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林巧儿英译 ‖ 胡弦诗29首 29 Poems by Hu Xian Translated by ...


01

倾听

倾听一棵树,

每一阵风吹,它的声音都有

微妙的变化。所以,

质问简单的事物如同扑打自身,

而爱一首简单的诗类似

听取绵绵不绝的回声。

——风穿过树林,

有时会传来咔嚓一声……

风穿过我们刚刚结束的谈话,带着

时间突然脱臼的声音。

Listening

Listen to a tree,

Every time the wind blows, its sound

has a subtle change. So,

to question simple things is like hitting yourself,

to love a simple poem is similar with

listening to the endless echo.

When winds pass through the trees,

Sometimes there is a sound of cracking...

The wind goes through the conversation we just finished, with

the sound of time suddenly dislocated.


02

猴戏

鞭影闪动,像一条

从一声脆响里活转的蛇,

细小毒牙,是它

应对生活的最后方式。

人圈里,猴子在翻跟头,

偶尔呲牙,或乖巧地模仿人的动作。

除了鞭子带来的疼痛,

它对这世界仍一无所知。

鞭梢,替一条蛇保管着

敏锐的信子。

它拖拉在地上,柔软,纤细,深谙

顺世之道,

却又在悲伤中随时

听命于一条蛇蓄满毒液的心。

Monkey Show

A whip flashes,like a snake

coming alive from a crisp voice,

tiny fangs are its

last way to cope with life.

Inside the circle of people, the monkey does somersaults,

Occasionally it shows its teeth,and cleverly imitates human movements.

In addition to the pain given by a whip,

It still knows nothing about the world.

The whip, keeps the perceptive tongue

for a snake

It drags on the ground, soft, slender.It knows

how to follow the way of the world

But at any time in sadness

It obeys the commands of a snake's heart full of venom


03

寻茶记

一棵老茶树,一尊绿佛,

一座古寺怀抱的断舌之痛。

起风了,影子在跑,

大红袍变成了旧衣服。

风加快速度,天地起伏,云朵颠沛流离。

风停后,一杯水陷入更深的寂静,

有人提前完成了一生,有人,

开始面对一生中要做的事。

方壶尚温,流水如药,

我听见两个人正在山顶上说话:

一个说:且拿去……

另一个说:提头来见。

A Note for Looking for a Tea Tree

An old tea tree,is taken as a green Buddha,

Its pain is like a broken tongue armed by an ancient temple.

A wind comes over, shadows are running,

The bright red robe has become shabby clothes.

The wind speeds up, heaven and earth are in ups and downs, clouds drift everywhere.

When the wind died down, a glass of water sinks deeper into silence,

Some people end their lives ahead of time, some people,

start facing what they want to do with their lives.

The square pot still keeps warmth, the running water is like medicine,

I hear two people talking on the top of the hill :

One says, just take it...

Another says,come to see me and hand in your head .


04

妙高台

老虎听经。

禅师是最好的驯兽师。

两只正在听经的老虎,

它们的耳朵必有来处。

它们在佛界滞留已久,听觉

越来越敏锐。

在远离山林之地,它们

如何安排自己的食谱?

斑斓花纹熊熊燃烧,

两只老虎像两个

小沙门,拖动经卷悉索有声。

妙高台上,刚刚爬上台阶的孩童,

一笑,

露出两颗虎牙。

The Miao Gao Stage

If a tiger can listen to the sutra.

Zen masters are the best animal trainers.

Two tigers are listening to a sutra,

Their ears must come from somewhere.

They have been in the Buddha world for a long time, hearing

becomes more and more acute.

Far from the mountains and forests

How could they arrange their diet?

Their colorful pattern is like flaming

The two tigers are like two

small Buddhist, dragging the scroll and making sound of rustling  .

Two children who just climbed up the stage

They smile

and reveal two canine teeth.


05

答案

将有迷乱,

将有诺言,

将有答案无法触碰的难题。

爱一个人将用去更多时间,并可以之

理解一种漫长的秩序。

哭泣将变得困难,

音乐只能用于哀悼,

恨如星体,不靠近,不发光。

回声将再次返回, 领受爆炸后异样的寂静。

树将变成陌生人。

被惦记的事将变为遥远的事。

有人在戏服里,进入失踪已久的历史。

触摸万物的手套将失去手。

天空越来越深,另一世界摇晃着,

若隐若现。

低下头来, 一只在我体内走动的兽

已长大了。那么多年,

我的心偷偷将它喂养而我

全然不知。

The Answer

There should be a confusion,

There should be a promise,

There should be untouchable problems with the answer.

To love a person will take more time, and by this one can

understand a long-lasting order

It will not need to weep real tears

Music can only be used for mourning,

Hate is like a star, not being near, not shining .

The echo would return again, to receive the strange silence that follows the explosion.

The tree will become a stranger.

What is remembered will become a distant thing.

Someone in the costume,goes into a long lost history.

The glove that touches everything will lose its hand.

The sky gets deeper, the other world is shaking,

sometimes visible and sometimes invisible.

With my head down, a beast that moves inside my body

has grown up. For so many years,

My heart secretly feeds it but I totally

have no idea about that


06

冬晨

城市湿漉漉的——

叶片落尽,

赤裸的树枝有益于记忆。

雾已散开,被黑夜融化掉的人

恢复了形体。

汽车都发动了起来,

世界在承受更多的心脏。

我经过窗子,仿佛看见了它一直

注视的东西。

我遇见了一股气流,清新得

像从未被人使用过。

没遇见鸟。

这早晨之外,一定

还有早晨。

A Winter Morning

The city is all wet --

All leaves are gone,

Bare branches are helpful for memory.

