10/19/2006

Walls and No Wall

















The door is closed,
My shadow casts onto
a wall while I sit
on a rock waiting.
The hands and legs of pedestrians climb
onto my darkness, then
move into daylight.

My darkness is now your darknes
which rides on a train with no destination
and the sign reads,
Where are we ?
My shadow falls onto every puddle in the rain.
I ask the reflection to read a name,
Where are you ?

You were the one who once buried
long years of sunlight and moonlight in the library in
Washinton Square and hid the fingers of a poet in
a Upper East Side kitchen,
and wrote poems with a frown,
I want to go home !

Are you now writing a new page
on the Demoncratic Wall in Beijing, while I am
waiting outside the door ?
Open, Open
The barrier of what they call,
you a son and me a guest.


How did we get catagorized ?
Capitalist, Socialist, rare species,
orphan, friend, and enemy.
By the left side and the right side of the Pacific ?
Or, demonstrations in Washington or Beijing ?
Or, we each meditate for enlightenment to a different wall ?

I walk in your name,
names, or no name:
Idealist, nihilist, anarchist,
spiritualist, stupid, or void,
on a path we have been building for ten years:
Book, and books,
Theory, and theories,
short hair, and long hair,
shaved beard, and Karl Marx's beard.
And then:
a box, and boxes of
dogmas, dreams, slogans,
united fronts, and differences.

One day you decided to quit N.Y.U.
and to use your so-called petty-bourgeois Ph.D. to serve
democracy at Beijing U.
Today,
I wait outside the door and they say I am the U.S.
studying Walt Whitman and William Carlos Williams.

The truth is, each of us is a passer-by on
a path, many paths, or no path.
Like the day when we sued a landlord called The Trump at the
Small Claims Court in Queens. It all depends on
the day, the time, and the place
where we had neither heat nor electricity and a cup of milk
was heated on a candle flame
while you laid your hand on my forehead
to test a fever,
leaving, leaving.

On a train from Hong Kong to Beijing.
Or a plane from Frankfurt to New York.
Or a bus in Paris.
From Hugo to Heisenberg.
From Neurda to Rodin.
Always moving forward and
leaving behind what has already been claimed.
Like love in a small room,
it must grow, grow
to include more than two, and the love of
a nation must expand, expand
to surround the circle of a globe.

We waved good-bye at the edge
of the globe where a hand extended, extended
to the far end
until I could no longer see you, and we
submerged inside a door.
many doors, or no door.

As evening falls,
someone takes me inside the door
as a guest.
I cannot find you,
I leave a bundle of wild daisies
by a pond named No Name.


1990, New York
(To my friend, Ah Yu who passed away)

(Photo: One of the democratic walls in Beijing - for big and small posters)

10/14/2006

有形的牆, 無形的牆













(圖: 北京大學 - 未名湖)



(永恆的悼念, 悼阿余)

門早已關上,
我在門外等你
我坐在路旁的石上等你
直到身影給投射到牆頭上
路人拖着一個又一個身影
踏入我的黑影
然後一個接一個
步入陽光

此刻我的黑影正是你的黑影
它趁搭沒有終站的列車,
“我們的終站在那裡 ?”
我的身影落入每一個雨後的泥濘
我請每一倒影辦認一個名姓
“你在那裡 ?”

你把太陽和月亮埋葬在
華盛頓廣場的圖書館
把詩人的手沒入
紐約上東城餐館的
盤子裡
用深鎖的眉頭寫詩
“我要回國去。”

此時此刻, 我正在門外等你呢 !
而你, 是否正在北京的民主牆上賦詩 ?
他們說我是外賓
你才是中國的兒子
請把這堵無形的牆
拆下來吧 !

我們怎麽竟給分門別類 ?
資本家、社會主義者、稀有動物、
孤兒、朋友、還是敵人 ?
在太平洋岸靠左還是靠右?
還是在華盛頓或北京上街 ?
或者是, 各自對着不同的牆, 面壁冥想 ?
我走在你走過的道路上,
那裡有你的姓名, 不同的化名,
乃至無名:
什麼理想主義 、虛無主義、無政府主義,
修行者、愚昧、和虛妄。
啊 ! 十年磨一劍的漫漫長路,
竟築在虛無飄渺上:
書本、理論、披肩的散髮
時短時長、馬克思的鬍子
時有時無。還有無形的牆:
一箱又一箱的教條、夢幻、口號、
聯合陣綫, 與分道揚鑣 !

