AN INTERNATIONAL POETRY JOURNAL IN ENGLISH & CHINESE

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Summer/Fall 2020Issue 14

Poet and writer Ma Yan, born 1979 in Chengdu, Sichuan Province, China, graduated from Peking University’s Chinese Dept., majoring in Ancient Chinese Texts. There she co-founded the annual Wei Ming Poetry Festival, and the cultural website “La Jeunesse”. She returned to Chengdu in 2003, continuing to write and publish. In late 2010, visiting Shanghai, Ma Yan took her own life.

Her works include Études: 1999-2000, selected poetry and fiction; That Bewitching Taste, a volume of poetry; and Exaltations, a sequence of essays. Her 2012 Collected Poems and Collected Essays appeared posthumously, followed by the 2017 publication of her anthology A Few Friends. Recipient of a Pearl River International Poetry Festival Young Poet Prize and the Liu Li’an Poetry Award, she was also poet-in-residence at Beijing’s Shangyuan Museum.

Poet and critic Zhang Dinghao remarked on Ma Yan’s writing that “one encounters in her work a startlingly honest voice. Amidst a contemporary poetry too often fond of witty games, visual gimmickry, and social appeals, she strives for a purer form, preferring to ‘maintain truth, discover beauty, and approach the sublime’.” 

As she wrote once, she wished “to transform the self into a beam of intense light, shining where it should.”

That light is what remains.

馬雁,詩人,散文作家。1979年2月28日生於成都,2001年畢業於北京大學中文系古典文獻專業,在校期間策劃組織了首屆北大未名詩歌節,2000年與友人一道創建了著名的新鋭文化網站「新青年」,2003年返回成都生活,2010年12月底赴上海訪友期間墜樓辭世。

著有詩歌小說合集《習作選:19992002》,詩集《迷人之食》,隨筆集《讀書與跌宕自喜》。詩文遺著《馬雁詩集》與《馬雁散文集》在2012年由友人整理出版。生前編纂友人詩合集《幾個好朋友》於2017年出版。曾獲珠江詩歌節青年詩人奬、劉麗安詩歌奬。2010年49月為北京上苑藝術館駐館詩人。

詩人、書評家張定浩如此評價馬雁:「在她的詩歌中,我們會漸漸意識到自己正在遭遇一個罕見的誠實的聲音。在充斥智力遊戲、視覺玩賞和意見訴求的當代詩歌氛圍中,她自覺努力地回到某種『前現代寫作』中,試圖在詩歌中『維護真,保留美,達到善』。」

馬雁曾寫下:「怎樣才能把自己集中成一束猛烈的光,照亮它命中注定將要照亮的那一塊地方?」

馬雁已經成為那束光。

四月的黃昏
  
我還沒有看過暮色中
這片土地,廣漠的綠色
鋪捲過地面,平坦,均勻。
紫色的暮靄,稀釋著,
漸漸漫過整個平原……
散發出可疑的鮮明,
在即將傾瀉的黑暗邊緣,
閃爍著,發出幽光。
這景色說不上美,
一切陌生的色彩展露出來。
一瞬間,黑夜就來了。
我們被迅速裹進安全的無知。

 

APRIL EVENING

I’ve not beheld this stretch of land
at dusk, how its vast green
overspreads the earth,
smooth and even. A violet haze
advances on the plain,
vivid, uncertain,
aglow at the lip of darkness.
Strange beauty, alien shades.
Night’s moment
enfolds in calm oblivion.

trans. © Diana Shi & George O’Connell

看荷花的記事
 
我們在清晨五點醒來,聽見外面的雨。
頭一天,你在花壇等我的時候,已經開始了
一些雨。現在,它們變大了,有動人的聲音。
而我們已經不是昨天的那兩個人。親密

讓我們顯得更年輕,更像一對戀人。所以,
你不羞於親吻我的臉頰。此刻,我想起一句
曾讓我深受感動的話,「這也許是我們一生中
最美好的時光。」一生中最幸福的,又再降臨

在我身上。她彷彿從來沒有中斷過,彷彿一直
埋伏在那些沒有痕跡的日期中間。我們穿過雨,
穿過了綠和透明。整個秋天,你的被打濕的頭髮

都在滴水。沒有很多人看見了我們,那是一個清晨。
五點,我們穿過校園,經過我看了好幾個春天的桃樹,
到起著漣漪的勺海。一勺水也做了海,我們看荷花。

 

