作者简介：
杨克，当代汉语诗人中一以贯之具有个人化历史想象力和求真意志的诗人，其城市诗歌写作开启了某种意义上的主体性。在人民文学出版社和台湾华品文创有限公司等出版《杨克的诗》《有关与无关》《我在一颗石榴里看见了我的祖国等13部中文诗集、4部散文随笔集和1本文集，美国俄克拉赫马大学出版社、英国剑桥康河出版社和罗马尼亚、瑞典、西班牙等翻译《地球苹果的两半》《没有终点的旅程》等10种外语诗集。主编《中国新诗年鉴（1998-2019每个年度）》等。获意大利弗朗切斯科.詹皮特里国际文学奖、英国“剑桥徐志摩诗歌奖“等外国、中国大陆和台湾文学奖十多种。系中国作家协会主席团委员，中国诗歌学会会长，北京大学诗歌研究院研究员。
Yang Ke，a contemporary Chinese poet, known for his consistent highly personalised style of historical imagination and pursuit of truth. His urban poetry marks, in a certain sense, the emergence of subjectivity in Chinese poetic expression.He has published 13 poetry collections in Chinese—including Yang Ke’s Poems, Related and Unrelated, and I Saw My Country Inside a Pomegranate—along with 4 collections of prose essays and 1 anthology, through presses such as People’s Literature Publishing House and Taiwan Huapin Wenchuang Co.Ltd. His works have also been translated into 10 foreign-language collections, including Two Halves of the World Apple and A Journey Without Destination, published by the University of Oklahoma Press (USA), Cambridge River Press (UK), and publishers in Romania, Sweden, Spain, among others.He is the editor-in-chief of Chinese New Poetry Yearbook(1998–2019) and has received more than a dozen literary awards from mainland China, Taiwan, and abroad, including the Francesco Giampietri International Literary Prize (Italy) and the Cambridge Xu Zhimo Poetry Award (UK). Yang Ke currently serves as a Presidium Member of the China Writers Association, President of the Chinese Poetry Society, and Research Fellow at the Poetry Institute of Peking University.
六维空间
银河系分离之前
我们只是生活在三维空间里
流淌的微尘
在平行线上，画出一个圆
走在中心的人
播撒万卷诗篇
耕种语轳碾压过的痕迹
以二次元进入梦境
静止的画面在缓缓流动
暗物质穿透空间
把立方体世界造出多个界面
高科技飞跃太空
以洪荒之力开启新的起点
被洞穿的四维空间
多了一条时间轴
精神的螺杆，与幂的扭曲有关
外面是另一个平行的宇宙
或无限的星空叠加
当神识开发到可以控制意念
万物皆在转瞬之间
打开时空隧道的闸门
穿梭过去与未来
六维空间在时间的推移中存在
仿佛进入宇宙能量屋
座标轴消失，星球旋转群出现
隐藏的超弦弹奏着
线向之外的符号，直到符号改变
穿越黑洞后，时间外还有时间？
（2021.05.17）
Six-dimensional Space
Before the galaxy’s genesis
We lived in merely three-dimensional space
Like floating motes of dust
A circle is drawn around the horizon,
And those who walk in the middle
Circulate tens of thousands of volumes of poetry;
Cultivate the treadmarks of the wheels of language
Enter the two-dimensional dreamland
Where still scenes slowly float
Dark matter flies through space
Creating a multitude of interfaces with the cubic world
High technology flies into space
Making new starting points with prehistoric powers
Four-dimension space has been pierced but
Has one more time axis;
The spiritual screw, has something to do with the distortion of power
Outside is another, parallel, universe
Or superimposed unlimited starry sky
When divine consciousness has evolved with the ability control the human mind
All things on earth instantly
Open the valves of the tunnels of time and space
Shuttle between the past and the future
Six-dimensional space exists in the movement of time
It seems to be entering the energy room of space
The axes of coordinates suddenly disappear
The hidden super chords are playing
The symbols beyond alignment, until the symbols change
Is there time outside time, beyond black holes?
