A Touch of Summer
After bath, strands of hair curl down
like snakes dangling by
your face. Two obsidian beads below your brows.
Almost washed is the sky, with few stars
regarding each other. White lilies rise to the waist
of enclosure fences, colorfully.
Your mind uncouples the iron gate, and something
hisses into the courtyard. You feel its expansion
but nothing touches. Like a straying cool draught.
Two fingers, as if out of reflex, cramp together the low neckline,
the distant howling like a wolf. You stand intent,
but nothing can be heard. Something is evading you.
The bed, like a well-bound raft, wobbles in the dark. Rainless
for three weeks, a leave falls from the parasol tree before the window
to the ground, green, waiting for dewdrops.
Feb. 26-27, 2008
夏意
浴后，几缕潮湿的头发
小蛇一般，荡
在她的脸侧。那眉下镶着黑晶石。
几乎纯净的夜空，星星稀少，彼此
疏远地观注，而百合花翘首
在围墙的腰际，白得艳丽。
她的心抽开大门的铁插销，某种东西
“咝”的一声闪进了院子，漫开。
有感，无触。像一股游离的凉意。
右手无知地抬起，掖了掖浴衣的胸，远方
孤独如间或的狼嚎，而当她凝神
却什么也听不到。在躲避她。
床，像一张细致捆扎的筏子，在身后
暗中晃荡。三周无雨，一张梧桐叶从窗前
落下，还是绿的，等待露水。
2008年2月26-8日
Friday, February 29, 2008
Tuesday, February 26, 2008
Fan Jinghua: Song of Spring Excursion
Song of Spring Excursion
So intricate is the interlacement of clove branches
That flowers stretch over the balustrade to the sunset.
-- Li Ho, “Hard to Forget”
When you go down there up the plum hill,
High spring will drown you with bees from auspicious delta,
And there will be no butterflies or me, as I am here, absent.
If the rain does not come like an unwitting ex-lover,
You may hurry off the thick garment of northern country
And drive away the deepening middle-aged love.
Petals rain down, something tender and fragile is
Exposed, to match the trees in burgeoning sprouts.
Your dark colored skirt may fend off the relapses of cold snap,
While the thousand-year-old stone soldiers stand by
The sacred passage, guarding against the never competent evil.
Among the flowers, you are to forget their vivid alertness,
For nothing saddens you any more there. And only willows will tell:
Flowers boom all of a sudden, and flowers fall one by one.
Feb. 24-25, 2008
踏青
乱系丁香梢，满栏花向夕。
——李贺《难忘曲》
为你的抵达，梅花山上的江南之春
已备好满梢的蜜蜂，在一片上好的风水中；
而我缺席在远方，没有化为蝴蝶。
如果雨不会像一个不智的前恋人那样犯嫌，
你将匆匆脱掉北国的厚衣与日渐沉积的
中年之爱的浮膘。花瓣权当骤雨，一夜，
某种柔嫩与脆弱的内在的须将暴露出来，
树枝上淡绿的叶芽暗中较劲，鼓胀的不是珠胎。
当你以深色的裙子挡住了乍暖还寒，
那神道上千年的守卫依旧一脸警惕，
千年的阴风始终无力，不比残花能钻入你的膝间；
而你钻入花丛，不想他们保鲜多年的神情。
江南再无令你伤心的人事，只有柳枝还会说：
花儿开得轰轰烈烈，花儿落得奄奄一息。
2008年2月25日
So intricate is the interlacement of clove branches
That flowers stretch over the balustrade to the sunset.
-- Li Ho, “Hard to Forget”
When you go down there up the plum hill,
High spring will drown you with bees from auspicious delta,
And there will be no butterflies or me, as I am here, absent.
If the rain does not come like an unwitting ex-lover,
You may hurry off the thick garment of northern country
And drive away the deepening middle-aged love.
Petals rain down, something tender and fragile is
Exposed, to match the trees in burgeoning sprouts.
Your dark colored skirt may fend off the relapses of cold snap,
While the thousand-year-old stone soldiers stand by
The sacred passage, guarding against the never competent evil.
Among the flowers, you are to forget their vivid alertness,
For nothing saddens you any more there. And only willows will tell:
Flowers boom all of a sudden, and flowers fall one by one.
Feb. 24-25, 2008
踏青
乱系丁香梢，满栏花向夕。
——李贺《难忘曲》
为你的抵达，梅花山上的江南之春
已备好满梢的蜜蜂，在一片上好的风水中；
而我缺席在远方，没有化为蝴蝶。
如果雨不会像一个不智的前恋人那样犯嫌，
你将匆匆脱掉北国的厚衣与日渐沉积的
中年之爱的浮膘。花瓣权当骤雨，一夜，
某种柔嫩与脆弱的内在的须将暴露出来，
树枝上淡绿的叶芽暗中较劲，鼓胀的不是珠胎。
当你以深色的裙子挡住了乍暖还寒，
那神道上千年的守卫依旧一脸警惕，
千年的阴风始终无力，不比残花能钻入你的膝间；
而你钻入花丛，不想他们保鲜多年的神情。
江南再无令你伤心的人事，只有柳枝还会说：
花儿开得轰轰烈烈，花儿落得奄奄一息。
2008年2月25日
Monday, February 25, 2008
Fan Jinghua: Loneliness
Loneliness
Her odor is centrifugal,
as your invisible hands swing
the two soles of her pantyhose
laden with green jade bangles,
as if you are a kungfu master, eremitic.
Nothing is heard but the whistle
lingering in your earshot, nothing is seen
until a shooting star
dives headlong into the black forest,
as if it dies to mock at your vain efforts.
A flash of grin breaks on your face,
and a muffled guttural growl squeezes out
to frighten away some bodiless creature:
how dare you come near?
But everything is still, and eternity is flowing
low on the earth.
A foot wakes you from a trance
with a slap so searing,
and then the odor comes back
and with it well out your tears,
unstoppable.
Feb. 24, 2008
孤独
她的味道被甩了出去——
那是两只翠绿的镯子
坚硬而光滑地将连裤袜的脚撑得饱满。
不见你的手臂扭动，
它们绕着你的脖子、滚过肩膀，
在两耳之外呼呼地响；
你绝对是一个功夫高手，隐于世外，
令这旷野黑得冒出了磷火。
而当一颗流星，在远方俯冲下去，
嘲弄似地栽进一片黑森林，
你咧一下嘴，嘿嘿声就飘了出来，
像是要吓走某个或许存在的
无躯体的恶灵：
“除了我自己，还有什么敢接近我”？
而一切安宁，犹如液态的永恒
沿着低处运行。
你刚一出神，一只脚就掴在你脸上，
火辣辣的——
接着那味道回来了，
接着回来的是
你的眼泪，无法阻挡。
2008年2月25日
Her odor is centrifugal,
as your invisible hands swing
the two soles of her pantyhose
laden with green jade bangles,
as if you are a kungfu master, eremitic.
Nothing is heard but the whistle
lingering in your earshot, nothing is seen
until a shooting star
dives headlong into the black forest,
as if it dies to mock at your vain efforts.
A flash of grin breaks on your face,
and a muffled guttural growl squeezes out
to frighten away some bodiless creature:
how dare you come near?
But everything is still, and eternity is flowing
low on the earth.
A foot wakes you from a trance
with a slap so searing,
and then the odor comes back
and with it well out your tears,
unstoppable.
Feb. 24, 2008
孤独
她的味道被甩了出去——
那是两只翠绿的镯子
坚硬而光滑地将连裤袜的脚撑得饱满。
不见你的手臂扭动，
它们绕着你的脖子、滚过肩膀，
在两耳之外呼呼地响；
你绝对是一个功夫高手，隐于世外，
令这旷野黑得冒出了磷火。
而当一颗流星，在远方俯冲下去，
嘲弄似地栽进一片黑森林，
你咧一下嘴，嘿嘿声就飘了出来，
像是要吓走某个或许存在的
无躯体的恶灵：
“除了我自己，还有什么敢接近我”？
而一切安宁，犹如液态的永恒
沿着低处运行。
你刚一出神，一只脚就掴在你脸上，
火辣辣的——
接着那味道回来了，
接着回来的是
你的眼泪，无法阻挡。
2008年2月25日
Robert Creeley: Loop & Words
a friend emailed me these two small poems by Robert Creeley, and I translated online when emailing her back. Now, copy them.
loop
Robert Creeley
Down the road Up the hill Into the house
Over the wall Under the bed After the fact
By the way Out of the woods Behind the times
In front of the door Between the lines Along the path
他[罗伯特·克瑞利]的诗歌我读过一些，也算是沿着O’Hara的那路风格下来的。
但是有接受了一些Williams、东方诗等的影响。算是一种风格派的写作吧。
这种东西玩多了就是mannerism风格主义，style over substance（风格大于实质），
玩少了又不成气候。这首恐怕真不适于翻译吧：
环路
沿路而下 上山 入屋子
越墙 到床下 事成后
顺道 出林 后于时代
门前 于两线间 沿着小径
words
Driving to the expected
Place in mind in
Place of mind in
Driving to the expected
我理解的这个意思是：
词语 驶向/冲向心念中的期望之地代替驶向期望之地途中的心念mind大概相当于我们说的心/心念，中间的in place of是代替的意思，实际上这首小诗说的就是：字到了，心（意）就到了。
此刻调整一下：
词语
驶向心念之中的
期望之地
代替驶向
期望之地的心念
loop
Robert Creeley
Down the road Up the hill Into the house
Over the wall Under the bed After the fact
By the way Out of the woods Behind the times
In front of the door Between the lines Along the path
他[罗伯特·克瑞利]的诗歌我读过一些，也算是沿着O’Hara的那路风格下来的。
但是有接受了一些Williams、东方诗等的影响。算是一种风格派的写作吧。
这种东西玩多了就是mannerism风格主义，style over substance（风格大于实质），
玩少了又不成气候。这首恐怕真不适于翻译吧：
环路
沿路而下 上山 入屋子
越墙 到床下 事成后
顺道 出林 后于时代
门前 于两线间 沿着小径
words
Driving to the expected
Place in mind in
Place of mind in
Driving to the expected
我理解的这个意思是：
词语 驶向/冲向心念中的期望之地代替驶向期望之地途中的心念mind大概相当于我们说的心/心念，中间的in place of是代替的意思，实际上这首小诗说的就是：字到了，心（意）就到了。
此刻调整一下：
词语
驶向心念之中的
期望之地
代替驶向
期望之地的心念
Fan Jinghua: Openings
Openings
What can be opened
Are but those born openings,
Those that take in or expel;
And they all smell bad if not kept clean
By flushing or perfuming.
There are parts that open only partially,
And they are inevitably sinewed;
They may be stretched out but they never let loose.
