Friday, May 29, 2009

Fan Jinghua: Passion of Love



        Passion of Love

Once, a foundling would grow up to believe that life is soul and both accommodated in love for his little mistress who love had never been fiery and his fagot of bones was not heavy. He had not enough marrow.

She confessed it would degrade her to marry him, and he eavesdropped as almost every inferior man in love would do. It was a lonely cold night when she was confiding to her nurse.

He disappeared, with that sentence, without any word. Only we know that that sentence was incomplete. Only we know he would come back, clean-cut but bloodthirsty.

In that unwitting dark night, she continued, with moony eyes: so he shall never know how I love him,…because he’s more myself than I am.

About the differences between social status and wealth, a woman in love is more idealistic than a man. It is really difficult to be a cool-minded lover. Love does not warrant any judgment of a person’s degradation, and this has nothing to do with sex.

She wedded with another man. She hoped to use his wealth to help her beloved man. This woman has no man-made morality. There is a natural simile ready for her. Love for foliage will change with time as winter changes the trees, while love for the pale rocks beneath may be nurtured by little visible delight, but necessarily lasting.

Now, how can a man criticize this woman? In great literature and valiant art, whores are often idealized with sacrificial love that eventually shies away a man’s carnal desire. He cries when taking her money to find another whore. He told the whore how deep his love for his woman. He does not hope to repay his benefactor, and he tries best to be happy.

Every man has a woman to be sacrificed, so that he can say how much he loves her at her absence, when he fucks with his other whores such as profession, associates, life-long hobby and his housewife.
                    May 29, 2009

     爱情的受难

曾经有一个弃儿逐渐长大,相信生活就是灵魂,而两者都居住在他对小主人的爱情中;只是她的爱情从不会像烈火一样,他骨头的柴薪不够沉重,含髓量不足。

她坦白说如果下嫁给他,那就会觉得降低了身份;而此时他刚好偷听到了,正如差不多每个自卑怯弱的男人都做过相似的事情。这是一个孤独寒冷的夜晚,她只能对自己的乳母交心。

听了那句话,他一声不吭地消失,像隐瞒了一个终生判决。只有我们知道那句话并不完整,只有我们知道他必将回来,会举止优雅,但眼神的温暖放出嗜血的欲望。

在那不智的黑夜,她继续着停顿前的话:所以他不会知道我在心底是多么爱他,……因为他比我自己更像我自己。她说着这话,眼神恍惚,犹如月晕。

有关身份与财富的区别,一个恋爱中的女人肯定比一个男人更加理想主义。要想做一个冷静的情人,真的很不容易。这和人是否堕落无关,也不分性别。爱情不可能是任何判断的证据。

她和另一个男人结婚。她希望可以用一些他的钱,帮助自己深爱的男人。这个女人没有男人制造的道德。她随口就能说出一个自然而然的比喻。谁爱绿叶成荫,她的爱也会像冬天改变树林一样善变,而谁爱那下面苍白的岩石,或许没有多少可见的喜悦滋润,却必然长久。

一个男人怎么去责斥这个女人?在伟大的文学与雄浑的艺术中,妓女也会被理想化为出于爱情而献身,不过这却阻遏了她的男人再对她产生肉体的欲望。他哭泣着拿过她手中的钱,去找另一个妓女。他告诉那个妓女,他多么爱着为他牺牲的女人,一辈子的恩他无法回报,他只能令自己快乐。

每个男人都有一个需要牺牲的女人,这样他才能在背后说多么爱她。他说的时候,必须是他正在操他的其他妓女,例如职业、同僚、终生的爱好、以及他的家庭主妇。
                    2009年5月29日

GU Cheng 2 Poems

GU Cheng 2 Poems


    Sepulcher
         By GU Cheng (1956-1993) tr. Fan Jinghua
I know unstoppable disappearing has arrived and I have no grief
In the pine woods my wish is laid
The sea lies below and from a distance it looks like a water pool
Close behind me the afternoon sunshine inches along

Man’s time has drawn to an end but human world still drags on
I am caught in between and should take a rest
Passers-by say the boughs bend low
Passers-by say the boughs still grow


  墓床
     顾城(1956-1993)

我知道永逝降临,并不悲伤
松林中安放着我的愿望
下边有海,远看像水池
一点点跟我的是下午的阳光

人时已尽,人世很长
我在中间应当休息
走过的人说树枝低了
走过的人说树枝在长



  Melting Point
       by GU Cheng (1956-1993) tr. Fan Jinghua

Sunshine at a certain altitude keeps men warm
Coins surge and subside
They will drown those dreams

Despondent bricks of orange color

Not a single flower can float forever off the ground
Not one hand Not any boat
Not any sound of a brook

Not a single bird can escape from daylight

Just as no one can avoid
Oneself
Or darkness



  熔点
     顾城(1956-1993)

阳光在一定高度使人温暖
起起伏伏的钱币
将淹没那些梦幻

桔红色苦闷的砖

没有一朵花能在土地上永远漂浮
没有一只手,一只船
一种泉水的声音

没有一只鸟能躲过白天

正像,没有一个人能避免
自己
避免黑暗


GU Cheng in Amsterdam (June 1992) with lines from his poem on the truck

GU Cheng (1956-1993) was one of the key figures in the Misty poetry, a kind of new poetry with a strong sense of modernism as the Mao-Era was drawing to its end. He was an influectial figure during his life, and his murder of his wife led to a national debate about whether a poet could have a "poetic licence" to kill (an article about his days in Waiheke island in New Zealand). More details about his life can be found in a previous posting.

Plath: Ariel

Sylvia Plath Collected Poems
No. 194

   Ariel

Stasis in darkness.
Then the substanceless blue
Pour of tor and distances.

God's lioness,
How one we grow,
Pivot of heels and knees!---The furrow

Splits and passes, sister to
The brown arc
Of the neck I cannot catch,

Nigger-eye
Berries cast dark
Hooks------

Black sweet blood mouthfuls,
Shadows.
Something else

Hauls me through air------
Thighs, hair;
Flakes from my heels.

White
Godiva, I unpeel------
Dead hands, dead stringencies.

And now I
Foam to wheat, a glitter of seas.
The child's cry

Melts in the wall.
And I
Am the arrow,

The dew that flies
Suicidal, at one with the drive
Into the red

Eye, the cauldron of morning.
       27 October 1962


普拉斯《诗全编》
第194首

   爱丽儿
       希薇娅- 普拉斯
黑暗中的凝止。
接着,山石与距离
倾泻,空灵、幽蓝。

神的母狮,
我们化为一体,
脚跟和膝盖的枢轴!——犁沟

划开、通过,与颈项的
棕色弧光宛若姐妹,
我怎么也抓不住,

黑鬼眼珠的
浆果投下暗黑的
钩爪——

几口暗黑的甜血,
阴影。
另外某种东西

拖我穿过空气——
大腿,毛发;
脚跟落下薄片。

白裸
英豪戈蒂娃,我,脱了外皮——
死的手,死的紧迫感。

而此刻,我
浮沫成麦子,闪烁的片片海水。
小孩的哭声

融进了墙壁。
而我
是那支箭,

那飞溅的露滴,
自杀的,一股劲冲向它,
那红色的

眼睛,早晨的大炼锅。
       1962年10月27日

译按:字面上来看,这首诗写的是夜间骑马的经历。爱丽儿是莎士比亚剧作《暴风雨》中无性别的精灵,受控于丑陋的卡利班;同时普拉斯当时骑的马也取名为爱丽儿;在希伯莱文中,爱丽儿的意思是神的母狮。戈蒂娃是传说中的一位女子,为了解救村民于重税,裸体骑马走过村子。最后一行中的练锅虽说是指早晨的太阳,但传统上来说是指巫婆所使用的大锅。

Thursday, May 28, 2009

Fan Jinghus: Scriptorium

  Scriptorium

Seven steps of life and what’s beyond it.
Full of elements here. Water-clock, inkwells,
And stacks of parchment smelling of warm camphor.
Sunlight is shut out in heavens by the mosaic high window,
A sword of light prospecting this pit, inch by inch.
After birds are gone with their cries, songs echo,
With a time lag, wiggling the self-feeding oil lamp.
The man snails to avoid the spotlight, sitting
On the indoor steps to the niche on the wall,
His white swan quill sharp like a chisel, writing
As if tracing the blank ruts of the black death-cart:
"How do you dare? Do you dare me for a duel?"
The lamp-wick coughs and his left fingers feel
The vessels on his right wrist. No more lives beyond this.
        May 27, 2009


   抄经室

七步之室,居住着此生与此生之外的。
这儿,充满了元素。水漏、墨池、
堆积的羊皮纸发出暖暖的樟脑味。
阳光被镶嵌玻璃的高窗阻隔在天上,
投下一把光的剑,一寸一寸地勘探
这洞窟。鸟,随着自己的鸣叫飞去,
留下回响,摇晃着自动添油的灯。
那男人蜗牛般挪动,避开那聚光灯,
坐在墙壁神龛下的室内台阶上,
白色鹅毛笔,如雕刻师的凿刀,
似乎在描着死亡黑马车的无色车辙:
“你真敢啊!你敢挑衅我与你决斗?”
灯芯咳嗽几声,而他的左手指摸到了
右腕的血管。在这之外,没有生命。
       2009年5月28日

Tuesday, May 26, 2009

Fan Jinghua: Scholarly Exchange

  Scholarly Exchange

"Please be assured that your unique proposal is doubtlessly acceptable;
So far you are the only scholar dealing the visual…
By the way, could I ask something personal, purely out of my curiosity,
How long have you been intrigued by this topic?"
"Thank you for the note of appreciation. The proposal is developed
From my dissertation, which I hope to finish by the end of this year.
I have been in it for about four years."
"Ah, four years! I have also been saturated in this pool for this long,
Alone, but believing that there are others who are striking the same notes as I am,
Hidden and known to each other through separated spatio-temporality;
And now my call for paper asks you to break into my field
About the design of patterns and schemes of colors in her poetry…."
"Yes, those schemes are fascinating, and she mastered the art so well,
Changing the dynamic into the static, and struggled to stand boldly still
Against the power that pulls her in the uncannily familiar.
Still motion contains much more power, like a black hole, and finally…."
"You are right there. Losing balance, she slid into death,
And what we can learn is to find our way in and way out,
At the center of the dark vacuum, holding our breath to feel her and notre semblables.

To enter is to vow our faith, and to come out, as we have to, makes us
The cruelest betrayers to each other, but this we should have known before hand."
"To imagine those who enter without the least idea how to exit….

Faith becomes so blind that they do not know they are closer to traitors,
But it is no better to be a rationally passionate person."
"I’ve heard it said, Still water runs deep… and I am looking forward
To seeing you present. Btw, as the symposium convener and exhibition curator,
I need not speak in our panel, so you may take some of my time.
So take your time to elaborate."
                   2005 draft
                 May 22-25, 2009 revised

  学术交流

——您的提议角度独特,肯定可以接受,
您是至今惟一论述她视觉层面的学者……
顺便问一句有点私人的问题,
您对此论题的兴趣已有多久?
——多谢欣赏,我的学位论文与此有关,
如果我能在年底按计划完成,那么就是四年。
——哦,四年多来,我一直浸泡在这个池中,
一个人,虽也曾设想有知音,隔着时空,
隐秘而滞后,却未敢期待相遇,而今
一个论文征集广告就能将你拉进我的领地……
啊,我现在满眼都是她诗歌中的图形构成与颜色配置……
——是啊,那些设计令人着迷,而她运筹帷幄,
一落笔就已化动为静,同时又要勇敢地站定,
抵御着那静态力量,免于自己被吸进那可怕的似曾相识之境……
静止的运动,蕴含着更强大的力量,像一个黑洞,最终……
——确实如此,失去了那种平衡,她便滑入死亡,
而我们能够学会的也只是要预先找到进路与出口,
在那黑暗的真空地带,屏住呼吸,感受她
感受被她吸引来的人,我们的同类;
进去,是宣誓我们对她的忠诚,
出来,我们都成为最冷酷的背叛者;
而这,我们早该预料得到。
——想到有那么多人,匆匆进入,而不知如何从那儿退出……
忠变成了愚,信变成盲,竟不知自己更接近于变节,
不过,理性化的激情也好不了多少,甚至更糟。
——是的,俗话说,静水流深。哦,我期待看到你;
顺便说一句, 作为主办人,我不必在专题小组发言,
因此你可以占用我的时间,细细阐释。
            2009年5月25日

Plath: Poppies in October

Sylvia Plath Collected Poems
No. 195

  Poppies in October

Even the sun-clouds this morning cannot manage such skirts.
Nor the woman in the ambulance
Whose red heart blooms through her coat so astoundingly------

A gift, a love gift
Utterly unasked for
By a sky

Palely and flamily
Igniting its carbon monoxides, by eyes
Dulled to a halt under bowlers.

