Tuesday, September 30, 2008
Fan Jinghua: An Ending Was Ended on a Mountain
An ending was ended on a mountain
Could there be an accomplishment more beautifully interrupted than this,
So heightened, sacrificial and irreversible?
It is nothing posthumous or posterior that hurts him,
When no leaves reflect light any more
And an apple is hung in the cold mid-October night air.
A cave-in is waiting insidiously at the mountain foot.
He explains to himself
In French "histoire" means history and story, all that have come to pass.
At every nerve burn he backs up, like a prawn, weightless on a few space-walk steps,
As if an artist, playing with life, gloats at the Medusa gaze he creates with blood.
Crumbs on the stale palette begin to melt and stick to each other,
And a smile emerges from the water of memory.
— I remember the first time you were fallen upon when you were still a rowboat.
— Please! Why not forget?
— Oh, it’s just there, calling itself up. It has dignity and self-love stronger than mine.
— That’s weepie! Let me send you an emoticon of crying like downpour.
— Gee, my columnar cactus is blooming. I am not a pillar of salt.
— How creamy is this ice lolly! It can sail on any river.
"He has taken all the holy names in vain," he reports himself to himself,
But he is saying to the phrase "Just for you," so religiously.
He then closes his eyes, learning the way a plummet sinks into a coal well,
And one of his feet is tied to the cross on the mountaintop.
He sees his own face on the liquid love down there,
And he scoops some for his own wake or maybe her parasuicide or suttee.
September 29, 2008
一个结局被了结在山上
还能有怎样的成就比得上这样的中断？
如此高昂、献身、不可撤销。
真正能伤害他的是事后或者死后的空无，
一只苹果吊死在十月中旬后半夜的冷风中。
没有叶子反光了，
一座地陷在山脚下阴险地等待。
他对自己解释道：她
就是已经发生的一切，若用法语说，她既是历史又是故事。
每一次神经灼伤，他都会像失重的对虾一样，以太空步弹回，
他，玩命的艺术家，自满地审视着他用鲜血绘成的蛇发女妖。
调色板上，走味的碎屑开始融化、粘成一片，
一只微笑从记忆的水中浮起。
——我记得你第一次被扑倒时你还是一只小船。
——别说了！为何耿耿于怀？
——哦，不是我要记起，而是它自己唤醒自己。它的尊严与自爱比我的更强烈。
——这令我心痛！我给你发送一个泪如雨下的表情符号。
——嘿嘿，我的仙人柱开花了，我还没变成盐柱。
——这冰棍奶油多么丰富！它可以航行于任何河流。
他已妄称了所有神圣的名字。他向自己告发自己，
而他正对着这个词组说“只是为你”，祈祷一样虔诚。
然后他闭起眼，学着一只铅锤坠入煤井，
一只脚系在山顶的十字架上。
他在深处发现了液体爱情，上面映着自己的脸，
于是他舀了一瓢，为了自己的丧事，也为了她姿态性的自杀或者殉夫。
2008年9月30日
Could there be an accomplishment more beautifully interrupted than this,
So heightened, sacrificial and irreversible?
It is nothing posthumous or posterior that hurts him,
When no leaves reflect light any more
And an apple is hung in the cold mid-October night air.
A cave-in is waiting insidiously at the mountain foot.
He explains to himself
In French "histoire" means history and story, all that have come to pass.
At every nerve burn he backs up, like a prawn, weightless on a few space-walk steps,
As if an artist, playing with life, gloats at the Medusa gaze he creates with blood.
Crumbs on the stale palette begin to melt and stick to each other,
And a smile emerges from the water of memory.
— I remember the first time you were fallen upon when you were still a rowboat.
— Please! Why not forget?
— Oh, it’s just there, calling itself up. It has dignity and self-love stronger than mine.
— That’s weepie! Let me send you an emoticon of crying like downpour.
— Gee, my columnar cactus is blooming. I am not a pillar of salt.
— How creamy is this ice lolly! It can sail on any river.
"He has taken all the holy names in vain," he reports himself to himself,
But he is saying to the phrase "Just for you," so religiously.
He then closes his eyes, learning the way a plummet sinks into a coal well,
And one of his feet is tied to the cross on the mountaintop.
He sees his own face on the liquid love down there,
And he scoops some for his own wake or maybe her parasuicide or suttee.
September 29, 2008
一个结局被了结在山上
还能有怎样的成就比得上这样的中断？
如此高昂、献身、不可撤销。
真正能伤害他的是事后或者死后的空无，
一只苹果吊死在十月中旬后半夜的冷风中。
没有叶子反光了，
一座地陷在山脚下阴险地等待。
他对自己解释道：她
就是已经发生的一切，若用法语说，她既是历史又是故事。
每一次神经灼伤，他都会像失重的对虾一样，以太空步弹回，
他，玩命的艺术家，自满地审视着他用鲜血绘成的蛇发女妖。
调色板上，走味的碎屑开始融化、粘成一片，
一只微笑从记忆的水中浮起。
——我记得你第一次被扑倒时你还是一只小船。
——别说了！为何耿耿于怀？
——哦，不是我要记起，而是它自己唤醒自己。它的尊严与自爱比我的更强烈。
——这令我心痛！我给你发送一个泪如雨下的表情符号。
——嘿嘿，我的仙人柱开花了，我还没变成盐柱。
——这冰棍奶油多么丰富！它可以航行于任何河流。
他已妄称了所有神圣的名字。他向自己告发自己，
而他正对着这个词组说“只是为你”，祈祷一样虔诚。
然后他闭起眼，学着一只铅锤坠入煤井，
一只脚系在山顶的十字架上。
他在深处发现了液体爱情，上面映着自己的脸，
于是他舀了一瓢，为了自己的丧事，也为了她姿态性的自杀或者殉夫。
2008年9月30日
Monday, September 29, 2008
Fan Jinghua: Her in a Scenery
Her in a Scenery
In her lively forties, thinking of mountains and rivers,
She likes old bridges, where she leans and waits,
Sporty with a knapsack, a tripod and a plastic raincoat,
For the clearing and fading of the faint cries of southbound geese.
She visits only the most-trodden lines, for lack of company and safety.
With no one to pester and entertain her with distracting words,
All the others thinning out as unwanted noises on the view-finder,
She finds the strange landscape more familiar than acquaintances.
Many years ago when no beds were available on a mountaintop hostel,
They had to squat by a canteen wall for the sunrise-watching eve.
That was how they lose each other, when another’s camera frolicly fell into a valley.
Man, cherish the luck that fell to your hands! This happens once in a life.
It is a cruel lot that he who enjoys her as a scenery will never enjoy her everyday.
The tripod cannot be opened in crowded sites and put into use,
And the glad helps usually do not do her justice. A less spectacular sight,
If not a mere escape, is no better than big-head shots from her mobile phone.
September 25, 2008 morning
景中人
四十多岁的活泼，想着山、想着水，
可她喜欢的是那种可以依靠、可以等待的古桥，
背着运动背包、三脚架、塑料雨衣，
站在南飞的雁声中，看天空越发寥朗。
她游览的都是踩得最平的路线，因为没有游伴、更为安全。
没有人纠缠或者逗趣，听到的话都不是干扰，
所有的人都是他人，在取景框中虚化成令人烦的噪音，
而她看到的陌生风景比认识的人更加亲切。
多年之前，山顶上的旅舍没有足够的床铺，
他们在观看日出的前夜在一家餐厅的墙边蹲了一夜。
他们就这样失去了彼此，因为另一个人的相机嬉笑着掉进了深谷。
兄弟，珍惜掉进你手中的运气！这样的事，一辈子只有一次。
视她为风景的人，永远不得亲见她的日常。残酷的天意。
三脚架无法在拥挤的人群中撑开，
乐于帮助的手往往无法抓住她的神韵。
太稀松平常的风景，除了是一种逃避之外，还不如手机上的大头贴。
2008年9月29日 改写自25日上午的英文原诗
In her lively forties, thinking of mountains and rivers,
She likes old bridges, where she leans and waits,
Sporty with a knapsack, a tripod and a plastic raincoat,
For the clearing and fading of the faint cries of southbound geese.
She visits only the most-trodden lines, for lack of company and safety.
With no one to pester and entertain her with distracting words,
All the others thinning out as unwanted noises on the view-finder,
She finds the strange landscape more familiar than acquaintances.
Many years ago when no beds were available on a mountaintop hostel,
They had to squat by a canteen wall for the sunrise-watching eve.
That was how they lose each other, when another’s camera frolicly fell into a valley.
Man, cherish the luck that fell to your hands! This happens once in a life.
It is a cruel lot that he who enjoys her as a scenery will never enjoy her everyday.
The tripod cannot be opened in crowded sites and put into use,
And the glad helps usually do not do her justice. A less spectacular sight,
If not a mere escape, is no better than big-head shots from her mobile phone.
September 25, 2008 morning
景中人
四十多岁的活泼，想着山、想着水，
可她喜欢的是那种可以依靠、可以等待的古桥，
背着运动背包、三脚架、塑料雨衣，
站在南飞的雁声中，看天空越发寥朗。
她游览的都是踩得最平的路线，因为没有游伴、更为安全。
没有人纠缠或者逗趣，听到的话都不是干扰，
所有的人都是他人，在取景框中虚化成令人烦的噪音，
而她看到的陌生风景比认识的人更加亲切。
多年之前，山顶上的旅舍没有足够的床铺，
他们在观看日出的前夜在一家餐厅的墙边蹲了一夜。
他们就这样失去了彼此，因为另一个人的相机嬉笑着掉进了深谷。
兄弟，珍惜掉进你手中的运气！这样的事，一辈子只有一次。
视她为风景的人，永远不得亲见她的日常。残酷的天意。
三脚架无法在拥挤的人群中撑开，
乐于帮助的手往往无法抓住她的神韵。
太稀松平常的风景，除了是一种逃避之外，还不如手机上的大头贴。
2008年9月29日 改写自25日上午的英文原诗
Huang Jingren: At Year-End, Missing Friends 12
At Year-End, Missing Friends
Huang Jingren (1749-1783 Qing Dynasty)
In the 44th year of Qianlong Reign (1779), when Huang Jingren had been in Beijing as a low-rank official for a few years, he wrote a group of twenty poems. The first one should be read as an opening piece, which was not addressed to any particular one, while each of the rest was written for a specific friend or teacher.
No. 12 (of 20)
I miss most the moonlight creeping in to your thatched house;
By the lake, there are shadows of sails moving
On the bamboo curtains.
I learn you have been living in Hangzhou for five years,
Therefore, every time I dream, I dream of the West Lake,
And that is how I see you.
Chinese Original 汉语原诗
岁暮怀人（二十之十二）
黄景仁
绝忆君家草堂月，往来帆影动帘纹。
知君五载杭州住，一梦西湖一见君。
岁year 暮dusk 怀miss 人man
绝absolute 忆miss 君you 家home 草thatch 堂hall 月moon(light)
往come 来go 帆sail 影shadow 动move 帘curtain 纹pattern
知know 君you 五five 载year 杭州Hangzhou 住live
一one 梦dream 西湖West Lake 一one 见see 君you
I like the juxtaposition of the sail shadows and the curtain patterns. Obviously, we can assume that the patterns on the curtains are not a landscape into which the sails can be well integrated. Therefore, the different times and spaces create apparent confliction in the visual effect, but it is this superimposition that represents quite stunningly the dream-effect. In order to highlight this contrast, I translate the curtain into bamboo curtain, which was very probable.
我最喜欢这首诗中的第二句。我们显然可以假定帘子上的图案不可能刚好就是山水风景，而船帆的影子刚好能够有机地融进去，因此这就产生了一种看似矛盾的视觉图像。船帆在不该出现的空间出现了。 因此我将帘子翻译成了竹帘，是为了突出这种矛盾并置。这种视觉的矛盾恰恰能够最大程度地表现出一种梦幻感，而这正是整首诗的旨趣所在。
Back-translation into Contemporary Chinese 现代汉语回译：
年末，怀念友人（十二）
我最怀念那月光，蔓延进入你的草屋，
湖边，有船帆的影子移动
在你家的竹帘上。
我得知你已经在杭州住了五年了，
所以我每次做梦，我都梦见西湖，
我就是这样才见到你。
Huang Jingren (1749-1783 Qing Dynasty)
In the 44th year of Qianlong Reign (1779), when Huang Jingren had been in Beijing as a low-rank official for a few years, he wrote a group of twenty poems. The first one should be read as an opening piece, which was not addressed to any particular one, while each of the rest was written for a specific friend or teacher.
No. 12 (of 20)
I miss most the moonlight creeping in to your thatched house;
By the lake, there are shadows of sails moving
On the bamboo curtains.
I learn you have been living in Hangzhou for five years,
Therefore, every time I dream, I dream of the West Lake,
And that is how I see you.
Chinese Original 汉语原诗
岁暮怀人（二十之十二）
黄景仁
绝忆君家草堂月，往来帆影动帘纹。
知君五载杭州住，一梦西湖一见君。
岁year 暮dusk 怀miss 人man
绝absolute 忆miss 君you 家home 草thatch 堂hall 月moon(light)
往come 来go 帆sail 影shadow 动move 帘curtain 纹pattern
知know 君you 五five 载year 杭州Hangzhou 住live
一one 梦dream 西湖West Lake 一one 见see 君you
I like the juxtaposition of the sail shadows and the curtain patterns. Obviously, we can assume that the patterns on the curtains are not a landscape into which the sails can be well integrated. Therefore, the different times and spaces create apparent confliction in the visual effect, but it is this superimposition that represents quite stunningly the dream-effect. In order to highlight this contrast, I translate the curtain into bamboo curtain, which was very probable.
我最喜欢这首诗中的第二句。我们显然可以假定帘子上的图案不可能刚好就是山水风景，而船帆的影子刚好能够有机地融进去，因此这就产生了一种看似矛盾的视觉图像。船帆在不该出现的空间出现了。 因此我将帘子翻译成了竹帘，是为了突出这种矛盾并置。这种视觉的矛盾恰恰能够最大程度地表现出一种梦幻感，而这正是整首诗的旨趣所在。
Back-translation into Contemporary Chinese 现代汉语回译：
年末，怀念友人（十二）
我最怀念那月光，蔓延进入你的草屋，
湖边，有船帆的影子移动
在你家的竹帘上。
我得知你已经在杭州住了五年了，
所以我每次做梦，我都梦见西湖，
我就是这样才见到你。
Huang Jingren: At the Year-End, Missing Friends 1
At the Year-End, Missing Friends
Huang Jingren (1749-1783 Qing Dynasty)
In the 44th year of Qianlong Reign (1779), when Huang Jingren had been in Beijing as a low-rank official for a few years, he wrote a group of twenty poems. The first one should be read as an opening piece, which was not addressed to any particular one, while each of the rest was written for a specific friend or teacher.
No 1 (of 20)
Icy rain flogs the window, and wind snakes in,
Scissoring the flame heart of the lamp into unstable forks.
I try a deep voice on a new poem in the flickering fire from the earthen pan,
To see whether I myself can be moved.
At this hour, to what can I compare my loved friends?
Scattered stars in the morning, wild geese fading at dusk.
Note:
The allusion of 拥鼻吟 pinching the nostrils to recite a poem refers to a story in Jin Chronicles. There was a poet called Xie An谢安, whose recitation of poems was very touching. It turned out that he had an ailment of nose, and his voice was quite nasal. Therefore, many people tried to pinch their noses to imitate him. And Ouyang Xiu欧阳修 once wrote a line “one guest pinches his nose to recite the bitter coldness of the poem.” Therefore, the allusion used here is to suggest the emotional power of the poem.
拥鼻吟，说的是《晋书·列传第四十九·谢安》所记故事。谢安吟诵诗文效果非常好，因为他的鼻子有病，所以声音浑厚低沉。时人为了模仿他，故意捏着鼻子。欧阳修曾有诗句：有客拥鼻吟苦寒。因此，拥鼻吟只要意指诗歌的情感浓度。
Chinese Original 汉语原诗
岁暮怀人（二十之一）
黄景仁
打窗冻雨剪灯风，拥鼻吟残地火红。
寥落故人谁得似，晓天星影暮天鸿。
岁year 暮dusk 怀miss 人man
黄景仁
打beat 窗window 冻frozen 雨rain 剪scissor 灯lamp 风wind
拥hold 鼻nose 吟recite 残broken 地earth 火fire 红red
寥few 落fall 故acquainted 人man 谁who 得can 似similar
晓morning 天sky 星star 影shadow 暮dusk 天sky 鸿swan goose
Back-translation into Contemporary Chinese 现代汉语回译：
年末，怀念友人
冰冷的雨抽打窗子，
风潜入屋里，油灯的火心被剪裂了，摇曳不定。
地炉的火苗或高或低，我试着用低沉的嗓音吟诵一首新诗，
看看我自己是否能被打动。
在这样的时辰，我能将我的好友们比作什么？
清晨寥落的星星，在黄昏暗淡的雁影。
风潜入屋里，油灯的火心被剪裂了，摇曳不定。
地炉的火苗或高或低，我试着用低沉的嗓音吟诵一首新诗，
看看我自己是否能被打动。
在这样的时辰，我能将我的好友们比作什么？
清晨寥落的星星，在黄昏暗淡的雁影。
Sunday, September 28, 2008
Fan Jinghua: Ariadne’s Mindscape
Ariadne’s Mindscape
This walnut boat winding through twists and turns is a pair of lips half-open
Wind irrigating the gorge tucks their call close to the ripples around the stern
Like a draught over the mirror evaporating the moisture on the lips in the depth
Whose will after it wedges through the gaping gate becomes erect and unstoppable
I crouch in the bilge and look upward the strip of sky between two precipitous cliffs
Rushes me with a glare of blue a solitary pine standing on the top like a legendary lady
Waiting for her lover stretches out a thousand hands titillating the bellyband of the sky dome
On the shady wall dwarf jujubes hold their dark silhouettes perfectly still
My keel is grown into my front when I sail it rips through a gullet of frigid liquid
Like a surfing kite plowing the still water into the Milky Way clouds
But on my tailbone the water-skiing reins are tied unleashing infectious fishy droplets
Over my father’s labyrinth polis an enceinte crisscrossing with streams and mountains
You are the motorboat dashing into my father’s womb like a giant sperm
And in the boudoir I crouch and become the bilge because I am sea-sick all the time
阿里亚德涅的心城风景
转过九曲十八弯 我的小木船 是一对半启的唇
风 自峡口灌入 将一声呼唤紧压在船尾的水面
如流过镜面的穿堂风蒸发着镜底双唇上的湿润
它的意志坚挺 挤入微开的门后 一往无前
我蹲伏在船心 翘首 悬崖夹紧的一线天
泻下炫目的悠远 一棵松树伫立在崖顶
撑开一千只手搔弄蓝天 犹如传说中的期盼
背阴的崖壁上 几株低矮的野枣树撑持着剪影
剖开一汪阴冷的液体 我长在腹下的龙骨
像一只冲浪的风筝 将止水犁出银河中的云朵
而我的尾骨却系着滑水的缰绳 身后飘着水珠
于是我父亲的迷宫之城腥味弥漫 这山水阡陌的王国
你驾着摩托艇 像一只精虫冲进我父亲的子宫
深闺中的我 因为晕船而蹲伏成船心 自始至终
注：阿里亚德涅Ariadne，古希腊神话中她对英雄忒修斯Theseus一见钟情，以线团助他走出她父亲的迷宫，后随他而去，旋即被弃。
2005年10月8日星期六
This poem was written after my memory about a tour in Lesser Three Gorges a few years ago. The Chinese version was published in Taiwan Poetry (Forum No 2, 2006). For me, this poem is about the stereo-type power relation between Father-hero and daughter.
该诗是我根据自己前些年游览小三峡的记忆而写成的，汉语版刊登在《台湾诗学·论坛二号·领土浮出》（2006年3月）。与我个人而言，这首诗写的是传统的“父亲-英雄-主角”与女儿的权力关系。
后面附有严忠政先生的评论文字，有关段落如下：
希腊式的英雄走向毁灭，往往有其个性中独特的缺憾，或者道德上的瑕疵。[作者]的《阿里亚德涅的心城风景》，其心城（心象）由“小木船；半启的唇”、“（坚挺挤入）微开的门后；悬崖夹紧的一线天”、“一千只手搔弄蓝天；传说中的期盼”一一组成“风景”，途中风景也多所指涉，在歧义中带出繁复意象。随其出走，逐步建构的是欢愉过后的悲剧，徒留“迷宫之城腥味弥漫”。
This walnut boat winding through twists and turns is a pair of lips half-open
Wind irrigating the gorge tucks their call close to the ripples around the stern
Like a draught over the mirror evaporating the moisture on the lips in the depth
Whose will after it wedges through the gaping gate becomes erect and unstoppable
I crouch in the bilge and look upward the strip of sky between two precipitous cliffs
Rushes me with a glare of blue a solitary pine standing on the top like a legendary lady
Waiting for her lover stretches out a thousand hands titillating the bellyband of the sky dome
On the shady wall dwarf jujubes hold their dark silhouettes perfectly still
My keel is grown into my front when I sail it rips through a gullet of frigid liquid
Like a surfing kite plowing the still water into the Milky Way clouds
But on my tailbone the water-skiing reins are tied unleashing infectious fishy droplets
Over my father’s labyrinth polis an enceinte crisscrossing with streams and mountains
You are the motorboat dashing into my father’s womb like a giant sperm
And in the boudoir I crouch and become the bilge because I am sea-sick all the time
阿里亚德涅的心城风景
转过九曲十八弯 我的小木船 是一对半启的唇
风 自峡口灌入 将一声呼唤紧压在船尾的水面
如流过镜面的穿堂风蒸发着镜底双唇上的湿润
它的意志坚挺 挤入微开的门后 一往无前
我蹲伏在船心 翘首 悬崖夹紧的一线天
泻下炫目的悠远 一棵松树伫立在崖顶
撑开一千只手搔弄蓝天 犹如传说中的期盼
背阴的崖壁上 几株低矮的野枣树撑持着剪影
剖开一汪阴冷的液体 我长在腹下的龙骨
像一只冲浪的风筝 将止水犁出银河中的云朵
而我的尾骨却系着滑水的缰绳 身后飘着水珠
于是我父亲的迷宫之城腥味弥漫 这山水阡陌的王国
你驾着摩托艇 像一只精虫冲进我父亲的子宫
深闺中的我 因为晕船而蹲伏成船心 自始至终
注：阿里亚德涅Ariadne，古希腊神话中她对英雄忒修斯Theseus一见钟情，以线团助他走出她父亲的迷宫，后随他而去，旋即被弃。
2005年10月8日星期六
This poem was written after my memory about a tour in Lesser Three Gorges a few years ago. The Chinese version was published in Taiwan Poetry (Forum No 2, 2006). For me, this poem is about the stereo-type power relation between Father-hero and daughter.
该诗是我根据自己前些年游览小三峡的记忆而写成的，汉语版刊登在《台湾诗学·论坛二号·领土浮出》（2006年3月）。与我个人而言，这首诗写的是传统的“父亲-英雄-主角”与女儿的权力关系。
后面附有严忠政先生的评论文字，有关段落如下：
希腊式的英雄走向毁灭，往往有其个性中独特的缺憾，或者道德上的瑕疵。[作者]的《阿里亚德涅的心城风景》，其心城（心象）由“小木船；半启的唇”、“（坚挺挤入）微开的门后；悬崖夹紧的一线天”、“一千只手搔弄蓝天；传说中的期盼”一一组成“风景”，途中风景也多所指涉，在歧义中带出繁复意象。随其出走，逐步建构的是欢愉过后的悲剧，徒留“迷宫之城腥味弥漫”。
Fan Jinghua: Uneasy Seasons
Uneasy Seasons
四季不安
I
for L
Leaves are fawning on the breeze
to make an advance;
dews are forming on their back
from the dampness on the stem from the earth.
The far North straightens a face
of dignified gloom, and threatens a sleet.
Easterly wind is hijacked by the catkin
and croaks are bloated. The drum of dream tattoos
on both ends. Lotus elbows, lotus shins, sharp bamboo shoots.
Eager lips of flower-buds open to drones and hums.
Voiceless, jade-green deepens,
and the forked garden path closes in and thickens.
The vernal. Aches cherishable.
A naturalness we both fake.
叶子妩媚了脸
预支夏季；
叶子的背面
凝结着茎根的寒气。
低远的北方眼神阴沉，且理所当然，
还偶尔堆砌雪的威胁。
东风被柳絮驾驭了，
胀满蛙声。梦的鼓从两头敲响。
莲藕的胳膊、莲藕的腿、竹笋如针。
花苞的唇向着嗡嗡声轻启。
绿色一声不吭，由浅入深。
园中的小径开始阴暗而狭窄。
春。疼与爱惜。
我们都故作自然。
II
for G
High above the contour of faraway hills,
between the summer blue and the horizon
a burning distance holds.
Pavilions of clouds. Stillness. A guiding dog,
tongue stuck out, leads a drifter plowing along
the ancient road. The blades of grasses
shimmer, and devil horses raise high their saws.
