胡燕青 | Wu Yin-ching

 

 

中文

 

對窗習字

 

 

桌前坐下

想念那片窗

液光柔雨,來去都那麼單薄

零碎的黃葉慢慢滑出風的大弧

破爛的簷瓦互相切入

瓦坑上,幻青的苔蘚向東流滲

嬰孩毛髮一樣幼微的小草

癢癢地搔著季節的腋窩

下面是母雞和許多的小雞

吱吱咯咯,鄰居木屐

得得敲響井旁的長石板

 

我常常看著雨水

在拱起的圓瓦上騰跳、滑脫

春天好像永遠乾不起來

餘下的小片天空

也一點一滴給浸濕

溶溶軟爛,像紙要破

 

我坐在枯舊的小木桌前習字,發呆

溫暖的墨煙味

和飄忽的白蘭花香

把風景都染成黑白了

餘下的光慢慢褪落

綠暗了,褐重了,赭紅灰淡

深淺交蝕的疊影

再分不出真幻

 

鍵盤下著密密的秋雨

窗台上,依然活著一點光

一閃而過的窗景碎塊

夾雜著童年和童年的等待

那時我竟對窗難過

以為討厭的習字功課

一定永遠寫不完

 

English

 

WRITTEN BY THE WINDOW

 

 

At my desk I remember

looking through another:

fluid light, now and then soft rain,

yellow leaves strewn along the wind’s arc.

Between the lapping, broken rooftiles,

a green and eastward creep of moss,

grassblades tender as infant’s hair

tickling autumn’s armpit.

Below, the hen jabbering

with her chicks. On the long slate beside the well,

a neighbor’s clogs,

their wooden clatter.

 

I’d watch rainwater slide

leaping from the roof.

Spring was never dry.

The one clear patch of sky

surrounded bit by bit, sodden

as a paper sack before bursting.

 

I’d sit at my old desk, practicing characters,

mind adrift. The scent of warm ink,

the waft of magnolias,

dyed the landscape black and white.

As light drained,

greens deepened, browns grew heavy, ochres thinned.

Shadows melded dark and light, swallowing

till the real fled the unreal.

 

Now beside my keyboard,

dense November rain.

On the windowsill, a feather of light.

Beyond the glass, broken visions

laced with childhood’s wish.

How sad it seemed,

bound to my lessons,

thinking they would never end.

 

trans. © Diana Shi & George O’Connell

 

more by Wu Yin-ching

悼亡 | Mourning

白瓷花碗 | While Porcelain Flower Bowl

微息 | Fine Subtle Breathing

吃過晚飯 | After Dinner

活結 | Slipknot

我們又落入薄色的街 | Again We Enter the Dim Street

一碗熱麵 | A Bowl of Hot Noodles

聚散 | Meeting, Parting

夕航 | Twilight Voyage

Winter 2014-15

Vyacheslav Kupriyanov | 维雅·库普里扬诺夫

翟永明 | Zhai Yongming

Woodcuts © 王嶷 | Wang Yi