The mist has dispersed, and people melted by the night 

have recovered their shapes

All vehicles have started up

The world is bearing more heartbeats.

I pass by a window, I have found that 

it keeps looking at one thing all the time

I meet a puff of air, and it is so fresh

that it seems no one has once used it before.

Not meeting birds.

Beside this morning, it must have

another morning.


07

语调

果壳皱缩:古老的结构学;

回声抽象:墙上有只新画的耳朵。

有时他人是第二自我,有时,

他人是种隐秘的听觉。

对于喘息,肺是潜意识。

对于名词,形容词迟早是种羞辱。

已是春天,有人

在用火焰织造视网膜。

——他找到了改变语调的力量,

以及能反锁住冰山的修辞。

已是春天,已是

废墟拥有的蓬勃自由。

宁静是粗野的,一根

非人性的线条在白纸上散步。

——你我仍然是藤索之子。

Tone of Voice

Shrinkage of the nutshell:It is the ancient structurology 

An abstract echo : There is a newly painted ear on the wall.

Sometimes the other is the second self, and sometimes,

the other is a cryptic sense of hearing.

For wheezing, the lungs are subconscious.

To a noun, sooner or later the adjective is an uneasiness .

It's spring now, somebody

is using flames to weave retinas  .

--he has found the strength to change the tone,

and the rhetoric that can anti lock the iceberg .

It's in spring already, it's a freedom to be flourishing

and that can even be owned by a ruin  .

Quietness is uncivilized.An

inhuman line walks on the clean paper.

--You and I are still the children of the cane.


08

宣纸

——事未休。

仍是这古老的造纸术:记忆,

沉在心跳危险的重构中。

——然则又是

一根竹管俯下身来,埋头苦干。

憧憬、白日梦、耳鬓厮磨,再次

变为陌生的地理学。

“墨,滞留在脱水、压平的地方……”

某个春风沉醉的晚上,我们

面壁而立,意识到:

一切都是熟稔的,只在留白里

仍有未被弄清的内容。

——而所有人都已不在场。

空气中浮动着

性的微尘,和纤维的雪。

Rice Paper

It's not over yet.

It is still the old paper making technique: memory,

sinks in the dangerous reconstruction of the heartbeat.

-- But it is actually

a bamboo tube bending down and paying all its attention to work. 

Longing, daydreaming, intimacy, all once again

become a strange geography.

'Ink, stuck in a dehydrated, flattened place...'

In a spring evening with breeze intoxicated, we

stand against the wall and realize:

Everything is so familiar, only in the margins

there are still things that are not known well.

-- And none of us is at the scene.

The air is floating

the dust of sex, and the snow of fibers.


09

南迦巴瓦峰

高原无声,微蓝。

一个无头的人在冰川上游荡,

他没有方向,偶尔会闯进别人的梦境……

天亮了,

村庄像悬崖上的一颗小石子。

积雪如衣,我们的凶手高大俊美。

多好的江山呀值得一刀。

仰望的人都像是幸存者。

The Peak Namjagbarw

This plateau is silent and bluish.

A headless person wanders on the glacier

He has no direction and occasionally crashes into people's dreams...

At dawn

The village looks like a small pebble on the cliff.

The snow acts like a coat, and our Heartbreaker is towering and handsome.

This landscape is so magnificent that it is worth worshiping .

All the people looking up are like survivors.


10

夜雨

1

你已失去了,

包括庭院里的桔子树。

星辰的面庞曾在水中映现,

而栀子花的香气带来了雨。

祈祷者睡去,十字架在墙上闪着光。

抚慰般的雨,落向凉亭、小径,

落向那因为受了折磨而无法

入睡的事物。

2

雨落向零点,黑夜陪着它。

雨落向街市、灯塔、运河闪光的背脊,

黑夜陪着它。

雨落向郊区,黑夜已提前等候在那里。

——再往前就是黎明了,

雨落着,意识不到告别。

The Night Rain

1

You've lost something,

including the orange tree in the courtyard.

The face of the stars was once reflected in the water,

And the fragrance of gardenia brings a rain.

Prayers have fallen asleep, the cross glows on the wall.

The soothing rain falls on the bower and the path,

and on the sleepless things 

because of suffering .

2

The rain drops to the null point, the night is with it.

The rain drops to the shining backs of streets, lighthouses, canals,

The night accompanies it.

The rain drops to the suburbs, where the dark night has been waiting there in advance.

-- Further on, it will be the dawn,

Rain is still falling, doesn't realize it is a farewell.


11

传说

神话发蓝,勇士无法分类,

大海的悲伤使书页悸动,

不经意的道别已变成永别。

下午三点,一阵细雨,

木马成灰。埃及人建造金字塔。

雨停了,阿基米德

在沙上划出又一道难题。

A Legend 

The myth turns into blue color, so warriors can't be classified,

The sadness of the sea makes the pages throb,

A casual farewell has become a forever parting .

At three o 'clock in the afternoon, a drizzle falls,

Trojan Horse has become a legend. The Egyptians have built the pyramids.

When the rain stops, Archimedes

crafts another puzzle in the sand.


