Depression
What cannot be seen, no one will touch, and imagination is more ethereal
Than a mirror. When you retire to your small study, the world
Lies so distant, like the heaving mood of the true southern Pacific night
You look into when listening to the equatorial downpour.
He says, I believe you will benefit from the pills but of course
This is up to you. The one after visiting your depth claims that your depression
Has deterred your progress and decision-making.
Do you take her recommendation?
You say, yes, almost, except her point about decision-making (Actually,
This is one act in your plot, and I have another definition of progress).
Oh, black words on white paper! I believe in the power of words
More than that of my thinking… Yes,
I like the color black, for a short man needs a black round-neck T-shirt
To bring out a pace that looks restrainedly proud.
Persistence, like solitude, sometimes looks sexier than geniality,
But they should appear to be of the same magnanimity.
On the next annual conference, I will use colorless sweet lipstick.
I understand that if you are too cleanly, you’d better cover it.
You can trim your pubic hair (Shhh, don’t tell), but never apply wax to your head.
Do not return digital words with the quivering of your vocal cord,
And if a song takes you down at night, do not send it to another.
Whoever puts death into a melody
Becomes stones in the pockets of a drowning suicide.
Do not wake up the one on the bed, no matter whether…!
He looks at your eyes and says, this pill is not a pacifier, it really
Helps you feel good and it is not addictive.
But you know that requires you to erase many old pictures and smile everyday
At your own reflection in the mirror, for several minutes.
Nov. 26, 2008
忧郁症疗法
看不见的，就没有人抚摸，想象
比镜子还要空幻。你退守进了小书房，
世界远得如赤道的雨季，
心情涌动，是真正的南太平洋之夜。
他说，相信药丸对你有益，但当然这个决定
还是要看你自己；你看看这个从你最深处出来的人说的话——
她说你的忧郁伤害了你的进步
与决断能力。你是否决定服用她的建议？
你说，除了有关决断的结论，她的话
我都愿意承认（嘿嘿，这是我计谋的一招，再说，
我对进步另有定义）。啊，白纸黑字！
我相信文字的力量甚于相信我自己的思考……是的，我喜欢黑色，
个头不高的人需要黑色的
无领T恤才能带出他步态中内敛的骄傲。
坚毅，犹如孤独，往往比和蔼
更性感，但是两者都应该显示为宽厚。
嗯，下一次聚会，我将涂无色的甜味唇膏，
并且赞美房子的新，闭口不提是否有钢筋。
我明白，若你有洁癖，一定要隐藏：阴毛
可以修剪（嘘，别说，别说！）但头发不要抹油；
别拿声带的颤动去回报光电符号，刺痛自己的歌
不可传给黑夜里的另一个听者。谁将死亡
填进了旋律，谁就是自沉时的石头。
别惊动床上的人，无论……！
这药丸并非为了抚慰，它真的会令你感觉良好，而且
不会上瘾。——他说得如此真诚，
可你知道，那需要你抹除不少旧照片，还要
天天要对着镜子保持几分钟微笑。
2008年11月27日
Thursday, November 27, 2008
Fan Jinghua: At the Gate of Heaven
At the Gate of Heaven
Did you kill?
--yes, because…
Were you angry?
--yes, for…
Are you regretful?
--no, but…
Then, go in and forget your past, for everyone has one and forgives others here.
--but I need an explanation...
Nov. 26, 2008
天堂门口
你杀了人？
——是，因为……
你当时生气？
——对，由于……
现在后悔么？
——不，但是……
那么，进去吧，忘掉你的过去。过去，人人都有，在这儿人人宽恕。
——可我要一个说法……
2008年11月26日
Did you kill?
--yes, because…
Were you angry?
--yes, for…
Are you regretful?
--no, but…
Then, go in and forget your past, for everyone has one and forgives others here.
--but I need an explanation...
Nov. 26, 2008
天堂门口
你杀了人？
——是，因为……
你当时生气？
——对，由于……
现在后悔么？
——不，但是……
那么，进去吧，忘掉你的过去。过去，人人都有，在这儿人人宽恕。
——可我要一个说法……
2008年11月26日
Tuesday, November 25, 2008
Fan Jinghua: Ship of Fools
Ship of Fools
That is a long boat, shoveling into the still turbulence of craving
With paddles of arms, poles of legs, snuggling
Along the water of time, bodyful of surrender
Some nights, your bunk bed also sails like an ark for two
Carrying on the upper bunk cargoes of cartons and suitcases
In which folded solitude, maple leaves
Fish and birds faintly breathe memories
Every time you take them out, you stretch your arms, putting them against the light
To examine their shape and shade
Outside the window, spring scents and autumn colors hurt your senses
Repeatedly
Mornings, you’d walk from the hilltop dorm
At the enormous whistles of steam hammers from the valley
To your desk that is surrounded by soaring file cabinets
Mornings, noon dozes, afternoons, tomorrows
Therefore, the time before you step out of your dorm is always too long
And you often have no time to dress up
Not because of being “too halfhearted to please any eyes”
But in your imagination you allow me to follow you
You stop before a foodstand, asking for a cup of soybean milk and a sticky rice bun
The warmth makes you absent-minded
And at this moment the image I sent you last night reaches your mind
A spread-out pelt with four limbs so flatten that a cross of olive twigs
Would send me flying like a kite in the wind
You suddenly feel a terror at heart, the plastic cup distorted in your hand
The white milk almost dropped on the ground
Why the naked warmth of the morning sun injects such an acute desperation
So early into you and catches you so unprepared
You are too ashamed to let me wobble in the sky or to look at my exaggerated smile
The pain has nothing to do with the size and strength of the thread
But the need of constant dragging that keeps me unfallen
In the archives, no one compares life with you
You live like them and compare them in muteness
On the shelves, in the cabinets, the boxes and folders, lives are abundantly lived
Some are thick, some thin
Some long dead, some more living outside the containers
And only those who are recently dead are visited by notices to change their lives
You sit behind the windowpanes that keep your body
From sunbathing in the corridor where so seldom feet pass by
That it cannot be called deserted by anyone
Except the sunrays which drop like some liquid before it falls into the night
What on earth are the differences between a small carton and a big concrete box
If fantasies are never recorded and registered, the fantasies
That are beyond the regulations of reality and stir sweet shames and guilt in everyone
You bring to your mind a demure woman from the square mirror
Behind the half-closed door
