Sylvia Plath Collected Poems
No. 212
Eavesdropper
Your brother will trim my hedges!
They darken your house,
Nosy grower,
Mole on my shoulder,
To be scratched absently,
To bleed, if it comes to that.
The stain of the tropics
Still urinous on you, a sin.
A kind of bush-stink.
You may be local,
But that yellow!
Godawful!
Your body one
Long nicotine-finger
On which I,
White cigarette,
Burn, for your inhalation,
Driving the dull cells wild.
Let me roost in you!
My distractions, my pallors.
Let them start the queer alchemy
That melts the skin
Gray tallow, from bone and bone.
So I saw your much sicker
Predecessor wrapped up,
A six and a half foot wedding-cake.
And he was not even malicious.
Do not think I don't notice your curtain---
Midnight, four o'clock,
Lit (you are reading),
Tarting with the drafts that pass,
Little whore tongue,
Chenille beckoner,
Beckoning my words in---
The zoo yowl, the mad soft
Mirror talk you love to catch me at.
How you jumped when I jumped on you!
Arms folded, ear cocked,
Toad-yellow under the drop
That would not, would not drop
In a desert of cow people
Trundling their udders home
To the electric milker, the wifey, the big blue eye
That watches, like God, or the sky
The ciphers that watch it.
I called.
You crawled out,
A weather figure, boggling,
Belge troll, the low
Church smile
Spreading itself, like butter.
This is what I am in for---
Flea body!
Eyes like mice
Flicking over my property,
Levering letter flaps,
Scrutinizing the fly
Of the man's pants
Dead on the chair back,
Opening the fat smiles, the eyes
Of two babies
Just to make sure---
Toad-stone! Sister-bitch! Sweet neighbor!
15 October 1962, 31 December 1962
普拉斯《诗全编》
第212首
隔墙耳
希薇娅- 普拉斯
你兄弟决意要修剪我的树篱！
它们遮了你家房子的光，
越长越多事，
我肩头的黑痣，
心不在焉地抓抓，
抓准了，就要流血。
回归线上的污点
尿臭味仍沾在你身上，罪孽。
灌木丛的那种腐臭。
你可能是当地人，
看那黄色！
真难看！
你那身肉，一根
尼古丁的细手指，
我，一根白烟卷，
在那儿，
为给你吸而燃烧，
迟钝的细胞被逼发狂。
让我栖在你体内！
令我分心的、令我苍白的一切。
让它们启动怪异的炼金术
将皮肤的
灰白油脂熔掉，骨头一根根地化。
所以我看到你的前任病得更重，
从头裹到了脚，
一块六呎五吋的结婚蛋糕。
而他竟然没有一点恶意。
别以为我没注意到你的窗帘——
半夜、四点，
亮着灯（你还在看书），
用差强人意的草稿修饰，
小娼妇的舌头，
这硬毛绒引诱者
将我的话勾引了进去——
动物园的狂吼，软绵绵的
镜中的疯话，你最想逮到我这么说。
我扑向你时你跳得多高啊！
叉起膀子，竖着耳朵，
癞蛤蟆的黄色
不会从垂帘下垂落，不会垂落
到一座大沙漠般的奶牛人
身上，她们拖着大奶子回家，
走向电子挤奶器、走向保姆老婆、走向那只蓝色的
目不转睛的注视，像上帝，或说是天空，
那守望它的各种密码。
我唤一声。
你就爬了出来，
风向标的小人，左右摇摆，
比利时旋舞，低沉的
教堂式微笑
像牛油一样越摊越开。
我就活该如此——
跳蚤的身体！
眼睛像老鼠
在我的地盘上闪忽，
撬开信封的翻舌，
抓起椅背上
那条僵死的
男装裤，踏勘
那裆前的钮扣盖，
掰开肥硕的笑容，两个
小孩儿的眼睛，
只是为了确认——
蟾蜍石！泼妇姐妹！好心的邻居！
1962年10月15日 1962年12月31日
Tuesday, March 31, 2009
Sunday, March 29, 2009
Xiao Maxian: Cold Light
Xiao Maxian: Cold Light
寒光
小玛仙
它运送军队和粮食
植物迅速掠过
湖泊、沼泽反射寒光
冰映出豹子奔跑
划过的弧线——加速度撞在铁皮上
迸起稀疏的火花
所有的怜惜藏在泥土之下
向下，那岩石之下
更深的地方岩浆就要窒息
夜晚迷失的魂魄在归途攀上火车
Cold Light
by Xiao Maxian tr. Fan Jinghua
寒光
小玛仙
它运送军队和粮食
植物迅速掠过
湖泊、沼泽反射寒光
冰映出豹子奔跑
划过的弧线——加速度撞在铁皮上
迸起稀疏的火花
所有的怜惜藏在泥土之下
向下，那岩石之下
更深的地方岩浆就要窒息
夜晚迷失的魂魄在归途攀上火车
Cold Light
by Xiao Maxian tr. Fan Jinghua
It carries troops and grains
Plants sweep past swift
Lakes, swamps reflect cold light
Ice mirrors the curved line
Of a running leopard—acceleration bumps on the iron sheet
Spurting faint glitters of firework
All the compassionate cherished under the soil
Further down below the rocks
In the deeper places lava is suffocating
Souls lost in night are picking up trains on their return journey
My PS:
The poet has in her mind that the train in the poem is a metaphor for state apparatus, hence it carries troops and grains. Plants therefore refer to the forms of organic life, which are left behind by the insanely dashing forward train. It seems that the poet has too much to say out and she loses control of the poem. Whatever the leopard may represent, the lines lose their energy and speed after the “acceleration bumps on the iron sheet.”
Plants sweep past swift
Lakes, swamps reflect cold light
Ice mirrors the curved line
Of a running leopard—acceleration bumps on the iron sheet
Spurting faint glitters of firework
All the compassionate cherished under the soil
Further down below the rocks
In the deeper places lava is suffocating
Souls lost in night are picking up trains on their return journey
My PS:
The poet has in her mind that the train in the poem is a metaphor for state apparatus, hence it carries troops and grains. Plants therefore refer to the forms of organic life, which are left behind by the insanely dashing forward train. It seems that the poet has too much to say out and she loses control of the poem. Whatever the leopard may represent, the lines lose their energy and speed after the “acceleration bumps on the iron sheet.”
译后赘言：
诗人想到的是，火车是国家机器的暗喻，因此它运送的是军队和粮食。植物代表各种形式的有机生命，被疯狂向前冲的火车抛到了后面。似乎诗人有太多的话要说，因此有点失控了。无论那头豹子代表什么，“加速度撞在铁皮上”之后的句子就松散了，没有速度、没有运动、没有冲量。
My suggested version我建议的修改：
寒光
它运送军队和粮食
植物迅速掠过
湖泊、沼泽
冰的寒光映照豹子
奔跑的弧线——加速度撞在铁皮上
夜晚迷失的魂魄在归途攀上火车
Cold Light
It carries troops and grains
Plants sweep past swift
Lakes, swamps
Ice of cold light mirrors the curved line
Of a running leopard—acceleration bumps on the iron sheet
Souls lost in night have picked up trains on their return journey
诗人想到的是，火车是国家机器的暗喻，因此它运送的是军队和粮食。植物代表各种形式的有机生命，被疯狂向前冲的火车抛到了后面。似乎诗人有太多的话要说，因此有点失控了。无论那头豹子代表什么，“加速度撞在铁皮上”之后的句子就松散了，没有速度、没有运动、没有冲量。
My suggested version我建议的修改：
寒光
它运送军队和粮食
植物迅速掠过
湖泊、沼泽
冰的寒光映照豹子
奔跑的弧线——加速度撞在铁皮上
夜晚迷失的魂魄在归途攀上火车
Cold Light
It carries troops and grains
Plants sweep past swift
Lakes, swamps
Ice of cold light mirrors the curved line
Of a running leopard—acceleration bumps on the iron sheet
Souls lost in night have picked up trains on their return journey
Yu Xiang: Sunshine
Yu Xiang: Sunshine
阳光
宇向
我已经抚摸了你
我还要到你的耳边
说出爱
我是灼热的
倘若你是坏人
我的爱会更多一些
倘若你爱我
你将是那个在灼热中死去的人
Sunshine
by Yu Xiang tr. Fan Jinghua
I have already touched you
I still want to get to your ears
Saying out love
For I am burning hot
If you are bad
I’ll grow more love
If you love me
You will be the one who dies in burning
My PS:
It must have been considered “not fashionable” to write this kind of poems, for this poem is not even included in the privately printed collection selected by herself. However, there is something quite interesting about the understatement in this poem. In Chinese, “touch” (抚摸stroke and feel) usually does not have the sexual or erotic connotation as “petting” in English, but in this poem as “touch” is used against the speaking out of love, it obviously refers to something physical. Therefore, “burning hot,” which in Chinese often refers to emotional intensity (not necessarily or most often not suggesting desire or lust), is pointing to sex. This poem, in essence, is a woman’s initiative, declaration and desire to consume the man with who she desires to be in love. And this is boldly confident, feminist and self-centered.
阳光
宇向
我已经抚摸了你
我还要到你的耳边
说出爱
我是灼热的
倘若你是坏人
我的爱会更多一些
倘若你爱我
你将是那个在灼热中死去的人
Sunshine
by Yu Xiang tr. Fan Jinghua
I have already touched you
I still want to get to your ears
Saying out love
For I am burning hot
If you are bad
I’ll grow more love
If you love me
You will be the one who dies in burning
My PS:
It must have been considered “not fashionable” to write this kind of poems, for this poem is not even included in the privately printed collection selected by herself. However, there is something quite interesting about the understatement in this poem. In Chinese, “touch” (抚摸stroke and feel) usually does not have the sexual or erotic connotation as “petting” in English, but in this poem as “touch” is used against the speaking out of love, it obviously refers to something physical. Therefore, “burning hot,” which in Chinese often refers to emotional intensity (not necessarily or most often not suggesting desire or lust), is pointing to sex. This poem, in essence, is a woman’s initiative, declaration and desire to consume the man with who she desires to be in love. And this is boldly confident, feminist and self-centered.