（2021.05.17， Translator: Lu Wenyan, Emma Nortfods/
译者：陆文艳, 艾玛·诺芙德）
在东莞遇见一小块稻田
厂房的脚趾缝
矮脚稻
拼命抱住最后一些土
它的根锚
疲惫地张着
愤怒的手 想从泥水里
抠出鸟声和虫叫
从一片亮汪汪的阳光里
我看见禾叶
耸起的背脊
一株株稻穗在拔节
谷粒灌浆 在夏风中微微笑着
跟我交谈
顿时我从喧嚣浮躁的汪洋大海里
拧干自己
像一件白衬衣
昨天我怎么也没想到
在东莞
我竟然遇见一小块稻田
青黄的稻穗
一直晃在
欣喜和悲痛的瞬间
（2001.05）
I Came across a Small Rice Field in Dongguan
Between the toes of factories
short-stemmed rice plants
clutch at the last bit of dirt
Their root-anchors
uncurl tiredly
Outraged hands wanting to scratch
birdsong and cricket call from the mud
In a patch of gleaming sunlight
I saw rice-plant leaves
shrug like shrugged shoulders
The spikes of rice grew quickly
The grains were in milk They smiled faintly in the summer breeze
talking to me
All of a sudden, emerging from the deafening, impulsive ocean/oceanic din of notions**
I wrung myself dry
like a white shirt
Yesterday, I would never have guessed
that in Dongguan
I could have come across a small field of rice
The yellow-green spikes
continued to sway
through moments both happy and sad
(2001.05，Tr. by Simon Patten)
银背大猩猩
—— 致朱蒂丝·桑巴贝拉
在乌干达
金刚猩猩的背，犹如一把
藏在木鼓中的银刃
切开炙热潮湿的草原
赤道低悬的铜盘下
布恩迪的叶影轻抚着它
它捶打胸口
一身铁铸的力量
敲响远古的余响
鸟散乱成流星
背脊上的银光像迸裂的黎明
压低了远山的轮廓
在广州的繁华街头，朱蒂丝·桑巴贝拉
她微笑，银光与眼影交错
正如金刚的坚定与温柔
她和它的眼神重叠
悄无声息地起伏
温柔而不失锋芒
一刚一柔，一雄一美
金刚的胸膛
每一寸肌肉都浸透厚重
而她的眼眸，却如湖面上的微波
在那一瞬，所有的喧嚣都沉寂
（2025.02.10）
注：乌干达驻广州总领事朱蒂丝·桑巴贝拉曾主办银背圣诞节活动，银背大猩猩是乌干达国宝。
Silverback
—— To Judyth Nsababera
In Uganda,
the silverback’s back,
like a blade hidden in the wooden drum,
slices through the scorching, soaked savannah.
Under the equator’s burning copper,
the leaves of Bwindi brush it,
it beats its chest —
a body forged in iron,
striking ancient, echoing thuds,
and birds shatter into stars.
The silver glint on its spine,
like dawn cracking,
pulls the far-off hills down to silence.
In Guangzhou’s crowded streets, Judith Sambabera,
smiling, her eyes and the silver flicker,
like the King, firm and gentle.
Her gaze and his meet,
quietly swaying,
gentle, but with sharp edges.
A balance of strength and softness,
Of might and beauty,
the Kong’s chest,
every muscle a thick slab of power,
while her eyes,
like waves across a lake,
still the whole world —
just for a moment.
