Three Years

The land, extending itself, makes
one turn after another, spitting
village after village, till it gives
its cold light to the gaping grave.

I, a blunt knife, hammered on an anvil
have been hardened---for three years
three years! Till a miracle happens---
will I be able to return from it?

[October 1989]

三年

土地延伸着，转过
一道又一道弯，吐出
一座又一座村庄，最后
把寒冷的光，送给开口的坟墓。

我这把钝刀，在铁砧上，
敲，打，淬火……三年，
三年！奇迹发生了——
难道我还能从奇迹中返回？
1989．10

Days

Days don’t bloom; they just grow leaves

Broken pieces of time
Powders of ordinary lives
Dust and foul smells, touchable, smellable

Days don’t bloom; they just grow leaves

Some are swept away by the flood
Others have changed their shoes on shore
They just don’t have time to look around

Days don’t bloom; they just grow leaves

The hurrying heads popped up and down
The domestic fowl were unsteady on their feet, on the flatbed tricycle
A tree, for lack of oxygen, was having a headache

Days don’t bloom; they just grow leaves

Buildings endless under construction
Lamps countless
The moon on the billboards of the night sky
Marked with a price for sale

Days don’t bloom; they just grow leaves

Broken pieces of time
Powders of ordinary lives
This generation pushing the next
To the edge of the cliff…

And, on the cliff, days don’t bloom
They just grow leaves

[August 1996]

日子

日子光长叶，不开花

时间的碎块，
日常生活的粉末，
灰尘和臭味，可触，可闻

日子光长叶，不开花

一些人被洪水卷走了
另一些上岸换鞋
就是没功夫看一眼周围

日子光长叶，不开花

赶路的脑袋上下错动
平板车上的家禽站都站不稳
有一棵树因缺氧而头疼

日子光长叶，不开花

造不完的大楼
数不清的灯
夜空的广告牌上月亮
被标上价出售

日子光长叶，不开花

时间的碎块
日常生活的粉末
这代人正把下一代往
悬崖上推……

悬崖上的日子光长叶
不开花
1996．8

An Offer of Poetry to Death [Parts 4 & 9]

4.

Death, the inevitable wind
in which we are bathing ourselves
the lotus-flower of a body, the lotus-flower of a soul
the four deities of spring, summer, autumn and winter
adjust the wind and play the rain

death, the inevitable movement
we stand at the basic conclusion
oh, language is as limited as existence
direct beauty, angry
is walking towards the creation of soul

why do your footsteps on the land
sink deeper
why does the weight on your shoulders
grow heavier

because you have plucked the unfinished death
from the dead

9.

Sitting I have a terrifying distance
between the ocean and I
and you already are in the middle of it

there are fish in the ocean
drifting day and night
that can fly
whereas the dusk on the land
still sends forth the chilling sadness of the dusty earth

my loved one, now dead
you instruct me with deepest love
that thought is the cruellest suffering

but what does it matter
when everything is empty
so empty that it overflows
but how profound my obsession is
for I love all the things on the land

and their lethal silence
has long taken my heart
to the things
more distant

[April 1991]

4
死亡，这必然的风
我们沐浴其中
肉身的莲花，灵魂的莲花
春夏秋冬，四位神
调拨着风，弹奏着雨

死亡，这必然的运动
我们站在最基本的结局
哦语言像生存一样有限
直接的美愤怒着
走向灵魂的创造

你在大地上的脚印
为什么越陷越深
你在肩头上的重量
为什么越压越沉

因为从死者那儿
你采摘了未完成的死亡

9
坐着 我和大海之间
有着可怕的距离
而你已在大海中央

大海里有鱼
日夜漂泊
会飞翔
大地上的黄昏
仍然散发着尘世的悲凉

死去的亲人
你用最深的爱指点了我：
思想，这最残忍的磨难

但一切又算得了什么呢
一切都是空的
空得溢出来
但我的迷妄还多么深
我热爱着大地上的万物

而它们致命的沉默
早已把我的心
带给更遥远的
事物。
1991．4

The Rhinoceros

A rhinoceros is walking over The Bible
Leaving four lotus-flower marks

I am now 29
This rhinoceros and this copy of The Bible

But not enough! In the distance
This body of flesh, in the drifting death

And I have, in the drifting schools of fish, spent another
Day of live foam…

To stew the bone of nihility till the bonemarrow emerges *
My head must be a pot

And my body of flesh must be a pile of dry wood
The bright day, like a broadsword

