Airmail
For Zhao Dongni and a Heart Sutra
Its flight is of every mystery, otherworldly,
Yet your trust is penetrant, like a turtledove’s magnetism.
You let go of your hold, letting worlds transmigrate.
Then it takes off, it disappears, and it reaches,
Bearing stamps of agreement, embodied with a signature and date,
The grace note freed from people and weather.
An air wave travels, through the syrinx of your cursive style,
And the distant ear that hears
Picks up its wavelength from the myriad sounds.
April 4, 2008
空邮
为赵冬妮以及她邮寄来的一帖《心经》而作
它的飞行有所有的神秘，指向此世之外
而你的信是不变的穿透力，如鸽子的磁性
你放开手，各世界的居民便自由迁移过境
于是它起飞，进入消隐，然后抵达
承负着契约的印花，签名与日期的身体，
还有一条纯粹的问候，甚至被抽空了人与天气
而空气的波吹过你行草的鸣管，
远方的那只耳朵，若能听见，
便是从万籁之中离析出它的波长。
2008年4月5日
Showing posts with label 赵冬妮. Show all posts
Showing posts with label 赵冬妮. Show all posts
Thursday, April 10, 2008
Sunday, February 24, 2008
ZHAO Dongni: a poem
Untitled
by ZHAO Dongni
If you see Dali’s clockface
Softer than dough, you will be surprised
By the doubt as to whether our arms in lamplight
Really have a luster of pearls
But clocks tick and tremble
The grayish green fog
And the night holds nothing but their sound
Tr. FAN Jinghua
诗一首
赵冬妮
如果看到达利的软表
比面团还软，你会惊讶
我们灯光下的手臂
是否真的有过珍珠般的光泽
时针滴答着晃动
青灰色的夜雾
只剩下声音
I just this small poem by my friend Zhao Dongni, who wrote this one a couple of years ago when she was in Australia (?). It is one section in a prose, therefore there is not title.
by ZHAO Dongni
If you see Dali’s clockface
Softer than dough, you will be surprised
By the doubt as to whether our arms in lamplight
Really have a luster of pearls
But clocks tick and tremble
The grayish green fog
And the night holds nothing but their sound
Tr. FAN Jinghua
诗一首
赵冬妮
如果看到达利的软表
比面团还软，你会惊讶
我们灯光下的手臂
是否真的有过珍珠般的光泽
时针滴答着晃动
青灰色的夜雾
只剩下声音
I just this small poem by my friend Zhao Dongni, who wrote this one a couple of years ago when she was in Australia (?). It is one section in a prose, therefore there is not title.
Tuesday, February 12, 2008
Zhao Dongni: Let This Heart of Mine
把心
赵冬妮
把心凉下来吧
疼痛就不那么灼热
恰好这个冬天足够寒冷
在雪地里那么一晾
我也要睡了
连枕头都不再需要
只要像胎儿那样
四肢蜷抱，就不会有多冷
我已经怕了说话
说不清事物，说不清自己
我怕了泪水一次次汹涌而来
然后还要忍回，像咽下一口口滚烫的稀粥
睡眠是件多么美好的事
一人裹一个铁桶
一人剩一个
没有温度的心
2008年1月27日
Let This Heart of Mine
by Zhao Dongni tr. FAN Jinghua
Let this heart of mine be cool
Pain will then grow less scorching
This winter has been auspiciously cold
The wind over the snowfield will take away the heat
I’ll lie down and give myself to sleep
Pillowing on nothing
I’ll curl up into a foetus, limbs entwined
And then I may find warmth
I regard words in awe,
Unable to make things clear, unable to get myself through
The surges of tears overwhelm me
But I have to swallow their ebbs like boiling porridge
Sleeping is such a sweet thing
Every one is swaddled in a pewter barrel
Every one is left to keep
A heart of no temperature
Jan. 27, 2008
About the Author:
ZHAO Dongni was born in 1960s in the Northeast China, and she is now a contracted writer in Liaoning Province. She mostly writes belles-lettre prose (lyrical prose), with occasional poems. Her collection of prose entitled Counting from One to One was awarded a literary prize in 2007.
赵冬妮
把心凉下来吧
疼痛就不那么灼热
恰好这个冬天足够寒冷
在雪地里那么一晾
我也要睡了
连枕头都不再需要
只要像胎儿那样
四肢蜷抱，就不会有多冷
我已经怕了说话
说不清事物，说不清自己
我怕了泪水一次次汹涌而来
然后还要忍回，像咽下一口口滚烫的稀粥
睡眠是件多么美好的事
一人裹一个铁桶
一人剩一个
没有温度的心
2008年1月27日
Let This Heart of Mine
by Zhao Dongni tr. FAN Jinghua
Let this heart of mine be cool
Pain will then grow less scorching
This winter has been auspiciously cold
The wind over the snowfield will take away the heat
I’ll lie down and give myself to sleep
Pillowing on nothing
I’ll curl up into a foetus, limbs entwined
And then I may find warmth
I regard words in awe,
Unable to make things clear, unable to get myself through
The surges of tears overwhelm me
But I have to swallow their ebbs like boiling porridge
Sleeping is such a sweet thing
Every one is swaddled in a pewter barrel
Every one is left to keep
A heart of no temperature
Jan. 27, 2008
About the Author:
ZHAO Dongni was born in 1960s in the Northeast China, and she is now a contracted writer in Liaoning Province. She mostly writes belles-lettre prose (lyrical prose), with occasional poems. Her collection of prose entitled Counting from One to One was awarded a literary prize in 2007.
