Fan Jinghua: All about Spectacles

　　All about Spectacles
She did not wear spectacles, and if she did,
They would be sunglasses, of varied design and shades.
She was a friend of my spectacleless girlfriend, and
Her big eyes were shiny and beautiful, and did not squint.
When we returned from the dance floor, a man
Had already harried her for half a dance. There
She was, with a straw between her lips, slightly
Shaking her head in his face, eyes big as ever,
Like plump hooks. My girlfriend also used the same simile,
"Hooks." I tried to be innocent about the connotation of the word
And muttered under the tongue: "Yes, a little indeed."
Of course, I liked that pair of hooks, but
I had somehow convinced myself her eyes might tend to get men hooked
And she had no intention to hook me.
Now that man had apparently fallen into the pit of her eyes,
And he must have thought that
Her hook-eyes meant probe, encouragement and challenge,
A test of his patience and persistence.
He believed that he had seen through her tricks
And seen her disguised strong inner lust through her eyes.
My girlfriend’s friend turned to me, and I turned to the man
And said: I say, pal, she does not feel like dancing right now.
My break-in gave the man the best opportunity to get himself out,
So he threw to my face a bash of two dirt curses sandwiched with a punch:
You four-eyed sissy! What a pimp dick you wanna put in here!
My eyeglasses flew away into the dark, leaving me bare-eyed,
Clear-minded, among splitting stars and colored light, realizing
That I was not his match, definitely not!
So it was good to be timely pulled aside by two women who escorted me
Through the crowd. Me, turning back like an indignant mouse.
My girls were understanding, and also they knew exactly what to say:
Not worth while to embroil into anything with that sort of lowly beasts.
The sultriness on the summer road outside The Union’s Club
Refreshed me a lot, but my face was searing in the aimless silent cruise:
Should I really believe that weakness could be a quality of virtue?
　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　Oct. 23-24, 2008

　　与眼镜相关的一切

她是不戴眼镜的，要戴也只戴太阳镜，
不同的款式、不同的颜色、不同的深浅；
她是我不戴眼镜的女友带来的，
她的眼睛大得从不会眯起来。
当我和女友从舞池中回来，一个男人
已经纠缠她半个曲子了。她不时地看他一眼，
摇头，手里还拿着一罐饮料；她抿着吸管。
所以她的头摇得并不剧烈，而眼睛还是大大的，
像圆圆的钩子。我女友也这样说：“钩子眼”，
所以我才尽量低调地回应说“确实有点”。
当然，我也喜欢她带钩子的眼睛，
只是我说服了自己
那眼睛勾人而她并没想勾我。
现在她无心地勾住了另一个男人了，
那男人肯定觉得那对钩子眼
才是她自己，他比她自己还要明白她的伎俩，
她不仅有所暗示而且内骚得过瘾。
这时，我女友的女友眼睛转向了我。
我转向那男人说：嗨，哥儿们，她这会儿不想跳。
那男人似乎正愁找不到台阶，
两句南京脏话夹着一记拳头劈了过来：
老屄老屌的，你这四只眼插什么杠子！
我的眼镜顿时就飞进了黑暗，留下
一阵金星和半隐藏的彩灯，我头脑
却很清醒：我肯定不是他的对手！
好在两个女人立即将我拉开，我在众目
睽睽之下，顺着她们的推涌和保护，
扭着头，灰溜溜地、愤愤然地逃了出来。
她们真是善解人意，最懂得如何安慰：
犯不着和这种素质的人一般见识。
工人俱乐部外，我们顿时没有了目的地，
而炎热的马路令我舒坦多了，
只是我脸上还是火辣辣的；
我真能相信软弱可以成为一种品质？
　　　　　　2008年10月23-24日

Fan Jinghua: All About Grasses

　　　All about Grasses
The words that describe grasses grow like grasses
From spring to fall, when even the sun changes
You mince on them, walk on
And then buoy as if shoeless and feetless and legless
Your arms are turning into fins
And you are eager to breathe plankton into your mouth
When darkness falls, you still consider yourself more of a breeze
But you also realize that you have hopelessly fallen into yourself
And even hope to stand before an imaginary mirror
Those who do not understand the etymons of vegetation and generation
Are carried away by greenness, like schools of fish
　　　　　　　　　　　　　　Oct. 22, 2008

　　与草相关的一切

那些描述青草的词像青草一样生长
从早春到晚秋，甚至太阳也变了
你小步踏在草上，走着走着就像浮标一样
漂了起来，没有了鞋子、没有脚、没有腿
接着你的双臂变成了鳍
你那么急切地想将浮游生物呼吸到嘴里
黑暗降临时，你还自认为是一股清风
可你也意识到你已不可求药地爱上了自己
甚至还企图站到一面想象的镜子前
那些人不懂得植被与生长的词源
就被绿色漂走了，犹如过江之鲫
　　　　　　　　　　2008年10月22日

Saigyo Hoshi's Mountain Home (Autumn)

Saigyo Hoshi's Mountain Home (Autumn)

　　　　西行法师《山家集》之秋
　　　　　　　　　　　English translation by Burton Watson
　　　　　　　　　　　Chinese rewriting by Fan Jinghua

Even in a person
most times indifferent
to things around him
they waken feelings—
the first winds of autumn
哪怕多数时候
淡漠于
身边之物的人
面对初起的秋风
也会情怀波动吧
　　　　　　　　　Pampas Grass Thick on the Path
　　　　　　　With blooms of pampas grass
　　　　　　　for markers
　　　　　　　I push my way along
　　　　　　　no trace of the trail
　　　　　　　I vaguely remembered
　　　　　　　　　蒲苇侵道
　　　　　　　曾将蒲苇花
　　　　　　　作为路标
　　　　　　　可如今劈开它们
　　　　　　　却已找不到
　　　　　　　我依稀记得的小道
　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　Reeds
　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　Sounding even
　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　more mournful
　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　than I’d expected
　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　an autumn evening wind
　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　tossing in the reed leaves
　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　芦苇
　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　晚来的秋风
　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　扫过芦苇叶
　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　这调子听来
　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　比我预料的
　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　还要悲哀
How lonely, the light of the moon
filtering into my hut,
the only sound, the clackers
that shoo away birds
in the mountain paddies
月光漏进我的草屋
多么孤独
惟有稻田里
吓唬小鸟的噼啪声
叩打寂静
　　　　　　　　I used to gaze at the moon,
　　　　　　　　my mind wandering endlessly—
　　　　　　　　and now again
　　　　　　　　I’ve come on one of
　　　　　　　　those old time autumns
　　　　　　　　我总是眼盯着月亮
　　　　　　　　心思远游——
　　　　　　　　而此刻
　　　　　　　　我又走进
　　　　　　　　重复多次的秋天
　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　Hearing Wild Geese at Dawn
　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　As banked clouds
　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　are swept apart
　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　by the wind at dawn,
　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　the cry of the first wild geese
　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　winging over the mountain
　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　破晓的雁声
　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　积云被晨风
　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　吹散
　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　七零八落
　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　第一阵雁声
　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　展翅越过远山
　　The Call of Wild Geese Far and Near
Wild geese departing,
their wings in white clouds,
call longingly to their friends
in the paddies
outside my gate
　远近的雁声
秋雁远去了
翅膀隐入白云
呼唤同伴的鸣声
仍然我门外的
稻田里回响
　　　　　　　　　　　Falling Leaves at Dawn
　　　　　　　　　Wondering if it’s a winter shower
　　　　　　　　　I wake in my bed
　　　　　　　　　and hear them—
　　　　　　　　　the leaves that
　　　　　　　　　couldn’t withstand the storm
　　　　　　　　　　黎明的落叶
　　　　　　　　　醒来，还躺在床上
　　　　　　　　　不知道外面的沙沙声
　　　　　　　　　是否早来的冬雨
　　　　　　　　　叶子
　　　　　　　　　已经难耐晨风了
　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　Insects on an Evening Road
　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　On the road with not a soul
　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　to keep me company,
　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　as evening falls
　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　katydids lift their voices
　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　and cheer me along
　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　昏黄路上的秋虫
　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　那条小路上
　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　无人与我同行
　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　黄昏降临了
　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　只有纺织娘尖着嗓子
　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　给我打气