12

当我们醒来

鸽群飞过高塔,云朵白,

公园变成了赞美诗。

恍如处身于另一个早晨,天地间充满光辉与清风。

桌上的地球仪轻轻一拨

就转得飞快——

蓝色海洋卷走了大陆和岛屿。

When We Wake up

Pigeons fly over the high tower, clouds are so white,

The park becomes a hymn.

It is like I was in another morning, full of brightness and breeze between the earth and the sky.

Gently allocate the globe on the table 

It rotates very fast --

The blue oceans sweep away continents and islands.


13

左手

右手有力。

左手有年久失修的安宁。

总是右手相握,在我们中间

打一个死结;或者

像个有力的扳道工。当生活

这列火车从右侧呼啸而过。左手,

在左侧有了另外的主张。

右手前伸,

左手还滞留在记忆中。

“某些间隙,世界就像消失了……”

无所事事时,右手

会不经意间握住左手,

像握着一件纪念品。

The Left Hand

The right hand is powerful.

and the left hand has the peace of disrepair for longtime.

People always shake with the right hand, like making tie a tight knot between us; or it is

like a powerful switchman. When

the train of life roars past on the right. The left hand,

on the left has another idea.

When your right hand put forward,

The left hand is still stuck in memory.

'At certain intervals, the world is just like disappearing...'

When doing nothing, right hand

will inadvertently hold the left hand,

like holding a souvenir.


14

地平线

……看上去很近的那种远,

你倒退或跟进,均无效:奔向

天边者从不曾得到迎接。

而你若站定,它也站定,并允许

行走的人慢慢朝它靠拢……

——是的,我们相遇的地方,天空会自然地

垂下来,触碰大地,因为世间

除了它,其他界线都是无效的;因为时间

真的有一个虚拟的外延。

——是的,它不允许世界一分为二,沉睡的沙漠,

失踪的峰峦,一直有人从那里返回,额上

锲刻的曲线,和遥远、无限都取得过联系。

而锋刃、杯口、街巷、廊柱的圆弧,则带着

地球腹内持续的颤动,绷紧的琴弦

会演奏我们内心的潮汐……

——是的,那沉默的线,也是它转化成声音的线,

可见,有呼吸,记得我们的愿望和遗忘,

并能够被听取

The Horizon

...It looks very close but it's actually very far,

It is ineffective whatever you backtrack or go forward: Running

to the horizon is never being greeted.

And if you stand still, it stands too, and allows

the walkers slowly draw closer to it...

Yes, where we meet, the sky will naturally hang

down and touch the earth, because,in the world

except it,all other boundaries are null and void; because the time really has a virtual denotation.

--Yes, it shall not permit the world to be divided in two, the sleeping desert,

the missing mountains. There are always people coming back from there. Wrinkles on their forehead 

have made a relation with the distant, infinite 

And the arc of the blade, the mouth of the cup, the street and the column of the gallery bring

the constant tremor in the belly of the earth, the tightened strings

to play the tides within us...

--Yes, the line of silence is also the line that it turns into sound,

So,there is a breathe that remembers our wishes and forgetting,

and it could be heard


15

传说

小鱼在网里、盆里,

大鱼,才能跳出现实,进入传说中。

那是运河的基因出了错的地方,

在它幽暗、深邃的DNA里,

某种阴鸷的力量失去了控制。

昨天的新闻:某人钓到一条鲵,长逾一米。

而在古老的传说中,一条河怪

正兴风作浪,吃掉了孩童

和用来献祭的活猪。

所以,当我向你讲述,我要和

说书先生的讲述区别开来:是的,

那些夸张、无法触及真相的语言,

远不如一枚鱼钩的锋利。而假如你

沉浸于现实无法自拔,

我会告诉你另一个传说:一条

可爱的红鲤,为了报恩,嫁给了渔夫,

为他洗衣做饭,生儿育女。

——当初,它被钓上来,

流泪,触动了我们的软心肠;

被放生时,欢快地游走了。而当它

重新出现在我们的

生活中,喉咙里的痛点消失了,

身上的鳞片却愈加迷人。

The Legend

Only when the small fish is in nets or pots,

can the big fish jump out of the reality, and get into the legend.

That's where the canal's genes go wrong,

In its dark, deep DNA,

Some sinister power gets out of control.

Yesterday's news: someone caught a salamander over a metre long.

And in the old legend, a river monster

raises winds and waves and has eaten some children 

and live pigs offered for sacrifice.

So, when I talk to you, I'm going to tell the difference with

a storyteller’s narration: Yes,

Those words that are exaggerated and do not touch the truth

are not nearly as sharp as a fishing hook. And if you are

immersed in reality and unable to extricate yourself,

I'll tell you another legend: one

lovely red carp, in return for a fish man’s kindness,she married him,

She washed clothes and cooked for him,had children and raised their children with him.

- When he was caught,

Its tears, touched our soft hearts;

When he was released, he swam away happily. And when it

reappears in our 

life, the pain point in its throat disappears,

The scales on its body are more attractive.


16

傍晚的海滨

我常常以为我已迷失,找回自己

是艰难的。

今天,我来到这海边——大海仍然在这里。

有人在那边堆沙器,我在这边望着远方。

我望见的事物:

海鸥继续研究天空;

小岛,守着它无法把握的情感,又待在其中;

黄昏愈浓——潮水

喧腾,正把早晨时吞下的沙滩一点点

还给陆地。

An Evening in a Beach

I often think I am lost 

and It's hard to get myself back.

