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海因 诗两首:《途中》《致西思翎》(Jan Siesling 翻译)

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田海燕 发表于 2015-12-14 20:54:09 | 显示全部楼层 |阅读模式
本帖最后由 田海燕 于 2017-4-13 19:48 编辑

海因   诗两首:《途中》《致西思翎》(Jan Siesling 翻译)


Hai Yin (China): 《En Voyage》For Siesling

杨 劳伦斯 西思翎 (美国)译
Translation by Jan Laurens Siesling (USA)



诗人简介:(Hai Yin)

  海因,原名杜光学。1961年生于河南省鲁山,1980年离开故乡成了朝思暮想的城里人,并供职于某高校,任文学写作课老师。上个世纪九十年代发起并编辑民刊《阵地》,然后是北进北京、南下广东,历经近二十年漂泊最终选择了郑州,并开办一家与艺术有直接关系的传媒公司。主要作品有《小尔城》(长诗)、《世纪末措辞》、《在身体中流浪》、《太阳和它的三堆颜料》、《生活日志》、《诗经中的故乡》、《云南纳西风物志》;诗剧《会飞的污点儿》(独幕)、《一囚之歌》(四幕)以及散文随笔集《有狗的童年》、寓言故事集《海因寓言》等,作品涉及诗歌、散文(随笔)、寓言故事、话剧、歌舞剧、电影电视等。

Poet’s profile:
  Haiyin, is the pen name of Du Guangxue. Born in 1961 in Lushan, Henan province, he left his hometown in 1980 to become a city dweller he always dreamed of, and be employed at a higher institution to teach creative writing. During the nineties of the last century he founded the folk magazine Position, then he went north, Beijing, and then south, Guangdong. After nearly twenty years of wandering he finally chose Zhengzhou to settle and start an art related media company. His main works include Little Er City (long poem), Words for the End of a Century, Wandering in the Body, The Sun and Its Three Piles of Pigments, Life Log, The Hometown in the Book of Poetry, Records of Yunnan Naxi Sights; poetic drama Flying Little Stain (one act), A Prison Song (four acts); a collection of essays Childhood Dog, and a collection of fables Haiyin Fables. His works involve poetry, prose (essays), fables, theatre, musical, movie and TV.


Jan Siesling  简介:

  杨 劳伦斯 西思翎(Jan Laurens Siesling) 是艺术史学者和著有小说和诗歌的作家。他的小说常处理艺术,他的艺术的书是处理诗意灵感。他是一个语言的人,在他的自由时间他喜欢翻译,从一种喜爱的语言到另一种。中文很可能变成他的将来的挑战。他生于荷兰,从阿姆斯特丹自由大学取得博士学位。他在法国生活很多年,他的书大多是用法语写的。现在他半年在欧洲,半年在美国。他最近的书“艺术是更多”  (Art is More),是一个非传统的历代的西方艺术史。 这本书的纸质版在      www.artismore.org  和电子版在 www.amazon.com 可找到。

Biographical Note

  Jan Laurens Siesling is an art historian and a writer of fiction and poetry.  His novels often deal with art and his books on art deal with the poetry behind artistic inspiration. He is a man of languages and in his free time he likes to do translations from one beloved language into another. Chinese is likely to become his future challenge. He was born in the Netherlands and he obtained his degrees from the Free University of Amsterdam. He lived in France for many years and most of his books were written in French. Now he spends half of the year in Europe, the other half in America. His most recent book, Art is More, is an unconventional history of Western art through the ages. It is available as a hard copy www.artismore.org or as an e-book on www.amazon.com