Is hacking in vain at the back of my head
As I grow used to various transformations of my self

Like tiny angels that fly, in the beams of light
An instinct of the fleshy body

A rhinoceros and a Bible
The screaming day and the night of collective prayers…

[1994]

* Nihility (l. 9): a coinage by the translator playing on the senses of nothingness and annihilation.

犀牛

一匹犀牛从《圣经》上走过，
踩下了四个莲花蹄印。

我活到二十九岁：
这匹犀牛，这部《圣经》。

但这仍然不够！远远地，
一具肉身，在流动的死亡中，

在流动的鱼群中，又度过了
活生生的泡沫般的一天……

为了从虚无这块骨头煮出骨髓，
我的头颅必须是一口锅，

我的肉身必须是一堆干柴。
明晃晃的白昼，像一把大刀

又从我的后脑勺砍了个空。
我也习惯了自己的各种变形，

像尘埃的小天使们在光束中飞翔。
这正是肉身的一种本能。

一匹犀牛，一部《圣经》：
嚎叫的白昼，夜间的集体祈祷……
1994．

Someone

Someone? It could be you, could be I or it could be him.
Someone hides beneath a name.
Someone murmurs, talking to the wind.
The first someone does not know what his name is.

Someone dies, his face transformed into a mask.
Several masks not allowed for women to see.
But, in the kitchen of mankind, the knife
Of time needs the grindstone of death.

Someone, seen, spoken to
Dead, or not yet born…
Someone is coming towards me
And someone has just brushed past.

They say someone is born pure
They say Plato experienced the death of Socrates
Through whose mouth death spits all over the place
And through whose pen death returns to the streets.

Someone, born in such and such a year
And died in such and such a year
A small segment of life in between
And life, a process of becoming ridden with debt.

Death is an interruption. Someone is continuing…

[March 1998]

某个人

某个人？可以是你，是我，是他。
某个人躲在某个名字下。
某个人喃喃低语，对风说话。
第一个某个人不知道自己叫什么。

某个人死了！脸过渡为面具。
有几种面具不能让妇女看见。
但在人类的厨房里，时间的
菜刀，需要死亡这块磨刀石。

某个人，见过面的，说过话的，
死了的，还未出生的……
某个人正迎面走来，
某个人已擦肩而过。

据说某个人生来清白，
据说柏拉图经历了苏格拉底之死，
通过他的嘴，死亡唾沫四溅，
通过他的笔，死者重返街道。

某个人，生于XXX，
死于XXX。
生死之间，夹着一小段生活。
而生活，是负债的过程。

死亡是中断。某个人继续……
1998．3．5

Trembling

It trembles
As I tremble
The building, I

The land trembles
The washing machine trembles when tumbling dry
The insides of a fish, just disembowelled, tremble
The corner of the mouth of a countrywoman trembles
As she flies off on collision with the minibus
I tremble with it
The land, I

The sky trembles
Its silk rent by the lightning
The child trembles
Having been in a high fever for three days
The thief trembles
His neck feeling the cold
The overpass trembles
As a truck, heavily loaded, is rumbling across it
The ruins tremble
As time is singing a triumphant song
The heart trembles
When death is tightening its grip on the throat
Along with it I tremble
The sky, I

My loved one
Trembles in the sick bed
And I tremble, too
I, I, I,…

[May 2000]