Who occasionally pat on her cheeks
And behind her shoulder is a lake blue background
Of a mosquito net and the hooks are dangling like tassels
Never lifted it up, never pulled it open
In a few more seconds you’d see yourself as a catamaran
That has drifted out of an unloved night into the bustling wet market
Where I’d follow you diligently like a sailor-husband on leave
From a farmer’s to a butcher’s, answering all your flat-toned what-do-you-like
With a whatever-will-do which only invites your flat-toned complaints
But the asking and answering carries on throughout the vocation
We’d never imagine what would happen if the asking-and-answering
Stops at you or me
The same as no one scares themselves with the vision
Of a ship wrecked on an ocean that suddenly dries up
And every passenger has to keep each other alive with the expendable flesh
Like fishes with saliva
No one asks about the multiplication in the Ark before the flood recedes
And no prophet speaks on his way to his usual corner where he sunbathes
He who sits full on his own bottoms can pronounce
Things of significance
Such as there are broken yarns at the edge of sky
And he sees that once the sky is ripped apart it will be
A shroud for every walking dead under the sun
You live on a hilltop
With three other young women, in four coffin-like bunk beds,
And your face is like an apple which I have touched my lips, not once
With suppressed breaths
I am not a prince, not at all, and not even a hunter good at arrows or spears
Therefore you cannot be a sleeping beauty
And you will not wake up, eyes sweetly astonished with boldness
Your breath is so calm that every sound will stir up the others
And once woken up, they would bite and tear our shadows from behind
So you have to let your back freeze from the spine upward
And anyone who dares to stick out their tongues will be stuck to the ice
While you take up jogging, faster and faster, your breasts
Billowy and buoyant, and your jogging strains all their necks
Now your hair is charged with electric warmth, the chillness retrogresses
To your tailbone. Take my advice, dear
You should not wear trousers for you swim like a medusa
Jan. 9, 2008
Jan. 17, 2008
Nov. 24, 2008 (revised)
愚人船
一支长船，插入水，像渴望一样穿过静静的奔涌
桨的手，篙的腿，服帖
在时间的水上，如同瘫软了整个身体，放弃于黑夜
你挂着床帏的架子床，上铺无人，摆放着皮箱和大纸盒
孤独与艳遇还有想象寄居其中，有风筝与红叶
还有鱼和鸟呼吸着记忆
你每次拿出来，便生出亲吻远方的欲望
所以你尽量伸出手，对着光，看厚薄，看明暗
窗外，春天带着甜味秋天颜色薰人
一次又一次刺伤你的感觉
你已不记得早晨应该有鸟叫了，按时的是巨大的汽锤声
然后你要从小山上下来
去坐在高高的拥挤的文件柜下，上午，午间的盹，然后下午，然后明天
因此你走出宿舍门口之前的那段时间
似乎很长，以至于你总是没有足够的时间描眉
倒不是因为没有可以愉悦的眼睛
你在想象中一直让我尾随
走过小吃摊，要了一杯豆浆和一只糯米团
那温暖令你心不在焉
而我在昨夜度给你的想象此刻终于低调地抵达
一张毛皮，甚至铺开的四肢也很平坦
只需一个橄榄枝一样细的十字支架就能将它送上天飘飞
而你突然一阵心慌，手中的小塑料杯捏得变了形，差点挤出淡黄的白豆浆
为何裸脸的朝阳这么早就将一剂急性绝望注射进了你的细润与洁白
这么毫无警告
你无法将我扑倒被蠹空的样子当作风筝放进风中
不忍看我在天空夸张地咧嘴而笑
令你疼痛的
不是细线会勒手或者粗线会很累
而是一种从未有过的羞耻
是你不能时不时地拉紧或者抖动绳子才能令我的毛皮不至于坠落
档案室内，没有人与你比较人生，你生活得和他们一样
架子、夹子、盒子、柜子，堆放着的都是，不过有厚有薄
有些人早已死了，更多人活在这间房子之外
只有那些刚死不久的，被一纸通知永久地改变了人生
你坐在窗玻璃下的桌前，身体无法出去
这走廊总是没有脚步，不可说是被人抛弃，只有阳光
如一种液体垂顾，然后渗进了黑夜
如果幻想从不被记录在案
小纸盒与混凝土房间封闭起来的岁月又有何不同
与现实无关的幻想，令人为之亢奋和愧疚，闷闷地快乐
而你看到的自己是半掩着门时那只方镜子里的端庄女人
偶尔用手轻轻拍一拍自己的脸颊
背景上有一片湖蓝色的蚊帐
带流苏的帐钩吊着，帐门从未撩起，从未敞开
往往只需要数秒钟你就能将自己凝视成一条双体船
从无人爱你的黑夜航向忙乱的菜市场
我亦步亦趋地跟着你，看你低头看菜、说话而不转头
像大多数女人一样似乎不露温情地问"想吃什么"
而我总是回答"随便"，如此你便有机会毫无愠色地抱怨
就这样，这样的问答继续了整个假期
我们甚至从不想象一个人不问另一个人不答
那会怎样
犹如没有人在船只停泊之前想象海水枯干，所有旅客都得相濡以沫
犹如方舟里的岁月不存在繁衍
预言大师从不在走向他通常晒太阳的角落之前
开口，他以沉默按住了自己
直到他的双股坐得踏实，才会宣布重要幻象
例如，他看到几根纱线断了
天空的白棉布将从那儿撕裂，裹住天下所有的行尸走肉
住在小山上的你和她们各自把守着棺材一样的架子床
你脸色如苹果，我曾俯身其上，不止一次呼吸急促
而压抑，因为我
不是王子，不是王子，甚至不是猎人
既不善射箭、也不善投枪，所以你不可以是睡美人
你永远不会醒来，眼睛永远不会有甜蜜的惊慌与大胆
但你呼吸基本匀称，而一点声响都能
惊动她们在我们的背后一块块地撕咬我们的影子
所以你就让后背结冰，越来越向上蔓延，胆敢伸出来的舌头将被粘住
而你开始喜欢上了快走，胸前的跳跃越来越欢，她们全都扭了头
如今你满怀温暖，发稍带着静电
凉气又退化到了你的尾骨
听我的忠告，亲爱的
你不适合穿裤子，因为你像水母一样善游
2008年11月24日
That is a long boat, shoveling into the still turbulence of craving
With paddles of arms, poles of legs, snuggling
Along the water of time, bodyful of surrender
Some nights, your bunk bed also sails like an ark for two
Carrying on the upper bunk cargoes of cartons and suitcases
In which folded solitude, maple leaves
Fish and birds faintly breathe memories
Every time you take them out, you stretch your arms, putting them against the light
To examine their shape and shade
Outside the window, spring scents and autumn colors hurt your senses
Repeatedly
Mornings, you’d walk from the hilltop dorm
At the enormous whistles of steam hammers from the valley
To your desk that is surrounded by soaring file cabinets
Mornings, noon dozes, afternoons, tomorrows
Therefore, the time before you step out of your dorm is always too long
And you often have no time to dress up
Not because of being “too halfhearted to please any eyes”
But in your imagination you allow me to follow you
You stop before a foodstand, asking for a cup of soybean milk and a sticky rice bun
The warmth makes you absent-minded
And at this moment the image I sent you last night reaches your mind
A spread-out pelt with four limbs so flatten that a cross of olive twigs
Would send me flying like a kite in the wind
You suddenly feel a terror at heart, the plastic cup distorted in your hand
The white milk almost dropped on the ground
Why the naked warmth of the morning sun injects such an acute desperation
So early into you and catches you so unprepared
You are too ashamed to let me wobble in the sky or to look at my exaggerated smile
The pain has nothing to do with the size and strength of the thread
But the need of constant dragging that keeps me unfallen
In the archives, no one compares life with you
You live like them and compare them in muteness
On the shelves, in the cabinets, the boxes and folders, lives are abundantly lived
Some are thick, some thin
Some long dead, some more living outside the containers
And only those who are recently dead are visited by notices to change their lives
