中英诗九首:Crushing Shanghai

◎缎轻轻(王风)



Translated by Wenton Lin (United States)

Duan Qingqing, poet, children's book writer. A member of The Official Chinese

Writers Association, her work was first published when she was only 14 years old. She has since continued to write.In China, she is often compared to Sylvia Plath. Her poetry work in Chinese language is widely published in different publications in China, the United States, and Hong Kong.
 

代表作品:

在我的滑轮上

在我的滑轮上我是唯一的芦苇
和狮子、骡子、一只鹦鹉同行
我的穗子统治着平地

遗忘不被允许。驭风狂行
哪只动物困在山顶?又是谁
抱来淹在湖底的圣人,我盯着
这个人类垂死的眼睛
只剩芦苇弯腰折断时的绝望

一根芦苇在我的双轮上
分娩,我有孩童的心性飘忽迷离
生即众多,死也盛行
反正什么,都没有定

On my pulley

On my pulley I'm the only reed
Travel with lions, mules, and a parrot
my tassel rules the earth

Forgetting is never allowed. ride the wind
Which mammal stuck on the mountaintop? who is it
That carries a saint who has drawn to the bottom of the lake, I stare at
the dying eyes of mankind
My despair is the only remain like the reed bends down and breaks

a stem of reed on my two pulleys
Childbirth, I have the erratic mind of a child
Countless newborns, and plenty death, too
nothing is final


向日葵忧郁

我忧郁而丑陋地弯着身体 [1]就像尼采那样
头垂到膝上
弓身于繁杂的枝桠中
压力沿着一片倒立的树叶,滴向
我瘦小的身躯
直至刺穿
而我的眼睛里,
射出秃鹫般凶狠的光,电
一样把周遭的深渊照亮

恨你,而你仅仅是虚无
爱你,而你仅仅是虚无
虚无是整个人间,而不仅仅是一场卧于云端
垂怜人类的宴席

我忧郁:驱赶心脏骤停的死者,把小水珠送到
硕大的向日葵花盘里

[1]出自尼采诗

Sunflower Blues

I hunch over, melancholy, grotesquely [1]
like Nietzsche
Head on my knees CT
I bow among tangled branches
Force press on upside-down leaves
My skinny body
Wait until pierced
But in my eyes,
I shoot out light as fierce as a vulture, electricity
Illuminates the abyss around

Hate you but you're only nothing
love you and you will still be nothing
Nothing the whole world around, not just a scene lying in the clouds
Feast of Mercy for Humanity

I'm Melancholy: Chasing Dead in heart attack, Sending Small Drops of Water
to
the face of humongous sunflowers

[1] a quote from Nietzsche


魔幻垃圾场

故事到了尾声,我听到蜂鸟的哭声
在他老年的头颅里被困堵、继而乱撞
而他的思虑与形体:很软,深红,没有规律

沮丧的我,锁门
门后一张床,一把腐了腿的檀木椅子
烛台,烧出旧物的味道
——这像一片魔幻的垃圾场
我们跳进、又跳出


Magic Dump

At the end of the story, I heard the hummingbird cry
Trapped and rammed in his old skull, and hit mercilessly
His thoughts and figure: soft, crimson, irregular

Frustrated that is I, locking a door
Behind it, a bed and a sandalwood chair with rotten legs
Candlesticks, burning smell of old things
- It's like a magic dump
we jump in and jump out



这些年,长者,甚至
同龄人,相继离去
听闻时,你在削一只梨
离有离的苦,也有梨的甘润
梨形的:他人病榻,你坐下时,那起皱的
受惊的白色床单,物体皆是庞大松软的梨

人们坐在房间里吃梨
最合适此时含着梨核、吞吞吐吐
忏悔,吐露
三颗黑蓓蕾,一段梨树枝

思路折返,“去日无多”
爱或恨,削梨之夜你我残存呼吸,何等清晰!

Pear

These years, the elders, even
Peers at my own age, left one after another
You were peeling a pear skin when I heard the news
Bitterness in separation, but also the sweetness of the pear
Pear-shaped: someone else's sick bed, when you sit down, that wrinkled

Frightened white sheet, everything becomes huge fluffy pearPeople sitting in the room, eating pears
Quite suitable at the moment to hold in the pear seeds, hesitating
Confession, spit them out
Three black buds, a pear tree branch

Thinking back, "the days are numbered"
Love or hate, you and I can still breathe in the pear peeling night, how clear it
is!


