Fan Jinghua: Dust-Cleaning Day

　　Dust-Cleaning Day

The house gods are all leaving for their yearly reporting to the heavenly palace
I am left alone to take charge
A deputy god can now suddenly take any liberty
To ransack every drawer and chest
I have my head majestically wrapped up with old clothes
And with this crown of rags and the scepter of a besom I can look up
And sweep every cobwebbed corner of my memory
Then I will take off my dust-clouded face in the snow

The remaining days are already snowbound
Suitable for growing weight or carpentering magical tools
I will pour wine for myself
My pipe smokes only when I suck
One strand of smoke will rise straight from the small desert in the earthen firebasin
In which a dropped bean may start a shellfire

All night long, outside the thick portiere, wind whistles by
Twisting into the ears
Muffling my woman’s steady snores
Only hares may know the buried sighs from the seedlings of wheat
This snow is auspicious and portends a prosperous year ahead
And I will apply another coat of clam-shell cold cream on my hands
So that when the firework cracks open the new lunar year
My extended hands may match my new attire and wishes
　　　　　　　　　　　Jan. 29, 2008

　Dusting in the truest sense, i.e. using a whip/whisk to beat the linens and quilts


According to Chinese folk custom, by the last week of the lunar year the house gods (esp. God of Oven) will be returning to report about the conduct of the family. This usually falls on the 23rd or 24th of the last month of the year (for 2008 it is Jan. 30 or 31). On this day, as the gods are absent, the family can freely move any object in the house without violating a taboo or committing possible offenses. Therefore, it is the best day of general cleaning for the coming New Year Festival (Spring Festival). Dusting, as in Chinese is to sweep dust, is a pun, for the dust here points to two words of the same pronunciation, meaning dust and the old. Thus, the day of dusting takes on both practical and symbolic significances.

Lunar New Year woodcut (to paste on the door) with a treasure firebasin at the bottom

　　扫尘

诸神开始回宫了
留下我
这一家惟一的副神
终于可以翻箱倒柜而肆无忌惮
旧衣裳裹在头上冒充威严
眯起眼仰着脸抹掉每个角落
尘封一年的记忆蛛网
然后将灰头土脸掸在雪地上

剩下的日子雪藏了
适于闭目养膘也适于闭门造车
酒自己斟
烟袋杆儿独自咀嚼
烤火盆有大漠孤烟直冲鼻子和眼睛的味道
一颗豆子就能惊起一场硝烟烽火

风在厚实的帘子外彻夜扫荡
旋转着钻进耳朵
盖住了媳妇轻轻的鼾声
麦苗儿在棉花胎下有什么动静也只有野兔才知晓
瑞雪预兆的丰年真是望不到边呢
我的手还得再搽一点蛤蜊油
等到那一声爆竹开春
也好在穿了新衣戴了新帽时伸得出双手给你拜年
　　　　　　　　　　　2008年1月29日

Fan Jinghua: See? The Moon

　　See? The Moon

Now, look here, you. No,
Look at my finger. No,
Look at where my finger points to. No,
Do not look at my fingers. Look
As if your eyes are my pointing finger. No,
Look with your eyes, not with my finger.
Have you seen my finger? Yes? No!
It is the moon that you should see
Eve if I have no fingers. Forget it,
You’d better not look to my direction.
Yes, that’s right! Do not use your eyes.
I should not have pointed with my finger.
　　　　　　　Jan 24, 2008

　　看！月亮
哎，你看这儿。不是，
看我的手指。唉，不是，
看我手指的地方。不是啦，
不要看我的手指。你的眼睛
要像我的手指一样。不是那样，
你要用眼睛看，不是用我的手指。
你看到我的手指了？看到了？
唉，那就不是了。你应该看到
月亮，就算我没有用手指。
算了，你还是不要顺着我手指看。
啊，这就对了，不要用眼睛！
真是，我本来就不该指的。
　　　　　　　2008年1月24日