Today I come to this seashore-- and the sea is still here.

Someone is making sand works over there, and I'm here looking into the distance.

All the things I see:

Some seagulls continue to study the sky;

This island, clinging to a feeling it could not grasp but still stays here ;

The evening gets darker-- the tide is roaring

and little by little it gives back the land the beach swallowed in the morning.


17

漂木

漂浮在海上,它们

曾是船、远方、航线和港口。

后来,与海在一起,不再需要岸。

却又被捞起,现在,堆在简陋

粗野的木器厂里。

机器轰鸣,一只半成品的茶桌还不知它是茶桌。

地上,刨花像凌乱的浪花,在细碎中起伏。

因为耐腐蚀、耐沤,它们还将被做成亭子、花盆,

或铺在庭院里的路面上,

一块块,切割得整齐,像许多灵魂最后的流浪

结束后,剩下的副产品。

The Drifting Wood

Floating on the sea, they

once were a ship, a distance, a line or a port.

Later, with the sea together,they no longer needed a shore.

But they are picked up , and now piled in the simple and crude

woodworking factory .

The machine rumbles, and a half-finished tea table doesn't know it would be a tea table.

On the ground, shavings like messy spray undulate in the broken bits .

Because of corrosion resistance and retting resistance , they will also be made into pavilions and flowerpots,

or would be put on the pavements in yards,

cut neatly one by one, like the remained byproducts

of many souls after their last wandering.


18

顽石

据说,一块顽石变成

宝玉的时间,要比

面如冠玉的人变成一块顽石

慢一些。

那是在夕阳下,在那种

缓缓的沉落里,我们和一块石头

压住了黄昏。

小说怎样构成?

我听过一个假人的嘀咕:一切都是真的。

而疯子的呓语:假的,假的……

……缓缓沉落中,无用之物

才是超现实的——它收留了故事的

一部分痛感,以之维系

我们生活中多出的那部分。

一块结石。它爱着这世界,在远离

这世界的另外一个地方。

An Insensate Stone

It is said that a stone without feeling becomes

a treasure much slower than

a man with a jade-like face becomes 

a hard stone

It is in the sunset, in the

slowly sinking, we and a stone

have tamed the dusk.

How is a novel structured?

I once heard a dummy muttered:It is all real.

and madman whispers: forged, forged...

... In the slowly sinking,only the useless thing

is surreal -- it harbors some pains in a story,

and sustains

the extra part of our lives by it.

A lithiasis. It loves this world 

in another part far from the world.


19

塑料花

儿童被教育,

道路被经过,

一张白纸上是鸽子的祖国。

明月是下一场游戏的筹码,

轮子,怀抱正在被使用的圆。

有人悄悄离开了我们,

而一朵云,是件被忘记在天上的事。

一面墙一直在光中漂移,

它有迷人的低音,

它的拐角是完美的。

我不说话,数学和酒也缄口不语。

动词正变成无辜的名词。

地板走过时有轻微的响动,

今年又要过去了,

桌子上的塑料花平安无事。

Plastic Flowers

Children are being educated,

The road is being passed ,

On a blank paper there is the dove's motherland.

The bright moon is the bargaining chip in next game,

Wheels, embracing the circle being used.

Someone left us quietly,

And a cloud is a thing forgotten in the sky.

One wall has been drifting in the light,

It has a charming bass tone,

Its corner is perfect .

I do not speak, mathematics and wine are also silent .

Verbs are becoming innocent nouns.

The floor made a slight noise as a man walks,

This year is going to the end soon,

plastic flowers on the table are in a safe hand.


20

夕阳

它已快落到地平线上,

不刺眼,不响亮,几乎是幸福的,像个

孤独的王在天边伫立,

体内,金色骨架泛着温和的光。

嶙峋尊严,低吼,性爱过后晚霞般

散失的温度……

无声,鬃毛披拂,渐渐黯淡,

开始领受奇异的宁静。

曾经它是一幅画,

挂在租来的客厅的墙上,

连同光线下的田畴和小镇。

那时,它面色柔和,管理大地、黄昏,

同时照看一个几平方米的客厅。

有时灯灭了,它待在黑暗里,

让发光像一件记忆中的事。

现在,列车在飞驰,地平线在晃动,

我想起客厅的那面墙壁,仿佛

晃动着,从消逝的年代中回来了。

Sunset

1

It is sinking almost to the horizon,

not dazzling, not loud, almost blissful, like a

lonely king standing in the sky,

Inside it, the golden skeleton glows gently.

It is bony and dignified, giving a low growl, 

Its temperature dissipates like after making love or the sunset glow ...

silently, with mane relaxing in the darkening,

It begins to experience a strange serenity.

2

Once it was a painting,

hanging on the wall of a rented parlor,

being with fields and towns under the light.

At that time its countenance was soft,ruling the earth and the twilight ,

At the same time it took care of a living room of several square meters.

Sometimes the lights were turned off and it stayed in the dark,

and made the shining like a thing in memory.

Now, the train is speeding, the horizon is shaking,

I think of the wall in the living room, 

It seems swinging and coming back from the faded years.