把上海踏碎

我隐蔽在最高的泡桐树枝头
盯着人群中你走得慢
从地铁口怀揣着心事走向居所
街边铁柱慢慢弯曲

月色刚好
我的每一根羽毛,因车轧斑马线颤抖
我的每一声啼叫,因失重而轻微倾斜
树枝粗糙,挡我的脸
你抬头,拿出怀表,上紧发条
难言之隐压在舌头下,寒冷中你保持沉默

不爱上任何物,包括一只石灰白的鸟
而我嗉囊鼓胀,塞满:你每日不假思索的生活
晕眩的脚抬起、落下,把上海踏碎

Crushing Shanghai

I hide in the highest empress tree branch
Staring at the crowd you walk slowly
From the subway entrance to the residence with worries
The iron pillars on the street are slowly bending

The moonlight is just right
Every feather of mine trembles from cars crossing the zebra lines
Every cry of mine, slightly tilting by the loss of weight
Rough skinned branches blocking my face
You look up, take out your pocket watch, wind it up
The unspeakable secrets under the tongue, y
ou keep silent in the cold

Not in love with anything, not even a lime-white bird
And I'm swollen and full: your daily routine life without needing any thought
In my dizziness, I lift my feet and fall, crushing Shanghai

理发师

叫你落在理发师手里
任凭摆布,剪刀的冰冷
轻轻掠过你的脖颈棕色的摆物台,梳子
是静物,它在微笑吗?

一阵大风
朝你的头颅袭来
像欲望,又裹满绝望

Barber

So you fell into the hands of a barber
At his mercy, the coldness of the scissor blades
lightly touched your neck
Brown table, the comb
Is a still life object, is it smiling?

a gust of wind
hit your head
like desire, but also full of despair


柔软之日

历史不会留下我的名字
而我,一个写作者,表达过什么
终会附着一片黄叶,它浑身闪烁老年的
褐色斑点,在风中旋转,历受
艾宾浩斯遗忘曲线

——颤抖、铭记、忘却
而时间拉伸的瞬间,一个年轻母亲
正牵着她的孩子
在水杉树下等候。这纯洁、柔软之日
在世界的醇酿中并无印记

Soft day

History won't keep my name
Being a writer, whatever I had expressed
Only would attach to a yellow leaf eventually, and shin with brown spots of
Old age, spinning in the wind, experiencing
Ebbinghaus forgetting curve

-- Trembling, remembering, forgetting
At the moment when time stretches, a young mother
Holding her child
Waits under the metasequoia tree. This pure and soft day
Leaves nothing in the fermentation of the world

没有

没有风卷白杨树叶,没有晚餐的秋刀鱼
在炙热的铁板上扑腾
当你面向世界镜像
的表层心潮起伏,而忽略人心

内部迸发,泥浆湿黏
当我非要把一首诗写成如此闷热
弹簧上紧绷的玻璃球
从我眼眶的诧异中弹射

也许一个人的命,什么都没有
没有存在,没有消失,没有怀疑
没有美,没有丑,没有真实,没有
你们非要拿给我的,幸福或痛苦

None
No wind-swept poplar leaves, no saury for dinner
Flopping on the hot iron plate
When you face the crust of the world and find
Your heart flutters, yet see none

The internal burst of a person, wet and sticky mud
When I have to write a poem in such a sultry way
Glass ball taut on the spring
Ejected from the surprise in my eyes

Maybe any one person’s life contains nothing
No existence, no disappearance, no doubt
No beauty, or ugliness, no truth, or
Happiness or pain that you insist to give me


切尔诺贝利的烟雾

切尔诺贝利,废墟噙泪。烟雾弹弥漫
把战囚关进核电站,把欧洲文明关进
关一把断肢、关一声哀嚎

战争让每一个平民都渴望一滴水
仅仅一滴,够了。唇裂沟缝,干涸
人类分隔……其中有你和我,隔着毛边玻璃
对同一个世界镜像,抱有不同的成见

而隔壁,政客正冲向墙壁,猛然敲击权杖
他们头顶,白色绳索悬挂武器
所有发射器都只差一掀

停下来是死亡,站起来是绝境
荒灌木丛里站着无数年轻士兵,还有裹尸布里
陌生人的母亲
她哭,问上帝:欲望何时平息?如平凡的食欲
粥可以喂饱一个人,粥桶却久久翻倒在地

他们狂热的转向:杯羹与炮火交错…
枪火那么肮脏,抹在我们的脸上

Chernobyl Smoke

Chernobyl, tears in the ruins. smoke bomb
Put prisoners of war in nuclear power plants, lock up
European civilization
Shutting down a broken limb, shutting down a cry

War makes every civilian yearn for water
Just one drop is enough. cracked lip skin as ditches, dry
Human divide...in which you and I are separated by frosted glass
Mirroring the same world with different prejudices
And just next door, politicians are rushing to the wall, slamming their scepters
Above their heads, weapon hung from white ropes
Explosion is just one lift away

To stop is death, to stand is hopeless
Countless young soldiers stood in the wild bushes, and there were shrouds
Wrapping stranger's mother
She cries and asks God: When will the desire subside? like an ordinary
appetite

Porridge can feed a person, but the bucket that holds the porridge had
already fell to the ground quite a long time ago
Their frenzied turns: cups and gunfire intersect...
Dirty gunpowder, smeared on our faces
 


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