LOTUS GAZING

5AM, we woke to rain.
The day before, when we met by the flowerbed,
it was raining.
Now the heavy drops move me, neither of us
the same as yesterday. This closeness

makes us feel younger, almost a couple.
You’re not too shy to kiss my cheek. At once I recall a line
that touched me deep: “Perhaps the sweetest hour
in our lives.” And so it seems,

as if that part of me remained unbroken,
but buried all this time
without a trace. We strolled through rain,
through green transparency. All autumn

your rain-wet hair kept on dripping water.
Few saw us walking the campus at 5AM
beneath peach trees I’ve awaited
spring after spring. And then the wave-lipped lake:
a sea in a spoon. But how can a spoonful
swell to an ocean? We gazed at the lotus.

trans. © Diana Shi & George O’Connell

櫻桃

我聽過痛苦的聲音,
從那一刻我緩慢病變。
那是沉鬱的哀求,
不帶抱怨,也沒有
幻想。痛苦就是直接。

而痛苦是沒有力量進入,
是軟弱,不敢頑固並沉默。
我不敢把手探入它的核心,
不敢挖出血淋淋的鬼。
眼望著謊言的清潔。

當時我哀哀地哭泣,
轉過臉,以缺席
擔演無知,人人如此。
這一切就在面前:
痛苦,或者空無。

今天,我吃一顆櫻桃,
想起一個女人在我面前,
緩慢,忍耐爾後大聲喘息,
她曾經,作為母親,
放一顆糖櫻桃在我嘴裏。

我緩慢吞食這蜜樣的
嫣紅屍體。是如此的紅,
像那針管中湧動的血,
又紅如她臉頰上消失的
欲望——這迷人之食。

 

CHERRY

I heard the cry of pain,
then changed slowly, pathologically,
that muffled plea
neither complaint nor fantasy,
the pain direct, immediate,

yet powerless to enter—
weak, sporadic, mute.
I dared not plunge my hand deep
to grasp the bloody ghost.
My eyes fixed helpless on pure lies.

I turned my face to mourn,
pretending like us all
that absence could play innocent.
Still this pain, this emptiness before me.

Today I ate a cherry,
suddenly recalling my mother,
how she’d patiently endure, then exhale.
Once she placed in my mouth a candied cherry

I slowly swallowed, a honeyed,
sweet-red corpse, its scarlet
surging like blood in a hypo,
or desire’s vermilion fading
from her cheeks—that bewitching taste.

trans. © Diana Shi & George O’Connell

秋天打柿子

在秋天打柿子,縮著手腳爬上樹椏,
眺望雲霧裏遠處那些山,正在霧氣中
磅礴。我的身軀無限壯大,蓬勃而出,
向潮濕的寒冷伸出臂膀,正在升起,
我無限的軀體,照耀金紅的果實。
雨從空無中降落,清洗積年的塵土。
十七個人,在秋天打柿子,揮動
鐵灰色胳膊,長臂竹竿敲響無聲的
節奏,果實落在我無限空曠的軀體。

 

AUTUMN, SHAKING PERSIMMONS

Hands and feet grasping, we mount the limbs,
those far off peaks splendid in misty air.
My body grows infinitely strong, vigorous.
Into the damp chill I stretch my arm, lifted up,
my body infinite, shining amid golden fruit.
A light rain arrives from nowhere, rinsing the dust.
Seventeen of us, shaking persimmons in autumn,
iron-colored arms, long bamboos
beating a mute rhythm. Into my infinitely open body
falls this fruit.

trans. © Diana Shi & George O’Connell

你是我重複的病和甜

為陳志朋

你是我重複的病和甜,你讓我把時間向前推
一年,十年。你讓梔子花再次開放,你讓夏天
一再來臨而不會消逝,你是無限的時間當中
不出現的一種質地,你是沉默,你也是一種重,
你是夜晚。微微垂下的眼簾,你也應該是
為我寵愛的妃子,你是節奏中的誘惑和喘息。
你是只出現一次就消失的情人,你是長髮的軟,
在楊柳岸邊纏綿的堅定,是塬上端坐的男神。

 

YOU, MY TANDEM ILLNESS, MY SWEETNESS

for Chen Zhipeng

You shove time back one year, ten.
You coax the gardenias to rebloom. Summer comes
and stays. You’re a rare texture
in time’s infinity. You’re silence, its own weight.
You’re the night. Eyelids gently close. You should become
my favorite concubine, temptation’s rhythmic breath.
You’re the lover who happens only once. You’re the softness of long hair,
will lingering at the willow bank. You’re a god
on a plateau, sitting up.