自注：这里的中英文之间有一种很有趣的不一致。在英文中，finger是“手指”，my pointing finger既可以说是“我指着东西的手指”又可以说是“食指（用于指东西的手指）”，第十行的英文可以理解为“你最好还是不要朝我这个方向看”或者“你最好还是别指望我的指示”。英文中的这种多义在中文中没有，不过中文也有多义性，最突出的就是“手指”可以是如食指这样的digit具体手指，也可以是“用手指示”，例如第九行“就算我没有用手指”。

《楞严经》：汝等尚以缘心听法。此法亦缘，非得法性。如人以手指月示人，彼人因指，应当看月。若复观指以为月体，此人岂唯亡失月轮，亦亡其指。何以故？以所标指为明月故。岂唯亡指，亦复不识明之月暗。
《大智度论》：如人以指指月，以示惑者。惑者视指而不视月。人语之言：我以指指月，令汝知之。汝何看指而不视月？

Fan Jinghua: Daikon Radishes Become Dream

　　Daikon Radishes Become Dream

You pile one on another like eggs on an egg pile
I want so desperately to hold you in my arms tenderly and firm
To take you to a safe place away from the field
Cratered with worm monsters that bite and bite
I want to take you to the pier that extends far over the water

The boat will come downstream as if over the clouds
From the source of sunset to the place where the moon will rise
The boat will carry a girl with a conical hat of bamboo
And she wears a blouse dotted with tiny white flowers against blue
I will walk the water to her, with you in my arms

I want you to weigh me down with your bodies
With your thick hair of green
I want you to twist and rub to find comfort, skin against skin
Like you are mandarin princesses gone into exile
When the dust in twilight clouds your chignons

If I cannot sink with you onto the bed of the river
Let me die like a spread eagle on the ground
Let me be your cover and no wind shall come to take away your moisture
I want my solid embrace to be emptied only by the worm inside you
May my skin be intact except for one exit, as if a cocoon becomes spring
　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　Jan. 16, 2008




　　梦中，白色大萝卜
你们在园子里咖啡色的泥土上堆积
如叠卵，赤条条的，我要抱起你们
以宽厚和力量，抱着你们逃亡
远离那些张开了陨石坑一样嘴巴的恶魔
我要将你们抱到伸进河心的码头

船儿将会从云朵中顺流而下
从夕阳蹲伏处驶向月儿浮起的地方
船儿将载着一个头戴斗笠的姑娘
她的蓝布小褂上有白色的碎花
我将踏水走向她，抱着你们

你们自弃的体重与浓绿的头发
令我沉实，我的鼻孔嗅入一种清醒
你们在我怀中扭着身子，难以避开彼此的肌肤
新孤的闺秀流落在逃荒路上
只有晚霞给你们残桩似的发髻抹上金辉

如果我不能与你们一同沉入河床
让我像一只老鹰在地面上铺开翅膀
让我覆盖着你们，风无法穿过你们的缝隙
我的拥抱只想被你们体内的虫掏空
我想要我的皮囊完整，犹如蚕茧迎接春天
　　　　　　　　2008年1月22日晨

Fan Jinghua: Snow

　　Snow
　　　　　　For --
It has been with you for nine days
Such an enormous presence
The older underlayers, once fresh, have never gone
But the new finds nothing to begrudge them a lenient coat
It just keeps falling as if falls with a grace
On whatever comes into the open air
On you whether you are in black or red
On the already white-capped evergreen and pine
Which you now only stand by and never touch
You look up into the grey sky but not too deep
Your face a summer flower wrapped in scarf
And your eyes cannot help blinking
For the snowflakes are falling just the same
Not knowing their life will be much shorter on warm faces
　　　　　　　　　　Jan. 21, 2008

