Voice & Verse Poetry Magazine Issue #79 聲韻詩刊第79期【香港國際詩歌之夜】特別專號｜International Poetry Nights in HK by Musical Stone Publishing 石磬文化

International Poetry Nights in Hong Kong 香港國際詩歌之夜

The Margins of the Mother Tongue 母語的邊界

Edited by Bei Dao, Chris Song, Lucas Klein, and Yiting He 北島宋子江柯夏智何依亭

編

A special issue in Voice & Verse Poetry Magazine 《聲韻詩刊》特別專號 September 2024 No. 79 |

2024 年 9 月

第 79 期

Table of Contents 目錄

8–11

Bei Dao 北島

Foreword: Sidetracks: Prologue／序：歧路行．序曲 Adonis 阿多尼斯

14–15

Between Your Eyes and Mine／你的眼睛和我之間

14–15

True Beginning of Poetry／詩之初

14–15 16–17 16–17 18–19 18–19 20–21 20–21

Seven Days／七日

I Said unto You／我對你們說過 A Homeland／祖國

King of the Winds／風的君王 To Sisyphus／致西西弗

I Imagine My Love／我想像我的愛情

How Can I Call What Is between Us a Past? ／我怎麼稱呼我們之間過去的一切？ Will Alexander 威爾．亞歷山大

24–25

Visitation As Centigrade／聖母訪親如溫度

24–25

Hieratic Oasis That Magnefies and. Attracts / 僧侶綠洲其首要是擴大和吸引

24–25

26–27 28–29 28–29

Possible Philosophical Fragment／可能的哲學斷想

Chronic Ecclesiastical Climate／慢性教會氣候 Fragment／斷想

Fragment II／斷想二 Frank Báez 弗蘭克．巴埃茲

32–35

Brief Conversation with the Caribbean Sea ／與加勒比海的簡短對話

36–39

Twelve Strophes for Giselle／致吉賽爾的十二節詩

42–43

33／33

40–41 44–47

Vase／花瓶

Last Night I Dreamt I Was a DJ／昨夜我夢見自己是DJ

Chen Xianfa 陳先發 50–51

Seen in a Painting／丹青見

52–53

The Question of Raising Cranes／養鶴問題

56–57

The Unspeakable Body／渺茫的本體

50–51

54–55 58–59 58–59

The Study of Logic from Dharma to Hui-Neng ／從達摩到慧能的邏輯學研究 Ode to a Withered Tree／枯樹賦 Cliffside Account／崖邊口佔 A Year in Passing／歲聿其逝

Matthew Ching-hang Cheng 鄭政恆 62–63

At the corner someone plays piano in the night ／有人在黑夜的街角彈琴

62–63

Soul Music Concert／騷靈音樂會

66–67

Gingkoes／銀杏

64–65 68–69 70–71 72–73

Riverbank／河岸

Oakland Cemetary／奧克蘭墓園 Ana Mendieta／安娜曼蒂耶塔 God and Rabbit／神與兔子

Daniela Danz 丹妮雅拉•丹茲 76–77

Masada／馬薩達

78–79

Icon／聖像

76–77 80–83 84–85 86–87 88–89

Night tips into the dim room／夜色跌入暮色籠罩的房間 Come wilderness into our homes／來吧，荒野，闖入我們的家 Cascade of Joy／幸福的級聯

Cascade of Forgetting／遺忘的級聯 Cascade of Anger／憤怒的級聯 Jiang Tao 姜濤

92–93

Convalescent Associations／病後聯想

94–97

A Day in the Cave／洞中一日

92–93 98–99

100–103

One Afternoon When I Was a Lecturer／一個作了講師的下午 Things That Travel by Night／夜行的事物 Summit／高峰

Lesley Harrison 萊斯利•哈里森 106–107

Prologue／序章

110–111

Lament／哀歌

108–109

112–113 114–117 118–121 122–123

From the journals of Marco Polo, Book II.83 ／選自《馬可波羅日記》，第 II.83 卷 From ‘Native Customs’／選自《原住民風俗》

The Snow Queen [extract]／《雪之女王》[節選] Weather Reports You／天氣向你報告 Song Sang／歌

Msayo Koike 小池昌代 126–127

Antelope／斑羚

130–131

The Bus that May Never Come／永遠不來的公交車

128–129 132–133 134–135 136–139 140–143

Higashi-Kitazawa／東北澤 Feed／餵食

Yoshida／吉田

Pincushion／插針包

Starchy Water／淘米水 Lü De’an 呂德安

146–147

Evening Rainfall／傍晚降雨

150–151

Perhaps It Was a Chorus／也許是一次合唱

148–149 150–151 152–153 154–155 156–157

In Egypt／在埃及

Still Missing a Step／還少一步

Feelings After Returning from Viewing Houses／看房子歸來有感而作 A Tree／一棵樹

Frost’s Descent／霜降 Lu Yating 路雅婷

160–161 160–161 162–163 162–163 164–165

500 Meters Ahead There are Many Who Do Not Yield to Pedestrians ／前方 500 米有多個不禮讓行人 This Time Don’t Be Like Last Time／這次別再像上次那樣 New · Like a Dreamsong／新•如夢令 Back Home／回家

It’s Too Cold for Long Rides on the Red Rocking Horse ／天已經冷得不適合長時間騎紅色彈簧馬

164–165

Letter／信

166–167

Pearl in the Palm／掌上明珠

166–167 168–169

The General Sits in the General’s Chair／大將軍坐在大將軍椅上 With Just a Loudspeaker, a Long and Winding Line of People, and a QR Code on an Elevator Door, I Can Go Back to Last Winter. I’ve Already Come Back to Last Winter, So How Long Will It Take for You to Come Here? I’m Standing Next to the Red Rocking Horse in the Playground, and Will Probably Stay Here Until Five in the Afternoon. ／只要一個高音喇叭，一條歪歪扭扭的長隊，一張貼在電梯門外的二維碼，就能回到去年冬天。我已經回到去年冬天，你多久能來找我？我還站在遊樂場的紅色彈簧馬旁，大概站到下午五點。 Yvon Le Men 伊馮•勒芒

172–175

The Shore／岸

176–179

In Front of the Forbidden City／紫禁城前

174–175 180–189

In the Park of the Temple of Heaven／天壇公園 At Chengdu, in Du Fu’s House／成都，杜甫草堂 Olga Sedakova 奧爾嘉．謝達科娃

192–193

“Surely, Maria, it’s not just the frames creaking,” ／瑪麗亞，難道只有窗扇在勉強支撐……

194–195

From “The Old Songs”／選自《老歌》

198–199

Mistress and Maidservant／女主人和女僕

196–197 198–199 200–201 200–201 202–205 208–209 210–211 210–211

A Boy, an Old Man, and a Dog／男孩，老人與狗…… Inscription／題詞

Child Playing／下棋的小孩 Rain／雨

From The Chinese Travelogue／中國行（組詩） Wang Yin 王寅

I’ve Had Enough of Paris／巴黎已經令我心生厭倦 You Love Obscure Words／你偏愛冷僻的詞語

The Task of the Poet, Written in Vermont After Robert Bly ／詩人的任務，在佛蒙特仿羅伯特．勃萊

212–213

To Say More Would Be Risky／說多了就是威脅

214–215

In the Darkness, Someone Is Playing Guitar／幽暗中的人彈著吉他

212–213

216–217

For a Moment We Can Lose Consciousness of Life and Death ／此刻無須知曉生死 Lover／情人

Eliot Weinberger 艾略特•溫伯格 220–255

The Life of Du Fu／杜甫的一生 Ya Shi 啞石

258–259

Entering the Hills／進山

260–261

Eyes of Small Animals／小動物的眼睛

258–259 260–261 262–263 262–263 264–265 264–265

Full Moon Night／滿月之夜

Stand of Wild Apple／野蘋果樹林 Guardian Angel／守護神 Cryptic Poem／晦澀詩

Axehead Poem／斧頭詩 Poison Poem／毒藥詩 Yu Lu 俞璐

268–275 276–279 280–283

Reject／拒絕

The Self as a Porcupine／身為豪豬 Chris Song 宋子江 Afterword／後記

International Poetry Nights in Hong Kong The Margins of the Mother Tongue

Foreword Bei Dao Sidetracks: Prologue Why does history reverse direction from this moment to antiquity Why do the ten thousand things circle away from the passage of time Why are the ancient messages intoned by stone steles Why is the fall of the empire like waking from a long dream Why does the river of blood flow before the military maps the paper tactics Why draw prison walls in the dirt in the name of freedom Could there be a sky beyond the sky silent words beneath the words electricity in short-circuited love Could youth set out on the road as page after page of the calendar leaves footprints going back again Could the night’s team of horses gallop into the eight directions and reach the end of the sky to drink up the dawn Could the changing colors of the rivers and mountains and a Great Wall on paper be the Azure Dragon of poetry Who among the order of sages is reading us in the quiet stillness Who ceaselessly calls out to us from the gilded wind-bells from the blood-soaked tails of a whip Who uses the lies of red poppies to illuminate the boundless land Who sold the dialogue between the door and the window to the cross-draft Who conducts the orchestra of autumn to marry the little bridge and the fishing boat lamp’s hidden bitterness

香港國際詩歌之夜母語的邊界

序北島歧路行．序曲為甚麼此刻到遠古歷史逆向而行為甚麼萬物循環背離時間進程為甚麼古老口信由石碑傳頌為甚麼帝國衰亡如大夢初醒為甚麼血流成河先於紙上談兵為甚麼畫地為牢以自由之名難道天外有天話中有話電有短路的愛情難道青春上路一張張日曆留下倒退的足印難道夜的馬群奔向八方到天邊暢飲黎明難道江山變色紙上長城也是詩意的蒼龍誰在聖人的行列中默默閱讀我們誰從鎏金的風鈴從帶血的鞭梢不斷呼喚我們誰用謊言的紅罌粟照亮蒼茫大地誰把門窗的對話賣給穿堂風誰指揮秋天的樂隊為小橋迎娶一盞幽怨的漁燈

International Poetry Nights in Hong Kong The Margins of the Mother Tongue

Where is the homeland to lay a cradle for the dead Where is the other shore for poetry to step across the end Where is the peace that lets the days distribute blue sky Where is the history for storytellers to document and archive Where is the revolution that uses a storm to play the horizon Where is the truth that looks for a volcano in words When will you ride over on the East Wind from freshly brewed tea leaves taste the melancholy of spring When will the first tone whistle out for midnight to unlock a skyful of coughing stars When will the pigeons be freed to shrink the largest public square into a wordless chop mark When through the closed palace gates through the cracks of the months and years will the bright rays of the flood rush in (Translated from Chinese by Jeffrey Yang)

香港國際詩歌之夜母語的邊界

哪兒是家園安放死者的搖籃哪兒是彼岸讓詩跨向終點哪兒是和平讓日子分配藍天哪兒是歷史為說書人備案哪兒是革命用風暴彈奏地平線哪兒是真理在詞語尋找火山何時乘東風而來從沏好的新茶品味春天的憂傷何時一聲口哨為午夜開鎖滿天星星在咳嗽何時放飛一隻鴿子把最大的廣場縮小成無字印章何時從關閉的宮門從歲月裂縫湧進洪水的光芒

International Poetry Nights in Hong Kong The Margins of the Mother Tongue

Adonis originally named Ali Ahmad Said Esber, was born in a rural village in Syria in 1930. He graduated with a degree in philosophy from Damascus University and went on to earn a doctoral degree in Arabic literature from St. Joseph University in Beirut. Adonis has written more than fifty books of poetry, criticism, essays, and translations in his native Arabic. He is recognized as one of the most important poets and theorists of literature in the Arab world, and one of the most important contemporary poets and thinkers in any language or context.

香港國際詩歌之夜母語的邊界

阿多尼斯原名阿里 · 艾哈邁德 · 賽義德 · 伊斯伯爾，1930 年出生於敘利亞北部農村。他畢業於大馬士革大學哲學系，並在貝魯特聖約瑟大學獲文學博士。阿多尼斯迄今共創作了逾五十部著作，包括詩集、文學與文化評論、散文、譯著等。阿多尼斯不僅是當代阿拉伯世界最重要的詩人、思想家、文學理論家，也在世界詩壇享有盛譽。

International Poetry Nights in Hong Kong The Margins of the Mother Tongue

Between Your Eyes and Mine When I drown my eyes in your eyes, I glimpse the deepest dawning and see the ancient times; I see what I do not comprehend and feel the universe flowing between your eyes and mine. (Translated from Arabic by Kamal Abu Deeb)

Seven Days Mother who mocks my love and contempt, you too were made in seven days. The waves were made then and the horizon, and the feathers of song, and my seven days were once wounded and estranged. Why so unfair then when I too am made of wind and dust? (Translated from Arabic by Khaled Mattawa)

True Beginning of Poetry The best thing one can be is a horizon. And the others? Some will think you are the call others will think you are its echo. The best thing one can be is an alibi for light and darkness where the last words are your first. And the others? Some will see you as the foam of creation others will think you the creator. The best thing one can be is a target— crossroad between silence and words. (Translated from Arabic by Khaled Mattawa)

香港國際詩歌之夜母語的邊界

你的眼睛和我之間當我把眼睛沉入你的眼睛我瞥見幽深的黎明我看到古老的昨天看到我不能領悟的一切我感到宇宙正在流動在你的眼睛和我之間（薛慶國譯）

七日你呀，母親，嘲笑我的愛與恨的母親，七日之內你被創造，然後，你創造了波浪和天際，歌曲的翎羽。而我，我的七日只是傷口和烏鴉，為甚麼，會留下這個謎？我和你一樣，也是風，也是泥！（薛慶國譯）

詩之初你最美的事，是動搖天地別人呢，有人以為你不過是回聲有人卻認定你呼風喚雨你最美的事，是成為辯辭被光明和黑暗引以為據於是，你最後的話語也就是最初的話語別人呢，有人以為你不過是水泡有人卻認定你開宗立道你最美的事，是成為目標成為分水嶺區分沉默和話語（薛慶國譯）

International Poetry Nights in Hong Kong The Margins of the Mother Tongue

I Said unto You I said unto you: I listened to the seas reading to me their verses I listened to the bells slumbering inside the oyster shells. I said unto you: I sang my songs at Satan’s wedding and the feast of the fable. I said unto you: I beheld, in the rain of history and the glow of the distance a fairy and a dwelling. Because I sail in my eyes, I said unto you, I beheld everything in the first step of the distance. (Translated from Arabic by Kamal Abu Deeb)

A Homeland To faces which wither under the mask of melancholy, I bow. To roads on which I forgot my tears, to a father who died as green as a cloud with a sail upon his face, I bow. And to a child who is sold in order to pray and polish shoes, (in my country, we all pray and polish shoes), and to rocks upon which I carved with my hunger that they were lightning and rain rolling under my eyelids, and to a house whose soil I carried in my wanderings, I bow. All these are my homeland not Damascus. (Translated from Arabic by Kamal Abu Deeb)

香港國際詩歌之夜母語的邊界

我對你們說過我對你們說過：我曾傾聽大海向我朗誦它的詩篇：我曾傾聽海貝裏面沉睡的搖鈴。我對你們說過：我曾歌唱在魔鬼的婚禮上，在神話的宴席上。我對你們說過：我曾見到一個精靈，一所殿堂在歷史的煙雨裏，在距離的燃燒中。因為我航行在自己的雙眼裏我對你們說過：一切都在我的眼底，從旅程的第一步起。（薛慶國譯）

祖國為那在憂愁的面具下乾枯的臉龐我折腰；為灑落著被我遺忘的淚水的小徑為那像雲彩一樣綠色地死去臉上還張著風帆的父親我折腰；為被出賣、在禱告、在擦皮鞋的孩子（在我的國家，我們都禱告，都擦皮鞋）為那塊我忍著飢饉刻下「它是我眼皮下滾動的雨和閃電」的岩石為我顛沛失落中把它的土揣在懷裏的家園我折腰 —— 所有這一切，才是我的祖國，而不是大馬士革。（薛慶國譯）

International Poetry Nights in Hong Kong The Margins of the Mother Tongue

King of the Winds My banner is an end. It neither fraternizes nor meets half-way. An end are my songs. Here I am, amassing the flowers, alerting the trees, erecting the sky as a colonnade, loving, living and getting born in my words. Here I am, gathering the butterflies under the morning’s banner, nurturing the fruits, and dwelling with rain in the clouds and their bells, in the seas. Here I am, sailing the stars and anchoring them, and crowning myself king of the winds. (Translated from Arabic by Kamal Abu Deeb)

To Sisyphus I vowed to write upon water, I vowed to bear with Sisyphus his speechless rock. I vowed to stay with Sisyphus suffering the fevers and the sparks, and seeking in blind eyes a last plume that writes for autumn and grass the poem of dust. I vowed to live with Sisyphus. (Translated from Arabic by Kamal Abu Deeb)

香港國際詩歌之夜母語的邊界

風的君王我的旗幟列成一隊，相互沒有糾纏，我的歌聲列成一隊。我正集合鮮花，動員松柏，把天空鋪展為華蓋。我愛，我生活，我在詞語裏誕生，在早晨的旌旗下召集蝴蝶，培育果實；我和雨滴在雲朵和它的搖鈴裏、在海洋過夜。我向星辰下令，我停泊矚望，我讓自己登基，做風的君王。（薛慶國譯）

致西西弗我發誓在水上書寫我發誓為西西弗分擔那塊沉默的山岩我發誓始終和西西弗一起經受高熱和火花的炙烤我要在實名的眼眶裏尋找最後的羽毛對著青草，對著秋天書寫灰塵的詩稿我發誓要和西西弗同在（薛慶國譯）

International Poetry Nights in Hong Kong The Margins of the Mother Tongue

I Imagine My Love I imagine my love breathing with the lungs of all things and it reaches me as poetry of roses or dust speaks softly to everything and whispers its news to the universe the way the wind and sun do when they split nature’s breast or pour the ink of day on the earth’s book (Translated from Arabic by Khaled Mattawa)

How Can I Call What Is between Us a Past? How can I call what is between us a past? “What is between us is not a story not a human apple or a jinn’s not a sign of a season or a place not anything that could be historicized” This is what the vicissitudes inside us say How can I say then that our love has been taken by the wrinkled hands of time (Translated from Arabic by Khaled Mattawa)

香港國際詩歌之夜母語的邊界

我想像我的愛情我想像我的愛情：從一樣東西的肺裏吐出來到詩歌裏化身為一朵玫瑰或一粒纖塵它對著一切傾訴向宇宙低語它的境遇就像風兒和太陽穿破大自然的胸膛或是，往大地的簿冊潑上白晝的墨汁（薛慶國譯）

我怎麼稱呼我們之間過去的一切？我怎麼稱呼我們之間過去的一切？「我們之間的不是故事不是人類或精靈的蘋果不是引往一個季節或是一個地方的嚮導不是可以寫成歷史的事物。」發自我們肺腑的滄桑如是說。那麼，我該如何形容我們的愛情被這個時代的皺紋收納的愛情？（薛慶國譯）

International Poetry Nights in Hong Kong The Margins of the Mother Tongue

Will Alexander is a poet, novelist, essayist, playwright, aphorist, visual artist, short story writer, improvisatory pianist, conveyer of psychic histories, librettist, blurbist for other writers when called upon. He has published over 40 books in the above mentioned genres, and is poet-in-residence at Beyond Baroque Literary Arts Center in Venice California. He lives in Los Angeles.

香港國際詩歌之夜母語的邊界

威爾．亞歷山大詩人、小說家、散文家、劇作家、警句家、視覺藝術家、短篇小說作家、即興鋼琴家、心靈史承載者、詞人，著有逾四十本書，涵蓋以上各個文類。他也會應其他作家所求，為他們寫推薦語。他曾任加利福尼亞州威尼斯的 Beyond Baroque 文學藝術中心的駐留詩人。他現居住在洛杉磯。

International Poetry Nights in Hong Kong The Margins of the Mother Tongue

Visitation As Centigrade Light that dispels its articulated essence as mesmerism. That articulates its own essence as mesmerism being nuance by filigree, that pre-ignites its own chirality. Here there is pre-figurment by chimerical essence, by lack that can be described by defensive manoevvre. This again being mesmerism by ion, by articulate nervous calamity by dawn, by 20 suns as exploding blue light subsumed as articulated nerve ends not as brazen suggestion but as higher inevitability. Not for instance as cognitive codex but atoms on fire merging with darkness as unified transmission as instaneous light that explodes by generating trapezoidal fertility as articulated nomos. This being solar form as unknown language sweeping away horizons, that both explodes and etches its own formation, being diaphanous centigrade as catergraphical charisma that approaches its own summation not as etching or fossil that explodes simultaneous with its own horizon. Possible Philosophical Fragment When language contines to cater to a stilled and impalpable calculus it remains stilled warped by catering to a populace kinettically brazen with deficit. This latter scale promulgated by the living dead as it continues to ignite protracted regression. As partial continents of ice remain active with dissolution it trespasses in-active response with further, more active decimenation.

Hieratic Oasis That Magnefies and.

Attracts

My sojourn with Juie endures as a timeless contact. Her living space not unlike a dove flashing upwards from timeless groundwater. A timeless energy not principally as quantifiable hamlet but as magnetic symbiosis. Her enclave naturally appears as quintessential utterance that ranges from human artistic transmission, to the enigmatic flight of differing butterfly ensembles. Therefore life erupts as a magnetic living system that include various shadings that range across natural flora and fauna. One can evidence the latter not only as a powerful oasis, but as a charismatic crucible of forces. I am not speaking of architectural highlight in Clevaland, but a hieractic oasis that principally magnifies and attracts.

香港國際詩歌之夜母語的邊界

聖母訪親如溫度光驅散它表述的本質如同催眠，它表述它的本質如同催眠作為鏤雕的微差，它預先激活手性。在此，以幻象本質作啟示，以可描述為防禦術的缺失作啟示。這是以離子作催眠，以天啟前清晰無誤的神經崩潰作催眠，以二十顆恆星爆炸作催眠，散髮藍光被吞噬如神經末梢互相勾連，並非無懼的暗示，而是更高的必然，並非認知的法典，而是原子燃燒沒入黑暗，猶如集合而傳送，猶如瞬時的光爆炸而產生梯形繁殖的單體。這是太陽的形構如掃除視界的未知語言一邊爆炸一邊刻鑿，作為薄透的溫度如迎合的魅力接近其總和，而非與其視界一同爆炸的刻鑿或化石。（宋子江

譯）

可能的哲學斷想當語言繼續迎合靜止而不可感知的微積分，它保持靜止而歪曲以迎合一個厚顏無懼而若有所失的洶湧人群。行屍走肉散播的後一種度量，而它繼續激活漫長的倒退。部分冰雪大陸因融化而活躍，而它侵入不活躍的反應而帶來更深遠、更活躍的散播。（宋子江譯）

僧侶綠洲其首要是擴大和

吸引

在朱伊的家暫居不斷延長猶如一次永恆的接觸。她的居所並非不像一隻從永恆的地下水中飛升的白鴿。一道永恆的能量，主要不作為可量化的頭盔，而作為磁性的共生。她的飛地自然而然流露出精髓的表達，從人類藝術的傳送到團團蝴蝶的神秘共舞。因此，生命迸發為一個磁性生態系統，包含自然界動植物的各種色調。我們可以證明後者不僅作為一片強大的綠洲還可以作為一個充滿魅力的力量熔爐。我不是在談論克利夫蘭的建築亮點，而是在談論首要是擴大和吸引的一片僧侶綠洲。（宋子江譯）

International Poetry Nights in Hong Kong The Margins of the Mother Tongue

Chronic Ecclesiastical Climate To bare abstrusity to its barest component it must be reduced to its most simplified equation. It must be drilled into the psyche as fear. It’s brazen component being horror replete with obstinate uttering. This being the believers’ mind replete with owls and susurrant mornings. This being threat by monarchal misnomer, replete with paradoxical scowling and judgment. This being vivication as moral like a sheep in the mire suddenly springing out as Cobra. This being tense hierarchical psychic standing being mirage as template howling to itself under moonlight. This being gargantuan judgement by oneiric. As Goya once put it The Sleep of Reason Brings Forth Monsters. This being pre-inscribed error according to infortuitous binding, ferocious with darkened starlight. Not the laying on of hands by priestly demeanour plagued by contradiction. This remains promulgated maze aligned circumspect terror that forms in the mind as vapourous spelchere being noxious foretelling by fate. As if the mind were claimed by threat as whistled integer, by clause that intones its own sterility. Galilee in this state remains its own protracted Savonarola. A deficit, a blemished pattern that negatively wizens that takes on foreboding as negative ash. This being form as inner plague, that baffles and incinerates according to inner clouding. This being rote as uncleansed verdure open onto fertility as negation. This being the chronic mind by what it understands to be its universal wizening. This being failed perspective according to germinated domination. This being none other than absolute lessening not unlike an absolute monster that deceives. This being none other than laterilized history with its forecast as abominable nutrient. As for spectres they foretell general dimenishment by befoulment as prone or negative ecstasy. This being fore-telling as ecclesiastical cipher.

香港國際詩歌之夜母語的邊界

慢性教會氣候為了將玄奧揭露至最赤裸的部分，它必須被歸納為最簡單的方程。它必須被鑽進心靈如同恐懼。它是厚顏無懼的部分作為恐怖充滿了固執的話語。這是信徒的心靈充滿了貓頭鷹和低語的早晨。這是君王誤稱引發的恐嚇充滿了悖論的黑臉和審判。這是以生機為尚猶如一隻泥潭中的羊一躍變成一條眼鏡蛇。這是分層的精神緊張作為幻象如模板在月光下朝自我嚎叫。這是以夢境為龐然的審判。如戈雅所言：理性沉眠，孕育怪物。這是預先銘刻的錯誤合乎不幸的束縛，星光黯淡中暗藏凶猛，而非受困於矛盾的神父舉止染指稱道。這仍是宣道的迷宮，以謹慎的恐怖作為宮牆，在心中形成稍縱即逝的冢室作為命運惡毒的預言。彷彿吹哨整數的恐嚇認領了心靈，彷彿莊重流露貧瘠的從句認領了心靈。這狀態中的加利利仍是它漫長的薩佛納羅拉。一種虧缺，一個玷損的圖案衰喪式枯萎，染上凶兆如陰沉的灰燼。這是內在瘟疫的形式，迷惑和焚毀，合乎內心的混沌。這是死記硬背，如不潔而開放的綠野否定生機。這是慢性心靈，它將之理解為自己普遍的枯萎。這是失敗的視角合乎萌芽的支配。這不過是絕對的減弱，並非不像會騙人的絕對的怪物。這不過是偏側的歷史展望淪喪的養分。至於幽靈，他們以玷污普遍的削弱作為趴平或消極的狂喜。這是以教會密語作預言。（宋子江譯）

International Poetry Nights in Hong Kong The Margins of the Mother Tongue

Fragment As for sonic or robust climate there exists as form arithmetical yield not as cunning meta-stasis or biophysical truncation but as flight as unheralded annunciation Fragment II As for cosmic bio-legality it fails by inference as the higher persistence not according to numeric dawns not according to fragment as skill as for arc as embellished dragon it burns as interiority precarious myths occur attempting to broker their own magnetics not solely as wonder or frictionless maze not as harried cornucopia or spell this being conjoined sensation as palpable root akin to impalpable confusion

香港國際詩歌之夜母語的邊界

斷想至於音速或強悍的氣候作為形式而存在演算得出的結果並非狡猾的惡性轉移或生物物理學上的截斷而是如逃離如秘而不宣的領報（宋子江譯）

斷想二至於宇宙的生物合法性它失之於推論作為更高的堅持並非合乎數字的黎明並非合乎碎片如技巧至於弧形如點綴的惡龍它如內在性般燃燒不可靠的神話發生嘗試調和磁性並不只作為奇跡或沒發生摩擦的迷宮並不作為強求的豐穰之角或惡咒這是聯動的感官如可感知的根近似於不可感知的迷亂（宋子江譯）

International Poetry Nights in Hong Kong The Margins of the Mother Tongue

Frank Báez is a poet, novelist, essayist, playwright, aphorist, visual artist, short story writer, improvisatory pianist, conveyer of psychic histories, librettist, blurbist for other writers when called upon. He has published over 40 books in the above mentioned genres, and is poet-in-residence at Beyond Baroque Literary Arts Center in Venice California. He lives in Los Angeles.

香港國際詩歌之夜母語的邊界

弗蘭克．巴埃茲 1978 年出生在多米尼加共和國。他已出版了六本詩集、一部短篇小說集和三本非虛構類書籍。2006 年，他的小說集《Págales tú a los Psicoanalistas》獲得了聖多明各國際書展短篇小說獎， 2009 年，他的詩集《Postales》贏得了薩洛梅．烏雷尼亞國家詩歌獎。2017 年，巴埃茲獲選為海伊文學節「波哥大 39」成員，並成為 40 歲以下最優秀的拉丁美洲作家之一。他是口語文學樂隊 El Hombrecito 的創始人之一。他的作品收錄於許多選集。他的詩已翻譯成阿拉伯語、荷蘭語、德語、孟加拉語和英語出版。他目前在美國德克薩斯大學奧斯汀分校擔任梅隆影響力學者。

International Poetry Nights in Hong Kong The Margins of the Mother Tongue

Brief Conversation with the Caribbean Sea I tell you, the other day I met the Mediterranean and it was a bit like spotting a washed-out actor. I walked along the Oceanside hearing waves which sounded like the cough of an asthmatic Joe Pesci. More than some forgotten actor the sea reminded one of the mummies on display in the museum of Cairo. Nothing like you, Caribbean Sea… this afternoon you possess so much strength it seems you’re fresh from the gym. I don’t know if I prefer when you stretch out tame and basking like a lion on the savanna. Or when you become enraged and roar and try sodomizing the coast just like Marlon Brando’s exploits in Last Tango in Paris. Pelicans and seagulls drip from your fingers when you try to trap them, and it’s as if you would like to leave your lair, but your chains hold you with such strength you’re left ranting and wailing. Tell me the truth. Don’t the cruise ships filled with the elderly, and the trash we toss disturb you? We’ve poisoned, contaminated you.

