I'll Avoid the Next Poem
From now on, I’ll avoid the next poem
And stay close to unadorned everyday life and you
My hands will be used only to grasp and embrace
Instead of turning the visible into words
All the invisible, far or near, I will no longer
Try to replace with written signs. All the poems
Written or to be composed will be put into my eyes
For those who read no words to understand.
I will not show myself in any parade for any appeal;
Rather, I’d look into a mirror, smile and say “see you.’’
June 23, 2008
我将躲开下一首诗
从今起 我将躲开下一首诗
紧挨着素朴的日常与你
我的手将只用于把握和拥抱
不再将看得见的置换成文字
而看不见的一切 无论远近
我都不再企图以语言替代
已经写出与仍未写出的 我将
尽数放入眼底 只为心有灵犀的人
我会继续拒绝为任何声势充数游行
宁可独自对着镜子点头微笑说”回见”
2008年6月24日
Saturday, June 28, 2008
Wednesday, June 25, 2008
Xiao Maxian: Night Reading of the Cool Water Temple
Night Reading of the Cool Water Temple
by Xiao Maxian tr. Fan Jinghua
Once, an ancient acquaintance entered a temple, carrying into it the moonlight cool as water. Hence, the name of the temple. Or, such has been the rumor.
The night is clear, the moon full, I treading on creaky gravels;
on this pebble path, no dust, no traces of beings, no enchanted entanglement,
bamboo leaves stoop to touch the shoulders that pass by.
Stone steps deliver in their ferry a faint coat of frost, and
from the acupoint of zenith, sleep is dropping, cool.
Also dropping is my set of emptied bowels, the empty courtyard and the trees.
This calmness holds a graceful posture and grave solemnity, in which
an ancient acquaintance in a cloak of moonlight entered the gate of the obscure temple.
Where the moonlight drops, the coolness flows like water. The temple got its name
ever since, and, moonlight-washed, it stood immaculate from the dust of this world.
One man, one temple. One moon, one shadow. Time flows, as does
the ignorance of man, and emptiness has been flowing, wordless for a hundred years.
Now, I’ve come, not because I have the great wisdom of transcendence.
I am entangled with worldly tentacles, but I have a lasting lamp in me.
In the cloak of moonlight I wade through the water of time, treading on the crispy light.
This temple is isolated, with a gate like a mirror. From the depth of its emptiness
comes a faint hubbub of sufferings. The gate clams up like the doors of a heart. Killing
has never ceased, human blood and flesh scattered in the outer space
across the spread-eagle Mercury River. A myriad of spirits glitter in their own night.
The fact is the temple and the night and the moon are all my fabrication.
Only in meditation am I housed in a cassock, and hence a being is a temple, everything
stilled. Perhaps I am journeying through all my previous lives toward a past one,
while this acquaintance of mine not only stands as a shade but also has respiration,
warmth and dignity. The light for my edification, igniter for my epiphany, he is
so gracious and civilized. But for the acupuncture of coldness that keeps me awake
I may evolve into a thought and dream, orbiting into oblivion.
If not for the clarity I attained in awakeness, I would still take here as an illusion,
but on the heels of this acquaintance, I entered here, a chance encounter achieved.
If my body is the temple, I am already initiated to true freedom. With no exceptions,
all the highways and roads to any direction are winding paths to the Temple.
夜读凉水寺
小玛仙
——故人曾于某夜带月光入寺，清凉如水。小寺因此得名。杜撰者说。
今夜清朗，月圆，我踩着细碎的卵石
小径无尘无痕，亦无纠缠迷醉
竹叶擦肩。
石阶渡一层白霜，百会清凉，睡眠垂落
然和我一起垂落的还有空肠胃
空荡的院落及树枝。这安宁姿态优雅，肃穆庄严
故人曾身披月光，夜行、入寺。清辉处，寒凉如水
此前小寺无名。被月光洗净后决绝今世之尘
一人一寺，尚还一月一影
时如流水而今人无觉，空寂无声百年。如今我来
我非有大彻悟，亦尘丝未断，只因心中常照一盏孤灯
如今我身披月光穿越时间之水，如今我踏着薄脆的月光
此寺隔绝，但寺门如镜。空寂深处隐隐传来
悲苦嘈杂。寺门紧闭如心门。杀戮之事并未消失
人间血肉碎在天际，银河当空。无数闪耀的灵在各自的夜
事实上，关于这个凉水寺的夜晚和圆月，都由我杜撰而来
我只是冥想自己身披袈裟，一人一寺，空寂无声
但也许我正穿过重重的前世来到曾经
故人在月光下不仅仅是一个影子，他亦有温度、气息、庄严。
他亦在某个时候对我彬彬有礼，点化、教诲。若非冰冷的刺痛提醒
我可作一思一梦绕行而忘却。若非澄明我仍将此处认做幻境
但故人来后我即入此寺，于圆月夜偶然相逢
若此身即此寺，我便真懂得自由了。来去尘世的高速公路或任何之路
无一不是通向凉水寺的弯曲小径。
by Xiao Maxian tr. Fan Jinghua
Once, an ancient acquaintance entered a temple, carrying into it the moonlight cool as water. Hence, the name of the temple. Or, such has been the rumor.
The night is clear, the moon full, I treading on creaky gravels;
on this pebble path, no dust, no traces of beings, no enchanted entanglement,
bamboo leaves stoop to touch the shoulders that pass by.
Stone steps deliver in their ferry a faint coat of frost, and
from the acupoint of zenith, sleep is dropping, cool.
Also dropping is my set of emptied bowels, the empty courtyard and the trees.
This calmness holds a graceful posture and grave solemnity, in which
an ancient acquaintance in a cloak of moonlight entered the gate of the obscure temple.
Where the moonlight drops, the coolness flows like water. The temple got its name
ever since, and, moonlight-washed, it stood immaculate from the dust of this world.
One man, one temple. One moon, one shadow. Time flows, as does
the ignorance of man, and emptiness has been flowing, wordless for a hundred years.
Now, I’ve come, not because I have the great wisdom of transcendence.
I am entangled with worldly tentacles, but I have a lasting lamp in me.
In the cloak of moonlight I wade through the water of time, treading on the crispy light.
This temple is isolated, with a gate like a mirror. From the depth of its emptiness
comes a faint hubbub of sufferings. The gate clams up like the doors of a heart. Killing
has never ceased, human blood and flesh scattered in the outer space
across the spread-eagle Mercury River. A myriad of spirits glitter in their own night.
The fact is the temple and the night and the moon are all my fabrication.
Only in meditation am I housed in a cassock, and hence a being is a temple, everything
stilled. Perhaps I am journeying through all my previous lives toward a past one,
while this acquaintance of mine not only stands as a shade but also has respiration,
warmth and dignity. The light for my edification, igniter for my epiphany, he is
so gracious and civilized. But for the acupuncture of coldness that keeps me awake
I may evolve into a thought and dream, orbiting into oblivion.
If not for the clarity I attained in awakeness, I would still take here as an illusion,
but on the heels of this acquaintance, I entered here, a chance encounter achieved.
If my body is the temple, I am already initiated to true freedom. With no exceptions,
all the highways and roads to any direction are winding paths to the Temple.
夜读凉水寺
小玛仙
——故人曾于某夜带月光入寺，清凉如水。小寺因此得名。杜撰者说。
今夜清朗，月圆，我踩着细碎的卵石
小径无尘无痕，亦无纠缠迷醉
竹叶擦肩。
石阶渡一层白霜，百会清凉，睡眠垂落
然和我一起垂落的还有空肠胃
空荡的院落及树枝。这安宁姿态优雅，肃穆庄严
故人曾身披月光，夜行、入寺。清辉处，寒凉如水
此前小寺无名。被月光洗净后决绝今世之尘
一人一寺，尚还一月一影
时如流水而今人无觉，空寂无声百年。如今我来
我非有大彻悟，亦尘丝未断，只因心中常照一盏孤灯
如今我身披月光穿越时间之水，如今我踏着薄脆的月光
此寺隔绝，但寺门如镜。空寂深处隐隐传来
悲苦嘈杂。寺门紧闭如心门。杀戮之事并未消失
人间血肉碎在天际，银河当空。无数闪耀的灵在各自的夜
事实上，关于这个凉水寺的夜晚和圆月，都由我杜撰而来
我只是冥想自己身披袈裟，一人一寺，空寂无声
但也许我正穿过重重的前世来到曾经
故人在月光下不仅仅是一个影子，他亦有温度、气息、庄严。
他亦在某个时候对我彬彬有礼，点化、教诲。若非冰冷的刺痛提醒
我可作一思一梦绕行而忘却。若非澄明我仍将此处认做幻境
但故人来后我即入此寺，于圆月夜偶然相逢
若此身即此寺，我便真懂得自由了。来去尘世的高速公路或任何之路
无一不是通向凉水寺的弯曲小径。
About the Poet:
小玛仙，原名王莎莎，生于七十年代，现居住黑龙江。04年开始触网写作，用笔名冯碧落、余小蛮，写作诗歌、随笔、小说等；诗歌作品见《诗选刊》中国诗歌年代特别大展、《2005－2006华语诗歌双年展》等多家杂志与选本。以《夜读清水寺》为主的一组诗歌获得2007年第二届叶红全球女性诗奖二等奖。现任诗生活诗歌论坛版主及诗生活博客管理员。
Xiao Maxian, penname of Wang Shasha, born in late 1970s, writes poetry, essays and stories since 2004. Her work has appeared in various magazines and anthologies, and she won the Second Prize for Ye Hong International Women Poetry Competition in 2007. She now lives in Daqing, Heilongjiang Province, and serves as a webmaster in Poemlife.com, an influential poetry website in Mainland China.
Tuesday, June 24, 2008
Fan Jinghua: Parting at Dusk
Parting at Dusk
(For C after a long chat)
Dusk finds us in a sight narrower than day’s landscape
Which, saturated with our gaze, grows darkly polychromatic.
One bird shriek, plummeting long after its flash,
Like a sword bayonet thrusts into a rugged fruit stand.
A whistle is calling you from an invisible street
Through the mobile phone to a crossing or pick-up point,
And in a fat denim shoulder bag you take home
A whole day’s minuet of sun. But, by the ajar door
You will stand, slowly arranging your hair, collar and skirt,
And then bend to take away the hooks of a weeping love grass
And dust off your shoes with a facial tissue.
Your lowered upper body will receive the cool air from the car,
And the other part, facing my direction, is sparkling on the skin,
The tableau of your last posture left in the dusk.
June 22, 2008
别在黄昏
被我们的眼神浸染了一整天 向晚的景物
开始低伏 大面积地浓郁而浑厚
只有一声鸟鸣 凌厉 铮亮
如一把受管制的弯刀插向一只面目嶙峋的水果摊
汽笛在不可见的不远处从手机上唤你
去一个路口或者搭客点 从那儿归家
你便以一只肥沃的帆布挎包背走了
跳了一天小步舞的阳光 没再转身
而在那微开的车门前 你将侧立 慢慢整理
从头发到衣领到裙摆 然后弯腰
摘掉几颗知风草的种子 用面纸掸拂鞋面的灰尘
你的上半身便会开始接受冷气的吹袭 另一半
朝着我的方向 依然 有细汗渗着热气
留下最后一个姿态 在这黄昏
2008年6月23日
(For C after a long chat)
Dusk finds us in a sight narrower than day’s landscape
Which, saturated with our gaze, grows darkly polychromatic.
One bird shriek, plummeting long after its flash,
Like a sword bayonet thrusts into a rugged fruit stand.
A whistle is calling you from an invisible street
Through the mobile phone to a crossing or pick-up point,
And in a fat denim shoulder bag you take home
A whole day’s minuet of sun. But, by the ajar door
You will stand, slowly arranging your hair, collar and skirt,
And then bend to take away the hooks of a weeping love grass
And dust off your shoes with a facial tissue.
Your lowered upper body will receive the cool air from the car,
And the other part, facing my direction, is sparkling on the skin,
The tableau of your last posture left in the dusk.