trans. © Diana Shi & George O’Connell

世界下著一夜的雨……

為卓青

世界下著一夜的雨,
這尋常一夜——
有人在電視機前消磨著有益的人生,
有人在酒杯裏沉沒、浮起,
有人在欲望下捏碎懦弱、鍛造自我。
這些並不僅僅是概念,
你會同意,世界必須歸類。
我想著,仲春天氣,園中的喬木,
水草,以及人在岸邊舞蹈。
我們享受過的朗姆酒冰淇淋……
如果把生活中的傷痛
呈現給你,也許就有變數。
但也許不,他人的癒合與你無關。
我遲疑在那個仲春,
溫暖而黑暗的聚會,啤酒,擁抱,
早晨的口紅,照相機。
中關村。與愛過的人一起吃午飯。
猶太史。悶熱的咖啡廳。
全部的生活細節正在漲潮……
唯一的一個晚上:
你爬山歸來,剛剛度過一場危機。
你不是第一個,也不會是最後一個。
我堅信:
那一刻我與你同在。
那一夜的雨同樣淋濕我。
你意味著不敢想像,
鄉村上空的烏鴉是死亡的符號,
但未必不祥。
此刻我只能緬懷那隻溫暖的我握過的手。
你成為眾人分享的記憶,
而我此生的工作是對記憶的鐫刻。

 

THE WORLD RAINS ALL NIGHT LONG

for Zhuo Qing

The world rains all night long
this common night—
someone casts away his useful life before the TV,
someone drifts and sinks in a wine glass,
someone drowns weakness in desire, tempering an ego.
No mere concepts, you’d agree,
the world must be classified.
I’m thinking of spring weather, trees in the garden,
water plants, couples dancing by the shore.
The rum ice-cream we enjoyed.
If I offered you
life’s wounds, things might have been different.
Or not. To you, others’ healing’s irrelevant.
That spring I hesitated,
our genial and dark meeting, beer, embraces,
lipstick in the morning, camera.
Zhongguancun. Lunch with a beloved.
Jewish history. Stuffy cafe.
The details of life mounting like a tide.
That one night
you returned from mountain climbing,
just overcoming a crisis.
You were not the first, nor the last,
but I believed those moments with you,
how the night rain drenched us both.
Your sense of it I dare not guess.
Crows in the countryside speak for death,
but are not necessarily ominous.
Now I recall only the hand whose warmth I held.
You’ve become a shared memory,
my task in this life to engrave.

trans. © Diana Shi & George O’Connell

痛苦不會摧毀痛苦的可能性……

痛苦不會摧毀痛苦的可能性,生命
不會消失自我的幻覺術。在一生的
時間裏,穿越過岩石縫隙裏的貝類
是潛藏的隱微的音樂,那是宏大的
樂隊在奏響,人們正從縫隙裏行軍
去往偉大的未來。是的,光明將從
最卑微處散發,所有最惡劣的氣味
是大戰亂的徵兆。我坐在垃圾堆上
唱歌,唱一支關於塑膠和火結婚的
歌。這支歌將唱響至地底的孤獨者
升起。他升起時,無花果樹將開花,
貝殼將給出回環的路徑,一切再次
降臨,並反復以至於無窮。是這樣;
他說:痛苦不會摧毀痛苦的可能性。

 

AGONY CAN’T CRUSH AGONY’S ODDS

Agony can’t crush agony’s odds, nor life
dissolve its art of illusion. For a lifetime,
shellfish lurking between rocks are hidden music,
a grand orchestra playing from the clefts
as humans march toward a future. How light seeps
from the lowest places, the rankest odors
signs of troubled times. I perch on a trash heap
chanting the marriage of plastic
and fire. This will echo until one soul ascends
from the depths of earth.
Only then will fig trees bloom,
and shells reveal their looping paths,
as all of it repeats
to infinity. It’s like this,
he said, agony can’t crush agony’s odds.

trans. © Diana Shi & George O’Connell

大同世界

此處,並無此處;
然無此處又有何處?
人們四處奔忙,像
為衣食,又為父母。
父母是生養的人,
死後仍不忘記的人。
衣食是虛幻的過往,
每個人只有一件衣裳,
留待死去那日上身。
如此漂亮,如此
才能是人生,既然
我們生來只懂得吃喝,
又如何能懂得死亡。
死亡是最大的政治,
自信必死的人有福。
時間分分過去,我們
互相依偎,好像氣候般
溫暖。洪水來臨時,
我們互相依偎著溫暖
如每個春日的清晨,
暖棉被是神的賜予,
不能拒絕,無法躲避。
幸福是罪惡,但此罪
就是完美,此罪完美。

 