香港國際詩歌之夜母語的邊界

與加勒比海的簡短對話我要告訴你，前幾天我認識了地中海，感覺有點像認識了一個落魄的演員。我沿著海岸線漫步，海浪聽起來像犯了哮喘的喬•佩西。其實，比起落魄的演員，地中海更讓我想起開羅博物館展出的木乃伊。這都與你無關，加勒比海，今天下午的你渾身是勁，像是剛健完身回來。或許我更喜歡的，是你溫順地躺下，像一頭雄獅，在草原棲息。或者，當你咆哮著想要侵犯海岸的時候，《巴黎最後的探戈》裏 1 馬龍•白蘭度就是那麼做的。你想捉住鵜鶘和海鷗它們卻從你的指間溜走就像你想掙脫海底鎖鏈卻緊緊掛住你，你別無他法只有嚎叫，咒罵說實話，你真的不介意嗎？那些載著老人的遊輪以及我們扔向你的垃圾我們向你投毒，將你污染

International Poetry Nights in Hong Kong The Margins of the Mother Tongue

Last year your coasts were slimed with such algae it seemed some tourist on our beaches had infected you with syphilis. I told myself: What a mess. Then asked if this were the end. But instead of unleashing a tsunami to retaliate against our cities and wipe off Miami from the map, you returned to grazing your flock of waves that bleated in peace and harmony far and wide along the coast. What else can I tell you? You’re the sea of my boyhood. I have spent my life deciphering your words. We have both grown old, but despite the passing of time I continue returning to this reef to converse with you, and with the same innocence as when I was a boy and wandered your beaches, picked up a conch, and set it against my ear, when you spoke to me for the first time. (Translated from Spanish by Anthony Seidman)

香港國際詩歌之夜母語的邊界

去年，你的岸邊長滿骯髒的藻那看起來就像是岸上的一位遊客將梅毒傳染給你我自語：這看起來很醜陋我自問：這難道就是結局可你沒有發起海嘯沒有報復我們的城市沒有將邁阿密從地圖上抹去你只是回去放牧你的浪花它們沿著漫長而寬厚的海岸平和乖巧地咩咩叫著我還有甚麼要對你說呢？你是我童年的大海我用一生讀懂你的話如今我們都已衰老歷經滄桑我還是來到了這塊礁石上對你訴說一如我幼時那般純潔那時我在你的海灘上散步撿起了一隻海螺放在耳邊你第一次同我談天註釋 1 在電影《巴黎最後的探戈》中，男演員馬龍•白蘭度與男導演貝托魯奇在未告知女演員的情況下，擅自修改了性侵犯的戲份。（閆梓萌譯）

International Poetry Nights in Hong Kong The Margins of the Mother Tongue

Twelve Strophes for Giselle To meet you I had to cage the beast, move to a city in the north, pour salt on the snow along the stairs, feed a cat, fear the night. I visited New York and looked down from the Empire State and you weren’t there. You weren’t the woman at the train station who was running like in romantic movies. You weren’t the one who’d swallowed the mist Downtown. Weren’t the one who floated in the Ozama. Weren’t even the one who blew on the dice in a casino in Las Vegas, Nevada. You weren’t the one who left me waiting in a park. Weren’t the one who threatened to kill me with scissors in her fist. Weren’t Marina Tsvetaeva hanging from a rope. I waited for you in an apartment where squirrels climbed in and kidnapped my poetry. Snow was falling behind the windows. The moon was coughing in the sky. Where is she? I asked the waitresses who went by and ignored me. Where are you? I asked cutting my hands off and dropping them from a Chicago bridge Where is she? I asked like the man on the twentieth floor of a building that’s on fire, like Baudelaire sitting on a bench in Paris at dawn. You weren’t on the beach while the waves whispered your name to the sand. (The sun shone and a seagull clumsily fished up some woman’s shoe who’d killed herself.)

香港國際詩歌之夜母語的邊界

致吉賽爾的十二節詩為了遇見你，我必須把野獸關進籠子，必須搬到一座北方的城，必須給樓梯上的積雪撒鹽，必須餵一隻貓，必須懼怕黑夜。我到訪紐約，從帝國大廈向下望，你不在那。有人在火車站裏奔跑，像愛情電影，她不是你。有人被市中心的霧氣吞沒，她不是你。有人飄在奧薩馬河 1 上，她不是你。有人在拉斯維加斯的賭場裏吹骰子，2 更不是你。有人留我在公園裏空等，她不是你。有人舉著剪刀威脅要捅死我，她不是你。瑪麗娜•茨維塔耶娃 3 吊死在繩子上，她不是你。我在公寓裏等過你，松鼠進進出出，綁走我的詩句。雪花從窗外飄落。月亮在蒼穹咳嗽。她在哪裏？我問路過的女侍者，她們不理會我。你在哪裏？我這樣問著，切斷雙手，扔下芝加哥的一座橋。她在哪裏？我這樣問著像一棟著火的樓房裏住第二十層的男人，像破曉時分的巴黎波德萊爾坐在長椅上。你不在沙灘上，只有浪花對砂礫耳語你的名字。（耀眼日光，海鷗笨拙地啄食一隻自殺者的鞋）

International Poetry Nights in Hong Kong The Margins of the Mother Tongue

I asked for you with a cigarette between my lips. shuffling the dominoes and trembling, like a depressive tree that’s shed all its leaves and feels cold. I looked for you in museums and libraries where I slept and translated in my melancholy: I dream of her either loved or killed because the town’s too small. I looked for you in a dream, in a bolero, among the extras in a low-budget movie, I looked for you with closed eyes and open eyes. I looked for you, my love, the way Aristophanes says in one of Plato’s dialogues two halves look for each other. (Translated from Spanish by Hoyt Rogers)

香港國際詩歌之夜母語的邊界

我唇間叼著煙捲，打探你的下落，洗亂一副多米諾骨牌，顫抖著，像一棵消沉的樹任憑葉子落盡，寒意來襲。在博物館裏，在圖書館裏，我找過你，我在圖書館裏睡去，憂鬱地譯下：我夢見她被愛或死去因為這城市太過微小。我找過你，在夢裏，在波萊羅舞曲 4 中，在低成本電影的群演裏，我找過你，睜大或是緊閉雙眼。愛人啊，我找過你，像柏拉圖對話錄裏阿里斯托芬的話：一個人的兩半，終生彼此尋覓。5 註釋 1 多米尼加共和國的一條河流。 2 吹骰子被認為能帶來好運。 3 瑪麗娜•茨維塔耶娃（1892–1941），俄羅斯「白銀時代」重要詩人，自縊身亡。 4 一種西班牙舞曲。 5 柏拉圖《會飲篇》中阿里斯托芬談到人的起源的神話，每個人的樣子從前都是整個圓，四隻手，四隻腳，所有的器官都成雙。宙斯決定想一個辦法，既讓人繼續活著又削弱他們的力量：「我把他們再切一次，讓他們只能晃晃蕩蕩地走路。」被切開後的人想回復自己原本的自然，讓分開的兩半合為一體，當他們遇到原本的另一半時，就會體驗到令人驚顫的愛與親密體驗，兩人的心都明顯渴望著某種東西。（閆梓萌譯）

International Poetry Nights in Hong Kong The Margins of the Mother Tongue

Vase While I’m writing, I push a vase off the table with the back of my hand so that when it hits the floor the vase breaks into pieces just as all vases break into pieces. And while it’s falling I write a few lines to restore the immortality that the vase will lose as it hits the floor and breaks into pieces or, just as it breaks into pieces, the pieces will suddenly reunite in perfect harmony and voila! the vase jumps back onto the table. In a few years this poem will be forgotten, and the vase in this poem will be forgotten, too, and, in turn, the vase will turn to dust. (Translated from Spanish by Scott Cunningham)

香港國際詩歌之夜母語的邊界

花瓶在桌旁寫作時我的手背推倒了一個花瓶花瓶因此翻落在地即刻破碎所有的花瓶也破碎花瓶下墜時我寫下幾句詩還它以永恆當它落到地上摔成碎片便注定要失去的那種永恆或者在它摔碎後在理想的和諧之中碎片會突然重聚接著，「砰！」的一聲花瓶跳回桌面多年以後，這首詩會被遺忘詩中的花瓶也會被遺忘最終化為塵埃（閆梓萌譯）

International Poetry Nights in Hong Kong The Margins of the Mother Tongue

33 Before going to the hospital, I accompanied my father for a haircut, and the barber with tattooed arms, polished the seat with a rag as if it were a throne and my father with his beard and glasses hesitated before sitting because he loathed all privileges and if he frequented that barbershop where the decibels of reggaeton and salsa music shattered the eardrums of the clientele it was because he felt at home and the barber’s clippers were a bird fluttering over my father’s head and it intoned a song which was imperceptible to mortals. It was a song about death and that was the last haircut my father would have and the barber did not know that, nor did I know that, no one knew. Outside the sun was shining, Friday was approaching, and the other barbers sheared the heads of their clients with their little machines. At times I have thought of going to the barbershop to tell the barber with tattooed arms that my father has died. Or perhaps not tell him a thing, just sit down so he can cut my hair with those clippers that fluttered like a bird over my father’s head. Then I would know the significance of the lugubrious song the clippers intoned, I would understand and it would be, as always, too late. (Translated from Spanish by Anthony Seidman)

香港國際詩歌之夜母語的邊界

33 去醫院之前，我陪父親去理髮理髮師的手臂上有紋身他用抹布清潔座椅，如同擦拭王座父親戴著眼鏡，蓄著鬍子，猶豫要不要坐下因為他討厭任何特權而那家理髮店裏雷鬼和薩爾薩的分貝摧殘著客人的耳膜他走進去，是因為那裏的感覺和家裏一樣剪刀在他髮絲間揮動像是鳥兒振動翅膀吟唱一首凡人難以感知的歌那首歌有關死亡那是父親最後一次理髮理髮師不知道後來會發生的事我也不知道沒有人知道那天，窗外陽光燦爛週五到來其他理髮師推動剃刀修剪著其他客人的髮絲有時，我想過再去一次那家理髮店告訴那個胳膊上有紋身的理髮師我的父親去世了或者，甚麼也不對他說只是坐下，讓他為我剪髮用曾經在父親髮間揮動的像鳥兒振翅的剪刀那樣的話，我便會知道那一把把剪刀吟唱的哀歌的含義我終將理解，而這份理解一如既往，太遲太遲了（閆梓萌譯）

International Poetry Nights in Hong Kong The Margins of the Mother Tongue

Last Night I Dreamt I Was a DJ I call Miguel on the phone and ask him if he thinks I would be better off as a DJ or as a poet and Miguel answers as a Poet. My girlfriend also says Poet. My girlfriend’s brother says Poet and the chick I met when she was in line behind me at the movies says DJ. Girls tend to see me more as a DJ while the women shopping at supermarkets say that I should stick with the poems. My mother says Poet. The plumber says Poet. The five poets I know all say I’d be better off as a DJ. My sister abstained from voting. I went to see DJ Tiësto and a gringa grabbed my hands and said that DJs are creatures of God. They’re angels, she said and while she was talking I imagined all the DJs with their turntables flying around God like mosquitoes and God shooing them away with his hand. But the question is whether the poets and the DJs can be reconciled; if they can be One, if it’s possible to write poems with one hand and with the other scratch records, if it’s possible to be half-poet, half-DJ, to be a poet above the waist and below the waist a DJ or vice versa or maybe, during a full moon, a poet could transform into a DJ

香港國際詩歌之夜母語的邊界

昨夜我夢見自己是 DJ 我給米蓋爾打電話問他覺得我是做 DJ 好還是做詩人好米蓋爾說我應該繼續做詩人我女友也說我應該做詩人我女友的兄弟也說我應該做詩人但是我最近剛認識的電影院裏排在我前面的小女孩兒說我應該做 DJ 小姑娘們都說我更適合做 DJ 在超市裏購物的女人們則勸我繼續寫詩我媽媽說我應該做詩人水管維修工說我應該做詩人我認識的五位詩人卻告訴我我更適合做 DJ 我的姐姐則投了棄權票我去看鐵斯托的演唱會一個外國女孩兒拉住我的手告訴我 DJ 們由神創造，是天使在她講著這些的同時我想像 DJ 們飛在空中的樣子他們的打碟機圍在上帝周圍像一群蚊子被上帝揮手驅趕總之，問題在於詩人和 DJ 可不可以共存呢是否可以融為一體有沒有可能一隻手用來寫詩另一隻手用來打碟能不能一半是詩人一半是 DJ 可不可以肚臍以上是詩人肚臍以下是 DJ 或反之亦或者詩人可以在月圓之夜變身 DJ

International Poetry Nights in Hong Kong The Margins of the Mother Tongue

or maybe I’m complicating everything and the fact is every DJ wants to be a poet and every poet wants to be a DJ. There’s a legend in which a DJ and a poet fall into a well. They shout and shout until a man appears and throws down a rope. The DJ climbs up first but when they throw the rope back to the poet he screams, Leave me down here, and the man and the DJ do so. They wait in silence for a little while, and then they leave.

香港國際詩歌之夜母語的邊界

再或者我有點誇張了所有 DJ 在內心深處都想成為詩人而所有詩人都想成為 DJ 有一個寓言故事，講的是 DJ 和詩人掉進同一口深井他們叫啊喊啊直到一個人探出頭，扔給他們一根繩子讓他們慢慢爬上來 DJ 先上去了，他們又把繩子扔給詩人詩人大喊著告訴他們，就把他留在下面吧那人和 DJ 這樣做了，他們靜靜地等了一會兒接著便離開（閆梓萌譯）

International Poetry Nights in Hong Kong The Margins of the Mother Tongue

Chen Xianfa was born in 1967 in Anhui and graduated from Fudan University in Shanghai in 1989. He has published several books of poetry, including Death in Springtime (1994), A Past Life (2005), The Heart of Writing Steles (2011), The Problem of Raising Cranes (Taiwan, 2015), and Crevice and Insight (2016), as well as the novel Soul-Stealing Opera (2006) and the essays Notes on Black Pond Dam (2014). He’s received well over a dozen domestic poetry prizes, including the October Poetry Prize, the 2008 Poet of the Year Award, and Fudan University’s Award for Literary Achievement. His works have been translated into English, French, Russian, Spanish, and Greek.

香港國際詩歌之夜母語的邊界

陳先發安徽桐城人。1989 年畢業於復旦大學。著有詩集《春天的死亡之書》（1994 年）、《前世》（2005 年）、長篇小說《拉魂腔》（2006 年）、詩集《寫碑之心》（2011 年）、隨筆集《黑池壩筆記》（2014 年）、詩集《養鶴問題》（2015 年台灣版）、《裂隙與巨眼》（2016 年）等。曾獲獎項有「十月詩歌獎」、「十月文學獎」、「 1986 年 — 2006 年中國十大新銳詩人」、「2008 年中國年度詩人」、「1998 年至 2008 年中國十大影響力詩人」、「首屆中國海南詩歌雙年獎」、首屆袁可嘉詩歌獎、天問詩歌獎、中國桂冠詩歌獎、 2015 年桃花潭國際詩會中國傑出詩人獎、陳子昂詩歌獎、安徽文學獎等數十種。2015 年與北島等十詩人一起獲得中華書局等單位聯合評選的「新詩貢獻獎」。作品譯成英、法、俄、西班牙、希臘等多種文字傳播。

International Poetry Nights in Hong Kong The Margins of the Mother Tongue

Seen in a Painting Alder, white pine, elm, and metasequoia are taller than elderberry, bauhinia, tin tree, and camphor. Autumn drags lake water up, and coniferous forests are higher than broadleaf, wild eucommia than messy sisal. If water rises in secret, oak will overtop sandalwood. One after the other, bird calls melt. The snake tongue looks electrocuted, as the birch she spies from locked eyes is taller than the birch spied in rotating glass. Birch in the dead’s eyes is taller than birch in living eyes. The birch made into a coffin is higher than birch made into a violin. (Translated from Chinese by Tammy Lai-ming Ho)

The Study of Logic from Dharma to Hui-Neng Facing the wall he sits between a ruler and a wall in whichever direction he moves, the wood splits (Assuming that this ruler is relative and falls, which is hard to say) To break open the wall he was born ugly to break open the wall he planted two plots of vegetables (Translated from Chinese by Tammy Lai-ming Ho)

香港國際詩歌之夜母語的邊界

丹青見榿木，白松，榆樹和水杉，高於接骨木，紫荊鐵皮桂和香樟。湖水被秋天輓著向上，針葉林高於闊葉林，野杜仲高於亂蓬蓬的劍麻。如果湖水暗漲，柞木將高於紫檀。鳥鳴，一聲接一聲地溶化著。蛇的舌頭如受電擊，她從鎖眼中窺見的樺樹高於從旋轉著的玻璃中，窺見的樺樹。死人眼中的樺樹，高於生者眼中的樺樹。被製成棺木的樺樹，高於被製成提琴的樺樹。

從達摩到慧能的邏輯學研究面壁者坐在一把尺子和一堵牆之間他向哪邊移動一點，哪邊的木頭就會裂開（假設這尺子是相對的又掉下來，很難開口）為了破壁他生得醜為了破壁他種下了兩畦青菜

International Poetry Nights in Hong Kong The Margins of the Mother Tongue

The Question of Raising Cranes In the mountains, I have seen pillar-shaped cranes. In liquid form, or in vapour. At the roots of solemn azaleas, cranes ball themselves into mud. They languidly gather their wings. I have seen this bird, which exists only for fiction, taking a more reasonable shape in these end times, because its white engulfs refusal Raising cranes is a game for dying men. Also a minority religion, though writing poetry is another matter: The “cranes” in that line can totally be replaced. Don’t ever ask, what will replace its crying in this world. When it’s crying for this, it’s crying for that. It cries for politics in the corridors, and cries for the politics of the street. Like tonight, surrounded by the sounds from the bathroom exhaust fan I sit for a long time on the floor as if I’d never leave one step away. I am a layperson who has never raised or killed a crane. I know the suffering this age has bestowed on me has ended. I put on a pristine white bathrobe, and in sweeping steps, switch from critic to onlooker. (Translated from Chinese by Tammy Lai-ming Ho)

香港國際詩歌之夜母語的邊界

養鶴問題在山中，我見過柱狀的鶴。液態的、或氣體的鶴。在肅穆的杜鵑花根部蜷成一團春泥的鶴。都緩緩地斂起翅膀。我見過這唯一為虛構而生的飛禽因她的白色飽含了拒絕，而在這末世，長出了更合理的形體養鶴是垂死者才能玩下去的遊戲。同為少數人的宗教，寫詩卻是另一碼事：這結句裏的「鶴」完全可以被代替。永不要問，代它到這世上一哭的是些甚麼事物。當它哭著東，也哭著西。哭著密室政治，也哭著街頭政治。就像今夜，在浴室排風機的轟鳴裏我久久地坐著彷彿永不會離開這裏一步。我是個不曾養鶴也不曾殺鶴的俗人。我知道時代賦予我的痛苦已結束了。我披著純白的浴衣，從一個批判者正大踏步地趕至旁觀者的位置上。

International Poetry Nights in Hong Kong The Margins of the Mother Tongue

Ode to a Withered Tree Climbing the mountain I spot a big dead tree Horizontal on the road It must have been struck by lightning, its bark all peeled Dark and dull yet emitting a certain shine I imagine those who secretly felled it unable to eat or sleep This trunk twenty people holding hands couldn’t encompass Must have inhibited the thieves and caused them to stop To die amidst all this luxuriant green Abandoning everything: what a smart move Like a person, eyes wide open, sitting Amongst countless blind people What should he say? If because of this, we take dying alone as living alone All nature will bud and burgeon because of the bearing And so we can also pass away into the verdant foliage We can also add to this age’s wounds, found everywhere The resurrected heartbeat of this decaying tree And forget that a kind of rejection Derives from an empty name being secretly passed on to the present (Translated from Chinese by Tammy Lai-ming Ho)

香港國際詩歌之夜母語的邊界

枯樹賦上山時看見一株巨大枯樹橫臥路側被雷擊過又似被完整地剝了皮烏黑喑啞地泛著光我猜偷伐者定然寢食不安但二十人合圍也不能盡攬入懷的樹幹令他們畏而止步在滿目青翠中這種不顧一切的死，確實太醒目了像一個人大睜著眼睛坐在無邊無際的盲者中間他該說些甚麼倘以此獨死為獨活呢萬木皆因忍受而蔥蘢我們也可以一身蒼翠地死去我們也可用時代的滿目瘡痍加上這棵枯樹再構出謝朓的心跳而忘了有一種拒絕從他空空的名字秘密地遺傳至今

International Poetry Nights in Hong Kong The Margins of the Mother Tongue

The Unspeakable Body Every silent object awaits us Peeling itself from entrapped screams The lakewater says no Followed by the ripples This is far more than an assumption: When I Ran to the lake shore Its water had just formed When I climbed to the mountaintop, under the Soles of my shoes that were completely torn Liuhe Pagoda had just been built Sitting idle on its top for a while The light piercing the structure put me in a trance A trance that’s unspeakable This lone boat on the turbid water is unspeakable This latent body of sweat is unspeakable The long emptiness Above the banana leaves is unspeakable My appearance Is like a hand reaching out of a glass lake Waving a few times And disappearing forever This hand cannot speak These forcefully compressed improvisations of Poems’ bodies do not say All languages are obsolete—in The infinite elasticity of the language let my Countless bodies be salvaged in this instant From between life and death’s unspeakable shores (Translated from Chinese by Tammy Lai-ming Ho)

香港國際詩歌之夜母語的邊界

渺茫的本體每一個緘默物體等著我們剝離出幽閉其中的呼救聲湖水說不遂有漣漪這遠非一個假設：當我跑步至湖邊湖水剛剛形成當我攀至山頂，在磨得皮開肉綻的鞋底六和塔剛剛建成在塔頂閒坐了幾分鐘直射的光線讓人恍惚這恍惚不可說這一眼望去的水濁舟孤不可說這一身遲來的大汗不可說這芭蕉葉上的漫長空白不可說我的出現像寧靜江面突然伸出一隻手搖幾下就永遠地消失了這隻手不可說這由即興物象強制壓縮而成的詩的身體不可說一切語言盡可廢去，在語言的無限彈性把我的無數具身體從這一瞬間打撈出來的生死兩茫茫不可說

International Poetry Nights in Hong Kong The Margins of the Mother Tongue

Cliffside Account Idling, I wonder at the startled sparrow. These high-spirited ancient tunes are the hardest to play. What of the axe hewing the hoary pine? The cleaving point is also my coronet. When did the precipice arrive within my body and When did it depart The landscape has an honesty that knows no hunters The afterglow congeals into amber And slowly descending the sheer cliff, a lady tourist Is perfumed by the scent Of unripe papayas (Translated from Chinese by Tammy Lai-ming Ho)

A Year in Passing A willow on the jetty Is trapped among countless others The girl jogging around the lake Past the willows one by one Running too fast She bursts through her body again and again Yet on the lake The egret is slow Between the girl and the egret A nurse getting off her night shift is stepping out of A red taxi The year is drawing to a close The egret takes with it all that the world can offer And glides quietly away, skimming the water (Translated from Chinese by Tammy Lai-ming Ho)

香港國際詩歌之夜母語的邊界

崖邊口佔閒看驚雀何如？凌厲古調難彈。斧斫老松何如？斷口正是我的冠冕懸崖何時來到我的體內又何時離去山水有尚未被獵取的憨直餘輝久積而為琥珀從絕壁攀援而下的女遊客一身好聞的青木瓜之味

歲聿其逝防波堤上一棵柳樹陷在數不清的柳樹之中繞湖跑步的女孩正一棵棵穿過她跑得太快了一次次衝破自己的軀殼而湖上白鷺很慢在女孩與白鷺的裂隙裏下夜班的護士正走下紅色出租車一年將盡白鷺取走它在世間的一切緊貼著水面正安靜地離去

International Poetry Nights in Hong Kong The Margins of the Mother Tongue

Matthew Ching-hang Cheng is the author of Word and Light: Reviews of Film Adapted from Literature, the prose collection A Walk Down Recollection Road, and three collections of poetry, as well as editor of more than thirty books on literature, film, and culture. In 2013, he received the Hong Kong Arts Development Award for Best Artist (Arts Criticism). In 2015, he took part in the University of Iowa’s International Writing Program. Cheng is currently president of the Hong Kong Film Critics Society and review editor for Voice & Verse Poetry Magazine and O-sqaure.

香港國際詩歌之夜母語的邊界

鄭政恆著有詩集《記憶前書》、《記憶後書》及《記憶之中》，編有《香港文學大系 1950–1969：新詩卷二》、《五○年代香港詩選》、《香港當代作家作品合集選：詩歌卷》、《港澳台八十後詩人選集》等。 2013 年獲得香港藝術發展獎年度最佳藝術家獎（藝術評論）。 2015 年參加美國愛荷華大學國際寫作計劃。現任香港電影評論學會會長；《聲韻詩刊》、《方圓》編委。

International Poetry Nights in Hong Kong The Margins of the Mother Tongue

At the corner someone plays piano in the night no one smokes in the bar there’s just a jukebox playing new-old tunes the different accents here layered over unfamiliar songs a never-ending game balls on the table roll one after another into dark pockets in the dark our voices slice open the quiet silent people finish beers sound condenses under the lights no guiding melody at the corner someone plays piano in the night (Translated from Chinese by Mary King Bradley)

Soul Music Concert the rain drums faster, people drifting in from every corner of the city gathering and dispersing, mysterious dancers in the night the soul singer hits a high note but the thunder drowns her out the rain soaks into umbrellas and the song dissolves into the wet we walk to the overhang of Iowa Book talk about sci-fi wait for the downpour to stop from the corner a final song the concert is cut short the rain drums harder, people drifting back to every corner of the city we walk across the campus lawn grass drinking in the accumulating rain a kind-hearted person opens a shortcut we splash through puddles and the iron gate rainwater in front of the steps an endless current reaching to the street and I finally believe the Iowa River one June pushed its way into houses and carried the dark downstream (Translated from Chinese by Mary King Bradley)

香港國際詩歌之夜母語的邊界

有人在黑夜的街角彈琴酒吧內沒有人抽煙只有機器唱著半新不舊的搖滾歌曲這裏有不同的口音蓋過了陌生的歌聲遊戲一直沒有結束桌球滾動一個接著一個掉進黑暗的袋口暗夜裏我們以聲音解剖靜默沉默的人將啤酒喝完回家的人在車門前道再見聲音在燈光下凝聚沒有旋律的引導有人在黑夜的街角彈琴

騷靈音樂會雨愈下愈大，人們從小城的不同角落走來聚集又散去，投入黑夜神秘的舞蹈騷靈歌手高聲地唱但雷聲比他們更加宏亮傘子被雨水沾濕然後歌聲也在水中消逝我們走到愛荷華書店的屋檐下討論科幻小說等待雨停的片刻最後一首歌從街角傳來騷靈音樂會提早終止雨愈下愈大，人們回到小城的不同角落我們走到大學的草坪上青草喝著囤積的雨水好心的人開啟了快捷的出口我們越過水窪與鐵馬路障前面階梯上的雨水不斷流瀉直到馬路而我終於相信愛荷華六月的河水曾經將暗夜湧入房子與下游

International Poetry Nights in Hong Kong The Margins of the Mother Tongue

Riverbank across the river a quiet patch of grass a place where passing cars are rare inside the field theater no one to perform or watch apart from spiders building their castles weaving dreams we pass some oak trees discover a red-leafed maple like a Canadian scouting a foreign land standing alone to record the scene up ahead a jogger skims past a family picnic in the woods but no one frolics on the park rides the carousel animals like statues at rest waiting for dark to run free across the grass the river ambles by in the light from the setting sun past the noisy lives of ducks past dragonflies’ last hurrah on the river’s other bank quiet boats cannot travel far nor can we carry everything to that other shore (Translated from Chinese by Mary King Bradley)

香港國際詩歌之夜母語的邊界

河岸在河的另一邊是安靜的草地車子不會經過的地方在平原的劇場裏沒有演員也沒有觀眾除了編織睡夢的蜘蛛建築自己的城堡我們經過幾棵橡樹發現了唯一的紅葉楓樹好像在異地搜索的加拿大人獨自站立紀錄風景緩跑者在面前掠過家族在林中聚會但沒有人到遊樂場玩耍旋轉木馬像靜止的雕塑等待黑夜降臨時在草原上自由地奔跑夕光下的水流緩慢越過了鴨子吵鬧的生活也越過了蜻蜓最後的歲月在河岸的另一邊寂靜的船不能遠去而我們也無法將一切帶到彼岸

International Poetry Nights in Hong Kong The Margins of the Mother Tongue

Gingkoes the green-leafed gingko in front of the Old Capitol is maybe a hundred years old or more the atom bomb exploded but six gingkoes at Hiroshima survived all the same to this day their roots still breathe speaking the Earth’s ancient tongue sometimes during rain they ponder the limitations and the strength of light the elderly go slowly passing beneath the trees but the young rush back and forth as always collecting shadows with every step the green-leafed gingko has listened to the gossip of a hundred years we too listen to the gingko repeat each person’s story, incomplete (Translated from Chinese by Mary King Bradley)

香港國際詩歌之夜母語的邊界

銀杏綠葉的銀杏在舊國會大廈前也許已超過百歲了原子彈爆炸日本廣島裏有六棵銀杏卻存活下來直到今天它們的根依然呼吸說著大地古老的言語有時在雨水中沉思光明的限制與力量老人在樹下緩緩走過年輕人卻總是急促來去將影子收藏於步伐綠葉的銀杏聆聽了一百年來許多日常的閒話我們也聽銀杏訴說每一個人未完成的故事

International Poetry Nights in Hong Kong The Margins of the Mother Tongue

Oakland Cemetary early morning Sunday I walk to Oakland Cemetery at the end of Brown Street wide grassy space many people but only I’m alive neat and tidy graves modestly adorned maybe the person lying here was a farmer, a sergeant, a clerk, a judge foreign names mixed in with names repeated the sun is fierce no wind to blow the drooping flags the black angel’s head is bowed arms and wings spread wide reserving death for dry leaves, legends, and sickbeds but never calling out to anyone each moment like a countdown maybe I’ve come upon the ancestor of a friend or just a branch of their family tree from the thick brush a young deer watches me its primal instinct to flee from death as I think and write in abstract words pretend to forget the rules of life seeking plains and rivers that don’t exist Later, I return to the road the deer vanishes among the trees (Translated from Chinese by Mary King Bradley)

香港國際詩歌之夜母語的邊界

奧克蘭墓園在週末的早晨我走到布朗街的盡頭奧克蘭墓園廣闊的草原許多人但只有我一個依然活著墳墓整齊而潔淨沒有太多的裝飾也許這裏躺著的是農夫、警長、職員、法官異國的名字夾雜重複的名字陽光猛烈風也沒有吹起低垂的旗幟黑天使黯然低頭張開手臂和羽翼將死亡留給枯葉、傳說與病床卻沒有呼喚任何人只是每一刻都好像在倒數也許我找到朋友的祖輩又或者只是大家族的分支在茂密的矮樹林中一頭年輕的鹿看著我它以原始的本能逃避死亡而我以抽象的文字思索和書寫假裝忘記生命的規律尋找不存在的原野與河流然後，我回到路上鹿消失於隱密的深林

International Poetry Nights in Hong Kong The Margins of the Mother Tongue

Ana Mendieta quiet cars go by on the road in the room next to the chapel a naked woman tattoos her own leg another woman reads aloud a life story, incomplete and a third gives details of an earlier time at this moment their minds contain only her name Ana Mendieta the Cuban artist who lived in Iowa for twelve years she died in 1985 fell from the top of a New York apartment building her husband said she killed herself some disbelieve but we have no means of dispute because other than him no one was there we cannot imagine the fictional standpoint see only her body and blood burning inside the book becoming earth, dead trees, and ash we stroll down a road straight, quiet, and endless maybe she once walked here we have already drunk the night-black tea leaving only the sounds of conversation, cars, and the breeze beneath the lights silent people in the windows maybe she once walked beneath these faint rays of light thinking of her body’s interior water and fire surging forth feeling the dark’s grim smile, its pressing in (Translated from Chinese by Mary King Bradley)

香港國際詩歌之夜母語的邊界

安娜曼蒂耶塔車子靜靜地駛過馬路在教堂旁邊的房子裏一個赤裸的女子為自己的小腿紋身另一個女子朗讀未完成的傳記而第三個女子形容往事的細節這一刻她們的腦海中只有她的名字安娜曼蒂耶塔古巴藝術家在愛荷華生活了十二年她死於 1985 年從紐約的公寓掉下來她的丈夫說她自殺有人不相信而我們無法爭論因為除了他沒有人在場我們無法想像虛構的立場只見她的身體和血在書中燃燒成為地土、枯木和灰燼我們慢慢地走在筆直、安靜、沒有盡頭的路也許她曾經在這裏走過而我們已喝掉黑夜般的茶僅有的聲音留給對話、車子與微風燈光之下窗子裏沉默的人也許她曾經在微弱的光線下走過想起驅體內湧動的水和火也感受到暗夜的獰笑和壓力

International Poetry Nights in Hong Kong The Margins of the Mother Tongue

God and Rabbit In the beginning, God created the heavens and the earth and matter came into stubborn being cyclical and growing people discuss the name of G-d is it singular or plural but so too a few slow moments of silence when no one speaks just as a child’s face a mother’s kiss allows us to let go of ambiguous words and think of a person in a distant place waving at us A peaceful gathering takes place in the street dull-colored bicycles a cheerful Muslim and we converge on a road already traveled our voices and steps seemingly the reason it’s not the same as I walk alone beneath the streetlights a rabbit at a construction site watches me with fearful eyes in my own eyes there is sometimes the same expression looking into the depths of the night’s impenetrable gaze but the terrible darkness sometimes too brings a moment of warmth and it’s as if the sound of silence has found a way in (Translated from Chinese by Mary King Bradley)

香港國際詩歌之夜母語的邊界

神與兔子起初，神創造天地而事物頑強地存在循環與生長人們討論神的名字是單數還是複數但也有一些緩慢的無聲的時刻好像小孩的臉母親的吻令我們放開曖昧的文字而想起一個人在遠遠的地方向我們招手街頭上有和平的集會簡樸的單車愉快的穆斯林而我們相遇走過的道路好像因為我們的聲音與腳步而不再一樣當我獨自行走在街燈下工地上的兔子以畏懼的眼睛看著我而我有時以相同的眼神看著黑夜後面的深邃的目光但可怕的黑暗有時也帶來片刻的微暖並以彷彿寂靜的聲音穿透我

International Poetry Nights in Hong Kong The Margins of the Mother Tongue

Daniela Danz was born in the GDR, now Germany in 1976. She studied art history and German literature and wrote her Ph.D. thesis on the construction of hospital chapels. Afterwards she worked as director of a literature museum. She is vice president of the Academy of Sciences and Literature in Mainz and member of the Academy of Fine Arts in Bavaria. Danz teaches creative writing at the University of Hildesheim. She has published four volumes of poetry, Serimunt, Pontus, V and Wildniss, two novels, Lange Fluchten and Türmer and a book of essays and wrote operas libretti, for example, for Ben Frosts opera The Murder of Halit Yozgat in cooperation with the research agency Forensic Architecture. For her work she received several awards, such as the German Award for Nature Writing, and the Awards of the Academies of Arts in Bavaria and Berlin. In 2024 she curated the International Poetry Festival Poetica at the University of Cologne.

