They‘re both convinced
that a sudden passion joined them.
Such certainty is beautiful,
but uncertainty is more beautiful still.
Since they‘d never met before, they‘re sure
that there‘d been nothing between them.
But what‘s the word from the street staircase hallways—
perhaps they‘ve passed by each other a million times?
I want to ask them
if they don‘t remember—
a moment face to face
in some revolving door?
perhaps a “sorry” muttered in a crowd?
a curt “wrong number” caught in the receiver?—
but I know the answer.
No, they don‘t remember.
They‘d be amazed to hear
that Chance has been toying with them
now for years.
Not quite ready yet
to become their Destiny,
it pushed them close, drove them apart,
it barred their path,
stifling a laugh,
and then leaped aside.
There were signs and signal
even if they couldn‘t read them yet.
Perhaps three years ago
or just last Tuesday
a certain leaf fluttered
from one shoulder to another?
Something was dropped and then picked up.
Who know maybe the ball that vanished
into childhood‘s thicket?
There were doorknobs and doorbells
where one touch had covered another
beforehand.
Suitcases checked and standing side by side.
One night, perhap the same dream,
grown hazy by morning.
Every beginning
is only a sequel, after all,
and the book of events
is always open halfway through.
翻译 ：
诗：波兰女诗人辛波丝卡在波兰
译：斯坦尼斯瓦巴朗扎卡&克莱尔
他们彼此都深信，
是瞬间迸发的激情使他们相遇。
这种确定是美丽的,
然而变幻无常却更为美丽。
他们确信他们先前素未谋面,
他们之间毫无关联。
然而从那街上、楼梯间、过道上传来的细语来判断——
或许他们曾无数次擦肩而过?
我想问他们，
难道不记得两人——
曾在某扇旋转门中,
面对面相视的那一瞬间?
也许曾在人群中和对方咕哝了一句“对不起”?
曾拿起话筒和对方短促地说了句“打错了”?——
但我知道答案。
是的,他们不记得。
他们定会感到诧异,
得知缘分原来已戏弄他们，
多年。
时机尚未成熟，
宿命尚未来临,
命运一会儿把他们拉近,一会儿把他们分开,
阻挡他们的去路,
按捺着笑声,
然后跳到一旁。
曾经有过征兆和暗示,
纵使他们还无法读懂。
也许在三年前,
或者就是上个星期二,
某片树叶从他们一个人的肩上，
飘舞到另一个人的肩上?
某个东西掉下来又被拾起。
天晓得,也许是那只消失在，
童年那灌木丛里的球?
他们曾先后触摸过，
一些门把手和门铃,
后来的手印覆盖了先前的手印。
行李箱寄存后被放在一起。
在某个夜里,也许,两人做着相同的梦,
早上,梦又变模糊了。
每个开始，
终究不过是一个续篇,
而充满情节的那本书，
总是被人从中间看起。