You sit behind the windowpanes that keep your body
From sunbathing in the corridor where so seldom feet pass by
That it cannot be called deserted by anyone
Except the sunrays which drop like some liquid before it falls into the night
What on earth are the differences between a small carton and a big concrete box
If fantasies are never recorded and registered, the fantasies
That are beyond the regulations of reality and stir sweet shames and guilt in everyone
You bring to your mind a demure woman from the square mirror
Behind the half-closed door
Who occasionally pat on her cheeks
And behind her shoulder is a lake blue background
Of a mosquito net and the hooks are dangling like tassels
Never lifted it up, never pulled it open
In a few more seconds you’d see yourself as a catamaran
That has drifted out of an unloved night into the bustling wet market
Where I’d follow you diligently like a sailor-husband on leave
From a farmer’s to a butcher’s, answering all your flat-toned what-do-you-like
With a whatever-will-do which only invites your flat-toned complaints
But the asking and answering carries on throughout the vocation
We’d never imagine what would happen if the asking-and-answering
Stops at you or me
The same as no one scares themselves with the vision
Of a ship wrecked on an ocean that suddenly dries up
And every passenger has to keep each other alive with the expendable flesh
Like fishes with saliva
No one asks about the multiplication in the Ark before the flood recedes
And no prophet speaks on his way to his usual corner where he sunbathes
He who sits full on his own bottoms can pronounce
Things of significance
Such as there are broken yarns at the edge of sky
And he sees that once the sky is ripped apart it will be
A shroud for every walking dead under the sun
You live on a hilltop
With three other young women, in four coffin-like bunk beds,
And your face is like an apple which I have touched my lips, not once
With suppressed breaths
I am not a prince, not at all, and not even a hunter good at arrows or spears
Therefore you cannot be a sleeping beauty
And you will not wake up, eyes sweetly astonished with boldness
Your breath is so calm that every sound will stir up the others
And once woken up, they would bite and tear our shadows from behind
So you have to let your back freeze from the spine upward
And anyone who dares to stick out their tongues will be stuck to the ice
While you take up jogging, faster and faster, your breasts
Billowy and buoyant, and your jogging strains all their necks
Now your hair is charged with electric warmth, the chillness retrogresses
To your tailbone. Take my advice, dear
You should not wear trousers for you swim like a medusa
Jan. 9, 2008
Jan. 17, 2008
Nov. 24, 2008 (revised)
愚人船
一支长船，插入水，像渴望一样穿过静静的奔涌
桨的手，篙的腿，服帖
在时间的水上，如同瘫软了整个身体，放弃于黑夜
你挂着床帏的架子床，上铺无人，摆放着皮箱和大纸盒
孤独与艳遇还有想象寄居其中，有风筝与红叶
还有鱼和鸟呼吸着记忆
你每次拿出来，便生出亲吻远方的欲望
所以你尽量伸出手，对着光，看厚薄，看明暗
窗外，春天带着甜味秋天颜色薰人
一次又一次刺伤你的感觉
你已不记得早晨应该有鸟叫了，按时的是巨大的汽锤声
然后你要从小山上下来
去坐在高高的拥挤的文件柜下，上午，午间的盹，然后下午，然后明天
因此你走出宿舍门口之前的那段时间
似乎很长，以至于你总是没有足够的时间描眉
倒不是因为没有可以愉悦的眼睛
你在想象中一直让我尾随
走过小吃摊，要了一杯豆浆和一只糯米团
那温暖令你心不在焉
而我在昨夜度给你的想象此刻终于低调地抵达
一张毛皮，甚至铺开的四肢也很平坦
只需一个橄榄枝一样细的十字支架就能将它送上天飘飞
而你突然一阵心慌，手中的小塑料杯捏得变了形，差点挤出淡黄的白豆浆
为何裸脸的朝阳这么早就将一剂急性绝望注射进了你的细润与洁白
这么毫无警告
你无法将我扑倒被蠹空的样子当作风筝放进风中
不忍看我在天空夸张地咧嘴而笑
令你疼痛的
不是细线会勒手或者粗线会很累
而是一种从未有过的羞耻
是你不能时不时地拉紧或者抖动绳子才能令我的毛皮不至于坠落
档案室内，没有人与你比较人生，你生活得和他们一样
架子、夹子、盒子、柜子，堆放着的都是，不过有厚有薄
有些人早已死了，更多人活在这间房子之外
只有那些刚死不久的，被一纸通知永久地改变了人生
你坐在窗玻璃下的桌前，身体无法出去
这走廊总是没有脚步，不可说是被人抛弃，只有阳光
如一种液体垂顾，然后渗进了黑夜
如果幻想从不被记录在案
小纸盒与混凝土房间封闭起来的岁月又有何不同
与现实无关的幻想，令人为之亢奋和愧疚，闷闷地快乐
而你看到的自己是半掩着门时那只方镜子里的端庄女人
偶尔用手轻轻拍一拍自己的脸颊
背景上有一片湖蓝色的蚊帐
带流苏的帐钩吊着，帐门从未撩起，从未敞开
往往只需要数秒钟你就能将自己凝视成一条双体船
从无人爱你的黑夜航向忙乱的菜市场
我亦步亦趋地跟着你，看你低头看菜、说话而不转头
像大多数女人一样似乎不露温情地问"想吃什么"
而我总是回答"随便"，如此你便有机会毫无愠色地抱怨
就这样，这样的问答继续了整个假期
我们甚至从不想象一个人不问另一个人不答
那会怎样
犹如没有人在船只停泊之前想象海水枯干，所有旅客都得相濡以沫
犹如方舟里的岁月不存在繁衍
预言大师从不在走向他通常晒太阳的角落之前
开口，他以沉默按住了自己
直到他的双股坐得踏实，才会宣布重要幻象
例如，他看到几根纱线断了
天空的白棉布将从那儿撕裂，裹住天下所有的行尸走肉
住在小山上的你和她们各自把守着棺材一样的架子床
你脸色如苹果，我曾俯身其上，不止一次呼吸急促
而压抑，因为我
不是王子，不是王子，甚至不是猎人
既不善射箭、也不善投枪，所以你不可以是睡美人
你永远不会醒来，眼睛永远不会有甜蜜的惊慌与大胆
但你呼吸基本匀称，而一点声响都能
惊动她们在我们的背后一块块地撕咬我们的影子
所以你就让后背结冰，越来越向上蔓延，胆敢伸出来的舌头将被粘住
而你开始喜欢上了快走，胸前的跳跃越来越欢，她们全都扭了头
如今你满怀温暖，发稍带着静电
凉气又退化到了你的尾骨
听我的忠告，亲爱的
你不适合穿裤子，因为你像水母一样善游
2008年11月24日
Saturday, November 22, 2008
Fan Jinghua: Expecting a Friend
Expecting a Friend
You messaged me of your coming, but
When did you have the impulse and whether you can make it?
Anyway, I have washed teapot and teacups, waiting.
We will have enough silence for kungfu tea.
Under the persimmon tree where the teaware is drying,
I seem to be standing in your garden, watching
You walking toward my direction, and suddenly
Your coming looks like leaving,
While I hold my usual big glass, tealeaves rising and sinking.
The sunlight is reddish,
The earthenware looks warm, but it can be that
They have just been used,
And the guests gone.
I expect you will get here with nightfall.
Nov. 21, 2008
等待访客
你短信说想来看我，我便想着
准备点什么，还有，你怎么
突然有此冲动，你是否真的会来。
反正我已洗好了紫砂壶和杯子，
我们将有很长的沉默用于功夫茶。
茶具在柿子树下风干，我站着，等你，
恍惚间觉得自己正站在你的院子里，
看你的背影走向我的方向；
于是，你的来就已经成了你的离去。
我手拿常用的大玻璃杯，茶叶有沉有浮，
而夕阳正红，茶具上一层温暖，
它们看来又像刚刚被人用过，
客人都已走了。
我正在等你随着夜色到来。
2008年11月22日
You messaged me of your coming, but
When did you have the impulse and whether you can make it?
Anyway, I have washed teapot and teacups, waiting.
We will have enough silence for kungfu tea.
Under the persimmon tree where the teaware is drying,
I seem to be standing in your garden, watching
You walking toward my direction, and suddenly
Your coming looks like leaving,
While I hold my usual big glass, tealeaves rising and sinking.
The sunlight is reddish,
The earthenware looks warm, but it can be that
They have just been used,
And the guests gone.
I expect you will get here with nightfall.