June 22, 2008
别在黄昏
被我们的眼神浸染了一整天 向晚的景物
开始低伏 大面积地浓郁而浑厚
只有一声鸟鸣 凌厉 铮亮
如一把受管制的弯刀插向一只面目嶙峋的水果摊
汽笛在不可见的不远处从手机上唤你
去一个路口或者搭客点 从那儿归家
你便以一只肥沃的帆布挎包背走了
跳了一天小步舞的阳光 没再转身
而在那微开的车门前 你将侧立 慢慢整理
从头发到衣领到裙摆 然后弯腰
摘掉几颗知风草的种子 用面纸掸拂鞋面的灰尘
你的上半身便会开始接受冷气的吹袭 另一半
朝着我的方向 依然 有细汗渗着热气
留下最后一个姿态 在这黄昏
2008年6月23日
Su Qian: Summer is Coming
Su Qian: Summer is Coming
夏天就要来了
苏浅
在夏天，人们穿得很少
坏人藏不住了，就会假装善良，手里拿一枝玫瑰
来敲你的门，说，芝麻芝麻
我们去喝咖啡，好么
这是你一定要知道，他是阿里巴巴
是来拿走你的宝贝的
Summer Is Coming
by Su Qian tr. Fan Jinghua
In the summer, people are scantily clad
A bad guy will be barely covered, and he will fake kindness, with a rose in hand
He will knock on your door, saying: Sesame, Sesame
Let’s go out for a coffee, please
You should know by then that he is Ali Baba
Who has come for the treasure you own
Comments on the poems by Su Qian (the previous three postings)
从最后一首《夏天就要来了》说起吧。我试图联系一种诗歌状态来读这首诗。当夏天来临，也就是（社会文化）大气候的变化，人们不再身怀善良（少了某种内在的素质），因此需要一种外来的传统喻象（玫瑰）来妆点自己的单薄（衣服少了，“坏”无法掩饰）。在这样的环境下，意义如何被指称？于是，喝咖啡就成了一种言在此意在彼的日常行为（不过，咖啡是否具有某种异域的浪漫色彩呢？）。不管怎么说，这个“来拿走你的宝贝的”他，或许也可以说是诗。这里有一种相互界定的关系。也就是，无论日常多么浅薄了，只要拿着玫瑰、呼你开门的时候，你回应了，你就已经承认自己具有了被指认或者被觊觎的宝贝了。
这看起来似乎多少有点被动，然而即便在她可以命名事物的岛上（《命名大鹿岛》），她着力提醒自己的却是不要过分、不要太感官。这里可以看出美国诗人狄金森的影响；而如果该诗人真的受到狄金森的影响的话，我甚至可以说这是一种偏向于负面的影响，或者说源于对狄金森的某种程度的（误译）误读。当然，这是题外话。
很多人（尤其是女人）写诗过程中会像《夏天就要来了》这样构建意义：在确认自己被发现的过程中确认自己，或者爱情，或者诗歌。这也就是《雨天的鸟》中所说的“依赖看见的事物去猜度/那些看不见的”，然后怀着一种美好的有关彩虹的期待。这些“看见的事物”也就是意义已经被晓示或者指认的事物，于是这个“我”的主要目的不是去构建或者揭示，而是去“相信”。我自然不能说，这个“我”没有这能力或雄心，而只能说她或许不愿意看得那么透，或许是出于一种失落感，如《让流逝的流逝》中的错位，或者犹如《是什么没有了》中所谓的“一个小洞/ 落在了大的里面”，说到最终还是无法“握住”的。既然如此，为何不干脆抓住那些可以拥有的静物呢？静物我们在艺术品中看得到的质感最细腻的日常之物，这或许也就是苏浅诗歌想呈现的。
从诗人之“我”的主动角度来看，其寻找意义的努力实际上是不参与“社会”的，如《无题》中，可以说敲门之前就已经期待那儿无人了，因此敲门实际上是为了证实其寂寞，以便自己可以毫无顾忌，直到门在叩击下自己打开。她的社会充满了薄薄的隔着膜的相遇，邻居是熟悉的疏远，如《隔壁之远》中两只不同种类的水果；但她打算安于接受一种各怀心思，保持一种亲而不昵的距离，如《入画》中的我与武松。那么，有什么样的关系是根本无须保持距离的呢？这简直就是一个很女性的问题，而事实确实是，母女关系，如《我爱苹果》中的“妈妈／怀着我”说，长大，嫁人，于是又转入了一个对于爱情与期待的信念。
夏天就要来了
苏浅
在夏天，人们穿得很少
坏人藏不住了，就会假装善良，手里拿一枝玫瑰
来敲你的门，说，芝麻芝麻
我们去喝咖啡，好么
这是你一定要知道，他是阿里巴巴
是来拿走你的宝贝的
Summer Is Coming
by Su Qian tr. Fan Jinghua
In the summer, people are scantily clad
A bad guy will be barely covered, and he will fake kindness, with a rose in hand
He will knock on your door, saying: Sesame, Sesame
Let’s go out for a coffee, please
You should know by then that he is Ali Baba
Who has come for the treasure you own
Comments on the poems by Su Qian (the previous three postings)
从最后一首《夏天就要来了》说起吧。我试图联系一种诗歌状态来读这首诗。当夏天来临，也就是（社会文化）大气候的变化，人们不再身怀善良（少了某种内在的素质），因此需要一种外来的传统喻象（玫瑰）来妆点自己的单薄（衣服少了，“坏”无法掩饰）。在这样的环境下，意义如何被指称？于是，喝咖啡就成了一种言在此意在彼的日常行为（不过，咖啡是否具有某种异域的浪漫色彩呢？）。不管怎么说，这个“来拿走你的宝贝的”他，或许也可以说是诗。这里有一种相互界定的关系。也就是，无论日常多么浅薄了，只要拿着玫瑰、呼你开门的时候，你回应了，你就已经承认自己具有了被指认或者被觊觎的宝贝了。
这看起来似乎多少有点被动，然而即便在她可以命名事物的岛上（《命名大鹿岛》），她着力提醒自己的却是不要过分、不要太感官。这里可以看出美国诗人狄金森的影响；而如果该诗人真的受到狄金森的影响的话，我甚至可以说这是一种偏向于负面的影响，或者说源于对狄金森的某种程度的（误译）误读。当然，这是题外话。
很多人（尤其是女人）写诗过程中会像《夏天就要来了》这样构建意义：在确认自己被发现的过程中确认自己，或者爱情，或者诗歌。这也就是《雨天的鸟》中所说的“依赖看见的事物去猜度/那些看不见的”，然后怀着一种美好的有关彩虹的期待。这些“看见的事物”也就是意义已经被晓示或者指认的事物，于是这个“我”的主要目的不是去构建或者揭示，而是去“相信”。我自然不能说，这个“我”没有这能力或雄心，而只能说她或许不愿意看得那么透，或许是出于一种失落感，如《让流逝的流逝》中的错位，或者犹如《是什么没有了》中所谓的“一个小洞/ 落在了大的里面”，说到最终还是无法“握住”的。既然如此，为何不干脆抓住那些可以拥有的静物呢？静物我们在艺术品中看得到的质感最细腻的日常之物，这或许也就是苏浅诗歌想呈现的。
从诗人之“我”的主动角度来看，其寻找意义的努力实际上是不参与“社会”的，如《无题》中，可以说敲门之前就已经期待那儿无人了，因此敲门实际上是为了证实其寂寞，以便自己可以毫无顾忌，直到门在叩击下自己打开。她的社会充满了薄薄的隔着膜的相遇，邻居是熟悉的疏远，如《隔壁之远》中两只不同种类的水果；但她打算安于接受一种各怀心思，保持一种亲而不昵的距离，如《入画》中的我与武松。那么，有什么样的关系是根本无须保持距离的呢？这简直就是一个很女性的问题，而事实确实是，母女关系，如《我爱苹果》中的“妈妈／怀着我”说，长大，嫁人，于是又转入了一个对于爱情与期待的信念。
Su Qian: 3 Poems
3 Poems by Su Qian
我爱苹果
苏浅
傍晚一个人穿过果林
苹果花还小
十月来临之前
几乎总是这么小，像童年，像星星
和爆炸，像妈妈
怀着我
陷进苹果花的香气里，小渔啊
用一分钟
再红润一些，再甜美一些
就嫁人吧
I Love Apples
by Su Qian tr. Fan Jinghua
Dusk finds me walking through the orchard
Apple flowers are still young
Before October settles in
They are always so small, like childhood, like stars
And explosions, like Mum
Heavy with me inside
In the fragrant trap of apple flowers, Oh Sweet Fish
Use one minute to
Grow redder and sweeter
And then marry yourself off
是什么没有了
现在我拥有它
一些静物。窗子，黄昏，或者果实
现在我移动它：风，花朵，时针和种子
现在，我让它们全部消失
一个小洞
落在了大的里面
Something Is Missing
by Su Qian tr. Fan Jinghua
Now I have them all,
Some still objects. Windows, dusk, or fruits.
Now I move them: wind, flowers, clock and seeds.
Now, I make them disappear.
A small hole
Falls into a big one.
雨天的鸟
我不知道下雨的时候
鸟儿要怎样飞翔，而那些不会飞的，会把翅膀
藏在哪里
我常常依赖看见的事物去猜度
那些看不见的
我为此相信下雨天是一只高飞的鸟儿
将为我们带来它的彩虹
Birds in the Rain
by Su Qian tr. Fan Jinghua
I do not know how birds fly
When it rains, and where those who do not fly would
Tuck their wings
I have always relied on what I have seen to speculate
What comes to the invisible
Hence I believe the rainy day is a bird soaring high
To bring us its rainbow
我爱苹果
苏浅
傍晚一个人穿过果林
苹果花还小
十月来临之前
几乎总是这么小，像童年，像星星
和爆炸，像妈妈
怀着我
陷进苹果花的香气里，小渔啊
用一分钟
再红润一些，再甜美一些
就嫁人吧
I Love Apples
by Su Qian tr. Fan Jinghua
Dusk finds me walking through the orchard
Apple flowers are still young
Before October settles in
They are always so small, like childhood, like stars
And explosions, like Mum
Heavy with me inside
In the fragrant trap of apple flowers, Oh Sweet Fish
Use one minute to
Grow redder and sweeter
And then marry yourself off
是什么没有了
现在我拥有它
一些静物。窗子，黄昏，或者果实
现在我移动它：风，花朵，时针和种子
现在，我让它们全部消失
一个小洞
落在了大的里面
Something Is Missing
by Su Qian tr. Fan Jinghua
Now I have them all,
Some still objects. Windows, dusk, or fruits.
Now I move them: wind, flowers, clock and seeds.
Now, I make them disappear.
A small hole
Falls into a big one.
雨天的鸟
我不知道下雨的时候
鸟儿要怎样飞翔，而那些不会飞的，会把翅膀
藏在哪里
我常常依赖看见的事物去猜度
那些看不见的
我为此相信下雨天是一只高飞的鸟儿
将为我们带来它的彩虹
Birds in the Rain
by Su Qian tr. Fan Jinghua
I do not know how birds fly
When it rains, and where those who do not fly would
Tuck their wings
I have always relied on what I have seen to speculate
What comes to the invisible
Hence I believe the rainy day is a bird soaring high
To bring us its rainbow
Su Qian: Entering a Picture
Su Qian: Entering a Picture
入画
苏浅
想象一种可能的方式
打虎，但不醉酒，也不过景阳岗
路遇武松，就叫他兄弟，抱拳，问好
喜欢他，但不能脸红
一路婉转，相谈甚欢
他看到桃花，我想着猛虎
Entering a Picture
by Su Qian tr. Fan Jinghua
Imagine a possible way by which I too might punch a tiger
to death, with bare hands, not drunken, and without risking the Jingyang Ridge
I might run into Wu Song and greet him as Brother, my hands clasped,
falling into him but showing no blush on my face
We would have a hearty talk down the way, my words obscure
In his eyes a peach flower, in my mind a fierce tiger
Another Version
Into a Picture
by Su Qian tr. Fan Jinghua
Imagine a possible way to kill a tiger,
With a sober mind and two hands only, not even on the road to the Jingyang Ridge;
So I ran into Wu Song, and held fists to greet him as Brother,
And I adored him, no blush on my face;
We had a hearty talk along the winding road,
A peach flower in his eyes, a valiant tiger in my mind.
Note:
Wu Song was a legendary hero from Chinese classic novel Outlaws of the Marsh, who reportedly punched a tiger to death at the Jingyang Ridge with bare hands when he was drunk. For the purpose of understanding the translation on its own, I have added some words: too, with bare hands.
注：武松乃中国古典小说《水浒传》中的传奇英雄，他醉酒后在景阳岗徒手打死一只
老虎。为了便于就译文自身理解，翻译中增加了以下词语：我也能（打虎），徒手。
（因为有了增加的词汇，因此这个注释才是不需要的）
入画
苏浅
想象一种可能的方式
打虎，但不醉酒，也不过景阳岗
路遇武松，就叫他兄弟，抱拳，问好
喜欢他，但不能脸红
一路婉转，相谈甚欢
他看到桃花，我想着猛虎
Entering a Picture
by Su Qian tr. Fan Jinghua
Imagine a possible way by which I too might punch a tiger
to death, with bare hands, not drunken, and without risking the Jingyang Ridge
I might run into Wu Song and greet him as Brother, my hands clasped,
falling into him but showing no blush on my face
We would have a hearty talk down the way, my words obscure
In his eyes a peach flower, in my mind a fierce tiger
Another Version
Into a Picture
by Su Qian tr. Fan Jinghua
Imagine a possible way to kill a tiger,
With a sober mind and two hands only, not even on the road to the Jingyang Ridge;
So I ran into Wu Song, and held fists to greet him as Brother,
And I adored him, no blush on my face;
We had a hearty talk along the winding road,
A peach flower in his eyes, a valiant tiger in my mind.