What can never be opened is named “the inner,”
Which means a forestaller, no matter what is let in,
No matter how tight the exterior is held close to the joints,
Nothing reaches, nothing connects to them.
Anyone can say this to anyone else,
And sadly, I can, too.
Feb. 21, 2008
开口
能打开的部分
都是天生的开口，
吸取，排泄；
必须保洁，洒香水，
否则都会发出臭味。
有的部分只能部分打开，
那些部位必有肌腱，
或许会伸展但绝不松脱。
永远打不开的，
我们称之为内在，
外物可以进出，
可能拥纳得很紧，
但没有抵达，更没有结合。
这话谁都可以对自己之外的人说，
而我，也一样。
2008年2月25日
What can be opened
Are but those born openings,
Those that take in or expel;
And they all smell bad if not kept clean
By flushing or perfuming.
There are parts that open only partially,
And they are inevitably sinewed;
They may be stretched out but they never let loose.
What can never be opened is named “the inner,”
Which means a forestaller, no matter what is let in,
No matter how tight the exterior is held close to the joints,
Nothing reaches, nothing connects to them.
Anyone can say this to anyone else,
And sadly, I can, too.
Feb. 21, 2008
开口
能打开的部分
都是天生的开口，
吸取，排泄；
必须保洁，洒香水，
否则都会发出臭味。
有的部分只能部分打开，
那些部位必有肌腱，
或许会伸展但绝不松脱。
永远打不开的，
我们称之为内在，
外物可以进出，
可能拥纳得很紧，
但没有抵达，更没有结合。
这话谁都可以对自己之外的人说，
而我，也一样。
2008年2月25日
Sunday, February 24, 2008
Wang Yucheng: Sorrowful Rain, Saddening Clouds
"Sorrowful Rain and Saddening Clouds"
by Wang Yucheng 王禹偁 (954-1001)
by Wang Yucheng 王禹偁 (954-1001)
A Ts’u (Ci) Poem to the Tune of "Adorning the Red Lips"
In the sorrowful rain and saddening clouds,
The land south to the River is still a beauty as ever.
From the waterside village and the fishing market,
A lone tress of smoke snakes upward.
A file of expeditionary geese stitched together
Worms along the edge of sky.
All the events will be uneventful when a life
Is transfixed at this moment, while no one
Would understand another leaning over a balustrade.
Original Text
In the sorrowful rain and saddening clouds,
The land south to the River is still a beauty as ever.
From the waterside village and the fishing market,
A lone tress of smoke snakes upward.
A file of expeditionary geese stitched together
Worms along the edge of sky.
All the events will be uneventful when a life
Is transfixed at this moment, while no one
Would understand another leaning over a balustrade.
Original Text
王禹偁 《点绛唇·雨恨云愁》
雨恨云愁，江南依旧称佳丽。水村渔市，一缕孤烟细。
天际征鸿，遥认行如缀。平生事，此时凝睇，谁会凭栏意！
Pronunciation of Pinyin and tone note
天际征鸿，遥认行如缀。平生事，此时凝睇，谁会凭栏意！
Pronunciation of Pinyin and tone note
点dian3绛jiang4唇chun2
雨yu3恨hen4云yun2愁chou2
江jiang1南nan2依yi1旧jiu4称cheng1佳jia1丽li4
水shui3村cun1渔yu2市shi4
一yi1缕lv3孤gu1烟yan1细xi1
天tian1际ji1征zheng1鸿hong2
遥yao2认ren4行hang2如ru2缀zhui4
平ping2生sheng1事shi4
此ci3时shi2凝ning2睇di4
谁shui2会hui4凭ping2栏lan2意yi4?
Original Text with word-to-word translation
雨yu3恨hen4云yun2愁chou2
江jiang1南nan2依yi1旧jiu4称cheng1佳jia1丽li4
水shui3村cun1渔yu2市shi4
一yi1缕lv3孤gu1烟yan1细xi1
天tian1际ji1征zheng1鸿hong2
遥yao2认ren4行hang2如ru2缀zhui4
平ping2生sheng1事shi4
此ci3时shi2凝ning2睇di4
谁shui2会hui4凭ping2栏lan2意yi4?
Original Text with word-to-word translation
点put a dot on (adorn) 绛scarlet, deep red唇lips
雨rain恨sorrow, hate 云cloud愁sad
江the River南south依旧as before称matchable, be called佳good丽beautiful
水water(side)村village渔fishing市market
一one缕thread, a lock (tress) of 孤lone烟smoke细thin
天sky际edge征expeditionary, conquering鸿swan goose
遥distant认recognize行file, row如like, as if缀connected, stitched
平uneventful生life事events
此here时time凝fixed睇watch
谁who会understand凭lean栏banister, railing意meaning?
This Ci-poem (lyrics) is perhaps the very first among this genre of poetry in Northern Song Dynasty of China, as this genre of ci-poem is the representative form of poetry in China (as comparable with regulated poems in Tang Dynasty). This is also the most representative of this poet’s oeuvre, although he had only this one recorded in Complete Ci-Poems in Song Dynasty which collected over 20 thousand pieces. Whenever there is 凭栏(pinglan) (lean on the balustrade) in Chinese poems, the image should be read as one standing before a balustrade of a pavilion on a terrace or a mountain top (sometimes before a cliff facing a gorge or valley). This is a traditional image of one who holds a very high aspiration but at present finding no ways to realize.
雨rain恨sorrow, hate 云cloud愁sad
江the River南south依旧as before称matchable, be called佳good丽beautiful
水water(side)村village渔fishing市market
一one缕thread, a lock (tress) of 孤lone烟smoke细thin
天sky际edge征expeditionary, conquering鸿swan goose
遥distant认recognize行file, row如like, as if缀connected, stitched
平uneventful生life事events
此here时time凝fixed睇watch
谁who会understand凭lean栏banister, railing意meaning?
This Ci-poem (lyrics) is perhaps the very first among this genre of poetry in Northern Song Dynasty of China, as this genre of ci-poem is the representative form of poetry in China (as comparable with regulated poems in Tang Dynasty). This is also the most representative of this poet’s oeuvre, although he had only this one recorded in Complete Ci-Poems in Song Dynasty which collected over 20 thousand pieces. Whenever there is 凭栏(pinglan) (lean on the balustrade) in Chinese poems, the image should be read as one standing before a balustrade of a pavilion on a terrace or a mountain top (sometimes before a cliff facing a gorge or valley). This is a traditional image of one who holds a very high aspiration but at present finding no ways to realize.
Selected Works of Wang Yucheng
About the Author:
王禹偁 Wang Yucheng (954-1001), a poet, prose writer of Song Dynasty in ancient China, with a style name of Yuanzhi, was born into a very poor family in the present Shandong Province. He was very diligent and hardworking, and upon passing the highest imperial examination, he was appointed to a county official in 983 AD. The next year, he was promoted to the county magistrate of the present Suzhou, which belongs to the central part of the traditional Land South to the River (江南 River South). He suffered several ups and downs in his short career, due to literary inquisition. His poems and prose advocated a style of plainness and easiness.
ZHAO Dongni: a poem
Untitled
by ZHAO Dongni
If you see Dali’s clockface
Softer than dough, you will be surprised
By the doubt as to whether our arms in lamplight
Really have a luster of pearls
But clocks tick and tremble
The grayish green fog
And the night holds nothing but their sound
Tr. FAN Jinghua
诗一首
赵冬妮
如果看到达利的软表
比面团还软，你会惊讶
我们灯光下的手臂
是否真的有过珍珠般的光泽
时针滴答着晃动
青灰色的夜雾
只剩下声音
I just this small poem by my friend Zhao Dongni, who wrote this one a couple of years ago when she was in Australia (?). It is one section in a prose, therefore there is not title.
by ZHAO Dongni
If you see Dali’s clockface
Softer than dough, you will be surprised
By the doubt as to whether our arms in lamplight
Really have a luster of pearls
But clocks tick and tremble
The grayish green fog
And the night holds nothing but their sound
Tr. FAN Jinghua
诗一首
赵冬妮
如果看到达利的软表
比面团还软，你会惊讶
我们灯光下的手臂
是否真的有过珍珠般的光泽
时针滴答着晃动
青灰色的夜雾
只剩下声音
I just this small poem by my friend Zhao Dongni, who wrote this one a couple of years ago when she was in Australia (?). It is one section in a prose, therefore there is not title.
Saturday, February 23, 2008
Fan Jinghua: Expedition
Expedition
By myself alone. With one book, one
Containing much blank space, I will find
A barnyard in front of a cave and put up
A shack of palm leaves, watching those
Half-buried rocks in sand randomly
Arranging themselves into a dry landscape.
I will sit on them, one by one, and on each rock
Ponder over the proper name for the newly-formed
Constellation, while the wave sound washes
From the cave like the breath of a giant, waking up memory.
I will exegetise the book with your eyes……
Splendidly colder and warmer, this star chart over the desert island……
Feb. 19, 2008
远行
我将孤身远行，只带走一本书，一本有很多
空白的书，在一口山洞前的空场院
搭一个草棚，看那些半截的石头随意
排列成沙石的山水。
我将一块一块坐过去，一次一次琢磨
该如何命名每一个新的星座。
而风从洞中吹来潮音，
像巨人的呼吸，唤醒记忆。
我将以你们的眼睛注疏我的书……
更闪烁更缤纷，这荒岛上的星图……
By myself alone. With one book, one
Containing much blank space, I will find
A barnyard in front of a cave and put up
A shack of palm leaves, watching those
Half-buried rocks in sand randomly
Arranging themselves into a dry landscape.
I will sit on them, one by one, and on each rock
Ponder over the proper name for the newly-formed
Constellation, while the wave sound washes
From the cave like the breath of a giant, waking up memory.
I will exegetise the book with your eyes……
Splendidly colder and warmer, this star chart over the desert island……
Feb. 19, 2008
远行
我将孤身远行，只带走一本书，一本有很多
空白的书，在一口山洞前的空场院
搭一个草棚，看那些半截的石头随意
排列成沙石的山水。
我将一块一块坐过去，一次一次琢磨
该如何命名每一个新的星座。
而风从洞中吹来潮音，
像巨人的呼吸，唤醒记忆。
我将以你们的眼睛注疏我的书……
更闪烁更缤纷，这荒岛上的星图……
Wednesday, February 20, 2008
Fan Jinghua: Ordeal
Ordeal
Don’t go in there for my sake, please don't.
There are unshareable recesses even you,
Whose wrinkled crevices my palm loves to embalm,
Are not supposed to squeeze a foot into.
I need you. I need you to stay out of the door,
Holding my tail, pulling it hard when I shiver.
All I can tell is the dark and human eyes that can take
Not much contrast of light. I need the pain to feel.
Make sure there will always be a crevice
To connect two worlds that I cannot cover.
