Revisions
For many times, I open this file, created more than a year ago,
Many versions of a poem called "Late Spring."
Every time I open it, different moods precede and confuse my reading;
The atmosphere sustained by a few catchwords is enough
To bring out from me
The central image of a figure standing in front of a window,
Like a broad fallen leaf stuck in the mid-air in my view,
And I only want to know what the face is like that never turns,
The facial expression that can be understood in any language.
The first version starts like this, which may need a translation for you to read:
"Younger ones begin to peel in March,
Boys from the outer layer, girls from the inner;
Eyes searching like a breeze, stealing into the thinned clothes, easily.
But my tongue is still wearing mittens…"
It seems that whenever I cannot say something direct,
I start a poem with a season or a word to indicate the time of a day,
As if a woman said once every ten years she needed a suicidal attempt
To purge her heart and mind.
I have many Marches in a year, like flowers
Whose petals encircle the most untouchable filaments.
This version ends up at the lingering dragonflies and damselflies in a pond:
"See they lift off and land, hover and circle, never staying away from the stamens,
Their glassine wings emitting shifty light.
Short-lived, mesmerizing."
A later revision seems to aim at a masculine loftiness:
"There has never been a balustrade outside the north-facing windows,
And only when we climb a tower and eastbound water lies below in our view,
Do you suffice to become my irreversible loss, like a tradition…"
But my study is nothing but a snail’s coiled shell, and I can only
Imagine the once dreamt-of vagabond life and your lasting lure that attracts me
At every nightfall, the lean desire for your fleshy smile
And a bowl of noodles with an ox-eyed egg and emerald patch of pea leaves.
From the desk, I look up, with you behind me for a while,
Examining a horizontal scroll print of mountains and rivers from the left to the right,
A leaf-like boat making the blank water cooler and broader.
Perhaps I too soon realized that there was a kind of incongruity.
When one cannot do away with luxuries and women,
He shall not convince anyone that he’s taken the world and men in his heart;
When one holds a woman by her waist, he shall not sigh for any suffering.
I read that version, my left hand stroking the shaven chin,
Then the palm holding the cheek, fingers combing the short hair.
One leg of my spectacles was touched and all I saw jerked,
While my right hand on the mouse had scrolled down the file to the bottom:
"Your man occupies the living room, watching a football match, as if in a stadium,
While you are thinking of a man who does not like balls, quiet, sensitive,
A little melancholic. He is far away, and your man is forthright, tough and strong.
Eyes closed, pleasure of light could come out of the dark (who/from whom?)
For the while you stand in front of the window,
Spring turns to summer, and stars are diamonds."
As you can see, there is an alternative in parentheses beside the line, indicating
The uncertainty over the possibilities in the moment or any stilled moment:
Are the closed eyes referring to my eyes or yours?
And from whom could the pleasure out of the dark be? You, him or me?
Or if it is "If you close your eyes, you may get pleasure from me out of the dark"
While actually it is he who is getting pleasure out of you and I am here,
Standing before a window in a far-away country,
The ambiguity would certainly make me a dirty middle-aged man looking at stars.
And a few lines of blank space down, there are some isolate phrases, uncannily related:
"At their middle age, still in mind
Those fatless wrinkleless years years ago, beauty
Bad beauty, beauty of purified desire, landscape of you and me"
July 9, 2008
修修改改
多少次，打开那个题为《暮春》的文档
这是一首我写了好几个版本的诗，创建时间在一年多前
每次打开，就被迎面而来的不同情绪迷糊
一种氛围已先于阅读令我的视觉模糊，我不知如何稀释
我再不能一行一行地读，实际上也不需要，几个关键词
就足以令我从心底看到
一个站在窗前的背影
像一片落叶贴在眼前半透明的半空中
而我总想着这背影另一边的那张脸有什么表情
那是我不需要翻译的表达，我可以按任何语言体识
第一个版本如此开始，当然此刻我要将它转换成汉语
“年轻人都开始蜕皮了，三月的
眼神挠痒一般，轻易探入逐日单薄的衣衫
而我的舌头还戴着棉手套”
似乎每当我无法直接说出什么
就要找一个季节，重新开始
犹如有一个人说每十年要让自己的自杀企图洗涤一回意志
而我，每一年都有许多三月，像花朵一样绽开
露出花瓣内我无法对你描述的花丝
这个版本落到了蜻蜓和蜻蛉身上
“看它们起飞、降落，盘旋萦回，从不远离那花柱
它们的翅膀像薄玻璃纸一样闪光，虚幻、短暂、令人眼花”
后面有一次修改，好像试图从婉约走向豪放
“北向的窗，从没有栏杆
只有在登高时，那东去的流水自在地任我俯瞰
你便成为我所有的失落，犹如传统”
而我总是身在蜗居，这不过是我想象那曾经可能的浪迹天涯
你给我一个在每个黄昏归家的引力
清瘦的欲望、丰美的微笑
一碗清汤面上摞着翡翠一般的豌豆苗，放在我的书案上
我抬头，一幅印刷的山水横轴，从右向左
无人处有扁舟一叶，令江水更加冷更加宽阔
或许我很快就认识到一种不合时宜
抛不开饮食男女，音响与丝绸
还非得要说自己很有古人的豁达和关怀
搂着女人撩心的笑还说是念天地之悠悠与苍然
我看着这个版本，左手摸了摸修得光滑的下巴
然后托着脸颊，手指插入短短的鬓角
眼镜腿被我一压，所有的景物与文字都跳了一下
这时我右手的食指已在轻搓鼠标的滚轮
文档的最后，只剩下没头没尾的几行
“你男人占据着客厅看球，犹如在现场，而你
想着一个不爱球的男人，他安静、敏感、带着点忧郁
在远方，而你的男人粗犷豪爽，身强体壮
若你闭眼，就很享受（谁？）
站在窗前，片刻间，春天就已入夏，惟有星空永恒”
如你所见，上面倒数第二行旁边有一个括号
我想那暗示了当时或者任何一个凝滞的时刻都有很多可能
“若你闭眼”还是“若我闭眼”
是谁“就很享受”，是“你”还是“他”，是享受他还是我
如果整句理解为“若你闭眼，就很享受我”
可事实很可能是他正在享受着你，而我正站在遥远的窗前
这样的隐晦无疑令我成为一个龌龊的男人看着净洁的星空
而隔了几行空白，还有一些孤绝的词句，令人心悸地暗通
“中年 仍然想 自我尴尬的美
没有脂肪没有皱纹的岁月 纯净的欲
望 不美也难 你我的山水”
2008年7月9-10日Singapore Time
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