The parting is not perfected, as the file of white birds
is not gilded. The whole afternoon, behind the veils
of mosquitoes, the birds have been drilling
their aerobatic flight through the strips of dead space
between the water, the treetop, the skyline and their reflections.
Now, darkness is wedging into the afterglow and depth of visions
will anchor onto a beach beyond my eyes’ reach.
远山的高远处，
夏季的蓝与地平线之间
停放着一段灼热的距离。
云朵的驿站。凝滞。古道上，
旅人的导盲犬吐着舌头，停停走走。
草叶守持着修长的光，螳螂
高举锯齿。离别还没有圆满，
一行白色大鸟仍没镀上金辉。整个下午，
它们一直在蚊虫的面纱后
操练特技，穿越水面、树梢、天际
以及它们倒影夹击的窄门。
此刻，黑暗正侧身
切入晚霞，景深将搁浅在一片沙滩，
我目力不逮。
III
for K
A duet on the terrace thins to a recitative on the couch,
leaves have cleared their palms, their veins carving
a low relief on the steps. The wind, nibbling,
(that always comes a little earlier than it should)
begin to stock eggs of insects and summer warmth.
In the afterglow, sesame stalks smile, silvery, like
beacons rising on the Gobi, ancient battle cries muffled.
Wider becomes the sky and clearer the night.
All the distances are classic.
Campfires. Wolf eyes. Sparse stars.
A person under the desk light, bearing on his back
his own shadow, stretches his index finger
to draw the outline of another,
the open pages glazed with maple scarlet.
露台上的咏叹调单薄成榻前的宣叙曲。
叶子虚空了，脉络分明，
在阶前贴着浮雕。蚕食的风
（啊，它总是来得稍早了一点）
开始积存虫卵与岁月。
夕阳下的芝麻秆释放着银玲的笑，
戈壁上竖起狼烟，古战场的厮杀静默无声。
天空因此杳阔、夜色因此稀薄。
所有的距离都再次古典。
篝火。狼的眼睛。星斗渐远。
灯下的人背负着背影
用食指在桌面上
画另一个人的轮廓。
翻开的书页上有枫叶的光泽。
IV
for T
The Winter Solstice. Autumn winds blow on the other bank
of the Milky Way. Girls have all shown fat.
Diogenes’ bedclothes are cold and stiff. Tonight,
who will warm up his back, with her breasts and abdomen?
Who will add firewood and not make his eyes smart? After sunrise,
who will bring a cup of coffee to his study so that she could rub
her reddish cheeks against his rugged hands? Who will keep
his writing brushes clean and shiny, with the moist black hair
hanging down abreast on his staff, like a set of stilettos
safely sheathed? From the concave inkstone floats
the aroma of wisdom, and indistinct lines on the blotting paper
let loose a waterfall onto a screen of bamboos. There
should be twelve green frogs, twenty-four pearly breasts, and
a square seal on the bottom of a bowl: Diogenes the Great Dog.
Oct. 2004, Jan. 2005
冬至。秋风到了银河对岸。
姑娘们开始显膘。
洪七公的衾被冷硬似铁。
今夜谁以乳房和小腹为他暖背？
谁为火盆添柴而不让他流泪？
明晨，谁会借口送一杯咖啡
到他的书房，以便用潮红的脸摩擦
他嶙峋的手背？谁让他的毛笔
湿润而伏贴，黑油油的笔头
齐刷刷地倒挂在打狗棍上，如短刀入鞘？
砚池散发着香，宣纸上墨线若隐若现
勾勒出一泻飞瀑，落入竹林屏风。那儿应有
十二只绿背青蛙，二十四颗乳房珠圆玉润，
以及瓷钵底部一枚残缺的印章：丐帮至尊。
2004年10月2005年1月
The Chinese version was published
in Peking University Annual Poetry Anthology 2005
中文版题为《四季歌》发表于《北大年选诗歌卷2005》
(Beijing: Peking University Press, 2006)
四季不安
I
for L
Leaves are fawning on the breeze
to make an advance;
dews are forming on their back
from the dampness on the stem from the earth.
The far North straightens a face
of dignified gloom, and threatens a sleet.
Easterly wind is hijacked by the catkin
and croaks are bloated. The drum of dream tattoos
on both ends. Lotus elbows, lotus shins, sharp bamboo shoots.
Eager lips of flower-buds open to drones and hums.
Voiceless, jade-green deepens,
and the forked garden path closes in and thickens.
The vernal. Aches cherishable.
A naturalness we both fake.
叶子妩媚了脸
预支夏季；
叶子的背面
凝结着茎根的寒气。
低远的北方眼神阴沉，且理所当然，
还偶尔堆砌雪的威胁。
东风被柳絮驾驭了，
胀满蛙声。梦的鼓从两头敲响。
莲藕的胳膊、莲藕的腿、竹笋如针。
花苞的唇向着嗡嗡声轻启。
绿色一声不吭，由浅入深。
园中的小径开始阴暗而狭窄。
春。疼与爱惜。
我们都故作自然。
II
for G
High above the contour of faraway hills,
between the summer blue and the horizon
a burning distance holds.
Pavilions of clouds. Stillness. A guiding dog,
tongue stuck out, leads a drifter plowing along
the ancient road. The blades of grasses
shimmer, and devil horses raise high their saws.
The parting is not perfected, as the file of white birds
is not gilded. The whole afternoon, behind the veils
of mosquitoes, the birds have been drilling
their aerobatic flight through the strips of dead space
between the water, the treetop, the skyline and their reflections.
Now, darkness is wedging into the afterglow and depth of visions
will anchor onto a beach beyond my eyes’ reach.
远山的高远处，
夏季的蓝与地平线之间
停放着一段灼热的距离。
云朵的驿站。凝滞。古道上，
旅人的导盲犬吐着舌头，停停走走。
草叶守持着修长的光，螳螂
高举锯齿。离别还没有圆满，
一行白色大鸟仍没镀上金辉。整个下午，
它们一直在蚊虫的面纱后
操练特技，穿越水面、树梢、天际
以及它们倒影夹击的窄门。
此刻，黑暗正侧身
切入晚霞，景深将搁浅在一片沙滩，
我目力不逮。
III
for K
A duet on the terrace thins to a recitative on the couch,
leaves have cleared their palms, their veins carving
a low relief on the steps. The wind, nibbling,
(that always comes a little earlier than it should)
begin to stock eggs of insects and summer warmth.
In the afterglow, sesame stalks smile, silvery, like
beacons rising on the Gobi, ancient battle cries muffled.
Wider becomes the sky and clearer the night.
All the distances are classic.
Campfires. Wolf eyes. Sparse stars.
A person under the desk light, bearing on his back
his own shadow, stretches his index finger
to draw the outline of another,
the open pages glazed with maple scarlet.
露台上的咏叹调单薄成榻前的宣叙曲。
叶子虚空了，脉络分明，
在阶前贴着浮雕。蚕食的风
（啊，它总是来得稍早了一点）
开始积存虫卵与岁月。
夕阳下的芝麻秆释放着银玲的笑，
戈壁上竖起狼烟，古战场的厮杀静默无声。
天空因此杳阔、夜色因此稀薄。
所有的距离都再次古典。
篝火。狼的眼睛。星斗渐远。
灯下的人背负着背影
用食指在桌面上
画另一个人的轮廓。
翻开的书页上有枫叶的光泽。
IV
for T
The Winter Solstice. Autumn winds blow on the other bank
of the Milky Way. Girls have all shown fat.
Diogenes’ bedclothes are cold and stiff. Tonight,
who will warm up his back, with her breasts and abdomen?
Who will add firewood and not make his eyes smart? After sunrise,
who will bring a cup of coffee to his study so that she could rub
her reddish cheeks against his rugged hands? Who will keep
his writing brushes clean and shiny, with the moist black hair
hanging down abreast on his staff, like a set of stilettos
safely sheathed? From the concave inkstone floats
the aroma of wisdom, and indistinct lines on the blotting paper
let loose a waterfall onto a screen of bamboos. There
should be twelve green frogs, twenty-four pearly breasts, and
a square seal on the bottom of a bowl: Diogenes the Great Dog.
Oct. 2004, Jan. 2005
冬至。秋风到了银河对岸。
姑娘们开始显膘。
洪七公的衾被冷硬似铁。
今夜谁以乳房和小腹为他暖背？
谁为火盆添柴而不让他流泪？
明晨，谁会借口送一杯咖啡
到他的书房，以便用潮红的脸摩擦
他嶙峋的手背？谁让他的毛笔
湿润而伏贴，黑油油的笔头
齐刷刷地倒挂在打狗棍上，如短刀入鞘？
砚池散发着香，宣纸上墨线若隐若现
勾勒出一泻飞瀑，落入竹林屏风。那儿应有
十二只绿背青蛙，二十四颗乳房珠圆玉润，
以及瓷钵底部一枚残缺的印章：丐帮至尊。
2004年10月2005年1月
The Chinese version was published
in Peking University Annual Poetry Anthology 2005
中文版题为《四季歌》发表于《北大年选诗歌卷2005》
(Beijing: Peking University Press, 2006)
Fan Jinghua: Tonight I Want to Want No Want
Tonight I Want to Want No Want
… love, as an act, lacks a verb (Joseph Brodsky)
Tonight, Shulamite, there is something swirling in the air
Worming in my body down and up and down like a greater cycle of energy
Whirling in my heart more than just a startled butterfly or a demure deer…
Can you feel can you smile can you dream can you hear?
Something crawling along a slope of the silk band like a flash of light,
Something that stretches and reaches to connect
Like a kite flying into the sky and a paper boat sailing on the river,
And this may be me, longing to hold you with you in and out of my limbs….
Tonight, my mind takes forms in its own eyes, of circles and ovals and elliptical arches.
Tonight, Shulamite, my soul, my heart, my will and mind have
Become a symbiosis of a thousand arms
That brushes, strokes, grazes and sluices all over you,
All over your forms and curves, your topography that is
Soft or firm, velvety or hairy, buoyant or composed,
From earlobe to nape down to the collarbone and back, resuming
In your bosom and between the breasts, canopying, coupling and weighing…
Ten thousand tactile fingers and their intangible touches
Stir up the nerve ends of the myriad things and sweep away
All the impediments to make you try to understand and attain,
And in the still flow of the air tonight, Shulamite,
You are a song that becomes, that is, that sings no words or tune,
You are not a song that lies down like a nude or a zither,
You are not to be heard through words or sound.
Tonight, Shulamite, you become you only in the way you are loved by me,
And tonight I am you. I am the pain you are suffering, Shulamite.
If there is a form, in form I am in you, in you I am formed.
A form so concrete that it will become abstract, known only by you and me.
If there is knowing, in you I know, when I am known in you
By you and by myself. A knowledge that only words can contain.
Tonight, Shulamite, if there is want, I have a want to want no want.
Dec. 2007
March 1-3, 2008
The following Chinese version is much different from the English version.
The Chinese version was written after the English version one week later.
今夜，我只有语言之艳不再有物体之欲
今夜，书拉密，我心尖的肉，空气中一股暗流在悬荡弥漫
从我身体的低沉处如炊烟之袅袅而又沉降，在我的肉身中运行着大周天
魔瓶中的精灵再次钻入瓶心，在那独自生长的景致中如惊起的蝴蝶与安详的麋鹿
这是三月的南方……远方的你
能否感到风的移动、如风一般微笑、梦如缓流穿过你、而声音如风过耳？
宇宙之寥廓在一面彩色丝带的斜坡上如一道亮光的滚动
河水从夕阳中流过来，像一只蜡纸的龙风筝摆动着尾巴进入明朝的画卷
今夜，我拥着你，我没有手臂没有肩膀没有胸膛，你没有身体没有曲线与圆浑……
我的心思是彼此交叉的形状映衬着漆黑的背景
无数的圆圈彼此黏结，拉成了椭圆与各种果实的外形与香气，我的心思
在它自己的眼界变幻飘飞，如皂泡浮在桃花绽放的三月
今夜，我的书拉密，我没有出窍的灵、我没有失落的魂魄、我柔中带刚的意志与信念
你是渗入我久坐而麻木的肉体中的神经，你是我无法感受到的肌腱
我生出一千只手按照各自的大调小调如珠玉滚落在你的身上，摩挲、抚摸、揉碾
如牛舌捋过青草戴花的发梢、如靶子划过解冻的春土、如水流冲倒小河闸两侧的香附子
今夜，我的爱欲沿着所有自然的生态，紧贴、萦绕、穿透而不纠缠
以空空的把握溜过你身体的所有地貌
无论柔软还是坚挺、无论光洁如象牙还是茸毛如丝绒
无论轻佻如马驹临风还是静娴如母牛向晚
从你的耳垂到颈背、沿途而下转入你的锁骨、折返，继续
在你胸怀的山隘、峡谷与山颠之上如雁阵的投影秋去春回
如是，冬季的冷硬在遥远的紧张中期待着炎夏的烈日带着荫翳袭来
一万只能够感触的指头带着一万只无法感触的抚摸
将你兜底捞起，犹如从淤泥中拔出一株莲藕
忽然的阳光照在水珠滚滑的凝脂上，藕节的交接处淋淋漓漓
所有的岁月失去了比例，一如所有的感官没有秩序
周身的世界中万物的神经末梢被唤起，粘连其上的五色屏障被清扫
你平躺如水的静止流淌，忘记何谓理解、何谓抵达
在今夜的时间暗流中转入一个漩涡，如晕厥
书拉密，你是一首正在形成的骊歌，没有词没有旋律，没有我
你只是拥有一个旋转、你只是那个旋转
你我都不能听见亦不能被倾听，不能说出亦不能被表达
今夜，你在远方，我在远方的远方，然而我们相遇、交合在词语中
如一只太极球内部那水乳交融从不停歇的变幻，阴阳两极、四季性情彼此渗透
我在你的形状中成形，你的形状因我而存在，具体得如此抽象，惟有你我能够体识
我在你的体识中知识，你的体识因我的知识而存在，惟有语言能够蕴含
今夜，如果世间还有欲求，我将欲求不再有欲求，只要语言的艳欲浓缩于你的名字
将我占有，书拉密！将我包裹、将我充满、令我窒息到惟见你的一线之光！
2008年3月10日
Friday, September 26, 2008
Du Mu: To Celebrate the New Year at Huzhou
To Celebrate the New Year at Huzhou with Scholar Li Ying
Du Mu (803-853 Tang Dynasty)
Merry-making needs a right time and the time is now too late,
Drinking should be accompanied with songs and songs fail us.
A thousand peaks of dusky mountains are shrouded in green shades,
One brook of ice-cold water is visibly deep and limpid.
The people who have transcended the mundane are busy with getting drunk,
Nothing in this floating world can achieve a fame as solid as making poems.
It can be seen that the sprouts of duckweeds are sure to bloom soon,
Isn’t the visit better than walking when it is done by a snow-covered rowboat?
Note:
The place "Lake South" (Hunan) should be Huzhou (Lake Prefecture) in Zhejiang, where Li Ying also wrote about in a poem. Li Ying's poem recorded the time of their meeting as the Winter Solstice (December 21, 22 or 23), therefore in this poem the Chinese New Year (at least in late January) meeting is rendered in the future tense. Another place name in the poem is "white duckweed," which may also refer to the White Duckweed Bar or White Duckweed Pavilion. Du Mu used this as a pun. Du was a cousin of another great Late Tang poet Li Shangyin, while Li Shangyin had also written a poem about Li Ying’s going to Suzhou.
按：
标题中的湖南应当是浙江的湖州，李郢自己也曾写到了这件事，只是和这首诗中所说的时间稍有出入。李郢所记的时间是冬至，因此将这首诗的“招”翻译成一种将来的状态。这里的白苹当指白苹洲或者白苹洲上的白苹亭，然而杜牧用了个双关。杜牧是李商隐的表哥，李商隐与这位李郢的关系显然很不错，这反映在他写的《汴上送李郢之苏州》中。
Original Chinese poem by Du Mu:
湖南正初招李郢秀才
杜牧
行乐及时时已晚，对酒当歌歌不成。
千里暮山重叠翠，一溪寒水浅深清。
高人以饮为忙事，浮世除诗尽强名。
看著白苹芽欲吐，雪舟相访胜闲行。
Word-to-word Exegesis:
湖lake南south正January初first招treat李郢Li Ying秀才county-level exam passer
杜Du牧Mu
行make 乐merry 及seize 时time 时time 已already 晚late
对in front of 酒wine 当should 歌sing 歌sing 不not 成accomplish
千thousand里li (half a km) 暮dusk 山mountain 重double 叠multiple 翠green
一one 溪brook 寒cold 水water 浅shallow 深deep 清clear
高high 人man 以take…饮drinking 为as 忙busy 事thing
浮floating 世world 除except 诗poetry 尽all 强forced 名fame
看著look at 白white 苹duckweed 芽sprout 欲about to 吐shoot
雪snow 舟boat 相访to meet 胜better 闲idle 行walk
Pronunciation:
湖hu2南nan2正zheng4初chu1招zhao1李li3郢ying3秀xiu4才cai
杜牧
行xing2 乐le4 及ji1 时shi2 时shi2 已yi3 晚wan3
对dui4 酒jiu3 当dang1 歌ge1 歌ge1 不bu1 成cheng2
千qian1 里li3 暮mu4 山shan1 重chong2 叠die2 翠cui4
一yi1 溪xi1 寒han2 水shui3 浅qian3 深shen1 清qing1
高gao1 人ren2 以yi3 饮yin3 为wei4 忙mang2 事shi4
浮fu2 世shi 除chu2 诗shi1 尽jin4 强qiang2 名ming2
看kan4 著zhe 白bai2 苹ping2 芽ya2 欲yu4 吐tu3
雪xue3 舟zhou1 相xiang1 访fang3 胜sheng4 闲xian2 行xing2
Some points to make about this poem. The opening couplet contains the repetition of one word (one sound) that brings a rhythmic pause to each line. The pause obviously achieves its purpose. The last three words of the following two lines are not usual in that they are three individual characters juxtaposed. Therefore, they are alos read slowlier than the usual 1+2 or 2+1 phrasal structure. The fifth and sixth lines reflect the poet's state of mind and his socio-political context. Part of the reason for the ingenuity and exquisiteness in Late Tang poetry may be because by that time poets did not enjoy the status of social advocate. Therefore, the last two lines appear to be a desire to escape from the society.
喜欢这首诗的原因有技术上的也有主题上的。首联中的叠字造成了一种哽噎般的声音效果，显然从声音到意思上都比较到位。颔联两行的最后三个字都是单个字的并置，这与通常的1+2或者2+1的组合不一样，读法上也要求一个字一个字地嘣出来。因此，重叠翠和浅深清便从字面上很形象地表现了词义。颈联反映的不仅是诗人本身的心态，而且也反映出晚唐的社会政治风貌，因此晚唐诗歌的精致凄美实在也是因为诗人们本身无法救世、社会抱负与理想难以实现的结果（行乐时已晚）。尾联无论是白苹的双关还是雪舟相访的用典都暗示了一种逃避。
Back-translation into Contemporary Chinese 当代汉语回译：
将在湖州与学者李郢共度新年
寻欢作乐需要合适的时间，而现在为时已晚，
喝酒应当有歌声相伴，而我们无法唱出。
暮色苍茫的群山千座山峰都被不同的绿色笼罩，
一溪冰寒的水有清晰可见的深与清澈。
那些超越了俗常的人们正忙于喝醉，
这浮世别无什么能够像做诗一样取得实在的名声。
可以看出白苹的芽儿不久定会开花，
难道乘着被雪覆盖的小船拜访你不比步行更好？
将在湖州与学者李郢共度新年
寻欢作乐需要合适的时间，而现在为时已晚，
喝酒应当有歌声相伴，而我们无法唱出。
暮色苍茫的群山千座山峰都被不同的绿色笼罩，
一溪冰寒的水有清晰可见的深与清澈。
那些超越了俗常的人们正忙于喝醉，
这浮世别无什么能够像做诗一样取得实在的名声。
可以看出白苹的芽儿不久定会开花，
难道乘着被雪覆盖的小船拜访你不比步行更好？
Thursday, September 25, 2008
Fan Jinghua: The Waning Crescent
The Waning Crescent
(To X)
Then, let’s too talk about the stars since they should be there all the time,
Especially when the moon is dwindled, gone and deserted.
There are things we grow to learn, and about them
Less and less we utter as we learn.
The easy part is to shrug off people’s inconstancy
As if it’s the moon’s.
After all, the festival is over and it rises later and later.
Evaluation is the spectator’s sport.
If you really need it to stay longer in your life, you can always
Sacrifice some sleep to engrave it in your mind and transcribe on paper.
Remember to tell someone that you have been staying up late,
Therefore, there is something you can share.
Not the fat, full round moon, but
A slim smile and a few stars.
September 25, 2008
细月
To X
既然月亮细了、去了、被人忘了，
那么，我们也就谈星星好了，它们应该是一直在天际的。
我们是学着一些事情长大的，越学
也就越难多说什么。
最容易做到的反而是耸耸肩，看淡人们的无信，
正如月有阴晴圆缺。
说到底，节日过后，月亮越升越迟；
而众星捧月的抬举是参与者的游戏。
如果你真的要它在你的生活中更长久一些，你总可以
牺牲一点睡眠，将它铭刻在你的脑子里，转化成文字。
然后记得告诉谁，说你最近总是迟睡，
所以你才有得分享。
不是那肥胖的圆鼓鼓的月亮，而是
一线微笑，几颗星星。
2008年9月25日
(To X)
Then, let’s too talk about the stars since they should be there all the time,
Especially when the moon is dwindled, gone and deserted.
There are things we grow to learn, and about them
Less and less we utter as we learn.
The easy part is to shrug off people’s inconstancy
As if it’s the moon’s.
After all, the festival is over and it rises later and later.
Evaluation is the spectator’s sport.
If you really need it to stay longer in your life, you can always
Sacrifice some sleep to engrave it in your mind and transcribe on paper.
Remember to tell someone that you have been staying up late,
Therefore, there is something you can share.
Not the fat, full round moon, but
A slim smile and a few stars.
September 25, 2008
细月
To X
既然月亮细了、去了、被人忘了，
那么，我们也就谈星星好了，它们应该是一直在天际的。
我们是学着一些事情长大的，越学
也就越难多说什么。
最容易做到的反而是耸耸肩，看淡人们的无信，
正如月有阴晴圆缺。
说到底，节日过后，月亮越升越迟；
而众星捧月的抬举是参与者的游戏。
如果你真的要它在你的生活中更长久一些，你总可以
牺牲一点睡眠，将它铭刻在你的脑子里，转化成文字。
然后记得告诉谁，说你最近总是迟睡，
所以你才有得分享。
不是那肥胖的圆鼓鼓的月亮，而是
一线微笑，几颗星星。
2008年9月25日
Wednesday, September 24, 2008
Fan Jinghua: Enigma
Enigma
As a call from inside asks to be refused, it makes itself on standby,
But no one can breathe out face to face the potion unwittingly taken in dreams.
Waiting, therefore, makes time elapse without errors
And makes thoughts revert to thinking, like a sunflower and a whirlpool.
What, except for waiting and presence, can separate those
Who keep each other’s resemblance from the past half of life?
The eye-glint behind a startle is the real abyss
Which only abyssal eyes can sail and fly in.
A knife becomes the blade when it ceases to exist after a flash
And finds a thruway for wind in the narrowest fissure between bones.
What a scythe bearer leaves behind in the post-harvest field
Is the only worthy gift for lovers who embrace in fetchlights.
The luring memory of being remembered lubricates our rabbets into the night,
But what else matters, except for beauty and the feeling of heartache?
September 24, 2008
谜
当呼唤动于内而祈求自己被拒绝，它便永远待命，
可是没有人会面对面地呼出在梦中误服的媚药。
因此，等待使得时间毫无差错地流逝，
使得思绪返回到思考，犹如一朵向日葵或者漩涡。
如果我们将彼此前半身的样子贮存于记忆，
那么除了等待与现身，还有什么能将我们分开？
在惊恍背后闪烁的眼光是真正的深渊，
只有深渊般的眼睛才能在那儿航行并飞翔。
如果一把刀在骨头之间最窄的缝隙中发现风的坦途，
在一闪之后不复存在，它便成为真正的刃。
肩负镰刀者沉默地消失在收获季节后的田野，
为拥抱在磷火幽光中的情侣留下惟一值得的礼物。
被人记住是多么诱惑的记忆，润滑着我们进入黑夜的槽口，
而我们如果有了美与疼痛的感觉，夫复何求？
2008年9月24日
As a call from inside asks to be refused, it makes itself on standby,
But no one can breathe out face to face the potion unwittingly taken in dreams.
Waiting, therefore, makes time elapse without errors
And makes thoughts revert to thinking, like a sunflower and a whirlpool.
What, except for waiting and presence, can separate those
Who keep each other’s resemblance from the past half of life?
The eye-glint behind a startle is the real abyss
Which only abyssal eyes can sail and fly in.
A knife becomes the blade when it ceases to exist after a flash
And finds a thruway for wind in the narrowest fissure between bones.
What a scythe bearer leaves behind in the post-harvest field
Is the only worthy gift for lovers who embrace in fetchlights.
