GRAFTON BRIDGE HOSPITAL MOUNTAIN VALLEY ɽ�� THE STREET I SEE FROM MY WINDOW TRAVELLING WITH THE STARS THE NON-PERSONAL SNOW
as you cross the cemetery beneath the bridge closes in pinetrees raise suspicious faces an ocean of the dead like iron, giving off a fishy smell the rusty sunlight has passed by sniffs at you like an old dog a dog staring the scene is particularly clear from the bridge a sky shrivelled by extinct volcanoes a dark red fist a drop of the past��s blood on a low-budget headstone clouds merge into yesterday��s storm and are fouled by the claws of birds transparent windows opened by the balustrade you brought home you cross the bridge at home an entire city lodged in a sickroom green weeds linking so many feet together under a stone roof the stone master closes in in an iron corridor the iron master closes in fantasizing with the eyes death need not speed up that end where you go away and turn old the dead on the lawn looking down at you are all the same distance away but you have to come back as though fettered by handcuffs of glass to overhaul every pier of today��s sins a child running crazy among snow-white seagulls standing suddenly still crying loudly for the stars with a pain abruptly extended in the night bitterly weeping note: Grafton Bridge, Auckland, NZ. Known locally as ��Suicide Bridge��. ��������� ���µ�Ĺ�� �������ʱ �ƽ� ����̧��һ���ź��ɵ��� ���ߵĺ��� �����ɢ����ζ ����ɫ�������ƹ�ȥ ��һֻ�Ϲ������� һֻ���۶��� �羰�����ϸ������� ����ɽή������� һ�������ȭͷ ����Ĺ����һ�ι�ʱ��Ѫ �� ������������еķ籩 ȴ����צŪ�� ������ؼҵ����� �������Ĵ��� ���ڼ������ ����һ������ס��һ�䲡�� ���̵�Ұ�ݰ���ô��Ų�����һ�� ʯͷ��������ʯͷ�ݶ��±ƽ� ��������������������ƽ� ���۾����� �����������ٶ� ����ȥ�Ļ����㱻���ϵ���һ�� �ݵ��ϵ����߸���� ����ͬ�ľ��� ����û��� ������������ ����ÿ������������Ŷ� һȺѩ�ĺ�Ÿ��һ���ĺ��� ͻȻվס Ϊ���Ǹߺ� Ϊ��ҹ�ж�Ȼ�ӳ�����ʹ ��������
the lid closes whether or not your face is hammered full of nails spittle, as much as in a lifetime of humiliation, long since bleached out this light, easy death a hand can��t reach its own pain the darkness of this night stands altogether outside events you rent four flimsy walls listen to the river flowing inside a paper carton between bones left blank listen to the storm wait for the next patient as another tear flies into your eye a shrill shout collides with the shining glass becomes a cheer you��re ruthlessly driving the nails in ҽԺ ���Ӻ�£ �������Ƿ�Ҳ�����˶��� ��һ���Ķ�����ô����ĭ ����Ư����������ٵ����� һֻ���������Լ�����ʹ ���ҹ���ĺڰ� ȫ���������� �����ñ������ı� ��һֻֽ��������һ������ �ڿճ����ĺ��Ǽ� ���������� �Ⱥ���һλ���� ����һ����ˮ�ɽ������� һ����� ײ�������IJ����� ��ɻ��� ���ںݺݶ��Ŷ���
as we come to darkness on the valley floor we see light rocks deep as the sky suddenly snap like a dangerous staircase timid fingers bent toward the violent stars weep turn us into cripples or deceive our eyes when light becomes a creature we are dead these tiny squirming bodies drill holes into us shining moonlight falling as though spreadeagled a city lying on a bed overgrown with illusion reading a dark book its cover the ocean its back the sound of wild animals�� hooves on mud pitfalls when you think of it, are always underfoot once distance has vanished we touch a bright red rivulet wrinkled with stones exhibiting every terror that ever was
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on the street I see from my window it never rains it lies by my windowsill composed and calm as a comb waiting for a silent woman flying in from shore like a tired seagull hands hugging herself as tight as a pebble on her back in a furry grey satchel a lemon quietly changing shape the street I see from my window is white with snow all winter on the street only seven stray cats and a man sleeping in an abandoned car or eight identical pairs of eyes empty husks, utterly free of resentment so affectionate I am convinced they have promised to feed each other with their corpses and, like a guarantee the gentlest of touching ���Ҵ�������ȥ�Ľֵ� ���Ҵ�������ȥ�Ľֵ����Dz����� ������һ������ ���ڴ�̨�� ���ڵȴ� һ�����������Ů�� ��ֻ���˵ĺ�Ÿ�Ӻ��߷��� ����ʯ�����ֱ����Լ� ������ ��ë�Ļ�ɫ�ڴ��� һֻ���������ĸı���״ ���Ҵ�������ȥ�Ľֵ���ѩ���� �������� ����ֻ�� ��ֻҰè��һ��˯������������ ���߰�˫һģһ�����۾� ��յ���������Թ�� �������ȵ�ʹ������ ���������»�����ʬ��伢��ŵ�� �����籣֤�� ������ظ���
at either end of the refugee horizon the stars a crystal tempest in time with you half the sky like harvested fields you are a grain of corn grinding in the mill you scan the scene the way that enemies yearn for each other a man walking through a century in time with the stars drinking water on that seashore hearing that drum beating from the forehead to the back of the brain stabbing skin chiselling bones one by one into silvery white looking at the stars you too begin to float floating inside yourself time differences decaying along with the body only in starlight does the golden ocean disclose its flesh-eating processes half the sky the depth of remaining life falls you are the other half that is chosen when you can��t help shining you can��t help falling apart ����ͬ�� �����ѵĵ�ƽ������ �����Ǻ��� ͬ����ˮ���籩 ���������ո�����Ұ ����һ��С�� ��ĥ����ĥ�� ������ �����ǻ���˼�� һ�������ǵIJ������߰��� ���Ǻ��ߺ�ˮ ���ǹ��� ��ǰ���û����Ժ� ����Ƥ�� �ѹ�ͷ��̵ø������� ���������Լ�Ҳ�������� ��������߸��� ʱ�� ����һ����������� ��ɫ�������ǹ�ű�¶ʳ��Ĺ��� ������ �д���ŵ���� ���� ���DZ�ѡ�е������� �ڲ��ò�����ʱ���ò��ķ�����
