Privileged Curse

      Privileged Curse

                 I am too pure for you or anyone.
                 Your body
                 Hurts me as the world hurts God.
                                   ---- Sylvia Plath

We are guilty of innocence, a guilt we must plead,

And of being too common.

We are merely a little too easily angered to keep calm.
Our hearts might be hard to refrain from shouting out:

"Shut up, you chunks of flesh,
You foul-mouth, muddy-eye and greasy-mind united."

We need a Shakespeare to curse,

But our benignity does not allow our words to force on

Tenderer ears. (My conscience ordains the above curse

Be censored.) May we say, needless to say,

Souls are to go toward God by whatever the name,

Because all the silences acquiesce in evil.

In matchsticks dwells hope and happiness,

At least the pursuit of illusionary freedom.

It's the privilege of the poor to deny the rudeness

of such an awakening: "You are doomed to die clean

at the corner of a cold wall." She should think herself blessed

With death and a stepma, if not a grandma and ignorance.

Flakes of purity from the mossy tongue of fat Cerberus?

Hmm, it is interesting.

----I need to wash my ears and exile myself

To Robinson Crusoe island, with only The Communist Manifesto.

Today is Friday. God has one more night

To decide whether it is worth to create man.

                    August 2, 2019

Notes:

China authority ordains there be no words like God and Bible in primary textbooks, and therefore "they were with God" from Hans Christian Anderson's Little Match Girl has been "adapted," the Bible Robinson Crusoe took to the island has been adapted into "a few books."

1) privileged curse, a term by Georges Bataille in Literature and Evil.

2) "Purity from the mossy tongue of fat Cerberus?" is also derived from Sylvia Plath's above-quoted poem.

     获授特权的诅咒

              对你、对任何人，我都太过纯洁。
              你的身体
              伤害我，正如这世界伤害上帝。
                             ---- 希尔薇娅·普拉斯

我们因为天真而有罪，这罪我们必须认，

还因为我们太平凡。
有那么一点太容易被激怒，难以心平气和。
我们的心可能会难以约束着不喊出声：

“闭嘴吧，你们这些肉块，

满嘴腐臭、满眼泥水、满脑浆糊的联合体。”

我们需要一位莎士比亚才能骂得过瘾，

可我们的心太慈软，容不得我们的话

强暴更为柔弱的耳朵。（我的良知命令

和谐掉上面的诅咒。）我们可以说，无需说，

灵魂怎么都会走向上帝，无论那是什么名字，

因为所有的沉默都是对恶的默许。

火柴棒里生长着希望和幸福，

毋宁说那只是追求的幻象式自由，

穷困者的特权是拒绝相信

警醒来得如此粗暴：“你们注定要纯洁地死

在冰冷的墙角。”她应该觉得自己幸运有福，

因为有后妈和死亡，或者有外婆和无知。

地狱肥犬长满青苔的舌头吐出一片片纯洁？

人人都想呵呵两声。

——我需要洗洗耳朵，然后自我放逐

到鲁滨逊·克鲁索岛，只带着《共产党宣言》。

今天是星期五。上帝还有一个晚上

决定明天要不要创造人类。

                   2019年8月2日

按：“获授特权的诅咒”（privileged curse）是巴塔耶的话。

“地狱肥犬长满青苔的舌头吐出的纯洁？”化自普拉斯诗《高烧103华氏度》，诗前引文也来自该诗。

Into the Mountains 进山

               Into the Mountains

The feeble arms can still hold a young woman

when they are in the mountains, 

and the day dies duly.

As he enters her, intimacy grows

between the present body and the distant soul,

like a flower behind her closed eyes

that a drunken poet held a candle to admire.

"He was born never to live in peace

with himself and to prevent the rest of

mankind from doing so."* He is a tragic poet.

Myths deep in human nature go explained

like the plain before the mountains, two cows

not moving. Trees stand lonely like ghosts,

because they are too thin to pretend gods.

                       March 6, 2019

*B.M.K. Knox says of Euripides.

