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

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)

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

温柔的指掌

滂沱大雨
你恬不知恥地張着唇
等待着
唇

我來了
打着傘
不, 是臉貼着
一任風吹雨打的
葉

不為誰開的花
壓在扭曲的枝幹下
沒入泥濘
張着唇
承接着不解温柔的
雨

粉紅色的拖鞋蘭
被遺忘的花
我的唇
印上你的
唇

用一根不等待誰
躺在泥濘中
折斷的枝枒
支撑着
你

我
是你温柔的指掌。



September 26, 2006 翻譯成中文/translated from English into Chinese
(譯自英文原詩/translated from original English poem: Fingers of a Loving Hand, 1992 紐約)

Hands and Feet

(Dedicated to the Chinese artist, Shanqing Zeng, who was banished by his government and now resides in the U.S.)

Artist		Zeng Shanqing
Title		EATING
Medium		Ink on Paper
Size		35 x 38.4 in. / 89 x 97.6 cm.

These Tibetan hands and feet
walk into the canvas
of a New York gallery
in silence
like pilgrims
in search of
a bowl of freedom
after a long exile
to unknown directions.

We never know
how they captured the eyes
of the artist,
or the soul of the audience.
They talk with
swollen knuckles,
wounded joints,
fists of skins
that hold a bowl of water
like tender lovers

reunited after turmoil
of burnt temples,
charred limbs,
and severe weather,
that tempered another
purpose -
to walk on the roads
for a bowl of water
seated on a half lotus
made of exhausted toes

painted by the tired fingers
of an artist
from the land of the oppressor
and the oppressed
where artists
must follow
other hands and feet
to enjoy the freedom of exile:
on a canvas
in the West
lingering in our mind,
or to drink
time in history.


1990 New York

Lotus Pond

(For the Chinese artist, Yan-Ping Yang, who loves to paint lotus ponds, but never painted a summer pond since the Tiananmen Square incident in the summer of 89)

She carried nothing
from her China
except rice papers
painted with leaves of lotus
overlooking a pond.

The weight
of memory
stands on the tips
of stems bent
in the wind.

She wakes one morning
to look at the withering
colors in her paintings
gray, brown and bleak:
"where are the colors of my flowers?"

She remembers the lotus pond
in autumn,
the freeze in winter.
Even flowers in summer were battered
by storms or guns.

Not a single bud had the freedom
to blossom...
Not until the roots
were transplanted
to a pond outside a foreign window

which framed the lotus with blood
that flooded
Tiananmen Square
and now the wandering heart
of the one who could only call herself

an internationalist.



1990 New York

Fingers of A Loving Hand

In the downpour,
you shamelessly open
Lips to wait
for lips

I come,
with an umbrella, open
No, with a face, close
to your leaves, battered
in the storm.

Stem bent,
face buried in the mud,
lips open
continuously filled with rain
of no concept

Of gentleness,
my lips touch your lips
My pink lady's slipper,
Solitary for no one.

I am yours,
fingers of a loving hand,
hold your with a twig
waiting for no one.


1990, New York

Farewell to weeping

It might just be for one night
A split second
That’s alright
The closed door is blown
opened by the wind
sneaked inside the room
crystal clear and clean
is the smell in the dream
of the ran away flower
just returned home
now drunk

With drunken eyes, look at
the Night Blooming Cereus blossoms
from mid night to dawn.
We escaped death by crossing over
corpses of flowers that died
in peace and in melancholy.
We walked on the corpses of flowers and leaves
dropped onto every poem
forsaken
with nothing
except hearts naked
entangled with bodies and
poems swallowed by
Silence.
The ankles and toes
are searching for wounds
in deep dark corners
again and again
we caress each other.

At the funeral of flowers coming and going
We embrace
And say farewell
To the flower withered
And now picked up by me.
Please pick me up if I wither one day
like this flower
which could have been you
one day when you return home to your roots
like this flower returning to it's roots
I will buried you
deep inside
in sunrise and in moonset.

