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杨克博客

一个写过十多本书,作品收入300种文选(不计报刊)写字的人

 
 
 

日志

 
 

给剑桥大学徐志摩诗歌节的十一首诗  

2016-06-24 20:45:00|  分类: 文化,翻译,精选 |  标签: |举报 |字号 订阅

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Two Halves of the World Apple:

Poems by Yang Ke

(Yang Ke is Deputy Chairman of Guangdong Province Writers Association)

 

 

 

Yang Ke is a prominent representative of the “populist writing” movement in China and witness to many vital moments of Chinese poetry in the past thirty years. He belongs to China’s “Third Generation” of poets who followed in the wake of the “Misty Poets.” In 1985 he won the top poetry prize in his home province of Guangxi. In 1987 he was selected for the “Young Poets Gathering” by the national journal Shikan (Poetry Journal). In 1989 he was appointed poetry editor of Guangdong Writers Association’s journal Zuopin (Literary Works). Since 1985 Yang Ke has published eleven collections of poems including Yang Ke’s Poems (Peoples Literature Press, 2015), as well as three collections of essays. His works can be found in numerous poetry anthologies such as Chinese New Literature Series1976—2000), Centennial Collection of Chinese New Poems, and University Language and Literature. His poems have been translated into English, Japanese, German, French, Korean and Indonesian.

Yang Ke is also an editor of several high-profile anthologies. In 1998 he edited Them: A Ten-Year Anthology (Lijiang Press), featuring works from the non-official journal Tamen. From 1998 through 2014 he edited Chinese New Poetry Yearbook (Jiangsu Art and Literature Press). He also edited Outstanding Poems of the Nineties (Lijiang Press, 1999), Sixty Years of Chinese Poetry for Young People (China Youth Press, 2009), and Misty Poetry Anthology (China Youth Press, 2009).

As co-organizer of the Children’s Poetry Festival in Guangdong Province, Yang Ke invites famous poets to judge poems by 200,000 contestants. He has given lectures in over a hundred middle and elementary schools. In 2008 his poetry was presented on China Central TV’s New Year Eve’s New Poetry Reading. He has been invited to literary events in Germany, Japan, Finland and many other countries—most recently the Medellin Poetry Festival in Columbia (2015). Yang Ke’s awards include the Lu Xun Literature Prize for Guangdong Province and the Chinese Contemporary Poetry (2000-2010) Distinguished Achievement Award, which was conducted by popular vote on the Internet.

Yang Ke’s titles include Research Fellow of Poetry Research Institute, Peking University; Committeeman of Academic Committee, Poetry Association of China; Committeeman of the Committee on Poetry, Chinese Writers Association.  

Yang Ke now lives in Guangzhou, where he serves as deputy chairman of the Guangdong Writer’s Association and press director of the journal Zuopin (Literary Works).

Over a period of thirty years, Yang Ke has unflaggingly engaged with China’s social realities through his poetry. Such engagement is attested to by his eminent peer Yang Lian: “In Yang Ke’s poem titled ‘The People,’ the dismal fate of that overused, worn-out word—'wandering back and forth/ perhaps with no home to return to'—begins to be reversed. Here the meaning of ‘the people’ no longer has to do with timidity of publishing houses; instead, it has to do with the poetic ideal of freedom.” At the same time, Yang Ke keeps a concerned eye on world conditions. For example, he wrote commemorative poems on the very day of Nelson Mandela’s release from prison and on the day of Mother Teresa’s death.

 

 

 

 

夏时制 

 

火车提前开走
少女提前成熟
插在生日蛋糕上的蜡烛
提前吹灭
精心策划的谋杀案
白刀子提前进去
红刀子提前出来

只是孵房的小鸡拒绝出壳
只是入夜时分
月光不白

马路上晨跑的写实作家
在本来无车的时刻
被头班车撞死  理解了
黑色幽默和荒诞派
老地点老时间赴约会的小伙
从此遇上另一个女孩
躺在火葬场的死者
享年徒有虚名
莫名其妙被窃走一小时阳光空气
一个个目瞪口呆

时间是公正的么?

                            1989

 

 

Summer Time Change

 

Ahead of time trains depart

Girls mature

Ahead of time candles are blown out

That adorn their birthday cakes

And in a well-schemed murder

A knife goes in white

And comes out red

Ahead of time

 

Yet chicks refuse to crack their shell

The moon fails to light the sky

At nightfall

 

Yet a realist writer jogging in the morning street

Has been killed by the first bus

Which was running off schedule

So black humor and the absurdist school

Can at last be understood

 

And the guy going for a date in the old place

At the old time has met another girl

The deceased—having just been cremated—

Has the wrong time listed on his certificate

And men stand bewildered over the theft

Of an hour of sun and air


Is time fair?

 

1989

Tr. by Cao Sheng & David Axelrod

 

人民

那些讨薪的民工。那些从大平煤窑里伸出的
148
双残损的手掌。
卖血染上艾滋的李爱叶。
黄土高坡放羊的光棍。
沾着口水数钱的长舌妇。
发廊妹,不合法的性工作者。
跟城管打游击战的小贩。
需要桑拿的
小老板。

那些骑自行车的上班族。
无所事事的溜达者。
那些酒吧里的浪荡子。边喝茶
边逗鸟的老翁。
让人一头雾水的学者。
那臭烘烘的酒鬼、赌徒、挑夫
推销员、庄稼汉、教师、士兵
公子哥儿、乞丐、医生、秘书(以及小蜜)
单位里头的丑角或
配角。

从长安街到广州大道
这个冬天我从未遇到过人民
只看见无数卑微地说话的身体
每天坐在公共汽车上
互相取暖。
就像肮脏的零钱
使用的人,皱着眉头,把他们递给了,社会。

                          2004.

