白鷺鷥

獨立在淺灘的中央
週遭的事物彷彿
圍著圓點的中心旋轉
一刻，不曾一刻靜止
只有牠靜立於三度空間
感覺水溫，砂質，和風速
默默間推移動力
平衡無數的同心圓
和諧地順軌跡運轉
突然，牠鼓翼隱身於灰茫的天空
中心空虛，統一的力源消散
凌亂失衡的事物
互相推擠，碰擊，摩擦
逐有眼前這人間的風景——
斷裂的山，破碎的石，動盪的海

WHITE EGRET

Alone at the center of the shoal,
pale dot ringed by motion.
No stillness but itself,
transfixed in three dimensions.
Chill water, gritty sand, the wind insistent,
spinning a momentum
of circle within circle,
their orbits harmonious. Then
sudden wingbeats, and it climbs a pewter sky,
the center gone, all unity displaced
for anarchies of shove and grind, collide.
Just so, this human world before us—
fissured mountains, shattered stones, unsettled seas.

trans. © Diana Shi & George O’Connell

里爾克墓前

玫瑰，純粹的矛盾，你
靜默巨大的花瓣突然關收
我一直被你向心的思維包覆
流連蕊心的味覺，失落飛翔

死亡長出蓓蕾，你召引我
逼近並且正視你的塋塚
你在這裏腐朽，同時升起新的焦點
晨光無法照明碑上晦澀的玫瑰
而你無時不在要求另外的詮釋

噢，什麼是生命的詩歌和詩歌的生命？
當遠山傳來鐘聲而你委身的教堂也敲響鐘聲
彷彿同一的聲音，相遇又遠離
在天空的道路上，我懷著你的花蜜
時時穿上新的屍衣

AT RILKE’S GRAVE

You roses, pure contradiction, your
big silent petals suddenly shut.
Wrapped as ever in your centripetal thoughts
I linger at the pistils’ taste, my wings shorn.

Death’s own buds, you beckon
to press close, face the gravemound
of decay, where sunrise won’t illuminate
that faint rose graven on the stone,
and you demand even more explanation.

What’s life’s poetry, poetry’s life?
A bell tolls on a distant mountain,
where the church of your avowals rings its own
as if one note, meeting yet apart
across the air. In my heart, I keep your nectar,
sometimes don a shroud.

trans. © Diana Shi & George O’Connell

女馬人
——羅丹雕塑

心靈中閃出奔騰的影
突然，遭一匹獸拖住

愛是一根無形的巨柱
當她閃身而出
雙手抱住它，它就存在

可她下半身的雄馬
身子後挫，移動的骨節是劇烈的震央
一座大山傾側下沉，馬蹄
已塌進污衊的泥中
而大地是她龐沛的力源

人與馬的駁口，用血肉來焊接
她裂心感受錯體的劇痛
緊張的雙手似乎在顫抖
會不會突然鬆弛
高昂的頸骨軟成馬頭
向大地俯首？

世界是旋轉的走馬燈
一羣馬走過平原
低頭嚙草，喝水
我卻看見她
舉著孤獨的火
照自己的靈魂
拉扯角力，而我是那下沉的馬身

THE CENTAURESS

after Rodin

Her soul’s a leaping shadow
tethered to a beast.

Love is the pillar, thick, invisible,
she yearns from horseflesh to embrace.

The lower half
hauls back, its male-strong joints set
with the weight of a sliding mountain,
its hooves jammed deep in mud,
though her longing springs from earth.

Human melds to horse by blood, by muscle,
the heart rent by two bodies.
Will her trembling hands
go slack, her lifted head
decline to a horseneck
bowing to the soil?

The world’s a gaudy, turning carousel,
a herd of horses crossing plains.
Their lowered mouths gnaw grass, gulp water,
but I see her still
preserving the luminous coal,
still struggling, wrestling
with the half that is this horse,
myself.

trans. © Diana Shi & George O’Connell

竹

像茫然的讀者
不知道如何進入
斜坡上那一叢花眉竹
詩畫難分的意境
永夜潑墨未乾，月色
像吸墨的黃紙
輕輕蓋住
一幅文與可的墨竹圖上
此時風鳴兩岸
搖擺的竹樹婆娑作響
竹葉圍攏唼喋，商略
一首輞川絕句的韻腳

BAMBOO

As if on a slope
before a grove of Mahal bamboo,
not knowing how to enter,
it’s hard to say
where poetry parts from painting.
Across the yellow, thirsty page of moonlight
night spills its endless ink,
a scroll of dark bamboo
by Wen Yuke. Late wind
whistles the banksides,
swaying the canes, their leaves
stirred to the soft murmur
of foraging birds, of fish
discussing a Wheel River poem,
its final rhyme.

trans. © Diana Shi & George O’Connell

Mahal bamboo: A species of thick growing, clumping bamboo particularly suited to stabilizing riverbanks.