The luring memory of being remembered lubricates our rabbets into the night,
But what else matters, except for beauty and the feeling of heartache?
September 24, 2008
谜
当呼唤动于内而祈求自己被拒绝，它便永远待命，
可是没有人会面对面地呼出在梦中误服的媚药。
因此，等待使得时间毫无差错地流逝，
使得思绪返回到思考，犹如一朵向日葵或者漩涡。
如果我们将彼此前半身的样子贮存于记忆，
那么除了等待与现身，还有什么能将我们分开？
在惊恍背后闪烁的眼光是真正的深渊，
只有深渊般的眼睛才能在那儿航行并飞翔。
如果一把刀在骨头之间最窄的缝隙中发现风的坦途，
在一闪之后不复存在，它便成为真正的刃。
肩负镰刀者沉默地消失在收获季节后的田野，
为拥抱在磷火幽光中的情侣留下惟一值得的礼物。
被人记住是多么诱惑的记忆，润滑着我们进入黑夜的槽口，
而我们如果有了美与疼痛的感觉，夫复何求？
2008年9月24日
Fan Jinghua: Inseparable
Inseparable
It is always loud on the corridor. The world outside can only conveys a necessity
For calmness and concentration, or breeze-like domesticity.
At the threshold, I see two soles on the arm of a couch. You lie supine on him.
I see a Renaissance pouch at his crotch under your splayed legs.
I say: Don’t move! The wind is coming.
The wind squeezes in through the window, but the wall is hard and slippery.
No matter how it tries to suck, the wind cannot hold up.
It falls down to the foot of the wall, and regaining its foot, it finds no one around.
So it drifts away, crestfallen and piqued.
I follow two steps, hesitate for three seconds, and halt myself before two pairs of eyes.
Then I turn around, bolt upright, hands against legs, and fall back through your body into his.
Below the eaves, the clouds are running horses along the edge of the sky.
You sneak a tap at the pouch, cover it with your palm, and smile a cunning smile.
You ask: are you here all this while or just back?
September 23, 2008
不可开交
走廊太吵，外面的世界只能传达冷静的必要、凝思的必要，
或者家居的如风过耳。
我在门槛外看到沙发的手臂上有两只脚板。你将自己仰放在他身上。
我看到你岔开的腿下他的腿裆鼓起文艺复兴时代的包。
我说：别动，风来了。
风从窗缝里挤进来，墙面又硬又滑；任它死命地吸，也挂不住。
风摔落在墙根。爬起来，四顾无人，它便一个人
离开了，忿忿的，悻悻的。
我跟着走了两步，然后，迟疑了三秒，站定在你们的眼前；
然后我转身，双手垂在大腿两侧，像一根大螺栓
向后倒下，透过你，跌进了他仰卧在沙发里的身体中。
屋檐外，云，如一列马在天际奔跑。
你弹了一下那个包，偷偷捂住，脸上闪着一面坏笑。
你问道：你一直在，还是刚刚回来？
2008年9月23-24日
It is always loud on the corridor. The world outside can only conveys a necessity
For calmness and concentration, or breeze-like domesticity.
At the threshold, I see two soles on the arm of a couch. You lie supine on him.
I see a Renaissance pouch at his crotch under your splayed legs.
I say: Don’t move! The wind is coming.
The wind squeezes in through the window, but the wall is hard and slippery.
No matter how it tries to suck, the wind cannot hold up.
It falls down to the foot of the wall, and regaining its foot, it finds no one around.
So it drifts away, crestfallen and piqued.
I follow two steps, hesitate for three seconds, and halt myself before two pairs of eyes.
Then I turn around, bolt upright, hands against legs, and fall back through your body into his.
Below the eaves, the clouds are running horses along the edge of the sky.
You sneak a tap at the pouch, cover it with your palm, and smile a cunning smile.
You ask: are you here all this while or just back?
September 23, 2008
不可开交
走廊太吵，外面的世界只能传达冷静的必要、凝思的必要，
或者家居的如风过耳。
我在门槛外看到沙发的手臂上有两只脚板。你将自己仰放在他身上。
我看到你岔开的腿下他的腿裆鼓起文艺复兴时代的包。
我说：别动，风来了。
风从窗缝里挤进来，墙面又硬又滑；任它死命地吸，也挂不住。
风摔落在墙根。爬起来，四顾无人，它便一个人
离开了，忿忿的，悻悻的。
我跟着走了两步，然后，迟疑了三秒，站定在你们的眼前；
然后我转身，双手垂在大腿两侧，像一根大螺栓
向后倒下，透过你，跌进了他仰卧在沙发里的身体中。
屋檐外，云，如一列马在天际奔跑。
你弹了一下那个包，偷偷捂住，脸上闪着一面坏笑。
你问道：你一直在，还是刚刚回来？
2008年9月23-24日
Tuesday, September 23, 2008
Fan Jinghua: One Take
One Take
His flirtation is step-by-step as prescribed in a high-taste mag,
andante cantabile, working well,
and my approach and retreat is on foot’s horse.
Undressing is not much embarrassment, and he is good
at letting on some form of gasp. No strangely new postures.
On top, by side, and by turns. Taking turns mean equality.
This system generates its own supply and demand circle.
When his tool withdraws, for the last time, and his body is still on me,
a disgust is crawling from some corner of the room. He catches it,
knowing it’s better to leave as soon as possible, as mutually expected.
A descent farewell takes nothing from the scene and leaves nothing behind.
I open the window, wrap up in a bathrobe, and squeeze a mug of fruit juice,
coolness splaying inside, warmth sticky on the pane.
September 22, 2008
一次性
他的调情按部就班，一切节奏行板如歌，
可预料的受用；我的送迎
安步当车。我们都来自高品位的杂志。
宽衣解带，他善于流露出一种粗气
和一丝可感的局促，花样
不算新奇，上下左右，轮换意味着平等。
这一切有自生的空缺与填满。
等到他那工具最终抽出，身体虽未抽离，我已感到
一种厌恶正在某个墙角爬。他也立即明白，
自己应该理所当然地快速离开。
得体的告别，怎么来，怎么走。
我，开窗，裹上浴衣，倒了一杯果汁，
凉，在体内岔开，温，黏在窗外。
2008年9月23日
His flirtation is step-by-step as prescribed in a high-taste mag,
andante cantabile, working well,
and my approach and retreat is on foot’s horse.
Undressing is not much embarrassment, and he is good
at letting on some form of gasp. No strangely new postures.
On top, by side, and by turns. Taking turns mean equality.
This system generates its own supply and demand circle.
When his tool withdraws, for the last time, and his body is still on me,
a disgust is crawling from some corner of the room. He catches it,
knowing it’s better to leave as soon as possible, as mutually expected.
A descent farewell takes nothing from the scene and leaves nothing behind.
I open the window, wrap up in a bathrobe, and squeeze a mug of fruit juice,
coolness splaying inside, warmth sticky on the pane.
September 22, 2008
一次性
他的调情按部就班，一切节奏行板如歌，
可预料的受用；我的送迎
安步当车。我们都来自高品位的杂志。
宽衣解带，他善于流露出一种粗气
和一丝可感的局促，花样
不算新奇，上下左右，轮换意味着平等。
这一切有自生的空缺与填满。
等到他那工具最终抽出，身体虽未抽离，我已感到
一种厌恶正在某个墙角爬。他也立即明白，
自己应该理所当然地快速离开。
得体的告别，怎么来，怎么走。
我，开窗，裹上浴衣，倒了一杯果汁，
凉，在体内岔开，温，黏在窗外。
2008年9月23日
Huang Jingren: Autumn Night
Autumn Night
Huang Jingren (1749-1783 Qing Dynasty)
Empty, empty is the cassia hall,
where the water clock becomes stagnant,
and we, separated, know
the same autumn heart and bosom.
Oh, how happy you are, heavenly lovers,
Able to meet once a year, but for whom
do I stand alone, deep into the dewy night?
My heart is a lotus seed,
growing a bitter core,
my sorrow, a spring silkworm
wrapped in unbreakable threads.
The secluded orchid flowers have withered
before I could give up, and in this life
no way have we to ease the ache for love.
秋夕
[清] 黄景仁
桂堂寂寂漏声迟，
一种秋怀两地知。
羡儿女牛逢隔岁，
为谁风露立多时？
心如莲子常含苦，
愁似春蚕未断丝。
判逐幽兰共颓化，
此生无分了相思。
Pronunciation:
秋qiu1夕xi1
[清] 黄景仁
桂gui4 堂tang2 寂ji4 寂ji4 漏lou4 声sheng1 迟chi2
一yi1 种zhong3 秋qiu1 怀huai2 两liang3 地di4 知zhi1
羡xian4 儿er3 女nv3 牛niu2 逢feng2 隔ge2 岁sui4
为wei4 谁shei2 风feng1 露lu4 立li4 多duo1 时shi2
心xin1 如ru2 莲lian2 子zi3 常chang2 含han2 苦ku3
愁chou2 似si4 春chun1 蚕can2 未wei4 断duan4 丝si1
判pin1 逐zhu2 幽you1 兰lan2 共gong1 颓tui2 化hua4
此ci3 生sheng1 无wu2 分fen4 了liao3 相xiang1 思si1
Word-by-word exegesis
秋autumn夕night
[清] 黄Huang景仁Jingren
桂cassia堂hall寂寂empty, silent漏water clock声sound迟stagnant, slow
一one种kind秋autumn怀bosom, heart两two地place知know
羡admire儿you女maiden, Vega牛cowherd, Altair逢meet隔separate岁year
为for谁whom风wind露dew立stand多how时long？
心heart如alike莲lotus子seed常often含contain苦bitter
愁sorrow似comparable春spring蚕silkworm未not断break丝thread
判give up逐pursue幽secluded兰orchid共together 颓wither化dissolve
此this生life无no分share, part了satisfy相思lovesickness, mutual thoughts
Allusions:
The allusion of “cassia hall” is from one of Li Shangyin’s untitled poem, which reads “Last night’s star, last night’s wind, west of the painted pavilion, east of the cassia hall.”
The allusion of “spring silkworm” is from another of Li Shangyin’s untitled poem, which reads “The spring silkworm’s thread will only end when death comes; the candle will dry its tears until it turns to ashes.”
The word “lotus seed” is pronounced the same as “dote on you,” which becomes popular since the Music Bureau. And the lotus seed is then a metaphor for the bitterness in a heart.
桂堂：用典自李商隐《无题》：“昨夜星辰昨夜风，花楼西畔桂堂东”。
春蚕：用典自李商隐《无题》：“春蚕到死丝方尽，蜡炬成灰泪始干”。
莲子：自南朝乐府开始便常谐音“怜子”，以莲心喻人心之苦。
判：同“拼”，指舍弃、不顾惜。
About the author:
Huang Jingren (1749-1783), with a style name of Zhongze, was a resident of Wujin, Jiangsu. Huang Jingren said that his family were descendants from the great poet calligrapher Huang Tingjian (1045-1105) in Song Dynasty. He was orphaned at 4, and had reportedly written a couplet “one night rain in the river, fifth watch coldness on the pavilion” at nine. He took the lowest imperial examination at 16 and was the first among 3000 examinee. At 19 he married a girl from Zhao family, and from then he travelled to various parts of China to seek offices in order to support his family. At 28, in the 41st year of Qianlong Reign (1776), he was judged as the second for the nationwide competition, and then he was granted a low rank office in the capital in Beijing. However, when the family joined him, he found the salary was too meager. Four years later, he had to send his family back to the hometown. In 1783, he tried to join Shannxi Provincial governor in Xi’an, but fell ill in Yuncheng Shanxi. He died a premature death at 35.
黄景仁（1749-1783），字仲则，江苏常州武进人，自称是黄庭坚后人，祖籍江西，南渡后安家武进。四岁丧父，九岁写出“江头一夜雨，楼上五更寒”的佳句。十六岁童子试，三千人中名列第一。十九岁娶赵氏。其后为了养家，坎坷颠沛一生。二十三岁本可随安徽学政朱筠去京，但因母老未能同行；二十八岁，乾隆四十一年（1776），遂各省士子去天津献诗，考取二等，获授小官，随接家眷到北京。无奈俸禄太低，无法养家，三十二岁将家眷送回南方。三十五岁，想投靠陕西巡抚，体弱多病的他却在运城病故，随身衣物典当一尽，只有零篇断章狼藉几案。
Back-translation into Contemporary Chinese回译成现代汉语：
秋夜
空寂，空寂的桂堂中，
水漏变得迟滞，
相隔两地，我们体会的是
同一种秋怀秋心。
啊，你们多么幸福啊，天上的情侣，
一年还能得以一见，但是又是为谁
我独自伫立，在含露的深夜？
我的心是一粒莲子，
长了一颗苦心，
我的悲愁是春蚕一只，
裹缠着难以割断的丝线。
那幽隐的兰花已经凋谢
在我放弃之前，可这一生
我们有何能耐抚慰爱情之痛。
Huang Jingren (1749-1783 Qing Dynasty)
Empty, empty is the cassia hall,
where the water clock becomes stagnant,
and we, separated, know
the same autumn heart and bosom.
Oh, how happy you are, heavenly lovers,
Able to meet once a year, but for whom
do I stand alone, deep into the dewy night?
My heart is a lotus seed,
growing a bitter core,
my sorrow, a spring silkworm
wrapped in unbreakable threads.
The secluded orchid flowers have withered
before I could give up, and in this life
no way have we to ease the ache for love.
秋夕
[清] 黄景仁
桂堂寂寂漏声迟，
一种秋怀两地知。
羡儿女牛逢隔岁，
为谁风露立多时？
心如莲子常含苦，
愁似春蚕未断丝。
判逐幽兰共颓化，
此生无分了相思。
Pronunciation:
秋qiu1夕xi1
[清] 黄景仁
桂gui4 堂tang2 寂ji4 寂ji4 漏lou4 声sheng1 迟chi2
一yi1 种zhong3 秋qiu1 怀huai2 两liang3 地di4 知zhi1
羡xian4 儿er3 女nv3 牛niu2 逢feng2 隔ge2 岁sui4
为wei4 谁shei2 风feng1 露lu4 立li4 多duo1 时shi2
心xin1 如ru2 莲lian2 子zi3 常chang2 含han2 苦ku3
愁chou2 似si4 春chun1 蚕can2 未wei4 断duan4 丝si1
判pin1 逐zhu2 幽you1 兰lan2 共gong1 颓tui2 化hua4
此ci3 生sheng1 无wu2 分fen4 了liao3 相xiang1 思si1
Word-by-word exegesis
秋autumn夕night
[清] 黄Huang景仁Jingren
桂cassia堂hall寂寂empty, silent漏water clock声sound迟stagnant, slow
一one种kind秋autumn怀bosom, heart两two地place知know
羡admire儿you女maiden, Vega牛cowherd, Altair逢meet隔separate岁year
为for谁whom风wind露dew立stand多how时long？
心heart如alike莲lotus子seed常often含contain苦bitter
愁sorrow似comparable春spring蚕silkworm未not断break丝thread
判give up逐pursue幽secluded兰orchid共together 颓wither化dissolve
此this生life无no分share, part了satisfy相思lovesickness, mutual thoughts
Allusions:
The allusion of “cassia hall” is from one of Li Shangyin’s untitled poem, which reads “Last night’s star, last night’s wind, west of the painted pavilion, east of the cassia hall.”
The allusion of “spring silkworm” is from another of Li Shangyin’s untitled poem, which reads “The spring silkworm’s thread will only end when death comes; the candle will dry its tears until it turns to ashes.”
The word “lotus seed” is pronounced the same as “dote on you,” which becomes popular since the Music Bureau. And the lotus seed is then a metaphor for the bitterness in a heart.
桂堂：用典自李商隐《无题》：“昨夜星辰昨夜风，花楼西畔桂堂东”。
春蚕：用典自李商隐《无题》：“春蚕到死丝方尽，蜡炬成灰泪始干”。
莲子：自南朝乐府开始便常谐音“怜子”，以莲心喻人心之苦。
判：同“拼”，指舍弃、不顾惜。
About the author:
Huang Jingren (1749-1783), with a style name of Zhongze, was a resident of Wujin, Jiangsu. Huang Jingren said that his family were descendants from the great poet calligrapher Huang Tingjian (1045-1105) in Song Dynasty. He was orphaned at 4, and had reportedly written a couplet “one night rain in the river, fifth watch coldness on the pavilion” at nine. He took the lowest imperial examination at 16 and was the first among 3000 examinee. At 19 he married a girl from Zhao family, and from then he travelled to various parts of China to seek offices in order to support his family. At 28, in the 41st year of Qianlong Reign (1776), he was judged as the second for the nationwide competition, and then he was granted a low rank office in the capital in Beijing. However, when the family joined him, he found the salary was too meager. Four years later, he had to send his family back to the hometown. In 1783, he tried to join Shannxi Provincial governor in Xi’an, but fell ill in Yuncheng Shanxi. He died a premature death at 35.
黄景仁（1749-1783），字仲则，江苏常州武进人，自称是黄庭坚后人，祖籍江西，南渡后安家武进。四岁丧父，九岁写出“江头一夜雨，楼上五更寒”的佳句。十六岁童子试，三千人中名列第一。十九岁娶赵氏。其后为了养家，坎坷颠沛一生。二十三岁本可随安徽学政朱筠去京，但因母老未能同行；二十八岁，乾隆四十一年（1776），遂各省士子去天津献诗，考取二等，获授小官，随接家眷到北京。无奈俸禄太低，无法养家，三十二岁将家眷送回南方。三十五岁，想投靠陕西巡抚，体弱多病的他却在运城病故，随身衣物典当一尽，只有零篇断章狼藉几案。
Back-translation into Contemporary Chinese回译成现代汉语：
秋夜
空寂，空寂的桂堂中，
水漏变得迟滞，
相隔两地，我们体会的是
同一种秋怀秋心。
啊，你们多么幸福啊，天上的情侣，
一年还能得以一见，但是又是为谁
我独自伫立，在含露的深夜？
我的心是一粒莲子，
长了一颗苦心，
我的悲愁是春蚕一只，
裹缠着难以割断的丝线。
那幽隐的兰花已经凋谢
在我放弃之前，可这一生
我们有何能耐抚慰爱情之痛。
Monday, September 22, 2008
Fan Jinghua: An Autumn Sketch
An Autumn Sketch
This chair is meant for two, and I sit on it alone,
most of it untaken. Here in a park,
there will be no one in prospect to take up the other end,
for people may go in and out of the same space
and let the same used air come in and out of them,
but not likely share the concrete recess in front of a tree.
I mobilize one leg away from the ground, and it sits toward me
almost as high as I, so we are two people on a tryst.
Beyond the lawn, container trucks are exhibiting
a moving wall of advertisement segmented between poles of firs.
They stand so tall as if they have always been so proud, never looking
down or back, that its ascension into the sky becomes fiercely frail.
I stand up on the chair and find myself in a meadow
divided and contained by serpentine jogger’s paths.
September 22, 2008
秋日素描
这张双人椅，我一个人坐着，
留空一大半。在公园，不太会有人
来占据那空出的一端。
人们可以进进出出于同一片空间，
让反复使用过的空气进进出出于彼此，
却努力避免在同一张水泥椅子上实实在在地休憩。
我将一条腿从地面上搬上来，于是
它靠向我，几乎与我一样高，我们像两个幽会的人。
草坪的边际，杉树排出一个柱廊，
之外，集装箱卡车展示着活动的广告墙。
那么高的杉树啊，它们似乎一直如此骄傲，从不
低头、从不回顾，向天空的窜升透出凶猛的脆弱。
我也站了起来，发现自己周围是一片绿草，
被刷上黄色脚印的慢跑道蜿蜒地分割、紧紧地包围。
2008年9月22日
This chair is meant for two, and I sit on it alone,
most of it untaken. Here in a park,
there will be no one in prospect to take up the other end,
for people may go in and out of the same space
and let the same used air come in and out of them,
but not likely share the concrete recess in front of a tree.
I mobilize one leg away from the ground, and it sits toward me
almost as high as I, so we are two people on a tryst.
Beyond the lawn, container trucks are exhibiting
a moving wall of advertisement segmented between poles of firs.
They stand so tall as if they have always been so proud, never looking
down or back, that its ascension into the sky becomes fiercely frail.
I stand up on the chair and find myself in a meadow
divided and contained by serpentine jogger’s paths.
September 22, 2008
秋日素描
这张双人椅，我一个人坐着，
留空一大半。在公园，不太会有人
来占据那空出的一端。
人们可以进进出出于同一片空间，
让反复使用过的空气进进出出于彼此，
却努力避免在同一张水泥椅子上实实在在地休憩。
我将一条腿从地面上搬上来，于是
它靠向我，几乎与我一样高，我们像两个幽会的人。
草坪的边际，杉树排出一个柱廊，
之外，集装箱卡车展示着活动的广告墙。
那么高的杉树啊，它们似乎一直如此骄傲，从不
低头、从不回顾，向天空的窜升透出凶猛的脆弱。
我也站了起来，发现自己周围是一片绿草，
被刷上黄色脚印的慢跑道蜿蜒地分割、紧紧地包围。
2008年9月22日
Sunday, September 21, 2008
Fan Jinghua: Love Hurt
Love Hurt
There is a big tree on the lake;
It is a cool bedsheet of shade.
Gazing at it, I feel ashamed for the desire
To smear it and kill myself there, in you.
My suicide is to exhaust my sperms into you.
But how could I defile and hurt you
and not bring you lasting pain?
Who can tell of the water’s agony
When a boat cleaves a path through its surface?
When I am dead, who can convince you
That your wrinkles are achingly beautiful
For I have been there?
The tree on the lake face reestablishes itself in the night;
No one will see its calmness under the water.
September 21, 2008
爱伤
湖面上有一棵大树，
一张阴影的大床单，那么清凉。
我看着它，便想贴着它，精尽，
羞耻从低处上升，人亡，
下沉，死在你的体内。
可是，如何污秽你、伤害你
才能不给你带来难消的痛楚？
当一只船刺破水面，谁去
诉说水的剧痛？
当我死了，长成了你的皱纹，
谁会令你信服
你的皱纹美得令人心疼？
落在湖面的那棵树，在黑夜，重新展开
无人看见的宁静，在水底。
2008年9月21日
There is a big tree on the lake;
It is a cool bedsheet of shade.
Gazing at it, I feel ashamed for the desire
To smear it and kill myself there, in you.
My suicide is to exhaust my sperms into you.
But how could I defile and hurt you
and not bring you lasting pain?
Who can tell of the water’s agony
When a boat cleaves a path through its surface?
When I am dead, who can convince you
That your wrinkles are achingly beautiful
For I have been there?
The tree on the lake face reestablishes itself in the night;
No one will see its calmness under the water.
September 21, 2008
爱伤
湖面上有一棵大树，
一张阴影的大床单，那么清凉。
我看着它，便想贴着它，精尽，
羞耻从低处上升，人亡，
下沉，死在你的体内。
可是，如何污秽你、伤害你
才能不给你带来难消的痛楚？
当一只船刺破水面，谁去
诉说水的剧痛？
当我死了，长成了你的皱纹，
谁会令你信服
你的皱纹美得令人心疼？
落在湖面的那棵树，在黑夜，重新展开
无人看见的宁静，在水底。
2008年9月21日
Fan Jinghua: Sense of Cleanness
Sense of Cleanness
The fact is
what your closed eyes can see is a hidden pain, softer
than what a hand can touch.
Yet, you are still willing to believe
when you press your fingers against your temples
the distant one may be appeased.
This, has become a habit.
Therefore, black fat balloons
scrape by a broken lampshade on the post in the black night and then
they float away into nothingness.
Nothing is broken. No smell of burning.
But you frown,
for the imaginary distinct odor.
Imagination, you know, is like
A kite or an intimate word, a joy that echoes in your heart
and surrenders to no words.
If it is not bound with a red tape of love and shame,
it is a bad thought.
At this thought, he flashes into your mind,
again, but you tell yourself
he does not know.
The beach beneath the pedestal of your desklamp, no matter how sunny,
is no place for you to sunbathe.
You need a coconut tree, a big boulder, a big bath towel.
You need more than
turning back to those bare chests and backs.
When you step out of the shade, you pave a path for your soles,
with your unspoken words, and shove your toes
into the warm sand.
The blue sky and white clouds are too luxuriously expansive,
and you only need to keep very little to your own.
Venus, your mons is a pure delight to the eyes
of a wandering singer, who is gleeful
even when repenting.
Its beauty is like a blossom on a papal staff,
and you have never seen it, not even in a mirror.
You have heard of his name as a poet and lover and a saint.
You have a phobia for crawling insects, especially the reptiles
and smooth-skinned amphibians,
so you’d like to perch on a round bed
at the center of an incensed room.
You have not left your third-floor boudoir window since mid-spring,
for at the end of the alley downstairs there
live a Chinese date tree and a phoenix tree.
The flowering season has gone, but your face,
in bud, is waiting for the stars
to descend and visit your dream.
The white silk handkerchief you use to bind hair has red flowers,
and black waves shimmer on your untied hair.
You always feel a little ashamed for having a pair of small breasts,
like many vain women.