　　　雪
　　　　　　有赠
已经弥漫于你的世界九天了
如此赫张弘和的存在
雪径自地落，以最神圣净洁的缓速
为脏旧的底层敷上宽厚的粉霜外衣
更新的新鲜新鲜着从前，从前的自己从未消失
它们覆盖着所有暴露的无生和来到露天中的生命
在你周身聚拢，不管你穿红还是戴绿
给已经戴上素冠的冬青和松柏更替一层蓬松
而你走近它们，亲昵的姿势，不敢触摸
你仰头看天，茫茫的灰，无法看得深远
脸如夏日的大花朵裹着围巾
双眼不由自主地眨，睫毛闪着细白的光
雪花一如既往地下，不知晓
它们落在温暖的脸上，生命必然更加短暂
　　　　　　　　　　　2008年1月21-22日

Duoduo: Thicket

　　　灌木
　　　　　　多多
我们反复说过的话它们听不见
它们彼此看也不看
表面上看也不看
根

却在泥土中互相寻找
找到了就扭杀
我们中间有人把
这种行为称为：
爱

刚从树丛中爬起来的恋人
也在想这件事儿
他们管它叫：
做爱。
　　　　　　　(1985)
　　

　　Thicket
　　　　　　　Duoduo 　tr. Fan Jinghua
Neither can they hear what we have repeated
Nor do they look at each other
Ostensibly they do not even care to look
Roots

In the soil search for each other and
Strangle themselves upon finding
Someone among us call
This behavior
Love

The lovers who are barely on their feet from the thicket
Are also reflecting on this act
And they call it
Making love
　　　　　　　(1985)

Fan Jinghua: Ship of Fools

　　　Ship of Fools
I am still a long boat, shoveling into the still turbulence of craving
With paddles of arms, poles of legs
Along the water of time, upstream
Some nights, your bunk bed also sails like an ark for two
Carrying on the upper bunk my unutterable solitude
That dribbles down from the cartons and suitcases
Everytime you kiss me, I bring you a twig of paper olive
But spring scents and autumn colors outside the window hurt your senses
Repeatedly

Mornings, you’d walk from the hilltop dorm
To your desk that is surrounded by file cabinets
You’d stop at a foodstand for a cup of soybean milk and a sticky rice ball
The time before you step out of the door is always too long
And you often forget to dress up
I love your naked face in the early sunlight; even in imagination
I have fallen so flat that I spread like a pelt
So I fly in the wind and float on the water, even now

Into the square mirror you look and see a pale blue background
Of a mosquito net whose hooks dangling like tassels
Never lifting it up, never pulling 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 market
Where I’d follow you diligently like a sailor-husband on family leave
From a farmer’s to a butcher’s, answering all your what-do-likes
With a whatever-you-like which only invites your complaint
But the asking and answering carries on throughout the vocation

What would have happened if the asking-and-answering did not break down
But ships will dock and boats will run aground
What happened to the Ark when the flood receded
Could a prophet single-handedly hide it in a catacomb
What could the pianist on the ocean do when the girl left the ship

Birdsong, a rebroadcast, is a warm-hearted bore
As are the three sharers of your cell to each other
They work at split shifts and no one could have a time of her own
At one end of your bed, blouses and dresses hang on the rack
A newspaper canopy accumulates in disquieting seasons
The same quiet dust, clean if not disturbed
This proves a good partition between your compartment and others’
As the saying goes good fences make good neighbors

My jejunely romantic mind shares Poe’s notion
About “the most poetical topic in the world”
I can picture a ship of coffin that opens at one side
When you hold your breath as I bend down over your head
That is a white beach where whiter bones lie, half buried
Like hatched turtle eggs, in halves
We are two boulders that prop up our ark like the cradle
Will you startle awake at the creaking sounds
I know in the neighboring coffins there are intolerant sleeping beauties
Who, once woken up, would bite our shadows from behind

The ship of fools should be ousted
And I could only lie prone on the water of memory, adrift
　　　　　　　　　　Jan. 9, 2007
　　　　　　　　　　Jan. 17, 2007

