楊鍵 | Yang Jian

 

中文

 

悼二哥

 

 

你死之後,

田,犁到一半的時候,

牛死了,

犁田人在地裡大喊一聲,

村裡人循聲趕來,

把血放乾淨了,

再開始分。

四十分鐘後,

一頭牛無影無蹤了。

但它犁了一半的地,

還在那裡,

在一彎新月下邊。

 

你死之後,

一只喜鵲飛進我們家屋簷。

十一年了,我還沒有脫胎換骨,

我還沒有把松樹種活,

等於還是流離失所,

你回來又有何用?

一片樹葉如同你溫熱的淚打在院子裡,

我是愧對你的死了。

 

你死之後,

一根壓彎的枯草站起身來,

用什麼也不期待的眼神,

看見萬家燈火亮了。

成群結隊時它孤身一人,

在河堤上時,

還是孤身一人。

 

你死之後,

這些,

宛如我在江南的一座老橋上

看見的煙雨。

 

English

 

MOURNING MY ELDER BROTHER

 

 

After you died,

when the field was half plowed,

the ox collapsed

and the plowman shouted.

Soon villagers appeared,

bled the corpse,

then started cutting.

In forty minutes

a whole ox gone.

The field remained

half plowed

beneath a horned new moon.

 

After you died,

a magpie flew under our eaves.

Eleven years and I’m still wandering,

neither reborn

nor have I planted a living pine.

What use if you returned?

A leaf spins down to the yard.

I’m ashamed to face your death.

 

After you died,

a blade of yellow grass stood

hopeless before the lamps of a thousand houses.

Amidst other grass, alone,

or alone on the riverbank.

 

After you died,

all this

smoky as rain on an old bridge

south of the Yangtze.

 

trans. © Diana Shi & George O’Connell

 

more by Yang Jian

生死戀 | The Pact Between Life and Death

清明節 | Tomb Sweeping Day

迷路 | Lost

老人的死亡 | An Old Man’s Death

暮晚 | Dusk

古鐘 | Ancient Bell

一位繡花的鄉下婦女 | Countryside Woman Embroidering

小幅山水 | A Short Scroll of Mountains and Waters

一首枯枝敗葉的歌 | Song of the Withered Leaf

繼續 | Persist

甄山禪寺 | Zhen Mountain Temple

Winter 2017-18

陳育虹 | Chen Yuhong

Nikola Madzirov | 尼古拉·馬茲洛夫

Paintings © 多多 | Duo Duo