                 进山

到了山里，虚弱的手臂就仍能

抱一个年轻女人，

而这一天正当其时地死去。

当他进入她时，会有一种亲密

在此地的身体与远方的灵魂之间生长，

像一朵花长在她闭着的眼睛后，

一个醉酒的诗人曾经举着蜡烛欣赏。

“他生来就没能与自己相安，

也阻止了其余所有人这样。“*

一个悲剧诗人。人性深处的

那么多神话被他展平，就像山前的

平地，两头奶牛也是静止的。

树木像鬼魂一样孤独，因为

它们太瘦，假装不了神灵。

                        2019年3月6日

* B.M.K.诺克斯说欧里庇得斯的话。

The Task of Dreamers 有关做梦人任务的陈词

         A Statement about the Task of Dreamers

Dreams are once for all but not disposable,

And it’s the dreamer’s task to spell out the worth.

For example, when you see a pair of feet like dolphins

In the small shimmering pond by the West Lake,

It is a déjà vu, like a slice of memory from your last life.

Then, coolness flutters like winglets in your soles

Until a sense of guilt wells up like a porno clip.

Forbidden love grows deep, like night flowers are more

Enticing, but no answer can answer a night-induced question,

Unless a lightning breaks the morning as the first and last.

Dreaming is a wonderful thing if you can believe in

An art of failure, for only the imperfectible allows you

To indulge yourself forever. You can grow stars in your sky,

Only when you allow your day to darken unpredictably.

                           Sept.27, 2018

                           Feb. 11, 2019

       有关做梦人任务的陈词

梦是一次性的表演，却无法做完就清除，

发现它们的价值就成了做梦者的任务。

例如，当你在西湖边一个小池塘里

看到一双脚如海豚在波光粼粼中跃动，

那似曾相识就像是你对前世的记忆。

葱郁的凉爽如小翅在你的脚心扑闪，

直到一股罪恶感涌起，像一段黄片。

禁忌令人爱得深沉，正如夜花更诱人，

但是没有答案能回答夜色提出的问题，

除非闪电打开的既是第一也是最后一个清晨。

假若你相信失败的艺术，那么做梦不失为

一件美妙的事，因为只有不可能完美的事物

才容许你永远沉迷。同样，假若你能容许你的天

不可预测地黑暗，你就可以在你的天空播种星星。

                         2019年2月11日

Medium 媒介

   Medium

Fucking with syntax does not make it any better.

The best part lies even deeper,

And you may think distanciation is safer,

But words do not turn naturally to poetry,

Not like a pupa turning to a butterfly,

So better call this relationship a cocoon.

Does any of us stay in a prisonhouse before,

Be it structuralist, status conferment or deconstructionist?

Boiling water is necessary for reeling silk,

To complete the process of unweaving the woven essence.

Power is the devil, and it too lies in the detail,

So I am self-empowering when I picture your unsunned snow.

How I love you asking “where?”, knowing

Syntactical omission is thematic increment.

          Jan. 27, 2019

　　媒介

操弄句法并不能搞得更好。

最好的部分隐藏得更深，

也许你以为保持距离会安全些，

但字词不会自然地转化成诗，

起码不像蛹变成碟，

所以最好还是将这层关系称为茧。

我们有谁进过牢房吗，无论

是结构主义的、授权的还是解构的？

滚热的水对抽丝是必要的，

完成那个过程，拆散编织起来的本质。

力量是魔鬼，也暗藏在细节中，

是的，我想象着你那片未见过太阳的白雪，

以此自我赋权，喜欢你问“哪儿？”，

知道句法的省略是主题的增值。

        2019年1月28日

Boudoir

Boudoir

Now, she gets so well along with herself,

Any man is redundant, a lonely one in particular.

I am trying to understand through clouds and sunlight,

And see no self-contradiction

As to which comes as the reason, which is the effect.

It’s all about threshold, a hinge.

When a door is bolted inside, waist-high,

The key thrown to the beach of the outside world of the myriad,

No one may lie in the bedchamber.

I cannot help picturing something there

Already taken place or yet to happen.

She says she is lying on the bed all the while,

And she hums a hallelujah, but not as a proof,

For she is buoyant in the starry sky.