译后赘言：
或许是因为这样的诗不太“时髦”。这首诗甚至没有被诗人收入自己选编自印的诗集。不过，这首诗中次层意思还是很有意思的。通常，在汉语中，“抚摸”并没有英文的touch那么多的性色含义，但是在这首诗中，“抚摸”与“说出爱”对应，因此也就是说这种抚摸指向的就是身体的爱。因此，也同样，“灼热”原本在汉语中通常是指情感的强度，而非身体欲望的强烈，在此便也指向了肉体。这首诗，说到底，是一个女人的主动、宣示和欲求，要吞噬自己渴望相爱的男人。这才是勇猛的自信、女权和自我中心的。
或许是因为这样的诗不太“时髦”。这首诗甚至没有被诗人收入自己选编自印的诗集。不过，这首诗中次层意思还是很有意思的。通常，在汉语中，“抚摸”并没有英文的touch那么多的性色含义，但是在这首诗中，“抚摸”与“说出爱”对应，因此也就是说这种抚摸指向的就是身体的爱。因此，也同样，“灼热”原本在汉语中通常是指情感的强度，而非身体欲望的强烈，在此便也指向了肉体。这首诗，说到底，是一个女人的主动、宣示和欲求，要吞噬自己渴望相爱的男人。这才是勇猛的自信、女权和自我中心的。
Su Ruoxi: Analogy
Su Ruoxi: Analogy
比拟
比拟
苏若兮（1977-）
我想你，只能在私密的内心
像厚厚的积雪隐藏了山河，树林
我秘密地想你
任着生活
将我
刻得品行不端，斑斑劣迹
Analogy
Su Ruoxi (1977-) tr. Fan Jinghua
I miss you, only in my secret inner heart,
Like thick snows hide a landscape and woods.
I miss you, surreptitiously,
Yielding to the life
That carves on me
Deep ruts of varied behavioral misconducts.
My PS:
How to write a bold and clean love poem with a unique voice? This may take as many forms as many people. In this poem, the first line reads plainly extraordinary. The first bold outburst of “I miss you” is yoked to a downturn, a sudden restraint, with an obvious tightening of the heart and mind. This is already a hurt, and the analogy in the following line further suggests the suffocating coldness of the “forbidden love.” Ostensibly, the surreptitious double life can only leave marks of immorality, and yet the speaker seems to suggest that she can help but yielding to it; perhaps, there is something sweet after all.
译后赘言：
如何写一首大胆而干净的情诗，而且要有独特的嗓音？恐怕有多少人就有多少种可能，但真正能够通俗而不落俗套还是比较难的。这首诗可说是平凡而又超常。第一行首先激情地脱口而出“我想你”，然而紧接着却是一个情感突降、一种收敛，显然的身心紧缩，令人读得心头一抽。已经是一种伤害了，然后的“比拟”进一步暗示这种“禁止的爱”令人窒息的冷。表面看来，这种见不得人的双重生活只能留下不道德的印记，然而说话人似乎还暗示她无能为力，只得屈从于这种生活；也许，说到底这里有某种甜蜜。
Su Ruoxi: Empty
Su Ruoxi: Empty 苏若兮：空白
空白
苏若兮（1977-）
有一天，我不再思念故乡
一个人在街灯下
停泊
没有想象中的庭院来锈住自己
想想
什么都没有
想想
一个笼中人
深眷什么
时间久了
释放，等于深锁
Empty
Su Ruoxi (1977-) tr. Fan Jinghua
One day I’ll stop thinking of hometown
I’ll walk alone below the streetlamp
Anchored
There will be no imagined courtyard to rust me
Think and
Nothing shows itself
Think about
What a caged being may be
Deeply attached to
When time goes long
Release equals to confinement
My PS.
I have tried several words of word-forms for the title, such as “blankness,” and eventually decided on “Empty” which has more of a philosophical or religious significance. If, according to Buddhist way of the world, emotions are all a manifestation of obstacle to attainment, the attachment to even one’s home is a form of self-confinement. In this sense, an imaginary courtyard or the courtyard of imagination is also a cage, and much can be said about the need for writing a poem.
译后赘言：
我试了好几个词或者词性来翻译这个标题，考虑得最多的是用blank还是empty中的哪一个。Blank的基本含义倾向于茫然的那种空，例如面无表情之类的，而empty更多的是清空、无的意味，前者更多指向人的心理，后者更多哲学宗教意味。如果根据佛教的理解，情，无论是哪一种，都是自我抵达的障碍，于是甚至对于家的眷念也是一种自我设限。在此意义上，想象(出来)的庭院也是一个牢笼，同样可以这样说我们写一首诗的欲望。
空白
苏若兮（1977-）
有一天，我不再思念故乡
一个人在街灯下
停泊
没有想象中的庭院来锈住自己
想想
什么都没有
想想
一个笼中人
深眷什么
时间久了
释放，等于深锁
Empty
Su Ruoxi (1977-) tr. Fan Jinghua
One day I’ll stop thinking of hometown
I’ll walk alone below the streetlamp
Anchored
There will be no imagined courtyard to rust me
Think and
Nothing shows itself
Think about
What a caged being may be
Deeply attached to
When time goes long
Release equals to confinement
My PS.
I have tried several words of word-forms for the title, such as “blankness,” and eventually decided on “Empty” which has more of a philosophical or religious significance. If, according to Buddhist way of the world, emotions are all a manifestation of obstacle to attainment, the attachment to even one’s home is a form of self-confinement. In this sense, an imaginary courtyard or the courtyard of imagination is also a cage, and much can be said about the need for writing a poem.
译后赘言：
我试了好几个词或者词性来翻译这个标题，考虑得最多的是用blank还是empty中的哪一个。Blank的基本含义倾向于茫然的那种空，例如面无表情之类的，而empty更多的是清空、无的意味，前者更多指向人的心理，后者更多哲学宗教意味。如果根据佛教的理解，情，无论是哪一种，都是自我抵达的障碍，于是甚至对于家的眷念也是一种自我设限。在此意义上，想象(出来)的庭院也是一个牢笼，同样可以这样说我们写一首诗的欲望。
Sunday, March 22, 2009
Fan Jinghua: Chronicles of Night
Chronicles of Night
So, the noises around one o’clock were the last batch,
And all that follow are too spaced out to mean anything.
Thus two passes, and it is nearing three.
You see, night is not that hard to endure,
No one pops up bright from the contact list,
And you expect there is one who happens to remain different
From all the others who have fallen irretrievably into slumber,
And you expect against hope
That there is at least one who sit up alone
To connect two unreachable faraway places into the shortest line.
When those you feel for do not feel, nor even dream,
Where does the feeling go? Even your most sadistic vision
Will not enter their sleep. Time has gone astray.
You look around to find it does not settle in.
It is your eyesight that goes
Around your body, mocking its loneliness.
Night after four is a pit, where sound is concocted into the silt.
You watch an online porno, featuring a monstrous dick
That explodes the mouth of a Chinese baby and makes cries of high pain.
Toward five, with a sonic boom,
Desperation of mercury reaches the top.
Nothing more could happen, unless you take your body by the head
And swing violently.
But you plug your ears instead.
The old CD in the discman turns out to be an Itsuwa Mayumi.
In her recital of “This little happiness and me intoxicated in it”
You type these lines
To chart the night till now
When those bad breathes in the dark have perhaps been already
Stirred up by the mobile phones and suffused the curtained bedrooms.
A night of story-free nothingness passes like an ulcer,
But you’d rather it’s a bruise to remind a collision.
March 22, 2009
夜的历代记
那么，一点钟前后的吵闹是最后一批，
所有后来的都太分散，成不了什么。
于是，两点过去了，正在走向三点，
你看，夜，实在没有什么难忍的。
好友列表上，没有谁闪亮登场，
而你却还在期待有个人恰巧保持了一种与众不同，
没有像他们那样堕入不可挽回的沉睡，
你违背希望地期待着
起码还有一个人在独自熬夜，
将两个不可触及的远方连接成最短的线。
当你感念的那些人都毫无感应，甚至没有做梦，
感情去了哪儿？甚至你最虐待狂的想象
也不会进入他们的睡眠。时间
走失了。你四顾，没发现它安居在你周围。
那是你的视觉
在你身体四周游动，嘲弄你的孤独。
夜，过了四点，就是一个黑坑，声音被调制进了淤泥。
你看了一段在线的黄色录像，一个巨无霸的棍子像推拉着风箱，
挤出一个中华宝贝的高叫，那表情痛不欲生。
接近五点，随着一声音爆，
绝望的水银柱升到顶端。
再没什么可能发生，除非你抓住自己的头，
将躯干提起来猛甩。
但是你将耳朵塞了起来。
你随手抽出一张CD，五轮真弓的嗓音就冲向囟门位置。
当“这小小的幸福和沉醉其中的我”如泣如诉，
你打下这一行行字
为夜晚绘制海图，到现在
黑暗中的口气也许已经被手机铃声惊扰，醒来，
在窗帘后的卧室慢慢膨胀。
一夜没有故事的虚空过去了，犹如溃疡，
而你更希望那是一块瘀伤，提醒人们记得曾有一次碰撞。
2008年3月22日
So, the noises around one o’clock were the last batch,
And all that follow are too spaced out to mean anything.
Thus two passes, and it is nearing three.
You see, night is not that hard to endure,
No one pops up bright from the contact list,
And you expect there is one who happens to remain different
From all the others who have fallen irretrievably into slumber,
And you expect against hope
That there is at least one who sit up alone
To connect two unreachable faraway places into the shortest line.
When those you feel for do not feel, nor even dream,
Where does the feeling go? Even your most sadistic vision
Will not enter their sleep. Time has gone astray.
You look around to find it does not settle in.
It is your eyesight that goes
Around your body, mocking its loneliness.
Night after four is a pit, where sound is concocted into the silt.
You watch an online porno, featuring a monstrous dick
That explodes the mouth of a Chinese baby and makes cries of high pain.
Toward five, with a sonic boom,
Desperation of mercury reaches the top.
Nothing more could happen, unless you take your body by the head
And swing violently.
But you plug your ears instead.
The old CD in the discman turns out to be an Itsuwa Mayumi.
In her recital of “This little happiness and me intoxicated in it”
You type these lines
To chart the night till now
When those bad breathes in the dark have perhaps been already
Stirred up by the mobile phones and suffused the curtained bedrooms.
A night of story-free nothingness passes like an ulcer,
But you’d rather it’s a bruise to remind a collision.
