李建春中英双语诗选 

The Early Spring: Elegy for Dr. Li Wenliang

I held back my sorrowful pity,

tried hard to lengthen my observation of the cold woods in the early spring.

The stimulation, the prayers, the appeals from 9 pm. to 2 am. last night,

hovered over a small bamboo grove in divinely spirited mountains.

I heard the singing, I recognized it: a blackbird.

There were also twitters of azure-winged magpies, quarrels of sparrows, and  

faint but agitated throat of orioles, who glimpsed the morning-whites from the thorn-bush.

Farmers opened their gates and spat outside, as desolate as these hills.

One needed to look hard to tell the lines of misty hills in distance.

The luxuriant nature of Camphor tree and sweet Osmanthus was less revered as that of pine trees,

barks rugged,  

resembling dragon scales, a disposition of a people that has lost their language.

One needed to live here long enough, but not a bird.

I believed that the human beings are equal to everything and all. So did Dr. Li Wenliang.

Among the many who had died, he was the one thrown into the light,

extruded to shine by the closing-in darkness.

A good young man, born in the 1980s, sunny and funny,

he loved life… he also signed on the reprimand letter and admitted his wrong doings.

But he was the __select__ed as the first one to murmur the truth and to warn

the sweeping death, he was insensitive to disciplines.

At the end, he was submerged. A commoner… but was raised

to the ranks of gods. Today’s sacredness is simply like this: do not lie.

February 7, 2020

早春

（悼李文亮医生）

我抑住悲惜，

尽量延长察看这早春寒林的时间。

昨夜九点多至凌晨二点的震动，祈祷，呼吁，

在钟万山之灵秀的一片竹林中悬挂。

鸣唱的，我听出是一种鸫鸟。

也有灰喜鹊、麻雀的吵叫，黄鹂细弱兴奋，

从荆棘丛中窥见晨白。

农人开门吐痰，他们与这片丘陵一样荒凉。

远山浅淡迷蒙，边线需要分辨。

樟树、桂树茂盛的本性，不如松树的针叶珍贵，

松树的皴皮

龙鳞片片，难以言述的民族气质。

一个人要在这里生活很久，一只鸟不需要。

我深感人类与万物平等。李文亮医生也是。

他却被从众多死者中提亮，

他的亮是因为黑暗向他挤拢。

一个好青年，80后，阳光，活泼，

热爱生活……也签字，认错。

但是他被选中，成为最先嘀咕、警告

这大面积的死亡且对纪律有点无感的，

他终于被吞噬。一个常人……得以进入

众神的行列。今天的神圣即是如此：不撒谎。

2020.2.7

Translated by Yan Zhou（周琰 译）

ON THE PHONE, MOTHER URGING    

Three days ago, mother phones, saying

"Come home soon, I’ll cook country chicken."  

My heart’s already there,

packing, arranging, leaving messages,

all seen by you.

Forty years in the affairs of men--

waters ebb, stones appear.

I tried once for love, again for friendship.  

I steer around the obstacles,

the edges of the city slipping past,

grimy, jumbled.  The horizon soon in sight,

doubts vanish with the city's murky air,

hillocks and brief groves loom up like memory.

Home. Father at rest beneath the skull-shaped hill,

too late to redeem my mutinous youth.  

Before bed I pull the big door open,

suddenly at peace, eyes full of stars.

母亲在电话中催促

三天前，母亲在电话中催促：

“快回来吃鸡子……”我的心已飞了。

交接，收拾，留言，我与世界的关系

都在你眼里。

四十年印象，人事，水落石出。

我曾试图抓住其中的一些：

恋情，知己……驱车绕过阻塞，

郊区的建筑忽然松开。

不洁，杂乱，但已可望见天际。

我们的信心像这城市的能见度。

小丘、平林入眼，展开如记忆。

家……父亲安葬在背垴。

或许现在要纠正青年时代的不孝为时已晚。

入睡前拉开大门，满目的星星竟使我满足。

DEFICIENCY    

When I try too hard, I slip into boredom.

What hateful enemy hounds me?

Why is my life so deficient?

Born in the Cultural Revolution, my bitter roots run shallow.

I grew up on hatred, dialectics, subjugation.  

