Forget me not, Please !

(For the students who skipped final examinations, including students in Sociology Department of Baptist University and students from other universities in Hong Kong; to my fellow journalists working on the frontline; and my friends King Hin, Yiu Keung, Raymond, Gabriel, and Rice Ear)


If the stars have forgotten how late it is,
We forget hunger,
Stepping out for each other,
No longer for oneself.

If twelve o’clock mid night is too early,
Our conscience stays awake
Eating take out order against the shields of riot police

is never too late

To block the sticks and chill that might hit any moment
Our beautiful flowers, tonight,
break out from the green house and lay down as barricade
to defend others by forgetting oneself

Forgetting fear, forgetting riot police, and the pain buried
Speak to violence, the wind of tenderness
Heart leans on heart, back against back, stars here

are in love with stars afar.

No chanting of slogans but bodies warming bodies
Swapping everything
Jackets, scarves, hats, rings, necklaces, and every inch of
Forget me not, please !

No boundary of language and nationality, my thought for you,

Requires no ID check, no status symbol.
Giving up examinations, not giving up examination of oneself
on the frontline of conscience.

Forget me not, when you walk by Victoria Harbor under the stars,
In solitude, as the beeze brushes,

Forget me not, please !
In every star, every rice ear, every mouth of grain,

I remember you,
Forget me not, please !


Dec. 19, 2006 Hong Kong
(translated from the original poem in Chinese Dec. 8, 2006 請你記得我)

不是你是我

我是你不問來去
的霧, 霧裡栽花
似花非花

一會漲一會退的思念
徘徊在水之湄
顧影回眸

你是我眼前的鏡
中花水中月
照見我顛倒

夢想, 夢想連翩,
心花若露一去無痕
看你以净眼

如手栽的蓮,
從淤泥中來到淤泥中去
迥脱根塵

一點星光,
倒映在午夜子時的
水中央

如白鷺
你矗立門外, 寂然不動
聽三更打板

輕叩門扉,
緊鎖的門扉為你而開,
門外, 門外站着的竟不是你

是我, 是我自己
濃霧也似歷劫歸來
的微塵

拍和着你的千古絕唱,
“不是你,
是我.......”


October 4, 2006 Hong Kong

紫紅色

我踏着洋紫荊
墜落的
花瓣
沿着海旁
一步踏着一步
慢行

我不知道
如何與洋紫荊
墜落的
紫紅色
遇上

是海上這一陣
濃霧的
呼喚
還是了無定向
的這一陣
風

海上的霧
圍攏過來了
圍攏着我
圍攏着這一片
漸暗的
紫紅


1988年2月8日 Hong Kong

白鷺鷥與紅樹林

白鷺鷥又飛回
水平如鏡的海灣,
像水仙
對影自盼,
隨着一陣善變的風
輕拍翅膀再飛舞入雲

沓無踪影,
要去則去要來則來
沒有老板不接指令
不聽電話沒有留言
只有紅樹林
默默地等

不問過去, 不求未來,
一任潮漲潮退,
永遠當白鷺鷥鳥倦歸還的巢,
淒風苦雨的港, 長夜省油的燈

白鷺鷥不說再見, 不用理由
紅樹林比誰都矮比誰都獃,
沒要求的紅樹林,
不設防的紅樹林



November 16, 2006 Hong Kong

請你記得我

(給浸大社會系和其它院校一群放棄期末考的同學、 走在前綫的新聞工作者、還有景憲、耀強、Raymond、Gabriel、和稻穗)

如果星星已經忘記了夜有多深
我們忘記了肚有多餓
跨出來的步履走向彼此不再奔向
小小的我

如果凌辰十二點鐘尚嫌太早
我們的良知不打瞌睡
吃着來得太遲的飯盒捱着一列排開的
警盾

擋着隨時衝鋒的警棍和凛洌的寒風
為什麼今夜弱不禁風的花兒
突破溫室走入街頭的封鎖綫上維護別人
忘記自己

忘記恐懼忘記防暴隊忘記一己傷痛
與武力對話温柔的風
心捱着心背靠着背星星綣戀着遠方的
星星

沒有口號只有彼此温暖着彼此
交換全身上下
外套圍巾帽子戒指金項鍊和每一方寸的
請你記得我

對你的思念沒有國籍超越語言
不查身分證不問地位
放棄考試, 不放棄在每一條良心的警戒綫上
考試自己

請你在星空下的維港記得我
當你踽踽獨行請你記得溫柔的風
每一點星光, 每一朶稻穗, 每一口飯我記得你也
請你記得我


Dec. 8, 2006 香港

杜鵑花的顏色

一剎那, 就在我擁抱杜鵑花走進來的一剎那
身後的一切變得模糊
當下, 當下杜鵑花嬌嫩欲滴的紫紅色
是我的顏色

當然, 當然我可以把目光投送到花的背後
細看陽光中的微塵
又或者為這一朶飄零在我腳下的花賦詩
可是, 可是我何嘗不是過客
無家可歸, 沒有花瓶
我只能把花夾入什麼也不肯定,
那兒也不能到的書頁。
儘管如此, 儘管如此,
我竟披着一身出奇不意的顏色
現身於許多國家。