O my God, what am I
That these late mouths should cry open
In a forest of frost, in a dawn of cornflowers.
            27 October 1962

普拉斯《诗全编》
第195首

  十月的罂粟花

甚至连今晨的阳光云也不能对付这些裙子。
救护车里的那女人也不能
她红色的心开花,透过外衣,真令人惊异——

一件礼物,爱的礼物,
绝对是不请自到,
由天空

点燃它苍白、
烈焰似的一氧化碳,由眼睛
钝化成礼帽下的停顿。

哦,我的上帝,我算什么,
一旦这些迟来的嘴嗷嗷洞开
在霜冻的森林、在矢车菊的黎明。
        1962年10月27日

GU Cheng: 7 Short Early Poems

GU Cheng 7 Short Early Poems
顾城早期短诗七首

 Far and Close
      GU Cheng (1956-1993) tr. Fan Jinghua
You
Look at me for a while
Look at clouds for a while

I feel you
So far away when you look at me
So close when you look at clouds
     (1980)

  远和近


一会看我
一会看云

我觉得
你看我时很远
你看云时很近
     1980年


  A Generation
      GU Cheng (1956-1993) tr. Fan Jinghua
Dark night gives me dark eyes
And I use them to search for light
     (1979)

  一代人
黑夜给了我黑色的眼睛
我却用它寻找光明
     1979年


 A Walk in the Rain
      GU Cheng (1956-1993) tr. Fan Jinghua
Clouds, gray upon gray
Cannot be washed clean
We open our umbrella
Instantly spreading darkness over the sky

Beneath this slow floating night
Two pairs of double stars
Appear to have no fixed orbits
Now close by, now apart
       (1980)

  雨行
云 灰灰的
再也洗不干净
我们打开雨伞
索性涂黑了天空

在缓缓飘动的夜里
有两对双星
似乎没有定轨
只是时远时近
     1980年

  Arcs
      GU Cheng (1956-1993) tr. Fan Jinghua
Birds in strong wind
Suddenly turn directions

A kid bends
To pick up a coin

Vines extend their antennae
Of filament, to touch fantasy

Sea waves ebb
And arc up their ridges
     (1980)

  弧线


鸟儿在疾风中
迅速转向

少年去捡拾
一枚分币

葡萄藤因幻想
而延伸的触丝

海浪因退缩
而耸起的脊背
     1980年


 A Small Alley
      GU Cheng (1956-1993) tr. Fan Jinghua
A Small alley
Winding and long

No doors
No windows

I hold an old key
Tapping the thick wall
     (1980)

  小巷
小巷
又弯又长

没有门
没有窗

我拿把旧钥匙
敲着厚厚的墙
     1980年


 A Snap
      GU Cheng (1956-1993) tr. Fan Jinghua
Sunrays
After a flash in the sky
Are buried again by clouds

Storm develop
The negative of my soul
     (1979)

 


阳光
在天上一闪
又被乌云埋掩

暴雨冲洗着
我灵魂的底片
     1979年

 Awakening
      GU Cheng (1956-1993) tr. Fan Jinghua
Gum from trees
Slow teardrops dripping
Glue together the shards of my heart

What locks us in love
Is not the joy in an orgy
But the pain we share

  
树胶般
缓缓流下的泪
粘和了心的碎片

使我们相恋的
是共同的痛苦
而不是狂欢


      GU Cheng and his wife XIE Ye in New Zealand home

  GU Cheng (1956-1993) was one of the five key figures in the Misty poetry with Bei Dao, Duo Duo, YANG Lian and SHU Ting. While Bei Dao yelled “I DO NOT BELIEVE” at the end of Mao-Era, GU spoke with a quiet but determined voice in his most applauded two-line poem “A Generation” (written in 1979). GU was the son of a privileged arm-poet GU Gong, and he spent four years in the remote countryside during the Cultural Revolution when he began writing poetry. Then he became increasingly experimental, and produced the first most representative “Misty” poems (meaning “obscure” and “ambiguous” compared with the outcry propaganda poetry before or during the time). I first listened to his reading in 1985 and bought there a small signed book by him and SHU Ting (published in 1982). Among his poems, I loved such poems as “Arcs,” “A Walk in the Rain” and “A Small Alley,” different from almost all the poems I could get access to at that time. Later, he became increasingly disillusioned with everyday mundane life, and moved to New Zealand, staying at a small island. He did not speak English, almost unable to survive without his wife. However, he believed that he was desperately in love with another woman LI Ying, and his wife managed to immigrate LI to their home, where the three tried to live under one roof. Later, Li Ying left. He hanged himself after axing his wife to death on Oct. 8, 1993. His posthumous book Ying’er was a record of his life there. GU’s published books include Black Eyes (1986), Collected Poems (1995), Complete Poems (1998) etc.
顾城(1956-1993),出版的诗集包括有《黑眼睛》(1986)、《顾城诗全编》(1995)、《顾城的诗》(1998)等。

第一次听到顾城的朗诵,应该是1985年吧。那时候我在北师大,记得是在教七的阶梯教室。秋天。当时最流行风衣,通常是米黄色的,到小腿肚之下,但顾城穿的风衣比一般人的或者说是市面上常见的要短一些,到膝盖上一点,有点本白色带一点浅浅的淡蓝色。他开始讲座,说他记得的最早的诗歌经验是在幼儿园。一天早晨,他隔壁床上的男孩对他说,他昨夜没有睡着,因为他看到了窗外很大很圆很亮的月亮。于是,他就知道夜里不睡会看到很美的东西。听他这么说,当时还觉得他很假兮兮的。不过,他真的给人一种很纯净的感觉。因此,对于他后来的行为似乎没有感到多么意外。那天,买了他和舒婷共同出的一本小册子诗集《舒婷顾城抒情诗选》,出版于1982年。

Monday, May 25, 2009

Fan Jinghua: Obsidian

     Obsidian
             For Tina
Nothing out of the earth is a by-product.
It is erupted from the depth, for the purpose to be defined.
It is not rock, but glass, when its inner heat and red
Not so quickly yielding to cooling, something at the core remains
Unchanged, revealing to the human senses and vanities
How snowflakes can grow and bring a little gray into the black hardness.
Neighboring boiling lava, without a name, how can it claim
Loneliness? Yes, it is only inhibited from being viscous
That it does not crystallize. Water may stop it
From cutting the molecules, like the tears of Apache women
Shed, sowed and shot out, changing their colors in the night wind,
The air-borne cries heard only by wolves.
Now that it is on earth, it is in love with wind
And the touch of lizards, the moon and stars.
             May 23-24, 2009

   黑曜石
         给Tina
地底下冒出来的,从没有副产品。
深处的爆发将它翻出来,等待定义,
它不是岩石,而是玻璃。内在的
热与红无法那么快地屈从于冷,它的内核
未能改变,自然地向人类的感官和虚荣展示
雪花怎么生长到黑色的坚硬中,令它带点灰。
它与熔岩为邻而没有名字,怎能声称孤独?
是的,它不过是粘性较低,而显得有点怯弱,
不会结晶。可水能阻止它切割分子; 犹如
阿帕奇女人的泪珠碎了、撒入大地,又冒出芽儿,
它们的颜色在夜风中变,顺风逆风也有不同,
那靠着空气传播的哭声只有狼曾经听闻。
如今,它既然在地上,它便与风相爱,
也喜欢上了蜥蜴、月亮和星星的爱抚。
           2009年5月24日

Plath: Nick and the Candlestick

Sylvia Plath Collected Poems
No. 196

  Nick and the Candlestick

I am a miner. The light burns blue.
Waxy stalactites
Drip and thicken, tears

The earthen womb
Exudes from its dead boredom.
Black bat airs

Wrap me, raggy shawls,
Cold homicides.
They weld to me like plums.

Old cave of calcium
Icicles, old echoer.
Even the newts are white,

Those holy Joes.
And the fish, the fish------
Christ! they are panes of ice,

A vice of knives,
A piranha
Religion, drinking

Its first communion out of my live toes.
The candle
Gulps and recovers its small altitude,

Its yellows hearten.
O love, how did you get here?
O embryo

Remembering, even in sleep,
Your crossed position.
The blood blooms clean

In you, ruby.
The pain
You wake to is not yours.

Love, love,
I have hung our cave with roses,
With soft rugs------

The last of Victoriana.
Let the stars
Plummet to their dark address,

Let the mercuric
Atoms that cripple drip
Into the terrible well,

You are the one
Solid the spaces lean on, envious.
You are the baby in the barn.
         29 October 1962


普拉斯《诗全编》
第196首

  尼克与烛台
       希薇娅·普拉斯

我是矿工。灯燃着蓝色。
如蜡的钟乳石
滴下、变厚,泪珠

被泥土子宫
渗出她死的沉闷。
黑蝙蝠的空气

裹着我,破布的披肩,
冷血的杀人犯。
它们粘着我,像铅锤。

陈旧的洞,长满钙质
冰柱,破旧的回声筒。
连蝾螈也是白的,

那些圣洁的伪善者。
而且有鱼,鱼——
基督啊!它们是些冰块,

刀的恶行,
食人鱼教派,
从我活生生的脚趾中

畅饮着它的首次圣餐酒。
蜡烛
噎了一下,恢复了它低矮的高度,

它一圈圈的黄振奋人心。
哦,爱,你怎么到这儿的?
哦,胎儿

甚至在沉睡中,仍记得
你交叉的姿势。
血在你体内

开净洁的花,宝石红。
你醒来面对的
痛苦,不属于你。

爱啊,我的爱,
我已在我们的洞穴挂满玫瑰,
柔软的小挂毯——

末代维多利亚产品。
任那些星星
铅锤般落向它们的黑暗地址,

任那些致残的
水银原子
滴落进恐怖的井底,

你是惟一的实在,
所有空间都带着羡慕而倚赖。
你是那马棚中的婴孩。
         1962年10月29日


  这是普拉斯在英国乡下独自带着儿子尼克(尼古拉斯)时所作的诗。尼克出生于1962年1月17日,休斯在7月初离开普拉斯,这首诗写于10月,这时普拉斯已从分居(或者换一个说法叫做“被抛弃”)的打击中慢慢恢复过来。仅在这一个月里,普拉斯就创作了25首诗,而且绝大多数都是爆发力非常强烈而且感情及其浓烈的诗篇。这一个月开始有五首“蜜蜂”组诗开始,接着包括了《申请人》、《老爸》、《美杜莎》、《高烧103度》、《割伤》、《爱丽尔》、《女拉扎路》等代表性诗篇。哪怕仅仅从这一个月的诗作来看,普拉斯开始是在“蜜蜂”的母系社会中似乎看到了一种再生的希望,并且以此激励自己,然后写出了几首比较愤怒的诗作,再接着的诗篇基本上是某种冲刺的感觉,令人感到她似乎处于一种极度亢奋的状态。这些诗就其本身而言是可怕的,甚至是毁灭性的,这种力量即使在这首充满母性慈爱的诗篇中也可以感觉得到。当我说就其本身而言的时候,我想暗示的是,诗中的说话人和诗人普拉斯并非一致;任何诗人在诗歌中都具有某种performance表演性,感情的投入与沉浸都具有一种吸力,最终转化为文字的performativity行事力;而有时候,这种力量也同样会反过来进一步作用于诗人自己。
  这首诗中,母爱之情的背景是一种极度孤独状态下的自我拯救,其主要意象是一个深坑,里面充满了停滞的浊气,四周弥漫着绝望和残酷,而惟一的支持只有烛芯中的那点暖黄色,照了熟睡的婴儿;他是她的唯一慰籍。
  五天前,她还写了另一首和烛光与儿子有关的诗篇《烛光下》:“我屏住呼吸,直到你刺刺地冒出生气,/ 小豪猪卷成球,/ 娇小、乖戾”。舔犊之情难以言表。再之前,一个月前的9月26日,她写了一首《没有父亲的儿子》:“很快,你就会感到一种缺失/ 在你身边长大,像一棵树/ 一棵死树,褪尽了颜色……被闪电阉割”。
  在这首《尼克与烛台》中,她不再愤怒了,但这并非表示她不再悲哀,或许这反而意味着绝望。

休斯离开普拉斯时,普拉斯和她妈妈一起开车到火车站。她妈妈本来以为他们是因为创作上的问题,但是没想到休斯在站台上对普拉斯的妈妈说再见的时候,发出了一种奇怪的笑声,并且说不知道什么时候还能再见到她。于是,普拉斯回到家之后,告诉她妈妈说,休斯不忠,她不想要他再留在家里。休斯到了伦敦,去了那个女人(阿霞)的家,说是自己的生日,于是那阿霞的丈夫下楼买酒,休斯告诉她他已经离开普拉斯了。

