除夕

街外車聲漸漸疏落
各自回家守候新年
在寂靜中我等待水仙綻開
第一朵年花預告吉慶

它用白色花瓣層層包圍自己
擁抱住一個神秘的內在空間
玻璃窗透進街道零星的燈火
如水映出天鵝般高傲姿態

我看到所有過去的年頭列隊而來
帶走這只剩一分鐘生命的一年
臨走一瞬間的影子飄過
他們飄過眾物之上：
花枝和花蕊
我的黑髮和臉頰

NEW YEAR’S EVE

Traffic drops,
everyone home for New Year’s.
In silence I await the narcissus,
the good fortune of its bloom.

Furled white petals
surround the secret core.
Windowpanes refract the outer light
as water the proud bearing of swans.

The past arrives in procession, year after year,
like this one’s last minute,
its final moment a shadow
passing over everything,
stem and pistil,
my own black hair, my cheek.

trans. © Diana Shi & George O’Connell

古籍研討會

有燈光，但是黯淡
照得人人臉孔蠟黃
儘管窗外陽光光燦
老教授白髮如銀
年輕的助教黑髮豐茂
在中年講師禿頂的頭皮
反射出的六十燭光下
學者們濟濟一堂討論
漢代墓葬內埋藏的竹簡古籍

緊閉大門的會議室氣息侷悶
我想像在入地三尺的古墓槨室裏
一疊疊竹片堆積，只有黑暗
閱讀那些飽含先秦智慧的文句，只有文句
才懂得竹片上斑駁的刻痕
歲月在封墓的一刻便陷入黑暗沉沉睡去
空氣中氫氧氦各自凝滯
拒絕在死屍的鼻孔肺囊之間出入

又是多少年？盜墓人一鋤
掘破了幾千年死寂
刺眼的陽光隨即射入
空氣與黑暗尖叫一聲
嘶地從破口消解逸失

會議室內各人穩坐如古鐘
蠟黃的臉依然蠟黃
出土的古籍殘卷近來如何？
二三十年來始終沒有發表
有些學者霸著材料不肯外放
有些學者老死後殘卷再度不知所終

燈泡與燈泡打賭
助教烏黑的濃髪，再幾十年後
變成老教授的銀髮
或是講師的禿髮？
（現在不可預測
終歸是其中一種）
曾經晶亮的眼睛
最終也將熄滅如封墓後的燭光

竹簡縑帛風化後粉末隨風散去
一陣討論後太陽已經落山
黃昏裏燕子來去的飛過
像在天空寫上沒人懂得的文字

SEMINAR ON ANCIENT BOOKS

In the dim light
every face is wax
though the sun outside shines brilliant.
The old professor’s hair is silver,
his young assistant’s richly black.
On the bald head of the lecturer
the rows of lights reflect
like candles. Scholars discuss
these Han tombs’ bamboo books.

Tight-shut door, stale air, easy to imagine
the burial chamber three chi down,
stacks of bamboo strips, only darkness
reading pre-Qin wisdom, their words
odd snicks on bamboo.
The moment the tomb sealed, time sank
into night and deep slumber,
the oxygen, nitrogen gone foul
in the corpses’ nostrils and lungs.

Two thousand years’ silence
till the graverobber’s spade
cracks a dazzle of sunlight,
dead air and darkness hissing out.

We sit in the room, steady as ancient bells,
our faces still wax. For thirty years
the texts unpublished,
some hoarded by the living,
some vanished with the dead.

Will the assistant’s sable hair
silver in the decades
or go bald? How soon,
like tomb lamps,
his once-bright eyes will dim.