Nov. 21, 2008
等待访客
你短信说想来看我，我便想着
准备点什么，还有，你怎么
突然有此冲动，你是否真的会来。
反正我已洗好了紫砂壶和杯子，
我们将有很长的沉默用于功夫茶。
茶具在柿子树下风干，我站着，等你，
恍惚间觉得自己正站在你的院子里，
看你的背影走向我的方向；
于是，你的来就已经成了你的离去。
我手拿常用的大玻璃杯，茶叶有沉有浮，
而夕阳正红，茶具上一层温暖，
它们看来又像刚刚被人用过，
客人都已走了。
我正在等你随着夜色到来。
2008年11月22日
Wednesday, November 19, 2008
Fan Jinghua: Exodos
Exodos
Some thought has to be kept frozen somewhere or anywhere deep
Absorbing the possible overheatness in the summer
For instance, when drunk high, one should lie down in shade
Better on the ground
He may just say: when I fall asleep you may as well go your ways
And take them with you, or to another house or room for another carousal
She who likes to stay behind with me may stay by my side
Reading scratches of my poems and waiting for me to wake up or watching at my wake
Perhaps in my half-awakeness I may reach for her breasts
To relive the memory of a man's infanthood
But fully awakened one either feels the warmth of flesh or the emptiness of life
If I wake up and walk out in the dark
And hold a candle to watch the Queen of the Night, and if you are in the mood,
Come and join me. The end of joy is
A T-intersection where a path hooks on to major roads
We do not need to do anything to change anything
For the way you come to the next party remains the way
You went back from the previous one
Do not throw and break the wine jars, and leave those lying one lie empty
Take those standing ones and drink up whatever left
Do not talk nonsense that you wish to sleep in drunkenness forever
What I cannot bear to part, I leave to your care. All these women I love
Will love you too, as long as they remember only
Our merrymakings and poetry
And times like this. Buds and fallen petals inspire both delight and pity,
In reverse order that will in recurrences undo our sense of order
Then I am you, and even if I am dead I will not be gone
Yes, we can leave life but no one has the right to plot behind others against living
Now I am sleepy, everyone….and there is a more beautiful poem
Mesmerizing me to live it in the depth
Nov. 16-18, 2008
退场歌
有种念头必须永远冻结在某个深处
吸收炎夏可能的过热
例如谁喝高了酒，就该躺到没有日照的地方，最好
贴着地面
只需说
我要睡了，你们可以随意离去
也将她们带走，或者移到厢房重新开宴
留下那愿意守着我的人
默读我散落的诗句，等待我醒来或者权当守灵
我或许会在朦胧中探摸她的胸乳
回味人的幼年
醒来，要么是肉的温满要么是生的虚空
若我在黑暗中走了出来
且秉烛看花，而你们也还有余兴
那就来吧，欢乐的尽头
是一个丁字路口，小道搭上了大路
我们根本无需自己改变什么
下次的聚会你们还是走
上次分手时的路
所以酒壶不必摔碎，倒下的就倒下、空着
拿那些站着的，有多少就喝多少
别说什么但愿长醉不醒
舍不下的，我都留给你们，我爱的女人
爱我，也一样爱你们，她们只要记得
欢乐与诗
以及这样的时光
花苞与落英都能激发欣悦与哀惜，只是顺序不同
当它们反复出现，顺序就会交错
那么我就是你们，即便死了也不会消亡
是的，我们可以离开生命，但谁都不许阴谋抛弃
生活
此刻我有点困了，各位……还有更美的诗
诱惑我去深处
2008年11月17-19日
我觉得中国传统诗人，除了屈原之外，似乎很少有人想到死或者自杀，“我喝醉了你们就继续喝酒和/或各自离去，下次再来嘛”。这一点和古希腊的悲剧观念似乎从另一个角度有得一比。干预生活，但是不必进入生活；但是这不是诗歌的逸乐性。深情于是不必是舍不下，难于抽离。退场歌Exodos，作为悲剧或者喜剧的“剧情之外”的唱词将观众们（作为更大的一场戏的参与者）推回此在的现实生活中，似乎是对于人生如戏/醉/梦的另一种解说。
Some thought has to be kept frozen somewhere or anywhere deep
Absorbing the possible overheatness in the summer
For instance, when drunk high, one should lie down in shade
Better on the ground
He may just say: when I fall asleep you may as well go your ways
And take them with you, or to another house or room for another carousal
She who likes to stay behind with me may stay by my side
Reading scratches of my poems and waiting for me to wake up or watching at my wake
Perhaps in my half-awakeness I may reach for her breasts
To relive the memory of a man's infanthood
But fully awakened one either feels the warmth of flesh or the emptiness of life
If I wake up and walk out in the dark
And hold a candle to watch the Queen of the Night, and if you are in the mood,
Come and join me. The end of joy is
A T-intersection where a path hooks on to major roads
We do not need to do anything to change anything
For the way you come to the next party remains the way
You went back from the previous one
Do not throw and break the wine jars, and leave those lying one lie empty
Take those standing ones and drink up whatever left
Do not talk nonsense that you wish to sleep in drunkenness forever
What I cannot bear to part, I leave to your care. All these women I love
Will love you too, as long as they remember only
Our merrymakings and poetry
And times like this. Buds and fallen petals inspire both delight and pity,
In reverse order that will in recurrences undo our sense of order
Then I am you, and even if I am dead I will not be gone
Yes, we can leave life but no one has the right to plot behind others against living
Now I am sleepy, everyone….and there is a more beautiful poem
Mesmerizing me to live it in the depth
Nov. 16-18, 2008
退场歌
有种念头必须永远冻结在某个深处
吸收炎夏可能的过热
例如谁喝高了酒，就该躺到没有日照的地方，最好
贴着地面
只需说
我要睡了，你们可以随意离去
也将她们带走，或者移到厢房重新开宴
留下那愿意守着我的人
默读我散落的诗句，等待我醒来或者权当守灵
我或许会在朦胧中探摸她的胸乳
回味人的幼年
醒来，要么是肉的温满要么是生的虚空
若我在黑暗中走了出来
且秉烛看花，而你们也还有余兴
那就来吧，欢乐的尽头
是一个丁字路口，小道搭上了大路
我们根本无需自己改变什么
下次的聚会你们还是走
上次分手时的路
所以酒壶不必摔碎，倒下的就倒下、空着
拿那些站着的，有多少就喝多少
别说什么但愿长醉不醒
舍不下的，我都留给你们，我爱的女人
爱我，也一样爱你们，她们只要记得
欢乐与诗
以及这样的时光
花苞与落英都能激发欣悦与哀惜，只是顺序不同
当它们反复出现，顺序就会交错
那么我就是你们，即便死了也不会消亡
是的，我们可以离开生命，但谁都不许阴谋抛弃
生活
此刻我有点困了，各位……还有更美的诗
诱惑我去深处
2008年11月17-19日
我觉得中国传统诗人，除了屈原之外，似乎很少有人想到死或者自杀，“我喝醉了你们就继续喝酒和/或各自离去，下次再来嘛”。这一点和古希腊的悲剧观念似乎从另一个角度有得一比。干预生活，但是不必进入生活；但是这不是诗歌的逸乐性。深情于是不必是舍不下，难于抽离。退场歌Exodos，作为悲剧或者喜剧的“剧情之外”的唱词将观众们（作为更大的一场戏的参与者）推回此在的现实生活中，似乎是对于人生如戏/醉/梦的另一种解说。
Tuesday, November 18, 2008
Fan Jinghua: Empty Room
Empty Room
(A Love Song)
No one is here, and darkness settles down,
My mind’s eye, peeping through the window, backs off, fluttering under the awning.
This is my room, or was, with shelves of books and CDs, walls
With paintings and photos, none of which has dissolved yet.
Their mist haunts like silenced music, colorless, tiny smiling rococo breezes
Of Kwanyin’s sleeves through the other window.
This room contains days, days infiltrated into the plasters, days when you were
Touchable and holdable, your nape, waist, thighs…
Even when you were lying alone, you had never been in solitary sleeps;
My gaze housed you on a big heart-shaped bed, you in esoteric emblems
Which I assume an understanding only in the memory of a man
Now I am collecting.
