在哈爾蓋仰望星空

有一種神秘你無法駕馭
你只能充當旁觀者的角色
聽憑那神秘的力量
從遙遠的地方發出信號
射出光來，穿透你的心
像今夜，在哈爾蓋
在這個遠離城市的荒涼的
地方，在這青藏高原上的
一個蠶豆般大小的火車站旁
我抬起頭來眺望星空
這時河漢無聲，鳥翼稀薄
青草向群星瘋狂地生長
馬群忘記了飛翔
風吹著空曠的夜也吹著我
風吹著未來也吹著過去
我成為某個人，某間
點著油燈的陋室
而這陋室冰涼的屋頂
被群星的億萬隻腳踩成祭壇
我像一個領取聖餐的孩子
放大了膽子，但屏住呼吸

STARS ABOVE HARGAI

Some mysteries cannot be contained
but only witnessed, their strength
signalling through distance
to pierce the heart.
Tonight in Hargai,
a desolate railstop on the Tibetan Plateau,
far from the city,
I look up from this bean-sized depot
to behold a vast firmament of stars,
the Yellow River and the Han gone silent as the absent birds.
Long grasses stretch toward heaven,
but horses have forgotten how to soar
as wind shoulders boundless night, lifting me
with the future and the past.
It’s then I become
a low house lit by a simple lantern,
its roof beneath the stars’ billion footsoles
a cold altar of sacrifice.
Like a child receiving holy communion,
I am brave but hold my breath

trans. © Diana Shi & George O’Connell

我在雨中對你說話

現在狂風震撼著曠野
我們的城市在曠野中越發孤零
在這樣的時刻，我們易為暴力所激
傾向於冒險；今夜是我們
升天的時候嗎？現在天空佈滿烏雲

現在死去的人混跡在我們中間
像嬰兒一樣重複著暗語
你不知道生命何其脆弱
而脆弱的生命被怎樣的光輝包裹
現在大雨借著狂風沖刷我們的夜色

我越是遠離你越能呼吸到
你的存在。我的帽子丟了
任憑頭髮倒伏在思想上
我在雨中對你說話，告訴你
我一個人行走在一座曠野上的城市裏

告訴你我所看到的燈光和汽車
今夜是我們升天的時候嗎？
我彷彿看到你在黑暗中爬起身來
拉開電燈：風暴已然過去
現在你是另一場雨落在我的心中

IN THE RAIN, I SPEAK TO YOU

As the gale shakes the open field
our city seems a wilderness.
It’s then we’re roused to risk,
to violence. Tonight
shall we ascend to heaven?
The sky cloaks in black clouds

and the dead walk among us,
repeating like infants their secret words.
How can you guess life’s fragility,
its enfolding glory?
This windborne downpour rinses all.

The farther away, the more I breathe
your existence. Since I lost my hat
my hair has flattened on my thoughts.
Through the rain, I speak to you, saying
how I cross alone a city’s open field,

seeing cars and lights.
Tonight shall we ascend to heaven?
I see you reach in darkness
for the light switch. When the storm dies
you’re rain in my heart still falling.

trans. © Diana Shi & George O’Connell

斷章

1.標本

它把飛翔的姿態一直保持到死後
它的小腦瓜裏什麼都沒有
我驚訝於它羽毛的蔚藍並未隨死亡而改變
彷彿它依然活在山野中的玻璃宮殿
要是它能夠選擇，它不會讓你
在它的軀體裏塞滿棉花
它是被迫告別腐葉的氣味、溪水的淙淙
它停止歌唱，卻因此進入了永恆

2.發明

每一項發明都使我們看起來好像超人：
子彈殺死了我們懼怕的野獸，望遠鏡裏
出現了一個男人和一個女人的古老的調情
我們躲在暗處，好像叢林戰士
每一項發明都把我們推向更加不起眼的位置
但我們有能力活得更好
比如造出更多更不值錢的硬幣
比如駕船駛向我們祖先從未到達過的海域

3.忠告

一個鬍子拉碴的大男人並不一定兇狠
一個白白淨淨的小男人並不一定溫柔
你不一定是天底下最美麗的公主
你那慈祥的老父親或許比花邊新聞更庸俗
但劊子手也會深愛他的兒女
就像唯物論者也會有狂想
而你若探求靈魂你就會陷入最大的非理性
而你若對靈魂漠不關心你也就只有點小聰明

4.計算

a.一座村莊只有一把椅子——怎麼可能？
b.五架鋼琴由一個人彈奏——怎麼可能？
c.樹葉模仿樹葉——樹葉是太多了。
d.太多的人相互敵視，卻走進同一座墳穴。
e.從我到你，就是從一到無數。
f.而一顆心不止只配一個人。
g.相互眺望的兩個人各自只能看到對方。
h.你不可能同時朝四個方向走去。

5.閱讀死亡

一本書，一個故事，我預料這其中必有死亡
好像我自己必將死在這故事當中
沒有多餘的人物，沒有不相交的道路
在某條小巷或某個房間，一口棺材已經備好
雨水、燈光，都是伏筆
必然的死亡把我逼向無奈
但這正是我所預料的結局：我目睹它
我變得殘忍或堅強為了活在故事之外

FRAGMENTS

1. Specimen

Even dead, it retains the attitude of flight
not a thought in its tiny head
How odd death’s not dimmed these feathers’ azure
as if still crossing fields, or mountains like palaces of glass
It would not choose
to abandon the sweet musks of autumn, the murmurs of creeks
or let you stuff its body with cotton
When its song stopped it entered eternity

2. Invention

Each invention makes us look like Superman:
bullets kill the beasts we fear,
binoculars unveil the private, timeless flirtations of men and women
as we lurk in the dark like jungle warriors
If each invention minimizes our position
don’t we live better
minting coins that buy less
crossing oceans our ancestors never could

3. Sincere Advice

An unshaven tough guy is not necessarily evil
A trim and tidy little fellow not necessarily kind
No need to be the fairest princess on the planet
Your smiling father might be more vulgar than celebrity gossip
yet a headsman may love deeply his son and daughter
Rationalists might entertain fantasies
but if chasing the soul is one trap for the irrational
ignoring it is no small error

4. Calculation

a. A village has only one chair—how so?
b. Five pianos played simultaneously by one man—impossible?
c. Leaves imitate leaves, countlessly.
d. Too many people see others as hostile but march toward the same grave.
e. From me to you means from one to many.
f. One heart is not limited to one man.
g. Two seeing each from afar only see the other.
h. You can’t walk in four directions at once.