September 18-20, 2008
你，净洁的
其实，你闭着眼睛看到的
是更柔软的隐痛。那绝不是伸手可及的。
可你还是愿意觉得
如果你用手指压着自己的太阳穴，
就抚慰了远方的人；
这，已成了习惯。
于是，胖嘟嘟的黑色气球
从破的路灯罩上刮了一下，离开了，
飘进了黑夜的虚无。
什么都没有破，也没有焦味，
可你却锁着眉心，
为了想象中奇异的味道。
想象，你在心中自语，
犹如风筝，或一个亲密的字眼，一种喜悦
在胸内回响却绝不向任何文字投降。
如果不系上爱与羞耻的红线，它便是
恶念。
紧接着，他又闪过你的脑子，但你暗自说
他不知。
你台灯圣坛下的海滩，阳光多么明媚啊，
可你需要一棵椰子树、一块大岩石、一条大浴巾。
你需要背对所有裸露的后背或胸膛。
然后，你将自言自语铺在眼前，弓着脚心
走出阴凉，将脚尖插入温暖的细沙……
蓝天白云太奢侈了，你只要一点点存在心中。
维纳斯，你的小丘饱满。凝视的人
在事后的忏悔时
还有点心动。
你听说过那个传奇的流浪歌手，一个情圣，一个圣徒，
只是你从没见过它隆起的美
以及教皇权杖上的花朵。
你从小就害怕爬虫，尤其恐惧
粘滑的两栖生物，
所以你惯于在熏香的楼上叠床架屋。
从仲春开始，你就不曾离开过三楼的窗户，
因为巷子尽头住着一棵枣树
和一棵梧桐。
如今已过了细碎的花期，你满脸还是
矜持的苞蕾，等待着星星下凡。
当你松开那条红花素底的真丝手绢，你乌黑的长发
便有点波浪了；你将它拢到胸前，
因为你一直有点羞于乳房娇小，犹如
很多虚荣的女人。
2008年9月18-20日
The fact is
what your closed eyes can see is a hidden pain, softer
than what a hand can touch.
Yet, you are still willing to believe
when you press your fingers against your temples
the distant one may be appeased.
This, has become a habit.
Therefore, black fat balloons
scrape by a broken lampshade on the post in the black night and then
they float away into nothingness.
Nothing is broken. No smell of burning.
But you frown,
for the imaginary distinct odor.
Imagination, you know, is like
A kite or an intimate word, a joy that echoes in your heart
and surrenders to no words.
If it is not bound with a red tape of love and shame,
it is a bad thought.
At this thought, he flashes into your mind,
again, but you tell yourself
he does not know.
The beach beneath the pedestal of your desklamp, no matter how sunny,
is no place for you to sunbathe.
You need a coconut tree, a big boulder, a big bath towel.
You need more than
turning back to those bare chests and backs.
When you step out of the shade, you pave a path for your soles,
with your unspoken words, and shove your toes
into the warm sand.
The blue sky and white clouds are too luxuriously expansive,
and you only need to keep very little to your own.
Venus, your mons is a pure delight to the eyes
of a wandering singer, who is gleeful
even when repenting.
Its beauty is like a blossom on a papal staff,
and you have never seen it, not even in a mirror.
You have heard of his name as a poet and lover and a saint.
You have a phobia for crawling insects, especially the reptiles
and smooth-skinned amphibians,
so you’d like to perch on a round bed
at the center of an incensed room.
You have not left your third-floor boudoir window since mid-spring,
for at the end of the alley downstairs there
live a Chinese date tree and a phoenix tree.
The flowering season has gone, but your face,
in bud, is waiting for the stars
to descend and visit your dream.
The white silk handkerchief you use to bind hair has red flowers,
and black waves shimmer on your untied hair.
You always feel a little ashamed for having a pair of small breasts,
like many vain women.
September 18-20, 2008
你，净洁的
其实，你闭着眼睛看到的
是更柔软的隐痛。那绝不是伸手可及的。
可你还是愿意觉得
如果你用手指压着自己的太阳穴，
就抚慰了远方的人；
这，已成了习惯。
于是，胖嘟嘟的黑色气球
从破的路灯罩上刮了一下，离开了，
飘进了黑夜的虚无。
什么都没有破，也没有焦味，
可你却锁着眉心，
为了想象中奇异的味道。
想象，你在心中自语，
犹如风筝，或一个亲密的字眼，一种喜悦
在胸内回响却绝不向任何文字投降。
如果不系上爱与羞耻的红线，它便是
恶念。
紧接着，他又闪过你的脑子，但你暗自说
他不知。
你台灯圣坛下的海滩，阳光多么明媚啊，
可你需要一棵椰子树、一块大岩石、一条大浴巾。
你需要背对所有裸露的后背或胸膛。
然后，你将自言自语铺在眼前，弓着脚心
走出阴凉，将脚尖插入温暖的细沙……
蓝天白云太奢侈了，你只要一点点存在心中。
维纳斯，你的小丘饱满。凝视的人
在事后的忏悔时
还有点心动。
你听说过那个传奇的流浪歌手，一个情圣，一个圣徒，
只是你从没见过它隆起的美
以及教皇权杖上的花朵。
你从小就害怕爬虫，尤其恐惧
粘滑的两栖生物，
所以你惯于在熏香的楼上叠床架屋。
从仲春开始，你就不曾离开过三楼的窗户，
因为巷子尽头住着一棵枣树
和一棵梧桐。
如今已过了细碎的花期，你满脸还是
矜持的苞蕾，等待着星星下凡。
当你松开那条红花素底的真丝手绢，你乌黑的长发
便有点波浪了；你将它拢到胸前，
因为你一直有点羞于乳房娇小，犹如
很多虚荣的女人。
2008年9月18-20日
Saturday, September 20, 2008
Fan Jinghua: Situs Amor
Situs Amor, Or Narration and Event
So I thought I knew
it was not a memory, not some déjà vu.
That you were standing there on the phone
was only a sight,
but I knew there were more becauses.
If you were on the phone, you were
there but not at that moment,
not when I was gazing at you and saw beyond.
Maybe you were a name, a silhouette
shawled in semidarkness of a green hue,
whereas I had occupied a volume of air
with my shape. My shape, when I left, would be
filled up with air, immediately,
or, with another body after some time, partly.
No body could fully replace my body
because the way I sat in the sofa was defined,
among others, by you
at that moment.
Definitely in the infinite time and space,
I will leave behind whatever I have taken up,
as if I were reverting it to Time and Space
even though they do not claim
as they can self-supply and self-cure.
I would take that as a mere site, specific to me only,
if you did not turn back and see me watching you.
The site would not be as specific as it would have become,
if I could not make you realize that it was I
whom you were looking at,
or if I could not engage you into a mutual recognition with me.
You had been a standing figure who was
unaware of being observed by me who was sitting half across the hall,
but when our eyes met, you became related
with all that had come and gone.
Now, as I am narrating this scene,
in retrospect,
I am undoubtedly composing something like a love affair;
and I will be happy with whatever reprobation
against my distortion of what the original site really was,
because, as a poet, I need to create an event to sing my song.
Feb. 1, 2004
爱情现场或叙述与事件
所以我以为我知道
那不是一件记忆，不是似曾相识。
你，站在那儿，打电话，
那就是一个视觉之境，
只是我已知道有更多的因为。
如果你在打电话，你就是
身在此处而心不在焉；当我看着你，
看到了你的远处，你那时已离开了那个时刻。
你本来只是一个名字，一个侧影，
墨绿色调的披肩，
而我只是在你不远处
以我的身形占据一份空气。一旦我离开，
我的形状将会立即被空气重新占有，
或者，不久之后，被另一个身体部分占据。
没有谁能够完全置换我的身体。
因为我坐在沙发上的姿态
被许多因素规定，其中的关键是
那个时刻的你。
在那无法预测的时空中，可以肯定的是
我占据的一切都会被我放弃，
犹如我将它交还给时空。
当然，时空不会索取我们身体占据的部分，
因为它可以自生自养。
我当然应该将那时刻仅仅视为一个场点，唯有我
见识到了。可是你却转过头来，看到
我正在看你。
如果我未能令你意识到你所看到的正是我，
如果我没有令你与我站定成一种彼此的关系，
那么整个场点就不会像后来这样具体。
你本是一个站立的人影，不知道
正在被坐在半个大厅之外的我默默观察，
但是当我们四目相遇，你变得
与一切过去的以及一切将来的发生了关联。
此刻，当我叙述那个场景，
作为回顾，
我无疑已经渲染了一些因素，使得那场面犹如艳遇。
对于任何责备，我都能欣然接受，
尽管说我歪曲了原始场景的真实，
因为，作为诗人，我写诗，便需要创造事件。
2008年9月19日改写2004年2月1日英文
So I thought I knew
it was not a memory, not some déjà vu.
That you were standing there on the phone
was only a sight,
but I knew there were more becauses.
If you were on the phone, you were
there but not at that moment,
not when I was gazing at you and saw beyond.
Maybe you were a name, a silhouette
shawled in semidarkness of a green hue,
whereas I had occupied a volume of air
with my shape. My shape, when I left, would be
filled up with air, immediately,
or, with another body after some time, partly.
No body could fully replace my body
because the way I sat in the sofa was defined,
among others, by you
at that moment.
Definitely in the infinite time and space,
I will leave behind whatever I have taken up,
as if I were reverting it to Time and Space
even though they do not claim
as they can self-supply and self-cure.
I would take that as a mere site, specific to me only,
if you did not turn back and see me watching you.
The site would not be as specific as it would have become,
if I could not make you realize that it was I
whom you were looking at,
or if I could not engage you into a mutual recognition with me.
You had been a standing figure who was
unaware of being observed by me who was sitting half across the hall,
but when our eyes met, you became related
with all that had come and gone.
Now, as I am narrating this scene,
in retrospect,
I am undoubtedly composing something like a love affair;
and I will be happy with whatever reprobation
against my distortion of what the original site really was,
because, as a poet, I need to create an event to sing my song.
Feb. 1, 2004
爱情现场或叙述与事件
所以我以为我知道
那不是一件记忆，不是似曾相识。
你，站在那儿，打电话，
那就是一个视觉之境，
只是我已知道有更多的因为。
如果你在打电话，你就是
身在此处而心不在焉；当我看着你，
看到了你的远处，你那时已离开了那个时刻。
你本来只是一个名字，一个侧影，
墨绿色调的披肩，
而我只是在你不远处
以我的身形占据一份空气。一旦我离开，
我的形状将会立即被空气重新占有，
或者，不久之后，被另一个身体部分占据。
没有谁能够完全置换我的身体。
因为我坐在沙发上的姿态
被许多因素规定，其中的关键是
那个时刻的你。
在那无法预测的时空中，可以肯定的是
我占据的一切都会被我放弃，
犹如我将它交还给时空。
当然，时空不会索取我们身体占据的部分，
因为它可以自生自养。
我当然应该将那时刻仅仅视为一个场点，唯有我
见识到了。可是你却转过头来，看到
我正在看你。
如果我未能令你意识到你所看到的正是我，
如果我没有令你与我站定成一种彼此的关系，
那么整个场点就不会像后来这样具体。
你本是一个站立的人影，不知道
正在被坐在半个大厅之外的我默默观察，
但是当我们四目相遇，你变得
与一切过去的以及一切将来的发生了关联。
此刻，当我叙述那个场景，
作为回顾，
我无疑已经渲染了一些因素，使得那场面犹如艳遇。
对于任何责备，我都能欣然接受，
尽管说我歪曲了原始场景的真实，
因为，作为诗人，我写诗，便需要创造事件。
2008年9月19日改写2004年2月1日英文
Thursday, September 18, 2008
Fan Jinghua: Odysseus and Calypso
Odysseus and Calypso
Standing there, still, you may as well turn yourself into a black column
At the edge of a cliff. But she is a goddess, immortal.
She has understood, long ago, that even demigods cannot attract birds
To a barren island.
One bird is a lost one, two will name loneliness, each for itself,
And three birds will be able to define what is ideal and what is hell.
This cave will float only when the sea reaches darkness.
The hardness she has described for you
And the softness that you imagine for her
Are laid on the mossy bed of teeth, intertwining,
Echoes heaving and swelling.
Your captivity by one is so long that apprehension has turned to dignity.
In the ebb and flow of moonlight, she
Folds her red blanket
Into a huge teddy bear, and they roll over and over
As if they are in untiring love.
In the ball of flesh and cotton, who is inlaid into whom?
Who flows into whom?
During night, she leaves her lyre behind, for you,
And the lacquer is her frozen body warmth.
You, her connoisseur. If you play,
The transparent membrane will melt into love liquid,
So that even if the salty wind may chap your skin,
Your heart will remain tender.
September 18, 2008
Standing there, still, you may as well turn yourself into a black column
At the edge of a cliff. But she is a goddess, immortal.
She has understood, long ago, that even demigods cannot attract birds
To a barren island.
One bird is a lost one, two will name loneliness, each for itself,
And three birds will be able to define what is ideal and what is hell.
This cave will float only when the sea reaches darkness.
The hardness she has described for you
And the softness that you imagine for her
Are laid on the mossy bed of teeth, intertwining,
Echoes heaving and swelling.
Your captivity by one is so long that apprehension has turned to dignity.
In the ebb and flow of moonlight, she
Folds her red blanket
Into a huge teddy bear, and they roll over and over
As if they are in untiring love.
In the ball of flesh and cotton, who is inlaid into whom?
Who flows into whom?
During night, she leaves her lyre behind, for you,
And the lacquer is her frozen body warmth.
You, her connoisseur. If you play,
The transparent membrane will melt into love liquid,
So that even if the salty wind may chap your skin,
Your heart will remain tender.
September 18, 2008
Odysseus and Calypso by Arnold Bocklin (1883)
奥德赛与卡里普苏
你在悬崖上站成一根黑石柱又能怎样？
她是神。她早已明白，半神的人无法将鸟群引到荒岛。
一只，只能称为迷途；两只，便各自命名孤独；
三只鸟，可以定义理想与地狱。
这口洞穴，只有当大海抵达了黑夜，才会漂浮；
她描述的坚硬与你想象到的柔软
在布满苔藓的绿色牙床上研磨回音。
你的被掳，在她长久的看守下，已是一种尊严。
月光的推涌中，她将红色的毯子
卷成一只熊抱在怀里，犹如颠鸾倒凤。
那一团棉与肉，
谁镶嵌了谁，谁流入谁，不知餍足。
入夜，她将竖琴留在洞外，遗弃的体温清漆一般；
你，鉴赏家，如果你弹奏，
那一层透明的膜就会融化成爱液，
于是海风可以皲裂你的皮肤，却粗糙不了你的心。
2008年9月18日
按：希腊神话中，奥德赛在特洛伊战争之后回家，被Ogygia奥杰吉厄岛的女神Calypso卡里普苏羁留七年，希望奥德赛能够答应她成为她的丈夫。她允诺他令他升格为神，然而奥德赛不为所动，终于因主神宙斯干预，他得已重返家乡，与苦苦等待他二十年的妻子Penelope珀涅罗珀团聚。
Fan Jinghua: Pygmalion and Galatea
Pygmalion
When he knees down before the statue
Galatea’s eyesight is still budding in the stone
But the first cuts of his chisel show moisture
It is not from his cry of petition but his sweaty hands
July 4, 2006
皮格马利翁
当他跪倒在那尊雕像前
加勒提娅的眼神仍然凝在石头上没有发芽
而最初雕琢的那些细缝开始潮湿
不是因为他哀恸的恳求而是因为他汗津津的手
When he knees down before the statue
Galatea’s eyesight is still budding in the stone
But the first cuts of his chisel show moisture
It is not from his cry of petition but his sweaty hands
July 4, 2006
皮格马利翁
当他跪倒在那尊雕像前
加勒提娅的眼神仍然凝在石头上没有发芽
而最初雕琢的那些细缝开始潮湿
不是因为他哀恸的恳求而是因为他汗津津的手
Pygmalion and the Image Series: The Soul Attains by Edward Burne-Jones (1878)
Galatea
You have no faith in me from the beginning, Pygmalion,
How can you entrust your creation to Aphrodite?
My memory and I touch each other in those days,
Each an unrequited lover masturbating in the dark.
July 4, 2006
加勒提娅
从一开始你就不曾相信我，皮格马利翁，
你宁可将你的造物委托给爱神。
在那些日子里，我和我的记忆彼此抚摸，
两个单恋者各自在黑暗中自慰。
2006年7月4日
Fan Jinghua: Time's Drizzling in the Afternoon
Time’s Drizzling in the Afternoon
-- After Debussy’s Prelude a l'apres-midi d'un faune
Time, if namable and lasting, is forever,
An afternoon that swirls still and flows invisible.
Swallows know better so they arch like gliding.
On the treetops, the wind does not linger
Longer than what the drizzle takes to drop.
You may recline in the lagoon of one arm and one lap, quiet
Like a framed lute over a couch. Contrasty.
Music moves first in a chiaroscuro, then in the cloudscape,
Before the sirens’ song is transported from a faraway island mist.
The window is ajar, and you will see a gondolet
Creaking through the rain beads that hang down from the eaves,
A warm sandalwood comb raking through your hair and scalp.
She who stands askew on the dresser is not you
But an expatriate who should be in a memoir
In a thread-binding book to be opened and closed in a rainy day.
But she appears and, eyes unflinching, mocks our senses,
Because along the wall base raindrops sprout and bloom in the gutter,
Crystal and transient. One after another, time’s hasps click shut.
In the room, the past has begun its filtration of the afternoon,
And before the drizzle stops, the time will be emulsified like your breath.
2006-06-20 revised
时间的午后细雨霏霏
——仿德彪西《牧神午后序曲》
时间如果永恒而能够指定将永远是一个午后
一场细雨浸湿时间静静的漩涡 那一垛垛雾
如夜空中卷边的星云缓缓西去
这样的哲理燕子更懂 于是它们像滑翔一样掠过斜伸的树枝
那些梢头挂着悠悠的雨珠 积累着一滴又一滴坠落的时间
而雨珠滴落了 时间还在那梢头停留
在一只手臂和一张大腿围成的泻湖中
你的颈项与脸庞交替构成明暗的对比
如沙发上方那个画框中沙发上方的琵琶
线条 体积 节奏 氛围 你蜷曲的姿态
辗转着调性 从一个乐章到另一个乐章
如诉的歌声终于从远方的海岛郁郁地传来
而雨滴的珠帘依然不断依然不住地从檐口
滑过半启的窗户 你看见凤尾船唉乃着横空驶入
犹如一把温暖的檀木梳耙过你的长发和头皮
那个半身斜站在五斗橱上的女人不是你
而是一个流落在回忆录中的主角 她的国籍在古代
像一本线装书中的传奇供人们在雨天打开然后合上
然而她赫然出现 拒绝离开 那坚毅的眼神似乎在嘲弄着人们的神志
而窗外墙基下的浅沟中雨滴在行板如歌地发芽
并开放着瞬息即逝的水晶花 一朵又一朵前赴后继
如时间的搭扣一扣一扣清脆地锁紧
房间内 过去已经开始了它对这个下午的过滤
在细雨停歇之前 时间将会乳化 一如你的呼吸
2006年6月21日
-- After Debussy’s Prelude a l'apres-midi d'un faune
Time, if namable and lasting, is forever,
An afternoon that swirls still and flows invisible.
Swallows know better so they arch like gliding.
On the treetops, the wind does not linger
Longer than what the drizzle takes to drop.
You may recline in the lagoon of one arm and one lap, quiet
Like a framed lute over a couch. Contrasty.
Music moves first in a chiaroscuro, then in the cloudscape,
Before the sirens’ song is transported from a faraway island mist.
The window is ajar, and you will see a gondolet
Creaking through the rain beads that hang down from the eaves,
A warm sandalwood comb raking through your hair and scalp.
She who stands askew on the dresser is not you
But an expatriate who should be in a memoir
In a thread-binding book to be opened and closed in a rainy day.
But she appears and, eyes unflinching, mocks our senses,
Because along the wall base raindrops sprout and bloom in the gutter,
Crystal and transient. One after another, time’s hasps click shut.
In the room, the past has begun its filtration of the afternoon,
And before the drizzle stops, the time will be emulsified like your breath.
2006-06-20 revised
时间的午后细雨霏霏
——仿德彪西《牧神午后序曲》
时间如果永恒而能够指定将永远是一个午后
一场细雨浸湿时间静静的漩涡 那一垛垛雾
如夜空中卷边的星云缓缓西去
这样的哲理燕子更懂 于是它们像滑翔一样掠过斜伸的树枝
那些梢头挂着悠悠的雨珠 积累着一滴又一滴坠落的时间
而雨珠滴落了 时间还在那梢头停留
在一只手臂和一张大腿围成的泻湖中
你的颈项与脸庞交替构成明暗的对比
如沙发上方那个画框中沙发上方的琵琶
线条 体积 节奏 氛围 你蜷曲的姿态
辗转着调性 从一个乐章到另一个乐章
如诉的歌声终于从远方的海岛郁郁地传来
而雨滴的珠帘依然不断依然不住地从檐口
滑过半启的窗户 你看见凤尾船唉乃着横空驶入
犹如一把温暖的檀木梳耙过你的长发和头皮
那个半身斜站在五斗橱上的女人不是你
而是一个流落在回忆录中的主角 她的国籍在古代
像一本线装书中的传奇供人们在雨天打开然后合上
然而她赫然出现 拒绝离开 那坚毅的眼神似乎在嘲弄着人们的神志
而窗外墙基下的浅沟中雨滴在行板如歌地发芽
并开放着瞬息即逝的水晶花 一朵又一朵前赴后继
如时间的搭扣一扣一扣清脆地锁紧
房间内 过去已经开始了它对这个下午的过滤
在细雨停歇之前 时间将会乳化 一如你的呼吸
2006年6月21日
Wednesday, September 17, 2008
Fan Jinghua: Forget to Forget
Forget to Forget
--Where there we were once, there we are inhabited forever.
There are scenes our eyes pass by everyday that can become sights
Only when inhabited by our bodies. We see once and imagine all,
And all but one are nothing but proper nouns to be forgotten.
I keep so many names so long that they point to nothing
But the once-upon-a-time themselves.
There is a town called Big Factory which means first love and heartache,
A kind of milk powder that brings torture to your baby,
Who cries harder than others but cannot tell you why.
There is a title called Well-Wrought Urn that promotes study reading but maintains
Indetermination over truth, as all are texts open to all interpretative perspectives.
Last night when I was writing a poem, trying to balance morality and death with love,
My wife cried herself awake from a nightmare.
In the countryside she walks in eroticizing air, where beautiful leeks weep for help,
Saying they itch all over under the skin, for their blood is full of worms of pesticide.
The wind is too soft to thrash them and she cannot lend hands to them either.
I gave her a glass of water, saying this is the last soup of our lifetime tears;
I held her in my arms as if we were under Meng Po Pavilion by Frustration Bridge
That connects our road to Yellow Fountain Ave.,
The water below running silver and gold, and our eyes almost blind.
The water runs down into her like time through us, traceless, painless, as the bad of dreams ease.
We need bad dreams to delay us from drifting toward oblivion,
We need a startle, a gyring halt so that we can talk to each other’s eyes
And forget to forget and remember.
Now let me describe to you a scene of snow field where a blue bird jumps,
Writing a love letter to the sun, which I may whisper to your ears.
September 17, 2008
忘了忘记
我们曾经哪儿，哪儿就永远居住着我们。——题记
有些景象我们日日走过，
如果身体不曾居住其中，它们并不可见。
我们看到一次，我们想象所有，
除了一次，所有的都只是等待遗忘的名词，
我收藏着那么多名字，收藏了那么久，
它们已经除了自己别无所指。
有一个镇子叫做大厂，它的意思是初恋和心伤；
有一种奶粉，以无以言状的疼痛折磨你的婴儿，
令你无从知道叫得更响的孩子是否应该吃得更多。
有一本书叫做“精制的瓮”，它鼓吹细读，但又告诉人们，
一切文本都对各种阐释视角开放，而真相永远无法确定。
昨夜我正在写一首诗，试图以爱抗衡道德与死亡，
这时我的妻子从梦中哭醒。
她在乡下漫步，熏风醉人，吹开她的欲望，而美丽的韭菜哭泣着向她呼救，
说它们全身的皮下瘙痒难忍，因为血液中充满了杀毒剂的蠕虫。
风太软，无法抽打它们，为它们止痒，而我的妻子农药过敏，满手都是红疮。
我扶起她，喂她喝下一杯清水，说这是我们一生的眼泪，
犹如我们站在一只叫做孟婆的亭下，在一座叫做奈何的桥边，
看着我们走过的路接上了叫做黄泉的阳关大道，
一条河流淌着银白与金黄，令我们的眼睛几乎无法看清。
她喝下水，犹如时间淌过我们，没有迹象，没有痛，梦之恶慢慢平息。
我们需要噩梦阻挡我们漂向遗忘的舒畅，
我们需要吃惊，需要一个漩涡的停顿，让我们对着彼此的眼睛说话，
让我们忘了忘记，也忘了记起。
此刻，我已写完那首小诗，一片雪地上，一只蓝色小鸟在跳来跳去，
写了一封献给太阳的情书，让我对着你的耳朵轻诵。
2008年9月17日
--Where there we were once, there we are inhabited forever.
