皮埃尔·勒韦迪（Pierre Reverdy，1889-1960），20世纪初期法国著名诗人、超现实主义诗歌的先驱之一，生于纳博讷，1910年定居巴黎，与毕加索、阿波利奈、雅各布等人一起参加立体派活动，并大量发表实验性新诗，以立体主义诗人和超现实主义先驱而闻名。他于1926年携家迁往梭列姆，在那里隐居30年，潜心写作。勒韦迪所著诗集总共有二十多卷，以《散文诗》《椭圆形天窗》《屋顶上的石板》《入睡的吉它》《彩绘之星》《青天的碎片》《风源》等尤为知名。
谁再次
在降临的夜色中，用挂在树上的钥匙开启的夜色中，吱嘎作响、闪烁、朝所有地平线以及在所有涌流里面转动的夜色中——这里有因为时间的力量磨损了其背部而模糊的人，在沉歇的浓雾背景上经过。微雨飘落在所有正被擦掉的道路上，在慢慢改变着位置的牧草场上，在要加深夜色的树林上——同一条线里面，什么也没存留下来。
黑色小路引导我迷途地穿过浓阴；树篱再也没有那用一团团煤渣塞住的洞孔。这些灰色旗帜在每个角落卷起，这些色彩迷失在最黑暗的带子中，这些想象的风景被夜鸟的几支歌所横贯——太接近而无法想象它们可能和出现——硕大之兽的温暖和运
动——如果我们没有真的迷失在宇宙中，如果深深的礁脉的外貌没有反射在它们里面。
AGAIN WHO
In the night that is falling， that is opened with a key hanging from the tree and creaking， sparkling， turning towards all the horizons and in all the currents - here are vague men because of their backs worn by the forces of time， passing against a background of fog that is settling.It is drizzling on all the roads that are being obliterated， on the meadows that are slowly changing places， on the woods to deepen the night - nothing remains in the same line.
The black footpath leads me astray through the thickets; the hedge has no more holes stopped with balls of cinders. These grey flags rolled up at each corner， these colours lost in the darkest bands， these imaginary landscapes traversed by a few songs of night birds and suddenly - too close to imagine them possible and present -the movement and the warmth of large beasts - if we are not really lost in the universe and if the aspect of the deep reefs is not reflected in them.
思想的喃喃声
谎言的旁门楼梯上响起的脚步声。 对着连续敲打的门、 鸣响的汽笛和迟来的车轮节拍的所有耳朵； 大门的提前关闭。黄昏时分， 马戏团的平面交叉路口——马戏团中， 云朵在天空稠密的嗓音中被献祭。 在蒸发于黑暗泉水的水的灌木丛中， 雨水松弛的手指。
迷途的提灯， 被照亮的门。 公墓中， 没有方向的林阴道上，身着黑衣的柏树。
MURMUR OF THOUGHTS
A sound of footsteps on the service stairs of lies. At all the ears of the beating doors， whistling sirens and all the wheelbeats of the vehicles that are late; the premature closing of gates.At dusk， the level-crossing of the circuses in which clouds are consecrated in the congestion of celestial voices. In the bush of water evaporated from the dark springs， the loosened fingers of the rain.
The strayed lantern， the lighted door. And the black -clad cypresses in the directionless avenues of the cemetery.
有星星的人
每只手里都有一盏灯。 从链条的一端到楼梯。 早晨蓝色的窗户， 涂着清漆的屋顶和那比帆布下降得还低的楼梯。 因为有大海在墙壁与人以及那阻止噪音的展开的夜之间。 有把波浪驱散的白船和把风分开的太阳的翅膀。然而最重要的是， 被刺藜用光环围绕的额头， 迸发出火焰的心和哭泣的眼睛——凝视敲击天空， 开启的门提供对空间的一瞥——那个空间里面， 死去的形态移动在被闪光的手指追溯的路上。
关闭的花园中， 树在栅门上面——海边的信号点——两扇门朝着地平线打开——邋遢破烂的一天——逃逸， 践踏影子， 人们——陨落在另一边的星星。
THE MAN WITH STARS
A lamp in each hand. From one end of the chain to the stars.The blue windows of morning， the varnished roof and the stairs that go down lower than the canvas. Because there is the sea between the wall and the man and the unfolded night that stops the noise. There is the white boat that scatters the waves and the sun' s wing that divides the wind.But， above all， the forehead haloed by thorns， the heart from which the flame emerges and the weeping eyes - the gaze knocks at the sky and the opening door affords a glimpse of the space in which dead shapes are moving on the roads traced by a luminous finger.
The trees of the closed garden are on the iron gate - the points of the signal beside the sea - the two leaves of the door open on the creaking horizon - the slipshod day - escapes and tramples on the shadows the men - the stars fallen on the other side.
重合的灵魂和躯体
房间里， 生病的精神和躯体伸挺着。 火苗刺透。遵照隔壁房间的方向， 灯盏的三角形把自己摆正在天花板上。
那时， 所有的欲望纵横交错而行， 那时， 道路被阻塞。
那时， 再也没有希望， 除了在最后一滴水里， 最后一个时辰，被举起来的链条。
我用一只被高烧和我的心跳所分神的眼睛观察三角形， 通往危险本身的指南。
镜子对面的墙上——冻结的黑色深渊， 威胁着的空寂和沉默在那里君临统治， 所有尖锐的可能性——阳光那令人愉快且微笑着的风景对着我出现， 光明灿烂的钟， 从一片过于沉重的天空上的明亮的落水管上分离的色彩。
然而， 在那让面庞保持静止的椭圆形里， 焦虑而破烂的记忆，被永远受到限制的努力磨损得薄薄的——一个人恰恰拥有那重新竖立自己的、 到来的时间的概念， 我们运动的界限， 杂乱地处于这已被更新的狭窄的空间内部。
SOUL AND BODY SUPERIMPOSED
In the room the sick mind and the outstretched body.The flame pierces.
The triangle of the lamp takes its bearings from the ceiling according to the direction of the next room.
When all despairs lay themselves across the road， blocking it.
When we have no hope left except in the last drop， the last hour， the lifted chain.
I observe the triangle of an eye distracted by fever and by the beating of the' heart that guides the danger.
On the opposite wall alongside the mirror - the black， frozen chasm in which reign the menacing void and silence， the possibility of all bites - here appear to me landscapes that are joyous and smiling with rays of sunlight， luminous bells， cries spinning along，colours given off by bright waterspouts against a sky too overcast.
But in the oval that keeps the whole face motionless and the memory disquieted， full of holes， worn out by efforts forever suppressed - we have precisely the notion of time put back， of him who comes and of the limits of our disordered movements in the narrow space already renewed.
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