那一天, 你突然放棄
所謂的小資產階級博士後
回國服務
擱下紐約大學回歸北大。
今天, 我在北大門外等你呢 !
他們說我是海外華人,
因為我專攻華韋曼和
威廉卡羅斯威廉斯

其實, 我們只是生命的過客
偶然走過一段又一段的路,
或許, 根本無路可走
只不過時空交錯
就像那陣子, 我們到皇后區的小額錢債法庭
告房東Donald Trump 截斷水電
你用爉燭溫暖着一杯奶
用手背探我額上的高燒
看着它慢慢退去,
直至離開。

離開了你
更想念你,
想念, 到處想念,
在香港到北京的列車上
在法蘭克福到紐約的班機上
在巴黎的公車上
從雨果到凱森堡
從聶魯達到羅丹。
我們把凡已到手的都放棄
以為明天會更好。
甩掉了小房間裡
狹隘的愛情
以為愛會長大
以為可以擁抱
更遼闊的天空

我們站在天邊說再見,
目送着距離愈來愈遠,
遠得徹頭徹尾看不見,
我們各自進入自己的
門, 許多的門,
無門之門。

我在等你,
依然等你,一直等你,
等到夜幕低垂,
直至有人把我領入門內
找你,
到處找你,
卻找不着你
我把一朿野菊
放在未名湖畔。


2006/10/14 香港, 譯自英文原詩
Walls and No Wall, 1990 紐約

10/10/2006

Congratulations

Who’s winning
by breaking up this finger viciously
that I cup dearly in my palms
like hugging a leaf of Begonia
which is my heart
that caresses the finger
into starlight.
I walk moonlight into daylight
In loneliness, I walk
across the oceans
that separate the hearts.
We survived
harassments and wings of winter,
rallies and solitude,
separation and embrace.
We got out
from graves, we got out with bandages
on the fingers of a loving hand
which have matured
no longer cry and panic.
I come,
I come back to you,
I bury my flesh deeply inside
your wounds.

Of each finger broken
There is always a declaration
with a million tender flowers blossom.
For every bloodshed
There is always a blood stroke painting
hung up in the sky
to defy peppers
from pepper cannon spray
which can neither be wiped nor rubbed
off the skin
has now turned into a ball of fire
needing water:
Cold water, ice water, distilled water, rain, and tears…..
lots of water that flow gently and low.
I lower myself
Like water, and bath
the wounds gently
in silence.

I grow my garden
on the head smashed mercilessly.
In bloodshed and in coma,
I grow:
Night blooming cereus, plum flowers,
Chrysanthemums, orchids,
flowers of insomnia,
flowers that cares,
flowers that turned into dirt while no one cares.
These are the gift of flowers to
You,
the broken finger which has neither sensation nor ability
to bend.
Congratulations to
You,
the finger which is now forever
straight
and does not
bend.

(translated from Chinese version 祝賀 2006/7/21 into English 2006/7/24, Hong Kong)

祝賀

這一隻被敲斷筋骨的手指
是誰的勝利 ?
我把它棒在掌心棒着棒着
棒着整個面向海棠葉的心
我揉着它揉着它深情地揉着它把它揉進星光
頂着黑夜頂着晨曦頂着寂寥頂着心與心之間的海洋
在毒打與翅膀之間、在吶喊與閉關之間、在離別與擁抱之間我們
找到窄縫
走出去, 走出去走出去我們
背着救傷包走出去
包裡是我巳經長大不再哭泣不再顫抖的
温柔的指掌
我走進來走進來,走進你的傷痕

每一根被打斷的指頭都要綻放
十萬朶温柔的花
每一滴血都會揮就掛在天空的潑血畫
灑上胡椒噴霧
抹不掉擦不走把肌膚黏得愈來愈緊的胡椒噴霧
是愈來愈燙的火
它需要水
冷水冰水蒸餾水雨水淚水任何柔情向下的大量的水
我用似水的溫柔說不出的話
洗擦炙燙的傷疤

我在被打得鮮血淋漓昏厥過去的頭上種花
曇花梅花菊花蘭花失眠的花牽念的花萎地無人的花
送給從此再沒有感覺再也不能屈伸的被打斷筋骨的手指
祝賀它永遠正直
不會歪曲

2006/07/21 香港

Colors of The Azaleas

When I bring in the azaleas
what's behind me begins to fade.
The supple purple of a petal
is now my color.

I could, of course, look past
the azaleas and watch
the dust in the sun ray;
Or write a memoir for the flower
once dropped next to my feet
on a long journey when I had
neither a home nor a vase.
I folded it between the pages of uncertainty
and roads that led to nowhere,
but I ended up everywhere
in unpredictatble colors.

I picked no color, indeed
was picked by the colors
of forever-changing seasons.
I waited one season
in one country,
and another season
in another harbor.

No harbor is a harbor,
No home is a home
permanent, except our eyes
forever searching for a color
until the rain erases one color
and begins another.

My hands are full of colors
mingled with lips and hair
that I grip and then splatter
on a scroll of rice paper
brought from a remote island
now discolored in the mist
of unbridgeable oceans.

I tried to cross the oceans
on a plane,
or on the blueness of an aerogram,
more often, on a dry leaf or a petal
in a book of poems lingering
with rootless colors.

My heart has been everywhere
like the azaleas
with no identify, no nationality,
living one color in a moment
in the hands of admiration
and another moment under the feet.