（translated by Weina Dai （戴潍娜)， 2025.02.10）
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）
逆光中的那一棵木棉
梦幻之树 黄昏在它的背后大面积沉落
逆光中它显得那样清晰
生命的躯干微妙波动
为谁明媚 银色的线条如此炫目
空气中辐射着绝不消失的洋溢的美
诉说生存的万丈光芒
此刻它是精神的灾难
在一种高贵气质的涵盖中
我们深深倾倒
成为匍匐的植物
谁的手在拧低太阳的灯芯
惟有它光焰上升
欲望的花朵 这个季节里看不见的花朵
被最后的激情吹向高处
我们的灵魂在它的枝叶上飞
当晦暗渐近 万物沉沦
心灵的风景中
黑色的剪影 意味着一切
(1994.11.30)
A Kapok Tree, Backlit at Sunset
Tree of dreams as the expanse behind it sinks into twilight
Its backlit shape takes on a special clarity
There is a hint of swaying in its living upper limbs
For whom this loveliness these eye-catching pastel lines?
Overflow of lingering beauty radiates into the air
Telling its tale of survival as far as light reaches
In this moment’s cataclysm of the spirit
Enveloped in an aura of nobility
A tree toward which we lean admiringly
On the point of crawling in supplication
Whose hand is turning down the sun’s lamp-wick?
Only its flames are still leaping
Blossom of desire this season’s invisible flower
Being blown toward high places by the final passion
My soul flies on the branch tips
As gloom closes in all living things sink into it
In the scenery of the spirit
The silhouette one presents means everything
(Translated by Denis Mair)
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
(1994.03.07)
Self-Portrait, 1967
a happy “sonofabitch”①crossing 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
①The 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.
②Pavel 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.
(1994.03.07, Tr. by Simon Patton)
谁告诉我石峁的邮编
入其闉阇，我想给荼女写封信
四千两百年前，那时还没有文字
甲骨卜辞也契刻不了我的深情
文明的前夜，她在石峁
遗址那时还不是遗址
从内瓮城寄到外瓮城，可有猿声
穿过古地图，所有的字皆僻字
仿佛密码，她读不懂不要紧
就像我此刻读不懂彩绘几何纹
四十八个人殉头骨，多为少女
她们是荼女的姐妹，是她祖母的祖母？
云遮雾罩时期，一切皆影影幢幢
哪怕其后千年的申公豹
豹额圆睛确有其人，何为传说
山海经确有山海
还是神话或想象的海市蜃楼？
当覆盖的黄土被大风吹尽
塬墚赫然耸立一座孤城
石头大道通向城台，我绕过石垣上的
木架构, 走进她家石砌的院落
出其东门，赤县，华夏，神州
历史之前，其实就是文字之前
她到底是甲骨和诗经的先祖
或是迁徙他乡湮灭了的异族
我将信寄到瓮城，朝代一直瓮中捉鳖
石头像和玉人面高鼻深目
我到了陕西神木，却一直
到不了她的石峁。地理上的起伏
暗示心理上的连绵
至于信寄与不寄
石峁本就在那，而她也许只在梦中
Who Can Tell Me the Postcode of Shimao
As I enter Yindu, I want to write to a beautiful girl there.
There was no written language over 2,400 years ago,
Even the oracle poems cannot carve my deep love.
She was in Shimao on the eve of civilisation,
When the ruins were not yet ruins
Were there any orangutan longcalls from inner Weng City posting to outer Weng City?
Going through ancient maps, all the words were rare
Like code. It did not matter if she did not understand
Like myself, now I cannot understand these colourful painted geometric patterns
There are 48 skulls, most of them were sacrificed teenage girls
Were they the beautiful girl’s sisters, or her great, great grandmother?
At that time, everything was shadowy, hidden in cloud and fog,
Even the legend Shen Gongbao, a thousand years later
Had a leopardine forehead and truthful, round eyes, so it was not hearsay.
