Mindy Zhang  ( 明迪)
Translator

on Lyrikline: 56 poems translated

from: немецкий, английский, китайский, македонский, галисийский, хорватский to: китайский, английский

Original

Translation

champignons

немецкий | Jan Wagner

wir trafen sie im wald auf einer lichtung:
zwei expeditionen durch die dämmerung
die sich stumm betrachteten. zwischen uns nervös
das telegraphensummen des stechmückenschwarms.

meine großmutter war berühmt für ihr rezept
der champignons farcis. sie schloß es in
ihr grab. alles was gut ist, sagte sie,
füllt man mit wenig mehr als mit sich selbst.

später in der küche hielten wir
die pilze ans ohr und drehten an den stielen -
wartend auf das leise knacken im innern,
suchend nach der richtigen kombination.

© beim Verlag
from: Probebohrung im Himmel
Berlin: Berlin Verlag, 2001
ISBN: 3-8270-0071-8
Audio production: 2002, M. Mechner, literaturWERKstatt berlin

蘑菇

китайский

我们在林中一片空地上遇到它们:

穿行于黄昏的两支探险队,

彼此静默注视。之间充满紧张,

一群蚊虫的电报嗡鸣。

我奶奶因蘑菇馅饼

而闻名。食谱锁进了

她的墓地。凡是好东西,她说,

填充你不多于它自己。

后来在厨房,我们把蘑菇

举到耳边,转动蘑菇柄——

等待里面细微的咔哒声,

找寻正确的密码组合。

明迪译,选自《十八个馅饼》,2007
Translated by Mindy Zhang

The Light Keeper

английский | Carolyn Forché

A night without ships. Foghorns calling into walled cloud, and you
still alive, drawn to the light as if it were a fire kept by monks,
darkness once crusted with stars, but now death-dark as you sail inward.
Through wild gorse and sea-wrack, through heather and torn wool
you ran, pulling me by the hand, so I might see this for once in my life:
the spin and spin of light, the whirring of it, light in search of the lost,
there since the era of fire, era of candles and hollow wick lamps,
whale oil and solid wick, colza and lard, kerosene and carbide,
the signal fires lighted on this perilous coast in the Tower of Hook.
You say to me stay awake, be like the lens maker who died with his
lungs full of glass, be the yew in blossom when bees swarm, be
their amber cathedral and even the ghosts of Cistercians will be kind to you.
In a certain light as after rain, in pearled clouds or the water beyond,
seen or sensed water, sea or lake, you would stop still and gaze out
for a long time. Also when fireflies opened and closed in the pines,
and a star appeared, our only heaven. You taught me to live like this.
That after death it would be as it was before we were born. Nothing
to be afraid. Nothing but happiness as unbearable as the dread
from which it comes. Go toward the light always, be without ships.

© Carolyn Forché
Audio production: Haus für Poesie / 2016

灯塔

китайский

没有船舶的夜晚。雾笛向积云鸣响,你
仍然活着,被光吸引,仿佛僧侣守护的一团火。
黑夜曾经与群星纠结,现在同死亡一般暗淡,你向内部驶去。
穿过野金雀花和海藻,穿过石楠和撕碎的羊毛,
你跑,拉着我的手,让我有生之年目睹一次:
光的旋转,旋转,呼啸,光在寻找失踪者。
在那里,自从有火的年岁以来,烛光与空旷的灯盏,
鲸鱼油与灯芯,油菜花与炼油,煤油与电石,
信号灯火,照亮了胡克塔边危险的海岸。
你对我说,醒着,像镜片制造者,死的时候
肺部全是玻璃,像红豆杉花,蜜蜂成群飞去时仍然盛开,
像琥珀色的大教堂,甚至连西多教的鬼也会善待你。
如同在雨后的珠光碧云里,或更远的水中,
水,看到或感觉到的,海水或湖水,你静止下来,长时间
向外凝视。当萤火虫睁眼,闭合,在松树间发光,
一颗星辰升起,我们唯一的天堂。你教我这样活着。
死后如同初生之前。没有什么
可畏惧。只有幸福难以承受,如同它的源泉
一样可怕。向着光,永远向着光,无需船舶。

明迪 译 Translated into Chinese by Ming Di

Exile

английский | Carolyn Forché

                                                 If it happened once, it happened in Odessa.

The city of your childhood rises between steppe and sea, wheat and light,
white with the dust of cockleshells, stargazers, and bones of pipefish,
city of limestone soft enough to cut with a hatchet, where the sea
unfurls and acacias brought by Greeks on their ships
turn white in summer. So yes, you remember, this is the city you lost,
city of smugglers and violinists, chess-players and monkeys,
an opera house, a madhouse, a ghost church with wind for its choir
where two things were esteemed: literature and ships, poetry and the sea.
If you return now, it will not be as a being visible to others, and when
you walk past, it will not be as if a man had passed, but rather as if
someone had remembered something long forgotten and wondered why.
If you return, your father will be alive to prepare for you
his mint-cucumber soup or give you the little sweet called bird's milk,
and after hours of looking with him for his sandals lost near the sea,
you visit again together the amusement park where
your ancestors are buried, and then go home to the apartment house
built by German prisoners of war, to whom your father gave bread
which you remember surprised you. You take the tram to a stop
where it is no longer possible to get off, and he walks
with you until he vanishes, still holding in his own your invisible hand.

© Carolyn Forché
Audio production: Haus für Poesie / 2016

流亡

китайский

   如果只发生过一次,那便是敖德萨



你童年的城市在草原与大海、麦穗与光线之间升起,
白色的,布满蚌贝、瞻星鱼和尖嘴鱼骨骸的沙粒,
石灰城市,柔软的,可以一斧头砍下去,海在那里绽开,
希腊人驾船带去的金合欢树
在夏天变成白色。是的,这就是你记忆中的城市,你已失去,
那里有小贩子,小提琴手,象棋手,猴子,
歌剧院,疯人院,幽灵教堂里有风伴随着合唱团,
在那里文学和船舶、诗歌和大海受到敬重。
“假如发生过,那一定是在敖德萨。”如果现在回去,
你不会像一个被他人看得见的行者,你走过之处
仿佛无人走过,而是如同被人回想起
一件忘了很久的事情,不知道为什么又想了起来。
如果回去,你父亲将还活着,为你做
薄荷黄瓜汤,或者给你“鸟奶”甜品,
你们花几小时在海边寻找他丢失的凉鞋,
然后一起去游乐园,
你的祖先埋在那里,然后回家,
那是德国战俘修建的公寓,你曾惊讶地看见父亲
给他们面包。你们坐电车去一个地方,
那一站现在已撤销,他陪着你走,
一直走到他消失,还握着你看不见的手。

明迪 译 Translated into Chinese by Ming Di

冬日即景,破碎的诗

китайский | SUN Wenbo

减法——自然的游戏——加速的……
推进到冬天——喜鹊绕树而鸣。停滞的
脚步,仰望的头——图画的意义,深灰
——这些都不是全景——不是内心
的描绘,而是你走来,我目睹到的局部
——代表了一种开始——梦幻。不确定。
破碎的现实说明他在——他不在。
我分裂自己。我剪裁一朵云——舞动的
浪漫——我希望将之围在理想的未来的身体上。
它代表一种选择,消失自我。
加入到重新塑造的生活之中——犹如淡淡的水彩画;
其中有站在阳台临风远眺——落日、飞鸟,
色彩斑斓的群山,以及透明如镜的流水。
我融入其中——成为现实的不在——语言的他者
——成为别人的怀念——在时间中这是一种情怀。
我看见其中的存在。就像看见玫瑰、紫薇,
也像看见蝴蝶、蜻蜓——但是我不说它们
的生命过于短暂——我什么都不说
——因为一次次,我利用了文字——用它们,
建造起思想的堡垒——现在我置身其中
——现在我把玩生命——减法。语言的白雪,
不是覆盖,不是遮闭——我以空面对世界。

© Sun Wenbo
Audio production: DJS Art Foundation

Winter Scenery, Broken Poem

английский

Subtraction— the game of the nature— accelerating...
Proceeding to the winter— magpies chirping around trees. Stopping,
they look up— the meaning of the picture, dark gray,
but not a panoramic view— not a drawing of
inner life. You are walking towards me, I witness part of the scene—
it represents a beginning— a dreaming state.  Uncertainty.
The scattered reality suggests he is present, or he is not.  
I separate myself. I cut a cloud— the dancing
romantic— I want it to wrap around the body of the ideal future.
It represents a choice, a disappearance of the self.
To join the reformed life— like a touch of watercolor,
an overlooking from the balcony facing the wind— the sunset, the birds,
the multihued mountains, and the running streams like mirrors.
I immerse myself in it— becoming non-existent reality— the linguistic other
— part of other people's memories— the feeling of time.
I see the existence within, like when I see roses, crape myrtle,
or butterflies, dragonflies— I’m saying they're brief—
I’m not saying anything— because I'm only using words— using them—
to build a fortress of thinking— now I'm in it
— I play with life— subtraction. The language snow
doesn’t cover, doesn’t shield— I face the world with a void.

© Translated by Mindy Zhang and Neil Aitken

胡诌诗之二

китайский | SUN Wenbo

你的雪不是我的雪,我的雪
在院子里。一大早,我推门
出去,看到铺在地上的雪已经被狗
踩出很多印痕——它因此不能被比喻
成一张白纸,倒像无意中由我家的狗
在雪上绘出的山水写意——
为什么是山水写意?原因是我看到了山,
也看到了水;而且山是峨嵋山,水是岷江水;
其中有云雾的缭绕,和浣纱的大美人。
也许,你要说我牵强附会。我的确牵强附会。
你知道吗?如果我再牵强附会一些,
我还要说在雪中看到了哲学;不是康德的
理性哲学,也不是克尔凯郭尔的存在哲学,
我看到的是转瞬即逝的哲学——你是否
有过这种经历:瞪大眼睛紧盯住一个东西看,
它却悄无声息地消失。现在情况就是这样:
我在门口的台阶上站了不到一个小时,
已有一半地面露出来——从哪里来,
又回到那里。我的雪也许根本不是雪,
只是要让我见到消失,和消失的本义。

© Sun Wenbo
Audio production: DJS Art Foundation

POETRY OF NONSENSE, 2

английский

Your snow is not mine.  My snow is in the courtyard.  
In early morning I walk out, find snow on the ground
with my dog's footprints— but not the way one draws
on a blank sheet of paper.  No, it’s a freehand landscape.
My dog draws without intention. Still I see mountains
and waters there— I see Mt. Emei and River Minjiang
with clouds hanging and a beautiful woman washing clothes.
You might say I’m far-fetched, and maybe I am.
I can go even further, be more far-fetched
and say I see philosophy in the snow, not Kant
or Kierkegaard but a philosophy of fleeting moments.
Have you experienced keeping your eyes focused on something,
only to see it disappear quietly? That is happening now.
I’ve stood on this porch for less than an hour,
half of the ground has surfaced— things are returning
to the original form. My snow is perhaps not snow,
but something to show me the meaning of loss.

© Translated by Mindy Zhang and Afaa Weaver

ВИДОВ СОНОВИ

македонский | Nikola Madzirov

Видов сонови на кои никој не се сеќава
и плачења на погрешни гробови.
Видов прегратки во авион што паѓа
и улици со отворени артерии.
Видов вулкани што спијат подолго
од коренот на семејното стебло
и едно дете кое не се плаши од дождот.
Само мене никој не ме виде,
само мене никој не ме виде.

© Nikola Madzirov
Audio production: LiteraturWERKstatt Berlin 2009

◎我看见梦

китайский

我看见没有人想得起的梦,
人们在那里哭错了坟头。
我看见飞机坠落中的拥抱,
和动脉敞开的街道。
我看见睡眠的火山,比家谱之树
的树根睡得还久,
以及一个孩子,一个不怕雨的孩子。
只不过那是我,谁也没有看见,
只不过那是我,谁也没有看见。

明迪 译 Translated into Chinese by Ming Di
Published in Poetry Forest magazine, China, 12/2010

КОГА НЕКОЈ ЗАМИНУВА СÈ ШТО Е СОЗДАДЕНО СЕ ВРАЌА

македонский | Nikola Madzirov

На Марјан К.


Во прегратката зад аголот ќе препознаеш
дека некој некаде оди. Секогаш е така.
Живеам меѓу две вистини
како неонка што се колеба во
празен ходник. Моето срце собира
сè повеќе луѓе, зашто нив веќе ги нема.
Така е секогаш. Четвртина од будноста
ја трошиме во трепкање. Нештата
ги забораваме уште пред да ги изгубиме -
тетратката по краснопис, на пример.
Ништо не е ново. Седиштето во
автобусот е секогаш топло.
Последните зборови се пренесуваат
како накосени кофи во вообичаен летен пожар.
Утре пак ќе се повтори истото -
лицето пред да исчезне од фотографијата
првин ќе ги изгуби брчките. Кога некој заминува
сè што е создадено се враќа.

© Nikola Madzirov
Audio production: LiteraturWERKstatt Berlin 2009

◎当有人离去
所有已经了结的又归来

китайский

给Marjan K
 
在街角拥抱时你总会发现
有人离开,去了什么地方。总是如此。
我住在两个真相之间,
像一盏霓虹灯在空旷的大厅里
颤抖。我的心收集
越来越多的人,因为他们已不在这里。
总是如此。我们清醒的四分之一时间
都用来眨眼。甚至在失去之前
我们就忘记了那些事物——
比如,书法笔记本。
不再有什么是新鲜的。汽车上
座位总是热的。
最后的话语被传送,
就像一只斜桶手手相传去扑灭夏日篝火。
明天,同样的事情又会发生——
面部,从照片上隐去之前,
皱纹会先消逝:当有人离去,
所有已经了结的又归来。

明迪 译 Translated into Chinese by Ming Di
Published in Poetry Forest magazine, China, 12/2010

СЕНКИТЕ НÈ ОДМИНУВААТ

македонский | Nikola Madzirov

Еден ден ќе се сретнеме,
како бротче од хартија и
лубеница што се лади во реката.
Немирот на светот ќе
биде со нас. Со дланките
ќе го помрачиме сонцето и со фенер
ќе се доближуваме.

