(译)Birthday（henri cole）

 Birthday
When I was a boy, we called it punishment
to be locked up in a room. God's apparent
abdication from the affairs of the world
seemed unforgivable. This morning,
climbing five stories to my apartment,
I remember my father's angry voice
mixed up with anxiety & love. As always,
the possibility of home—at best an ideal—
remains illusory, so I read Plato, for whom love
has not been punctured. I sprawl on the carpet,
like a worm composting, understanding things
about which I have no empirical knowledge.
Though the door is locked, I am free.
Like an outdated map, my borders are changing.
生日
当我是孩子，认为锁在房里是种惩罚，
不肯原谅上帝没能在尘世之事伸出援手。
今早辗转五层回到日常居所,
忽忆父亲生气的声音里曾混合着关爱。
但家，穷尽可能也总是错觉。
所以我读柏拉图，
只为遇见爱的圆满。
地毯上废物般瘫倒，
我试图理解这未曾经历的知识。
即使门仍锁着，我已自由，
如一张边界正在更改的过期地图。