Bamboo strips and fine silk
moulder into dust for wind.
The sun’s already slipped behind the hills.
In the dusky sky, swallows weave,
inscribing unreadable characters.

trans. © Diana Shi & George O’Connell

空屋

我的屋子立刻消失了
在我背後，在我離去之後
在另一個時空內
它像平日一樣
恬靜的過著家常生活

我的所有都在屋內
躺在沙發上是昨夜脫下的外套
在架上互相推擠是多年來買下的書
護照和零錢各據抽屜一角落
音響內一張未聽完的CD
喇叭還不斷回味著某幾句歌詞
他們都一致認為
當他們聚在一起
就比我的五官
更接近我的面貌

當我興起回去的念頭
屋子就又在地球上出現了
藍花簾子倚在窗前
和街燈一起守候過路的身影
夜風一篷一篷的吹
屋子閉上眼，張開毛孔
體會穿體而過的清涼
他們都豎起耳朵，細聽我的腳步
當我開了鎖，按下燈鈕
乍放的光明喚回熟悉的秩序
傢具物件們一起湧向我的視線
吱吱喳喳的問起
許多存在和身份的問題

EMPTY ROOM

As soon as I leave it, my room
slips behind me, vanished
to another place, another time,
living on in homey peace.

All I own
is there, the coat
tossed on last night’s couch,
the books shouldering each other
off the shelves, loose change
in a drawer, my passport,
the stereo still breathing lyrics
from the last CD.
Sharper than five senses,
everything agrees it’s me.

When I consider going back
the room returns,
its flower-blue curtains pressed to the window,
streetlights guarding the shadows.
Night breeze fills the sails, repeats.
Eyes closed, pores open,
the room respires, wafting cool air,
listening for my footsteps.
The doorknob turned, the light switch thrown
pulls up the primal order—
furniture heaves into view,
each object a challenge
to being, to self,
jabbering doubt.

trans. © Diana Shi & George O’Connell

私祭 （95年秋聞張愛玲死訊後作）

翻出去年做的那件織錦繡袍
袍子染上衣櫃的檀木薰香
香氣淡淡滲出
一段舊日戀情的憶記
衣上金絲繡線已略見黯褪
迢遙的夜燈在風裏顫動
是誰依依喚起你兒時的小名？

披上你的黑絨斗篷
月光薄脆，像三十年前的月光
這夜你穿過起風的樹林
光枯的枝芽自樹幹伸出指爪
撐開一個異鄉的殘冬天空

你向樹林的更深處步進
草叢中小蟲窸窣
細碎如眾人私語竊竊
一個東方女子老去的傳奇
枯藤似的手腕乾瘦不滿一握
裙襬拖行野地露水盡濕
村落燈火零星就要睡去
你一步一步走入夜的心臟

樹林盡處全無人跡
地老天荒你也還有這座舊墳
墳前青苔逐隙而生
麻石碑磨傷你的指尖，但你細細
撫摸，記否那個海上的月夜
你如何撫摸情人結實的男體
他壓你，你貼在鏡上
背脊冰涼肉體觸手火燙

曾是你情人的都已先你死去
屍骨盡在千里之外
蛆蟲和磷火此刻與你分享著愛情
你嘩聲垮下碎成一堆金粉
烈風刮起一場黃砂
黃砂金粉鋪天蓋地灑下
滿山遍野都是今日

PRIVATE OBITUARY

in memoriam Eileen Chang

Last year’s cheong-sam
from the closet scented with sandalwood,
the gold brocade faintly redolent
of an old romance, fading
like distant lights trembling in wind.
Who softly calls your nickname?

In moonlight brittle as thirty years ago
throw on your black velvet cape
and pass tonight through a windy forest,
where black branches stretch their claws
across the late winter sky of a foreign land.

Keep going toward the center of the woods,
the tick of insects in the weeds
sharp as a crowd’s whispers, rasping
the legend of an old Asian woman,
her wrists withered vines too frail to grasp,
her dress hem soaked in forest dew.
The scattered lamps of the village dim.
Step by step you enter night’s chamber.

The path vanishes in deep trees.
Till the end of heaven, you own this grave
where moss enters every crevice.
Your fingertips brush its rough headstone,
recalling that night above the sea,
full moon, your lover’s firm body
pressing you against the mirror,
the flesh of your cold back scorching his touch.

Old lovers a thousand li off
and dead long before you, you’re left
to maggots and phosphorescence.
When you crumble in a heap of golden dust
the wind whirls up with sand, you’ll sift down
on everything, on fields, mountains,
on this one day that’s forever.

trans. © Diana Shi & George O’Connell

cheong-sam: the high-collared, form-fitting long dress worn by women in Asia and elsewhere. Called qipao in Mandarin.