DAI Wei: Something Has Gone Missing

　Something Has Gone Missing
　　　　　　　　DAI Wei
On the old site of a post office
Appears a brand new square
From letter papers, handwritten marks are erased
From telephones, human voices are erased
As if from the arms
An embrace is unnoticeably extracted
With only the air left to sustain its original form
I am made to admit
That something has gone missing
And what I need to lock up is but
The habit of standing on my tiptoes
When I forget bringing with me the keys
And stretching out to fumble
On the doorframe for the perhaps nonexistent one

DAI Wei was born in 1970s in Chengdu and grew up in Chongqing, and now lives in Nanjing. She had been trained as a ballerina and had worked on a ship. She started poetry-writing in 1987 and published two books of poetry. In an interview, she expresses her idea of poetry. “The process of writing poems is a continuous letting go of what you hold, making it lighter and lighter…until a feathery lightness is achieved. Isn’t it too loaded to ask poetry to bear anything?” This can be read as characteristic of her poetry.



　某种东西已经不在了
　　　　　　代薇
在邮电所的旧址上
出现了一个新修的广场
从信纸上移走字迹
从电话里移走嗓音
就像一个拥抱
被轻轻从手臂里抽掉
只有空气还在坚持它的形状
我承认某种东西
已经不在了
而我要克制的
仅仅是忘记带钥匙的时候
依然习惯踮起足尖
伸手去摸门框上
莫须有的那一把

Raymond Carver: 3 Poems

　　This Word Love
　　　　Raymond Carver
I will not go when she calls
even if she says I love you,
especially that,
even though she swears
and promises nothing
but love love.

The light in this room
covers every
thing equally;
my arm throws no shadow even,
it too is consumed with light.

But this word love—
this word grows dark, grows
heavy and shakes itself
and begins to eat
through this paper.
Listen.

　　这个爱字
　　　　　　雷蒙德·卡佛 (1938-1988)
我不会听到她电话就去
哪怕她说我爱你
最听不得这句，
即使她赌咒发誓
保证别无其它
除了爱还是爱。

光，在这房间里
覆盖着每件物体
不分厚薄；
我的膀子甚至没投下阴影，
它也被光吸干了。

但是这个爱字——
这个字变得灰暗，变得
沉重且摇忽不定
更开始啃噬
这张纸。
听。

　　Late Fragment
　　　　Raymond Carver
And did you get what
you wanted from this life, even so?
I did.
And what did you want?
To call myself beloved, to feel myself
beloved on the earth.

　　已故断章

那么你曾得到
你从此生想要的了，甚至到这地步？
我得到了。
那么你得到了什么？
自谓为人所爱，感到自己
在地上时为人所爱。

　　Hummingbird
　　　　To Tess
Suppose I say summer
write the word “hummingbird,”
put in an envelope,
take it down the hill
to the box. When you open
my letter you will recall
those days and how much,
just how much, I love you.

　　蜂鸟
　　　　致苔丝
假若我说“夏日”
写下“蜂鸟”一词，
装入信封，
拿下山去
送进邮筒。当你拆开
我的信，你将忆起
那些日子以及我多么
那么多的多么，爱你。

苔丝是他的第二个妻子，一个诗人，他和她1978年在一个作家节上认识，1979年开始同居，1988年结婚，六周后8月2日他死于肺癌。

Fan Jinghua: That Is The Question

　　　That Is The Question

Last night the night was ordinarily nightish
There must be the moon and stars out there in the sky or behind the clouds
I did not even go leaning over the windowsill to check it out

For several short hours I sat in the desklamp light over Dante’s La Vita Nuova
Not realizing how long ago he lived
He had a life, I knew, and he had lived and loved
He had met Beatrice and wrote about his misfortunes in poems
In which he would meet her in an extended dream starting at a certain night
When together they would have had the bliss
Of climbing a formidable but promising mountain
Until she flew away and faded, leaving him dazed at the stars
He’d never thought that more than a millennium later
There’d be such a Chinese breathing with him
Through a hundred year old English translation of his vernacular
Despite his belief or disbelief about eschatology and afterlife