5. Reading Death

Each book, each story, I foresee a death
as if I myself must die
No needless characters, no pointless paths
In some alley or room, a coffin awaits,
rain or lamplight foretelling
Death’s certainty compels me
toward the end I anticipate: how I grow
ruthless and strong, merely to survive it

trans. © Diana Shi & George O’Connell

自言自語

必須有不怕死的決心，
才敢於將廢電池扔進曠野。

必須有不怕死的決心，
才敢於將磷酸鹽排入河流。

在集市上任由自己說東家之長西家之短，
就是任由自己像魚蝦一樣變臭。

而在自己的客廳裏拉屎，
一點兒不亞於在別人的客廳裏拉屎，

需要不怕死的決心，
或至少需要不怕瘋掉的幽默感。

那赤腳走進玫瑰花叢的人，
他是在找死他是在找死；

那揪下每一朵玫瑰並且賤賣的人，
他不找死也是找死。

必須有不怕死的決心，
才敢於賣出自己像賣出一朵玫瑰花。

必須有雙倍不怕死的決心，
才敢於什麼都不賣卻買來一切。

試試闖進烏鴉的行列吧，
看看是你還是烏鴉心跳得更猛烈。

而公老虎和母老虎的私房話，
必須是死過兩次的人才敢於偷聽。

必須是死過三次的人，
才敢於向螞蟻開放他身上的每一條孔道。

必須是死過四次的人，
才敢於變成一隻蝴蝶只關心日落和日出。

日出。那不怕死的人正好爬上山頂，
正好掏出照相機；

一架形如滿月的UFO正好飛入他的鏡頭，
UFO裏正好坐著有一個青面獠牙的怪獸。

他懂得在星辰之間蹦來跳去的樂趣，
就像你一不怕苦二不怕死，

懂得在行業之間蹦來跳去，
在人群之間倒立行走。

必須有不怕死的決心，
才敢於捏住鼻子尖聲尖氣地說這樣很好。

必須有不怕死的決心，
才敢於在毛主席面前把蠢話說出口。

把自己的心掏出來喂狗，
把自己的肉剁碎了喂老鷹，

是為了活著，既是為自己也是為他人，
為了活成一個只剩骨頭的人。

必須有不怕死的決心，
才敢於一頭紮進一個否定的想法哪兒都不去。

必須有不怕死的決心，
才敢於走到天盡頭。

SOLILOQUY

One must not fear death
to toss dead batteries just anywhere.

One must not fear death
to dump phosphate in rivers.

To gossip about this family or that in the market
makes one stink like fish or shrimp.

To shit in one’s living room
is no worse than shitting in others’ living rooms

and requires a fearlessness of death
or, not to go mad, a sense of humor.

One who walks barefoot into a rose bush
invites his own demise.

One who plucks roses to sell cheap
may not seek death but will find it.

One must not fear death
to sell himself like a rose.

One must twice be fearless of death
to buy everything and sell nothing.

Enter a procession of crows
to see if your heart beats faster than theirs.

As for the pillow talk between a male and female tiger
only someone who’s died twice dares to overhear.

Only one who’s died thrice
dares open each pore of his flesh to ants.

Only one who’s died four times
dares become a butterfly, caring only about sunrise and sunset.

Sunrise. One fearless of death climbs to the mountaintop
digging out his camera;

a full-moon shaped UFO crosses his viewfinder,
a green-faced, long-toothed monster inside it

who enjoys bouncing between stars
just as you, fearing neither life’s troubles nor death,

enjoy dancing between professions,
or walking upside down through a crowd.

One must not fear death
to say all’s well in a pretentious falsetto.

One must not fear death
to say stupid things aloud before Chairman Mao.

To fish out one’s heart to feed dogs,
to slice one’s flesh to feed eagles,

is to keep living for oneself and others,
to become a man left only with bones.

One must not fear death
to plunge headlong into negative thought and stay there.

One must not fear death
to stroll toward the end of the sky.

trans. © Diana Shi & George O’Connell

我藏著我的尾巴

我藏著我的尾巴，混跡於其他藏著尾巴的人們中間。

我俯下身來，以為會接近我的影子，但我的影子也俯下身來，擺出一副要逃跑的姿勢。

喝一肚子涼水就能淹死全部的心裏話。

走著，我攤開手，但我不祈求世間任何東西。但是，啊，有什麼東西會自動落入我的掌心？

碎玻璃割破手指，不見蚊子飛來。

我練習雙眼，練得像鷹眼一樣銳利。終於可以看清一切，內心的無奈便無法逃避。

如果你走得太近，我就用不上望遠鏡了。我的望遠鏡專為看你而準備，你應該僅僅待在遠方。

街上的花瓣，是否西施的碎指甲？

我幹過的蠢事別人再幹，我無法阻止。我自己再幹一遍，只是想顯示我詭計多端。

既不能站在瘋子一邊對常人之惡束手無策，也不能站在常人一邊對瘋子之惡束手無策。

聰明人趕在天黑以前用完一天的理智。

抬頭望月，我猛按車鈴，同時忍不住像馬一樣朝月亮噴出響鼻。月亮上真安靜。

星期二，吹熄的蠟燭上一縷青煙。

星期三，南方的蒼蠅打敗了北方的蒼蠅。

我用汽車尾氣招待聚會的老鼠。牠們心滿意足，一致同意：世界真該死，而牠們不該死。

別嚇唬人，去嚇唬不是人的人吧，他們需要被嚇唬，就像他們需要被討好。

我用硬幣在你的皮膚上壓出圖案。

你計算天空的重量。玩一玩，行。你若認真，我就只好把你掐死。

夜晚的遊蕩者，我們避免相識。

HIDING MY TAIL

I hide my tail, hang out with others hiding theirs.

