Fan Jinghua: The Moon after a Festive Season

　　The Moon after a Festive Season

The moon is high, high and waning, alone above the awakening city.
A late day in a lunar month after the Harvest.
It is morning, cool. What else can it tell?
The sky is vastly clean, bluish and uninhabited.
If you don’t resort to memory, you may easily slip into
Believing that your limbs are paddles which hang loose beside your trunk.
The world silently sways and heaves; water, water, water everywhere,
Water with foams. You are a boat, an island, a clam shell.

When the dry season in the sky is ending, before the refreshed wet settles in,
The beachcomber in ragged overalls like a cloud pokes and stirs
The plain stretch of fine sand, with his feet, with the stick in his hand,
And he will drag out of the silted slit a strap, a broken leather handbag,
And before groping into it, he presses its corner with his thumb and forefinger.
If he finds coins or letters, he will bury the bag under a bush;
If nothing found, he throws it back to the water, into a kelp forest.

His bucket is never full, and his bucket is never alive,
But the moon on the water is shattered, and for a moment
It even disappears, and slowly it will come back to re-establish itself.
　　　　　　　　　　　　　　Oct. 5, 2007

　　　节庆后的月亮

月亮很高，高而且清瘦，独自浮在开始醒来的城市上空。
收获季节过了，一个农历的月份将要结束。
此刻是清晨，微凉。它还能说明什么？
天空杳阔，明净，没有居民，幽蓝中带着灰白。
走在这样的低处，如果不诉求于记忆，你可能一不小心
便以为四肢是短木浆，松垮垮地搁在你躯干的船舷上。
世界在周围涌动，无声地喘息；水，水，到处是水，
带着浮沫。你是一只船，一座小岛，一瓣蚌壳。

天空的旱季行将结束，而新的雨季还没有降临，
那捡垃圾的老头，套在褴褛的工装裤里，像一片云，在朴素的细沙滩上
走走停停，不时地用脚踢踢、挖挖，手中的小棍戳戳、拨拨；
他终会从淤实的水眼中拽出一根带子，一只破烂的皮包，
用拇指与食指捏捏它的角，然后伸进去摸摸。
如果他找到几枚硬币或者信件，他会把手提包埋葬在灌木下；
如果什么也没有，他就将皮包扔回水中，沉入海带的森林。

他的塑料桶从未装满，他的塑料桶从不装生机，
但是水上的月亮会破碎，甚至一时间
还会消失不见，然后慢慢地，它会重新聚合起自己。
　　　　　　　　　　　　2007年10月6日