21

天鹅湖记

天鹅是个譬喻,是馈赠于

实体的一个幻象,让这片水从无意识

进入有意识——虚设之下,

不能飞的事物被安置在

被重新认知的空间中。在内部,

“随之,神秘的意志也出现了,在删除

你身体里的重力。”

当我们在电梯里上升,感到

某物比我们的速度更快,一个陌生的天空

在接纳那种升腾。

——神奇的是,它比电梯的噪音

还要稍微小一些。

但当我们步下悬梯,脚,则需要摆脱

无名空间那隐形的结构。

“就像正从一个古老的翅膀上走下来。”

灯火阑珊。只有在地面上我们才能意识到

年月的统治。

多么频繁的运动,只要稍稍站得高一点,

比如

站在阳台上俯瞰城市,就能顺便

审视这一百年来发生的事。

——液态面庞仍是安静的。不是湖水,

是显性的修辞曾经说服了我们。

因风而起,又颠簸于

一晃而过的秋天。

那时我们年轻,有量子纠缠所需要的

全部能量,和分身术……

在陌生街道的拐角处,

你背着风点烟,打火机那可重复的

咔的轻响,把城市

永远留在了听力范围内。

“楼房的阴影和飞行有关。只有

不属于它本身的事物

在提供自由。”

湖是前身,翅膀乃身后事。反之亦然。

“原名带来安慰,但它是一个

不会再被梦到的梦。”

游船轻轻荡漾,你觉得,

现在就出发也未尝不可。

Memories of the Swan Lake 

1

The swan is a metaphor,an illusion presented to the entity 

and it makes this water come into consciousness from the unconscious-- under the illusion,

flightless things are placed in

the space that has been rerecognized. Internally,

'And then the mysterious will appears, and deletes

the gravity in your body.'

When we go up in the elevator, we feel

there is something moving faster than us, an unfamiliar sky

embraces that rise.

--Miraculously, it's a little lower 

than an elevator’s voice.

But when we step down the ladder, our feet need to get rid of 

the invisible structure of nameless space.

'It's like stepping down from an ancient wing.'

The lights are dimming. It's only on the ground can we realize

the reign of the years.

What a frequent movement it is, if you stand a little higher,

such as

standing on the balcony and overlooking the city, then you can 

look at what's happened over the last 100 years.

The liquid face is still peaceful. It is not the lake water,

but the explicit rhetoric that had once convinced us.

2

Moving with the wind, and going around

with the flying autumn.

We were young at that time, and we had all the energy needed for quantum entanglement and bilocation...

At the corner of a strange street,

you lighted a cigarette with your back to the wind, the repeatable gentle click of the lighter

kept the city

staying in the hearing range forever.

'The shadow of a building is related with flying. Only something that does not belong to itself

is offering freedom.'

The lake is the past life, the wings are the afterlife. And vice versa.

'The former name brings comfort, but it is

a dream that will never be dreamed again.'

A pleasure- boat is gently rippling, and you think,

It is okay to start now.


22

在艾青故居

从这里出走,去远方。

而我们沿着相反的方向,来看他的故居

——并非来自他讲述的时空:如果

有回声,我们更像那回声

分裂后的产物

老宅是旧的,但探访永远是

新的发生——在这世上,没有一种悲伤

不是挽歌所造就。我们

在玻璃柜前观看旧诗集,说着话,嗓音

总像在被另外、不认识的人借用

他不在场,我们该怎样和他说话?一个

自称是保姆的儿子的老者

在门槛外追述,制造出一种奇异的在场感。

——我感到自己是爱他的,在树下,在楼梯的

吱嘎声中,我仿佛在领着

一个孩童拐过转角,去看他贴在墙上的一生

从窗口望出去,是他的铜像

在和另一个铜像交谈,神采焕发,完全

适合另一个地方的另一段时光。

老墙斑驳,但我已理解了

那雕像在一个瞬间里找到的意义。

滴着小雨,铜闪亮,我感受着

金属的年轻,和它心中的凉意与欢畅

他结过三次婚——另一扇窗外,双尖山苍翠

在所有的旧物中,只有它负责永远年轻

被捕过,劳改过,出过国,在画画的时候

爱上了写诗——他在狱中写诗。

——昨天不是像什么,而是

是什么。他的半身像伫立在大门外,手指间

夹一根烟,面目沧桑,对着

无数来人,仿佛

已可以为自己的思考负责,为自己的

一生负责——最重要的

是你的灵魂不能被捕,即便

被画过,被诗句搬运,被流放和抚慰——

它仍需要返乡。要直到

雕像出现在祖宅里,他的一生

才是完整的。我凝视他的眼,里面

有种很少使用的透视法则。而发黄的

照片上,形象,一直在和改变作斗争。这从

完整中析出的片段环绕着我们,以期

有人讲述时,那已散失的部分,能够跟上进入

另一时空的向导。而为什么我们

要在此间流连,当它

已无人居住,但仍需要修缮、看守,仿佛有种

被忽略的意义,像我们早年攒下的零钱

而穿过疑虑、嘈杂、真空,一尊铜像

已可以慢慢散步回家

又像一个沙漏,内部漏空了,只剩下

可以悬空存在的耐心:一种

看不见的充盈放弃了形状,在讲述之外

正被古建筑严谨的刻度吸收。

In Ai Qing’s Former Residence

Away from here,he went to the far place.

In the opposite direction we come to see his old house 

-- not from the space-time he spoke of: if

there is an echo, then we are more like 

the product of split echo

The old house is worn, but the visitation is always

new happening -- in this world, there is no sadness

that is not caused by the elegy .