I bend over, thinking I’d approach my shadow, but my shadow bends too, hoping to flee.

To drown all innermost thought, drink a bellyful of cold water.

Walking, I open my hands, praying for nothing in this world. But what might fall into my palms?

Fingers cut by broken glass, no mosquitoes in sight.

I train my gaze to be hawk sharp. At last I see everything clear, unable to escape my helpless heart.

If you come too close, no need for binoculars. Mine are focused just for you, so keep your distance.

Are those petals in the street Xi Shi’s broken fingernails?

I can’t stop others from following my stupidities. If I repeat, it’s just to display my cunning.

I can neither stand by the insane and do nothing about the evil of the average, nor stand by the average and do nothing about the evil of the insane.

The clever hurry to use their wisdom before dark.

Gazing at the moon, I frantically press my bike bell, snorting like a horse. The moon’s so tranquil.

On Tuesday, blow out a strand of green smoke from a candle.

On Wednesday, flies from the south defeat flies from the north.

I offer the gathering mice car exhaust. They remain content, agreeing the world should die, but not themselves.

Don’t scare people, scare only those who call themselves people but really aren’t. They need to be frightened, just as they need to be pleased.

I press a coin’s pattern into your skin.

You calculate the sky’s weight. Fine to play around. If you get serious, I’ll have no choice but to strangle you.

Wanderers of night, we should not meet.

trans. © Diana Shi & George O’Connell

硬幣上的但丁

（一枚鑄有但丁頭像的兩歐元硬幣）

但丁在有關「世界帝國」的方案裏忘記了設計這種鑄有但丁頭像的兩歐元硬幣。由此可見但丁是一個多麼謙虛的人。

兩歐元在意大利可以買到一支中號冰激淩，在中國可以買到一冊250頁的書或半條0.8mg的「中南海」香煙。

但丁的頭像被鑄到硬幣上，於是但丁變成一個量：這東西值一個但丁，那東西不值一個但丁。

但事實上，只有1302年被從佛羅倫薩趕出去的那個但丁才值一個但丁。

無數人捏著但丁，其中肯定包括但丁的後人，或者也包括了死後又投胎轉世回到這個世界上的但丁。有人在硬幣上認出他來，有人沒有認出。

但丁不會想到自己會把自己留在了銀行裏、商店裏、自動售貨機裏、公用電話的投幣箱裏，並且不得不快樂地在這些地方之間跑來跑去。

但丁在《地獄篇》裏可能因為疏忽而沒有寫到「快樂」，或者說，但丁忘了談一談那九層地獄中諸般罪過與「快樂」的關係。

但丁沒有想到，在他身後，拜金主義者們有了體面的崇拜對象：但丁。

而他在《天堂篇》裏寫的是一個比這世界好得多的地方，儘管這世上很多人其實對那個世界裏的諸般好處不以為然。

天堂裏不使用鑄有但丁頭像的兩歐元硬幣，那和但丁有關。我們以但丁的名義購買和施捨，這和但丁無關。

DANTE ON THE COIN

Dante on a two Euro coin

In his Monarchia, Dante did not predict a two Euro coin stamped with his portrait. This shows humility.

In Italy, two Euros buy a medium ice cream cone; in China a 250-page book or 5 packs of 0.8mg Zhongnanhai cigarettes.

With his head on a coin, Dante becomes a quantum: this item is worth a Dante, that is not.

But in fact only the Dante expelled from Florence in 1302 is worth a Dante.

So many pinch a Dante between two fingers, among whom must be Dante’s descendants, or even Dante reincarnated. Some recognize Dante on the coin, some don’t.

Moving so unhappily place to place, Dante could hardly imagine leaving himself in banks, shops, vending machines, payphones.

Dante may not have mentioned “joy” in the Inferno, or simply forgot to trace sin’s path from joy to hell’s nine levels.

Dante couldn’t guess how the greedy would find his face a proper object of worship.

Though he described a much better place in Paradiso, few now consider heaven’s benefits.

In Dante’s paradise they don’t use the two Euro Dante. Here we buy and donate with his image, but hardly in his name.

trans. © Diana Shi & George O’Connell

停電

突然停電，使我確信

BLACKOUT

A sudden blackout convinces me
this is a developing country
where people read by moonlight,
where the imperial examinations have been abolished.

A sudden blackout brings me
from somewhere overhead
the tinkle of windchimes,
the footfalls of a cat.

In the distance,
a grumbling motor stumbles into silence,
at my side, the battery radio
sings on.

When the power’s off
time leaps backward—
small restaurants light their white candles.

The fat man gobbling crow
sees more and more crows
gather on the branches.

Such deep darkness,
the surge of the black sea’s womb.

A mother hangs from the rafter,
her own scent filling every room.

Blackout. I grope and find a slipper,
murmuring “Match! Don’t hide!”

In candlelight, I see my shadow
huge, speechless, cast upon the wall.

trans. © Diana Shi & George O’Connell with PKU Poetry Translation Workshop

無關緊要之歌

蒼蠅叫不叫「蒼蠅」無關緊要
牠的嗡嗡聲越來越大無關緊要
牠喝了一肚子墨水撒出的尿全是藍的無關緊要
牠決定做一隻優秀的蒼蠅無關緊要

我們兩人鴉雀無聲

蒼蠅飛走，房間裏多了一個人無關緊要
他談笑風生自得其樂無關緊要
他說他的聰明足以在天上吃得開，然後就走了
他是否成了天上最聰明的人無關緊要

我們兩人鴉雀無聲

鴉雀無聲的還不僅只我們兩人
還有窗外的電線桿和它移動的影子
電線桿上吊死一隻風箏無關緊要
我們繞著電線桿跑了十萬八千里無關緊要

SONG OF UNIMPORTANCE

It’s not important
Whether a fly’s called “fly”.
Not important
if its buzz gets louder and louder.
Not important
if it drinks up ink and pisses blue.
Not important
if it decides to be excellent.

