河

燕家巷的旁邊
是烏鵲橋巷
烏鵲橋巷的前面
是河

河
從上游的市鎮
流下來
流到
下游的市鎮去

河邊的小舖子裏
有一款
繪了唐馬的
摺扇

輕輕揮動扇子
那達達的馬蹄
就在青石的街道上
沿著河
從上游的市鎮
達達下來
達達到
下游的市鎮
去了

RIVER

Near Yanjia Lane
runs Magpie Bridge Lane
Beside Magpie Bridge Lane
runs the river

The river
bears itself
all the way
from the upstream town
to the downstream

In a small shop by the riverbank
a Tang dynasty horse
painted on a folding fan

One soft wave
and its hooves
clip-clip along the green-stoned street
beside the river
trotting
from the upstream town
clear to the downstream
and away

trans. © Diana Shi & George O’Connell

繞著一棵樹

繞著一棵樹
繞圈子
是哲學的遊戲

起步時
你走在前
我走在後

走著走著
怎麼怎麼
是我在前
你走在後

奇異的位置
游移不定
你能告訴我原因麼？

我在車站等巴士
車子來了，人人爭先
把我擠到最後

我去示威
防暴警察來了
我被推到最前面

我在畫廊樓上
遇上前拉斐爾畫派
到了樓下，碰見后現代

走在我前面的人
自稱后后青年
背後那人說是前前衛

也許這正是
一棵樹
從不走路的原因

繞著一棵樹
繞圈子
令我頭暈

CIRCLING A TREE

Circling a tree
round and round,
philosophy’s game,

At first
you walk ahead.
I come after.

As we walk,
somehow
I’m ahead,
you’re behind.

Odd positions
keep shifting,
who can say why?

I wait at the stop,
the bus comes, everyone shoving to be first.
I’m last.

I join a protest,
the riot squad arrives,
I’m pushed up front.

Upstairs at the gallery
I meet the Pre-Raphaelite brotherhood,
downstairs the postmodernists.

The fellow in front
says he’s post-post-youth.
The one behind claims he’s avant-avant-garde.

Maybe this is the reason
trees
never walk.

Circling a tree
round and round
makes one dizzy.

trans. © Diana Shi & George O’Connell

泰山下

在泰山下的帳篷裏，你寫下
《比薩詩章》。過泰山側時
孔子必定探望過你了，春秋無義戰
墨索里尼是什麼東西，過而能改，善莫大焉

你曾是一條叛國的龍，被囚禁在
勞改營，鐵枝蓋搭的猩猩籠
你的姓氏是龐德，龐的形象是龍
厂是房屋一類的建築，像石巖

你在籠裏，與雨雲風露為伍
陪伴你的是蜘蛛、蜥蜴和馬蜂
營外的白牛，黑獄外的陽光
電線杆上的鳥，在樂譜上舞蹈

學而時習之的「習」字，在你眼中
幻成時光之白翼，飛翔而過
東方的形象，西方的表意
美麗的錯誤，全新的詮釋學

搬進帳篷后，你有了小床、紙張
你只有一本中文詞典和一冊《書經》
你在包裝箱上憑藉不滅的記憶寫詩
但丁那樣，從地獄寫到天堂

你博學如阿根廷圖書館長，你的詩行
如同十個嘴巴搶著輪唱，令人
驚訝又迷惑，意象的玉片，串成金縷衣
詩人絮語才是你的心

龐德是你的姓氏，德的部首是彳
走路的意思，彳亍在十字街頭的詩人
你用十隻眼睛橫眉看世界，以一顆
中庸慕道的心建設地上的樂園

杏花從遠方飄進你的胸懷
沒有孔子，你的衣襟會開向左邊嗎？
高山仰止，在他那樣的白色裏
我們還能添加什麼白色？

AT THE FOOT OF MOUNT TAI

In the tent by the foot of Mount Tai, you composed
The Pisan Cantos. Beside its slopes
Confucius must have come to you.
Spring and Autumn period had no righteous wars.
Mussolini counted for nothing.
No greater good than amending one’s faults.

A dragon of treason, caged in a camp,
your ape’s roost all iron-boughed.
Pangde,龐德,your family name, a dragon in its first character
coiled beneath chang,厂, a lean-to, sheltering rock.

In your cage, clouds, wind, rain and dew for housemates;
spiders, lizards, wasps your accompanists.
White ox past the camp, sunlight past jail gloom,
birds on the phone wires, stepping to some tune.

Practice and learn—the Chinese xi,習,
spread in your eyes its white wings of time,
soaring image of the east, ideogram of the west,
this beguiling error a whole new hermeneutics.

At last in a tent, your cot, your pages,
one Chinese dictionary and the Shujing.
On a desk of cobbled crates
you wrought poems from deep memory,
like Dante, hell to heaven.