Hai Yin:《En Voyage》
Translation: Jan Laurens Siesling

A man travels and whether his experience
Will connect him with the scenery unfolding on either side,
No time to think about it when he boards,
To say the truth it is impossible to foresee:
Who knows the way things go on the way? As for me,
My neighbor is a youthful female in pale colors, who stepped
So to speak right out of a yellowing photo, “nothing exceptional”,
She is bathing in the greenish light of this springtime, at first sight
One could mistake her for a symbol of spring,
Actually not at all, she is only quietly sitting here
As a delusion of woman, two porcelain eyes that show
Not the slightest trace of sadness, or desire
A man who sees her can’t help feeling some inner turmoil
No need for long observation to recognize
The imprint of a maiden:
She looks eighteen years old, or twenty, thirty…? Possibly
Even older. Is age still important here? ---
The languishing impression emanating from her body and cloths
Becomes beauty, more or less accompanied by spring’s splendor,
Albeit out of tune, these two, in dissonance.
Two different types of beauty, like when ten years ago or more
I had observed the damaged walls of my home,
I looked a long time, indeed, and a striking pattern had emerged
Moving me more than any picture in the world
All luster was gone, no fair image was to be preserved, though
To some extent confirmed
Was the ancient popular saying:
“Ashes to ashes, dust to dust.”

                       1996.9


附:

海因:《途中》

一个人在途中,他的经历与两侧的
风景是否有密切的联系,这一切
在刚上车时是来不及思考的
准确的说是想象不到:
谁又能知道途中的事情呢?我的临座
是一位刚刚褪色的少女,像一张
发黄的旧照片,与“出众”相去太远了
她被春天的绿光覆盖着,初看时
让人误认为那就是春天的象征
其实不然,她是一位坐在幻觉中的女孩儿
静静地坐在那里,两只瓷眼睛显不出
一点点的忧伤,没有愿望
看到她,人们就免不了身陷某种私情之中
不需要观察即可过目不忘的
少女形象:
她有十八岁、二十岁、三十岁......也许再
多一些,年龄还重要吗---
她的病态通过她的身体、衣着
出落成了美,与春天景象稍有联系
但又格格不入
是两种不同性质的美,就像十几年前
我看我家破损的墙壁,
看久了就有一种惊人的图案出现
比世间的任何画面都要生动
由于它不闪光,也不能有忠实的拓片流传下来
这就在某种程度上
印证了民间正在流行的一句老话:
“转眼就消失在泥土中”

                             1996.9



Hai Yin:《For Siesling
Translation: Jan Laurens Siesling

Sunshine all over: a gentle breeze whispers in bamboo bushes and the signs in the skies speak out clearly.
Here began a story, when the working of wine had come to its zenith, and when wave after wave
Rolled before our eyes, step by step flooding the central plains of old.

This story needed to be looked upon more than once; in fact it needed a faithful recorder,
There wasn’t … proper equipment fell terribly short! With my sincere excuses,
I made it up myself: our encounter became exotic theater, the flowers that bloom in the grasses of memory
Wrapped us in multiple wreathes, our intense emotion grew from pure passion into legend, a tale handed down
from ancient times. Then I had reason to speak with you face to face in my mother tongue without blushing.

Like in Tang verse we sat cross-legged chatting in the morning, rain drops dripping, the light hiding, now piercing,
Far away mountains were smoking, nearby frogs calling, invading and sacking our poetic mood:
I gave you a blessing, you replied with a gesture or by casting a persistent gaze at the green screen of Xiatang hills.
At last our lives returned to the classic: Zhang Jie the priest, Beidu the treasurer, and don’t forget the two
Ladies lost in thoughts, touching up their eyebrows, dormant in poetry, like the cat in the window of Mount Baixiang  

Siesling! That day you projected an image of Holland onto the earth of Lushan, lonesome and playful,
Lovely looking little creatures climbing like vines onto your body, questioning the overall direction
The misreading of which didn’t harm the tale’s vitality, its impact causing the body’s awakening.
So you were the poem, open to inexhaustible interpretation; and I am the obscure word overshadowed
By darkness, desperately struggling, merely to capture a man’s deeper intentions.



             September 5, 2016
             Zhengzhou.