Friday, May 22, 2009

Fan Jinghua: Word Study


   Word Study
Chinese glamour has a radical of ghost
And enamoured is a woman raising her brow
Your glamour is glossy like glass, glittering
Crystal coffin over amour, tinkling but untouchable
How glamorous is that bewitching creature
And charming the grinning fairy, with chic enamel arms
That stretch out skittishly, white as a choice vase of china
-- We are using the same words, but we speak
Two different languages, and do you know my compliments?
               Oct. 2005


  解字说人
魅力之魅有鬼,女人动用眉毛示爱
您的魅力是玻璃质的 外壳玲玲作响
水晶棺材般罩住了恋情,栩栩如生,而不可企及
多么鬼魅啊,这是个有巫力的尤物
而媚若露齿而笑的仙,那纤纤的手臂啊
怯怯地伸了出来,犹如瓷器精致的白
——我们说同样的词汇,可是我们还是说
不同的语言,你可知道我那样的恭维何意?
           2009年5月22日


  In Chinese, 魅力 (glamour) literally means the power (力) of a ghostly creature (魅 which contains the radical of ghost 鬼 and the element of sound未). It is interesting to note that in English the sound element of gl can be found in such words as glossy, glass, glittering which used to explain the word glamour. Chinese 媚 consists two part of a woman 女 and the eyebrow 眉, which etymologically means to show love by eyes and later generally refers to the power to enamor.
  汉语中的魅用英文的glamour来解释,该词相当于我们汉语的光彩照人,尤以外表的亮丽为主要内涵,就英文字面上硬拆glamour则是gl和amour (隐秘恋情),gl的声音有似汉语中的金石之音,因此解释时用glossy (有光泽的)、glass (玻璃)、glittering (闪烁的)和tinkling (玉石的玲玲声)。魅的鬼魅性用bewitching (作祟人的、令人迷的) 这个词,而bewitching由witch (巫婆) 为词根。媚,先是说汉字是女子动眉毛,用enamoured (迷恋的,也是以amour为词根) 来解释,因为汉字媚的本义是以目媚人示爱,后面则主要强调其charm (魔力)。英文charm字面上拆为ch和arm (手臂),ch的声音用了chic (别致的、不落俗套的)、choice (精选的)和china (瓷器)三个词。

Thursday, May 21, 2009

Xiaomaxian's The End and Fan Jinghua's The End

The End by Xiaomaxian and by Fan Jinghua
小玛仙的《最后》和得一忘二的《最后》

   The End
           by Xiaomaxian  tr. Fan Jinghua
In the end, Duras’s Chinese lover died unheeded
(in a certain corner on earth)
Leaving her with the two years of eternity—enough to reimburse
The endless half-century that tails
In the end, Woolf pushed a large stone into her pocket
And walked into the River Ouse
("and I am wasting you life")
In the end, Rilke huddled in a rose
And Sappho leaped from a cliff
It was her choice—to die
For love
In the end, we all die, including love
"all that is solid melts into air"
But you remain, so obstinate
And sincere, in love
This makes me ashamed of myself
         May 20, 2009

    最后
        小玛仙
最后,杜拉斯的中国情人悄悄死了
(在地球的某个角落)
留给她那永恒的两年——足以抵偿那之后
漫长的半个世纪
最后,伍尔夫在自己的口袋里装满了石块
走进了欧塞河
(“我不能再继续糟蹋你的生命”)
最后,里尔克藏身在玫瑰里
而萨福坠崖
这是她选择——为爱
死去。
最后,我们都会死去……连爱
“一切坚固的东西,都烟消云散了”
可是,你仍那么固执地
认真地……爱
这让我真惭愧。
       2009年5月20日

After reading Xiaomaxian's "The End," I write a poem of the same title.
读了小玛仙的《最后》,然后我也写了一首《最后》。

  The End
         by Fan Jinghua
In the end, the process looks back, all the way
Its softness leaning against a non-existent wall
Blood-threads healing themselves into inlaid bruises
Veins sink finally into jade, hardening at the ought-to-be
Depth. Anywhere can now be a grave, mobile

Days on earth, can they be commensurable to the years in heaven
So that flaccid bodies could tighten up the strings of heart
For Truth, the aerialist, to do its tricks between one end and the other
Liquid of compassion seeps from the visible and its environs of nothingness
As oil in a lamp, where a bud of flame dances slow, in the contracting vault of night
              May 21, 2009

   最后
       得一忘二
最后,过程在回顾,素来的
柔软靠在不存在的墙根,沉淀着
含血的愈合,而创伤依稀可见
纹,终于沉入玉中,硬化在应有的深度
从此,任何地方都是坟墓,移动的

大地的日子需要等同于天上的年岁
下垂的肉体才可能拉紧心的弦
为了真理,在高空走钢丝,杂耍
相思,从色相与空无的交界渗出相知的
液滴,如豆油灯,在夜的挤压下,冷艳
         2009年5月21日

Wednesday, May 20, 2009

Fan Jinghua: Eleven Ways to Name a Killer-Lady

  Eleven Ways to Name a Killer-Lady

I
Among a myriad featureless faces,
She has the only pair of relentless eyes.

II
With a dark mole in each eye, a killer-lady is melancholic.
A killer-lady is erratic, wearing uniforms and pink bunny slippers.
Such a woman is not eligible for self-defense.

III
With Migraleve tablets, she suffers a schizophrenic migraine.
With fishnet pantyhose, she is a professional seductress.
With a condom in her handbag, she is a prostitute.

VI
Straitjacketed to a bed, she has sharp curves,
And suddenly takes on such a strong sex appeal.
This makes every man want to suffer a sadistic disorder of aesthetic necrophilia.

V
This is the season when spring flowers are withering,
When every day is a day of libation.
The killer-lady blooms in her dream.
I light a candle to regard this Queen of the Night, our one-night stand.

VI
She is a scraped moon, whose whites are scooped out.
She is moon-struck, eyes squinted.
There is pure lyricism in her wriggling under the dripping of sun-oil.

VII
I am a lover troubadour, if she loves me, gratis.
If I have silver around my waist, I will overact a man.
If she passes out in orgasm, under or on me, I will rise to the rank of immortals.
Woman, eternal, turns us on.

VIII
The rustling is harmonious, when wind tiptoes across reeds.
Countless blades bow to the wind over grasses, with a flash of light.
The aura of the killer-lady is mechanically repressible,
But it reproduces in the air.

IX
When she is crunched, it is a light put out
Before the marrow is burned,
And the unused can be good lubricant for a road-roller.

X
She uses her scissors to cut calluses off wandering feet,
But for the noose of morality,
A killer-lady uses one of the blades to saw, like a blunt knife.

XI
A killer-lady will slowly kill all of us,
Unless we kill ourselves,
But those who can sing euphonious and resonant will be exonerated.
Oh, what a pity that I am no better than a drake.
I cannot sing, I cannot dive.
A killer-lady is a smiling woman.
               May 20, 2009

  On May 10, 2009, in Badong County, Hubei Province, a girl who works in a public bath as a pedicurist (polishing the toe-nails, removing the callus and dead skins, etc.) was demanded to provide “special” service (sex) by three officials. When she refused, saying she is not that kind of person (prostitute), the leader among the three first threw a stack of money at her, yelling "do you think we do not have money?", and then pounced on her twice, while his two colleagues stood by. Finally, the agitated girl found her knife (for her work) and injured two (the leading one dead later). She turned herself in to the police, and then she was in detention under the accusation of intentional murder. As a kind of anti-depressant (sleeping pill) was found in her bag, she was sent into a mental institution, bound to a bed as a “protective” measure. Netizens are overwhelmingly hailing her as a chaste heroine (an ancient term for a woman who dies in defense of her honor chastity or virginity), while the police’s circulars are increasingly favorable to the officials, changing the words "pouncing on her" to "pushing her toward the bed," "special service (sexual)" to "bathing service from an opposite sex," "pedicurist knife" to "fruit knife," etc. However, it seems that the powerless power of the netizens has inserted some kind of influence, and some voluntary workers are able to visit her in the hospital, where she is now given a ward for her own.




  命名杀手女士的十一种方式

  一
一万张五官不清的憧憧面孔中,
她是惟一一双毫不留情的眼睛。

  二
她是忧郁症患,因为她眼中长着一颗黑痣;
她行为怪异,穿着一双粉红兔子头的拖鞋配她的制服。
这样的人,没有自卫的资格。

  三
给她布可利嗪片,她就有了精神分裂性偏头痛。
给她穿上鱼网连裤袜,她就是专职狐狸精。
给她的包里放进安全套,她就是妓女。

  四
用束身衣捆绑在床上,她曲线顿时玲珑,
立即产生强烈的性引力,
令人想患上审美型恋尸癖的虐待狂精神失调症。

  五
这个季节春花正在凋谢,每一天
都是祭酒的日子。
杀手女士在梦中绽放一朵昙花。
我点一支蜡烛,相看;夜之女王啊,我和你有一夜情缘。

  六
她是被刮刀残损了的月亮,白块被挖了出来。
她被月亮作祟了,眼睛迷乱。
阳光给她滴油,她的扭动有一种纯粹的抒情。

  七
如果她免费爱我,我就是行吟诗人,情人歌手。
我腰间鼓胀,就要做强悍的男人,还要稍微有点夸张。
如果她晕死在高潮中,无论在我身下还是身上,我都会升入神仙之列。
永恒的女性,引领我们亢奋。

  八
风蹑足走过芦苇,它们有瑟瑟簌簌的和声。
风吹草伏,无数的草叶发出一道亮光。
杀手女士的韵味可以机械化地抑制,
但是它会在空气中复制。

  九
当她被碾碎,那便是一盏灯
被扑灭,而骨髓仍未燃尽。
未用完的,可以作为压路机的润滑剂。

  十
杀手女士是位低调的人,
她用剪刀默默修掉流浪者的鸡眼,
她只用一个刃锯掉道德的绞索,像钝刀一样。

  十一
杀手女士将会慢慢地杀死我们,
除非我们自杀。
不过那些唱得很悦耳宏亮的人将会被免罪。
可惜啊,我还不如一只鸭子,
我不会唱,也不会潜水。
杀手女士是一个笑盈盈的女人。
          2009年5月20日

A Poetic Exchange between Zang Di and Me

A Poetic Exchange between Zang Di and Me

  Non-Constant Way Series
         ZANG Di (1964-)
Spontaneous songs and a long road, they place problems on the tabletop.
Among the wild flowers in the mountains, hawthorn and crabapple take the lead,
And they too place on the tabletop. Red azaleas unwrap
The bandages of rain. Do you still remember
The keynote you have been so eagerly looking for?
The next step is whether to open a designated channel
For loosestrife and spring-bred grass. As for the table, it takes
Its form from the heaven, but it shifts between the original and the transfigured,
And you tap it. Oh, a cushion of clouds.
The blue table looks no different, and it might well be
A bed. It can surely serve that purpose.
O, dear form, you have no wrong; the blame lies in a blink.
In an instant, still rocks take on the skin of fruits.
Trumpets fine tune rain swallows. Oh, with a sharp turn,
You enter the cage of Truth, its key placed
On the river which ants are about to cross.
O, how shiny an arch bridge, punctual as the clock hands of clematis.
                [For Fan Jinghua]

  非常道丛书
        臧棣
漫歌和长路,将问题摆在了桌面上。
山地野花,以山楂和海棠打头阵,
也摆在了五月的桌面上。红杜鹃解开了
雨的绷带。你还能想得起来
你曾渴望找准的那个基调吗?
下一步才是要不要给通泉草和珍珠菜
单独开辟一个频道。至于桌子,
它取自天空,在保持原状和巧妙变形之间,
你拍了拍。哦,白云的小垫子。
蓝色的桌子看起来没什么两样,
拿它当床用,肯定也没问题。
哦,亲爱的形状,你没有错,责任全在一瞬间。
突然,静止的石头有了水果的皮肤。
小号谐调了雨燕。哦,急转弯,
你走进真理的笼子,把钥匙放在了
那些蚂蚁将要渡过的一条河上。
哦,发光的小拱桥,你像铁线莲的时针一样准时。
        —赠得一忘二
             2009.5.