Еден ден ветрот нема
да го промени правецот.
Брезата ќе испрати лисја
во нашите чевли пред прагот.
Волците ќе тргнат по
нашата невиност.
Пеперутките ќе го остават
својот прав врз нашите образи.

Една старица секое утро
ќе раскажува за нас во чекалната.
И ова што го кажувам е
веќе кажано: го чекаме ветрот
како две знамиња на граничен премин.

Еден ден сите сенки
                               ќе нè одминат.

© Nikola Madzirov
Audio production: LiteraturWERKstatt Berlin 2009

◎阴影掠过

китайский

有一天我们会相遇,
像一只小纸船
遇到河里冷冻的西瓜。
世界的焦虑
同我们相随。我们的手心
将月蚀太阳,我们举起灯笼
走近对方。

有一天,风不再
改变方向。
桦树将吹走树叶,
吹进我们放在门槛的鞋子里。
狼会跑来
追逐我们的天真。
蝴蝶将把尘土
扑在我们脸上。

一位妇人将每天早上
在候车室讲述我们的故事。
甚至我现在说的
也已经被说过了:我们等待风
如同边界上的两面旗帜。

有一天,每一片阴影
                                将与我们擦肩而过。

明迪 译 Translated into Chinese by Ming Di
Published in Poetry Forest magazine, China, 12/2010

ДОМ

македонский | Nikola Madzirov

Живеев на крајот од градот
како улично светло на кое никој
не му ја менува светилката.
Пајажината ги држеше ѕидовите заедно,
потта нашите споени дланки.
Во преобразбите на невешто соѕиданите камења
го криев плишаното мече
спасувајќи го од сонот.

Деноноќно го оживував прагот
враќајќи се како пчела што
секогаш се враќа на претходниот цвет.
Беше мир кога го напуштив домот:

гризнатото јаболко не беше потемнето,
на писмото стоеше марка со стара напуштена куќа.
 
Кон тивките простори од раѓање се движам
и под мене празнини се лепат
како снег што не знае дали на земјата
или на воздухот припаѓа.

© Nikola Madzirov
Audio production: LiteraturWERKstatt Berlin 2009

◎家

китайский

我住在城市的边缘,
像一盏街灯,
从来没有人换灯泡。
蜘蛛网将墙壁支撑在一起,
汗水将紧握的双手连在一起。
我把我的玩具熊
藏在粗陋石墙的洞穴,
使它免于梦想。

日日夜夜我使洞口醒来,
蜜蜂一样返回,
总是回到从前那朵花。
我离家之际,是一个平静的时刻:

咬过的苹果没有留下伤痕,
信上的邮票是一个被遗弃的老房子。

从出生起我就迁移到安静的地方,
空旷却从下面紧紧抓住我,
就像雪,不知道属于大地
还是天空。

明迪 译 Translated into Chinese by Ming Di
Published in Poetry Forest magazine, China, 12/2010

kleinstadtelegie

немецкий | Jan Wagner

die schattenkarawane, jeden morgen
 ihr aufbruch, und die waschanlage,
 die stets aus einem reinen schlaf erwachte.

 und in den lieferwagen pendelten
 die schweinehälften zwischen ja und nein,
 den linden wuchsen herzen. und es paßte

 nicht mehr als ein blatt papier zwischen mich und die welt.
 und in den gärten, hinter allen hecken
 verkündeten die rasenmäher den mai.

© beim Autoren
from: Unveröffentlichtem Manuskript
Audio production: 2002, M. Mechner, literaturWERKstatt berlin

◎小城挽歌

китайский

影影绰绰的车队,每天凌晨
上路;洗车装置
从一个纯静的睡眠中醒来。

摇摇晃晃的送货车里,半头猪们
在是与不是之间,悬而不决,
菩提树长出心型的叶子,而我

与世界之间,能装下的不超过一张纸。
花园里,割草机躲在草丛后
宣告五月的来临。

明迪 译 Translated into Chinese by Ming Di
Published in Poetry Forest magazine, China, 12/2010

- - -

小镇晨曲

作者:岩·瓦格纳
译者:文珂,张宽

每日凌晨,影影绰绰的商贩
出动,伴随着洗车声响
把小城从酣睡中唤醒

送货卡车里,一扇扇的猪肉
在接受与谢拒之间,犹疑地摇晃
人心向往菩提,世界与我之间

再也放不下,哪怕一张薄薄的纸片
给栅栏遮掩住的座座院子里
剪草机轰鸣,宣示阳春五月的来临


譯文: Karl Zhang


Litany In Krakow

английский | Carolyn Forché

the yes of the living
the no of the wall
the yes of the bridge
the no of the water below the bridge
the yes of wind, no of wire
the yes of bells
the no of the bolted door
the yes of air
the no of answer
the yes of swallows, the no of stone

© Carolyn Forché
Audio production: Haus für Poesie / 2016

克拉科夫联奏

китайский

生存者的肯定
墙壁的否定
桥的肯定
桥下之水的否定
风的肯定,铁丝网的否定
铃声的肯定
门闩的否定
空气的肯定
答案的否定
燕子的肯定,石头的否定


明迪 译 Translated into Chinese by Ming Di

Morning On The Island

английский | Carolyn Forché

The lights across the water are the waking city.
The water shimmers with imaginary fish.
Not far from here lie the bones of conifers
washed from the sea and piled by wind.
Some mornings I walk upon them,
bone to bone, as far as the lighthouse.
A strange beetle has eaten most of the trees.
It may have come here on the ships playing
music in the harbor, or it was always here, a winged
jewel, but in the past was kept still by the cold
of a winter that no longer comes.
There is an owl living in the firs behind us but he is white,
meant to be mistaken for snow burdening a bough.
They say he is the only owl remaining. I hear him at night
listening for the last of the mice and asking who of no other owl.

© Carolyn Forché
Audio production: Haus für Poesie / 2016

岛上的早晨

китайский

穿过水面的光, 是一座醒来的城市。
和水一起闪光的,是一群想象的鱼。
离这里不远是松针的骨头,
被海水洗涤,被风堆积,
早晨我走在上面,
骨头碰骨头,一路走到灯塔。
一只奇怪的甲虫吃掉了大部分树木,
也许是在港口播放音乐的船只
把它带到这里,也许它一直就在这里,有翅膀的
宝石,过去躲在冬天的寒冷里不动——
冬天不再出现。
一只猫头鹰栖居在我们屋后的冷杉树上,白色的,
看起来像树枝上累积的雪。
他们说这是最后一只猫头鹰。夜里我听见他
寻找最后的小老鼠,乞求不再有别的猫头鹰。

明迪 译 Translated into Chinese by Ming Di

诗与真

китайский | JIANG Tao

6年前,我就来过这儿
带着新鲜的肺和脸
左顾右盼,看个不停
结果,车子撞在半山腰
民族司机被警察带走
我听见身下江水的咆哮
在山中,还有人高声断喝
——有何贵干?

那时,我无家累,无房产
认真读书,也没超过十年
怎么可能有答案?
结果,他们逼我不停喝酒
说一两个内地笑话
我缺氧,口拙,讲不清
像块石头从雪岭滚下
滚到了车里
又滚回了北京

北京原本圈子多,我怕生
缺钱,女友不小心得了忧郁症
所以主动住到了五环外
其他的一切皆被动
那里小区空气好
人心也绿化,邻居多是
地头蛇,基本没精英
我只能看电视观天下
知道6年来,国家大势向好又向坏
但西部的开发没落空

铁路运来更多背包客
公路运来更多四川妹
他们也狂喜,也呕吐
做梦时,老家也升高三千米
但他们人忠厚,不提问
只把命运和钞票纠缠
结果6年只是一瞬间
他们中的佼佼者
如今,可能已睡在了一起。

© JIANG Tao
Audio production: Haus für Poesie / 2015

POETRY AND REALITY

английский

Six years ago, I came here
with a clean face and fresh lungs
looking around, non-stop,
and caused a car to crash into the hillside.
The driver, a local Tibetan, was arrested by the police.
I heard the roar of the river below
and people cried out in the mountains:
What are you here for?
But I didn't have a family then, nor a house,
nor more than ten years of serious study.
How could I answer?
So they made me drink non-stop
and tell a couple of jokes from the interior
but the air was too thin, I stammered
like a stone rolling down the snowy mountain
rolling into the car
and rolling back to Beijing.
There were many circles in Beijing, I was shy,
poor, and my girlfriend was deeply depressed
so I chose to live outside the five rings.
Since then, everything has just happened.
The air is fresh in the neighborhood,
everything's greenified, even people, neighbors
are mostly salt-of-the-earih, no elites,
I watch TV to know what's going on.
These past six years, the country's had its ups and downs.
Has all that development out west come to nothing?
Railroads have brought in more backpackers,
more Sichuan girls on the way.
They're also enraptured, they vomit as well,
dreaming too of their homes rising three thousand meters high,
but they're honest, don't ask questions,
fate and dollar bills are bound together.
Six years gone in a flash.
The very best of them
most likely by now have slept together.

Translated by Ming Di, Neil Aitken, and Tony Barnstone

一个作了讲师的下午

китайский | JIANG Tao

黑压压的一片,目光怎能这么轻易
就分出了类型:男与女、正与邪、昆虫和外星人
时光也从左脸放纵到右脸
停下的时候,就下课了,讲台像悬崖自动地落下

原来,这世界大得很,每一片树叶下
都藏了一对偷吻的学生,在那一泡像被尿出的但并不因此
而著名的湖上,也浮了更广大的坟

不需要准备,就可以放声,就可以变形
——时刻准备着,但据来电显示
我的变形要从鳞翅目开始,也不轻松。


© JIANG Tao
Audio production: Haus für Poesie / 2015

THE AFTERNOON I STARTED TEACHING

английский

A huge crowd of darkness —
so how is it that I can so easily identify
male and female, decent and evil, insects and aliens?
Time indulges itself,
tongueing slowly from my left cheek to my right.
When it stops, the class ends, the platform descends
like A cliff.

So. this is the world, larger than I thought.
Under every leaf
hides a pair of students shoplifting kisses. On the famous lake
the color of pee (although not famous for that)
float large graves.

You don't need to be prepared,
just open your mouth and you'll be transformed
— you're actually always ready. But
according to an incoming text message
my evolution, not so easy, needs to start from a winged insect.

Translated by Ming Di, Neil Aitken, and Tony Barnstone

古猿部落

китайский | JIANG Tao

树林里落满果实,猩红的地毯
源于地质的变迁
水退了,老虎的剑齿烂了
我们围着空地商量未来
老的刚从进化里爬出,挥老拳
少的已按耐不住舌头,要第一个
去吃梅花鹿,移山的志向没有
倒可以涉水,南方北方的
田野只是一张餐桌
所谓共和闹哄哄
还是独裁之秋赶走蚊蝇
好在我们都直立着
可以观天象,徒手挣脱了食物链
但十月的劳动力
还是倾向剩余:不需要画皮,烹饪
肉身当木柴,只有公的继续
将母的掀翻,朗诵牠的美
但要说出“我爱你”
至少春花秋月的,还要两百万年

© JIANG Tao
Audio production: Haus für Poesie / 2015

THE TRIBE OF APES

английский

Fruit falls all over the forest, a bloody carpet
laid down when the earth shifted
Now the water has receded, and the tigers' saber teeth have rotted,
we gather around a clearing to discuss our future
The elderly crawl out of evolution, waving wrinkled fists
and the younger ones can't hold their tongues, eager
to feast on the Sika deer, splashing through the low water
with no desire to "move mountains." From North to South,
the whole field is a dining table
The "Republic" mutters, while the dictators
chase after mosquitoes and flies
Fortunately we all stand upright, able to see easily
what's coming, to break the shackles of the food chain
But our efforts in October tend to produce
surplus: we don't need face-painting, cooking or
to use flesh as lumber, only males overthrowing females
continuously while chanting their animal-beauty
But to speak the words I love you will take at least
another two million years
of spring cherries and autumn moons

Translated by Ming Di, Neil Aitken, and Tony Barnstone

像雪山一样升起丛书

китайский | Zang Di

每天早上,雪山都会赶在太阳升起之前,
填满我的窗户。汽车的声音
将最后的夜色拧到最小。樱花的影子
随时都在取代时间的影子。

不用看就知道,这窗户曾被冬天借走,
现在又被还给春天。在这窗户上
有命运的一张纸。捅不捅,都一样。
在这张纸上有诗的一个小洞。

因为有这小小的透气孔,你能看得比我更远。
你用遥远的事物忠实于我身边的矛盾。
在北京,说到雪山,我会朝西边想,
而在金泽,我必须习惯雪山只出现在东边。

每天早上,我都会从窗户里看到
连绵的雪山慢慢升起它的旗帜。
这之后,才是太阳缓缓爬过雪山的脊背,
它的金针刺向万物的神经。

2011.4.

© Zang Di
Audio production: Literaturwerkstatt Berlin, 2015

RISE UP LIKE A SNOW MOUNTAIN, A BOOK SERIES

английский

Every morning the snow mountains will fill up my window
before the sun rises. Automobile sounds turn down the volume
of night to the minimum, yet the shadows of cherry blossoms
will at any moment replace the shadows of time.
 
Needless to say this window had been taken by the winter
but returned to the spring. On the window is a piece of paper
that tells fortune, but it will say the same thing whether you poke it
or not. On the paper is a small hole of poetry.
 
And because of this small vent you can see much further than me.
You stay remote but faithful to the contradictions around me.
In Beijing, I would think toward west when it’s about snow mountains,
but here in Kanazawa, I must get used to the east where snow rises.
 