 Wen Yuke: Northern Song dynasty painter and poet (1018—1079), courtesy name Yuke, famous for his ink bamboo painting.

Wheel River: Shaanxi province mountain valley where Wang Wei composed with Pei Di the famous Wheel River cycle of poems, also known as the Wangchuan Ji.

食薯者
——看梵谷的The Potato Eaters

大地的深處升起一盞燈
沒有穿越泥土的屋頂
從黑暗中來，加倍珍惜那黑暗
謙卑地讓幾個馬鈴薯聚攏歇息
穿過死亡，艱難地成熟

叉子下馬鈴薯散放自身的光輝
當它膨大，飢餓萎縮，憐憫中變得圓滿
映照陰影裏疲倦的面孔
加倍光明，那些懂得泥土的
杯子，陶壺，耙著生活的砂石的手

你苦味的壺斟著斟著茶杯就滿了
你成熟的果實要求手指的枝條彎向大地
你眼中兩點火焰幽冷地發芽
你明白辛苦，你為她遞來一杯茶

啊，他們在開放的生命中全神栽進溝壟
生根是容易的，抓著泥土直到完成
那樣艱難，那樣渴求鬆弛
而成熟只能在堅忍中等待
那些眼神，已累得無法承托另一個眼神

我呢一個觀者，手指輕易翻過另一頁畫冊
敲敲門又離開。不必交融的，我也有自己的鋤
俯身向一塊文字的荒田，挖掘，更深地挖掘
生命在勞動，望著泥屋中一隻隻閃光的手
有期待的喜悅也有苦澀

THE POTATO EATERS

after van Gogh

From deep earth, a lamp rises
to the ceiling of the mud-colored house
claimed from darkness, a darkness valued twice
for these potatoes ripened in hardship,
humbly gathered, now at rest.

Beneath the fork, they glow,
expanding in the light, starving hunger, their mercy
lustering these weary, soil-knowing faces,
doubling the light upon clay bowls,
the teapot, hands that rake life’s stones.

Bitter tea brims the cup,
this too the labor of fingers bent toward earth
like branches, the flames in their eyes
dim, cold, hard as their toil.
They pass the cup.

How they dig, head down, the furrows;
how the roots reach through earth,
firm, waiting for release.
All these wait with patience,
too spent to suffer my gaze.

Easy for me to turn the page,
answer the doorbell,
leave. My own hoe delves
a weedy field of words,
digging deep, hands shining
in this earthen house,
its joy, its hope, its bitterness.

trans. © Diana Shi & George O’Connell

蘭花

帶著憐惜，和疼愛
房子裏常瓶供此花
蝴蝶一般憩息於枝梗
設愿它花序從雙，免去
一點點伶仃的落寞
有時子夜關燈
點燃蠟燭看它在暈光中
流露些許羞澀的
顏色，並且在窗前的小風裏微顫
交纏花枝，和諧，美麗
次晨悠忽醒來
莊嚴的晨光逸入簾子
昏昧的房間漸漸明亮，蠟燭熄滅
依倚的花枝赤裸如新婚

ORCHIDS

With compassion, with affection
a vase in our house displays
now and then one bloom
perched on its stem like a butterfly.
How fine if there are two,
easing this slim desolation.
Sometimes at midnight I switch the lamp
for a candle, its haloed light
releasing bashful orchid shades,
the breeze from the window
trembling the petals’ composure.
Next morning, the candle dead,
solemn dawn’s slipped past the curtains,
the dim room bright,
their tangled stems, their blooms
naked as newlyweds.

trans. © Diana Shi & George O’Connell

狼狗

牠蹲伏在院內的圍籬邊
守著午後的冬日
陽光，果樹，和落葉
日影在地上寸寸移動
無聲的步伐越過簷頂
只驚動牠敏感的耳朵
微微豎起復又
慵懶地垂下

麻雀從天邊悄悄飛來
越過低低的圍籬降落
跳進牠銹蝕的飯窩裏
啄著冷硬的飯粒
兩碼的距離
牠依舊木然蟄伏
任微風翻弄新換的柔毛

吃飽的麻雀抖翼飛起
翼影在牠的面前掠過
像一片小小的烏雲擾過頭頂
只引得牠眼珠轉動
無法遠縱的目光瞬息拉回，落在
頸上的一條鐵鍊的陰影裏

WOLFDOG

Crouched by the yard fence,
he guards winter’s afternoon,
sunlight on these fruit trees, fallen leaves.
Those shadows inching earth,
the soundless footfalls mounting eaves,
alert his sharpened ears,
erect, then drooping back to drowse.

