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Poets' Cafe 詩人咖啡屋Chinese and English meet here...漢語和英語在這裡相遇
May 03 廖偉堂 and 曹疏影 Liao Weitang and Cao Shuying May 3, 2008廖伟棠， 1975年出生于广东，后移居香港，并曾在北京生活5年。现为《CAN影像志》主编，同时为自由作家、摄影师。曾获香港青年文学奖，香港中文文学奖，台湾中国时报文学奖，联合报文学奖，联合文学小说新人奖，马来西亚花踪世界华文小说奖及创世纪诗奖。曾出版诗集《永夜》﹑《随着鱼们下沉》﹑《花园的角落，或角落的花园》、《手风琴里的浪游》、《波希米亚行路谣》、《苦天使》、《少年游》、《黑雨将至》，摄影及杂文集《波希米亚中国》（合着）、《我们从此撤离，只留下光》，摄影集《孤独的中国》、《巴黎无题剧照》，小说集《十八条小巷的战争游戏》等。
Liao Weitang, poet, photographer lives in Beijing and Hong Kong.As a poet and novelist, he was the winner of literature awards in Hong Kong and Taiwan such as Hong Kong Chinese Literature Award, China Times Literature Award, United Dairy News Literature Award, etc. And he has published 8 poetry books: Endless Nights, Falling Down with Fish, Corner of Garden or Garden of Corner, Wandering in Accordion, Walking Songs of A Bohemian, Bitter Angel, Traveling When Young, A Black Rain’s A-gonna Fall. And one novel collection called War Game in Eighteen Alleys. Also he is a photographer with several works Bohemian China, Lonely China, Paris: Photos de scène sans titre etc.
湾仔情歌 12月17日，我们到湾仔声援爱情， 我们高举爱情，示威爱情，为爱情绝食， 我们看见外国的农民们 怀揣着对土地的爱情轰隆隆前进。
会展中心里富人们在讨论爱情， 他们在卖和买，他们割让爱情， 他们大打仇恨牌，威胁爱情， 他们用爱情把我们和农民阻挡在门外。
在这之间是充满了爱情的男警和女警， 他们的爱情喷雾和水炮向我们袭来， 他们敲打着巨大的爱情盾牌向我们袭来， 他们在告士大道一连十三个小时扣留我们的爱。
电视上高官笑谈爱情、爱情的苦和累， 他们几乎要为对我们的爱痛哭留涕， 报纸也变相贩卖：沦陷的爱、 最漫长的爱、稳定繁荣压倒一切。
而我们在湾仔学习了仇恨， 我们把清晨的黑牛奶白天喝夜里喝， 我们把爱折断去攻打不爱， 我们跳着印地安舞对付他们的华尔兹。
我们是一群暴徒，将送上一瓶莫洛托夫 给他们的世界宴会， 而我们把清晨的黑牛奶白天喝夜里喝， 12月17日，我们不和你谈爱情，在湾仔。
2005．12．21．
Wanchai Love Song
曹疏影，诗人，童话作者，哈尔滨人，北京大学文学硕士，现居香港为自由撰稿人，《看.影像志》（CAN）编辑。诗歌、小说、评论发表于国内外多种期刊及文学选本。有自制诗集《茱萸箱》、《拉线木偶》，童话集《和呼咪一起钓鱼》（即将出版）。
Cao Shuying, poet, fairy tale writer, originally from Harbin, she obtained an Master of Arts degree from Beijing University and is now in Hong Kong as a freelance writer and editor of CAN journal. Her poetry, fiction, and literary criticism have been published in various journals and literary anthologies at home and abroad. She self-printed poetry collection "Golden Flower Box" and "Puppet”. Her fairy tale collection "Fishing with Humi" will be forthcoming.