香港國際詩歌之夜母語的邊界

丹妮雅拉•丹茲 1976 年出生於前東德，曾修讀藝術史和德國文學，以關於醫院

教堂建築的論文獲得博士學位。之後，她先後擔任一所文學博物館的館長、美因茨科學與文學學院副院長、巴伐利亞美術學院成員等職位。丹茨在希爾德斯海姆大學教授創意寫作。她出版了四本詩集，包括《Serimunt》、《Pontus》和《Wildniss》，還有兩部小說《Lange Fluchten》和《Türmer》，以及一本散文集。此外，她還為歌劇寫劇本，曾與 Forensic Architecture 研究機構合作創作 Ben Frost 歌劇《The Murder of Halit Yozgat》。丹茨獲獎眾多，包括德國自然寫作獎、巴伐利亞和柏林藝術學院的獎項等等。2024 年，她策劃了科隆大學「Poetica」國際詩歌節。

International Poetry Nights in Hong Kong The Margins of the Mother Tongue

Masada and when you stand where it is quiet so that you notice when thought ends and listening begins when listening ends and seeing begins when a bird flies when you glide as a black bird and scream when you start to speak in the clear air and can speak of nothing but the light as if were the first light when you cast a shadow on the rock and say my shadow stays and the rock passes away when at this moment it is true that it is good to attempt the entire mission you can call the desert by its name (Translated from German by Monika Cassel)

Night tips into the dim room runs out again and everything is black what do we do with our black thoughts we reach for the morning until finally the first bus carries the end of the dark across the land and I can make out a feather next to your mouth and how your breathing stirs it: yesterday’s concerns have now forgotten us (Translated from German by Monika Cassel)

香港國際詩歌之夜母語的邊界

馬薩達 1 當你站在寂靜之地，你察覺到，思考停止時，聆聽開始，聆聽結束時，觀看開始，鳥兒飛翔時，你化為一隻黑鳥，滑翔和尖叫，當你準備言說，在清澈的空氣中，然而無話可說，只能談論光，好像那是第一道光。你在岩石上投下陰影，說：「我的影子永存，岩石消逝」，若此刻真實，那敢於全力以赴是件好事，你便可以為這片沙漠命名。註釋 1 馬薩達是一個地勢險峻的天然堡壘，威嚴肅穆地矗立在猶地亞沙漠中，俯瞰死海。馬薩達是古代猶太國在迦南之地陷落的最後一個據點。在公元 70 年羅馬征服耶路撒冷後，猶太起義軍和他們的家屬在這裏進行了最後的抵抗。公元 73 年，羅馬軍隊最終攻陷了馬薩達的防禦工事，但他們發現起義者幾乎全員自殺，寧願選擇死亡也不願淪為奴隸。這個事件在猶太文化中象徵著對自由和尊嚴的頑強捍衛。（胡蔚

譯）

夜色跌入暮色籠罩的房間消散之後，一切變得黑暗，我們該如何處理這些黑色的思緒？我們摸索著尋找清晨，直到終於，第一輛巴士載著黑暗的尾聲，駛過鄉野，我發現一片羽毛在你嘴邊，隨呼吸起起伏伏：昨日的憂愁已經將我們遺忘。（胡蔚

譯）

International Poetry Nights in Hong Kong The Margins of the Mother Tongue

Icon Danilo’s disappointed face when for the third time the work of his hands is undone I don’t know what to tell him get yourself a cat Danilo then nothing will belong to you and you can’t lose anything buy some vodka and use it to draw a cross on the forehead of your cow then she will give you milk in the morning and the evening your skin will turn white and you can go out into the snow without any clothes on but it would be best if you just did none of this and kept wearing your face as if a person had only one I have seen you Danilo on an icon in the suburbs of Kalush I know that you have wings and that you wager your children’s fortune in a board game with the angels and when they try to talk you into a beautiful face you get up and retreat into the icon of your sorrow (Translated from German by Monika Cassel)

香港國際詩歌之夜母語的邊界

聖像丹尼洛愁容滿面，他手上的工作第三次被毀，我不知道，該如何勸他，「買隻貓吧，丹尼洛，你甚麼都沒有，便甚麼都不能失去。」買瓶伏特加吧，用它在你的牛的額上畫個十字，這樣早上它會給你牛奶，晚上也會給你牛奶，你的皮膚會變白，你甚至可以赤身裸體地在雪地裏行走。最好是你甚麼都不做，繼續保持你的面孔，好像人只能擁有一個臉龐生活，我見過你，丹尼洛，在卡盧什郊外的一幅聖像畫上。我知道你有翅膀，和天使下盤棋，賭你孩子們的幸福，當他們試圖給你一張美麗的臉時，你便起身，走進你悲傷的聖像裏。（胡蔚

譯）

International Poetry Nights in Hong Kong The Margins of the Mother Tongue

Come wilderness into our homes break the windows come with your roots and your worms spread yourself over our wishes our waste-sorting systems our protheses and outstanding payments cover us with your rustling greenery and your spores cover us that we may become green: green and reverent green and manifestly green and replaceable come weather with your storms and sweep the slates off the roofs come with snow and hail smash through the collective sleep we are all enjoying in our beds our worn rationalizations come ice and form glaciers over the shadow banks and our drive for liquidity come through the cracks under the doors you desert with your sands fill our desolation up until it forms into a solid mass rise up over the search-and-rescue teams and our growth compulsion trickle into the control panels of the missiles and the missile defense systems into the think tanks and the hearts of internet trolls just leave the hedgehogs with their snuffling so that it may calm us come rising sea levels up over our shorelines both the developed and the undeveloped the homey lowland areas wash jellyfish into our soup bowls and ramshorn snails into our hair as we swim in each other’s direction panicked with our yearning for one another because almost nothing is left because it’s all gone and thoroughly soaked through with regrets finger-pointing and tranquilizers come earthquakes shatter the apartments which we built on the foundations of how we always did everything

香港國際詩歌之夜母語的邊界

來吧，荒野，闖入我們的家把窗戶打碎，進來吧用你的根莖和蟲豸，將我們的願望淹沒，淹沒垃圾分類系統、假牙套和還未支付的賬單，將你的沙沙作響的綠葉覆蓋我們，用你的孢子覆蓋我們，讓我們變綠：綠色而虔誠，綠色而具體，綠色而可替代。來吧，壞天氣，帶著你的風暴來臨，掀翻磚瓦，帶著雪和冰雹來，打破我們在床上享受的共眠和疲憊的解釋，來吧，冰將成團雲霧化為冰川，凝固我們對流動的追求。來吧，沙漠，帶著你的沙塵，穿過門上的縫隙，填滿我們的荒涼，直到變得僵硬。來吧，越過營救的隊伍，將擴張的衝動滲入鍵盤，導彈和導彈防禦系統，智囊團和網絡噴子的心臟，讓刺蝟留下吧，它們的喘息讓我們冷靜下來。來吧，逐漸上升的海平面，漫過我們的海岸：已開發的、未開發的、如家鄉般安逸的、有利可圖的平原地區，將水母衝到我們的湯碗裏，將郵差號角殼的蝸牛帶入我們的頭髮，當我們游向彼此，出於渴望驚慌地追逐，因為所剩無幾，一切已消失，徹底軟化，浸透了悔恨，追責和鎮靜劑。來吧，地震，震毀我們的公寓，建造在我們一直以來的積累之上。

International Poetry Nights in Hong Kong The Margins of the Mother Tongue

come tremors fill the mine shafts the end of work and the literature of redemption bury anger and affection and all manner of added values swallow up the memories come tremors hurry so that the bedrock covers us so we are covered with water desert weather and over everything that which covers all the wilderness (Translated from German by Monika Cassel)

香港國際詩歌之夜母語的邊界

來吧，地震，掩埋竪井的終結，和拯救了我們的讀物，埋葬憤怒，好感和所有的收穫，來吧，將記憶吞噬，地震，來得迅猛一點，讓岩石掩埋我們，掩埋水源沙漠天氣掩埋那掩埋一切一切的荒野（胡蔚

譯）

International Poetry Nights in Hong Kong The Margins of the Mother Tongue

Cascade of Joy because

there is a today and a now and the year gathered up within them: everything that was and never more shall be washes brilliant over us and lays itself like a rug over the tips of our disgruntlement our hurried duties all the misery of consumption so that the army ants desert they leave their state flee to us into this radiance in which enormous wall-stones arrest the wandering eye while the green the salamanders blasted into the noontime lures mortality and teases death bedded down there under the root death whom you can live with if you just know him and his deepest dream: today clear and certain and if you feed his demons resting on the sidelines with the glut of the present with twigs laden with ripe gratitude hand-picked sweetness and then bed their paws on blackberry leaves to draw the coursing blood from their heads so that they are forebearing about our audacious conversations about nothing but what can be seen or smelled what tickles us and makes us sneeze and blink with joy and scurry across the hot stones because we are salamanders and the light makes us shiver and shake ourselves again like brimming ponds in the rain that ripple just one more time before night stamps out the glow the blackberry leaves wilt and death takes us gently by the ear and we nod (Translated from German by Monika Cassel)

香港國際詩歌之夜母語的邊界

幸福的級聯因為存在今日現在以及濃縮其中的一年：所有已經過去和永不再現的東西都在我們身上絢爛地閃耀，如地毯一般覆蓋不滿的鋒芒，急迫的職責，所有關於消費的抱怨，以至於螞蟻士兵從他們的國土叛變逃向我們進入這道光芒，在巨大的牆石中，鎖住游移的目光同時，一群蠑螈在中午時分爆發的綠色將死亡引誘，從根底下挑逗死亡你可以與死亡共生，只要你瞭解他，知曉他最愛的夢境：這清晰而確定的今日，並用豐盛的現今餵養盤旋在邊緣的魔鬼以飽滿的感恩枝條和親自採摘的甜蜜將他們的巨爪放在黑莓葉上，從頭部吸走流動的血液使他們能夠寬容我們大膽的談話無非關於目之所及和味之所嗅那些使我們打噴嚏和眨眼的幸福迅速地在熾熱的石頭上跳躍的幸福因為我們是蠑螈，光讓我們顫慄又一次讓我們顫抖，像滿滿的池塘在雨中泛起漣漪又一次，在夜晚將熾熱冷卻，在黑莓葉枯萎之前死亡溫柔地抓住我們的耳我們點點頭（胡蔚

譯）

International Poetry Nights in Hong Kong The Margins of the Mother Tongue

Cascade of Forgetting you have to want it to start and to spread to want even the hole in the fence that you crawled through as a child to be impossible to find or that the day when the cat was run over goes away and also the joy of having found a kindred soul everything that’s still flickering that too you have to throw it right in and become one with everything that you don’t know any more with the person you no longer are with the vanishing of the day that was never supposed to end the list of things that you would miss the understanding of history that’s only a pattern of impressions the replacement parts for all of the appliances you’ve gotten rid of you have to get heavy row along in the eddies twist down deeper and forget all of your bristling opinions and the border between laying and being laid down standing and confessing failure forgiving forgoing being forgotten letting forget making be forgotten and being forgotten forgetter forgetters the forgotten like a crater that fills itself forgetting like drinking and drinking forgetting like forgetting (Translated from German by Monika Cassel)

香港國際詩歌之夜母語的邊界

遺忘的級聯你必須希望它開始蔓延以至於小時候鑽到戶外的籬笆洞不再可見，或貓被碾壓的那一天消失，甚至覓得一個親近靈魂的幸福也必須投入其中所有仍在閃爍的東西與一切人們不再知道的東西合而為一與那個你不再是的人與那個永不結束的日子和你想念事物的清單合而為一如果對歷史的理解僅僅是印跡的模式對金翅雀的召喚是沒有設備的替換部件你必須變得沉重在漩渦中划槳更深地旋轉遺忘所有頑固的想法遺忘放下與被放下，站立和已站立之間的界線忽視、寬恕、放棄，被遺忘、使遺忘使被遺忘、已被遺忘，遺忘的女人，遺忘的男人被遺忘的東西，如同一隻斟滿的希臘酒罐，遺忘了如何飲酒飲酒遺忘如何遺忘（胡蔚

譯）

International Poetry Nights in Hong Kong The Margins of the Mother Tongue

Cascade of Anger as if

through a sieve we fall through the weight that sinks back into our bodies when we wake: knives we no longer require for potential victories and deadly exits into the wilderness and sleep leads us to that which makes us naked it watches us from the wall as a black moth and watches us how we wriggle talk in our sleep how our teeth ache and we tie weights to our legs decline the anesthetic stammer that we are nothing really but bits of rock broken off a cliffside that wish to be worn down by the wind how we try to resurface hit our heads against the ice of this relentless sleep caught in taut sheets that exhaustion wraps us in so we can’t move we see it of course: the flickering of the matrix its poorly concealed margins we see time plummet over the edge – everything works against us we see that of course we won’t let it stand that one night is enough to dismantle us and reassemble us again (Translated from German by Monika Cassel)

香港國際詩歌之夜母語的邊界

憤怒的級聯彷彿通過一個篩子我們下墜通過重力當我們醒來，重力讓我們重新回到身體：不再需要的刀具為了可能的勝利和致命的出走睡眠引領我們進入荒野使我們裸露，它看著我們如一隻黑蛾，從牆上觀察我們如何掙扎在夢中說話我們的牙齒如何疼痛，我們在腿上綁上重物，拒絕麻醉、喃喃自語：我們只是從懸崖上脫落的岩石碎片，想被磨礪得平滑，我們如何努力浮出水面，腦袋撞上了無情的冰塊睡眠被緊繃的床單固定那是疲憊籠罩我們，使我們無法移動我們當然看到：矩陣的閃爍和它粗糙的邊緣我們看到時間墜落 —— 一切都對我們不利我們當然看到，但我們不會接受一夜足以分解我們然後重又組合我們（胡蔚

譯）

International Poetry Nights in Hong Kong The Margins of the Mother Tongue

Jiang Tao born in 1970, is a professor in the Department of Chinese Language and Literature at Peking University. He is the editor-in-chief of the academic journal New Poetry Review and has served as a visiting associate professor at the College of Arts and Sciences at Nihon University in Japan and the Department of Chinese Literature at National Tsing Hua University in Taiwan. He has published several academic and critical works, including Continuously Waking Up from a Hypnotic World, The Tower in the Apartment, Bakunin’s Hand, and New Poetry Collections and the Emergence of Modern Chinese Poetry. His poetry collections include A Day in the Cave, Bird Sutra, and Our Shared Beautiful Life. He has also edited and compiled volumes such as General Discussion of Chinese New Poetry (Volume 1) and Complete Collection of Chinese New Poetry (Volume 1).

香港國際詩歌之夜母語的邊界

姜濤 1970 年生，北京大學中文系教授，主持編輯學術集刊《新詩評

論》，曾任日本大學文理學部、台灣清華大學中文系客座副教授，出版學術及批評專著《從催眠的世界中不斷醒來》、《公寓裏的塔》、《巴枯寧的手》、《新詩集與中國新詩的發生》，詩集《洞中一日》、《鳥經》、《我們共同的美好生活》，編著《中國新詩總論》（第一卷）、《中國新詩總系》（第一卷）等。

International Poetry Nights in Hong Kong The Margins of the Mother Tongue

Convalescent Associations hustled all day just to bring back in cupped hands these little pink pills, blue pills heaped like so many buttons cloud buttons, Sparrow buttons, convict buttons falling jumbled from zhang zao’s poems, dispatched stealthily from some concentration camp it turns out a lifelong job is a labor intensive model —once it roiled the jiangnan water villages once it made soaring east asia collapse having worked it out this summer, my plan is to jog’round the bohai sea in the open economic zone without a soul, so fit for breathing in, breathing out, all alone (Translated from German by Josh Stenberg)

One Afternoon When I Was a Lecturer in pitch dark, how can a gaze so rashly distinguish: men from women, righteous from evil, insects from aliens time indulges from the left to right cheek and when it stops, school’s out, the speaker’s platform sinks like a cliff it turns out this world is enormous, hidden under every leaf is a student couple making out on the sly, while on that pond, which looks like someone pissed it there, though that’s not why it’s famous, float even larger tombs no prep needed, you can raise your voice, you can morph —but always be prepared,. since according to caller ID my metamorphosis must begin as a butterfly, and that’s no joke. (Translated from German by Josh Stenberg)

香港國際詩歌之夜母語的邊界

病後聯想奔波一整天，只為捧回這些粉色和藍色的小藥片它們堆在那兒，像許多的紐扣雲的紐扣、燕子的紐扣、囚徒的紐扣從張棗的詩中紛紛地掉了下來，從某個集中營裏被靜悄悄送了出來原來，終生志業只屬於勞動密集型 —— 它曾攪動江南水鄉它曾累垮過騰飛的東亞想清楚這一點今夏，計劃沿渤海慢跑那裏開發區無人，適合獨自吐納

一個作了講師的下午黑壓壓的一片，目光怎能這麼輕易就分出了類型：男與女、正與邪、昆蟲和外星人時光也從左臉放縱到右臉停下的時候，就下課了，講台像懸崖自動地落下原來，這世界大得很，每一片樹葉下都藏了一對偷吻的學生，在那一泡像被尿出的但並不因此而著名的湖上，也浮了更廣大的墳不需要準備，就可以放聲，就可以變形 —— 時刻準備著，但據來電顯示我的變形要從鱗翅目開始，也不輕鬆。

International Poetry Nights in Hong Kong The Margins of the Mother Tongue

A Day in the Cave living high enough now if you stretched out your hand seems like you could touch snow on the cave roof (this new apartment is a lot like a cave no matter how you look at it) no mauser, so just take a paintbrush and smear over the wall’s claw marks, new additions that hint at motherliness. in fine weather you can even lean from the cave’s mouth, the expanse on the capital’s fringe used to have an american tinge, cement to the horizon being poured forever into frames, cross-sections next, inserted precipitously into every home in site after site of the people’s cities the black dog jumps, swaps bites with the white dog. but where are you? early morning, a chipper personality draws blood again, squats mid-air gluing on green feathers: waiting for the tea to steep, for impromptu farts? for the beef to be thrown in the wok? for the electric drill to carol? wait a bit longer, the renovation squad’s on its way, shouldering ladders, rubbernecking over the wall the wash-cut-and-dry barber will come too (wearing new leather pants today) q & a with the birds: a day in the cave—how many years is that out there? looking outside the cave, the commuting millions corroborate their ant-like fate in the early morning ubiquitous, scrolling down screens, taking short-cuts competing for discord, scarfing down hot pancakes now raising, now depressing the earth’s surface is it thanks to them? rivers and mountains don’t change hue on the tv wall, higher def than twenty years back of course, the occasional person was trampled and long since picked themselves up from the long road, one after another they stride into the halls, the colleges, or else dress up like spiderman squirt long fibers from their wrists

香港國際詩歌之夜母語的邊界

洞中一日現如今，住的是足夠高了彷彿伸一伸手，就能摸到洞頂的雪（這新房怎麼看都更像一個山洞）沒有毛瑟槍，就拿把毛刷吧塗抹壁上幾道爪痕新添的，帶了一點母性。倘若天氣晴好，還能從洞口探身出去，這京郊大地原來有美洲風，水泥在天邊連續澆築了框架、斷面然後，又陡峭地、插入萬戶一處處的人民城郭有黑狗在跳、在和白狗咬。可你又在哪？一大早，好性格又傷過人，於是粘上綠毛蹲在半空：等了沏茶、放屁等牛肉下鍋？電鑽唱歌？再呆一會，裝修的隊伍就要來了，扛了梯子，壁上觀洗剪吹的師傅也要來了（今天換了一條新皮褲）鳥兒問答：洞中一日，外面多少年？看洞外，千萬上班族一大早，還是確認螻蟻命四面八方刷屏、抄近道比賽不團結，或咬了熱煎餅輪番升降地表多虧了他們，江山不變色在電視牆上，比 20 年前更高清間或，還有人扮演蜘蛛俠手腕彈出長長纖維

International Poetry Nights in Hong Kong The Margins of the Mother Tongue

bounced from beijing to settle in changping bless this pack of brats! may the beating heart remain uncongested in twenty years it’s still like a black cavern their trenches, their sofa beds perpetually moved beyond the mountains, and bless those old zones beyond the mountains flipping again to a new city, including those strenuously renovated hideous kitchens, hideous living rooms bless them so they may not crack, may not leak and that every floor revolves, piles up higher piles a new hill up, piles trees up to prop up heaven “country people hear lots of legends but know you can’t make them pay” thus spake the leader on the hill walking on furnishings, just like i’d heard: the renovation lasted half a day, no world revolution yet though everything’s changed in the cave-you stumbled, clambered up again cupped your fist in respect, gingerly tested the boards with your feet or stuck your head in the flowerpots waiting for it to rain? waiting for the unreturned? even with no incoming call your cell vibrates in your pants, over and over heedless of occasion, like a proposition, a query? (Translated from German by Josh Stenberg)

香港國際詩歌之夜母語的邊界

一下子，從北京彈落昌平保佑這幫壞小子！跳著的心臟不堵塞，20 年後還像一個個黑窟窿他們的戰壕、他們的沙發床持續搬到了山外，也保佑山外舊區又翻出一座新城包括那些費勁裝修出的寒磣的廚房、寒磣的客廳正一層又一層，旋轉了壘上新山崗，壘成了擎天樹「鄉下人聽傳奇故事都是一筆筆的狗肉賬」山崗上的領袖，如是說在架上行走，如是我聞：這裝修僅半日世上未革命，洞中已大變

—— 你跌倒、爬起、抱拳又輕跺了地板，抑或把腦袋塞進花盆等天下雨？等不歸人？可手機不來電也震顫在褲子裏，像一次次不分場合地求歡、求問

International Poetry Nights in Hong Kong The Margins of the Mother Tongue

Things That Travel by Night some claim that if you rub dust from a leaf you’ll find out the leaf was a dressing mirror this mirror has no shine, it rejects reflection dark green veins, like seal after engraved seal secretly etching out what you came from that’s why they fly here from all around along the railroad tracks, bridge arches, great unfinished beams rising and falling, also along the rank stench of wild things, once at the reservoir they dipped their faces to wash or maybe wore hardhats split into several small groups, their bodies mired in conversation, face stuck to face their sweet nothings mostly real and saved on their cell phones delivered to the starry sky or ethnic essence the swollen cerebellum downloads them all night but outside the five ring roads, it’s like europe in collapse darkness after sheet of darkness all those castles, towns, fortresses as they soar past i hear the faint engine’s roar hear the lowering of the crane’s boom and smell the atmosphere like it’s been sprayed with cheap air freshener you say that’s the smog lifting? no, not that it’s magma surging not so far away, warming jinyu gardens grass in the brick rifts, the lights about to blaze someone rubbing their legs together about to speak with a lovely beijing twang. (Translated from German by Josh Stenberg)

香港國際詩歌之夜母語的邊界

夜行的事物有人聲稱，擦去樹葉上的灰塵葉子本是梳妝鏡這鏡子本無光，拒絕反射暗綠的花紋，就是一枚枚圖章私刻了出身所以，他們從四外飛來沿了鐵路、橋洞、未完工的巨梁時起時落的，還有沿途那些臭烘烘的野味兒他們曾在水庫上，蘸水洗臉或戴了安全帽被分成若干小組，泥濘了身子在討論中，臉貼臉他們的悄悄話多半是真的被存進了手機被發送在星空和民族性裏被腫痛的小腦連夜下載可這五環以外，有點像潰亂的歐洲黑魆魆的一片片都是古堡、小鎮、要塞他們飛過時，我似乎聽到了引擎輕輕的轟鳴聽到了起重臂的落下也聞到大氣芬芳彷彿噴灑了便宜的清新劑你說那是霧霾再起？不是的，不是地火在湧動在不遠處，溫熱了金隅花園草叢與磚縫裏，即將燈火通明有人摩擦兩股即將說出漂亮的京白。

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International Poetry Nights in Hong Kong The Margins of the Mother Tongue

Summit it’s hopeless, this expected foreplay brief and insipid, new snowfall on our bodies, though not yet permeating not yet truly excited, the storm clouds have had their mattresses ripped off revealing a mansion which is only a humble dovecote opening towards the rest of life at least the appointed hour has not yet come we can take a break, have a gander: treetops hang with frost-red fruit beneath the lawn, the swimming club is buried this neighborhood’s scenery is so familiar like each detail has been dreamt even gleefully and repeatedly enjoyed though you say: actually it’s because the eyeball’s convexity is vapor-moistened, and to get from B2 to B3 you have to keep digging down, that’s where wealth betrays its core i mutter a few sentences, try some other refutation: in fact only poverty has the vulgarity to be tight-lipped we talk at cross purposes, we’ll clamber up instead play the roles of a hand-holding couple on the stripped steps picking out the swift strangers: look, that exhausted water-carrier carrying a huge barrel of suburban lake on his shoulder the courier service guy with the leaping eyebrows his lips show a smear of oily distant hills the locksmith with a crushed pinky finger has to work with his thumbs, pushes aside the springs beneath the leaves the napping nanny from anhui keeps fretting about the old widower and the pekinese dog who went with him to heaven

香港國際詩歌之夜母語的邊界

高峰沒奈何，這預料中的前戲乏味又短暫，一場新雪在我們身上，還沒深深浸潤過還沒真的興奮過，烏雲就被拆走了床墊露出的豪宅，不過是小戶鴿籠敞開向餘生好在，約定的時間未到可以先駐足參觀：樹梢上掛著凍紅的果實草地下，埋了游泳的會館這社區風物，竟如此熟悉像被一一夢到過甚至像被快樂地多次享用過你卻說：其實是眼球的凸面沾了水汽，從 B2 到 B3 只有向下挖掘，財富才露出它的核心我咕噥了幾句，嘗試另一種反駁：其實只有貧窮才俗氣地諱莫如深話不投機，還是一起攀登吧扮演牽手的夫婦，在裸體樓梯上辨別飄忽的陌生人：你看，那疲倦的運水夫肩扛了一大桶郊外的湖那眉毛高挑的快遞員唇上還賣弄一抹油膩的遠山那壓碎了小指的修鎖匠只能靠拇指工作，撥開樹葉下的彈簧那瞌睡的、來自安徽的小保姆則惦記起老鰥夫和他升天的哈巴犬跟我們一起攀登吧，陌生人

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International Poetry Nights in Hong Kong The Margins of the Mother Tongue

climb with us, stranger this building’s not much more than ten stories high the pleasure’s not much more than ten tons heavy why the racket, the thicket all the debts of an unfinished heart (we’ve been around the block) but who hasn’t managed to repay it in monthly installments? but there, iiber allen Gipfeln, the north wind once advanced its clever lies we ring the doorsbell: explain why we’ve come and discover to our surprise: the master bedroom encases the parlor, the leading man’s complexion crumbles, his slippers are on upside-down, on the white wall are the leading lady’s racing footprints (Translated from German by Josh Stenberg)

香港國際詩歌之夜母語的邊界

這高樓不過十幾層這快感不過十幾重甚麼吵吵嚷嚷、花花草草全是心頭未了的貸款（我們都是過來人）可有誰沒能按月地償清？但在那裏，一切的峰巔北風也曾強勁地狡辯我們按下門鈴，說明來意卻意外地發現：大臥室套著小客廳，男主人臉色闌珊反穿了拖鞋，白牆上有女主人疾行中的腳印

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International Poetry Nights in Hong Kong The Margins of the Mother Tongue

Lesley Harrison lives and works in a fishing village on Scotland’s north-east coast, and in her poetry and prose she records its layers of occupation, its languages, and its deep, ancient sense of being at the southern temperate edge of a much older, colder world. Her writing takes place among the soundscapes, migration routes, relics and settlements of the North Atlantic rim, and asks how our experience of these is thinned or altered in this age of sudden change. She has published six poetry collections including One Bird Flying, a sequence responding to the journals of Marco Polo, written while she lived in Mongolia. She has held writing residencies in Iceland, Greenland and Svalbard, the furthest reach of Scotland’s North Sea whaling fleet which sailed from harbours near her home. The whale, a half-fabulous, transient creature, recurs throughout her writing as a reminder of the real proximity of the marvellous, and of the very frail ecologies of our lived world. “Kitchen Music is a meticulously crafted Northern Hymnal … essential reading for anyone keen to understand why poetry remains a unique force for change on this planet.”