 

Chinese People

 

Those migrant workers who have to demand their wages.

148 pairs of battered hands

held out from Daqing’s caved-in mine.

Li Aiye, who caught AIDS after giving blood.

The shepherd bachelors of the loess slopes.

Gossipy women licking a finger to count money.

Hair salon girls: unlicensed sex-workers.

Peddlers engaged in a running battle with city authorities.

Old bosses

in need of a sauna.

The 9 to 5 tribe off to work on their bicycles.

Good-for-nothings with no where to go and nothing to do.

The bar-room wasters. Old men

sipping tea as they pet songbirds.

Scholars who fill the heads of their listeners with fog.

Derros, punters, porters stinking to high heaven;

dandies, beggars, doctors, secretaries (and secret mistresses into the bargain);

workplace clowns

and other supporting actors.

From the Avenue of Heavenly Peace to the Guangzhou Road

I have yet to see “the Chinese people” this winter;

I've seen ordinary, speaking bodies

keeping each other warm

on buses day after day.

They're like grimy coins:

their users hand them over frowning

to society.          

 

2004

Tr. by Simon Patten

 

 

 

 杨克的当下状态

 

在啤酒屋吃一份黑椒牛扒
然后打的,然后
走过花花绿绿的地摊。
在没有黑夜的南方
目睹金钱和不相识的女孩虚构爱情
他的内心有一半已经陈腐。

偶尔,从一堆叫做诗的冰雪聪明的文字
伸出头来
像一只蹲在垃圾上的苍蝇。

                    1994

 

 

This Is the Latest on Yang Ke

 

He eats a pepper steak in a pub

then 'grabs a cab' as they say in this town, then

wanders past stalls piled sky-high with color.

Here in the South where night never falls

He watches money counterfeit love with female strangers—

His heart is half rotted away by now.

Once in  awhile   from a jumble of icily intelligent words known as poetry

he looks up

like a fly on its pile of rubbish.

 

1994

Tr. by Simon Patten

 

 

1967年的自画像

 

一只快活的狗崽子从街上穿过
那一年我十岁,没见过一堵干净的墙
使夏天生动的是绿军装
我在辩论的词语中间窜来窜去
在大字报上认字
敏感的鼻子嗅着焦灼的气息
太阳很烫,口号火爆爆的那个夏天  
一只狗崽子从革命风暴中穿过
教室空空荡荡

一只狗崽子从子弹的呼啸声中穿过
终于闯到了枪口上方
兴奋无比,十岁的那个夏天我不理解死亡
我觉得自己像是活在电影中
赶上了保尔的时代
当我小心翼翼地从地上捡起一颗弹壳
手指接触的只是一场恶梦的开始
1967
年我目睹一张张脸孔在空气中消失
一只惊慌的狗崽子从街上穿过
飞快地逃离1967年的风景

                     199437

 

Self-Portrait, 1967

 

a happy "sonofabitch"[1] crossing the street

I was ten that year, had never ever seen a bare wall

green army uniforms made the summer exciting

I scampered in and out of the language of debate

learning how to read from political posters

my sensitive snout picking up the smell of burning

the sun was blistering that summer of raging slogans

a sonofabitch crossing through a revolutionary storm

classrooms empt-empt-empty

a "sonofabitch" crossing through a whizz of bullets

finally charging up onto the muzzle of a gun

more thrilled than I'd ever been, I had no idea what death was in my tenth summer

I felt like I was living in a movie

and had caught up with the life and times of the heroic Pavel Korchagin [2]

when I care-carefully picked up a bullet off the ground

what my fingers touched was only the start of the nightmare

in 1967 I saw faces vanishing into thin air with my own eyes

a jittery little "sonofabitch" crossing the street

and running as fast as it could from the scenes of 1967

 

[1] The word gouzaizi, translated above as "sonofabitch," literally means “dog-spawn.” During the Cultural Revolution (1966-1976), this term was used to refer to the children of parents classified as landlords, rich peasants, anti-revolutionaries, convicted prisoners and so-called "Rightists" (intellectuals who had criticized the Chinese Communist Party).—Tr.

[2] Pavel Korchagin is the worker-hero of the novel How the Steel Was Tempered by Nikolai Ostrovsky. The book was extremely popular in China (millions were sold) and was recently made into a television series.—Tr.

 

March 7, 1994

Tr. by Simon Patton

 

 

信札

           

 

隔着遥远的时空,你的声音就来了
一只左手按在纸上,扎心的穿透力
瞬间面对许多无法记忆的东西
诸如语气、语调、有机无机的停顿
甚至你心里杂音的强弱
不可救药的气息,还有体味
刹那的疼痛,躲在格子里写字的人
不小心就会被字走漏了风声

把手放在你曾写过的字上
铺天盖地而来的感觉,几乎要把人击倒
那字太有劲力,杀伤力很强
手抚在上面会获取能量
以至我仿佛起落有致地抚一张脸或什么别的
最过瘾的还是去嗅,能品到阳光
东方人皮肤的变化,有一种动人的魅力