我何曾, 我何曾挑選過顏色,
我只不過, 我只不過在不斷變幻的季節
被無常的色彩選中。
我從一個國家等待一個季節
從另一個港灣等待另一陣風。

結果, 結果沒有一個港灣
是永恆的港灣, 沒有一個家是真正的家
只有, 只有眼睛
不停搜索生命的色彩
直到每一種色彩都受雨水洗禮
化身為另一種顏色。

我的雙手棒滿着燦爛的色彩
夾雜着曾經擁有過的紅唇與髮絲
我抓緊它, 又把它潑出去
揮灑在偏遠的離島上,
在那兒我攤開一幅宣紙
只是, 只是它顏色己褪,
全因為霧, 全因為霧鎖着不可踰越的海洋。

我也曾嘗試, 也曾嘗試過跨越海洋
曾經坐過飛機
也搭過蔚藍的信箋。
可是, 可是更多時候我趁上的只是一本詩
詩頁裡的一瓣花, 或者一片葉
而色彩, 色彩它早巳鉛華盡退。

我的心, 我的心到處流浪
像杜鵑花
沒有國藉, 沒有身份。
一忽兒, 一忽兒以一種色彩
被人棒在掌心
一剎那, 一剎那以另一種顏色
被人踩在脚下。

擁抱我, 擁抱我吧 !
擁抱我珍惜當下
擁抱杜鵑花
的一剎那 !

November 23, 2006 翻譯自英文原詩
Colors of the Azaleas, 紐約1992

(圖: 家裡的杜鵑花)

回到當初 Returning to the Beginning

Mr. & Mrs. Ho with Stephanie in April 2007

...

Wild Camelia -

My elementary school teacher Mr. Ho took me to the hillside to pick flowers when I was a child.

(See English translation below)

(給何湞顯老師)

三馬路的山茶花開了又落
落了又開
数十年來冷眼
看君乘駟馬我披簑
數花開花落
還看當初

自甘與遍野蔓草相依
紅塵盡染的蘭
報歲嵗年年難捨難離
挑燈備課車上假寐
落入一杯酒裡
桃李春風

吹拂四季蘭開
從一個家飄落另一個家,
年年難過又過, 處處無家為家,
吹皺魚池邊上大隱朝市
蘭竹居暗香清遠
未曾自矜

親手送出手栽的花
從一雙手交到另一雙手
托付給不回眸的天空
去國離家…… 一掬抱負
兩行熱淚, 追逐五湖四海的浪花
漸行漸遠

沒入暮靄蒼茫的虛空
溯本追源....
直至天邊鴻濛一點虛白
透見從前....
回到當初, 回到當初三馬路上
那朶不栽而栽, 不教而教,
不顯眼的山茶花



2006 年11月22日, 香港
(小時候常和老師上山採山茶花)

(圖: 山上的山茶花)

Returing to the beginning

(To my elementary school teacher Mr. C.H. Ho)

The camelia by the curb
wilted and bloosomed
Forty years with quiet eyes
To watch others climbing high
And you remain low
To accompany the first flower
while numerous flowers
passed.

The orhid mixes with weeds
enjoys dusts
in the home of wilderness
Annoucing the departure of years
Grading papers at nights
And naps on buses
While plum flowers fall onto a cup of wine
in the breeze

Orchids are awaken in four seasons
turning from one home to another
never a home of its own.
Every year is difficult
Never bother a hermit
lives in metropoli by the fish pond
While fragrance drifted from
orchid and bamboo

Handing out flowers compassionately
one hand to another
a bouquet delivered to the world
never look back.
Away from the motherland
With good wishes to serve
Further and further
With tears pour
Into the four continents and five seas

In the mist a dim light emerged
Beyond the existence of celestial
going back to the origin
A flower by the curb
teaching without word
growing unknowingly
A humble camelia
at the very beginning

(I always picked wild camelia with my elementary school teacher Mr. Ho as a child)

Translated April 10, 2007

Patchwork

(For my grandma and mother)

I pick up my grandma’s thread
To continue her patchwork
With the stitches of forever changing colors
In the always passing seasons
Falling into the never ending rains.

I want to stitch a simple flower
Sitting in a quiet corner
To hold the hands of my grandma
Without her having to shed a tear.

Grandma,
I am coming back
From a cloud
Full of fantasies and desires.
Grandma,
They are not important.
Look !
My hands are empty.
They are good at catching the silly rains
Falling in wrong seasons
Confused
By air pollution
And global disturbance of greenhouse effect.
Grandma,
Where a re you going to put me and my silly rains
On your patchwork ?