香港國際詩歌之夜母語的邊界

萊斯利•哈里森生活和工作在蘇格蘭東北海岸的一個漁村。她在詩歌和散文中記錄了這個地方的多重歷史、語言，以及更古老、更寒冷世界的南部溫帶邊緣地區的深遠而古老的存在感。她的寫作發生於北大西洋邊緣的聲景、遷徙路線、遺跡和定居點，探討我們在這個突變時代如何被稀釋或改變這些體驗。她已出版了六本詩集，包括《One Bird Flying》，這是她在蒙古居住期間對馬可波羅日記的回應。她曾在冰島、格陵蘭和斯瓦爾巴群島擔任寫作駐留。鯨魚，這種半虛構、瞬息萬變的生物，在她的寫作中反覆出現，提醒我們奇妙事物的真實接近，以及我們生活世界的脆弱生態。有評論家稱：「《Kitchen Music》是一部精心製作的北方讚美詩……對於任何渴望理解詩歌為何仍是這個星球上獨特變革力量的人來說，都是必讀之作。」

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International Poetry Nights in Hong Kong The Margins of the Mother Tongue

Prologue There is a moment at the end of the beginning when the self you were quietly unmoors and slips away, leaving you standing nameless, on a nameless beach. Your friends do not know you here. Your family have ceased to exist. You are travelling alone with someone like yourself who wears your clothes, and makes your footprints for you. A driver signals to a mule, and ties your bag below its saddle. All you have is in it. All you need will be given to you : water, food, sleep. A line of beasts grunts and shambles into file, kicking dirt, leading behind the first low hill, cutting off the shore wind and you sink into the roll of the desert, knuckling your camel’s back, eyes to the ground, wary of snake holes, the sliding dunes, the hard gilt sun; the boat that brought you now just a shape on the horizon tilting dipping slowly

gone.

香港國際詩歌之夜母語的邊界

序章起初有結束一刻當你原來的自己悄悄地解纜及溜走，讓你無名地站立，在無名的海灘上。你的朋友不知道你在這裏。你的家人已經不在了。你和穿著你的衣服，為你留下你的腳印像你一樣的人，獨自旅行。司機向騾子打信號，然後把你的背包捆在車座下面。你所擁有的一切都在其中。你需要的一切都會給你：水、食物、睡眠。一排野獸咕噥，蹣跚地排成一列，踢著泥土，通往第一座矮山後面，切斷海岸風然後你陷入沙漠的翻滾之中，敲打你的駱駝的背脊，眼睛盯著地面，當心蛇洞、變化的沙丘、刺眼的金色陽光；帶你來的船如今只是地平線上的一個形狀傾側慢慢下沉消失。（鄭政恆

譯）

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From the journals of Marco Polo, Book II.83 The Mongol way of hunting is not to fire at herds; for perhaps a higher spirit lives in the body of a wild gazelle and its light and holiness now gather other animals round it. Instead, a Mongol will spend all day riding round the group, breaking it up slowly allowing it to form and form again hiding in sun shadows flowing like brown wind over hills interweaving changing foot unwinding till one or two veer away, separate the others shying off in clouds of dust, losing themselves in distances. These dull beasts, cast off by the rest may now be shot, their souls released.

香港國際詩歌之夜母語的邊界

選自《馬可波羅日記》，第 II.83 卷蒙古人的狩獵方式是不向獸群開火；也許是為了活在野瞪羚身體內更高的精神及其光明和聖潔現在把其他動物聚集在它周圍。反而，蒙古人會花一整天一組人繞著騎行，慢慢地分散讓它一次又一次組合躲在陽光的陰影裏像棕色的風吹過山丘交織放鬆換腳直到一兩個人改變方向、分開其他人則在塵土飛揚中回避，在距離中迷失自我。這些遲鈍的獸，被其他動物拋棄了如今可能被槍殺，它們的靈魂得釋放。（鄭政恆

譯）

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International Poetry Nights in Hong Kong The Margins of the Mother Tongue

Lament I dreamed I saw a ship full sail And on the deck a narrow man And on the sea a winter sun And in an hour; my boy was gone. If I could gather all the blue That hides the surface of the sea I’d fold it into yards of stone And build a wall, and build me in. His hands are creels of whelk and weed His eyes are pebbles on the shore And when the sea runs white in June I’ll wear its ribbons in my hair. He’s far away behind the wind He’s at the thin edge of the moon He’s out beyond the rolling haar Wait. Wait for me there—

香港國際詩歌之夜母語的邊界

哀歌我夢見一艘滿帆的船甲板上有個瘦小男人和海上的冬日陽光一個小時後；我的兒子不見了。如果我能收集所有隱藏海面的藍色我會把它拌入幾碼的石頭築起一道牆，把我放進去。他的雙手是一簍簍的蛾螺和雜草他的眼睛是岸邊的鵝卵石當六月海水泛白時我會把它的絲帶戴在頭髮上。他在風的後面很遠他在月亮的薄邊他在滾滾的哈霧之外等一等。在那裏等我 —— （鄭政恆

譯）

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International Poetry Nights in Hong Kong The Margins of the Mother Tongue

From ‘Native Customs’ David Hawthorn Cardno, Journals of whaling and sealing voyages. 31st December 1869. University of Aberdeen Manuscripts Collection, Ref No MS 3090/3

the young ice was made that we could travel the most prudent course was to bear this morning, as during the night these long dense fogs, which made us anxious her husband all through was kind to her for two weeks, helpless and starving an igloo was made, and into it all that was comfortable was taken out it is the custom to leave everything no one may enter the place of the dead all huts removed from the corpse she met his view erect, eyes staring we rolled her in her own skin, a blanket and buried on the other side, beyond this dark and outer boundary of earth and then we returned on board ship.

香港國際詩歌之夜母語的邊界

選自《原住民風俗》大衛 ‧ 霍索恩 ‧ 卡德諾，《捕鯨與捕海豹航行日記》。 1869 年 12 月 31 日。阿伯丁大學手稿收藏，參考編號 MS 3090/3

剛開始形成的冰是我們可以旅行的最謹慎的做法是忍受今天早上，如晚上一樣這些長長的濃霧，令我們焦慮她的丈夫一直對她很好兩個星期以來，無助又飢餓建造了一座冰屋，並進入其中所有舒服的東西都被拿出去拋棄一切是習俗任何人不得進入死者之所在所有小屋都從屍體上拆走她直視他的視線，眼睛盯著我們把她捲入她自己的皮膚，一條毯子埋在另一邊，越過地球的這個黑暗的外圍邊界然後我們就返回上船。（鄭政恆

譯）

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The Snow Queen [extract] ‘A preterist: one who collects old nests’. Vladimir Nabokov, Pale Fire.

Spring The sun paints the sides of trees a lead along their joints. now the seasons roll back; the ground yields up its bodies. a raven beats its black wings. the larch, its mild arthritis. Gerda she dances in daylight a blank sunny surface as pure as a doll shoeless, forgetful the strange old woman The sun stops at the lintel where she wavers, mild and faded in the rain her redpoll nest, her bright blank windows neat in the tropics of her garden. Her eyes glow like tail lights in the distance. Come in, my child, come in. freeze But who saw the children disappear? Who runs for lanterns and torches? Who feels the jolt of their absence? Who searches cars at the border? How smoothly our story continues! The days fit neatly together, the year rolls forward to its close. How easily our grief grows old! How seamlessly the wound closes over!

香港國際詩歌之夜母語的邊界

《雪之女王》[節選] 「末世預言實現論者：收集舊巢的人」。弗拉基米爾‧納博科夫，《微暗的火》。

春天陽光繪畫樹木的側面沿著他們關節的引線。如今季節倒回；大地讓出自己的身體。一隻烏鴉拍打黑色翅膀。落葉松，有輕度關節炎。

葛達她在白天跳舞空白而和煦的外觀像洋娃娃般純潔赤足、健忘

奇怪的老婦太陽停在門楣她踟躕的地方，溫和且褪色在雨中她的紅頭鳥雀巢，她明亮的空虛的窗戶整潔的在她花園的熱帶區。她的眼睛發亮像遠處的尾燈。進來吧，我的孩子，進來吧。

凍結但誰看見孩子消失了？誰跑去拿燈籠和火把？誰感受到他們缺席帶來的震驚？誰在邊境檢查汽車？我們的故事繼續得多麼順利啊！日子過得井然有序，一年將盡。我們的悲傷多麼容易變老！傷口癒合得多麼順利！

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Kai Poor Kai. Tired by his dreams, he woke and found himself asleep speeding north in great white darkness deeper and deeper through the ice. She turns, and draws the boy child towards her, lavishing with cold his hair, his wrists, his puny legs. He crawls up inside her fur. She kisses him into a kind of death. the Finland woman she lives between stone and air here, with the world behind her sitting at her borealis stove milling winds, the sun loose on its bearings. Her whale lamp swings from the ribs of her ceiling. Outside, the hard blue ocean. She snaps her fingers, and water boils.

香港國際詩歌之夜母語的邊界

凱可憐的凱。為自己的夢疲憊不堪，他醒來發現自己入睡了在極白的黑暗中高速向北穿過冰層越來越深。她轉身，把男孩拉向她自己，他的髮、他的腕、他瘦小的腿都被寒冷傾注。他爬進她的皮毛裏。她吻他，讓他陷入一種死亡之中。

芬蘭女人她居住在石頭和空氣之間在這裏，和她身後的世界坐在她的北極光牌爐邊磨著風，太陽的方位鬆動了。她的鯨魚燈搖晃在她天花板的肋拱上。外面，是嚴寒的藍色海洋。她打了個響指，水沸騰。（鄭政恆

譯）

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Weather Reports You Vatnasafn / Library of Water, by Roni Horn, with interviews by Oddný Eir Ævarsdóttir. Stykkishómlur, Iceland.

1. My favourite weather is a north easterly blizzard. This feeling is comfortable. I enjoy being in a breeze, or a drizzle out at sea. The weather is the sea. 2. A north easterly is usually our best weather. It is bright and clear. The air is deep blue and fresh, like the good weather that follows a good catch, or a good wedding. Every moment is a new thing. 3. In summer, I get fed up with light. I feel full, over-satiated, like being in a closed room. The sky is empty. You have to move around. You have to be with other people. 4. The weather is part of my body. I shift my position in my chair according to the weather. I feel fine in calm, foggy weather. Then I can smell the sun. Talking about the weather is talking about oneself. 5. There is no weather in dreams. In dreams we move like fish in water, without resistance. When we wake up, we are sluggish. 6. It is a wonderful time of year when the darkness is coming. It is when the sea starts moving. In August, when it gets dark at night, it is as if I am growing up further back in time. You feel that summer was a long time ago. 7. When it snows, the sky drops down to the village. This frightens me a little. After a storm, or a death at sea, the wind might drop and immediately it seems as if nothing had happened. Then grief is uncomfortable.

香港國際詩歌之夜母語的邊界

天氣向你報告 Vatnasafn / 水之圖書館，Roni Horn 著，Oddný Eir Ævarsdóttir 採訪。冰島斯蒂基松姆呂爾。

我最喜歡的天氣是東北暴風雪。這種感覺舒服。我喜歡在微風之中，或是在海上的細雨中。天氣就是大海。

東北風通常是我們的最佳天氣。明亮而清晰。空氣呈深藍色而清新，像豐收的魚獲或盛大的婚禮後，迎來的好天氣。每一刻都是新事物。

夏天，我厭倦了陽光。我感覺滿滿的，過度飽足的，就像在密閉房間裏。天空是空的。你必須四處走動。你必須和其他人在一起。

天氣是我身體的一部分。我根據天氣改變自己在椅子上的位置。在平靜、有霧的天氣裏，我感覺良好。然後我就能聞到陽光的味道。談論天氣就是談論自己。

夢裏沒有天氣。在夢裏，我們像魚在水中移動，毫無阻力。當我們醒來時，我們遲鈍。

當黑暗來臨時，這是一年之中的美好時刻。這是大海開始移動之時。八月，當黑夜來臨，我彷彿朝過去成長。你感覺夏天已經是很久以前的事了。

下雪的時候，天空掉到村莊去。這讓我有點害怕。在暴風雨或海上的死亡之後，風可能會減弱，然後立刻就像甚麼也沒發生過。其後悲傷讓人不安。

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8. After a very cold Spring followed by a few good days, you fill up with a kind of joy. The world feels settled and empty. 9. The currents affect your dreams, as does the tide, and the moon. 10. Weather is reflection and measure. Stories about the weather create false memories, conditioned by time, by a certain blindness. Our weather is always in the present. It is word-of-mouth.

香港國際詩歌之夜母語的邊界

經歷了十分寒冷的春天後，又過了美好的幾天，你心裏充滿喜悅。世界感覺安定而空虛。

水流影響你的夢，就如潮汐和月亮。

10.

天氣是反映和測量。關於天氣的故事，產生虛假的記憶，受時間和某種視而不見所制約。我們的天氣總是在當下。這是口耳相傳。（鄭政恆

譯）

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Song Sang “Then how are we speaking now, I asked, although not in those words. We aren’t, she responded.” Ben Lerner, The Stone

like fine rain accumulating, little by little the adult practicing before Spring

lik smoorie ren faa’in, sip on sip the elder linkin afore Spring

filling the world with tree. the tree is formed from its singing.

fillin the roun wi tree. the tree is warked from its lippin.

its world is constantly beginning. its song is everything at once a singing of its whole self

its roun is ay beginnin. its sang is aathin aa thigither a tirl o its hale sel

lulling and crowing, mimicking the wind in its pitch

yaggin an yafflin, towtin the wind in its note

mouthing Os, fleshing out the rush of air in leaves this temporary sun.

moothin Os, bingin up the hosh o air in scrub this brief-blink sun.

what song will I sing?

fit sang will I sing?

香港國際詩歌之夜母語的邊界

歌「那我們現在怎麼說話呢，我問，儘管不是用那些話。我們不，她回答。」本．勒納《石頭》

像細雨一點一滴積累春季前練習的成年人讓世界充滿樹木。樹由其歌聲形成。樹的世界不斷創始。樹的歌聲是一切同時發生完整自我的歌聲平靜和啼叫，模仿風的音調嘴型假唱 Os，充實樹葉中的空氣吹送這暫時的陽光。我將會唱哪首歌？（鄭政恆

譯）

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Msayo Koike born in Tokyo in 1959, has been writing poetry, novels, and essays since Msayo Koike’s first collection of poetry, Mizu no Machi kara Arukidashite (start walking from the city of water), and is currently a lecturer at Rissho University and Musashino Art University (Language Expression and Criticism). She received the Takami Jun Literary Award for her fourth volume of poetry, More Sensual Room, and later the Hagiwara Sakutaro Award for her volume of poetry, Kolkata, which was inspired by a trip to Kolkata, India. Her short story collection Tatado (the name of a seaside in Shizuoka Prefecture) won the Kawabata Yasunari Prize for Literature, and her full-length novel Tamamono (an extraordinary gift) won the Izumi Kyoka Prize for Literature. Her latest novel is Kutakake (about a disturbing man and a chicken who join the family / 2023), and her latest collection of poems is Red Cow and Mass (2020). In recent years, she has been working on Japanese classical literature, especially waka poetry, and is now writing a modern novel based on waka poetry and a modern translation of waka poetry, moving back and forth between the modern and ancient worlds.

香港國際詩歌之夜母語的邊界

小池昌代 1959 年生於日本東京深川，畢業於津田塾大學國際關係學科。

大學畢業就職後開始詩歌寫作，至今已出版詩集、小說集和繪本等數十種。1989 年與詩人林浩平、渡邊十絲子創辦同仁詩歌雜誌《Mignon》。1997 年首本詩集《永遠不來的公交車》獲得第 15 屆「現代詩花椿獎」，2000 年詩集《最性感的房間》獲得第 30 屆「高見順現代詩獎」，2001 年隨筆集《誘惑到房頂》獲得第 17 屆講談社散文獎，2008 年詩集《Baba、Basara、Saraba》獲得第 10 屆「小野十三郎詩歌獎」，2010 年，為配合日本 NHK 電視台前往印度、印度尼西亞當地採訪時創作的詩集《加爾各答》獲得第 18 屆「萩原朔太郎詩歌獎」。其中小說《多多戶》獲得第 33 屆「川端康成文學獎」。小池昌代被認為是日本現代文壇跨文本寫作最作活躍和令人注目的詩人和作家之一，同時還兼任過幾所大學的特聘教授。

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Antelope It was the autunm of my fifth year when I encountered the antelope In the hot springs spa deep in the Hodaka mountain range The antelope silently drew near Through the steam it looked at my naked body I too stared at the antelope Separated from the herd an antelope Me completely on my own I scooped up hot water from the spa in the palm of my hand And threw it at the antelope It was a greeting in lieu of language but The antelope seemed a little startled When I saw the furry chest of the antelope wet with hot water I felt as if the solitude of the antelope had moistened The wind swept across I leaves on the trees shook Finally the antelope silently turned around Silently sprang up and returned to the mountains To the spa in my dreams In the dead of night gently I put my into the hot water Through the steam opposite I can hear faint steps That antelope Returns each time Not looking at anything with its cosmic vast eyes Drops of water from its furry chest Dripping drip drip (Translated from Japanese by Leith Morton)

香港國際詩歌之夜母語的邊界

斑羚在穗高山區深處的溫泉與斑羚相遇在五歲的秋天斑羚悄無聲息地靠近看著熱氣中赤裸的我我也緊緊盯著斑羚離群索居的斑羚孤零零的我我用手掬起一捧溫泉水把它潑向斑羚這本是代替語言的問候斑羚卻好像有點兒驚慌當我看到被熱水打濕的斑羚的胸毛感覺斑羚的孤單也被打濕了風兒吹過樹葉搖晃終於，斑羚靜靜地轉過身默默跳躍著回到了山裏我走向幻想中的溫泉深夜裏，悄悄向水中探出腳趾熱氣對面就傳來幽幽的足音那時的斑羚一定會再來它空茫的宇宙之眼不見一物胸前的毛皮還嘀嗒嘀嗒答地淌著水珠（田原劉沐暘譯）

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Higashi-Kitazawa When the train pulled into the station an announcement came over the loudspeaker “This train will wait for an express train to pass” The door opened Many insect songs flooded in from the grass outside They must have been singing for quite a while The insect songs filled the train car People’s voices mixed in here and there Autumn is coming close As I was thinking of the season to follow, like the next station stop the doors closed all at once and slowly the train began to move from the small station called Higashi-Kitazawa on the Odakyu-line That short span of time when everything paused – people, luggage, premonitions, and chatter Just the insect songs moved forward to the next station, to the station after that, and farther on Someday before the speed throws me off I want to write poetry, I thought, lining up words that are anchored in time in the direction the insect songs are leading (Translated from Japanese by Takako Lento)

香港國際詩歌之夜母語的邊界

東北澤電車剛停在這個車站就響起了廣播：「由於等待快車通過，將在本站短暫停車」車門打開從外面的草叢傳來無數蟲子的叫聲很久以前就開始在叫吧蟲鳴充滿了車廂還時時夾雜著人的聲音秋天近了像想著下一站我想著下一個季節車門一齊關閉電車慢慢駛離離開小田急線·東北澤這個小站人、行李、氣息、話語一切都停下來的那一瞬只有蟲子的叫聲繼續向前到下一站、下下一站，一直向前總有一天在被速度甩下之前我想寫首詩積攢起偶爾停泊的語言向著蟲鳴的方向被引導著前行（田原劉沐暘譯）

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The Bus that May Never Come In the morning, I wait for the bus. Azaleas are blooming. The Toei Bus is taking so long to come. Three, four, and more people begin to wait, In May the bus takes so long to come. We crane our necks towards the same far direction, Four of us, then five, it’s eight twenty. Then at last we’ll see a little piece of green over the bridge, growing bigger and bigger to turn into one whole bus driving towards us. Eyes tightened from waiting loosen up. Five, six, gather around the bus-stop, Six, seven, get on the bus, heads bent. It’s a wonder something you’ve waited for actually comes to you― Waiting for something that never comes is my trade. After getting on the bus, you’ll notice a woman, who didn’t move and missed the bus, is still at the bus-stop, waiting. What might rise from beyond the bridge had become, some time, like hope. Her mud-splattered skirt billows in the wind. It gets cloudy and sunny while busses pass by, and this morning again in the dusty town chimneys reaching up the sky: Torn from the place, toward the next bright bus-stop we’ll be meekly carried away. (Translated from Japanese by Taeko Kakihara)

香港國際詩歌之夜母語的邊界

永遠不來的公交車早晨，我等公交車杜鵑花正在綻放都營公交車老也不來三個人、四個人，等車的人在越來越多五月的公交車老也不來人們都把脖子伸往一個方向四個人、五個人、八點二十分可算來了從大橋對面，一片綠色漸漸膨脹開來，變成公交車駛來放鬆一下因等待而睜累的眼睛五個人，六個人，來到車站六個人，七個人，低頭上車上了車我才注意到等待的事情總會來到，這事兒真是奇妙等待不來的東西卻是我的工作沒趕上車的女人還一個人在車站等著吧等著公交車從大橋對面緩緩爬升那是一種類似希望的東西 —— 車會來的沾著泥土的裙子被風吹起觀望間陽光忽明忽暗城市灰濛濛的煙囪今天早上也伸向天空我們在那裏被拆散溫馴地被運往，充滿希望的下一站（田原劉沐暘譯）

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Feed In the morning, when I opened the frosted glass window I saw crusts of toasted bread on the veranda uh That’s feed placed for birds by him They were all curled since they were crusts off slices Three or four of them were placed, nicely spread about I wondered why on earth this unceremonious scenery moved me Will the birds come? The birds may not come It may be that I missed them even though they came Far from such hopes, expectations, purposes the feed was arranged as if any other way were out of the question with such certainty and freedom freedom – I did not expect to use this word in this manner in this context But it was surely freedom of being What hands placed the feed like this? What heart owns those hands? (Translated from Japanese by Takako Lento)

香港國際詩歌之夜母語的邊界

餵食早晨，推開磨砂玻璃發現陽台上掉著烤過的麵包邊兒啊原來是他為鳥兒放的餌料因為是麵包邊兒，每一塊，都彎成一個直角這擱三塊，那放四塊錯落有致地撒在各處我的心為這簡簡單單的風景所觸動到底是為甚麼呢？鳥兒會來嗎？鳥兒可能不會來也可能已經來過了只是沒注意到麵包邊兒遠離那些各種各樣的期待推測與目的餌料的分布就像除此之外絕無可能一樣放置得異常篤定並且，自由自由，此刻我並沒想過要把這個詞語這樣使用但那確實是一種自由的存在方式像這樣放置餌料的是一隻怎樣的手呢手的背後又是一顆怎樣的心呢（田原劉沐暘譯）

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Yoshida Now completely senile, Grandmother has lost the frowning wrinkles between her brows. A charming face. The sort of charm that’s as uncertain as a balloon that might fly away at any time. She calls her son, “sensei (Teacher).” Sensei is her first love. She has become a student named “Yoshida.” Yoshida is her maiden name. I was waiting for him in the windy schoolyard…… It was lunch time Sensei came and said to me “Yoshida, have you eaten lunch?” “Yoshida, have you eaten lunch?” I hadn’t eaten anything, but . . . . I always said to him . . . . “Yes, I have.” “Yes, I’ve already eaten.” Grandmother does not say why she was not able to eat her lunch. She seems to think that is not the point at all. She tells the story many times, happily and bashfully. She has forgotten the circumstances in which she had to fib, but just remembers the beguiling fact of fibbing. What a steamy, happy outcome. (One’s maiden name is a shining ticket one has thrown away in a distant land) In the wind-blown schoolyard Miss Yoshida, you fibbed, didn’t you? Grandmother’s dried-out poop rolls out of her chest of drawers. Even in these instances Grandmother simply smiles. Even if I yell, “Grandma!” she does not even turn to me. “Yoshida!” Only his strong voice addressing her is reverberating in her brain. (Translated from Japanese by Takako Lentoa)

香港國際詩歌之夜母語的邊界

吉田完全痴呆之後，祖母眉間的縱皺消失了。好可愛的臉。這可愛像是氣球飄悠悠不知道要飛到哪兒去，讓人放不下心來。她管兒子叫「老師」。老師是祖母的初戀。祖母自己則是女學生「吉田」。「吉田」是祖母娘家的姓氏。風兒吹過校園，我在等待…… 午休時間…… 老師走過來，對我說：「吉田，吃中午飯了嗎？」「吉田，吃中午飯了嗎？」雖然我甚麼都沒吃…… 但老師問我的時候我一定會這樣回答…… 「嗯，已經吃過了。」「早就已經，吃過了。」祖母沒說過不吃中午飯是為了甚麼。看起來，重點不在那裏。她開心又羞澀，講了一遍又一遍。忘了不得不撒謊的理由，只記得有撒謊這件事兒。真是個熱氣騰騰的，幸福的結尾。（娘家的姓氏是早就扔掉的閃光的車票）風兒吹過校園吉田同學，你撒謊了吧！祖母拉的硬塊狀的大便從衣櫃裏骨碌碌地滾了出來。就算在這樣的時候，祖母也只是笑眯眯的。喊她，奶奶！她也不回頭。「吉田！」只有這聲堅定的呼喚在祖母的腦中回蕩。（田原劉沐暘譯）

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Pincushion “Inside the pincushion is human hair imbued with camellia oil, you know Look, as I pull out the needle that has been stuck there a long strand of hair comes along with it that startles me when it happens” When I ask her whose hair that is, Grandmother tells me “I don’t know – some of mine, and some from other women, too” When she said other women Grandmother’s nape shines On a thundering summer evening I lift the lid of her sewing box Here’s a pair of thread scissors this is a prick punch a thimble is here cotton thread and silk thread Threading through the eye of a needle is my job Grandmother’s eyes cannot see Since her birth they’ve simply been a pair of depressions I lick the tip of thread and twist it to insert it, by sharpening my mind into the eye to the other side sewing is fun inserting and pulling Joy of penetration When she learns the needle is threaded Grandma always laughs as if ready to collapse Thank you, dear I am only thirteen yet but I’ve known penetration for quite a while

香港國際詩歌之夜母語的邊界

插針包插針包裏面塞著的是塗滿山茶油的人的毛髮呀你看把插在上面的針拔出來時長長的頭髮就像跟針換了個位置冒出來嚇人一跳是誰的頭髮呢我問祖母祖母說不知道呀有我的頭髮，也有其他女人的頭髮說到「其他女人」時祖母的後脖頸閃閃發光夏日午後雷聲隆隆打開針線盒的蓋子這是剪線用的剪子這是小錐子頂針是這個棉線、絲線把線穿過針眼，是我的任務祖母的眼睛看不見打生下來就這樣那裏只是，凹陷的窟窿。沾上唾沫，捻著線頭聚精會神地穿過針眼把線送到對面裁縫真有趣針頭扎穿再拔出來有種貫通的喜悅知道線穿過了針眼祖母總是一瞬間笑開了花謝謝呀雖然我才十三歲卻早就知道了貫通的滋味但是

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but that is just pain for me Men get on top of me and prick me with needle tips one stitch another stitch sewn in when the thread is pulled out it makes a sound like rubbing against cloth sssh, sssh fire starts fricatives are sensual when that happens Grandmother, too, silently narrows her eyes and smiles like a cat and deliberately yells Your body is not your own, you fool I am a steel virgin machine However often I get penetrated I regenerate like a lake I regenerate I am a rotten virgin machine pink plastic pieces come falling from the sky When she was about to finish sewing a kimono Grandmother was called and walked away Time was up Still midway, but leaving no regrets, making no protests she stuck the needle back into the cushion She was summoned That was in October of the 17th year of Heisei (2005) With fierce eyes she shot me a glance and disappeared beyond the screen door Left inside the pincushion was faceless women’s hair imbued with camellia oil (Translated from Japanese by Takako Lento)

香港國際詩歌之夜母語的邊界

那對我而言只不過是痛苦男人們覆上我的身體用凸起的針尖戳我一針又一針縫了下去拔線的時候想必響起的是布料摩擦的聲音咻、咻地燃起了火摩擦音充滿肉慾不說話的祖母在這時也眯起眼睛，笑得像隻貓然後緩緩地怒吼一聲你的身體不是你的東西你這蠢貨我是鐵製的處女機器無論被貫穿多少次都能再生就像是湖泊總能恢復原狀我是腐爛的處女機器粉紅色的塑料碎片從天而降終於，還差一點兒和服就縫好了的時候被祖母呼喚著，我起身出發時間到了還沒縫完呢沒有留戀，不加抵抗哧一聲把針插回針包就有人來叫我這是平成十七年十月的事用可怕的眼神向我投以一瞥便消失在拉門那頭留在插針包裏面的是沾滿山茶油的沒有臉的女人們的頭髮（田原劉沐暘譯）