附:

海因:致西思翎》

一切都在阳光中:那里有微微的风、有竹语、以及满天游弋的天象
故事开始时,酒香已经攀爬到人生的至高点上,不久就从我们的双眼
一波波涌流出去,渐渐铺满了古老的中原

这是一个需要反复回望的故事,或者至少需要有忠实的记录者
但是都没有﹍﹍多么不凑手的人物道具!在深深的歉意中
我对我们的故事做了手脚:让我们的遭遇都退回到远景中,让记忆中的花草
一层层包围着我们,让我们的激情不再只是激情而是那早年理应流传下来的
轶事和传奇。这样我就有理由面对你、并手持我的母语在你的头顶肆意挥舞

我们盘坐在唐诗中整整交谈了一个上午,雨水淅淅沥沥,光明时隐时现
远山的氤氲,邻近的蛙鸣,把我们的诗意搅和得七零八落:
我给你一个祝福,而你把一个手势或者眼神重重的镌刻在下汤的屏幕上
终于,我们的生活回归于古典:张杰是神父、北渡是账房,还有两个
用思想描眉的女士,深深蛰伏在诗歌中,就像白香山窗台上那孤傲的猫咪。

西思翎,那一天荷兰的影像投射到鲁山的大地上,如此的孤独和醒目
一些可爱的小人物像藤蔓攀爬到你的肌体上,打探你的来龙和去脉
这让故事有了小小的误读和活力,让我们的肉体由于撞击而苏醒
于是,你是一首诗,正在接受莫须有的盘查和质疑;而我则是那几经
遮蔽的晦暗语词,拼命挣扎,仅仅是为了捕捉个体的本意

                                 
                 海因
             2016年9月5日于郑州




海因 发表于 2015-12-16 15:35:11 | 显示全部楼层
  致谢:欣闻美国诗人杨 劳伦斯 西思翎(Jan Laurens Siesling) 选译拙作《途中》并不辞辛苦翻译成英文,在此表示诚挚的谢意。《途中》一诗是我比较喜欢的作品之一,译者选中这首诗,表明了其对我诗歌作品的高超的解读能力。感谢田海燕教授、诗人杨 劳伦斯 西思翎对我个人的赏识,也感谢田海燕教授、诗人杨 劳伦斯 西思翎对中国当代诗歌所做的贡献。
 楼主| 田海燕 发表于 2015-12-17 04:52:49 | 显示全部楼层
海因先生,感谢张杰介绍我们了解您的诗。我觉得再没有比参与翻译能让一个读者更仔细地品味一首诗了。(很高兴认识您,请称呼我海燕)
JanSiesling 发表于 2015-12-17 04:55:16 | 显示全部楼层
Dear Haiyin,
When I read your poem about a traveling soul, it struck a cord with me. To travel seems to be my fate, too.  Your poem brought us together and it is the deepest sense of poetry to bring strangers together in one “room”. And then, as Haiyan says, there is no better reader than a translator: every word counts, every comma counts. That is how all communication should be. I hope one day I can read more of you. Zhang Jie is a good “travel guide”.
Jan
杨园 发表于 2015-12-20 16:59:07 | 显示全部楼层
最让艺术家感兴趣的应当是创造性的事物,新的不同的多样表现手法。

JanSiesling 发表于 2016-8-31 13:30:42 | 显示全部楼层
本帖最后由 JanSiesling 于 2016-9-6 03:11 编辑

  2016年7月22日于南京

  亲爱的海因,

  昨天,周四下午2点,在极其拥挤的郑州火车站,海燕和我登上了极拥挤的高速列车。我的脑子和胸部堵塞得象车厢一样,思绪和情感翻滚交织: 在河南三天的强烈互动之后,我们刚刚离开你们。我有种难以名状的情绪,就是把中国的跳动的心脏留在了我身后,令我魂魄潜意识的紧张。我有种感觉就是我已接近了中原王国的源头,或因此世界的源头。我的心神在如此灼热的状态,我把你看成是那起源的透明脸庞,那跳动心脏的符号或化身。为着如此奇异的幻象我感谢你。神秘的薄雾笼罩着我的新鲜记忆,对酒醉的夜晚和艺术的白天,对诗境的笑声和忧郁的雨声。