I fondle them as if fingering a mug of milk tea for warm notes
That set my Paradise seaside morning going.
Nov. 14-18, 2008
空房间
（一首情歌）
没有人了，于是黑暗在此安居，
我的灵目透过窗缝偷窥，退后，翩跹于遮阳棚下。
这是我的房间，曾经，满架子的书与CD，墙上挂着画与照片，
都还没有消散为粉尘；
它们的薄雾眷眷如消了音的音乐，无色，似乎是观音的长袖
从另一扇窗子抛下无数涡流般微笑的小风。
这个房间收藏的日子渗入了墙胚，那时的你可以触摸、可以
拥在怀中，你的颈项、腰身、臀股……
即使你独自躺着，也从未睡在寂寞里；
我的凝视是一张大帐，将你罩在一张心形的大床上，你的睡姿
寓意神秘，而此刻我收集它们，犹如人的记忆，
越发清晰，我能假设我终将破解你在睡梦中展示的图像。
我抚摸着它们，犹如轻弹清晨的奶茶瓷杯，听
它温暖的音符，推涌我天堂海滩的潮音。
2008年11月18日
(A Love Song)
No one is here, and darkness settles down,
My mind’s eye, peeping through the window, backs off, fluttering under the awning.
This is my room, or was, with shelves of books and CDs, walls
With paintings and photos, none of which has dissolved yet.
Their mist haunts like silenced music, colorless, tiny smiling rococo breezes
Of Kwanyin’s sleeves through the other window.
This room contains days, days infiltrated into the plasters, days when you were
Touchable and holdable, your nape, waist, thighs…
Even when you were lying alone, you had never been in solitary sleeps;
My gaze housed you on a big heart-shaped bed, you in esoteric emblems
Which I assume an understanding only in the memory of a man
Now I am collecting.
I fondle them as if fingering a mug of milk tea for warm notes
That set my Paradise seaside morning going.
Nov. 14-18, 2008
空房间
（一首情歌）
没有人了，于是黑暗在此安居，
我的灵目透过窗缝偷窥，退后，翩跹于遮阳棚下。
这是我的房间，曾经，满架子的书与CD，墙上挂着画与照片，
都还没有消散为粉尘；
它们的薄雾眷眷如消了音的音乐，无色，似乎是观音的长袖
从另一扇窗子抛下无数涡流般微笑的小风。
这个房间收藏的日子渗入了墙胚，那时的你可以触摸、可以
拥在怀中，你的颈项、腰身、臀股……
即使你独自躺着，也从未睡在寂寞里；
我的凝视是一张大帐，将你罩在一张心形的大床上，你的睡姿
寓意神秘，而此刻我收集它们，犹如人的记忆，
越发清晰，我能假设我终将破解你在睡梦中展示的图像。
我抚摸着它们，犹如轻弹清晨的奶茶瓷杯，听
它温暖的音符，推涌我天堂海滩的潮音。
2008年11月18日
Monday, November 17, 2008
Fan Jinghua: Young Wife and the Dragonfly
Young Wife and the Death of a Dragonfly
The young wife was alone and she loved watching its lingering
Among the heads of lotus
When the sun is turning red
And she loved the fireflies more
When the darkness falls
And then she did her best for a good dream
Light cooked vegetables, vogue magazines, a bath
Latin jazz, soft and dry lingerie
Looking into the mirror and patting on her cheeks
No complaints
Life could be better but she was satisfied with her mature beauty
Someone said he loved her no matter what…
She woke up to the Morning Glory high-calcium low-fat milk
Midmorning saw the bad news still with dewdrops
That the dragonfly died ugly
She murmured sadly to herself before lunch “it had big wings”
The dragonfly had nothing to be proud of
Although it had transparent flutters
It died because it was the body that fell down to the ground
Nov. 15, 2008
少妇与蜻蜓之死
她喜看它在荷花间流连
这时太阳正在变红，少妇
也是孤独的
当黑夜到来
她更爱萤火虫了
然后她要为一场好梦做好准备
清口的蔬菜、时尚杂志、热水澡
南美爵士、柔软干爽的内衣
照照镜子，轻轻拍拍脸颊和臀部
没有抱怨
生活可能会更好，但她对自己成熟的美貌仍很满意
有个人说他仍然爱她，而且无论……
她醒来时看到牵牛花牌的高钙低脂牛奶
晌午时分的噩耗仍然带着朝露
那只蜻蜓死得很丑
她在午餐前悲伤地对自己说“可它有巨大的翅膀”
蜻蜓真的有透明的振翅
可它实在没什么可自豪的
因为身体摔了下去，摔到了大地，它就死了
2008年11月16日
The young wife was alone and she loved watching its lingering
Among the heads of lotus
When the sun is turning red
And she loved the fireflies more
When the darkness falls
And then she did her best for a good dream
Light cooked vegetables, vogue magazines, a bath
Latin jazz, soft and dry lingerie
Looking into the mirror and patting on her cheeks
No complaints
Life could be better but she was satisfied with her mature beauty
Someone said he loved her no matter what…
She woke up to the Morning Glory high-calcium low-fat milk
Midmorning saw the bad news still with dewdrops
That the dragonfly died ugly
She murmured sadly to herself before lunch “it had big wings”
The dragonfly had nothing to be proud of
Although it had transparent flutters
It died because it was the body that fell down to the ground
Nov. 15, 2008
少妇与蜻蜓之死
她喜看它在荷花间流连
这时太阳正在变红，少妇
也是孤独的
当黑夜到来
她更爱萤火虫了
然后她要为一场好梦做好准备
清口的蔬菜、时尚杂志、热水澡
南美爵士、柔软干爽的内衣
照照镜子，轻轻拍拍脸颊和臀部
没有抱怨
生活可能会更好，但她对自己成熟的美貌仍很满意
有个人说他仍然爱她，而且无论……
她醒来时看到牵牛花牌的高钙低脂牛奶
晌午时分的噩耗仍然带着朝露
那只蜻蜓死得很丑
她在午餐前悲伤地对自己说“可它有巨大的翅膀”
蜻蜓真的有透明的振翅
可它实在没什么可自豪的
因为身体摔了下去，摔到了大地，它就死了
2008年11月16日
Sunday, November 16, 2008
Fan Jinghua: Toward Scenery
Toward Scenery
After a painting
There cannot be such a scene situating itself somewhere
in perceivable reality.
On this paper,
before your eyes,
two screen doors allow a square sight into your vision.
Therefore, a body before the spreading scenery is left behind
When seeing is distancing.
The thatched houses crouch under the space purposely left blank as the sky,
the tile-topped sinuate walls open windows to borrow views,
and the mist-veiled hibiscus are veiled with a mist of spring.
They all appear within your arm’s reach
beyond the river.
But there is no water, for there are no ripples or waves,
and the covered boats seem to float
in a kind of otherworldly blankness of the upper sky,
while willows in the foreground hold crooked postures,
apparently with knurls, but their drooping twigs are fluttering innocently,
like dresses with loosened waistbands
in the spring breezes
where every man can be easily intoxicated without poetry and a poet needs no words.
The fact is
there is not a single passer-by along the riverside walk,
and there are no magpies, doves or crows on the ridges,
no swallows gliding in the middle ground.
This plane is segmented by spontaneous composition
but two sliding doors have cut out a sight
and placed it outside
while there is a landscape of meandering snowy landscape separated on the doors
the left one with the eastbound Yangtze, the right one with thousand-year-old snowcaps.
Distances are arranged vertically into the painting, not perspectively,
but still a pair of eyes must have been configured inside the doors.
The eyes are set on the eaves of the forehead,
then layer by layer down comes the neck, shoulders, chest, trunk
and the lotus-seated bottoms.