Note:
Wu Song was a legendary hero from Chinese classic novel Outlaws of the Marsh, who reportedly punched a tiger to death at the Jingyang Ridge with bare hands when he was drunk. For the purpose of understanding the translation on its own, I have added some words: too, with bare hands.
注：武松乃中国古典小说《水浒传》中的传奇英雄，他醉酒后在景阳岗徒手打死一只
老虎。为了便于就译文自身理解，翻译中增加了以下词语：我也能（打虎），徒手。
（因为有了增加的词汇，因此这个注释才是不需要的）
Sunday, June 22, 2008
Fan Jinghua: Let Me In
Let Me In
(To Another Cave Being)
Dear, don’t cover your door of leaves with stones;
The fissure is generous enough for two pairs of eyes.
Maybe not enough for us to turn at each other,
But we, abreast or piled up, could look out together,
At those feet and hooves that stir up dust.
I am but a drop of light, inflexible, astray on the road to darkness.
No matter in motion or to a halt, I’m a shaft of solitude.
Let me in so that your space will be better ventilated;
With my body heat, your stalactites can drip milk.
Or, even if I suffocate, my corpse will be soft and moist.
June 12, 2008
容我进入
——致另一个穴居者
让我进去，不要封住你的两瓣叶门；
那个空隙可以容纳两双眼睛。
对视或许太近，但我们可以一道向外窥望，
看一双双小腿与蹄子搅起灰尘。
我只是一抹走散的光，在通往黑夜的路上，
不会热胀冷缩、不会屈身，行与止，都是孤独。
让我进去，挤在你蛰伏的身旁。
让我进入你的洞穴，为你的空间换气；
我进入，你的钟乳石才会渗出热气的水滴。
或者，我会窒息，但身体会柔润。
2008年6月22日
(To Another Cave Being)
Dear, don’t cover your door of leaves with stones;
The fissure is generous enough for two pairs of eyes.
Maybe not enough for us to turn at each other,
But we, abreast or piled up, could look out together,
At those feet and hooves that stir up dust.
I am but a drop of light, inflexible, astray on the road to darkness.
No matter in motion or to a halt, I’m a shaft of solitude.
Let me in so that your space will be better ventilated;
With my body heat, your stalactites can drip milk.
Or, even if I suffocate, my corpse will be soft and moist.
June 12, 2008
容我进入
——致另一个穴居者
让我进去，不要封住你的两瓣叶门；
那个空隙可以容纳两双眼睛。
对视或许太近，但我们可以一道向外窥望，
看一双双小腿与蹄子搅起灰尘。
我只是一抹走散的光，在通往黑夜的路上，
不会热胀冷缩、不会屈身，行与止，都是孤独。
让我进去，挤在你蛰伏的身旁。
让我进入你的洞穴，为你的空间换气；
我进入，你的钟乳石才会渗出热气的水滴。
或者，我会窒息，但身体会柔润。
2008年6月22日
SU Qian: 4 Poems
4 Poems by SU Qian
苏浅 诗4首英译
命名大鹿岛
苏浅
风吹来
人流落在荒岛上，水是很久以前的事情了
我现在的角色，是把
草，恢复成
蓬勃，但不能太丰富，太美
To Name an Island Called Big Deer
by SU Qian tr. Fan Jinghua
Wind blows in
Men are strayed on this deserted island, and water is a thing of long ago
My present role is
to turn grasses back into their state
of vim and vigor, but they should be neither too plentiful nor too beautiful
隔壁之远
苏浅
邻居在另一扇门后面
邻居在自己的锁里
邻居从不使用我的钥匙
只在薄薄的相遇与陌路之间
与我隔着墙
仿佛苹果，挨着梨
The Next Door Is Distant
by SU Qian tr. Fan Jinghua
The next-door neighbor is behind another door
The neighbor is in her own lock
She never uses my key
There is a wall between us
Among thin layers of meetings as mutual strangers
Like an apple next to a pear
无题
苏浅
敲很久
直到确信没有人
我就更猛烈地敲
这寂寞的房子
我想，门会自己打开
Untitled
by Su Qian tr. Fan Jinghua
Knock for quite long
Till I am certain there is no one in
So that I knock still harder
On this house of solitude
I guess, the door will open by itself
让流逝的流逝
苏浅
我看见流星了
我的心向它迅速涌起而它坠落
Let What Is Elapsing Elapse
by SU Qian tr. Fan Jinghua
As I see a shooting star
My heart swells up a surge to it but it dives instead
About the Poet:
SU Qian (pronounced as Chian) was born in early 1970 in Liaoning Province of Northeastern China.
苏浅 诗4首英译
命名大鹿岛
苏浅
风吹来
人流落在荒岛上，水是很久以前的事情了
我现在的角色，是把
草，恢复成
蓬勃，但不能太丰富，太美
To Name an Island Called Big Deer
by SU Qian tr. Fan Jinghua
Wind blows in
Men are strayed on this deserted island, and water is a thing of long ago
My present role is
to turn grasses back into their state
of vim and vigor, but they should be neither too plentiful nor too beautiful
隔壁之远
苏浅
邻居在另一扇门后面
邻居在自己的锁里
邻居从不使用我的钥匙
只在薄薄的相遇与陌路之间
与我隔着墙
仿佛苹果，挨着梨
The Next Door Is Distant
by SU Qian tr. Fan Jinghua
The next-door neighbor is behind another door
The neighbor is in her own lock
She never uses my key
There is a wall between us
Among thin layers of meetings as mutual strangers
Like an apple next to a pear
无题
苏浅
敲很久
直到确信没有人
我就更猛烈地敲
这寂寞的房子
我想，门会自己打开
Untitled
by Su Qian tr. Fan Jinghua
Knock for quite long
Till I am certain there is no one in
So that I knock still harder
On this house of solitude
I guess, the door will open by itself
让流逝的流逝
苏浅
我看见流星了
我的心向它迅速涌起而它坠落
Let What Is Elapsing Elapse
by SU Qian tr. Fan Jinghua
As I see a shooting star
My heart swells up a surge to it but it dives instead
About the Poet:
SU Qian (pronounced as Chian) was born in early 1970 in Liaoning Province of Northeastern China.
Saturday, June 21, 2008
Fan Jinghua: Being Sexy
Being Sexy
One leg half lifted
One buttock tenses up, one relaxed
One arm raises at ease and displays an obtuse angle
On a tree trunk, a crawling posture grows beauty
A pick-up truck pulls over and two outer wheels run over the curb
What in this poem would be exposed when read
From below the tilted side
June 20, 2008
性感
一条腿曲起来一点 重心就移了
一瓣屁股紧绷 另一瓣松弛
一只手臂若不做作就会展现一个钝角
树干上的爬姿浑身美丽
一辆小皮卡缓缓将外侧的轮子压上了路缘石
从翘起来的侧下方读这首诗
会露出什么
2008年6月21日
One leg half lifted
One buttock tenses up, one relaxed
One arm raises at ease and displays an obtuse angle
On a tree trunk, a crawling posture grows beauty
A pick-up truck pulls over and two outer wheels run over the curb
What in this poem would be exposed when read
From below the tilted side
June 20, 2008
性感
一条腿曲起来一点 重心就移了
一瓣屁股紧绷 另一瓣松弛
一只手臂若不做作就会展现一个钝角
树干上的爬姿浑身美丽
一辆小皮卡缓缓将外侧的轮子压上了路缘石
从翘起来的侧下方读这首诗
会露出什么
2008年6月21日
Nanren: Dusk
Dusk
by Nanren tr. Fan Jinghua
Dearie
as dusk is falling
please walk me for a while
At this moment, with leaves fallen
the naked branches are hung with hands of clocks
With the stir of wind
an array of leaves burn its way off my feet
Those street cleaners
pick up some remains from the ground
Dearie
as dusk is falling
walk me for a while, please
Old women in the setting sun
Gazing at the backs of children going away
Are left with scattered toys they can stroke piece after piece
The dust inside the room comes through the sunlight
As I turn to look at it, full of pity
it crawls up along my legs
toward the envelope in my hand
A sigh is bumped off the bench at the distant cries of a crow
Outside the window
snow is up and downy
On the each side of the lane
ghosts housed in graves are sitting on the tops of the mounds
In the roadside trees
birds are meditating:
between the two skeletons in the tomb
who is a he
who is a she
Dearie
as dusk is falling
walk me for a while, please
Shades of human beings are wobbling in the display windows
the dark hulls drive past fast
on the road
and a train zips by
A suicide then gets up from the rails
whisking off the dirt
and toward the distance swaggering off
I reach my neck and after a touch
my hand is blood-soaked
All that are shut in during the day
are now bared, those
sounds, images, fleshes and lamps
A moth orbits around the globe for several circles in no time
and through every window
women are seen in bath
Dearie
now
as the darkness of night is clearing
walk me for a while, please
暮
南人
亲爱的
当暮色就要来临
请陪我走走
此刻 叶落
光秃秃的树枝上挂满了钟的指针
风起
一阵叶子从我的脚下焚烧过去
打扫街道的人
把一些残骸从地上捡起
亲爱的
当暮色就要来临
请陪我走走
夕阳里的老妇
望着走远的孩子
手里摸着摆了一地的玩具
屋内的灰尘从阳光里走过
我怜悯地朝它望去
它便顺着我的双腿爬上来
直爬到我手里捏着的一只信封里
板凳上的一声叹息被远处的鸦声颠掉在地
窗外雪起
窗外雪起
沿小路两侧
墓中的亡灵坐于坟顶
路边的树上
鸟在沉思
墓中的两具骨架
哪个是男
哪个是女
亲爱的
当暮色来临
请陪我走走
橱窗里人影晃动
黑黝黝的壳从马路上
匆匆驶过
火车远去
卧轨自杀的人从地上爬起
拍拍身上的泥土
朝远处扬长而去
我摸摸自己的脖子
满手是血
白天关闭的
此刻都裸露着
那些声音 画面 肉体以及灯
一只飞蛾顷刻间绕地球仪飞了几圈
从所有的窗户里都可以看见
女人在洗澡
亲爱的
此刻
当夜色已尽
请陪我走走
by Nanren tr. Fan Jinghua
Dearie
as dusk is falling
please walk me for a while
At this moment, with leaves fallen
the naked branches are hung with hands of clocks
With the stir of wind
an array of leaves burn its way off my feet
Those street cleaners
pick up some remains from the ground
Dearie
as dusk is falling
walk me for a while, please
Old women in the setting sun
Gazing at the backs of children going away
Are left with scattered toys they can stroke piece after piece
The dust inside the room comes through the sunlight
As I turn to look at it, full of pity
it crawls up along my legs
toward the envelope in my hand
A sigh is bumped off the bench at the distant cries of a crow
Outside the window
snow is up and downy
On the each side of the lane
ghosts housed in graves are sitting on the tops of the mounds
In the roadside trees
birds are meditating:
between the two skeletons in the tomb
who is a he
who is a she
Dearie
as dusk is falling
walk me for a while, please
Shades of human beings are wobbling in the display windows
the dark hulls drive past fast
on the road
and a train zips by
A suicide then gets up from the rails
whisking off the dirt
and toward the distance swaggering off
I reach my neck and after a touch
my hand is blood-soaked
All that are shut in during the day
are now bared, those
sounds, images, fleshes and lamps
A moth orbits around the globe for several circles in no time
and through every window
women are seen in bath
Dearie
now
as the darkness of night is clearing
walk me for a while, please
暮
南人
亲爱的
当暮色就要来临
请陪我走走
此刻 叶落
光秃秃的树枝上挂满了钟的指针
风起
一阵叶子从我的脚下焚烧过去
打扫街道的人
把一些残骸从地上捡起
亲爱的
当暮色就要来临
请陪我走走
夕阳里的老妇
望着走远的孩子
手里摸着摆了一地的玩具
屋内的灰尘从阳光里走过
我怜悯地朝它望去
它便顺着我的双腿爬上来
直爬到我手里捏着的一只信封里
板凳上的一声叹息被远处的鸦声颠掉在地
窗外雪起
窗外雪起
沿小路两侧
墓中的亡灵坐于坟顶
路边的树上
鸟在沉思
墓中的两具骨架
哪个是男
哪个是女
亲爱的
当暮色来临
请陪我走走
橱窗里人影晃动
黑黝黝的壳从马路上
匆匆驶过
火车远去
卧轨自杀的人从地上爬起
拍拍身上的泥土
朝远处扬长而去
我摸摸自己的脖子
满手是血
白天关闭的
此刻都裸露着
那些声音 画面 肉体以及灯
一只飞蛾顷刻间绕地球仪飞了几圈
从所有的窗户里都可以看见
女人在洗澡
亲爱的
此刻
当夜色已尽
请陪我走走
Nanren: At Dusk I Hitch Up a Cart
One poem by Nanren
黄昏时分，我套上牛车
南人
黄昏时分
我套上牛车
去一块庄稼地
收拾 砍倒一地的麦子
面对这片麦地
想起一个女子曾在这里做爱
想起一座城池曾在这里倒塌
想起一条河流曾在这里流干
而一次次死亡之后
这片割光了的麦地明年又会长出可怕的庄稼
黄昏时分
我套上牛车
满载这一堆能长出尸体的尸体
去养活一个村庄
At Dusk I Hitch Up a Cart
by Nanren tr. Fan Jinghua
At dusk
I hitch an ox to the cart
Heading for a lot of cropland
Baling the felled wheat in the field
The wheat on this soil
Reminds of a woman who once made love here
Of a city whose walls and battlements crumbled
Of a river that ran dry, its course disappeared
After deaths over deaths, terrible crops
Will in the coming year grow out again on this tract now cleared of wheat
At dusk
I hitch an ox to my cart
Loaded with corpses that will produce more corpses
To nourish a village
黄昏时分，我套上牛车
南人
黄昏时分
我套上牛车
去一块庄稼地
收拾 砍倒一地的麦子
面对这片麦地
想起一个女子曾在这里做爱
想起一座城池曾在这里倒塌
想起一条河流曾在这里流干
而一次次死亡之后
这片割光了的麦地明年又会长出可怕的庄稼
黄昏时分
我套上牛车
满载这一堆能长出尸体的尸体
去养活一个村庄
At Dusk I Hitch Up a Cart
by Nanren tr. Fan Jinghua
At dusk
I hitch an ox to the cart
Heading for a lot of cropland
Baling the felled wheat in the field
The wheat on this soil
Reminds of a woman who once made love here
Of a city whose walls and battlements crumbled
Of a river that ran dry, its course disappeared
After deaths over deaths, terrible crops
Will in the coming year grow out again on this tract now cleared of wheat
At dusk
I hitch an ox to my cart
Loaded with corpses that will produce more corpses
To nourish a village
Wednesday, June 18, 2008
Fan Jinghua: Out of the Blue: A Depressionistic Piece
Out of the Blue: A Depressionistic Piece
So damned broad it is that every direction leads to emptiness which will swallow whatever enters it and squeeze a wet creak. Even if I do have a body agile enough to pull out my hooves, so what? The sun is paralyzing me and my temples are bulging.
