Love at First Sight

　　 by Wislawa Szymborska

　　They both thought

　　that a sudden feeling had united them

　　This certainty is beautiful,

　　Even more beautiful than uncertainty.

　　They thought they didn't know each other,

　　nothing had ever happened between them,

　　These streets, these stairs, this corridors,

　　Where they could have met so long ago?

　　I would like to ask them,

　　if they can remember -

　　perhaps in a revolving door

　　face to face one day?

　　A "sorry" in the crowd?

　　"Wrong number" on the 'phone?

　　- but I know the answer.

　　No, they don't remember.

　　How surprised they would be

　　For such a long time already

　　Fate has been playing with them.

　　Not quite yet ready

　　to change into destiny,

　　which brings them nearer and yet further,

　　cutting their path

　　and stifling a laugh,

　　escaping ever further;

　　There were sings, indications,

　　undecipherable, what does in matter.

　　Three years ago, perhaps

　　or even last Tuesday,

　　this leaf flying

　　from one shoulder to another?

　　Something lost and gathered.

　　Who knows, perhaps a ball already

　　in the bushes, in childhood?

　　There were handles, door bells,

　　where, on the trace of a hand,

　　another hand was placed;

　　suitcases next to one another in the

　　left luggage.

　　And maybe one night the same dream

　　forgotten on walking;

　　But every beginning

　　is only a continuation

　　and the book of fate is

　　always open in the middle.

　　Translation from Polish by Roman Gren

　　Translation from French by Sarah Hardenberg

　　他们彼此深信

　　是瞬间迸发的热情使他们相遇

　　这样的确定是美丽的

　　但变幻无常更为美丽

　　他们素未谋面，所以他们确定彼此并无瓜葛。

　　但是自街道、楼梯、大堂传来的话语... ...

　　他们也许擦肩而过一百万次了吧。

　　我想问他们

　　是否记得... ...

　　在旋转门

　　面对面那一刹

　　或是在人群中喃喃道出的"对不起"，

　　或是在电话的另一端道出的"打错了"。

　　但是我早知道答案。

　　是的，他们并不记得。

　　他们会很惊讶，原来缘分已经戏弄他们多年。

　　时机尚未成熟变成他们的命运，

　　缘分将他们拉近，驱离。

　　阻挡着他们的去路

　　忍着笑声

　　然后闪到一旁... ...

　　有一些迹象和信号存在，

　　即使他们尚无法解读。

　　也许在三年前

　　或者就在上个星期二，

　　有某片叶子飘舞于

　　肩与肩之间？

　　有东西掉了又捡了起来？

　　天晓得，也许是那个

　　消失于童年灌木丛中的球？

　　还有事前已被触摸

　　层层覆盖的

　　门把和门铃。

　　检查完毕后并排放置的手提箱。

　　有一晚，也许同样的梦，

　　到了早晨变得模糊。

　　每个开始

　　毕竟都只是续篇，

　　而充满情节的书本

　　总是从一半开始看起。