  它没有持续。在火车里,事情冷静下来,不是吗?摇过的拼图碎片落回原位。在一个火车里我们做梦,我们说话,我们重构世界。有了世界,我们接着重构我们自己。我听着高声的中国嗓音包围着我,没法理解一个逗号。于是我决定阅读我手头仅有的一本用拉丁字母写的书; 这是我的法文译本的丰子恺,幸运的是有三个短章我还没读。他们会改变我的这一天。

  在火车上我读的第一篇文章是有关乘火车旅行的短文。有人会叫这“巧合”。写于1935年,作者成功地把一个车厢里的人群和整个社会之间作了一个触目的比较,一个是另一个的缩本。不是个令人愉快的栖息地:短而言之,有乡下人,穷人,小人物和恶霸,畜生,混蛋。我马上意识到作者丰子恺的心里所想的和他的眼前所见的,我本人曾常常看到过的。我看看我的周围。仍是一样吗?现代化和分配的座位已消除了这种的滋扰。但是他们给回了一个新东西,智能手机。人们叫喊着好像地球上只有他们自己。我奇怪,人们怎么区分他们自己的喊声和他们的大声的邻居的?或许不必要去区分,因为他们都说的同样的事?这些是我们这个时代的通用的谈话,被科技放大了百倍!

  我读了第二篇文章(《我与弘一法师》)。这是丰子恺在1947年给(厦门)佛学会演讲的转录,一个对他的导师弘一法师的写照和参拜。巧合又一次引人注目。只是24小时之前,你,海因,带着极大的尊重刚同我们谈到这个非凡的人; 你拥有一些他的画作; 正如你也拥有一些丰子恺的原作。当一个巧合极大时,它不再是一个巧合; 那得有一个原因。这就是我们的大脑如何理解生活,创造这个世界。在演讲中,丰子恺解释了宗教生活怎样最终是生活的最高形式,一种人性的层次,他,丰子恺,还没达到的; 他相当肯定他永远没法达到。但在他的最好的艺术时光里,他承认,他的艺术会给他机会去窥视到那最高的人类水平并识出其卓越的形式。认识你只有三天,海因,我肯定你本人对于这个说法知道更多。丰子恺的话把你的特质拉到我眼前。

  当我读到集子的最后一篇,世界(或时间)缩得甚至更小。这里是平衡适度的丰子恺的最猛烈的语句,写在战争时期的。它的标题:《佛无灵》,1939年的(7月24日,像今天!)。不管多么暴乱,丰子恺谈到和平,并从个人的经验解说它。既然我现在提起,你肯定记得它的,海因。首先他谴责那些自称为佛教徒者,他们用同情和素食主义的名义试图与佛陀讨价还价。他称这为利己和平庸主义,计算和偏执。这使得作者逃离了那很乐意包括他的佛教圈。 (我又意识到一个事情;我避开基督教,那儿所谓的忠实传道的救赎是同上帝私下作交易的形式,那里祈祷成了迷信,对有危险和贫困邻居的爱是用个人赢利来交换)。丰子恺,放下他通常的幽默,公然显示了那些伪装者的可惧:因为他们的虔诚行为佛陀就欠他们他的保护,而他们周围的人在受苦和死亡。而如果佛佑没有如愿,他们就变得怨天尤人说:佛无灵。丰子恺的房子被日本的战争机器炸毁,除了烟囱完好,当时他的姑母就说了这样的话。那也是她的房子,在石门湾的缘缘堂。作者,两年以来带着全家十口的一个流亡者,他惊讶了,不是由于他的被焚毁的房子,而是因为假装的佛教徒说出的闲话。他也没有饶了他的很受尊敬的姑母。他提议真正的佛教徒在战时应走“抗敌救国“的路。作为一个遵从的榜样,他引用了作家但并非佛教徒的爱国人士叶圣陶的几句不客气的话,叶圣陶宁愿看到他的房子被国家的获胜的士兵或者逃命无从的寇军毁掉。丰子恺,他不仅荣耀古人,也是当代的防守者。对于这个艺术家我们感到很强的亲和力。但为什么他让我想起了你,我的新朋友?