Tonight, this flower blossoms
and it is not quite the morning yet
We walk hand in hand
To send you off,
To send you off on a ferry
and wait
by walking more
to wait for another ferry,
and another ferry
We wait
from the last ferry
to the first ferry
we wait
from darkness to dawn.
Farewell, farewell
Farewell to weeping
As the wind blows
with fingers of a loving hand.


2006/8/19 Hong Kong
(translated from original Chinese version into English 2006/8/21)

Photo: Night Blooming Cereus on Stephanie's garden

送別哭泣

那怕只有一夜
只有一剎那
溫柔的風也會把
深鎖的重門叩開
在清涼無汗的門扉內透入
如夢相似的氣味
是遺世獨立的花
還魂買醉 !

醉眼看花 !
守候一現的曇花
從今夜綻放至黎明
我們跨過一朶又一朶
安息或不冥目的花魂
死裡逃生
踏着殘花斷葉的詩篇
孓然一身
一無所有
只有赤裸的心
捲入
風眼的旋渦
無言的詩篇吞噬有言的話語
暮生朝死,
送別不朽的英魂 。

在花開花落的葬禮中
我們相擁
又彼此相送
如果有一天我凋謝
就像黎明前凋謝的這朶花
請你檢拾我
猶如我檢拾這朶花;
如果有一天你歸根
就像歸根的這朶花
我會把你埋在深心
從暮暮到朝朝。

在天尚未明花尚未落的今夜
我們結伴同行
送你, 送你
送你遠一點趁渡輪
等船，等船,
從末班等到首班
從黑暗等到光明
送別, 送別,
送別哭泣
全為了温柔的風!

2006/8/19 Hong Kong

圖片: Stephanie 手種的曇花

Waiting For No One

She blossoms madly
head to toes
shaken me with shivers of a heart
open in a flower cupped
in the fingers of a loving hand.
Snow white petals entangled with
Leaves and stems
Pierce the deep dark hole
in the sky with nothing
to hold back.

I must have forgotten, forgotten totally
This flower waiting for no one
Must have been waiting for ten years, and
another ten years
As I wasted my life, she waited
ten years, and
another ten years
without a word.
I thought I loved her
and passed her down from one hand
To another hand, in departure
I called this love.

I must have forgotten, forgotten totally
She has no mouth and can't utter a word
Except to accept
fate like an abandoned child
left by the corner of a window
Waited ten years, and
Another ten years
I thought she could have blossomed
for my father
on my behalf
Yet, she never did.

I was wrong, totally wrong
My father said,
“This is a Night Blooming Cereus without flower.”
She dropped her leaves, half wilted.
Waited ten years, and
Another ten years
Shivered
and waited for my mother
to proclaim,
"We need to cut the flower before dawn whenever she blossoms
and keep it in the refrigerator as remedy for asthma.”
Who could she blossom for
Except shivers.

I tried to plant my flower under the bamboos
Waiting for the birds,
Or grow my flower by the curb
Looking forward to the glance of every passerby,
Or, give her the ultimatum:
“You will be crushed and turned into manure if there is no more flower.”
She remains unmoved
by seduction, harassment, and loneliness
needing no reason
she blossoms for no one
always stands alone
wordless.

Abandoning the past
of glamour under spot lights, interviews
awards, fame, and extravagance
these were things unworthy
to look back. Departure
is not just departure
Passing down from one hand to another hand
love in transfer
Waited ten years, and
Another ten years
We missed each other in a transferred account
Melancholy turned
into dirt.

If love is tainted
with fear there are reasons.
Tonight, we find each other
And let me apologize with body and soul.
Tonight, let’s turn every night into
ten years with
ten times more tenderness.
Every time when she blossoms
Let her blossom madly to the one
She waited.
Don’t let fear
Occupies our life.
In paleness and helpless
we wait.
How many more ten years
Can we afford ?