该死的蚊子咬了我的脚心
这不等于舔了人家灵魂一样难受吗?
我不经意把一朵菊花吞了进去
那么细软柔滑让人
时不时冒出的念头如同喝污水
渴了,喝了,真痛快啊可泥浆塞了喉
更渴,再喝,生命被涩在头身之间
进入地狱的那一瞬,绝望涌来如同最初的爱情
谁也不能真正承受幸福的打击
如果幸福时死去是多么奢侈

         


南方是一个空虚的巢
我是屋檐下孤零零的鸟儿,超脱、冷漠
多重人格,翅膀用来拥抱不是飞翔
外面有风,间或有雨
小商小贩打情骂俏,有女人在小蜗居中盛开
美丽小女人丈夫归来时给换了户主
尼采已死,嗅一下,腥!
高更说他所要确立的是想做什么就做什么的权利

分裂一羽给我吧,我在变俗却没人管我
读书?写作?鸡零狗碎地度日
如同湖底的淤泥,觉得自己在一寸一寸地死
但这样的夜晚不写字能一个人呆着吗?

许多人不如一只鸟儿
人,真不知是什么鸟

别听我扯淡!我好像很有情绪
——
无端端地有什么情绪啊?


       


但我读到你第一封信的时候
你的话教会了我灵魂去飞

如果没有你的字为证
鬼知道你是谁,鬼知道我在做什么
我不认识你却又熟悉你,我无法验证你的存在
我怀疑你写来的字说不准来自中世纪以前
记忆的袭击有一种恍惚感
人最柔弱时最易回到童年
拉上小水帘,在一个小小的空间里
一、二、三、四、五、六、七……
一笔一画,流着口水,抹着鼻涕,认认真真
时光倒转,如蚕蛹幻化
你有两条粗而长的辫子,眼睛很奇怪地看人
而我是你的邻居,我叫你哥哥
你总是以为只有你才能这样称呼我
腰中的蛐蛐鸣出个夏天
有藤蔓牵牵连连,绕啊绕啊绕

你使我感到纯洁,纯真
虽然我再也回不去了

凄楚之感糅合些莫名其妙的欲望降临
抽一支烟,再想象一个色香味俱全的女人
在苏小小墓前千百年前也为某地名妓
遭遇激情,然后伴君拔剑平天下
捏着裙子冒充淑女,留一风流说法
这样的人对我来说永远神秘,但很安全
却有一种不可言喻的杀伤力

呀,呀,或许这两种虚构都不对劲
可要男人停止幻想比不让一个女人照镜子还要难受

            


也许一开始我的身子就被你的笔迹捆住了
柔韧的不是语言,而是缠绕本身

我不明白谁是圣言的倾听者,谁在不可言说地言说
在黎明的鸟鸣中,我听见了心跳

通过一朵花蕾我看见你的局部
在梦里你是真实的形体,醒来只有虚无

我不再因为音乐的旋律而感动、诗的节奏而感动
我只为能指感动,为你的嘴唇而手心湿润

燃烧。飞升。有云彩落下,被天使劫持
整整一个夏天我飞扬灿烂在你的明媚里

只是我一直无法肯定这是经历过的事件还是愿望的幻象

          


垃圾。
我的周围。你的周围
——“
于是你也是于是我也是
我们被污染。我们接受。而且要说挺好,快活

我们

隔着漫天遍野的客观
忙碌,从一个城市到另一个城市
无根本无居所。现代人的状态。人类的状态

是一只蚂蚁,总搬家,可从未见过有家
额头有粒米,不知从哪儿衔来

我怀疑我只是在梦游

而如今,你,唤醒了我,让我觉得活着
——当下的,此时此刻的——
如同吐了一天墨的乌贼
用清水冲刷干涸的肚皮,然后臃臃胀胀地伸展开来
最长的触角伸到你的胸前,吸附你

我觉得我应该在别的地方
我觉得我已经在别的地方

诗性的手指将你的我的从日常生活中剥离
灵与肉如此相谐地充满活力
被一团无形无状无罪恶无廉耻的黏稠气体所包裹      
大气吸附着大气。一片蓝色,一片黄色

一种感情的流,如拔牙之后的痛,隐隐地……

从此我们看不起快乐

                


只是我一直无法肯定这是经历过的事件还是愿望的幻象

                         1995724

 

 

 

 

A Bundle of Letters

 

1.

“your voice comes, across distant time and space”

the left hand pressing the paper, with a heart-piercing force

facing, in an instant, many a thing that can’t be recalled

such as the tone, the intonation, pauses organic and inorganic

even your heart murmurings, strong and weak

“the incurable smells, and the body odours”

the instant pain, the person writing words, hidden in lined paper

of whom the character may let slip hearsay if not careful enough

 

putting the hand over the characters you had written

the heaven-and-earth sweeping feeling, nearly striking one down

the characters so energetic, with enough force to wound and kill

“the hand over them could gain energy”

so much so that I seemed to be hovering over a face or something else

the most enticing part of it was to smell it, and you could taste the sun

“the gradated tones of an oriental’s skin have touching appeal”

 

that damned mosquito bit the arch of my foot

“isn’t that as unbearable as licking someone’s soul?”

by accident I swallowed a chrysanthemum

so smooth and slippery soft that one “sinks” in thought and “thought” sinks

thoughts emerged on and off, like gulps of muddy water

thirsty, then quenched, feeling so happy but the throat gets stuck with mud

thirsty and quenched again, life a bitter puzzle between head and body

at the instant of entering hell, despair comes welling up like first love

no one can really bear the “blows” of happiness

“what a luxury it would be to die in happiness”

 

     2.

the south is an empty nest

and i am a lonely bird under the eaves, detached, cold

with a multiple personality, my wings used to embrace, not to fly

wind outside, occasional rain

peddlers and hawkers are sassing each other; women blooming in their snail abodes

upon a husband’s return to his pretty little woman, the master of the household

   has changed

nietzsche is dead; smell it; it smells foul!

gauguin said what he wanted to establish was the right to do whatever he wanted

 

split a feather for me; I am turning vulgar but no one cares

reading? writing? spending days fragmentarily like chickens and dogs

like mud at the bottom of the lake, feeling myself dying inch by inch

“how can you pass such a night alone if you are not writing?”