 The above pome is dedicated to me by the poet Zang Di. Zang Di is an eminent contemporary Chinese poet and scholar, currently teaching in Beijing University. He is recently featured in Guardian's Poem of the Week, link (though the pronunciation is wrong. The correct pronunciation of his surname should be Zang instead of Zeng).
 The following poem is my reply to his poem.
      Zang Di and Fan Jinghua (in red) in Boston US in Oct. 2004

  We Walk the Earth as Our Feet Fall
           For ZANG Di

For those that arrange themselves at their free will,
Their ways are in accordance with the primary shadows.
We can only see the ways in the order of flowers, grasses, fruits and nuts,
As they grow with the ways and paths, along the no-order of my seeing.
Their shadows are not our shadows but our keynote.
Then, running water cuts through them, and a small bridge arches it,
As we go down, like sounds, pushing rocks,
Like Atlas rolling an iron hoop, one of the fire wheels of a demigod trickster.
White clouds circle beneath the compass-like dome, anchorless, shapeless, aimless,
But self-anchored, self-shaping, self-destined, and their shadows become
A patch of darkness under our feet, forgetting they have weight.
On the bed of the myriad, we walk as our feet fall, on and on, till we enter into an instant,
In which the universe flattens out and expands, like a lacquered timber desktop
Whose veins delude us and lead us into the depth of a concept,
A conceptual flower lures the bees out of paradise.
                   May 19, 2009

  随着脚步行走大地
          [回赠臧棣]
那些按照自己的方式排列的
那些排列符合原有的影子;
那些影子我们只在花草果实的次第中看见,
与道路并进,沿着我们无次第的看见。
它们不是我们的影子,是我们的基调。
然后,有横切的流水细长,再有横跨的小桥拱着身,
我们像声音一样沿途而去,滚动岩石,
犹如阿特拉斯滚起铁环,哪吒的风火轮。
白云贴着罗盘似的圆顶旋转,漂而无泊,有象而无状,有定而无向,
白云众多的影子只是我们脚下的一片黑,忘记了重量。
在这万物的床上,我们随着脚步走着走着就走进了一个瞬间。
这一片瞬息,宇宙多么平展,
像一张原木的桌面,纹路的错觉将我们引向幽深,
一朵花似的概念,吸引着蜜蜂下凡。
          2009年5月19日

Tuesday, May 19, 2009

Su Ruoxi's "Fragment" & My "Love Song for a Ghost"

Su Ruoxi's "Fragment" & Fan Jinghua's "Love Song for a Ghost"
苏若兮的《残简》与得一忘二的《说给鬼的情话》

  Fragment
     SU Ruoxi

I love his look of a polished hypocrite
A homeless lone ghost in the moonlight
The floating body empty and its flight
So vividly seductive and composed
I can only blame myself for blocking him
Out of my closed door
He has inexhaustible coldness and temporary disconsolation
Which I might make use, to idle the long night
So that I might rise again from beneath his long tongue


  残简
     苏若兮
我爱他假正经的样子
月亮下的孤魂野鬼
空着飘扬起来的身体
妖冶生动地缓缓地“飞”
我怪我的门关闭
不能消受
他用之不尽的冰冷与短暂的落泊
消磨我的长夜
令我从他的长舌下死而复生。


Reading this poem of Ruoxi’s reminded me of a prose I wrote in Oct. 2005, so I copied it to her. And she said she loved the piece, and for a short while she sent back a poem, written out of my prose. So I said that the poem was hers, and she said that it was just a new arrangement of the lines from my prose. Anyway, put it here.
读到苏若兮的这首诗,想到自己以前写过一篇散文(写于2005年10月17日),于是就复制给她看看。一会儿之后,她送回来一首诗,说是从我的散文中套出来的。我说,是她写出来的就算她的啦,结果就算是合作啦。


   Love Song for a Ghost
       Su Ruoxi after Fan Jinghua’s prose poem of the same title
My dear ghost, do not try to file yourself in the human;
I am living on this human earth, and yet hope to be one of you.
My breast aches to touch your
Palm, your face, and
Your time of gossamer warmth.
How I wish I could love a passionate ghost.

Darling ghost, your nape is chilly,
Your breasts stone cold,
This is really an ice flesh and jade skin.
But it does not turn me on any more,
And you do not wet. Our carnal love
Has reached its end.

My darling ghost, you love me, do you?
Tell me, with the wind between your lips,
Say you love me truly, as much as I have always loved you.


  说给鬼的情话
         苏若兮改写自得一忘二的散文
亲爱的鬼,不要试图加入人的行列
我活在人世,却想与你为伍。
我的胸膛贴上你的
手掌抚摸你的
脸挨着你的
余有一丝热气的时候
我愿意爱一个真情的鬼。

亲爱的鬼,你颈项冰冷
乳房冷如岩石
这真正的冰肌玉肤
已不能让我勃起
让你湿润,肉体的爱情
到了尽头。

亲爱的鬼,你,爱我么
以你的唇间的风
告诉我,你像我真心爱你一样爱我。

Sunday, May 17, 2009

Fan Jinghua: April Landscape

   April Landscape
Their calling floats over the plum flowers, your pet name echoing
Outside my vision, like swallows into the curtain of dusk
Is it merely for that tree blooming beyond the reach of a path
That you are separated from your companions?
               [For a Friend]
          May 17, 2009

   四月风景
梅树间回响着他们唤你的昵称
在我之外,如燕子穿过如幕的暮色
仅仅是因为那一株开在小道的尽头之外吗
你和同伴分开
         [赠Lin Jingtao]
          2009年5月17日

Plath: Purdah

Sylvia Plath Collected Poems
No. 197

  Purdah
       Sylvia Plath
Jade---
Stone of the side,
The agonized

Side of green Adam, I
Smile, cross-legged,
Enigmatical,

Shifting my clarities.
So valuable!
How the sun polishes this shoulder!

And should
The moon, my
Indefatigable cousin

Rise, with her cancerous pallors,
Dragging trees---
Little bushy polyps,

Little nets,
My visibilities hide.
I gleam like a mirror.

At this facet the bridegroom arrives
Lord of the mirrors!
It is himself he guides

In among these silk
Screens, these rustling appurtenances.
I breathe, and the mouth

Veil stirs its curtain
My eye
Veil is

A concatenation of rainbows.
I am his.
Even in his

Absence, I
Revolve in my
Sheath of impossibles,

Priceless and quiet
Among these parakeets, macaws!
O chatterers

Attendants of the eyelash!
I shall unloose
One feather, like the peacock.

Attendants of the lip!
I shall unloose
One note

Shattering
The chandelier
Of air that all day flies

Its crystals
A million ignorants.
Attendants!

Attendants!
And at his next step
I shall unloose

I shall unloose---
From the small jeweled
Doll he guards like a heart---

The lioness,
The shriek in the bath,
The cloak of holes.
       29 October 1962

普拉斯《诗全编》
第197首

  闺阁
     希薇娅·普拉斯
玉——
腰肋之石,
青嫩亚当

苦痛的腰肋,我
微笑,跷着腿,
一团谜,

变换着种种透明。
如此贵重!
太阳真会给这肩膀抛光!

一旦月亮,
我这位
不知疲倦的表姐妹

升起,带着致癌的苍白,
拖拽起树木——
这些浓密的息肉,

一张张小网,
我的可见度隐藏了。
我如镜子闪着幽光。

新郎抵达了这一面,
众镜之主!
是他自己引导自己

进入这些丝绸
屏风中、这些簌簌的附庸。
我呼吸,嘴上的

纱罩颤动着惟帘,
我眼睛的
纱罩呈现为

一连串彩虹。
我是他的。
即使他

不在,我
依然自转
在我满是不可能的剑鞘里,

我无价而沉静,
在长尾鹦鹉、金刚鹦鹉之间!
饶舌的人啊,

眼睫毛的帮佣!
我将放出
一根羽毛,就像孔雀。

嘴唇的帮佣!
我将放出
一个音符

粉碎
那空气的
吊灯,它整天炫耀

它的水晶,
那一百万只无知者。
帮佣啊!

帮佣啊!
针对他的下一步,
我将释放

我将释放出——
从那个被他当作一颗心看守的
珠光宝气的小玩偶体内——

那只母狮子,
浴缸中的尖叫,
戳千刀的战袍。
       1962年10月29日

Friday, May 15, 2009

Baima: Three Poems

Three Poems by Baima

    自愈
        白玛
鲸鱼航海,神的国度里鹰在秘密演习。
我生来卑微、一无所长,只有受伤后自愈的天赋。

  Self-Healing
          by Baima (1972-)  tr. Fan Jinghua
Whales navigate; eagles practice their secret art in god’s country.
Born low and inept, I am endowed with the only gift of self-healing.

  只有孤独如幕
      白玛
回头望向
我横刀策马
赢美人归
洒英雄泪
天苍茫
啊,只有孤独如幕

  Loneliness alone makes a curtain
          by Baima (1972-)  tr. Fan Jinghua
My head turning to look back
I spur a war-horse, halberd in hand
With the prize of a beauty
With tears of a hero
Under a boundless sky
Oh, loneliness alone makes a curtain


   傍晚书
      白玛
这是叙述中寻常的傍晚时
寒冷并无敌意。这是叙述中
无路绕行的低潮部分——
我沿着河滩慢跑。水鸟站在苇梢默默凝视河心岛
枯枝举向半空
而远处的神情、腔调、事端,一无所知
这也是叙述中被遗漏的易逝时刻——
天向晚,待群星疏朗
我正埋头独饮。寂静如潮水拍打落地灯
孩子刚刚入睡,眼睑上跃动着睫毛那些冬青丛般的投影

   Book of Dusk
          by Baima (1972-)  tr. Fan Jinghua
This is a dusk commonly found in a narrative
When coolness poses no enmity. This is the lowest tide
No narrative can bypass—
I jog around the riverside. Waterfowls stand silent on reed-tops, looking at the shoal
Trees hold out dry branches to the sky
Expressions, voices and turbulence in the distance are beyond apprehensions
This moment, transient and prone to be left out in a narrative—
Dusk is impending, and I, buried in a wine, am waiting
For stars to shoot out. Waves of silence blow against a floor-lamp
My child has fallen into sleep, and on her eyelids shadows of holly are flickering



About the Poet 诗人简介
 Baima, aka Baima Cuomu, born in Shandong in 1972, began publishing poems as early as at the age of 16. She had been in the army in Beijing, and lived in Jiangsu, Beijing and Lhasa. She now lives in Linyi, Shandong. She authors a poetry book The Messenger on the Way, and co-authors a poetry book We Seven. Baima is a fiercely confident poet, but she keeps a quite low profile. Her poems exhibit her efforts to attain a language to its purest state, and in the purity she tries to achieve the corresponding state of mind (spirit) which is now generally lack in contemporary Chinese poetry.
 白玛,或白玛措木,1972年生于山东,早在16岁时便发表诗歌。她曾在北京服役,居住过江苏、北京、拉萨,现居山东临沂。出版过个人诗集《信使在途中》、合集《我们柒》。白玛是一个非常自信的诗人,但比较低调。她的诗歌展示了她追求一种纯净语言的努力,而在这种纯净中达致相应的精神状态,而这种精神的纯净正是中国当代诗歌中往往欠缺的。

Thursday, May 14, 2009

Plath: Lady Lazarus

Sylvia Plath Collected Poems
No. 198

  Lady Lazarus

I have done it again.
One year in every ten
I manage it------

A sort of walking miracle, my skin
Bright as a Nazi lampshade,
My right foot

A paperweight,
My face a featureless, fine
Jew linen.

Peel off the napkin
O my enemy.
Do I terrify?------

The nose, the eye pits, the full set of teeth?
The sour breath
Will vanish in a day.

Soon, soon the flesh
The grave cave ate will be
At home on me

And I a smiling woman.
I am only thirty.
And like the cat I have nine times to die.

This is Number Three.
What a trash
To annihilate each decade.

What a million filaments.
The peanut-crunching crowd
Shoves in to see

Then unwrap me hand and foot------
The big strip tease.
Gentlemen, ladies

These are my hands
My knees.
I may be skin and bone,

Nevertheless, I am the same, identical woman.
The first time it happened I was ten.
It was an accident.

The second time I meant
To last it out and not come back at all.
I rocked shut

As a seashell.
They had to call and call
And pick the worms off me like sticky pearls.

Dying
Is an art, like everything else.
I do it exceptionally well.

I do it so it feels like hell.
I do it so it feels real.
I guess you could say I've a call.

It's easy enough to do it in a cell.
It's easy enough to do it and stay put.
It's the theatrical

Comeback in broad day
To the same place, the same face, the same brute
Amused shout:

'A miracle!'
That knocks me out.
There is a charge

For the eyeing of my scars, there is a charge
For the hearing of my heart------
It really goes.

And there is a charge, a very large charge
For a word or a touch
Or a bit of blood

Or a piece of my hair or my clothes.
So, so, Herr Doktor.
So, Herr Enemy.

I am your opus,
I am your valuable,
The pure gold baby

That melts to a shriek.
I turn and burn.
Do not think I underestimate your great concern.

Ash, ash---
You poke and stir.
Flesh, bone, there is nothing there------

A cake of soap,
A wedding ring,
A gold filling.

Herr God, Herr Lucifer
Beware
Beware.