2006/8/10, Hong Kong
(translated from original Chinese version into English 2006-08-22)
Photo: Night Blooming Cereus blossoms at Stephanie's garden)

不為誰開

這一夜徹底的綻放
我確然悸動
雪白的花瓣交錯着枝葉
毫無保留
伸向漆黑的夜空
花蕊在温柔的指掌中
顫抖。

我忘記了, 我確然忘記了
這不為誰開的花
默默地等待了一個十年又另一個
十年, 每當我虛度年華
她只能默默地等待
一個十年又另一個
十年, 我以為我情深款款
每次遠行, 總是不捨地把她
從一雙手托付給另一雙手。

我忘記了, 我確然忘記了
她沒有嘴吧, 不會說話,
只能接受擺弄
猶如一個棄兒綣縮在窗邊
等待着一個十年又另一個
十年, 以為她可以化身為我
為父親開花
畢竟她不為誰開!

我錯了, 我確然錯了
父親說這是一顆不會開的曇花,
垂着半枯的葉
獃了一個十年又另一個
十年, 不停顫抖
聆聽母親的宣判
“如果開花就要在天亮前摘下
存入冰箱用作治哮喘病的良方。”除了顫抖
她可以為誰而開 ?

我也曾經把她栽在竹林之下
盼望惜花的鳥;
又或者種在路邊
企圖牽引每一顆路過的心;
或者乾脆老實地向她宣佈不開花的命運
“給剪草機絞碎後堆肥。”
畢竟她不為所動
不為誘惑、恐嚇、寂寞而開
全然不為什麼
不為誰開
無言兀立

捨棄前生
一連串鎂光燈與訪問
獎項、名聲、與浮華
都變得不堪回首。
離開畢竟不只是離開
從一雙手托付給另一雙手
轉讓的愛
盼望了一個十年又另一個
十年, 過户的相思
憔悴損
化作泥塵。

如果愛有恐懼
皆由此起
重逢的今夜, 讓我由衷謝罪。
今夜, 讓每一個今夜
都化作十年的漫漫長夜
十倍珍重。
今夜, 讓每一朶重逢的花
當為誰開都由她痛快地開
十倍相惜。
我們, 我們
不要被恐懼佔領一生
我們, 我們
相濡以沫
我們, 我們
能有幾個十年 ?


2006/8/10, Hong Kong

圖片: Stephanie 家裡的曇花

Downpour

As the downpour washes the mountains
into a painting
We follow the rhythm of rain
into millennia of paths
that bring us together.
Tonight, Maria sits by the window
to rub her eyes and make sure
it is just the rain
that blurs her vision.

Back at home, she never cries,
We are just carried away by the rain:
Different time or colors
now look similar.
The mountains, the rivers, the memories,
and many interpretations
of a painting, are rising
from far to near.

We listen to different versions of rain:
It looks like the vineyard in Sicily
where hundreds of folks came to a reading
by an American author. They may not understand
English, but the rain......
He sinks behind the screen of rain, and she rises:
It's like the rain of bullets on the walls
in North East China during the Japanese war
which filled pages of...........
The rain beats the windows harder:
Like the tears of the Russian Jew,
after hundreds of years, still
exile with rain..................

What seems strange in other countries
now becomes familiar.
The rain has no brain to discriminate
the boundaries of nationalities
but fall into everyone's eyes
without announcing
the arrival or departure
of feelings.

From the roots transplanted
it may or may not grow:
in different climate
being neglected,
over or under fertilized,
drought or flood.
All because of the lack of planning
of rain.

We don't plan to read tonight.
Just our hearts are pouring out
with the float of
neither tears nor rain.
It must be something more
than the beginning of
downpour.


1992 New York

Pick ups

This is just a desk we found
on the curb, abandoned
for one reason or another:
We scrape the paint - finish,
re-finish with pine oil
and touch of hands.