Is afterlife pre-revealed in dreams or is life a pre-revealed dream of the eternal life
I had never dreamt of figures in history or in books
All that had made me cry in the dreams or woken me up with a lingering heartache
Happened or would happen to me in one way or another
But among the dreams I know I had last night I cannot recollect a single one

If dreams are desires in whatever disguise
Then last night I did not have desires or my desires did not manifest
If they are the desires from those who present themselves there
Then no one desired me last night
Unless, of course, there might be a temporal gap between dream and reality
Time out of joint? Well, that is the question
For I believe if my loved ones once desired me from the past
Even if it may never occur to them that sometimes I still dream of them
It should not take such a long time to reach, from a few years to decades
And it could not be that I returned to the past or traveled to the future

How could I not be saddened by such a delay
Thinking of the fact that someday my desires would have to reach the loved ones
Quite a long time after my death
Thus forestalling their reciprocal desire-exchange protocols
This drives me crazy, dears,
And it pierces my heart to have a dreadful thought
That some of them might be doing a last survey of their life
When I flashed across their mind

Oh, I may be able to write about all my petty griefs
Good or bad put aside
Can writing do anything about the distance between dream and reality
　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　Jan. 19, 2008

　　这就是问题之所在

昨夜之夜夜得寻常
外面的天上肯定有星星和月亮
或者起码在云层背后
我甚至懒得起身倚窗查看

好几个钟头竟然那么短暂
我在台灯下埋头阅读但丁的《新生》
想也没想他活在多久以前
他有过动荡的一生，这不用我说，他活过他爱过
他遇见了碧雅翠丝，后来他肯定还梦到她多年
所以他写了两部长诗，令自己在某夜的一次长梦中
与她再次相见，还一起爬了一座山
直到她无影地飞去，留下他看着星星发怔
他不会想到过了千禧年过后
还有我这样的中国人会以一百年前的英语
呼吸他的意大利方言
无论他相信还是不相信末世与来生

来生是否会在梦中预示
或者此生是否是那个永生所预示的一场梦而已

我从未梦到过历史或者书籍中的人物
有时我从梦哭醒，有时我惊醒后带着滞留不去的心痛
但是梦中的一切都已经或即将
以这样那样的方式发生在我的身上
但是昨夜，虽然我知道我肯定做了梦
却一个也回想不起

人们说日有所思夜有所梦，梦是欲望的变形
那么昨夜我没有欲望或者欲望没有显形
如果梦是那些进入我梦境之人的欲望
那么昨夜没有人欲望着我
当然，除非是梦与现实有一段时间差距
脱臼了？哇，这就是问题之所在

我相信我爱着的人曾经欲望过我
即使现在可能想都不会想到我仍然会梦到她们
但她们的欲望也不至于要花这么久时间才能抵达我的梦境
短的几年，长的一二十年
更不会是我昨夜回到了过去或者驶进了未来

我怎能不为这一滞后而悲伤
想一想，这意味着
有一天我的欲望将会在我死后很久
才能抵临我爱过的人的梦境
那么也就预阻了她们与我交换欲望的礼尚往来
这令我难受，亲爱的们，
而一个恐怖的念头闪过，我心如刀割
她们中是否有人在一段我还不知多久以前的时间里
做人生的最后一次回顾，而我闪过了她们的脑海

是啊，我或许也能写出我不足挂齿的小伤悲
写得好坏又能怎样
无论是谁的任何文字都对梦与现实的距离无能为力
　　　　　　　　　　　2008年1月21日

Fan Jinghua: Stones Covered with Snow

　　　Stones Covered with Snow

You have never traveled far and yet
All the adjectives are returning from your present time
To their origins of nouns
You are now not like anything else, but you are a thing itself
Black and white, and at most grey with few shades
The sharp edges of your shape are rounded
It is winter now, and when the exuberant grows thin
You are clad in puffiness, exempted from overt movements
Reclining into a posture with no rococo clothes, you do not
Expect the world in one color to detect
The snowmelt streamlets trickling on your body
Some life has to be off twice before it is recognized
First it dies, and then it is dead, as if it turns away and disappears
But now you’ve come back to it, simply forever
　　　　　　　　　　　　　　Jan. 15, 2008