We two keep silent.

It’s not important
if the fly buzzes off and someone else enters the room.
Not important
if he chatters away, happy and content,
clever enough, he says, to even have his way in heaven.
When he leaves,
it’s not important if he’s the wisest man in paradise.

We two keep silent.

Silence encloses not only us
but the power pole and its shadow
afloat beyond the window.
It’s not important
if a kite hangs dead
from the wires, not important
that around the pole
we run thousands of miles.

trans. © Diana Shi & George O’Connell with PKU Poetry Translation Workshop

題王希孟青綠山水長卷《千里江山圖》

綠色和藍色彙集成空山。有人行走其間，但依然是空山，就像行走的人沒有面孔，但依然是人。誰也別想從這些小人兒身上認出自己，就像世間的真山真水，別想從王希孟那裏得到敷衍了事的讚揚。王希孟認識這些畫面上的小人兒，但沒有一個是他自己。這些不是他自己的小人兒，沒有一個他能叫出名字。小人兒們得到山，得到水，就像山得到綠松石和青金石，水得到浩淼和船隻，就像宋徽宗得到十八歲的王希孟，只是不知道他將在畫完《千里江山圖》之後不久便會死去。山水無名。王希孟明白，無名的人物，更只是山水的點綴，就像飛鳥明白，自己在人類的遊戲中可有可無。鳥兒在空中相見。與此同時，行走在山間的人各有各的方向，各有各的打算。這些小人兒穿著白衣，行走，閒坐，打魚，販運，四周是綠色和藍色，就像今天的人們穿著黑衣，出現在宴會、音樂會和葬禮之上，四周是金色和金色。這些白衣小人兒從未出生，當然也就從未死去，就像王希孟這免於污染和侵略的山水烏托邦，經得起細細的品讀。遠離桎梏的人呵談不上對自由的嚮往，未遭經驗損毀的人呵談不上遺忘。王希孟讓打魚的人有打不盡的魚，讓山坳裏流出流不盡的水。在他看來，幸福，就是財富的多寡恰到好處，讓人們得以在山水之間靜悄悄地架橋，架水車，修路，蓋房屋，然後靜悄悄地居住，就像樹木恰到好處地生長在山崗、水畔，或環繞著村落，環繞著人。遠景中，樹木像花兒一樣。它們輕輕搖晃，就是清風送爽的時候。清風送爽，就是有人歌唱的時候。有人歌唱，就是空山成其為空山的時候。

AFTER WANG XIMENG’S BLUE AND GREEN HORIZONTAL LANDSCAPE SCROLL, A THOUSAND MILES OF RIVERS AND MOUNTAINS

Green colors and blue colors flow together and form empty mountains. Some people are walking in them, but they’re still empty mountains, as if the people walking there have no faces, but they are still people. No one should try to recognize themselves in these figures, or try to see the real mountains and waters of this world, nor should anyone think of trying to gain casual praise from Wang Ximeng. Wang Ximeng knows these small figures, and that not one is he himself. These are not his figures, and he cannot call out a single one by name. The figures acquire the mountains and waters, just as the mountains acquire the emerald and lapis, just as the waters acquire vastness and boats, just as Emperor Huizong singled out Wang Ximeng at eighteen years old, not knowing that Wang would die soon after he finished this thousand miles of rivers and mountains. The mountains and waters are nameless. Wang Ximeng realizes that people without names are just decorations in mountains and waters, just as flying birds know they are insignificant to men’s games. And the birds meet in the sky. Meanwhile, people walking in the mountains have their own directions to travel and their own plans. These small figures, in white, walk, sit at leisure, go fishing, trade, surrounded by green colors and blue colors, just as today, people, in black, go to banquets, concerts, and funerals, surrounded by golden colors and more golden colors. These small figures in white have never been born and so have never died; just like Wang Ximeng’s landscape utopia, they are immune to pollution and invasion, and that is worth careful consideration. So people who are far away from social controls have no need to long for freedom, and people who haven’t been destroyed by experience aren’t concerned about forgetting. Wang Ximeng let the fishermen have infinite numbers of fishes to go fishing; he allowed limitless waters to run out from the mountains. According to him, happiness means the exact amount of blessing so that, immersed in the silence between mountains and waters, people can build bridges, waterwheels, roads, houses, and live quietly, just like the trees growing appropriately in the mountains, along the margins of water, or surrounding a village, and surrounding people. In the distance, the trees are like flowers. When they sway, it’s the time when the clear wind is rising. When the clear wind is rising, it’s time for people to sing. When people sing, it’s time for an empty mountain to become an empty mountain.

trans. © Arthur Sze

走過湘西洪江古商城。2010年7月

被遺棄的老人
活到94，白白淨淨依然活著，注視著陌生的來人
進出昏暗的窨子屋，話很少。

被遺棄的中年人
清代小官吏打扮，在另一座窨子屋裏，表演清官斷案，
娛人娛己而已，可領到少許工資。

他老婆還是他老婆
大汗滿臉，洗菜用水，切菜出聲，炒菜起油煙，
盼望搬進山上的新房，遺棄這本屬他人的舊居

三十年代的小軍閥遺棄了洪江
四十年代的土匪遺棄了青樓
五十年代的掌櫃的為國家捐罷飛機就遺棄了櫃檯

打壽材的手藝
被一個初中文化的青年繼承下來
這類生意任你天翻地覆將持續到地老天荒

好風景總是破舊的
牆上褪色的標語表達過革命，現在留給遊人
槍斃過反革命的路口現在留給了新型資本主義

而舊資本主義退回
農業的月色，被埋葬於江聲、老鼠的嘰嘰叫
和鬼魂的附庸風雅的吟誦

在某間舊油號的地下
幾頓舊黃金重現，歸了政府，不知是否又重新
流通回社會？——受不了得勢者的哈哈大笑。

沅江和巫水依舊匯流於舊地
運桐油的大船是否會為開發旅遊，響應黨的號召
而從水下開回舊碼頭？

PASSING THROUGH HONGJIANG HISTORICAL TOWN, XIANGXI, JULY 2010

The old lady, left behind,
94, clean and tidy, still living, watching strangers
enter and leave the dim yinziwu, says little.