Every morning I see from the window
the mountain range that slowly raises its flag,
and then the sun will take its turn to climb the ridge of
the snow mountains while its golden needles stab the nerves of all.
 
2011. Kanazawa


原始角色丛书

китайский | Zang Di

多年前,我的肉体将我错过。
这事情本不该发生,但事实上,
已重复过多次。我的肉体是我的奇迹,
但这听上去太高调。我当时的想法是,
奇迹会减弱自由,且很有可能,
奇迹是堕落的另一种形式。我的肉体,悬挂着,
像成熟的苹果,随时都会坠落。
你知道,如果碰巧砸到脑袋上,
世界也许会再次开窍。我侧卧在草地上,
周围布满了夏日昆虫的各种思想。
我喜欢任何有节奏的事情。
草地上,不须提炼,昆虫的思想就很有节奏。
顺着那节奏,我似乎能摸到命运的把柄。
我带去了半瓶葡萄酒,嚼在嘴里的牛肉干
散发着牦牛的气息。我消磨着
仿佛再不会被错过的我。我的肉体
曾是三只刚刚爬过垭口的牦牛。
那里,阿坝的雪水像透明的琴弦,
曾溶化过花岗岩比还坚硬的记忆。
我的肉体将我错过,意思是,从一开始,
我的肉体就由属于一个男人的肉体
和属于一个复活者的肉体组成。
它们带给我的快乐像真理一样矛盾。
但是,盲目的,从来就不是肉体,
你知道,我能解释的,还远不止这些。

2010.5

© Zang Di
Audio production: Literaturwerkstatt Berlin, 2015

THE BOOKS OF THE ORIGINAL ROLE

английский

Years ago my body missed me.
This shouldn’t have happened, but in fact,
did, many times. My body is my miracle,
which sounds presumptuous, but what I was thinking
was how miracles constrain my freedom, and even
constitute another form of corruption.  My body hanging there,
like a ripe apple that could fall at any time.
You know, if it strikes you on your head by chance
the world will probably crack open, awakening.
I lay on my side on the grass, surrounded by the thoughts
of summer insects. I like things with a rhythm.
On the grass, the insects thought rhythmically without tuning.
Following that rhythm, it seemed as if I’d seized
fate by its Achilles’ heel.
I’d brought a half-bottle of wine, the beef jerky I was chewing
full of the yak’s life. I was grinding down my own body
that would not miss me anymore. My body
was once the three yaks who had just emerged from the valley.
There, the snow-streams on the Aba were like clear strings
that had melted the memory of hard granite stones.
My body missed me, meaning that from the beginning
my body was a composition of bodies
from a man and the one who returns from death.
They’ve brought me joys that contradicted each other like the truth.
However, what is blind is never the body itself.
You know, I could have explained this much better.

2010

Translated from the Chinese by Ming Di and Neil Aitken

仙鹤丛书

китайский | Zang Di

由于你的存在,对我而言,
世界不过是一种温习。重新开始,
或是,重新迷惑于自我。
会飞的自我确实是一次很好的演习。

倒下去的世界并不在脚下,
它遥远如一个幽深的洞
是一座美丽的教堂。里面的神
像你用手抓住的蛇。一旦松手,

誓言就有了信仰的尺寸——
大有大的爱法,小有小的微妙。
朱红色的肉冠比元素还元素。
你现在理解这些,还不算太晚。

你什么时候理解这些,都不算太晚;
就仿佛站起来的世界有赖于
你能用单腿独立在优美的睡眠中。
风大一点,对我们来说,就不方便,

但对于你,风是风格的加法,将风姿丰富到
我所接触过的事物的极限。
世界有极限,才会有你
尖锐地对立在人类的麻木中。

2010.3.

© Zang Di
Audio production: Literaturwerkstatt Berlin, 2015

THE BOOKS OF CRANES

английский

Because of you, everything for me is
but practice.  Start over,
or get lost in the self again.
To fly one’s self is indeed great exercise.

The world falls, but not beneath me,
it lies in the distance, a deep hole,
a beautiful church whose god
is a snake caught in your hands. Once let go,

vows gain the dimensions of faith—the great
have their own way of loving, the small, their own subtleties. 
The scarlet crown more elemental than the elements.
It's not too late to understand these—

it's never too late for you.
The world rising to its feet depends
on whether you can sleep on one leg gracefully.
The wind would make it difficult for us,

but for you, it adds style to your stance, carrying elegance
to the limits of all that I've ever reached.
The world has limits, so that we can see you stand
sharply against the numbness of humanity.

2010

Translated from the Chinese by Ming Di and Neil Aitken

水仙史丛书

китайский | Zang Di

福岛余震不断。半个地球
正慢慢卷入真相的漩涡中。
更多的动荡分不清政治的远和近,
将命运的泡沫溢出人生的边沿。
而这些黄水仙花却纹丝不动。
或者说,它们的动静像恐龙骨头的动静。
它们选择在四月开放,就好像
我们有时想赶在时间的前面。
不必羞涩,你就常常喜欢赶在我的前面。
它们长得像大葱,但不是用来吃;
它们是为看准备的。它们是
为了让我们看见不同的我们而准备的。
有时,我会走得比孤独还要远,
我看见你刚向虚无啐了一口痰。
这股狠劲让我意识到这些水仙
对我们的历史所做的事情。
它们的历史不是栽种史,也不是
品种的分布史,而是你我
曾在什么时候看见你身上的花的
一连串的记录。它们确实从历史的后面
把我们带到了时间的前面。
我不会为我不够狂热而道歉,
我只会为我不够微妙而道歉。
就把地点选在金泽吧。这里,
某种偏远正适合我走进它们的历史。
就这么深入吧。就这么看待它们的动静吧。
在我们没有去过的地方
它们读我们,就好像我们
在它们不在的时候,看见它们的精神
恬静在现实的巨大的阴影中。

2011.4.

© Zang Di
Audio production: Literaturwerkstatt Berlin, 2015

HISTORY OF DAFFODILS, A BOOK SERIES

английский

The aftershocks continue in Fukushima. Half the earth
is gradually drawn into the whirlpool of truth,
unclear of what’s ethically far or near in further turmoil
that overflows the bubbles of fate to the edge of life.
But these yellow daffodils remain absolutely still.
Or they move like the spines of dinosaurs, dynamically static.
They choose to bloom in April, like us
when we sometimes try to race against time.
(Very often you like to race against me, no need to shy away.)
They look like green onions but they are not for eating—
they are prepared for being looked at. They are prepared
for us to see the different us.
Sometimes I go much further than loneliness,
I see you spit to nothingness,
which makes me aware of what these daffodils have done
to the history of ours. Their history is not how they were planted,
or distributed, but a series of records of what’s blossomed on you
as we saw at a certain time. They indeed have brought us
from behind the history to the front of time.
I will not apologize for not being enthusiastic enough.
I will only apologize for not being subtle enough.
Let’s make it here in Kanazawa then. Here 
a remoteness allows me to walk into their history.
Let it be, this deep way. Let it be, the way we look at their movement.
They see us from where we have never been, the same way
that we, in their absence, see their spirit
tranquil in the enormous shadows of reality.

2011. Kanazawa

Translated from the Chinese by Ming Di and Neil Aitken

乱云丛书

китайский | Zang Di

飞着,但不像是在飞。
没有人知道它们的彼岸在何处?
真的没有人吗?我们的彼岸
可否借给它们一用?没有人能做主吗?
要么就是,在我们的睡梦中,
它们飞向我们,飞近我们,
越来越近,近到好像从来就没有一个远
能真正远离我们。我们用我们的梦
把这些美丽的云吸进我们的身体。
我们有巨大的吸力,但我们并不知道。
它们有巨大的姿态,但它们也不知道
美丽而无用的界限究竟在何处?
我们以为梦只是一种界限,
并不知道梦还像一种洞,吸力巨大。
或者,梦就是一个洞,
比洞更接近洞,比洞更像洞;
有时白得刺眼,更多的时候黑得深奥。
梦,用洞工作着。带不带色,
你说你说了不算,不管用。
给现实一个面子,我们就是梦的对象。
给宇宙一个面子,我们就是梦的例外。
给诗歌一个面子,我们就是梦的开始。
——赠聂广友

2011.4.

© Zang Di
Audio production: Literaturwerkstatt Berlin, 2015

THE BOOKS OF CHAOTIC CLOUDS

английский

Flying, they are flying, but they don’t seem to be.
No one knows where the other shore is for them.
Nobody’s really there? Then, can they borrow
the other shore from us? No one can decide?
Or perhaps, in our sleep
they are flying to us, toward us,
closer and closer, as if there's never a faraway
that’s really far away from us. Our dreams
absorb the beautiful clouds into our bodies.
We have great sucking power, we didn’t know.
They have great appearance, they didn’t know
where the nicely-formed but useless boundary lay.
We thought dreams were boundaries,
but didn’t know they were like holes, profound attractions.
Or, dreams are holes,
closer to holes than holes, more like holes than holes;
with white glares sometimes, more often with black mysteries.
Dreams work with holes. With or without color,
you say what you say doesn’t count, it’s no use.
To honor reality, we are the objects of dreams.
To honor cosmos, we are the exceptions of dreams.
To honor poetry, we are the beginnings of dreams.
 
                   —for Nieguang You

2011. Kanazawa

Translated from the Chinese by Ming Di and Neil Aitken

画梦人丛书

китайский | ZANG Di

最近,我常常梦见我变成了
一株植物。细小的根,像尖锐的念头,
在黑暗的泥土中不停地延伸;
在最不可能有缝隙的地方
它们也能找到缝隙。哦,黑暗中的缝隙,
当它们找到那些缝隙,
缝隙就有了另外一层意思。
开始时,也许只是一种改变,
但到了后来,就影响到一种微妙的创造,
它们将那些缝隙变成了这些通道。
哦,秘密的滋润。接下来,
是你的戏剧性占了上风。
粗壮的茎杆上长出的鲜嫩的茸毛
甚至让女人的皮肤看上去都有点假。
但是,假,不是重点;重要的是,
那茎杆的象征性一旦被把握,
大地的灵感就会转化成一种
仿佛只有你才能领悟的生机。
但是,更重要的是,只要是生机,
它们就会在秘密中共鸣。所以,
一点也不奇怪,在这么深的地方
你也能听到黄雀的啼叫。
甚至连唯一的回应也变成了
交底牌:你知道,我做这样的梦,
并不仅仅是为了我自己。

2010.11.

© Zang Di
Audio production: Literaturwerkstatt Berlin, 2015

THE BOOKS OF PAINTING THE DREAMED ONE

английский

Lately I often dream of myself
becoming a plant. Small roots, like thoughts, horned,
penetrate the earth in the dark,
searching for clefts where most unlikely
to find—the cleft of darkness.
Once found, it bears another layer of meanings.
In the beginning, it might represent
just a small change, but later on, it brings about
a whole creation of subtlety, making holes
into a channel. Oh the secret fluid.
Then, your dramatics takes an upper hand.
The sturdy stem grows fresh tender fibers
that even make women's skin look a little fake.
But fake or not is not the point; what’s important
is that once you hold the symbol of the stem,
the inspiration from the earth transforms
into a Zest that only you can grasp.
What’s more important is that as long as it’s life,
it echoes in secret. Therefore,
it’s not surprising that in such a deep place
you can still hear the chirping of an oriole.
Even the sole response has become our cards
to show – you know I’ve had this dream
not only for myself.

2010

Translated from the Chinese by Ming Di and Neil Aitken

也许真理在你那边丛书

китайский | Zang Di

大雁飞过漏洞。
你不看,这些蔚蓝的漏洞就不存在。
你不去填补,这些带翅膀的真理
就不会停止煽动。

你不是你唯一的对象:煽动它,
自我会溶成岩浆,用于爱,或抽象的火山。
你不爆发,这些藏在命运中的器皿
就不会被认出。

你的真理是大雁,与浩渺碰一次头,
奇迹就变成心迹。我的真理是一条绳子,
它粗到一定程度时,我就用它来鞭打一群野狼,
它们刚冲破我身体的漏洞,奔跑在大雁的叫声里。

2010.9.

© Zang Di
Audio production: Literaturwerkstatt Berlin, 2015

THE BOOKS OF TRUTH BEING POSSIBLY ON YOUR SIDE

английский

Wild geese are flying through loopholes.
If you don’t look, the blue loopholes cease to exist.
If you don’t fill the holes, the winged truth
will not stop flapping.

You are not your only object: stir up,
the self will dissolve into magma, for love or some volcano.
If you don’t erupt, the vessels concealed
will not be made known.

Your truth is a goose in flight, encountering the vast expanse,
the miraculous becomes a state of mind. My truth is a rope,
rough to a certain extent, I will whip the wolves
bursting out of my body, running in the cries of geese.

2010

Translated from the Chinese by Ming Di and Neil Aitken

真实的瞬间丛书

китайский | Zang Di

九条狗分别出现在街头和街角,
大街上的政治看上去空荡荡的。冷在练习更冷。

八只喜鹊沿河边放飞它们自己的黑白风筝,
你被从里面系紧了,如果那不是绳索,

那还能是什么?七辆出租车驶过阅读即谋杀。
所以最惊人的,肯定不是只留下了六具尸体。

身旁,五只口袋提着生活的秘密,
里面装着的草莓像文盲也有过可爱的时候。

四条河己全部化冻,开始为春天贡献倒影,
但里面的鱼却一个比一个悬念。

三个人从超市的侧门里走出来,
两只苹果停止了争论。你怎么知道你皮肤上的

农药,就比我的少?但我们确实知道,
一条道上,不必只有一种黑暗。

© Zang Di
Audio production: Literaturwerkstatt Berlin, 2015

MOMENTS OF TRUTH, A BOOK SERIES

английский

Nine dogs scatter on the street and around the corners,
politically empty and deserted. Cold practices being colder.

Along the river eight magpies fly off the kites of their own black and white.
You are fastened from inside. What else can it be if not a rope?