From a distant sky, sparrows come,
crossing the fence for his rusty food bowl,
its cold, hard rice.
Still as wood, he lets the breeze
arrange his soft new coat.

The sparrows, stuffed,
shake their wings and fly,
their shadows on his nose
like a fleeting patch of cloud.
His eyes look up, his gaze
tethered by his neckchain.

trans. © Diana Shi & George O’Connell

蔬菜

我這樣站在黃昏的斜路上
好像有什麼事發生，好像有什麼人懷疑我
眼裏有重大的發現
他們經過，望著我站立
用雙眼收割市場外圍的蔬菜
一排排坐在斜日下休息
和我一同接受，慢慢退卻的陽光
我天天咀嚼、品嚐蔬菜的肉體
此刻看見它們亮著新鮮的靈魂
苦瓜、番茄、白菜和豆角
纍纍地擠在籮筐裏
好像在最後的時辰，仍在膨脹，仍在著色
我這樣站著站著就像一棵菜在泥土上等待
風很暖和，蔬菜流露著大地揀選的寧靜
這樣沉默，這樣放心，等待火：我奉獻

VEGETABLE

Like this I stand on a sloping road at dusk,
as if something’s happened. People glance, suspicious,
wondering. They pass, looking where I look,
as I reap with my eye these vegetables
at one edge of the market, laid by rows
in the same angled sunlight
I receive. Each day I’ve savored their flesh,
now bright, fresh-souled bitter-melon,
tomatoes, Chinese cabbage, long beans
coiled in stacked wicker baskets,
as if in their last hours still growing,
still adding color.
Like this I stand in the warm breeze,
serenely peaceful on this earth,
a vegetable unharvested,
silent, offering, awaiting flame.

trans. © Diana Shi & George O’Connell

荷蘭瓷風車音樂盒
——贈偉成

每一件事物都有音樂的靈魂
隨時升起自己的聲音
隨時打破沉默，隨時溝通
成為轉動的力源

在創造中，神靈已預設一個形象
突然修改，突然摧毀
又突然，從頹垣中築起全新的圖樣

這風車在我的眼中像教堂高聳
是誰？用聲音轉動
頂上的十字風輪
彷彿星辰環繞
宇宙深藍的軸心旋轉
音樂的水流著音樂的水
天使的喇叭，和豎琴

WINDMILL ON A DUTCH PORCELAIN MUSIC BOX

for Wai-shing

The soul of anything has music,
its voice poised
against silence, its notes
a revolving force.

In creation, God assumes an image
to alter or suddenly destroy,
raising from the ruins new paradigms.

This windmill seems a lofty church—
but whose? Its cross of blades
creaks round like the vault of stars
circling the blue axis of the universe.
Water runs with water’s melodies,
angelic trumpets, harps.

trans. © Diana Shi & George O’Connell

子夜伏於窗邊

子夜伏於窗邊
夜色折翼下降
唉好黑，沒有一顆星
低頭卻見山下的海港
堅亮的漁火都不曾睡去
沒有呵欠，也沒有輾轉
提著盞盞領航的橘燈
趕路的魚龍都挨向光源
我也將自安穩的河灘
依依漂泊如辛苦的漁汎
尋覓安根的居停
帶不走聽慣的風濤與波聲
今夜，我是寂寞的蚌張口向宇宙
也對著失眠的港口
不睡有不睡的原因
不想一閉眼明晨就天亮
滅了漁火，啓了航船
猶在夢裏嗎煙水正推著船影……

MIDNIGHT, LEANING AT A WINDOW

Midnight, leaning at a window
as night deepens, unfolding its ink-dark wings.
Not one star
yet from the harbor below the mountain
the lights of fishing boats burn steadily awake,
neither yawning nor tossing in bed.
Their orange lamps aloft
lure fish and dragons to their glow.
I too must drift from this peaceful shore,
hoping for anchorage, as will these boats,
leaving familiar wind and wave.
Tonight, a solitary clam, open to the universe
over the sleepless harbor,
I’m sleepless too, loath to wake
at sunrise in a dream, in a mist,
snuffing the fishing light, shoving off.

trans. © Diana Shi & George O’Connell