March 22, 2009
夜的历代记
那么，一点钟前后的吵闹是最后一批，
所有后来的都太分散，成不了什么。
于是，两点过去了，正在走向三点，
你看，夜，实在没有什么难忍的。
好友列表上，没有谁闪亮登场，
而你却还在期待有个人恰巧保持了一种与众不同，
没有像他们那样堕入不可挽回的沉睡，
你违背希望地期待着
起码还有一个人在独自熬夜，
将两个不可触及的远方连接成最短的线。
当你感念的那些人都毫无感应，甚至没有做梦，
感情去了哪儿？甚至你最虐待狂的想象
也不会进入他们的睡眠。时间
走失了。你四顾，没发现它安居在你周围。
那是你的视觉
在你身体四周游动，嘲弄你的孤独。
夜，过了四点，就是一个黑坑，声音被调制进了淤泥。
你看了一段在线的黄色录像，一个巨无霸的棍子像推拉着风箱，
挤出一个中华宝贝的高叫，那表情痛不欲生。
接近五点，随着一声音爆，
绝望的水银柱升到顶端。
再没什么可能发生，除非你抓住自己的头，
将躯干提起来猛甩。
但是你将耳朵塞了起来。
你随手抽出一张CD，五轮真弓的嗓音就冲向囟门位置。
当“这小小的幸福和沉醉其中的我”如泣如诉，
你打下这一行行字
为夜晚绘制海图，到现在
黑暗中的口气也许已经被手机铃声惊扰，醒来，
在窗帘后的卧室慢慢膨胀。
一夜没有故事的虚空过去了，犹如溃疡，
而你更希望那是一块瘀伤，提醒人们记得曾有一次碰撞。
2008年3月22日
Friday, March 20, 2009
Fan Jinghua: Bees out of Paradise
Bees out of Paradise
After Reading Crane’s “And Bees of Paradise”
Big wind leaves ulcers and scars behind its passing.
Whatever comes from the seas goes back to the seas,
And the washed sky rises higher.
That bosom is Paradise, where love is untouchable.
Intangible existence in faith, eyes see the rainbow,
An unearthly bridge. It connects the land that keeps us walking
With the water that drowns all human ambitions.
Still, our desire to fly is teased out, and we try to contract our legs,
Not caring whether we are returning or leaving.
Our days are on the wings of doves, when you flutter, and I flutter.
Numerous creatures of varied colors drift in the sea garden,
While bees alone bear the black stripes of hardship,
No nostalgia, no wailing complaints,
As if their eternal life has already begun in this world.
Oh, we fly on monosyllables, between the hearts of flowers.
Whiteness, even in paradise, is not weightless,
No less heavy than any of dark colors.
There are rainbows glistening in my eyes.
Feb. 28, 2009
被谪放的蜜蜂
——读克莱恩《以及天堂的蜜蜂》致C
飓风过后，疮痍满目。从海上来的，又复归海上，
天高如洗，留下一顷空旷的爱。
在一个胸怀中，这就是天堂，不可见，只存在
于信念，尤其在那人仰望彩虹的时候。
这亦真亦幻的桥，连接着
从我们脚下无限延伸的大地与那淹没人类所有野心的大海，
令我们渴望收缩起双脚，飞翔，不管是出走还是归去。
我们的日子翩跹，一对对白色的鸽翼，你的振动，我的振动；
海的花园漂浮着多彩的生物，
只有金色的蜜蜂背负辛劳的黑条纹，不怀旧，毫无怨尤，
犹如永生已从今生开始。
哦，我们以单音飞行，往复于花心与花心。
白色，即便在天堂，也并非没有重量，并不比深颜色
稍轻一丁点儿。我的眼中闪动着彩虹。
2009年2月28日
按：据说，伊甸园中的蜜蜂是白色的，它们的蜜供应天庭。人类堕落之后，它们被贬人间，以辛勤劳作为人类树立表率；亦说，它们是亚当夏娃来人间时的向导。但无论如何，蜜蜂似乎是受了人类堕落的池鱼之殃。
After Reading Crane’s “And Bees of Paradise”
Big wind leaves ulcers and scars behind its passing.
Whatever comes from the seas goes back to the seas,
And the washed sky rises higher.
That bosom is Paradise, where love is untouchable.
Intangible existence in faith, eyes see the rainbow,
An unearthly bridge. It connects the land that keeps us walking
With the water that drowns all human ambitions.
Still, our desire to fly is teased out, and we try to contract our legs,
Not caring whether we are returning or leaving.
Our days are on the wings of doves, when you flutter, and I flutter.
Numerous creatures of varied colors drift in the sea garden,
While bees alone bear the black stripes of hardship,
No nostalgia, no wailing complaints,
As if their eternal life has already begun in this world.
Oh, we fly on monosyllables, between the hearts of flowers.
Whiteness, even in paradise, is not weightless,
No less heavy than any of dark colors.
There are rainbows glistening in my eyes.
Feb. 28, 2009
被谪放的蜜蜂
——读克莱恩《以及天堂的蜜蜂》致C
飓风过后，疮痍满目。从海上来的，又复归海上，
天高如洗，留下一顷空旷的爱。
在一个胸怀中，这就是天堂，不可见，只存在
于信念，尤其在那人仰望彩虹的时候。
这亦真亦幻的桥，连接着
从我们脚下无限延伸的大地与那淹没人类所有野心的大海，
令我们渴望收缩起双脚，飞翔，不管是出走还是归去。
我们的日子翩跹，一对对白色的鸽翼，你的振动，我的振动；
海的花园漂浮着多彩的生物，
只有金色的蜜蜂背负辛劳的黑条纹，不怀旧，毫无怨尤，
犹如永生已从今生开始。
哦，我们以单音飞行，往复于花心与花心。
白色，即便在天堂，也并非没有重量，并不比深颜色
稍轻一丁点儿。我的眼中闪动着彩虹。
2009年2月28日
按：据说，伊甸园中的蜜蜂是白色的，它们的蜜供应天庭。人类堕落之后，它们被贬人间，以辛勤劳作为人类树立表率；亦说，它们是亚当夏娃来人间时的向导。但无论如何，蜜蜂似乎是受了人类堕落的池鱼之殃。
Fan Jinghua: A Pool of Water
A Pool of Water
A forked tongue promises to a bat
A bright future
Flying bubbles and balloons
Under the arcade of the afterglow.
There, flowerless trees bear
Fruits, like pomegranates, to a palmful size,
And every creature, stoned by its aroma of elixir,
Wears the smile of Buddha.
The sun takes away its yin doubles on the water
To their tryst, for playing hide-and-seek,
Where the rifle of happiness
Begins to smoke in the semi-dark.
High up, the half moon crawls along the uncharted blue,
And it holds most patches of the weight in a full moon;
A nocturnal bird charms a big snake into holding up its head
As if it has swallowed a Viagra.
The pond has drowned many stars
But they clarify it from within,
And it breathes its sourness to the early morning;
It will shine like its newborn golden baby.
March 17, 2009
一潭水
分岔的舌头对一只蝙蝠承诺
说一幅明媚的未来
正在晚霞的拱廊下放气球和泡泡
那儿，无花的树结出石榴般的果实
大小恰好贴满手心
所有的生灵吸食那长生不老药的迷香都像小小的观音
太阳从水面带走它众多的阴性重身
幽会、躲猫猫，幸福的
来复枪开始在黑暗中冒烟
空悬的半个月亮爬过没有航道的天域
怀着一轮圆月的大部分重量
而一条大蛇的头被夜鸟的鸣叫耍弄得居高不下犹如吞了伟哥
一潭水淹没许多星星，却被星星澄清
它在清晨释放它的浊气
它将会像它自己的金色新生儿一样闪亮
2009年3月19日
A forked tongue promises to a bat
A bright future
Flying bubbles and balloons
Under the arcade of the afterglow.
There, flowerless trees bear
Fruits, like pomegranates, to a palmful size,
And every creature, stoned by its aroma of elixir,
Wears the smile of Buddha.
The sun takes away its yin doubles on the water
To their tryst, for playing hide-and-seek,
Where the rifle of happiness
Begins to smoke in the semi-dark.
High up, the half moon crawls along the uncharted blue,
And it holds most patches of the weight in a full moon;
A nocturnal bird charms a big snake into holding up its head
As if it has swallowed a Viagra.
The pond has drowned many stars
But they clarify it from within,
And it breathes its sourness to the early morning;
It will shine like its newborn golden baby.
March 17, 2009
一潭水
分岔的舌头对一只蝙蝠承诺
说一幅明媚的未来
正在晚霞的拱廊下放气球和泡泡
那儿，无花的树结出石榴般的果实
大小恰好贴满手心
所有的生灵吸食那长生不老药的迷香都像小小的观音
太阳从水面带走它众多的阴性重身
幽会、躲猫猫，幸福的
来复枪开始在黑暗中冒烟
空悬的半个月亮爬过没有航道的天域
怀着一轮圆月的大部分重量
而一条大蛇的头被夜鸟的鸣叫耍弄得居高不下犹如吞了伟哥
一潭水淹没许多星星，却被星星澄清
它在清晨释放它的浊气
它将会像它自己的金色新生儿一样闪亮
2009年3月19日
Plath: Sheep in Fog
Sylvia Plath Collected Poems
No. 213
Sheep in Fog
Sylvia Plath
The hills step off into whiteness.
People or stars
Regard me sadly, I disappoint them.
The train leaves a line of breath.
O slow
Horse the color of rust,
Hooves, dolorous bells------
All morning the
Morning has been blackening,
A flower left out.
My bones hold a stillness, the far
Fields melt my heart.
They threaten
To let me through to a heaven
Starless and fatherless, a dark water.
2 December 1962, 28 January 1963
普拉斯《诗全编》第213首
雾中羊
希薇娅- 普拉斯
群山侧移隐入白色。
人或星
观注我，神色悲戚；我负了他们。
火车留下一线呼吸。
哦，慢行的
马儿，铁锈的颜色，
蹄子，忧伤的铃——
整个上午
一上午越来越深的黑，
一朵花被抛弃。
我的骨头持守一种静止，远野
溶化我的心。
它们威胁说
要让我穿过，去一座天堂，
没有星、没有父亲，黑水一汪。
1962年12月2日，1963年1月28日
No. 213
Sheep in Fog
Sylvia Plath
The hills step off into whiteness.
People or stars
Regard me sadly, I disappoint them.
The train leaves a line of breath.
O slow
Horse the color of rust,
Hooves, dolorous bells------
All morning the
Morning has been blackening,
A flower left out.