Seven taxis pass through the reading and get murdered.
What’s more surprising? Certainly not the six bodies left behind.

On the roadside, five pockets carry the secret of life,
the strawberries inside look illiterate but lovely.

All four rivers thaw, and start to contribute reflections for the spring.
But the fish in the river remain a flock of suspense.

Three men walk out of the side doors of a supermarket.
Two apples have stopped arguing. How do you know if you don’t know

you have as many pesticides as on my skin? But we do know that
on one street there can be more than one darkness.

2013

Translated from the Chinese by Ming Di and Neil Aitken

试飞协会

китайский | Zang Di

在策兰和阿米亥之间,有一个杜甫;
我们应该打一眼井,把他从下面拽上来。
我们总得抽出点时间,听听来自地下的口信。
在阿米亥和特朗斯特吕姆之间,有一个王维;
我们应该把青山挖一个洞,把他从蛇的睡眠王国里唤醒。
在策兰和特朗斯特吕姆之间,有一个李商隐,
我们应该凿开惊呆了的石头,用千年的鸟粪
把他的影子慢慢烤成一块面包。
在阿米亥和泰德休斯之间,有一个姜夔,
我们应该把他从树里抠出来,
放进篮子,再用滑轮和绳子
把他吊到树顶。在那里,
篮子会变回鸟巢。我们仿佛又迂回到了
人和鸟一起试飞的年代。

2014 年8 月22 日

© Zang Di
Audio production: Literaturwerkstatt Berlin, 2015

FLYING ASSOCIATION

английский

Between Celan and Amichai there is a Du Fu.
We should drill a well and draw him up.
Carve out time to listen to the voice from underground.
Between Amichai and Tranströmer, there is a Wang Wei.
We should dig a hole in the green hill to wake him up
from the sleeping realm of snakes.
Between Celan and Tranströmer, there is a Li Shangyin.
We should drill through the stunned stone, use a thousand years of guanos
to slowly bake his shadow into a loaf of bread.
Between Amichai and Ted Hughes, there is a Jiang Kui.
We should pull him out of that tree.
Put him in a basket, and then, with a pulley and a rope,
haul him up to the treetop. There,
the basket becomes a bird's nest, as if we've wandered
into an age when both men and birds attempt to fly.
 
2014

Translated from the Chinese by Ming Di and Neil Aitken

我喜爱蓝波的几个理由

китайский | Zang Di

他的名字里有蓝色的波浪,
奇异的爱恨交加,
但不伤人。浪漫起伏着,
噢,犹如一种光学现象。
至少,我喜欢这样的特例——
喜欢他们这样把他介绍过来。
他命定要出生在法国南部,
然后去巴黎,去布鲁塞尔,
去伦敦,去荒凉的非洲
寻找足够的沙子。
他们用水洗东西,而他
用成吨的沙子洗东西。
我理解这些,并喜爱
其中闪光的部分。
我不能确定,如果早生
一百年,我是否会认他作
诗歌上的兄弟。但我知道
我喜欢他,因为他说
每个人都是艺术家。
他使用的逻辑非常简单:
由于他是天才,他也在每个人身上
看到了天才。要么是潜在的,
要么是无名的。他的呼吁
简洁但是复杂:“什么?永恒。”
有趣的是,晚上睡觉时,
我偶尔会觉得他是在胡扯。
而早上醒来,沐浴在
晨光的清新中,我又意识到
他的确有先见之明。

2002.高雄

© Zang Di
Audio production: Literaturwerkstatt Berlin, 2015

A FEW REASONS WHY I LOVE RIMBAUD

английский

His name carries blue waves,
a strange love-hate
that doesn’t hurt. Slow waves that rise and fall—
like a spectroscopic phenomenon.
At least, I'm fond of this odd way
he was introduced to us.
Destined to be born in southern France,
then to go to Paris, to Brussels,
to London, to wild Africa
to find enough sand.
People wash things with water, but he
washed things with vast quantities of sand.
I understand all this, and love
the glittering part of it.          
I can’t be sure though, if I would take him
as a poetry brother had I been born
a hundred years earlier.  But I know
I like him, because he said
everyone was an artist.
His reasoning was very straightforward:
being a genius himself, he saw genius
in everyone, either potential,
or unknown.  His appeal,
simple but complex.  “Quoi? – L'Éternité.”
It's funny that when I sleep at night,
I occasionally think he was talking nonsense,
but when I wake up in the morning, bathed
in the freshness of early light, I realize
he was certainly foresighted.

2002. Kaohsiung


詹姆斯·鲍德温死了

китайский | Zang Di

雪下得太少。这孤独的
征兆已持续多年,默默的
像一种神秘的仇恨

所以一旦大雪突降
死就要被祭奠
还必须是与它相克的肉体

必须构成过一种伟大的
阻碍。死最渴望的
是它曾不得不忍受过的肉体

詹姆斯·鲍德温的肉体
在雪光的映衬下,是合格的
他看上去比死还要气派些

一个丰盛的牺牲品
他在雪中变得乌黑,而后
雪在他的精神中变得乌黑

(1987)

© Zang Di
Audio production: Literaturwerkstatt Berlin, 2015

JAMES BALDWIN IS DEAD

английский

It snowed very little—a sign of loneliness
that persisted many years, quietly
like a mysterious hatred

When a heavy snow bursts
death will have to be offered
as a body that contradicts it

and constitutes a great obstacle
What death desires most
is the body that it had to endure

James Baldwin's body
is pursued, in the background of snow
He looks more impressive than death

A luxurious victim
he turned pitch-black in the snow
and in his soul, the snow darkened as well

1987

Translated from the Chinese by Ming Di and Neil Aitken

二崁船香

китайский | Hu Xudong

两年前,我在澎湖西屿的二崁村
买到这盒船香的时候,你们俩
一个已经在天上,把白云抟出了
雪山的韵脚,一个还在地上,

在一滴清亮的文字里,接纳了
深夜里的风沙和一大群失眠的骏马。
现在你们俩都在那个高高的地方,
或许,都长着一对汉语的翅膀。

你们划动的气流或许正在成为
被群星传诵的、一光年长的诗行。
你们或许会偶尔去看望对方,
从温暖的翅膀下拿出各自珍藏的

最好的时光,交给对方保管。
你们,如果真的偶尔会在一起,
或许还会交换一下我们在人世间
那些像记忆一样不知所谓的想念。

我不知道是不是因为你们俩
今天的天空才蓝得如此坦荡,
就像你们喝了点小酒,每每
笑一小下,蓝天就朝更远处绽放。

且让我来为你们俩点上一支
二崁船香。那高高的地方或许没有
河流和海洋,但我愿你们的青春之躯
如挂满风帆的智慧一般畅行在天堂。

此刻,我看见船香的包装盒上印着
“好胆麦走”,闽南语,意思是
有胆量就别走。这句话我很想说出口:
假如你们没走,假如我们的性情和血肉……

© Hu Xudong
Audio production: DJS Art Foundation

Paper-boat Incense

английский

Two years ago I found this paper-boat incense
in Double Village
west of Lake Peng in Taiwan Island,
but the two of you were already
gone—
one in the sky making white clouds into snow mountains,
the other catching gusts of dust
from the deep night.
 
You are both far, in that high place,
with Mandarin wings.
The way you travel forward
is becoming a long poem, one light-year long.
Stars are reading you.
Perhaps you visit each other and take out
the treasured time from your wings
and let the other keep. The two of you, if you can really
meet up there, perhaps you can share how we miss you
from down here— we miss you
like a memory that doesn’t know how to bear itself.

The sky is open blue for you
today,
you tipple a little wine, grin,
and the sky blooms— in its own distances.

Let me light an incense for you,
the Double Village paper-boat incense,
let it burn,
burn out two beams of light.
There are no rivers or oceans in that high place,
but still,
may your young bodies surge like full sails puffed with wisdom.
 
Now I notice the words printed on the paper boat,
“Brave guys don’t leave.”
And this is exactly what I wanted to say.
If you didn’t go, if you didn’t go…


* Ma Hua and Ma Yan are two of the most loved poets in contemporary China but died young in recent years. They were not related to each other as Ma is a common family name in China. (Translators’ note)

© Translated by Ming Di and Tony Barnstone

安娜•保拉大妈也写诗

китайский | Hu Xudong

安娜•保拉大妈也写诗。
她叼着玉米壳卷的土烟,把厚厚的一本诗集
砸给我,说:“看看老娘我写的诗。”
这是真的,我学生若泽的母亲、
胸前两团巴西、臀后一片南美、满肚子的啤酒
像大西洋一样汹涌的安娜•保拉大妈也写诗。
第一次见面那天,她像老鹰捉小鸡一样
把我拎起来的时候,我不知道她写诗。
她满口“鸡巴”向我致意、张开棕榈大手
揉我的脸、伸出大麻舌头舔我惊慌的耳朵的时候,
我不知道她写诗。所有的人,包括
她的儿子若泽和儿媳吉赛莉,都说她是
老花痴,没有人告诉我她写诗。若泽说:
“放下我的老师吧,我亲爱的老花痴。”
她就撂下了我,继续口吐“鸡巴”,去拎
另外的小鸡。我看着她酒后依然魁梧得
能把一头雄牛撞死的背影,怎么都不会想到
她也写诗。就是在今天、在安娜•保拉大妈
格外安静的今天,我也想不到她写诗。
我跟着若泽走进家门、侧目瞥见
她四仰八叉躺在泳池旁边抽烟的时候,想不到
她写诗;我在客厅里撞见一个梳着
鲍勃•马力辫子的肌肉男、吉赛莉告诉我那是她婆婆
昨晚的男朋友的时候,我更是打死都没想到
每天都有肌肉男的安娜•保拉大妈也写诗。
千真万确,安娜•保拉大妈也写诗。凭什么
打嗝、放屁的安娜•保拉大妈不可以写
不打嗝、不放屁的女诗人的诗?我一页一页地翻着
安娜•保拉大妈的诗集。没错,安娜•保拉大妈
的确写诗。但她不写肥胖的诗、酒精的诗、
大麻的诗、鸡巴的诗和肌肉男的肌肉之诗。
在一首名为《诗歌中的三秒钟的寂静》的诗里,
她写道:“在一首诗中给我三秒钟的寂静,
我就能在其中写出满天的乌云。”

© Hu Xudong
Audio production: DJS Art Foundation

Mama Ana Paula also writes poetry

английский

A tobacco of corn husks in mouth, she throws a thick poetry book
at me, “Read your Mama's poems.”
This is true, my student
José’s mother,
two Brazils on her chest, a South America on her bucks,
a stomach full of beer, surging like Atlantic,
this Mama Ana Paula
writes poetry. The first day I met her, she lifted me
up like an eagle
catching a small chicken, I wasn't informed She Writes Poetry.
She spat at me her wet words, and rubbed
my face
with her big palm tree fingers. When she licked my
panicked ears
with marijuana tongue, I didn’t know She Writes Poetry.
Everyone including her son José and daughter-in-law Gisele said
she was an old Flower Silly, but no one
told me She Writes Poetry.
“Put my teacher down, my dear old Flower Silly.” José said.
She dropped me, but went on
vomiting “dick” “dick”, and catching "dick"
in the air with her lips. I looked at her
back, strong like hairy bear that kills
a bull even when she’s drunk, and I understood:
She Writes Poetry.
But today, when I followed José into the house, and caught a glimpse
of her lying by the pool
with four limbs stretched out, smoking, I didn’t think She Writes Poetry
I ran into a ponytail
like Bob Marley, a muscle guy,  in the living room, Gisele told me
that’s her mother-in-law’s guy from last night, I didn’t think, even if
you stick me in front of a National Army of China and shoot at my little torso, that Mama Ana Paula
writes poetry. But Mama Ana Paula
Mama Anna Writes Poetry Paula
writes poetry
which burps and farts. I leafed it through page after page
Mama Ana Paula's poetry book. Yes, Mama Ana Paula writes poetry
indeed. She doesn’t write fat poetry, liquor poetry,   
marijuana poetry, dick poetry, or muscle poetry of muscle guys.
In a poem called “Three Seconds of Silence in Poetry”
she wrote: “Silence in a poem, give me a minute and in it
I can spin the nine yards of sky.”

© Translated by Ming Di and Katie Farris

鲸鱼

китайский | LÜ De-an

冬夜,一群鲸鱼袭入村庄
静悄悄地占有了陆地一半
象门前的山,劝也劝不走
怎么办?就是不愿离开此地
黑暗,固执,不回答。干脆去
对准它们的嘴巴的深洞吼
但听到的多半是人自己的声音
用灯照它们的眼睛:一个受禁固的海
用手试探它们的神秘重量
力量丧失,化为虚无,无边无际
怎么办?就是不愿离开一步
就是要来与我们一道生活
甚至不让我们赶在早餐之前
替它们招来潮汐,就这样
这些神一样硕大的身躯
拦在我们跟前,拖延着时间
打开窗口,海就在几米之外,
但从它们的眼睛看,它们并不欢迎,
它们制造了一次历史性的自杀,
死了。死加上它们自己的重量
久久地压迫大地的心脏
象门前的山,人们搬来了工具
放下梯子,发誓把它们的脂肪
加工成灯油,送给教堂
剩下的给家庭,然而象挖洞
从洞挖向洞,都朝着各自的方向
像挖土,但土会越挖越多,
如果碰到石头,(那些令人争议
的骨头)就取出,砌到墙上,变得
不起眼,变成历史,变成遗址――啊
四处,四处都散发着鱼肉的腥味
和真理的薄荷味,哪怕在今天,
那些行动仍具有说服力
至少不象鲸鱼,它们夜一般地突然降临
可疑,而且令人沮丧

© Lü De-an
Audio production: DJS Art Foundation

Whale

английский

On a winter's night, a pod of whales made their way to the village,
taking possession of half of the land, quietly,
like the mountains at our doorsteps. They wouldn’t leave
No matter how hard we tried to persuade them. What's to be done?
Dark, stubborn, unresponsive. So we simply shouted
into the deep holes of their mouths.
But what we heard was mostly our own voices.
We tried to light their eyes with lamps: a forbidden sea.
We tried to weigh their mysterious weight,
the strength gone, becoming nothing, endless nothingness.
What's to be done? They just wouldn’t leave.
They just wanted to live with us.
They wouldn’t even allow us to bring the morning tide
before breakfast.
These creatures, as huge as God
blocked our way, delaying time.
When we opened the window, the sea was a few yards away.
But in their eyes, we could see they didn’t welcome it—
they created a historic suicide.
Died. Their death and their weight
oppressed the land for a long time
like the mountains at our doorsteps. People brought their tools,
descended ladders, determined to take the fat
and make it into lamp oil for the church.
The rest would go to the families. Then like digging holes,
one hole led to another, each moving in its own direction.
As if digging in the earth, but the more you dig the more earth.
If you hit stones (questionable bones), just
remove them and build them into walls — so they will become
faded, become history, become ruins— alas,
everywhere, everywhere would smell of fish
and the minty truth, even today,
they are still compelling,
unlike the whales—they suddenly appeared like night,
distrustful, and depressing.