　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　Photo by Adieudusk
　　　雪下的石头

你从未行远过，而所有的形容词
都纷纷从你的此刻剥落
退回到它们名词的始源
你不再像任何其它事物，而是物本身
黑白的，至多呈现出层次不多的灰
你的形状曾经锐利，如今那些棱角都已圆润
冬天稳实，一切茂密也都变瘦
唯有你裹得松松泡泡，免除了显见的动作
半倚在一个没有螺纹皱的雕像姿态里
不再期待同一种颜色的世界能体察你
身上暗暗淌过融雪的细流
有时生命需要离开两次才被铭记
死去，然后消亡，犹如转身与不见
而今你和它贴在一起，最简单的永远
　　　　　　　　　2008年1月16日

Fan Jinghua: One Day Beauty

　　　One Day Beauty

In the morning light, there are scapes holding up
Tiny white scars of decapitation.
The bush of tiger lilies I mistook for golden needles
Has bloomed for a day and for the night after.
How can I tell of the freckles and not think of moles?
Your veins are blue
Like paths worming through the night fields.

We have come such a long way, in time at least,
So let’s count stars together instead of each other’s words,
In groups of seven.
The numbers in every weightless glimpse of yours
Either contain seven or fall dividable by it;
That is your lucky one, doomed, like lapis lazuli,
While my eyes are coated with a film of red.

We can do nothing. There is always a predestination
On every road, of arrival, of departure, with arrival preceding departure.
We can only will ourselves against the schedule into the prison
Of freedom to love and to near.
I have been practicing the signature in my mind
The way you petname me,
But it is never signed for its invalidity.

You are beautifully edible even before bloom,
And we need no blueness of dawn to melt us together;
Already liquidized by midnight, we are exonerated
From the communal lynch of sinking into a pool for love without a contract.
Now, time is the only thing our clasped hands can not malleate,
As if it has come to a precipice, where,
Beyond the hedge of tiger lilies, we can expect a plank-walking and a free fall.
　　　　　　　　　　Jan. 8, 2008

　　　一日之美
晨光中，有些花茎昂着
无头的白色疤痕
这丛虎纹百合开了一天之后又开了一夜
我曾将她们错当成金针
看着那些斑点，我怎能不想到你胸前的痣
你青色的静脉，人们谓之蓝血族
犹如小径在夜幕降临时钻进田野

我们也已走了这么远，时间胜过了距离
我们应该一起数星星而不是计算彼此的语言
每七个一组
犹如你每次一瞥所见的数字，要么
包含着七，要么是七的倍数
那是你的幸运数字，像天青石一样命中注定
而我的眼里蒙着一层红膜

我们无能为力：抵达已先于出发
每一条路都含着一个宿命
我们只能以微弱的意愿拖延自己
在自由的囚笼外相爱，接近
这一路上，我在脑子里练习
签名，你呼我的那个昵称
即使我签出也没有效应

在花期之前，你已经秀色欲滴
我们无需黎明前的幽蓝将我们融化
还没进入午夜，我们已经是液体
从而被免于沉潭的私刑，爱情在合约之前已成事实
惟有时间，我们曾经紧挽的手无法将它锤薄
似乎它已竖立成一道绝壁， 在百合花的篱外
有一根跳板伸向半空，成为我们自由落体前的缓冲
　　　　　　　　　　2008年1月16日