Fan Jinghua: In A Small Town

　　In A Small Town Where I Know Not A Soul

A man puts a folded map on the table, and a cloud of calm
nonrecognition, not alienating, encroaches him.
He sits by a table at the edge of a river, as if by predetermination.
She is taken away by later afternoon sunrays.
An outfit comes alive on her red bicycle in this early autumn.

At the other table across lovers’ heads and coffee pals’ shoulders,
a young woman with a long spoon stirs absent-mindedness in her cup.
A man of pockets and bags of souvenirs is peddling around, doggedly;
A backpacker comes along to ask for the direction to the cathedral
with a few awkward phrases from an Idiot’s Guide.

I drag myself along in a circle of strangeness defined by the nonchalant doves
whose consensus wings lift the earth-pecking life off the ground,
and I feel I am frequently suddenly lowered,
my selfhood being constantly formed and revised.
A familiar panic descends just on time, only to be hammered by church bells
into the green fissures between bricks.
As if lighter than the shadow of a cloud, I step
on the invisible footsteps that have been writing history
by erasing the past.
　　　　　　　　　　　Oct. 2, 2008;　Oct. 20, 2008 revision

　　在一个陌生小镇

一个男人放下一张折叠的地图，宁静的陌生
围上来，却并不欺生
他似乎预先就被安排到最靠河边的桌上
看她被下傍晚的阳光引走
一套早秋的衣衫
在她那辆红色自行车上活了

隔着情侣的头和一帮咖啡客的肩，另一张桌子上
一个年轻女人提着手在杯子里搅动心不在焉
一个浑身口袋挂着纪念品的男人一心一意地兜售
一个背包客走过来，看着一本傻瓜指南
用夹生的句子询问去教堂的路

我走在一个陌生的圆圈中，自己不断被重新生成
貌似不屑的鸽子会以不谋而合的扑动将啄食地面的生命提起
我被一次次甩得更低，每一次都那么突然
带着一种熟悉的惊悚降临广场，教堂的钟声适时地
将它钉进砖头的绿缝
我踏在前人的足迹上，似乎比乌云的影子还要轻
而正是那些隐形的脚印抹消了过去
才磨损出历史
　　　　　　　　　2008年10月21日

Plath: Gigolo

Sylvia Plath Collected Poems

No. 218

　　Gigolo
Pocket watch, I tick well.
The streets are lizardy crevices
Sheer-sided, with holes where to hide.
It is best to meet in a cul-de-sac,

A palace of velvet
With windows of mirrors.
There one is safe,
There are no family photographs,

No rings through the nose, no cries.
Bright fish hooks, the smiles of women
Gulp at my bulk
And I, in my snazzy blacks,

Mill a litter of breasts like jellyfish.
To nourish
The cellos of moans I eat eggs---
Eggs and fish, the essentials,

The aphrodisiac squid.
My mouth sags,
The mouth of Christ
When my engine reaches the end of it.

The tattle of my
Gold joints, my way of turning
Bitches to ripples of silver
Rolls out a carpet, a hush.

And there is no end, no end of it.
I shall never grow old. New oysters
Shriek in the sea and I
Glitter like Fontainebleau

Gratified,
All the fall of water an eye
Over whose pool I tenderly
Lean and see me.
　　　　　　　　29 January 1963

第218首
　　　舞男
　　　　　　希薇娅·普拉斯(1932-62)
怀表，我踢跶得真好。
街道是蜥蜴出没的裂沟，
两壁陡峭，有洞穴用以藏身。
还是在死胡同见面最好，

一座丝绒宫殿
以镜子为窗。
人在那里很安全，
那儿没有家人的照片，

鼻子上没有环、也无哭闹。
明晃晃的鱼钩、女人的笑
大口吞咬我的躯干，
而我，超炫的黑色装扮，

把水母般的乳房研磨成一堆垃圾。
为了滋养
大提琴的呜咽，我吃鸡蛋——
蛋和鱼、基本营养、

催情的乌贼。
我嘴角下垂，
耶稣的嘴，
而我的机车已到达其终点。

我的金关节
唧唧咕咕，我以这种方式
将母狗变成银的涟漪，
这样就卷起了地毯，一片静寂。

还没有终点，没到它的终点。
我将永远不会变老。新生的蚝
在海中尖叫，而我
闪闪发光，就像心满意足的

枫丹白露，
整个这片落下的水，一只眼睛，
我温柔地倾身到这潭水面，
看见了自己。
　　　　　　　　1963年1月29日

　　　　　　Self-Portrait by Sylvia Plath (1951) 《自画像》(十九岁)
譯按：
這首詩可以説是普拉斯最後一首直接謾駡休斯的詩篇，也是被絕大多數普拉斯學者忽視的一首詩歌。像她的大多數憤怒詩一樣，這首詩有其缺點，尤其表現在人稱的混亂上。但從某個角度看，這首詩卻又是非常典型的普拉斯詩歌，主要表現在意象和語氣兩方面。代表性的意象包括：環、鈎子，鏡子、池潭、眼睛，溝、裂口、洞穴，機車／引擎，以及與嘴相關聯的聲音和動作如吃、吞咬、尖叫等。她常用環／指環與鈎子象徵難以擺脫的羈絆或者難以抵制的陷阱；從1959年開始，鏡子、池潭、眼睛進入她的詩歌意象庫，這三者互相聯係有時難分彼此，既可是説是詩人自己的（潛）意識也可以説是詩人發現自己的手段，尤其是這雙關的eye／I（眼／我）像凝視深淵一樣地看著池水的鏡面，既看著自己的影子又看著自己的靈魂至深處。與嘴相關的動作和聲音代表著兩三個方面的意義，但是在這裡需要指出的是普拉斯詩中特有的對被吞噬的病態恐懼，這無疑會被認爲是她脆弱的精神狀態的外顯。與這種脆弱相對照的是這首詩的語氣，普拉斯式的虛張聲勢或者說自我強制性的表演恐怕是任何人都學不會的。她往往將身體的運動機械化成爲一種無窮動似的動力。在這首時里，純金的關節唧唧咕咕（俗稱“磨牙”，這裡應該是轉化了鑲金牙齒毫無意義地喋喋不休這個意象）成爲她對付世界的動力（“将母狗变成银的涟漪”），對應了上面的“把水母般的乳房研磨成一堆垃圾”。這裡，但是詩人用的是jellyfish這個詞，指海蜇，從形象上看理解為海蜇自然，同時這個字還暗含著到處粘乎的東西，也就是赭釐，這可説是舞男的隱喻。但是这里的浮標还指破漁網沒有用的被扔到海上的浮標。另外一種顯示她語氣的方式就是：我看到一個全新的我，或者如這首詩中的“我将永远不会变老”。這首詩的結尾我想沒有讀者會感到陌生。