Grandma,
We have traveled the longest distance
To arrive at the beginning,
When ma wrote me,
"Grandma thought she was dying on her way to the emergency in the ambulance,
She said,dig out my saving inside the pillow to buy her a golden ring."
Grandma,
My tears are like the falling rains.
I do not need a golden ring
Neither from your blessing
Nor from the promise of a rose garden.

Grandma,
Look !
My hands are empty.
They are holding the silly rains
Which reflect the lost souls
Of the distorted children
Always success
For wrong reasons.
Grandma,
We have been working hard
To climb social ladder too busy to touch the hearts.
Grandma,
We are the generation of
Pollution in the heads,
Our hearts are the handicaps.

Grandma,
I am now stitching a cloud
Flying home on P.A. 747
Dropping a promotion and a double pay
Like the falling rains.

2.
I pick up my grandma’s thread
To continue her patchwork
With the stitches of the forever changing colors
In the always passing seasons
Falling into the never ending rains.

I want to stitch a beautiful flower
Standing up in a forgotten corner
To comfort my mother
Without her having to worry about our separated paths.

Ma,
I am leaving
For the distant land
Filled with rains and rainbows like ours.
Ma,
It is a lonely journey.
Look !
My hands are full.
They are good at sowing seeds in the strange land and the deserted soil,
Pampered
By the rain watcher
And the sprout sitter
Who just want to see beautiful flowers.
Ma,
Where are you going to put me and my flowers
On the patchwork ?

Ma,
We end up on the other side of the universe
By taking the first step from home.
When pa wrote,
"Your ma is upset, you are writing and speaking another language. She said, tell her don’t marry a foreigner."
Ma,
My tears are like the falling rains.
What are languages ?
We are just babbling
In the acid rains.
Why don’t you listen to the tone
Which has no consciousness
Except feeling.

Ma,
Look !
My hands are full
Of flowers transplanted to the foreign land
And turned into a new breed of world wonder.
Ma,
We are the children
With no identity.
Ma,
We are the generation of homelessness
Trying to believe homelessness is itself a modern home.

Ma,
I am now stitching a bamboo bush
Standing next to the dogwoods shoulder to shoulder
In the falling rains.


Oct. 13, 1990
Stony Brook, New York

Embrace

(For my father)

A father and a son on Long Island
hug in April by the pond,
The giggles embrace the taste
of the duck food they taste.

The father is the shadow of my father
half blind
who used to walk me to the ferry
20,000 miles away in Hong Kong.
The son is the shadow of my arms
hungry for a father's arms.

After 30 years of cultural mmalnutrition
in arms embracing arms,
My father woke one night from
the brink of blindness
from glaucoma and cataract.

Sleepless,
Until one eye was forever gone,
The other one didn't has long to stay.
He moaned,
What can I do ?

We begun to walk
arm in arm
to every answer
of every hospital,
We cannot guarantee !

We walked half a year
every other day
to ten different hospitals
until a doctor said,
Yes, let's operate.

Now, my father has one bright eye
shines with cheers and teers,
He loves to walk with me arm in arm.

I asked him,
Where do you want to go ?
He smiled,
Just want to walk with you.


April 21, 1991
Stony Brook, New York

留白

在煙雲過眼中
我們留白
留出一望無垠的天空
瀟灑放手

眼眸與眼眸
相對無言
你的長髮如潑墨
渲染出眼前的紅樹林

兀立於窗外的海灣
灣外的沙丘 - 樹與樹
煙雨相忘,只餘下顧影自憐,
卻根纏上了根

寥然寂靜, 煙霧迷濛,
沒有浪打浪的聲音,
我沿着門外的紅樹林
走向出岫的雲


2006/10/17 Hong Kong
(紅樹林 - 長在淺海邊)

Beginning of a Camellia

(To my teacher, Mr. Ho, Jing Hin)

Camellias in the mountain wilted and blossomed,
Blossomed and wilted are the long years

Of quiet eyes
Looking at the horses you ride.
I wear a poncho in the downpour,
Looking for the flower

At the very beginning.

Announcing arrival of years, my orchid
Filled with dusts,
Loyal companion of leaves of grass,
Unable to let go
Preparation of classes in midnight,
Naps in commute due to lack of sleep.
Toasted plum flowers in the breeze

To blow open the seasons
Taveling from place to place,
Turbulent years one after another, finally passed.
Everywhere is a home of no home,
A hermit living in metropolis by a fish pond
Lingering with fragrance in the house of orchids,

Translucent and pure, never boasts

About the bouquet handed out personally
From one hand to another,
To the sky of no return
Departed from the homeland,
Dreams in one hand, tears in two eyes,
Chasing after the waves in four continents and five oceans
Drifted away .....

Buried in emptiness of fog,

Sails to the roots,
Towards the sublime in the celestial,
Revealing glimpses of the past,
Right back to the first lesson,
Nurtured by not nurturing,
Teaching by not teaching,
With a camellia in the mountain,
At the very beginning.

December 19, 2006, Hong Kong
( translated from the original Chinese poem回到當初, November 20, 2006, Hong Kong )

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)

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

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

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)