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Starchy Water even when you die you should keep yourself neat, he would say snip, snip, go his scissors busily clipping hair and shaving faces not his own (in China they shave people down to their earlobes) and lived to the age of one hundred and two the barber in Hutong those who grow a forest in their ears live long and his was a standing job to the very end I knew him, he was in a movie, played by an actor. When I first met him, he said let’s have dinner together, it’s my birthday. He was only ninety-eight then. He’s dead now. I miss him. the babe in the hills carries a star on its back flower time belongs to the flower the two of us were on the thirty-seventh floor in Ark Hills, a far cry from down-to-earthness listening to an unknown guitarist playing Albéniz I change my hairdresser from time to time hence my instability the secret of leading a stable life is to stick to one hairdresser In the evening after work I feel like a drink. I miss the smell of human beings and go downtown. When there is no one I can share a drink with, still there is music. Then, Albéniz is the man for you. It’s good to have a job. so she says in a sing-song voice music washes away the dregs of labour I don’t need to make a lot, just enough to live on, a small job, like the barber in Hutong. making too much money warps you today in China many people are suffering because of this soberly, we look out of the window the evening clouds, grey-brown, glow orange and change shape like a screensaver, I say to myself, and think of the astronaut, a woman

香港國際詩歌之夜母語的邊界

淘米水人就算死的時候他說，也得收拾的乾乾淨淨才行用剪刀，唰唰唰忙忙碌碌地給人剪頭髮、刮臉（在中國連耳垂都要刮到）就這樣活了一百零二歲的衚衕裏的剃頭師傅耳朵裏長森林的人長壽而且還一直站著幹活兒「我認得他。都給拍成電影了，請哪個演員來演的。我第一次見到他的時候，他跟我說，今天過生日，一起吃個晚飯吧。那時候他才九十八。現在人沒了呀。我想他。」山裏的小孩兒背著星星花的時間屬於花我們在遠離地面的方舟之丘三十七樓聽無名的吉他手彈奏阿爾貝尼斯我時常更換理髮店所以不穩定讓人生安穩的秘訣是，總去同一家理髮店「白天上班，到了傍晚就想喝酒。想聞聞人身上的味道，所以跑去市中心。就算沒有一個人能陪我喝酒，但是有音樂。就為了這種時候，才需要阿爾貝尼斯。有工作真好。」她神魂顛倒地說洗去勞動淤水的音樂不用賺那麼多，差不多維持生活，零碎的工作就行，就像衚衕裏的剃頭匠。人賺了大錢就變了性子中國現在有好多人因此而痛苦呢兩人一臉認真看著窗外黃昏時分灰褐色的雲，一邊被染成橘色一邊移動就像是屏幕保護程序，這樣想著的我從壞掉的宇宙飛船裏被拋進宇宙的黑暗中還想著女性宇航員的事

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flung into dark space from a broken-down spacecraft thinking of the barber of Hutong, I wash rice every day, yesterday and today and the time it takes for the starchy water to clear I spill from the edge of the rice-cooker bowl, drip after drip the secret of the night of the firefly hunt grass time belongs to the grass I no longer wish to own anything, not even words I imagine myself a speck of dust in space in a weightless world, having renounced return this is what I enjoy doing every night a practising rather than a pleasure my floating self my gravestone ‘Forlorn, I go outside and gaze around / Everywhere the same loneliness, autumn evening’ leaving Earth, I gaze around and see the word ‘loneliness’ turn to dust and then to atoms of dust, same as me once upon a time I destroyed a bird’s nest once upon a time I poured water into an ants’ dwelling once upon a time I dumped a piano off a cliff, and a human being, too only the last hasn’t struck bottom yet a discontinued bus route a distortion in a stone far out at sea they say you cannot hear music in space but still music flows through the memory, and Albéniz a world where you no longer need to answer questionnaires or respond to RSVP postcards the darkness, all around, smells of Chinese ink that day the barber in Hutong died after eating a dish of tofu, hot from the pan I remember the steam still rising from his half-finished plate (Translated from Japanese by Yoko Abe)

香港國際詩歌之夜母語的邊界

在思考衚衕剃頭師傅的同時我我無論昨天還是今天每天都在淘米直到淘米水變清澈的這段時間我把它從電飯鍋內膽的底部漏掉，漏掉了捉螢火蟲的夜晚的秘密草的時間屬於草已經不想擁有任何東西包括語言於放棄回歸的無重力世界想像成為宇宙塵埃的自己這是我每天晚上的樂趣與其說是樂趣不如說是練習漂浮著的自己就是自己的墓標耐不得寂寞，走出草庵環顧四周，到處都是一樣蕭瑟的秋日黃昏我走出地球，環顧四周連孤獨這一詞彙都化成了灰終會歸於微塵，還有我以前我弄壞了鳥巢真是對不住廢止的公交車路線海中央石頭的歪曲以前我往螞蟻洞裏灌過水以前我把鋼琴扔下了斷崖，還有人只是這些還無法觸及谷底雖說宇宙中聽不到聲音即使如此，音樂也會在記憶中回蕩，還有阿爾貝尼斯已經不必再回答調查問卷也不用再提交缺席明信片的世界這篇黑暗到處都是墨汁的氣味衚衕裏的剃頭師傅那天吃了熱乎乎的豆腐菜就死了吃剩的盤子還冒著熱氣呢（田原劉沐暘譯）

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Lü De’an born in 1960, is a poet and painter. In the early 1980s he founded the poetry society “Friday” with fellow poets and painters, and he became a key member of the famous Nanjing poetry society “Them,” publishing the poetry collections Paper Snake, The Other Half of Life, and North and South during this period. In 1992 he moved to New York City, where he made a living through painting and wrote the long poem “Mankato.” In 1994 he won the first Them Literary Award, and returned to his hometown Beifeng, Fujian, in the same year, to build a home in the mountains and write the long poem “Right Place.” He has also devoted significant time to painting and drama, participating in the Beijing Mousen Drama Workshop. In 1998 he went abroad again, publishing the collections Stubborn Stone, and, in 2011, Right Place. Also in 2011 in Yunnan he received the Gaoligong Poetry Chairman’s Award, and in 2014 won the October Literature Award and the Tianwen Poetry Award. In 2013, he established a studio in Beijing to focus on painting. In 2016, he published Pieces of Clay in Two Colors, and in 2018 he published the essay collection On the Mountain: Writing Poetry, Painting, Building Houses. In 2019 he received the Dong Dangzi Poetry Award, and in 2020 he won the Dayi Literature Biennial Poetry Award. In 2020 he also published Evening Rain: Lü De’an’s Selected Poems from Forty Years. He won the Southern Literature Festival Poet Award and the Fifth Yuan Kejia Poetry Award in 2021.

香港國際詩歌之夜母語的邊界

呂德安 1960 年出生。詩人，畫家。八十年代初期與詩人畫家同仁創建

詩社「星期五」，並成為南京著名詩社「他們」的主要成員，此間著個人詩集《紙蛇》，《另一半生命》，詩集《南方以北》。 1992 年旅居美國紐約，以畫謀生，創作長詩《曼凱托》。1994 年獲首屆《他們》文學獎，同年回國在福建家鄉北峰築居山中，創作長詩〈適得其所〉，同時大量時間投入繪畫創作並參與北京牟森戲劇車間從事戲劇實踐。1998 年再度出國。這期間出版詩集《頑石》，2011 出版詩集《適得其所》。同年獲雲南高黎貢詩歌主席獎。2014 獲《十月》文學獎。2014 獲「天問」詩歌獎。 2013 進駐北京工作室專業從事繪畫創作。2016 出版詩集《兩塊顏色不同的泥土》。2018 出版隨筆集《在山上寫詩畫畫蓋房子》。2019 獲東蕩子詩歌獎。2020 年獲「大益文學雙年度」詩歌獎。2020 出版《傍晚降雨 —— 呂德安四十年詩選》2021 年獲南方文學盛典詩人獎和第五屆袁可嘉詩歌獎。

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Evening Rainfall I avoided the heat all day, until evening’s thunder came along, with all its wind and rain to let the nearly dried-up creek fill up again, forming what they said was a mountain flood; oh, all day I could hardly acknowledge any reality, until the rain finally fell through the valley and I heard someone somewhere shouting on a distant bend, and faintly became aware of all those thatch bunches sun-drying three days for broom-making, that if they were going to be moved now it would be too late. Or in fact no one who actually existed was anywhere nearby just a flood roaring in the dark of the day just me sitting in the kitchen resting sipping water watching birds fly by the window, one then two, watching the rain come in torrents, falling into blind spots— oh, I didn’t think this world could surprise anymore but when I ran out into the sheets of rain like a maniac stepping on hot stones, I learned I was primitive and easily startled, in spite of myself. (Translated from Chinese by Lucas Klein)

香港國際詩歌之夜母語的邊界

傍晚降雨一整天都在炎熱中逃避，直到傍晚傳來陣陣雷聲，接著起風下雨讓幾乎枯竭的溪水充盈，形成了所謂的山洪；喲，一整天我幾乎意識不到一點兒現實，直到雨真實地落入山谷，才聽見有人在某處彎道上喊，隱隱約約才知道在另一處那些曝曬了三天用來扎掃帚的茅草花穗，要叫人來把它盡數搬移已經來不及。或者事實上附近並無一個確實存在的人只有洪水在白天的黑暗裏轟響只有我坐在廚房裏歇息喝著水看著鳥飛過窗前，一隻兩隻看著雨陸續的落下，落在一個個盲點裏 —— 喲，我以為這個世界再也不會發生意外可是當我瘋子似地跑進雨幕腳踩著滾燙的石頭，發現自己竟如此原始和容易受驚，幾乎身不由己

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In Egypt Once upon a time, someone wrote me from far away: The wind will collect the things you carry. I thought that line was poetry, since I liked its biblical tone. Looking out the window, the world had changed. But then poetry’s pupils constricted: What could be done? I wished he had something else in mind, but that was all it was: a crumpled hat. I remember being perturbed all day, as if I could make out in the darkness beyond the desert another stretch of desert. “Hey! Wait!” I shouted, only to realize the wind, and by the time I went to grab it, it was too late. I laughed at myself for only being able to watch, to witness its redness rolling stubbornly along, before falling into an Egyptian tomb. What could be done? Like a song of sunset, only a few steps away, I knew it liked to tremble and also to hide, that is the mad nature of hats. But that land of black holes was the perfect and most appropriate destination— putting it this way makes me happy to write back— I knew he would take it seriously, keeping vigil over a grave: he said, The wind will collect the things you carry, he said that every day he shouts hello! to the black holes. It’s incoherent, but at that moment, I suddenly realized it was more than just a witty remark. I have often sensed that there’s actually nothing we carry that we cannot also let go. (Translated from Chinese by Lucas Klein)

香港國際詩歌之夜母語的邊界

在埃及從前有一回，有人打老遠寫信對我說：風喜歡收藏你身上的東西。我以為那句話就是詩歌，因為我喜歡它的聖經的口氣。我從窗口望出去，世界發生了變化。而詩歌的瞳孔變小：怎麼辦？我但願他指的是其他東西，可偏偏是它：一頂皺巴巴的帽子。我記得那天自己心神恍惚，冥冥中彷彿還看見沙漠後面多出一塊沙漠。「哎！等等！」我喊了一聲，這才意識到風，然而我再去抓住它已經來不及。我笑自己只能眼巴巴地看著，望著那紅紅的一團如何頑固地翻滾，最後落入埃及人的墓穴。怎麼辦？就像一支落日的歌，就在幾步遠的地方，我知道喜歡顫抖又喜歡躲藏，是帽子的瘋子本性，不過那片滿是黑洞的大地，倒也是它完美而合適的去處 —— 我這麼想，才讓人高興寫了信 —— 一個守墓人，我知道他把它一直當作一回事：他說，風喜歡收藏我身上的東西，他說他每天都去對那些黑洞喊一聲「哈羅！」真是沒頭沒腦，可打那以後，我忽然明白這不光是一句俏皮話，也常覺得在一個人身上其實沒有甚麼是不可以放下的了。

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Perhaps It Was a Chorus In a room the color of the curtains can change everything. Like the silhouette of a tree in daylight while my ears can only hear: if you love me be brave enough to take me into a room like this The only change is that curtain in the room, it’s consolation to my soul same as that tree, making the birds sing more hotly in its shade: if you love me be brave enough to take me into a room like this Years have passed, changing so many rooms with such curtains, though they’re thinner now and the tree is gone, but in the wind is a voice, sometimes near and sometimes far: take me into a room like this if you love me and are brave enough (Translated from Chinese by Lucas Klein)

Still Missing a Step My spirit dancer is perplexed. Perhaps I made a misstep: Oh! Don’t only blame, don’t ask the reason why I stopped— at a dark crossroads. Endlessly I sigh for my sorrow, but for my spirit dancer I spare no effort: dance happily, like stars past stars, above damnable forgetting— at a dark crossroads. (Translated from Chinese by Lucas Klein)

香港國際詩歌之夜母語的邊界

也許是一次合唱在房間裏，窗簾的顏色能改變一切。就像白晝光線下的一棵樹影而我的耳畔只聽到：如果你愛我就要有勇氣把我帶入這樣的房間唯一的變化是那幅窗簾在房間裏，它是我心靈的慰藉那棵樹也一樣，它讓小鳥濃蔭下唱得更熾熱：如果你愛我就要有勇氣把我帶入這樣的房間許多年過去，換過多少房間窗簾依舊，只是更加稀薄樹也不復存在，但是風中一個聲音時遠時近：把我帶入這樣的房間如果你愛我就要有勇氣

還少一步我心靈的舞蹈者感到了迷惘。可能是我的腳步出了錯：喲！你不要只是指責，不要追問我何故停下 —— 在陰暗的叉道口。我對我的悲傷嘆息不止，但對心靈的舞蹈者應全力以赴：歡跳吧，就像星星在星星上面，在該死的遺忘上面 —— 在陰暗的叉道口。

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Feelings After Returning from Viewing Houses Two houses, both of which I liked: One near the subway, fifteen minutes from Manhattan, just like the ad said, “Your ideal choice” (of course, this phrase is always between your coming and going) The other, far away on the shore, remote, solitary, where the sea breeze brings humidity and the breath of the sea helps you sleep, the moon’s clear light streaming in, decorating darkness and the cracks in the walls, all of which fits your meditations on silence. Both full of beautiful promises— two houses, both of which I liked, so if you happen to see me one day bowing out of some doorway or rolling around on a distant beach, it’s just that I am in agony trying to think of an excuse for how to decline one of them gracefully (Translated from Chinese by Lucas Klein)

香港國際詩歌之夜母語的邊界

看房子歸來有感而作兩座房子，我都喜歡：一座靠近地鐵，離曼哈頓十五分鐘，就像廣告上說的「是您理想的選擇」（當然，這句話總在你來去之間）另一處，遠在海邊偏僻孤單，有海風帶來潮濕有海的喘息幫助睡眠還有月亮清光縷縷照進房間，裝飾著黑暗和牆上的裂縫，這些都適合你對寂靜的冥想都有著美好的允諾 —— 兩座房子，我都喜歡所以哪一天，你如果恰巧看見我從一扇門前躬身退出又在遙遠海灘上翻滾那就一定是我正在痛苦正在尋找理由去決定如何體面地辭退其中一個

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A Tree Think about it, when a tree sways somewhere in all its fruit a child is swaying think about this autumn child swaying and making all the rain stored up in a day completely fall, bounteously think of him like a mute making an obstinate rain gradually grow thin … think of winter, when the child disappears and the tree melts on its own from all the absences within it first it sheds something not as big as a palm, like a piece of meat out of a crow’s beak then a tree avalanche and a day’s forgetting while life seems to stay where it was still dropping things things happy and dense like a lie (Translated from Chinese by Lucas Klein)

香港國際詩歌之夜母語的邊界

一棵樹想想吧，當一棵樹搖晃累累果實中間便有一個孩子在搖晃想想這個秋天的孩子搖晃叫那蓄滿一天的雨盡數灑落，毫不吝嗇想想他正在啞巴似讓一場固執的雨逐漸變得稀薄⋯⋯ 想想冬天，當孩子消失而樹會自己融化中間滿是空缺它先是掉下一塊不到巴掌大，就像烏鴉嘴裏的那塊肉然後是一棵樹的雪崩和一天的遺忘而生活彷彿仍在原處繼續掉落東西那東西快樂而茂密像謊言

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Frost’s Descent once intoxicated by the stars and so distanced a few steps from the ground only tonight was I happy to see frost flowers shimmering even though they did not fall from the sky they still could over in the blink of an eye the whole courtyard standing like that in the dusk leaning on the sky’s few rays and giving a thorough once-over to this crystalline world I realize that I open my eyes in the dusk as if in a dream having forgotten the year’s four seasons there were always a few moments when the earth unveiled its sleight of hand it made this cold scene first it was a coldness to the bone but when the daylight met the curtains of the eyes everything was transformed into a melting of blessings (Translated from Chinese by Lucas Klein)

香港國際詩歌之夜母語的邊界

霜降一度醉心於星星從而疏遠土地幾步今夜才高興看到那霜花閃閃雖非自天而降竟也能眨眼間將偌大的庭院落滿就這樣立足在昏暗裏依傍著幾絲天光再把這晶狀的世界仔細地瞧個遍才曉得昏暗中自己像在夢裏才睜大眼睛且忘了這一年四季中間總有那麼幾回叫大地施展障眼法叫這冷冽的一幕先是透著陣陣徹骨的寒意到白天映入眼簾時又化作融融的賜福一片

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International Poetry Nights in Hong Kong The Margins of the Mother Tongue

Lu Yating has published two volumes of poetry Say Hi to Your Wife and Asian Tiger Mosquito Solo.

香港國際詩歌之夜母語的邊界

路雅婷著有詩集《祝你太太好》及《發揚亞洲虎蚊精神》。

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International Poetry Nights in Hong Kong The Margins of the Mother Tongue

500 Meters Ahead There are Many Who Do Not Yield to Pedestrians the faster you ride, the harder it rains your eyes can barely stay open they’re almost shut you’re singing that children’s song you know well very loudly: little doll and little bear are dancing, dancing, one two one dancing in a circle, dancing, dancing, one two one la la la so fa, so so so fa mi, fa fa fa mi la, do mi so la la la so fa, so so so fa mi, fa fa fa mi la, do mi do you sing the lyrics twice, sing do re mi twice you are your own accompaniment, letting the wind blow past your ears to the rhythm the way home is wet, and dark, and very straight once you’re past Shenwei Tower it means you’re halfway down North Shenwei Road the light shatters on you, constantly beaten down by the rain a bride walks out of a rainbow glitter shower falling from the sky just like it was yesterday there are seven seconds left on the traffic light ahead so please hurry and run it (Translated from Chinese by Lucas Klein)

This Time Don’t Be Like Last Time Not only should it not be like last time falling out in huge handfuls, we have to find a way to make all the hair that fell out last time grow back on my head feeling so thick and sturdy, just to grab in your hand; it pulled on your hand, making you grab it, you were so beautiful, and totally uninterested in heads with less hair. Like my requirements for feet. I am not lucky in genetics, so only admit my natural curls which are hard, are explosive and disobedient, not wanting to follow rules. Walking on North Shenwei Road, even if you didn’t know me, you’d know me by my head. And if it happened to be windy, my hair would all work together to lift up my head, and with my toes barely touching the ground, you would be sure, this head belongs to Lu Yating. (Translated from Chinese by Lucas Klein)

香港國際詩歌之夜母語的邊界

前方 500 米有多個不禮讓行人你騎得越快，雨下得越大你的眼睛已經睜不開了幾乎要閉上你大聲唱起那首熟悉的兒歌：洋娃娃和小熊跳舞，跳呀跳呀一二一他們在跳圓圈舞呀，跳呀跳呀一二一拉拉拉唆發，唆唆唆發咪，發發發咪來，哆咪唆拉拉拉唆發，唆唆唆發咪，發發發咪來，哆咪哆兩遍唱歌詞，兩遍唱哆來咪你給自己伴奏，讓耳邊的風跟著音節吹回家的路，很濕很暗也很直騎過神威大廈就意味著，神威北路已經過半燈光不斷被雨水打落，碎在你身上一個新娘從空中飄灑的五彩亮片中走出就像是昨天才發生的事兒前方紅綠燈還剩 7 秒請加速闖過去

這次別再像上次那樣不僅別再像上次那樣大把大把掉，還得想法兒讓上次掉過的頭髮重新回到我的頭那種粗壯手感，我一把抓住；拉過你的手，也讓你抓，你多美啊，你對頭髮少的頭不感興趣。正如我對一個人的腳的要求。我是不受基因待見的人，只承認我的自來卷兒它硬，它爆炸它不順，它難守規則。走在神威北路，你不認識我也會率先認出我的頭。如果當時恰好大風，我的頭將被我的頭髮合力吊起，腳尖兒點地，這個頭是路雅婷的，你會確定。

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International Poetry Nights in Hong Kong The Margins of the Mother Tongue

New · Like a Dreamsong June to December I went flower-viewing in blooming season, and when the season ended I viewed lotus seeds for their greenness. Just then I saw a swimmer heading toward the center of the pond, shouting about a snake: The swimmer was agile, his skin sleek, and he knew the way. The stems that had been bent sprang up one by one, water droplets rising in the air. They rose, then were pulled back down by the veins that shoot out from leaves: colliding in twos and threes, wavering. Still. June to December, the center of the pond shrank ring by ring: the lotus seeds and roots and water lilies, they maintained their bounteous independence; maintained their dry independence. The moon is high. The water is firm. The snakes are hibernating. Tonight, I want to be deeply, deeply misled into the deepest part of the lotus blossom. (Translated from Chinese by Lucas Klein)

Back Home you ride me back home on your bike it’s about to snow the vehicles around us speed up a spotted tabby is following by to pounce on our shadows. I don’t dare adjust myself don’t dare hold you from behind the roots of the paulownias deep underground rise and then fall the lattice shadows of the branches splash down puddles of frozen water your wheels intersect with the zebra crossing and I can feel the minute bumps it’s about to snow the wind that blows against us has a shape to it (Translated from Chinese by Lucas Klein)

香港國際詩歌之夜母語的邊界

新•如夢令從六月到十二月，花期賞花，花期過了，賞蓮子青青。那時我見游水的人朝池中心去，大喊有蛇：游水的人敏捷，肌膚光亮，識方向。原本被壓倒的莖，依次彈起，水珠騰空。騰空，又被葉片中央射出的葉脈吸回中央：三三兩兩相撞，徘徊。靜止。從六月到十二月，池中心一圈一圈縮小：蓮子肉，藕實，水芝丹，保持豐盈的獨立；保持乾枯的獨立。月已高。水已牢固。蛇冬眠。今夜我要很深很深地，誤入藕花深處。

回家你騎車送我回家要下雪了身邊的車輛經過我們在加速行駛一隻花狸緊跟著撲我們的影子我不敢微調我自己不敢從你的身後抱你梧桐的根在地表深處隆起又落下樹枝的斑駁灑下來是一灘一灘結冰的水你的車輪划過斑馬線我依然能感知那些輕微的顛簸就要下雪了風吹在我們身上是有形狀的

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International Poetry Nights in Hong Kong The Margins of the Mother Tongue

It’s Too Cold for Long Rides on the Red Rocking Horse Give your body heat to the horse, secretly hurrying it up. Wishing for the same power the horse gave you the first time you rode it: breaking free from the nails, lifting you up, using the spring fixed to its belly to run you around the playground. The body is expendable—that horse will age just like you. So give your body heat to the horse, secretly hurrying yourself up. Now you need to rock up and down and left and right in an arc greater than or equal to that of the horse, (Translated from Chinese by Lucas Klein)

Letter my first time writing you I hope you don’t mind and accept my best wishes I hope all is well peace and happiness to you and yours I hope you have been well I hope everything has been going well for you may you have a year of success in all you do happy new year wishing you best in the coming year wishing you well wishing you safe travels in haste, wishing you well in haste, wishing you a safe trip in haste, hoping everything has been going well for you hoping you have been in good health wishing you all the best wishing you a pleasant autumn all my best to you both say hi to your wife (Translated from Chinese by Lucas Klein)

香港國際詩歌之夜母語的邊界

天已經冷得不適合長時間騎紅色彈簧馬把體溫傳遞給馬，暗暗為馬加油。想要第一次騎馬時馬反饋給你的那股力：掙脫鐵釘，把你頂上去，靠一根安在腹部的彈簧在遊樂場帶你奔跑。身體是耗材，馬跟你一樣會老。把體溫傳遞給馬，暗暗為自己加油。現在需要你上下左右搖擺幅度大於等於馬，

信頭一次給你寫信乞諒並祝好祝你安好祝你闔宅安好希望你這一向好希望你這一向一切都好祝你一年諸事順遂祝新禧祝你明年百事如意祝你近好祝你路上好匆匆祝你近好匆匆祝你路上好匆匆祝你這一向一切都好你近來想必健康祝你一切順手祝秋祺祝儷安祝你太太好

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The General Sits in the General’s Chair the general lives in a cave not a very big cave but one that’s been dug into a two-bedroom the only furniture in the cave is a general’s chair and a pile of firewood you can see it whenever you go in the cave the general sitting in the general’s chair rubbing his hands before the fire it’s winter year-round in the cave the general is cold (Translated from Chinese by Lucas Klein)

Pearl in the Palm I dreamed I wasn’t me I was a pearl held in the hand of my father walking home from work there suddenly appeared a pearl in his hand my father stopped immediately looked around quickly left and right he looked under his feet and then up at the sky he brought me under a tree and I revolved in his dry palm he breathed onto me and with his sleeve rubbed and rubbed until I was clean he raised me high up and far out and looked at me and looked at me through the beams of sunlight between the branches father constantly moved his feet to look and look through larger beams of sunlight in the gaps between the trees until I started to sparkle, to sparkle (Translated from Chinese by Lucas Klein)

香港國際詩歌之夜母語的邊界

大將軍坐在大將軍椅上大將軍住在山洞洞不算大挖成兩室一廳洞中擺設只有大將軍椅和一堆火任何時候進入山洞都能看見大將軍坐在大將軍椅上搓著手烤火山洞四季如冬大將軍冷

掌上明珠我夢見我不是我我是一顆被父親握在手中的珍珠走在下班路上的父親手裏突然多出一顆珍珠父親連忙收住腳迅速朝右看又迅速朝左他看了看腳下又往天上看父親帶我拐到一棵樹下我在他乾燥的掌心中旋轉父親對著我呵氣用袖口把我模糊的地方反反覆覆地擦乾淨父親將我舉高，舉遠對著樹縫間的陽光看我，看我父親頻繁移動腳步對著更大的樹縫間的陽光看我，看我直到我開始一閃，一閃

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With Just a Loudspeaker, a Long and Winding Line of People, and a QR Code on an Elevator Door, I Can Go Back to Last Winter. I’ve Already Come Back to Last Winter, So How Long Will It Take for You to Come Here? I’m Standing Next to the Red Rocking Horse in the Playground, and Will Probably Stay Here Until Five in the Afternoon. the line of people reaches all the way to the pavilion from the playground someone is wearing a skirt with bare legs matte black the wind lifts the matte black skirt to hide her legs the wind drops the matte black skirt to reveal her legs nice legs (Translated from Chinese by Lucas Klein)

香港國際詩歌之夜母語的邊界

只要一個高音喇叭，一條歪歪扭扭的長隊，一張貼在電梯門外的二維碼，就能回到去年冬天。我已經回到去年冬天，你多久能來找我？我還站在遊樂場的紅色彈簧馬旁，大概站到下午五點。長隊從遊樂場排到了涼亭有人光腿穿裙子啞光黑色大風吹起啞光黑色的裙子藏住腿大風吹落啞光黑色的裙子亮出腿好腿

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Yvon Le Men Since the publication of his first book, Vie, in 1974 at the age of 21, writing and performing have been Yvon Le Men’s professions. In 1992, he created the “Il fait un temps de poème” gatherings in Lannion, where he lives, inviting poets from around the world. Since 1997, he has expanded these meetings at the Étonnants Voyageurs festival. He is the author of a significant body of poetic work, translated into about twenty languages and honored with awards from the Académie française, including the Théophile Gautier and Paul Verlaine prizes, as well as the Goncourt Prize for Poetry. As a stage artist, he gives numerous recitals in France and around the world and produces albums with musicians from various backgrounds. Yvon Le Men has been named Chevalier of the National Order of Merit and elevated to the rank of Commander in the Order of Arts and Letters for his personal work and his role as a cultural mediator. In China, he received the Li Tu Prize in 2019, and his poems have been translated by Shu Cai. His latest book is “Les continents sont des radeaux perdus,” published by Bruno Doucey in 2024.