粉蝶 ――纪念祖母
那个夏天落在一车阳光里 溅出沿途野菊，鼓着小腮帮 看我们远去
加大油门，没有谁 再提起她了，地面的风裹起碎石 我看见公路上游着骨灰的薄光
父亲抱着我的肩膀，指点我 辨认大豆的叶子，停车时 我摸到它们的眼泪，还很小
很硬，鼓在狭长的绿眼角里 成群的粉蝶拐弯抹角，也有一只 搂住草杆，尽量贴紧发抖的翅膀
哦，我认出了她的老年斑，这些 她咒骂过的斑点，我走近一步 她的脸就折叠着飞开了
父亲从玉米地里弯腰出来，已经 埋好了，他说，再过些日子 会有粗根筑一座碉堡给她
回去的时候，也是野菊引路 一只兜风的金龟子在挡风玻璃上撞死 父亲抱着我，谁都不再提起她了
The White Butterfly --for my grandmother (Translated by Caroline Crumpacker and the Author with Zhang Er)
The summer emptied sunlight into our car. Mother chrysanthemums lined the road, puffing their cute red cheeks and blowing us along.
We drove quickly and no one spoke of her. Gentle breezes and a spray of gravel. A film of ash and bone along the highway.
Father touched my shoulders and explained how to recognize soybean leaves among the tall grasses. When we stopped the car,
I touched the tears still firm in their narrow green eyes. Swarms of white butterflies circled above us. One hugging a long green reed, gathered its translucent wings together.
Oh, I had recognized the age spots she cursed so bitterly. When I came close to it her face folded its translucent features together and flew away.
Father walked out of a cornfield,“It is done.” he said, “Her grave will be a den of roots.”
Going home, the mother chrysanthemums led us on, And a beetle crashed into the windshield. father held me and neither of us spoke of her again.
魔方
“我玩魔方呢！” 她拆开红色脚 蓝色手，骨缝里的寒气 挤成一面黑
电视停电，她 见不到大海 布带鱼张望床头 爸妈垂着脑袋，算计着 一张床单 经得起多少次尿炕
合法中文，说一句 给一寸身高，她三十寸了 高糖低钙，钙 沉在脚脖子上，跑不动 游戏里，小学揪住她的辫子 她偷着在辫子外吃糖 糖也笑着，吃她， 从一粒小白牙开始，十三年后 吐出骨头
第二副身子，魔方做的 一天凸起一块，自己上色 六面都不和谐，六年 闷在土里煮，尾巴溜上云彩 大操场半空呆傻
“水！水！”她咬着土 爬出来，梦中浇水 把四肢粘成花园——前面的 冲前，后面的……
爸妈低头，在土里挖自己 一滩子孙泥，一滩 博士泥，其实什么都没有，其实 她用泥巴养目
红色脚，蓝色手，她抠净 嘴里的土，魔方厂破产 秋风刮倒一批春天 魔方碎成小日子，蹲在蛋糕里 搂着蜡烛睡觉。
THE MAGIC CUBE Translated by Caroline Crumpacker and the Author with Zhang Er “I'm playing the magic cube!”
November 07 簡政珍 Chien cheng-chen 11.07.07簡政珍 Chien Cheng-chen 我1950年出生於台灣台北縣的金瓜石。 我在金瓜石的瓜山國小念小學，在金瓜石的時雨中學念初中，高中則是八堵的基隆中學，在那裡我培養出對英文與文學的興趣，決定未來要念外文系。大學順利考上政治大學的西洋語文學系，四年後以第一名考上台灣大學的外文研究所。研究所畢業後，在大學當講師兩年，就到美國奧斯汀德州大學（University of Texas at Austin）主修比較文學與英美文學，於1982年拿到博士學位。 我初二的時候寫了生平的第一首「詩」。當時對詩的瞭解（事實上是誤解）是，凡是押韻念起來很好聽的文字就叫詩。這是我在國文課的作文課寫的，本來我的作文分數都很高，但那一次的成績很差，所得到的教訓對後來的創作頗有影響。在成長的過程中，我慢慢體會詩是一種氣氛的營造，是一種意象思維；當代詩有其韻律，但並非機械性的押韻。詩甚至是一種沈靜的感覺，不只是外表聽到的聲音。 我認為寫詩要時時對人生敏感，能經常被感動也能以詩感動人。詩可以是佛慈悲的化身，但慈悲不是口號，詩也不是為慈悲的目的（purpose）服務。我的詩以意象書寫人生，但絕不將詩簡化成理念或是口號。意象含醞哲學的內涵，但是這樣的內涵要讓讀者透過層層疊疊的意象風景去體驗感受。因為，詩不是說出來的。
Eleanor Goodman 翻譯 I was born in 1950 in Jinguashi County, Taibei, Taiwan.