But dear, don’t go inside where I’m doomed,
Since you can see the daylight striking my back.
Feb. 16, 2008
神圣的责罚
不要为了我而走进那儿，
不要。
有些阴暗不可分享，虽然
我的手掌
喜爱为你多皱的缝隙
涂抹油膏，
你也不能将你的裸脚
伸进门缝的镣锁。
我需要你。我需要
你呆在门外，抓着我的
尾巴，在我颤抖的时候
尽力将我拽出来。
我能说的是黑暗
被微弱的尖锐划破，
而人类的眼睛
只能能够忍受有限的
光的反差。
我需要疼痛
才能感觉。
踩住我的尾巴，向后拽。
那扇门不能关闭，
留下一条我手掌无法捂住的缝隙。
但是亲爱的，千万不要跟着
进来，我注定沉酗这诅咒之酒，
而你看见了
我面对你的后背上阳光摇曳，
如我所有的喜悦与感激。
2008年2月17日
Don’t go in there for my sake, please don't.
There are unshareable recesses even you,
Whose wrinkled crevices my palm loves to embalm,
Are not supposed to squeeze a foot into.
I need you. I need you to stay out of the door,
Holding my tail, pulling it hard when I shiver.
All I can tell is the dark and human eyes that can take
Not much contrast of light. I need the pain to feel.
Make sure there will always be a crevice
To connect two worlds that I cannot cover.
But dear, don’t go inside where I’m doomed,
Since you can see the daylight striking my back.
Feb. 16, 2008
神圣的责罚
不要为了我而走进那儿，
不要。
有些阴暗不可分享，虽然
我的手掌
喜爱为你多皱的缝隙
涂抹油膏，
你也不能将你的裸脚
伸进门缝的镣锁。
我需要你。我需要
你呆在门外，抓着我的
尾巴，在我颤抖的时候
尽力将我拽出来。
我能说的是黑暗
被微弱的尖锐划破，
而人类的眼睛
只能能够忍受有限的
光的反差。
我需要疼痛
才能感觉。
踩住我的尾巴，向后拽。
那扇门不能关闭，
留下一条我手掌无法捂住的缝隙。
但是亲爱的，千万不要跟着
进来，我注定沉酗这诅咒之酒，
而你看见了
我面对你的后背上阳光摇曳，
如我所有的喜悦与感激。
2008年2月17日
Saturday, February 16, 2008
Mountain Emptiness
Mountain Emptiness
The ways you climb on and slip down
Are so different—
Coming up, you are
So high and spirited
Slipping out, you are all
Flaccid except your mouth
That never gives in
But I am still a mountain
Still styled Emptiness
Despite all these years when
You climb on me with all your members
Once and again
You are but a monkey
Scratching
But never filling me
Feb. 16 2008
空山怨
感觉你爬上来和滑下去
非常不同——
上来的时候
你一时兴起但勃勃生机
下去的时候
除了一张嘴之外，你所有的坚硬
都疲软了
而我还是一座山
仍然称为空山
因为这么多年来——
你们双手双脚
无数次上来下去
像猴子
给我瘙痒
却从来不曾将我充满
按：这首诗本来是根据一首闹得满城风雨的诗写出来的，但是我觉得它自有其自身的意义。原本可谓是一首讽刺诗，但是我想它更是诗歌自身的怨诉。
Note: This poem is initially written after and against a controversial poem, but I find it having its own merit. My poem intends to be a satire, but it is more about the poetry itself. I hope that my poem will not lend to a sexist reading but point to the traditional concept of poetry as Muse's offspring.
Early in 2008, a group of Chinese scholars and poets from Nanjing produced a billboard of good and bad poems published in 2007. The number one on the bad poem list is a poem entitled A Note on Mountain Kongdong by Yisha (Wu Wenjian), which was published in the most famous mainstream (government sponsored) magazine Poetry Journal (《诗刊》). The poem reads:
《崆峒山小记》
伊沙
上去时和下来时的感觉
是非常不同的——
上去的时候
那山隐现在浓雾之中
下来的时候
这山暴露在艳阳之下
像是两座山
不知哪座更崆峒
不论哪一座
我都爱着这崆峒
因为这是
多年以来——
我用自己的双脚
踏上的头一座山
2006.7
My literal translation (Kongdong as the name of the mountian is kept, as the name is homophonic to the phrase meaning Empty):
A Note on Mountain Kongdong
by Yisha
The feeling of going up and that of coming down
are quite different--
When I went up
the mountian was at times seen in thick fog
When I came down
the mountain was exposed in the bright sun
They appeared to be two mountains
I did not know which one is more Kongdong
No matter what
I love this Kongdong just the same
Because this is
for so many years
the first mountain
I have climbed with my own feet
July 2006
The chaos of contemporary poetry scene is partially attributed to the ungoverned overflow of so-called colloquial poetry, which has been ridiculed as being written with "enter" key only. By "ungoverned" is meant that, apart from what Heaney calls "the government of tongue," poetry-writing has become so easy a thing that whatever written in lines are styled as poems and that there is no agreed-on standard as to what is a poem. These poem-makers on the one hand obviously advocate the free-publication on the internet (free from the government censorship) while on the other hand reject the so-called "cloister school" (mainly more intellectually difficult university campus poets).
The ways you climb on and slip down
Are so different—
Coming up, you are
So high and spirited
Slipping out, you are all
Flaccid except your mouth
That never gives in
But I am still a mountain
Still styled Emptiness
Despite all these years when
You climb on me with all your members
Once and again
You are but a monkey
Scratching
But never filling me
Feb. 16 2008
空山怨
感觉你爬上来和滑下去
非常不同——
上来的时候
你一时兴起但勃勃生机
下去的时候
除了一张嘴之外，你所有的坚硬
都疲软了
而我还是一座山
仍然称为空山
因为这么多年来——
你们双手双脚
无数次上来下去
像猴子
给我瘙痒
却从来不曾将我充满
按：这首诗本来是根据一首闹得满城风雨的诗写出来的，但是我觉得它自有其自身的意义。原本可谓是一首讽刺诗，但是我想它更是诗歌自身的怨诉。
Note: This poem is initially written after and against a controversial poem, but I find it having its own merit. My poem intends to be a satire, but it is more about the poetry itself. I hope that my poem will not lend to a sexist reading but point to the traditional concept of poetry as Muse's offspring.
Early in 2008, a group of Chinese scholars and poets from Nanjing produced a billboard of good and bad poems published in 2007. The number one on the bad poem list is a poem entitled A Note on Mountain Kongdong by Yisha (Wu Wenjian), which was published in the most famous mainstream (government sponsored) magazine Poetry Journal (《诗刊》). The poem reads:
《崆峒山小记》
伊沙
上去时和下来时的感觉
是非常不同的——
上去的时候
那山隐现在浓雾之中
下来的时候
这山暴露在艳阳之下
像是两座山
不知哪座更崆峒
不论哪一座
我都爱着这崆峒
因为这是
多年以来——
我用自己的双脚
踏上的头一座山
2006.7
My literal translation (Kongdong as the name of the mountian is kept, as the name is homophonic to the phrase meaning Empty):
A Note on Mountain Kongdong
by Yisha
The feeling of going up and that of coming down
are quite different--
When I went up
the mountian was at times seen in thick fog
When I came down
the mountain was exposed in the bright sun
They appeared to be two mountains
I did not know which one is more Kongdong
No matter what
I love this Kongdong just the same
Because this is
for so many years
the first mountain
I have climbed with my own feet
July 2006
The chaos of contemporary poetry scene is partially attributed to the ungoverned overflow of so-called colloquial poetry, which has been ridiculed as being written with "enter" key only. By "ungoverned" is meant that, apart from what Heaney calls "the government of tongue," poetry-writing has become so easy a thing that whatever written in lines are styled as poems and that there is no agreed-on standard as to what is a poem. These poem-makers on the one hand obviously advocate the free-publication on the internet (free from the government censorship) while on the other hand reject the so-called "cloister school" (mainly more intellectually difficult university campus poets).
Fan Jinghua: Life Fragments Linked
Life Fragments Linked
I
You have been following the lines
They are all upslope
You’d run and walk and trail
Out of school into circles
Now your arena is a platform
Of a partitioned maze
In which a mouse is put into an intelligence test
Learning how to get water and food
Without the roundabouts
From a small hole
For the rest of time, you can sneak freely
Along the base of walls
Feb. 15, 2008
II
In the daytime he is a cat
Hunching behind the partitioned desk
Eyes half-open for the night
During nighttime he is a mouse
Avoiding his daytime
Jan 29, 2008
III
The new girl is getting familiar
With so many glimpses at your photo
Till one day when she says
Your wife is so beautiful and young
You look at it and shudder to see
The guy by her is much more handsome than you
Jan 30, 2008
IV
And finally you admire those who walk very slowly by the street
Especially those
Who do not clasp their hands
But still in pairs
You are abashed by the urge to peep
At young girls’ burgeoning curves
Feb. 15, 2008
连续的人生碎片
一
你一直走着
都是直线上坡
从跑到走接着拖着脚
出了校门
进入了环道
如今你的场子是一个平台
隔板拦出来的迷津
一只老鼠被放进去进行智力试验
看它如何学会少走弯路
从小洞口
取得水与食物
其余的时间，它可以沿着墙基线自由地
溜来溜去
二
白日你是一只猫
在隔板挡住的桌子前弓着腰
眯着眼，等待夜晚
而黑夜降临，你却变成一只老鼠
躲避你的白昼
三
新来的女孩越来越熟
也越来越大胆地偷瞄你桌子上的照片
有一天她突然说
你老婆真是漂亮，还年轻
于是你也看了一眼，
她旁边的那家伙真的比你英俊很多
你心底一沉
四
你终于开始在街上盯着走得很慢的人
尤其是
他们并没有彼此扶持
但还是成双
你已羞于偷睇年轻女人
旺盛的曲线
2008年2月16日
I
You have been following the lines
They are all upslope
You’d run and walk and trail
Out of school into circles
Now your arena is a platform
Of a partitioned maze
In which a mouse is put into an intelligence test
Learning how to get water and food
Without the roundabouts
From a small hole
For the rest of time, you can sneak freely
Along the base of walls
Feb. 15, 2008
II
In the daytime he is a cat
Hunching behind the partitioned desk
Eyes half-open for the night
During nighttime he is a mouse
Avoiding his daytime
Jan 29, 2008
III
The new girl is getting familiar
With so many glimpses at your photo
Till one day when she says
Your wife is so beautiful and young
You look at it and shudder to see
The guy by her is much more handsome than you
Jan 30, 2008
IV
And finally you admire those who walk very slowly by the street
Especially those
Who do not clasp their hands
But still in pairs
You are abashed by the urge to peep
At young girls’ burgeoning curves
Feb. 15, 2008
连续的人生碎片
一
你一直走着
都是直线上坡
从跑到走接着拖着脚
出了校门
进入了环道
如今你的场子是一个平台
隔板拦出来的迷津
一只老鼠被放进去进行智力试验
看它如何学会少走弯路
从小洞口
取得水与食物
其余的时间，它可以沿着墙基线自由地
溜来溜去
二
白日你是一只猫
在隔板挡住的桌子前弓着腰
眯着眼，等待夜晚
而黑夜降临，你却变成一只老鼠
躲避你的白昼
三
新来的女孩越来越熟
也越来越大胆地偷瞄你桌子上的照片
有一天她突然说
你老婆真是漂亮，还年轻
于是你也看了一眼，
她旁边的那家伙真的比你英俊很多
你心底一沉
四
你终于开始在街上盯着走得很慢的人
尤其是
他们并没有彼此扶持
但还是成双
你已羞于偷睇年轻女人
旺盛的曲线
2008年2月16日
Thursday, February 14, 2008
Fan Jinghua: "My Mind Runs Around You"
"My Mind Runs Around You..."