My bones hold a stillness, the far
Fields melt my heart.
They threaten
To let me through to a heaven
Starless and fatherless, a dark water.
2 December 1962, 28 January 1963
普拉斯《诗全编》第213首
雾中羊
希薇娅- 普拉斯
群山侧移隐入白色。
人或星
观注我，神色悲戚；我负了他们。
火车留下一线呼吸。
哦，慢行的
马儿，铁锈的颜色，
蹄子，忧伤的铃——
整个上午
一上午越来越深的黑，
一朵花被抛弃。
我的骨头持守一种静止，远野
溶化我的心。
它们威胁说
要让我穿过，去一座天堂，
没有星、没有父亲，黑水一汪。
1962年12月2日，1963年1月28日
Thursday, March 19, 2009
Fan Jinghua: Bells in the Wind
Bells in the Wind
Wind bells hang on the doorframe
Bearing double layers of stillness
Small winds roll down from treetops
To the roof and cannot make sounds
The world is hung
On this pile of eggs
Sound curls up in the bosom of the windbells
And it raises its head
Stars rock lightly
In the bluish celestial river
Wind fills the air
The tinkling is not imaginary
Bells and wind are in each other’s arms
Their selves lost
March 18, 2009
风中的铃
风铃吊在窗楣
背着双重的静寂
从树梢滚落到屋面的
小风吹不响它们
世界
悬于累卵
风铃的怀中，声音
蜷曲着，翘首眺望
星星在暗蓝的天河中
轻晃
空气填满了风
玎玲――玎玲――
风与铃彼此拥抱
没有了彼此
2009年3月18日
Wind bells hang on the doorframe
Bearing double layers of stillness
Small winds roll down from treetops
To the roof and cannot make sounds
The world is hung
On this pile of eggs
Sound curls up in the bosom of the windbells
And it raises its head
Stars rock lightly
In the bluish celestial river
Wind fills the air
The tinkling is not imaginary
Bells and wind are in each other’s arms
Their selves lost
March 18, 2009
风中的铃
风铃吊在窗楣
背着双重的静寂
从树梢滚落到屋面的
小风吹不响它们
世界
悬于累卵
风铃的怀中，声音
蜷曲着，翘首眺望
星星在暗蓝的天河中
轻晃
空气填满了风
玎玲――玎玲――
风与铃彼此拥抱
没有了彼此
2009年3月18日
Xiao Maxian: Paradise Lost
Paradise Lost
by Xiaomaxian Wang Shasha
失乐园
小玛仙
我喜欢你弯曲，你变得面目全非难以辨认
你从树上窥视我——唤醒我
给我戴上玫瑰花冠，让欲望焚烧脸颊
那之后，世界是另外的样子，我是
极度欢喜过后的女人
2009.3.17
Paradise Lost
By Xiao Ma Xian (Wang Shasha) tr. Fan Jinghua
I like you to bend and see you change into something beyond recognition
You watch me stealthily from a tree—awaking me
Crowning me a rose-wreath, and letting desires burn my cheeks
Then, the world takes a new look, and I am
A post-enraptured woman
March 17, 2009
My postscript 译后赘言:
The evil, dangerous and ecstatic
You love something. You love to extremities. The idolized can never remain straight and commonplace. You love its potentials to startle and stone and stun you, and yes, it has already had the inclination but you are prepared for more, fiercer and crueler. You learn and enjoy the beauty in your want for more.
Your instincts lurk, ready to jump on the lurking ones and snatch them. You can be patient by chewing the memory of once or the imagination of the future one, like a review as well as a rehearsal; you fuel your own desires like accumulating the pieces of a dying idol; your last resort is to tease out the chance by stripping yourself piece by piece, and you know, to keep the play going, you must have the magic power to always have yet another “last one.”
The award is not the prize, but the reward effected by and upon the “me” in you, the “me” that acts in spite of you, the “me” that defies you to make you love it. At the end of the show, when the curtains have to fall, you realize that all the others had not existed at all. The only one is and has always been the “me” alone with you and in you. No more encore except for the afterglow.
The primal paradise is where the primitive takes place, for only once, while the paradise lost is a new paradise that is incorporated with memory. Nothing happened will pass. Therefore, the integrated paradise provides the possibility to re-live. This is better than eternity.
那邪恶的、危险的、狂喜的
你喜欢什么，你就喜欢到极致。被崇拜的，绝无可能保持竖直或者寻常。你喜爱的就是那潜在的可能，令你吃惊、瞠目结舌、僵硬晕眩。是的，你喜爱，你已经看出了那些可能，但你已准备好，尽管再来一些，更猛烈一些、更凶残一些。你在那凶残和猛烈中感到你欲望的强烈快感。
你的本能潜伏着，一旦那潜伏者出现，你随时扑上去，攫走。你可以很耐心，咀嚼着曾经有过的一次或者想象中的将来的一次，既是复习也是排练。你给自己的欲望添加燃料，好像一件一件收集着一个行将就木的偶像的遗物。你最后的一招是诱引，你将自己一件一件脱光，而你也知道，要想这一游戏能继续下去，你必须有那种魔法，总能变出又一件“最后一件”。
奖赏不是奖品，而是你内在的那个“我”激发出来的奖励，作用于你自己；那个“我”的行动公然违抗你，以此令你喜欢它。表演结束，帷幕必须落下的时候，你发现原来所有的他人都不存在，一直只有一个人，那个“我”独自陪伴你，在你内部。再无需加演，因为有余辉。
最初的乐园只是最原始的行为生发之地，只发生一次，而失乐园是一座新乐园，它将记忆也组合了进来。在此发生的，不会过去。因此，这个整合的乐园提供了永远重过一次的可能。这比永恒更好。
by Xiaomaxian Wang Shasha
失乐园
小玛仙
我喜欢你弯曲，你变得面目全非难以辨认
你从树上窥视我——唤醒我
给我戴上玫瑰花冠，让欲望焚烧脸颊
那之后，世界是另外的样子，我是
极度欢喜过后的女人
2009.3.17
Paradise Lost
By Xiao Ma Xian (Wang Shasha) tr. Fan Jinghua
I like you to bend and see you change into something beyond recognition
You watch me stealthily from a tree—awaking me
Crowning me a rose-wreath, and letting desires burn my cheeks
Then, the world takes a new look, and I am
A post-enraptured woman
March 17, 2009
My postscript 译后赘言:
The evil, dangerous and ecstatic
You love something. You love to extremities. The idolized can never remain straight and commonplace. You love its potentials to startle and stone and stun you, and yes, it has already had the inclination but you are prepared for more, fiercer and crueler. You learn and enjoy the beauty in your want for more.
Your instincts lurk, ready to jump on the lurking ones and snatch them. You can be patient by chewing the memory of once or the imagination of the future one, like a review as well as a rehearsal; you fuel your own desires like accumulating the pieces of a dying idol; your last resort is to tease out the chance by stripping yourself piece by piece, and you know, to keep the play going, you must have the magic power to always have yet another “last one.”
The award is not the prize, but the reward effected by and upon the “me” in you, the “me” that acts in spite of you, the “me” that defies you to make you love it. At the end of the show, when the curtains have to fall, you realize that all the others had not existed at all. The only one is and has always been the “me” alone with you and in you. No more encore except for the afterglow.
The primal paradise is where the primitive takes place, for only once, while the paradise lost is a new paradise that is incorporated with memory. Nothing happened will pass. Therefore, the integrated paradise provides the possibility to re-live. This is better than eternity.
那邪恶的、危险的、狂喜的
你喜欢什么，你就喜欢到极致。被崇拜的，绝无可能保持竖直或者寻常。你喜爱的就是那潜在的可能，令你吃惊、瞠目结舌、僵硬晕眩。是的，你喜爱，你已经看出了那些可能，但你已准备好，尽管再来一些，更猛烈一些、更凶残一些。你在那凶残和猛烈中感到你欲望的强烈快感。
你的本能潜伏着，一旦那潜伏者出现，你随时扑上去，攫走。你可以很耐心，咀嚼着曾经有过的一次或者想象中的将来的一次，既是复习也是排练。你给自己的欲望添加燃料，好像一件一件收集着一个行将就木的偶像的遗物。你最后的一招是诱引，你将自己一件一件脱光，而你也知道，要想这一游戏能继续下去，你必须有那种魔法，总能变出又一件“最后一件”。
奖赏不是奖品，而是你内在的那个“我”激发出来的奖励，作用于你自己；那个“我”的行动公然违抗你，以此令你喜欢它。表演结束，帷幕必须落下的时候，你发现原来所有的他人都不存在，一直只有一个人，那个“我”独自陪伴你，在你内部。再无需加演，因为有余辉。
最初的乐园只是最原始的行为生发之地，只发生一次，而失乐园是一座新乐园，它将记忆也组合了进来。在此发生的，不会过去。因此，这个整合的乐园提供了永远重过一次的可能。这比永恒更好。
Monday, March 16, 2009
Fan Jinghua: Someone like Me
The following is part of a longer poem I've been working on. 以下面我最近还在写的一首组诗中的一部分。
Someone like Me
His truth is too small to go public—
The wonder of Mother Nature is too big, and I only need
A cave, a barnyard in front of it, and a tree overlooking them.
I may live with a vegetarian woman and a dwarf horse.
She is the only one, and so I claim without shame
Every woman is beautiful and cosmic,
Especially so in detail, when her private parts are examined close
Because they are as they are, like whorls, loops and arches,
Simply incomparable. And I love to fuck
Or to be fucked when my inner erection cannot grow soft.
When night is dead, all that float during the day will drop,
Arrested at the distant whistle
By which a train pierces through the awakening winter field.
My woman and my pony are angelic,
So am I.
我一样的人
他的真理太小，不能传扬——
母亲大自然的奇迹巨大，我只需
一只洞穴、洞前有一块院场、还有一棵树看着我们。
洞里，我与一个素食女人同居，
洞外有一匹矮种马。
她是惟一的另一人，我怎样宣称都毫无羞耻，
所以每个女人都是宇宙的，
美得细微，犹如她的隐秘处被贴近鼻尖
审视，如指头的斗箕，无法可比的自己。
当我内在的勃起无法柔软，
我喜欢操也喜欢被操。
当夜晚死去，白日里漂浮的一切都落下，
被拘于远方的汽笛声，
一列火车切开苏醒的冬日大地。
我的女人和小马犹如天使，
我，也一样。
Someone like Me
His truth is too small to go public—
The wonder of Mother Nature is too big, and I only need
A cave, a barnyard in front of it, and a tree overlooking them.