Out of the ash
I rise with my red hair
And I eat men like air.
        23-29 October 1962

  Every time I read this poem and I will have some changes to my translations (which number several already). Today, I read the two lines “I do it so it feels like hell” and think "Gosh! This is her revision of cogito." When young, she said I am I, and now she said I do it so it feels…


普拉斯《诗全编》
第198首

  拉撒路夫人

我又做了。
每十年总有一年
我收拾一下——

一种行走的奇迹,我的
皮发亮,像纳粹的人皮灯罩,
右脚,

一只镇纸,
我的脸,一块上好的犹太麻布,
豪无特征。

扯下那揩嘴布,
哦,我的仇敌。
我很恐怖?——

这鼻子、这眼窝、这一口牙齿?
酸臭的呼吸
会在一天内散去。

很快、很快,墓窟
吞噬掉的肉就会
在我身上落户,

我,一个笑盈盈的女人。
年仅三十。
像猫一样有九条命可死。

这是第三次。
真是垃圾啊,
每十年彻底销毁。

上百万根的灯丝啊。
那群嚼着花生的看客
挤扁了要来看

他们解开我的手、我的脚——
这盛大的脱衣舞。
先生们、女士们,

这是我的手、
我的膝盖。
我可能只剩下皮与骨头,

不过,我还是那个女人,同一个人。
第一次发生时我十岁。
那是一次事故。

第二次我有意
要坚持到底、绝不回头。
我摇晃着闭紧,

像一只海贝。
他们只得呼来叫去,
剔掉我身上的蛆虫像摘下粘着的珍珠。


是一门艺术,像其它任何事。
我做得尤其出彩。

我做,所以我感觉它像地狱。
我做,所以我感觉它很真实。
我想你们可以说我有使命之召。

在地窖里做,真的很容易。
做了就呆着不动,真的很容易。
正是那戏剧性的

复出,在光天化日下
回到同一个地点、同一张脸、同一个被逗乐的
畜生般的欢叫:

“奇迹!”
这才是令我致命的一击。
这一大把

为了目睹我的伤疤,这一大把
为了听我的心跳——
真是这样的啊。

大把大把的,
就为了只言片语或者触摸一下,
为了一点血

或一缕头发、一件衣裳。
所以啊,所以啊,医生阁下。
所以啊,仇敌阁下。

我是你的在编作品,
是你的贵重物件,
这只纯金宝宝

熔化成一声尖叫。
我翻转、我燃烧。
别以为我低估你的严重关注。

灰烬,灰烬——
你翻来拨去。
肉,骨头,再无剩余——

一块肥皂,
一只婚戒,
一颗金牙。

上帝阁下,魔王阁下
当心啊,
当心。

我从灰烬中升起,
一头红发,
吃起人来就像空气。
         1962年10月23-29日

译按:
诗人在英国广播公司(BBC)朗诵诗歌时对此诗有如下介绍:“该诗的说话人是一个有着极高而可怕的再生天赋的女人。唯一的麻烦在于:她首先得死去才行。你也可以这么说,她是凤凰,是自由意志的精灵。她也还是一个善良的、相貌平平而非常足智多谋的女人。”


很久以前写的札记

  这是普拉斯诗全编中的第198首,也是她最著名的三、四首诗歌之一。这儿的Lady翻译成“夫人”很有可能让人产生误解,以为是拉撒路的夫人,而诗人在此只是借这个名字为可能复活的自己找一个具有神话意义的对应。当然,Lady可能包含一种贵族身份,以便提升诗中主人公的身份也未可知。
  标题中的拉撒路(Lazarus)的故事参见《圣经 • 约翰福音》第14章44节,他死后被耶酥从坟墓中唤醒复活;另有一说认为,也许普拉斯在写本诗时,可能不仅仅基于《约翰福音》的文字记述,她的头脑中很有可能留着十六世纪初期的画家Sebastiano del Piombo的一幅题为《拉撒路的升起》(The Raising of Lazarus)的视觉形象。当时这幅画在伦敦的国家美术馆,是该馆在1824年获得的最早的一幅画。此画中所描述的旁观者可说是普拉斯所言的“一群嚼花生的看客”的最好佐证;尽管《圣经》上并没有提及尸体的臭味,但画中描绘了一个人拿着一块布堵住鼻子,显然埋葬了四天的拉撒路已经腐臭;当然,本诗向人们保证“酸臭的呼吸/会在一天内散失”;而此诗中的“扯下那揩嘴布”以及“解开我,从手到脚”不仅回应着《约翰福音》中拉撒路bound hand and foot with graveclothes以尸衣绑着手脚,以及耶稣命令loose him松开他,还对应着Piombo画中裹尸布松落的意象。
  众所周知,普拉斯生前实际只自杀过一次,但是在这首诗里,她声称自己“每十年总有一回”到底为何呐?国内有人误以为普拉斯自杀过十次之多,恐怕是没有读懂这句话的含义。“第一次发生时我才十岁。/ 那是一次事故”。这第一次实际上是指她很小的时候在Cape Cod海边,她妈妈把她放在沙滩上,她竟然朝着海水的方向爬去,她说这就像一种想淹死的冲动,这在她自传性短文Ocean 1212W中有所记述。而第二次她真的自杀了,吃了安眠药,爬到地下室,两天后被人发现“拖出来”,接着是在医院治疗。而第一行所说的“我又做了一次”到底指的是什么?根据Alvarez的回忆,普拉斯在该年秋天曾有过一次意外,她开着那辆老式的Morris station wagon飞出大路,冲向一个旧飞机场,好在普拉斯并没有受伤。几个月后,普拉斯告诉他说她是故意的,她想看看会有什么结果。当然,想知道自杀行为有什么结果与自杀未遂好像还是有所区别的。Alvarez在他著的《野蛮的上帝》中想论证说普拉斯其实连最后那次成功的自杀也只是各种偶然因素的结果,她并不真的想死。这次事件在第187首中有所反映。
  这首诗中,复活/变形的步骤清晰可见,诗人明确地在意象上营造表现了这一过程。变形的过程大概可以分为具有不同特征的四个阶段。第一阶段,她是布或材料:灯罩、台布、餐巾;接着她是躯体:膝盖、皮肤、骨头、毛发;再接着,她变成了东西:金子、灰烬、肥皂;最后,她超生复活了,变成了红发恶魔。而在这四个不同阶段,她的观众也是不同的:第一阶段的观众是一个未命名的“敌人”,第二阶段则是“先生们、女士们”,接着是“医生阁下”,最后是“上帝阁下、魔王(Lucifer)阁下”。因此,现在有一些批评家认为普拉斯的诗具有很强的表演性,普拉斯是一位performing poet表演诗人,这首诗中确实很强调“戏剧性”,而且是“回到同一个地点、同一张脸、同一个残忍的 / 被逗乐的欢叫”。
  有关这首诗的翻译也有一两句话罗嗦。这首诗确实可以称得上是一篇杰作,口语带着普拉斯特有的儿歌似的重复性节奏,朗朗上口的流畅中满载着“冲量”。“还有一帮人,一大帮人”的原文是And there is a charge, a very large charge这个charge除了指“一大帮人”、“猛攻”“责难”以及“要价”外,便有“冲量”的意思【今天的修改用了“一大把”试图表示很多人手里拿着票子的那样的意象,就是看脱衣舞的场面】。由于一种语言本身的多义性在另一种语言中是很难充分表达出来的,所以译者也只能择一从之。另外,这首诗中出现几个德语词,例如将Herr Doktor翻译成“医生阁下”显然不太能使人联想到诗人之所以使用德语词的个人因素,她父亲是大学教授,母语是德语,她在《老爸》一诗中就将他比作纳粹,并且说他的语言淫秽不堪;而她又认为,无论作为女儿或者自比的犹太受害者,她都可以说是那种邪恶的拿犹太人做实验的Nazi Doktor纳粹博士opus(编了号的)作品。

Tuesday, May 12, 2009

Fan Jinghua: Title Lost

  Title Lost
The mountain’s green is darkening,
From there the water, once blocked, flows deeper than before.
The setting sun is smoky, and birds are flying home to the woods.
White smoke rising from chimneys.
If a wok is placed on the ground, bottom-up,
Tomorrow, there will be teardrops crawling inside,
For life has risen from beneath, not finding its way home.
           May 12, 2009

   失题

那一片山苍翠得幽暗,
曾经堵塞的水流出来,如今多么深沉啊!
夕阳如烟,鸟儿归林。炊烟含愁。
如果将一口锅反扣在地上,
明晨,锅的内壁将有水珠涟涟,
生命从地下冒出来,找不到回家的路。
        2009年5月12日

DU Mu: A Green Grave

Today, last year, a disastrous earthquake claimed countless deaths in Sichuan....
去年今日,中国四川发生强烈地震,死伤无数……

A Green Grave (a Seven-Character Quatrain) by Du Mu (803-852 Tang Dynasty )

    青冢
        [唐]杜牧
青冢前头陇水流,燕山山上暮云秋。
峨眉一坠穷泉路,夜夜孤魂月下愁。

Word-by-word Exegesis 逐字注

    青green 冢grave
青qreen 冢grave 前in front of 头head 陇Long 水River, water 流flow
燕山Yan Mount 山mountain 上on 暮dusk 云cloud 秋autumn
蛾moth 眉eyebrow 一once 坠drop 穷end 泉spring (akin to Lethe) 路road
夜night 夜night 孤lone 魂ghost 月moon 下under 愁sad


     A Green Grave
           By DU Mu (803-852 Tang Dynasty )
A green grave lies where the Long River flows past its head,
Mount Yan lures evening clouds of autumn over its peak.
Once the moth-browed soul drifts down the Yellow Springs Road,
Her lonely spirit will grieve in the moon, night after night.

    A Grass-Covered Grave
           By DU Mu (803-852 Tang Dynasty )
Water flows past this grass-covered grave, non-stop,
Autumnal clouds linger in the dusk over Swallow Mountain top.
Once her fluttering eyebrows drop into the Yellow Springs of Death,
Night after night only her ghost floats lonely in the moonlight.

Some Formal Aspects in this Poem
  Chinese poems, like this quatrain, are formally very strict, and the skill shows in how the poet can walk the wire with ease. Firstly, there is sound and intonation requirement of every word in the poem. For this quatrain, Lines 1, 2 and 4 are end rhymed with a long flat or rising intonation. For seven-character lines, the parsing should be 2 (characters), 2 (characters) and 3 (1+2 or 2+1 characters). Furthermore, the 2-character phrase is usually a compound, of the modifier and modified key word. Therefore, for the first couplet, we have “green grave” to correspond to “moth-like brow” as they are both nouns referring to places. We have “in front of the head” to counterpoint “on the mountain,” as they both referring to directions. The last three characters here should be parsed into 2+1, as “Long’s water + flow” and “evening clouds + autumn (as a verb).” The first line is mobile, while the second is of still motion. The first line is about horizontal grave and water, the second about vertical mountain and cloud.

Plath:The Couriers

Sylvia Plath Collected Poems
No. 199

   The Couriers
The word of a snail on the plate of a leaf?
It is not mine. Do not accept it.

Acetic acid in a sealed tin?
Do not accept it. It is not genuine.

A ring of gold with the sun in it?
Lies. Lies and a grief.


Frost on a leaf, the immaculate
Cauldron, talking and crackling

All to itself on the top of each
Of nine black Alps.

A disturbance in mirrors,
The sea shattering its gray one------


Love, love, my season.
         4 November 1962


普拉斯《诗全编》
第199首

   信使
       希薇娅- 普拉斯
叶子的版面上蜗牛的字?
那不是我的。别接受。

密封铁罐里的醋酸?
别接受。那不正宗。

镶了太阳的金戒指?
谎言。谎言与一场伤心。


叶子上的霜,完美无瑕的
炼锅,唠叨着、噼啪着

在九柱黑色阿尔卑斯山的
每个顶峰,一切都收了。

镜中的躁乱,
海粉碎了它的灰色一体——


爱呀,爱,我的季节。
        1962年11月4日


I believe this is one of the most difficult poems. Is there a kind of counterpoint in this poem? L1 and L7 (leaf), L3 and L8 (sealed tin & cauldron)? And then, the ring with the sun in it can be compared with the mirror with a disturbance in it? How to make out the rest images? This poem is difficult to interpret.
这首诗在我看来属于她比较难解的诗歌之一。我在想是否有某种形式上的对位方式。例如,第一行和第七行的叶子,第三行和第八行则是罐子和练锅,那么镶嵌着太阳的戒指和带着躁乱的镜子是否可以相比?其他的意象呢?普拉斯晚期诗歌中的形式有不少是这么对位或者赋格式的。

Monday, May 11, 2009

Fan Jinghua: Chicks

  Chicks

Their hair is longer than most of the birds,
Except for the squab.
What they carry on the back are schoolbags,
Not symbols for angels.
So young, they've been taught to store worms.