My mind runs around you
seven times during a single night
like rings of waves
your city, your neighbourhood, your house
your room, your bed, your face
and then I'm flashed back into my swivel chair
before the desk, under the lamp, facing
this piece of paper, lines of words
from here to there and from there back to here
wrapping you
My mind runs around you
seven times during a single night
like rings of waves
your city, your neighbourhood, your house
your room, your bed, your face
and then I'm flashed back into my swivel chair
before the desk, under the lamp, facing
this piece of paper, lines of words
from here to there and from there back to here
wrapping you
Fan Jinghua: Valentine's Day
Valentine's Day
No message
In whatever tangible form
You make today a special one
No message
In whatever tangible form
You make today a special one
Fan Jinghua: Lover’s Day
Lover’s Day
At this moment raindrops are throwing themselves
Down on broad leaves
I am imaging that the pulse of my call reaches your bedstand
No voice
But raindrops only
Two hellos are followed by
Who-do-you-want and Who-is-that
In lowered voice, the second softer than the first
And then you seem to hear a pattering sound
No voice
You hold the receiver close to your ear
After a while
Very lightly
You hang up the phone
It is after midnight but daybreak is still far away
The tired one beside you
Grumbles Who-calls-at-such-an-hour
And turns to sleep again
You mutter as if to yourself:
A nerd who does not sleep
Feb. 12, 2008
St Valentine’s Day is translated into Chinese as Lover’s Day情人节, but the Chinese for “lover” here (情人) implies more of an extramarital partner than of a steady date or the spouse. The mean of lover in Chinese should be “beloved” or “the loved one” (爱人), which about three decades ago refers to one’s spouse. In recent years, many hotels are catering for the fad by promoting “one-night-stay,” which was impossible some twenty years ago because at that time no one could check into a hotel in the city into which their permanent residences is registered while everyone had to produce identity card (with address) to book a hotel room. Of course, St Valentine's Day is now celebrated by almost all the people who have (been) learned of it, especially young lovers. As for the "concubines," they are made to be aware of their status because the men have to go back to their wives. haha.
情人的节
此刻雨点扑打树叶
我想象着电话脉冲抵达了你的床头柜
没有言语
只送去雨声
而你两声“喂”之后，稍带不耐烦的低问
“你找谁”
然后你似乎听到一种啪啪的声音
“哪位”
仍没有言语
而你将话筒贴在耳朵上
一会儿之后
轻轻地
挂了
早已过了夜半，而天亮尚远
你身边那个倦怠的人
含糊地问“谁啊”
转身继续睡去
你自语“一个不睡觉的神经病”
2008年2月13日
At this moment raindrops are throwing themselves
Down on broad leaves
I am imaging that the pulse of my call reaches your bedstand
No voice
But raindrops only
Two hellos are followed by
Who-do-you-want and Who-is-that
In lowered voice, the second softer than the first
And then you seem to hear a pattering sound
No voice
You hold the receiver close to your ear
After a while
Very lightly
You hang up the phone
It is after midnight but daybreak is still far away
The tired one beside you
Grumbles Who-calls-at-such-an-hour
And turns to sleep again
You mutter as if to yourself:
A nerd who does not sleep
Feb. 12, 2008
St Valentine’s Day is translated into Chinese as Lover’s Day情人节, but the Chinese for “lover” here (情人) implies more of an extramarital partner than of a steady date or the spouse. The mean of lover in Chinese should be “beloved” or “the loved one” (爱人), which about three decades ago refers to one’s spouse. In recent years, many hotels are catering for the fad by promoting “one-night-stay,” which was impossible some twenty years ago because at that time no one could check into a hotel in the city into which their permanent residences is registered while everyone had to produce identity card (with address) to book a hotel room. Of course, St Valentine's Day is now celebrated by almost all the people who have (been) learned of it, especially young lovers. As for the "concubines," they are made to be aware of their status because the men have to go back to their wives. haha.
情人的节
此刻雨点扑打树叶
我想象着电话脉冲抵达了你的床头柜
没有言语
只送去雨声
而你两声“喂”之后，稍带不耐烦的低问
“你找谁”
然后你似乎听到一种啪啪的声音
“哪位”
仍没有言语
而你将话筒贴在耳朵上
一会儿之后
轻轻地
挂了
早已过了夜半，而天亮尚远
你身边那个倦怠的人
含糊地问“谁啊”
转身继续睡去
你自语“一个不睡觉的神经病”
2008年2月13日
Fan Jinghua: Childhood
Childhood
I
Still remember your index finger nail
Blackened by ink
When we learned to write with a brush
Tracing the printed strokes
But it is thirty years later we learned people color their nails
II
Schoolbags were the simplest bags
One strap stitched to a small sack
Mine was dark blue, always dusty
Books were seen through holes
Yours was red, and I never knew
Those were patches or ornamental flowers
There were things common between us, though
We all wore the bags on the right shoulder
And let them hang down on the left
When school was over, the bags jumped all the way home
III
On the way home from school
I used to pinch off a wild thistle flower and throw it onto the river
Following it
When it was stopped by a cattail, I stopped too
Until a fish forged through (it must be a snakehead)
The flower floated on
I walked on
The sun was setting, so soon
IV
It was after nightfall when I came home
My dad spanked me and drove me out during supper
Next day, you handed me a piece of corn pancake
And I felt the penalty had been worthwhile
I told you
When people were having their meal
There was a very bright shooting star, lingering long in the sky
Only I had seen
童年
一
描红时
你左手食指
总会沾到墨汁
几十年后才知道有人涂指甲油
二
书包是一个简单的袋子
从右肩斜挂到左胯
我的是陈旧的蓝色，有灰尘
补丁经常来不及堵住口子
你的书包上，我从来就没弄懂
那是补丁还是花
惟一相同的是
放学路上我们的书包都会跳
三
摘一朵野花
扔在河面上，跟着走
当水草挡住它，我也站住
直到有鱼儿撞草 （肯定是黑鱼）
花儿继续漂
我继续走
太阳就西沉了
四
天黑之后才回家
被爸爸掌掴一顿
晚饭时罚站在门外
第二天，你带给我一小块饼
我顿时觉得被罚很值
于是我告诉你
当人们都在吃饭的时候
有一颗很亮很亮的流星，特别地长
只有我看见
2008年2月11日
I
Still remember your index finger nail
Blackened by ink
When we learned to write with a brush
Tracing the printed strokes
But it is thirty years later we learned people color their nails
II
Schoolbags were the simplest bags
One strap stitched to a small sack
Mine was dark blue, always dusty
Books were seen through holes
Yours was red, and I never knew
Those were patches or ornamental flowers
There were things common between us, though
We all wore the bags on the right shoulder
And let them hang down on the left
When school was over, the bags jumped all the way home
III
On the way home from school
I used to pinch off a wild thistle flower and throw it onto the river
Following it
When it was stopped by a cattail, I stopped too
Until a fish forged through (it must be a snakehead)
The flower floated on
I walked on
The sun was setting, so soon
IV
It was after nightfall when I came home
My dad spanked me and drove me out during supper
Next day, you handed me a piece of corn pancake
And I felt the penalty had been worthwhile
I told you
When people were having their meal
There was a very bright shooting star, lingering long in the sky
Only I had seen
童年
一
描红时
你左手食指
总会沾到墨汁
几十年后才知道有人涂指甲油
二
书包是一个简单的袋子
从右肩斜挂到左胯
我的是陈旧的蓝色，有灰尘
补丁经常来不及堵住口子
你的书包上，我从来就没弄懂
那是补丁还是花
惟一相同的是
放学路上我们的书包都会跳
三
摘一朵野花
扔在河面上，跟着走
当水草挡住它，我也站住
直到有鱼儿撞草 （肯定是黑鱼）
花儿继续漂
我继续走
太阳就西沉了
四
天黑之后才回家
被爸爸掌掴一顿
晚饭时罚站在门外
第二天，你带给我一小块饼
我顿时觉得被罚很值
于是我告诉你
当人们都在吃饭的时候
有一颗很亮很亮的流星，特别地长
只有我看见
2008年2月11日
Fan Jinghua: Winter Night A Loner…
Winter Night A Loner…
Sits as a statue. And then he sees trees with fierce inertia.
His eyes climb down their wrinkles like latex,
And then he sees mushrooms between their toes,
Tiny whites like medusa expanding their bodies against huge darks.
He leans forward but they dodge, as if they are popped out of a capsule
Into space, the lighted windows floating away but it is he
Who is moving backward into winter that suddenly charges the lights.
Coldness shrinks everything except his age,
And the only expansion grows on paper. He arranges
The positions of all the trees he’s seen before
And makes them into words with prepositions and relatives;
Then sunlight slants in and warms like broad leaves.
The light takes away his voice but the eyes suck it out
And he keeps it like saliva to himself, fuelling a planet orbiting in remote eternity.
Feb. 3, 2008
冬夜，一个孤独的人……
坐成蜡像，然后他看到了树和它们凶狠的怠惰
他的眼像树胶一样沿着树皮的皱纹向下爬
然后看到它们脚趾间的蘑菇
微弱的白在巨大的黑暗中像水母一样全身都在呼吸
他倾身向前，而它们立即躲开，好像被弹进了太空
点点星光的小窗飘走，而后退的却是他自己
冬天就这么突然将空气充满了电
寒冷令一切紧缩，甚至他的年龄也显得干瘪
惟一仍在铺开的，他正在一一排列
他曾经见过的所有树木，在纸上
是字与字，分行、字距和位置错落有致
让进了阳光的斜柱，每一棵都有阔叶似的温暖
他的声音被那光柱吸走了，而他的眼睛再将声音析出
咽下，如点燃的唾液，令一颗行星在遥远的轨道上恒速运行
2008年2月4日
Sits as a statue. And then he sees trees with fierce inertia.