某詩歌研討會後

翻修後的古老教堂倒也整潔
我卻貪望窗外對座的殘破廟宇
陽光像一隻鴿子棲息在瓦簷上
室內微風消不去初秋延留的沉溽

眾人發表對詩歌各種的看法
有些新穎、有些陳舊
午後的氣息懨懨
陽光像一隻老貓臥睡在瓦簷上
天花板垂下的風扇慢慢地旋轉

會議結束後便是照團體像
我不安定的眼光望過攝影師肩膊
看見黑白近黃的教會歷史照片
掛在新刷的白色粉牆上

朋友堅持要到廣場一遊
只爲那是代表性的地區名勝兼古蹟
在只剩一面牆的古老建築面前
有無數鴿子自由的飛翔
我們隨手把詩集放在階梯上方
也有遊人好奇的觀望

頑皮的風吹起一張張的書頁
陽光趁勢把詩集瀏覽了一遍
有些寫得好，有些寫得不好
我想陽光並不會介意

AFTER A POETRY SEMINAR

The ancient church well-restored
but my gaze goes beyond, to the shattered temple,
sunlight perching like a pigeon on its eaves.
The breeze inside our room
cannot dispel autumn’s damp.

About poetry, everyone has opinions,
some original, some clichéd.
The afternoon’s weary as an old cat,
sunlight drowsy on the rooftiles. How slow
the ceiling fan rotates its blades.

Afterward, the usual photos.
Uneasy, I look past the camera
at yellowed shots of missionaries,
the freshly whitewashed wall.

A friend insisted on this plaza
for all its history.
From its last standing wall
wheel twenty pigeons.
Amid the gaping tourists
we set our books upon the steps.

The wind’s mischief ruffles pages
for the sun to browse.
Some poems written well, some poorly,
the light indifferent.

trans. © Diana Shi & George O’Connell

摸索

長廊昏暗，再望不見其他人
是誰忘了開燈
走到轉角的地方
我和你的肩膀幾乎相碰

我曾像擁有水晶球的吉甫賽女人
從各人眸中望見各種心思
你的眼睛卻稠醪如昨夜未喝盡的酒
眼底沉澱層層啡黑色雲翳

錯覺像遠方駛過的街車
燈影一瞬劃過
片刻照亮我們的處境
又復歸向固執的黑暗

我總想變成一隻黑貓
伏在角落只剩一對亮眼觀看世界
冷眼望你在聚光燈下
逐漸雕塑自己為一尊銅像
而我打算把身軀溶入黝黝的夜色

而此刻你走在我身旁
發出熱衷領路的雄性氣味
我卻像被黑巾蒙住了眼睛
我卻只能伸出雙手摸索
在不斷擴展的黑域內想像
空間大小、你我之間距離遠近
除了空氣，我沒有掌握住什麽

錯覺一瞬遠方有車開過
引擎低吼一聲歸向命定的寂靜
寂靜中我彷若聽見有人喁喁私語

還是沒人開燈
我依然摸索不到開關
出口的方向是否真在前面？
我們小心地用腳尖探測梯階的邊緣

FEELING THE WAY

No one around, the corridor long and dark.
Who turned the lights off?
As we walk to the corner
our shoulders nearly touch.

Like a Gypsy with her crystal ball
I once read thoughts in others’ eyes.
But yours were thick as last night’s wine
and layered in dark clouds.

As if a car passed,
something lights
this briefly awkward moment
amid the pressing dark.

I always wanted to be a black cat
crouched in a corner, gazing coldly on the world,
so see you now, spotlit
like a statue in bronze, self-sculpted,
while I meld with night.

You walk ahead, giving off
the fragrance of a male.
Blindfolded, I stretch my hand
into the air of endlessly extending space,
the only thing between us.

Somewhere a car growls by,
and then this silence
more fatal than a whisper.