  
毛比绝大多数的鸟长,
雏鸡除外。雏鸡背上的
不是天使的标志,更像书包。
这么年幼就已被学习储蓄虫子。

About "chicks":
For the past two months, in Xishui County, Guizhou Province in the Southwest China, there have found dozens of government officials and middle school teachers taking teenages between 14 as prostitutes. They call them "schoolbag meimei (younger sister)", and think that the younger the cleaner. The initial trial found them guilty of "patronizing prostitutes," not of raping girls. The reason is that these schoolgirls agreed to receive money for sex, although they were trapped or forced to do so.

Fan Jinghua: Animal Poems

Animal poems


  Silkworm
On their belly, raising heads circling in the air, they
Have stored so many threads that it takes a lifetime
To tell them out. They die, wrapped in their own words.
The next life flies out, no difference from any moth.

   
趴着,抬着头绕,原本厚积的丝
薄发,直到死,还未亡。飞了的再生
和所有蛾子没什么分别。


  Snake
In a low key, in a slow motion, in a belief of wind.
Admire the winged, often because of a need for admiration.
Amphibians may not mean intelligence. Snakes, legless, are reptiles.

   
低调,慢的扭动,相信风;
崇拜有翅的,有时只是需要培养一种崇拜的心情。
什么时候两栖类都智慧了?它属于爬虫类。


  Gorillas
Even Tarzan does not marry a human.
Close cousins to men, you are doomed to be fewer and fewer.

  大猩猩
和人类是近亲,不能结婚。
所以他们越来越少了。


  Monkeys
Cousins so distant that there is only
Understandable mock between you and us.

  猴子
人类的远亲,与人类之间
只剩下可理解的彼此嘲弄。

Saturday, May 9, 2009

Fan Jinghua: Take off the Shoes of Life

    Take off the Shoes of Life
                 [For Xuchao]
Dusk here comes later than in the ancient time, and it flashes by when it does.
Radiation at 6 p.m. does not cower a bit.
I don’t do this often, thinking of you. You, in a blind gut
In the downtown complex, perhaps no less familiar with ennui.
Tangible life is increasingly imitating its simulacrum.

People who share too many specifics may not make a metaphysical conversation,
While in two different worlds how can we expect them to be tangent?
One hears words drooling out: “You know life is like this and this is life……”
What else can we demand?
And yet we still look forward, with cool eyes, to a passionate life.

How to share silence is the question that always proves failures between people.
A trial of faith, a tacit pact beyond the ponds of words
Which coheres distance with silence, rather than fills distance into silence.
Faith, like folly, which our ancient sages claimed is most difficult to attain.
Silence is gold, especially when there are diamonds in the mouth.

Time never pauses, no matter we ride the back of chores or chores-ridden.
Why do people compare it to an arrow or a shuttle?
Isn’t it a trawl that we drag along the watercourse from opposite banks,
While whatever direction we may look into, our bodies surely bend forward?
We may steam or grill our catch or simply free them so they’ll soon forget each other?

These days, the wheels of showers break the day with their rattling scythe,
As if they cannot wait to drag the sleepers out of their dreams.
Often, this is the time for me to abandon everything, but they take chance to sneak in.
When a mind is over-stuffed with bookish ideals and isms, it will spare no shelf
For spice bottles. Words consume men, raw and unseasoned.

Everyone loves another life, theoretically.
So when the setting sun ogles from below, you may rise and go to the window,
Standing there for a short while to take a glance of the changing splendor.
That is enough, for thinking before an abyss is dangerous. Better pack up and go home,
Like a hunter, arrows in quiver, knife in sheath, a day’s catch hanging on the spear.

On the way home, trees are too familiar to hint whether you are leaving or returning,
But if you feel better in absent-mindedness in another life,
Let the automatic mechanism in you carry you along.
Take off shoes, scuff in slippers, bare feet and then peel upward, and finally
You walk out of clothes… Pure as a newborn creature!

The life from the morning door to the night bed can be a dotted line between lines,
And we do not listen but always hear those lyrics. Love is not love,
If not spiritually consummated, and people close eyes to feel being blindly loved.
Only dreams are kept out of life like shoes out of bed,
But they go with red wine well, and also they are not aphrodisiac.
                   May 7-8, 20009


    给生活脱鞋
           赠Xuchao

连黄昏也比古代迟来,而且很瞬间
此刻,下午六点,辐射依然毫不示弱
想到你在这个城市的某一节盲肠里,或许不会比我少多少厌倦
我可并不经常如此想你
人们分享了太多具体,哪怕只是想象的,也不能令说话更加抽象
虽说具体的生活已经越来越模仿媒体中的拟像
若身处两个世界,却又无话可说:“你明白的,就是这样的啦”
我们还能要求什么呢?可我们仍然对激情充满冷冷的期待

如何共享沉默,一直是一个致命的问题,令人们纷纷诉诸争吵
这要求人们有超越语言的信念,用沉默弥合距离,而不是反之
(信是愚,愚,如古贤所云,不可及;这就好像
沉默是金,当嘴里含着钻石的时候尤其如此)
而时间一刻不停,无论人被俗事劫持还是驾驭着俗事
但我总没明白箭与梭的比喻,难道它不是一张网么
犹如各自走在岸上,拖着它,无论看着哪儿,身体一定前倾
一日终了,该如何处理捞起的鱼,红烧还是清蒸,或者放生,让它们很快再次相忘

这些天,雷阵雨总在凌晨抖动明晃晃的镰刀
要将沉睡者提前拖出安眠的门槛
而我往往刚刚入睡,风声雨声,不失时机地声声入心入肺
书读得太多,就有永远读不完的必读书,阅读生活的理由却越来越少
每个人都会热爱另一种生活,理论上如此
所以,当夕阳从低处扫射高窗时,你可以起身去窗前,小站一会儿
瞬息万变的绚烂只取一瞥,够了,这个时候思考是危险的
还是整理皮包,如猎人向晚,箭入囊,刀入鞘,长矛上挑着一天的斩获,不论多少

从早晨的来路返回,每一棵树都毫无意外地熟悉,或者陌生
如果需要心不在焉,沉溺于自己,自发的动作丝毫没有影响
脱鞋……拖鞋……妥协……脱卸……哈
不管是否愿意,我们总听到比这些更加抒情的歌词,其实一样含糊歧义
从出门到上床,生活本可以弛缓而清白,犹如小葱拌进豆腐
电视剧适时地关灯……一宿无话——只是
梦,像鞋子一样不得上床,只能留着下酒,不可用来催情
我们都喜欢红的,却不是为了要高雅,这或许值得珍惜
             2009年5月8日

Baima: Siren

    Siren
          by Baima (1972-)  tr. Fan Jinghua
I climb walls, and run like winds, to date a siren
Eyes on top of my head, I turn my back to friends, just for a date with a siren

Her wax beak of a hummingbird mimics the smile of broccoli
The honey breath at the eye of a storm. She intoxicates me, this heart of a teen spirit!

In spite of the discipline of the green-robed housekeeper
In spite of the canine-protruding younger daughter of the town’s magistrate

Fragmented dialogues and steps, hearken
Trysts on the sea hidden from human vision, hearken

If tides gently ebb, time does not bid for one coin
If a fisherman wakes up in the time for sleep, he will startle to see all

Oh, my siren, a wordless song flows from her scarlet mouth
She walks past the embankment, tranquiller than a midnight waterfowl


   海妖
      白玛 (1972-)
我爬墙,飞跑,约会海妖
我目中无人,把友情抛下,去约会海妖

她的蜡制的蜂鸟的嘴,模仿花椰菜的笑
风暴中心的甜蜜气息。她令我陶醉,这颗少年心!

即使绿袍子的厨娘的管束
即使镇长家长虎牙的次女

(我小喘,停下,对大海说点什么
对大海说点什么?说说沉沦、妄想、我的她?)

细碎的话语和脚步,听呵
无法偷窥的海上私情,听呵

如果潮水温柔地退下,光阴不值一个钱
如果该沉睡的渔人他醒了,他惊觉这一切

我的海妖,用猩红的嘴儿唱无词之歌
她走过拦海大堤,比午夜的水鸟更冷静

My Postscripts to translation 译后赘言:
  Do sirens get wings? Do they need to fly out of water? It appears that they are dolphin-like creatures, but still they may float in the moonlight, like angels. But that is where the angels do not tread. If angels do not go there, do it mean that it is a promised land of amorality, a place where evil is beyond the principle of good and evil? Or rather, a space where women are merely human?
  A woman will have to rid of clothes to fly, as women have always been clad in ponderous costumes. Dancing is not flying, but a show, for spectators, inevitably male. Singing? Hard to say, sometimes for themselves, sometimes not.




About the Poet 诗人简介
 Baima, or Baima Cuomu in full, born in Shandong in 1972, began publishing poems as early as at the age of 16. She had been in the army in Beijing, and lived in Jiangsu, Beijing and Lhasa. She now lives in Linyi, Shandong. She authors a poetry book The Messenger on the Way, and co-authors a poetry book We Seven. Baima is a fiercely confident poet.
 白玛,全名白玛措木,1972年生于山东,早在16岁时便发表诗歌。她曾在北京服役,居住过江苏、北京、拉萨,现居山东临沂。出版过个人诗集《信使在途中》、合集《我们柒》。白玛是一个非常自信的诗人。

Thursday, May 7, 2009

Plath: Getting There

Sylvia Plath Collected Poems
No. 200

  Getting There

How far is it?
How far is it now?
The gigantic gorilla interior
Of the wheels move, they appall me------
The terrible brains
Of Krupp, black muzzles
Revolving, the sound
Punching out Absence! like cannon.
It is Russia I have to get across, it is some war or other.
I am dragging my body
Quietly through the straw of the boxcars.
Now is the time for bribery.
What do wheels eat, these wheels
Fixed to their arcs like gods,
The silver leash of the will------
Inexorable. And their pride!
All the gods know is destinations.
I am a letter in this slot------
I fly to a name, two eyes.
Will there be fire, will there be bread?
Here there is such mud.
It is a trainstop, the nurses
Undergoing the faucet water, its veils, veils in a nunnery,
Touching their wounded,
The men the blood still pumps forward,
Legs, arms piled outside
The tent of unending cries------
A hospital of dolls.
And the men, what is left of the men
Pumped ahead by these pistons, this blood
Into the next mile,
The next hour------
Dynasty of broken arrows!

How far is it?
There is mud on my feet,
Thick, red and slipping. It is Adam's side,
This earth I rise from, and I in agony.
I cannot undo myself, and the train is steaming.
Steaming and breathing, its teeth
Ready to roll, like a devil's.
There is a minute at the end of it
A minute, a dewdrop.
How far is it?
It is so small
The place I am getting to, why are there these obstacles------
The body of this woman,
Charred skirts and deathmask
Mourned by religious figures, by garlanded children.
And now detonations------
Thunder and guns.
The fire's between us.
Is there no still place
Turning and turning in the middle air,
Untouched and untouchable.
The train is dragging itself, it is screaming------
An animal
Insane for the destination,
The bloodspot,
The face at the end of the flare.
I shall bury the wounded like pupas,
I shall count and bury the dead.
Let their souls writhe in a dew,
Incense in my track.
The carriages rock, they are cradles.
And I, stepping from this skin
Of old bandages, boredoms, old faces

Step to you from the black car of Lethe,
Pure as a baby.
           6 November 1962


普拉斯《诗全编》
第200首

  去那儿
      希薇娅· 普拉斯
有多远?
还有多远?
车轮运转着
巨大的猩猩内部,令我胆寒——
军火商克虏伯
可怕的脑袋,旋转的
黑枪口,冲打出
缺失之孔的声音!犹如炮弹。
我要跨越的是俄罗斯,这怎么都是战争。
我拖着身子
静悄悄地穿过一车车稻草。
现在是行贿时间。
车轮吃什么,这些车轮
固着于弧板似乎那些是神灵,
意志的银色脖套——
铁面无情。看它们多骄傲!
神灵所知的只是终点。
我是这投递孔中的信——
飞向一个名字、两只眼睛。
那儿有火吗?有面包吗?
这儿有这么多泥巴。
这是火车停靠站,护士们
忍受着龙头里的水,它的面纱、修道院里的面纱,
抚摸着伤员,
那些男人鲜血还在泵涌而出,
腿、手臂堆积
在永恒凄号的帐篷外——
一座玩偶的医院。
这些男人,这些被活塞
推挤向前的男人还剩下什么,鲜血
流入前面的里程,
下一个钟点——
断箭的王朝!