A WORLD OF ONENESS

If here is not here;
then where?
People clutch at food, clothing,
fathers, mothers.
Parents bear us, raise us,
are remembered after death.
But clothes and food are ephemeral,
each of us with only one garment
worn the day we die.
How shapely—our lives
true from birth—
we know the eating, the drinking,
yet how can we grasp death,
the ultimate politics?
Those who believe in their death are blessed.
Moment by moment, time flees
while we lean upon each other, warmed
by pleasant weather. When the flood comes
we’ll cling as if on a chill spring morning,
each other’s heavenly cotton quilt,
fated to be one.
Happiness may be a crime, but if so,
it’s perfect.

trans. © Diana Shi & George O’Connell

上苑藝術館

我從來沒有進來過,此處
大約沒有什麼神秘之處,
神秘的是我。我奇怪的想像力中,
上苑藝術館矗立在山谷裏,
又漂浮在觀念當中。
這裏有三隻貓,五隻狗,
幾十個人,還有向日葵、南瓜藤,
在在都是平凡之處,顯現
冷淡的創造力,彼此相異的創造力。
彼此相同的創造力。
有人繪畫,也有人雕塑,
還有人在這裏做詩人。
保護可能性就是消滅可能性,
人們在這裏傾向於沉默,
也傾向於聒噪,酒精是關鍵詞,
但你可以不參與狂飲,
以某種代價。爬牆去整莊稼的
和苦鬥於習作前的,都是
藝術家,毫無變現的能力。
他們也呼朋引伴,決非出於
絕望,也非出於自大。
這些人毫無神秘之處,還有客人
和工人,彬彬有禮或心藏秘密。
早晨,常常是下著雨的早晨,
獨自在院內走動,會遇到
還沒有凋零的野花,那是探訪者
小小的遺跡,接受被複製。
這些卑微的造物有力量。

 

SHANGYUAN MUSEUM

First time here, but nothing seems mysterious.
I’m the mystery. In my strange imagination,
Shangyuan Art Colony rises from its valley,
floating like a concept.
Three cats, five dogs,
artists by the dozen, sunflowers, pumpkin vines,
everywhere what’s ordinary
speaks quiet creativity,
each different, each the same.
Some paint or sculpt,
some are poets.
Enclosing the possible kills it.
People here tend toward silence
or clamor, a key word alcohol.
You skip binge drinking
at a cost. Crossing the wall
to tend crops, or grappling
with unfinished work,
all these artists are illiquid,
their friendships neither desperate
nor egoistic. Nothing mystical, guests
and workers, courteous or secret.
Rainy mornings, strolling alone in the courtyard,
one may spot wildflowers
still unwithered—signs
left by visitors, they may be copied.
What’s made in humility can become divine.

trans. © Diana Shi & George O’Connell

我們乘坐過山車飛向未來

我們乘坐過山車飛向未來,
他和我的手裏各捏著一張票,
那是飛向未來的小舢板,
起伏的波浪是我無畏的想像力。
乘坐我的想像力,他們盡情蹂躪
這些無辜的女孩和男孩,
這些無辜的小狗和小貓。
在波浪之下,在波浪的下面
一直匍匐著衰弱的故事人,
他曾經是最偉大的創造者,
匍匐在最下面的飛得最高,
全是痛苦,全部都是痛苦。
那些與我耳語者,個個聰明無比,
他們說智慧來自痛苦,他們說:
來,給你智慧之路。
哦,每一個坐過山車的人
都是過山車建造廠的工人,
每一雙手都充滿智慧,是痛苦的
工藝匠。他們也製造不同的心靈,
這些心靈裏孕育著獎勵,
那些渴望獎勵的人,那些最智慧的人,
他們總在沉默,不停地被從過山車上
推下去,在空中飄蕩,在飄蕩中,
我們接吻,就像那些戀人,
那些被壓縮在詞典冊頁中的愛情故事,
還有家庭,人間的互相拯救。
如果存在一個空間,漂浮著
無數列過山車,痛苦的過山車……

 

ROLLERCOAST TO THE FUTURE

Into the future we fly on a rollercoaster,
my hand and his, each pinching a ticket,
our hull aimed toward tomorrow
on waves of my fearless imagination,
crushing blameless girls and boys,
puppies, kittens. From below
crawls a feeble storyteller,
once the greatest maker.
Those who creep lowest fly highest.
Agony. All agony.
Whispers at my ear immensely clever,
saying wisdom comes from pain:
here, they say, lie paths to wisdom.
Those who built their rollercoaster
ride it, hands brimming with wisdom,
technicians of torment spawning separate souls
that breed rewards.
The wise who crave recompense
stay silent and are thrown clear,
sailing through air,
while we kiss, floating like sweethearts
in lexicons of love, our families
how we save each other.
Somewhere in space
countless rollercoasters plunge on
with all their pain.

trans. © Diana Shi & George O’Connell