In front of the glass case, we look at the old poetry collection and talk.

Voices are always like being used by someone else you don't know

How shall we talk to him while he is not at the scene?

An elderly man who claims that he is the son of the nanny

Outside the threshold he recalls things ,it creates a strange sense of presence.

I feel that I love him, under a tree and in the creaking of the  stairs, I seem to be leading

one child turning a corner to see his life pasted on the wall

Looking out of the window it is his bronze statue

conversing with another one ,with radiant appearance and it is completely adapted to another time in another place.

The old walls are mottled, but I understand

the meaning that the statue has found in a moment.

In the light rain, the copper shining,I feel

the youth of the metal, and the coolness and cheerfulness in its heart

He had been married three times -- outside the other window the Shuangjian Hill is green 

Of all the old things, only it is responsible for the ever-young

He had once been arrested and put into forced labor camp, he had been abroad, when he was painting

He fell in love with writing poetry -- he wrote poetry in prison.

Yesterday was not what that it was like, but actually 

what it was. His bust stands outside the gate,

a cigarette is between his fingers,with vicissitudes of life on his face , he faces

countless people, as if he

can be able to take responsibility for his own thinking, and his own life -- the most important is 

that your soul cannot be arrested, even if 

painted, carried by poetry, banished and soothed --

It still needs to go home, until

the statue appears in your ancestral house, then your life

would be complete. I look into his eyes, inside,

there is a rarely used rule of perspective. And in the yellow

picture, the image, has been struggling with change. 

Fragments come out of the wholeness surround us, in the hope that when someone speaks of this, the lost part can catch up with the guide to another time and space.

And why do we linger here, it is

no longer inhabited, it still in needs of repair and guarding, as if there is a neglected meaning, like the small change we saved up in the early years

And through doubt, noise, vacuum, a bronze statue

can walk home slowly

like an hourglass, its interior is empty, only 

the patience that can suspend the existence is left : a kind of

invisible fullness gives up its shape, outside of narrative,

It is being absorbed by the precise scale of ancient architecture.


23

讲古的人

讲古的人在炉火旁讲古,

椿树站在院子里,雪

落满了脖子。

到春天,椿树干枯,有人说,

那是偷听了太多的故事所致。

炉火通红,贯通了

故事中黑暗的关节,连刀子

也不再寒冷,进入人的心脏时,暖洋洋,

不像杀戮,倒像是在派送安乐。

少年们在雪中长大了,

春天,他们进城打工,饮酒,嫖妓,

最后,不知所踪。

要等上许多年,讲古的人才会说,

他的故事,一半来自师传,另一半

来自噩梦——每到冬天他就会

变成一个死者,唯有炉火

能把他重新拉回尘世。

“因为,人在世上的作为不过是

为了进入别人的梦。”他强调,

“那些杜撰的事,最后

都会有着落(我看到他眼里有一盆

炭火通红),比如你

现在活着,其实在很久以前就死去过。

有个故事圈住你,你就

很难脱身。

但要把你讲没了,也容易。”

The Person Who Tells Ancient Stories

The one who told ancient stories talked by the fire,

A Chinese Toon Tree stood in the yard, snow

fell all over its neck.

In springtime, if a Toon tree was withered, people would say,

It's the result of eavesdropping on too many stories.

The stove fire was fierce and it got through

dark joints of the story, even the knife of the story

was not cold but warm when getting into a man's heart,

It's not like killing. It's more like distributing happiness.

Teenagers grew up in the snow,

In springs, they went to cities to work,they drank and went whoring ,

At last, they disappeared.

Many years later, the story teller says,

half of his stories come from his teacher, the other half

from nightmares -- every winter he would

become a frozen man, only the fire

can bring him back to the human world.

'For the work of man on earth is nothing more

to enter someone else's dream.' He stresses that,

'In those fabricated stories, finally everyone would have its own way

(I see a pot of red charcoal

 in his eye), just as you

are living now but actually you had once died a long time ago.

There's a story binding you, and you 

are hard to get away.

But it is also easy to sweep you off in a story.'


24

春风斩

河谷伸展。小学校的旗子

噼啪作响。

有座小寺,听说已走失在昨夜山中。

牛羊散落,树桩孤独,

石头里,住着一直无法返乡的人。

转经筒转动,西部多么安静。仿佛

能听见地球轴心的吱嘎声。

风越来越大,万物变轻,

这漫游的风,带着鹰隼、沙砾、碎花瓣、

歌谣的住址和前程。

风吹着高原小镇的心。

春来急,屠夫在洗手,群山惶恐,

湖泊拖着磨亮的斧子。

The Sharpened Spring Breeze 

The valley stretches out. The elementary school’s flag is

crackling.

There is a small temple which is said to have been lost in the mountains last night.

The cattle and sheep are scattered ,dull stumps stay lonely,

Inside the stones, there live those people who can never  return home.

How quiet the west is as the meridian turns. As if

one can hear the creak of the earth's axis.

The wind gets stronger, everything gets lighter,

This roving wind takes away hawks, gravels,broken petals,

as well as the address and future of the ballads.

The wind blows the heart of the highland town.

Spring comes in a hurry, a butcher is washing his hands, mountains are terrified,

The lake is dragging a polished axe.