That is a rug left by the last tenant
because he wanted a new one:
We wash it, smooth it, and turn it
into a companion of the desk
next to the lamp from the garbage.

Those stiff joints and muscles from
forgotten season are picked up by
a glance:
We rub them with eucalyptus
and menthol at night,
bath them with lavender
in warm water in the morning.

These are pick ups
of things nobody wants,
now become our pleasures:
a poem written on the desk,
a massage of withering bodies on the rug,
a transfiguration of abandonment into
the love of hands.

1992 New York

Walk of A Dancer

(For Linyih Xing)

We try to find words
or glimses of the past.
Instead,
We find a body
trembling

in the September Station
of Ronkonkoma
where the train left us
with nothing
except the wind.

We pick you up
from a life journey
which has gotten nowhere
except to fear
of another stop

with a straw bag of ten years
in hand
and the feet
of a dancer
for more walking.

I want to say,
I know.
Instead,
we open our bags
from the past

that we can barely carry
on our shoulders.
We used to drop things,
eliminate the unncessary
until we found nothing

was indispensable
and the lightness
grew heavy.
Then, we put back
a few things:

Like herbs cut from the garden
of your yesterday home.
rootless and half wilted from the train.
Rosemary, Lavender, and Mint...
Now dry in my home for fragrance.

Then, there are the other things:
Jewlery, beads, stones,
passed down from our grandmothers,
mothers, or aunts
as protectors on our bumpy paths.

A jade Buddha
for longevity,
A golden Christ
for holy presence,
An amethyst necklace
to calm and heal,
A coral bracelet
for ennobling,
A golden Star of David
from a friend.

We divide them,
share the blessings:
Re-string them,
then send them to others


1992 New York

前塵

找你，找你
猶如找我是誰, 找你
走入茫茫人海中找你,
走入三更的打板中找你,
走入深鎖的詩扉中找你,
在一切放下中
為什麽偏偏放不下你 ?

放不下你，放不下你，
猶如放不下我是誰, 放不下你，
在不染世塵的關房中放不下你，
在前念不生中放不下你，
不, 沒有前念 !
在後念不起中放不下你，
哎, 沒有後念 !
在前念後念之間的
我是誰
是你。

念念分明
是你
遍滿虛空
是你
寂靜是你湼槃是你
生滅與折翼的輪迥是你
十年生死呆如木雞的等待
是你。
我的長髮變短你的短髮變長
在髮與髮之間翩翩起舞的
微塵
是一塵不染中放不下的
前塵。

2006/7/22

Birds Immortal

Sleeping on your poems
3650 days in a coma
without shedding a drop of tear
in a climate of low pressure.
“Never say goodbye”
Fingers of a loving hand
hold you close to
caress the wounds
bandaged by words
forbidden.

In the turbulence with no direction,
Turning right or left didn't make a difference,
death was the destination.
I crossed my legs
faced a wall against you
inside a prison where
hearts could not be jailed
despite the bugs on the phone,
and letters read by others.

Not a word from you, even doves
flew from New York to Guizhou
had lost direction
in the sky I wrote,
“I miss you !”
and stood on the wounds to look up
the flower that drank tears
until walls turned into a void.

Void, how could a void be imprisoned ?
What could be taken when you wanted
Nothing, not even poem ?
What could be confiscated when you possessed
Nothing, not even love ?
Small, I grew,
smaller and smaller,
finally I diminished into
nothing.

In nothingness,
I grew
tall, taller and taller
by standing on sufferings, so that
nothing could block my eyes,
nothing, not even a drop of tear.
No tear were the days
I closed my eyes.
Suddenly you came,
Without legs.
I looked you in the eyes,
Without eyes.
When there was nothing,
there was no distance between you and I.

It must be the bird from Guizhou
Stands by my window without invitation.
3650 days I looked for you,
Not only you,
Also the birds
dead, alive, and immortal !