In front of them is a teapot on the ground
emitting puffs of steam
waiting for cups
the way a Buddha or a temple sits at a geomantic spot
for worshippers
It is self-focused more than any of us, forgetting
the scenery outside and the broken landscape on the doors
(for WU Qingshui)
Nov. 12, 2008
After a painting
There cannot be such a scene situating itself somewhere
in perceivable reality.
On this paper,
before your eyes,
two screen doors allow a square sight into your vision.
Therefore, a body before the spreading scenery is left behind
When seeing is distancing.
The thatched houses crouch under the space purposely left blank as the sky,
the tile-topped sinuate walls open windows to borrow views,
and the mist-veiled hibiscus are veiled with a mist of spring.
They all appear within your arm’s reach
beyond the river.
But there is no water, for there are no ripples or waves,
and the covered boats seem to float
in a kind of otherworldly blankness of the upper sky,
while willows in the foreground hold crooked postures,
apparently with knurls, but their drooping twigs are fluttering innocently,
like dresses with loosened waistbands
in the spring breezes
where every man can be easily intoxicated without poetry and a poet needs no words.
The fact is
there is not a single passer-by along the riverside walk,
and there are no magpies, doves or crows on the ridges,
no swallows gliding in the middle ground.
This plane is segmented by spontaneous composition
but two sliding doors have cut out a sight
and placed it outside
while there is a landscape of meandering snowy landscape separated on the doors
the left one with the eastbound Yangtze, the right one with thousand-year-old snowcaps.
Distances are arranged vertically into the painting, not perspectively,
but still a pair of eyes must have been configured inside the doors.
The eyes are set on the eaves of the forehead,
then layer by layer down comes the neck, shoulders, chest, trunk
and the lotus-seated bottoms.
In front of them is a teapot on the ground
emitting puffs of steam
waiting for cups
the way a Buddha or a temple sits at a geomantic spot
for worshippers
It is self-focused more than any of us, forgetting
the scenery outside and the broken landscape on the doors
(for WU Qingshui)
Nov. 12, 2008
《憩》Relaxing Room [日] 石川弘Hiromu Ishikawa (1923-)作
接近风景
因一幅画而作送吴情水兄弟
事实上并没有那样的风景将自身安放于某个所在
这张纸上
眼前
两扇薄薄的推拉门将视域收紧，方方正正，有远有近
身体被展开的视野抛在后面
看见成就距离
留白的天空下鳞接的黛瓦飞檐
流转的女儿墙开着窗子
芙蓉枝头朦胧着春天的氤氲
它们似乎都伸手可及
它们都在对岸
只是看不到水，因为没有波纹
乌篷船悠悠的
好似浮行于另一个世界的虚空中
柳树近一些，守持着曲折的姿态，应该有许多节瘤
但枝条娉婷，似花布连衣裙散着带子
在江南的和风中
是人就会自醉，而诗人也不需要文字
事实是
没有一个人走过
屋脊上没有喜鹊、鸽子，也没有乌鸦
空中没有燕子的弧线
这风景符合留空和充实的画法
而两扇门将它切到门外
门上的山水被分置在两边，合起来应是千里的绵延
左有大江东去，右则千秋雪山
这褶叠的层次不符合透视
可一双眼睛却被设置在了室内
眼睛被顶在脑门的檐下
渐次向下自然是脖子、肩膀、胸膛、腰杆、莲坐的臀股
席地而坐的壶茶沉稳地
冒着热气
等待随时来朝拜的杯子
它比所有的我们都要自我
忘记门外有他人看得见的景致
门上有断开的山水
2008年11月12-13日
Saturday, November 15, 2008
Zang Di: Two Poems
臧棣诗两首
Revolution Canonical Poetry Series
Zang Di (1964-) tr. Fan Jinghua
This is the joy of existence: wild fires or wild grasses.
Mutually linked up, spectacular amid secret stimulations.
Dynamos run without explanations, no part over the body having fear.
Education is everywhere: a session of self-criticism can cook
wild vegetables. And wild fruits, rotten, scatter beside wild animals,
emitting the revolutions of morality. A stir of air
will bring forth a beautiful space, and even
makes wild men lie lower than wild flowers.
So wild that nature feels ashamed. The end is an illusion.
Do you still remember how we race against time?
This is a wild pride, and mystery, you have only
One friend and a half. No good if not everlasting—
This is the joy that gloomy ones can never understand.
This unorthodox way of chewing, poetry grinds teeth on our behalf.
For Wang Ao
Oct. 2008
革命的诗经丛书
藏棣
这是生存的欢乐：野火或者野草。
互相联系，壮观在秘密的激励中。
不解释就能发电，浑身怕过谁呵。
处处都是教育：自我批评一下，
野菜就熟了。而野果子腐烂在野味边上，
散发出道德的革命。一种气息
就能带来一个美妙的空间，甚至是，
野人躺得比野花还要低。
全都野得令自然羞愧。尽头只是假象。
你还记得我们怎样和时间赛跑吗？
这是野蛮的骄傲，神秘你只有
一个半朋友。不永恒，不行——
这是阴郁的人不能理解的欢乐。
这是不合规矩的咀嚼，诗在替我们磨牙。
——赠王敖
2008年10月
Beautiful Mind Series
Revolution Canonical Poetry Series
Zang Di (1964-) tr. Fan Jinghua
This is the joy of existence: wild fires or wild grasses.
Mutually linked up, spectacular amid secret stimulations.
Dynamos run without explanations, no part over the body having fear.
Education is everywhere: a session of self-criticism can cook
wild vegetables. And wild fruits, rotten, scatter beside wild animals,
emitting the revolutions of morality. A stir of air
will bring forth a beautiful space, and even
makes wild men lie lower than wild flowers.
So wild that nature feels ashamed. The end is an illusion.
Do you still remember how we race against time?
This is a wild pride, and mystery, you have only
One friend and a half. No good if not everlasting—
This is the joy that gloomy ones can never understand.
This unorthodox way of chewing, poetry grinds teeth on our behalf.
For Wang Ao
Oct. 2008
革命的诗经丛书
藏棣
这是生存的欢乐：野火或者野草。
互相联系，壮观在秘密的激励中。
不解释就能发电，浑身怕过谁呵。
处处都是教育：自我批评一下，
野菜就熟了。而野果子腐烂在野味边上，
散发出道德的革命。一种气息
就能带来一个美妙的空间，甚至是，
野人躺得比野花还要低。
全都野得令自然羞愧。尽头只是假象。
你还记得我们怎样和时间赛跑吗？
这是野蛮的骄傲，神秘你只有
一个半朋友。不永恒，不行——
这是阴郁的人不能理解的欢乐。
这是不合规矩的咀嚼，诗在替我们磨牙。
——赠王敖
2008年10月
Beautiful Mind Series
Zang Di (1964-) tr. Fan Jinghua
This corner is yours now: no one comes from the end,
No one passes from the nearby. Behind the grove
Lies the price of mystery. Games just over, no one
Has ever thought how lovely a touchstone can be and how come
Thoughts can be harder than basic instincts. So much sweat!
Watery, unable to stand a touch. Haven’t you hoped to know
How beautifulness is trained? Deritualization means more
Ready examples. A dozen of black ants appear to console
The details of life: their crawling avoids fallen petals,
Bearing on their shoulders a peanut shell. It should not be
Difficult to extract a kind of black step from this tiny march.
I am walking toward a corner more abstract than human’s fate.
I hope to help us figuring out: if you are beautified
Out of carelessness, what would you do? If you are beautified
Before you are prepared, do we have another chance?
Oct. 2008
美妙思想丛书
This corner is yours now: no one comes from the end,
No one passes from the nearby. Behind the grove
Lies the price of mystery. Games just over, no one
Has ever thought how lovely a touchstone can be and how come
Thoughts can be harder than basic instincts. So much sweat!