Rocky dirt roads in the countryside

taught me the palpable world.

Barefoot summer and winter, autumn and spring,  

I curled in the husk of my old coat.

I chased after the village's limping projectionist.

As his reels spun out the story, the beam’s fan

cut through dust and moths,

and sham battles surged over a sea of dark heads.

They didn't know they were slaves.

Boyhood’s only fun--shooting birds with a slingshot

in the "Four Pests” campaign.  If there were tears,

the still warm sparrows  

burned in my hand.  These days  

I dare not kill a chicken or look at blood--

how cruel when the heart tallies the past!

I’ll give anything to live my own life.

If I collapse, will you catch me?

贫乏

我用劲时太性急，不经意间又陷入无聊；

是什么仇敌总在追赶着我？

我的生命，为何这样贫乏？

我生于文革的中途，根苦而浅；

成长于学习恨，辩证法或强迫，

从乡间土路的石头

了解世界的物质性，

赤脚走过夏秋，冬春缩在旧袄的壳里。

我追赶村里跛脚的电影放映员，

讲故事的轮子耸起时，扇形光

超越了灰尘飞蛾；

斗争的幻象在黑压压的人头上涌动，

他们不知道自己是奴隶。

少年时代唯一的乐趣——用弹弓射鸟

或许受除四害影响，鸟尸的余温

当我会流泪后开始烫手，如今的我，

不敢杀鸡、看血——

但是心哪，在计算历史的方向时仍然那么狠！

……不惜牺牲，用蛮力坚持生活，

如果我垮下来，你是否愿接住我？

THE CARNIVAL AND THE COURTROOM    

The waterbowl level in my hands, I walk unsteady through the carnival.

Now is the hour for exiles, torture, mourning.  

Some sigh,  

Some take it easy,  

Some pretend to sleep.

Memory and revenge shake hands, talking peace.  

Youth and wrath seem sisters.

They’re all my friends, but they think I come from the land of shadows.

If I follow the drill, it's not without amusement.  

They applaud, relax, chatter nonsense.  I’m the knife's edge.

A man whose petition’s been denied  

must be careful when returning to time and retort.  

I consider the testimony.  

They've heard what happened, why I'm popular.

Someone says: "You're free!"

Someone stirs my desire.  

Someone fearful bribes me.

Hippie wisdom, cynicism, living, loveless criticism...  

I have other business, more serious.

If I can find the evidence to clear me, or waive strategy,  

the water in my palms will turn to wine.

嘉年华与法庭

我端起一碗水，颤颤地走过嘉年华。

这是放逐者的场合，折腾与悼念的场合。

有人叹息，

有人悠然，

有人佯睡。

记忆与复仇握手言和，

青春和愤怒形同姊妹。

他们全是我朋友……对于他们，我来自影子的国度。

也并非全无乐趣，如果我遵循礼仪。

他们鼓掌，放松胡说，我的角色却是刀锋。

对于一个刚刚被法庭驳回的人，重新到

时间和争辩中，该是多么小心。

我思考证词。

他们也听说我遭遇，这是我受欢迎的原因。

有人说：“你出来了！”

有人鼓动我欲望。

有人因为害怕，贿赂我。

嬉皮的智慧。犬儒的智慧。活着。批判

而无爱……我有更严肃的事情。

如果我能找出对我有利的证据，或、全无策略！

我掌中的水，或许会变成酒。

Translated by George O’Connell（乔直）、Diana Shi（史春波）

Daye where my heart is

From Hupu, over Daye, to Wuhan,  

The troika of my youth, I won’t mention what came next  

How I ended up in the open city of Guangzhou

Working for an incomprehensibly big company  

Doing local planning, following Japanese models

Daye High School was the glory of my boyhood,

There my heart took shape, I wrote for the first time

A note to a girl, and I determined to go to college

From “Jean-Christophe”

To “The Birth of Tragedy”

The last crests of the Mufu Mountains kowtow to drink in the port of Huangshi,

Between the majestic Mountain Dragon and Water Dragon

The people of Daye had no room for choice. Their land was a battleground  

For the weapons here forged, the spirit of the mine  

Open like a copper flower, since the earth has seen civilization

Daye people have supported  

The workers and the warriors

From the times of the King of Chu asking about the giant tripod Ding and of General Yue Fei warring with the Jin

Until the braves of the Taiping Heavenly Kingdom and the Soviets  

All those missed choices for the people of Daye

But of antique bronze is their heart

At the villages of Longfeng Hills and Shangfeng

I fall prey to nostalgia: this cannot be due to the scenery!