香港國際詩歌之夜母語的邊界

伊馮•勒芒 1953 年生於布列塔尼地區拉尼翁小城。自 1974 年出版第一本

詩集《生命》後，他就「全身心地」投身於詩歌事業。他在拉尼翁發起了「詩歌的時光」（Il fait un temps de poème）詩歌交流活動，邀請了眾多國際知名詩人。從 1997 年開始，他協助米歇爾．勒布里，在極具影響力的聖 - 馬羅「奇異的旅行者：圖書和電影節」上，構建詩歌單元。他在二十多個國家舉辦過詩歌朗誦會，包括中國。迄今他已出版五十餘部詩集、訪談、小說、唱片和童話作品，主要詩集有《悔恨後面的國度》、《石頭的耐心》、《光的回聲》、《暴風雨的花園》、《黎明的方塊》、《在句子的天花板下》等。他的詩歌單純、樸素、真摯、撼動人心。他多次獲得詩歌獎項，包括「戈蒂埃詩歌獎」。 2019 年他獲得「龔古爾詩歌獎」。程抱一這樣誇讚他：「在所有法國詩人中，勒芒是最富於中國詩味的」。

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The Shore She sits all of six stone by the sea vast like the questions I imagine she asks herself when faced with death She sits in full view of it beneath the sky her eyes watch and keep what they watch in her hand which she stretches out on the other side like how a child shows marbles to the sun and to its friends She raises her eyes to the horizon she drags herself to the point of no return Sitting all of six stone her eighty-two years she checks one last time the lay of the land by the sea with her eyes she treads water

香港國際詩歌之夜母語的邊界

岸她坐著坐在她的四十公斤裏面朝大海大海寬闊得如同她向自己提出的問題我想像在死亡面前。她坐著坐在雙目之下坐在天空之下她的眼睛在看在看護她所看的她的手中她到彼岸時才會打開它就像一個孩子對著太陽，對著夥伴才會展示手中的玻璃球她的眼睛延伸到天邊一直延伸到不可收回之點她坐著坐在她的四十公斤裏坐在她的八十二歲上她最後一次確認地球的四周被大海環抱憑著她的眼睛她在海上行走

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She knocks on the horizon to open to the sea the gateway to heaven She is preparing to be first on the last day. (Translated from French by Tammy Lai-Ming Ho and Oliver Farry)

In the Park of the Temple of Heaven In the park of the Temple of Heaven Where the sky is round And the earth Square The old cypresses wear their age On their trunks And on a plaque Above all Those more than 500 years old The age of the Forbidden City Whose last emperor was a child (Translated from French by Tammy Lai-Ming Ho and Oliver Farry)

香港國際詩歌之夜母語的邊界

她撞到了海平線為了給大海打開天空之門她準備著在末日那一天第一個抵達（樹才

譯）

天壇公園在天壇公園那裏天是圓的地是方的柏樹標上年齡在樹幹上在一塊標牌上尤其那些超過五百歲的古柏紫禁城的年齡它的末代皇帝是個小孩（樹才

譯）

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In Front of the Forbidden City The cap on the head unmoving the head beneath the cap unmoving the eyes on the face unmoving the face around the eyes unmoving the lips around the teeth unmoving the teeth between the lips unmoving the shirt around the chest unmoving the chest beneath the shirt unmoving the belt around the waist unmoving the waist beneath the belt unmoving the trousers around the legs unmoving

香港國際詩歌之夜母語的邊界

紫禁城前大蓋帽在腦袋上一動不動腦袋在大蓋帽下一動不動眼睛在臉上一動不動臉圍著眼睛一動不動嘴唇圍著牙齒一動不動牙齒在嘴唇之間一動不動襯衫圍著胸膛一動不動胸膛在襯衫下面一動不動皮帶圍著腰身一動不動腰身在皮帶下面一動不動褲子圍著大腿一動不動

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the legs in the trousers unmoving the boot around the foot unmoving the foot in the boot unmoving on the earth The earth beneath the policeman’s boot turns the crowd around the policeman moves my thoughts that think of the policeman turn like the earth move like the crowd but what do the thoughts that turn and move in the mind of the policeman do eight hours a day five days a week and so on like the hands of his watch turn by themselves on his wrist that moves not the length of his trousers around his legs unmoving on the earth (Translated from French by Tammy Lai-Ming Ho and Oliver Farry)

香港國際詩歌之夜母語的邊界

大腿在褲子裏一動不動皮鞋圍著腳一動不動腳在皮鞋裏一動不動在大地上大地在警察的皮鞋下面轉動人群在警察的四周移動我的思想想著警察圍著大地轉動圍著人群移動。但警察的腦袋裏思想轉動著移動著它們有甚麼用每天八小時每星期五天循環往復就像他手錶的指針孤零零地轉動在他不動的手腕上沿著他的褲子圍著他的大腿一動不動在大地上（樹才

譯）

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At Chengdu, in Du Fu’s House

For Shu Cai

Yesterday in my house by the woods I read a poem by Du Fu who as far back as the 8th century said The Emperor does not hear the cry of his people. In vain the brave women grabbed the spade and drove the plough; Brambles and thorns have everywhere overrun the desolate soil and who again says in the 21st century war is still rife, and the carnage relentless Without caring more for the lives of men than those of hens or dogs… Today in front of Du Fu’s house I read one of my poems under a blue sky in the often grey Chengdu sky as if it were replying to Du Fu who wrote heaven sends me an indulgent breeze to keep me company because he had written alas! my first song, already a sad one it’s for these verses for those verses

香港國際詩歌之夜母語的邊界

成都，杜甫草堂 —— 給樹才昨天在林邊的屋子裏我讀到一首杜甫的詩它寫到八世紀皇上聽不見百姓的呼號婦女們徒勞地握緊鍬，扶住犁荊棘到處侵入荒蕪的田地它還寫到二十一世紀戰爭肆虐，殺戮不斷，人甚麼都不是，淪為雞狗 ...... 今天在杜甫草堂我念了一首自己的詩在藍藍的天空下成都的天空經常灰濛濛好像在回應杜甫的詩句天空憐憫我贈我以微風以前他還寫到唉！我唱頭一句已經是悲歌因為這些詩句因為那些詩句

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that came from men from women like everyone from emperors like no-one in the house of Du Fu If I peer into his poems perhaps I will see what he saw on the landscape oft-repeated in the eyes of passers-by oft-revisited by all of life for aeons being born living dying sometimes from the wrong side of life if I peer into his poems I will surely see what he’d see if he were alive today the life of the kiwi-fruit-vendor of the knife-grinder of the woman who carries a restaurant on her bicycle

香港國際詩歌之夜母語的邊界

男人們女人們聚到一起像每一個人無論是皇帝還是平民聚到杜甫草堂看他的詩我也許能看見他當年所見千百次重複的風景行人的目光他們來來去去生活的每一個細節歷來如此出生活著死去生活也有慘的一面讀他的詩我肯定能看見他現在所見如果他還活著生活賣柿子的人磨刀的人還有那位婦女自行車上搭了個小餐館

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the life if one may of the migrant workers who built the cities of China up to the sky whose nights are spent lying four to a plank of wood everywhere always when the river of life separates those who live or live not from the right side of life’s river peering into the poems of Du Fu I see an old woman in a pink cap and a pink jacket with eyes that are no doubt black she tackles cardboard boxes in the street by hand with no knife folds them like sheets that won’t fold tamping them with her feet almost like dancing like how in Brittany we used to dance on clay to stretch it like a floor to live on she binds them with string hanging from her pocket then she leaves her cardboard over her shoulder

香港國際詩歌之夜母語的邊界

生活可以這麼說是那些外來的民工蓋成了大樓直到摩天夜間攤開手腳躺在一塊木板上哪裏都一樣當生活之河把人分開有些人就活在慘的一邊讀他的詩我看見一位老婦戴著紅帽子穿著紅色工作服眼睛無疑是黑色的她收拾街上的紙板箱就用手沒有刀她把紙板折疊成被子折出很多褶皺又用腳踏成一堆用兩根靈巧的手指像布列塔尼女人在硬泥巴地上跳舞她把它拽向一塊生活的地面再次折疊從口袋裏掏出細繩然後離開布繩子捆著紙板箱

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but to where? at what cost? at the cost of her life the day that dangles from her night peering at the poems of Du Fu I see a man his shirt sticking out from under his jacket his right arm hanging onto his son’s left arm the cap slanting between heaven and head he wipes his boots smiling with all his teeth his lack of teeth planted here and there in his breath gaping wide over his son It’s in the name of this woman of any woman in the name of this man of any man of their goodness betimes of their beauty so that we still read Du Fu’s poems that we love them because he loved to the point of losing everything losing himself

香港國際詩歌之夜母語的邊界

但是去哪裏？能值幾個錢？是那一天的活命錢把那個夜晚懸起看杜甫的詩我看見一個男人襯衫比外套還長右胳膊拽緊他兒子的左胳膊鴨舌帽傾斜在天空和腦袋之間他擦鞋整排牙齒都在笑這兒缺一顆那兒少一粒衝著兒子直喘氣以這位老婦的名義不管哪一位婦女以這個男人的名義不管哪一個男人有時是善的名義有時是美的名義我們一直讀這個詩人我們愛他他因為愛而失去了一切甚至他自己

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to the point of inviting into his dreams in his poems that other great dreamer that other great poet Li Bai, the immortal banished to earth drinking alone under the moon … I love him like an elder brother. Tipsy on wine in Autumn we sleep under the one cover … We scorn all talk of rank and power. Let our thoughts and our feelings wander freely on the vast oceans I read this poem by Du Fu written in Autumn 745 in my home I read a poem of mine written in Autumn 2015 at his home through words that act as signs like clouds make pictures in the boundless sky though not with our eyes (Translated from French by Tammy Lai-Ming Ho and Oliver Farry)

香港國際詩歌之夜母語的邊界

但他在夢裏在他的詩裏還邀請另一個偉大的夢者另一個偉大的詩人李白：月下獨飲的永恆的流放犯余亦東蒙客，憐君如弟兄。醉眠秋共被，攜手日同行。 …… 我們徹底地拒絕一切名分和權力就讓我們的情思在大海之上翱翔我在我的家裏讀到一首杜甫的詩寫於 745 年我在杜甫草堂念了一首我自己的詩作於 2015 年憑借這些符號做成的詞就像雲幻化出形象在無窮的天上在我們的眼睛裏面（樹才

譯）

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Olga Sedakova was born in Moscow on December 26, 1949 to the family of a military engineer. She started school in Beijing, where her father was working at the time (1956-1957). Sedakova started writing poetry at an early age and decided quite early on to “be a poet.” In 1986 her first book came out with the Paris-based YMCA Press. Soon after this her poetry and essays began to be translated into European languages, published in various journals and anthologies and to appear in book form. Since 1991 she has taught in the Department of World Culture in the Philosophy Faculty at Moscow State University. And since 2004 she has been an active Fellow of the Institute of World Culture at the Library-Foundation for Russian-Language Literature Abroad. She is a Candidate of Philological Sciences (awarded for her dissertation, “Funereal Rites of the East and South Slavs,” 1983—published in book form in 2004); author of The Dictionary of Difficult Words in Church Services: Church Slavic and Russian Paronyms (2005); Doctor of Theology honoris causa (2003, Minsk European Humanities University); Officier d’honneur d’Ordre des Arts et des Lettres de la République Française (2012).

香港國際詩歌之夜母語的邊界

奧爾嘉．謝達科娃 1949 年 12 月 26 日出生在莫斯科的一個軍工工程師家庭。她在北京開始上學，那時她的父親在當地工作（1956–1957）。謝達科娃從小就開始寫詩，並很早就決定「成為一名詩人」。1986 年，

她的第一本詩集由巴黎的基督教青年會出版社出版。此後不久，她的詩歌和散文開始被翻譯成歐洲多種語言，並在各種期刊和選集中出版。自 1991 年以來，她一直在莫斯科大學哲學院世界文化系任教。從 2004 年開始，她一直是俄羅斯海外文學圖書館基金會世界文化研究所的活躍研究員。2012 年，她獲得法國藝術與文學勳章。

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“Surely, Maria, it’s not just the frames creaking,” Surely, Maria, it’s not just the frames creaking, Not just the panes aching and trembling? If this is not the garden, allow me to go back, into the silence where things are invented. If this is not the garden, if the frames are creaking because it never gets darker than this, if this is not that foreordained garden, where hungry children sit by the apple trees and forget the fruit that’s been bitten into, where no lights can be seen, but breathing is darker, and the medicine of the night more safe… I do not know, Maria, my sickness. This is my garden that stands over me. (Translated from Russian by Gerald S. Smith)

香港國際詩歌之夜母語的邊界

瑪麗亞，難道只有窗扇在勉強支撐…… 瑪麗亞，難道只有窗扇在勉強支撐，只有窗玻璃疼痛、哆嗦？如果不是果園 —— 請讓我轉回頭，回到萬物沉思的靜寂中。如果不是果園，如果窗扇勉強在支撐因為更幽暗的不會有，如果這不是一座禁採的果園，飢餓的孩子坐在蘋果樹下想不起被咬過一口的蘋果，樹枝不見，但呼吸愈發暗弱黑夜的藥愈發靈驗…… 瑪麗亞，我不知道我得了甚麼病。我的果園長在我的頭頂。（駱家

譯）

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From “The Old Songs” Adam wept, but he was not forgiven. And he was not allowed to return to where we are only alive: – If you want what is yours, you will get it. And what is it to one such as you to do it there, where the heart wants, like God the great: there, where the heart is radiance and giving? *** The cold of the world someone will warm. The dead heart someone will raise up. These monsters someone will take by the hand, like a child who has been naughty: – Let’s go, I will show you what you have never seen before! (Translated from Russian by Gregory O’Brien and Jacob Edmond)

香港國際詩歌之夜母語的邊界

選自《老歌》亞當哭了，但他沒得到原諒。並且不讓他返回到我們只是活著的地方：「種瓜得瓜」。這讓你如何是好在心要跟偉大上帝慾望一樣的地方：在心即閃耀與饋贈之地。 *** 世界的冷總有人焐熱。心死總有人激勵。這些妖孽總有人一手收服，彷彿降住頑童：「來吧，我要給你看看你從未見過的寶貝！」（駱家

譯）

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A Boy, an Old Man, and a Dog A boy, an old man, and a dog. Perhaps it’s the grave of a crone or a woman. How can we know what a person’s reflection will be when looking into the watery deep that’s alabaster smooth? It could be like this: A boy, a dog, an old man. The boy is especially sad. – I’ve done wrong, Dad, but I’ll never be able to right it. – Well, – the old man says, – I forgive you but you will not hear. It’s nice here. – It’s nice here?.. – It’s nice here?.. – an echo is heard in the hallways. – So you called and I came. Hi, Dad. They redid the bedrooms at home, Mama is pining. – My son, my late, my only, listen to me, I’m speaking in parting: to nobility always adhere, It’s the best that the living can do... – Mama told me to say ... – You will be happy. – When? – Always. – That’s hard to take. – What can you do, that’s how it is with us. In silence the dog is observing The talk: the eyes of that white water, Of that picture – “A boy, a dog, an old man”. (Translated from Russian by Andrew Wachtel)

香港國際詩歌之夜母語的邊界

男孩，老人與狗…… 男孩，老人與狗。也許，這是墓碑女人或老嫗。我們無從知曉。一個人看深水時倒影變成了誰，胖乎乎似熟石膏？還可能是這樣：男孩，狗，老人。男孩尤其難過。 —— 對不起，父親，可我永不能改邪歸正。 —— 嗯，—— 老人說，—— 我已原諒，不過你聽不到。這裏很好。 —— 這裏很好嗎？…… —— 這裏很好嗎？……—— 走廊裏傳來回聲。 —— 瞧，你叫，我就來了。你好，父親，我們重新裝修了臥室。媽媽想念你。—— 我兒，小兒，寶貝兒，聽著，我給你臨別之言：永葆磊落之氣，這是世間最好的事業…… —— 媽媽讓我告訴你…… —— 祝你幸福。 —— 何時？ —— 永遠？ —— 很痛苦。 —— 你又如之奈何？我們命該如此。狗一聲不吭，望著說話的人：這白水的眼睛，這幅畫的眼睛 —— 「男孩，狗，老人」。（駱家

譯）

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Mistress and Maidservant A woman looks in a mirror, but we cannot see what she sees there, one might hardly suppose there was something; yet if so,why then should one marvel at one thing, or guess how to handle another in such and such manner; why, then, do we study ourselves? You see, there is something in this. Something prompting the pampering unguents, the beads and the pendants. In silence the serving-maid stands, awaiting her mistress’ request, a request she will never fulfil. No, we did not understand one another; that is something we can understand, So much is easy. Something else is less easy; we knew every thing about everyone. Everything to the end, to the last tender and infinite attribute. Without thinking or asking, we knew and discussed without words a request that they hadn’t yet made, that they hadn’t yet thought of themselves. No wonder: there is just one request we all have, we have nothing at all but for that one request. (Translated from Russian by Catriona Kelly)

Inscription Nina, in a dream, or my mind – we were walking one time on some old-fashioned road, alongside, as it seemed to me, various white and smoothed-out flagstones. – Not the Appian, some other one, – you said to me, – it’s not that important, the number of roads in their cities that crossed from one grave to another was legion. – Hello! – we heard, – hello! (that, as we know, is the favorite word upon parting). Hello! How clearly you look at the earth that’s so dear. Stop: I look with the eyes of the gigantic earth. Only the emptiness looks. Only the unseen we see. So go ahead faster or I’ll leave you behind. (Translated from Russian by Andrew Wachtel)

香港國際詩歌之夜母語的邊界

女主人和女僕女人在照鏡子：她看到了甚麼 —— 看不清；那裏甚麼也沒有。況且，為何臨了還要欣賞一人，再揣度怎樣校正另一個憑借那樣或這樣的把戲？為甚麼要自我效顰？看來，那裏有點甚麼。有些東西需要親愛的賭注，項鍊和吊墜。女僕靜靜站在一邊等待她無法完成的吩咐。是啊，我們一次也沒能相互理解。這無可厚非。這並不難。別的更難：我們知道每個人的一切。一切，到最後，到他最後溫柔的不朽。沒有慾望，沒有思想 —— 我們知道。聽不見，我們知道還在腦海裏討論他沒來得及向我們提甚至沒來得及想的請求。沒錯。我們都有一個請求；別的沒甚麼，除了他的請求。（駱家

譯）

題詞妮娜，夢裏抑或腦子裏想著，有一次我們走一條特別奇怪的路，我記得，是沿著鋪了很多白色、光滑的石板路。 —— 不是阿比耶娃路，是另外一條，—— 你對我說。—— 這沒關係。他們的城市路本來就不多。從一個墓地連接另一個墓地人們走來走去。 —— 你好！ —— 我們聽到有人打招呼，—— 你好！（我們知道這是一個大家都愛用的告別語）。你好！你如此清晰地看著親愛的大地。等一下：我用比地球更大的眼睛看。只能看見空缺。只能看不見的人能看。還是快走吧：我要攆上你。（駱家

譯）

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Child Playing In anticipation we live through what will never be. Great glory. The wedding night, sage energetic old age. Grandchildren – the children of a nonexistent son. No, empty dreams do not play with men’s hearts. The child knows what soothes him. What he plays with. We don’t see the face. We look upon it, like a mother does, through the door, and peacefully goes away: he is playing. A white ray on the floor. – He’ll play some more, I’ll have time to do all that I must. Time doesn’t wait, he is playing. Before the disaster our anticipation deserts us: Now it’s not external, it’s we ourselves. Sublimely in this inaudible music, in the white room. That’s how he plays at the heart, a child, who’s playing checkers. (Translated from Russian by Catriona Kelly)

Rain “It’s raining, and still people say there’s no God!” So Granny Varya, an old woman from round us, would say. Now the people who said there was no God are lighting candles in churches, ordering masses for the dead, shunning those of other faiths. Granny Varya lies in her grave, and the rain pours on, immense, abundant, relentless, on and on, aiming at no-one in particular. (Translated from Russian by Catriona Kelly and Robert Reid)

香港國際詩歌之夜母語的邊界

下棋的小孩我們在預感中生活活那些我們不必非活不可的東西。無上榮光。新婚之夜。睿智、精神矍鑠的晚年。兒孫 —— 不在的那個兒子的孩子。不，不是空想在玩弄人類的心。小孩明白，他因何如此倍感欣慰。超越他下棋。我們沒看見臉。我們從門縫裏看他母親看了一下 —— 立刻平靜走開：他在下棋。皎潔的光照在地板。 —— 他還要下一會兒棋。我還有時間把該做的事情做完。時間不等人，趁他在下棋。預感在最不幸時離我們而去：這已非外表如此。這是我們自己。美妙在此種聽不見的音樂裏，潔白的房間，他全身心地下著棋，這個正在下跳棋的孩子。（駱家

譯）

雨 —— 雨在下，可都說，沒有上帝！ —— 我們本地的一個老太婆清潔工瓦莉婭說過。說沒有上帝的那些人，現在正在擺蠟燭，預定禱告，提防異教徒。清潔工瓦莉婭躺在墓地，雨在下，偉大的、豐沛的、一望無際的雨，落下，落下，沒砸到任何人。（駱家

譯）

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From The Chinese Travelogue If you could dull its perspicuity, free it from chaos, limit its gleam, liken it to a grain of dust, then it would seem to exist clearly. —Lao-Tse

1. I was surprised by how calm the waters were, how familiar the sky was and how slowly the junk sailed past the rocky banks. My home country! my heart screamed when I saw the willows: those willows in China are the same, washing clean their oval shapes at will, for it is only our generosity that will meet us beyond the grave. 2. The pond speaks: if I had hands and voice, how I would love and cherish you. The people, you know, are greedy and always sick and tear other’s clothes for bandages for themselves. I need nothing: tenderness means getting healthy again. Like a tame wild animal I would put my hands on your lap and descend from above as the sky, voice-like. 9. Unhappy is the person who thinks of tomorrow while talking with his guest. Unhappy is the person who does something and thinks that he does it, and not that the air and sunlight rule him, like a brush, a butterfly, a bee, he who plays a chord and thinks of what comes next – unhappy, timid and stingy.

香港國際詩歌之夜母語的邊界

中國行（組詩）挫其銳，解其紛，和其光，同其塵，是謂「玄同」。 —— 老子。

我很詫異：水面寧靜，天空親近，石頭岸邊，中式帆船走得遲緩。故鄉！遇見楊柳，心禁不住驚嘆：曼妙的中國楊柳，急切想要洗掉自己的橢圓，因為唯有我們的厚贈在棺材裏迎候我們。

池塘說：要是我有一雙手和一副歌喉，我會多麼愛你，多麼珍惜。你知道，眾人皆貪，總是生病扯爛別人的衣裳只為幾根自纏的繃帶。我甚麼都不需要：畢竟溫柔 —— 乃治癒良方。我要把一雙手放在你的雙膝，像家庭寵物一樣溫順，歌聲從天而降彷彿天籟之音。

不幸的人，是去見客戶仍擔心明天生意的人；不幸的人，是在做事情還在考慮他在做的是事情的人，非空氣、光線被它們引導，譬如毛刷、蝴蝶、蜜蜂；誰奏響和聲還在琢磨，第二個會是甚麼，—— 怯懦與慳吝之人才是不幸。

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Even more unhappy is the person who does not forgive: insane, he doesn’t know that the stork comes out tame from the bushes, that the golden ball will soar of its own accord into the dear sky over the dear earth. 10. Great is the artist who knows no debt except for his debt to the brush’s play and his brush enters into the heart of mountains, enters into the happiness of leaves with one stroke with one gentleness rapture, confusion, with one gesture he enters into immortality and immortality plays with him. But he whom the spirit has deserted, from whom the light has been taken, who, for the tenth time in a troubled place searches for the pure spring-water, which fell from the hand of miracles but will not say: “These are false miracles!”: before this person the skies bow in reverence. (Translated from Russian by Richard McKane)

香港國際詩歌之夜母語的邊界

更不幸的人，是不會寬宥之人：一個瘋子，他不知道，馴熟的鸛如何衝出灌木叢，金色的氣球如何顧自飛起飛上可愛的大地上可愛的天空。

10.

不知道債為何物的畫家很偉大，除了舞文弄筆的責任：他的畫筆潛入山內心，洞察樹葉幸福，借助一個打擊、一種溫順，一番讚嘆與一臉窘迫他識透不朽 —— 不朽與之遊戲。但是，誰被靈魂拋棄人們將光從靈魂引開，誰一而再再而三於泥濘之地尋覓一把乾淨的鑰匙，誰要讓奇跡從手中滑落，他不會說：奇跡空洞！ —— 滿懷敬意天空朝他鞠躬。（駱家

譯）

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Wang Yin is a poet, writer, and photographer, born in Shanghai, China. Wang Yin’s 2015 collection, Limelight, earned two of China’s top poetry prizes. His work has been featured in literary journals and magazines, including The New York Times Magazine, Granta, and Washington Square Review. His poems have been translated into sixteen languages, including French, Spanish, Japanese, Polish, and more. In 2022, NYRB published his book titled A Summer Day in the Company of Ghosts. This poetry collection has received multiple recommendations from The New York Times. In 2023, he was awarded the California Translation in Poetry of Annual Northern California Book Awards. He was also longlisted for the National Book Critics Circle Award for a translated book in 2022 and shortlisted for the Lucien Stryk Asian Translation Award in 2023. Currently residing in New York. Since 2012, he has curated the international “Poetry Comes to the Museum” reading series at the Minsheng Museum in Shanghai, making it the longest-running poetry series in China.

香港國際詩歌之夜母語的邊界

王寅詩人、作家、攝影師。出版有詩集《王寅詩選》、《灰光燈》、《低溫下的美》等。先後獲得江南詩歌獎、東蕩子詩歌獎等多個詩歌獎。他的作品發表在《紐約時報雜誌》、《格蘭塔》、《華盛頓廣場評論》等報刊，作品被譯成十六種語言。紐約書評出版社於 2022 年出版了他的《A Summer Day in the Company of Ghosts》，該詩集得到《紐約時報》多次推薦，獲得 2023 年度北加州圖書獎詩歌翻譯獎，入圍 2022 年美國國家書評人協會獎翻譯獎和 2023 年盧西安．斯特萊克亞洲翻譯獎。他從 2012 年開始策劃「詩歌來到美術館」系列活動，先後邀請七十餘位國內外重要詩人在上海民生現代美術館舉辦詩歌朗讀會，是中國持續時間最久的詩歌系列活動，獲得《東方早報》「2013 文化中國年度事件大獎」。

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I’ve Had Enough of Paris Can I ask you to turn off the music? So that nothing is left in this room but darkness? Please let me close my eyes and let go of these helpless nights Just let me listen to the rise and fall of your breathing The afternoon sky turns suddenly dark the surface of the sea suddenly in shadow So it’s not only on rainy days that you turn this black cup slowly in your hands You need a color like that Black, like the inside of this pill You let me accept my own weakness and I understand the colors of your melancholy nights What colors are they? These colors? Those colors? Are they? Are they? “June, the season for sowing sunflower seeds The sunflowers in Nice are still buried underground...” A letter from New York is sparing in words July turns out to be the beginning I’m far from home, far from high summer and far from you, and Paris— I’ve had enough of Paris (Translated from Chinese by Andrea Lingenfelter)

香港國際詩歌之夜母語的邊界

巴黎已經令我心生厭倦能請你把音樂關了嗎？能讓這屋子裏只剩下黑暗嗎？請讓我閉上雙眼放過這些無助的夜晚讓我能夠聽得到你起伏的呼吸下午的天空已經變暗海面突然有了陰影所以，並不一定是在雨天你才會在手心緩緩轉動這隻黑色的杯子你需要同一種顏色只是黑色，就像這藥片的底色你讓我接受了我的脆弱我明白你擔憂的黑夜是甚麼顏色是甚麼顏色？是這樣的顏色嗎？是這些嗎？是嗎？是嗎？「六月，播種向日葵的季節尼斯的向日葵還埋藏在地下⋯⋯」紐約的來信只有隻言片語原來七月才是開始我遠離祖國，遠離盛夏也遠離了你，巴黎已經令我心生厭倦

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You Love Obscure Words You no longer feel pain and you no longer feel cold You’ve started to love obscure words to love low output and a steady pace You’ve come to love sparkling water and the smell of old books to love deep sleep, though your mind is cloudy You love to recite a poem in a voice too quiet to hear to leave indecipherable traces of characters penciled on paper towels like a broken dream that can’t be retrieved You no longer feel pain and you no longer feel cold Your beloved springtime sees its blossoms fall in battle as well they carry the chill of the season that came before (Translated from Chinese by Andrea Lingenfelter)

The Task of the Poet, Written in Vermont After Robert Bly Not yet noon A black dog comes running up the lawn The gardener tidies up flowering shrubs under the windows His wife sits in a chair beneath the tree Cheeks suddenly burn hot as Sunlight slips through the gaps between leaves And the lawn flickers from light to dark Marking the moment when clouds drift past The sudden sound of the weed-cutter’s motor Breaks the reverie of the spirit of this place I shouldn’t write the poems I haven’t gotten around to writing yet Or poems about this place Instead, I should open my ears and listen To the cracking of iron Thousands of miles away (Translated from Chinese by Andrea Lingenfelter)

香港國際詩歌之夜母語的邊界

你偏愛冷僻的詞語你已經感覺不到痛了你也已經感覺不到冷了你開始偏愛冷僻的詞語偏愛低產，偏愛均速你偏愛氣泡水你偏愛舊書的氣味偏愛昏睡，而不是清醒你偏愛用聽不見的聲音讀一首詩用鉛筆在紙巾上寫下難以辨認的字跡就像無法復原的破碎夢境你已經感覺不到痛了你也已經感覺不到冷了你偏愛的春天也有陣亡的花朵它們延續了上一季的寒意

詩人的任務，在佛蒙特仿羅伯特．勃萊正午之前黑狗從草地上跑過喬治在收拾窗下的花卉他的太太坐在樹下的靠背椅上臉頰一陣灼熱陽光透過樹葉縫隙射來草地忽明忽暗是浮雲經過的時刻除草機的馬達聲無端驚醒本地的精靈不該寫久未寫出的詩和當地有關的詩而是要側耳傾聽萬里之外鐵器碎裂的聲音

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To Say More Would Be Risky To say more would be risky, my friend But don’t forget to laugh Don’t forget the flaw is in the wheel Don’t neglect the inevitable grief of colleagues Don’t let damaged friendships fade away like traces of water on a tabletop Speak, hold onto your irreplaceable hatred Use this hand to conquer the other equally fierce one A coin tossed into the air must have two sides Dear friend, to say more would be risky To speak the truth, that would be death (Translated from Chinese by Andrea Lingenfelter)

For a Moment We Can Lose Consciousness of Life and Death Starlight dims, yet even so, I still can see the gleam of your lips and eyes One of your hands clasps your knee, the other holds a cup of coffee, as you wait for it to cool I lean back against a sleeping stone, listen to the restless chafing of cicadas brushing past your back and it’s like watching you drive in reverse down a narrow alley after the rain Maybe these wrinkled clothes need ironing again Maybe the hand on summer’s clock needs to be reset The design floating in the coffee is a resolution neither you nor I could ever predict This world is too broken to restore, and we are here only by chance, lingering briefly in this interval For a moment we can lose consciousness of life and death Only the lamps in the passageway are still burning (Translated from Chinese by Andrea Lingenfelter)

香港國際詩歌之夜母語的邊界

說多了就是威脅說多了就是威脅，朋友但是，不要忘記笑不要忘記毛病總在車輪中不要忽略難以避免的同行的憂傷不要讓破損的友誼像桌上的水跡那樣消隱說吧，保持無可替代的嫉妒用這隻手去征服另一隻同樣激烈的手拋向空中的分幣必須有正反兩面親愛的朋友，說多了就是威脅說對了，就是死亡

此刻無須知曉生死星光暗著，卻看得清你閃亮的嘴唇和眼睛你一手抱著膝蓋，一手端著咖啡，等待水溫變涼我倚靠著熟睡的石頭，聽著不安的蟬鳴掠過你的脊背就像看你在雨後潮濕的窄巷裏艱難地倒車也許揉皺的衣服應該再熨一下也許應該再次撥動夏季的時針咖啡杯裏蕩漾的圖案是你我無法預設的結局這世界已經壞得無以復加，我們只是僥倖在這空隙短暫停留此刻無須知曉生死只有走廊裏的燈光依然燦爛

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In the Darkness, Someone Is Playing Guitar In the darkness someone is playing guitar singing of red roses or swaying poppies in the countryside or maybe some other nameless flower A courtyard with pines, at first light filled with fallen pinecones, sparrows hopping a black umbrella and a hat lying submerged at the bottom of the pond Midnight snowflakes billow up from the bridge rising above my head, into the starry sky They look down on the town from on high like El Greco The countryside blooms with blood-red flowers Someone is playing guitar in the dark The pearl earrings you took off roll around the tabletop Bumping into each other, the pearls make the faintest of sounds—it’s the poppies swaying open—it’s someone strumming a guitar again in the dark (Translated from Chinese by Andrea Lingenfelter)

香港國際詩歌之夜母語的邊界

幽暗中的人彈著吉他幽暗中的人彈著吉他吟唱的是紅色的花朵也許是郊外搖曳的罌粟也許是另一種不知名的花有松樹的庭院，黎明時分落滿松果，孔雀在花園裏踱步一把黑傘一頂帽子沉在水池底部午夜的雪花從橋下湧起漫過頭頂，升上星空它們從高處俯瞰城市就像格列柯一樣郊外開滿了猩紅的花朵幽暗中的人彈著吉他你摘下的珍珠耳環在桌面上來回滾動它們互相撞擊的聲音微乎其微，就是罌粟搖曳地開放，就是有人再次撥響了幽暗的吉他

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Lover We have reached the open sea, my love the shore lights extinguished seahorse flutes sweet and lilting We have reached the open sea I open the urn scatter you little pieces of you falling more slowly than powder obliquely onto the water I scatter all of you You turn the sea faintly red You calm the waters just as when you were alive and midnight snows fell upon our open hands I give you the sky give you the sea I give it all to you all to you I take the urn that held you hold it to my breast I put myself inside the urn that held you I am now in your dreams (Translated from Chinese by Andrea Lingenfelter)

香港國際詩歌之夜母語的邊界

情人我們到海上了，親愛的岸上的燈火已經熄滅海馬的笛聲婉轉悠揚我們到海上了我打開你的盒子把你撒下去小塊的你比粉末更慢更慢地在水面上斜斜地落下去我把你全都撒下去了你使海水微微發紅你使海洋平靜了如同你活著時午夜的雪降落在展開的手上我把天空給你了把海洋也給你了都給你了都給你了我把裝你的盒子藏入懷中我把我裝入你的盒中我在你的夢裏了

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Eliot Weinberger Eliot Weinberger’s books of literary essays include Karmic Traces, An Elemental Thing, The Ghosts of Birds, and Angels & Saints. His political writings are collected in What I Heard About Iraq and What Happened Here: Bush Chronicles. The author of a study of Chinese poetry translation, Nineteen Ways of Looking at Wang Wei, he is a translator of the poetry of Bei Dao, the editor of The New Directions Anthology of Classical Chinese Poetry, and the general editor of the series Calligrams: Writings from and on China. Among his translations of Latin American poetry and prose are The Poems of Octavio Paz, Paz’s In Light of India, Vicente Huidobro’s Altazor, Xavier Villaurrutia’s Nostalgia for Death, and Jorge Luis Borges’s Seven Nights and Selected Non-Fictions. His work has been translated into over thirty languages, and he has been publishing with New Directions since 1975.