 

many people are not as good as a bird

really, what is up with these odd birds?

 

“don’t listen to my rubbish! My mood is getting the better of me”

—just plain moody, and for no reason at all

 

3.

however, when I read your first letter

what you said taught my soul to fly

 

without your written words as evidence

the devil only knows who you are and what I’m doing

I do not know you but am familiar with you although I am in no position to prove your

existence

i suspect the characters you wrote may possibly have originated before the middle

ages

the sneak attack of memory carries a dizzy sensation

at one’s weakest it is easy to return to childhood

drawing a little water curtain closed, in a small space

one, two, three, four, five, six, seven….

making stroke after stroke, drooling, being serious

time turning the other way round, like a silkworm metamorphosing

you have two braids, long and thick; you look at people in a strange way

and I was your neighbour, “I’ll call you big brother”

you always thought only you could call me so

crickets around the waist sang out a summer

entwining wisteria, coiling and coiling some more


you made me feel pure, innocent

although I can’t return there again

 

sadness descends mixed with unnamable desires

smoking a cigarette and imagining, again, a woman possessing all colors, scents and

tastes

who stood in front of Su Xiaoxiao’s tomb, like a renowned courtesan from some other era [1]

drawing gentlemen into encounters, sending them forth to conquer the world

acting demure, holding up one corner of her skirt, a free-wheeler if the truth be told [2]

for me such a person remains mysterious, not a threat

yet inexplicably devastating all before them

ah my, maybe neither of these fictions hit the mark

but it would be more unbearable for a man to stop imagining than for a woman

   to stop looking in the mirror.

 

     4.

maybe my body was bound by your handwriting right from the beginning

its softness and tenacity lie not in the utterance, but in the impulse to entwine

 

I do not know who listens to the saint’s words, who speaks unspeakably

in birdsong at dawn I hear a heart-throbbing


through a budding flower I see part of you

you are physically real in my dream but nothing when I awake

 

I’m no longer moved by the melody of music or the rhythm of poetry

I’m moved only by “the signifier,” moistened by lips and an open hand

 

burning. ascending. rosy clouds gathering, “kidnapped” by an angel

for a whole summer I have been vaulting and shimmering in your radiance

 

except that I am never sure whether this is an experienced event

   or a desired illusion

 

5.
rubbish.

around me. around you.

-“so are you.” “so am I”

we are being polluted. we accept it. and we say it’s pretty good, happy

 

are we

 

separated by the sprawl of the objective world

busy, from one city to another

no real foundation, no real residence: status of the modern person.

   status of human beings

 

an ant, always moving house but never seeing a home

a grain of rice on its forehead, picked up from no-one knows where

 

“I suspect I am only sleepwalking”

and now, you, woke me up, made me feel I am alive

I--at present--here and now

 

like an inky thief that has vomited ink all day [3]

its wrung-out gut now rinsed with water, its swollen form spread out

the longest tentacle reaching your chest, adsorbing you

 

I feel that I should be somewhere else

I feel that I am already somewhere else

 

poetical fingers are peeling the “I” that is “yours” away from daily life

body and soul are in perfect synch, bursting with vitality

enveloped in invisible dense vapor that keeps out evil and shame

an atmosphere absorbing the atmosphere…an expanse of blue, an expanse of yellow

 

a flow of feeling, like pain after tooth-extraction, faintly….

 

since then we have looked down on happiness

 

6.

except that I am never sure whether this is an experienced event

   or a desired illusion

 

[1] Su Xiaoxiao: a famous Chinese courtesan in Southern Qi (479-502), whose tomb is

found in Hangzhou near West Lake.

[2] Fengliu (literally “wind-flow”) can mean dashing, gallant, fancy-free, breezy or free-wheeling

[3] Wuzei (literally inky thief) is the Chinese word for squid. –Tr.

 

 

July 24, 1995

Tr. by Ouyang Yu

 

 

德兰修女

 

这个走在人群中的人,行善的济世者

穿一袭蓝白相间的丽,以一个食钵

苦行一生朴素至简的圣徒

在加尔各答的早晨,停下来歇脚

因为她感到气力正逐渐离她而去

 

丧钟为谁而鸣?戴安娜挽歌盈耳

大合唱,休止在她安眠之外

光环笼罩名人的今天,圣者难免寂寞

为穷人服务意味着跟穷人一样平凡

荣誉只是意外收获,我并不值得

 

她视自己为上帝手中的一支铅笔

圣迹是她一步一步踩下的脚印

替悲苦无告的人做点点滴滴事情

欲望的时代,这另一种伟大

她就是光;真理;道路

 

奢华的国葬显然多余

向死的生命,一如裹尸布朴素

矮弱之躯,在干瘪的草席上老去

给麻风病人喂药,指头肿胀的洗衣妇

爱穷人中的穷人,真实地生活

 