I attended Guashanguo elementary school and Shiyu Middle School in Jinguashi County. At Jilong National High School, I developed an interest in English and in literature, and decided that I wanted to study foreign languages. I entered the foreign languages department at Zhengzhi University, and four years later was the first person to test into the University of Taiwan’s graduate program in foreign languages. After finishing the program, I served as a college lecturer for two years before coming to the University of Texas at Austin, principally to study American and British literature. In 1982, I received my Ph.D.
In seventh grade, I wrote my first “poem.” At that time, my understanding (really misunderstanding) of poetry was that anything that rhymed and sounded good was called poetry. I wrote this in an essay for my Chinese class. My grades had always been very good, but this time my grade was quite poor. This experience informed all of my future literary work. In the process of growing up, I slowly learned that poetry is a search for an overall feeling, a kind of imagistic thought; contemporary poetry has its own meter and idea of rhyme, but the rhyme is definitely not mechanical. Poetry involves a sort of feeling of deep calm, not only a superficial sound.
I believe that to write poetry one must always be sensitive to life. One must often be moved, and be able to move people with poetry. Poetry can be an embodiment of Buddhist compassion. Compassion, however, is not a slogan, and poetry is not beholden to the goal of compassion. I use imagery to write about life, but I certainly do not use poetry to simplify issues, or my poetry would be mere slogans. Images have philosophical connotations, but these connotations help readers see though a many-layered imagistic landscape so they may feel directly and experientially. This is because poetry is not what is spoken. _________________________________________________ 簡政珍的詩 Chien Cheng-chen's poetry
簡政珍也阿發﹕翻譯 Chien Cheng-chen and Afaa: Translators
當鬧鐘和夢約會
當鬧鐘和夢約會
我走進妳心情的海灘
潮汐打濕翻白的褲管
鳥聲帶走鹹濕的氣味
日子的點滴是消散的浪花
我在無止境的黑夜等待妳的笑意
鬧鐘的呼喚已瘖啞
當車身一一拋棄風景
速度和歌聲迷惑方向盤的轉向
窗外是默然無語的天色
旅途是電線丈量的心路歷程
回首是路邊拋棄的輪胎
前瞻是稻田焚燒的落日
這時妳聽到
夢中鬧鐘的呼喚嗎？
當我在夢中將心情留給童年
河川倒溯至高山的雪原
一隻飛鷹在天邊尋找歸宿
一頭犛牛在湖邊顧影自憐
一列火車開進朦朧的戰火
一張虎皮進佔一個華麗的客廳
一個老鐘在沾染血跡的五斗櫃上
滴答
When the alarm clock dates the dream,
I walk onto the seashore of your mind.
The tide wets the rolled trousers,
the birds’ chirpings bring away the salty smell,
the days drip with the spray of breaking waves.
When I am waiting for your smile in the boundless dark,
The calling of the alarm clock is already mute.
When the bus throws away scenery,
the speed and songs dazzle the direction of the turning wheel.
Outside the window is the wordless sky,
on the way are the electric wires to measure the trip of the mind.
Looking backward, discarded tires on the road-sides come to view,
looking forward, the rice field burns in the setting sun.
At this moment, do you hear
the calling of the alarm clock?
When I leave my mind to the childhood in the dream,
the rivers retrace their courses to the snow-capped mountains,
an eagle hovers skyward to look for home,
a yak looks at its reflection in the lake with self-pity,
a train moves slowly into the obscure fire of war,
a tiger skin takes a position in a gaudy drawing room,
an old clock on a blood-stained bureau is
ticking.
醋罐子
妳打開罐子
為這沈靜的午後
加一點作料
這時雷轟隆響起
這一道菜又鹹、又辣、又酸
分不清是腸胃不適
還是心絞痛
未給我處方
妳就閃電消失
Vinegar Bottle (Jealousy)
You open the bottle
to give the afternoon
a seasoning.
Suddenly it thunders.
This dish is sour, salty and spicy.
I cannot tell
whether it is stomach-ace
or a heart-disease.
Without giving me prescription,
you disappear in lightning
生日
四枝大蠟燭
分占蛋糕四個據點
蠟燭的足部
陷入有如泥淖的奶油
點了又熄，熄了又點的火陷
隨著風扇的轉向
終於找到年歲的定位
一圈的眼睛
都注視著我的刀起刀落
這一塊赤腳的日子給你
那一塊羞澀的時光給他
這一塊不知酸甜苦辣的
留給母親
那一塊，爆竹碎裂後的累積
留給妻子
剩下這一塊殘缺的我
給自己
Four large candles
Standing at the four posts of the cake.