His eyes climb down their wrinkles like latex,
And then he sees mushrooms between their toes,
Tiny whites like medusa expanding their bodies against huge darks.
He leans forward but they dodge, as if they are popped out of a capsule
Into space, the lighted windows floating away but it is he
Who is moving backward into winter that suddenly charges the lights.
Coldness shrinks everything except his age,
And the only expansion grows on paper. He arranges
The positions of all the trees he’s seen before
And makes them into words with prepositions and relatives;
Then sunlight slants in and warms like broad leaves.
The light takes away his voice but the eyes suck it out
And he keeps it like saliva to himself, fuelling a planet orbiting in remote eternity.
Feb. 3, 2008
冬夜，一个孤独的人……
坐成蜡像，然后他看到了树和它们凶狠的怠惰
他的眼像树胶一样沿着树皮的皱纹向下爬
然后看到它们脚趾间的蘑菇
微弱的白在巨大的黑暗中像水母一样全身都在呼吸
他倾身向前，而它们立即躲开，好像被弹进了太空
点点星光的小窗飘走，而后退的却是他自己
冬天就这么突然将空气充满了电
寒冷令一切紧缩，甚至他的年龄也显得干瘪
惟一仍在铺开的，他正在一一排列
他曾经见过的所有树木，在纸上
是字与字，分行、字距和位置错落有致
让进了阳光的斜柱，每一棵都有阔叶似的温暖
他的声音被那光柱吸走了，而他的眼睛再将声音析出
咽下，如点燃的唾液，令一颗行星在遥远的轨道上恒速运行
2008年2月4日
Wednesday, February 13, 2008
Fan Jinghua: Westbound Train
Westbound Train
Monotonous and die-hard determined
Like centuries of moralities
On two parallel lines as perfect science smooth at every turn
The train incessantly wheels forward in time
And in the unfaithfulness and forgetfulness left behind by time
It scales up a slope near Mountain-Ocean Pass
Escaping the soon-to-shine dawn light
Westward, to the termini in Poland, Germany and Netherlands
The train has never slowed down or stopped for any poetic line
And it forges on and breaks languages into blood-soaked
Pieces that slide down the yellow-stained ceramic hole in the toilet
And one piece covers one gravel between railway ties
Only the one with a small flag at the rear of the train
Sees at irregular intervals blood-wrapped gravels vanishing fast
Passengers are whole and safe in the carriages
As the train charges a mountain and rushes into a tunnel
Dissolving in its own smoke
From the far, a viewer loses it temporarily
And doubts his own vision
When the train flushes out again
Like an always brand new ferry across Phlegethon
Toward a barbed and walled chimney
The smell of char is already fading in the sky
In the afterglow, the rails are shiny with red hue
Like bayonets thrusting into a cauldron heart
Feb. 9, 2008
Note: Mountain-Ocean Pass 山海关 is the first pass the so-called Asia-Europe continental bridge faces when it starts at the Bohai Sea from China. One poet called Haizi 海子 (1964-1989) committed suicide near the Pass in March 1989, who is now martyrized as The contemporary poet by Chinese.
西行列车
单调、笃速的坚定
像无数世纪的道德
火车一门心思地前行，穿行在时间
与时间留下的所有不忠与遗忘之中
轨道平行着，在拐弯处闪着光滑的光
从山海关上坡西行
逃避着它背后仍未升起的黎明
向西，奔赴波兰德国与荷兰的终点
不会为任何诗句的弧线减速
语言被一次又一次撞破，浸着血
从厕所蹲坑脏黄的瓷孔滑下
一片也只能盖住枕木间的一颗碎石
只有车尾那个手持小旗的人
看到被血裹住的小石头
毫无规律地从脚下飞速消失成历史
闷罐似的列车，乘客们毫发无损
直到它钻进了隧道
也钻进了自己的浓烟
遥远的俯瞰失去了它，一时迷惑
而当它从另一端冲出来
像地狱火河上一条永远崭新的渡船
驶向铁丝网与高墙围起的烟囱
焦味正在天空慢慢地淡薄
晚霞中，铁轨像闪亮的刺刀
带着红荧荧的色调
戳进一颗沸腾的心脏
2008年2月10日
Monotonous and die-hard determined
Like centuries of moralities
On two parallel lines as perfect science smooth at every turn
The train incessantly wheels forward in time
And in the unfaithfulness and forgetfulness left behind by time
It scales up a slope near Mountain-Ocean Pass
Escaping the soon-to-shine dawn light
Westward, to the termini in Poland, Germany and Netherlands
The train has never slowed down or stopped for any poetic line
And it forges on and breaks languages into blood-soaked
Pieces that slide down the yellow-stained ceramic hole in the toilet
And one piece covers one gravel between railway ties
Only the one with a small flag at the rear of the train
Sees at irregular intervals blood-wrapped gravels vanishing fast
Passengers are whole and safe in the carriages
As the train charges a mountain and rushes into a tunnel
Dissolving in its own smoke
From the far, a viewer loses it temporarily
And doubts his own vision
When the train flushes out again
Like an always brand new ferry across Phlegethon
Toward a barbed and walled chimney
The smell of char is already fading in the sky
In the afterglow, the rails are shiny with red hue
Like bayonets thrusting into a cauldron heart
Feb. 9, 2008
Note: Mountain-Ocean Pass 山海关 is the first pass the so-called Asia-Europe continental bridge faces when it starts at the Bohai Sea from China. One poet called Haizi 海子 (1964-1989) committed suicide near the Pass in March 1989, who is now martyrized as The contemporary poet by Chinese.
西行列车
单调、笃速的坚定
像无数世纪的道德
火车一门心思地前行，穿行在时间
与时间留下的所有不忠与遗忘之中
轨道平行着，在拐弯处闪着光滑的光
从山海关上坡西行
逃避着它背后仍未升起的黎明
向西，奔赴波兰德国与荷兰的终点
不会为任何诗句的弧线减速
语言被一次又一次撞破，浸着血
从厕所蹲坑脏黄的瓷孔滑下
一片也只能盖住枕木间的一颗碎石
只有车尾那个手持小旗的人
看到被血裹住的小石头
毫无规律地从脚下飞速消失成历史
闷罐似的列车，乘客们毫发无损
直到它钻进了隧道
也钻进了自己的浓烟
遥远的俯瞰失去了它，一时迷惑
而当它从另一端冲出来
像地狱火河上一条永远崭新的渡船
驶向铁丝网与高墙围起的烟囱
焦味正在天空慢慢地淡薄
晚霞中，铁轨像闪亮的刺刀
带着红荧荧的色调
戳进一颗沸腾的心脏
2008年2月10日
Tuesday, February 12, 2008
FAN Jinghua: A Wish-Praying
Morning: A Wish-Praying
The sun is to shine soon, soaking the somber sky
And my wish whispers in the winter wind
For hours I happily harbor your eyes in my heart
Till they drop and downcast in the dying of this day
I may never be yours by any name, and may you be merry
In soul and in soul let me be yours once and once only
On the Eve of Chinese New Year the Year of Rat (Feb. 6, 2008)
The sun is to shine soon, soaking the somber sky
And my wish whispers in the winter wind
For hours I happily harbor your eyes in my heart
Till they drop and downcast in the dying of this day
I may never be yours by any name, and may you be merry
In soul and in soul let me be yours once and once only
On the Eve of Chinese New Year the Year of Rat (Feb. 6, 2008)
Xiao Maxian: Elegy
Elegy
by Xiao Maxian tr. FAN Jinghua
By now, you can no longer be
The property of my sorrows
Starlight and moonlight are too distant, no warmth
By now, I’ve known your wounds
The craters by meteorites
To you, each collision is fatal
I can only imagine the terrible beauty
And how it
Leads you back to life again
You can, but can rely only
On the crooked lines of blood vessels
To extend the order in your kingdom
By now I can be neither the layered green in your mountains
Nor the clear fluid along your riverbed
Between the imaginable details in your landscape are hidden all the water elements
On days off, among the people coming out of supermarkets
With what are called Materials in their hands
I am one, the same as all the others
Feb. 7, 2008
哀歌
小玛仙
如今，我不再用你
做悲伤的道具
星光和月光，太遥远的光辉没有温度
如今，我看到你的伤口
那些陨石留下的坑痕
每一次撞击对你都是致命的
我只能想象那些暴烈之美
是如何
让你重生
只能，凭借你血管的曲线
延长你王国里的秩序
但如今我不是你山峦的叠翠
不是你河床的流动
那些水分子，藏在你能想象的细节里
在休息日，人们从超市出来
手里拎出叫做物质的东西
我也和他们一样。
About the Author:
WANG Shasha, with a few more epithets in the internet such as Xiao Ma Xian 小玛仙 or Yu Xiaoman 余小蛮 or Feng Biluo冯碧落, was born in later 1970s. Her general style is magically imaginative, with a kind of fairy tale buoyancy. This poem shows the side of her as a maturing female whose emotional world comes into contact with the everyday life.
by Xiao Maxian tr. FAN Jinghua
By now, you can no longer be
The property of my sorrows
Starlight and moonlight are too distant, no warmth
By now, I’ve known your wounds
The craters by meteorites
To you, each collision is fatal
I can only imagine the terrible beauty
And how it
Leads you back to life again
You can, but can rely only
On the crooked lines of blood vessels
To extend the order in your kingdom
By now I can be neither the layered green in your mountains
Nor the clear fluid along your riverbed
Between the imaginable details in your landscape are hidden all the water elements
On days off, among the people coming out of supermarkets
With what are called Materials in their hands
I am one, the same as all the others
Feb. 7, 2008
哀歌
小玛仙
如今，我不再用你
做悲伤的道具
星光和月光，太遥远的光辉没有温度
如今，我看到你的伤口
那些陨石留下的坑痕
每一次撞击对你都是致命的
我只能想象那些暴烈之美
是如何
让你重生
只能，凭借你血管的曲线
延长你王国里的秩序
但如今我不是你山峦的叠翠
不是你河床的流动
那些水分子，藏在你能想象的细节里
在休息日，人们从超市出来
手里拎出叫做物质的东西
我也和他们一样。
About the Author:
WANG Shasha, with a few more epithets in the internet such as Xiao Ma Xian 小玛仙 or Yu Xiaoman 余小蛮 or Feng Biluo冯碧落, was born in later 1970s. Her general style is magically imaginative, with a kind of fairy tale buoyancy. This poem shows the side of her as a maturing female whose emotional world comes into contact with the everyday life.