Fan Jinghua: The Shape

　　　The Shape
In the beginning was a shape which I fumbled for its contour with a mind to describe,
and you, with blue stockings covering your knees, had known of it from books.
The shape is in constant change,
written words about it do not tell, and my talking does not mean and stand.
It is the strokes of those words that sign tiny crosses on my flesh,
their sound echoing in my bones.
The repetition of lightning. The rings of shiver over shiver.
You breathe into the shape, you breathe as you breathe,
and the shape takes shapes that betray my touch,
for my touch is preoccupied with constant contours.
But you are dearer to me than you think,
and you are cherished more than you believe.
　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　Oct. 16, 2008

　　　形状
起初，那是一个形状，我摸索其轮廓，想着描述，
而你，兰袜子穿到了膝盖以上，已从很多书籍中得知。
那形状在恒动地改变着，
有关它的所有文字都无法说出，我空口说话，意义没有着落。
那些字的笔画在我的肉中写下无数小小的十字，
它们的声音在我骨头中回响。
闪电的重复。颤栗的波浪一圈又一圈。
你将呼吸呼入那形状，你只是在呼吸，
那形状于是变成各种形状，背叛我的触摸，
我的触觉已经被恒常的轮廓预先占有。
但你是我的所亲所爱，比你认为的还要亲爱；
也有人珍惜你，比你相信的还要弥足。
　　　　　　　　　　　2008年10月18日

Su Ruoxi: Emptying the Cup; Mussels

　　　苏若兮诗歌一札译读(四)

　Emptying the Cup
　　　　　　　　by Su Ruoxi　　tr. Fan Jinghua
When my body is no longer solid
I would like to flow into my longed-for vessel
Encoffined
No more willful outflow
Only a stripe of my body will be clad with night breeze
I have enjoyed vanity
Having attended his banquet
Eyes waiting on his lips that mumble for a poem

　　倾杯
　　　　　　　　苏若兮
当我不再具有实体
我愿意流到我渴望的容器中
殓入
再不主动溢出
裹着一小半的夜风
我爱慕了虚荣
出席他的宴会
盯紧了他沉吟的嘴唇。


　　Mussels
　　　　　　　　by Su Ruoxi　　tr. Fan Jinghua
Mother, you have a U-turn
By the side of that man

You are my cruelest matrix

Leave love, geography, maze and truth to me
For I love
That location which lulls me into deep sleep

Being close is beauty
Being born is beauty
But we do not know we’d knock on the door of misery together.

　　蚌
　　　　　　　　苏若兮
妈妈，在那个人的身边
你拐个弯

你，是我残忍的母体

把热爱，地理，迷宫，真相留下
我爱那个
沉睡我的位置

亲近很美
诞辰很美
我们不约而同，敲苦难的房门。

　　In this group of poems, several themes can be educed. First of all, there is the fundamental theme that a woman writer may intuitively feel. This feel can be understood in terms of Sexton’s being a "witch." Her witchery is not evil, it is not demonism, and she does not need to exorcise. There is no force to attract her to a road of evil destruction. In "Experience," the witchcraft becomes the bed curtains of the god, who is created by her need to be her servant. The god is conceived as both her father and lover. In "Writing," the evoked Him can hold her in his arms. In creative acts, she has no fear of the fall of darkness. This leads to the second theme: creation.
　　Artistic creation for women may be understood in term of procreation, and apparently the poet is not yet ready to write about child-birth. The moon is still the image of sexual love, whose circle as in "The Broken Moon" is closely related with His coming and going. The moon is related with witch, no doubt. She is certain of its sound of haunting. Of course, the poet has written more than one poem on the moon, and the moon may be just another symbol of the power she hopes to manipulate. In "July," the moon is the field she can harvest, but not only does her own instrument become rusty but also she herself cannot stand still on the moon’s body, resulting in being named by others. The moon may be understood as the object of her evocation and location for her self-empowerment, no matter whether it proves her failure.
　　Failure may be understood as the third theme in these poems, or her poetry. The poem "The Broken Moon" is essentially about a paradox between empowerment and dis-empowerment. So is "July." The self-disempowerment is also an implied theme in "Emptying the Cup." The speaker starts with a wish to be fluid. That is to say, her self-perception is that she is too angular now. The longed-for vessel can be interpreted as the traditional symbol of matrix or womb, the lullaby of femininity, just as another conventional symbol "pearl mussel" implies. This theme is almost identified with the theme of writing act itself. In "Emptying the Cup," it is the speaker herself who alone has been "waiting on his lips," who does not seem to be quite dissatisfied with her death. In “Mussels,” however, both the mother and the daughter "knock on the door of misery together."
　　Writing, for the speaker, is the knock on the door of misery, and of course this again returns to the theme of maternity-witch power. Writing is a kind of witchcraft. We can interpret that the daughter is still not a mother and that the mother(ness) is still one essential source for her, like memory. Memory is not only what she has experienced and owned, but also what she shares with her memory. In creation or procreation, the mother-daughter is linked, and while the mother will grow old and "tired," aligning with her shadow only, as shown in "Wood Ear," the daughter can still resort to sexual love and further anticipate the beautiful intimacy and giving-birth as shown in "Mussels."

　　这一组诗歌可以离析苏若兮诗歌的出几个主题。第一个主题可谓是每个女性写作者，实际上也是所有作者，直觉感到的基本主题，用塞克斯顿的话说，就是巫。这里的巫术并非作恶，不是对于恶魔的崇拜，因此她无须驱魔，也就是她内心并无一股将她牵引到邪恶与毁坏之路的力量。在《体验》这首诗中，那种巫术制成了上帝的床帷，而这个上帝却又是诗歌说话人按照自己的需要创造出来做奴仆的。这上帝是作为自己的父亲和情人构想出来的。在《写作》中，那个被呼唤出来的他也同样可说是上帝-父亲-情人，她将自己“送进他的臂弯”。有了如此创造，她才不会畏惧无论多么空旷的暮色（《体验》）。这就引入了第二个主题：创造。
　　艺术创造与女性而言，是很容易联系到生命创造的，不过显然苏若兮还没有准备好写作这一点。因此，在她的诗歌中，月亮主要还是作为性爱的意象，与月亮的周期紧密联系的是他的来去，如《破月亮》所暗示的。月亮与女巫的联系由来已久，在《破月亮》中，说话人“确定他来我心里作祟的声音”。当然，苏若兮也写了不知一首有关月亮的诗歌，月亮也有不同的象征，其中之一就是象征着她想要控制的权力。在《七月》一诗中，月亮是她可能收获的田野，但是在此不仅她的工具生锈了，而且她连自己都站立不稳，最终落得被他人命名的结局。然而，无论月亮证明了她的努力多么失败，月亮本身仍然是她召唤的对象和自我授权的场点。
　　失败可说是她诗中的另一个主题。说到底，《破月亮》是有关授权与丧权的悖论。《七月》也是如此。自我失权也是《倾杯》的一个主题。此诗开始，说话人希望自己是流体的，也就是说，她自我感觉是此时的她太过棱角分明、太坚实了。她所渴望的容器自然可以根据传统理解为母体或者子宫、女性特质的摇篮，正如另一个传统象征“母贝”所暗示的一样。这一主题几乎可以和写作主题一直起来。在《倾杯》中，说话人独自“紧盯了他沉吟的嘴唇”，似乎并没有因为自己的死亡而有多少遗憾。在《蚌》则是母女两人不约而同地“敲苦难的房门”。
　　写作，对于说话人来说，就是敲苦难的房门，这当然又要回到母性-巫婆力量。写作便是一种巫术。只是此刻的说话人似乎还不是一个母亲，因此母亲-母性依然是她一个最根本的源泉，这犹如记忆一样。记忆，不仅仅是她体验和拥有的，而且也是她和母亲分享的。在创造或者生育中，母女关系得以直接相连。当母亲慢慢变老，疲倦，与自己的影子相依，如《木耳》中所写的那样，女儿则还可诉诸性爱，从而预期“很美”的“亲近”和“诞辰”。