The middle-aged man, left behind,
got up like a local Qing official, acts the judge in another yinziwu,
amusing tourists and himself, earning a few kuai.

His wife’s still his wife,
her face shining with sweat, rinsing vegetables, chopping noisily,
cooking in the smoky pan.
She hopes to move into a new house on the mountainside, abandon this old place
owned by someone else.

In the thirties, the small warlords left Hongjiang.
In the forties, the bandits left the brothels.
In the fifties, the shopkeepers left their counters after donating airplanes
to the nation.

The coffinmakers’ craft
left to a young man with a middle-school education.
His trade will last till heaven and earth expire, no matter
how the world inverts.

What’s left behind makes good landscapes,
old revolutionary slogans fading on the walls, preserved for tourists,
the intersection where counter-revolutionaries were executed,
preserved for capitalism’s new face.

Yet the old capitalism remains
beneath the farmer’s moon, beneath the rush of the river, the rats’ squeaks,
the high-flown recitations of old ghosts.

Under an ancient oil-trader’s shop
a few tons of gold bars were found, turned over to the government. Who knows
what recirculates? Those with the upper hand, their laughs unbearable.

The waters of the Yuan and Wu still merge where they always did.
The big boat that carried tung oil, will it open to tourists, as the party wants,
towed to its old dock?

trans. © Diana Shi & George O’Connell

Yinziwu: ancient type of rectangular building found in Hongjiang, S. Central China & elsewhere

Kuai: common term for RMB or Chinese yuan

此刻

此刻，一個男人扛一口棺材走在街道上
他衣扣敞開，他渾身冒汗
星光濺落的街道被他踏響
黑魆魆的屋頂和紅紗燈是他曾經夢見
我們同居在此有著海洋和沙漠的星球

此刻，大風推進在沒有道路的海洋和沙漠
誰搬運著垃圾？誰向天空打開手電筒？
誰一把抓住一隻飛來的鳥
並隨手拋出一把鐵砂？
我們同居在此有著海洋和沙漠的星球

五百個女人在五百個房間裏鬆開髮辮
脫下鞋、襪子，只穿著短褲來到窗口
五百個管理員關掉五百座圖書館的電燈
聽見肚子裏一串串咕咕的叫聲
我們同居在此有著海洋和沙漠的星球

五大洲、七大洋、經過赤道的本初子午線
驢和馬交配生下騾子
銀杏樹像人一樣分為兩性
科學家訓練黑猩猩從一數到十
我們同居在此有著海洋和沙漠的星球

此刻，有一個人正在成為畢加索
另一個人正在成為毛澤東
世上的父親們久病成醫，而青年一代
要求他們否定自己一生的奮鬥
我們同居在此有著海洋和沙漠的星球

成堆的落葉被焚燒。秋天，又是秋天
那些撲進火焰的人總會留下疑問種種
當大多數人從秋天步入冬天
竟有一位大姐戴上了花朵
我們同居在此有著海洋和沙漠的星球

瘦削的人上路了，坐在硬座車廂
坐在兩個推銷員之間
無人知道他是誰，只看見他嗑著瓜籽
注視著窗外掠過的市鎮
我們同居在此有著海洋和沙漠的星球

此刻，一個男孩把腳伸到被子外面
他充滿愛憐的祖母趕忙把被子給他掖好
這樣一個小人兒應該飛翔在街道的上空
帶著生活的激情和靈性
我們同居在此有著海洋和沙漠的星球

THIS MOMENT

This moment, a man is walking down the street, a coffin on his shoulder
his sweaty shirt unbuttoned,
his feet crushing the starlight.
He dreamt once of dark roofs and red lanterns
On this planet of oceans and deserts
we live together.

This moment, a big wind gusts over trackless seas and sands.
Who takes out the trash? Who beams a flashlight toward the sky?
Who snares flying birds in one move,
and scatters handfuls of iron ore?
On this planet of oceans and deserts
we live together.

Five hundred women in five hundred rooms loosen their hair,
take off shoes, stockings, come to the window in underwear.
Five hundred librarians switch off the lights in five hundred libraries,
hearing their stomachs rumble.
On this planet of oceans and deserts
we live together.

Five continents, five oceans, the Prime Meridian crossing the Equator,
The horse mates with the donkey and bears a mule.
The gingko is split in two sexes, like us.
Scientists train chimps to count from one to ten.
On this planet of oceans and deserts
we live together.

This moment, someone is becoming Picasso,
another Mao Zedong.
After long illnesses, fathers become doctors, yet the young
insist they deny their lives’ work.
On this planet of oceans and deserts
we live together.

Piles of fallen leaves are set alight. Another autumn.
Whoever lunges into flame leaves much to doubt.
Most come to winter through fall
yet one sister dons a flower.
On this planet of oceans and deserts
we live together.

A thin man rides third class
between two salesmen.
No one knows his name, but he splits melon seeds
as towns slip past the window
On this planet of oceans and deserts
we live together.