Give me a water and disappear. Somewhere someone is frying words in the cups of a bra, and that does not even make them angry. A hopeless lot.
I’d better roll the cursor to the top right corner to curse and mouse-click the X and open the next item for there might be something for me to sneer at. No, no laughter, thanks. I have water in my mouth. Mineral to recycle. I may make do with some calculi. It is only a faint pain. Does not kill.
Hello, this is a call from Penisula Hotel beneath the iceberg. If you can hear, please pull out the third drawer of your brains and browse through the tags of origin for Heavenly Capital and pick out the folder of memory for “before 1990.” Open and try to recognize a young man with a pair of respectable black frame spectacles, murmuring “could it be he” and falling into a short reverie before preparing the supper.
If you can not hear, surely you are not to be reminded to hang up and think hard who might be calling you to praise your heart-drilling beauty with a voice that is failing your memory. Let loose your imagination and lipstick your self-love.
By the way, if you want a tentative query, you can always send in a half-fact half-fictional story “A dream visited me last night….and I woke up to find my man gone” or even “You visited my dream about the year when….and I woke up to find my tears wetting my ears” at my new account 941loveu@heaven.net where my hair runs long and black.
The fact is, if facts also exist in dreams, that no doors open by themselves and no doors shut by themselves after being opened. So I now knock knock knock on an invisible door and hope you ask who is there so that I can escape, on the wings of the disquiet from the scooped-out opaque crystal ball that has been rolling in my nightmares and flattening them like a huge road-roller. You face zips by, frame after frame, year after year, unchanging and unending like I am racing at a speed higher than time, westward on a desert.
If everything halts and stills, I wish I could be a groundhog standing arm-crossed in the morning breeze at the rising sun… with a facial expression known to no one.
June 17, 2008
空穴·来电
（一个忧郁主义片断）
每个方向都宽旷得无边，通往的都是空荡，无论什么进入其中都将被吞噬，并且发出一声潮湿的吱吱声。即便我的身体轻捷得能够拔出蹄子，那又怎样？太阳令人瘫痪，而我的太阳穴已经鼓胀。
给我一杯清水，然后消失。某处有人在乳罩的杯子里油炸文字，这甚至不会令最喜爱愤怒的他们愤怒。无可救药的一帮。我最好轻移光标到右上角的X，轻轻一击，毙掉，一条好汉为我提供一种轻蔑的笑。
谢了，我不会lol，我嘴里有水。矿物质，再循环，我可以承受一些结石。不过是隐隐的痛而已。
喂，我这里是冰山下的温床殡馆。如果你能听到，请拉开你靠在墙边的后脑勺，下首第三个抽屉，抽出原产地为“天京”标有“1990年前”的记忆。搜寻那文件夹，试图认出一个带着一副可敬的黑色阔边眼镜的年轻人；无论你是否自语“是他么”，都要稍稍出一会儿神，然后才去拣菜做饭。如果你听不见，当然你也就不需要我提醒要迟迟疑疑地挂掉，努力回想会有谁带着挑拨你记忆的嗓音，赞美你钻心的美。
扭一下你想象力的腰身，描一下自爱之心的唇线。
顺便告诉你一声，如果你想问询，随时都可以写一个半真半假的故事，邮寄到我新开的信箱5941loveu@天堂.网，我在那儿头发又黑又长迎风飘扬。你的故事可以如此开始和结束：”昨夜一个梦降临……我醒来，男人已经不见”或者“昨夜你降临我的梦境……醒来，眼泪湿了耳朵”。
事实是，如果事实亦存在于梦境，没有一扇门会自动打开，没有一扇门会在被打开后自动关闭。因此此刻我在一扇看不见的门上敲了又敲，只等着你由远而近的声音疑惑地问“谁啊”，于是我才能逃逸，乘着惶惶然的翅膀，如一溜从掏空了的阴暗水晶球中释放出来的青烟。夜夜，那沉重圆浑的球体碾压着我的梦魇，如一驾赛车沿着弹珠台上脑沟似的轨道，一路颠簸，滚过重重的机关和暗门。两侧的广告板上，你的脸飞逝，一帧又一帧，年复一年，我的速度已超过了时间，在西去的沙漠上，而你永远不变，无始无终。
如果一切暂停，我更愿意做一只土拨鼠，双手抱在胸前，在清晨的凉风中，面对冉冉升起的太阳……保持一种无人识得的表情。
2008年6月18日
So damned broad it is that every direction leads to emptiness which will swallow whatever enters it and squeeze a wet creak. Even if I do have a body agile enough to pull out my hooves, so what? The sun is paralyzing me and my temples are bulging.
Give me a water and disappear. Somewhere someone is frying words in the cups of a bra, and that does not even make them angry. A hopeless lot.
I’d better roll the cursor to the top right corner to curse and mouse-click the X and open the next item for there might be something for me to sneer at. No, no laughter, thanks. I have water in my mouth. Mineral to recycle. I may make do with some calculi. It is only a faint pain. Does not kill.
Hello, this is a call from Penisula Hotel beneath the iceberg. If you can hear, please pull out the third drawer of your brains and browse through the tags of origin for Heavenly Capital and pick out the folder of memory for “before 1990.” Open and try to recognize a young man with a pair of respectable black frame spectacles, murmuring “could it be he” and falling into a short reverie before preparing the supper.
If you can not hear, surely you are not to be reminded to hang up and think hard who might be calling you to praise your heart-drilling beauty with a voice that is failing your memory. Let loose your imagination and lipstick your self-love.
By the way, if you want a tentative query, you can always send in a half-fact half-fictional story “A dream visited me last night….and I woke up to find my man gone” or even “You visited my dream about the year when….and I woke up to find my tears wetting my ears” at my new account 941loveu@heaven.net where my hair runs long and black.
The fact is, if facts also exist in dreams, that no doors open by themselves and no doors shut by themselves after being opened. So I now knock knock knock on an invisible door and hope you ask who is there so that I can escape, on the wings of the disquiet from the scooped-out opaque crystal ball that has been rolling in my nightmares and flattening them like a huge road-roller. You face zips by, frame after frame, year after year, unchanging and unending like I am racing at a speed higher than time, westward on a desert.
If everything halts and stills, I wish I could be a groundhog standing arm-crossed in the morning breeze at the rising sun… with a facial expression known to no one.
June 17, 2008
空穴·来电
（一个忧郁主义片断）
每个方向都宽旷得无边，通往的都是空荡，无论什么进入其中都将被吞噬，并且发出一声潮湿的吱吱声。即便我的身体轻捷得能够拔出蹄子，那又怎样？太阳令人瘫痪，而我的太阳穴已经鼓胀。
给我一杯清水，然后消失。某处有人在乳罩的杯子里油炸文字，这甚至不会令最喜爱愤怒的他们愤怒。无可救药的一帮。我最好轻移光标到右上角的X，轻轻一击，毙掉，一条好汉为我提供一种轻蔑的笑。
谢了，我不会lol，我嘴里有水。矿物质，再循环，我可以承受一些结石。不过是隐隐的痛而已。
喂，我这里是冰山下的温床殡馆。如果你能听到，请拉开你靠在墙边的后脑勺，下首第三个抽屉，抽出原产地为“天京”标有“1990年前”的记忆。搜寻那文件夹，试图认出一个带着一副可敬的黑色阔边眼镜的年轻人；无论你是否自语“是他么”，都要稍稍出一会儿神，然后才去拣菜做饭。如果你听不见，当然你也就不需要我提醒要迟迟疑疑地挂掉，努力回想会有谁带着挑拨你记忆的嗓音，赞美你钻心的美。
扭一下你想象力的腰身，描一下自爱之心的唇线。
顺便告诉你一声，如果你想问询，随时都可以写一个半真半假的故事，邮寄到我新开的信箱5941loveu@天堂.网，我在那儿头发又黑又长迎风飘扬。你的故事可以如此开始和结束：”昨夜一个梦降临……我醒来，男人已经不见”或者“昨夜你降临我的梦境……醒来，眼泪湿了耳朵”。
事实是，如果事实亦存在于梦境，没有一扇门会自动打开，没有一扇门会在被打开后自动关闭。因此此刻我在一扇看不见的门上敲了又敲，只等着你由远而近的声音疑惑地问“谁啊”，于是我才能逃逸，乘着惶惶然的翅膀，如一溜从掏空了的阴暗水晶球中释放出来的青烟。夜夜，那沉重圆浑的球体碾压着我的梦魇，如一驾赛车沿着弹珠台上脑沟似的轨道，一路颠簸，滚过重重的机关和暗门。两侧的广告板上，你的脸飞逝，一帧又一帧，年复一年，我的速度已超过了时间，在西去的沙漠上，而你永远不变，无始无终。
如果一切暂停，我更愿意做一只土拨鼠，双手抱在胸前，在清晨的凉风中，面对冉冉升起的太阳……保持一种无人识得的表情。
2008年6月18日
Nanren: The Shepherd & Lightness
Nanren's Two Poems: The Shepherd & Lightness
牧羊人
南人
我是一匹牵着羊群的狼
它们的祖辈早已被我吃光
因为这一个错误
我不得不将这群可怜的羊儿抚养
青青的草原上我老眼昏花
握紧赶羊的鞭儿
走进那一片夕阳
The Shepherd
by Nanren tr. Fan Jinghua
I am a wolf, attending to a herd of sheep
after I have eaten up all their ancestors
And because of this blunder
I have to foster this poor stock
The greenness of the grass makes me dizzy
And I, with a whip in my grip
Walk into the last piece of sunrays
轻
南人 作
拿起一把剪刀
朝照片上长得没有哪儿不像我的那个家伙的
脑袋
一刀剪去
而剩下的事情应该如何了结
就这样手持凶器面对一张剪去脑袋的照片
像一个自杀后的木偶
刚满一岁的女儿走过来
从我的手中将剪刀拿走
在一片空空旷旷的花园里
她用一件凶器当作自己的玩具
Lightness
by Nanren tr. Fan Jinghua
With a pair of scissors
I stab into a photo and cut out a head of a guy who
looks exactly
like me
The rest of the case comes to its own end
As I hold the criminal tools, standing in front of a portrait without a head
I am like a puppet accomplished a suicide
My one-year-old daughter comes along
and takes from my hand the scissors
In a garden where there is nothing but emptiness
She uses my criminal tools as her toys
About the poet:
Nanren (“Southern Man”), pseudonym of YU Xi, was born in 1972 in a county from Jiangsu, China. He majored in Chinese in Beijing Normal University from 1990, and perhaps because of this he is associated with the so-called The Lower Body poet group, many key figures of which are also from that University. However, it seems that his poetry before 1996 does not show as many shared features with the group as his later work, and the poems here are from the earlier period.