Su Ruoxi: July; Writing

　苏若兮诗歌一札译读(三)

　　July
　　　　　　　　by Su Ruoxi　　tr. Fan Jinghua
The moon has grown grasses on its body
I reap them every night
The moon is shiny like being shaven
So I am left with a rusty sickle only
I want to hack someone
But I slip
And fall from the moon
They call me a lake

　　七月
　　　　　　　　苏若兮
月亮身上长草了
我夜夜去收割
月亮光光的
我只剩下锈迹斑斑的刀子
我想去砍谁
可我
从月亮身上滑落了
他们叫我湖泊


　　Writing
　　　　　　　　by Su Ruoxi　　tr. Fan Jinghua
I hope to make him come out
When I am taking a leisurely walk
He will come out
One minute before the storm
I saw him only once
But I remember him
I have sent myself into the bay of his arms
Unwilling to go out again
Storms of another kind
Destroy me but I remember
I have never shed any tear into his wound
Before I move him in front of my window
Like a tree in my life there

　　写作
　　　　　　　　苏若兮
我想让他出场
在我缓慢的散步中
在风暴的前一分钟
他出场
我只见过他一次
就记得他了
我把我送进他的臂弯
不肯外出
不一样的风暴
破坏我
我记得我不曾留下一滴泪水在他的伤口
就把他当成一棵树
搬进我窗前的生活

Su Ruoxi: Experience; The Broken Moon

　苏若兮诗歌一札译读(二)

　　Experience
　　　　　　　　by Su Ruoxi　　tr. Fan Jinghua
In a place of immense expansion
I am the bed curtains of the God.
For my sake
He no longer vagabondizes,
For I need this god
To sleep in my heart, to sleep without lust or greed.
and to sign a cross
subconsciously across his heart in his dream.
I will have conquered him,
and made him my servant, following my heels.
Behold!
He is my father with a pipe,
My lover with a broad smile.
My eyes fix on him, and it is a moment of such reinless purity
that no dusk, no matter how unfathomable,
causes horror in me.
There will be no one coming
to knock on the door that half-closes my home.

　　体验
　　　　　　　　苏若兮
一个幅员辽阔的地方
我是上帝的床帷
为了我
他不再奔走
我需要这个上帝
来我心里无所贪恋地沉睡，在梦中
下意识地
在他胸口上划着十字
我已经征服他
成为我不再远行的奴仆
你看
他是我抽烟的父亲
和一脸灿笑的爱人。
我看着他，获得脱缰纯洁的一刻
再辽阔的暮色
我也无所畏惧
没有谁
来敲响虚掩的家门。

　　The Broken Moon
　　　　　　　　by Su Ruoxi　　tr. Fan Jinghua
I am certain of the haunting sound he makes in my heart
The mountains and rivers there
Are no longer wide enough
Not enough for him to wade and cross
That terrifying sound
Convulses in someone’s hungry memory
A family that cannot
Search out the criminal that shatters the night
Or maybe, he will remember me if he is shattered
For I have drawn or touched his body
So perfect and vivid
When he is shattered, I can only repeat my description
With him on my back, like a pain-making machine, endlessly

　　破月亮
　　　　　　　　苏若兮
我确定，他来我心里作祟的声音
我心里的山河
已不够宽阔
已不够他来渡过
那可怕的声音
在一个人饥饿的记忆中震动
一个家庭
找不到打碎夜晚的凶手
或许，他碎了就记住我了
我画过或摸过他的身体
那么圆满生动
他碎了，我只能重复地叙述
背着他，像一架痛苦的机器，永无休止……

　　　　　　　　　　　　　Su Ruoxi 苏若兮

Su Ruoxi: Anguish

　苏若兮诗歌一札译读(一)

　　　Anguish
　　　　　　　　by Su Ruoxi　　tr. Fan Jinghua
That kind of women
boldly let themselves violated marinates and manipulated by eros
and boldly they display their shame to men
Every finger burns a lonely lamp
the affliction inside, their daily meal and light
She praises the body that is sacrificed to love
and wishes for such incisions into her face, breasts, hands and all the sensual organs
She is high on despair
and places much on sex
She is real, does not flinch at her nakedness before the wheels of eyes,
and the nature of a witch permeating every pore, she insists
she is the angel among humans
This kind of women know no fear of misunderstanding
small pale flames doused by her swelling body liquid
Yes, she will not choose to efface herself
before the hypocritical faces and eyes of men
Instead, she chooses to demonstrate and exhibit the power of her anguish

　　　痛苦
　　　　　　　　苏若兮
那一类女人
大胆被爱欲欺凌，浸泡，摆布
大胆地，对着男人公开自己的羞耻
每个手指，都是孤独的灯火
内心的煎熬就是每天的餐饮和光明
她赞美为爱献祭的肉体
她愿意这样切割自己的脸，乳房，手，一切的感性器官
她热衷于绝望
寄托于性
她是真实的，她无畏地赤裸于目光的车轮
浑身的巫性，偏说自己是人类的天使
这样的女人不恐惧误会
小小的微弱之火被她升腾的体液浇息
是的，在男人虚伪的面目前
她不选择隐藏
她选择痛苦的示威。

　　It seems improper to introduce a poet by saying that she imitates another, but I like this poet. Compared with this poem, most of her poems are quite couched and understated. The sexual anxiety felt by the speaker in the society is not given an open outlet, but as an underflow. Therefore, this poem may be read as a cornerstone at the foundation of her oeuvre.
　　This poem borrows quite a few images from Anne Sexton’s poems, most notably “Her Kind” and “In Celebration of My Uterus.” And I think I know whose translation she was using when she wrote this poem, as that translation contained some flaws which came into this poem. This poem is not a representative poem of this poet, and it may be said that Sexton’s boldness induced her bravery. The poet is then carried away by the impulse or momentum to write out that last phrase “示威exhibit the power.”
　　介绍一个诗人，竟然先从她模仿另一个人的诗开始，这似乎不妥；但这不影响我喜欢这个诗人的诗，因为比起这一首诗来说，她的其它诗歌显然没有这么张狂大胆，大多数都较为隐、较为含蓄。在她的大多数诗歌中，说话人所感受到的性别焦虑并没有被给予一个公开的泄口，而是作为一种潜流被排出。因而，这首诗可说是她所有作品的一块基石。
　　这首诗显然从美国自白派女诗人安妮·塞克斯顿那儿借了许多，尤其是《她那一类》和《赞美我的子宫》两首。我想我知道她所阅读的是哪个人的译本，因为这也从这首诗里反映了出来。这首诗在该作者的诗中并非最具代表性的，从这个角度来说，正是塞克斯顿的"大胆"才引发了该诗人的大胆无畏，并因为受到了这种冲量或者势头的裹挟，而写出了最后一行的"示威"。