The grave mound of my ancestors sits next to the freeway,  

Trembling. How much effort would it cost to get there,  

How many detours to go down,

Push aside the wild grasses, clear the bramble bushes, to burn an incense stick?

The girl, she rejected my note,

Twenty years of void between her and me

It feels like homesick, why do I carry those memories?  

She was with me at the foot of this hill, but we can’t return

She was within my reach, but is so far away

She is around, all-invading. My heart belongs to Daye

I will train my hand like a Master in the Craft  

And cast: the razor-sharp edge of a dagger, the void of a Ding

Note: the “Master in the Craft” is the official title of the person in charge of any form of manual work.

我的大冶之心

从胡铺，到大冶，再到武汉

我前期的三部曲，中间省去

我如何在开放的广州

为我不了解的大公司

用方言策划，参照日本的模式

大冶一中是我少年的荣耀

初心形成之地，我平生第一次

向一个女孩递纸条，愤而上大学

从《约翰.克利斯朵夫》

到《悲剧的诞生》

幕阜山的余脉在黄石港饮水

雄壮的山之龙和水之龙

大冶人无从取舍。江山的争斗

在此地锻打兵器，矿山的精魂

开出铜草花，在地球文明的开端

大冶人支持了

共工与颛顼斗

以及楚王问鼎、岳飞抗金

近到太平天国的兵勇和苏维埃

大冶人的选择何其失败

但是他有青铜心

在龙凤山庄，在上冯村

我思考乡愁：这岂是风景的概念

我的祖坟山在高速公路边

震颤，要费多大的劲

绕多大的弯，才能下来

拨开荒草、黄荆，烧一柱香？

那个退还我纸条的女孩

与我之间二十年的空白

就像乡愁，何须铭记？

她就在我脚下，却回不去

她伸手可及，却不是

她在左右，四周。我的大冶之心

我用将作大匠的手腕

铸造：戈之锋、鼎之无

注：将作大匠，官名，掌管营造与百工，相当于少府

Waiting to alloy

It is a rainy day, unannounced as always, it weighs on my mood

It is a rainy day, so let me go where I am supposed to

Carry my rucksack with teaching tools to an outskirt,

Speak about something else, you can’t speak about yourself

A two-day workshop, covering the Neolithic Age up to the Warring States Period  

I teach my students the origins of art

Stone tools, jade objects, antique bronzes, I teach them how to identify

A gui, a you, a zun, a ding*

I have prepared the models, now I wait for the alloy to melt and be poured.

*A gui is a bowl-shaped ritual grain vessel;  a you a tall ritual wine vessel; a zun a lidded ritual wine container; a ding a ritual tripod cauldron.

等待合金

雨濛濛的天，总是出人意外，不能自已

雨濛濛的天，我当在合适的位置

我背着教具到郊区上课，只能讲别人，不能讲自己

一联两天的课，从新石器时代讲到战国

我教我的学生艺术的由来

依次讲石器、玉器、青铜器，教他们认

簋、卣、尊、鼎，我备好了模范，等待合金熔液注入

Returning from a funeral in the midst of winter

Some people winter envelops and guards, others

In the winter get up early, sit at the window and let the time pass.

So with my classmate’s younger brother.

It was only the second time I saw him,

Or his photograph, actually, hanging between crying women.

When did I see him for the first time? In high school, during

A summer vacation in the home of my classmate, helping with the harvest.

That was him, a dark face, round and fatty, with streaks of sweat and mud,

Twisting his waist, at the side of the stove, watching our clamoring.

There he was only in his early forties, and all energy,

Though somewhat swollen eyelids, a man,

The ashes of his bones scattered in a coffin.

The fire I passed by was extinguished.

