50. 英詩漢譯《橙樹》

50. 橙樹

作者：Janiru Liyanage
譯者：黎曆

我們鄰居的橙樹正盛放，
果實豐腴瘋長，拳頭般耀眼的金黃果實，
溢出籬笆，灑落在我們寂靜的庭院，
在野草的低語間，甜蜜地腐爛，
滋養著遲遲未開的海葵，
全因我父親選錯了肥料，
pH值不對，礦物含量也不對。

他覺得，既然橙樹的一半長在我們這邊，
那果實也該有一半歸我們，
盡管鄰居的年齡比我們加起來還長，
而這棵樹甚至比他更年長。

於是，星期天，我們聚在枝葉糾結的樹下，
一顆又一顆地偷摘果實，
撕開果皮，將果瓣習慣性地塞進口中，
我父親笑著——
他的牙齒參差不齊，斑駁黃染，
像是從牙齦中爆裂出的殘碎陽光，
我也分享到他的醜陋，某天發現我們有著相同的命運。

多年後，我在熾熱的陽光下，
看見他的影子映在汽車銀色的引擎蓋上，
他的鼻梁在我的鼻梁上綻放，
他的蛋黃色眼睛取代了我的，
他的黑唇像一條緊繃的絲帶，
覆在我的嘴上，
他是一抹泥土與蟲蛀的汙跡，
蹭在牛仔布上，
胡須冒出，直到它長滿下頜，
如同一顆玄武岩的齒，
漆黑如我們在那片無火山的田野中找到的那顆，
甚至連他這個無神論者也承認——
那是某種預兆。

一個月後，我在工具棚裏找到他，
他手握他母親的照片，像雛鳥般顫抖，
晨曦中，他渾身彌漫著威士忌的酸澀和煙霧的殘香，
痛風在他腳踝上浮腫成團，
囊腫在他前額閃爍，
鏽蝕吞噬著他廉價的勞力士，
直至化作塵埃。
“煉金術。” 他這樣稱呼它，
然後用手腕撥開母親的發絲，
在她的臉頰上留下模糊的黑褐色指痕。

我父親，
他隻聽說過蘋果、桃子、梨，
卻從未在我的詩裏遇見柑橘與柿子，
他對戰爭的了解比我一生所能學到的都多，
他曾看著自己的兄弟溺亡，
看著自己的村莊燃燒，
看著一棵棵樹木倒下，
如同初次敲響的琴鍵，
而我，是他的——
冷漠的兒子，
在他那沉重、令人費解的身影下，
伸手摘取一顆橙子，
有瘀傷的肩膀寬如天際，
我是那個在詩裏縫補他痛苦人生的兒子，
寫下那個帶著破碎口音、布滿皸裂雙手的男人，
那個我曾發誓永遠不會成為的人。

可我又如何能知道呢？
我又如何能知道一切？
最終，
我不過是他失敗而醜陋的替身，
我們的血脈如同邪惡的針線交纏，
一種暴烈的煉金術，潛伏在我們不幸的肺葉之間。
但這一切——
都還遙遠，遙遠，埋在無數蚊蠅橫飛的八月裏。

而現在，我們仍然活著，
我與父親，
站在一起，疑惑著——
為什麽同一棵樹上，
茉莉與柑橘的氣息能交融共生？
我們咀嚼著偷來的果實，
果汁四濺，
大笑著，
看著自己雙手製造出的混亂。

選自美國詩歌基金會，《詩歌》2025年1/2月刊。

ChatGTP 的詩歌評論

《橙樹》 充滿了濃烈的情感衝擊，詩人通過細膩的描寫，在橙樹這一意象中交織出成長、家庭、記憶、遺傳、命運和自我認同的複雜主題。整首詩以父子關係為核心，既充滿對父親的反感，也透露出無法擺脫的血緣羈絆。

詩歌分段推進，采用了電影般的剪輯手法，從現實的偷摘橙子，到父親的殘影浮現，再到回憶中的戰爭、苦難、死亡，最終回歸到父子共同的時刻，展現了一種既抗拒又歸屬的情感循環。這種非線性敘述使得詩歌層次豐富，充滿張力。

在意象運用上，“偷來的果實” 既象征著對父輩遺產的繼承（無論是基因還是創傷），也暗示著一種偷嚐禁果的原罪感；“煉金術” 這一比喻，將父親的疾病、時間的侵蝕、甚至命運的扭曲，都歸結為一種神秘而不可逆轉的變化，使整個詩歌彌漫著一種宿命論的色彩。

詩歌的語言風格自由而充滿音樂性，行與行之間的間隔、錯落的韻律，以及富有衝擊力的意象，使得整首詩在情感表達上極具爆發力。同時，結尾部分從沉重的家族命運回到當下的溫馨時刻，形成了一種明暗對照，使詩歌既有悲劇色彩，又不失溫暖與詩意。

這首詩不僅是對父子關係的描繪，更是對自我身份認同的探索。它展示了成長的必然痛苦——即使我們抗拒，也終將成為某種程度上的“父親”，背負起那些無法掙脫的遺產。

附上原詩：

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)