There are scenes our eyes pass by everyday that can become sights
Only when inhabited by our bodies. We see once and imagine all,
And all but one are nothing but proper nouns to be forgotten.
I keep so many names so long that they point to nothing
But the once-upon-a-time themselves.
There is a town called Big Factory which means first love and heartache,
A kind of milk powder that brings torture to your baby,
Who cries harder than others but cannot tell you why.
There is a title called Well-Wrought Urn that promotes study reading but maintains
Indetermination over truth, as all are texts open to all interpretative perspectives.
Last night when I was writing a poem, trying to balance morality and death with love,
My wife cried herself awake from a nightmare.
In the countryside she walks in eroticizing air, where beautiful leeks weep for help,
Saying they itch all over under the skin, for their blood is full of worms of pesticide.
The wind is too soft to thrash them and she cannot lend hands to them either.
I gave her a glass of water, saying this is the last soup of our lifetime tears;
I held her in my arms as if we were under Meng Po Pavilion by Frustration Bridge
That connects our road to Yellow Fountain Ave.,
The water below running silver and gold, and our eyes almost blind.
The water runs down into her like time through us, traceless, painless, as the bad of dreams ease.
We need bad dreams to delay us from drifting toward oblivion,
We need a startle, a gyring halt so that we can talk to each other’s eyes
And forget to forget and remember.
Now let me describe to you a scene of snow field where a blue bird jumps,
Writing a love letter to the sun, which I may whisper to your ears.
September 17, 2008
忘了忘记
我们曾经哪儿，哪儿就永远居住着我们。——题记
有些景象我们日日走过，
如果身体不曾居住其中，它们并不可见。
我们看到一次，我们想象所有，
除了一次，所有的都只是等待遗忘的名词，
我收藏着那么多名字，收藏了那么久，
它们已经除了自己别无所指。
有一个镇子叫做大厂，它的意思是初恋和心伤；
有一种奶粉，以无以言状的疼痛折磨你的婴儿，
令你无从知道叫得更响的孩子是否应该吃得更多。
有一本书叫做“精制的瓮”，它鼓吹细读，但又告诉人们，
一切文本都对各种阐释视角开放，而真相永远无法确定。
昨夜我正在写一首诗，试图以爱抗衡道德与死亡，
这时我的妻子从梦中哭醒。
她在乡下漫步，熏风醉人，吹开她的欲望，而美丽的韭菜哭泣着向她呼救，
说它们全身的皮下瘙痒难忍，因为血液中充满了杀毒剂的蠕虫。
风太软，无法抽打它们，为它们止痒，而我的妻子农药过敏，满手都是红疮。
我扶起她，喂她喝下一杯清水，说这是我们一生的眼泪，
犹如我们站在一只叫做孟婆的亭下，在一座叫做奈何的桥边，
看着我们走过的路接上了叫做黄泉的阳关大道，
一条河流淌着银白与金黄，令我们的眼睛几乎无法看清。
她喝下水，犹如时间淌过我们，没有迹象，没有痛，梦之恶慢慢平息。
我们需要噩梦阻挡我们漂向遗忘的舒畅，
我们需要吃惊，需要一个漩涡的停顿，让我们对着彼此的眼睛说话，
让我们忘了忘记，也忘了记起。
此刻，我已写完那首小诗，一片雪地上，一只蓝色小鸟在跳来跳去，
写了一封献给太阳的情书，让我对着你的耳朵轻诵。
2008年9月17日
Tuesday, September 16, 2008
Fan Jinghua: Aftermath
Aftermath
Post-festive
Death is pervasive,
All gone colorless.
My hardness of breath
Dangles in the breezeless air,
Waiting
For your hunger for words.
The moon has lost its pride,
Its comb pale.
September 16, 2008
后遗症
节后的
死亡气沁人肺腑，
一切都失色了。
我坚硬的呼吸
在无风的空气中
下垂，等待
你饥饿于文字。
月亮丢失了骄傲，
鸡冠苍白。
2008年9月16日
Post-festive
Death is pervasive,
All gone colorless.
My hardness of breath
Dangles in the breezeless air,
Waiting
For your hunger for words.
The moon has lost its pride,
Its comb pale.
September 16, 2008
后遗症
节后的
死亡气沁人肺腑，
一切都失色了。
我坚硬的呼吸
在无风的空气中
下垂，等待
你饥饿于文字。
月亮丢失了骄傲，
鸡冠苍白。
2008年9月16日
Fan Jinghua: Night Song
Night Song
Every dream bleeds secret hope in the dark,
And the night can become thicker than words.
The instant you stir under the blanket,
You turn to a flower that blooms and dies from any human eyes.
So many ephemeral lives!
Their insomnia fragrances blend and do not linger long,
For morning light will dissolve them like vampires.
Except for the cliff where day suddenly thrusts into night,
Time goes at its own pace, like the pouches on a trellis.
When there is wind, they all dangle with the same rhythm.
Very occasionally, a hummingbird or a fruit bat may come,
A few gourds will then touch each other or touch the vine;
And then far into the night they are still half-heartedly restoring
Their former balance, when there were no bruises.
Now, on the textured petals, your blood wriggles and stirs,
And words begin to sprout out between the lines in my memo pad;
I know their plainness will eclipse the slickest romances,
But a scene of starlight in a suburban yard or on a downtown balcony
Can always consume me like an enormous pump,
And then my lungs will shudder with unstoppable knee jerks.
Sour, sour is the cold electricity that glues to the heart-tips.
We cannot fly, not even with the help of electric words,
Not even after their meaning is drained into the pool between us,
For truth about loving desire is an impossible wing.
What we each carry and shamefully hide are but assorted feathers
Stuck to two truncated olive sprigs.
Even if the bird in your hand may not sing sweet as those in the bush,
Still, it is its fluttering that can tickle and scratch like love.
Wrapped in synthetic fabrics, you may sweat before midnight,
And you alone can still hope not to catch cold in the small hours
Of the chilly no man’s land where love and life retreat from their vestige.
Dewdrops are not more than I can bear, as I can sleep away
The early morning that smells of musk and soybean milk.
In the personal dark, flowers open from inside and bloom all the time,
But they have colors only when there is light.
September 6-9, 2008
夜歌
每个梦都在黑暗中流着隐秘希望的血，
黑夜因此会比文字更加稠密。
当你在毯子下辗转反侧，
你就是一朵花，独自开放、暗中死亡，
无人看见，那么多的短暂生命！
它们失眠的香味彼此混合，仍不能久留，
晨光降临时，消散，如吸血鬼遇见阳光。
除了在白昼突然插入黑夜的悬崖上，
时间总是安步当车，犹如棚架上的小袋子，
以相同的节奏晃动在摇摆的风中。
偶尔有一只蜂鸟或者食果蝙蝠盘旋其间，
几只小葫芦就会彼此轻抚或者触碰藤蔓；
然后直到夜深，它们还在心不在焉地
恢复着从前没有一丝撞伤时的平衡。
那纹理清晰的花瓣上，你的血在蠕动，
字芽儿开始从我记事簿的线条之间钻出；
它们的朴实将令最浮华的言情小说黯然失色，
而无论是城郊小院还是市内阳台，那星光下的一夜
倾谈，总会令我难以自禁，犹如一支水泵插入心底；
肺叶随着那阀门翕张，带动膝盖的反射弹动。
那冷丝丝的电流，刻薄而酸涩，胶合着心尖。
我们无法飞翔，甚至电子的词语也无能为力，
即便它们的意义沥干，郁积在我们之间的池塘，
爱的欲望，其真相永远是不可能的翅膀。
我们各自携带的，我们羞耻地隐藏着，那不过是
杂乱的羽毛被胶液粘在两根截断的橄榄枝上。
即便你手中的那只小鸟不如树丛中的唱得甜美，
毕竟它会振翅，犹如爱情的暖意在你手中搔痒。
午夜之前，你可以在人造纤维的床褥中出汗，
而无论黎明前的世界多么空无，生命与爱情退出
其残迹，你依然能够在凌晨的寒意中独自回暖。
变冷的露水并非我最不能忍受的，我会在清晨
睡去，呼吸麝香与豆浆的味道入梦。
在个人的黑暗中，花朵从内部绽开，四季如春，
只是它们只有在光照下才有色彩。
2008年9月14-16日
Every dream bleeds secret hope in the dark,
And the night can become thicker than words.
The instant you stir under the blanket,
You turn to a flower that blooms and dies from any human eyes.
So many ephemeral lives!
Their insomnia fragrances blend and do not linger long,
For morning light will dissolve them like vampires.
Except for the cliff where day suddenly thrusts into night,
Time goes at its own pace, like the pouches on a trellis.
When there is wind, they all dangle with the same rhythm.
Very occasionally, a hummingbird or a fruit bat may come,
A few gourds will then touch each other or touch the vine;
And then far into the night they are still half-heartedly restoring
Their former balance, when there were no bruises.
Now, on the textured petals, your blood wriggles and stirs,
And words begin to sprout out between the lines in my memo pad;
I know their plainness will eclipse the slickest romances,
But a scene of starlight in a suburban yard or on a downtown balcony
Can always consume me like an enormous pump,
And then my lungs will shudder with unstoppable knee jerks.
Sour, sour is the cold electricity that glues to the heart-tips.
We cannot fly, not even with the help of electric words,
Not even after their meaning is drained into the pool between us,
For truth about loving desire is an impossible wing.
What we each carry and shamefully hide are but assorted feathers
Stuck to two truncated olive sprigs.
Even if the bird in your hand may not sing sweet as those in the bush,
Still, it is its fluttering that can tickle and scratch like love.
Wrapped in synthetic fabrics, you may sweat before midnight,
And you alone can still hope not to catch cold in the small hours
Of the chilly no man’s land where love and life retreat from their vestige.
Dewdrops are not more than I can bear, as I can sleep away
The early morning that smells of musk and soybean milk.
In the personal dark, flowers open from inside and bloom all the time,
But they have colors only when there is light.
September 6-9, 2008
夜歌
每个梦都在黑暗中流着隐秘希望的血，
黑夜因此会比文字更加稠密。
当你在毯子下辗转反侧，
你就是一朵花，独自开放、暗中死亡，
无人看见，那么多的短暂生命！
它们失眠的香味彼此混合，仍不能久留，
晨光降临时，消散，如吸血鬼遇见阳光。
除了在白昼突然插入黑夜的悬崖上，
时间总是安步当车，犹如棚架上的小袋子，
以相同的节奏晃动在摇摆的风中。
偶尔有一只蜂鸟或者食果蝙蝠盘旋其间，
几只小葫芦就会彼此轻抚或者触碰藤蔓；
然后直到夜深，它们还在心不在焉地
恢复着从前没有一丝撞伤时的平衡。
那纹理清晰的花瓣上，你的血在蠕动，
字芽儿开始从我记事簿的线条之间钻出；
它们的朴实将令最浮华的言情小说黯然失色，
而无论是城郊小院还是市内阳台，那星光下的一夜
倾谈，总会令我难以自禁，犹如一支水泵插入心底；
肺叶随着那阀门翕张，带动膝盖的反射弹动。
那冷丝丝的电流，刻薄而酸涩，胶合着心尖。
我们无法飞翔，甚至电子的词语也无能为力，
即便它们的意义沥干，郁积在我们之间的池塘，
爱的欲望，其真相永远是不可能的翅膀。
我们各自携带的，我们羞耻地隐藏着，那不过是
杂乱的羽毛被胶液粘在两根截断的橄榄枝上。
即便你手中的那只小鸟不如树丛中的唱得甜美，
毕竟它会振翅，犹如爱情的暖意在你手中搔痒。
午夜之前，你可以在人造纤维的床褥中出汗，
而无论黎明前的世界多么空无，生命与爱情退出
其残迹，你依然能够在凌晨的寒意中独自回暖。
变冷的露水并非我最不能忍受的，我会在清晨
睡去，呼吸麝香与豆浆的味道入梦。
在个人的黑暗中，花朵从内部绽开，四季如春，
只是它们只有在光照下才有色彩。
2008年9月14-16日
Fan Jinghua: Desperate Song
Desperate Song
Tonight, dear, sky is stale, distilled is the moon,
Clouds with amber linings are riveted with stars.
In this small hour, angels, their flight suspended in nowhere,
Disappoint the few upturned eyes, murdering their vision.
You will not know how the tropical trees shroud my window,
My hands stretched out to the dark are forever short, short, short,
Like two question marks that clutch a broken heart of emptiness;
Or they make up a lasso that fails to catch the neck of a black horse.
Where were you—to my left or right, before or behind?
In thickening fog, do you miss my dark presence against the non-color?
The sound of my cry, without your echoes, is only a whisper,
That keeps echoing echoing echoing in my skull and chest.
What I need to feel is heaviness and hurt, or if you have to be ethereal,
Let you be a white fireball that blinds me or burns me to charcoal.
2004-08-05 3 am.
2008-09-07
绝望十四行
今夜，亲爱的，天空陈腐，月亮如被蒸煮，
云团镶着琥珀的轮廓，受制于星星的铆钉。
夜半之后，天使背叛了眼睛，悬置了飞行，
避开人类的视野，谋杀了所有眼睛上扬的视力。
你不会知道热带的树木多么浓密，丧帐一般
笼罩我的窗户，我双臂伸向黑暗，短、短、
短得像一对问号搂回了一怀空无，又如
一根套索，无法在暗夜扣上一匹黑马的脖子。
此刻你在何处——在我的前后还是左右？
雾浓时，一切茫茫无色，你是否怀念我的阴暗？
没有你的回应，我的呼声只能是细弱的喑哑，
缠紧喉头，在脑颅与胸腔回荡、回荡、回荡。
我需要的是沉重与伤痛，如果你只能是虚气一团，
那么愿你是一颗白火球，刺瞎我，将我烧成木炭。
2008年9月16日汉语
The earliest draft was written on August 5, 2004 at 3 am. Now I seem still to be able to revisit the desperate air at that time. I wrote a note to the English draft on January 29, 2005 when I was trying to rewrite it into Chinese. The Chinese draft did not finish, and the notes were reserved as the following. Several days ago, I revised the English version, and today I render it into Chinese.
这首诗最早的英文草稿所标注的时间是2004年8月5日凌晨三点，重写时似乎还能回味那种绝望气氛。我在2005年1月29日试图翻译成汉语，没有完成，但是写了一个附记（如后）。几天前，我修改了英文原稿，今天写成汉语。
The note I wrote on January 29, 2005（05年1月29日的附记）:
这是半年前写的一首英文十四行诗，今天无意中看到了，试图翻译成中文，但是觉得不对劲，主要是形式感，在中文中不具有的那种十四行诗特有的内涵。记得当时站在窗前望着天空有一团团云慢慢地遮盖着星月，我感到一种人所以界定自我的那种非物质性也就是非肉身的特征必然是彼此孤立的。人的独特性往往显示为一种孤寂，而我们的所谓生活往往显示未消除这种孤寂的努力。这种努力的一个最本质形式就是寻求一个大写的他或者她者，在日常生活中常常被理解为结合，身与心的结合，人与神的结合，男女的结合，等等。这种结合的最终形式是什么？生与死的结合？我感觉像自己掐着自己的脖子一样，于是天上的星星变成了我眼中冒出的火星，而这些火星正是生命行将结束时的最后闪亮。那么，这些火光最终消失到何处呢？我不知道光的消失是如何形成的，这恐怕和记忆以及思维都是一样的。光从来都是智慧或生命的象征或者暗喻。没有了光也就没有了人的存在，或者没有了可以证明个人存在的媒介。Desperate也许应该翻译成“极端”而不是“绝望”？
Tonight, dear, sky is stale, distilled is the moon,
Clouds with amber linings are riveted with stars.
In this small hour, angels, their flight suspended in nowhere,
Disappoint the few upturned eyes, murdering their vision.
You will not know how the tropical trees shroud my window,
My hands stretched out to the dark are forever short, short, short,
Like two question marks that clutch a broken heart of emptiness;
Or they make up a lasso that fails to catch the neck of a black horse.
Where were you—to my left or right, before or behind?
In thickening fog, do you miss my dark presence against the non-color?
The sound of my cry, without your echoes, is only a whisper,
That keeps echoing echoing echoing in my skull and chest.
What I need to feel is heaviness and hurt, or if you have to be ethereal,
Let you be a white fireball that blinds me or burns me to charcoal.
2004-08-05 3 am.
2008-09-07
绝望十四行
今夜，亲爱的，天空陈腐，月亮如被蒸煮，
云团镶着琥珀的轮廓，受制于星星的铆钉。
夜半之后，天使背叛了眼睛，悬置了飞行，
避开人类的视野，谋杀了所有眼睛上扬的视力。
你不会知道热带的树木多么浓密，丧帐一般
笼罩我的窗户，我双臂伸向黑暗，短、短、
短得像一对问号搂回了一怀空无，又如
一根套索，无法在暗夜扣上一匹黑马的脖子。
此刻你在何处——在我的前后还是左右？
雾浓时，一切茫茫无色，你是否怀念我的阴暗？
没有你的回应，我的呼声只能是细弱的喑哑，
缠紧喉头，在脑颅与胸腔回荡、回荡、回荡。
我需要的是沉重与伤痛，如果你只能是虚气一团，
那么愿你是一颗白火球，刺瞎我，将我烧成木炭。
2008年9月16日汉语
The earliest draft was written on August 5, 2004 at 3 am. Now I seem still to be able to revisit the desperate air at that time. I wrote a note to the English draft on January 29, 2005 when I was trying to rewrite it into Chinese. The Chinese draft did not finish, and the notes were reserved as the following. Several days ago, I revised the English version, and today I render it into Chinese.
这首诗最早的英文草稿所标注的时间是2004年8月5日凌晨三点，重写时似乎还能回味那种绝望气氛。我在2005年1月29日试图翻译成汉语，没有完成，但是写了一个附记（如后）。几天前，我修改了英文原稿，今天写成汉语。
The note I wrote on January 29, 2005（05年1月29日的附记）:
这是半年前写的一首英文十四行诗，今天无意中看到了，试图翻译成中文，但是觉得不对劲，主要是形式感，在中文中不具有的那种十四行诗特有的内涵。记得当时站在窗前望着天空有一团团云慢慢地遮盖着星月，我感到一种人所以界定自我的那种非物质性也就是非肉身的特征必然是彼此孤立的。人的独特性往往显示为一种孤寂，而我们的所谓生活往往显示未消除这种孤寂的努力。这种努力的一个最本质形式就是寻求一个大写的他或者她者，在日常生活中常常被理解为结合，身与心的结合，人与神的结合，男女的结合，等等。这种结合的最终形式是什么？生与死的结合？我感觉像自己掐着自己的脖子一样，于是天上的星星变成了我眼中冒出的火星，而这些火星正是生命行将结束时的最后闪亮。那么，这些火光最终消失到何处呢？我不知道光的消失是如何形成的，这恐怕和记忆以及思维都是一样的。光从来都是智慧或生命的象征或者暗喻。没有了光也就没有了人的存在，或者没有了可以证明个人存在的媒介。Desperate也许应该翻译成“极端”而不是“绝望”？
SU Shih's Love Song for his Deceased First Wife
Su Shih's Love Song "Ten Years of Life and Death"
苏轼的情歌“十年生死”
To the Tune of Riverside Town
“Ten Years of Life and Death”
Su Shih (1037-1101 Song Dynasty)
Ten years. Dead and living. Unfathomably apart.
Never have I tried to recall, but forever in mind.
Thousand miles away lies your grave lonely,
No way to tell the desolate heart.
Even if you came around, you would not believe your eyes
At a face full of dust and a head of frost white.
Last night a dream dropped me at our old home,
Finding you doing hair by the window in the inner room.
Our eyes fixed at each other,
Words failing us, but tears dashing along.
Year after year that bowel-breaking spot recurs in my vision—
The dwarf pine ridge, in a moon-washed night.
江城子
[宋] 苏轼
十年生死两茫茫，
不思量，自难忘。
千里孤坟，无处话凄凉。
纵使相逢应不识，
尘满面，鬓如霜。
夜来幽梦忽还乡，
小轩窗，正梳妆。
相顾无言，惟有泪千行。
料得年年肠断处，
明月夜，短松冈。
Word-by-word exegesis 逐字注解
江River城City子a diminutive, a song
苏轼SU Shih
十ten 年year 生living 死dead 两two 茫茫vast, at a loss
不no 思think量weigh自itself难hard忘forget
千thousand里half-kilometer 孤lonely坟grave
无no 处place 话talk凄desolate凉cold
纵even使if相逢meet each other应should不no识recognize
尘dust满full面face 鬓sideburns如like霜frost
夜night来come幽secret梦dream忽suddenly还return乡hometown
小small轩small room窗window正at the process of梳comb妆make up
相顾look at each other无no言words
惟only有have泪tear千thousand行line
料得imagine年year年year肠bowels断break处place
明bright月moon夜night短short松pine冈ridge
My reading note: Naming and Being There
This is one of the most famous elegies in classical Chinese poetry, and this song was specially loved as a genuine expression of the author’s love toward his first wife. In this sense, this poem is most marred by the biographical fallacy.
Perhaps it is a Chinese tradition of interpreting poems in terms of the biography. We are told that SU wrote this poem when he was somewhere about a thousand miles (a Chinese mile is half a kilometer) ten years after his first wife’s death. Of course, the thousand and the ten are approximate numbers.
A poem like this, I believe, derives its power from a state of “not being here,” and this state of mind is pervasive in almost all the occasions of longing for someone or something. The misfit or being at odds with the present is one of the most important aspects for this type of poetry, and the anxiety over the presence is essential for the justification of nostalgia or melancholia. Dream is often used to express the escape from the present or transplacement of the body. In the dream, imagination and wish are mingled, and the body absent from the site becomes present in sight. In the process, naming becomes the most important and powerful act. Naming is a way of using words, but by naming the place the body in dream is sent to the place. Naming becomes a way of being there, a way of presence.
阅读小札：命名与身在彼处
一直觉得这首词是最受到传记谬误的影响的，也就是说人们总是将这首词读成一种传记，感动于这首词中被视为作者的真实情感。于是，我们就有人考据是否作者写作之地和前妻安葬之地之间是否是千里，那前妻是否死于十年之前，而且这种“不思量自难忘”的程度又在多大程度上影响了作者的情感生活呢？据我所知，此刻他最宠爱的当然是一个叫做朝云的小妾，可是这又与他此词中的情感有何关系呢？
这首词之所以动人，并不在于是否是作者的亲身经历，而在于该词是否具有某种普遍的情感呼吁和真诚。此次开始的“两茫茫”实际上暗示了一种无法诉说，因此这首词看似对那个具体的“你”诉说，实质是对普遍的“你们”诉说。“两茫茫”实质预设了这首词只能是从“我”到读者的交流，也就是说这首词是一个自我封闭的情感载体，那么读者在阅读的时候便可以占为己有。
这首词对打动我的正是其“不在此处”的状态，这种状态可说是所有怀人思远的根源。与此时此刻的难以谐和是人们之所以焦虑的主要原因。而梦幻则是舒解这种焦虑的手段之一，在梦中人们不仅逃离了身体的束缚，而且还被带离了焦虑的现场。当我们醒来，该如何面对梦幻呢？我们用语言再现梦幻，而语言再现就是用语言超度我们。当我们将梦中的场景交付给一个名词，这种命名就是超度心灵，使得我们在阅读中又如身体也被传输到了那个场景。“明月夜，短松冈”。这是对令人难以面对的场地，因为这个地点名称就是力量的所在。
汉学家华岑的翻译Burton Watson’s translation:
Ten years, dead and living dim and draw apart.
I don't try to remember,
But forgetting is hard.
Lonely grave a thousand miles off,
Cold thoughts, where can I talk them out?
Even if we met, you wouldn't know me,
Dust on my face,
Hair like frost.
In a dream last night suddenly I was home.
By the window of the little room,
You were combing your hair and making up.
You turned and looked, not speaking,
Only lines of tears coursing down.
Year after year will it break my heart?
The moonlit grave,
The stubby pines.
苏轼的情歌“十年生死”
To the Tune of Riverside Town
“Ten Years of Life and Death”
Su Shih (1037-1101 Song Dynasty)
Ten years. Dead and living. Unfathomably apart.
Never have I tried to recall, but forever in mind.
Thousand miles away lies your grave lonely,
No way to tell the desolate heart.
Even if you came around, you would not believe your eyes
At a face full of dust and a head of frost white.
Last night a dream dropped me at our old home,
Finding you doing hair by the window in the inner room.
Our eyes fixed at each other,
Words failing us, but tears dashing along.
Year after year that bowel-breaking spot recurs in my vision—
The dwarf pine ridge, in a moon-washed night.