Erudite as the Argentine librarian, lines
strive like ten mouths chanting rounds:
dazzling, deluding, chunks of green jade sewn to a gold-stitched robe,
in your heart the poet’s ceaseless ramble.

Pangde your family name, the radical of de being chi,彳,
for walking: a poet pacing the intersection,
ten scowling eyes to see the world,
your golden mean in homage to the Dao,
Eden raised on earth.

From far off, apricot blossoms drift onto your shoulders.
Without Confucius, would your shirt have opened to the left?
At the peak of the tallest mountain, its pure crown,
what whiteness could we add?

trans. © Diana Shi & George O’Connell

The Pisan Cantos: American poet Ezra Pound, after years of pro-fascist radio broadcasts from Rome during WW2, was in the summer of 1945 caged for three weeks at a U.S. Army detention center near Pisa, Italy, where he began this section of his Cantos. Though not tried for treason, he was thereafter confined 13 years in a Federal mental asylum outside Washington, D.C., during which he composed his further Cantos and other works, as well as translating from the Confucian Analects.

Shujing: Classical Chinese text known as the Book of Documents, compiled by Confucius (551-479BC) from earlier historical, political, and philosophical writings.

魔圈

埃舍爾
你的主要作品
不外是描繪一個魔圈

河自高塔流淌
回到原處
默禱的僧侶
上上下下爬樓梯
抵達起點

你把空間
並置
循環不息的時間

魔術或魔圈
多麼掃興
都是障眼法

刀鋸美人
原來是軟體藝員
蜷縮在箱子一角

沉睡的空中公主
其眠床
與垂幕後的升降臺相連

魔圈
只是一條長方形的紙片
扭轉一百八十度後
把兩端糊起來

破解魔圈的方法
只消把紙片
在任何一點剪斷

但時間是你的強項
埃舍爾，空間可以凝定
時間如流水，抽刀割不斷

MAGIC LOOP

Escher,
your major work’s
a mere magic loop,

a stream running from a tower
back to its source,
silent monks on stairs,
climbing, descending
in prayer to their beginnings.

You braid space
with time’s infinite cycle.

Loop or magic,
it’s so deflating,
all sleight of hand,
like sawing the beauty,
just a contortionist
curled in a corner of a trunk.

A princess sleeps mid-air,
her guileless bed
joined to a lift behind the curtain.

Your magic loop
a paper band
ends glued together,
twisted on itself.
Snipped anywhere,
it breaks.

Your one strength
Escher: gelling space;
the liquid flow of time
no blade can ever part.

trans. © Diana Shi & George O’Connell

玻璃

打開門
河水就在門外
墻粉
簌簌地
掉進水裏
巷尾的拱橋
比去年
更矮

幾處白露臺
仍栽滿輕艷的盆花
墨綠色的木百葉窗
半開半閉
是午睡的時候
一艘貢都拉搖過
沒有歌

他們自玻璃廠歸來
說起
草莓紅的玻璃透明
風信子藍的薄
我衹說
我想我看見
威尼西亞
一點一點地
變作一片玻璃

GLASS

Open the door
right onto the canal,
the old wall’s whitewash
light as snow
drifting to the water.
The bridge arched at the end of the alley
seems lower
than last year.

A few white balconies
still speckled bright with flowers.
The ink-green shutters
half open, half closed
for the siesta.
A gondola rocks by
without song

They come back from the glass factory,
saying how transparent
the strawberry-red glass,
how thin the hyacinth blue.
I only say
I think I see
Venezia,
little by little,
becoming a sheet of glass.

trans. © Diana Shi & George O’Connell

對岸來的人

他帶來一條沙河
一座碉堡
換去一道斑馬線
一柱交通燈

他帶來亮麗的攀山列車
換去一條暗沉沉的海底隧道

他帶來東岸的斷崖和浪花
峭壁與珊瑚礁
換去圓形大廈
停車場和免稅品店
他帶來森林和五種松樹
玎玎的伐木聲
換去吃角子老虎機
汽水的廣告
消防車的警號

他帶來井
屬於雙子座的湖
換去濾水池
自來水塔和海水化淡廠

他帶來溫泉
換去現代化的浴室
他帶來鹽田
換去電動的廚房

他帶來彩繪的蘭舟
驚濤拍岸的島嶼
濱海的日出
換去垃圾焚化爐
中央空氣調節系統
人造衛星傳播站

他帶來漁港
積雪的嶺
海拔三千公尺山上的雲海
峽谷、草原和一座古城
換去天橋和廣場
地下鐵道和邊界
以及星期日晚全市的呵欠

ONE FROM THE OTHER SHORE

He brings a sand river
and a fortress
in place of a striped crosswalk
and a single traffic light.

He brings a gleaming mountain railway
in place of the murky cross-harbor tunnel.