About the Poet:
Su Ruoxi was born in 1970s in Jiangsu. She started writing poetry around 2003, and now lives in Yangzhou.
苏若兮，原名XXX，1970年代生于江苏，2003年左右写诗，现居扬州。


另附我译塞克斯顿的《她那一类》如下：
　　Her Kind
　　　　　　　Anne Sexton
I have gone out, a possessed witch,
haunting the black air, braver at night;
dreaming evil, I have done my hitch
over the plain houses, light by light:
lonely thing, twelve-fingered, out of mind.
A woman like that is not a woman, quite.
I have been her kind.

I have found the warm caves in the woods,
filled them with skillets, carvings, shelves,
closets, silks, innumerable goods;
fixed the suppers for the worms and the elves:
whining, rearranging the disaligned.
A woman like that is misunderstood.
I have been her kind.

I have ridden in your cart, driver,
waved my nude arms at villages going by,
learning the last bright routes, survivor
where your flames still bite my thigh
and my ribs crack where your wheels wind.
A woman like that is not ashamed to die.
I have been her kind.

　　她那一类
　　　　　　安妮塞克斯顿(1928-74) 　得一忘二　译

我走出门去，魔力附身的女巫，
缠住了黑空气，越夜越勇猛；
我做梦都想作恶，一户一户
连接清白人家，一盏一盏点灯：
孤独的东西，十二只手指，脑子不对。
这样的女人算不得一个女人，真不像。
我一向就是她那一类。

我在树林里发现了一些温暖的洞穴，
将它们塞满炒锅、小雕刻、衣橱、
层架、丝绸、还有不计其数的杂物；
我为软体虫和作乱的小精灵做晚餐：
牢骚带着哭腔，整理乱了的一切。
这样的女人总是被人误会，
我一向就是她那一类。

我乘坐着你的马车，驾车人，
挥着裸臂向退去的村庄一一告别，
记住这最后的闪光之途，幸存者，
一路上，你的烈焰还在啃咬我的大腿,
你的轮子辚辚碾过，我的肋骨咔嚓作响。
这样的女人不会羞于死亡。
我一向就是她那一类。

Fan Jinghua: Facing the Wall

　　　Facing the Wall
Even if he falls flat forward, like a long-distance runner
deprived of air at the last lap, and blacks out,
the I in him would refuse to fall into the waiting shadow.
Ten years has cultivated in him a self-awareness of another instinct.
Of course, he has acquired that, scientifically, it is impossible
for a body of flesh to dissolve into a concrete wall,
as he is not standing in front of a focus lamp,
and no pistols or crossbows are spitting slimy drops from behind.

In this exitless room with open books of riddles on display,
he walks and pauses, trying to figure out the typographical errors,
while his shadow rolls down his back like an ephemeral stream.
Without shadow, he can openly rock others’ women on his laps.
The art of love is full in his hand, solid love does not need
the trigger of vision, and his tongue can release at any moment
its spring of “Oh, stop this beautiful moment!”
to turn a ten-year-long meditation into a rotten prayer.

The only suspending question is whether or not
angels will be hurt by a suicide and cry their eyes out.
Since he has no shadows any more, he might as well
break through the high window and do a free fall,
so his invisible body can give a pupil to one eye of the wall.
　　　　　　　　　　　Oct. 13-14, 2008

　　　面壁
即便自己眼前一黑，直挺挺地摔倒，
像一个长跑选手在最后一圈被切断空气，
他内在的我也会拒绝摔进那等待的影子里；
十年了，他明白，这已是第二本能。
当然，他还懂得一个肉身无法化进一堵砖墙；
毕竟，他没有堵在一盏聚光灯前，
没有手枪或箭弩从背后射出一串黏滑的液体。
更何况，从来都是影子离不开肉身。

这个没有出口的房间正在展示一本本谜语，
每一条都有讹佚，他在迷阵中走走停停，
影子从后背滴落，像季节性河流消失在沙漠，
淌干后，他就能公开抱着别人的女人摇晃了吧。
他手握爱的艺术，满满的，坚实可感的爱
不需要愿景的扳机，他的舌头随时可以
松开弹簧，说“愿此刻的美暂驻”，
那么十年冥思顿时就能腐烂成祈祷。

一个问题明晃晃地悬在半空：天使是否
会为一个绝望的自杀者伤心而哭瞎双眼？
既然他已没有影子，也因此隐身于世，
他还不如冲破一扇高窗，来一次
自由落体，给墙壁的眼睛一个瞳仁。
　　　　　　　　　　2008年10月14日

Fan Jinghua: Starlight

　　Starlight
These bodies are heavenly,
They speak the silent voice of light, and their blueness
Flows out as the waves of Milky years.
I, walking upon the ladder of waves, am
Weightless. I break nothing.
My body is in another place,
Where there is no time or distance.

Your voice touches me like starlight,
Therefore I can talk. I can talk about voice and light,
And I can tell you that I am one and none.
Therefore I bathe in your gaze
And sink into the depth of time and love till I touch the bed
The way a bird tells the sky about his flight,
The way a fish tells the ocean about his swim.

Tonight you are the ocean and sky.
In you I swim, in you I fly,
In you I reach myself
And bring myself to you.
　　　　　　　　Dec. 13, 2002

　　星光
这些天体是神圣的——
说着光的无声语言，
丰腴的波浪流淌成光年，那杳渺的蓝色。
我踏着波浪的梯子，我毫无重量，
不会踏碎一道波峰，犹如
我的身体在另一个地方，
那儿没有时间也没有距离。

你以声音抚触我，以你的星光；
于是我的诉说遇到了可能。
我能够说声音，说光；
也能告诉你：我是一个，
但我并非任一；
于是我浸泡着你的注视，沉入
时间与爱的深处，触及了底床。

于是我知晓了一只鸟，
它会向天空说它的飞翔，
我也知晓了一尾鱼，
它会向海水说它的游弋。
今夜，你是天空和海水，
在你心里我飞翔、在你胸中我游弋，
在你身体里，我抵达自己，
并将自己呈现给你。
　　　　　　2003-4-25 改写自02年英文稿
　　　　　　2007年2月24日修改

Wang Dongdong: Three Poems

　Three Poems by Wang Dongdong

　　Metaphors
　　　　　　　　　　by Wang Dongdong　tr. Fan Jinghua
　Holding onto the window lattice, the angel is using its fading power to demonstrate to me that he has a face of a vulture which looks like a burning lance. He was born for dismantling the parts of metaphors. Gloomy days, when the dust of historical nightmares fall from the sky, together with clouds, oh, even with clouds, deprive me of the fiery love who is a pink-skinned beast, and I was so deprived that the apparition of the sun looks like a lie, pallid and flaccid, but still brazen and shameless.