© Translated by Mindy Zhang

冒犯

китайский | LÜ De-an

我曾经目睹石头的秘密迁徒,
它们从高处滚落,轰轰烈烈,
一些石头从此离开了世界,
但另一些却留下,成了石头遗址。
没有什么比石头留下不动
更令人尴尬。那高耸的一堆,
那长长的影子。我看见白天
它们落满庭院,成为出门时
司空见惯的事物,而夜里,
黑呼呼的吓人一跳,其实也只是
一种幻觉:一块压住一块,
顷刻间仿佛就要压到身上。
就象当初,某人受到驱逐
逐出那道门,然后那门才得以确立
天堂才在那里存在。啊累累的
一堆,卵蛋似的,却还没有
孵出我们希望的东西来。
我们只是先听见声音,然后看见
石头变幻着,变幻着闯入视野。
我们知道那是土地的变故,
那是地球松动,开始了滚动。
它们争先恐后,轰轰烈烈,叫人虚无。
一个决定性的时刻。是的
那时候我们恰巧路过还不知道如何
安置自己。那时候我们也象石头
一些人留下,另一些继续向前
那留下的成了心灵的禁忌,
那消失的却坚定了生活的信念......

© Lü De'an
Audio production: DJS Art Foundation

Offenders

английский

I’ve seen the secret migration of stones.
They roll down from above, vigorously,
some of them disappear completely,
others stay but become ruins.
Nothing can be more embarrassing than
being a stone that stays behind, a towering pile,
a long shadow. I’ve seen them in daytime
scattering in the courtyard, a bunch of no surprises
when you walk out of the gate, but at nighttime
they scare you with their black whirring. In fact, it’s only
an illusion: one piece suppresses another,
as if in an instant the whole pressure will crush your body.
Like in the beginning, someone was expelled
out of there, and there a gate was established,
and Heaven erected. Oh the labor-ridden stones,
the oval eggs, but what was hoped for
has not been hatched.
We only hear the sound at first, then we see
the stones moving, moving into our perspective.
We know it’s the movement of the land,
the loosening of the earth, and beginning of rolling.
They scramble vigorously, making you feel empty.
Yes, it’s the decisive moment.
We happened to pass by at that time, not knowing
where to place ourselves. Like the stones,
some of us stayed, others continued to move forward.
Those who stayed behind became forbidden cities of souls,
and those who disappeared were firmly convicted…

© Translated by Mindy Zhang

街头音乐

китайский | LÜ De-an

他们只是让音乐               
在一边放着
他们把车停泊路旁
那响亮的黑色吉普

他们也围住音乐
踩着节拍
但多数时候是音乐
在独自响着

那条街己漂出了
街的意义之外
象被掏空的巢
飞离了树枝

音乐的通宵达旦的力量
支撑着那群幽暗的躯体----
他们聚合又离散
却始终在那条街上

音乐还支撑另一些
路边的流浪汉
他们恢复了行走
在没有睡眠的梦乡

© Lü De-an
Audio production: DJS Art Foundation

Street Music

английский

They park their black jeep on the curb
and leave the music on
to blare on its own
into the street.

They gather around it
to keep the beat
but mostly they drift away
and let the music run
on its own.

The street is drifting up
above the city
away from other streets
like an emptied nest
blown free from the branches of a tree.

All night long
the music holds the drifting bodies together—
their shadows gather and disperse
on and above.

The homeless on the roadside
join them, swaying their light bodies
in their empty dreams.

(1992. New York)

© Translated by Mindy Zhang and Neil Aitken

时光

китайский | LÜ De-an

闪电般的镰刀嚓嚓响,
草在退避,不远处一只小鸟
扑的一声腾空逃窜

到你发现草丛里躺着一颗蛋
我已喊了起来----草歪向一边
光线涌入:它几乎还是透明的

现在我们喝酒谈论着这件事:
那时你躬身把它拾进口袋
不加思索,而你的的姿态

又象对那只远遁的鸟表示了歉意

© Lü De-an
Audio production: DJS Art Foundation

Tempus Fugit

английский

The sickles cut like lightning,
the grass retreats, not far away a bird
escapes, startled into the air.

You snatch an egg from the grass
before I can call out— blades part to one side,
light floods in— almost transparent.

And now we drink and laugh about that moment:
the way you bent over as you pocketed the egg
without hesitation, and how from behind

your butt seemed to apologize to the bird flying away.

© Translated by Mindy Zhang and Neil Aitken

纽约今夜有雪

китайский | LÜ De-an

纽约今夜有雪------那又怎样
我们眼睛里的黑暗将首先降临
不是在曼哈顿和罗斯福岛
也不在其它任何地方

整个勿忙的一天尚未过去
但我们已准备放下手中活
至少开始等待并感觉到
今夜将是一年中最黑暗的一夜

我们看见鸟儿飞过天边
想必它们也知道天气的变化
慌乱中寻找一次降落
就象我们眼睛里的黑暗

会在什么地方------大家都在说
纽约今夜有雪。此事虽未证实
但有一点是:明天我们不是被雪覆盖
就是祉自己的黑暗完全笼罩

© Lü De-an
Audio production: DJS Art Foundation

New York, It’s Going to Snow Tonight

английский

It’s going to snow tonight in New York— So what.
The darkness in our eyes will fall first.
Not in Manhattan or Roosevelt Island.
Nor in any other places.

It’s busy all day long, it's not yet coming to an end
but we're ready to stop whatever we're doing.
Or at least we begin to wait, and sense
it will be the darkest night of the year tonight.

I see birds flying over the horizon—
they must have learned about the weather too.
They're looking for a landing, in panic
like the darkness in our eyes.

Where is it going to be? Everyone says it's New York
where the snow will fall. It’s not yet confirmed
but one thing's for sure: tomorrow we'll be shrouded by snow,
or completely veiled by our own darkness.

© Translated by Mindy Zhang and Neil Aitken

晨曲

китайский | LÜ De-an

我原没想到,我竟然拥有一所
自己的房子,院前一大堆乱石,
有的浑圆漆黑,从沃土孵出,
有的残缺不全,象从天而降。

四周弥漫着一种房子落成后
的寂静,而它们是多出来的,
看了还让人动心:那高高的一堆,
或许还能凑合把一道围墙垒成。

如果你不知道我有多累,路过时
又不知道它们出自何处----
只晓得铭记一句老话:点石成金,
那么你也就不能将我的心情揣度。

现在我只想从它们中间挑出一块,
再原原本本地放回,且不论它
是圆是缺,或是高兴或是孤独:
我们真心真意,它就会手舞足蹈!

© Lü De-an
Audio production: DJS Art Foundation

Morning Song

английский

I never thought I would own a cabin.
In front there's a great pile of rocks,
some smooth and dark, hatched from the fertile soil,
some rough and imperfect, as if from the sky.

All around is quiet, like when a house
is just completed. The rocks are just leftovers
but still somehow captivating. A huge heap
perhaps enough to throw together a wall.

You don’t know how tired I am, and
you don't know where the stones are from.
Just recall the old saying about the Midas touch,
and don't try to guess what I have in mind.

All I want to do now is to take one stone
and return it to where it belongs, regardless
whether its smooth and chipped, happy or lonely:
if I’m sincere, the stone will leap!

© Translated by Mindy Zhang and Neil Aitken

残疾的女邻居

китайский | LÜ De-an

残疾的女邻居,跟我一块长大
我们是在花朵相仿的年月出生
当她又挪动椅子坐在门槛
我已一抬腿就能跨过篱笆

一早,她的眼睛里的那双翅膀
拖过地板,房间时就有太阳冷漠地歌唱
可我一抬腿就能跨过篱笆
心中铭记一句话:奔向远方

她是天生双脚残疾,还在萎缩
我们之间怎么能存在爱情
她还要长大,直到找到她的痛苦
而我一抬腿就能跨过篱笆

这是天生的,她还要去习惯永远
被粘住在地面,被一步步地吞噬
而我一旦抬腿跨过篱笆
兴许永远不再回来:消失在远方

© Lü De-an
Audio production: DJS Art Foundation

My Neighbor

английский

She grew up with me, my next door neighbor
born in the season of flowers but
stricken with polio.
I walk and jump and run.
She shifts her walker along to reach the door,
while I cross the barrier with a simple lift of one leg.

The shadowy wings in her eyes scan the floor,
a sun in her room sings
but indifferently.  She sits low,
a fairy with withered legs
that keep shrinking as she grows

and grows into a woman, to find the pain
the moment I raise my legs
and walk away.

She'll get used to
being stuck to the ground forever,
restrained step by step
until the shadowy wings in her eyes take her
to where I run and disappear.

© Translated by Mindy Zhang and Neil Aitken

风景

китайский | LÜ De-an

经过多年的失望,
我终于搬走了窗口,
但仔细一想,事实上
搬走的只是它的框架。

黑洞洞的,世界仍在原处,
可我毕竟已经离开,
在它的远方行走,
背负它的窗子框架。

天边飞过相似的候鸟,
想象当年的我也一样,
重复地走过这个或那个地方,
背负着自己的窗子框架。

© Lü De'an
Audio production: DJS Art Foundation

The View

английский

Years of watching and seeing nothing,
I finally move the window away.
Or it’s actually the frame
that I've removed. The window remains—

in the dark hole, the world remains.
But after all I’ve left there.
I’ve walked away from it, far away,
but still, bearing the frame on my back,

and looking through, I see myself
among the migrating birds over the horizon
repeatedly flying from one place to another,
saddled with the past.

© Translated by Mindy Zhang

沉默

китайский | LÜ De-an

沉默,有时候我找到他的背后
  在深处拾起他的石头
沉默,有时我是发生在其中的
  一件事----继续拾取他的石头

基于我对时光的认识
  我深信黑暗只是一片喧哗的
找不到语言的嘴唇
  象爱,象雪.....

沉默是否就是这样一种黑暗
  在他的阴影下,我尝试着说话
或者,我终于能拾起那块石头
  远远的扔出他的肩头

© Lü De-an
Audio production: DJS Art Foundation

Silence

английский

Silence. Sometimes I fumble behind it
  and pick up stones from its depths
Silence. Sometimes I’m inside it, one of
  its occurrences— and continue to pick up stones

I know what time means
  I know that darkness is only a pair
of lips that can’t find its language in noise
  like love, like snow...

Is silence the dark shadow
  under which I try to speak?
Or, am I finally able to pick up a stone
  and throw it far beyond?

© Translated by Mindy Zhang and Neil Aitken

曼哈顿

китайский | LÜ De-an

如果在夜晚的曼哈顿
  和罗斯福岛之间
一只巨大的海鸟
  正在缓缓地滑翔,无声

无息; 如果这是一个
  又刮风又降雪的夜晚,
我不知道这只迷惘的海鸟
  是不是一时冲动

这是两个透亮的城市
  中间是不断缩小的海
在夜晚,如果鸟儿
  仅仅是想适应一下如何

在一道道光的缝隙里生存
  抑或借助光和雪
去追随黑暗中的鱼群
  那么,但愿它如愿以偿

如果我还惊奇地发现,这只鸟
  翅膀底下的腋窝是白色的
我就找到了我的孤独
  在曼哈顿和罗斯福之间

© LÜ De-an
Audio production: DJS Art Foundation

Manhattan

английский

If, at night, between Manhattan
  and Roosevelt Island
a huge seabird
  is gliding slowly, silent

without even breathing; if this is a
  night with wind and snowfall,
I wonder if this seabird in confusion
  moves at the spur of the moment.

These are two bright cities
  with a shrinking sea in between.
At night, if the bird just
  wants to get used to surviving

in the gaps of light
  or with the help of light and snow
to follow the fish in the dark,
  let it fulfill its wishes then.

If I find, in surprise, in the hollow
underneath the wings—white,
then I have found my solitude
  between Manhattan and Roosevelt.