南人，1972年生，原名于希，江苏泰县人，1990年入北京师范大学中文系，不知何时成为下半身的同人。他的诗有一种看似轻松的深沉，尤其是1996年前的作品，似乎不像他后来的作品那样与下半身写作更加一致，以上两首诗选自他的早期诗歌。
牧羊人
南人
我是一匹牵着羊群的狼
它们的祖辈早已被我吃光
因为这一个错误
我不得不将这群可怜的羊儿抚养
青青的草原上我老眼昏花
握紧赶羊的鞭儿
走进那一片夕阳
The Shepherd
by Nanren tr. Fan Jinghua
I am a wolf, attending to a herd of sheep
after I have eaten up all their ancestors
And because of this blunder
I have to foster this poor stock
The greenness of the grass makes me dizzy
And I, with a whip in my grip
Walk into the last piece of sunrays
轻
南人 作
拿起一把剪刀
朝照片上长得没有哪儿不像我的那个家伙的
脑袋
一刀剪去
而剩下的事情应该如何了结
就这样手持凶器面对一张剪去脑袋的照片
像一个自杀后的木偶
刚满一岁的女儿走过来
从我的手中将剪刀拿走
在一片空空旷旷的花园里
她用一件凶器当作自己的玩具
Lightness
by Nanren tr. Fan Jinghua
With a pair of scissors
I stab into a photo and cut out a head of a guy who
looks exactly
like me
The rest of the case comes to its own end
As I hold the criminal tools, standing in front of a portrait without a head
I am like a puppet accomplished a suicide
My one-year-old daughter comes along
and takes from my hand the scissors
In a garden where there is nothing but emptiness
She uses my criminal tools as her toys
About the poet:
Nanren (“Southern Man”), pseudonym of YU Xi, was born in 1972 in a county from Jiangsu, China. He majored in Chinese in Beijing Normal University from 1990, and perhaps because of this he is associated with the so-called The Lower Body poet group, many key figures of which are also from that University. However, it seems that his poetry before 1996 does not show as many shared features with the group as his later work, and the poems here are from the earlier period.
南人，1972年生，原名于希，江苏泰县人，1990年入北京师范大学中文系，不知何时成为下半身的同人。他的诗有一种看似轻松的深沉，尤其是1996年前的作品，似乎不像他后来的作品那样与下半身写作更加一致，以上两首诗选自他的早期诗歌。
Saturday, June 14, 2008
Fan Jinghua: The Light through the Morning Fog
The Light through the Morning Fog
For My Mother
Milky is the morning sun on the balcony in early May,
where I look into the landscape encroached by lingering haze,
you come out of the fog, a country saint, your sheep left behind
grazing on the riverbanks I used to browse for wild berries,
whose meekly impatient bleats woke my dreams.
In this house which I fill in every form as a permanent address,
I am a guest, too much loved to be expected of any work.
During the whole short stay, the only thing I do is hold a bottle of tea,
following you everywhere you go, watching your hands move,
and listening for the stories of trivialities about neighbors and relatives close or distant.
You would prefix every section with a question "do you remember so-and-so,"
and my confirmation is also a question, often rhetorical but you would take it real,
relating to one of that person's children of my generation,
but only I from my generation is still a boy in your mind.
So you continue, never stopping what on your hands,
the stories, from one person to anther, one family to another, and deaths
do not interrupt the flow, as those from the next generation naturally follow.
To the deaths I can only respond with an "oh" as if they are
as distant as your vegetable plot to my lectures on technical terms of
“open-ended" or stream-of-consciousness, as natural as Time itself,
and theoretically they are.
When you pause to comment that someone should die contented
as the family is prosperous or so-and-so was finally relieved of the misery of this life,
I am brought to acute wakening that you are not following the stream of one life.
Words flow from you to me, univocal
from the time when I was carried by you for ten months, heavier and heavier,
to the time when I am orbiting into my own oval sphere, further and further away,
while you shed love like a fixed star.
May 11, 2008, Mother’s Day
作为祷词的家常话
（献给我的妈妈，虔诚的基督徒）
五月之初，从阳台上望去，风景不远也不深，
可见的雾一片淡然，晨，在你身后流连，
你如雕塑缓缓走来，乡间的圣母，而几只羊儿
隐在阳光乳剂的另一边，应该在安详地觅草，
我也曾经沿着那条小河岸拔春天的草芯。
这是我的家，每一次表格上的永久住址，
然而从来都无法填写这个影像，我是她最放肆的客人。
我随口说出的菜都会出现在餐桌，饭前我很自然地低头，
配合你喃喃的餐前感恩，而我感恩的却是你。
每天睡足了懒觉的我抱着一大玻璃瓶的茶水，跟在你左右，
看你的手从不停下，听你讲平常得令我无法忘记的小事。
每一节的开始你都要问：你还记得某某么？而我的回答总是
一句反问：是不是某某的父亲？于是，你会继续，
或者纠正、补充，而后，你的故事又会自然地转到我说的那家人。
我曾面对一片不熟悉的人讲故事结尾的开放和封闭，
也讲到参与型意识流；每当那个时候，我总会想到你的叙述，
然而终于没有以此为例，因为我无法将叙述人的角色界定清楚。
有些故事只存在于讲述，与听者的关系不属于时空。譬如，你的故事。
从一个人到另一个人，从一家到另一家，生老病死，而死亡
并不会打断你的叙述；你说，某某死得瞑目了或者某某终于解脱了。
这一句评价包括着安慰与自我安慰，但是结构上却承前启后。
你说天堂，却从不谈灵魂。你说，人会死，而情不会绝。
你告诉我，某一户人家已经绝了，而那家的最后一人
在弥留的病床上为我们家祝福，因为我曾送给他们二百元钱过年。
你说，因此我们应该记得，曾经有那么一家人住在我们村。
那时我才突然意识到你故事的容量，你作为承担者的叙述，
我想到你摸黑上门，为不幸的人祷告，却又真诚地感谢他们的
信心与信任，因为你能为他人祈祷而自家也获得赐福。
我带给你烫金的圣经，但我从不和你谈及宗教；
你比任何人都令我眷恋，我却从来未曾给你拥抱。
你会歉意地让我去和朋友喝酒打牌，不要整天听你唠叨，
我傻傻地笑，无法表露我心里那一丝隐痛。
想到你夜夜在睡前为遥远的我们祈祷，而我的表格上
虽然总是填着你的地址，却同时将我的信仰填为自由思想者，
犹如从小带着反叛听你的教诲，自你及我，单向地流，
在你怀着我的十个月里，越来越沉重，而后我脱离了你，
转入自己的蛋壳形轨道，时而离你越来越远，时而靠近，
唯有你是一颗恒星，不灭的爱。
2008年5月27日根据母亲节（5月11日）的英文稿改写
For My Mother
Milky is the morning sun on the balcony in early May,
where I look into the landscape encroached by lingering haze,
you come out of the fog, a country saint, your sheep left behind
grazing on the riverbanks I used to browse for wild berries,
whose meekly impatient bleats woke my dreams.
In this house which I fill in every form as a permanent address,
I am a guest, too much loved to be expected of any work.
During the whole short stay, the only thing I do is hold a bottle of tea,
following you everywhere you go, watching your hands move,
and listening for the stories of trivialities about neighbors and relatives close or distant.
You would prefix every section with a question "do you remember so-and-so,"
and my confirmation is also a question, often rhetorical but you would take it real,
relating to one of that person's children of my generation,
but only I from my generation is still a boy in your mind.
So you continue, never stopping what on your hands,
the stories, from one person to anther, one family to another, and deaths
do not interrupt the flow, as those from the next generation naturally follow.
To the deaths I can only respond with an "oh" as if they are
as distant as your vegetable plot to my lectures on technical terms of
“open-ended" or stream-of-consciousness, as natural as Time itself,
and theoretically they are.
When you pause to comment that someone should die contented
as the family is prosperous or so-and-so was finally relieved of the misery of this life,
I am brought to acute wakening that you are not following the stream of one life.
Words flow from you to me, univocal
from the time when I was carried by you for ten months, heavier and heavier,
to the time when I am orbiting into my own oval sphere, further and further away,
while you shed love like a fixed star.
May 11, 2008, Mother’s Day
作为祷词的家常话
（献给我的妈妈，虔诚的基督徒）
五月之初，从阳台上望去，风景不远也不深，
可见的雾一片淡然，晨，在你身后流连，
你如雕塑缓缓走来，乡间的圣母，而几只羊儿
隐在阳光乳剂的另一边，应该在安详地觅草，
我也曾经沿着那条小河岸拔春天的草芯。
这是我的家，每一次表格上的永久住址，
然而从来都无法填写这个影像，我是她最放肆的客人。
我随口说出的菜都会出现在餐桌，饭前我很自然地低头，
配合你喃喃的餐前感恩，而我感恩的却是你。
每天睡足了懒觉的我抱着一大玻璃瓶的茶水，跟在你左右，
看你的手从不停下，听你讲平常得令我无法忘记的小事。
每一节的开始你都要问：你还记得某某么？而我的回答总是
一句反问：是不是某某的父亲？于是，你会继续，
或者纠正、补充，而后，你的故事又会自然地转到我说的那家人。
我曾面对一片不熟悉的人讲故事结尾的开放和封闭，
也讲到参与型意识流；每当那个时候，我总会想到你的叙述，
然而终于没有以此为例，因为我无法将叙述人的角色界定清楚。
有些故事只存在于讲述，与听者的关系不属于时空。譬如，你的故事。
从一个人到另一个人，从一家到另一家，生老病死，而死亡
并不会打断你的叙述；你说，某某死得瞑目了或者某某终于解脱了。
这一句评价包括着安慰与自我安慰，但是结构上却承前启后。
你说天堂，却从不谈灵魂。你说，人会死，而情不会绝。
你告诉我，某一户人家已经绝了，而那家的最后一人
在弥留的病床上为我们家祝福，因为我曾送给他们二百元钱过年。
你说，因此我们应该记得，曾经有那么一家人住在我们村。
那时我才突然意识到你故事的容量，你作为承担者的叙述，
我想到你摸黑上门，为不幸的人祷告，却又真诚地感谢他们的
信心与信任，因为你能为他人祈祷而自家也获得赐福。
我带给你烫金的圣经，但我从不和你谈及宗教；
你比任何人都令我眷恋，我却从来未曾给你拥抱。
你会歉意地让我去和朋友喝酒打牌，不要整天听你唠叨，
我傻傻地笑，无法表露我心里那一丝隐痛。
想到你夜夜在睡前为遥远的我们祈祷，而我的表格上
虽然总是填着你的地址，却同时将我的信仰填为自由思想者，
犹如从小带着反叛听你的教诲，自你及我，单向地流，
在你怀着我的十个月里，越来越沉重，而后我脱离了你，
转入自己的蛋壳形轨道，时而离你越来越远，时而靠近，
唯有你是一颗恒星，不灭的爱。
2008年5月27日根据母亲节（5月11日）的英文稿改写
Fan Jinghua: Lonely Masturbator’s Night Song
Lonely Masturbator’s Night Song
My eyes have been shut for quite long. Outside, on the corridor
Voices have been flowing. How could they, wingless, footless, descend the nine circles
All the lamps are pallid, cold like stars over the ruins, of the same distance
From their height, am I a grain of sand lying back on the bed of a dark river
Not to disturb the solitude of the night, I pull my finger to my closed eyelids
And it looms like a cement column, no steel bars inside, its shadow darker than night
A distant ambulance’s sirens sound impatient and lonely
It can never come to fetch any from me
Except this body which would rather stay here with me for the rest of my life
Until I may reunite with you, in guilt, ecstasy and oblivion
June 10, 2008
自慰者的夜歌
眼睛关闭很久了，走廊上，人声
曾经如流，没有翅、没有脚，回响如何下降十八层
所有的灯都苍白了，冷若废墟上空的星，只剩相同的遥远
从高处俯瞰，我这粒沙是否已仰卧在黑色的河床上
我缓缓将一只手指拉到眼睑前，不想惊扰孤独
它仍然是一根实心的柱子，没有钢筋，阴影比黑夜更黑
远处，救护车孤单了，上气不及下气地呼叫着
只是它再也不会带走属于我的
除了这个身体，而它宁愿不被载走，陪我在这里
守着余生，直到与你再会，于疚痛、狂喜与遗忘中
2008年6月10日
My eyes have been shut for quite long. Outside, on the corridor
Voices have been flowing. How could they, wingless, footless, descend the nine circles
All the lamps are pallid, cold like stars over the ruins, of the same distance
From their height, am I a grain of sand lying back on the bed of a dark river
Not to disturb the solitude of the night, I pull my finger to my closed eyelids
And it looms like a cement column, no steel bars inside, its shadow darker than night
A distant ambulance’s sirens sound impatient and lonely
It can never come to fetch any from me
Except this body which would rather stay here with me for the rest of my life
Until I may reunite with you, in guilt, ecstasy and oblivion
June 10, 2008
自慰者的夜歌
眼睛关闭很久了，走廊上，人声
曾经如流，没有翅、没有脚，回响如何下降十八层
所有的灯都苍白了，冷若废墟上空的星，只剩相同的遥远
从高处俯瞰，我这粒沙是否已仰卧在黑色的河床上
我缓缓将一只手指拉到眼睑前，不想惊扰孤独
它仍然是一根实心的柱子，没有钢筋，阴影比黑夜更黑
远处，救护车孤单了，上气不及下气地呼叫着
只是它再也不会带走属于我的
除了这个身体，而它宁愿不被载走，陪我在这里
守着余生，直到与你再会，于疚痛、狂喜与遗忘中
2008年6月10日
Emily Dickinson: First and Last from Complete Poems
Emily Dickinson's Poems
No 2 from The Complete Poems
This is a rhyme for her brother.