香港國際詩歌之夜母語的邊界

艾略特•溫伯格艾略特•溫伯格的文學隨筆集包括《業痕》、《一個基礎的事物》、《鳥之幽靈》和《天使與聖徒》。他的散文集有《伊拉克見聞》和《這裏發生了甚麼：布什編年史》。他寫過一部關於中國詩歌翻譯的研究著作《觀看王維的十九種方式》，翻譯過北島的詩歌，編輯過《新方向中國古典詩歌選集》，並擔任「圖像詩：中國書寫」系列的總編輯。他的譯作還包括拉丁美洲詩歌和散文，例如《奧克塔維奧 · 帕斯的詩》、帕斯的《印度之光》、比森特 · 維多夫羅的《阿爾塔索爾》、哈維爾．維拉烏魯蒂亞的《死亡憶舊》、博爾赫斯的《七夜》和《非虛構寫作選集》。自 1975 年以來，溫伯格一直與新方向出版社合作，他的作品已被翻譯成三十多種語言。

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The Life of Du Fu

They say this is the only tree in the world that has these pears, for these pears have no desire to propagate elsewhere. I thought of The Old Man Who Called His Chickens. He had hundreds of chickens, each with its own name. He could call its name and the chicken would come. I thought of him when all the candidates, including me, failed the exam.

In the Eastern Capital it is tiring being clever. Chanting poems in the Hall of Gathering Kingfisher Feathers, drinking in the Pavilion for Gazing at Clouds. They only talk about plum blossoms and never notice the new shoots of a willow. There are plums and melons and pears and grapes, but they love lychees, for lychees come from far away. The flowers here make everyone crazy. Better to be with bamboo.

On either side of me, people take strong positions and never agree. I have a hard time remembering what anyone says. I thought of the poet Hsi K’ang, who was often told that he was talented but unwise. Just before he was executed, he wrote the poem “Now I Am Ashamed.” They say that at the entrance to a house one can always be hit by a falling roof tile.

香港國際詩歌之夜母語的邊界

杜甫的一生

據說天下獨此樹結此梨，因為此梨並無慾望在別處繁衍。想起祝雞翁，養雞千餘隻，每隻皆有其名，呼之則來。待我等考生盡皆落第，便想起此人。

客居東都，機巧令人疲累。在拾翠殿賦詩，在望雲亭飲酒。眾人只談盛放的梅花，卻不曾留意柳樹也長出了新芽。眾果當前，眾人卻獨愛荔枝，只因荔枝來自遠方。此處花兒使人痴狂。不如以竹為伴。

左右各執己見不相和。記不住他人言辭。想起詩人嵇康，常被認為有才而無智，臨刑前寫下「今愧」。都說坐不垂堂，以免被屋瓦砸到。

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These days I’m already sad before I get drunk and drunk I have no place to go. I tug at my robe but it still won’t cover my shins. Too poor for a horse, at least I have feet. In the palace, there’s camel-hoof stew and tangerines. I thought of Wang Hsien-chi. When thieves broke into his house, he asked them not to take his old green rug. They say immortals eat cloud-seed rice, which is shattered mica.

The music stops; moonlight shines on the planks of the floor. Send me a letter.

There are no men left; they’re conscripting boys. The chubby ones have mothers saying goodbye; the thin ones just look forlorn. Everyone has cousins who died in the war. I remember, when we were kids, you were better than me at counting coins.

香港國際詩歌之夜母語的邊界

這段日子未醉已先悲，飲罷無去處。挽起短袍仍無法遮掩小腿。貧而無馬，至少還有雙腳。宮中有駝蹄羹和香橘。想起王獻之，賊人闖進房子，他只求留下一張舊青氈。據說神仙吃的雲子白米是碎雲母。

樂聲止歇，月光灑在木地板上。修書一封予我。

如今已無壯丁，只得徵召少年。胖子有母親相送，瘦子則獨自憔悴。人人都有陣亡的表親。猶記年少時你比我更善於數錢幣。

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He said: “At fifteen you’re sent north to guard the river; at forty you’re sent west to the forts. Those who make it back home have gray hair; the rest are bones in some field.” Half the people of Ch’in are now the wandering ghosts of the unburied. In the abandoned villages, the new ghosts are in torment and the old ghosts weep for them. He said: “To kill a man, I’m taught, first shoot the horse. I watch the clouds, but can’t follow them away.”

An abandoned courtyard: an old tree: A temple bell lying on its side: The world I live in. They win and we lose; we lose and they win. Vines wrap around the rotting bones. She knows he won’t come back from the army, but patches the clothes he left just in case.

In the street a woman is weeping. A boy walks by whistling. An officer changes his horse. The clouds are brown and unmoving. The wind picks up. All things do what they do: Birds swoop to catch an insect. Moonlight breaks through the forest leaves. Soldiers guard the border. I am trapped in this body.

香港國際詩歌之夜母語的邊界

他說：「十五歲時被派往北邊守衛河川，四十歲被派往西邊守衛營田。有幸歸來的人已白髮蒼蒼，其餘則暴屍荒野。」秦城一半是遊魂。廢村殘垣，新鬼煩冤，舊鬼悲泣。他說：「有人教我，射人先射馬。我望浮雲，可望而不可攀。」

空庭：老樹：廟鐘斜臥一旁：身與世。彼勝則我敗；我敗則彼勝。蔓草纏繞腐爛的骨頭。知他從軍不返，仍搗衣裳，等他歸來。

街上一婦人啼哭。一少年吹口哨而過。一將官換馬。天上烏雲未動。風漸起。萬物附本性：飛鳥掠蟲。月光穿林葉。士兵戍守邊疆。而我困於此身。

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I lift my face to watch the birds. I turn my head, thinking someone has called me. I wrote four poems: on a sick cypress, on a sick orange tree, on a withered palm, and a withered nanmu. You ask how I’m doing: Listen to the wild geese echoing and the war horses galloping by.

Even the birds avoid Peach Grove, by the Yellow River. Only a single cloud looks over the slaughter. I thought of the scholar Ting Ling-wei from Liaotung, who mastered the Way and became an immortal crane. He flew back to the city and perched on the city gate. Young men tried to shoot at him with arrows. He flew high into the air and sang: The walls of the city are the same, but the people are different. Better to become an immortal. When I see snow on the pines, I’ll get a boat out of here.

By day, sailing past abandoned villages. Snow still on the sunken rooftops. Somewhere it’s spring. I saw a sick eagle, almost featherless on a leafless willow. The fishermen complain their nets have frozen. At night, anchored, I hear a horn from somewhere. North of here: the war horses.

香港國際詩歌之夜母語的邊界

仰首觀飛鳥。回首，懷疑有人喚我。作詩四首：病柏，病橘，枯椶，枯柟。你問我近況：還聽雁鳴回響戰馬奔騰而過。

連飛鳥也避開黃河岸邊的桃林。只剩一朵孤雲俯視地面的屠戮。想起遼東丁令威，得道化作仙鶴，飛回城門，少年舉弓欲射。仙鶴高飛，徘徊空中，唱道：城郭如故人民非，何不學仙冢壘壘待我看見松上積雪，再乘舟歸去。

白天泛舟過空村。塌陷屋頂仍積雪。某地已當春。無羽病鶻宿於無葉衰柳。漁夫抱怨漁網凍結。夜泊時聽到號角聲。此地以北：戰馬。

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Day breaks; darkness fades; the stars thin out; the snow lets up; magpies on the towers and crowds of crows take off; the river barely moves along the city walls: it will take a long time to go home.

Thousands of white-headed ravens on Redbird Gate. Trees barely visible in the fog; only the sound of the garrison drums. Impossible to know if the news is just rumor: Officials, they say, are disguising themselves as fishermen and butchers. Rebels ride the horses of ghosts. Why do they always burn things down? I thought of that Immortal who lived in a world inside a clay pot.

Here the men sit and the women stand; the men stay home and the women climb the mountains, collecting firewood. The landscape is beautiful, the weather terrible, and they call their temple Taking Poison.

In these mountains I imagine I hear bears and leopards and tigers and baboons, but all I see is a man on a ladder, cutting bamboo.

香港國際詩歌之夜母語的邊界

破曉，黑暗漸消，星辰稀疏；雪勢漸止；塔上烏鴉喜鵲紛飛；城河靜止：歸途仍遠。

數千白頭鴉聚集於朱雀門。霧中樹影依稀；只聞戍鼓之聲。傳言真假難辨：據說百官喬裝成販夫走卒。叛軍騎乘幽魂馬。為何總是焚毀一切？想起陶壺中的壺公。

此地男坐而女立，男人居家而女人上山拾柴採薪。山水雖美，氣候惡劣，人稱其廟為「伏毒寺」。

山中，猶覺聞熊豹虎狨之聲，卻只見一人登梯伐竹。

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No news; snow whirls. In the street, the bones of the frozen. A hut with a single window made from the broken rim of a large pot. For three months, the beacon fires of the rebels in the mountains. The East Wind smells like blood. I remember when ordinary people were merely distrustful. Birds keep themselves hidden, but sing.

There are cuckoos in West Sichuan but no cuckoos in East Sichuan. There are cuckoos in Yunnan but no cuckoos in Fuzhou. They say when a cuckoo cries it sounds like the words “You should go home.” Friends with good jobs have stopped writing.

Here the houses are impressive, there are crowds and music in the streets. I don’t know a soul. In the shade of a mulberry I just stand and look at the bridge. No one walks by the river. Wind in the bamboo, foam from the river on the sand. What news from the capital? I hear the cavalry’s retreated.

So dark I eat dinner at breakfast. So rainy I imagine the mountain washing away. The downpour so strong fish in the river sank. The mud so bad I was sorry I asked you over.

香港國際詩歌之夜母語的邊界

消息斷絕；風急雪舞。路有凍死骨。草舍甕牖窗。山中起叛亂，烽火連三月。東風吹來血腥的味道。猶記往昔百姓猜忌。鳥兒藏身卻啼鳴。

西川有杜鵑，東川無杜鵑。涪萬無杜鵑，雲安有杜鵑。據說杜鵑啼聲似「不如歸去」。故舊為官便斷了書信。

此地屋舍巍峨，街市熙攘，樂聲不絕。而我未識一人。獨自站在桑蔭下，凝視橋畔。江邊無人。風吹竹林，河浪把浮沫推上淺灘。京城有無消息？聞說胡騎已撤走。

天色昏暗，朝食時用晚膳。雨勢如注，恍若山嶽傾瀉。大雨滂沱，強壯的魚兒游到河床。路途泥濘，邀您前來，甚感歉意。

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The world is damp and dry, damp or dry. Two swallows suddenly came into my room. They were raised in dust and wind. It took them a long time to get here, escaping the damp and dry of the world like me.

A single petal falling means less spring. A kingfisher’s nest, a dragonfly’s wing: Study closely the patterns of things. The mind is crystal. Rain soaks my clothes.

Soldiers still guard the ruined palace: rats run across the tiles. A squirrel with folded hands outside his broken nest. That dandelion in the wind once had roots. Live like a wren, unnoticed on a high branch, and you’ll stay alive. It’s been so many years: I imagine her face, looking at me skeptically.

香港國際詩歌之夜母語的邊界

世間燥濕交替。忽有雙燕飛進房間。成長於塵風之間，歷經跋涉，與我一同逃避這燥濕交替的世間。

單瓣落下，春光消減。翠鳥之巢，蜻蜓之翼：細察萬物之規律。心若水晶。雨透衣裳。

陰兵守廢殿，蒼鼠竄古瓦。破巢外，一隻松鼠手足相握。飄揚的蒲公英也曾深植土中。鷦鷯棲於高枝，隱世而長生。年華已逝，想像凝視著我，面露疑色。

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Mushrooms grow on the collapsed temple columns. Painted dragons peel off the walls. I thought of Lien P’o: when he was general, the troops slept late. I thought of the Han Emperor T’ai Tsung, who never killed those who criticized him. I thought of the magistrate Fan Tan, who was so honest his steamer was covered in dust. I thought of Fu-tzu Chien: when he was administrator of Shanfu, he spent the whole time playing the zither and the city was well governed. What does a wren think when the sun goes down?

Wandering for ten years, trying to alight on one safe branch. I open my trunk and stare at the clothes. Moonlight on old clothes. Old clothes and the same old crows. I thought of the philosopher Yang Chu, who always wept when he came to a fork in the road. Plants with thorns only seem to grow where people walk.

The people in these parts are strange. They’re unfriendly to old friends and unfriendlier to those they’ve just met. They raise cormorants at home and every day they just eat sturgeon. You can’t trust them either. The roosters crow long after the sun rises. There’s thunder in the cold of winter. I thought of Confucius, who said that if a unicorn is ever actually captured, no one will know what it is.

香港國際詩歌之夜母語的邊界

倒塌的廟柱長滿蘑菇。牆上繪龍斑駁剝落。想起廉頗：為將時，三軍皆可安睡。想起漢太宗：從不誅殺批評者。想起萊蕪長範丹：為官清廉，塵滿蒸鍋。想起宓子賤：治理單父城，撫琴而治。日落時，鷦鷯在想甚麼？

飄零十載，只想找一根樹枝棲息。打開衣箱，凝視衣裳。月光映照舊衣。舊衣猶在，舊鴉依舊。想起楊朱，每遇歧路便哭泣。帶刺的草似乎只在有人的地方生長。

此地居民性情怪異。對舊識冷漠，對新知更甚。在家養烏鬼，每天吃黃魚。不可信賴。日出後良久，公雞仍在打鳴。寒冬裏也有雷聲。想起孔子曾說，若真有麒麟被捕獲，也無人識其為何物。

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A boat abandoned in a whirlpool in the Wu Gorges; kingfisher feathers swirling around it. I thought of Wen Ch’iao, mooring his boat at Ox Island. Knowing there were invisible water demons around, he burned a rhinoceros horn to make them visible. But invisible water demons want to be unseen, and they killed him.

Last autumn I saw some soldier gallop by, his lance under his arm. And now I suddenly wonder, where his white bones lie. Every day whole regiments die, and everyone weeps, one corpse at a time.

Moon through the latticework. Can’t sleep. I walk the shadows on the floor. I thought of Liu K’un. Surrounded by enemy troops, late at night he climbed a tower and played sad songs on a reed pipe. The soldiers, overcome with homesickness, abandoned their posts and the city was saved. Huge fish hide under the waves.

At dawn in the green mud, at dusk in the green mud, at noon passing a deer who died stuck in the green mud. I dread that I’ll die by the side of the road, and only be remembered for that.

香港國際詩歌之夜母語的邊界

巫峽漩渦中有一艘棄船；翠鳥的羽毛隨著漩渦漂流。想起溫嶠，船泊於牛渚磯。知水下有怪物，他燃點犀牛角以便照見。怪物不想被人看見，於是將其殺害。

去年秋日看見一士兵策馬而過，臂下夾著長槍。如果忽然思忖，他那白骨埋在何處。每日陣前將士死亡，每人都為每具屍體哭泣。

月光穿透窗櫺。夜不能寐。深夜步窗影。想起劉琨，被敵軍包圍，夜半登樓奏胡笳，喚起敵兵思鄉之情，於是棄圍四散，城池得以保全。巨魚藏於波濤之下。

早晨踏過青泥，黃昏踏過青泥，午時走過一頭死鹿它陷在青泥裏。我害怕自己會死於路旁，世人僅以此記之。

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Why do stupidities become customs? I thought of those monkeys who were furious that they were given three acorns in the morning and four at night; so their keeper gave them four in the morning and three at night and they were peaceful again. Parrots are more intelligent than people: they know they’re in a cage. Better to go back to sleep.

Mt. Wu lit by the moon. Who put the stars up there? I thought of the story of the blind man in the Nirvana Sutra. A doctor shaved his eyeballs with a golden scalpel and cured him, but he did not know how to see.

They say failure in early life will bring success at the end, but birds know when they’re tired of flying, and clouds have no will of their own. I scratch my head and knock out a hairpin, more concerned with medicines than poetry. Around here no one does a thing. Even minor clerks are surly towards me.

香港國際詩歌之夜母語的邊界

愚行何以成為風俗？想起猴子朝三而暮四則眾怒，朝四而暮三則皆喜。鸚鵡聰明過人，自知身在籠中。不如再睡。

月照巫山。誰將星辰掛天際。想起《涅槃經》盲人，良醫以金錍刮他的眼球，眼疾得到治癒，而他則不知如何看見。

據說早年失意，晚成大器，然飛鳥知倦，雲無意志。搔首時髮簪掉落，心懷藥石，少念詩文。此地無人有作為，連小吏也小瞧我。

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A desolate terrace in the wind; cliffs above; a ravine below, fog hovering over the river. A single goose in the clouds, unnoticed by the crows. Boulders on the verge of rolling down. They say that travelers weep when a gibbon, hanging from a branch, cries three times. There’s no end to the insincere: why bother to mention them?

Deep in this valley, sunlight is brief and the tax collectors go home late at night. The girls pick fiddlehead ferns to sell. Better to have a daughter who can marry the neighbor; a son will just end up in the ground. Letters rarely come.

Even the apes are cold this high in the mountains. The wind blows the geese out of formation. At Chen-ti Temple, I asked the Master about the Dharma, and he said I was deluded writing poetry. I thought of how, in Han times, poems often began: “A single cloud in the northwest.” True, my mind moves as slowly as a cloud, but a cloud moves on. These days the poets sit on a log and wait for a fish.

香港國際詩歌之夜母語的邊界

風中孤台，崖上高嶺，谷下深澗，霧氣瀰漫江面。孤雁穿梭雲間，烏鴉未曾察覺。巨岩岌岌欲墜。據說旅者聞猿啼三聲不禁淚下。虛偽無窮盡：何必提起？

深谷之中，日光短暫，徵稅者夜歸。少女採蕨菜以售。不若生女可嫁鄰里；生男恐怕只會埋骨於地下。甚少收到書信。

高山至此，猿猴也感到寒冷。風吹亂雁陣。在真諦寺問法師佛法，法師說作詩是妄念。想起漢時詩作常以「西北有孤雲」開頭。誠然，我心動如雲緩，但雲終會移走。如今詩人坐於木樁上等待魚兒。

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Useless medicines strewn around the room: I keep hearing the sound of wood being chopped when no one is chopping. Fireflies sneak in and land on piles of clothes. Where will I be next year? I must ask someone to scratch my back.

They beat drums all night; they whip themselves; they burn statues of dragons; they lay a dying man under the sun so that Heaven will take pity, but still no rain. Soldiers keep wearing their armor in the heat; everyone else stays home, lying down. I’ve grown attached to my palm leaf whisk, waving the flies away. The moon a giant pearl in the blackness. Will I ever escape rebirth?

I eat in the rain, under the river willows. I lean on the railing. I write poems about what I see, for things pass so quickly. This morning the clouds are thin. Last night the moon was yellow.

香港國際詩歌之夜母語的邊界

房間撒滿了無用的藥物：常聞伐木聲，卻無人伐木。螢火蟲潛入，落於衣堆上。來年身在何處？須喚人來搔背。

他們徹夜擊鼓，鞭打自己，焚燒龍像，將垂死之人置於烈日下以求上天憐憫，卻仍無甘霖。士兵在酷熱中仍披盔戴甲；其餘眾人皆居家躺平。愈發依戀手中的蒲扇，揮之驅趕飛蠅。明月如巨珠懸於黑暗之中。我可曾逃脫輪回？

於河邊柳下冒雨而食。倚欄而立。作詩描摹所見，萬物轉瞬即逝。今晨雲薄，昨夜月黃。

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Peach blossoms in the river current; ducks below the dock. A single seagull, tossed around in the wind. It is beneath you never to forget petty slights.

When birds call they call to their own kind. Gibbons hang from the branches and imitate each other. Gulls stand in a line side by side and think only of themselves. Thirty years since I’ve seen you and I still see you getting on the boat. Ashes smolder in a heart that’s died.

They sell their children to pay the taxes. They hope their counterfeit coins will work. The army has taken all the horses; even the officials ride mangy donkeys. Today is like yesterday. Troops still on the Central Plain. They say that when a goose flies south it holds a twig in its beak to keep from making a sound the hunters might hear.

The body grows weaker, but gazing at the mountains remains the same. In the distance, smoke rises from the scattered houses burned by marauders. Their pennants are the tails of black horses. Their swords are forged with patterns of stars. Is there anyone still left, under a leaking roof, looking out the door? They even killed the chickens and the dogs.

香港國際詩歌之夜母語的邊界

桃花隨河水漂流，鴨子在碼頭下嬉戲。一隻海鷗在風中飄搖。固執小怨實非高賢。

鳥鳴是在呼其同類，猿掛枝頭，相互模仿。鷗鷺列隊而立，唯顧自身。三十載未見，猶記登舟時。心已死，其灰燼仍在燜燒。

他們販賣兒女以繳稅。他們希望偽幣不被發現。軍隊徵走所有駿馬；連官員也騎著瘦驢。今日如昨天。兵仍駐中原。據說雁南飛時銜樹枝，以免發聲驚動獵人。

身軀漸衰，而望山依舊。遠處屋子被亂賊焚毀，煙霧升騰，尖旗上繡著黑馬之尾。刀劍上鑄有星辰之紋。還有沒有人生還，躲在漏雨的房子，偷偷望著門口？他們連雞犬都斬盡殺絕。

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The only people I meet are people I’ve never known. I thought of Chuang Tzu: “Be careful not to disturb the human mind.” You’ll weep for reasons other than the war. There’s a lot to see on a dead-end road, but not much kindness.

Bitter bamboo so bitter insects won’t eat it. Bitter bamboo so low birds won’t nest in it. Bitter bamboo so weak it’s useless for building. Bitter bamboo to plant around my hut. Today I am not happy. The heart is not a stone that can be rolled.

They say that rocks turn into swallows in the rain, and back to rocks when it clears. They say that when it rains for seven days, a leopard does not hunt, and cultivates the patterns in its coat. They say there is a certain thunder clap when a carp turns into a dragon. They say that a chicken has five virtues: civil talents, military talents, courage, moral rectitude, and fidelity. They say that when a master archer shoots, his prey drops at the twang of the bowstring. No one understood when I wrote: “The sun rises from its bath like a duckweed.”

香港國際詩歌之夜母語的邊界

所遇之人皆是素未謀面。想起莊子曾言：「無攖人心。」你將會哭泣，並非為了戰事。死衚衕裏多有可見，而少有仁慈。

苦竹如此苦澀，連蟲也不蛀食。苦竹如此低矮，連鳥也不築巢。苦竹如此柔弱，不可作為建材。茅舍四周種滿了苦竹。今日心裏不快。人心不是被滾來滾去的石頭。

據說雨中石化為燕，雨過復為石。據說雨連七日，豹不捕獵，修其紋理。據說鯉化為龍，一聲驚雷。據說雞有五德：文武勇仁信。據說射手一箭，獵物隨弦音而落。無人明白我的詩句「浴日上而如萍」。海納百川。

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The war goes on: I live among deer. I sit out in the moonlight and moonlight shines on my knees. I sit out even when it rains. I thought of the sage Wang Hui-chih who was appointed to the Ministry of Mounts. Asked what his duties were, he said he did not know, but people were always bringing him horses. Asked how many horses, he said a sage doesn’t think about horses.

Watching the horses being washed, listening to the cicadas in the trees. I write about what is happening: I record the dawns and sunsets. I wonder why cherries are all the same size. If it is not painted perfectly, a tiger will look like a dog.

An orange tree is so relaxed. I hadn’t seen that cormorant for a long time, but now it’s back, looking at me. It knows what’s on my mind. I thought of the master calligrapher Wang Hsi-chih, who wrote out the whole Tao Te Ching and traded it for a goose. No time to be lazy: This morning I combed my hair.

香港國際詩歌之夜母語的邊界

戰事未休：我棲於鹿群之間。月下獨坐，月光灑膝。即使雨中，我亦獨坐。想起賢者王徽之，獲任命為騎曹參軍。問及職務，他答：不知道，但常有人送來馬匹。問及馬匹幾何，他答：賢者不思馬幾何。

觀浣馬，聽樹間蟬鳴。書寫時事：記錄晨昏。好奇為何櫻桃大小一致。畫虎不成反類犬。

橙樹閒適。久未見的鸕鷀，現復來凝視於我。它知我心意。想起書法大師王羲之，書寫《道德經》以換鵝。無暇懶散：今晨已梳髮。

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I walk around the yard with a small axe: Things that are useless always flourish. I go to bed early, I get up so late, how can I do anything? I must finish that chicken coop. They’re knocking the plates off the table.

The four little pines I planted are choked with vines. The fish are not biting and the deer just run off and don’t bother to look back. There’s no path to my cottage, but I’d clear one for you. When melons get ripe in the fall, I think of you in Melon Village. How are the melons this year?

Nothing easier than lettuce, so why doesn’t mine grow? The door rattles in the wind. I was pretty smart when I was seven.

These poor chrysanthemums took root in the wrong place. The bean sprouts rotted in the damp and the melons cracked in the frost. We’re the same age—so why do I look so much older? Even when my teeth have fallen out, I’ll still have my tongue. A carp, flapping in a carriage rut. It’s not that I’m avoiding others; it’s just that there are too many wagons on the road.

香港國際詩歌之夜母語的邊界

持小斧繞後院而行：無用之物卻生長繁茂。早臥晚起，何以有為？必須建好雞柵。有人掀翻飯桌。

藤蔓纏繞我種的四棵幼松。魚不咬餌，鹿亦奔逃不回顧。無徑至茅舍，而我願為你開路。秋瓜熟時，在瓜鄉想起你。今年瓜如何？

萵苣最易種為何我種不生？風搖響門扉。七歲時已自覺聰慧。

苦菊在錯誤的地方扎根。豆芽在潮濕中腐爛，瓜在冰霜下迸裂。你我同齡，為何我看似更老？牙齒落盡仍有舌頭。鯉魚在車轍上掙扎。並非我在避人；只是路上車多。

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I wondered if sparrows no longer twitter, then realized I’m going deaf. My mirror is skilled at hurrying old age. I’ve given up garlic and scallions. Drinking now makes me ill, so I’ll just watch you, a little jealous when you fall over.

Why should crickets bring on melancholy? Life’s so short, said Chuang Tzu, it’s like watching a white colt run by through a crack in a fence. I remembered watching Kung-sun in her brocade robes perform the “Sword Dance” when I was a child. I thought of General Yin Hao, who lost a battle and was demoted to a commoner. He spent the rest of his days writing the same two characters over and over in the air with his finger: HOW STRANGE. Your letter came: you’re alive. As for me, I’ve achieved nothing. My shoes have turned green and my hat blows off in the wind.

I wobble even where the ground is flat. When my coffin closes that will be the end of that. I thought of Chiang Yen who dreamed that Kuo P’o, long dead, appeared and asked for his writing brush back, and after he awoke Chiang Yen never wrote poems again. I thought of Tsu Yung who, at his examination, wrote a poem of only four lines. Questioned by the examiner, he replied: “That was all I had to say.”

香港國際詩歌之夜母語的邊界

曾疑鳥雀不啁啾，繼而意識到自己耳聾。鏡子擅於催人老。我已棄食蒜蔥。飲酒成疾，唯有看著你，略略嫉妒醉倒的人。

蟋蟀何故引人憂愁？莊子曰：「人生天地之間，若白駒之過卻，忽然而已。」想起童年觀公孫錦衣舞劍。想起將軍殷浩，戰敗而被貶作庶人，終日舉指空書「咄咄怪事」。信至：知你尚活著。而我，一事無成。鞋子已變成青色，帽子被風吹走。

在平地上行走也搖搖晃晃。待我的棺蓋合上，這一切當終了。想起江淹夢見已作古的郭璞向他索取毛筆，江淹醒後不復作詩。想起祖詠，科舉作詩只有四行。考官問為何，他答：「意盡」。

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International Poetry Nights in Hong Kong The Margins of the Mother Tongue

The moon, the river, the boat, an egret, a fish, a splash, a lamp rocking in the wind.

