to solid but decanted in half-light, the lips of jugs. But in this church of honed edges today has melted its images out. Noiseless, we walk towards the altar along the tear marks snaking down the wall. And in the quiet, the sheeted mirrors strain to hear an answer known only to the bride. Laksmi Pamuntjak, The Anagram, Jakarta: KataKita Publishing, 2007, pp.40-41.
