Wednesday, October 30, 2013

Fan Jinghua: Suicidal Constriction 自戕式收缩


      Suicidal Constriction

Your will grows hair and tentacles, not hard to be woven
Into an irregular half-rhymed body
To bump those fierce vehicles that are repetitively zipping open the air
On the foggy highway of the mind
Where time is too thick and silty for any human cry

The headlights blink out esoteric shafts: Night is not night
Unless you sink deep behind a closed door on a wall
While day is not day if you hear a church bell
Rolling and fluttering down an unknown valley in the salt-capped mountains
Echoing its dolorous free fall

Who among the sound sleepers would suddenly change their tempo of breathe
When you are peeling your draft layer by layer and dissecting it joint by joint
For the coming of the first light and the bird crying like a baby
There will never the last line, only dismembered stretches scattered like slow fish
On the ebbed beach, eyeful of seawater, clouds and gulls

A pricked balloon comes like whatever is doomed
You cannot hold and feel its ecstatic bouncy burst
It is once for all, and its avalanche is unstoppable in its lacerated throat
You have to get used to this and take it
As a bitter souvenir, tied with ribbons, and then untie it

As if it is the last sentence that will run on
And end only with ellipsis
Across the eternal space between lines and pages
That will never reach a body, no hope of reincarnating
Not even in an elegy
            Oct 11-12, 2013


    自戕式收缩

你的意志长出了触角与毛,硬不起来
易于编织成半押韵的不规则体
用以撞击那些在雾霾的心灵高速路上
不断地凶残地撕裂空气的车辆
而那里的时间浓得像淤泥,人的嘶喊无法穿透

车前灯射出玄奥的光柱:夜
不成为夜,除非你深深陷入紧闭在一堵墙上的门后
而白昼也不会是白昼,假若你听到教堂的钟声
在雪冠的山群深处某个不知的峡谷中忧戚地自由
坠落,吐出一圈圈回声

在清晨的第一抹光和着婴儿般啼哭的鸟鸣到来之前
你还在一层层剥开你的草稿,一个关节一个关节地解剖
而那些沉睡者中,有谁会突然改变呼吸的节奏
你永远到不了最后一行,只有肢解的片语
零落如落潮的河滩上迟钝的鱼儿,眼中横映着水、云和飞鸟

戳破的气球像所有注定降临的事物
你无法抓住,无法感觉那迷狂的喷射弹跳着消失
这第一且惟一的雪崩,无法堵在撕裂的喉咙中
而你却必须习惯,将它作为一件苦涩的纪念品
收藏,系上丝带,然后解开

犹如这就是那最后的句子
跨行,前行,向下,却结束于省略号
似乎伸向字行以及页面之间的空白和无穷
却永无触及身体的可能,毫无转世的希望
甚至在挽歌中也无法超生
           20131014

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