江城子
[宋] 苏轼
十年生死两茫茫，
不思量，自难忘。
千里孤坟，无处话凄凉。
纵使相逢应不识，
尘满面，鬓如霜。
夜来幽梦忽还乡，
小轩窗，正梳妆。
相顾无言，惟有泪千行。
料得年年肠断处，
明月夜，短松冈。
Word-by-word exegesis 逐字注解
江River城City子a diminutive, a song
苏轼SU Shih
十ten 年year 生living 死dead 两two 茫茫vast, at a loss
不no 思think量weigh自itself难hard忘forget
千thousand里half-kilometer 孤lonely坟grave
无no 处place 话talk凄desolate凉cold
纵even使if相逢meet each other应should不no识recognize
尘dust满full面face 鬓sideburns如like霜frost
夜night来come幽secret梦dream忽suddenly还return乡hometown
小small轩small room窗window正at the process of梳comb妆make up
相顾look at each other无no言words
惟only有have泪tear千thousand行line
料得imagine年year年year肠bowels断break处place
明bright月moon夜night短short松pine冈ridge
My reading note: Naming and Being There
This is one of the most famous elegies in classical Chinese poetry, and this song was specially loved as a genuine expression of the author’s love toward his first wife. In this sense, this poem is most marred by the biographical fallacy.
Perhaps it is a Chinese tradition of interpreting poems in terms of the biography. We are told that SU wrote this poem when he was somewhere about a thousand miles (a Chinese mile is half a kilometer) ten years after his first wife’s death. Of course, the thousand and the ten are approximate numbers.
A poem like this, I believe, derives its power from a state of “not being here,” and this state of mind is pervasive in almost all the occasions of longing for someone or something. The misfit or being at odds with the present is one of the most important aspects for this type of poetry, and the anxiety over the presence is essential for the justification of nostalgia or melancholia. Dream is often used to express the escape from the present or transplacement of the body. In the dream, imagination and wish are mingled, and the body absent from the site becomes present in sight. In the process, naming becomes the most important and powerful act. Naming is a way of using words, but by naming the place the body in dream is sent to the place. Naming becomes a way of being there, a way of presence.
阅读小札：命名与身在彼处
一直觉得这首词是最受到传记谬误的影响的，也就是说人们总是将这首词读成一种传记，感动于这首词中被视为作者的真实情感。于是，我们就有人考据是否作者写作之地和前妻安葬之地之间是否是千里，那前妻是否死于十年之前，而且这种“不思量自难忘”的程度又在多大程度上影响了作者的情感生活呢？据我所知，此刻他最宠爱的当然是一个叫做朝云的小妾，可是这又与他此词中的情感有何关系呢？
这首词之所以动人，并不在于是否是作者的亲身经历，而在于该词是否具有某种普遍的情感呼吁和真诚。此次开始的“两茫茫”实际上暗示了一种无法诉说，因此这首词看似对那个具体的“你”诉说，实质是对普遍的“你们”诉说。“两茫茫”实质预设了这首词只能是从“我”到读者的交流，也就是说这首词是一个自我封闭的情感载体，那么读者在阅读的时候便可以占为己有。
这首词对打动我的正是其“不在此处”的状态，这种状态可说是所有怀人思远的根源。与此时此刻的难以谐和是人们之所以焦虑的主要原因。而梦幻则是舒解这种焦虑的手段之一，在梦中人们不仅逃离了身体的束缚，而且还被带离了焦虑的现场。当我们醒来，该如何面对梦幻呢？我们用语言再现梦幻，而语言再现就是用语言超度我们。当我们将梦中的场景交付给一个名词，这种命名就是超度心灵，使得我们在阅读中又如身体也被传输到了那个场景。“明月夜，短松冈”。这是对令人难以面对的场地，因为这个地点名称就是力量的所在。
汉学家华岑的翻译Burton Watson’s translation:
Ten years, dead and living dim and draw apart.
I don't try to remember,
But forgetting is hard.
Lonely grave a thousand miles off,
Cold thoughts, where can I talk them out?
Even if we met, you wouldn't know me,
Dust on my face,
Hair like frost.
In a dream last night suddenly I was home.
By the window of the little room,
You were combing your hair and making up.
You turned and looked, not speaking,
Only lines of tears coursing down.
Year after year will it break my heart?
The moonlit grave,
The stubby pines.
Monday, September 15, 2008
Fan Jinghua: Estranged
The following is originally intended for a short story, and now I make it into a poem.
本来打算用作一篇小说的素材，现在写成了一首诗。不知道效果如何。
Estranged
Dear, now I am in your parents’ for the Mid-Autumn.
All of your family have come together, except for you,
And this makes me the center of attention.
Your parents’ thatched house is small and cozy,
And when we sit down around on benches and low stools,
We can all touch and reach each other in a circle.
The broad smile has never subsided on your mum’s wrinkled face,
And she has been chastising your laziness and incapability of cooking,
To which I convince her by naming the dishes you can do
And your gladness to wash plates and bring us fruits after meals.
I love her love for you in her voice,
And I love her sincere gratitude she feels toward my taking care of you.
Your daddy likes to know more about our daily life,
Especially the schooling of our children,
Which he can relate more than your research.
He does not understand
Why the foreign currency is more expensive than Renminbi
And is surprised to learn that we buy sweet potato leaves
At the price which can buy equal amount of pork in the countryside.
He says that those leaves have always been the food for pigs,
And your sister, the youngest and dearest to all your brothers,
Teases that I am too a pig-raiser, when your sisters-in-law break in,
Saying that when you come back next time they will too feed you like that.
They come to announce that the meal is ready,
And we all move outside,
To the eight-immortal table mounted with a round turning tabletop,
Which is placed under an open shed attached to a big phoenix tree.
On the table, plates and bowls of cubed pork, chickens, fish and meatballs
Stewed with different colors of vegetables crowd together,
Like a meeting of many obese people in the playground under our condo.
Your sisters-in-law are apologetic for not knowing how to cook to my taste,
And your brothers have already filled the cup with liquor,
Asking me to take it easy, but also joking that I should drink on behalf of you.
Then they toast, to your daddy, and I raise my cup to join,
As everyone has to do to a senior.
I bottom up the first, and the custom requires
I “drink to the lees” the first around of three cups,
Before I may find excuses for not drinking more.
I know women married to the family are not to be seated at a formal dinner,
But still I, privileged for being coming down from the city,
Ask them to sit and eat together,
Although I know very well that this can only be a gesture and the-thing-to-say.
I find them eating in the kitchen by a low table, with children,
After I am full and excuse myself from the table;
They stand up and try to give up the stool to me,
While I insist that I am too full to sit down, and they are happy to hear that.
They are happy to receive me as if I were not of this family but a VIP guest,
(Oh, maybe I really should consider myself a guest now.
I am already a guest to your family, right?)
And they feel grateful
Not so much for the gifts I give them as for the small talks I try to pick up.
They may ask me to explain some strange things they saw from TV dramas,
And anything I say may become their privileged source for gossips with others.
When the dinner is finished, it is almost mid-afternoon,
And one of your brothers is happily drunk.
People are in the field, working, while I stroll around like a tourist;
They all smile at me, knowing that I am the daughter-in-law of your family,
And I am so good as to take your son and daughter to visit your parents
Although you are too busy to come back.
Our son does not feel estranged from your family,
But our daughter, since she has never been to the countryside before
And does not understand the dialect,
Would turn to me frequently in foreign exclamations.
I can see the perplexed looks in your parents’ faces.
When night falls, the clouds are achingly colorful,
The sky and earth are full of unspeakable beauty.
I know this has been a reason I love you,
As if it is the root for your romanticness I am obsessed with.
How I ache for your accompany in your parents’ home,
To walk in the dying afterglow of the day,
In their love that is a little too much for me to take alone.
How can I not feel lonely?
How can I tell them that we are separated and not divorced?
Can I explain to them that you still love me like before,
But you do not believe in marriage any more?
September 15, 2008
疏而不离
亲爱的，今天中秋，我已到了你父母的家。
你全家人都来了，因为你不在，
我就成了大家关注的中心。
你父母的草房子不大，不过令我感到温馨，
我们坐在长木凳和矮矮的圆凳上，
围成一个小圈，有点挤，彼此伸手就能碰到。
你妈妈布满皱纹的脸上一直挂着开阔的笑，
她一直在对我责备你懒惰，而且说你不会做饭，
我对她说你会做好几道很可口的菜肴，
而且你总是在饭后刷锅洗碗，然后准备水果。
我喜欢听着她嗓音中对你的爱，也感动于她对我真诚的感激。
你爸爸喜欢了解我们的日常生活，尤其是
孩子们的学习情况，比起你的研究，这令他更能说得上话。
他不明白为什么外国的货币就比人民币更加值钱，
而对我们买红薯叶当蔬菜感到好笑，
当他听到红薯叶卖得相当于乡下的猪肉，他吃惊地说
乡下的红薯叶从来都是用来喂猪。
你妹妹，全家最小也是最受宠爱的一个，取笑地说
我可说是一个饲养员，这时候你弟妹插话，
说下次你回家，他们就到地里割些红薯叶招待你。
她们来宣布午饭已经备好，于是我们全都
走出小屋，来到院子里靠着梧桐树搭建的凉棚下。
八仙桌上架起了一个旋转桌面，
上面挤满了碗碟盘盏，方块肉、整鸡、整鱼以及肉圆
炖在各色蔬菜中，犹如许多肥胖的人
在我们公寓楼下的游乐场上聚会。
你的弟妹们满是歉意地说不知道什么菜合我的胃口，
而你弟弟已经将杯子斟满了白酒，叫我随意，
可是又开玩笑说，我还得代你喝酒。
接着他们便端起酒杯，敬你的父亲，
我自然要加入，我知道身为晚辈必须如此。
乡下的习俗规定第一杯要一口饮尽，
规矩如此，开始的三杯不得有任何理由留底。
我知道嫁进来的妇女不可以上桌，我因为是从城里下来，
所以有特权，但是我还是对妯娌们说坐下来一起吃，
虽然我明白这只是一句应该说的话而已。
我吃饱之后离桌，在厨房看到她们在矮桌上陪着孩子。
她们站起来让座，而我说我吃得太饱，需要站着，
她们听了满脸高兴。
她们的喜悦发自内心，然而她们招待我，
犹如我不是家人，而是贵客，
（也许我真的应该将自己视为一个客人了。
我已经是你家的客人了，是么？）
她们带着感激，不是因为我给她们带来了贵重的礼物，
因为对她们而言太不实用，而是因为我乐于找她们聊聊家常。
她们会问我一些她们在电视上看到的奇异行为，
而我说的一切都可能是她们与其他妇女闲言时独有的权威与资本。
午餐结束，已经是下午过半，
你的一个弟弟喝高了，兴高采烈。
田里，人们在干活，我是最自在的游客。
他们都会对我微笑、招呼，知道我是你们家的媳妇，
很孝顺，独自带着一双儿女看望你的父母，
尽管你太忙，无法回来。
我们的儿子自然不感到陌生，可是女儿太小，
从未到过乡下，也听不懂你家的方言，
一有什么，便满嘴外国的感叹词句，匆匆扑向我。
我能看出你父母脸上困惑的表情。
当夜幕降临，彩霞满天，令人心疼，
天空与大地充溢着难以言说的美；
我明白这一直是我爱你的理由之一，
好像这就是你身上那令我着迷的浪漫的根源。
此刻，我多么渴望你能在我身边
在你父母的家，陪我走尽一日最后的余晖；
我独自一人难以承受他们的爱。
我怎么能不感到孤独？
我怎么能告诉他们我们仅仅是分居而不会离婚？
我无法想象他们的表情，
说你依然爱我，只是你已不再相信婚姻。
2008年9月15日
本来打算用作一篇小说的素材，现在写成了一首诗。不知道效果如何。
Estranged
Dear, now I am in your parents’ for the Mid-Autumn.
All of your family have come together, except for you,
And this makes me the center of attention.
Your parents’ thatched house is small and cozy,
And when we sit down around on benches and low stools,
We can all touch and reach each other in a circle.
The broad smile has never subsided on your mum’s wrinkled face,
And she has been chastising your laziness and incapability of cooking,
To which I convince her by naming the dishes you can do
And your gladness to wash plates and bring us fruits after meals.
I love her love for you in her voice,
And I love her sincere gratitude she feels toward my taking care of you.
Your daddy likes to know more about our daily life,
Especially the schooling of our children,
Which he can relate more than your research.
He does not understand
Why the foreign currency is more expensive than Renminbi
And is surprised to learn that we buy sweet potato leaves
At the price which can buy equal amount of pork in the countryside.
He says that those leaves have always been the food for pigs,
And your sister, the youngest and dearest to all your brothers,
Teases that I am too a pig-raiser, when your sisters-in-law break in,
Saying that when you come back next time they will too feed you like that.
They come to announce that the meal is ready,
And we all move outside,
To the eight-immortal table mounted with a round turning tabletop,
Which is placed under an open shed attached to a big phoenix tree.
On the table, plates and bowls of cubed pork, chickens, fish and meatballs
Stewed with different colors of vegetables crowd together,
Like a meeting of many obese people in the playground under our condo.
Your sisters-in-law are apologetic for not knowing how to cook to my taste,
And your brothers have already filled the cup with liquor,
Asking me to take it easy, but also joking that I should drink on behalf of you.
Then they toast, to your daddy, and I raise my cup to join,
As everyone has to do to a senior.
I bottom up the first, and the custom requires
I “drink to the lees” the first around of three cups,
Before I may find excuses for not drinking more.
I know women married to the family are not to be seated at a formal dinner,
But still I, privileged for being coming down from the city,
Ask them to sit and eat together,
Although I know very well that this can only be a gesture and the-thing-to-say.
I find them eating in the kitchen by a low table, with children,
After I am full and excuse myself from the table;
They stand up and try to give up the stool to me,
While I insist that I am too full to sit down, and they are happy to hear that.
They are happy to receive me as if I were not of this family but a VIP guest,
(Oh, maybe I really should consider myself a guest now.
I am already a guest to your family, right?)
And they feel grateful
Not so much for the gifts I give them as for the small talks I try to pick up.
They may ask me to explain some strange things they saw from TV dramas,
And anything I say may become their privileged source for gossips with others.
When the dinner is finished, it is almost mid-afternoon,
And one of your brothers is happily drunk.
People are in the field, working, while I stroll around like a tourist;
They all smile at me, knowing that I am the daughter-in-law of your family,
And I am so good as to take your son and daughter to visit your parents
Although you are too busy to come back.
Our son does not feel estranged from your family,
But our daughter, since she has never been to the countryside before
And does not understand the dialect,
Would turn to me frequently in foreign exclamations.
I can see the perplexed looks in your parents’ faces.
When night falls, the clouds are achingly colorful,
The sky and earth are full of unspeakable beauty.
I know this has been a reason I love you,
As if it is the root for your romanticness I am obsessed with.
How I ache for your accompany in your parents’ home,
To walk in the dying afterglow of the day,
In their love that is a little too much for me to take alone.
How can I not feel lonely?
How can I tell them that we are separated and not divorced?
Can I explain to them that you still love me like before,
But you do not believe in marriage any more?
September 15, 2008
疏而不离
亲爱的，今天中秋，我已到了你父母的家。
你全家人都来了，因为你不在，
我就成了大家关注的中心。
你父母的草房子不大，不过令我感到温馨，
我们坐在长木凳和矮矮的圆凳上，
围成一个小圈，有点挤，彼此伸手就能碰到。
你妈妈布满皱纹的脸上一直挂着开阔的笑，
她一直在对我责备你懒惰，而且说你不会做饭，
我对她说你会做好几道很可口的菜肴，
而且你总是在饭后刷锅洗碗，然后准备水果。
我喜欢听着她嗓音中对你的爱，也感动于她对我真诚的感激。
你爸爸喜欢了解我们的日常生活，尤其是
孩子们的学习情况，比起你的研究，这令他更能说得上话。
他不明白为什么外国的货币就比人民币更加值钱，
而对我们买红薯叶当蔬菜感到好笑，
当他听到红薯叶卖得相当于乡下的猪肉，他吃惊地说
乡下的红薯叶从来都是用来喂猪。
你妹妹，全家最小也是最受宠爱的一个，取笑地说
我可说是一个饲养员，这时候你弟妹插话，
说下次你回家，他们就到地里割些红薯叶招待你。
她们来宣布午饭已经备好，于是我们全都
走出小屋，来到院子里靠着梧桐树搭建的凉棚下。
八仙桌上架起了一个旋转桌面，
上面挤满了碗碟盘盏，方块肉、整鸡、整鱼以及肉圆
炖在各色蔬菜中，犹如许多肥胖的人
在我们公寓楼下的游乐场上聚会。
你的弟妹们满是歉意地说不知道什么菜合我的胃口，
而你弟弟已经将杯子斟满了白酒，叫我随意，
可是又开玩笑说，我还得代你喝酒。
接着他们便端起酒杯，敬你的父亲，
我自然要加入，我知道身为晚辈必须如此。
乡下的习俗规定第一杯要一口饮尽，
规矩如此，开始的三杯不得有任何理由留底。
我知道嫁进来的妇女不可以上桌，我因为是从城里下来，
所以有特权，但是我还是对妯娌们说坐下来一起吃，
虽然我明白这只是一句应该说的话而已。
我吃饱之后离桌，在厨房看到她们在矮桌上陪着孩子。
她们站起来让座，而我说我吃得太饱，需要站着，
她们听了满脸高兴。
她们的喜悦发自内心，然而她们招待我，
犹如我不是家人，而是贵客，
（也许我真的应该将自己视为一个客人了。
我已经是你家的客人了，是么？）
她们带着感激，不是因为我给她们带来了贵重的礼物，
因为对她们而言太不实用，而是因为我乐于找她们聊聊家常。
她们会问我一些她们在电视上看到的奇异行为，
而我说的一切都可能是她们与其他妇女闲言时独有的权威与资本。
午餐结束，已经是下午过半，
你的一个弟弟喝高了，兴高采烈。
田里，人们在干活，我是最自在的游客。
他们都会对我微笑、招呼，知道我是你们家的媳妇，
很孝顺，独自带着一双儿女看望你的父母，
尽管你太忙，无法回来。
我们的儿子自然不感到陌生，可是女儿太小，
从未到过乡下，也听不懂你家的方言，
一有什么，便满嘴外国的感叹词句，匆匆扑向我。
我能看出你父母脸上困惑的表情。
当夜幕降临，彩霞满天，令人心疼，
天空与大地充溢着难以言说的美；
我明白这一直是我爱你的理由之一，
好像这就是你身上那令我着迷的浪漫的根源。
此刻，我多么渴望你能在我身边
在你父母的家，陪我走尽一日最后的余晖；
我独自一人难以承受他们的爱。
我怎么能不感到孤独？
我怎么能告诉他们我们仅仅是分居而不会离婚？
我无法想象他们的表情，
说你依然爱我，只是你已不再相信婚姻。
2008年9月15日
Sunday, September 14, 2008
Fan Jinghua: The Moon Reaches the Mid-Autumn
The Moon Reaches the Mid-Autumn
It started to drizzle toward dusk
And the moon would not be out
At noon when the sun was sprinkling liquid gold
You said: Remember to watch the moon tonight
Although it won’t be full until tomorrow
We talked about yesterday when the moon was almost round
Then we spoke of today, a day of celebration of family union
And a day of sending wishes to someone far away
We noted that people are different during the day
But the same commonplaces conform them during night
You said: During night there are too many stars
And you have no way to find out
Whether the ones I gaze at happen to be those you fix eyes on
Yes, your balcony is yours, and my window is mine
They may appear to be high from the ground
But they are both so low below the stars, below the sky
You said: The moon is the only one there
Distant to us both, and no one in the world can claim ownership
I did not tell you
That I had made copies of the picture you sent me yesterday
And stored them in different spaces
Now I do not have to open the files
And you are still before my eyes
You are in nankeen skirt topped with an orange sleeveless blouse
The water behind you is rippling beneath the plank pier
No one is in the background
But I do not believe it is an auto take
There is always someone beyond what makes you
Someone being there looking at you and having no intention
To underscore my not being there
Yes, I have gladly accepted your invitation
But it seemed that there would be a delay for us
To see the full moon at the same time tonight
September 14, 2008
月到中秋
黄昏时分 下起了小雨
月亮恐怕不会在今夜圆了
午前 太阳泻下流体的金黄
你说：记得今晚看月亮
不过据说明晚的月亮最圆
我们都说到昨夜月亮只差一点点就圆了
然后我们说到今天 团圆的日子
给远方亲朋遥送祝福的日子
我们说白天的人们各有不同
而到了夜晚 相似的寻常事令人所思所想也相差不多
你说 夜晚星空纷繁 你无从知道
我盯着的那些星星是否也就是我所凝目的闪烁
是啊 你的阳台是你的 我的窗户是我的
它们都离地面很高
但是在星空下 在月亮下 它们都无此低矮
你说 月亮只有一个 与我们同样遥远
而这个世界上没有谁能够将它据为己有
我没有告诉你 你昨天寄来的照片被我复制了几份
分藏在不同的空间
此刻我无须打开任何一个文件
你仍然浮现在我的眼前
本白的裙子 桔黄的短袖
脚下是木板码头 湖水在你身后涟漪
背景上空无一人
而我也不相信那是一张自拍
总有人在场景之外将你的此刻呈现出来
那个人看着你 并无意凸显
此刻看你照片的人不在现场
是的 我很欣然接受你异地赏月的邀请
但是显然这只能再一次延后
今夜 我们不能同时凝望一轮圆满
2008年9月14日中秋节
It started to drizzle toward dusk
And the moon would not be out
At noon when the sun was sprinkling liquid gold
You said: Remember to watch the moon tonight
Although it won’t be full until tomorrow
We talked about yesterday when the moon was almost round
Then we spoke of today, a day of celebration of family union
And a day of sending wishes to someone far away
We noted that people are different during the day
But the same commonplaces conform them during night
You said: During night there are too many stars
And you have no way to find out
Whether the ones I gaze at happen to be those you fix eyes on
Yes, your balcony is yours, and my window is mine
They may appear to be high from the ground
But they are both so low below the stars, below the sky
You said: The moon is the only one there
Distant to us both, and no one in the world can claim ownership
I did not tell you
That I had made copies of the picture you sent me yesterday
And stored them in different spaces
Now I do not have to open the files
And you are still before my eyes
You are in nankeen skirt topped with an orange sleeveless blouse
The water behind you is rippling beneath the plank pier
No one is in the background
But I do not believe it is an auto take
There is always someone beyond what makes you
Someone being there looking at you and having no intention
To underscore my not being there
Yes, I have gladly accepted your invitation
But it seemed that there would be a delay for us
To see the full moon at the same time tonight
September 14, 2008
月到中秋
黄昏时分 下起了小雨
月亮恐怕不会在今夜圆了
午前 太阳泻下流体的金黄
你说：记得今晚看月亮
不过据说明晚的月亮最圆
我们都说到昨夜月亮只差一点点就圆了
然后我们说到今天 团圆的日子
给远方亲朋遥送祝福的日子
我们说白天的人们各有不同
而到了夜晚 相似的寻常事令人所思所想也相差不多
你说 夜晚星空纷繁 你无从知道
我盯着的那些星星是否也就是我所凝目的闪烁
是啊 你的阳台是你的 我的窗户是我的
它们都离地面很高
但是在星空下 在月亮下 它们都无此低矮
你说 月亮只有一个 与我们同样遥远
而这个世界上没有谁能够将它据为己有
我没有告诉你 你昨天寄来的照片被我复制了几份
分藏在不同的空间
此刻我无须打开任何一个文件
你仍然浮现在我的眼前
本白的裙子 桔黄的短袖
脚下是木板码头 湖水在你身后涟漪
背景上空无一人
而我也不相信那是一张自拍
总有人在场景之外将你的此刻呈现出来
那个人看着你 并无意凸显
此刻看你照片的人不在现场
是的 我很欣然接受你异地赏月的邀请
但是显然这只能再一次延后
今夜 我们不能同时凝望一轮圆满
2008年9月14日中秋节
Friday, September 12, 2008
Fan Jinghua: Moonlight Sonata
Moonlight Sonata
I. Adagio sostenuto
The night outside is cool and refreshing,
this November disquieting;
the dimly-lit salon is stuffy, and the air is
dispersing arsenic whisperings.
Tonight, many a maiden is to drown in the feigned deportment,
and innocence freezes beneath the fur-lined gloves.
Now, downtown traffic has halted, time is time-out,
drivers have covered their faces with felt hats.
Was yesterday night the same as this? The day before?
Has music ever reached them in spite of the rattling of coins?
My eyes are still good for use,
And the intervals of black and white keys can still induce my passion.
So it is a blessing for not hearing with ears?
II. Allegretto
One abused minuet or even allemande
plus a few rides on the rumbling wheels and slow galloping hooves
will be enough to make a lady’s dancing legs out of pace and rhythm.
III. Presto agitato
You, my hypocritical listeners!
You, a bunch of philistines and salon-suckers!
Never, never try to ride roughshod over my sobriety and acrimony!
My only uncompromised pride is my contempt
for any note composed in the name of moonlight
no matter in major or minor, sharp or flat.
It has never existed. No music can usurp
the milky silky warmly cool white.
You have never listened
and I have never written.