© Translated by Mindy Zhang and Neil Aitken

蝗虫

китайский | Hu Xudong

这是一段绝望的行走。
烈日中似有一只
化名为上帝的巨大的秋老虎
在我的头顶不住地咆哮,
更多的秋老虎,藏身于
我身边数不清的汽车马达中,
也纷纷用它们暴躁的石油之喉,
发出了震天的啸声,像是在
齐声呵斥我这个公路上唯一一个
体内没有石油的物体。
这竟让我产生了一种
犯罪的快感:没错,背着
硕大的双肩包,步履坚定地
行走在小镇郊外的旷野上
两个不通公交车的商场之间,
我看上去绝对不像一个
为远方的妻子四处挑选内衣的
购物者,我更像是一个可疑的
有色人种,背包里兴许是
毒奶粉、炸弹或者共产主义。
突然间,在马路边的荒草中
我的脚步唤起了另外一些
体内没有石油的物体:
那是一群蝗虫,灰头土脑地
在这个庞大的国度
过着它们渺小的直翅目生活。
它们是最棒的乡村乐手,
翅膀和后腿稍事摩擦,
就足以令我从北美大草原
回到四川盆地的稻田。
加油,蝗虫们!在我汗水滴落之前
快用你们的小声音
把所有的秋老虎统统催眠。

© Hu Xudong
Audio production: DJS Art Foundation

Grasshoppers

английский

Walking. Walking alone in despair.
The massive autumn tiger is roaring above me,
a God in pseudonym.
Countless autumn tigers
hide in the numerous motor vehicles on the road,
howling from their gas throats
as if in chorus, scolding me, the only creature without gas
on the road.
I feel guilty, a happy sensation, a thrill of crime.
Yes, I’m walking on the highway
with a weighted backpack on my shoulders and firm steps
in the wilderness outside this little town.
No bus routes run between the two shopping centers
and I definitely don’t look like a shopper
picking underwear for my distant wife.
I'm a suspicious guy with sun burns,
and poison milk powder, bombs, or communism
in my backpack.

My footsteps awaken some other creatures
on the roadside, who have no gas in their bodies either
just like me; grasshoppers. They live a small life
in this huge country.
They are fantastic country musicians.
Their little wings and back legs make friction
that takes me back to the rice fields of the Sichuan Basin
from this gigantic North American prairie.
Come on grasshoppers, sing your little songs
before I die from sweating too much.
Put all the autumn tigers
to sleep and let me walk my way alone.

© Translated by Ming Di and Coby Reese

座頭鯨

китайский | Hu Xudong

罹患巨乳癥的天空
把兩大坨下垂的烏雲甩到
海面上。乳溝中一艘
細小的漁船,一轉舵
便長出了翅膀,追趕著
一群鷗鷺,飛出了
不斷修正著海岸的車窗。
海的重量隨盤旋上升的公路
而增加,快到山頂時
我單薄的視網膜已兜不住
那沉重且晦暗得如同父輩
的海。我閉上眼。
車裡,空調吹出的冷氣
像鋼琴師的手指
暗自在我手臂上彈奏著
洄瀾的海水,我感到
我皮膚下遊來一大群座頭鯨,
它們全都抬起了頭,噴出
像正體字一樣莊嚴的告別語。

© Hu Xudong
Audio production: DJS Art Foundation

Humpback Whale

английский

Two huge clouds droop from the sky
onto the ocean surface
and in that cleavage, a small fishing boat—
with a little steering it sprouts wings
and flies out
to chase seagulls,
drawing a new coastline.
The road is spiraling uphill,
lifting the ocean.
When we’re near the top, my thin retina
can’t embrace the ocean that looks heavy and dull
as my aged ancestors. I close my eyes.
Inside the car, the air-conditioning blows out
piano fingers of cold air that play my arms
in recurrent invisible waves.
Under my skin streams out a large pod of humpback whales
raising their heads, spewing out
farewell to me, as solemn as the standard scripts of the island.

© Translated by Ming Di and Tony Barnstone

终身卧底

китайский | Hu Xudong

不止我一个人怀疑
你是来自另一个星球的神秘生物
你的左耳里有一把外太空的小提琴
能够在嘈杂的地铁里
演奏出一团安静的星云
你的视网膜上有奇怪的科技
总能在大街上发现一两张
穿过大气层陨落下来的小广告
甚至连你身上那些沉睡的脂肪
都美得极其可疑
它们是你藏在皮肤下的翅膀
我总担心有一天你会
挥动着缀满薯片的大翅膀飞回外星
留下我孤独地破译
你写在一滴雨、一片雪里的宇宙日记
好在今天早上你在厨房做饭的时候
我偷偷地拉开了后脑勺的诗歌天线
截获了一段你那个星球的电波
一个很有爱的异次元声音
正向我们家阳台五米远处
一颗老槐树上的啄木鸟下达指令:
让她在他身边作终身卧底
千万不要试图把她唤醒

© Hu Xudong
Audio production: DJS Art Foundation

Life-long Undercover

английский

What planet are you from, stranger?
You have an outer space violin in you left ear
that plays a string of quiet clouds
in the noisy subway.
I suspected it, and others, too, suspected it
and, true: you have a strange device on your retina
that can always catch the small ads falling from the sky
through the windy air down to the streets.
Even the sleeping fats in your body are suspiciously
beautiful.
I worry that one day you will
wing your way back to that other planet with the potato chips
that are left in your hands decorating your big wings.
And I will be left here alone trying to decipher
your space diary written in snow.
I worry. I always worry.
Fortunately: I’ve snapped a wavelength of your planet
by pulling out a poetic antenna
in the back of my head
while you are cooking in the kitchen.
You are cooking again, this morning.
A little voice of alien vowels issues an order
to the woodpecker
five meters
from our balcony: Let her stay there  
as our life-long
undercover
at his side, do not try to wake her up!

© Translated by Ming Di and Katie Farris

夜泳之歌

китайский | SUN Wenbo

深夜,到京密引水渠游泳,
只有这时可以不穿游泳裤,
无比舒服!轻轻划水静静地想。
累了,躺在水里,抬头望夜空,
一颗颗星星,明亮。感叹自己不懂
星象学,惟一认识的只是北斗七星
——一把大勺挂在虚无之中央。
胡乱猜测人马是哪一个,天秤又是哪一个。
觉得一片像柔美天鹅,另一片像雄壮狮子。
突然感到水中有什么东西在腿上轻碰,
低下头,透过水看见好像是鱼。
这是多么惬意的事情!
水与天空仿佛属于我一人——几句诗
就此跳出来——深夜,赤裸身体游泳,
我希望游得灵魂像星光出窍,
在水是天鹅,在天是人面狮。

© SUN Wenbo
Audio production: DJS Art Foundation

Night Swimming Song

английский

Late at night, I swim in Jingmi canal—
the only hour I can leap into the water trunkless.
There's nothing like it, slow paddling through silent thought.
Exhausted, I float on my back, stare up at the blazing sky.
The stars, like bright dolphins overhead. Sadly, I know little
of astrology. I only recognize the Big Dipper—
a great spoon suspended in the center of nothingness.
I make wild guesses, which is Sagitarius, which Libra?
One grouping looks like a graceful swan, another, a mighty
lion. I feel something move past my legs—
I glimpse a fish through the water.
How amazing. The sky and
water seem mine alone— a few lines
jump out. Deep in the night, naked, swimming,
I long for my soul to lift free like the star light,
a swan in the water, a sphinx in the sky.

© Translated by Mindy Zhang and Neil Aitken

与隐喻无关

китайский | SUN Wenbo

在他那里,语言成为空壳,
所有的话都在寻找另一条出路。
如果他说杏树,那是指一片惨淡的白,
如果他说喝茶,那是表明一个无聊的
下午——而旁观的人,是那些
文学的门外汉,拿着批评的灭火器,
扮演落草的侠客。他们哪里知道
这里面的万千玄机;先是疾病缠上日近衰老的
身体,后是虚无来袭,把一段因缘,
搞得像一对困兽争斗——是这些压迫他,
使他看过去与未来,其中的灯红酒绿,
云雨翻覆,全部像飘渺;
不是它们飘渺,而是一说语言就飘渺。
如今他说话就是走神,就是把语言变成不是语言,
是疼痛和性交——这些谁又能彻底搞懂?
尤其是那些想从中看到结局的人。
他想告诉他们,结局就是出局。
就像他说:说话就是消耗。说出一个词
等于一秒钟或者两秒钟消失;无论
这个词是“革命”,还是“腐朽”。

© Sun Wenbo
Audio production: DJS Art Foundation

Nothing to do with Metaphor

английский

For him, language is an empty shell,
all the words are looking for a way out.
If he says “apricot”, he's referring to “a bleak white”,
If he speaks of “drinking tea”, he means “a boring
afternoon”— the bystanders, the outsiders
of literature, picking up the fire extinguishers of criticism,
play the roles of lost knights. How would they know
the thousand layers of mystery within: first, some illness
afflicts the aging bodies, then the attack of nothingness,
a battle between two monsters— oppressing him,
they cause him to see the past and future, green liquor and red lights
overcast as rainclouds,  it all seems fleeting.
But no, they're not really fleeting, speaking of them makes them flee.
He's distracted when speaking, taking language as non-language
but pain and intercourse— who understands these at all?
Especially those who want to see an outcome.
He wants to tell them, “outcome” means way-out.
The same way as he says: “speaking” is consuming. Speaking a word
equals to a second or two of non-existence, whether it's
"revolution" or "decadence".

© Translated by Mindy Zhang and Neil Aitken

与乌鸦无关

китайский | SUN Wenbo

先是一只然后是一群在我眼前
扑楞楞飞起——黑色席卷天空。
我观望着,就像看一部戏
——自然之戏。我想说:一只乌鸦
是神秘,一群是恐惧——人越不出
历史之围;文化就是意识——那些在我心中
飞翔的乌鸦,是巫术是谶语,也是认识论的
禁地——而一个人的局限性是:他相信他不了解的,
信仰他不相信的——就像面对政治,我看见
根基错误的国家用怀疑主义造就了虚妄之敌
——现在,我想念逝去的童稚时代,
语言之樊蓠还没建立——我思想是幻想观看是记忆
——我记忆:乌鸦的黑与白雪的白是矛盾的统一体,
构成了一种大地之美——但消失
才是永恒——我如今观望,乌鸦成为虚构之物,
它们飞翔的地方不在现实中——它们
没有盘旋在寂静的旧日宫殿上空,
没有栖息在屋檐高高翘起的琉璃屋顶。

© Sun Wenbo
Audio production: DJS Art Foundation

Nothing to do with Crows

английский

First just one, then a flock
flapping their crooked wings
before me — darkness sweeping the sky.
I watch as if watching a play unfold, a drama of nature.  
A single crow is mystery, a flock of crows is fear.
Humans can't escape
the past, the consciousness— the crows
flying within me:  witchcraft, prophecy, forbidden awakening.
I sit, limited: I believe what I don't understand,
trust what I don't believe, like a country
built on mistaken foundations constructing a false enemy.
I miss the days of youth, the fence of language
not yet built— only imagining, remembering—
the black crows and white snow opposite but one,
a beauty, a paradox in paradise— to vanish
was to be eternal— I watch now, the crows become fiction,
flying outside me— they're not really there, circling in old silence;
they're not really there, dwelling high on the glassy roofs.

© Translated by Mindy Zhang and Neil Aitken

平淡的生活,生硬的诗

китайский | SUN Wenbo

苹果在转变基因。柑橘在变性。主义
笼罩下的词绝对专制。我说,等于我
什么都没说;你反对,等于你什么
都反对。悖论的修辞,让我寻找诗的成立。
付出的是心游万壑,如鹏击长空,看到
苹果和柑橘被搞成可怜的象征;太象征了。
苹果的强硬,柑橘的粗暴。以至
在一堆词中间,我寻找它们的温柔,
必须刨开其他词。重要的是,我必须刨开
世故的、奸侫的词,它们一直试图用旧反对……,
或者这样说,一直以权威面貌出现,
好像自己是词的大臣,词的皇帝。让我感到,
词的国度其实是腐朽国。唉,我怎能
长期容忍这种事发生。我宁愿目睹混乱。
我说,混乱好啊。当苹果也能在空中飞翔,
柑橘成为与主义斗争的盾牌。或者,
当我看到苹果在词的海里翱游,就像美人鱼;
柑橘也被人看作驮起情感的骆驼。到那时
我才会觉得我得到解放;在解放中,
我写下苹果的共和和柑橘的民主。我会说:
看到苹果没有变成坦克,柑橘没有成为
炸弹。就是看到我终于没有成词的奴隶。

© Sun Wenbo
Audio production: DJS Art Foundation

Bland Life, Blunt Poetry

английский


Apples change genes, oranges change genders,
words become absolutely tyrannical under the shadow of -ism.
I speak but say nothing; you oppose and oppose everything.
The paradox of rhetoric leads me to the way of poetry,
I travel valleys and gullies like a huge bird in the sky, only to see
fruits become symbols. Too symbolic,
the toughness of apples, the brutality of oranges. To find gentleness
I have to clear away other words from the pile. I plane off
the snobby and sneaky ones, they‘ve been trying to use the old against...
Or let me put it another way, they act as if they were authorities,
as if they were ministers, or even emperors, of words.
The kingdom of language is decadent. How have I tolerated it
for so long? I'd rather see chaos. I say
chaos is good!  When apples fly in the air
oranges become shields against the –ism. Or when I see
apples swimming in the ocean of words like mermaids,
oranges a pack of camels carrying feelings on their backs,  I feel
liberated. I feel so liberated I start writing about
the republic of apples and democracy of oranges. When I see
apples have not become tanks, oranges not bombs,
I know I've not become a slave of words after all.

© Translated by Mindy Zhang and Neil Aitken

“自由”是一个孤独的词

китайский | SUN Wenbo

对你的记忆就是对孤独的记忆;
一个词游走在我大脑的山峦上,
爬过陡峭山崖,下到阴冷沟壑,
就像一只被饥饿折磨的母豹,
仍然动作敏捷而来去无影地行走。
一个词告诉我:它不希望消失在虚无中,
就像从来不存在。它要我看见它,要我追踪它,
要我像猎人一样,把它从记忆中
找出并大声说出它。可是我却不知道
把它安放在哪里。一个词啊!难道我能够把你
安放在这个世界?这个世界甚至不是我的世界,
是政客的世界、商人的世界。我走在
这个世界就像走在刀尖上,走在迷宫里。
它的确是迷宫。当我看见无论电视还是报纸
都在教育人买卖的法则,当我看见
无论老年人、青年人都在说
有钱就有幸福,有钱就有尊严。
我真地感到巨大的迷宫正敞开大门。
我并不愿意走进去。我宁愿
面对一朵花、一只鸟、一颗星;我宁愿
把自己关在屋子里。我宁愿你……失踪。

© Sun Wenbo
Audio production: DJS Art Foundation

“Free” is a Lonely Word

английский

You, a memory of loneliness, a single word
wandering the mountain ridges of my brain
over steep cliffs descending into cold ravines.
Like a leopardess tormented by hunger,
it moves swiftly without leaving a trace.
The word tells me:
it doesn’t want to disappear into emptiness
as if it'd never existed. It wants me to see it, to track it
like a hunter, and find it in the memory,
and speak its name aloud.  But I really don't know
where to put it.  Word, where can I place you
in this world?  This world that's not even mine,
a world of politicians, a world of businessmen.  
I'm walking here as if on a knife's edge, or in a maze.
It's a maze indeed.  
Television and newspapers all teach us rules,
the ins and outs of games. Everyone says
you need money to be happy, to have dignity.
I see the doors on the great maze opening wide.
I don't want to enter.  I'd rather
face a single flower, a bird, a star.  I'd rather
shut myself in this room
I'd rather let you, word... disappear.