Monday, February 11, 2008
Fan Jinghua: A Love Song Without Words
A Love Song Without Words
For Zhao Dongni & Wang Shasha
At the end of the day, it’s
A paper full of scratches and scribbles;
At the end of the night, it’s
A paper of blankness I’m facing.
The words needed me to write them down
So that they can fly away, visibly.
You might ask, as I can imagine in the dark:
What does it read? ––It doesn’t read.
What does it write? —It writes nothing.
What does it mean? —It means love.
“Then,” you chime, “it is a song of love.”
Yes, I know you know words matter the least.
I have a pen, I have a heart and a brain,
But it’s the hands that interrupt and betray.
They resist to touch and convey,
Not attempting the distance between wake and sleep.
When the whistle of the first train startles me,
I fold up and put into an envelope a poem without words.
Love songs are inevitably written with sorrys,
And this one I have finally written off.
It means, therefore I don’t have to be the words’ host.
A sutra without words was written to be meaningful
For those whose eyes never touched it.
Words are but marks in the rubbing of a palimpsest,
But love, I am what you are, always.
Jan. 26, 2008
无言的爱之诗
献给Y&Z
一天尽了，一张纸被划满了
车水人流，纵横、虚实、曲线、弧；
一夜将尽，痕迹一一退消，
这张纸腾出了满满的空白。
字词需要我，它们需要我将它们写出，
以便它们的逃逸在视觉中有过停留。
你或许会设问，验证我的暗中设想：
这该怎么读？——它无法读出。
它写着什么？——写的是空白。
那是什么意思？——这意味着爱。
你张口便有旋律：啊，这是爱的诗篇。
是，我知道你知道，字最不重要。
我有一支笔，我有一颗心，还有头脑，
但是手总插在它们之间，作梗。
它们拒绝触摸、拒绝传递体温，它们从不拥抱
成一个环路，也不努力伸展，连接睡与醒的指尖。
当早班火车的第一声汽笛将我惊起，
我匆匆叠起这张纸，将一首无字的诗塞入信封。
所有的爱之诗最终都由抱憾与歉愧写成，
而这一首我终于能够写到无需再写。
它是意义，因此我不再是词语的寄主。
为了那些从未见识过的眼睛，
无字真经也被涂抹，敷衍上了教义。
经文，不过是重写本的拓片，背景沉实，
字是空白，而我，love，原本就是你。
2008年1月28日
For Zhao Dongni & Wang Shasha
At the end of the day, it’s
A paper full of scratches and scribbles;
At the end of the night, it’s
A paper of blankness I’m facing.
The words needed me to write them down
So that they can fly away, visibly.
You might ask, as I can imagine in the dark:
What does it read? ––It doesn’t read.
What does it write? —It writes nothing.
What does it mean? —It means love.
“Then,” you chime, “it is a song of love.”
Yes, I know you know words matter the least.
I have a pen, I have a heart and a brain,
But it’s the hands that interrupt and betray.
They resist to touch and convey,
Not attempting the distance between wake and sleep.
When the whistle of the first train startles me,
I fold up and put into an envelope a poem without words.
Love songs are inevitably written with sorrys,
And this one I have finally written off.
It means, therefore I don’t have to be the words’ host.
A sutra without words was written to be meaningful
For those whose eyes never touched it.
Words are but marks in the rubbing of a palimpsest,
But love, I am what you are, always.
Jan. 26, 2008
无言的爱之诗
献给Y&Z
一天尽了，一张纸被划满了
车水人流，纵横、虚实、曲线、弧；
一夜将尽，痕迹一一退消，
这张纸腾出了满满的空白。
字词需要我，它们需要我将它们写出，
以便它们的逃逸在视觉中有过停留。
你或许会设问，验证我的暗中设想：
这该怎么读？——它无法读出。
它写着什么？——写的是空白。
那是什么意思？——这意味着爱。
你张口便有旋律：啊，这是爱的诗篇。
是，我知道你知道，字最不重要。
我有一支笔，我有一颗心，还有头脑，
但是手总插在它们之间，作梗。
它们拒绝触摸、拒绝传递体温，它们从不拥抱
成一个环路，也不努力伸展，连接睡与醒的指尖。
当早班火车的第一声汽笛将我惊起，
我匆匆叠起这张纸，将一首无字的诗塞入信封。
所有的爱之诗最终都由抱憾与歉愧写成，
而这一首我终于能够写到无需再写。
它是意义，因此我不再是词语的寄主。
为了那些从未见识过的眼睛，
无字真经也被涂抹，敷衍上了教义。
经文，不过是重写本的拓片，背景沉实，
字是空白，而我，love，原本就是你。
2008年1月28日
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