The lights still out,
I cannot find the switch.
Is the exit far ahead?
Our toes feel for the edges of the stairs.

trans. © Diana Shi & George O’Connell

千禧之夜

什麼時候開始的，那飄飄的落雪？
背著我，在窗簾的背面，更換了世界
既不急躁，也不遲疑，它徐徐降落塵世
慢慢蓋住了仰望天空的臉和伸開的手心
完美得無懈可擊，像過去歲月中
我曾渴望的，一切又一切

終於要來了嗎？那眾人大驚小怪的日子
還握在手裏的二十世紀，已渙散
如玻璃窗的水汽

我想起父親，他沒來過
這個地方
並且痛恨這個國家
他上過戰場，但並未在戰爭中陣亡
九十年代初的一個夏季
他的面容凝固在一個罈子上的近照裏
他沒見過雪，而且永遠沒有機會了
但那又怎麼樣？我見過雪
在正來臨的二十一世紀裏，我也終將死去

煙花和歡呼轟然一聲同時於夜空中爆開
千禧代表了什麽，天使酣唱、聖靈降福？
是什麽的開始？又是什麽的終結？

在這小旅店內，我獨自倚窗而坐
有著觀看別人慶祝生日一樣的愉悅及漠然
明天早晨，當我推窗，是否會見到
傳說中的雪魘？
我還記得今晨初降的雪花
如何落在地上，又如何溶去了

明天雪將繼續堆積還是陽光照耀？我不知道
可預期的是下一個節慶，不管是什麽名義
人們將又擠塞在公園或者廣場
為某個理由而擁抱，而親吻，我甚至可以想像
不同臉龐上相似的笑容，那時，我們都相信
幸福與和平

而我總是這樣掃興的人
在每一個普世歡慶的日子
在彩色氣球升空的間隙
北國一條無名的街道在眼前浮現
它寧靜地躺在記憶的大地上
所有的景物都會慢慢變得透明
深山傳出的寺廟鐘聲跨過時空在耳邊迴響
素白的雪片仍一絮絮飄下，無聲，但如此清晰

MILLENNIUM NIGHT

Since when this sift of snow?
Behind me, behind the drapes, altering the world,
unhurried, unhesitating, lightly touching earth,
drifting onto upturned faces, opened palms,
so perfect, like everything I desired
in the old days.

Is the day finally here? The one people fuss about,
the fading twentieth century
like breath on a windowpane.

My father saw battles
but survived the war. Hating
the nation he fought,
he never came here.
One summer in the nineties
his face froze forever to a photo by an urn.
So what if he never saw snow? I have,
but will die in the century to come.

Cheering, fireworks, blasts in the night sky.
What does a millennium stand for, choiring angels
or the holy spirit’s grace?
If this is the beginning, what could be its end?

In my small hotel, I sit by the window
as if at someone’s birthday, joyful, apathetic.
Will I open the window at morning
to behold yuki onna, the legendary snow ghost?
I consider the first flurries,
how they meet the ground, then melt.

Sunshine tomorrow or snow?
Whatever the festival,
people crowd again the parks or plazas
embracing for some reason,
same smiles on different faces,
for a moment each of us believing
in happiness and peace.

It’s always me who spoils the fun
whatever day we praise.
Colorful balloons lurch skyward,
a nameless northern street appears before my eyes,
so quietly reclined across the land of memory
all scenery turns transparent.
Deep in the mountains the temple bell
traverses time and space, echoing
as snow descends in clumps,
silent, unadorned, distinct.

trans. © Diana Shi & George O’Connell

攝影展

一張張像片面對著世界，一張張的臉
鏡頭抄襲真實，從特定的焦點光圈
一張張平面的像片，如一張張壓扁的面孔
以壓扁的嚴肅偉大或壓扁的性感美麗
去迎合或抵抗
這個難用語言去解釋的世界

像片試圖重現種族戰爭和天台逼遷
以為自己記錄了貧民區平日生活
它不經意的嘲笑股災後的華爾街
又凝視在教堂前拍攝裸照的豔星
並且向參觀者說明東京地鐵的毒氣事件

光和影絲絲線線夾纏交錯
黑與白之間層層遞出不同灰質的深淺

一片玻璃能負載多少畫面？
照見了許多面孔，照不見自己的鏡面
當它照過太多過份繁複的構圖
鏡片再也無法承受，猛然跳出鏡頭——
像機默然想起
多年前它曾拍攝過的跳樓的瘋漢

玻璃不敵堅硬的地面迸裂成滿地的碎片
滿地碎片在陽光下折射著滿街破碎的臉

PHOTO EXHIBITION

A world, one frame after another, a face.
The lens steals its truth through focus, aperture,
each plane a face, flattened
with solemnity or grandeur, sexiness or grace,
craven or upright,
a world words cannot speak.