This moment, a boy thrusts a foot from his blanket
and his grandmother tucks it in.
Such a small soul should wing above the streets
with life’s passion and genius.
On this planet of oceans and deserts
we live together.

trans. © Diana Shi & George O’Connell with PKU Poetry Translation Workshop

下午

黃金漲價，讓儲藏黃金的打算推遲，後悔當年的摳門。
鑽石也漲價——而鑽石，不過是石頭的一種——必有人如此感悟。

利比亞戰事沒完沒了，歐洲的干預騎虎難下，但那都在遠方。
本‧拉登被擊斃在巴基斯坦。可惜開槍的海豹突擊隊員永遠出不了大名。

股市套住了許多人，包括我那些智慧的朋友們。
他們總在說笑時翻看手機中的股市行情，好像在發短信談情說愛。
他們生活在此處同時又生活在別處，專心致志同時又心不在焉。

美好的下午，像假的。團團白雲以為自己飄動在巴黎的上空。
購物中心建成歐洲小鎮的模樣，使老外有歸家之感；
使戲水的孩子們習慣於世界性消費，而家長們全在玩照相機。

人造噴泉的數十根水柱忽高忽低，表明它們是快樂的；
中心水柱忽然噴出十米之高，帶著魔術師表演成功的得意。

從咖啡店走出的女孩甩頭髮，戴上墨鏡。陽光愛著她。
她胸罩的粉紅色肩帶露在肩膀上，拖鞋打著腳底板發出「噼噼」聲響。

而比她更小的女中學生走著日本女孩的小碎步，不過將來
她還是會走回中國人的步伐，嫁雞隨雞嫁狗隨狗。

來自小縣城的中年男人彷彿一下掉進了洞天福地，看不懂外文廣告，
卻仍能享受電影《泰坦尼克號》抒情的主題曲：又該有新產品上市。

我坐在咖啡店的露天散座上，被老婆孩子要求讓出一個下午。
偏西的太陽還在走它的弧線，一會兒更會加快速度。

但老婆去購物了，孩子去滑冰了，我給朋友打電話，通了。
我先前數次電他他都關機。我以為他被抓了起來但這次他接了電話。
他活得好好的，但他母親肺癌轉骨癌。他盡著最後的孝道。

我們約好過兩週見個面，其實也沒什麼要緊的事情。

ONE AFTERNOON

Gold’s going up, investors sorry they waited.
Diamonds too. Surely some see diamonds are just stones.

Libya’s war endless, Europe clutching the tiger’s tail. All so remote.
Bin Ladin shot dead in Pakistan. Too bad the Seal pulling the trigger won’t be famous.

Many tangled in the stock market, including clever friends.
Checking the latest quotes on their cellphones, they chat and chortle
as if texting love notes. Here and not here, they’re utterly devoted yet distracted.

The afternoon’s so pleasant it seems fake. Clumps of white clouds dream they’re adrift
over Paris. Shopping centers styled like Europe’s hamlets, so foreigners feel at home,
so children dabbling in water get used to global consumption, while the parents
toy with cameras.

A dozen streams in the fountain dance high and low, confirming their happiness.
The central jet suddenly shoots ten meters, like a magician grandly closing his performance.

A girl struts out of a cafe, tossing her hair, donning sunglasses. How sunshine loves her.
The straps of her pink bra show on her shoulders, her flipflops slap at her soles, “pip-pap”.

A middle-school girl walks with Japanese mini-steps, but soon she’ll return to Chinese
—marry a chicken, live like a chicken; marry a dog, live like a dog.

A middle-aged man from a small town suddenly finds himself in the palace of the gods,
but can’t grasp the foreign ads.
Still, he enjoys Titanic‘s theme song: new products should now be in the market.

Roped into surrendering an afternoon by my wife and child,
I find a free chair in a streetside cafe.
The sun creeps west along its arc, falling faster soon enough.

Since the wife’s off shopping, the child skating, I dial a friend’s number.
His phone off lately, now it rings through.
I thought he’d been arrested, but he picks up.
His life’s alright, but his mother’s lung cancer has entered her bones.
He’s serving out his last filial duties.

We arrange to meet in two weeks, about nothing important.

trans. © Diana Shi & George O’Connell

寫在三十歲

在我第一個十年
月亮向我顯現了它寂靜的環形山
而月亮之下，我居住的小城
驅魔的鑼鼓喧響，大街上叫聲一片
我瘸腳的舅舅在院子裏罵人
我一不小心領教了白公雞的接吻
一個小女孩在我面前脫下褲子
我爬樓梯時撞見自殺者的陰魂
我被告知別害怕
我被父親高舉過頭頂
冰雹在通往公社的路上跳得精疲力竭
我走進純潔的學校學習革命

在我第二個十年
全世界的蟋蟀和我一起成長
一起蔑視困難，一起愛上暴力和月光
一隻老虎出現在我的門口
我聞到了肉味
我像一隻兔子跳到別人的門口
看到男人和女人在準備節日的盛裝
我偷盜，別人也偷盜
我燒死麻雀，別人也燒死麻雀
生活如此，而我有突出的才華
我描畫理想的山水風光
我沒有太多的罪行要求世人原諒

一些門關閉了，另一些門尚未打開
第三個十年適於出遊和讀書
我折磨起自己來理所當然
我歌唱愛情的眉宇和膝蓋
卻從未在大街上看到天女下凡
朋友們來了，生機勃勃，隨即杳無蹤影
留下我無法穿戴的襯衫和眼鏡
批判的鋒芒招來了災難
像肉體中的暴亂招來了大雨
我扛著一把雨傘登上小丘
一隻小鳥為尋找一個人而迎著雷鳴電閃
在雨中飛旋

怎麼能既懷疑自己又懷疑世界？
你無法叫大雨停住，叫飛鳥落在手上
思想像一把刀，僅僅一閃
便使我的靈魂大汗淋漓
我趕走三十個高談闊論的哲學家
對守護我的影子說：對不起
鹹的汗，鹹的淚，肉體還能是什麼味道？
黑夜像一連串陳設相同的房間
我穿行其中，卻好像在一個房間裏
來回踱步。從早到晚
關心未來說明我心中不快——
大地運行只是我向無覺察——

AT 30

The first ten years of my life,
as the moon exposed its silent craters
to my small city far below,
the streets filled with shouts,
gongs and drums drove out devils,
my lame uncle cursed in the yard,
and careless, I got kissed by the white rooster’s beak.
A little girl pulled her pants down before me,
and once I ran into the ghost of a suicide on the stairs,
but my father raised me high overhead
and told me not to fear.
Hailstones bounced their lives out on the walk to the commune,
where I entered the immaculate school
to learn revolution.