There is another sky
There is another sky,
Ever serene and fair,
And there is another sunshine,
Though it be darkness there;
Never mind faded forests, Austin,
Never mind silent fields -
Here is a little forest,
Whose leaf is ever green;
Here is a brighter garden,
Where not a frost has been;
In its unfading flowers
I hear the bright bee hum:
Prithee, my brother,
Into my garden come!
另有一片天
另有一片天，
永远宁静又美丽，
另有一片阳光，
尽管或有阴影。
不要介意森林有暗区，
不要介意田野不能言语——
这片林地虽小，
树叶永远翠绿；
这个花园更明媚，
霜冻从未侵袭；
花丛永不衰败，
蜜蜂嗡嗡悦耳；
亲爱的，请你务必
莅临我的花园！
No. 1775, the last poem from The Complete Poems.
The earth has many keys.
Where melody is not
Is the unknown penisula.
Beauty is nature's fact.
But witness for her land,
And witness for her sea,
The cricket is her utmost
Of elegy to me.
大地有许多个键。
旋律不存在之地
便是未知的半岛。
美乃自然的事实。
见证她的陆地，
见证她的海洋，
蟋蟀力所能及的
便是我的挽歌。
No 2 from The Complete Poems
This is a rhyme for her brother.
There is another sky
There is another sky,
Ever serene and fair,
And there is another sunshine,
Though it be darkness there;
Never mind faded forests, Austin,
Never mind silent fields -
Here is a little forest,
Whose leaf is ever green;
Here is a brighter garden,
Where not a frost has been;
In its unfading flowers
I hear the bright bee hum:
Prithee, my brother,
Into my garden come!
另有一片天
另有一片天，
永远宁静又美丽，
另有一片阳光，
尽管或有阴影。
不要介意森林有暗区，
不要介意田野不能言语——
这片林地虽小，
树叶永远翠绿；
这个花园更明媚，
霜冻从未侵袭；
花丛永不衰败，
蜜蜂嗡嗡悦耳；
亲爱的，请你务必
莅临我的花园！
No. 1775, the last poem from The Complete Poems.
The earth has many keys.
Where melody is not
Is the unknown penisula.
Beauty is nature's fact.
But witness for her land,
And witness for her sea,
The cricket is her utmost
Of elegy to me.
大地有许多个键。
旋律不存在之地
便是未知的半岛。
美乃自然的事实。
见证她的陆地，
见证她的海洋，
蟋蟀力所能及的
便是我的挽歌。
Dickinson: Two Poems
Two Poems by Emily Dickinson
狄金森诗两首
No.1551 from Dickinson's Complete Poems (Faber & Faber)
Emily Dickinson全集之1551首
Those—dying then
Knew where they went—
They went to God’s Right Hand—
That Hand is amputated now
And God cannot be found—
The abdication of Belief
Makes the Behavior small—
Better an ignis fatuss
Than no illume at all—
c. 1882
惟他们——弥留时，
知道自己往生何处——
他们趋近上帝的善举之手——
可它已被截肢，
上帝无处可寻——
信念被逊位，
行为全都渺小——
磷火虽微弱
也聊胜于没有——
1882(?)
No. 1552 from The Complete Poems
全集之1552首
Within thy grave!
Oh no, but on some other flight—
Thou only camest to mankind
To rend it with Good night—
c. 1882
在坟窟里！
啊，不，而是另一种飞行——
你们只是抵临了人性，
将它撕裂，以一声“今霄珍重”——
1882(?)
狄金森诗两首
No.1551 from Dickinson's Complete Poems (Faber & Faber)
Emily Dickinson全集之1551首
Those—dying then
Knew where they went—
They went to God’s Right Hand—
That Hand is amputated now
And God cannot be found—
The abdication of Belief
Makes the Behavior small—
Better an ignis fatuss
Than no illume at all—
c. 1882
惟他们——弥留时，
知道自己往生何处——
他们趋近上帝的善举之手——
可它已被截肢，
上帝无处可寻——
信念被逊位，
行为全都渺小——
磷火虽微弱
也聊胜于没有——
1882(?)
No. 1552 from The Complete Poems
全集之1552首
Within thy grave!
Oh no, but on some other flight—
Thou only camest to mankind
To rend it with Good night—
c. 1882
在坟窟里！
啊，不，而是另一种飞行——
你们只是抵临了人性，
将它撕裂，以一声“今霄珍重”——
1882(?)
Wednesday, June 11, 2008
Fan Jinghua: What On Earth Are the Facts About
What On Earth Are the Facts About
About the earth, we cannot learn by looking at the sky
For the light is never stable;
Neither can we look up to the reflection in our peers’ eyes,
For they could just close their eyes or turn away.
Surprise attacks of rains overflow the face of the earth,
The square, no matter encircled by what barriers,
Has nothing to evidence its magnanimity.
But on the riverbanks, March dandelions have already impregnated themselves
With the scattering May, as if they are future facts
That are coldly growing by the lake of tears.
When the navel of the earth explodes, dirty blood gushing out,
When we cry without sounds, by the walls
Which have crumbled and the foundational stones
From the last dynasty are threadbare,
What else evidences are needed to testify that the animal
Beneath the crust has always been so evil?
Do we need all those poems that eulogize it as Mother?
Do we need all those paintings that eroticize it?
Facts rub each other and superimpose, emitting no heat or vapor,
And they flow along the fissure between seasons,
Like the haze of life and death effacing on the mirror.
We, who are so accustomed to expressing ourselves through writing and reading only,
Are nothing but bare facts that take place
And are erased by later ones, buried
In our old sacks of skins, eating, drinking and having sex,
While figures of wasps haunt our visions of the square filled with kites and banners.
Our tears were once spring water, crystal clear,
But they cannot stand a night’s sound sleep.
Who can shed tears for tomorrow? That’s a backflow.
June 4, 2008
有关大地与事实的
有关大地，我们不能抬头看天，因为光线会变幻，
也不能指望同类眼睛中的折射，因为他们会闭眼。
骤雨袭来，泪流满面，缺少植被的广场毫无深沉可言。
而三月的沟堤上，蒲公英就已孕育五月的飘零，
犹如事实在发生之前就已生根在泪腺的岸边。
当大地的肚脐裂开，渗出狼藉般的血污，
当我们向隅偷哭，而倒塌的墙角下露出上一代的残垣，
我们还需要盯着怎样的证据看多久才能确信地下的温度一贯如此？
难道要依据那些反复将它赞美成母亲的诗篇？
或者那些将它涂抹得性感丰腴的画面？
事实的更替不会磨擦出热度或释放什么液体，
它们只是从四季的表面流过，如检查生死的镜面上或有的呼吸，
而我们因为习惯于阅读书写，也只会和事实一样，
发生，覆盖，回到原来的皮囊里，吃喝，做爱，
想着挑衅的身材穿插在风筝与广告的幡下。
我们的泪曾如泉涌，但经不住一夜沉睡，
谁的眼泪会为明天而流？那是倒流。
2008年6月4日
About the earth, we cannot learn by looking at the sky
For the light is never stable;
Neither can we look up to the reflection in our peers’ eyes,
For they could just close their eyes or turn away.
Surprise attacks of rains overflow the face of the earth,
The square, no matter encircled by what barriers,
Has nothing to evidence its magnanimity.
But on the riverbanks, March dandelions have already impregnated themselves
With the scattering May, as if they are future facts
That are coldly growing by the lake of tears.
When the navel of the earth explodes, dirty blood gushing out,
When we cry without sounds, by the walls
Which have crumbled and the foundational stones
From the last dynasty are threadbare,
What else evidences are needed to testify that the animal
Beneath the crust has always been so evil?
Do we need all those poems that eulogize it as Mother?
Do we need all those paintings that eroticize it?
Facts rub each other and superimpose, emitting no heat or vapor,
And they flow along the fissure between seasons,
Like the haze of life and death effacing on the mirror.
We, who are so accustomed to expressing ourselves through writing and reading only,
Are nothing but bare facts that take place
And are erased by later ones, buried
In our old sacks of skins, eating, drinking and having sex,
While figures of wasps haunt our visions of the square filled with kites and banners.
Our tears were once spring water, crystal clear,
But they cannot stand a night’s sound sleep.
Who can shed tears for tomorrow? That’s a backflow.
June 4, 2008
有关大地与事实的
有关大地，我们不能抬头看天，因为光线会变幻，
也不能指望同类眼睛中的折射，因为他们会闭眼。
骤雨袭来，泪流满面，缺少植被的广场毫无深沉可言。
而三月的沟堤上，蒲公英就已孕育五月的飘零，
犹如事实在发生之前就已生根在泪腺的岸边。
当大地的肚脐裂开，渗出狼藉般的血污，
当我们向隅偷哭，而倒塌的墙角下露出上一代的残垣，
我们还需要盯着怎样的证据看多久才能确信地下的温度一贯如此？
难道要依据那些反复将它赞美成母亲的诗篇？
或者那些将它涂抹得性感丰腴的画面？
事实的更替不会磨擦出热度或释放什么液体，
它们只是从四季的表面流过，如检查生死的镜面上或有的呼吸，
而我们因为习惯于阅读书写，也只会和事实一样，
发生，覆盖，回到原来的皮囊里，吃喝，做爱，
想着挑衅的身材穿插在风筝与广告的幡下。
我们的泪曾如泉涌，但经不住一夜沉睡，
谁的眼泪会为明天而流？那是倒流。
2008年6月4日
Kenneth Rexroth: The Love Poems of Marichiko
The Love Poems of Marichiko 摩利支子情诗选
tr. by Kenneth Rexroth 王红公
X
You wake me,
Part my thighs, and kiss me.
I give you the dew
Of the first morning of the world.
九
你弄醒我，
分开我的双腿，亲吻。
我给予你
世界初晨的朝露。
XII
Come to me, as you come
Softly to the rose bud of coals
Of my fireplace
Glowing through the night-bound forest.
十二
来吧，当你来到，
轻轻地抵达，我炉火中
热碳的玫瑰蓓蕾，
在入夜的森林熠熠生辉。
XIII
Lying in the meadow, open to you
Under the noon sun
Hazy smoke half hides
My rose petals.
十三
卧躺于草地，展开
向你，午时的艳阳下，
烟霭朦胧，我的玫瑰花瓣
欲隐欲现。
XXIII
I wish I could be
Kannon of eleven heads
To kiss you, Kannon
Of the thousand arms,
To embrace you forever.
二十三
我多想能化作
观音，有十一颗头
亲吻你，还有一千只
手臂，永永远远，
将你拥在怀中。
XXIV
I scream as you bite
My nipples, and orgasm
Drains my body, as if I
Had been cut in two.
二十四
你咬住我的乳头，我
叫出声来，高潮似水
排干了我的身子，我
似乎被切成了两片。
XXV
Your tongue thrums and moves
Into me, and I become
Hollow and blaze with
Whirling light, like the inside
Of a vast expanding pearl.
二十五
你的舌头在我的里面
拨弄游走，于是我
被掏空，通体燃烧
霍霍的光，犹如一颗
硕大的珍珠膨胀的内部。
XXVII
As I came from the
Hot bath, you took me before
The horizontal mirror
Beside the low bed, while my
Breasts quivered in your hands, my
Buttocks shivered against you.
二十七
我泡了热汤
回来，你享用了我
就在矮榻边
那面卧镜前，我的双乳
在你的把握中颤悠，
双股贴着你颤抖。
XXXI
Some day in six inches of
Ashes will be all
That's left of our passionate minds,
Of all the world created
By our love, its origin
And passing away.
