保罗•策兰
下雪了，一阵紧似一阵，
纯洁的颜色宛如昨日，
下雪了，仿佛此刻你也在安睡。
白色，堆积到远方，
在它之上，没有尽头，
迷途中雪橇的痕迹。
下面，隐藏的，
渴盼
令眼睛刺痛的事物，
山连着山，
看不见。
凭着每一天，
把家念想到今天，
我不觉陷入沉默：
呆滞的，一根木桩。
在那里：一种感情，
被冰冷的风吹过，
拂动它雪白的衣襟，
像一面旗帜。
Snowfall, denser and denser,
Dove-coloured as yesterday,
Snowfall, as if even now you were sleeping.
White, stacked into distance.
Above it, endless,
The sleigh track of the lost.
Below, hidden,
Presses up
What so hurts the eyes,
Hill upon hill,
Invisible.
On each,
Fetched home into its today,
And I slipped away into dumbness:
Wooden, a post.
There: a feeling,
Blown across by the ice wind
Attaching its dove- its snow-
Coloured cloth as a flag.
（刘文娟摘自《豆瓣网》）