Watery, unable to stand a touch. Haven’t you hoped to know
How beautifulness is trained? Deritualization means more
Ready examples. A dozen of black ants appear to console
The details of life: their crawling avoids fallen petals,
Bearing on their shoulders a peanut shell. It should not be
Difficult to extract a kind of black step from this tiny march.
I am walking toward a corner more abstract than human’s fate.
I hope to help us figuring out: if you are beautified
Out of carelessness, what would you do? If you are beautified
Before you are prepared, do we have another chance?
Oct. 2008
美妙思想丛书
这角落现在是你的了：没有人从尽头走来，
也没有人从附近走过。灌木的背后
是一个神秘的代价。游戏刚刚结束，
没想到试金石会这么可爱。没想过
思想竟然比本能还要硬。流了这么多汗。
水汪汪的，一触即发。你不是想知道
美妙是怎么炼成的吗？不仪式，意味着
例子更现成。十几粒黑蚂蚁像是在安慰
人生的细节：它们绕过剥落的花瓣，
将花生壳缓缓抬起。从这小小的行进中，
提取一种黑色的步伐，应该不是什么难事。
我正走向比人的命运更抽象的角落。
我想帮助我们弄清楚：如果一不小心，
就被美妙了，你该怎么办？如果还没准备好，
就已经被美妙了，我们是否还有别的机会？
2008.10.
Zang Di (1964-) is perhaps the best one among the contemporary poets. He is considered to be the most representative of the so-called “academic school” (学院派), but this is perhaps an easy label. Zang has always been in the academic institution; or more precisely, he teaches in Chinese Department in Peking University, which makes him the most prominent figure to be applied such a label.
Compared with those often-grouped with him who wrote in the wreck or light of Western High modernist masters, Zang’s language levitates between the overtly colloquial and the purely written. One of major difference between the so-called grass-root (school of) poetry (民间派literally, among the people) and the academic school, in my understanding, is the transparency of language. That is, the grass-root poetry tries a language that facilitates the poetry’s intervention in life, although the poetry may appear to be too prosaic, while at best the prosaic language may be compensated with the overall irony of the poem. The contemporary reality is usually obscured in the poetry of the academic school, or it may be said that these poets are more reflective artists who prefer to step back from reality in order to maintain a deeper perspective.
If a poem may be expected to bring us a new perspective to view the world, its language may be expected to perform a function of mediation between the everyday reality, mundane or not, and the metaphysical idea. In this sense, Zang has done its job. While his poems appear to have transcended everyday life as perceived by the media and the grass-root poets, his poetry does not retreat into purely metaphysical meditation or language game, but can be related to the existence of the people.
Zang has in recently two or three years written a few poem series, and the series called "series" is particularly ambitious. The two poems here are the most recent examples of his poetry. The first poem can be read as a belated response to the Cultural Revolution by the generation who was brought up in the post-Cultural Revolution era. This generation has not been persecuted during the Cultural Revolution, but familiar with those victims, therefore they could be indirect witnesses. Furthermore, the end of CR does not mean the discard of its language, and this generation is particularly sensitive to the CR language /discourse. Zang must have found that the discourse of Cultural Revolution has disturbingly taken root into the contemporary writing. In fact, the discourse of revolution has always been central to modern and contemporary literature in China from Qing Dynasty (Manchu people) when a vernacular Chinese was adopted to write a new literature, especially true in terms of poetry writing.
This poem in particular attempts to build out of the language (discourse) of revolution a new language or discourse, which shares the absolute idealism with CR discourse. The slogans about self-criticism and the “revolutionary ideal” are smoothed out into the poem as both a reflection and a parody over poetry-writing itself.
也没有人从附近走过。灌木的背后
是一个神秘的代价。游戏刚刚结束，
没想到试金石会这么可爱。没想过
思想竟然比本能还要硬。流了这么多汗。
水汪汪的，一触即发。你不是想知道
美妙是怎么炼成的吗？不仪式，意味着
例子更现成。十几粒黑蚂蚁像是在安慰
人生的细节：它们绕过剥落的花瓣，
将花生壳缓缓抬起。从这小小的行进中，
提取一种黑色的步伐，应该不是什么难事。
我正走向比人的命运更抽象的角落。
我想帮助我们弄清楚：如果一不小心，
就被美妙了，你该怎么办？如果还没准备好，
就已经被美妙了，我们是否还有别的机会？
2008.10.
Zang Di (1964-) is perhaps the best one among the contemporary poets. He is considered to be the most representative of the so-called “academic school” (学院派), but this is perhaps an easy label. Zang has always been in the academic institution; or more precisely, he teaches in Chinese Department in Peking University, which makes him the most prominent figure to be applied such a label.
Compared with those often-grouped with him who wrote in the wreck or light of Western High modernist masters, Zang’s language levitates between the overtly colloquial and the purely written. One of major difference between the so-called grass-root (school of) poetry (民间派literally, among the people) and the academic school, in my understanding, is the transparency of language. That is, the grass-root poetry tries a language that facilitates the poetry’s intervention in life, although the poetry may appear to be too prosaic, while at best the prosaic language may be compensated with the overall irony of the poem. The contemporary reality is usually obscured in the poetry of the academic school, or it may be said that these poets are more reflective artists who prefer to step back from reality in order to maintain a deeper perspective.
If a poem may be expected to bring us a new perspective to view the world, its language may be expected to perform a function of mediation between the everyday reality, mundane or not, and the metaphysical idea. In this sense, Zang has done its job. While his poems appear to have transcended everyday life as perceived by the media and the grass-root poets, his poetry does not retreat into purely metaphysical meditation or language game, but can be related to the existence of the people.
Zang has in recently two or three years written a few poem series, and the series called "series" is particularly ambitious. The two poems here are the most recent examples of his poetry. The first poem can be read as a belated response to the Cultural Revolution by the generation who was brought up in the post-Cultural Revolution era. This generation has not been persecuted during the Cultural Revolution, but familiar with those victims, therefore they could be indirect witnesses. Furthermore, the end of CR does not mean the discard of its language, and this generation is particularly sensitive to the CR language /discourse. Zang must have found that the discourse of Cultural Revolution has disturbingly taken root into the contemporary writing. In fact, the discourse of revolution has always been central to modern and contemporary literature in China from Qing Dynasty (Manchu people) when a vernacular Chinese was adopted to write a new literature, especially true in terms of poetry writing.
This poem in particular attempts to build out of the language (discourse) of revolution a new language or discourse, which shares the absolute idealism with CR discourse. The slogans about self-criticism and the “revolutionary ideal” are smoothed out into the poem as both a reflection and a parody over poetry-writing itself.
As to the second poem, it the word “beautified” (beautiful) is replaced with the prevailing catchword “harmony” as propagandized today in China, then the poem is a satire of the contemporary political culture.