Zhao Dongni: Let This Heart of Mine
把心
赵冬妮
把心凉下来吧
疼痛就不那么灼热
恰好这个冬天足够寒冷
在雪地里那么一晾
我也要睡了
连枕头都不再需要
只要像胎儿那样
四肢蜷抱，就不会有多冷
我已经怕了说话
说不清事物，说不清自己
我怕了泪水一次次汹涌而来
然后还要忍回，像咽下一口口滚烫的稀粥
睡眠是件多么美好的事
一人裹一个铁桶
一人剩一个
没有温度的心
2008年1月27日
Let This Heart of Mine
by Zhao Dongni tr. FAN Jinghua
Let this heart of mine be cool
Pain will then grow less scorching
This winter has been auspiciously cold
The wind over the snowfield will take away the heat
I’ll lie down and give myself to sleep
Pillowing on nothing
I’ll curl up into a foetus, limbs entwined
And then I may find warmth
I regard words in awe,
Unable to make things clear, unable to get myself through
The surges of tears overwhelm me
But I have to swallow their ebbs like boiling porridge
Sleeping is such a sweet thing
Every one is swaddled in a pewter barrel
Every one is left to keep
A heart of no temperature
Jan. 27, 2008
About the Author:
ZHAO Dongni was born in 1960s in the Northeast China, and she is now a contracted writer in Liaoning Province. She mostly writes belles-lettre prose (lyrical prose), with occasional poems. Her collection of prose entitled Counting from One to One was awarded a literary prize in 2007.
赵冬妮
把心凉下来吧
疼痛就不那么灼热
恰好这个冬天足够寒冷
在雪地里那么一晾
我也要睡了
连枕头都不再需要
只要像胎儿那样
四肢蜷抱，就不会有多冷
我已经怕了说话
说不清事物，说不清自己
我怕了泪水一次次汹涌而来
然后还要忍回，像咽下一口口滚烫的稀粥
睡眠是件多么美好的事
一人裹一个铁桶
一人剩一个
没有温度的心
2008年1月27日
Let This Heart of Mine
by Zhao Dongni tr. FAN Jinghua
Let this heart of mine be cool
Pain will then grow less scorching
This winter has been auspiciously cold
The wind over the snowfield will take away the heat
I’ll lie down and give myself to sleep
Pillowing on nothing
I’ll curl up into a foetus, limbs entwined
And then I may find warmth
I regard words in awe,
Unable to make things clear, unable to get myself through
The surges of tears overwhelm me
But I have to swallow their ebbs like boiling porridge
Sleeping is such a sweet thing
Every one is swaddled in a pewter barrel
Every one is left to keep
A heart of no temperature
Jan. 27, 2008
About the Author:
ZHAO Dongni was born in 1960s in the Northeast China, and she is now a contracted writer in Liaoning Province. She mostly writes belles-lettre prose (lyrical prose), with occasional poems. Her collection of prose entitled Counting from One to One was awarded a literary prize in 2007.
Monday, February 11, 2008
Fan Jinghua: Too Heavy to Write a Light-Hearted Rhyme
By the end of lunar year 2007 (late January 2008), China was hit by enormous snowstorms.
Too Heavy to Write a Light-Hearted Rhyme
This time the snowstorm
Is too heavy, and it falls so thick
That decades of easy winters are indistinguishably melted
This time it exonerates
Neither the countryside nor the cities
Cars are swollen and dead like stacks of straw
Dry wells can not open black mouths to swallow people
This time
Those who like to hang out after dark
Feel genuine bliss in simple domestic life without orgies
During the power failure
Men and wives warm each other on marriage beds
For the first time
Men tell their women spicy stories
In the reflected light from snow
Feb. 1, 2008
雪下到无法打油
这一次
雪真的下大了
下出了几十年的茫茫一片
城市与农村都一统地白了
这一次
汽车肿得像草堆一动不动
枯井也不能张开吃人的黑窟窿
这一次
惯于在深夜流连在外的人
庆幸自己不在江湖
早早地上床陪老婆焐腿
男人第一次
就着雪的反光
给妻子讲灯红酒绿的趣事
第一次体会到没有纵情作乐的简朴生活
是一种福分
2008年2月1日
这首诗的中文版借用了一首耳熟能详的打油诗：
天地一笼统，白井黑窟窿；黑狗身上白，白狗身上肿。
This poem alludes to a traditional folk rhyme about snow which was reportedly improvised by a certain peddler of cooking oil in Tang Dynasty. Hence, this kind of rhyming quatrains (AAXA) with mundane subject comes to be known as oil-peddler's rhymes. The rhyme goes:
Sky and earth are an indistinguishable whole,
Every white well opens a black hole;
Black dogs become entirely white,
White dogs turn to swollen lumps.
Compare this with William C Williams' "The Snow Begins":
The Snow Begins
William C Williams
A rain of bombs, well placed,
is no less lovely
but this comes gently over all
all crevices are covered
the stalks of
fallen flowers vanish before
this benefice all the garden's
wounds are healed
white, white, white as death
fallen which dignifies it as
no violence ever can
gently and silently in the night.
Too Heavy to Write a Light-Hearted Rhyme
This time the snowstorm
Is too heavy, and it falls so thick
That decades of easy winters are indistinguishably melted
This time it exonerates
Neither the countryside nor the cities
Cars are swollen and dead like stacks of straw
Dry wells can not open black mouths to swallow people
This time
Those who like to hang out after dark
Feel genuine bliss in simple domestic life without orgies
During the power failure
Men and wives warm each other on marriage beds
For the first time
Men tell their women spicy stories
In the reflected light from snow
Feb. 1, 2008
雪下到无法打油
这一次
雪真的下大了
下出了几十年的茫茫一片
城市与农村都一统地白了
这一次
汽车肿得像草堆一动不动
枯井也不能张开吃人的黑窟窿
这一次
惯于在深夜流连在外的人
庆幸自己不在江湖
早早地上床陪老婆焐腿
男人第一次
就着雪的反光
给妻子讲灯红酒绿的趣事
第一次体会到没有纵情作乐的简朴生活
是一种福分
2008年2月1日
这首诗的中文版借用了一首耳熟能详的打油诗：
天地一笼统，白井黑窟窿；黑狗身上白，白狗身上肿。
This poem alludes to a traditional folk rhyme about snow which was reportedly improvised by a certain peddler of cooking oil in Tang Dynasty. Hence, this kind of rhyming quatrains (AAXA) with mundane subject comes to be known as oil-peddler's rhymes. The rhyme goes:
Sky and earth are an indistinguishable whole,
Every white well opens a black hole;
Black dogs become entirely white,
White dogs turn to swollen lumps.
Compare this with William C Williams' "The Snow Begins":
The Snow Begins
William C Williams
A rain of bombs, well placed,
is no less lovely
but this comes gently over all
all crevices are covered
the stalks of
fallen flowers vanish before
this benefice all the garden's
wounds are healed
white, white, white as death
fallen which dignifies it as
no violence ever can
gently and silently in the night.
Fan Jinghua: Goodbye
Goodbye
The big star winks of it
The waning moon mumbles it
You sit through the night but morning
Never shines for you
Fall into sleep at the coming of ordinary day
Your breath smells the sourness of yesterday
How can you labor in the darkest trench
And hope to know the flowing seminal aroma
Of morning woods
The man in this mural is so pathetic
That you cannot fix your eyes on him
His shadow is blank and he even has no eyeballs
That you cannot help raising your hand
As if to beat his eyes out
But your fist gets no balls either
And his sockets are too small and may not swell
The innocent vagrant look cheats a pat out of you
And you even give him a free stroke on his nape
Before you turn your head
Disgustingly
You moan a goodbye to him
But no one knows whether
It means “see you” some time again or no more
A sickness gets stuck in your throat
And you need to cough up
Jan. 31, 2008
再见
这是启明星眨眼的意思
这是半轮残月嘟囔的意思
你坐了通宵
清晨从未照到你
这个在寻常的昼光来临时睡觉的人
你的呼吸闻起来总有昨天的酸臭
在最黑暗的阴沟里作业的人
怎么还指望闻到清晨的树林里流动着的
精液般的清香
那壁画里的人可怜得令人不忍盯着
他的影子是一片空白
而且他没有眼球
你简直难以抑制甩拳揍他的欲望
但你的拳头很脓包
他的眼窝太小
恐怕肿不了多大
你看到那一脸无辜的流浪表情
竟不由自主地轻轻拍了拍他的肩
还在转身之前
在他脖子后加上一个抚摸
令人恶心
然后你在嗓子里咕哝一声再见
没人知道你是说还有重逢之日
还是就此分道扬镳
你的喉咙里堵着一种疾病
需要你咳出来吐掉
2008年1月31日
The big star winks of it
The waning moon mumbles it
You sit through the night but morning
Never shines for you
Fall into sleep at the coming of ordinary day
Your breath smells the sourness of yesterday
How can you labor in the darkest trench
And hope to know the flowing seminal aroma
Of morning woods
The man in this mural is so pathetic
That you cannot fix your eyes on him
His shadow is blank and he even has no eyeballs
That you cannot help raising your hand
As if to beat his eyes out
But your fist gets no balls either
And his sockets are too small and may not swell
The innocent vagrant look cheats a pat out of you
And you even give him a free stroke on his nape
Before you turn your head
Disgustingly
You moan a goodbye to him
But no one knows whether
It means “see you” some time again or no more
A sickness gets stuck in your throat
And you need to cough up
Jan. 31, 2008
再见
这是启明星眨眼的意思
这是半轮残月嘟囔的意思
你坐了通宵
清晨从未照到你
这个在寻常的昼光来临时睡觉的人
你的呼吸闻起来总有昨天的酸臭
在最黑暗的阴沟里作业的人
怎么还指望闻到清晨的树林里流动着的
精液般的清香
那壁画里的人可怜得令人不忍盯着
他的影子是一片空白
而且他没有眼球
你简直难以抑制甩拳揍他的欲望
但你的拳头很脓包
他的眼窝太小
恐怕肿不了多大
你看到那一脸无辜的流浪表情
竟不由自主地轻轻拍了拍他的肩
还在转身之前
在他脖子后加上一个抚摸
令人恶心
然后你在嗓子里咕哝一声再见
没人知道你是说还有重逢之日
还是就此分道扬镳
你的喉咙里堵着一种疾病
需要你咳出来吐掉
2008年1月31日
WU Qingshui: Mute
《哑巴》
吴情水
至少该想些什么说些什么
倘若，劳作终不能完成此生积压的事物
当死亡阴险地迫近
今晚我们去哪里献演呢？
我又没有力量像佩索阿那样，在想象的小阁楼里
思考悲苦的宇宙；与自己一个可以触摸的门
哈姆雷特、彗星、天体与自由、美女和野兽……
多少词，兔子般踊跃的心
与我绝缘，也感受不到语言蕴涵的魔法
而我，上帝呀！难道无论我怎样痛伤仍在继续收回我曾秘密接待着
是我需要知晓的、理解的、又是秘密需要我的欢乐？又是
你精心制作的
一个虚幻的、假面出现的、无处不在的、还是随意安插的日常节目
否则又如何阻止这种事发生。
而我，不就是那些浅薄的一代人中间的一个？！
Mute
by Wu Qingshui tr. Fan Jinghua
If labor proves itself a failure
And cannot finish a whole life’s things-to-do
Let there be at least something on your mind and for the tongue
When death menaces, where should we go to publicize a show
I am no Pessoa. Not capable of reflecting upon the suffering universe
In an imaginary attic, and unable to provide myself a tangible door
Or a Hamlet, a comet, a heavenly body and its freedom, a beauty and her beast…
So many words, with pouncing heart like rabbits
Are so non-active to me that the magic of language does not filter through
Oh, me, my god! Is pain reclaiming my joy despite anything I try? The joy
I once secretly received, the joy I need to learn and understand,
The joy that secretly needs me. Is it just another routine program
That you have meticulously produced, one that is like
A plug-and-play, illusionary and omnipresent, and appears in a masquerade?