I may live with a vegetarian woman and a dwarf horse.
She is the only one, and so I claim without shame
Every woman is beautiful and cosmic,
Especially so in detail, when her private parts are examined close
Because they are as they are, like whorls, loops and arches,
Simply incomparable. And I love to fuck
Or to be fucked when my inner erection cannot grow soft.
When night is dead, all that float during the day will drop,
Arrested at the distant whistle
By which a train pierces through the awakening winter field.
My woman and my pony are angelic,
So am I.
我一样的人
他的真理太小，不能传扬——
母亲大自然的奇迹巨大，我只需
一只洞穴、洞前有一块院场、还有一棵树看着我们。
洞里，我与一个素食女人同居，
洞外有一匹矮种马。
她是惟一的另一人，我怎样宣称都毫无羞耻，
所以每个女人都是宇宙的，
美得细微，犹如她的隐秘处被贴近鼻尖
审视，如指头的斗箕，无法可比的自己。
当我内在的勃起无法柔软，
我喜欢操也喜欢被操。
当夜晚死去，白日里漂浮的一切都落下，
被拘于远方的汽笛声，
一列火车切开苏醒的冬日大地。
我的女人和小马犹如天使，
我，也一样。
Friday, March 13, 2009
Plath: The Munich Mannequins
Sylvia Plath Collected Poems
No. 214
The Munich Mannequins
Perfection is terrible, it cannot have children.
Cold as snow breath, it tamps the womb
Where the yew trees blow like hydras,
The tree of life and the tree of life
Unloosing their moons, month after month, to no purpose.
The blood flood is the flood of love,
The absolute sacrifice.
It means: no more idols but me,
Me and you.
So, in their sulfur loveliness, in their smiles
These mannequins lean tonight
In Munich, morgue between Paris and Rome,
Naked and bald in their furs,
Orange lollies on silver sticks,
Intolerable, without mind.
The snow drops its pieces of darkness,
Nobody's about. In the hotels
Hands will be opening doors and setting
Down shoes for a polish of carbon
Into which broad toes will go tomorrow.
O the domesticity of these windows,
The baby lace, the green-leaved confectionery,
The thick Germans slumbering in their bottomless Stolz.
And the black phones on hooks
Glittering
Glittering and digesting
Voicelessness. The snow has no voice.
28 January 1963
第214首
慕尼黑的模特
希薇娅- 普拉斯
完美，是可怖的，它不能生孩子。
它冷，似雪的气息，堵死子宫，
紫杉吹气，如蛇头怪，
一颗又一颗生命之树在那儿
释放月亮，一月又一月，没了目的。
血潮涌起便是爱潮涌出，
终结的献祭。
意味着：再无偶像，除了我，
除了我你。
所以，她们的可爱披着硫磺、她们微笑，
今夜，这些模特倚靠
在慕尼黑，巴黎与罗马间的陈尸房，
她们裸身、秃头、披裘皮，
小银棍插着橙黄的棒棒糖，
令人难以忍受、毫无思想。
雪，落下它的片片黑暗，
四下无人。宾馆里
一双双手将会开门，摆好
软毛鞋，让人用碳粉抛光，
肥脚趾将会插进去行走明天。
哦，家的气息，来自这些窗子、
婴儿饰带、绿窗帘的糖果店、
以及沉入无底梦乡的粗壮的德国佬。
而黑色电话扣在座钩上
闪着光，
一边闪光、一边消化着
无声。雪没有嗓音。
1963年1月28日
No. 214
The Munich Mannequins
Perfection is terrible, it cannot have children.
Cold as snow breath, it tamps the womb
Where the yew trees blow like hydras,
The tree of life and the tree of life
Unloosing their moons, month after month, to no purpose.
The blood flood is the flood of love,
The absolute sacrifice.
It means: no more idols but me,
Me and you.
So, in their sulfur loveliness, in their smiles
These mannequins lean tonight
In Munich, morgue between Paris and Rome,
Naked and bald in their furs,
Orange lollies on silver sticks,
Intolerable, without mind.
The snow drops its pieces of darkness,
Nobody's about. In the hotels
Hands will be opening doors and setting
Down shoes for a polish of carbon
Into which broad toes will go tomorrow.
O the domesticity of these windows,
The baby lace, the green-leaved confectionery,
The thick Germans slumbering in their bottomless Stolz.
And the black phones on hooks
Glittering
Glittering and digesting
Voicelessness. The snow has no voice.
28 January 1963
第214首
慕尼黑的模特
希薇娅- 普拉斯
完美，是可怖的，它不能生孩子。
它冷，似雪的气息，堵死子宫，
紫杉吹气，如蛇头怪，
一颗又一颗生命之树在那儿
释放月亮，一月又一月，没了目的。
血潮涌起便是爱潮涌出，
终结的献祭。
意味着：再无偶像，除了我，
除了我你。
所以，她们的可爱披着硫磺、她们微笑，
今夜，这些模特倚靠
在慕尼黑，巴黎与罗马间的陈尸房，
她们裸身、秃头、披裘皮，
小银棍插着橙黄的棒棒糖，
令人难以忍受、毫无思想。
雪，落下它的片片黑暗，
四下无人。宾馆里
一双双手将会开门，摆好
软毛鞋，让人用碳粉抛光，
肥脚趾将会插进去行走明天。
哦，家的气息，来自这些窗子、
婴儿饰带、绿窗帘的糖果店、
以及沉入无底梦乡的粗壮的德国佬。
而黑色电话扣在座钩上
闪着光，
一边闪光、一边消化着
无声。雪没有嗓音。
1963年1月28日
Monday, March 9, 2009
Fan Jinghua: Soliloquizing for Her
Soliloquizing for Her
In case you ask how long there has been or will be between us,
I’d forestall you with an answer, as I,
An inchworm and otaku of imagination, have never hoped to measure time.
Many, if counted by year or season,
When flowers have bloomed full and returned to buds burgeoning again,
And leaves have fallen and grown back to the twigs,
While their varying smells keep refreshing my want of you.
More, if by month, for the slow changes
In temperature of the air and shape of things, which would pass
Mostly unnoticed before you dwell like a rowan tree in the field of my vision,
Since I did not need to tell
By association with anything that makes sense to you.
My digits are not enough to count the weeks, when time is partitioned
By working days and the day-offs, out of the latter
Of which may be extracted a few hours out of routine for us,
Alone. You and me (and a little art in this),
And the moments registered by pulsations of and in body
And impulsiveness out of habit, conditioned responses of eros,
As if we alternately feed a piece of wood to the fire when we are
Lying there, face to face, half-chatting, half-sleeping, with the fire in-between;
And there and then we turn and twist, tucking in and loosening our blankets,
To find the most comfortable position between warmth and burn.
By now, nothing can be counted.
One moment may stand for eternity, if eternity means
Boundlessness or infinity, for moments are never measured by how long they last.
A moment is often out of time
But cannot be lengthened along the current of the everyday
To provide us another life.
We live the life of ours as lived by others, and we selfishly live in moments,
For numerous times, and yet we have only one life to love.
March 9, 2009
为她自语
以一个回答预阻你可能的追问，我，一只尺蠖，
一个醉心于想象的御宅男，从没指望丈量时间，
你还是别问我们之间已有多久，还会有多长。
按年或季节来算，我们已拥有很多，
花儿已经多次盛开再化作鼓胀的蓓蕾，
而叶子落了好多回，也都又回到枝头生长，
它们的味道浓淡反复，却一直激发我对你的欲念不减不灭、持续新鲜。
假若按月计算，我们经过的时间更多，
气温与植物以及事态的缓慢转变，在过去往往毫不经意地错过，
而自从你进入我灵魂的视野，如一株花楸树，
我需要诉说，需要联想它们在你世界中的意义，
于是时间有了不可见的刻度。
按周计算，我将难以用手指计算；
时间被工作日与周末或公休日隔成一个个单间，
我们或许能从休息日的俗务中抽取几个小时，
独处。你和我（还要加上一点技巧）以及诸多时刻。
这样的时刻被体内的潮汐充涨，记录于身体，爱欲的无条件反射，一次次
惯性冲动，犹如我们卧躺在壁炉前，脸对着脸，
半睡中断断续续地聊天，轮流给壁炉添一根木柴，
感觉到彼此都不时地扭动身体，用毯子塞紧、放松
最舒服的卧姿，寻找温暖与炙灼之间的平衡。
至此，已没什么好算的了。
如果说永恒意味着没有边际或界限，那么每个时刻
都能代表永恒；时刻，只是次数，犹如人生，不可以时间长短来衡量。
时刻常会跳出时间，可它却不能被拉长，
无法与日常平行，而为人们提供另一种生活。
我们活着被他人占据的我们，而我们私自活在很多时刻，无数次，
但我们只有一生可以爱。
2009年3月9日
In case you ask how long there has been or will be between us,
I’d forestall you with an answer, as I,
An inchworm and otaku of imagination, have never hoped to measure time.
Many, if counted by year or season,
When flowers have bloomed full and returned to buds burgeoning again,
And leaves have fallen and grown back to the twigs,
While their varying smells keep refreshing my want of you.
More, if by month, for the slow changes
In temperature of the air and shape of things, which would pass
Mostly unnoticed before you dwell like a rowan tree in the field of my vision,
Since I did not need to tell
By association with anything that makes sense to you.
My digits are not enough to count the weeks, when time is partitioned
By working days and the day-offs, out of the latter
Of which may be extracted a few hours out of routine for us,
Alone. You and me (and a little art in this),
And the moments registered by pulsations of and in body
And impulsiveness out of habit, conditioned responses of eros,
As if we alternately feed a piece of wood to the fire when we are
Lying there, face to face, half-chatting, half-sleeping, with the fire in-between;
And there and then we turn and twist, tucking in and loosening our blankets,
To find the most comfortable position between warmth and burn.
By now, nothing can be counted.
One moment may stand for eternity, if eternity means
Boundlessness or infinity, for moments are never measured by how long they last.
A moment is often out of time
But cannot be lengthened along the current of the everyday
To provide us another life.
We live the life of ours as lived by others, and we selfishly live in moments,
For numerous times, and yet we have only one life to love.