            Dec. 26, 2018

    闺阁

现在，她和自己相处得那么好，

任何人都多余，孤独的尤其如此。

我努力通过云朵和阳光来理解，

但哪个是因哪个是果，

还真看不出有什么自相矛盾。

一切都相关于门槛，一个铰链。

一扇门从里面齐腰栓住，

钥匙扔到了大千世界的海滩上，

就不会有人能躺在那间卧房。

可我禁不住想象

那儿已经或者将要发生的事。

她说她一直躺在床上，还哼唱了一首

《哈利路亚》，但不是为了证明什么，

因为她哼着哼着就飘浮在星空中。

　　　　2018年12月26日

Status Quo

         Status Quo

Air has to be dead long enough to harbor a storm,

But the floating of clouds is read as astray.

In the eyes of beholders, things won’t go like this.

Still life means no disturbance to the environs,

Elements kept in equilibrium, objects aligned with perspectives.

When a tree grows too high, or stands alone,

Birds come to perch on its crown for a while,

Before resuming their flight. Yes, they fly elsewhere.

It will be left with its leaves, and it will be their duty

To caress the branches and keep them springy,

As if it needs to find a way to scratch its own back.

Some birds naturally believe in the next stop,

And anything coming from this chance meeting

Ceases to exist upon their taking-off. Oh, let it be a spire.

              Dec. 25-26, 2018

现状

空气必须凝滞很久，才可能孕藏暴雨，

不过人们说，流动的云是走上了歧路。

在旁观的眼中，事情这样不可能继续。

静物是对周遭一切不搅不扰，

各元素保持平衡，各物体合乎透视。

一棵树长得太高，或者离开林子站着，

鸟儿会飞来，在树冠上歇脚，过一会儿

继续飞。是的，它们总是飞向别处。

留下那棵树，就和叶子在一起，

树叶便有义务抚摩树枝，保持它们的弹性，

俗话说，自己的痒，还得自己挠。

对某些鸟而言，自然而然，只相信下一站，

这一次偶遇若有什么，也在它们起飞时

不再存在。哦，惟愿下一站是塔尖。

          2018年12月29日

Trying to Finish a Dream

　　Trying to Finish a Dream

A river valley. Truncated branches swollen

With cement, the tempura for Death.

Veterans press forward like mantises and crabs,

And a voice is heard: We come for peace!

It dissolves in the unfathomable foggy space,

And nothing boomerangs. No echoes, no color.

I am ambushed by indefinable directions,

And I see no step further my feet.

A shrill laughter chisels in, an etching

On frosted glass, a daylily of fried-skin petals,

A golden toothpick stuck on its ovary. I feel

Something is waking in me; I feel its coming

As a smarting fear. Who is afraid of the laughter?

The valley rises unstoppable. I'm flaccid, refractory.

　　　　　　　Dec. 24-25, 2018

           努力完结一场梦

那是一个河谷，一截截肿胀的树枝

横七竖八，裹着水泥，像死神的天妇罗。

退伍老兵像螳螂与螃蟹，艰难前进，

一个嘶哑的声音宣布：我们为和平而来！

那声音在没深没浅的雾中，消散，就像没有，

没有任何东西弹回。无声、无色。

我站在无数方向的包围圈中，看不到一步之外，

方向有无数，但没有一条指明前方。

一个尖利的笑声像凿子一样，在毛玻璃上

刻画，一朵张开的黄花菜（哦，它还叫忘忧草），

有炸肉皮似的花瓣，一根金色牙签扎在它的子房。

我感到体内某种东西的苏醒，感到那种抬头

像一种刺人的恐惧。谁害怕那笑声？

河谷升起，不可阻挡。我已疲软，还在收缩。

　　　　　　2018年12月25日

Waiting for a pizza in a bar, with so many adverbs

Waiting for a pizza in a bar, with so many adverbs

　　　　　　To Rich Vine

This bar is a little middle east-ish, and yet

You do not need a turban. Then,

Let's divide and taste this half-table candlelight. Duly,

Your index finger cuts out an island around my thumb. Now,

We will have to look for each other over an expanse of water, and even

We can only hear the waves washing at moonrise. Therefore,

Your tears suddenly well up, as if obviously

We have already walked thousands of rivers and mountains. But

Where is the source of the music we hear? Isn't it

The Persian ney and desert we hear?