　　　隐喻
　　　　　　　　　　　　　王东东
　攀住窗棂的天使用余威在向我演示，他长着一张类似燃烧的长矛的秃鹫的脸,拆解隐喻的零件他最拿手。阴天，历史噩梦的灰尘从天空的卧室落下来，云，啊，还有风，褫夺了我粉红色皮肤的兽一样的火热的爱人，以致于太阳的出现也显得像是一个谎言，如此苍白无力，却又厚颜无耻。
　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　2004

　　　Clouds
　　　　　　　　　　by Wang Dongdong　tr. Fan Jinghua
Clouds uncover the scars on my head
And make me discharge my blood
To see the lances of corns and the land of red Indians

But what can I say?—
How a cloud (by a light strike)
Bruises my head?

　　　云
云，揭开我头上的伤疤
让我丢弃我的血脉
去看那玉米长矛、红色印地安人的国度

可是我怎样诉说？——
是怎样的一朵云（轻飘飘的）
撞伤了我的脑袋？

　　At Five O’clock
　　　　　　　　　　by Wang Dongdong　tr. Fan Jinghua
At five o’clock sharp
The man and the woman start to broadcast their quarrel

(Give them an attentive ear)

Their issue is
Whether a fascist is a lighter

At five o’clock sharp
The man and the woman start to broadcast their love-making

(Give them an attentive ear)

Their issue is
Whether a lighter is a fascist

I know the man and the woman broadcast
So that five o’clock can be eliminated from people’s mind
　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　2005

　　每当五点
　　　　　　　　王东东
每当五点
广播里的男女就开始吵架

仔细听

为了
法西斯是不是打火机

每当五点
广播里的男女就开始做爱

仔细听

为了
打火机是不是法西斯

我知道，广播里的男女
要用这种方式来取消人们心目中的五点
　　　　　　　　　　　　　　2005

About the poet:
　　Wang Dongdong (1983-) was born in Henan Province, an inland province of traditional agriculture. He majored in Philosophy as an undergraduate and switched to Literary Studies in his MA program. He writes (of course) poems, for which he received a few prizes, and now also pens critical essays.
诗人介绍
　　王东东1983年生于河南省，一个传统的内陆农业省。他本科时读哲学专业，在硕士阶段转入文学研究。他写诗（当然），因此获得一些奖项，而今也写评论。

Fan Jinghua: Bye

　　　Bye
As we have grown too much in this world to mutually acknowledge one loss
One of us has to say to either that there is only one meeting in our lives
All the others, scenes for farewell and memory that go well with a set of quick meal
That one was the strike of lightning when I could barely speak out “God be with ye”
　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　Oct. 7-8, 2008

　　　罢也
我们都已入世太深，不会共同承认一种丧失，如今
必有一人对任何一人说出：我们生生世世只有一次相遇
其它的，都是场景而已，只是为了告别与回忆，与一套快餐很是相配
而那一次是一记闪电，仅够我匆匆说出“神与你同在”
　　　　　　　　　　　2008年10月8日

Do you know that “goodbye” is derived from “god be with ye (you)”?
你可知道goodbye[再见] 这个词是从god be with ye[上帝与你同在]演化而来的么？

Fan Jinghua: After a Dinner

　　　　After a Dinner
Easy air is serpentine along the floor
Before curling upward, like invisible flames.
You sit there, and you sit among them, eyes smiling at an anecdote.
There must be a man outside the frame, like me
Looking at this pictured stillness.

The dinner is over. Has he proposed a toast to your glamour and grace?
And what is the dessert? Is that man like me, over 38, who can talk
In another language about a woman poet who committed suicide 38 years before?
Was he, too, born into a country that persistently educated him
Not to believe in karma or samsara.

You turn your head like avoiding the mesmerizing music,
As if you will not be resigned to its hidden call. You raise the goblet
And pronounce, “You’d better believe.” And then a blankness
Settles into the pause. “Maybe it is mere superstitious, and next year
You may consider it coincidental, and who could tell

The year after the next?”
He says, “This wine is mellow and crisp, a superb aftertaste.”
And he takes another sip, “I would.”
As you lean back on the chair, the curtain flowers are folding tighter.
He looks over your shoulder. The streetlight is still and thick.

　　　晚餐后
适意的气氛如蛇一样在地板上蜿蜒
然后袅袅升起，好似隐匿的火舌。
你坐着，你就是坐在它们中间，听着一件轶事。
画框外该有一个男人，如我，
看着这张静止的画面。

晚餐已经结束。他是否为你的魅力而敬你一杯？
吃了什么甜点？那个男人是否也有三十八岁，如我，
用另一种语言谈论一个自杀在三十八年前的女诗人？
只是他出生的国家从小就教育他
不相信报应和轮回。

你转过头来，犹如要躲开那催眠似的音乐，
不愿顺应那潜在的召唤。你举杯抿了一口，说道：
“你最好相信”。这时，空白及时
占据你们之间的停顿。“现在你会认为这是迷信，
明年你或许会认为这是巧合，而谁

又能保证再过一年会怎样?”
他说：这酒不错，爽口且余味醇厚。
又啜了一口，他说“我会相信”。
当你向后靠着椅背，窗帘上的花朵被折叠得更紧。
他从你的肩上望出窗外，街灯洒下浓厚的静谧。

This was first written in 2003, and its revised version in 2006 was published in Ivory Poetry (USA) with a Chinese version. The present version is a truncated one.
本诗最初稿写于2003，2006年的修改稿随同中文版发表在美国的《常青藤》诗刊。这里的是缩短删节版。

Fan Jinghua: Echo and Narcissus

　　　　Echo and Narcissus

Narcissus:
　We, I, love the sight of each other, the shade, the look
　More distant than any of the beings crowded around.
　I avoid mountains, escape forests and linger over a lake.
　In pursuit or being pursued, we run across the other self;
　There is no other. How can we be separated?

Echo:
　I, we, love the sight of a cloud, its color, its shape
　More definite than a being properly attired.
　I scale mountains, climb trees and float along a weedy slope.
　In pursuit or being pursued, I, we, run around a circle;
　There is no you. How can I be separated?
　　　　　　　　　　　2006-04-26

　　　　回音仙女与自恋少年

自恋少年：
　我们，我，爱上了彼此的影子，那神情中稍纵即逝的转变
　比簇拥于我们身边的任何生灵都更加遥远；
　我远离山峦、躲避森林，我只逡巡于这湖面。
　追求或者被追，我们总会遇见另一个自己；
　这世界没有他人，我们岂能分离？

回音仙女：
　我，我们，爱上的是云的影子，它的颜色、它的形状
　比起任何沐猴而冠的生灵都更加可感可触；
　我攀爬山峦、抚摸树梢，漂浮于一片绿草浓郁的坡地。
　追求或者被追，我，我们，围着圈子奔跑；
　这世界没有了你，我怎能被分离？
　　　　　　　　　　　2006年4月26日

　　　　　Echo and Narcissus by J. W. Waterhouse (1903)