March 9, 2009
为她自语
以一个回答预阻你可能的追问，我，一只尺蠖，
一个醉心于想象的御宅男，从没指望丈量时间，
你还是别问我们之间已有多久，还会有多长。
按年或季节来算，我们已拥有很多，
花儿已经多次盛开再化作鼓胀的蓓蕾，
而叶子落了好多回，也都又回到枝头生长，
它们的味道浓淡反复，却一直激发我对你的欲念不减不灭、持续新鲜。
假若按月计算，我们经过的时间更多，
气温与植物以及事态的缓慢转变，在过去往往毫不经意地错过，
而自从你进入我灵魂的视野，如一株花楸树，
我需要诉说，需要联想它们在你世界中的意义，
于是时间有了不可见的刻度。
按周计算，我将难以用手指计算；
时间被工作日与周末或公休日隔成一个个单间，
我们或许能从休息日的俗务中抽取几个小时，
独处。你和我（还要加上一点技巧）以及诸多时刻。
这样的时刻被体内的潮汐充涨，记录于身体，爱欲的无条件反射，一次次
惯性冲动，犹如我们卧躺在壁炉前，脸对着脸，
半睡中断断续续地聊天，轮流给壁炉添一根木柴，
感觉到彼此都不时地扭动身体，用毯子塞紧、放松
最舒服的卧姿，寻找温暖与炙灼之间的平衡。
至此，已没什么好算的了。
如果说永恒意味着没有边际或界限，那么每个时刻
都能代表永恒；时刻，只是次数，犹如人生，不可以时间长短来衡量。
时刻常会跳出时间，可它却不能被拉长，
无法与日常平行，而为人们提供另一种生活。
我们活着被他人占据的我们，而我们私自活在很多时刻，无数次，
但我们只有一生可以爱。
2009年3月9日
Plath: Totem
Sylvia Plath Collected Poems 普拉斯《诗全编》
No. 215
Totem
The engine is killing the track, the track is silver,
It stretches into the distance. It will be eaten nevertheless.
Its running is useless.
At nightfall there is the beauty of drowned fields,
Dawn gilds the farmers like pigs,
Swaying slightly in their thick suits,
White towers of Smithfield ahead,
Fat haunches and blood on their minds.
There is no mercy in the glitter of cleavers,
The butcher's guillotine that whispers: 'How's this, how's this?'
In the bowl the hare is aborted,
Its baby head out of the way, embalmed in spice,
Flayed of fur and humanity.
Let us eat it like Plato's afterbirth,
Let us eat it like Christ.
These are the people that were important------
Their round eyes, their teeth, their grimaces
On a stick that rattles and clicks, a counterfeit snake.
Shall the hood of the cobra appall me------
The loneliness of its eye, the eye of the mountains
Through which the sky eternally threads itself?
The world is blood-hot and personal
Dawn says, with its blood-flush.
There is no terminus, only suitcases
Out of which the same self unfolds like a suit
Bald and shiny, with pockets of wishes,
Notions and tickets, short circuits and folding mirrors.
I am mad, calls the spider, waving its many arms.
And in truth it is terrible,
Multiplied in the eyes of the flies.
They buzz like blue children
In nets of the infinite,
Roped in at the end by the one
Death with its many sticks.
28 January 1963
第215首
图腾
希薇娅- 普拉斯
机车在残害轨道，轨道是银的，
延伸向远处。它反正会被吞没。
它的奔逃纯属徒劳。
夜色降临时，淹没的田野其美自现，
黎明的金辉将农夫镀成肥猪，
在厚外套中一跩一跩，
史密斯乡的几座白塔就在前方，
腰腿肥硕，满脑子的血。
切肉刀的闪光、屠夫的断头台
低声问，没有一丝仁慈：“这样可好？这样可好？”
大钵里，野兔流了产，
胎儿的头位不正，腌在调料中，
剥了毛皮、去了人性。
我们把它当作柏拉图的胞衣吃了吧。
我们把它当作基督吃了吧。
这些都是曾经显要的人物——
圆圆的眼、牙齿、怪异的脸
在一根小棍上，索索有声咔嚓作响，一条假蛇。
眼镜蛇鼓胀的脖子吓唬得了我？——
就凭它孤独的眼，这群山之目、
这只令苍穹永远穿越其中的眼睛？
这是个热血而且私情的世界，
黎明满脸潮红地说出此话。
没有终点站，只有手提箱，
同一个自我如同一件外套从中抖开，
光秃秃、光闪闪，口袋里揣着愿望、
想法和票券、短路和折叠镜。
蜘蛛挥舞着所有手臂高喊：我是疯子。
说实话，这真是可怕，
在苍蝇们的复眼中还会数倍增加。
嗡嗡有声，如心脏先天残缺的婴孩
兜在永无尽头的网中，
一端被那位死神用绳子系紧，
他手拿许多小棍。
1963年1月28日
No. 215
Totem
The engine is killing the track, the track is silver,
It stretches into the distance. It will be eaten nevertheless.
Its running is useless.
At nightfall there is the beauty of drowned fields,
Dawn gilds the farmers like pigs,
Swaying slightly in their thick suits,
White towers of Smithfield ahead,
Fat haunches and blood on their minds.
There is no mercy in the glitter of cleavers,
The butcher's guillotine that whispers: 'How's this, how's this?'
In the bowl the hare is aborted,
Its baby head out of the way, embalmed in spice,
Flayed of fur and humanity.
Let us eat it like Plato's afterbirth,
Let us eat it like Christ.
These are the people that were important------
Their round eyes, their teeth, their grimaces
On a stick that rattles and clicks, a counterfeit snake.
Shall the hood of the cobra appall me------
The loneliness of its eye, the eye of the mountains
Through which the sky eternally threads itself?
The world is blood-hot and personal
Dawn says, with its blood-flush.
There is no terminus, only suitcases
Out of which the same self unfolds like a suit
Bald and shiny, with pockets of wishes,
Notions and tickets, short circuits and folding mirrors.
I am mad, calls the spider, waving its many arms.
And in truth it is terrible,
Multiplied in the eyes of the flies.
They buzz like blue children
In nets of the infinite,
Roped in at the end by the one
Death with its many sticks.
28 January 1963
第215首
图腾
希薇娅- 普拉斯
机车在残害轨道，轨道是银的，
延伸向远处。它反正会被吞没。
它的奔逃纯属徒劳。
夜色降临时，淹没的田野其美自现，
黎明的金辉将农夫镀成肥猪，
在厚外套中一跩一跩，
史密斯乡的几座白塔就在前方，
腰腿肥硕，满脑子的血。
切肉刀的闪光、屠夫的断头台
低声问，没有一丝仁慈：“这样可好？这样可好？”
大钵里，野兔流了产，
胎儿的头位不正，腌在调料中，
剥了毛皮、去了人性。
我们把它当作柏拉图的胞衣吃了吧。
我们把它当作基督吃了吧。
这些都是曾经显要的人物——
圆圆的眼、牙齿、怪异的脸
在一根小棍上，索索有声咔嚓作响，一条假蛇。
眼镜蛇鼓胀的脖子吓唬得了我？——
就凭它孤独的眼，这群山之目、
这只令苍穹永远穿越其中的眼睛？
这是个热血而且私情的世界，
黎明满脸潮红地说出此话。
没有终点站，只有手提箱，
同一个自我如同一件外套从中抖开，
光秃秃、光闪闪，口袋里揣着愿望、
想法和票券、短路和折叠镜。
蜘蛛挥舞着所有手臂高喊：我是疯子。
说实话，这真是可怕，
在苍蝇们的复眼中还会数倍增加。
嗡嗡有声，如心脏先天残缺的婴孩
兜在永无尽头的网中，
一端被那位死神用绳子系紧，
他手拿许多小棍。
1963年1月28日
Sunday, March 8, 2009
Fan Jinghua: The Door of Fear
The Door of Fear
For thirty years, the empty door frames my mind,
my whole-hearted expectation and aversion,
And I breathe the putrid air in the threshold, surviving on the vision
of a white shaft of solid light.
A glimpse setting on my sight hard
or a vision blooming in my closed eyes
can easily take me down, leaving the tiny rivet of my will paralyzed
on the hinge in the window-frame.
The door frames emptiness, and my fear fills it;
Sometimes I peep into a mirror,
only to find real white light there to rub my fear.
Then, countless mushrooms fall from the sky
like paratrooper-bodybombs,
as the dying day is folded back upon the impending night,
one sheet of negative upon another;
black-and-white images of stars, clouds, the moon, the sun and trees
superimpose each other and are slit by a black fork of lightning.
You have known long ago
what I need is the unexpected, so I can
appease myself with the most unattainable facts,
such as a smiling silhouette stuck in the door;
even if it is a vampire or a resurrected green-eyed ghost,
I will embrace it into my bare arms and breast
like a reincarnation of my daemon lover.
March 8, 2009
恐惧之门
三十年来，那敞开的空门
框着我的情不自禁，排斥与痴心，
而我，呼吸着门槛内的腐浊，因为
预见到一柱宽厚的白光而暗自生长。
时时突袭我视觉的一瞥或黑暗中绽放的幻象
能够很轻易地将我拿下，我意志的小铆钉
瘫痪在窗户的铰链上。
那扇门框住了一方空无，而我的恐惧将它充满；
有时，我偷窥一面镜子，
竟发现那里有真正的白色之光，
镜子撺弄它，摩擦我的恐惧。
于是，无数的蘑菇从天而降，
犹如人肉炸弹的伞兵，
正在消逝的白昼被折叠在逼近的黑夜上，
如两张底片，月日星云与树木的黑白影像
相互覆盖，被闪电的黑叉子撕开。
你早知我需要的是意外，
惟有如此我才能
抚慰自己，以最不可能的事实；
例如，一个堵在门口的笑面剪影；
即便那是一只吸血鬼或者贪婪的绿眼鬼，
我也会赤膊拥抱
犹如那是我冤死的梦中情人附身于一个陌生人。
2009年3月8日
For thirty years, the empty door frames my mind,
my whole-hearted expectation and aversion,
And I breathe the putrid air in the threshold, surviving on the vision
of a white shaft of solid light.
A glimpse setting on my sight hard
or a vision blooming in my closed eyes
can easily take me down, leaving the tiny rivet of my will paralyzed
on the hinge in the window-frame.
The door frames emptiness, and my fear fills it;
Sometimes I peep into a mirror,
only to find real white light there to rub my fear.