　　　　　　Nov. 20, 2018

　　在一个小酒吧等待披萨上桌，那么多副词

这酒吧氛围有点中东，但是

你还不需要盖头，那么

我们先分掉这半桌烛光吧！于是

你用食指绕着我的拇指切出一个孤岛，因此

我们要夜夜隔水相望了，甚至

我们只能在月升时听着浪声了，所以

你突然泪如泉涌，似乎而又显然

我们已经千山万水，然而

那音源在哪儿呢？难道

我们听见的不是波斯笛和沙漠？

Close to Nightfall

     Close to Nightfall

Dusk is lonely and restless

And it quietens

In the afterglow of the sun

Night falls, and so casually it shrouds so many

The living, the non-living

Are all forced into silence. Those that breathe

Breathe soundlessly, without even a mirror

To prove their being.

    将夜

黄昏的忧伤与骚动

在白日的回光返照中

都消歇了

黑夜随随便便就掩藏起很多

生的、死的

都得缄默，呼吸者无声地

呼吸，甚至没有镜子证明他们

      2018年11月16日

Lie Down on the Jetty Plank

Lie Down on the Jetty Plank

                                                             Fan Jinghua

I know this is a little too kitschy, like a laptop wallpaper,

The time is not right. Too early or too late, whether day or season.

But the urge is always there like a fish. Do you want to lie down?

On a jetty, on the plank, your feet dipping into the water,

Where sunlight scatter silver confetti,

Where small fishes turn like Valse du petit chien.

Do you want to lie down with me?

Our hands stretch out to measure the distance,

Fingertips barely touching.

One of us will need to roll on side to hold hands,

But neither bothers to turn away from the sky.

Do you want to lie down here?

Legs spread to let in the sun, to titillate the crotch,

To warm its lonely sadness, like the fish in the warmed water.

　　　　　　　Nov. 14, 2018

　　　躺在码头的木板上

                                    得一忘二 

这有点太俗媚，像一张壁纸，

时间也不对，无论说到天还是季节，要么太早要么太迟。

冲动总在，像一条小鱼。你要躺下来吗？

在这码头，在木板上，赤脚浸在水中，

阳光在水中散节庆纸屑，

小鱼们在水面转着“小狗圆舞曲”。

你要和我一道躺下来吗？

我们的手伸开，测量我们相隔的距离，

努力碰到彼此的指尖，

要想握手，必须有人翻身，

可是谁也不愿麻烦转身背离天空。

你要在这儿躺下吗？

双腿岔开，让阳光进来，刺激裆部，

温暖它孤独的悲伤，犹如鱼儿在晒暖了的水中。

Upon Waking

                Upon Waking

                                               Fan Jinghua

Who wakes up my longing in the morning? You are

Not here. Sunshine through the skylight, you become

Here. I want the disabled desire of nothingness in me

To stand erected, to welcome your falling.

Yes, oh, yes. This is my encouragement:

You can swirl around me, leisurely, nonchalantly,

Provoking and titillating the non-me in me.

The lighted shaft of air dissolves into the surrounding air,

Elated and euphoric micro-particles fermenting,

My skin has never inhaled this before,

Even when I poke you, wrap you,

Even when I am beside you, inside you.

Now, I am nothing but a sack of snake skin, I can feel

But cannot hold you, because I am full of holes.

　　　　　　　Oct. 27-28, 2018

　　　　醒来

                               得一忘二

谁在早晨唤醒了我？你是不在此的

存在。阳光穿过天窗，你在这里生成。

我身体内的虚空中有残废的欲望，

我是很想挺起的。欢迎你的坠落。

哦，好，好啊。这是一种鼓励：

你可以在我周围缓慢地、不动声色地旋转，

挑逗，似乎在撩拨我那非我的部件。

空气被点亮成柱子，随即消散到空气中，

令人欢欣快慰的微粒子在发酵。

即便我戳你、裹着你，即便

在你身边、在你体内，我的皮肤

也从未呼吸过这样醇厚的空气。

现在，我只是一只感觉敏锐的蛇皮袋，

我有那么多漏气孔，装不了你。

　　　　2018年10月29日