  答案在深夜才出现,那时我已回到我在南京的宾馆,读着我在一年前翻译的你的诗《途中》。突然,它的意义或他的深度在我眼里变成三倍之多。突然,同样的字,它却是另一首诗了。瞬间,诗的火车变成了另一个世界,它的最后四行发生在另一个宇宙,更神秘更真实。无需更多解释,但我将邀请人们再读这首诗,读丰子恺。没人会感到惊讶我把你和丰子恺联在一起。没有人,很可能,除了你。

  这使我充满了感激之情。我称它为诗的特权。

  本人地,

  杨


  Nanjing, July 22, 2016

  Dear Haiyin,

  Yesterday, Thursday at 2 pm, at the overcrowded Zhengzhou railway station, Haiyan and I boarded the overcrowded high speed train. My brain and my chest were as overcrowded as the train car, with thoughts and emotions tumbling over each other: we had just left you after three days of intense interaction in the Henan province. I had the non-descript sentiment of leaving behind me the beating heart of China, causing in my soul subconscious tensions. I had the feeling that I had approached the origin of the Middle Kingdom, or for that matter the origin of the world. And such was the overheated state of my mind, that I saw you as the transparent face of that origin, the symbol or incarnation of that beating heart. I thank you for such a strange vision. A mist of mystery hung over my fresh memories of drunken nights and artful days, of poetic laughter and nostalgic rain.

  It didn’t last. In trains, things cool down, don’t they? The pieces of the shaken puzzle fall back into place. In a train we dream, we talk and we recompose the world. And with the world we recompose ourselves. I listened to the loud Chinese voices all around me, without understanding a comma. So I decided to read, the one book I had in Latin alphabet; it was my Feng Zikai in French translation, with fortunately three short unread chapters. They would change my day.

  The first article I read in the train was a short essay on train travel. A coincidence, one might call it. Written in 1935, the author succeeds in striking a comparison between the population of a train wagon and the society as a whole, the one a diminished version of the other. Not a pleasant world to dwell in: there are in short the peasants, the poor, the little people and the bullies, the brutes, the bastards. I recognized immediately what writer Feng had in mind or before his eyes, I had seen it so often myself. I looked around me. Was it still the same? Modern times and assigned seats had eliminated this particular nuisance. But they had given back a new one, the smartphone.  People shouted as if they were alone on earth. How could people distinguish, I wondered, their own call from that of their loud neighbors? Or was there no need to distinguish, because they all said the same things? These are the interchangeable conversations of our time, a hundred times multiplied by technology!

  I read a second article. It was the transcription of the speech Feng Zikai pronounced to a Buddhist Society in 1947, a portrait and homage to Hongyi, his master. A great master. The coincidence was striking again. Only 24 hours earlier, you, Haiyin, you had spoken to us about this extraordinary man, with great respect; you possessed some of his drawings; just as you possessed a number of original works by Feng Zikai. When a coincidence is great it stops being a coincidence; there has to be a cause. That is how our brain understands life, creates the world. In his speech Feng Zikai explains how the religious life is in the end the highest form of life, a degree of humanity he, Feng, had not reached; he was quite sure he never would. But in his best artistic hours, he admitted, his art would give him the opportunity to peep into that highest human level and recognize its superior form. Knowing you since only three days, Haiyin, I am certain that you personally know more about that claim. Feng’s words draw your traits before my eyes.