Then, countless mushrooms fall from the sky
like paratrooper-bodybombs,
as the dying day is folded back upon the impending night,
one sheet of negative upon another;
black-and-white images of stars, clouds, the moon, the sun and trees
superimpose each other and are slit by a black fork of lightning.
You have known long ago
what I need is the unexpected, so I can
appease myself with the most unattainable facts,
such as a smiling silhouette stuck in the door;
even if it is a vampire or a resurrected green-eyed ghost,
I will embrace it into my bare arms and breast
like a reincarnation of my daemon lover.
March 8, 2009
恐惧之门
三十年来，那敞开的空门
框着我的情不自禁，排斥与痴心，
而我，呼吸着门槛内的腐浊，因为
预见到一柱宽厚的白光而暗自生长。
时时突袭我视觉的一瞥或黑暗中绽放的幻象
能够很轻易地将我拿下，我意志的小铆钉
瘫痪在窗户的铰链上。
那扇门框住了一方空无，而我的恐惧将它充满；
有时，我偷窥一面镜子，
竟发现那里有真正的白色之光，
镜子撺弄它，摩擦我的恐惧。
于是，无数的蘑菇从天而降，
犹如人肉炸弹的伞兵，
正在消逝的白昼被折叠在逼近的黑夜上，
如两张底片，月日星云与树木的黑白影像
相互覆盖，被闪电的黑叉子撕开。
你早知我需要的是意外，
惟有如此我才能
抚慰自己，以最不可能的事实；
例如，一个堵在门口的笑面剪影；
即便那是一只吸血鬼或者贪婪的绿眼鬼，
我也会赤膊拥抱
犹如那是我冤死的梦中情人附身于一个陌生人。
2009年3月8日
Saturday, March 7, 2009
Monk Yikong: Untitled
无题
【唐】依空
三十年来寻剑客，几回落叶又抽枝。
自从一见桃花后，直至如今更不疑。
诗人简介：俗名志勤，生卒年不详，唐朝禅师。
Word-by-word exegesis 逐字注：
无题No title
【唐】依空 Yikong (Relying on Emptiness)
三three 十ten 年year 来so far 寻search 剑sword 客man/ guest
几several 回times 落fallen 叶leaves 又again 抽shoot 枝twig
自ever 从since 一one/ the first 见see 桃peach 花flower 后after
直till 至to 如今now 更still (more) 不not 疑doubt
Literal rendition字面直译
For thirty years I’ve been a man after the swordsman life,
For several times fallen leaves grow back on the twigs.
Ever since the time I saw peach flowers,
Even till today I have no doubt about them.
Free translation 意译
Untitled
Yikong (Zen Monk Leaning-Against-Emptiness, from Tang Dynasty)
For thirty years, being a man trying to lead a swordsman’s vain life,
As fallen leaves have grown back on twigs for several rounds.
Of all the encounters, the first glimpse of peach flowers
Is undoubtedly the one and only of our meeting.
Back-translation into Contemporary Chinese当代汉语回译
无题
三十年了，总想过着剑客的虚荣生活，
而落叶已数次重又长在树枝上。
所有的邂逅中，第一眼瞥见桃花
无疑是我们惟一的相遇。
【唐】依空
三十年来寻剑客，几回落叶又抽枝。
自从一见桃花后，直至如今更不疑。
诗人简介：俗名志勤，生卒年不详，唐朝禅师。
Word-by-word exegesis 逐字注：
无题No title
【唐】依空 Yikong (Relying on Emptiness)
三three 十ten 年year 来so far 寻search 剑sword 客man/ guest
几several 回times 落fallen 叶leaves 又again 抽shoot 枝twig
自ever 从since 一one/ the first 见see 桃peach 花flower 后after
直till 至to 如今now 更still (more) 不not 疑doubt
Literal rendition字面直译
For thirty years I’ve been a man after the swordsman life,
For several times fallen leaves grow back on the twigs.
Ever since the time I saw peach flowers,
Even till today I have no doubt about them.
Free translation 意译
Untitled
Yikong (Zen Monk Leaning-Against-Emptiness, from Tang Dynasty)
For thirty years, being a man trying to lead a swordsman’s vain life,
As fallen leaves have grown back on twigs for several rounds.
Of all the encounters, the first glimpse of peach flowers
Is undoubtedly the one and only of our meeting.
Back-translation into Contemporary Chinese当代汉语回译
无题
三十年了，总想过着剑客的虚荣生活，
而落叶已数次重又长在树枝上。
所有的邂逅中，第一眼瞥见桃花
无疑是我们惟一的相遇。
Fan Jinghua: Windchimes
Windchimes
The tiny chandeliers of waterdrops
By your earlobes, shimmering coolness
You tie a red ribbon anywhere on you
And you may flash in and out of distance
To tinkle for you, and for me too
I have to be wind
March 7, 2009
风铃
那凉飕飕的水珠吊灯
在你的耳侧
你系上一条红丝带
光一样进出于距离
为你也为自己玎玲
我只能是风
2009年3月7日
The tiny chandeliers of waterdrops
By your earlobes, shimmering coolness
You tie a red ribbon anywhere on you
And you may flash in and out of distance
To tinkle for you, and for me too
I have to be wind
March 7, 2009
风铃
那凉飕飕的水珠吊灯
在你的耳侧
你系上一条红丝带
光一样进出于距离
为你也为自己玎玲
我只能是风
2009年3月7日
Plath: Child
Sylvia Plath Collected Poems
No. 216
Child
Your clear eye is the one absolutely beautiful thing.
I want to fill it with color and ducks,
The zoo of the new
Whose names you meditate---
April snowdrop, Indian pipe,
Little
Stalk without wrinkle,
Pool in which images
Should be grand and classical
Not this troublous
Wringing of hands, this dark
Ceiling without a star.
28 January 1963
第216首
孩子
希薇娅- 普拉斯
你清澄的眼眸便是那绝对美的物件。
我要将它填满色彩和鸭子，
满园的新奇动物，
它们的名字你还在琢磨——
四月的雪花莲，冰菇，
细小的
梗茎，没有皱皮，
一潭池水，其中的图像
应当盛大而古典，
而非这双扭绞
不宁的手，而非这晦暗的
天花板，连一颗星也没有。
1963年1月28日
No. 216
Child
Your clear eye is the one absolutely beautiful thing.
I want to fill it with color and ducks,
The zoo of the new
Whose names you meditate---
April snowdrop, Indian pipe,
Little
Stalk without wrinkle,
Pool in which images
Should be grand and classical
Not this troublous
Wringing of hands, this dark
Ceiling without a star.
28 January 1963
第216首
孩子
希薇娅- 普拉斯
你清澄的眼眸便是那绝对美的物件。
我要将它填满色彩和鸭子，
满园的新奇动物，
它们的名字你还在琢磨——
四月的雪花莲，冰菇，
细小的
梗茎，没有皱皮，
一潭池水，其中的图像
应当盛大而古典，
而非这双扭绞
不宁的手，而非这晦暗的
天花板，连一颗星也没有。
1963年1月28日
Thursday, March 5, 2009
Fan Jinghua: Illicit Love
Illicit Love
I will not prepare to be near you
So I may avoid being touched
By your hand or eyes
Omens of memory
Should be chaotic, defying our imagination
About a dash, a colon or ellipses
The greenness that grows out on the threshold
Of the past
Does not photosynthesize
So tender it is
That any life, however low and petty
Will be its natural enemy
March 5, 2009
禁爱
我不会现身在你附近
以免被你的手或目光
触摸
记忆的恶兆
就应该无序，我们不该想象
冒号、破折号或者省略
在曾经与现在的门槛上
生长出的绿色
无法进行光合作用
多么嫩啊
任何低贱卑微的生命
都是它的天敌
2009年3月5日
I will not prepare to be near you
So I may avoid being touched
By your hand or eyes
Omens of memory
Should be chaotic, defying our imagination
About a dash, a colon or ellipses
The greenness that grows out on the threshold
Of the past
Does not photosynthesize
So tender it is
That any life, however low and petty
Will be its natural enemy
March 5, 2009
禁爱
我不会现身在你附近
以免被你的手或目光
触摸
记忆的恶兆
就应该无序，我们不该想象
冒号、破折号或者省略
在曾经与现在的门槛上
生长出的绿色
无法进行光合作用
多么嫩啊
任何低贱卑微的生命
都是它的天敌
2009年3月5日
Plath: Paralytic
Sylvia Plath Collected Poems
No. 217
Paralytic
It happens. Will it go on?------
My mind a rock,
No fingers to grip, no tongue,
My god the iron lung
That loves me, pumps
My two
Dust bags in and out,
Will not
Let me relapse
While the day outside glides by like ticker tape.
The night brings violets,
Tapestries of eyes,
Lights,
The soft anonymous
Talkers: 'You all right?'
The starched, inaccessible breast.
Dead egg, I lie
Whole
On a whole world I cannot touch,
At the white, tight
Drum of my sleeping couch
Photographs visit me------
My wife, dead and flat, in 1920 furs,
Mouth full of pearls,
Two girls
As flat as she, who whisper 'We're your daughters.'
The still waters
Wrap my lips,
Eyes, nose and ears,
A clear
Cellophane I cannot crack.
On my bare back
I smile, a buddha, all
Wants, desire
Falling from me like rings
Hugging their lights.
The claw
Of the magnolia,
Drunk on its own scents,
Asks nothing of life.
29 January 1963
第217首
瘫痪病人
希薇娅- 普拉斯
发生了。会拖下去吗？——
我心是块岩石，
没有手指可去攥，也没舌头，
铁肺是我的上帝，
爱着我，泵压
我那两只
灰尘袋，进气出气，
不会
令我复发，
而户外的白昼像收报机的纸条嗒嗒溜走。
夜，带来紫罗兰、
眼睛壁毯、
亮光，
轻柔的匿名人
说：“你，还好吗？”
浆硬的不可接近的胸膛。
我，一只死卵，
完整地
躺在一个我无法触摸的完整世界，
我榻边的
白圆凳紧绷如鼓面，
相片们探视我——
老婆，扁平、毫无生机，穿二十年代的裘皮，
满口珍珠，
两个女孩
像她一样扁，低语“我们是你女儿”。
一汪汪死水
漫上我双唇、
眼睛、鼻子和耳朵，
一张透明的
玻璃纸，我无法扯裂。
我裸背仰卧，
微笑成一尊佛，满满的
欲念，欲望
从我身上坠落，
如紧抱自身光亮的指环。
木兰花的
爪子，
沉醉于自己的迷香，
对生活一无所求。
1963年1月29日
No. 217
Paralytic
It happens. Will it go on?------
My mind a rock,
No fingers to grip, no tongue,
My god the iron lung
That loves me, pumps
My two
Dust bags in and out,
Will not
Let me relapse
While the day outside glides by like ticker tape.