三十一
终有一天，只有六寸
死灰还会残存，见证
我们热切的心，
我们的情天情地，
它的初始
它的消逝。
XXXII
I hold your head tight between
My thighs, and press against your
Mouth, and float away
Forever, in an orchid
Boat on the River of Heaven.
三十二
我紧拥你的头贴在
我双腿之间，我顶住
你的嘴，就这样随波而去，
永远，乘着兰舟
浮在天河。
XXXIII
I cannot forget
The perfumed dusk inside the
Tent of my black hair,
As we awoke to make love
After a long night of love.
三十三
怎能忘记
我黑发的帐篷下
那薰气袭人的黄昏，
爱意满溢的长夜后，
我们醒来，做爱。
tr. Fan Jinghua
Kenneth Rexroth is an interesting figure. I believe that his writing is "uniquely" influenced by his translation to the effect that his sensibility is a striding-over-the-wall type. I read this group of poems in a literary class, and was not told about the author behind them. Therefore I was led to believe that these were translations. Still, intuitively I knew that these poems in the name of a Japanese woman were "overdone," as in my understanding a Japanese woman, if writing in this form, no matter in what period, would not present the theme so unsubtle and explicit. When I found the Japanese kanji (Chinese character) of 明星 there, the name of Yosano Akiko immediately appeared in my mind. Yosano Akiko could be said to be the first woman poet with an acute sense of being female.
美国当代诗人Kenneth Rexroth（1905-1982）也许可算是一个异数吧，起初加入黑山派，后来因为和某人就Roethke罗特克的评价意见不合而离开；大部分诗歌受到自己的翻译所影响。他翻译了许多中国和日本古典诗，其中和台湾女诗人评论家钟玲合作的《李清照诗全集》以及《中国女诗人集》值得推荐。王红公是他的中文名字。这里短诗选自他的诗集The Morning Sun《明星》，一部有翻译有创作的集子。
如我读这部诗集时一样，我的翻译故意沿着诗人的意图，首先让这些诗显得是他翻译自日文的。我开始读的时候就觉得这些诗歌有点overdone（过火），后来发现其实这些诗是假冒一个不存在的日本女诗人之口写的。也许这可以构成一个很好的后殖民研究文本，一个西方男人如何想象东方（女人）。
当我第一眼看到诗题下的汉字“明星”时候，我立刻想到世纪初一份很有影响的文学杂志《明星》。这份由与谢野铁幹等主编的浪漫派杂志造就了日本第一位女性色彩奔放的诗人与谢野晶子Yosano Akiko。她的成名诗集《乱发》有很多篇都首先发表在这本杂志上。遗憾的事，由于我不懂得日文，所以虽然我根据多种版本的英文翻译转译了一百多首，却仍然不敢拿出来示人。这里的翻译没有这个问题，因为王红公也是一个假冒者。
Tuesday, June 10, 2008
Fan Jinghua: Nightly I Hear Your Voice
Nightly I Hear Your Voice
How does it come, after so many bitter fights,
that I begin to love you with a heart of clouds?
I cannot touch it.
Nightly, I hear the flakes of sound from the sky,
like a sleepless cat and a rat creaking to each other,
at the opposite sides of a back alley. This is their permanent address.
Here, broth from curbside dumpsters winds toward the centre
Like roads to Rome, and disappears.
There is whitish grease on the manhole cover.
Who is out there? Who has always been there,
hunchbacked, from dusk to dawn, till
the last star dissolves?
Feb. 3, 2008; June 8, 2008
夜夜我听到你的声音
经过了多少苦涩的挣扎
我开始能够爱你
心如一朵云，自己都无法抚摸
夜夜，我听到声音的雪片
像失眠的猫与老鼠
隔着一条巷子吱吱，而谁都不离开
巷檐下，罐子破了，浓汤
扭曲着拐向中央的低处
在窨井盖上留下一层油腻
谁在那冷处？谁一直
在那儿？驼着背，从黄昏
踱步到清晨，直到最后一颗星星隐没
2008年6月8日改写自2月3日的原作
How does it come, after so many bitter fights,
that I begin to love you with a heart of clouds?
I cannot touch it.
Nightly, I hear the flakes of sound from the sky,
like a sleepless cat and a rat creaking to each other,
at the opposite sides of a back alley. This is their permanent address.
Here, broth from curbside dumpsters winds toward the centre
Like roads to Rome, and disappears.
There is whitish grease on the manhole cover.
Who is out there? Who has always been there,
hunchbacked, from dusk to dawn, till
the last star dissolves?
Feb. 3, 2008; June 8, 2008
夜夜我听到你的声音
经过了多少苦涩的挣扎
我开始能够爱你
心如一朵云，自己都无法抚摸
夜夜，我听到声音的雪片
像失眠的猫与老鼠
隔着一条巷子吱吱，而谁都不离开
巷檐下，罐子破了，浓汤
扭曲着拐向中央的低处
在窨井盖上留下一层油腻
谁在那冷处？谁一直
在那儿？驼着背，从黄昏
踱步到清晨，直到最后一颗星星隐没
2008年6月8日改写自2月3日的原作
Thursday, June 5, 2008
Fan Jinghua: Wild Grasses
Wild Grasses
With fresh supplies of rain and fertilizer,
Wild grasses are now ashamed of their accumulated anger
Over the sudden heaviness of crumbled dikes.
Their will to survive is never
For the greening of the earth,
But for keeping themselves alive to taste air and sunshine.
Only those who bore out of the soil can be entitled
As “lives,” and the lives of theirs
Will be forgotten after a mere glimpse.
The humans know they are but wild grasses,
And if they eulogize, they are merely cheating both the grasses and themselves,
And they do so out of morality.
May 29, 2008
野草
“生命的泥委弃在地面上，不生乔木，
只生野草，这是我的罪过”——鲁迅
雨水与肥料充足
野草甚至有点羞愧于自己
因为坍塌的泥顷刻间沉重而郁积了一阵愤怒
它们的生命力
从来都不是为了绿化大地
而只是为了坚持不死
钻出来的
终于可称为生命
而生命也不过是被人看了一眼而已
我们都知道那些是野草
我们歌颂它们，只是合乎道德地自欺欺人
2008年5月29日
With fresh supplies of rain and fertilizer,
Wild grasses are now ashamed of their accumulated anger
Over the sudden heaviness of crumbled dikes.
Their will to survive is never
For the greening of the earth,
But for keeping themselves alive to taste air and sunshine.
Only those who bore out of the soil can be entitled
As “lives,” and the lives of theirs
Will be forgotten after a mere glimpse.
The humans know they are but wild grasses,
And if they eulogize, they are merely cheating both the grasses and themselves,
And they do so out of morality.
May 29, 2008
野草
“生命的泥委弃在地面上，不生乔木，
只生野草，这是我的罪过”——鲁迅
雨水与肥料充足
野草甚至有点羞愧于自己
因为坍塌的泥顷刻间沉重而郁积了一阵愤怒
它们的生命力
从来都不是为了绿化大地
而只是为了坚持不死
钻出来的
终于可称为生命
而生命也不过是被人看了一眼而已
我们都知道那些是野草
我们歌颂它们，只是合乎道德地自欺欺人
2008年5月29日
Tuesday, June 3, 2008
Fan Jinghua: Courtyard of Forgetfulness
Courtyard of Forgetfulness
The auspicious beasts on the flying eaves
Grovel on the ground: dark watchful holes.
Roof ridge, sitting on a drawn-away bench, is broken
With fragmentary fractures, upon which
A few grasses hold toward the sky one of their upper limbs.
People say that is a salute, a gesture of gratitude.
But the drooping dangling limbs, to be amputated and discarded
As refuse, are too disgusting to be acknowledged their existence.
Children of the past life scooted, bare-footed,
On the once smooth sand barnyard, the footprints
In the shape of superimposed hearts, afloat in the dammed past
As time elapses.
There, it is the smallest Eden in the ruins, mothering
Orphaned limbs.
On the broken ends of the prefabricated panels, cigarettes
Stuck onto the wires are spurting wreaths of thorny smoke.
If those masterless legs venture out of the embankments,
Rusty pricks into the flesh would not cause any tears of blood.
May 27-28, 2008
遗忘的院落
屋檐上的神兽
蛰伏在地面：洞眼，黑。
失足的屋脊，摔成了粉碎性骨折，
而几棵草坚持向天举起一只上肢，他们都说
这是敬礼；
而那垂下的，已经被截除、丢弃；
令人恶心的，谁都不承认曾经见过。
前世的孩童赤脚的欢跑，
在一个曾经平整的场院上，脚掌
挪出一块方寸
之地，在一个旧时间的院落里。
这是世间最小的乐园，如今
收养着无人认领的孤肢，
预制板一端的粗铁丝叼着一根根香烟，吐出
一圈圈荆棘。
倘若那些独立的腿脚走出去，生锈的刺
再也不会令任何人疼到流泪。
2008年5月27-29日
Note: The death toll in the Sichuan earthquake has reached 70000 now, with reported missing of about 18000. Among the buildings that crumbled into pieces, the school houses came first. On the ruins, people saw in the broken ends of the prefabricated panels some very thin iron wires, onto which even ordinary cigarettes can be stuck. People call these kind of buildings "projects of bean curd dregs."
The auspicious beasts on the flying eaves
Grovel on the ground: dark watchful holes.
Roof ridge, sitting on a drawn-away bench, is broken
With fragmentary fractures, upon which
A few grasses hold toward the sky one of their upper limbs.
People say that is a salute, a gesture of gratitude.
But the drooping dangling limbs, to be amputated and discarded
As refuse, are too disgusting to be acknowledged their existence.
Children of the past life scooted, bare-footed,
On the once smooth sand barnyard, the footprints
In the shape of superimposed hearts, afloat in the dammed past
As time elapses.
There, it is the smallest Eden in the ruins, mothering
Orphaned limbs.
On the broken ends of the prefabricated panels, cigarettes
Stuck onto the wires are spurting wreaths of thorny smoke.
If those masterless legs venture out of the embankments,
Rusty pricks into the flesh would not cause any tears of blood.
May 27-28, 2008
遗忘的院落
屋檐上的神兽
蛰伏在地面：洞眼，黑。
失足的屋脊，摔成了粉碎性骨折，
而几棵草坚持向天举起一只上肢，他们都说
这是敬礼；
而那垂下的，已经被截除、丢弃；
令人恶心的，谁都不承认曾经见过。
前世的孩童赤脚的欢跑，
在一个曾经平整的场院上，脚掌
挪出一块方寸
之地，在一个旧时间的院落里。
这是世间最小的乐园，如今
收养着无人认领的孤肢，
预制板一端的粗铁丝叼着一根根香烟，吐出
一圈圈荆棘。
倘若那些独立的腿脚走出去，生锈的刺
再也不会令任何人疼到流泪。
2008年5月27-29日
Note: The death toll in the Sichuan earthquake has reached 70000 now, with reported missing of about 18000. Among the buildings that crumbled into pieces, the school houses came first. On the ruins, people saw in the broken ends of the prefabricated panels some very thin iron wires, onto which even ordinary cigarettes can be stuck. People call these kind of buildings "projects of bean curd dregs."
Fan Jinghua: Suck of Life
Suck of Life
In seconds, the sunlit sounds of reading are gulped
Dead in an abyss, where slimy silt wells up,
Every vocal cord stiff and sticky, the tone of flesh
Evaporated, leaving behind
Only the craving and scratching creaks on the cement walls.
The earth is shrouded dark, eyes
Denied of vision, the crystal balls
Shimmering in pumping hearts.
All the used-to-bes are squeezed into one drop and it drips:
You have to live on, child! You shall not betray your mother!
Fear of the future life propels her to pray.
Now, she has to cramp her backbone and try to stop time,
While tucking her teat into the rolling mouth.
Life has to be suctioned out of the nipples of death
Whose freezing liquid crawls along her limbs.
When she is cold, the temperature of all the hearts
Suddenly drops and the flesh becomes weightless
Like pieces of plastic bags blown by a hurricane
To the fire of hell. Crimpled, shrunk,
In what heavy water and how long would they be
Soaked and rinsed,
Before their nucleus could be ignited once more?
May 25, 2008
生命的吮吸
一瞬之间，阳光的朗朗声就被深壑吞没，
绝望的淤泥涌上来，粘结了所有声带，
人的声音蒸发了肉质，只剩下撕心裂肺的挣扯。
大地一片漆黑，眼睛被剥夺了视觉，晶体的
亮点只在心底隐约地翕动，所有的曾经被挤压成
一句话：“孩子，你必须活下去；你不得背叛母亲”。
此刻，恐惧是一种祈愿，为了那无法坚持的坚持，
她将死亡的乳头塞进婴儿的口中，生命
必须被吮吸出来，从她越来越冷的体温中。
这一瞬间，所有肉长的心都急速降温、失重，
像一片片塑料膜被地狱的烈焰吸住，皱缩，
怎样的重水才会令我们再次舒展、催化我们的内核？
2008年5月25日
Note: A mother, stuck in a fallen house with her baby, cramped herself like an arch to protect the months old. She tucked her breast into the baby's mouth, apparently before death, and the baby survived on the dead mother's milk. She had an unsent message on her mobile phone: Baby, if you could survive, please remember I love you.