颤抖

它颤抖
我跟着颤抖
大楼，我

大地颤抖
洗衣机甩干时颤抖
刚掏出的鱼内脏颤抖
被面包车撞得飞出去的
农村妇女的嘴角颤抖
我跟着颤抖
大地，我

天空颤抖
它的丝绸被闪电撕破
孩子颤抖
他发高烧已经三天
小偷颤抖
他的脖子凉嗖嗖
立交桥颤抖
载重卡车正隆隆驶过
废墟颤抖
时间唱着凯旋歌
心脏颤抖
死亡掐紧了喉管
我跟着颤抖
天空，我

亲人
在病床上颤抖
我跟着颤抖
我，我，我……
2000．5

If Only I Could

If only I could
I would quit love

If only I could
I would rather not be born

If only I could
I would refuse to grow up

If only I could
I would like to relive my life from the very beginning

If only I could
I would like to kill you with my own hands

If only I could
I’d like to move to the moon

If only I could
I’d like to pluck my heart for you

If only I could
I’d like to turn into a tiny rice bug

If only I could
I’d like to give the clocks and watches a break

If only I could
I’d like to talk with God

If only I could
I’d like to go to heaven for a look

If only I could
I’d like to go to hell for a visit

If only I could
I’d like to become myself

But then again I don’t think
These things are possible

If only I could
I’d like to make them all possible

But none of these is possible
After all I’ve said If only I could 

[May 2006]

如果可以

如果可以，
我想戒了爱。

如果可以，
我想不出生。

如果可以，
我想不长大。

如果可以，
我想从头再活一次。

如果可以，
我想亲手宰了你。

如果可以，
我想搬到月亮上去住。

如果可以，
我想把心摘给你。

如果可以，
我想做一粒小米虫。

如果可以，
我想让钟表歇一歇。

如果可以，
我想跟上帝谈一谈。

如果可以，
我想到天堂瞧一眼。

如果可以，
我想去地狱转一圈。

如果可以，
我想成为我。

但我又想，这些
都是不可以的。

如果可以，
我想让这些都可以。

但这些都是不可以的。
但我说的是如果可以。
2006．5．6

There’s Smoke in the Heart

It’s dangerous if there’s smoke in the heart---
What if the smoke gets worse?
What if the Seven Apertures are choked?

There is fire in the smoke, possibly a hidden fire---
Oh, the hidden fire scorches the heart! Never poke it
Or else the fire may leap out of the pores!

There’s a crackling noise in the fire and there are sparkles
The guy who stares at a flame without saying a word
Must have drunk himself high: he’s in tears…

There’s a devil in the crackling noise, a female devil of a smoker!
The girl has smoked herself into a devil---
Her flushed face smoked yellow

There’s love in the devil, endless love between a being and a devil
So many have loved till they turn into devils---
Even then they still love

There’s emotion in love, like fire
In the wood. When the fire roars, the smoke is gone
When the fire is out, the embers are still smoking

What is there in love? There’s heart---
How can a man with a hollow heart or a non-heart love?
But inside the word heart (xin), there is emptiness and nothing

There’s smoke in the heart. Have no fear---
Open its door, to let out the smoke!
Open the mouth, to let out the words!

[September 2007]

心里有烟

心里有烟，那很危险—
如果烟越来越大怎么办？
如果七窍被呛住了怎么办？

烟里有火，恐怕是暗火—
暗火灼心啊！千万别乱拨，
弄不好火会从汗毛孔蹿出来！

火里有劈啪声，有火星，
盯着一朵火焰一句话不说的人
肯定喝高了：他在流泪……

劈啪声里有鬼，女烟鬼！
女孩子抽大烟抽成个鬼似的—
她羞红的脸已被熏黄。

鬼里有情，人鬼情未了！
多少人爱着爱着就成了鬼—
成了鬼，他们还要爱。

情里有爱，像木头里
有火。火旺了烟就没了，
火熄了木炭还在一阵阵冒烟。

爱里又有什么呢？有心—
空心人无心人怎么会有爱呢？
但心字里面是空的无的。

心里有烟，也不用怕—
打开心门，把烟放出来！
张开嘴巴，把话说出来！
2007．9．29

This Emaciated Body of Flesh

What am I going to do
with this emaciated body of flesh?