25

在国清寺

晨光使殿宇有微妙的位移。

溪水,镇日潺潺却没有内容。

人要怪诞,并让那怪诞成为传说,给追忆者

以另外的完整性。

——譬如茶道:方丈正在熟练地洗茶。

这熟练是怪诞的,其中,许多事已秘而不宣。

书记微胖,管宗教的官员会算命,

我想你时,你与墙上的菩萨无异。

他们说,美院的学生都心有魔障,写生纸上

出现的总是另一座寺院,从那里

走失的人有时会来禅堂问路。

我也是心有魔障的人吗?沉默、咳声、交谈中

意味深长的停顿,都可以列入位移的范畴。

中午,我们吃素斋,然后,去“闲人免进”的

牌子后面看梅树、阴影浓重的院落。

一页页石阶覆满青苔,仿佛

来自某个更加罕见的版本,让我记起有人

曾在此踱步,望空噪骂,去厨房吃友人留的剩菜。

这午后的长廊自然适合告别。

游人止步的地方隐入高人。

我也抬起头来,想你就是抬起头来

向更高、晴朗、没有任何东西的地方眺望。

僧舍旁,花朵过于红硕,风却一直无法说服它们。

如今,我把方丈送的《寒山子集》放在书架上,

用剩下的部分写成一首诗。

In Guoqing Temple

The morning light shifted the temple in a subtle way.

This stream, murmured all day long but said nothing.

A man should be grotesque, and made the grotesque become a legend, and gave an additional integrity to the rememberer .

--Just like the tea ceremony: the abbot was washing tea expertly.

This practised skill was weird , in it many things was covered secretly .

The secretary was a little fat, the religious official knew fortune-telling,

When I missed you, you were no different from the bodhisattva on the wall.

They said that the students of the Academy of Fine Arts were mentally handicapped shortly, sketching on paper

always appeared another temple, 

Sometimes people lost from there would come to here to ask for directions.

Was I also a person with demons? Silence, coughing, 

any meaningful pause in conversation could be included in the category of displacement.

At noon, we had vegetarian food, and then we went behind  the plaque 'no-entry'

to see the courtyards with plum trees and tense shadowy.

The stone steps were covered with moss, as if it came

from one rarer version, it reminded me of someone

once paced here, abusing to the air, and went to the kitchen to eat leftovers kept by his friends  .

This afternoon corridor was naturally suitable for farewell.

The place where visitors were forbidden hid talented people.

I looked up too, thinking of you meant

to rise head to look at a higher, clear place where there was nothing existing.

Beside the monks’ house, the flowers were too red and strong,  the wind had been unable to persuade them.

Now, I put the book Subsets of Cold Mountain, which was sent by the abbot, on my bookshelf,

and make a poem out of the rest of it.


26

北风

戏台上,祝英台不停地朝梁山伯说话。

日影迟迟。所有的爱都让人着急。

那是古老南国,午睡醒来,花冠生凉,

半生旁落于穿衣镜中。瓷瓶上的蓝,

已变成某种抽象的譬喻。

“有幸之事,是在曲终人散前化为蝴蝶……”

回声依稀,老式木桌上,手

是最后一个观众,

——带着人间不知晓的眷顾。

The North Wind

On the stage, Zhu Yingtai keeps talking to Liang Shanbo.

The sun shadow lingers for a long time. All the love make people worry.

That is the ancient south country, when awaking from a nap, the crown is cool,

half a life has been spent beside a mirror. Blueness on a porcelain jar,

has become some sort of abstract metaphor.

'The lucky thing is to turn into a butterfly before the end of life ...'

Echo is dimly, to old fashioned wooden table, the hand

is the last audience,

--with a care that man doesn't know .


27

异类

有人练习鸟鸣。

当他掌握了那技巧,就会

变成一只鸟,收拢翅膀并隐藏在

我们中间。

他将只能同鸟儿交谈,

当他想朝我们说话,

就会发出奇怪的鸣叫。

同样,那学会了人的语言的鸟,

也只能小心地

蛰伏在林中。

后山,群鸟鸣啭,

有叫声悠长的鸟、叫个不停的鸟,

还有一只鸟,只有短促的喳的一声,

黝黑身影,像我们的叙述中

用于停顿的标点。

群鸟鸣啭,天下太平。

最怕的是整座山林突然陷入寂静,

仿佛所有鸟儿在一瞬间

察觉到了危险。

我倾听那寂静。同时,

我要听到你说话才心安。

The Heterogeneous

Someone practices bird-singing.

When he has mastered that skill, he will

become a bird, and folds its wings and hides

among us.

He would only be able to talk to birds,

When he tries to talk to us,

He makes a strange chirping sound.

In the same way, a bird that has learned human language,

can only hide carefully 

in the forest.

In the back hills, birds are singing,

Some sing in a long voice, some sing all the time,

and one bird only gives a short twittering,

Its swarthy figure is just as a punctuation for pauses

in our narrative。

Birds keep singing, the surrounding is so peace.

What we fear most is that the whole mountain forest suddenly falls into silence,

That seems all the birds are ware of danger

in an instant.

I listen to the silence. At the same time,

I won't feel easy until I hear your voice.