Tribal wars, evictions,
the daily life of slums.
Before a church, stars pose nude.
A tale of poison gas and Tokyo subways.
Their silence mocks the Wall Street crash.

Shadow weaves its threads across the light,
black, white, so many depths of grey.

How much can glass withstand?
Countless faces, none its own.
Without tricky composition
the lens can’t take it, leaping free
as if the mute camera remembers
years ago the crazed man
snapped leaping from a ledge.

No glass can match the pavement,
each sun-shattered
fragment one refraction,
a street of broken faces.

trans. © Diana Shi & George O’Connell

春分

驚蟄後，冬眠好久好久的都醒了
雨水下過，野草苗急急要鑽出泥土
地板潮氣清冽沁入腳心
囁囁嚅嚅彷彿是愛情的錯覺

春分是一把軟刀
輕輕把人分成兩半
一半的我歸還給理智
一半的我拋給眼下霧中風景
有人自身邊走過
衣角摩擦的聲音悉悉嗦嗦
在我明明暗暗的心情裏 反覆來去

一時晴一時雨的天氣
一個一點溫厚一點陰悒的人
有感冒的危險，我有些擔心

霧從海上來，淹沒了這個城市

因為是在霧中，所以不敢伸手
怕一觸便打下一手水印
因為是在霧中，所以花朵看不見
只聞到或紫或藍的花香 隱約

自己對自己說話，不想有人聽見

等待終會有早夏的蟬聲如線 牽我逃離
牽我走入明亮乾燥的平日
但是，在大霧還統治大地的時候
如我不止地想念著某男子
那也算是盡了我的本分
作為一個成熟女子 對於春天

VERNAL EQUINOX

After “Insect Waking” day, sleepers rise.
Rain, and seedlings break through earth.
The floor’s cool damp kisses my soles,
whispering love’s illusions.

The vernal equinox is a tender knife
splitting us in two:
half abides in reason
half is lost in haze.
A man passes,
the rustle of his clothing
flickering my bones.

A little sun, a little rain
a little kindness, a little gloom.
Afraid I might catch cold.

In from the ocean, fog fills the city streets.

Best not extend my arm
where a touch would burn my handprint
on the mist. The scent of unseen flowers
drifts in purples, blues.

To myself I speak, and no one else.

Soon cicadas’ thready buzz
will call up dry and vivid day.
But so long as mist rules earth
this female ardor
is my homage to the spring.

trans. © Diana Shi & George O’Connell

關於禁慾

你把貓禁錮在鐵籠內
那是一隻
黑屋裏的黑貓
然後你走開
然後你去逛花市
然後你去看馬戲團

但是只要一瞬斑紋閃過
就驚醒它的觸鬚
它撩起你的長髮
廝摩婆娑，你頸後
隱蔽的膩白肌膚
你的指尖還向你追索
光滑毛皮的撫拭
你喉頭緊縮
哽咽像一聲低鳴

總有一對變幻不止的瞳孔
在最黑夜的角落
凝視最原始的你

所有的黑色，你都無力抵抗
所有的呼喚，你只報以沉默
你起身，在鐵籠上加一把鐵閂
你感覺一種穿透的刺痛
你變成一條
被貓咬在嘴裏的魚

ABOUT ABSTINENCE

You lock the cat in a steel cage,
black cat,
black room,
then walk off
to roam the flower market,
see the circus.

But whenever stripes flash by,
whiskers awaken,
teasing your long hair,
circling your nape,
its hidden, delicate skin,
the tips of your fingers yearning
to stroke smooth fur,
your throat contracting
its low, choked cry

Always, those eyes probe
night’s darkest corners
for the primal you.

So much blackness
impossible to resist,
summoning only your silence.
Rise, add one more latch to the bars,
then feel your sharp impalement,
a fish
in the cat’s mouth.

trans. © Diana Shi & George O’Connell