　　埃科Echo(回音)是一个森林仙女，性喜嬉闹。因为大神宙斯到处追逐女色，天后赫拉很是怀疑，而埃科在宙斯游荡的森林制造很多回音，因此赫拉无法察觉到宙斯的不忠。赫拉转而对埃科泄怒，剥夺了她说话的能力，而只能重复别人的话。
　　后来这个爱嬉闹的小仙女爱上了美少年Narcissus纳西瑟斯。她日日尾随着他，看他打猎，穿过森林小溪，然而她无法先说话，于是就在树枝上弄出声音。纳西瑟斯听到声音，问：谁在那儿？于是她就回音：谁在那儿？可是终于还是无法表白，最终也只是憔悴消损，将自己的声音（回音）留在世间。
　　而纳西瑟斯则是站在河里的时候爱上了自己的倒影，不认识那就是自己。他发现自己一旦喝水，那个“对象”就逃了，于是他只能一直盯着水面看，不吃不喝，最终变成了垂头自顾的水仙花。

Fan Jinghua: Suburban Pagoda

　　　Suburban Pagoda

Its primitive location attracts the city-dwellers
Its modern reputation attracts tourists from afar
No antiquely simple structure, not a contemporary spectacle
Its tender white and slender shape contrast abrupt against the dark green mountain
Its ground is encircled by a stream that also serves as a drain nurturing no fish

People hurry into the bell-like inside, adjusting their vision in the dark
The center is an iron column holding a winding stair
Some walk out on every layer, only to find the views have not much difference
Some climb at one breath to the top, non-stop, like a fish through fins and tails
Forgetting itself until they reach the air hanging from the spire
Roads are ejaculated from the root through the woods into the edgeless distance
People hold up their heads and look into the horizon, lost in the encroaching mist

The nine-storied pagoda stands alone in long solitude and turbulences
A sculpture of nobody is remembered as a pagoda with a name and a shape
　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　Oct 25, 1997
　

　　　　　　　　Linggu (Spirit Valley) Pagoda in Nanjing, China

　　　　郊外的塔
这原始的座落吸引闲暇的人　这不原始的名声吸引远方的来客
这造型不算古朴　风景不算现代
柔嫩的白色　瘦削的身影　突兀于墨绿的山峦
近看一席空地被小溪环抱
那小溪还是一条排水沟　没有鱼

有人匆匆走进塔身　在那一钵幽暗中调整视差　辨别着方向
塔的中心　一级级石阶依偎着一根颀长的石柱　螺旋上升
有人走上每一层塔肩了望　闹哄哄的结论总是相同
有人扶着那石柱作不间歇的旋转　不作停留　象一尾鱼穿过上上下下的人
忘了自己　直到塔尖　看塔根射出的路　穿过树林没入远处
目光从俯瞰到眺望　也消失一片迷茫中
喘息稍定　才知道登塔的全部似乎就是不停的游弋

郊外的塔在喧嚣与沉寂中伫立这么久了
这尊雕像像所有的塔一样被人记得一个名字一个形状
　　　　　　　　　　　　原作于1997年10月25日

　　　　　　　　
　　　　Linggu Pagoda (Spirit Valley Pagoda) in Snow, Nanjing, China

　This was originally inspired by the nine-storied pagoda on the eastern suburb of Nanjing, China. The pagoda was built in 1931 to commemorate the KIAs in the Northern Expedition of Chinese Nationalist Party (Kuomingtang) by Republic of China (by Sun Yat-sen and Chiang Kai-shek).

　　这首诗中所写的塔原是南京市东郊的灵谷塔。此塔原本是中国国民党（孙中山和蒋介石领导）为了纪念第一次北伐(1026-28)战争阵亡烈士而于1931年建的。

　　　　Winding Stairs of Linggu (Spirit Valley) Pagoda in Nanjing, China

昨天因为一个朋友发来一张拍在灵谷塔上的照片而想起来自己写过两首有关该塔的诗。从网上找到几张照片。

Fan Jinghua: Seasons

　　Seasons
For the entire summer you have not noticed a single leaf among the fallen leaves
and the loneliness of the few does not have sound and weight
You grow melancholic as autumn deepens, like a leaf, like a majority of noisy leaves
Summer veins gloss your forehead and have not grown into your heart
Winter is still far
　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　Oct. 5, 2008

　　　季节
整个夏天你没有注意到任何一片叶子落下
少数的孤独没有声音、没有分量
你跟着秋天一道忧伤起来，像一片叶子、像大多数喧嚣的叶子
你的额角显出夏天的脉纹，没有长到心上
冬天还很远
　　　　　　　　　　　　　　2008年10月5日

Fan Jinghua: Old Acquaintance

　　Old Acquaintance
So you must let loose your long hair, a big gardenia in hand
You must be stranger than the past
You must look like a stopover passenger
Looking to your left and right, absent-minded

So I walk up from behind, keeping eyes on you
And you already know when I am by your side
You have to notice me by then only and naturally must not recognize me
This one comes from the past, and a Confucian scholar too

So you must ask me where I come from
Then I can say I come from a town called Nevers
Where there is an old pavilioned bridge half buried on a once river

That town has three streets and seven alleys
Which are called as Lost Road and Blind Outlet, numbered
Passengers from the past and future call the pavilion Gardenia Posthouse
　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　Oct. 4, 2008

　　　故人
那么你必须将头发散落　手拿一朵栀子花
你必须比曾经还要陌生
必须像在此地中转的旅客那样走马观花
左顾右盼且心不在焉

于是我盯着你的后背很久　走上去
还没看到你的侧面　你就已经知道
但你必须是过了很久才知道　你当然也必须认不出我
忘了我来自古代　还是一个书生

所以你必须迷惑地问我从哪儿来
我告诉你那是一个小镇　叫做灞桥
有一座带亭子的砖头桥半埋在早已干涸的宽沟上

三条东西的街都叫迷途
七道南北的巷子都叫末路
古代和将来的人都将那亭子称为栀子花驿站
　　　　　　　　2008年10月4日

My Home Village in Northern Jiangsu Province

My home village in Northern Jiangsu Province, China
我在江苏北部农村的老家


My Brother's House (with a Solar Energy Heater on the Roof)
我大弟弟的家（房子上有太阳能热水器）



My Mother Walking and My Youngest Brother on a Motor-cylce
我妈妈走在村头，我小弟弟骑着摩托
I do not recognize the man attending the goats 不知道放羊的是谁


My Wife Visiting My Home Village in Northern Jiangsu Province, China
我妻子带着孩子去我的乡下老家


Photos taken by my son in early December 2006
照片由我的儿子摄于2006年12月初

Fan Jinghua: Phoenix Tree

　　Phoenix Tree　梧桐二题

　I
The courtyard opens to a pool
of vegetables. To the right, a pigsty,
behind it to the left stands
A phoenix tree, which marks
the edge of a barnyard.
I walk into the summer, from the gate
of morning, into the night. Where the Milky Way lies,
the sky, the expansion below, the night.
Little fires fly from the water and reeds
lower than the ground. They shuttle back and forth
in the folktales flickering behind the pipes.
That was my childhood.
We were like newly relegated fairies, not knowing
whether it was the human world or the paradise
that we were living in.
The children now nickname each other as
so-and-so Taro.