28

峡谷记

峡谷空旷。谷底,

大大小小的石头,光滑,像一群

身体柔软的人在晒太阳。

它们看上去已很老了,但摸一摸,

皮肤又光滑如新鲜的孩童。

这是枯水季,时间慢。所有石头

都知道这个。石缝间,甚至长出了小草。时间,

像一片新芽在悄悄推送它多齿的叶缘;又像浆果内,

结构在发生不易察觉的裂变。

我在一面大石坡上坐下来,体会到

安全与危险之间那变化的坡度。脚下,

更多的圆石子堆在低处。沉默的一群,

守着彼此相似的历史。

而猛抬头,有座笔直的石峰,似乎已逃进天空深处。

在山谷中,虚无不可谈论,因为它又一次

在缓慢的疼痛中睡着了。

当危崖学会眺望,空空的山谷也一直在

学习倾听:呼啸的光阴只在

我们的身体里寻找道路。

那潜伏的空缺。那镂空之地送来的音乐。

A Memory of a Canyon 

The canyon is spacious and empty . In the bottom,

large and small stones are smooth, like a group of

people with soft bodies basking in the sun.

They look very old, but when you touch,

Their skin is as smooth as a young child.

This is the dry season and the time becomes slow. All the stones

know that. Grass even grows among the stones. The time,

is like a new leaf bud that stealthily pushes its toothed edges; or just like in a berry,

Its structure is undergoing an imperceptible fission.

I sit down on a leaning boulder and realize

the changing slope between safety and danger. At my foot,

more pebbles are piled in the low place. The silent crowd,

keeps a similar history of each other.

And if you raise head up suddenly,there is a straight stone peak that seems to have escaped deep into the sky.

In the valley, nothingness cannot be talked about, for once again 

It falls asleep in slow pain.

When the cliff learns to look far, the empty valley has also been

learning to listen: the roaring time is only 

looking for paths in our bodies.

the latent vacancy. the music that comes from the hollow space.


29

甘蔗田

这一生,你可能偶尔经过甘蔗田,

偶尔经过穷人的清晨。

日子是苦的,甘蔗是甜的。

不管人间有过怎样的变故,甘蔗都是甜的。

它把糖运往每一个日子,运往

我们搅拌咖啡的日子。

曾经,甘蔗林沙沙响,一个穷人

也有他的神:他把苦含在嘴里,一开口,

词语总是甜的。

轧糖厂也在不远的地方。

机器多么有力,它轧出糖,吐掉残渣。

——冲动早已过去了,这钢铁和它拥有的力量

知道一些,糖和蔗农都不知道的事。

这一生,你偶尔会经过甘蔗田。

淡淡薄雾里,幼苗们刚刚长出地面,

傍着去年的遍地刀痕。

The  Sugarcane Fields

In your whole life, you may pass by a sugarcane field once in a while,

occasionally going through the poor man's morning.

The life is bitter, the sugar cane is sweet.

No matter what has happened to the world, sugar cane is always sweet.

It carries sugar to every day, to

the days when we stir coffee.

Once, the sugarcane forest rustled, a poor man

also had his God: He put bitterness in his mouth, and when he opened his mouth,

his words were always sweet.

The sugar mill is not far away.

How powerful the machine is, it presses out the sugar and spits out the crumbs.

--The impulse has gone long, the steel and the power it holds

know something that sugar and sugarcane growers don't know.

In your life, once in a while you may pass a sugarcane field.

In the mist the young plants are just rising from the ground,

being with last year's knife marks everywhere.


胡弦  诗人,散文家,现居南京,供职于《扬子江诗刊》。出版诗集《沙漏》《空楼梯》、散文集《菜蔬小语》《永远无法返乡的人》等。曾获《诗刊》《十月》《作品》《芳草》等杂志年度诗歌奖、徐志摩诗歌奖、柔刚诗歌奖、腾讯书院文学奖、花地文学榜年度诗人奖、鲁迅文学奖等。

About the author:
Hu Xian is a poet and an essayist, he lives in Nan Jing now and works for the Yangtze River Poetry Journal. He has published collections of poems such as  Hourglass, Empty Staircase, and collections of essays such as Those People Who Can Never Return Homeland, Fairy Tales of Vegetables , etc. He has won many annual prizes by magazines such as 'Poetry Periodical'、”Stars Poetry Journal” 、'October' 、'Works' 、”Green Grass”, and others prizes such as Poetry Gold Award of Annual Literature List by magazine Flower City、Literature Prize by Tencent College、Rou Gang Poetry Prize、Wen Yiduo Poetry Prize、Xu Zhimo Poetry Prize, October Literature Prize, Lu Xun Literature Prize, etc.


译者林巧儿  女,粤人。写格律诗词与现代诗,译诗评诗。在美国、中国等地报刊发表(出版)英文作品、英译(中译)作品约20万字。

About the translator:
Lina moon, an interpreter,she is from Guangzhou,her real name is Lin Qiaoer. Her modern poetry,Chinese classic rhythmic poetry,literary criticism and English Translation works had partly published in “People's Daily”、”Shenzhen Dail”、 “Happy English Newspaper”, 'Huahai City Daily” in America、”Journal of Selected Poems”, “Poetry Trend”、”Mangzhong” and so on, more than 60 newspapers and magazines at home and abroad.    
She had won prizes in different poetry competitions more than ten times. Around 200000 words of her English works,translation works between English and Chinese have been published in magazines and newspapers in America、China and other countries .She is the chief English translator of the significant poetry anthology “Poems of Yanan Written by 100 Chinese Poets”. She has published “Short Poems of Lina Moon' (Chinese and English),etc.



编辑:砺影

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