那儿有多远?
我脚上有泥巴,
浓稠、血红、滑溜溜。它是亚当之侧,
我从这大地升起,痛苦至极。
我不可能去掉掉自己,火车在蒸腾。
蒸腾、喘气,它的牙齿
随时滚轧,如魔鬼之牙。
在其尽头将有一分钟时间,
一分钟,一滴露珠。
那儿有多远?
那地方那么小,
我将要到底的地方,为何有这些障碍——
这女人的尸体,
烧焦的裙子和死亡面具,
原来有信教的人、戴花环的孩子哀悼。
而现在有爆炸声——
雷霆与枪炮。
战火在你我之间。
是否根本没有静止之处
在半空中旋转又旋转,
未经触及也无法触及。
火车拖着自己,发出尖叫——
一头动物
疯狂奔向目的地,
那个血污,
那闪光尽头的脸。
我要把伤员像虫蛹一样埋葬,
我将清点并埋葬死者。
让他们的灵魂在露水中扭动,
在我的车辙中焚香。
车厢摇动,它们便是摇篮。
而我,走出这张皮囊,
这张旧绷带、厌倦与陈旧的脸的皮囊,

走向你,从忘川的黑色车厢中走出,
纯洁得像个婴儿。
           1962年11月6日

Tuesday, May 5, 2009

Fan Jinghua: At a Supermarket

Another old piece

   At a Supermarket
she pinches off two white grapes
from the bundle on display
rubs them against the lower hem
of her goldenrod jacket
and passes one to her guest
who tells her its shape gets it a name
in his language
a horse nipple
she turns her eyes from the spice vegetable
and smiles back a quick response
Does it have the same taste?
        Nov. 23, 2002


  在超市
冷柜上展示着一串白葡萄
她掐下两颗
在她那一枝黄的夹克下摆
擦了擦
递一颗给她的客人
他告诉她
在他的语言中
因为这形状,这种葡萄叫做
马奶子
她看着香味蔬菜的眼睛
转了过来,笑着问
味道也一样吗
        2002 年11月23日英文
        2009 年5月5日中文

Fan Jinghua: Wait on You

I just found an old poem for someone. It was written in English, which I now put into Chinese.

   Wait on You
I am sitting here, intent upon a 13-inch wall
listening to the drizzle
dripping sand down upon the blade
shimmering on the sleepy ground.
Will this night never quicken its pace
to catch your long-legged day?

You are driving fast
through the streets of lonely noises
because we did not measure them like two inchworms
Now, in the loneliness of low noises I sit
until your rosy twilight
shovels into my morning wood

I can be as patient as a leech
The instant you emerge from the depth
I will surge with a sudden charge
suck and rape
You'll be shut in my eyelids
and carried away to a dreamscape
           05: 50 Nov. 27, 2002 for K


   候着你
我坐在这儿,专注于这13吋的墙幕
耳中细雨沙沙
沙漏到了草叶的刀刃上
碎光在昏昏欲睡的地面闪烁
我的夜晚总是如此迟缓
无法追随你长腿的白昼?

你匆匆驶过
那些充斥了噪音的孤独街道
只因为我们不曾像尺蠖一样丈量
此刻我坐在低噪音的孤独中
等你的玫瑰霞光
笼罩我的晨木

我耐心得像一只水蛭
你从深处浮上来的瞬间
一股电流充盈我
吮吸你、强暴你
你将被我的眼睑禁闭
劫到我的梦境
      2002年11月27日晨5:50

ZANG Di: Exception

  Exception
     Zang Di (1964-) tr. Fan Jinghua

They see flowers,
And find them unable to fly,
The petals only minimally resembling the propellers.

I see flowers as well,
But their problem becomes
My question: Which part of a flower cannot fly?

To give a bird a name of a flower—
How is that?
Or, what is to pollen on the wings of a butterfly?

What if invention is taken as a part?
Flowers invent bees—
This becomes the sweetest flight in the universe.

Without exception,
Will the status quo still be the status quo?
Why do I sound like a man who challenges everyone

For a duel, to test it out who is better adjusted to exception?
The exception about flowers, as I’ve learned now, actually
Means that it is you, her, or me.
           May, 2001


  例外
     臧棣
在他们看来,
花是不会飞的。
花的瓣只是有一点点像螺旋桨。

而在我看来,
同样的问题却是
花的哪一部分是不会飞的呢?

给一只鸟起花的名字——
算什么呢?
或者,蝴蝶身上的花粉呢?

把发明算上呢?
花发明了蜜蜂——
这宇宙中最甜的飞。

没有例外
究竟是怎样一种情形呢?
为什么我谈论这些听起来像是

要和他们比赛看谁更适应例外?
花的例外,我现在知道,
它其实就是:你,我,她。
        2001年5月

           Zang giving award speech

About the Poet 诗人简介:
   ZANG Di (1964-) is one of the best contemporary poets active in China. He has just been awarded 2008 Chinese Writing Award for Poetry, the most prestigious literary prize for writing in Chinese. He teaches in Department of Chinese, Beijing University.

Monday, May 4, 2009

Fan Jinghua: Two Stars, a Broken Bowl and a Dead Woman

 Two Stars, a Broken Bowl and a Dead Woman
   两颗星 一只破碗 一个女人
                   Fan Jinghua
    Two Stars
Two lonely glitters gazing at each other in the eastern sky
Have had a long night, and now they are
Evaporating, fading out.
I am on this overpass, eyes fixed at them,
Like the butterfly palm souring up from below.
The dazzling flow coming up, the red one of cars and trucks going away.
I am a safety island, in the air but not afloat,
Human figures may flow past me.

This poem comes,
Without any harbinger, without an orbit to follow.
Relativity is all in causalities.
I am a dot, and any dot can relate to me
And claim a line, for any two dots form a line;
We can be any stars….

Early morning, I am standing on an overpass (a point of departure),
Gazing at two very bright stars. I am a body without spirit,
Not knowing the names of the stars.
I think of you, thinking you are perhaps still in a dream, lying or coiling up,
Or it is overcast outside or there is only a borderless haze.

Now as you read this, you see what I see and feel what I feel,
You and I become paired as mutually strange mates,
Damon and Pythias, Two faces of Janus, Calypso and Odysseus,
Galatea and Pygmalion, Dorian Gray and the portrait, or Hyde and Jekyll,
But neither of us knows the other’s face.
There are things we know that can only exist in the unknown space.

Two passengers boarding different boats from the same dock,
Shoulders rub, and they pass,
Turning back, casting a glimpse of deja vu upon the squirming heads.
Someone picks that up,
No words, no nodding recognition.
If there have happenings between us,
They’ve come to pass and gone.

   两颗星
天边的那两滴,孤独的闪光体,
彼此注视,经过了长长的一夜,
将要蒸发、暗淡。
我,独立在天桥上,如一株黄蝶椰,
车流在我下面,旋还,红的去、炫目的来。
我,是一只安全岛,悬空但不漂浮,
允许人流穿越。

这首诗已经开始,
没有预示也不循什么轨迹;
相对就是一切因果。
只要我在一个点,任何点
都可以和我两两相连,成对,像两颗星……。

清晨,我站在人行桥上(我又回到开始),
望着两颗很明亮的晨星,出神,
不确定它们的名字。
我想,你可能还在梦中,或者
你那儿刚好多云,一片含混。

此刻,你看我所看、感我所感,
你与我也只能是隐秘的灵魂知己,
管仲与鲍叔牙,子期与伯牙,
只是我们时空交错,说不出对方的五官。
我们都知道,有些人、有些事,只存在于未知。

码头上两个旅客,擦肩而过,
之后,转身,向攒动的人头投下一瞥,不知道谁
感到了似曾相识,
没有言语、没有点头致意。
所有可能分享或者共享过的故事,
都已发生,都没有讲出。

  A Porcelain Bowl with Blue Motifs
We had a blue porcelain bowl, and I was too young
To ask how old it was and how long it had been with us.
Its lightning-like crack was cemented by ash-colored glaze,
Riveted with six brass thumbtacks, their bold yellowness
Adding metal richness to the blue-and-white.
Among all the chinaware, only this broken bowl
Had a stately high-class quality to serve at the New Year Eve dinner
The roasted pork cubes with bamboo shoots
Around which we six siblings stared like little wolves.
The local parlance was that we were a shoal, not a pack.

I was time and again chastened for rapping bowls with chopsticks,
Because that was an act of railing at the heavens.
That the heavens are made of bowls is crystal clear in the harvest season,
When the sky is full of shards of porcelain, and we call it “tile blue.”
Never has anyone said that a star is the life breath of a soul on earth,
But I was told everyone will go there to claim his or her unbreakable bowl.

   一只青花瓷碗
我家有一只蓝花碗,那时,我太小,
还不懂得问那碗已有多少年历史。
一条闪电状的裂缝将碗分成不对称的两瓣,
六颗铜铆钉夹住那沙白的釉泥,
那鼓鼓的金亮补丁给白底蓝花平添一种富贵。

我家所有的碗盆中,惟有这只破碗
具有一种高雅和庄重,可以用来盛
过年时红烧的竹笋五花肉块。
我们六个孩子围着它,像一群小狼,
但我们的方言说,这一摊小鬏。

我从小就被教育,不可以用筷子敲碗,
敲碗就是骂天,天是无数反扣的碗;
这在天高气爽的秋收季节最为明显,
满天的瓷片,我们说瓦蓝瓦蓝的天。
从没有人说一颗星就是一个灵魂,但
每个人都会去天上领一口永远不破的碗。

   A Woman
All the roads I had walked on were white narrow lanes
Between brown soil shoulders, where wild flowers bloomed day after day.
Footprints appeared among the flowers and dung,
And distinct for several days;
Flowers might be eaten but never be pinched off.

At nine, I fell for a big girl in the other end of the village,
When people began forgetting me as “a snotty dragon”
And when she was taken away, tears in her eyes, by a group
Of happy strangers, I hid myself from sweet-treated kids, crying
Behind a stack of cornstalks, the last time my snivel running across my mouth.

Three years later, I learned that her tears at leaving home were expected
As part of the ritual, to show her grief at departing from parental love;
And that year she was married off again, after one-year mourning.
For the second time, she did not shed a tear, as required, too, by culture,
And I did not either, not even upon the news of her ugly suicide
When the year drew toward the end.

   一个女人
我童年走的路都是黏土小路,
路边随时能看到不同的野花和牛粪。
脚印在路沿上可以保持多日,
花可能被牲口吃掉,但不会被人掐走。

九岁,才没有人称我是“拖鼻龙”,
喜欢的一个小姐姐在一个午后哭泣着
被人接走;我,避开所有抢喜糖的孩子,
躲在草垛后,最后一次鼻涕拖过黄河。

三年后,我懂得了她那样的流泪
是一个女儿出嫁时应有的表达,
也是那一年,她守寡满了一年,改嫁,
这一次她没有一滴泪,因为那也是理应如此。
我,也没有,甚至在年底听到她吊死的消息。

  Imagination Becomes Cheating
Between a broken porcelain bowl and a long-ended life,
There is not much relationship.
I am between them, surviving, to fill the immense emptiness
With drops of memory, like two stars trying to anchor the heavens.
I, an incidental star-gazer, think of you, and of the one
Who is reading this poem, out of destabilized order of time and space.

I can convince myself of the truth of imagination,
And then that was when her neck was cracking broken
That our bowl was broken to pieces beyond repair.
Is this fit for a poem? This mysterious thrill?
Possibility may not be discarded as a willful deception.

The truth is I have no further memory of the bowl,
When it was broken again, it was beyond mending,
Or no mending for the mended at all.
I remember a proverb that bowls grow fewer
As a family prospers, and we grow to hope
That a new page is open at every New Year dinner.

   想象成欺
一只破瓷碗,和一个早已结束的一生,
物与人之间并无关系,只是我从它们之间
活到了现在,用点滴记忆填充那无限的空白,
犹如两个星星撑起整个天空,而
我看着星星,想着你,此刻你读着这些
不合章法的字,时空也失去方向和秩序。

我可以想象得令我自己也相信,我也听到了
她吊断脖子时,那只碗再次破碎的声音。
这更符合写作的要求吗?这甚至
有点神秘的惊悚,而可能性并非欺骗

可事实是,我一点也不记得它到底怎么了,
或许碎得无能为力,或者破了两次的碗不该再补。
俗语说一家人的碗应该越吃越少,一年一年
吃得更好,我们也越来越希望万象更新。
          April 29-May 3, 2009
          2009年4月29日—5月3日

chuanghu: 3 Poems

窗户:诗3首 3 Poems by Chuanghu

  Nightmare
        by Chuanghu (Window)  tr. Fan Jinghua
That ocean over there. I cannot move it,
And sometimes I push it away a little,
But I cannot push away the expanse of its blue.
It falls down from the sky
Like a piece of glass,
Into my bone.
I am unable to describe this recurring dream,
So I take the bone out of me.
Then everyone remarks: Look! Another lunatic!

   梦魇
         窗户
我移动不了那片海
有时移开一点
却移动不了那片蓝
它像过去天空掉下来的
一块玻璃
插在骨头上
我无法说清这个不断重复的梦
我取出骨头
人们都说:瞧!又一个疯子


  In the Floating World
        by Chuanghu (Window)  tr. Fan Jinghua
Walking along a river, I find
The world in water tranquil, bright… like a dreamland.
In dreams,
Everyone is solitary, like the weeping willows along the bank.
No one is far away from another,
But distance fills between.