In seconds, the sunlit sounds of reading are gulped
Dead in an abyss, where slimy silt wells up,
Every vocal cord stiff and sticky, the tone of flesh
Evaporated, leaving behind
Only the craving and scratching creaks on the cement walls.
The earth is shrouded dark, eyes
Denied of vision, the crystal balls
Shimmering in pumping hearts.
All the used-to-bes are squeezed into one drop and it drips:
You have to live on, child! You shall not betray your mother!
Fear of the future life propels her to pray.
Now, she has to cramp her backbone and try to stop time,
While tucking her teat into the rolling mouth.
Life has to be suctioned out of the nipples of death
Whose freezing liquid crawls along her limbs.
When she is cold, the temperature of all the hearts
Suddenly drops and the flesh becomes weightless
Like pieces of plastic bags blown by a hurricane
To the fire of hell. Crimpled, shrunk,
In what heavy water and how long would they be
Soaked and rinsed,
Before their nucleus could be ignited once more?
May 25, 2008
生命的吮吸
一瞬之间，阳光的朗朗声就被深壑吞没，
绝望的淤泥涌上来，粘结了所有声带，
人的声音蒸发了肉质，只剩下撕心裂肺的挣扯。
大地一片漆黑，眼睛被剥夺了视觉，晶体的
亮点只在心底隐约地翕动，所有的曾经被挤压成
一句话：“孩子，你必须活下去；你不得背叛母亲”。
此刻，恐惧是一种祈愿，为了那无法坚持的坚持，
她将死亡的乳头塞进婴儿的口中，生命
必须被吮吸出来，从她越来越冷的体温中。
这一瞬间，所有肉长的心都急速降温、失重，
像一片片塑料膜被地狱的烈焰吸住，皱缩，
怎样的重水才会令我们再次舒展、催化我们的内核？
2008年5月25日
Note: A mother, stuck in a fallen house with her baby, cramped herself like an arch to protect the months old. She tucked her breast into the baby's mouth, apparently before death, and the baby survived on the dead mother's milk. She had an unsent message on her mobile phone: Baby, if you could survive, please remember I love you.
Dan Pagis: Ready for Parting &
Ready for Parting
[Israel] Dan Pagis (1930-86) tr. Stephen Mitchell
Ready for parting, as if my back were turned,
I see my dead come toward me, transparent and breathing.
I do not accept:
one walk around the square, one rain,
and I am another, with imperfect rims, like clouds.
Grey in the passing town, passing and glad,
among transitory streetlamps,
wearing my strangeness like a coat, I am free to stand
with the people who stand at the opening of a moment
in a chance doorway, anonymous as raindrops
and, being strangers, near the flowing one into another.
Ready for parting, waiting a while in the archway
for the signs of my life which appear in the chipped plaster
and look out from the grimy windowpane. A surprise of roses.
Bursting out and already future, twisted into its veins—
a blossoming to every wind. Perhaps
not in my own time into myself and from myself and onward
from gate within gate I will go out into the jungle of rain,
free to pass on like one who has tried his strength
I will go out
from the space in between as if from the walls of denial.
From Previous Lives
准备好分离
[以色列]丹·帕吉斯(1930-86)
准备好分离，犹如我已背对一切，
我看到我的亡者迎面走来，透明、呼吸。
我拒绝接受：
一个人绕着广场、一人在雨中，
而我是另一人，边缘残缺，如云朵。
灰沉地穿过小镇，穿过、欣慰，
在恍惚即逝的路灯下，
将陌生当风衣套在身上，可以随意与他人一道
站在一个偶然的门廊下某个时刻的开口处，
雨滴一样无名，
因为陌生而接近一颗正在向另一颗流动的水珠。
准备好分离，在拱廊下稍候片刻，
等待我生命的迹象，而它在残碎的墙皮上
从污秽的窗玻璃内张望。玫瑰的惊艳。
迸发而出便已是将来，扭曲成自己的脉纹——
在每一丝风中绽放。或许
不会在属于我的时间里开放到我体、从我体内开放，
而我将穿过门中的门走进雨的丛林，
自由投胎转世，如一个竭尽全力的人
我将走出这一过渡
空间，犹如从否认的墙壁之间走出
About the poet (from Wikipedia)
Dan Pagis (1930-1986) was an Israel poet and lecturer. Born in Bukovina in Eastern Europe, as a child he was imprisoned in a concentration camp in Ukraine, but escaped in 1944. In 1946 he arrived safely in Palestine. Eventually he taught Medieval Hebrew Literature at the Hebrew University of Jerusalem. His first published book of poetry was Sheon ha-Tsel ("The Shadow Clock") in 1959. In 1970 he published a major work entitled Gilgul - which may be translated as "Revolution, cycle, transformation, metamorphosis, metempsychosis," etc. Other poems include: "Written in Pencil in the Sealed Railway-Car," "Testimony, "Europe, Late," "Autobiography," and "Draft of a Reparations Agreement." Pagis knew many languages, and translated multiple works of literature throughout his lifetime.
因为无法做别的事，因此又想起这位从纳粹集中营逃出来的诗人，并翻译这首诗是为献给地震之难。丹·帕吉斯1930年生于东欧的Bukovina布科维纳，二战初期即被关押在乌克兰的死亡集中营，1944年他逃了出来，于1946年辗转来到巴勒斯坦，最终在耶路撒冷大学教授中世纪希伯莱文学。也许他最著名的一首诗是雕刻在波兰的Belzec贝乌热茨集中营纪念馆的碑石上的几行诗。我读的这个译本的翻译和碑石上的稍有不同：
Written in Pencil in the Sealed Railway-Car
by Dan Pagis tr. Stephen Mitchell
here in this carload
i am eve
with abel my son
if you see my other son
cain son of man
tell him i
在闷罐车厢里用铅笔写下
丹·帕吉斯 英译 斯蒂芬·密歇尔
在这一车货物中
我，夏娃
与我儿亚伯在一起
若你见到我的另一个儿子
人之子该隐
告诉他，我
这是一首破碎的令人心碎的诗。碎片，经常因为那没能活无法说出的空白而暗含着一种令人感到无助的恐慌。在这里，这首诗的标题就足以令后面能够显示出来的文字都不过是次要的了，因为题目本身已经达到了绝对的高度，任何其他文字都已经无法阐释；这正如真正悲切的诗中，一切文字都属于解释和例证，那本质的东西只能是无法诉诸言语的感受。这首诗中，在黑暗车厢中的说话人，因为与圣经中的人物同名，因此具有了一种不可指认的性质。我们无法看见她的容貌，犹如所有在地震中被掩埋的人，那些名字本身就是生命，我们不得呼出。
熟悉圣经的人都知道，该隐因为忌恨兄弟亚伯而杀死了他，成为人类最初的杀人犯。而在这首诗里，作为母亲的夏娃无法呈现出一个完整的想法，如何对那个同样是人之子的杀人犯儿子进行指责呢。这首诗的破碎所指向的张力就在于那是永远无法说出的。能够诉诸言说的悲痛是大家所感到的相同部分，也就是语言所能表述的那部分，而个体感受的（感到并承受的）却只是属于每个个体。我曾说，痛苦都是不可共约的，痛苦与痛苦无法比较，无论一个人是否有表述的能力，痛都无人能够比较谁更痛，起码语言是无法呈现其差异的。在此，我们仍然只能说，面对苦难，语言是无力的。
[Israel] Dan Pagis (1930-86) tr. Stephen Mitchell
Ready for parting, as if my back were turned,
I see my dead come toward me, transparent and breathing.
I do not accept:
one walk around the square, one rain,
and I am another, with imperfect rims, like clouds.
Grey in the passing town, passing and glad,
among transitory streetlamps,
wearing my strangeness like a coat, I am free to stand
with the people who stand at the opening of a moment
in a chance doorway, anonymous as raindrops
and, being strangers, near the flowing one into another.
Ready for parting, waiting a while in the archway
for the signs of my life which appear in the chipped plaster
and look out from the grimy windowpane. A surprise of roses.
Bursting out and already future, twisted into its veins—
a blossoming to every wind. Perhaps
not in my own time into myself and from myself and onward
from gate within gate I will go out into the jungle of rain,
free to pass on like one who has tried his strength
I will go out
from the space in between as if from the walls of denial.
From Previous Lives
准备好分离
[以色列]丹·帕吉斯(1930-86)
准备好分离，犹如我已背对一切，
我看到我的亡者迎面走来，透明、呼吸。
我拒绝接受：
一个人绕着广场、一人在雨中，
而我是另一人，边缘残缺，如云朵。
灰沉地穿过小镇，穿过、欣慰，
在恍惚即逝的路灯下，
将陌生当风衣套在身上，可以随意与他人一道
站在一个偶然的门廊下某个时刻的开口处，
雨滴一样无名，
因为陌生而接近一颗正在向另一颗流动的水珠。
准备好分离，在拱廊下稍候片刻，
等待我生命的迹象，而它在残碎的墙皮上
从污秽的窗玻璃内张望。玫瑰的惊艳。
迸发而出便已是将来，扭曲成自己的脉纹——
在每一丝风中绽放。或许
不会在属于我的时间里开放到我体、从我体内开放，
而我将穿过门中的门走进雨的丛林，
自由投胎转世，如一个竭尽全力的人
我将走出这一过渡
空间，犹如从否认的墙壁之间走出
About the poet (from Wikipedia)
Dan Pagis (1930-1986) was an Israel poet and lecturer. Born in Bukovina in Eastern Europe, as a child he was imprisoned in a concentration camp in Ukraine, but escaped in 1944. In 1946 he arrived safely in Palestine. Eventually he taught Medieval Hebrew Literature at the Hebrew University of Jerusalem. His first published book of poetry was Sheon ha-Tsel ("The Shadow Clock") in 1959. In 1970 he published a major work entitled Gilgul - which may be translated as "Revolution, cycle, transformation, metamorphosis, metempsychosis," etc. Other poems include: "Written in Pencil in the Sealed Railway-Car," "Testimony, "Europe, Late," "Autobiography," and "Draft of a Reparations Agreement." Pagis knew many languages, and translated multiple works of literature throughout his lifetime.
因为无法做别的事，因此又想起这位从纳粹集中营逃出来的诗人，并翻译这首诗是为献给地震之难。丹·帕吉斯1930年生于东欧的Bukovina布科维纳，二战初期即被关押在乌克兰的死亡集中营，1944年他逃了出来，于1946年辗转来到巴勒斯坦，最终在耶路撒冷大学教授中世纪希伯莱文学。也许他最著名的一首诗是雕刻在波兰的Belzec贝乌热茨集中营纪念馆的碑石上的几行诗。我读的这个译本的翻译和碑石上的稍有不同：
Written in Pencil in the Sealed Railway-Car
by Dan Pagis tr. Stephen Mitchell
here in this carload
i am eve
with abel my son
if you see my other son
cain son of man
tell him i
在闷罐车厢里用铅笔写下
丹·帕吉斯 英译 斯蒂芬·密歇尔
在这一车货物中
我，夏娃
与我儿亚伯在一起
若你见到我的另一个儿子
人之子该隐
告诉他，我
这是一首破碎的令人心碎的诗。碎片，经常因为那没能活无法说出的空白而暗含着一种令人感到无助的恐慌。在这里，这首诗的标题就足以令后面能够显示出来的文字都不过是次要的了，因为题目本身已经达到了绝对的高度，任何其他文字都已经无法阐释；这正如真正悲切的诗中，一切文字都属于解释和例证，那本质的东西只能是无法诉诸言语的感受。这首诗中，在黑暗车厢中的说话人，因为与圣经中的人物同名，因此具有了一种不可指认的性质。我们无法看见她的容貌，犹如所有在地震中被掩埋的人，那些名字本身就是生命，我们不得呼出。
熟悉圣经的人都知道，该隐因为忌恨兄弟亚伯而杀死了他，成为人类最初的杀人犯。而在这首诗里，作为母亲的夏娃无法呈现出一个完整的想法，如何对那个同样是人之子的杀人犯儿子进行指责呢。这首诗的破碎所指向的张力就在于那是永远无法说出的。能够诉诸言说的悲痛是大家所感到的相同部分，也就是语言所能表述的那部分，而个体感受的（感到并承受的）却只是属于每个个体。我曾说，痛苦都是不可共约的，痛苦与痛苦无法比较，无论一个人是否有表述的能力，痛都无人能够比较谁更痛，起码语言是无法呈现其差异的。在此，我们仍然只能说，面对苦难，语言是无力的。
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