  But the world (or time) diminished even further in size, when I read the last article of the collection. Here were of the measured Feng the most virulent lines, written in time of war. Its title: The Buddha Was of No Help, 1939 (24th of July, like today!).  However violent, Feng Zikai speaks about peace and illustrates it from personal experience. You must remember it now I mention it, Haiyin. First he condemns those self-proclaimed Buddhists who in the name of compassion and vegetarianism try to negotiate a bargain from the Buddha. Egoism and mediocracy, calculation and bigotry: that is what he calls it. It has made the author flee the Buddhist circles, which readily wanted to include him. (Again I recognize something; I run away from the Christian religion, where so-called faithful preached salvation was in the form of a private deal with God, where prayer became superstition and where love of the neighbor in peril and poverty was exchanged for personal advantages). Feng Zekai, dropping his usual touch of humor, shows openly horror of those who pretend that because of their pious behavior the Buddha owes them his protection, while around them others suffer and perish. And if the protection fails, they become bitter and accuse: The Buddha Was of No Help. Those were the words of his aunt, when Feng’s house was bombed by the Japanese war machine and nothing but the chimney stayed intact. It was her house too, the House of Affinities at Shimenwan. The writer, since two years with ten family members a refugee now, is shocked, not by his destroyed house, but by the idle words uttered by pretending Buddhists. He doesn’t spare his otherwise respected aunt. He proposes as real Buddhism in war time the rule of “resistance toward the enemy to save the country.” As an example to follow he quotes a few impertinent lines by the writer and not at all Buddhist patriot Ye Shengtao. Ye would rather see his house destroyed by the country's victorious soldiers or by the Japanese army on its retreat. Feng Zikai, the defender of the Ancients, is also the defender of the Present. The affinity we feel with this artist is strong. But why did he make me think of you, my new friend?

  The answer came late in the night when I was back in my hotel in Nanjing and read over your poem that I had translated a year ago under the title A Voyage. Suddenly its meaning or its depth tripled in my eyes. Suddenly, with the same words, it was another poem. Suddenly the poem’s train became another world and its last four lines happened in another universe, more mystical and more real. No need to explain anymore, but I will invite people to read the poem again, and to read Feng Zikai. Nobody will be surprised. Nobody, probably, but you.

  It filled me with gratitude. I called it the privilege of poetry.

  Personally,
  Jan


海因 发表于 2016-9-5 17:13:37 | 显示全部楼层
本帖最后由 海因 于 2016-9-5 17:21 编辑
JanSiesling 发表于 2016-8-31 13:30
  2016年7月22日于南京

  亲爱的海因,

Dear  Jan Siesling:我写了下面这首诗,权作我的回信吧!

《致西思翎》

一切都在阳光中:那里有微微的风、有竹语、以及满天游弋的天象
故事开始时,酒香已经攀爬到人生的至高点上,不久就从我们的双眼
一波波涌流出去,渐渐铺满了古老的中原

这是一个需要反复回望的故事,或者至少需要有忠实的记录者
但是都没有﹍﹍多么不凑手的人物道具!在深深的歉意中
我对我们的故事做了手脚:让我们的遭遇都退回到远景中,让记忆中的花草
一层层包围着我们,让我们的激情不再只是激情而是那早年理应流传下来的
轶事和传奇。这样我就有理由面对你、并手持我的母语在你的头顶肆意挥舞

我们盘坐在唐诗中整整交谈了一个上午,雨水淅淅沥沥,光明时隐时现
远山的氤氲,邻近的蛙鸣,把我们的诗意搅和得七零八落:
我给你一个祝福,而你把一个手势或者眼神重重的镌刻在下汤的屏幕上
终于,我们的生活回归于古典:张杰是神父、北渡是账房,还有两个
用思想描眉的女士,深深蛰伏在诗歌中,就像白香山窗台上那孤傲的猫咪。

西思翎,那一天荷兰的影像投射到鲁山的大地上,如此的孤独和醒目
一些可爱的小人物像藤蔓攀爬到你的肌体上,打探你的来龙和去脉
这让故事有了小小的误读和活力,让我们的肉体由于撞击而苏醒
于是,你是一首诗,正在接莫须有的受盘查和质疑;而我则是那几经
遮蔽的晦暗语词,拼命挣扎,仅仅是为了捕捉个体的本意

                                 
                 海因
             2016年9月5日于郑州

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