The night brings violets,
Tapestries of eyes,
Lights,
The soft anonymous
Talkers: 'You all right?'
The starched, inaccessible breast.
Dead egg, I lie
Whole
On a whole world I cannot touch,
At the white, tight
Drum of my sleeping couch
Photographs visit me------
My wife, dead and flat, in 1920 furs,
Mouth full of pearls,
Two girls
As flat as she, who whisper 'We're your daughters.'
The still waters
Wrap my lips,
Eyes, nose and ears,
A clear
Cellophane I cannot crack.
On my bare back
I smile, a buddha, all
Wants, desire
Falling from me like rings
Hugging their lights.
The claw
Of the magnolia,
Drunk on its own scents,
Asks nothing of life.
29 January 1963
第217首
瘫痪病人
希薇娅- 普拉斯
发生了。会拖下去吗？——
我心是块岩石，
没有手指可去攥，也没舌头，
铁肺是我的上帝，
爱着我，泵压
我那两只
灰尘袋，进气出气，
不会
令我复发，
而户外的白昼像收报机的纸条嗒嗒溜走。
夜，带来紫罗兰、
眼睛壁毯、
亮光，
轻柔的匿名人
说：“你，还好吗？”
浆硬的不可接近的胸膛。
我，一只死卵，
完整地
躺在一个我无法触摸的完整世界，
我榻边的
白圆凳紧绷如鼓面，
相片们探视我——
老婆，扁平、毫无生机，穿二十年代的裘皮，
满口珍珠，
两个女孩
像她一样扁，低语“我们是你女儿”。
一汪汪死水
漫上我双唇、
眼睛、鼻子和耳朵，
一张透明的
玻璃纸，我无法扯裂。
我裸背仰卧，
微笑成一尊佛，满满的
欲念，欲望
从我身上坠落，
如紧抱自身光亮的指环。
木兰花的
爪子，
沉醉于自己的迷香，
对生活一无所求。
1963年1月29日
Fan Jinghua: Chen Yun (1763-1803)
Chen Yun, Wife to a Poor Poet (1763-1803)
Your man loves you. His love even makes him sorry for himself,
But that does not make him a rivet fixing meaning with your everyday world.
You exist only within the walls of his family, and the gate does not open.
Looking out of your bedroom window, you see the gate facing the distant,
But then the gate is so distant that you have not been able to open it on his returns.
You imagine a kerchief into a blank sheet of drawing paper and a few imaginary
Strokes making it into birds in the sky. You do not have to suggest directions
Or the time of the day. You do not even look up when drawing. No necessary.
The only necessity is to compose a couplet or two in your mind and belly,
For even the carved seals will not arrest time like a paperweight does a letter.
So you have faith. He will learn your lines, and that is enough for you.
This autumn lasts longer and deeper than you have expected,
And it falls into the recess of solitude.
If life can not be spring of flowers and bees, better let it be autumn.
You have learned in early years that if one’s bosom
Is familiar with one’s private strangeness, before long poetry will grow in there.
Spring is also good for being alone, but the toad of your soul
Will crawl out to the arm to prey on flying insects.
In summertime, you cannot disguise yourself as a man, and it is also good
For you can wear jasmines on your hair.
You may recline in the west chamber, making faces at the spicy line
He challenges you into a couplet, and curl your lip at the small snakes
In the wine glass in which shades of ghosts make love…
A late night with a full moon, when he slips out of you, the spirit of that toad
Flies away through the window like a wisp of blue smoke.
Oh, my brother dear! My feminine element is a little too consuming and sharp,
And I’ll have to find you a woman round-shouldered and simple-minded,
So that when I am dead waiting for you to join me in another life,
You still have a warm and tender body to pillow and touch.
It’s a shame that this winter is frozenly stagnant, and I have not yet
Seen any waist and wrist that I’d love to see you fond of touching.
You write down this line with the ink of imagination—
Her shadow, nibbled by autumn, looks thinner and colder.
You read it for several times, unvoiced, and feel the last syllables too heavy,
Wondering, which side autumn light should strike, face or back, to make
A smoother silhouette, and in which hours of the day he may feel like to
Recite a heroic couplet to the wild geese in the sky over your head.
This moment is shameful. No playful hand of his gropes to feel your sicken heart.
He is absent, away in some distant town, leaving your daughter and son
At the mercy of strangers. You used to sneak back into your bedroom, between errands,
With fake irritation, tucking your cold hand into the quilt to get him out of the bed.
You used to lure him with a mini-landscape that was composing by the courtyard wall.
What you can have is too transient. In the early morning light,
You can barely see “Chrysanthemums swell with the frost.”
This is actual, and the petals may be comparable with your lungs.
Your only possession, lying bare on the desk-dresser, is a fragrant pouch
Stuffed with lines and couplets never developed into a finished poem,Waiting for him to read before he burns them back to you.
Feb. 24-26, 2009
Note: CHEN Yun was the wife to the poor scholar poet Shen Fu (1763-1825) who wrote a memoir entitled Six Chapters in a Floating Life. She once said about her fate that she was “stricken with a bitter incarnation and over-obsessed with passion” which she thought would be responsible for her short life, and she died with the last breath to her husband “next life.”
陈芸 (1763-1803)
“……命苦，兼亦情痴”
你的男人爱你，爱到他自己也心疼自己，
但这并不能令他成为连接意义与世界的铆钉。
你，只存在于他家的院墙内，而大门不开；
从窗子看出去，大门面向远方，大门
那么遥远，你还未曾走过去亲迎他的归来。
想象一方丝帕为素纸，抹几笔，就是鸟儿
越过天空，不需要方向、不需要时辰。
不抬头，因为无此需要，你只要腹语
一个对偶的诗句，不必落墨；
即便镌刻在石头上，也镇不住时间；
他迟早会知道、记下，这就够了。
今年的深秋比想象的还要持久，
越来越适合独处。
如果不能春花灿烂，那么就一直秋着好了；
你早已发现，怀抱陌生，久了，就孕育诗句。
春，也适合一个人，只是
灵魂的蛤蟆会爬到皮肤上觅食小飞虫。
夏天，你难以扮成男人；不过，也好，
你将茉莉花插在发髻上，在西厢
做鬼脸，接他抛来的尖薄上联，撇撇嘴，
花枝颤动的影子在酒盅里如小蛇……
那是一个月残的夏夜，他侧身滑离你的瞬间，
那只魂就如青烟从你的腋下飘出窗外。
——哦，弟弟，我不能让你侵染我的阴冷；
我要给你寻一个憨直圆润的女人，
让我在来生等着你的时候，你还有
一个热乎乎的身体可以抚摸、可以枕。
只是，这个冬季太壅滞了，我还没有找到
我喜欢看你偷捏的肩胛和手腕——
你以想象的墨汁写下：
“那人的影儿被秋光侵扰，更觉寒瘦”；
默念一遍，总觉得尾音太浓。
秋光照着前心还是后背，才会多几分敞亮？
从清晨到黄昏，什么时候
他或许会在颠沛中吟诵两行豪迈，
应和你目送的大雁？
而此刻，没有手戏探帐内你病蚀的心经，
他蹒连在异乡，一双子女本非娇生，更无力惯养。
你多么喜欢看他孩子一样懒床，这样你才能
偷偷潜回卧室，低声催促他，
说院墙下有细腻的景正在低微地铺张。
你可以占有的，只在匆匆之间闪进眼帘，
天蒙蒙亮的时候，你瞥见
“菊花因积霜而虚胖”——这是实景，
堪比你的心瓣因咳血而卷缩。
你惟一的私产，在小书案上，
一个香囊，塞满你从未成篇的诗句，
待他回来焚烧，归还给你。
2009年2月24-6日
Tuesday, March 3, 2009
Tang Dynasty Poem: Early Wintersweet
Early Wintersweet: A Poem by a Tang Dynasty Poet
早梅
【唐】张谓
一树寒梅白玉条，迥临村落傍溪桥。
应缘近水花先发，疑是经冬雪未消。
Word-by-word Exegesis 逐字注释
一one 树tree 寒cold 梅plum/wintersweet 白white 玉jade 条twig
迥far 临by 村village 落residence 傍lean againt 溪stream 桥bridge
应should 缘due to 近close 水water 花flower 先first 发shoot
疑suspect 是be 经over 冬winter 雪snow 未not yet 消melt
Early Wintersweet
Zhang Wei (Active around 767, Tang Dynasty)
A lone shrub of cold wintersweet
Leans against the bridge over the stream;
Away from the village,
Its white jade offshoots neglected.
The buds closer to the water
Bloom first,
But they are perhaps taken for frozen snow
Yet to melt.
Back-translation to contemporary Chinese现代汉语回译
早梅
一株寒梅孤单单的，
倚靠在溪流上的小桥边；
远离了村舍，
它白玉的枝条也被人忽视。
离水近的蓓蕾
先绽放了，
可它们恐怕被错看成了结冰的雪，
有待消融。
早梅
【唐】张谓
一树寒梅白玉条，迥临村落傍溪桥。
应缘近水花先发，疑是经冬雪未消。
Word-by-word Exegesis 逐字注释
一one 树tree 寒cold 梅plum/wintersweet 白white 玉jade 条twig
迥far 临by 村village 落residence 傍lean againt 溪stream 桥bridge
应should 缘due to 近close 水water 花flower 先first 发shoot
疑suspect 是be 经over 冬winter 雪snow 未not yet 消melt
Early Wintersweet
Zhang Wei (Active around 767, Tang Dynasty)
A lone shrub of cold wintersweet
Leans against the bridge over the stream;
Away from the village,
Its white jade offshoots neglected.
The buds closer to the water
Bloom first,
But they are perhaps taken for frozen snow
Yet to melt.
Back-translation to contemporary Chinese现代汉语回译
早梅
一株寒梅孤单单的，
倚靠在溪流上的小桥边；
远离了村舍，
它白玉的枝条也被人忽视。
离水近的蓓蕾
先绽放了，
可它们恐怕被错看成了结冰的雪，
有待消融。
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