1 the snowfall is arid����rushed����imitates the enthusiasm of a person brutish, dusky daylight snow walks along the treetops with tiny claws tiny skeletons skeletons of glass refined by fierce fire snow����always stops the moment it's still grating on the ear as for death����what can the dead still remember? a body secretly sprinkled all silver a thousand pregnant women giving birth in the sky cold orphans still not given permission a pink ladder of flesh����leads to a tiny attic a tiny attic of white night����where corpses are kept you don't exist����so all year round you are snow-capped 2 the snowy ground is covered with blind men����they can't see the poem that died in the hotel and����the valleys that breed the fearsome sunlight below the same precipices they lose their shadows become thin black needles on the garden sundial wash their feet in laughter take pains to carve patterned vessels from a dead bird drink deep at picnic time of the scarlet stream noon����the scarlet stream exuded by blind eyes they can't see����the tourists in the poem lying naked in hotel beds no need to fall����to get to the depths of an avalanche 3 a little clay lamp����is your present to darkness in the clashing together of the sounds of the rain the snow in your name is born snow that engrains your body pain����releases flocks of birds shut up in stones for years each one a word����and you are wordless the storm����is a cemetery in the air above city roofs angels too����in the nest must lick their wounds like golden-headed beasts kneeling on the olden days a person revealed by water just has to follow the current a snowfall is like music that goes down to death you, when a name dies every day expose a body that no-one can caress let the sky feel from snow to blood����feel all over the flame until darkness����pays back some unknown person's time 4 night like a madman's thoughts����knocks on our skulls����making us encounter dangerous snow from a non-existent distance like horses racing past a single peak beneath two stars with the pricking of a nail buried in the summer night hear ghosts laying the dust����sweeping the moon hear����headstones tell lies����flaunt the arts of living we are all snow����slipping downhill innately non-personal and so squandering each person's death night on the sickbed����squanders vain hopes as the village of madmen strums away candles are undying����bells sprinkle tears on mountains and in fields white bones take off the mourning dress of our days and����we are frozen into one complete stone 5 this mountain valley can't be visited just like inside you����that attic of white night when you're invited by the snow����flowers and plants are a silence field of vision����like a glass of wine poured into darkness burning in other places when you're turned down by the snow����you are colourless a hawk roosting in a wound����softly weeping sunlight rock����slowly swallows you and your sex shines with a brilliance impossible after death when you have become the only impossibility a lifetime's snows have already fallen in the attic of white night����forceps tightly pinch in the fragile dreams of birds����the sky cheers heartlessly sweet pears on girls' breasts����fall into the rainy season ����the sound of rain����chases you all over your insides an utterly naked man is only a snowflake spotless white underfoot in the valley����glaring a walk of a thousand years still hasn't crossed this room you aren't in 6 those who live in time know time isn't time a rock is itself a poem and shadow ����engraved as a seat by a lake weeds every June ����read aloud here snow ����the silver-white book of the dead and the brush of steel wire and coir is still stubbornly sweeping a pair of muddy shoes of coffin wood a set of paper handcuffs����make the convict more terrified yet these words����go wrong when written down words carved on cliffs����ride on a runaway cable car broken apart day after day poets who leap into a poem deserve only to be broken apart in an imagination more lifelike than death snow is a once-only walk����once and once only June rots in chorus����as the bodies of the dead ring bells all men����are ringing solitary bells that are fulfilled in this moment dying more lifelike than in imagination snow ����has gone too far����can't help burying everything ���˳Ƶ�ѩ��֮һ�� һ��ѩ������١�ģ��һ���˵ļ��� ���ԵĻ谵���� ѩ��ϸС��צ�������������� ϸС�Ĺ��� һ����������IJ����Ĺ��� ѩ������ͣ�� ����Ȼ�̶���ʱ�� ���������������ܻ�����ʲô һ���������������������� һǧ���и������Ϸ��� δ�������ĺ���¶� ��ĵ���ɫ���ӡ�ͨ��СС�ĸ�¥ ���ʬ�ġ���ɫҹ���ĸ�¥ �㲻���ڡ�����������ѩ