深夜时分 夏夜里，世界 在听力范围内移动， 在州际公路上，伴随嗖嗖声， 隆隆声，偶尔的警笛声 令一阵惊寒漫过我们。 有时，晴朗寂静的夜里， 声音飘进我们的卧室， 微弱而破碎， 仿佛远在我们出生前， 天空已发出它们。 冬天，我们关窗 读契诃夫， 为他的世界几近流泪。 多么奢侈，如此幸福 我们能为虚构的生命 而悲伤。 作者 / [美国]丽泽·穆勒 翻译 / 冬至 Late Hours On summer nights the world moves within earshot on the interstate with its swish and growl, and occasional siren that sends chills through us. Sometimes, on clear, still nights, voices float into our bedroom, lunar and fragmented, as if the sky had let them go long before our birth. In winter we close the windows and read Chekhov, nearly weeping for his world. What luxury, to be so happy that we can grieve over imaginary lives. by Lisel Mueller