November, 2004
《月光奏鸣曲》
第一乐章：持续的柔板
深秋之夜
凉凉的如风 薄薄的似雾
挨近而不萦绕 紧贴而不缠绵
这座废弃的花园
颜色由金转褐
涂抹着鳏居的主人
那失修的梅毒心情
远了淡了 厌了 散了
那浅浅的笑暗暗的香脉脉的眼神
沙龙里人头攒动
我的耳朵逐渐失聪
踌躇依然挤不进车水马龙的闹市
尘积的长椅上落叶残留着黄昏的暖意
不远处那棵菩提树苍老如我
披着半旧的厚呢大衣
不必掸了
她已多年不曾来此忧伤季节的更替
只有幽会的马车偶尔碾过几声窃窃的艳笑
滴滴答答的小步舞敲击着石板路潮湿的寂寥
曾几何时 她趴在我的肩头 看黑键白键跳跃着她的眼眸
何时起 她学会伸出冷冷的右手 “荣幸之至，女士”
第二乐章：快板
长椅的那端 多年前的一个初夏之夜
我的双眼随她的双脚 轻荡 她那掩饰的悠然
呈示着一部奏鸣曲的主题
我独奏的心情在黑键白键上流淌
她的无邪 我难以言表的旋律
从此城里不再风雨 窗外不再雷电
大调小调不在城里雷电不在窗外窗外没有城池
城池上空没有星辰北斗
她的快慢缓柔弹奏着我的十指
我的十指追逐着阳光穿透的河中嬉游于草底的小鱼
第三乐章：急板
今夜我这一叶生命
已不再涟漪，我已沉入水底
黑键白键如沤泡多年的木桩
灵魂裹着皮肉
当落叶弹奏水面
俗世岂有音乐音乐岂有意义
她何曾是她我何曾是我
人间何曾有过月光
我何曾年轻你们何曾成熟
不要践踏我的冷峻
不要把悲愤强加于我的孤独
我唯一的傲慢就是
我不曾谱过一行月光
啊，空虚的听众，不屑的知音
2004年11月29日
The above Chinese version is quite different from the English version. Both versions try to follow the usual playing time and the mood of Beethoven’s Moonlight Sonata. Literal translation of The English version reads like this.
上面的中文版和英文版相差比较大。不过，两个版本都试图与贝多芬的《月光奏鸣曲》保持演奏时间和情绪上的一致性。英文版的直译如下：
月光奏鸣曲
一．持续的柔板
外面的夜凉而清爽，
这个十一月令人心慌；
幽暗的沙龙烟雾缭绕，空气
传播着砒霜般的低语。
今夜，很多少女将会淹死在虚饰的仪态中，
纯真在软毛嵌缝的手套下结冰。
此刻，市中心的交通停顿了，时间在时间之外，
赶车人用毡帽盖住了脸。
昨天是否也是如此？昨天之前呢？
音乐是否穿过硬币的铮铮声接近过他们？
我的双眼还算好用，
黑键白健的间隔依然能够引发我的激情。
那么失聪之听算是一种福分？
二．快板
一曲滥用的米奴哀小步或者阿勒曼德列队舞
稍加几圈粼粼的车轮与缓缓的马蹄声
就足以搅乱一个淑女双腿的步态与节奏
三．急板
你们，我虚伪的听众！
你们，一帮菲利士粗人，一帮沙龙混子！
你们千万千万不要玩弄我的清醒与尖刻！
我唯一毫不妥协的傲气就是我不屑于
以月光之名谱写一个音符，
无论大调小调升调降调
那从未存在过。没有音乐能够篡夺
那牛奶的丝绸的温暖的凉爽的白。
你们从没有听过，
我从没有谱过。
2008年9月12日 译
I. Adagio sostenuto
The night outside is cool and refreshing,
this November disquieting;
the dimly-lit salon is stuffy, and the air is
dispersing arsenic whisperings.
Tonight, many a maiden is to drown in the feigned deportment,
and innocence freezes beneath the fur-lined gloves.
Now, downtown traffic has halted, time is time-out,
drivers have covered their faces with felt hats.
Was yesterday night the same as this? The day before?
Has music ever reached them in spite of the rattling of coins?
My eyes are still good for use,
And the intervals of black and white keys can still induce my passion.
So it is a blessing for not hearing with ears?
II. Allegretto
One abused minuet or even allemande
plus a few rides on the rumbling wheels and slow galloping hooves
will be enough to make a lady’s dancing legs out of pace and rhythm.
III. Presto agitato
You, my hypocritical listeners!
You, a bunch of philistines and salon-suckers!
Never, never try to ride roughshod over my sobriety and acrimony!
My only uncompromised pride is my contempt
for any note composed in the name of moonlight
no matter in major or minor, sharp or flat.
It has never existed. No music can usurp
the milky silky warmly cool white.
You have never listened
and I have never written.
November, 2004
《月光奏鸣曲》
第一乐章：持续的柔板
深秋之夜
凉凉的如风 薄薄的似雾
挨近而不萦绕 紧贴而不缠绵
这座废弃的花园
颜色由金转褐
涂抹着鳏居的主人
那失修的梅毒心情
远了淡了 厌了 散了
那浅浅的笑暗暗的香脉脉的眼神
沙龙里人头攒动
我的耳朵逐渐失聪
踌躇依然挤不进车水马龙的闹市
尘积的长椅上落叶残留着黄昏的暖意
不远处那棵菩提树苍老如我
披着半旧的厚呢大衣
不必掸了
她已多年不曾来此忧伤季节的更替
只有幽会的马车偶尔碾过几声窃窃的艳笑
滴滴答答的小步舞敲击着石板路潮湿的寂寥
曾几何时 她趴在我的肩头 看黑键白键跳跃着她的眼眸
何时起 她学会伸出冷冷的右手 “荣幸之至，女士”
第二乐章：快板
长椅的那端 多年前的一个初夏之夜
我的双眼随她的双脚 轻荡 她那掩饰的悠然
呈示着一部奏鸣曲的主题
我独奏的心情在黑键白键上流淌
她的无邪 我难以言表的旋律
从此城里不再风雨 窗外不再雷电
大调小调不在城里雷电不在窗外窗外没有城池
城池上空没有星辰北斗
她的快慢缓柔弹奏着我的十指
我的十指追逐着阳光穿透的河中嬉游于草底的小鱼
第三乐章：急板
今夜我这一叶生命
已不再涟漪，我已沉入水底
黑键白键如沤泡多年的木桩
灵魂裹着皮肉
当落叶弹奏水面
俗世岂有音乐音乐岂有意义
她何曾是她我何曾是我
人间何曾有过月光
我何曾年轻你们何曾成熟
不要践踏我的冷峻
不要把悲愤强加于我的孤独
我唯一的傲慢就是
我不曾谱过一行月光
啊，空虚的听众，不屑的知音
2004年11月29日
The above Chinese version is quite different from the English version. Both versions try to follow the usual playing time and the mood of Beethoven’s Moonlight Sonata. Literal translation of The English version reads like this.
上面的中文版和英文版相差比较大。不过，两个版本都试图与贝多芬的《月光奏鸣曲》保持演奏时间和情绪上的一致性。英文版的直译如下：
月光奏鸣曲
一．持续的柔板
外面的夜凉而清爽，
这个十一月令人心慌；
幽暗的沙龙烟雾缭绕，空气
传播着砒霜般的低语。
今夜，很多少女将会淹死在虚饰的仪态中，
纯真在软毛嵌缝的手套下结冰。
此刻，市中心的交通停顿了，时间在时间之外，
赶车人用毡帽盖住了脸。
昨天是否也是如此？昨天之前呢？
音乐是否穿过硬币的铮铮声接近过他们？
我的双眼还算好用，
黑键白健的间隔依然能够引发我的激情。
那么失聪之听算是一种福分？
二．快板
一曲滥用的米奴哀小步或者阿勒曼德列队舞
稍加几圈粼粼的车轮与缓缓的马蹄声
就足以搅乱一个淑女双腿的步态与节奏
三．急板
你们，我虚伪的听众！
你们，一帮菲利士粗人，一帮沙龙混子！
你们千万千万不要玩弄我的清醒与尖刻！
我唯一毫不妥协的傲气就是我不屑于
以月光之名谱写一个音符，
无论大调小调升调降调
那从未存在过。没有音乐能够篡夺
那牛奶的丝绸的温暖的凉爽的白。
你们从没有听过，
我从没有谱过。
2008年9月12日 译
Wednesday, September 10, 2008
Fan Jinghua: Relationship
Relationship
The Filipino maid pushes a wheelchair, which is loaded
With an old lady who appears to be recovering from a stroke,
As if she is pushing a cart of the thickest coldness out of last night.
Looks like she is definitely below 18.
I ride slowly in the morning fragrance and colors,
After dropping off my kid at his school gate who is much higher than her.
When I turn my head, her straying eyes catch mine;
That meeting of eyes is too short to mean any communication.
I turn my head again, feeling an acute shame
For the thought that someday
She would grow as old as her employer.
September 10, 2008
关系
她推着轮椅，轮椅上装着一个康而未复的中风老太
像从夜里推出一车最浓的寒意
看起来那菲佣肯定不到十八岁
我将比她高出许多的儿子放在校门口，骑着空车
享受清晨的香味和色彩，慢慢地超过了她们
我回头时，被她到处看的眼睛看到了
那短暂的对视绝不可能意味着任何交流
而我一转头就感到羞耻，因为我想到将有一天
她会像她的雇主一样衰老
2008年9月10日
The Filipino maid pushes a wheelchair, which is loaded
With an old lady who appears to be recovering from a stroke,
As if she is pushing a cart of the thickest coldness out of last night.
Looks like she is definitely below 18.
I ride slowly in the morning fragrance and colors,
After dropping off my kid at his school gate who is much higher than her.
When I turn my head, her straying eyes catch mine;
That meeting of eyes is too short to mean any communication.
I turn my head again, feeling an acute shame
For the thought that someday
She would grow as old as her employer.
September 10, 2008
关系
她推着轮椅，轮椅上装着一个康而未复的中风老太
像从夜里推出一车最浓的寒意
看起来那菲佣肯定不到十八岁
我将比她高出许多的儿子放在校门口，骑着空车
享受清晨的香味和色彩，慢慢地超过了她们
我回头时，被她到处看的眼睛看到了
那短暂的对视绝不可能意味着任何交流
而我一转头就感到羞耻，因为我想到将有一天
她会像她的雇主一样衰老
2008年9月10日
Yang Jian: Gift
Gift
Yang Jian
Without any struggling, leaves fall from the tree.
Wind
Again blows one up;
She sizzles, without any struggling either.
On its thin and dry body,
Love, appears to be stronger than when it was still hanging on the trunk.
Yes, I am immortal,
Which must be the gift from the leaves.
馈赠
杨键
树叶没有经过任何抵抗就落下了，
风，
又把它吹起，
她也是没有任何抵抗地“沙沙”作响。
在它瘦小，枯干的身体上，
爱，似乎比它在树干上的时候还要强烈。
是的，我是不死的，
也一定是这些树叶所赠。
The confusing pronouns in this poem reveal an interesting aspect about the poet. The image of leaves falling from the tree is not a natural phenomenon, as almost all the poets who lament the transience of life have seen. What is interesting to note is that in the first line, the leaves appear to be equal with the poet as a human being. The leaves should have struggled. Dylan Thomas urged his dying father to be a man like him: “Do not go gentle into that good night/ Rage, rage against the dying of the light.” It appears that the poet is too disappointed at the giving-up of life on the part of the leaves. However, the poet immediately brings up a larger circulation of life.
The wind blows one leaf up from the ground, and the purposed dead leaf is therefore joined into the circulation. The most interesting thing is that the inanimate “it” is changed into a female pronoun, thus the leaf is either a metaphor for a woman or the essence or spirit underlying the phenomenal world of life and death. When the leaf (she) sizzles or sings in the wind as it (she) is blown around, its resignation (without struggling) becomes the way of all life, thus the lament in the first line is neutralized. The resignation to the natural circulation of life becomes a critique to the cultural configuration of lamentation over autumn and death.
The poet does not highlight the concrete images in the poem, contrary to many mediocre pieces; instead, the poet makes the reader hear the sizzling sound, and thus the whole poem comes alive. However, the poem does not keep its strength, or perhaps the poet does not trust the readers. The following two lines present the leaf as a female body, and this representation is hackneyed and superficial. This is sad for both the poet and the reader, and for poetry.
Yang Jian
Without any struggling, leaves fall from the tree.
Wind
Again blows one up;
She sizzles, without any struggling either.
On its thin and dry body,
Love, appears to be stronger than when it was still hanging on the trunk.
Yes, I am immortal,
Which must be the gift from the leaves.
馈赠
杨键
树叶没有经过任何抵抗就落下了，
风，
又把它吹起，
她也是没有任何抵抗地“沙沙”作响。
在它瘦小，枯干的身体上，
爱，似乎比它在树干上的时候还要强烈。
是的，我是不死的，
也一定是这些树叶所赠。
The confusing pronouns in this poem reveal an interesting aspect about the poet. The image of leaves falling from the tree is not a natural phenomenon, as almost all the poets who lament the transience of life have seen. What is interesting to note is that in the first line, the leaves appear to be equal with the poet as a human being. The leaves should have struggled. Dylan Thomas urged his dying father to be a man like him: “Do not go gentle into that good night/ Rage, rage against the dying of the light.” It appears that the poet is too disappointed at the giving-up of life on the part of the leaves. However, the poet immediately brings up a larger circulation of life.
The wind blows one leaf up from the ground, and the purposed dead leaf is therefore joined into the circulation. The most interesting thing is that the inanimate “it” is changed into a female pronoun, thus the leaf is either a metaphor for a woman or the essence or spirit underlying the phenomenal world of life and death. When the leaf (she) sizzles or sings in the wind as it (she) is blown around, its resignation (without struggling) becomes the way of all life, thus the lament in the first line is neutralized. The resignation to the natural circulation of life becomes a critique to the cultural configuration of lamentation over autumn and death.
The poet does not highlight the concrete images in the poem, contrary to many mediocre pieces; instead, the poet makes the reader hear the sizzling sound, and thus the whole poem comes alive. However, the poem does not keep its strength, or perhaps the poet does not trust the readers. The following two lines present the leaf as a female body, and this representation is hackneyed and superficial. This is sad for both the poet and the reader, and for poetry.
We can easily put the poet into a stereotype of “male poet who subjugates the female poem.” The poet finds stronger love in the inanimate body of the feminized leaf, and does this reveal the poet's fascination over the subjugated? The reason for the apparently over-done lines deserves more attention. Why does the poet feel that he has to come to the fore and become so forceful?
Maybe he just needs an “also” to be added to the penultimate line. The proceeding two redundant lines already tell that the last two lines are about, and therefore the reflection in the last two lines does not hold the necessary tension.
A purely personal note:
Maybe he just needs an “also” to be added to the penultimate line. The proceeding two redundant lines already tell that the last two lines are about, and therefore the reflection in the last two lines does not hold the necessary tension.
A purely personal note:
The poem can be read as a way of life in that resignation does not mean failure. Even for personal relationships, how one accepts and acknowledges a relation, passionately outgoing or apparently conservative, does not matter as long as in its core love exists.
这首诗中的代词混用很有趣。首先，第一行说的是很多树叶，最后一行也是这么说的。然后第三行之后用的是单数，而且无生命的它和有生命的她混用。我们要如何理解呢？看到很多树叶落下，这是一种总体的现象；然后看到一片树叶被风吹起，这是具体的。
第一行的悲秋可说是所有文明中都有的，对于生命脆弱的哀叹。威尔士诗人迪伦·托马斯看到父亲垂死在床上，愤怒，大吼：不要温顺地进入那良宵，要咆哮、对着光明的消泯咆哮。在第一行中，诗人似乎也是这样的，对于“没有任何抵抗”的放弃，感到失望而无奈。然而，这首诗的长处恰恰在诗人立即将这种失望引向了另一个方向。
接着，诗人看到了一片具体的叶子又被风吹起来了。这就是说，看似死了的叶子进入了另一个生命的循环。这儿就出现了一个非有趣的代词转换。本来用无生命的它来指代这片叶子的，然后改用了有生命的女性代词她。于是，我们可以说，叶子就成了一种生命或者灵魂的隐喻，当然也有可能说是某个女性人物。在此，我们可以说这两者是相通的。当这片叶子被吹来吹去的时候，它-她发出沙沙的声响，也是隐忍而毫不抵抗的，这种隐忍或认命却是一种顺应生命流程的歌声。这客观上又使得第一行的悲叹失去了合理性，也就是说，这一行具有了一种对于传统的批判意识。
这首诗中诗人没有着力强调叶子的视觉具体性，或者起码不是从开始这么强调的，而是强调了声音，这是这首诗的一个长处，这首如此短小的诗歌因此具有了一种活泼。然后，我们立即就看到诗人的失败之处了。第五六两行，诗人将那片叶子的身体带进了人们的视觉之中，而且是一个很女性化的身体。这固然可以说是对于上文中的“她”的回应，但是却是俗套而且肤浅的。这可能反映了诗人对于读者的不信，低估了读者的能力，或者诗人无法摆脱自己的男性视角，一定要将诗表现为一个驯服了的女性。这是否暗示了诗人对于死尸般女性身体的某种迷恋（当然这里的身体是文化意义上的）？这看似多余的两行所显示的失败非常值得探讨。到底是假定的读者有问题，还是诗人自己无法超越？为什么诗人觉得自己非要站到前台，如此强迫？
如果第五六行删除掉，那么倒数第二行只需要加一个“也”字，就可以了。最后两行是一种反思，而正是前面多余的两行削弱了这种反思的张力。前两行已经将这种反思的内容预先透底了。
有关这首诗的纯粹私人的想法：这首诗可以很简单的理解为一种人生之道的阐释。一个人如何接受或者承认一种关系，其方式无所谓，热情的表露或者表面的缄默，都无关紧要。只要爱存在于内心，我们就是不死的。
这首诗中的代词混用很有趣。首先，第一行说的是很多树叶，最后一行也是这么说的。然后第三行之后用的是单数，而且无生命的它和有生命的她混用。我们要如何理解呢？看到很多树叶落下，这是一种总体的现象；然后看到一片树叶被风吹起，这是具体的。
第一行的悲秋可说是所有文明中都有的，对于生命脆弱的哀叹。威尔士诗人迪伦·托马斯看到父亲垂死在床上，愤怒，大吼：不要温顺地进入那良宵，要咆哮、对着光明的消泯咆哮。在第一行中，诗人似乎也是这样的，对于“没有任何抵抗”的放弃，感到失望而无奈。然而，这首诗的长处恰恰在诗人立即将这种失望引向了另一个方向。
接着，诗人看到了一片具体的叶子又被风吹起来了。这就是说，看似死了的叶子进入了另一个生命的循环。这儿就出现了一个非有趣的代词转换。本来用无生命的它来指代这片叶子的，然后改用了有生命的女性代词她。于是，我们可以说，叶子就成了一种生命或者灵魂的隐喻，当然也有可能说是某个女性人物。在此，我们可以说这两者是相通的。当这片叶子被吹来吹去的时候，它-她发出沙沙的声响，也是隐忍而毫不抵抗的，这种隐忍或认命却是一种顺应生命流程的歌声。这客观上又使得第一行的悲叹失去了合理性，也就是说，这一行具有了一种对于传统的批判意识。
这首诗中诗人没有着力强调叶子的视觉具体性，或者起码不是从开始这么强调的，而是强调了声音，这是这首诗的一个长处，这首如此短小的诗歌因此具有了一种活泼。然后，我们立即就看到诗人的失败之处了。第五六两行，诗人将那片叶子的身体带进了人们的视觉之中，而且是一个很女性化的身体。这固然可以说是对于上文中的“她”的回应，但是却是俗套而且肤浅的。这可能反映了诗人对于读者的不信，低估了读者的能力，或者诗人无法摆脱自己的男性视角，一定要将诗表现为一个驯服了的女性。这是否暗示了诗人对于死尸般女性身体的某种迷恋（当然这里的身体是文化意义上的）？这看似多余的两行所显示的失败非常值得探讨。到底是假定的读者有问题，还是诗人自己无法超越？为什么诗人觉得自己非要站到前台，如此强迫？
如果第五六行删除掉，那么倒数第二行只需要加一个“也”字，就可以了。最后两行是一种反思，而正是前面多余的两行削弱了这种反思的张力。前两行已经将这种反思的内容预先透底了。
有关这首诗的纯粹私人的想法：这首诗可以很简单的理解为一种人生之道的阐释。一个人如何接受或者承认一种关系，其方式无所谓，热情的表露或者表面的缄默，都无关紧要。只要爱存在于内心，我们就是不死的。
About the author:
Yang Jian was born in 1967. He published two books of poems: Nightfall (2003) and At the Ancient Bridge (2007). He is awarded the Sixth Annual Award for Literature in Chinese Language (Poetry) in 2007, perhaps the most respected Chinese literary award.
Tuesday, September 9, 2008
Fan Jinghua: Clustered Fragments
Clustered Fragments
* * * * *
On your way to people you see every day,
You take glimpse of some purple flowers today,
And your glimpse lingers as long as your slowed down pace can allow.
Then, one flower faces you, and you smile,
Leaving yourself behind your passing body.
Now, only when someone comes to give you a hug
Can you be brought back.
* * * * *
What language should be used to say a meaning still hidden somewhere?
When your words are not written out yet, how should I read you?
Now, I can read into you further and further back,
And it takes me away from your today and tomorrow.
One day, I might not be able to recognize you
If you do not extend your hands to retrieve me from your past.
* * * * *
From below, from the direction of a basketball court between condos,
Comes the air of Songs of Seasons.
A slower than usual voice cries:
I’d rather the woman whose wails crumbled down the Great Wall….
It is a little overly deep-throated.
* * * * *
10 p.m. I see myself picking up the steps to a small arch bridge,
With plastic bags in hand.
To the left, a local opera is being staged on a platform in a tent on a lawn
Where whoever come by are turned into audiences.
To the right, in the void deck, there is a wake, few people there,
Among the banners, wreaths and convertible tables and chairs.
Then, a drizzle settles in, and the opera ends soon.
Then the chanting settles in, seeming eternal in the quieting night.
* * * * *
You have to walk into the dark recess to turn on the lights,
For they are operated by occupancy sensors.
It is not the traditional switch, which you have to touch and push;
The old type will never be off by itself, once turned on,
Until the bulb is burnt.
* * * * *
Dear, if you ever go to Bloomington or Phoenix Town,
Remember to send me some pictures,
With or without you.
I know you may not swim the water,
And there should be lovable trees in every season.
* * * * *
Thunder and rain are fucking violently.
Do lonely people delight in the sound and sight?
Here. Now. Sky linked with the earth.
* * * * *
Moon. Madeleine. Moo. They all are warm and decent,
And they all make me feel cold and isolated.
Alone with them, I am so erotic. And you, my dear?
September, 2008
集束碎片
＊＊＊＊＊
那条路带着你去见每天必见的人，
今天你在路上瞥见了几颗紫色的小花。
你慢下脚步，尽量延续那一瞥的长度。
然后，一朵花真的面对你了，你投以一个微笑，
而你自己就被留在了身体后面。
现在，只有当有人来给你一个拥抱，
你才能回来。
＊＊＊＊＊
该用什么语言来说出仍然隐藏在某处的意思？
你的字儿还没写出来，我该如何阅读？
此刻，我读入你的曾经，越读越深，
越来越远离你的今天和明天，
如果你不伸手将我从你的过去拉回，
有一天，我将与你对面，却形同陌路。
＊＊＊＊＊
从下面，公寓之间的篮球场的方向
传来《四季歌》的调子。
一个比常速缓慢的女声哀哀地唱道：
“奴愿做当年的小孟姜……”
那嗓子有点故意压低。
＊＊＊＊＊
晚上十点。我看到自己拾级走向一座小小的拱桥，
手里提着几个塑料袋。
左边，一台地方戏正在草坪上搭起的平台上上演，
将路过的人都变成了观众。
右边，楼底层的空地正在守灵，仅有的几个人
被淹没在锦帐、花圈和活动桌椅之间。
然后，细雨入夜，大戏匆匆结束，
而唱经声从围起的深处传来，在越来越静的夜晚
犹如永恒。
＊＊＊＊＊
那些灯是靠占用型传感器控制的，
你必须走进黑暗才能被照亮。
不像传统的开关，需要你手触或者推拉；
旧式开关一旦打开，就不会自动关闭，
直到烧毁。
＊＊＊＊＊
亲爱的，如果你要去桃花源或者凤凰镇，
一定要给我发来几张风景与人，
有你最好，没有你也罢。
我知道你可能不会下水，
而每个季节那儿都该有很可爱的树。
＊＊＊＊＊
雷雨大作，它们狂热地做爱。
孤独的人喜悦于那声音和景象么？
此时。此刻。天与地相连。
＊＊＊＊＊
月亮。小蛋糕。哞哞声。它们都温暖而端庄，
它们总是令我觉得冷意生于周身。
独自与它们相处，我会色心鼓胀。你呢，亲爱的人？
2008年9月
* * * * *
On your way to people you see every day,
You take glimpse of some purple flowers today,
And your glimpse lingers as long as your slowed down pace can allow.