He brings the eastern shore’s spray and precipice,
its cliffs and coral reefs
in place of domed mansions,
parking lots, duty-free shops.
He bring forests and five types of pine,
the jingling lumber chains
in place of the slot machines,
cola ads,
the fire engines’ howls.

He brings wells,
the lakes of Gemini
to replace the filter beds,
water towers, desalination plants.

He brings a hot spring
in place of the modern bathroom.
A salt-drying pond
in place of the all-electric kitchen.

He brings color-painted orchid boats,
islands of lapping waves,
the seashore sunrise,
in place of the waste incinerators,
central air,
satellite transmission stations.

He brings fishing ports,
snow-capped peaks,
cloud seas at three thousand meters,
canyons, prairies, an ancient city
in place of the overpass, the squares,
subways, borders,
and Sunday evenings,
the whole city’s yawn.

trans. © Diana Shi & George O’Connell

月亮

每到夜晚，永恆的月亮，繼續
在池塘、湖泊泛濫；水仙花那樣
在蓮葉之間，並不怎麼羞怯
把自己看了又看；漸漸懂得
選擇，譬如說，汴梁城中
王右丞家門口那四眼井
看來像照相館，複製一打半打
澄澈的映象，電子傳真，給
李白、杜甫、杜牧或李商隱
自遠古時代，不見老的月亮，已擁有
無數反射又折射
複叠的鏡廊，無花果那樣
靜悄悄單性繁殖，直到巨大
獨一的複眼滿溢，容不得雨水和陽光
對於太陽，誰說不是又愛又恨呢？
只有月亮最鐘愛詩人，詩人
也一樣；外國的，衣衣·肯明斯吧
中國，自然是蘇軾。瞧不起
秉燭夜遊的讀書人，投石
打破水中天的新郎，愛在
月夜泅泳的戀人。兼愛如墨子
愛提花燈的童子，點香斗的女子
吃菱角的漢子，喝酒起舞的書獃子
愛水珠、荷葉、臉盆和木桶
愛一切的團團圓圓

MOON

Night rises, and the undying moon resumes
its undulance on lakes, ponds; like narcissus
among lotus leaves, unashamed
beholding itself once more, once more
seeing all its choices: in the city of Bianliang
those four wells beside the house of Wang Wei,
pumping out like photoshops a dozen
limpid images, faxed to Li Bai, Du Fu,
Du Mu, Li Shangyin.
For millennia, the ageless moon’s cast
countless reflections, refractions,
itself a hall of folding mirrors. Like the fig,
monosexual, reproducing in silence,
till the great bald eye brims over,
no room for rain or sunlight.
For the sun, who loves it without hate?
The moon alone favors poets,
as they favor it. E. E. Cummings in China,
of course Su Shi. To hell with intellectuals
roaming the night by candle, throwing stones
shattering the watery bridegroom of the sky, where lovers
long to swim through moonlit nights. Love free as Mozi
loved the boy lifting festive lanterns.
Love the woman lighting the incense pot,
the man eating water chestnuts,
the bookworms drinking and dancing.
Love water beads, lotus leaves,
washbasins, wooden buckets,
love all the round reunions.

trans. © Diana Shi & George O’Connell

Mozi: Early Warring States period Chinese philosopher, (470 BC-ca. 391 BC) who advocated jian ai, a form of universal love and benevolence.

看的故事

我有兩隻眼睛
所以看見兩個你

我戴上眼鏡
所以看見犀牛有四隻角

我拿起放大鏡
看見獨角的皇帝

我閉上眼睛
看見皇帝的新衣

THE STORY OF SEEING

I have two eyes
so see two of you

I put on glasses
discovering a rhino’s four horns

I lift the magnifying glass
beholding the one-horned emperor

I close my eyes
seeing his new clothes

trans. © Diana Shi & George O’Connell

雨與紫禁城

如果下雨
在紫禁城內
皇上
可以聆聽
飛簷與斗拱之間的
淅瀝
墁磚上一片華彩
青石板下
涓涓的細流
汩汩迴旋
繞過武英殿
繞過文淵閣
淙淙的地下水
像潛龍
生機勃勃的
脈息
皇上
可以吟詠
雨天種種
御製詩

洪水在遠方氾濫
洪水在遠方氾濫
山城與階梯
沒入激流
庶民
於荊漢市上撑船

如果繼續下雨
在紫禁城內
皇上
可以觀賞
環抱太和殿
中和殿以及
保和殿
那一千一百四十二個
雕刻精緻的螭首
看它們吐出
滂沱的飛泉
對於這個
玲瓏的大水法
皇上
可還感到愜意嗎