The feet of the candles
Trapped in the muddy cream.
Lighted and put out, put out and lighted again,
Following the direction of the swinging fan,
The flame finally finds out the position of the year.
A circle of eyes
Focus on the ups and downs of my knife.
This slice of bare-footed years for you.
That slice of bashful years for him.
This slice of mixed sour, sweet, bitter, spicy years
For Mother.
That slice of the deposit of exploded firecrackers
For wife.
The remaining disfigured slice
For me.
剩下的紙張
風輕輕拂拭油膩的路面
能捲動的
是一些昨日的頭條新聞
一條深黑的煞車痕
旁邊留下一隻破碎的
方向燈，塑膠碎片
寫意地延伸成各種象徵
垃圾桶吐瀉出
滿地的本土文化
一隻瘦削的黑貓
嗅聞一陣子後離開
一隻毛髮幾將掉盡的狗
還在報紙的政客臉孔上
翻尋
酸腐的食物
The lane is the left-over paper
which the sparrow pecked yesterday.
The wind caresses the greasy road.
What can be stirred
is some headline from yesterday.
Beside a deep, dark, braking trace
a broken headlight, the plastic pieces
figuratively extending, becoming various symptoms.
The garbage can throws out
domestic culture to cover the ground.
A skinny black cat
smells around a while and walks away.
A nearly hairless dog still searches for stale food
on the politician’s face in
the newspaper.
September 17 The Poetry of Yi Sha我非常高兴给你们介绍我朋友伊沙的作品。 上边有他的诗歌。
下边有一个短传记。 星期一 九月十七日二零零七年
祝好!
--阿发
I am happy to present to you the poetry of my friend Yi Sha. Directly
below is his poetry. Underneath there is a short biography.
Monday September 17, 2007
all best,
Afaa
伊沙诗选
YISHA’S POEMS
《结结巴巴》
结结巴巴我的嘴 二二二等残废 咬不住我狂狂狂奔的思维 还有我的腿
你们四处流流流淌的口水 散着霉味 我我我的肺 多么劳累
我要突突突围 你们莫莫莫名其妙 的节奏 急待突围
我我我的 我的机枪点点点射般 的语言 充满快慰
结结巴巴我的命 我的命里没没没有鬼 你们瞧瞧瞧我 一脸无所谓
Stutter
My stu-stu-stuttering mouth Sec-sec-second degree handicap Can’t bite into my thighs Or my ra-racing thoughts
Your spu-spu-sputtering spit Stinks of fun-fun-fungus How weary My-my-my lungs
I need to esc-esc-escape Your puz-puz-puzzling Rhythm Has tra-trapped me too long
Mm-mm-my words Shoo-shoo-shoot Happily As a ma-machinegun
My stu-stu-stuttering life Has nn-nn-no ghost Take a look at my face Covered with in-in-indifference Translated by Wang Ping and Alex Lemon
《奇迹》
镍币上的麦穗 在我口袋里 熟了
那天我穿过大街 嘴里嘀咕了一句 什么 我也没听清
人们只嗅到 满街的麦香 谁也没注意 我 这个奇迹
Miracle
The wheat on the coin Ripened In my pocket
I was crossing the street Muttering things Incomprehensible
The streets were filled with The perfume of wheat But no one noticed This miracle Of mine
*Chinese coins have the pattern of wheat Translated by Wang Ping and Alex Lemon
《毛泽东时代的公共浴室》
我是多么怀念 毛泽东时代的公共浴室 那种百人共浴的大池 人与人挨得很近 相互搓背 泡在那混沌而滚烫的水中 是多么舒服啊 不常洗澡的人才知 洗澡是一种快感 花钱洗澡的人才知道 洗澡是一种幸福 就这样泡着泡着 昏昏然地泡着 直泡得有人虚脱 那年头根本就不用担心 这样的洗法会染上梅毒之类的 啊！我是多么怀念 毛泽东时代的公共浴室 但仅限于怀念
Bathhouse in Mao’s Era
I long For the bathhouse in Mao’s time | |||||||||||||||||||
