冯冬，1979年生于重庆，当过大学英文教师，南京大学英文博士班学生，曾译过游记《中华帝国纪行》、《亲密接触中国》、小说《蛛网与磐石》、诗歌《西米克的诗》等，在《新大陆》等诗刊上发表过作品，主要研究诗歌、精神分析和当代哲学。

Peter Feng was born in Chongqing, China, in 1979. He taught English at a Chinese college for two years. He is currently a PhD student at Nanjing University. He has co-translated a travelogue A Journey through the Chinese Empire, Intimate China, a novel The Web and the Rock and a book of translation Poems of Charles Simic. His poems appeared in Chinese poetry journal New World Poetry Bimonthly and others. His study includes poetry, psychoanalysis, and contemporary philosophy.

自杀性炸弹袭击者

The Suicide Bomber

我不知道为什么要这样做
但我还是这样做了
我觉得是阿拉在让我做
但我的内心很矛盾
要不要这样做
一个声音告诉我
你必须这样做
那声音仿佛来自
天空
巴格达的市区实在太吵了
到处是汽车小贩行人
还有外国人
他们说的话我都听不懂
我惟能听懂那个声音
内心的声音
让我放手去做
但我在想
我真的应该去做吗
难道我的一生就为了这件事
除此之外我还能做什么
其实我想得太多了
不过一瞬间
我就可以卸下这重担
我已经透不过气来
我想我还是去做吧
毕竟我能做
毕竟我该做
为了实现祂的意愿
我就让巴格达的废墟
躺卧在
祂的怀抱里吧
			

I don't know why I am doing this 
Though I will do it after all 
I feel I am following Allah's will
But my mind is full of doubts
Whether I should do it
A voice tells me
You have to do it
The voice seems to come from
The sky  
The downtown of Bagdad is too noisy
Cars, peddlers, pedestrians everywhere
And also foreigners
What they speak I understand not
I only understand that voice 
From the heart
Urging me to do it despite all 
But I was thinking
Should I really do it
Is my whole life destined for this single thing
What could I do otherwise
Well, I think too much
Just for a moment
I will put down this heavy burden on me
I can hardly breathe now
I think it's better for me to do it
Because I can do it
Because I must do it
In order to fulfill His will
I will let the ruin of Bagdad 
Lie down
In His arms
			

到达

Arriving

陌生人穿着棉袄
来到一座湿热的城市
他的袜子已经生锈
面庞如出土文物
他一直梦见
这不属于自己的地方
他在半个房间里住下来
购买无法带走的沉重的家具
把胡子放到水里洗干净
然后躺在床上
回忆
他如何穿过寒冷
来到了这里
尘土如何填满了水壶
他如何在夜里
无数个夜里
披着星光赶路
终于在日出时到达
他看着自己的双手
看见了他离开的地方
那儿曾经有树
他离开后就变成了车站
车站是个生死未卜的地方
他想
他庆幸自己已经到达
许多人死在了
不属于自己的路上
			

Wearing a cotton coat the stranger
Came into a hot, humid city
His socks full of rust
His face exhumed earthenware
He had been dreaming
Of places that didn't belong to him
He settled down in half a room
Bought heavy furniture that couldn't be taken away
Washed his mustache in clear water
Then laid on his bed
Remembering
How he had crossed the cold regions 
To come here
How mud had filled the water jug
And how he had traveled draped in starlight 
How at night
An endless night 
He at last arrived at sunrise 
Looking at his own hands
He saw the places he had left
There used to be trees
They turned into car lots when he left
The lot is an unpredictable place
He thought 
He felt lucky to have arrived
For many had died 
On the roads that were not theirs