The wind blew away the naked yellow earth
And at once a lone city appeared
The wide stone path leads to the city control tower, I avoid the wooden structures
On the stone walls, I walk into her stone-paved courtyard and
Leave from its front gate. It is China, The Middle Kingdom, The Divine Land
Before Christ, even before the invention of written language
Whether she was the ancestor of the Oracle or the Book of Poetry
Or the barbarians who emigrated and vanished
I posted my letter to Weng City, where the dynasties pursued their easy prey
The stone sculptures and jade figurines all have high noses and deep-set eyes
I arrived in Shenmu, Shanxi, but could never
Arrive in her Shimao. The undulations of the landscape
Imply psychological continuity,
But it does not matter whether I post the letter or not.
Shimao has always been there, but perhaps she is only in my dreams.
(2021.06.04，Translator: Lu Wenyan, Emma Nortfods
/译者：陆文艳, 艾玛·诺芙德)
走向花山（组诗）
花山，在广西宁明县内，濒临明江。绝壁之上，用朱红颜料画着一千四五百个粗犷朴拙的人、兽形象，其中最大的人像高达三米，最小的仅高三十厘米，整个画面高约四五十米，长约一百七八十米，公认为壮族古代文化之元。
一
欧唷唷——
我是血的礼赞，我是火的膜拜
从野猪凶狠的獠牙上来
从雉鸡发抖的羽翎中来
从神秘的图腾和饰佩的兽骨上来
我扑灭了饿狼眼中饕餮的绿火
我震慑了猛虎额门斑斓的光焰
追逐利箭的铮鏦而来
践踏毙兽的抽搐而来
血哟，火哟
狞厉的美哟
我们举剑而来，击鼓而来，鸣金而来
——尼罗！
从小米醉人的穗子上来
从苞谷灿烂的缨子中来
从山弄垌场和斗笠就能盖住的田坝上来
我是血之礼赞，我是火之膜拜
抡着砍刀的呼啸而来
仗着烧荒的烈焰而来
血哟，火哟
丰腴的美哟
我们唱欢①而来，雀跃而来，舞蹈而来
——尼罗！
绣球跟着轻抛而来
红蛋跟着相碰而来
金竹毛竹斑竹刺竹搭成的麻栏②接踵而来
白米糍粑打上我的印记
五色糯饭飘出我的诱惑
我是血的礼赞，我是火的膜拜
血哟，火哟
崇高的美哟
我们匍匐而来扬幡而来顶礼而来
尼罗——尼罗
①欢：壮族山歌之一种。
②麻栏：壮族双层建筑，上住人，下养牲口。
二
一支支箭镞
射向血红的太阳，射向
太阳一样血红的野牛眼睛
兽皮裹着牯牛般粗壮的骆越汉子
裹着
斗红眼的牯牛一般咆哮的灵魂
脚步声，唔唔的欢呼
漫山遍野
踏过箭猪的尸体的同伴的呻吟
把标枪
连同毫不畏惧的手臂
捅进豹子的口中
山，被血液烧得沸腾了
心旌，森林
卷过凄厉的穿林风
香喷喷的夜晚
架在篝火上
毕毕剥剥的湿柴
迸出了满天星星
迸出了
布伯斗雷王的传说
妈勒访天边的故事
羽人梦
火灰，早已湮灭了
只有亘古不熄的昭示
仍在崖壁上的熊熊燃烧
比象形文字还要原始
比太阳还要神圣
三
连风都被杀死了
狼藉的山野，躺着
吻剑的头颅，饮箭的血
血染的尸骸
躺下了纷乱的马蹄
丁丁当当的杀戮、宰割
残忍和冷酷
只有“嗡哄嗡哄”的铜鼓
召唤弓，召唤剑，召唤着藤牌
母亲，没有绝望地哭喊
部落的废墟
崛起了年轻的村寨
文明跟随野蛮又一次穿越过死亡
那位用断臂擂响红铜鼓的美丽少女
被山歌传颂着
获得了一个民族的崇拜
被利刃割断的炊烟
在河岸上茂盛地生长
血泊的沼泽
遗弃了英雄的铜鼓时代
可战争却一直没有生锈
神圣的血，罪恶的血
波动着鲜红或黯淡的色彩……
四
穿过风卷起的浪，穿过浪撕碎的帆
跳上无帆的独木舟
追赶淌着血的熊，追赶射杀熊的箭
奔向佩箭的猎手
朝打鱼的奉献
朝撵山的奉献
美的裸露，力的温柔
积血消融了，浪花将孤独卷走
崇山峻岭间，奔泻着爱的湍流
鱼和熊掌黯然失色
青春和心，点亮炽热的红绣球
(1984)
lking towards Flower Mountain (Suite)
—Flower Mountain (Huashan) is located in Ningming County, Guangxi Province along Mingjiang River. Around 1500 rough-edged human figures are painted on a cliff face in cinnabar, bursting with raw vitality. The largest of the figures is three meters tall, and the shortest is around 30 centimeters. The figures are spread over an area 40-50 meters high by 170-180 meters wide. This spot is widely thought to be the cultural fountainhead of the Zhuang Minority.