ZANG Di 臧棣 (1964-)
臧棣可说是最优秀的当代诗人之一，他通常被视为所谓的学院派的代表人物，然而这不过是一个很方便的标签而已。这大概是因为臧棣一直在学术机构中，在北京大学中文系任教，而且他松散的诗歌圈中人也都有相近的诗歌追求。和他经常被归为一类的诗人通常是吸收了西方盛现代派大师们的营养，在他们的光照下写作。
所谓的民间派和学院派的一个最大不同在于对于语言的理念和追求，民间派力主的是语言的透明，语言与现实之间的毫无间隔，在做得比较好的时候，民间派以一种整体反讽的方式弥补了语言的平薄，而学院派的现实关注则是比较曲折，或者说从现实中退后以保持一种景深和整体化的艺术效果。臧棣的语言在明白的口语与纯粹的书面语之间浮动，举重若轻。
如果我们期待一首诗能够为我们提供一种新的观察世界的方式，那么我们也就会期待其语言能够发挥干预现实的功能，且不管这现实本身是否平庸；我们期待的诗歌中的形而上理念应该是可以联系得到现实的。在这一点上，臧棣诗歌确实是成功的，也就是具体内容的超越现实不是遁入玄思或和语言游戏，而是可以被推展到现实。
最近两三年里，臧棣写了几个系列诗，其中以系列为主题的诗尤其雄心勃勃。这里翻译的两首诗便是最新的例证。第一首《革命的诗经丛书》可以读成是成长于文革后的诗人对于文革迟来的回应，这一代人没有亲身经历文革的迫害却又亲历了被迫害者，因此可以成为一种间接的见证人，不仅如此，文革的结束却不是文革话语的结束，这使得这一代诗人对于革命话语具有一种很特别的感觉。臧棣显然已经发现文革话语令人不安地扎根于当代写作中了。事实是，革命话语一直是中国现当代文学的一个主导语言方式，从清末开始的白话文写作新文学的时候就是如此了，而在诗歌写作中则更加突出。
这首诗可说是一种尝试，试图从文革话语中重建一种新的话语，一种诗歌语言，与文革话语分享某种绝对的理想化。在此，诸如自我批评以及革命理想这样的文革口号悄悄地变成了一种诗歌写作的反思，同时还是一种自嘲。而在后一首诗中，如果我们将美妙换成和谐这样的词，那么就是一个知识分子对于当今政治与文化的一种嘲弄了。
2008年10月
Sunday, November 9, 2008
Fan Jinghua: The Light of Suicidal Intention
The Light of Suicidal Intention
I entertain it like a will-o'-the-wisp
Do not use a pole to steer myself away from it any more
The idea is
Sharp
Formless and substanceless, ideal
It pierces the darkness like cold light
It rolls and swims, a butterfly knife
A courageous tadpole into the salty channel
Into the deep blue
A school of air bubbles
Levitate in the air
Bridged by a silky thread of two strands
The black attachment and white longing twine
And string up a red sliced heart
It cuts without a shadow
The electricity of horror lies in
Not feeling it even upon its mute explosion
Then, the itch holds
For seconds
On the oozing droplets of red against wax
Then pain comes
On nailless toes
From behind the screen
To clear its conscience for not committing adultery
Poisonous solvent of poems and tears is
Sealed airproof in a flask
With an unscrewable rusty cap
Now wherever it floats
It will stay half in light
Whitening with heat
Half of the other half collecting green algae
Rotting with life
The rest surrendered to obscurity
Oct. 28, 2008
向死而生之光
我不再用篙，不再撑，不再靠岸
它像磷火一样逗引我，愉悦我
这念头
锐利
无形无质，很理想
像一剑冷光割破黑暗
滚动、浮游，一把蝴蝶刀
无畏的蝌蚪以尾巴将自己推进咸涩的水道
进入深深的蓝
一群气泡在空中
轻摇，如凉风的吸引力吹过溶洞中的水面
一根双股丝线的吊桥
串起一颗心的风铃
黑色的依恋和白色的想念
被影子的刀梳成薄片
恐惧
在无声的爆炸中毫无感觉地产生了电流
然后，那酥痒停留了
数秒
红色珠点渗出蜡黄的切面
随后，痛
乘坐没有指甲的脚趾
从屏风后飘了出来
为没有犯下通奸罪而涤洗自己的良心
诗与泪的有毒溶剂
被密封在保温壶中
那盖子锈蚀了，无法拧开
现在，无论它漂流到哪里
它都将半身暴露于光线
越晒越白
另一半的一半聚集绿藻
因为生命而腐烂
剩余的部分交付给阴影
2008年11月5日
I entertain it like a will-o'-the-wisp
Do not use a pole to steer myself away from it any more
The idea is
Sharp
Formless and substanceless, ideal
It pierces the darkness like cold light
It rolls and swims, a butterfly knife
A courageous tadpole into the salty channel
Into the deep blue
A school of air bubbles
Levitate in the air
Bridged by a silky thread of two strands
The black attachment and white longing twine
And string up a red sliced heart
It cuts without a shadow
The electricity of horror lies in
Not feeling it even upon its mute explosion
Then, the itch holds
For seconds
On the oozing droplets of red against wax
Then pain comes
On nailless toes
From behind the screen
To clear its conscience for not committing adultery
Poisonous solvent of poems and tears is
Sealed airproof in a flask
With an unscrewable rusty cap
Now wherever it floats
It will stay half in light
Whitening with heat
Half of the other half collecting green algae
Rotting with life
The rest surrendered to obscurity
Oct. 28, 2008
向死而生之光
我不再用篙，不再撑，不再靠岸
它像磷火一样逗引我，愉悦我
这念头
锐利
无形无质，很理想
像一剑冷光割破黑暗
滚动、浮游，一把蝴蝶刀
无畏的蝌蚪以尾巴将自己推进咸涩的水道
进入深深的蓝
一群气泡在空中
轻摇，如凉风的吸引力吹过溶洞中的水面
一根双股丝线的吊桥
串起一颗心的风铃
黑色的依恋和白色的想念
被影子的刀梳成薄片
恐惧
在无声的爆炸中毫无感觉地产生了电流
然后，那酥痒停留了
数秒
红色珠点渗出蜡黄的切面
随后，痛
乘坐没有指甲的脚趾
从屏风后飘了出来
为没有犯下通奸罪而涤洗自己的良心
诗与泪的有毒溶剂
被密封在保温壶中
那盖子锈蚀了，无法拧开
现在，无论它漂流到哪里
它都将半身暴露于光线
越晒越白
另一半的一半聚集绿藻
因为生命而腐烂
剩余的部分交付给阴影
2008年11月5日
Wednesday, November 5, 2008
Fan Jinghua: Untitled
Untitled
…and the koi’s catwalk under the fluorescent sun,
your name, your smile, yours …and then another day
I can even see me alone with night,
sharing this cup of wine and scenes to mutter about.
And if there are words, they are the vibratos of Lopatkina’s swan feet;
You listen but do not hear, and the sounds I am making are going away.
Something runs beneath this, academically explicable when I look deep enough into it,
But perhaps we may as well leave it alone at that here-and-now.
Oct. 5, 2008
Nov. 4, 2008
无题
……而锦鲤的猫步在日照的荧光下
你的名字、你的微笑、你的……然后又是一天过去了
这一切令我甚至看到
我与黑夜分享一杯酒，一些可以低语的场景
而词句的颤音绕在拉帕特金娜的天鹅脚尖
你听，但不入耳，我正在制造着远去的声音
那表层下的流动，如果我凝视久了，或许可以进行学术化的解释
但我们还是将它留在那个此时此刻吧
2008年11月4日
…and the koi’s catwalk under the fluorescent sun,
your name, your smile, yours …and then another day
I can even see me alone with night,
sharing this cup of wine and scenes to mutter about.
And if there are words, they are the vibratos of Lopatkina’s swan feet;
You listen but do not hear, and the sounds I am making are going away.
Something runs beneath this, academically explicable when I look deep enough into it,
But perhaps we may as well leave it alone at that here-and-now.
Oct. 5, 2008
Nov. 4, 2008
无题
……而锦鲤的猫步在日照的荧光下
你的名字、你的微笑、你的……然后又是一天过去了
这一切令我甚至看到
我与黑夜分享一杯酒，一些可以低语的场景
而词句的颤音绕在拉帕特金娜的天鹅脚尖
你听，但不入耳，我正在制造着远去的声音
那表层下的流动，如果我凝视久了，或许可以进行学术化的解释
但我们还是将它留在那个此时此刻吧
2008年11月4日
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