眼睛往低处看,灵魂上升

天堂开启的大门口,她频频回首

这阿尔巴尼亚小姑娘

她再次听见离家的内心召唤

回到地球上去吧,这里没有贫民窟

                                        1997929

 

Mother Teresa

   --written upon hearing news of her death

 

This person who went among the crowd   this doer of charitable works

Begging bowl in hand   in a blue-white cotton sari

This spiritual seeker content with a lifetime of austerity

On a morning in Calcutta   stopped to rest her tired feet

She felt the strength ebbing from her

 

For whom do the bells toll?   Strains of Diana's funeral choir

Have died down, not reaching where she sleeps in peace

An eminent figure under a lonely halo   set apart by holiness

Serving the poor meant she was no more remarkable than them

Fame was an unintended reward   “I am not worthy”

 

She saw herself as a pencil in God's hand

Miracles were traces of her patient steady steps

Attending to tasks for those who had nowhere to turn

In an era of desire writ large, this was a kind of greatness

She was the Way, the Spirit, and The truth

 

A lavish state funeral would have been superfluous

Her span of “living unto death” was already as plain as a shroud

Her diminutive frame grew frailer with years, sleeping on a grass mat

She handed pills to lepers   washed clothes their swollen fingers could not hold

A poor woman who loved the poor   living authentically

Her eyes turned to low places   her soul ascended all the higher

As the gate of heaven opened, she kept looking back

Once again this maiden from Albania heeded

A summons from her inner heart to leave her home

“Go back to the earth, there are no slums here”

 

       Sept.9, 1997

       Tr. by Denis Mair

 

 

                     

犹他,我来了,大盐湖,我来了

我遭遇了白茫茫一片真干净

我欠下了一滴水的债,湖,汉字从水

水草像胡须蔓生,波光粼粼

用一亿年,你完成了液体到固态的转换

一望无际的粗糙颗粒,聊胜于死亡谷的恶水

这笔巨债岂是风华达山和瓦萨启山可以还得清

大盐湖是万湖翘楚吗?人中豪杰

英语称之社会的盐

当盐坪大得让你再也无话可说,只能驾车

在腹地兜它一天

 “回去吧,尼亚加拉大瀑布也在劝说,

你不是狄更斯。你也不是埃雷迪亚。

只有他们的瀑布诗篇,才配享有这巨大落差的命运

我来了,你们的十九世纪错过了汉语

奥登来到我的2012,还有,什么入籍?

美国这颗卵子还未受精,李白已飞流直下三千尺

三百四十九天前我行走于天上的黄河

如同好莱坞大片,我还欠一个对手

盘旋在大时代,上升,上升。帝国大厦也不够我俯仰

我仍作为我而站立,一如广州塔

天空博大精深,像高烧的前额在悸动

欠缺历史和我要求的高度。

 

科罗拉多,我来了,落基山,我来了

深陷大沟大壑,我一跃而上山顶的平台

三百万平方公里的中央大平原

又岂是一个大字能说得清的?

你这个生产总值达全球百分之二十的超级大国

欠我一个自大的理由,我要的不是政治与经济

我来了,在纽约第五大道和百老汇的交接处

一个拉丁裔女人,丰乳肥臀像发酵的面包

我顿生在摩天大厦前再写一首《人民》的冲动

旧金山唐人街方块字牌匾

我依稀在一条街上看见母语的祖国

大卡车,像巨无霸一辆接一辆,生死时速

与浑身肌肉的福特轿车在高速公路上同游,庞德——

站在你的土地上我想喊出:我辈岂是蓬蒿人

再来一场东西方盘峰论战

现在我的年龄已足够树敌,可以与你狭路相逢了

 

阿什贝利,我来了,纽约,我来了

去造一个大草原,狄金森,我来了

休斯,我来了,密苏里州,我来了

推一辆红色手推车,威廉斯,我来了

桑德堡,我来了,宽肩膀的芝加哥,我来了

西方,东方,现在是谁欠谁?

一百七十二年来我憎恨你。现在破例走向你,亲近你

我在惠特曼的诗行上认识大浪漫主义的长岛

我在金斯堡的嚎叫中见识皮士无所谓的垮掉的一代

达达达我来了,美国一路大大大,还有什么

不同时空的里程碑

短促的生命,替史诗铺路,这一天我正壮年

这一路布鲁克林大桥、黄石公园、密西西比河依次都来拜见我,

咦呵我左边的太平洋。这一路新罕布什尔、亚利桑那、罗德岛

陆续赶来迎我入列,咦呵我右边的大西洋

天旋地转,纽约客、时代周刊、华尔街日报来不及记录

轮胎写下的历史,这一路山姆大叔节节败退

 

古人将铜雀台造在邺城,我今将答案放在凤凰城

大彼太阳兮,我踏苏子瞻的声律再唱大洋东去

大彼西风兮,我挟谪仙人的大鹏赋更抒时代广场

五个时区的夏时制散尽光阴还复来

我纪元前的夏商周秦,我的汉唐 ,宋元明清

我的1966,我的19782012我来了

大峡谷,大瀑布,大平原,大盐湖

大制作电影,开变形金刚的高大司机

一切超级大的美国,自由,民主,宪法大大大

统统都在后退,我开足马力踢踏万里,历史在上坡

翻越的异想终将天开,时间矮下去

我突然发现,政府太小了,亢奋中

我被大黄蜂尖叫的一根钢针,螫醒

                       2012.

 

 

 

Big

 

Utah, here I am!   Salt Lake Desert, here I am!