Then, one flower faces you, and you smile,
Leaving yourself behind your passing body.
Now, only when someone comes to give you a hug
Can you be brought back.
* * * * *
What language should be used to say a meaning still hidden somewhere?
When your words are not written out yet, how should I read you?
Now, I can read into you further and further back,
And it takes me away from your today and tomorrow.
One day, I might not be able to recognize you
If you do not extend your hands to retrieve me from your past.
* * * * *
From below, from the direction of a basketball court between condos,
Comes the air of Songs of Seasons.
A slower than usual voice cries:
I’d rather the woman whose wails crumbled down the Great Wall….
It is a little overly deep-throated.
* * * * *
10 p.m. I see myself picking up the steps to a small arch bridge,
With plastic bags in hand.
To the left, a local opera is being staged on a platform in a tent on a lawn
Where whoever come by are turned into audiences.
To the right, in the void deck, there is a wake, few people there,
Among the banners, wreaths and convertible tables and chairs.
Then, a drizzle settles in, and the opera ends soon.
Then the chanting settles in, seeming eternal in the quieting night.
* * * * *
You have to walk into the dark recess to turn on the lights,
For they are operated by occupancy sensors.
It is not the traditional switch, which you have to touch and push;
The old type will never be off by itself, once turned on,
Until the bulb is burnt.
* * * * *
Dear, if you ever go to Bloomington or Phoenix Town,
Remember to send me some pictures,
With or without you.
I know you may not swim the water,
And there should be lovable trees in every season.
* * * * *
Thunder and rain are fucking violently.
Do lonely people delight in the sound and sight?
Here. Now. Sky linked with the earth.
* * * * *
Moon. Madeleine. Moo. They all are warm and decent,
And they all make me feel cold and isolated.
Alone with them, I am so erotic. And you, my dear?
September, 2008
集束碎片
＊＊＊＊＊
那条路带着你去见每天必见的人，
今天你在路上瞥见了几颗紫色的小花。
你慢下脚步，尽量延续那一瞥的长度。
然后，一朵花真的面对你了，你投以一个微笑，
而你自己就被留在了身体后面。
现在，只有当有人来给你一个拥抱，
你才能回来。
＊＊＊＊＊
该用什么语言来说出仍然隐藏在某处的意思？
你的字儿还没写出来，我该如何阅读？
此刻，我读入你的曾经，越读越深，
越来越远离你的今天和明天，
如果你不伸手将我从你的过去拉回，
有一天，我将与你对面，却形同陌路。
＊＊＊＊＊
从下面，公寓之间的篮球场的方向
传来《四季歌》的调子。
一个比常速缓慢的女声哀哀地唱道：
“奴愿做当年的小孟姜……”
那嗓子有点故意压低。
＊＊＊＊＊
晚上十点。我看到自己拾级走向一座小小的拱桥，
手里提着几个塑料袋。
左边，一台地方戏正在草坪上搭起的平台上上演，
将路过的人都变成了观众。
右边，楼底层的空地正在守灵，仅有的几个人
被淹没在锦帐、花圈和活动桌椅之间。
然后，细雨入夜，大戏匆匆结束，
而唱经声从围起的深处传来，在越来越静的夜晚
犹如永恒。
＊＊＊＊＊
那些灯是靠占用型传感器控制的，
你必须走进黑暗才能被照亮。
不像传统的开关，需要你手触或者推拉；
旧式开关一旦打开，就不会自动关闭，
直到烧毁。
＊＊＊＊＊
亲爱的，如果你要去桃花源或者凤凰镇，
一定要给我发来几张风景与人，
有你最好，没有你也罢。
我知道你可能不会下水，
而每个季节那儿都该有很可爱的树。
＊＊＊＊＊
雷雨大作，它们狂热地做爱。
孤独的人喜悦于那声音和景象么？
此时。此刻。天与地相连。
＊＊＊＊＊
月亮。小蛋糕。哞哞声。它们都温暖而端庄，
它们总是令我觉得冷意生于周身。
独自与它们相处，我会色心鼓胀。你呢，亲爱的人？
2008年9月
Monday, September 8, 2008
Fan Jinghua: A Love Carved on Water
A Love Carved on Water
Then you came by, in soundless sidesteps
All the horizontal directions having been verticalized and put up on the globe
You had turned it upside down before coming out
Now, you sat down, by my left side
Watching the changing lights on the opposite bank
You pointed to the right, saying: There is a white horse over there
Your arm in front of me, blocking
The middle part of those downtown towers
Yes, I saw a silent white animal swimming in deep blue
Meanwhile, you’d rolled off your stockings from nowhere
Your feet naked on mine
The water before us dazzling and colorful, a whole body of raised sway
Then you wrapped up something heavy in your stockings and threw it away
Something splashed broken and grew
Bigger and bigger in the water
That became our love
Your forefinger drew an arch, trying to contain it from your side
And I signed the other half to make up a heart
That becomes our love
Held together over there on the shattered water
The water tells that distances on the earth are flat when we stand up
And walk to any direction
September 8, 2008
雕在水上的爱情
然后你无声地走过来，以横向的碎步
而所有沿着地面的距离都已经被你竖起来，贴在地球仪上
在你出发之前，你将地球仪上下颠倒
此刻，你坐下，在我的左边，静静地，望着隔岸的一片灯火
你伸手指向右边，说：那儿有一匹白马
你的手臂横在我的眼前，将市中心的高楼
拦腰截断
是的，我看到一个沉默的白色动物游在一顷深蓝中
与此同时，你已经不知从何处退卷下了长袜
双脚赤裸地放在我的脚上
我们的眼前，水，叠起霓虹灯的彩光
一汪涌起的晃荡，令人眩晕
然后你用袜子裹起一块重物，扔了出去
某个东西哗啦一声碎了，越来越大
那就是我们的爱情
你的食指画了一条弧线，试图阻遏它向你那边扩大
而我画了另外半边，完成了一颗心的形状
这就变成了我们的爱情
我们坐在岸边，用手指画圈，在被击破的水面上围住一小片斑斓
我们一旦站起来，行走
就必然知道，距离在脚下，所有的方向都是水平的
2008年9月8日
Then you came by, in soundless sidesteps
All the horizontal directions having been verticalized and put up on the globe
You had turned it upside down before coming out
Now, you sat down, by my left side
Watching the changing lights on the opposite bank
You pointed to the right, saying: There is a white horse over there
Your arm in front of me, blocking
The middle part of those downtown towers
Yes, I saw a silent white animal swimming in deep blue
Meanwhile, you’d rolled off your stockings from nowhere
Your feet naked on mine
The water before us dazzling and colorful, a whole body of raised sway
Then you wrapped up something heavy in your stockings and threw it away
Something splashed broken and grew
Bigger and bigger in the water
That became our love
Your forefinger drew an arch, trying to contain it from your side
And I signed the other half to make up a heart
That becomes our love
Held together over there on the shattered water
The water tells that distances on the earth are flat when we stand up
And walk to any direction
September 8, 2008
雕在水上的爱情
然后你无声地走过来，以横向的碎步
而所有沿着地面的距离都已经被你竖起来，贴在地球仪上
在你出发之前，你将地球仪上下颠倒
此刻，你坐下，在我的左边，静静地，望着隔岸的一片灯火
你伸手指向右边，说：那儿有一匹白马
你的手臂横在我的眼前，将市中心的高楼
拦腰截断
是的，我看到一个沉默的白色动物游在一顷深蓝中
与此同时，你已经不知从何处退卷下了长袜
双脚赤裸地放在我的脚上
我们的眼前，水，叠起霓虹灯的彩光
一汪涌起的晃荡，令人眩晕
然后你用袜子裹起一块重物，扔了出去
某个东西哗啦一声碎了，越来越大
那就是我们的爱情
你的食指画了一条弧线，试图阻遏它向你那边扩大
而我画了另外半边，完成了一颗心的形状
这就变成了我们的爱情
我们坐在岸边，用手指画圈，在被击破的水面上围住一小片斑斓
我们一旦站起来，行走
就必然知道，距离在脚下，所有的方向都是水平的
2008年9月8日
Wang Yucheng: Pure Brightness
Pure Brightness
Wang Yucheng (954-1001)
It is Pure Brightness. So what?
I have no flowers and wine for the festive.
Alone in this place, spiritless and tasteless,
I am like a monk in the wilderness.
Yesterday, I went to my neighbor, out of customs,
For fire to renew my hearth and stove.
I read by the window early as usual
In the lamp that is being eclipsed by dawn light.
Tr. Fan Jinghua
清明
王禹偁
无花无酒过清明，兴味萧然似野僧。
昨日邻家乞新火，晓窗分与读书灯。
清Clear明Bright
王禹偁
无no 花flower 无no 酒wine 过pass, spend 清明Pure Brightness
兴spirit 味taste 萧然dreary 似like 野wild 僧monk
昨日yesterday 邻neighbor 家house 乞beg 新new 火fire
晓dawn 窗window 分share 与with 读reading 书book 灯lamp
清qing1明ming2
[宋] 王禹偁 (954-1001 Song Dynasty)
无wu2花hua1无wu2酒jiu3过guo 4清qing1明ming2
兴xing1味wei4萧xiao1然ran2似si4野ye3僧seng1
昨zuo2日ri4邻lin2家jia1乞qi3新xin1火huo3
晓xiao3窗chuang1分fen1与yu3读du2书shu1灯deng1
About Pure Brightness Day 有关清明和二十四节气:
In traditional Chinese lunar calendar, a year is divided into 24 seasonal division points 二十四节气. Each season is divided into 6 points, marked by 15 degrees of the sun’s position at ecliptic. The first is of course Beginning of Spring (立春), February 4 or 5 on Gregorian calendar, and the seventh is Beginning of Summer (立夏), May 5 or 6 on Gregorian calendar. Beginning of Autumn (立秋) falls on August 7 or 8, while Beginning of Winter (立冬) is November 7 or 8. It should always be kept in mind that whenever the months are mentioned in classic Chinese poetry (as well as Japanese and Korean classic poetry) they refer to lunar calendar months, generally one month and week later than Gregorian calendar. Pure Brightness (清明) is fifteen days after Vernal Equinox (春分), with 15 degree of the sun’s position at ecliptic.
Folk customs for Pure Brightness are mostly associated with memorial ceremony for the ancestry. On the day before Pure Brightness, no cooking smoke is allowed, for back in Spring and Autumn Period 春秋时代 (770-476 BC) there was a man called Jie Tui 介推 (or Tui of Jie 介之推) who, once accompanied the dethroned Jin Emperor Wengong 晋文公in exile, declined to come out of hermitage when Wengong took power again. Wengong set fire to the woods Jie Tui secluded, in hope of chasing him out, but Jie Tui, clasping a tree, was burnt to death. Emperor Wengong ordered that on the day Jie Tui died the whole nation should have no fire. Hence, the third line of the poem says that the neighbor comes for fire to renew the stove.
About the poem有关此诗:
In relation to the folklore, we can interpret the poem along or against the tradition of the cultural shaping of self. The poet, alone and away from hometown, presents himself as a dissident of the locality, as a homeless stranger to any place. This has always been the image of a poet, as “a monk in the wilderness” in the second line.
When he said that he did not have flowers and wine for the festival, he was actually demarcating himself from the society. Therefore, he could not or needed not “taste” the spirit from the lively customs which should be observed as a source of solidarity. Like most pre-modern intellectuals (in contrast with Granscian Organic intellectual), the aloofness in this personality appears to be a quality for self-accomplishment instead of a guideline for everyday practice. Hence, the poet figure in this poem is more of a Daoist than a Confucian scholar-official. From the perspective of everyday concerns, the poem appears to be affected and self-consumed and self-centered. However, in terms of representation of the poet as such, this is wonderful both in language and mood.
The last line is worth special rumination. 晓窗dawn window, when linked with 读书 reading, becomes symbolic. As 晓 dawn may also points to 知晓 knowing, and the phrase comes to mean the window to wisdom, and therefore reading by a window through the dark night becomes a process toward dawn and knowledge. When we take the lamp as source of illumination, the dawning of a new day obviously symbolizes the revelation of the source of ultimate wisdom. This again refers back to the Daoist concept of personal and cosmic circulation.
And then, finally, should wen understand the day as not a seasonal division point but as a point for departure to a personal revelation? That is, from now on, he enters the gate of pure brightness (clear and bright).
依据民间有关清明与寒食的传说来阐述这首诗，或许是有意义的。这可以令我们读出一个知识分子如何以传统呈现并在文化上进行塑造自我。此诗所描述的诗人，独自一人在他乡（这里的独自可以理解为一个人的个体的孤独），这就成为了侨居地的异议者，也就是任何地点的无家的陌生人。这其实可以说是所有诗人的写照，第二行中的“野僧”，永在途中的追寻真理的人。
当他说清明之日无花无酒，这实际上是将自己与大众区分了，也就是与社会分隔开来了；从而他不再能够或者有必要从作为团结力量之源的习俗中获得滋味与精神。正如很多前现代的知识分子一样（与葛兰西的有机知识分子相对），他的超然是属于一种人格素质，而不是一种日常实践的指导原则。可以说，这里的诗人形象更像是一个道家行修者，而不是更常见的儒家学者官员。从日常关怀的角度看，这首诗显得有些自我中心，做作而自恋，但是从对于诗人形象的表征来看，这首诗从语言到情绪上的淡泊都很到位。
这首诗的最后一行尤其值得咀嚼。当晓窗与读书灯并列的时候，我们自然会联想到这个晓字可能暗示通晓的意思，也就是知，或者智慧之窗。因此，在窗前阅读，度过漫漫长夜，变成了一种走近黎明与抵达智慧的过程。如果我们将灯饰为一种照亮，一种启明之源，那么天明无疑是更大意义上的照亮，展示着最终智慧的源泉。这可说又回到了前文说的道家观念，亦即个人的循环与宇宙的循环的对应。
那么，最后我们或许可以再问一句：这里的清明是否可以理解为个人进入澄明状态（清与明）的出发点，而不仅仅是一个节气？
Back-translation into contemporary Chinese
我的英文译文回译成当代汉语：
清明
是清明节了。那又怎样？
我没有花也没有酒去增添节日的气氛。
独自在这个地方，没精神，没滋味，
就像一个在荒野中的和尚。
昨日，出于习俗，我去邻居家
借火以便续上我的炉灶。
我在窗前灯下读书，像往日一样早，
灯光，被黎明的光逐渐消蚀隐去。
王禹偁 Wang Yucheng (954-1001), a poet, prose writer of Song Dynasty in ancient China, with a style name of Yuanzhi元之, was born into a very poor family in the present Shandong Province山东巨野. 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.
是清明节了。那又怎样？
我没有花也没有酒去增添节日的气氛。
独自在这个地方，没精神，没滋味，
就像一个在荒野中的和尚。
昨日，出于习俗，我去邻居家
借火以便续上我的炉灶。
我在窗前灯下读书，像往日一样早，
灯光，被黎明的光逐渐消蚀隐去。
王禹偁 Wang Yucheng (954-1001), a poet, prose writer of Song Dynasty in ancient China, with a style name of Yuanzhi元之, was born into a very poor family in the present Shandong Province山东巨野. 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.
Sunday, September 7, 2008
Fan Jinghua: Reading is Seeing and...
Reading is Seeing and…
On that much-too-wide bed of the north,
When night enters the coolest hours,
You roll up and face the wall,
And your desklamp under an oversized hat is so in love with its own low light.
In that love that loves itself and shines, you have written
So many poems,
And they all have dresses you make
With fabrics that respond to daylight with cheerful colors.
Now, they unfold themselves quietly in my desklamp,
But the light shines through,
So I can see their intimate parts as shadows
Suggestive of the shapes of silk undergarments—
Circles, triangles, arches, string-like straps.
With these shapes, they suddenly come alive
From dolls to women
Of visible shames and hidden desires….
I turn off the light.
But reading is unstoppable in my mind.
Then I see my middle finger arched a little
So that it is of the same length as the index finger,
I see them reaching to dip in the poems,
And I feel a wetness on the tips of fingers.
The liquid smells sweet and tastes a little salty bitter,
And this kills my sleep.
However I despise myself for being a lewd peeper,
I cannot erase the fluorescence after the light has already been turned off,
Unless I break the lamp and swallow the debris, killing myself
And everything.
September 7, 2008
读就是见就是……
我能看到你蜷曲在北方那张空旷的大床上
当夜晚进入最冷的时辰
你面朝墙壁
书桌上的台灯带着一顶硕大的帽子
着迷一样地爱着自己低照的光
在它那自恋的照亮下，你写了
那么多诗篇
你为每一首都剪裁了衣裳
那布料以绚烂的色彩反射着阳光
此刻它们在我的台灯下静静地展开
但我的灯光射穿了它们
我看到它们隐秘的部分呈现为阴影
令人想入非非的丝质内衣的形状
圆的、三角的、弧形的、条状的
这些形状顿时令它们充满生机
不再是岜碧娃娃，而是女人
有着可见的羞耻与隐秘的欲望
我立即关掉了灯
可是阅读仍在脑子里进行，难以阻止
然后我看到我的中指稍微弯曲
保持与食指相同的长度
然后我看到它们伸进了诗篇
我感到指尖上有一种潮湿
那液体有一股甜，尝起来有些苦涩
这令我再也无法入睡
然而无论我怎么责骂自己下流偷窥
却无法抹除已被关掉的灯散发的荧光
除非我将灯管砸破，吞下碎片，与一切
同归于尽
2008年9月7日
On that much-too-wide bed of the north,
When night enters the coolest hours,
You roll up and face the wall,
And your desklamp under an oversized hat is so in love with its own low light.
In that love that loves itself and shines, you have written
So many poems,
And they all have dresses you make
With fabrics that respond to daylight with cheerful colors.
Now, they unfold themselves quietly in my desklamp,
But the light shines through,
So I can see their intimate parts as shadows
Suggestive of the shapes of silk undergarments—
Circles, triangles, arches, string-like straps.
With these shapes, they suddenly come alive
From dolls to women
Of visible shames and hidden desires….
I turn off the light.
But reading is unstoppable in my mind.
Then I see my middle finger arched a little
So that it is of the same length as the index finger,
I see them reaching to dip in the poems,
And I feel a wetness on the tips of fingers.
The liquid smells sweet and tastes a little salty bitter,
And this kills my sleep.
However I despise myself for being a lewd peeper,
I cannot erase the fluorescence after the light has already been turned off,
Unless I break the lamp and swallow the debris, killing myself
And everything.
September 7, 2008
读就是见就是……
我能看到你蜷曲在北方那张空旷的大床上
当夜晚进入最冷的时辰
你面朝墙壁
书桌上的台灯带着一顶硕大的帽子
着迷一样地爱着自己低照的光
在它那自恋的照亮下，你写了
那么多诗篇
你为每一首都剪裁了衣裳
那布料以绚烂的色彩反射着阳光
此刻它们在我的台灯下静静地展开
但我的灯光射穿了它们
我看到它们隐秘的部分呈现为阴影
令人想入非非的丝质内衣的形状
圆的、三角的、弧形的、条状的
这些形状顿时令它们充满生机
不再是岜碧娃娃，而是女人
有着可见的羞耻与隐秘的欲望
我立即关掉了灯
可是阅读仍在脑子里进行，难以阻止
然后我看到我的中指稍微弯曲
保持与食指相同的长度
然后我看到它们伸进了诗篇
我感到指尖上有一种潮湿
那液体有一股甜，尝起来有些苦涩
这令我再也无法入睡
然而无论我怎么责骂自己下流偷窥
却无法抹除已被关掉的灯散发的荧光
除非我将灯管砸破，吞下碎片，与一切
同归于尽
2008年9月7日
Fan Jinghua: Other Lives
Other Lives
(After A Photo)
Evening autumn.
Outside, somewhere beyond, the streetlight is
yellowly dazzling, warm, heavy.
The space has lost its depth.
On the curtains girdled to the wall, fuzzy flowers are
intersected as different curves of petals.
You’ve been here for uncounted times,
usually this table, often this seat,
but you remember few people, fewer occasions.
The same décor. Easy as home.
Your chin rests
in your right palm, eyes grazing
at a story lightly told from outside the frame,
or you are lost in a deep-voiced song from some unlit corner.
The dinner is coming
to the end. This is a pause of time and thought,
and you are absent
in somewhere and sometime else, floating.
The taste of Moroccan roast lamb lingers
despite the glass of water, like
the wine on the membrane of your taste buds
and the few people and places in your years passed
and yet to come.
They come and go and they are still yours, sharing
the same kind of humor as a belonging,
because once is forever and vice versa,
even though you do not possess any of them
in your life lived and the lives to live.
They shuffle and reshuffle in your rumination as billows or rimples
during the pause out of time and place
and suggest me so many unlived futures and pasts
(and I tell you this is a picture of you ten years from now)
like flowers unfolded in the loosely girdled curtains
beyond which the streetlight shines still and thick, endlessly.
June 26, 2003
另外的人生
（题一张照片）
黄昏之秋。
窗外，另外的某处，街灯泛黄地
刺入视觉，暖，沉重。
空间失去了深度。
束缚在墙上的帘子上，含糊的花朵
露出曲线诱人的花瓣。
你来这里的次数无法计数，
总是这张餐桌，往往是这个座位，
而你记得的人为数不多，值得的日子更少。
同样的装修。家居的安逸。
你的下巴休止
在右掌心，眼神流溢
因为一则故事正在画面之外轻轻讲述，
或者你因幽暗角落传来的低沉歌声而凝思。
晚餐已经结束。这是一段停顿，
可以没有时间与思想，而你恰如缺席的人，
心思在另一个地方、另一个时间，飘着。
摩洛哥烤羊的味道没有被一杯清水冲洗干净，
犹如你味蕾上的酒
以及你岁月中的一些人与地点，离去了
但仍会回来。
他们离去、回来，他们也还是你的，分享的是
相同的归属感，人以类聚。
一旦便是永远，反之亦然。
实际上，你从未沾有过任何人物，
无论是活过的人生，还是将要经历的生命。
它们在你的回味中或如峰回浪转或如涟漪酥麻，
在时空的停顿处，
向我指示着无数仍未明朗的未来或未被经历的过去
（我说这张照片是十年之后的你）
正如松散地拢在墙上的窗帘叠起的花朵，
而窗外的街灯仍在静静地泻下永不枯竭的光。
2008年9月7日译自2003年6月26日英文诗
(After A Photo)
Evening autumn.
Outside, somewhere beyond, the streetlight is
yellowly dazzling, warm, heavy.
The space has lost its depth.
On the curtains girdled to the wall, fuzzy flowers are
intersected as different curves of petals.
You’ve been here for uncounted times,
usually this table, often this seat,
but you remember few people, fewer occasions.
The same décor. Easy as home.
Your chin rests
in your right palm, eyes grazing
at a story lightly told from outside the frame,
or you are lost in a deep-voiced song from some unlit corner.
The dinner is coming
to the end. This is a pause of time and thought,
and you are absent
in somewhere and sometime else, floating.
The taste of Moroccan roast lamb lingers
despite the glass of water, like
the wine on the membrane of your taste buds
and the few people and places in your years passed
and yet to come.
They come and go and they are still yours, sharing
the same kind of humor as a belonging,
because once is forever and vice versa,
even though you do not possess any of them
in your life lived and the lives to live.
They shuffle and reshuffle in your rumination as billows or rimples
during the pause out of time and place
and suggest me so many unlived futures and pasts
(and I tell you this is a picture of you ten years from now)
like flowers unfolded in the loosely girdled curtains
beyond which the streetlight shines still and thick, endlessly.
June 26, 2003
另外的人生
（题一张照片）
黄昏之秋。
窗外，另外的某处，街灯泛黄地
刺入视觉，暖，沉重。
空间失去了深度。
束缚在墙上的帘子上，含糊的花朵
露出曲线诱人的花瓣。
你来这里的次数无法计数，
总是这张餐桌，往往是这个座位，
而你记得的人为数不多，值得的日子更少。
同样的装修。家居的安逸。
你的下巴休止
在右掌心，眼神流溢
因为一则故事正在画面之外轻轻讲述，
或者你因幽暗角落传来的低沉歌声而凝思。
晚餐已经结束。这是一段停顿，
可以没有时间与思想，而你恰如缺席的人，
心思在另一个地方、另一个时间，飘着。
摩洛哥烤羊的味道没有被一杯清水冲洗干净，
犹如你味蕾上的酒
以及你岁月中的一些人与地点，离去了
但仍会回来。
他们离去、回来，他们也还是你的，分享的是
相同的归属感，人以类聚。
一旦便是永远，反之亦然。
实际上，你从未沾有过任何人物，
无论是活过的人生，还是将要经历的生命。
它们在你的回味中或如峰回浪转或如涟漪酥麻，
在时空的停顿处，
向我指示着无数仍未明朗的未来或未被经历的过去
（我说这张照片是十年之后的你）
正如松散地拢在墙上的窗帘叠起的花朵，
而窗外的街灯仍在静静地泻下永不枯竭的光。
2008年9月7日译自2003年6月26日英文诗
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