© Translated by Mindy Zhang and Neil Aitken

PAN DE CELEBRACIÓN

галисийский | Yolanda Castaño

O mundo é un hotel sen mostrador de recepción.
O don da elocuencia non é un ben comunitario.

Non se repartiron así nin os pans nin os peixes.
Por estribor a carne e por babor as espiñas.

Ides perder a cabeza e chóvenvos
sombreiros,
os ricos terán cartos os pobres terán fillos.

Eu sei dun pan que eu partiría en anacos
que fosen minúsculos e durase para os restos;
se unha faragulla pode ocuparlle a boca a alguén,
se pode saciar, se talvez destrabala.

Coma botes salvavidas na gloria do Titanic,
soutos de peites para quen está
calvo.

Urbi et orbi da retórica: nin está nin se espera.
Calcétanse barbas para quen non ten queixelo.

Tocáronlles a algunhas bocas tres segundos de memoria.
E Deus ha dar ese pan
a alguén con ben menos dentes.

© Yolanda Castaño
from: A segunda lingua
Santiago de Compostella: PEN Clube de Galicia, 2014
Audio production: Literaturwerkstatt Berlin, 2015

庆贺的面包(这是一个不公平的世界)

китайский

世界是一个没有前台的宾馆。
能说会道的天赋不是人人共有的东西。

面包和鱼也不是那样分配的。
肉运到右边的船舷,鱼骨头送给左边的码头。

你会失去你的头,雨会下帽子给你,
富人将会有钱,穷人将会有孩子。

我知道一块面包,我会把它切成块,
微乎其微的小块,足够留下多余的,
如果面包屑也可以填一张口,
如果它能够满足人甚至可以解开一个舌头。

如同泰坦尼号上救生艇的荣耀,
梳子之林为那些
秃顶的。

“罗马或全世界”的修辞法:即不是这里也不是预期。
胡须缝起来给那些缺下巴的。

有些嘴被授予三秒钟记忆。
神会把面包
给牙齿更少的。

明迪 译 Translated by Ming Di (aka Mindy Z)

HISTORIA DA TRANSFORMACIÓN

галисийский | Yolanda Castaño

Foi primeiro un trastorno
unha lesiva abstinencia de nena eramos pobres e non tiña nin aquilo
raquítica de min depauperada antes de eu amargor carente unha
parábola de complexos unha síndrome unha pantasma
(Aciago a partes iguais botalo en falla ou lamentalo)
Arrecife de sombra que rompe os meus colares.
Foi primeiro unha branquia evasiva que
non me quixo facer feliz tocándome co seu sopro
son a cara máis común do patio do colexio
a faciana eslamiada que nada en nada sementa
telo ou non o tes renuncia afaite traga iso
corvos toldando nubes unha condena de frío eterno
unha paciente galerna unha privada privación
(nena de colexio de monxas que fun saen todas
anoréxicas ou lesbianas a
letra entra con sangue nos cóbados nas cabezas nas
conciencias ou nas conas).
Pechei os ollos e desexei con todas as miñas forzas
lograr dunha vez por todas converterme na que era.

Pero a beleza corrompe. A beleza corrompe.
Arrecife de sombra que gasta os meus colares.
Vence a madrugada e a gorxa contén un presaxio.
Pobre parviña!, obsesionácheste con cubrir con aspas en vez de
co seu contido.
Foi un lento e vertixinoso agromar de flores en inverno
Os ríos saltaban cara atrás e resolvíanse en fervenzas rosas
borboletas e caracois nacéronme nos cabelos
O sorriso dos meus peitos deu combustible aos aeroplanos
A beleza corrompe
A beleza corrompe
A tersura do meu ventre escoltaba á primavera
desbordaron as buguinas nas miñas mans tan miúdas
o meu afago máis alto beliscou o meu ventrículo
e xa non souben qué facer con tanta luz en tanta sombra.

Dixéronme: “a túa propia arma será o teu propio castigo”
cuspíronme na cara as miñas propias virtudes neste
clube non admiten a rapazas cos beizos pintados de vermello
un maremoto sucio unha usura de perversión que
non pode ter que ver coa miña máscara de pestanas os
ratos subiron ao meu cuarto enluxaron os caixóns da roupa branca
litros de ferralla alcatrán axexo ás agachadas litros
de control litros de difamadores quilos de suspicacias levantadas
só coa tensión do arco das miñas cellas deberían maniatarte
adxudicarte unha estampa gris e borrarte os trazos con ácido
¿renunciar a ser eu para ser unha escritora?
demonizaron o esguío e lanzal do meu pescozo e o
xeito en que me nace o cabelo na parte baixa da caluga neste
clube non admiten a rapazas tan ben adobiadas
Desconfiamos do estío
A beleza corrompe.
Mira ben se che compensa todo isto.

© Yolanda Castaño
from: Profundidade de campo
Espiral Maior: La Coruña, 2007
Audio production: Literaturwerkstatt Berlin, 2015

变形记

китайский

首先是一种疾病
一个女孩有危害性的禁欲 那时我们很穷我甚至没有那个
瘦小的我 在我成长之前 只有贫穷 苦涩 渴望 一种
寓言情结 一种综合症 鬼
(同样命运多舛的错过或感叹)
打碎我项链的有阴影的暗礁。
首先是一个闪烁的鱼刺
用呼吸抚摸我不可能让我高兴
我是学校操场上最相貌平平的脸
平淡的表达不在任何地方播下什么
拥有或者没有 放弃 习惯 吞下去
乌鸦覆盖着被判决为永久寒冷的云
一阵病人飓风一场私人掠夺
(我是修道院姑娘她们全得了
厌食症女同性恋除了
悬梁刺股 刺胳膊 刺脑袋
刺良心)。
我闭上眼睛强烈地盼望
一次性永久地变回到曾经的我。

但美丽会腐败。美丽会腐败。
戴破我项链的有阴影的暗礁。
早晨得胜 咽喉含着预兆。
愚蠢的小东西!你迷恋选题
而不是内容。
这是晕眩之花在冬季缓慢绽放
河流跳回 变成瀑布玫瑰
玛丽帕莎蝴蝶和蜗牛出现在我头发上
我乳房的笑容为飞机增添燃料
美丽会腐败
美丽会腐败
我腹部的紧度护送春天
海螺在我的微型手中流动
我的最高嘉奖掐我的左心室
我已经不知道该怎么办这么多的光在这么多的阴影里。

他们说你的武器将是对你自己的惩罚
他们把我的美德扔到我脸上这个
俱乐部不接受画红唇的女孩
肮脏的海啸变态的高利贷
与我的睫毛油无任何关系
老鼠跑到我房间弄脏我的内衣抽屉
几升废料沥青秘密刺探
几升控制几升毁谤几公升怀疑
与我眉毛的紧张弧度一致你应该被绑起来
被赋予灰色的外观用酸洗去你的特征
停止做自我以便成为一个作家?
他们妖魔化我细长的脖子以及
我长在我颈背上的头发 这个
俱乐部不承认这样调教出来的女孩
我们不信任夏天
美丽会腐败。
仔细想想这一切是否值得。

Translation into Chinese: Ming Di

MAZÁS DO XARDÍN DE TOLSTOI

галисийский | Yolanda Castaño

Eu,
que bordeei en automóbil as beiras do Neretva,
que rebañei en bicicleta as rúas húmidas de Copenhague.
Eu que medín cos meus brazos os buratos de Saraxevo,
que atravesei ao volante a fronteira de Eslovenia
e sobrevoei en avioneta a ría de Betanzos.
Eu que collín un ferry que arribase ás costas de Irlanda,
e á illa de Ometepe no Lago Cocibolca;
eu que non esquecerei aquela tenda en Budapest,
nin os campos de algodón na provincia de Tesalia,
nin unha noite nun hotel aos 17 anos en Niza.
A miña memoria vai mollar os pés á praia de Jurmala en Letonia
e na sexta avenida síntense coma na casa.
Eu,
que houben morrer unha vez viaxando nun taxi en Lima,
que atravesei o amarelo dos campos brillantes de Pakruojis
e crucei aquela mesma rúa que Margarett Mitchell en Atlanta.
Os meus pasos pisaron as areas rosadas de Elafonisi,
cruzaron unha esquina en Brooklyn, a ponte Carlos, Lavalle.
Eu que atravesei deserto para ir ata Essaouira,
que me deslicei en tirolina dende os cumios do Mombacho,
que non esquecerei a noite que durmín na rúa en Amsterdam,
nin o Mosteiro de Ostrog, nin as pedras de Meteora.
Eu que pronunciei un nome no medio dunha praza en Gante
que unha vez suquei o Bósforo vestida de promesas,
que nunca volvín ser a mesma despóis daquela tarde en Auschwitz.
Eu,
que conducín cara o leste até preto de Podgorica,
que percorrín en motoneve o glaciar de Vatnajökull,
eu que nunca me sentín tan soa coma na rue de Sant Denis,
que xamáis probarei uvas coma as uvas de Corinto.
Eu, que un día recollín
   mazás do xardín de Tolstoi,
quero voltar a casa:
o recanto
que prefiro
da Coruña

xusto en ti.

© Yolanda Castaño
from: Varios autores - A Coruña á luz das letras
Iñás-Oleiros: Ed. Editorial Trifolium, 2008
Audio production: Literaturwerkstatt Berlin, 2015

托尔斯泰园的苹果

китайский

我,
曾沿着内雷特瓦河堤驾车,
也曾在哥本哈根热气腾腾的街上骑自行车而筋疲力尽。
我,曾用手臂测量萨拉热窝的洞岩,
曾在驾驶座上穿越斯洛文尼亚边境
并在双翼机上飞越过贝坦索斯河。
我,从停靠在爱尔兰海岸的渡轮上出发,
到达科斯博卡湖的欧美特佩岛;
我永远不会忘记布达佩斯的那家商店,
特赛利亚的棉田,
以及我17岁在尼斯一家旅馆度过的一个夜晚。
我的记忆在拉脱维亚的尤尔马拉海滩上打湿了自己的脚,
在第六大道上感觉回到了家。
我,
在利马乘出租车差点死去,
穿越过帕克若基斯明亮田野的金黄,
跨越过亚特兰大那条街,同玛格丽特·米切尔一样。
我的脚走在埃拉弗尼斯的粉红沙滩上,
穿过布鲁克林街角,查理大桥,拉瓦列小街。
我,走过沙漠去索维拉,
从蒙巴酋山顶沿着索道滑下去,
我,不会忘记睡在阿姆斯特丹大街上的那个夜晚,
奥斯特若格的修道院,米特奥拉的石头。
我,曾在甘特广场中央大声喊一个名字,
曾经穿戴希望抄近路走遍博斯普鲁斯,
奥斯威辛那个下午之后我再也不是同一个我。
我,
朝东开车一直开到靠近波德戈里察,
在瓦特纳冰川被雪覆盖,
我,从未感到有如在桑特丹尼斯路上的孤独,
再也不会品尝到科林托那样的葡萄。
我,有一天会摘
托尔斯泰园的苹果,
我想回家:
整个阿科鲁尼亚
我最热爱的
避难所

正是你。

Translation into Chinese by Ming Di

Pasei tantas veces por aquí… e nunca vos vira.

галисийский | Yolanda Castaño

Estamos a facer un inventario minucioso,
coma o herbario dunha constelación impredicible.
Están primeiro os lirios, adobío de estrelas precipitadas,
as dalias e os crisantemos,
hai que contar as papoulas porque tamén o merecen as
           flores tímidas e miúdas.
A da figueira é unha flor subliminar.
As máis librescas de todas, as inflorescencias en capítulo.
A orquídea é claramente unha flor sicalíptica,
imítase de máis, non sigo por aí.
O hibisco enche de antollos e proverbios a tarde.
Hortensias: contádeme canto de feliz fun aquí.
Están os iris, a lavanda, a chamada rosa de té.
E logo está a magnolia que, como o seu nome indica,
en tempos debeu de dar emblema a algún tipo de soberanía mongol.
Calas, anémonas, o aguerrido síntoma do rododendro.
Despois están outros prodixios rexistrables en latitudes afastadas,
como a indicible flor do chilamate
que se sente pero non se ve, coma
ese fondo amor que sobe coma un bramido dende os xeonllos.
Hai
ambroíños de río, rosas chinesas, dentes de león.
Temos tamén cosmos e azar e pensamentos pero esas son xa
flores máis conceptuais.
A pasiflora é coma o trono dunha resposta, o
                                           baldaquino dunha consideración.
Hai flores que levan para sempre o nome do primeiro ollo que as viu.
Lilas, caléndulas, caraveliñas.
Non podo esquecer as mimosas, enxame de diminutas advertencias,
nin as miñas absolutas consentidas: fragor indecente das buganvíleas.


Pero, xa vos dicía, non sei, é curioso,
pasei tantas veces por aquí e…
non,
non vos vira
nunca.

