用什么可以留住你
我可以给你
都市里的弃街
绝望中的残阳
郊野上的孤月
或那孤月下久久的惆怅
我那被人做成铜雕敬仰的先辈
不管是我自己年迈的祖父
他在布宜诺斯艾利斯前线上被两弹穿肺而亡
胡须邋遢的他就那样被士兵们用牛皮仓仓包埋
还是我妈妈那仍年轻的祖父
年方二十四的他在秘鲁一战带领三百人冲锋时
成了随奔马而去的英灵
我书本中所有的智慧
我生活中所有的刚毅或幽默
我从未给予任何人的忠诚
我一直珍藏的内在
这颗从未为任何语言，梦想，时间，欢乐或逆境所动的心
记忆深处那夕阳下比你还年久的黄玫瑰
对你的一切猜测，琢磨和幻想
还可以给你
我内心的孤独，阴暗和渴望
我要用折腾，危险甚至失败来博取你的芳心
II
What can I hold you with?
I offer you lean streets, desperate sunsets, the
moon of the jagged suburbs.
I offer you the bitterness of a man who has looked
long and long at the lonely moon.
I offer you my ancestors, my dead men, the ghosts
that living men have honoured in bronze:
my father's father killed in the frontier of
Buenos Aires, two bullets through his lungs,
bearded and dead, wrapped by his soldiers in
the hide of a cow; my mother's grandfather
--just twentyfour-- heading a charge of
three hundred men in Peru, now ghosts on
vanished horses.
I offer you whatever insight my books may hold,
whatever manliness or humour my life.
I offer you the loyalty of a man who has never
been loyal.
I offer you that kernel of myself that I have saved,
somehow --the central heart that deals not
in words, traffics not with dreams, and is
untouched by time, by joy, by adversities.
I offer you the memory of a yellow rose seen at
sunset, years before you were born.
I offer you explanations of yourself, theories about
yourself, authentic and surprising news of
yourself.
I can give you my loneliness, my darkness, the
hunger of my heart; I am trying to bribe you
with uncertainty, with danger, with defeat.
- Jorge Luis Borges (1934)