大河在遠方暴漲
大河在遠方暴漲
江水倒流
入巴蜀
龍羊峽上
起波濤

更大的雨
在紫禁城中
不外是
奇峻的風景
雨水
依據禁宮
北高南低的地勢
迅速滙瀉
流向弘義閣、右翼門
流向體仁閣、左翼門
流向台階下
白石的券洞
注入
內金水河
通惠河
外金水河
筒子河
護城河內的紫禁城
在我國的地圖上
是一處
是唯一處
從來沒有水患的
地方

RAIN AND THE FORBIDDEN CITY

If it rains
in the Forbidden City
your majesty
may listen
to the raindrops
among cornices and brackets,
cadenzas on the colored tiles.
Under green slate,
thin streams
gurgle and whirl
by Wuying Palace,
by Wenyuan Chamber.
Water murmurs underground
like a buried dragon’s
beating pulse.
On rainy days
your majesty
may chant
your own imperial poems.

Floods crest in far off places.
Floods crest in far off places.
Mountain cities, stairways
drown in the riptide.
Ordinary people
pole their boats by Jing Mountain on the Han.

If rain keeps up
in the Forbidden City,
your majesty
may admire the sight
of a thousand one hundred forty-two
delicately carved hornless dragon heads
embracing the Hall of Supreme Harmony,
the Hall of Central Harmony,
the Hall of Preserved Harmony,
watch them spit out
torrential flying spring.
Beholding this
exquisite great fountain,
your majesty,
do you feel agreeable?

Big rivers surge in far off places.
Big rivers surge in far off places.
River water flows backward
to Bashu.
On the Longyang Gorge
waves rise up.

Heavy rain
in the Forbidden City
is no more than
a strangely sheer landscape.
Rainwater complies
with the forbidden palace’s topography:
higher in the north, lower in the south,
converging swiftly, branching
toward the Chamber of Spreading Righteousness, the Right-wing Gate,
toward the Chamber of Body Benevolence, the Left-wing Gate,
down the steps
through the arched hollows of the white-stone bridges,
pouring into the Inner Golden Water River,
the Tonghui River,
the Outer Golden Water River,
the Tongzi River.
The Forbidden City, enclosed by moats,
the one
and only place
on our whole nation’s map
that never sees
a flood.

trans. © Diana Shi & George O’Connell

石磬

石磬
是我喜歡的一種樂器
我所遇見的石磬
是石編磬
春秋時代
生於郢
所以姓楚
灰青色的肌膚上
有隱約的彩繪鳳紋
住在
花園口附近
一所博物館裏
我們本來是去看鼎
看盂看爵
我可不知道
磬也在那裏
直到看見它
短短又長長
倨句微弧的形狀
由一根長索
貫串曲頂的圓孔
懸起來
好像動態的雕塑
對於
三彩駱駝
花鳥銅鏡
龍紋尊
白陶砵
我就通通不管了

在博物館裏
我還看見石獅石犀牛
秦皇的步兵和將領
昭陵赫赫的駿馬
他們都在巨石陶土中
慢慢沉睡
不再醒來
複製的生命羣
即使有嘴
不會說話
有腿
也沒有能力奔跑了

衹有磬
你聽
你甚至可以看到
它即興時候
樸素的文舞
這天地的風鈴
長歌它自己
朗朗鬱穆的南音
湮遠而又古老
透過戰國的隧道
仍然那麼
年輕

真奇怪
不過是幾塊石頭罷了

SOUNDING STONES

Sounding stones,
an instrument I favor.
These a set
from Spring and Autumn period,
made in the city Ying,
so the family name is Chu.
On their grey-green skin,
ghosts of painted phoenix.
Near Huayuankou,
they dwell in a museum.
We’d come to view the tripod cauldron,
the calyx and tripod goblet,
not knowing
the sounding stones were there.
Then I saw them,
short and long,
their gently curved, bowing forms
pendant as hung sculpture,
one cord
strung through angled tops.
As for the tri-colored camel,
the bronze mirror of flowers and birds,
the wine vessel carved with dragons,
the white porcelain,
I ignored them all.

Under the same roof,
a stone lion, stone rhino,
infantry, generals of the Qin Emperor,
and from the Zhao Mausoleum
fine majestic horses
sleeping deep
amid clay pots, huge boulders,
never to awaken.
A horde of fashioned lives,
mouths
that cannot speak,
legs
powerless to run.
But these sounding stones—
listen:
you may conceive
a spare court dance
improvised from the moment,
this chime of earth’s and heaven’s breath
singing its own
clear south concordia,
distant, ancient, tunneling
all the way from the Warring States,
young and immutable.

How strange,
mere stones.

trans. © Diana Shi & George O’Connell

Sounding Stones: Ancient Chinese musical instrument, usually a series of L-shaped flat stones suspended in a row and struck with small hammers. Their form was often compared to a courtier’s respectful bow.

Ying: Capital city of the State of Chu during the Spring and Autumn and Warring States periods, roughly 770-221 BC.