   在浮世
         窗户
在河边行走,我看见
水中世界安静,明亮``````犹如梦境。
梦里——
每个人都孤单。像一棵棵垂柳。
它们挨得不远,
但充满距离。


    A Bat
        by Chuanghu (Window)  tr. Fan Jinghua
Once more you fly into my world at this dusk,
But how shall I welcome you? Like welcoming
The increasingly harder and emptier inner world?

The tiny black wings, circling in the cramped space between buildings,
Are darker than the night, shinier than the lamps.
Is that the color of despair or of loneliness?

Life. How can it be
So contiguous to such mysterious things?
They are so old, remote and glacial,

Like the long-forgotten years, fire and divine beings
That have been around all the time
Even after we have died
           April 23, 2009


   蝙蝠
          窗户
你终于在这个傍晚再次飞进我的世界
我该如何迎接你?就像迎接
越来越坚硬、越来越空阔的内心

那飞旋于狭小的楼房间的黑色翅膀
比黑夜更黑。比亮光更亮
它究竟因为绝望还是因为孤独?

生命——怎么可以
和这些神秘的事物如此接近
它们那么古老,那么遥远,那么冰冷

就像被我们遗忘的岁月,火与神明
它们在我们的周围从未消失
甚至在我们死后
        2009年4月23日

chuanghu: Killing Mozart


  Killing Mozart
        by Chuanghu (Window)  tr. Fan Jinghua
It is me who killed him. Really. Like killing my dreams.
The killing proved easy and smooth, and I left no tails.
Unbelievably immaculate! Even I myself could no longer
Remember the when and how of the killing.
Maybe by the sea, where he took the blue waves
For his notes, the white crests his dream lovers.
Maybe under an apple tree, where he unwittingly
Swallowed down a petal of the fragrant flower
Dripping potion of evils and taboos. Or maybe
In my dreams when I killed him with the mundanely trivial reality,
With cowardly cold heart. He was so young, his eyes
So melancholically bright. Like flowers in rain. My youth!


  杀死莫扎特
         窗户
他真被我杀死了。像杀死自己的梦
我轻松杀死了他。没留下任何痕迹
连自己都无法相信。因为我记不起
在什么时候,怎么杀死他的
也许在海边。他以为蓝色的波涛
就是他向往的音符。白色的浪花
就是他梦中的情人。也许在苹果树下
芬芳的苹果花充满罪恶与禁忌的毒液
他不小心吞下一瓣。也许在我梦里
我用日常、琐碎的现实;软弱、冷漠的心
杀死他。他那么年轻。眼睛那么忧郁
明亮。像雨中之花。我的青春!


About the Poet诗人简介:
  Chuanghu is the pronunciation of the name but it means “Window.” I read his poems and like them much. We occasionally exchange a few words through the “comments” button in our blogs. His real name, I don’t know; his age, I don’t know; his profession, I don’t know. He constantly brands his poetry writing as “taking notes,” which I’d frequently refer to my own writing. The playing down something serious may be taken as his reverence toward poetry, and the quality is also found in his poetry. For a youth about 30 (as I guess), he has a voice of maturity, not indulging in the anguish of a quarter-life crisis, not exaggerating the increasingly heavier responsibilities befalling him. He has a language of agility, not densely decorated, not laconically dry. He makes his inner world felt, but he chooses not to be overly expressive or impressive. By the way, he lives in Hangzhou, one of the most characteristic cities of the Southern Yangtze River culture, which, although I usually do not buy the environment-determinant claims of Madame de Staël, does suggest some qualities of his poetry.
  窗户是一个人的名字,我读他的诗,很喜欢。我们偶尔在博客下面的“评论”栏中交换几个字,但是他的真名我不知道,他的年龄我不知道,他的职业我也不知道。他总是将自己的诗歌写作称之为“笔记”,而我也是一直这么自称自己的诗歌的。他如此低调处理写诗这么很严肃的行为,或许可以视为他对于诗本身的一种敬畏。他的诗歌也显示出如此特质。作为一个三十岁左右(我猜想的),他具有一种成熟的声音,没有沉溺于Quarterlife(四分之一人生)危机(后青春期躁动),也没有夸大越来越沉甸甸的生存责任。他的语言轻捷灵活,没有浓郁的装饰,也不精简得枯干。他能够令他的内心被人感触到,但是却又并不强势地富于表情或者急于感人。顺便说一句,他住在杭州,一座最具有传统的江南地域文化的城市,我之所以指出这一点,虽然我通常并不怎么赞同史达尔夫人的地域决定论,因为我觉得他的诗歌中确实显示出一些地域文化特征。

Saturday, May 2, 2009

Fan Jinghua: Unspeakable

   Unspeakable


So, about sadness and raptures,
What could be said?
Many, with only a little remains, upon waking,
Dun me to return a clearer vision, your body, dots and lines,
The planarity and the tangibility, of my excitement and my itch to enter,
And I find myself on a deserted beach,
Emptiness wrapped me with its insidious smile,
And its gluey dampness is hypocritical.
The only solidity is sadness, and it presents itself as an absence.
Lust for retrieving the lost makes one cheap,
And every time I shake my head to rid of the thought of you
I reprimand myself: Cry after a shade! So cheap!
Truth is really nothing but a dream,
So I alter the time and places about our meetings
Beijing, Nanjing, Xi’an, Wuhan, Chengdu, Lhasa,
I alter myself into a fictional character.
Once in Chicago, when we are walking, you suddenly turn into an art gallery,
And a shower of hooves drums on my heart;
Another time, in an unknown town in Czech where I have never been,
I see you and star at you, while you stare back, coldly, not recognizing me.
You are in blue cardigan, with a white wide-brimmed hat.
That time in Kyoto, the cherry-admiring season,
You follow close to a supercilious man in quick steps,
Turning to give me a hurried bow and a sincere moushiwake arimasen,
And the petals shower down from your shoulder into your obi.
"So she appears, before I know who she is,
And I will never know who she is."
Perhaps, I am still your stranger.
Every time I say this, I say this is the last time,
And you see I am saying this again
After I have said it again.
To say this is the last time is really cheap.
           May 2, 2009


  心思难与君说

那么,有关伤心和牵魂
我又能说什么
很多,只有一点点残存,醒来
以为很清晰地见到了你,全身,点与线,还有平面和触感
兴奋得集中于勃起和钻入,而空落落的四周
甚至空气也那么阴暗地笑着
在被人荒弃的沙滩上,湿湿的凉意,很虚假
惟有伤心令自己真实,而真实不过是感到了缺失
不舍令人很卑贱,我每次从沉入的思念中醒来
都会暗骂自己:Cry after a shade! So cheap! (在一个影子后哭着喊着。真贱!)
真实,真的是梦
我将地点和人物都置换
我成为一个虚幻的角色,你,在北京、西安、武汉、南京、成都、拉萨
还有一次在芝加哥,就在马路对面,转入一家画廊,我心底突然如一阵马蹄
另一次在捷克的一个小镇,我没去过,但我看到了你
我久久盯着,你回盯着我,眼神冷漠而陌生
身穿蓝色羊绒开衫,头戴白色宽边布帽
那一次在京都,樱花时节,你亦步亦趋地跟着一个横眉竖眼的男人
匆匆转身,给了我一个慌张的鞠躬和真诚的道歉
花瓣雨落在你的肩头滑向你的腰封
“她就这么出场了,在我还不知道她是谁之前
而且,我将一直不知道她是谁”
也许,依然如此吧
每一次都是最后一次,你看,我总在说了之后
觉得应该是最后一次
这真的很贱
       2009年5月2日

Baima: Wandering, Wanderer

   Wandering, Wanderer
         by Baima (1972-) tr. Fan Jinghua
Now I have reached her age,
She already presents the look of a married woman.
Pocket money, mini-skirts, and sex,
She lacks none. Also, she curl up on the windowsill,
Taking her noon nap. At her age,
I am still roving around, with a key in the pocket, no past
To fall on, no future to turn to.
I, and I, and I, if put on rouge, I would be
Just another version of her.


  流浪,流浪
      白玛 (1972-)
我到了她的年纪
她却长成少妇的模样
零花钱、超短裙、性事
她一样不少。还每天绻在窗台上
午睡。到了她的年纪
我揣着钥匙流浪,不回头也不问将来
我,我,一旦化了妆
看起来和她相仿


About the Poet 诗人简介
 Baima, or Baima Cuomu in full, born in Shandong in 1972, began publishing poems as early as at the age of 16. She had been in the army in Beijing, and lived in Jiangsu, Beijing and Lhasa. She now lives in Linyi, Shandong. She authors a poetry book The Messenger on the Way, and co-authors a poetry book We Seven. Baima is a fiercely confident poet.

 白玛,全名白玛措木,1972年生于山东,早在16岁时便发表诗歌。她曾在北京服役,居住过江苏、北京、拉萨,现居山东临沂。出版过个人诗集《信使在途中》、合集《我们柒》。白玛是一个非常自信的诗人。


Postscripts:
    She Who Roves Around and She Who Stays Put
 There are people who are of water nature, and people of rock nature. The one who is water, runs to find a pool as a home, a destination on this world. The one who is rock, taking pride in its rolling, satisfies with the sound of being on the way. It rolls to enjoy its rolling, which no destination can provide. There is, however, some similarity between rock and water. They make sounds on their way to a lower place. Lower, because of being closer to the earth, or at least it seems to be. If you need a difference to balance, it lies in the way the sounds are made. Water makes sounds because it is blocked and it is agitated. Rock makes sounds because it bumps into another. Do I have to be long-winded? They are heavy, both of them, and this makes them two sides of the same coin.

译后赘言:
      那流浪的、那坚守的
 人分两种,有的是水性的,有的是石性的。水,流动以找到一个深潭,作为家,此世的终点;岩石,以滚动为自豪的资本,满足于一路上的声音。它在滚动中享受滚动,这享受是任何目的地都无法给予的。水与石的相同在于它们在通往低处的途中都制造了声音;低,那是因为更接近大地,或者起码看来如此。如果你需要它们之间相异之处,那就在于它们制造声音的方式不同。水,因为被阻挡、被激怒,故而有声;石头,因为撞击其它石块而有声。我还需要没完没了么?它们,都很沉重;这使得它们不过是同一枚硬币的两面而已。

Friday, May 1, 2009

Plath: The Night Dances

Sylvia Plath Collected Poems
No. 201
  The Night Dances

Plath wrote of tigerlily two times, in "The Night Dances" and "Years." The tigerlily image in "Years" (No 206) is absolutely amazing, very admirably used.


Sylvia Plath Collected Poems
No. 201

  The Night Dances

A smile fell in the grass.
Irretrievable!

And how will your night dances
Lose themselves. In mathematics?

Such pure leaps and spirals------
Surely they travel

The world forever, I shall not entirely
Sit emptied of beauties, the gift

Of your small breath, the drenched grass
Smell of your sleeps, lilies, lilies.

Their flesh bears no relation.
Cold folds of ego, the calla,

And the tiger, embellishing itself------
Spots, and a spread of hot petals.

The comets
Have such a space to cross,

Such coldness, forgetfulness.
So your gestures flake off------

Warm and human, then their pink light
Bleeding and peeling

Through the black amnesias of heaven.
Why am I given

These lamps, these planets
Falling like blessings, like flakes

Six-sided, white
On my eyes, my lips, my hair

Touching and melting.
Nowhere.
     6 November 1962


普拉斯《诗全编》
第201首

  夜舞
    希薇娅- 普拉斯
一缕笑容落入草丛。
不可复收!

你的夜舞又将如何
丢了自身。在数学里?

这么纯粹的跳跃与旋转——
它们一定会永远

穿行于世界,我不会全程干坐,
腾空各色的美、你轻微气息

带来的礼物、你睡眠散发出的
湿草味,百合、还有百合。

它们的肉身并不孕育关系。
自我的冰冷皱褶、马蹄莲、

虎纹百合,美饰它自己——
用斑点、展开的热烘烘的花瓣。

有待彗星
穿越的空间那么杳阔,

如此清冷、善忘。
所以你的姿势一片片剥落——

温暖、人情味十足,然后它们的粉光
滴着血、蜕着皮

穿过天堂的黑色健忘症。
为什么要给我

这些灯,这些行星
像祝福一样降临,像雪片

六个边、白色
落上我的眼睛、嘴唇、头发,

轻轻落下、静静溶化。
无处可寻。
         1962年11月6日


  普拉斯在两首诗歌中用了虎纹百合这种花,我也很喜欢这种花,一首诗这儿,另一首是第206首《岁月》,后一首中用得超绝。