Or, if it is not, how can this be stopped?
And I, am I one among the shallow generation?
About the author:
WU Qingshui was born in 1977, one of the many young men aspiring to a life devoted to poetry. He has worked at different times for different perionds of time as an editor to different magazines. Now he is an editor of a newspaper in an enterprise. He publishes a book of poetry Where Does the Snow Wake (2003).
吴情水
至少该想些什么说些什么
倘若，劳作终不能完成此生积压的事物
当死亡阴险地迫近
今晚我们去哪里献演呢？
我又没有力量像佩索阿那样，在想象的小阁楼里
思考悲苦的宇宙；与自己一个可以触摸的门
哈姆雷特、彗星、天体与自由、美女和野兽……
多少词，兔子般踊跃的心
与我绝缘，也感受不到语言蕴涵的魔法
而我，上帝呀！难道无论我怎样痛伤仍在继续收回我曾秘密接待着
是我需要知晓的、理解的、又是秘密需要我的欢乐？又是
你精心制作的
一个虚幻的、假面出现的、无处不在的、还是随意安插的日常节目
否则又如何阻止这种事发生。
而我，不就是那些浅薄的一代人中间的一个？！
Mute
by Wu Qingshui tr. Fan Jinghua
If labor proves itself a failure
And cannot finish a whole life’s things-to-do
Let there be at least something on your mind and for the tongue
When death menaces, where should we go to publicize a show
I am no Pessoa. Not capable of reflecting upon the suffering universe
In an imaginary attic, and unable to provide myself a tangible door
Or a Hamlet, a comet, a heavenly body and its freedom, a beauty and her beast…
So many words, with pouncing heart like rabbits
Are so non-active to me that the magic of language does not filter through
Oh, me, my god! Is pain reclaiming my joy despite anything I try? The joy
I once secretly received, the joy I need to learn and understand,
The joy that secretly needs me. Is it just another routine program
That you have meticulously produced, one that is like
A plug-and-play, illusionary and omnipresent, and appears in a masquerade?
Or, if it is not, how can this be stopped?
And I, am I one among the shallow generation?
About the author:
WU Qingshui was born in 1977, one of the many young men aspiring to a life devoted to poetry. He has worked at different times for different perionds of time as an editor to different magazines. Now he is an editor of a newspaper in an enterprise. He publishes a book of poetry Where Does the Snow Wake (2003).
Fan Jinghua: Tempo
Tempo
For Tina
You do not call, do not look to your right and left
You press your hand against the handbag strap
Quietly through the festive street, you walk like a brook
New Year’s coming with new resolutions ascending
Yet you would pause before every crossroad
And turn every usual turn, observing traffic rules
If you look up, it is because of colorful balloons
I’ll be waiting at the regular pick-up point
With a book of poems in hands, its spine standing on my lap
I may do well picking up a stanza, a line or a joint between words
Not remembering when you should arrive
You may come at any moment, my love
Then your neck reaches, your arms torque and one leg climbs
You have beautiful joints, love, sexy to the bones
Jan. 27, 2008
缓速的步态
献给Tina
你从不呼叫，也不左顾右盼、眼如流水
你手压着包带，静静地，流水一般
走过节日的街市，新年铺天盖地地来了
新年愿望在心底升起小山，却如影相随
而你依然会在每个路口稍停
看清交通规则，转过每个该拐的弯
若你抬头望天，那是因为气球色彩艳丽
我仍在那个守候你的搭车点守候
一本诗的书脊站在大腿上
读一节或一行，哪怕只是词字间的一个关节
都可以忘记你应该在何时到来
爱人，你现在可以随时来到我身边
然后你伸出脖子、弯起手臂、一条腿爬上我的腰际
你的关节如此美丽，性感到了骨头
2008年1月28日
For Tina
You do not call, do not look to your right and left
You press your hand against the handbag strap
Quietly through the festive street, you walk like a brook
New Year’s coming with new resolutions ascending
Yet you would pause before every crossroad
And turn every usual turn, observing traffic rules
If you look up, it is because of colorful balloons
I’ll be waiting at the regular pick-up point
With a book of poems in hands, its spine standing on my lap
I may do well picking up a stanza, a line or a joint between words
Not remembering when you should arrive
You may come at any moment, my love
Then your neck reaches, your arms torque and one leg climbs
You have beautiful joints, love, sexy to the bones
Jan. 27, 2008
缓速的步态
献给Tina
你从不呼叫，也不左顾右盼、眼如流水
你手压着包带，静静地，流水一般
走过节日的街市，新年铺天盖地地来了
新年愿望在心底升起小山，却如影相随
而你依然会在每个路口稍停
看清交通规则，转过每个该拐的弯
若你抬头望天，那是因为气球色彩艳丽
我仍在那个守候你的搭车点守候
一本诗的书脊站在大腿上
读一节或一行，哪怕只是词字间的一个关节
都可以忘记你应该在何时到来
爱人，你现在可以随时来到我身边
然后你伸出脖子、弯起手臂、一条腿爬上我的腰际
你的关节如此美丽，性感到了骨头
2008年1月28日
Dai Wei: Following My Hand, I Write
随手写下
代薇
当我写下“鸟巢”
里面的鸟群惊飞了
当我写下“火”
这页纸已不存在
当我写下“黑暗”
它其实已经被照亮
当我写下“永恒”
我就是在目睹钻石的溶化
Following My Hand, I Write…
DAI Wei tr. FAN Jinghua
I write down “nest”
And the birds in it are startled and take wing
I write down “fire”
And this sheet of paper no longer exists
When I write down “darkness”
It is already penetrated by light
When I write down “eternity”
I am watching the melting of diamonds
我读
艺术永恒是一个老命题，语言的疲软也是一个老命题。如果再牵涉到人或人的情感这样的在场体验，那么就更加复杂了。诗人如恋人，总被这两个命题缠着。于是，说还是不说，这是一个问题。而一旦说出、写出，那又是谁的力量？诗人因为这两个命题的挤夹而写作，一方面是对于人事不仅仅要有所见证还要有所承当，另一方面又对于以语言可能替代事物本身而感到惶恐。如今，我们稍微对情感所有尊重，还能毫不心虚地像莎士比亚这样：“只要一天有人类、或人有眼睛，这诗将长存、并且赐给你生命”。
这首小诗是代薇诗集《随手写下》的第一首，我觉得可以当作她的诗学主张来阅读。在这首诗中，诗人以一种自信的姿态凭空构建了语言的楼阁，将写出这一行为本身赋予了实在的意义，从而否定了世俗的所谓永恒。鸟巢作为家的意象，意在指向“我”以写出作为建造家园的过程与结果，而“鸟群的惊飞”使得这个家园并非安乐窝，更像是暗示了这个窝的赋形恰恰令一种安居的可能变得不安。当然，我们可以说，也许只是说写出行为作为一种具体化令抽象的鸟儿获得了翅膀，于是飞起。
第二次写，才说出了写的毁灭性。写出“火”，于是那个字就有了火的力量，这种力量甚至包括一种自毁的力量。“火”字的出现也就是被赋形的“火”字赖以存在的纸张的消失。那么我们需要责问的是：语言能够承载或者赋予吗？这就令我们再回到上面所引用的莎士比亚的诗行了。
进一步，文字的功能到底是什么呢？这就是第三个字的写作，写了“黑暗”这样的字，是否就是说明了写作的目的？这也就是内容与效果的问题了。为何写作？我们写出来的内容就字面而言可能是“黑暗”（当然你可以写任何这类的词，如悲苦、沉痛等等），但是写出的目的在于“照亮”。值得注意的是，这里的“我”似乎并没有说“我写，故我照亮”这样的绝对个人主体，这个被动句使得照亮的行为者外在于“我”。在这里，诗人似乎竟然无法确定那个主动者是谁，而只是看到了一种效果（如果不能称之为结果的话）。正是因为这一条原因，我在翻译这首诗的时候，将汉语的“随手写下”翻译成了这个词最原始最字面的意思：我跟随着手，写下……。这暗示着我不是一个主动者，而是手的跟随者，我不是制作者，而是听写者。字才是一切力量的现场。
最有一个字：永恒。然而，诗人说，写下“永恒”，却使自己在见证了“钻石的溶化”，而钻石正是最世俗的永恒的物质象征。正如上文所析的那样，写出是一种物化。第一个字的写出似乎还有一种赋予生命的可能，第二字则是毁灭，第三个字照亮，第四个字却是为了让写字的我“目睹”最坚固的物体的消融。这是诗人第一次以我的身份出现在写作的现场，然而却是对于自己的写作行为的颠覆。
代薇
当我写下“鸟巢”
里面的鸟群惊飞了
当我写下“火”
这页纸已不存在
当我写下“黑暗”
它其实已经被照亮
当我写下“永恒”
我就是在目睹钻石的溶化
Following My Hand, I Write…
DAI Wei tr. FAN Jinghua
I write down “nest”
And the birds in it are startled and take wing
I write down “fire”
And this sheet of paper no longer exists
When I write down “darkness”
It is already penetrated by light
When I write down “eternity”
I am watching the melting of diamonds
我读
艺术永恒是一个老命题，语言的疲软也是一个老命题。如果再牵涉到人或人的情感这样的在场体验，那么就更加复杂了。诗人如恋人，总被这两个命题缠着。于是，说还是不说，这是一个问题。而一旦说出、写出，那又是谁的力量？诗人因为这两个命题的挤夹而写作，一方面是对于人事不仅仅要有所见证还要有所承当，另一方面又对于以语言可能替代事物本身而感到惶恐。如今，我们稍微对情感所有尊重，还能毫不心虚地像莎士比亚这样：“只要一天有人类、或人有眼睛，这诗将长存、并且赐给你生命”。
这首小诗是代薇诗集《随手写下》的第一首，我觉得可以当作她的诗学主张来阅读。在这首诗中，诗人以一种自信的姿态凭空构建了语言的楼阁，将写出这一行为本身赋予了实在的意义，从而否定了世俗的所谓永恒。鸟巢作为家的意象，意在指向“我”以写出作为建造家园的过程与结果，而“鸟群的惊飞”使得这个家园并非安乐窝，更像是暗示了这个窝的赋形恰恰令一种安居的可能变得不安。当然，我们可以说，也许只是说写出行为作为一种具体化令抽象的鸟儿获得了翅膀，于是飞起。
第二次写，才说出了写的毁灭性。写出“火”，于是那个字就有了火的力量，这种力量甚至包括一种自毁的力量。“火”字的出现也就是被赋形的“火”字赖以存在的纸张的消失。那么我们需要责问的是：语言能够承载或者赋予吗？这就令我们再回到上面所引用的莎士比亚的诗行了。
进一步，文字的功能到底是什么呢？这就是第三个字的写作，写了“黑暗”这样的字，是否就是说明了写作的目的？这也就是内容与效果的问题了。为何写作？我们写出来的内容就字面而言可能是“黑暗”（当然你可以写任何这类的词，如悲苦、沉痛等等），但是写出的目的在于“照亮”。值得注意的是，这里的“我”似乎并没有说“我写，故我照亮”这样的绝对个人主体，这个被动句使得照亮的行为者外在于“我”。在这里，诗人似乎竟然无法确定那个主动者是谁，而只是看到了一种效果（如果不能称之为结果的话）。正是因为这一条原因，我在翻译这首诗的时候，将汉语的“随手写下”翻译成了这个词最原始最字面的意思：我跟随着手，写下……。这暗示着我不是一个主动者，而是手的跟随者，我不是制作者，而是听写者。字才是一切力量的现场。
最有一个字：永恒。然而，诗人说，写下“永恒”，却使自己在见证了“钻石的溶化”，而钻石正是最世俗的永恒的物质象征。正如上文所析的那样，写出是一种物化。第一个字的写出似乎还有一种赋予生命的可能，第二字则是毁灭，第三个字照亮，第四个字却是为了让写字的我“目睹”最坚固的物体的消融。这是诗人第一次以我的身份出现在写作的现场，然而却是对于自己的写作行为的颠覆。
Fan Jinghua: A Love Song Without Words
A Love Song Without Words
For Zhao Dongni & Wang Shasha
At the end of the day, it’s
A paper full of scratches and scribbles;
At the end of the night, it’s
A paper of blankness I’m facing.