(July 5, 2006 – final draft July 6, 2006 -
translated original version from Chinese into English July 21, 2006)

詩魂

把薰衣草栽在窗邊,
讓風把夢吹送,
隨着落葉,
伴着被蹂躪在腳下
顫抖的心
詩葉飄蕩在淺紫色的暗香裡
還魂。

那些客死異鄉
含冤負屈的詩,
那些不堪凌辱, 不能抵抗
弱不禁風的詩,
有誰在烘烘的火葬中
給你送行 ?

看你一葉一葉的
化成灰燼:
被栽贓嫁禍的母親、
倒白為黑的聆訊、
接不通的電話、
無望的上訪、
冰冷的灰燼.......
都交給我, 交給溫柔的風
我小心翼翼的捧在掌心,
揉入血肉
埋到花園裡
堆肥栽種

看窗邊無聲長大的薰衣草
看呀 !
風中如夢相似的
淺紫色
是再來的
詩魂。

(2006/7/18)

我比太陽起得更早

我比太陽起得更早

凌晨四點, 悄悄的身影,
走入逶迤的山徑, 進入霧靄, 步入空靈,
我要迷失的是
我自己。

漸行漸遠, 烟霞不斷聚攏,
前不見人後不見影, 我看不見自己的身影,
那伸出來的溫柔的指掌,
在不斷圍攏過來的霧裡
失去了方向。

在月色迷太陽未升的時刻,
我迷失在隱閉無人的山徑……
被冷漠的小草、濡濕的泥土、樹上的微風、風中的顫抖…
在迷失與迷惘中
有多少無人採頡的悸動。

我不斷進入, 進入霧的心贜,
踏向前方, 繞向後方,
不管轉到那裡
都是同一地方。
我安靜地坐下來，
坐在霧裡看風景
向左看向右看
無論怎麽樣看,
都是同一風景。

在星光最暗淡太陽還未起來的時刻,
在最沒有方向的失落與鬱悶的年代,
我比失落還要失落,
我比鬱悶還要鬱悶,
在沒有出路的出路裡
我找不到方向。
那些向前向後向左向右的方向,
是最沒有方向的方向。

在小鳥未醒太陽未升的時刻
我比太陽起得更早。
凌辰四點,
我安份地坐下來。
滿懷歡喜地坐下來,
不為什麽的坐下來。
坐在霧裡,
寧謐的霧裡有萬縷温柔,
烟霞和清風有無盡深情。
而我,
是我自己的方向。

2006 年7月9日

圖片: Stephanie 和友人賞霧

不死鳥

枕着你的詩
昏睡了三千六百五十天。
低氣壓的天空
沒有淚,
温柔的指掌不會說再見。
讓我緊靠着你
的傷疤、血肉、
和不準說的話……。

在沒有方向的急促旋渦裡,
無論轉左抑或轉右,
都是走向死亡。
我盤起了腿,
背向着你,
走進關不住心的牢籠,
所有電話都斷了綫,
書信都發給天空。

沒有音訊的日子,
紐約到中國的野鴿子通通都迷路,
把思念寫在天空,
用傷痛墊腳,
用淚水澆花,
把四面窄牆化作虛空。

誰關得住虛空 ?
誰拿得走什都可以不要
包括詩篇 ?
誰充公得了什麽都不擁有
包括愛情 ?
我變得愈來愈渺小,
變得什麽都不是
以至一無所有 !

厚重的傷痛把站在上面的我
墊高,
擋不住視線.....
一無所有沒有眼淚,
在沒有眼淚的的日子裡,
我閉起眼睛,
你卻翩然而至, 不必用蹆,
深情看你, 不用眼睛,
一無所有沒有距離 !

那一定是北方不請自來的鳥,
站在我的窗邊 !
找你三千六百五十天,
不光找你,
還找那些已死的、未死的、和不死的鳥 !


(2006年7月5日, 7月6 日完稿)