I am cleansed by your expanse of white blankness

I've accrued a debt of exactly one drop  

   because the Chinese word “lake”[] is written with water—  

And around it should grow a mustache [] of watercress

   with flecks of light dancing on waves []

In one eon you accomplished the conversion from liquid to solid

Now in granular form stretching out of sight  

   much nicer than Death Valley's brackish puddles

Can this debt ever be cleared up by Farnsworth and Wasatch mountains?

Wouldn't you say Salt Lake Valley is a limnological luminary   a lake among lakes?

English speakers would say it's the “salt of the earth”

When it all seems too much for words   time to get behind the wheel

Spend a day driving huge circles on the flats

“It's time you went home”—Even Niagra Falls starts to urge me

“You are not Emily Dickinson   you are not José Heredia

Only their waterfall poems could avail themselves of such fateful vertical drops”

Here I am   for those who missed out on the Chinese language since the 19th century!

Auden is very much with me in 2012   so tell me   why would I want to get naturalized?

Before the American egg was fertilized   Li Bai rode rapids dropping 10,000 feet in one day

Not quite a year ago I was trekking   to where the Yellow River descends from the sky

Like in a Hollywood blockbuster   I was a leading man who still lacked an adversary

Rising in a gyre over my country's brave new era   Empire State Building is not so dizzying

I assume my own stance   just as Guangzhou Tower did

Under a vast, profound sky   the tower sprang upright, as if with fevered brow

Yet it lacks the history and height I am looking for

Colorado, here I am!   Rocky Mountains, here I am!

From deep in a chasm   I leap to the platform of a peak

Viewing 300 million square kilometers of the Great Plains

The word “big” cannot do it justice

You're a superpower!   Your GNP exceeds 20% of the world's total!

Leave me some grounds for MY big ego   it doesn't have to be politics or economy

I'm here   at the intersection of Fifth Avenue and Broadway

In front of a Latino lady with curves in all the right places, like a yeasty bun

At the foot of a skyscraper, let me add Americans to my series “The People”

In San Francisco's Chinatown there are door plaques in blocky characters

Along a whole street the motherland takes the form of my mother tongue

One big-bruiser truck zooms by after another at life-or-death speeds

Bulked up Ford sedans are muscling their way into the traffic stream

Ezra Pound, I'm here to shout it   our kind did not just crawl out of huts  

It's time for a new chapter in the East-West clash of wits

In our errant course you and I have met at a defile  

   now I'm of an age for a grudge match

 

John Ashberry, I'm here   New York, I'm here

Evoke the biggest prairie you can, Dickinson   I'm here

Langston Hughes, I'm here   state of Mississippi, I'm here

William Carlos Williams   I'm here pushing a red wheelbarrow

Carl Sandberg, I'm here   Chicago of the broad shoulders, I'm here

Occident, Orient, tell me   who owes a debt to whom?

For 172 years I've hated you   now I break the mold and approach you as friend

In Walt Whitman's lines I learned about romantic Long Island

In Ginsberg's howl met a hipster generation that doesn't give a damn

In Chinese, Dada sounds like “big, big”   I'm here on the big, big American road

What other milestones of alternate space-time can you show?

Fleeting lives pave a roadway for epics   this year I'm in my prime

Brooklyn Bridge   Mississippi   Yellowstone   they all pay respects along my way

Ahoy to the Pacific on my left, to Arizona, Rhode Island and New Hampshire

They step forward by turns to greet me   Ahoy to the Atlantic on my right

It's a tiltawhirl world   New Yorker, Time and Wall Street Journal have no time to report me

History is written by rubber tires   Uncle Sam has been withdrawing the whole way

 

The ancients built Bronze Mynah Tower in Ye City (where Li Bai backed the wrong prince)

   towers were places to sound the heavens

   and today I'm leaving my answer in Phoenix

Hail the bigness of the sun!   I sing of the Great Yangtze bearing all eastward  

   to measures of Su Dongpo's prosody

Hail the Western phoenix!   Ah banished immortal   I commandeer the garuda of his rhapsody

   to lyricize Times Square anew

My squandered intervals come back in daylight savings of five time zones

From my dynasties before the Common Era   my Han and Tang   my Song, Yuan, Ming, Qing

From my 1966   and my 1978   and now here in 2012

Big canyon   big waterfall   big prairie   big salt flat   big hit films

Along with your American driver driving a big “transformer©” truck

It's all so super big   freedom, democracy, The Constitution   yes—big, big, big

But your bigs are receding   I'm revved up to cover serious distance   history slopes upward

The sky soon opens to my peak-mounting expectations   time is being dwarfed

In my excitement I discover   the government is too small

A big hornet has stung me awake with a screaming steel needle!

 

       2012

       Tr. by Denis Mair

 

 

 

给那个踢球的人当一回总理

 

几个在绿茵场上奔跑的人

创造了希腊神话

怒吼的卡拉古尼斯

是当今激情万丈的荷马

这个全民的灵魂人物

已创纪录地120次代表国家队

不在乎多出场一次

在球迷兴高采烈的欢呼声中

他像当了总理

地球是圆的,他追逐着圆梦

使同样垫底的经济咸鱼翻身

为看台上脸涂成蓝色的美人

阿佛洛狄忒

拼光牙齿和指甲

 

而主帅博斯克堪当西班牙财长

他的无锋战术,核心就是控制

球员就像一台精密机器的齿轮

按部就班运转

华丽的脚法,极具穿透力的传递

疯狂进攻不重要,赢才是硬道理

他完全胜任带领一班人马

演绎投资交易哲学如短传渗透

看台起伏的人浪早已忘记了欧元的跌宕

国家的边界瞬间缩小成绿茵场

整个欧洲都随一个球奔跑起来

射门!