The words needed me to write them down
So that they can fly away, visibly.
You might ask, as I can imagine in the dark:
What does it read? ––It doesn’t read.
What does it write? —It writes nothing.
What does it mean? —It means love.
“Then,” you chime, “it is a song of love.”
Yes, I know you know words matter the least.
I have a pen, I have a heart and a brain,
But it’s the hands that interrupt and betray.
They resist to touch and convey,
Not attempting the distance between wake and sleep.
When the whistle of the first train startles me,
I fold up and put into an envelope a poem without words.
Love songs are inevitably written with sorrys,
And this one I have finally written off.
It means, therefore I don’t have to be the words’ host.
A sutra without words was written to be meaningful
For those whose eyes never touched it.
Words are but marks in the rubbing of a palimpsest,
But love, I am what you are, always.
Jan. 26, 2008
无言的爱之诗
献给Y&Z
一天尽了，一张纸被划满了
车水人流，纵横、虚实、曲线、弧；
一夜将尽，痕迹一一退消，
这张纸腾出了满满的空白。
字词需要我，它们需要我将它们写出，
以便它们的逃逸在视觉中有过停留。
你或许会设问，验证我的暗中设想：
这该怎么读？——它无法读出。
它写着什么？——写的是空白。
那是什么意思？——这意味着爱。
你张口便有旋律：啊，这是爱的诗篇。
是，我知道你知道，字最不重要。
我有一支笔，我有一颗心，还有头脑，
但是手总插在它们之间，作梗。
它们拒绝触摸、拒绝传递体温，它们从不拥抱
成一个环路，也不努力伸展，连接睡与醒的指尖。
当早班火车的第一声汽笛将我惊起，
我匆匆叠起这张纸，将一首无字的诗塞入信封。
所有的爱之诗最终都由抱憾与歉愧写成，
而这一首我终于能够写到无需再写。
它是意义，因此我不再是词语的寄主。
为了那些从未见识过的眼睛，
无字真经也被涂抹，敷衍上了教义。
经文，不过是重写本的拓片，背景沉实，
字是空白，而我，love，原本就是你。
2008年1月28日
For Zhao Dongni & Wang Shasha
At the end of the day, it’s
A paper full of scratches and scribbles;
At the end of the night, it’s
A paper of blankness I’m facing.
The words needed me to write them down
So that they can fly away, visibly.
You might ask, as I can imagine in the dark:
What does it read? ––It doesn’t read.
What does it write? —It writes nothing.
What does it mean? —It means love.
“Then,” you chime, “it is a song of love.”
Yes, I know you know words matter the least.
I have a pen, I have a heart and a brain,
But it’s the hands that interrupt and betray.
They resist to touch and convey,
Not attempting the distance between wake and sleep.
When the whistle of the first train startles me,
I fold up and put into an envelope a poem without words.
Love songs are inevitably written with sorrys,
And this one I have finally written off.
It means, therefore I don’t have to be the words’ host.
A sutra without words was written to be meaningful
For those whose eyes never touched it.
Words are but marks in the rubbing of a palimpsest,
But love, I am what you are, always.
Jan. 26, 2008
无言的爱之诗
献给Y&Z
一天尽了，一张纸被划满了
车水人流，纵横、虚实、曲线、弧；
一夜将尽，痕迹一一退消，
这张纸腾出了满满的空白。
字词需要我，它们需要我将它们写出，
以便它们的逃逸在视觉中有过停留。
你或许会设问，验证我的暗中设想：
这该怎么读？——它无法读出。
它写着什么？——写的是空白。
那是什么意思？——这意味着爱。
你张口便有旋律：啊，这是爱的诗篇。
是，我知道你知道，字最不重要。
我有一支笔，我有一颗心，还有头脑，
但是手总插在它们之间，作梗。
它们拒绝触摸、拒绝传递体温，它们从不拥抱
成一个环路，也不努力伸展，连接睡与醒的指尖。
当早班火车的第一声汽笛将我惊起，
我匆匆叠起这张纸，将一首无字的诗塞入信封。
所有的爱之诗最终都由抱憾与歉愧写成，
而这一首我终于能够写到无需再写。
它是意义，因此我不再是词语的寄主。
为了那些从未见识过的眼睛，
无字真经也被涂抹，敷衍上了教义。
经文，不过是重写本的拓片，背景沉实，
字是空白，而我，love，原本就是你。
2008年1月28日
Fan Jinghua: The Moon Seen at a Parking Lot
The Moon Seen at a Parking Lot
It is a featureless face, bloated yet flat
Suspending over the low blocks of buildings and trees
Beyond the other end of this airstrip
The hardness of cement shimmers in the blue emptiness of dawn
There is not a fresh cut or a healed scar
This is an illness, maybe with an internal bleeding
The moon’s second coming at a new evening fall
will pop up like a big bubble stuck against the sky ceiling
By then a fishnet will be already cast down and sink
Catching no lighted windows
Jan 23, 2008
从停车场上看月亮
一张没有五官的脸，膨胀而扁平，
在这跑道的另一端上方浮着
下面有建筑与树木低矮的黑块
水泥的冷硬闪着凌晨空洞的蓝光
没有新鲜的刀口或痊愈的伤疤
这是一种病，或许带来内出血
当夜幕再次降临，月亮突然弹出
如大水泡被挡在天空的天花板下
一张网将撒开、沉下
却不会抓住一扇点灯的窗户
2008年1月26日
It is a featureless face, bloated yet flat
Suspending over the low blocks of buildings and trees
Beyond the other end of this airstrip
The hardness of cement shimmers in the blue emptiness of dawn
There is not a fresh cut or a healed scar
This is an illness, maybe with an internal bleeding
The moon’s second coming at a new evening fall
will pop up like a big bubble stuck against the sky ceiling
By then a fishnet will be already cast down and sink
Catching no lighted windows
Jan 23, 2008
从停车场上看月亮
一张没有五官的脸，膨胀而扁平，
在这跑道的另一端上方浮着
下面有建筑与树木低矮的黑块
水泥的冷硬闪着凌晨空洞的蓝光
没有新鲜的刀口或痊愈的伤疤
这是一种病，或许带来内出血
当夜幕再次降临，月亮突然弹出
如大水泡被挡在天空的天花板下
一张网将撒开、沉下
却不会抓住一扇点灯的窗户
2008年1月26日
Friday, February 1, 2008
Fan Jinghua: Off He Goes
Off He Goes
At this moment a hunter is ready to leave home
His wife faking sleep in too much love will stalk behind
When the noon comes hot, she will die of her jealous over breeze
The blood jet from her breast releases neither understanding
Nor voiced complaints, but his reticence is never a hemostatic
When evening falls, the hunter will have no home to go
Jan. 23, 2008
出门
此刻，一个猎人已经做好了出门的准备
爱得疑心的妻子假装熟睡，将会暗中盯梢
当中午炎热地袭来，她将死于对微风的妒忌
血涌出她胸间的伤口，释放出的既非理解
也非抱怨，而他的缄默从来都无法止血
夜幕下垂时，猎人将无家可归
2008年1月26日
The Death of Procris普罗克里斯之死 Piero di Cosimo (?1486-1510)作
RE: 参见Ovid奥维德的Art of Love Chapter III《爱经》第三章以及Metamorphosis Chapter 7《变形记》第七章
At this moment a hunter is ready to leave home
His wife faking sleep in too much love will stalk behind
When the noon comes hot, she will die of her jealous over breeze
The blood jet from her breast releases neither understanding
Nor voiced complaints, but his reticence is never a hemostatic
When evening falls, the hunter will have no home to go
Jan. 23, 2008
出门
此刻，一个猎人已经做好了出门的准备
爱得疑心的妻子假装熟睡，将会暗中盯梢
当中午炎热地袭来，她将死于对微风的妒忌
血涌出她胸间的伤口，释放出的既非理解
也非抱怨，而他的缄默从来都无法止血
夜幕下垂时，猎人将无家可归
2008年1月26日
The Death of Procris普罗克里斯之死 Piero di Cosimo (?1486-1510)作
RE: 参见Ovid奥维德的Art of Love Chapter III《爱经》第三章以及Metamorphosis Chapter 7《变形记》第七章
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