Hold me,
Hold me for a moment
for holding the color
of azaleas.
posted by Stephanie Chin at 6:37 AM 1 comments

10/05/2006

一邊走路一邊跳舞

(給邢令儀)

我們試圖找尋話語
細說當年,
卻找到了
顫抖的身軀

在九月Ronkokoma 站的寒風裡
火車已經開走,
我們衣袂飄飄,
一無所有, 只有
擁抱在深秋

擁抱着你
擁抱着你一生的旅途
一站接一站
那兒也抵達不了
除了又要駛進另一站
的恐懼

裝入十年闖蕩的草籃
提在手裡,
為了要走更遙遠的道路,
我們的雙腿
一邊走路一邊跳舞

本想說,
“我知道。”
卻手忙腳亂地打開了
過去的包袱

早已沉重得背也背不動
然後又以為沒有什麼不可或缺
習慣了拋棄, 放下
以為通通都可以不要,
直至一無所有,
生命裡的輕
反變得重

我們又胡亂的把一些東西塞回去
像一些無根的芳草:
迷迭香、薰衣草、薄荷葉
剛剛從你昨天的家採頡下來
今天已經在火車上凋零
此刻在我家裡
暗發幽香

還有伴我們走過艱辛道路的祝福:
從祖母、母親、和親人手中接過的
傳家之寶
作為我們的守護神。

我們分掉:
讓我們獲得平安的
翠玉觀音,
讓我們獲得救贖的
鑄金基督,
讓我們獲得安寧的
紫晶項鍊,
讓我們自愛自重的
珊瑚手鈪
從友人身上解下來的
大衛星………

我們把它們一一拆開
又重新串起
交換着祝福, 然后
再送出去


從英文原詩 Walk of A Dancer, 1992 紐約
翻譯成中文 Oct. 5, 2006 香港

(Walk of a Dancer, 1992 New York, translated into Chinese Oct. 5, 2006)

10/01/2006

Wind in December

(For farmers in the December wind)

Wearing this December wind without enough cloth
Frozen behind barricades of police lines
Twisted and turned.
Hungry in the middle of nights
To wipe off blood by the curbs
From heads smashed.

I wrapped you up with bandages in the miles to go
Before I sleep and the promise
to keep as your wounds and bruises
Spread out all over the bodies
I tended you with medicine, pain killer,
And a heart shattered.

I walked you three days and three nights
From main street to the dead end.
My heart grew heavy
while the first aid kit turned light
I left my fear behind
And carried on my shoulder bandages and medicine
Which has neither slogan, political agenda, nor anger.
I walked silently into the evening breeze
Surrounded by riot police.

If I am the one who has been hurt,
Don’t let my hurt be wasted,
Let it find meaning in you tonight.
If I am the one who has been harmed,
Don’t let my heart be handicapped,
Let the blood and tears to dry on it’s own
Without fear, as I closed my door on fear
The ones who harmed me
Become helpless.

Tonight, I walk you on my own suffering
My own pain and my own wound.
Tonight, I carry the first aid kit that rescued me
To sooth your pain.
Don’t ask me why.
I have no reason, I want nothing, I have nothing
No tear, no fear, no turn back, and no food
To walk you into sunrise from moonset, until
My first aid kit is empty.
In emptiness
There is something

Out of nothing
A heart simple
Genuinely has nothing
Except being
Genuine.


October 2, 2006 Hong Kong
(translated from orignal Chinese poem written on the same day)

十二月的寒風

(給寒風中的農民)

披上這一身十二月的寒風
警戒線裡兜兜轉轉的凍
凌辰十分的餓
馬路邊的血
一綑又一綑的繃帶
包札着淌血的頭
遍體鱗傷
雲南白药, 強力镇痛劑
都給你敷上
還有我粉碎的心

陪你走三天三夜
從大馬路走到死角
心愈來愈重
救傷包愈來愈輕
我放下恐懼
背上沒有口號沒有吶喊沒有憤怒
的繃帶和藥物
走入被防暴隊包圍
向晚的風

如果我曾經傷痛
不要讓我白白傷痛
讓傷痛都變成今夜撫慰你
溫柔的風,
如果我曾經被傷害
讓傷疤和血淚自己淌乾
不要讓我的心變成廢墟
我把恐懼推出門外,傷害
傷害它竟變得
懦弱無能

今夜, 我站在自己的傷痛傷害與傷疤上
伴你同行,
今夜, 我挽着曾經挽救我自己的救傷包
包裹你的傷痛,
不要問為什麼 ?
我什麽都不為, 我不需要理由, 我一無所有:
沒有眼淚, 沒有恐懼, 沒有退縮,沒有吃飯
伴你從長夜傷痛走入溫柔的風
一直走到救傷包空無所有
在空無所有中
無中生有
是一顆
樸素的心

樸盡歸真

October 2, 2006 Hong Kong