Your brother still blamed you for your bad behavior, before the coffin

He refused to be comforted. You left three children behind,

First born two girls, twins, the second born, a boy,

And there is even a step-son, to my surprise,

Son and step-son, wearing filial piety turbans, kneeled when I,

According to custom, lit some incense, then helped them up. This funeral  

Was only about you, the dead one, who died of being drunk,

An accident, walking away from the neighborhood’s flowerbeds

You slipped, fell on the road and a heavy truck run over your body.

In that year you were so shy you didn’t look people in the eyes and, in awe  

of your brother’s friend, you avoided him; now you repose there

In all your length. I accompanied your brother to the graveyard,

Where I meditated over your deep tomb. It looked so simple:

Your home, your loved ones, justice, and this place for a long sleep,

All I could hear was crying over you, no traces almost of a life.

Dying in the heart of winter, you became a seed,

Or food for seeds, and from that special station,

All we can hope for is you will bless your wife and children.

The hurdle was too high for you, but your loved ones must continue

When you hit hard the pavement

In the deep of winter, you barely felt pain, and died,

Shook your head as if waking up from delirium, rubbing your eyes  

Hanging in the air, observing the weeklong activity unleashed by you.

Your thoughts were known by sun and wind alone,

Through light and air, you entered in the aftermath.

You passed through the world, leaving footprints deep or shallow

And I followed your almost traceless steps in the snow,

Mourning you. I’m in waiting, and maybe just as I am in waiting,

Waiting becomes a bliss, and there is bliss in mourning,

Like the mountain peaks mourn the valley; little brother,

The sky is bright already, thank you for resonating with me last night.

For me you were but the boy hunting birds’ nests,

Now, on the contrary, I would converse with you about serious business.

However, you have already returned to the earth. So my salute

Should also go to the earth. In the cold draught  

Passing by the badly shut window, I feel a handshake impossible to hold,  

I have to go down for a morning run, throw myself in the cold.

        Winter 2016

深冬，葬礼归来

冬天含藏了一些人，另有一些人

在深冬里早起，坐在窗前等待

比如小弟，我同学的亲弟，我第二次见到他

竟是他的遗照，立在嚎哭的妇女中间

第一次见他是什么时候？我读高中时

暑假到同学家玩，帮忙双抢

他，胖黑的脸，糊满汗水和泥迹

扭着腰，在灶台边，旁观我们高谈

现在他四十刚出头，精力充沛

眼皮有些浮肿，一个男人，骨灰撒在棺材里

一团与我擦肩而过的火熄灭了

你哥还在骂你不听话，对着你的灵柩

拒绝受安慰。你遗下三个孩子

头胎是孪生女，第二胎是男孩

另有一名义子，这让我很惊奇

义子和亲子头戴孝布，在我上香时跪伏

我依礼扶他们起来。在这场葬礼中

唯一特殊的是你，死者

死于醉酒，事故，你从小区的花坛边

滑倒，躺在地上，一辆货车碾过你身体

当年你怯于照面，敬畏地

对你哥的朋友，躲闪；现在你大咧咧地

长卧。我陪你哥送你到墓地

察看你的深圹。就这么简单：

你的家，你的亲人，义，和长眠之所

我听到的只是为你哭，几乎没有生平事迹

你死于深冬，成为一粒种子

或种子的养料，那么具体地说

我们都盼望你保佑你的妻儿

你越不过你的坎，就在你亲人的连续性中

成为铺路石

如此深冬，你几乎没感到痛，就死了

你酒醒时摇晃着脑袋，悬在空中揉眼睛

注视一周来与你有关的动态

你的想法只有风日知道了

透过光和风，你参与后事

你在人世走过了，脚印或深或浅

而我在你几乎踏雪无痕的外延

把你哀悼。或许仅仅因为我在等待

而等待是喜悦的，喜悦又是可悼的

像波峰怀念波谷，小弟

天已大亮，感谢你昨夜与我共鸣

我从未把你从掏鸟窝的男孩中区别

我欲待区别，与你聊些生意上的事情时

你已回到泥土。那么我的寒暄

也只好对着泥土说。我能感到一股气流

透过没关紧的窗，与我握手

我握不住，就下楼晨练，投入冷冽

Translation by Jan Laurens Siesling（杨•西思翎）