Fan Jinghua: Night Drive

　　Night Drive

I was driving along the middle lane
And saw in the wing mirror
Two headlamps ogling behind
I gave it a wink with my taillights
The white line rolled up by my side but never consummated into a circle
That car dashed up from my left
Smile for smile, eye to eye, but no desire to know where to go
It was a long and lonely journey in the dark with a little rise and fall
But we both knew there was danger running abreast
One had to outdistance the other
Before we branched out, saying goodbye for good
We exchanged another smile, with something mutually enigmatic and knowable
We had agreed to different speed requirements when driving on different lanes
And then the red taillights winked three times in my searchlights and disappeared
　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　Jan. 6, 2008
　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　Jan. 13, 2008

　　　夜行

沿着中间车道行驶
看到后视镜里
两只车前灯的媚眼越抛越明媚
我眨着尾灯回应
虚白线从下面滚上来，却从未卷成圆圈
车子便从我的上手俯冲过来

终于对上了眼，以微笑回应微笑，但都没有问你到哪里
黑夜的路延伸着孤独，偶尔起伏
但我们明白并驾齐驱必然危险
我们必须赶在分道扬镳之前
有一个人主动拉开距离
我们又交换了一次微笑，那含混的意味似乎能够明白
我们行于不同车道时，已经接受不同的速度要求

然后那红色的尾灯在我的探照灯里挤了三次眼，消失在黑夜
　　　　　　　　　　　　　2008年1月15日

Robert Mezey: Fishing Around

　　Fishing Around
　　　　　　　　　Robert Mezey
Keeping his feet, a feeling in his gut,
Heart in his mouth, a slow bee in his bonnet,
Silently groaning under God knows what,
He wants to see if he can write a sonnet:
Nothing spectacular, just some decent verse,
Each phoneme brooded on, each syllable weighed,
The diction plain, the sentence fairly terse
(To please you, lovely reader, meter-made).

And now he feels he’s in his element,
Baiting a hook and casting forth the line,
And through clear water sees a heaven-sent
Swift flash of silver rise into air and shine.
Ah, let it go—go, dart back to the deep.
A lovely thing, but much too small to keep.
　　　　　　　　　　from New Yorker Jan, 2008

　　钓来钓去
　　　　　　罗伯特·梅泽
他双脚站得沉稳，气守丹田，
心含在喉咙，脑际有小蜜蜂作怪，
老天也难听清他咕哝什么不满，
他就想看自己能否谱一首商籁：
不求出语惊鸿，只要稳妥成诵，
推敲每项词义，掂量每个韵律，
尽量措词本分，语句洗练切中，
（看官，为着您赏心，他亦步亦趋）。

至此他渐入佳境，自感已入港，
给鱼钩穿上饵料，把渔线儿抛出，
于是清澄的水面划过一道银光
犹如天赐，升到半空，熠熠夺目。
唉，丢了算了，扔回远处的深水，放掉，
这东西倒是可爱，但不值得收留，太小。

Fan Jinghua: Castaway

　　　　　　　Castaway
　　　After Zemeckis’s 2000 Film Castaway

He came to and found himself on a deserted island
He survived the wreckage of his routine flight that had gone wrong
The water was unprecedentedly vast, the sun hotter than fire

In desperation, he explored, like a human and like an animal
He drank coconut juice and then discovered fresh water and a cave as his shelter
The sea was green, the air clear, stars a gregarious myriad
There were no cannibals or predators. He was alone, alive
Tide washed up from the wreck a volleyball, a gift
From a grandpa to a grandson that would never reach
And his wounded hand accidentally made it into a dummy face to which
He talked and talked and eventually it became alive

The need for neighbors surfaced again, acute, from his pre-castaway withdrawn state
The need for neighbors grew into the desire for the distant
When he was picked up from his near death on the raft and sent back to society
He would like to ask for direction even if he had no specific destination in mind


　　　　　荒岛余生
　　看电影《荒岛余生》之后

他醒来，发现自己属于一座荒岛
一次日常的飞行出了错，但他幸存于难
远望，海水是前所未有的茫茫，太阳比火还要炽热

他带着绝望的希望探索这座荒岛，像一个人，像一只动物
起初他喝椰子水，后来发现了淡水和一口洞穴遮风挡雨
大海很绿，空气清澄，星星聚集在夜空，很近
没有食人族，也没有食肉的野兽。
他一个人活着。他拥有一座孤岛，孤岛拥有一个人