1
Hey-yo he-yo—
I am a paean in blood I am a tribute to fire
From the tip of a boar’s tusk I came
From a pheasant’s fluffed-up feathers I came
From strange power of bone ornaments I came
Having snuffed out the ravenous glow in a wolf’s eyes I came
Having faced down the flaming stripes on a tiger’s brow I came
From a straight arrow and a stout bow I came here
Stepping over death agonies of my prey
Hey-yo blood hey-yo fire
Hey-yo fierce beauty
With sword raised beating a drum to a gong’s beat I came
—Ni-lo!
…
From nodding ears of millet I came
From corn tassels lit up by sunlight I came
From ravines and garden strips no wider than a conical hat
To the whiz of a full-swung machete blade I came
By power of flames to clear planting grounds I came
Hey-yo blood hey-yo fire
Hey-yo for ripe, bursting beauty
With joyful songs hopping like sparrows we come dancing
A bride tosses an embroidered ball in our wake
Red-dyed eggs** smack shell-to-shell as we come
Barn-houses of spotted and yellow bamboo rise at our heels
We carefully press rice cakes in family molds
Steam from our five kinds of rice wafts downwind
We are a paean in blood We are a tribute to fire
Hey-yo blood hey-yo fire
Hey-yo for beauty of things exalted
2
A series of arrowheads aimed at the blood-red sun loosed
At a wild bull with eyes as red as the sun
A mountain man of Luoyue** clad in rawhide
Bellows straight from his rawhide-clad soul
His bellow is like that of a red-eyed fighting bull
Sounds of his own footsteps cheer him on
All across the wild slopes…he steps over
Moans of companions fallen in bamboo thickets
The might of his arm
Drives the shaft of his spear
Straight into a leopard’s mouth
The cliff seethes with raging blood
Wind whips past the forest trees
Past the heart’s flapping banner
Luscious smells of evening
Hang over a hearth fire
Snapping of green firewood
Shoots up sparks to join stars in the sky
Sending up tales of Old Buloto**, who fought Thunder King
And of Mother Le’s visit to heaven
And dreams of a feathered man
The embers long ago died down
Now only this timeless message
Still blazes across the cliff face
More primitive than pictographic signs
More sacred than the sun
3
Even the wind was massacred
Gutted moorlands final resting place
Of skulls that kissed the sword blood that drenched arrows
Corpses puddled in blood
Hoof-pounding melee now recumbent
Clanging massacre blades hacking flesh
Outright cruelty or cold torture
Rising crescendo of war gongs
Summoning bows and swords summoning rattan shields
Not despairing even when mothers wail
From ruins of established tribes
Youthful stockades sprang up
By way of more deaths barbarity led the way to civilization
Oh the maiden who sounded a drum with her severed arm
Was passed down in folk songs
Worshipped as the heroine of her people
Although cooking smoke was severed by sharp blades