neither answer or decision
seems to be in my hand

my hand is quietly empty, like this autumn wind
that causes the palm prints to shiver when blowing across it

the sun, when out and shining
reduces the fallen leaves to submission

my concern with this dusty world lacks
the warmth of a mother---

lower-key than the fire and longer than love
that retains this emaciated body of flesh

wherever you escape, the house
imprisons you within its walls

the only option is to look up at the skies, carelessly
with no control over their colours

taking to the road out of home
taking to the road that leads to home

what analogy can I use
to describe my relationship to this emaciated body of flesh?

a drop of water? No. A leaf?
no. A cloud? Oh, no!

or perhaps a pile of dry wood
that the setting sun might not be able to set alight

but a warm look
is likely to set it afire

burning it to ashes, burning it to dust
causing it to fly skyward, along the crown of a tree…

[October 2010]

这枯瘦肉身

我该拿这枯瘦肉身
怎么办呢？

答案或决定权
似乎都不在我手中。

手心空寂，如这秋风
一吹，掌纹能不颤动？

太阳出来一晒，
落叶们都服服帖帖。

牵挂这尘世，只欠
一位母亲的温暖—

比火焰低调，比爱绵长，
挽留着这枯瘦肉身。

任你逃到哪里，房屋
仍把你囚于四墙。

只好看天，漫不经心，
天色可由不得你。

走着出家的路，
走着回家的路……

我该拿什么来比喻
我与这枯瘦肉身的关系呢？

一滴水？不。一片叶？
不。一朵云？也不！

也许只是一堆干柴，
落日未必能点燃它，

但一个温暖的眼神，
没准就能让它烧起来，

烧成灰，烧成尘，
沿着树梢，飞天上去……
2010．10．11

North Garden *

(for Myonghi)

North Garden. I’ve been there when a child
It’s not named then

It may have been the village where I was born
A cry that tore through the chaos
No there may never have been any cries
At 3am all was quiet
A drop of an innocent life formed on the tip of a grass

When I was little I entered North Garden without pushing the door
Under a tree I dreamed for two years
In which I always climb to the top of the sky before I uttered a cry
And fell waking myself up

My childhood was as free as an empty bowl
Before the eyes of hunger even grains of rice shined

North Garden. Since Myonghi was born…
North Garden woke up from Nature

A worrying heart urged her to grow ripe early
The heart burned, with anxiety, into splendours
Why did she spend ten years of pen and ink---
The minute she put away her pen, she, of course, knew
That North Garden had no doors and North Garden was not at North Garden

Some said there was everything at North Garden
Except people some added
There was light in the depths of the trees
And others said she saw death

North Garden. Is it a dream? Is it no dream?
Please open your eyes. Please close them.

[November 2011]

* This poem refers to the South Korean artist Myonghi who often works with poets to paint their poems. In 2010, her “Poem Party” held at the Beopwhasa Temple in Jeju, South Korea, included guests such as Shu Cai and Che Qianzi. Her oil painting, “North Garden” (81 x 100 cm), was painted in the same year and, as with her other works, is handled by the Kwai Fung Hin Art Gallery in Central Hong Kong.

北园

给明姬

北园。我小时候去过那里
那时北园尚未命名

它也许是我诞生的那座村庄
一声啼哭 撕破一片混沌
不 也许根本就没有哭声
凌晨三点 一切静悄悄的
一滴无辜生命 在草尖上 凝成

小时候 不推门就进了北园
我在一棵树下 做了两年梦
都是爬到天顶 然后啊一声
摔地上 惊醒

我的童年自由得像一只空碗
饥饿的眼前 米粒也发光

北园。自从诞生了明姬……
从大自然，北园醒来

一颗忧心 催促她早熟
忧心如焚 燃烧成斑斓
她为什么要花十年笔墨呢—
收笔的刹那 她当然明白
北园没有门 北园不在北园

有人说 北园里什么都有
就是没有人 有人补充
树丛深处 有一些光
也有人说 她看见了死亡

北园。是梦？不是梦？
请睁开眼，请闭上眼
2011．11．9