In my twenties,
every cricket in the world grew with me—
together we laughed off trouble,
falling in love with violence and moonlight.
When a tiger loomed in my doorway,
I smelled meat
and leaped like a rabbit at others’ doors.
I saw men and women dress for festivals,
I stole, others stole,
I burned sparrows, others burned sparrows.
Such was life, but my talent
painted perfect landscapes,
and sought no forgiveness.

Some doors closed, some were yet unopened;
my thirties a time to travel, time to read.
Of course I tortured myself
singing for love’s eyebrows and knees,
but no goddess wafted to my street.
Friends showed up, vital and alive,
then vanished with their shadows,
leaving eyeglasses, shirts I couldn’t wear.
The sword of criticism draws disaster
like pangs in the body bring on heavy rain.
I shouldered an umbrella and climbed a hill
where a small bird circled in the rain,
welcoming thunder and lightning.

How to suspect oneself as well as the world?
Ask the rain to stop pouring,
the bird to flutter to your hand.
Thought is a knife—one glint
and my soul broke into a sweat.
I drove back thirty spouting philosophers,
begged pardon of my guardian shadow.
Salt sweat, salt tears, how else would a body taste?
Night was a string of the same furnished rooms
I paced all day till dawn.
Giving a damn for the future meant I was unhappy—
the great earth turned but who felt it?

trans. © Diana Shi & George O’Connell

發現

連螞蟻也害怕黑夜
連石頭也被失眠所折磨
連月光也受到了污染所以人影朦朧
連山峰也在增高好像醞釀著分崩

連大唐帝國也最終走向衰落
連垃圾箱裏也有人居留
連奢談理想的人也拿不准該怎樣生活
連溜肩膀的男人也要離家出走

連老虎也會被武松打倒在地
連武松也會被拿下，治罪，戴上枷鎖
連法律也會有漏洞
連邪惡也能找到堂皇的藉口

連略有幾分姿色的女人也沾沾自喜
連最美麗的女人也在胡說
連觀世音菩薩也長出了乳房
連賽金花也暴得大名

連醫生也得上了淋病只是他繼續工作
連醉鬼也知道回家只是他忘記了家門
連五月的鳥雀也學會了沉默
連行屍走肉也會喊「救命！」

連孩子們也悄悄地喜新厭舊
連妖魔鬼怪也披著華麗的斗篷
連算命的瞎子也只好向命運低頭
連死人也會有擔憂

可怕的無所事事的夜晚再一次來臨
我叨念著這一切穿過空寂的王府井
星星躲開我的視線
一棵漆黑的大樹將我攔腰抱住

DISCOVERY

even ants tremble at nightfall
even stones suffer insomnia
even moonlight’s so polluted men’s shadows thin to mist
even the mountaintop swells as if ready to blow

even the Tang Dynasty fell into decline
even in the trashcan people are living
even optimists are uncertain how to live
even men with fallen shoulders want to leave home

even the tiger was beaten down by Wu Song
even Wu Song can be scourged for his crimes and put in chains,
even the law has holes
even wickedness finds a gallant excuse

even good looking women hug themselves
even the most beautiful prattle on
even Kwan-yin grows breasts
even Sai Jinhua got famous

even the doctor has gonorrhoea, but keeps working
even the drunkard knows to go home, if only he could remember where
even birds of May learn to be silent
even the soulless can cry “Help!”

even children love the new and quietly loathe the old
even devils and ghosts are arrayed in gorgeous mantles
even the blind fortuneteller lowers his head before destiny
even the dead have worries

when night slips on its terrible silence
I walk through empty Wangfujing, muttering these words over and over
stars avoid my eyes
a huge black tree snatches at my waist

trans. © Diana Shi & George O’Connell

Wu Song: In the Chinese classic novel Outlaws of the Marsh, heroic figure who killed a man-eating tiger barehanded.

Kwan-yin: Buddhist divinity of compassion, originally male but later transformed into a woman

Sai Jinhua: Late Qing dynasty courtesan who gained fame and influence around the time of the Boxer Rebellion

Wangfujing: broad Beijing street well-known for its shops and restaurants

降落

飛越上帝的山脈、峽谷、狐狸點燈的
廢墟、貓頭鷹出沒的墳塚，
你將降落如同一個靈魂降生，
從星辰的高度，帶著另一個世界
理想的毒素，你將降落到一種命運當中。

上升的太陽甩下烏雲般破敗的屋舍，
憂患的城市黑夜過後必是一片鳥鳴。
滿樹的喜鵲，滿河的污水，
這是某些人的異鄉、某些人的故土。
你將降落，回憶起你的出發——

能夠記住的東西並不一定值得記住。
正是凡俗的世界給你以教訓。
但即使最嚴酷的律法也會給生存
留有餘地；你會被惡狗咬上一口，
但和舊情相比這只是區區小事。

你必須有一個去處，有一個親人，
你必須有一個名字，好生活在風沙之中。
一個有人居住的地方：一種語言、
一種類型的面孔。你小心避開的人群
將會要求打開你的箱子。

降落。跑道清潔。而那些惦念著起飛的
鐵鳥，正在醞釀著它們的怒吼。
你鬆開安全帶，看見了大地上的
第一個人：他剛剛醒來，
把運貨小卡車開到飛機的尾部。

LANDING

Flying over God’s mountains, canyons, wastelands
glimmering with foxfire, graveyards where owls vanish and appear,
you drop from the stars
like a soul being born,
and still bearing the toxins
of your own world, glide down
to whatever destiny awaits.

Dawn struggles up from the torn clouds of houses,
yet even a miserable village twitters at sunrise,
the trees filled with magpies, the river with sewage—
here’s someone’s adopted city, another’s hometown.
Thinking of landing recalls your departure,

though what you remember may hardly be worth it,
just one more lesson from the world,
where the strictest regulations still leave space
for life—after all you’ve been through,
if you’re bitten by a cur, it’s nothing.

You’re required to confess a destination, a relative,
a name, so you can exit to the wind and sand.
You’re required to declare your place, its inhabitants, a language,
show your face. You’ll try to avoid the crowds
but may have to open your suitcase.