Some found a riverbank where it could grow rankly
A marsh once soaked in blood
Cast off the heroic era of brass drums
Yet never once did war turn rusty
Blood in grim and vivid hues
Sinful and holy, washed over the land
4
Through wind-whipped waves past sails torn to pieces
Step into a canoe that hoists no sail
Track the bear wounded by an arrow its trickle of blood
Run toward the hunter who wears a quiver
Turn toward offerings of netted fish
Turn toward offerings flushed from thickets
Beauty of nakedness of yielding warmth
Pent-up blood dissipates in time whitecaps sweep away loneliness
From loftiest peaks torrents of love race down
Once tempting dilemmas fade away in time
Young hearts were ignited by an embroidered ball
(1984, Tr. by Denis Mair)
这个世界的破洞，如何缝补
世界像一件旧衣裳
被撕得四分五裂
文明在刀锋上燃烧
导弹穿过被撕开的云
弹坑是一个个破洞
街角，目光交错处
人心张开巨兽的嘴
战场，议会，屏幕
每一块碎片都在嘶吼
有人用疲倦的手指，
在一针一线地缝着
手掌早已划满血痕
站在这片废墟上的人
谁不是一块破布？
继续撕吧
直到大家都成为破烂
直到再无缝补
(2024.09.27-10.02)
How to Mend the Holes in this World
The world is like an old garment
Torn apart into pieces
Civilization burns on the blade
Missiles pass through torn clouds
Bullet craters are holes one by one
Street corner, where gazes intersect
The human heart opens the mouth of a giant beast
Battlefield, Parliament, Screen
Every fragment is screaming
Someone is using tired fingers,
Sewing stitch by stitch
My palm is already covered in bloodstains
The person standing on this ruins
Who isn’t a piece of rag?
Continue tearing
Until everyone becomes tattered
Until there are no more seams to mend
(English translation: Cao Shui )
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)
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)
信 札
一
“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“非”想“飞”想
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”
二
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？
三
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
四
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
五
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
我——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“我”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
六
只是我一直无法肯定这是经历过的事件还是愿望的幻象
(1995.07.24)
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.
(1995.07.24，Tr. by Ouyang Yu)
《美洲文化之声》简介：
《美洲文化之声》国际传媒网（Sound of USA）成立于2016年，是美国政府批准的综合网络平台，主要从事华语文学作品的交流推广。目前已与Google、百度、Youku、Youtube 等搜索引擎联网，凡在这里发表的作品均可同时在以上网站搜索阅读。我们致力于弘扬中华传统文化，同时提倡文学创作的思想性和唯美主义风格，为世界各地的华语文学作品交流尽一份微博之力。同时，美洲文化之声俱乐部也正式成立，俱乐部团结了众多的海内外知名诗人、作家和评论家，正在形成华语世界高端文学沙龙。不分国籍和地区、不分流派，相互交流学习，共同为华语文学的发展效力。“传播中华优秀文化、倾听世界美好声音”，这是我们美好的追求和不可推卸的责任。
总顾问：森道.哈达（蒙古国）
顾问：蓬丹（美国）、李发模（中国）、段金平（美国）、祁人（中国）、谭五昌（中国）、张素久（美国）、林德宪（美国）、萨仁图雅（中国）、周占林（中国）、北塔（中国）。
总编辑：韩舸友（美国）
副总编辑：冷观（美国）
副总编辑：Jinwen Han（加拿大）
副总编辑：曹谁（中国）
副总编辑：佩英（新西兰）
AI（人工智能）创作艺术总监： 张琼（美国）
国际交流中心总监：芳闻 （中国）
中国交流中心总监：夏花（中国）
编委：寒山（韩舸友/美国）、冷观（美国）、Jinwen Han（加拿大）、Yimeng Han（美国）、张琼（美国）、王芳闻 （中国）、夏花（中国）、曹谁（中国）、范群（中国）、柳芭（中国）、计紫晨（美国）。