盯着电视机的人,全都站起来

沸腾的血让各国元首们也停下了谈判

                        2012

 

 

Let That Footballer Be Prime Minister

Men running across the playing field
Create a new Greek legend
Roaring Karagounis is the passionate Homer for today
He is the soul of the people
Having represented the national team a record 120 times

He has no fear of going out once more  
Amid the shouts and cheering of his fans, he seems to be prime minister
The earth is round and he circles it to fulfill his dream
And perhaps roll over the depressed economy
All this for Aphrodite
The beauty in the stands who paints her face blue
He will fight to the last breath

His head coach, Bosque, could be the Finance Minister of Spain
The essence of his no forward strategy is to maintain control
As gears mesh smoothly in a well-oiled engine
His players do their work in perfect order
But the gorgeous footwork, powerful passing
Intense attacks won’t be enough; winning is what matters
He has what it takes to lead his men
Quick cut-in passes show the acumen of top investor
Fans do the wave through the stands up and down
Without a thought for the rise and fall of the Euro
National boundaries give way to a green playing field
Europe comes charging with the ball
Goal!
Those staring at the TV screen jump up for joy
Their passion brings the wrangling of state leaders to a standstill.

                                                                   

2012

Tr. by Ning Yang

如今高楼大厦是城里的庄稼

 

 

跟水稻争地,跟玉米争地

跟黄豆红高粱争地

跟住在老宅里的男女老幼争地

如今高楼大厦是城里的庄稼

 

乡村的农作物越种越矮

老人和儿童

是最后两棵痛疼的庄稼

摇晃干瘪的父母,青黄不接的子女

城市深耕直播

建筑日夜拔节,愈长愈高

阳台、顶层和入户花园

又嫁接绿叶和开花的植物

 

土地是国家的,国家是人民的
可似乎并不被高高在上的国家掌控 

也跟为口腹忙碌的蚁民无关

一枚大印在暗地里把几个人的商机

盖得皇天浩荡

开发商是承包大户,贷款雇人耕种

种植能手依旧是农民,那些长工短工

戴上工人的安全帽

粮食不断涨价,政府和商人赚个盆满钵满

财富和政绩芝麻开花节节高

 

城市的庄稼遮天蔽日

行人和汽车穿行在密密麻麻的根部

像水蛭、蚯蚓和蝌蚪

多么好啊,一寸土地一寸金

种出的黄金屋鳞次栉比

让多少老百姓住不起蜗居

 

被拆迁者死命守护祖宗的矮脚稻

高天也刮起大风,可经济又倒伏

在另一片虚拟的土地上

几个大房地产商,在微博叫苦连天

他们每天都勤勤恳恳,耕耘这新的希望的田野

                      2012

 

Nowadays High-Rises Are the Crops of the City

 

Vying for land with rice   vying for land with corn

Vying for land with soybeans and sorghum

Vying for land with folks who dwell in old buildings

Nowadays high-rises are crops of the city

 

Rice plants in rural villages get shorter all the time

Two kinds of crops are left achingly behind

Grandparents, straggly and lurching   kids weathering a dry season

The city cuts deep furrows   strews seeds across them

Buildings spring up like stalks, adding height each day

Porches, penthouses, landscaped estates at your window

Greenery ready to flower, brought in half-grown from nurseries

 

The soil belongs to the state   the state belongs to the people

But the high-and-mighty state seems to have no handle on the soil

It seems unrelated to those myrmidons who are busy filling their bellies

Thunk! A big seal stamped on a document who-knows-where

Sets the snowball of wealth rolling for certain people

The developer signs for rights to a really big plot

   with borrowed funds he can hire workers to till it

Skillful planting is still done by farmers   on day labor or contract

Now they have donned hard hats

Grain prices keep climbing   agencies and brokers rake in cash

On the escalator of merit   big cash always wins promotions

The city's crops block out sun and sky

Swarms of people dart among the roots, on foot and wheels

Like leeches, earthworms and tadpoles

We like to say the land's worth is measured in gold

How grand these gold-plated houses as thick as comb's teeth

Where common people can't even afford a “snail-shell abode”!

 

Those who face gentrification watch over ancestral paddies

A high wind is blowing in the sky as the economy slumps

Large-scale developers shout their misery to the heavens

All day with tireless zeal they keep tilling this field of new hope

 

       2012

       Tr. by Denis Mair

 

 

 

地球  苹果的两半

 

我在西海岸的黎明中醒来

在东方你正进入黑夜

地球是一个苹果

字母O   是上帝挥起球棍

击中的棒球   在宇宙不停翻滚

我得意这很美利坚的隐喻

却醉心于祖先的太极哲学   东西两仪

犹如首尾相衔的阴阳鱼

这个概念因你而异常清晰

 

历历在目的是两棵松树

虬曲刚劲的枝条   凝固风暴的形状

颤栗的松针筛下万线金丝

一汪浅浅的池塘

两只野鸭   晨光在它们绿色的羽翎流动

 