[en Cuadernos de Villa Waldberta/Aufzeichnungen aus der Villa Waldberta, Instituto Cervantes de Munich y Ayuntamiento de Munich, ALEMANIA] (2012)

© Yolanda Castaño
Audio production: Literaturwerkstatt Berlin, 2015

我经过这里无数次,从来没有见到你

китайский

我们正在做一个详细清单,
如同不可预见之星座的标本馆。
首先是百合,散落的星星装饰;
大丽花,菊花;
罂粟也收因为这些身材细小的害羞花朵也值得一提。
无花果树上的花是潜意识之花。
最书卷气的是:穗状花簇的花冠。
兰花显然是淫荡之花,
过分类似于——我就不描述了。
芙蓉使下午充满了奇异幻想和谚语。
绣球:告诉我在这里我曾经有多快乐。
还有鸢尾花,薰衣草,被叫做茶玫瑰的植物。
然后是玉兰*,正如这名字所示,
曾是某种蒙古*君王的标志。
马蹄莲,银莲,杜鹃的硬朗迹象。
然后是遥远纬度才找得到的其他神奇,
比如难以言状的奇拉曼特花,
能够感觉到却看不见,如同
从膝盖上发出低沉呼唤一样的深深的爱。
这里有
河流盾牌—睡莲,中国玫瑰—月季,狮齿—蒲公英。
也有秩序花,巧遇花,心绪花,但这些已经
更多地是概念性花朵。
百香果像答案的宝座,
                                    思考的华盖。
有些花永远带有第一眼见到时的名字。
丁香,金盏,康乃馨。
我不能忘记的含羞草,一丛微小的警告,
也不能忘记我的最爱:三角梅的不雅的热情香味。

不过,我已告诉过你——我也不明白,真奇怪,
我经过这里无数次,
不,
我以前从来没有

见过你。

Translation into Chinese by Ming Di

40°

хорватский | Tomica Bajsi?

Prelazeći ulicu vidio sam kako je leptir pao negdje između mene i debele crnkinje s
rukama punim plastičnih vreća.
Limun žuta, plava i mekano crna:
mislio sam, otkud takve boje na mrtvom leptiru a onda sam pogledao gore u vrhove
drveća i granitna brda i oblake i sjetio se da je ovo novi svijet.

© Tomica Bajsić
from: Južni križ
Goranovo proljeće, 1998
Audio production: Tomislav Krevzelj, Udruga radio mreza 2011

摄氏40度

китайский

过街时,我看见一只蝴蝶落在我
和一个肥胖的提着许多塑料袋的黑女人之间。
柠檬黄,蓝色,浅黑色——
我想死蝴蝶怎会有这样的颜色,然后抬头看
树梢,花岗岩石的山顶,云,这才意识到
这里是新世界。

明迪 译 Translated by Ming Di (aka Mindy Z)

DVADESET I SEDMI DAN

хорватский | Tomica Bajsić

Mari, dvadeset i sedmi dan od tvojeg rođenja

Svjetlost i sjena: razdvajaju se ...
A do prije 27 dana, bili su jedno!
Tvoje crne kose oči sada traže rubove.

Rođena u ovaj svijet s ničim
Od opreme — toliko si mala da ne poznaješ
Ni svoje ime — želiš nas osvojiti tim
Osmijehom novostvorenog neba.

Kakav je to osmijeh! Sve pčele Alpa
I sve šumske vatre Mongolije
I svih 350 crkvenih tornjeva Salvadora i
Svi planktoni Atlantika nalaze utočište
U nebu tvog osmijeha iskovanog na tajnom
Mjestu koje je poznato samo pojedinim,
Levitirajućim svecima.

Gledaš uokolo i svemu se čudiš, ali
Moram ti reći da u tvojim crnim očima
Starim deset tisuća godina još uvijek
Mogu vidjeti odraz onog tihog jezera
Čija dubina se ne može izmjeriti.

Meni je to tiho jezero nepoznato sjećanje
Znanstvenici ga zovu crnom rupom prostora
Neki ga jednostavno zovu vrećom ugljena
A religiozni ljudi — oni to jezero zovu Duh.

Na tom su tihom jezeru tvoje crne oči
Još do nedavno bile dva indijanska kanua
Koja bezbrižno veslaju beskrajem svemira.

© Tomica Bajsić
from: Pjesme svjetlosti i sjene
AGM, 2004
Audio production: Tomislav Krevzelj, Udruga radio mreza 2011

第二十七天

китайский

——给玛拉,在你出生后的第二十七天

光和影:分离……
27天前,他们是一体!
你深色的杏仁眼在寻找边缘。
出生到这个世界上,没有自己的装备,
你这么小,甚至不知道自己的名字。
你想用新天堂
的微笑,博得我们欢心。
好一个微笑!所有的高山蜜蜂
所有的蒙古森林火,
萨尔瓦多的350个教堂顶,
大西洋所有的漂浮生物,
在你的笑容天堂里
找到只有少数会飞的圣人
才知道的隐士伪造的秘密之处。
你惊奇地环顾四周,但我要告诉你,
在你一万年古老的深色眼睛里,
我可以看见那座静湖的反射,
它的深度不可丈量。
对于我,湖是一个未知的记忆。
科学家称之为空间的黑洞。
有人干脆叫它“煤袋”,
而信徒们称它为圣灵。
直到此刻,你的眼睛
一直像两只印度木舟,
在没有边际的宇宙里轻逸穿过。

明迪 译 Translated by Ming Di (aka Mindy Z)

U KRUGOVIMA

хорватский | Tomica Bajsić

čovjek hoda mirnije prema noći
                                                       koji u svom srcu nosi mnoge ponoći
                                                                                        Edvin Rolfe

kojiput mi se čini da živim posuđeno vrijeme
moji prijatelji mrtvi rasuti po grobljima
izbrisani s ploče nijedan nije dohvatio tridesetu
ti ljudi s kojima sam dijelio kruh
spavao u istim bunkerima hodao kroz istu
travu i noć penjao se na tenkovima i padao
licem u zemlju pritisnut mecima i granatama
(o slatka mirna zemlja koja poznaješ naše molitve)
njihovi duhovi sada dolaze u posljednjim glasovima:
ima li još soka? pita jedan koji će poginuti napadajući
čuvaj mi brata kaže drugi koga će ubiti tenk
treći se pokušava sjetiti tko je i odakle dolazi
dok mu se mozak polako gasi (pogođen je u glavu)
što ima tamo? pita četvrti i steže čašu bevande
pogleda uprtog u brda u kojima ga čeka zasjeda
a peti šuti ali njegove oči mogu reći:
                                   smrt.

kojiput mi se čini da sam prekinuo lanac
probudim se u noći bez zraka kroz
otvoreni prozor šumi četrnaest katova
(iz drvenih sanduka penje se miris spaljenog mesa)
Krist Iskupitelj je uvijek svježa rana u crnim oblacima
električne krijesnice jurcaju i proklinju i slave
vrijeme kada su se svinje hranile ljudima
ima dolje jedna kuća koja je prije sto godina bila plava
a sada nema krova i prozori su joj otvorene duplje
iznutra je ruševina ali čudno noću oživi
zaboravljeni balkoni pune se cvijećem i svjetlošću
okrugle crnkinje u turbanima naslanjaju se na
zahrđalu ogradu i mali odjeci njihova razgovora
šapuću da je tristo tisuća ljudi mrtvo na onim poljima
gdje su moje čizme ostale bez đonova
gdje su moje oči potonule u blato svemira a
srce mi je kao željezno uže otkinuto od sidra
prozviždalo kroz zrak u slijepim krugovima:
                                                bez cilja, bez cilja.

© Tomica Bajsić
from: Južni križ
Goranovo proljeće, 1998
Audio production: Tomislav Krevzelj, Udruga radio mreza 2011

绕圈

китайский

有时候我好像活在借来的时间里
朋友都已死去,散落在墓地间
就这样从石板上擦掉了,没有一个活到30岁
这些人我曾经与他们分吃面包,
这些人我曾经与他们睡在同一个沙坑里
这些人我曾经与他们走过同一个草地,爬上同一辆坦克又倒下
我的脸摔在地上,盖满子弹和弹壳
(噢亲爱的安静的大地你知道我们的祈祷)
他们的幽灵时常返回,随着最后一个回声:
还有果汁吗?一个将要在攻陷中死去的人问道
照顾一下我弟弟,另一个将被坦克压死的人说道
第三个努力回忆他是谁,从哪里来
他的大脑正在慢慢关闭(头部中伤)
那边是什么?第四个手里攥着一杯红水酒,问道
他的目光固定在山上,那里已为他设下埋伏
第五个无声,但他的眼睛宣告:
死亡。

有时候我感觉仿佛散了架
半夜起来喘不过气
隔着敞开的窗子听到阴间的嗡嗡声
(闻到木棺材里散发出来的人肉烧焦后的糊味)
基督救世主是乌云中一个持久的新鲜伤口
电萤火虫奔忙,诅咒,庆祝
猪食人体肌肤的日子
那里有一所房子,一百年前曾经是蓝色的
现在是一个没有屋顶的废墟,无框架的窗户看上去像空洞的眼窝
里面是残骸,但不知何故一到夜间就活了过来
被遗弃的阳台上到处是鲜花和灯光
一位圆圆的黑女人带着头巾
从生锈的栅栏那边靠过来听它们谈话的细小回声
它们低声说有三十万人死在那些田野上
在那里我的靴子丢了靴底
在那里我的眼睛淹没到宇宙的泥土里
在那里我的心脏像根铁绳子,从锚上切断
嗖嗖地穿过空中,盲目地转圈:
漫无目的,漫无目的。

明迪 译 Translated by Ming Di (aka Mindy Z)

SÃO PAULO

хорватский | Damir Šodan

pola sata ga nadlijećemo.  
pod nama favele i dimnjaci
bairros s mirisom feijoade od crnog graha
dokone rezidencijalne četvrti
s ljepoticama u fio dental bikinijima
betonske avenije s razularenim korporacijama
ulične bande naoružane stingerima
transeksualci poklonici duha Oxumarea
jata prašnjave djece na bicicletama
i obavezne naljepnice
s likom Isusa
na automobilskim branicima.

ovdje se business
odvija isključivo helikopterima.   
svi neboderi downtowna imaju heliporte na krovovima,  
ali ako ste stranac
za njih ste tek novčanik na nogama!
— čujem glas sa susjednog sjedala
i baš u tom trenu
(dok ona diže glavu s mog ramena)
spomenem se odnekud
Bajsićevog Cendrarsa:

konačno
neke tvornice
predgrađe
mali tramvaj
žice visokog napona
ulica pretrpana ljudima
u večernjoj kupovini
plinometar
ulazimo napokon u stanicu
São Paulo
osjećam se kao da sam na kolodvoru u Nici
ili kao da silazim na Charing Crossu
u Londonu
eno svih mojih prijatelja
dobar dan
— to sam ja.

© Damir Šodan

圣保罗

китайский

我们在上空飞了半小时。
下面是烟囱和工厂,
散发着煮黑豆味的居民区,
慵懒的住宅里穿着海滨比基尼的美女,
水泥大道上竖着高大的公司广告,
街头流氓绑着绷带,
崇拜彩虹教的变性人,
成群的孩子骑着自行车穿过,尘土飞扬,
车后面是强制性标贴
和耶稣的照片......

这里生意兴隆
主要靠直升飞机。
市区里大多数高楼顶都有直升机场,
如果你是外国人
你只不过是个会走路的钱袋......
隔壁座位上传来声音,
就在这一刻
不知何故,我听到
巴吉斯克的桑德拉尔在说:

这里终于
有了工厂
郊区
可爱的电车
电线
街上挤满了人
正在晚间购物
一个天然气罐过来
最后我们被拉进了站
圣保罗
我感觉在尼斯
或在伦敦查林大桥
我看见所有的朋友

——我来了。

译者: Mindy Zhang / 明迪

KAMČATKA

хорватский | Damir Šodan

sanjala sam da se Kamčatka
odvojila od kopna i da pluta
oceanom slobodna.

svi mediji su to prenijeli.
(Japancima je preporučeno
da ostanu u kućama.)

trčala sam gradom da te nađem
prije početka sveopće kataklizme,
ali ti si se spremao u kino

s nekim nepoznatim ženama.
jedna od njih mi je ukrala kaput.
bila sam tako nesretna.

svu noć sam vikala.
ali me nitko nije mogao čuti.
kao da sam umrla.

© Damir Šodan

堪察加

китайский

我梦见堪察加
与陆地分裂
在海上漂浮。

所有媒体都报道了此事。
(日本人被警告
留在室内。)

我跑过城市,想在整个世界
瓦解前找到你。
但你已准备出去

同一些我不认识的女人
看电影。其中一人偷走了我
大衣。我如此绝望。

我整夜喊叫,
但没有人能听见我。
好像我早已死去。

译者: Mindy Zhang / 明迪

ŠTAP

хорватский | Damir Šodan

Hoću li ikada imati štap
sljepački gospodski starački štap
štap s kojim ću kao Yeats izlaziti na led
kuckati o pločnik tjerati ptice i kukce
kad naiđu zbunjena doba
suhonjave godine koje klize niz kosine
trebat će mi taj štap
štap-nešto od ružinog ili nekog drugog
drva štap zanimacija  
i naročito štap-uskličnik
koji je ustvari štap-štipaljka
što veže vertikalno zemlju i ruku
njihova obostrana kliješta
u kojima si me voljela.

© Damir Šodan

拐杖

китайский

我不知道我是否会有根拐杖
盲人、老年人、绅士们用的那种
我可以像叶芝那样用来敲冰的拐杖
或敲敲人行道,吓走虫子
和鸽子当他们困惑的时候
来吧,那些憔悴的走下坡路的旧日子
我需要拐杖
红木,檀木
或其他木,供消遣的拐杖
甚至是惊叹号拐杖
其实是挂衣服的拐杖
将地和手连起来
在它们互相纠结的拐弯处
你曾经爱过我。

译者: Mindy Zhang / 明迪