Note This is not a translation of individual poems, but a fictional autobiography of Tu Fu derived and adapted from the thoughts, images, and allusions in the poetry. In the 13th century, the resistance fighter Wen T’ien-hsiang, imprisoned during the Mongol conquest of the Southern Sung Dynasty, wrote (as translated by Lucas Bender): As I sat in prison in Yu Yen, I had nothing to do and chanted Tu Fu’s poems. Having become somewhat familiar with the feelings and inspirations they contained, I took his five-character lines and compiled them into quatrains. After some time at this, I had gotten two hundred such quatrains. Everything I had to say had already been said for me by Tu Fu. While Wen T’ien-hsiang’s intention was to produce patriotic and inspirational verses, and he, of course, reproduced the rearranged lines exactly in Chinese, the process here has been similar. For “prison” in the passage above, read “the pandemic.” For “Yu Yen,” read “New York.” For “chanted,” read “read.” For “quatrains,” read “montages.” For “two hundred such quatrains,” read “fifty-eight poems.”

香港國際詩歌之夜母語的邊界

月亮、河流、舟船、白鷺、魚兒、水濺、挑燈，隨風搖曳。

作者注本集並非單篇詩作翻譯的集合，而是虛構的杜甫自傳，從杜甫詩中的思想、意象和典故中提取和改編而成。十三世紀蒙古滅南宋時，抗元名士文天祥在獄中寫道：余坐幽燕獄中無所為，誦杜詩，稍習諸所感興，因其五言，集為絕句。久之，得二百首。凡吾意所欲言者，子美先為代言之。文天祥的目的是寫出熱愛南宋和激勵人心的詩歌，而他重新改寫並重新排列杜甫的詩句。我的寫作方法與此類似。將「獄中」替換為「疫情」，將「幽燕」替換為「紐約」，將「誦」替換為「讀」，將「絕句」替換為「蒙太奇」，將「二百首」替換為「五十八首」。

（宋子江

譯）

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Ya Shi born in 1966 in Guang’an, Sichuan Province, graduated from the Department of Mathematics at Peking University in 1987. He currently resides in Chengdu and works at a university’s School of Mathematics. Yashi began writing poetry in 1990 and has published several poetry collections, including Selected Poems of Ya Shi (2007), As Poetry (2015), Spark Hotel (2015), Floral Mutter (bilingual in Chinese and English, translated by Nick Admussen, 2020), and Before Sunset (2022).

香港國際詩歌之夜母語的邊界

啞石 1966 年生，四川廣安人，1987 年畢業於北京大學數學系。現居成都，供職於某高校數學學院。1990 年開始詩歌創作，出版詩集《啞石詩選》（ 2007 ）、《如詩》（ 2015 ）、《火花旅館》（ 2015 ）、《Floral Mutter（花的低語）》（中英雙語，Nick Admussen 英譯，2020）、《日落之前》（2022）等。

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Entering the Hills Please believe that the rays of light at nightfall have damp antennae. Carrying ancient books in both arms like oars I walked out from beneath miles of forest shade past the distant indifferent voices of the Mass. A tuft of wild grass turned gold in the gradually deepening dusk, durable twinkling of immeasurable potential. And the light wind caressing the cheek brings the gem clatter of spring water, shrinking scent of flowers some vast heavenly dome of dust. It is so good to stay in this empty valley! A curlew alights on a ball-round stone before me silent, secret heat wound around its breast like a thick, bent compass needle. I stop to watch branches stretch freely among the earth’s dusky corners — the flame, so precise paints the old, misty mirror of the wedding night. (Translated from Russian by Nick Admussen)

Full Moon Night Currently I cannot say that I understand the valley understand the petal-like, windborne unfolding of her confession full moon night in the underbrush, ladybugs flutter like the grains of stars falling into the valleys wet creases someone says: “the full moon can trigger a kind of savage snow . . .” I think this is a simple truth: this night this moment that the biting cold of silence crushes my stone house. And shadows of branches steal in through the window the oak desk that’s so fragile I am forced to love it has exploded just a bit (from the glossy maroon nub of the elbow off to coarse distance) once I aired it out under the overfilled moon hoping it would gestate with deep and ripple-churned blood like how my flesh, awoken by the vast sky wandered an empty valley listening to mountains’ secret, copious spill (Translated from Chinese by Nick Admussen)

香港國際詩歌之夜母語的邊界

進山請相信黃昏的光線有著濕潤的觸鬚。懷揣古老的書本雙臂如槳我從連綿數里的樹蔭下走過遠方漫起淡淡的彌撒聲。一叢野草在漸濃的暮色中變成了金黃堅韌閃爍有著難以測度的可能。而吹拂臉頰的微風帶來了琤琮的泉水、退縮的花香某種茫茫蒼穹的灰塵。「在這空曠的山谷呆著多好！」一隻麻鷸歇落於眼前滾圓的褐石寂靜、隱秘的熱力彎曲它的胸骨像彎曲粗大的磁針。我停下來看樹枝在瞑色四合中恣意伸展 —— 火焰真細密繪出初夜那朦朧的古鏡。

滿月之夜現在我不能說理解了山谷理解了她花瓣般隨風舒展的自白滿月之夜灌木叢中瓢蟲飛舞如粒粒火星散落於山谷濕潤的皺摺有人說：「滿月會引發一種野蠻的雪⋯⋯」我想這是個簡樸的真理：在今夜在凜冽的沉寂壓彎我石屋的時候。而樹枝陰影由窗口潛入清脆地使我珍愛的橡木書桌一點點炸裂（從光滑暗紅的肘邊到粗糙的遠端）曾經我晾曬它於盈盈滿月下希望它能孕育深沉的、細浪翻捲的血液一如我被長天喚醒的肉體遊蕩於空谷聽山色暗中沛然流洩

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Eyes of Small Animals To be frank with regards to the creatures of the valley I feel shame I can’t look them in the eye inside which is violet fog (pulled along, rustling) a benevolent, cowardice-mixed and eternally extant inquiry. When the twilight follows me back to the stone house they emerge from their many secret places create me and eagerly await this wrinkled, moist, tree-barked man to send a more resolute message. Even if I hide myself in the books that open reflexively before me I know they’ll still peek out from the white spaces in words watch me and mutter about the humiliations they’ll suffer, the dirt. Yes when my teeth loosen and drop out one by one from age I will still remember all of this steadfastly and with my soul I’ll answer the endless accumulation of innocence (Translated from Russian by Nick Admussen)

Stand of Wild Apple Behind the stone house on the hillside there is a patch of wild apple trees. Probably a quarter acre, more or less last year when I used round stones from the creek to stack into a stone house I didn’t think anything was strange but this spring after a dawn that scattered the blue mist the valley at last showed me this marvelous landscape: thickets of white flowers like the milky skin of a shy woman bathing shining soul-stealingly right behind the house . . . so thoughtless — secret or not, how could I have missed this beauty right next door? I think: this grove cannot be visited whenever one wishes have to wait for early summer a sunset when the wind kicks up suddenly when ripe fruit patters down onto the roof I’ll drink creek water taste what I’ve been given until the tart sweetness enters the marrow of my bones . . . (Translated from Chinese by Nick Admussen)

香港國際詩歌之夜母語的邊界

小動物的眼睛老實說對於山谷中的小動物我心懷愧疚無法直面它們的眼睛那裏面有紫色的霧（沙沙流曳著）有善意的、並將在膽怯中永恆存在的探詢。當暮色伴我回到石屋它們就出現於眾多暗處創造我且期待比那皺摺、潮濕的樹皮人能給出更為堅定的音訊。我知道即使躲進隨手翻開的書裏它們也會在語詞的空白處探出頭來望著我低語將要蒙受的羞辱、泥塵。是的到了牙齒一顆顆酥鬆、脫落的晚年我還會記起這一切堅持著並用靈魂應答那再度斂聚的童真

野蘋果樹林石屋背後的山坡上有一片野蘋果樹林。大概佔了半畝地左右吧去年我用山溪裏搬來的圓石壘堆石屋時還不覺甚麼異樣。今年春天一個藍霧散盡的清晨山谷才指點給我這美妙的景觀：密密匝匝的白花如浴女羞怯的凝脂正在屋後攝魂地晃閃⋯⋯「怎麼這樣粗心呢即使作了秘密之美的鄰居也不知曉？」我想：不能隨便去探訪這片果林要等到初夏一個大風驟起的黃昏當成熟的果子⋯⋯啪啪墜落屋頂我會飲著溪水品嘗那賜予我的直到一種甜澀的滋味溶在骨髓裏面⋯⋯

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Guardian Angel Let me speak out one more time the heat of moonlight when the deep autumn night brings the valley a bit of coolness I imagine the moonlight as the thick juice of oranges (in the sky there is just one golden, round, navel orange) imagine it as a surge of red electricity in the roots of grass (young beasts stroke the roots their joints cracking) what pushes me to work tirelessly on autumn nights is fate oh moonlight my guardian angel let work slowly bake then crumble your loneliness’s hesitation one day I will lie down in the valley and sleep forever becoming a sweet orange for other gods to taste and enjoy becoming a tiny moon that has taken up residence deep in dust I say: did you hear my humble finger, still softly growing it is a budding in your flesh is the sign of the clamor of spring grass (Translated from Russian by Nick Admussen)

Cryptic Poem The cardiac bang bang of literary fame and the bruising after, you bang bang bang, I bruise for no reason at all. A good guy, perched on the excavator, extends its metal arms and the moment of exposure, of shame condensed into a twinkling, lasts almost forever! The summer dew writes back, says you’re still not cryptic enough. Fury has many categories: flattering, pinned in tight bun, streaming cat piss, unaggrieved, engrossed by the broken soul . . . Does the glittering system encourage weakness? The fish bone chorus erupts, it shatters the land but sticks in the throat. What’s most serious must be prophesied correctly before it happens. Swashbuckling heroism? Haven’t seen it in ages. On heaven and earth’s makeshift chopping block, you can use fir, white oak, red pine . . . Spirit and the flesh, sliced until they’re so lean! (Translated from Chinese by Nick Admussen)

香港國際詩歌之夜母語的邊界

守護神讓我再一次說出溫熱的月光當深秋的黑夜給山谷帶來了些許寒涼我想像月光是橙子濃濃的汁液（天空中只有一個金黃、渾圓的甜橙）想像它是草根裏紅色電流的激蕩（幼獸輕撫草根骨節叭叭直響）催我在秋夜不停勞作的是命運噢月亮我的守護神讓勞作慢慢烘烤、驅散你孤單的遲疑吧有一天我會躺在山谷永久睡去只為成為另一個眾神樂意品嘗的甜橙成為駐留於塵土深處的微型月亮我說：你聽見了我謙卑的手指還在靜靜生長嗎它是你肉裏的新芽是春草喧嘩的跡象

晦澀詩文學討好心臟之嘭嘭和事後青腫，你嘭嘭嘭，我無端青腫。好樣的，挺在挖掘機舉起鐵臂暴露、羞愧的那一刻，凝在轉瞬之中，幾乎永久！夏露回信說，你還晦澀得不夠。暴怒分多種：媚主的，綰個小鬏鬏；流貓尿的，不裂肺，只管摧魄⋯⋯ 明晃晃制度慫恿軟弱？魚刺眾聲洶湧，破碎山河，但鯁喉中。最嚴重之事，無疑事先皆言中。橫刀氣度呢？久違了。天地權且案板，可以冷杉、青棡、紅松⋯⋯ 「精神和肉體，統統剁成精肉！」

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Axehead Poem I will no longer revel in the dark of night. But night is always there. Therefore, now I am insane. And the dreamworld? It’s no superstition. The odd thing is: like ping pang kitchen noises, the dreamworld is constantly present. Half-awakened, my pupils turned to cool tangerines! Yes — I’m still alive, conflicted, chaotic, and soft . . . If the searing heat can blind and deafen, then great: if thermal underwear is a cloak of invisibility, then great. Friends, do not be mistaken, what I’m saying is clear as the daytime sun. I’m trimming greens, on the root of the onion there are two hoof-shaped mud stains . . . no need to go public, it’s enough to carve out the offending flesh. Too many of the world’s affairs are quiet, and so it is insane. What’s crazier: under the vast, starry sky, a great tree has been felled many times, but the axehead, it still stands there gleaming! (Translated from Russian by Nick Admussen)

Poison Poem Sometimes, you speak on my behalf: If fate sentences me to drink poison, I will thank fate! You still stand in for me, you say so so much, your subtler points, even I can’t understand. You’ve died many times, always reviving like the primrose. This time, from the other world you bring back half a yellow rock, a suffering-and-joy composite stone, bright and dark chasing each other inside it, brilliant as fireworks. And the other half ? Also mid-resurrection. You toss it towards the world of floating berries. A lush green tower, battered by the wind that blows from here. I still can’t speak. I open my mouth: within, a tongue of ebony wood. (Translated from Chinese by Nick Admussen)

香港國際詩歌之夜母語的邊界

斧頭詩不再沉湎於夜色。但夜，始終在那裏。所以，現在，我是瘋狂的。夢境呢？不會迷信了。奇怪的是：如同廚房乒乓作響，夢境，也一直在那裏。微醒之時，眼眸竟是清涼的柑橘！是啊，我還活著，矛盾、混亂，又柔軟⋯⋯ 若熱氣騰騰可障人耳目，就好了；若保暖內衣也是隱身衣，就好了。朋友，別誤會，我說的全是朗朗白日之事。正擇菜呢，蔥根上有兩小塊蹄形泥漬⋯⋯不必聲張，剮掉那層蔥皮就可以了。人間，安靜之事太多，所以是瘋狂的。更瘋狂的事：一顆大樹，廣闊星空下伐倒了數次，而斧頭，還明亮地立在那裏！

毒藥詩某些時候，你代替我說：假如命運判我喝下毒藥，我會致謝！你還替我，說了許多許多，微妙之處，有些甚至我聽不懂。你死過很多次了，每次都像報春花復活，這一次，你從另一個世界帶回半塊黃色石頭，痛苦和歡樂熔鑄的石頭，光明與黑暗在其中相互追逐、璀璨如煙花的石頭。另一半呢？也在復活。你把它擲向漿果懸浮的世界。青翠的高塔，被此世之風狠狠吹著，我仍不能開口，張著嘴，裏面一條烏木的舌頭。

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Yu Lu is a poet and the lead singer and songwriter for the folk music group “Less than One.” She currently works in the Shanghai film industry. She has published poems in Harvest, Poetry, and Genesis, among other magazines. Her collection Porcelain Horse in Labor will be published in 2024.

香港國際詩歌之夜母語的邊界

俞璐詩人，民謠組合「小於一」主唱及詞曲。現在上海從事電影工作，詩歌作品散見於《收穫》、《詩刊》、《創世紀》等，個人詩集《瓷馬臨盆》將於 2024 年出版。

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Reject 1. Reject stores. The way the lower classes order things food is a legacy from past eras, tantamount to peddling weapons. Secret training in sales tactics is reduced to being an accomplice in loosening knots a stove buys an ax trying in vain to crack open the conscience of a cream cake 2. Reject umbrellas. Boiling water in a rice cooker, looting at will corroding the husk of the rice. A bowl of rice, shaped by pressure feeds an exile aggravating in his decency 3. Reject shrines. An anticipated meeting with someone of questionable origin trailed by unavoidable misfortune. The infinite pursuit of personal experience or research and a strong connection to some kind of ideology. People who diligently dust the memorial tablets will face an impasse sooner or later how to restrain the desire to speak. 4. Reject tuning forks. The origins of a worldview the beauty of singing out of tune, of playing the fool inventions that conceal disobedience make synthetic features all the more eye-catching

香港國際詩歌之夜母語的邊界

拒絕 1.

拒絕商店。下等人的訂貨方式食物是舊時代的遺產，等於販賣武器。秘密培訓銷售話術淪為鬆綁繩結的幫凶灶頭購買斧頭妄圖砸開奶油蛋糕的良心

拒絕雨傘。電飯煲裏的滾水，肆行擄掠侵蝕米的軀殼。一碗飯，因擠壓而賦形被餵飽的流亡者得體令人生厭

拒絕神龕。被猜透的見面來路不明者少不了厄運的盯梢。無限追究個人感受或者研究和某種主義的強關聯勤於打掃牌位的人遲早要面對同一個絕境如何克制發言慾望

拒絕音叉。關乎世界觀的發端荒腔走板的妙處，在於裝瘋賣傻藏起違抗的發明人造特徵就愈發醒目

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5. Reject batteries. An electric wheelchair addicted to speeding no one can stop the tragic fate of a logical existence 6. Reject flowers. Unhelpful complaints bare profits bring tremendous hardship it’s better to rent out a balcony and fill it with poison so as to better repair the hierarchy of the classes 7. Reject scratch paper. The practiced drills of private conversation an overgrown snowbank, an expert crushing the last tile 8. Reject banks. One must be deposited in a hometown in order to exchange valid currency a counter for samples camouflages temporary features custodians of bankrupt credit 9. Reject needlework. Thugs suffering from hyperthyroidism bursting open from the juncture of the buttocks tail wagging with dissatisfaction. Rarely do healthy people turn around repeatedly, just as few people mend their thick skin on the soles of their shoes

香港國際詩歌之夜母語的邊界

拒絕電池。沉迷疾馳的電動輪椅誰都無法阻止邏輯存在的悲慘命運

拒絕鮮花。毫無幫助的抱怨蠅頭小利造成大量磨難不如出租露台，擺滿毒餌更能修復等級關係

拒絕草稿紙。私下談話的純熟演練瘋長的積雪，壓垮最後一塊瓦片的老手

拒絕銀行。必須存進一個故鄉才能兌換有效期內的貨幣作為樣品的櫃台掩護臨時嘴臉信用破產的監護人

拒絕針線。打手罹患甲亢崩開了後屁股的接縫尾巴搖得很不滿意。鮮少有健全之人頻頻回頭，就像少有人忙著在鞋底扎補臉皮

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10. Reject health products. Only when organizations claim responsibility for the truth will society have the right to discuss health. An ancient prescription, complicated people go crazy first new savageness undergoing gentle treatment. 11. Reject phones. The descendants, knowing the line is busy, excel at false decorum pass over the outmoded receiver a gas chamber gathering at the mouth hello?—sanctimonious words quick, eat it all up. 12. Reject candles. Light, like a newly hatched silkworm, can so easily cause personal loss Villains always knock at midnight duping the youth out of all their ideas a new memory trick 13. Reject the library. Here, the traces of a civilized society clean up the components of a person and return autonomy to people 14. Reject keys. Mostly it’s the barbed door handles malfunctioning for years. Mostly it’s that the soles of the feet can’t determine the landlord’s lifestyle Locksmiths step up and volunteer to act as proxies for security codes privilege appears not quite sufficient

香港國際詩歌之夜母語的邊界

10.

拒絕保健品。當有組織宣稱對真理負責社會才有權談論健康。古老的處方，複雜之人率先發瘋溫順療法下的全新野蠻

11.

拒絕電話。明知道佔線的後代擅長操弄假斯文偏要遞上過時的聽筒湊到嘴邊的毒氣室喂 —— 自以為是的話柄趁早餵下肚去。

12.

拒絕蠟燭。蠶蟻似的光，極易造成個人損失惡人總在午夜敲門套取青年的所有念頭輔助記憶的新手段

13.

拒絕圖書館。在這裏，文明社會的痕跡是清理人的成分再把自主性交還給人

14.

拒絕鑰匙。主要是帶刺的門把手常年失靈。主要是腳掌決定不了房東的生活方式鎖匠們挺身而出代理密碼特權顯得不太夠用

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15. Reject full moons. Passing by overfilled grief, pursuing viscera imploring the streets for proof. Paper moonlight desperately hides the texture of steel wire Deep in back alleys, bits of faded forelocks. 16. Reject poetry. Suicide is a low trick not random at all, death has nothing to do with purity it’s only an expansion of creative experience. (Translated from Chinese by Eleanor Goodman)

香港國際詩歌之夜母語的邊界

拒絕滿月。路過滿盈的悲哀，追趕內臟苦苦哀求街道證明。紙紮的月光，拼命掩映鋼絲肌理後巷深處，成片褪色的額髮。

16.

拒絕詩歌。自裁是低端的伎倆絕非偶然，死亡和清白無關僅僅是擴大創作經驗。

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The Self as a Porcupine The porcupine prepares for combat, a battle from mountains to sea dodging left and right along the streets assaulting the traffic lights in the shopping district. An encounter with spines is inevitable nibbling on pine needles, blindly matched pores lie across all irresponsible fate The first lesson of an itinerant society is to identify license plates which car will be ready immediately, which car requires extra maintenance fees. Most porcupines greedily seek pleasure burrowing into suspended wine barrels simply domesticated, willing to soak in glutinous rice wine to soften its spines and meet a suitable future as early as possible In difficult to surrender beliefs, livestock cannot avoid notoriety porcupines give lessons, and who dares say it’s indecent is a teacher reincarnated as a porcupine fetus no longer worth your reverence? From the mouths of animals one can receive the highest truths porcupines are good at praise the walls of the ancient schools have been smashed so solemnly proclaim: all of the sins of tonight will be rubbed into mud Try observing the eyes of a porcupine shining on your face, sometimes limpid twisted, lifting fangs and talons red, swollen eyes—aren’t you an animal? A human fetus, letting out animal sounds. A porcupine god suitable for the downtrodden locals grab a handful of discarded thorns to wipe the window glass deepen the cracks between family members

香港國際詩歌之夜母語的邊界

身為豪豬豪豬整裝出征，排山倒海的陣仗在街巷左躲右閃衝擊鬧市區的紅綠燈柱。必定遭遇落刺那就啃食松針，盲目匹配的毛孔橫臥在所有不負責任的運氣上闖蕩社會的第一課，辨識車牌哪一台車立等可取，哪一台需要額外增加供養費。大多數豪豬貪圖享樂鑽入懸置的酒桶索性家養，甘願泡醪糟軟化尖刺盡早達成適宜相逢的未來難以歸順的信仰裏，牲畜難免聲名狼藉豪豬授課，誰又敢宣稱不體面一旦老師轉世為豪豬胎不再值得你敬畏嗎？經由動物之口照樣能獲得至高真理豪豬擅長稱頌古老學堂的牆皮震得稀碎莊嚴宣告：今宵的一切罪惡，都會被搓成泥屑嘗試觀察豪豬的眼睛映照你的臉龐，偶然清澈扭曲上升的爪牙，紅腫的眼泡 —— 你就不是牲口嗎？人胎，卻發出動物的悶哼。豪豬之神多麼適合落魄的本地人抓一把淘汰的尖刺去擦窗玻璃加深家庭關係的裂紋

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International Poetry Nights in Hong Kong The Margins of the Mother Tongue

The only problem is that even the smallest porcupine can become a New Year’s pig and amid the sounds of firecrackers, a stabbing blade stuffs the beast into a gloomy new life. (Translated from Chinese by Eleanor Goodman)

香港國際詩歌之夜母語的邊界

唯一的問題再小的豪豬也可能淪為年豬爆竹聲中，放血的刀口畜生塞進幽暗的一生

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International Poetry Nights in Hong Kong The Margins of the Mother Tongue

Afterword

AFTER completing the editing of The Margins of the Mother Tongue, the words “mother tongue” brought forth a poignant memory. In her later years, my grandmother suffered from Alzheimer’s disease. Our family quietly bore the sorrow while her memory gradually declined. One day, she began speaking in a language none of us could understand. A distant relative told us that she was speaking a dialect, the same dialect her mother spoke, from the region in which they had been born. This revelation was both enlightening and melancholy. Over her lifetime, she had learned multiple languages and dialects, yet the one she ultimately remembered—or rather, the last one she forgot—was her mother tongue. In the twilight of her life, those around her could not understand what she was saying, in her own mother tongue. What did the margins of the mother tongue signify for her? Each attempt to speak was an effort to cross margins, yet each attempt ended in failure, as there was no other language left beyond these margins for her to reach. At the margins of the mother tongue, each utterance foretold silence, a profoundly solitary state of mind and existence. This memory saddens me, but it also made me realize the invaluable nature of translation. “The Margins of the Mother Tongue” is the theme for this year’s International Poetry Nights in Hong Kong (IPNHK). Founded in 2009 by Bei Dao, the IPNHK, now in its fifteenth year, is organized by the Hong Kong Poetry Festival Foundation. In its first decade, it became the most influential international poetry festival in Asia. It adapted to an online format during the pandemic, and after the pandemic it has resumed in-person activities. Last year Argentine poet Diana Bellessi was invited, and this year the event has expanded, inviting seventeen poets from around the world. The poets will interact with readers and audiences and exchange ideas and discuss the theme of The Margins of the Mother Tongue. The IPNHK is a platform for poets to engage on both a concrete and abstract level. Translation is indispensable for any international poetry or literary festival. While translation may not completely bridge linguistic and cultural gaps, it always creates bridges, fostering opportunities for exchange. At the IPNHK, poets transcend the margins of their mother tongues through translation, entering the abstract realm of poetry and the community of poets and exploring profound and mysterious eternity within finite space and time. Simultaneously, translation opens a window into this enigmatic realm of poetry, allowing readers to glimpse and further explore and discover the secrets of poetry.

香港國際詩歌之夜母語的邊界

後記

「母語」二字，編輯完《母語的邊界》之後，再看到我想起一件往事。一位長輩晚年時患上了阿爾茲海默症，家人看著她的記憶一點一點地喪失，都只把苦澀埋在心裏。某天，她突然說著大家都聽不懂的語言。一位遠房親戚告訴我們，她是在說一種方言，也是她母親說的方言，來自她們出生的地方。親戚的話讓我們恍然大悟，同時又讓我們惆悵。她一生習得了好幾門語言或方言，她最後記得的，或者說她最後忘記的，是她的母語。在一生中最後的時光裏，身邊的人卻不知道自己在說甚麼，不懂自己的母語。對她而言，母語的邊界是甚麼呢？她的每一次言說都是在嘗試跨越這個邊界，可是每一次都以失敗告終，因為這個邊界之外已經沒有第二門語言可以讓她抵達了。在母語的邊界，每一次言說都預言著沉默，想必是一個無比孤獨的心境和時空吧。這件往事讓我傷心，同時也讓我認識到翻譯是多麼可貴！「母語的邊界」是本屆香港國際詩歌之夜的主題。香港國際詩歌之夜是由北島先生於 2009 年創立的國際詩歌節，今年是十五週年，由香港詩歌節基金會主辦。香港國際詩歌之夜在前十年成為亞洲最具影響力的國際詩歌節；疫情期間以線上活動的形式「突圍」；疫情結束後恢復線下活動，先是去年邀請了阿根廷詩人迪亞娜．貝列西（Diana Bellessi），今年乘勢擴大規模，從世界各地邀請了十七位詩人。詩人們在詩歌節的活動上就本屆主題「母語的邊界」而展開討論，互相交流，還和讀者進行互動。香港國際詩歌之夜是詩人在現實和抽象兩個層面進行交流的時空。對任何國際詩歌節或者文學節而言，翻譯都是不可或缺的。縱使翻譯並不能完全消除語言和文化隔閡，它無疑製造了一條橋，為交流創造了機會。在香港國際詩歌之夜，詩人通過翻譯跨越自己母語的邊界，走進抽象的詩境、詩人的共同體，一同在有限的時空裏探索艱深而神秘的永恆。同時，翻譯向這個隱秘的詩境打開一道縫隙，讓讀者看見並進一步自行探索和發現詩的秘密。

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International Poetry Nights in Hong Kong The Margins of the Mother Tongue

The Margins of the Mother Tongue is an anthology of poems by the seventeen participating poets, with each poem presented in both English and Chinese, translated directly from the original text. We did not wish to constrain the theme; thus, we chose the prologue of Bei Dao’s long poem Sidetracks as the preface for this anthology. Inevitably, we encountered difficulties during the editing and translation process. Whenever these moments arose, we communicated with the poets and translators to explore mutually acceptable translation methods. The Life of Tu Fu by Eliot Weinberger, inspired by Song-dynasty poet Wen Tianxiang’s Du Fu’s Poems Compiled, extracts and adapts ideas, images, and allusions from Du Fu’s poems to create a fictional autobiography of Du Fu, a work that has astounded the global poetry community. Eliot and I discussed via email how to translate this work, deciding to present it in modern Chinese rather than pasting together verses from Du Fu’s poems. This method, akin to back translation but not identical to it, is the result of our discussions. Bei Dao once said, “Literary translation lies within the margins of the mother tongue; it is a part of the mother tongue.” From the mother tongue, through multiple layers of translation, and back to the mother tongue. Time passes, the mother tongue evolves, and its margins shift, as if Du Fu were to descend upon the IPNHK... Chris Song July 1, 2024 Written in Hong Kong and Toronto

香港國際詩歌之夜母語的邊界

《母語的邊界》是與會詩人的詩選集，與《聲韻詩刊》合作在香港出版。選集中的每一首詩都有英文和中文兩個版本，譯本均直接譯自原文。我們不想為主題設限，決定以北島先生的長詩《歧路行》的〈序曲〉作為本書的代序。我們在編輯和翻譯過程中都難免會遇到困難，每當遇到這種時刻，我們都盡量和詩人保持溝通，共同探討大家都可以接受的翻譯方法。艾略特．溫伯格的效仿文天祥《集杜詩》的寫作方法，提取和改編杜甫詩中的思想、意象和典故，寫出了這部虛構的杜甫自傳，震驚世界詩壇。《杜甫的一生》（The Life of Tu Fu）。我和溫伯格通過電郵就如何翻譯這部作品進行討論，並決定盡量以現代漢語來呈現英文原文，而不是拼貼杜甫的詩句。這種類似回譯的方式，就是我和溫伯格討論的結果。北島先生說：「文學翻譯處在母語的邊界之內，它就是母語的一部分。」從母語出發，經過重重翻譯，又回到母語。時間流逝，母語變遷，邊界游動，彷彿詩聖杜甫降臨香港國際詩歌之夜⋯⋯ 宋子江 2024 年 7 月 1 日寫於香港及多倫多

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Voice & Verse Poetry Magazine Issue #79 聲韻詩刊 第79期【香港國際詩歌之夜】特別專號｜International Poetry Nights in HK

Voice & Verse Poetry Magazine Issue #79 聲韻詩刊第79期【香港國際詩歌之夜】特別專號｜International Poetry Nights in HK