我沿着岸边木板铺设的廊道晨运

大海白皮肤的波浪   将世界徐徐打开

澄澈的天空在融化,云像漫溢的牛奶

浮着一枚太阳金币

在第8小区拐弯处

再次遇到两个黑人胖妞

友好的 与头顶上海鸥的叫声呼应

穿透无限蓝的海水

瞬间抵达地球的另一半

从日出到日落

这中间的距离岂止是万重关山

又一盏街灯姗然而至

人声鼎沸的肉菜批发市场

我们紧挨着经过   像两棵葱茏的青菜

 

昏睡的骑楼像发黄的纸张

风在游荡   夜的肌肤丝绸般清凉

月白皙的前额  星星的眼

光充盈所有的角落

这时我听见两声鹧鸪

你一条微信

鲸鱼一般游过太平洋

苹果和另一只苹果

在手掌里  东半球与西半球

那么近  如同邻家女孩

                          2014.5

 

 

Two Halves of the Earth-Apple

 

1

I awake at dawn on the West Coast

As you enter dark night in the Orient

Planet earth is the letter “O”

It resembles an apple   a ball struck by God's bat

Sent on a spinning course through the cosmos

I toy with this metaphor so suited to Amerika

Yet I embrace my country's way of Taiji  

   in which the contrary poles of something

Are yin and yang fish chasing each others' tails

When I keep you in mind, I see this more clearly

 

What looms before my eyes are two pine trees

Trunks coiled with tensile strength   solidified shapes of storm

10,000 golden threads come through a sieve of needles

Casting gleams on water of a shallow pond

Green feathers of two wild ducks catch the morning light

 

2

I stroll on a puncheon trail down by the shore

Waves make the sea's skin white   the world slowly opens

The sky melts in pellucid depth   milky clouds spill across it

Past the sun's suspended medallion

As I reach the turn-in to Estate No. Eight

Again it comes back to me—the friendly Hi, hi

Of two buxom black girls, blended with seagull cries

Ringing out over the blue expanse of seawater

Reaching the globe's other half in an instant

The distance from sunrise to sunset

Has to pass through a gauntlet of barriers

Right now the next block's streetlight gets closer

Amid the hubbub of a meat and produce market

We walk past leaning together like two verdant leeks

 

A raised walkway yellows like paper in somnolent heat

Until the velvety skin of night is cooled by a footloose wind

Pale brow of moon and eyes of stars

Light insinuating into all corners

A grouse somewhere clucks twice

A text message from you

Swims the Pacific like a whale

In the palm of my hand   the East and West hemispheres

Are so near   like the girl next door

 

       May 2014

       Tr. by Denis Mair

 

 

深谷流火

 

红水河
是从石头里走
            

         
来
             
的

大朵大朵的木棉花
温和地焚烧着
山很粗糙
铜质阳光
凝滞在峡谷里
   
玄色鸟
 
血浪
   
巉岩般一动不动的山民
赤裸的脊背
泛动与土地天空浑然的赭红

(山羊咩咩的叫声也是红色的么?)

狞野的神话旷达的神话洒脱的神话
愈流愈远上游漂下来喧闹的日子
陌生的日子新鲜的日子不安的日子
匆匆地漂下来漂
             
下
                
来

雄性的风
呼啸着令人嫉妒的激情
这水是点得燃的哦
一团团火球
   
醉醺醺
醉醺醺
      
旋转

红水河
大山的血脉
烈焰汹涌的血脉哦

             1985

 

Flowing Fire in the Deep Valley

 

Redwater River

comes

     walking

out

From rocks

Big big kapok flowers

Gently burn

Mountain crags

In bronze sunshine

Congeal around a valley

red birds

         bloody waves

         mountaineers like stolid rocks

Light bounces from bare backs

A coppery hue melding with land and sky

 

(Are the bleats of goats also red?)

 

Myths of beastliness   myths of the limberlost   myths of release

From headwaters flowing ever farther, drift of noisy days

Hurriedly they come

floating

down

 

Wind of the male beast

Roars out its enviable passion

O this water can burn

Fire in whorls

inebriate

inebriate

In whirlpools

 

Redwater River

Blood vessel of mountains

Overflowing with flames

 

1985

Tr. by Cao Sheng & David Axelrod

 

 

 

 

     诗人杨克,他是中国“第三代”实力派诗人和“‘民间立场’写作的代表诗人之一”。在许多至关重要的时刻见证了过去三十年的中国诗歌。自1985年以来,      杨克在中国大陆和台湾已经出版了《杨克的诗》、《有关与无关》、《石榴的火焰》等11诗集以及《石头上的史诗》等3部散文随笔集和1本文集。他的作品被收入《中国新文学大系》(19762000)、《中国新诗百年大典》、《中国新诗总系》等300种以上诗选集,并被翻译成英语、日语、德语、法语、西班牙语、俄语、韩语和印尼语等文字。他主编了从1998年到2014,每个年度的《中国新诗年鉴》以及《〈他们〉10年诗歌选》,《朦胧诗选》(中国文库第4)等多种诗选。

他被邀请参加了在哥伦比亚德国、日本、芬兰、挪威、澳大利亚、菲律宾、印尼等举办的国际诗会、书展和文学交流。参加过在台湾举办的两岸高峰文化论坛。杨克曾荣获中国大陆和台湾的文学奖多种,其中包括广东第8届鲁迅文艺奖,广东第七届五个一工程奖,首届汉语诗歌双年(20062007)十佳奖,中国当代诗歌(20002010)贡献奖,广西首届政府奖“铜鼓奖“等。

杨克现居广州,任广东省作家协会专职副主席。《作品》文学杂志社长。 系编审、一级作家。北京大学诗歌研究院研究员,中国诗歌学会副会长。

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