You touch down, a clean landing,
while the iron birds thinking of takeoff
are brewing up their roars.
You unclip your seatbelt, see the first man
on earth, just awakened,
steering the baggage cart past the tail.

trans. © Diana Shi & George O’Connell

照鏡子

照鏡子偶然想到：都是眼耳鼻舌身意，我難看，大象不難看；

都是大鼻子，大象不難看，但某人的大鼻子曾經在漫畫中必須難看。

清朝的費丹旭讚賞小嘴巴。進入1950年代小嘴巴代表落伍的價值觀。

而濃眉大眼適於地覆天翻，也就是適於犧牲，適於無私，適於奉獻。

對此號稱「新人類」者在2020年代都表示反對：先玩手機，先吃飯！

可生下來濃眉大眼卻碌碌一生，讓街道居委會的正能量塗鴉情何以堪！

都屬兔，有人活成老虎，有人活成大龍。我媽說：看看別人！

都膀大腰圓，有人活成聖人，有人活成保鏢。我媽說：咱不攀高枝！

鳥叫，有人聽進心裏。雨落，有人避不開索性坦然地走在雨中。

平庸者也能詩意地行走於大地。遇上個瘋子，血型相同怎麼辦？

菩薩沒有血型，慈悲不論血型，但負責任地自我懲罰者畢竟是少數。

酒鬼以為天下人都好酒。破產者以為世界應在半小時內毀滅。

老闆要求人人服從其癖好。猴子以為人人都愛孫悟空。

有人分發幸福像分發糖果，有人接住糖果以為接住了幸福。

IN THE MIRROR

In the mirror my eyes look ugly, my ears, nose, tongue, my whole body, even my mind. I may look ugly, but an elephant does not,

though its nose is long. If an elephant’s not ugly, someone’s big nose was bound to look ugly in the comics.

Fei Danxu from the Qing dynasty praised small-mouthed women. But after 1950, small mouths fell out of fashion.

Those with striking features might make earthshaking changes, and thus be suitable for devoted self-sacrifice.

But the contemporary crowd is against this: first play with the phone, or eat!

If the attractive live an unaccomplished life, how embarrassing for the neighborhood committee’s uplifting slogans!

Among those born in years of the rabbit, some live like tigers, some like giant dragons—my mother would say “See them!”

Of those born to have broad shoulders and firm waists, some become apostles, some bodyguards. My mother said “Don’t depend on connections!”

Birdsong grows familiar, entering the heart. In rain, those without shelter just keep walking.

The mediocre may still stride this earth poetically, but what if one meets a maniac with the same blood type?

Since Guanyin has no blood type, compassion doesn’t require it. But the earnest who punish themselves are few.

The drunkard believes all beneath the sky crave drink, the bankrupt that in half an hour the world must shatter.

Bosses ask everyone to obey their whims. Monkeys believe everyone loves Sun Wukong.

Someone tosses happiness to the crowd like candy. Those with open hands imagine they’ll be happy.

trans. © Diana Shi & George O’Connell

Fei Danxu (1801–1850), an itinerant Qing Dynasty artist renowned for his paintings of beautiful women.

Guanyin: Buddhist goddess of mercy known for kind intercessions.

Sun Wukong: In the celebrated Chinese classical novel Journey to the West, and its modern TV series, a clever, human-like monkey possessing great powers.

月亮

有那麼多東西尾隨著我們
其中月亮聽到過我們最初的啼哭
我們停步，它也停步
與我們相距三十里，三十里外
更白亮的月光漲滿野獸的頭顱

週期性奔湧的憂愁呵
現在是擺脫月亮的時候了
它尾隨在我們身後，像我們
故友的亡靈；它居然尾隨著我
走進我六平米的房間

但我卻不能在月亮上印滿指紋
誰能肯定它是為我們而存在？
發瘋的人們依然在月光中舞蹈
小巷裏的老太婆頭戴花頭巾
雙眼如炬的黑貓專門拿膽小鬼開玩笑

所以要說話你就大聲說話吧
挑一個月明之夜；多少回
在從酒吧間到天文館的漆黑甬道
飄忽來被有意壓低的嗓音
談論著報復或私奔

所以要掘墓你就趕快動手吧
別等到月亮在你身上打開缺口
敲響你體內的暖氣管
改變你血液的顏色
使你愛上那墓中的骷髏

生命，多像一個吹哨子的男人
在月光中移行，把他所有的激情
傾注在一支小小的鐵哨上
我們尾隨著他，深一腳淺一腳
嘴裏發出哧哧的笑聲

而尾隨我們一生的月亮
從不將我們阻攔，它一再隱身
一任我們被黑暗所改變
但當我們死亡或死後不久，它會
不動聲色地出現在我們身邊

MOON

So many things follow us
like the moon, listening for our primal cries.
We stop, it stops,
while 30 miles ahead
bright moonlight floods the brain of a wild animal.

Grief rushes through its sorrows.
Now is the moment to shake the moon from our track,
yet like a dead friend’s soul
it slips into my 6 square meter room.

If I can’t plant my fingerprints on the moon,
who’s to say it exists?
The mad still dance in moonlight,
old women in alleys wrap their heads with flowered scarves,
and the blazing eyes of black cats mock only the gutless.

If you’ve something to say, say it loud
on a moonlit night—how many times,
on the dark path from the bar to the planetarium,
the drift of low voices, talk of revenge,
talk of eloping.

If you mean to dig a grave, dig quickly,
don’t wait till the moon splits your flesh,
knocks on the heatpipes under your ribs,
shifts the tinge of your blood,
makes you fall in love with that skeleton in the casket.

Life is a man strolling in moonlight,
pouring out his passion
on a tin whistle.
We stumble after,
a sudden laugh hissing through our lips.

Though the trailing moon
never blocks our steps, it vanishes
to let the darkness work,
then soon after death
appears beside our bodies,
silent, rising.

trans. © Diana Shi & George O’Connell