海浪从残骸中冲来一个包裹，那是一只排球
一个祖父送给外孙的礼物，如今已再也无法送达
而他流血的手偶然在球上留下一个掌印，变成了一个笑脸
一个没有身体的脑袋
他的自言自语有了诉说的对象，那笑脸以沉默的倾听与他交谈
他说着，他说着，说得忘记时间，说得它也有了生命

他对于邻居的渴望再次浮起，成为对于远方的渴望
远方，他在失事前总是向往，例如南太平洋的某个小岛
他被人从昏迷中救起，送回了社会
此后，即使他不知道自己要去哪里，他也会
向别人询问脚下的路通向那些地方
　　　　　　　　　　　　　2008年1月13日

FanJInghua: Re: But

　　　Re: But

This end is a mark. I can say
“No more” or “No longer,” but I also know
A “Forget it” might be better.
If so, I do not even need to say it out.
There is, as can be seen from my indecision till now, an invisible
Wall that does not mean to block anything willful.
It is a dot, and my hand is holding the pen
But does not lift it off the paper;
It can be made into any punctuation—
As if I can sit or kneel, depending on
What my buttocks rest on, something external or my own;
Or recline or lie when there are trustworthy things.
Only when on my back, can I think of the best: It is ……
And how I love to see you come toward me and stand there
　　　　　　　　　　　　Dec. 31 2007

　　　参照与反驳

终点是一个记号。我可以说
“覆水难收”或者“事不过三”，
但我也知道“既往不咎”或许更好。
如果这样，那么我根本无须说出。
如此的优柔寡断已经竖起一堵肉眼不见的墙，
尽管它根本无意于阻挡任何执意或任性。
这终点，不过是一个小圆点，而我手中的笔还没
提起，它可以延续或扭转成任一种标点——
犹如我可坐可跪，视我的屁股坐着谁，
是依靠外物还是自己的腿；
如果背后有可以信任的物件，我还可以斜卧或平躺。
只有素面朝天时，我才会想到最佳回答：
那就是……
而我多么热切地期待着你走向我，在那儿站定。
　　　　　　　　　　　2007年12月31日凌晨

Fan Jinghua: My Mute Prayer

　　My Mute Prayer

The year draws to its end, like a ditch
That plugs its head into the silt of time we’ve had;
Now is full of idiotic starch that smears the pad of letter paper
I have kept for writing poems for you.

Winter has set in so deep into the wintertime
That lips become intractable and bloodless;
Those who have not learned how to close eyes use their digits
To count how many days away the spring lurks like worms.

Dear, let us abandon hopes and exploit our animal heat.
Let me pillow between your breasts and my breath
Condense into warm drops on your skin.
Hold my hand under your armpit and my knee between your legs.
Then, even if I am flushed away by nightmare,
I will not fear of drowning.
　　　　　　　　　Dec 30, 2007

　　　沉默的祈祷
这一年拖着沉缓的步子走近了终点，
犹如阴沟将头颅插入时间的淤泥。
这沓信纸我收藏了这么久，却被这滩糨糊污秽了；
没有净洁的纸，我怎能为你写诗。

寒冷日渐侵入冬季的深处，
人们的嘴唇乌青而僵硬；
没学会闭眼的人竖起二十只指头
计算春天的蠕虫蛰伏在多少个日子外等待雷声。

愿我们毫不足惜地放弃希望，
开发彼此的动物体温。
让我的头枕在你的肩胛，呼吸
凝成温暖的珠滴，湿润你颈下的一片肌肤。
你的腋窝要夹紧我的手，大腿夹紧我的膝盖，
那么即便被噩梦冲走，我也不会恐惧被淹死。
　　　　　　　　　　　2007年12月30日星期日