　　一
院子门向外
菜畦那边一片开阔，
右前方是猪圈，它的左后侧有
一棵梧桐，场院从那儿
开始。我穿过早晨的
门，走进夏天，走进夏夜，银河横亘处
叫做天，天下叫做夜。
而萤火虫的来处，是低于地面的水草，
穿插在故事中，我的童年
围着泛红光的旱烟袋，
那时的我们似乎都是刚刚从天上
落下的，分不清
天上与人间、
神仙与人。
如今的孩子给彼此取的浑名
叫什么什么太郎。

　II
October almost over. The barks of phoenix trees
Begin to peel, showing albino patches.
I have been back for two weeks,
And I am still a guest in my hometown.
The new wife married in the first month of the year,
With a big stomach in late pregnancy
Appears to have been living here longer than me.
Everyday, she waddles to the field,
And to the pond to wash clothes and vegetables
With a dog by her, in the welcome of the pigs
And wafts of stench.
My enquiries always bring her to smiles and
She would answer with an added tag
"How can we compare with you townsmen?"
There are no men and grown-up girls in the villages,
And they have all gone to the city, living
in the villages in ghettos, where no women can be seen.
I hope to tell her
There is not much a city can compare with the countryside,
Except for neon lights and debauched air.
But this truth is only mine.
My truth untold has already made me a hypocrite.

　　二
十月将近，梧桐树干
开始剥落出一块块白斑。
归来两个星期，我还是客。
正月才过门的小媳妇
腆着肚子，似乎
比我在此生活了更久。
每天，一条草狗尾随她
膗着的脚步，从菜畦和猪圈间的小道
淘米、洗衣、下地干活；
每次送迎她的是猪叫
和一阵臭味。
我的询问总会引来
善意的笑，她的每次解释
总会加上：“哪能和你们城里人相比？”
乡下，已经没有男人，
也没有大姑娘。
他们都去了城里，住在城里
的村落，那儿看不到女人。
我想对她说，
城里除了灯红酒绿，实在没什么
可以和乡下相比，
但这只是我的实话。
我的实话未说出口就已经令我虚伪。

　　　　　　　Oct. 23, 2006
　　　　　　　2006年10月23日 初稿
　　　　　　　2008年10月3日 修改

Fan Jinghua: Death of a Poet

　　　　Death of a Poet
Cornered by a human stampede to the end of the corridor, he learns
To freeze, keeping the way he is fallen upon by the slanting sunlight.
A lofty voice announces: “You have no right to remain silent,
And everything read out of you will be used against you in an invisible court.
Copping a plea is no better than fight to a bitter end."
So he starts scribbling on the loose-leaf notebook
A fictional biography from scratch.
His right hand bets with the left hand through "paper, scissors or rock"
On what to put into his Confessions,
While he sits closer to the wall and masturbate his mind.
The first line reads: “I am a prince of royal ancestry,
And all my kinsmen wore real silk and satin.”
He concludes not with a cacophonous epilogue
But with a too pleasing-the-ear proverb:
"My abode is surrounded by dogs,
And I am sorry to have come up with fleas.
But no matter how much blood they suck, they could not taste Buddha.
Since no one has come back from the hell, I think I should go for a check."
All the while when his lives are growing on paper
Along a seemingly continuous trajectory,
Time hopscotches on the staircases.
The morning light finds him a smiling corpse,
His penis hard, his crotch starched by dry semen.
In his hand is a drawing of a cloud that slides down the staircase,
And the cloud carries a birdhead with a pair of human eyes.
　　　　　　　　　　　　Oct. 1, 2008

　　　诗人之死
人群疯奔，他被挤到了走廊的尽头，
他不动，保持着被斜泄的阳光扑倒的姿态。
一个高处的声音传来：“你无权保持沉默，
而有关你的每一种解释都将会用来
在不可见的法庭上对你不利。
认罪求情等同于抗拒到底”。
于是他开始在一本活页簿上
从头撰写一份虚构的传记。
左手与右手“石头剪刀布”
决定哪些事可以进入《悔过书》，
他朝墙靠了靠，闭目自慰着头脑。
开篇写道：“我是王子，祖上曾是皇族，
所有的族人都穿真丝和绸缎”。
结束段落，他没有写上“乱曰”，
而是引用了令人耳顺的俗语：
“常在河边走，哪能不湿鞋。
可我的长统靴鞋底很厚，鞋帮能防蚂蝗与水。
既然无人不留恋地狱，那么且容我去走一遭”。
就在他层层皱褶的生命似乎沿着一条轨道
在格子纸上展开，
时间却在楼梯上跳房子。
晨光降临时，他是一具微笑的死尸，
阳具冷硬，裤裆被干白的精液浆洗；
他手里拿着一张楼梯的图画，一朵白云
正沿着它下滑，云里冒出一只人眼的鸟头。
　　　　　　　　　2008年10月2日

按：
英文和中文最明显的不同在于，对应于
“常在河边走，哪能不湿鞋。
可我的长统靴鞋底很厚，鞋帮能防蚂蝗与水。
既然无人不留恋地狱，那么且容我去走一遭”的英文
直译为中文是：
“我的住处周围都是狗，
我很遗憾我身上长了跳蚤。
而无论它们吸多少血，也不可能尝出佛祖的味道。
既然无人从地狱归来，我想我应该去检查一回。”
Note:
The difference between the two versions lie in that the Chinese counterpart of
"My abode is surrounded by dogs,
And I am sorry to have come up with fleas.
But no matter how much blood they suck, they could not taste Buddha.
Since no one has come back from the hell, I think I should go for a check"
can be literally translated as
"When you often walk along the water, your shoes will get wet.
But my boots have thick soles, and their uppers are leek-proof and water-proof.
Since everyone lingers in the hell, please allow me to go there and come back."

英文有一个谚语叫做When you lie down with dogs, you come up with fleas 你和狗同睡，就和跳蚤同起。这个意思大概有点接近于中文谚语“常在河边走，难免不湿鞋”。

Fan Jinghua: Untitled

　　　Untitled
When the rain was chittering down after supper,
Your voice on the imaginary phone sounded absent and drifting.
The impedance of distance did not conduct moisture of emotion,
And without poetry you embody your love life into the warm TV.

When life falls too deep into the soap-operas, can we agree
Between us on silence and nonsense, if blue words are too sticky?
Wind falls through the shutter which used to sieve moonlight,
And now I don’t know what’s the point of bringing it up.

I am reading L’Attente l’oubli, a mixed genre
Which I always enjoy. Maybe forgetting is a detour of memory,
Or a blind gut, like self-exile into night from the everyday.
Should le don latent be read as le don l’attend? A hope against hope?

As I am writing, too many fuckable women have fallen into ugly slumber,
And do you know how much I want to wake you up with these lines!
　　　　　　　　　　　Sept. 30-Oct. 1, 2008

　　　无题
晚饭后的雨滴落出了鸟的啁啾声，
我想象的电话上，你的嗓音有点躲闪飘忽。
时空的阻抗无法传导情感的潮气，没有诗，
你习惯于将你的情爱生活搬进热乎乎的电视。

生活已经沉入电视剧太深，蓝色词句已太粘稠，
我们是否还能同意沉默和废话的意思？
风穿过百叶窗摔到地上，而那本来应该是
筛漏的月光，可我现在提到它又有何意义？

我在读布朗肖的《等待忘却》，跨文体的作品
总令我喜欢。忘记是否只是记忆的便道或者盲肠，
犹如自我流放在黑夜就是远离了日常生活？
“隐秘的礼物”可否当作“待领的礼物”？绝望的希望？

多少女人在那么丑陋地昏睡，她们本该可操、可疼，
而你是否知道，我写这样的句子，就是想将你弄醒。
　　　　　　　　　　2008年10月1日