張傑英文詩3首
Zhang Jie (China): 《Red Star Canal 》
【美國】楊 勞倫斯 西思翎 譯
Jan Laurens Siesling (USA) translation
楊 勞倫斯 西思翎（Jan Laurens Siesling) 是藝術史學者和著有小說和詩歌的作傢、詩人。他的小說常處理藝術，他的藝術的書是處理詩意靈感。他是一個語言的人，在他的自由時間他喜歡翻譯，從一種喜愛的語言到另一種。中文很可能變成他的將來的挑戰。他生於荷蘭，從阿姆斯特丹自由大學取得博士學位。他在法國生活很多年，他的書大多是用法語寫的。現在他半年在歐洲，半年在美國。他最近的書《藝術是更多》，是一個非傳統的歷代的西方藝術史。
Biographical Note Jan Laurens Siesling is an art historian and a writer of fiction and poetry. His novels often deal with art and his books on art deal with the poetry behind artistic inspiration. He is a man of languages and in his free time he likes to do translations from one beloved language into another. Chinese is likely to become his future challenge. He was born in the Netherlands and he obtained his degrees from the Free University of Amsterdam. He lived in France for many years and most of his books were written in French. Now he spends half of the year in Europe, the other half in America. His most recent book, Art is More, is an unconventional history of Western art through the ages.
Zhang Jie:《Red Star Canal 》 [1]（Translation by Jan Laurens Siesling）
In the hinterland of a small county we stumbled upon
A long canal, in total decay, the ruins of a Star. Surprising.
Amid countless half-moon arches sunken in the mire or with thorns overgrown,
We seemed to wipe the ashes of the past century, falling
like dust. The people who built the canal used its water
For making steel, irrigating the fields, and play;
Now, in the evening dusk, it was the silent landmark
of a bygone era. An iron pipe of the nearby pump station
Rusted away; poplar trees and sparrows had taken over the dry drains,
Overflowing with dead leaves and _drop_pings; on either side
Weeds grew freely, buried memories returning to wilderness.
At an interruption in the canal
We paused in silence; the sun was slowly _set_ting
Behind the distant hills.
If you walk on along the canal, across an iron bridge, cut
Through a cemetery, you will find a charming regional train station.
It has a new and bright
Waiting room. When, in the dreary emptiness,
The whistle blows, there is always a mother with white hair;
She stands on the platform, wiping off tears of farewell
To her children parting to far off lands.
Beijing, 10.22.2005
[1] The Hong Xing Qu or Red Star Canal was constructed in 1958, during the “Iron and Steel Campaign”. Located in Lushan County, Henan, it is now abandoned.
張傑：《紅星渠》（註[1]）
《Red Star Canal》 (Hong Xing Qu)
小縣郊外，長長的紅星渠已頽圮
它的老態，讓我們吃驚
衆多半月的拱洞，陷入淤泥和葛榛
我們輕撫渠身，上世紀的灰渣噗噗
掉下。那些建渠人，曾用這渠水
煉鋼、澆田、嬉戲
而今，衹餘這時代地標，空寂於
暮晚。不遠的灌站，輸水鐵管
也已銹蝕，護渠的青楊、灰雀，
用枯葉和鳥糞堆滿幹涸渠道，兩岸荒草
宛若隱埋的記憶，在曠野間
遊蕩。在渠的斷裂處，
我們默然停步，渠頭落日，
正緩緩沉降於遠山。
若順着渠走，跨過鐵橋，斜穿
一片墳地，便是小縣溫暖的車站，
那裏，新建有明亮的
候車廳，每當沉悶、空曠的
汽笛鳴響，總有白發母親，
伫立在站臺，抹淚送別
踏上遠鄉漂泊的兒女。
2005.10.22 北京
註[1]：紅星渠建於1958年大煉鋼鐵時期，位於河南某縣。已荒廢。
Zhang Jie:《Writing to Siesling and Haiyan Tian》
Translation by Jan Laurens Siesling, 12-15-2016
Pingdingshan West Station was the treasure box
And you were the gemstones having traveled far,
Shining gently, glowing up in our eyes.
In July, that was a good omen.
How hard not to persevere in a mountain rain conversation,
As it pours from the Lushan sky, ah the rain, hold high
The umbrellas when we move to the restaurant; various countries
Correspond to various sacred symbols, all different.
The emblem of Holland would appear to be the deer!
China should be represented by the dragon,
But there appear the shadows of the wolf and the pig,
No progress in this old land.
The waste terrain was full of discarded scrap,
Plowed up by antiquated drunken bulldozers.
You were here like a semaphore, suddenly
Illuminating the mud of a wide plain.
Through the clods a desolate sleepwalking crowd wiggled its way.
The Flat Lands steam boiled the suffering, darkness, love.
People struggled through the potholes in the dirt road,
Muddier than ever, and the Flat Land leaned over.
You two joined the lightless and the soundless
Crossing a vast area.
The night rain smelled of fresh pine resin,
The summer night on the balcony was heavy with joy.
The symphony of the frogs, the zither of the rain,
Countless microphones were speaking,
Pingdingshan is also in China a loud voice,
A giant sunken bomb, now about to speak.
Humor in the heart is a light beam of freedom,
And freedom, freedom of that kind, is the central axis
That never reached the human oceans of Middle Kingdom.
Guci drums, calligraphy, an experience of investigation, on the scroll
The world like a treacherous liquor was flowing,
Spreading its vertigo. Meanwhile Haiyin,
Ouyang Guangxue, Beidu and we all –
Were the tender stones of the night, melting in the hot springs.
The warm Xiatang river was the permanent back_drop_,
From one space to another, a parallel stream.
And when we entered Zhengzhou, the gigantic rising
Groundhog City produced another kind of sludge.
Buildings like fast grown monsters seemed to dance to a blues
With gypsy beauty and malice. When you had finished your art talk,
Left the street level behind, reappearing on another planet,
We stepped on stairs to stars, in the mirror turning into egrets.
張傑：《寫給西思翎、田海燕》
平頂山西站猶如寶匣，
你們是遠征的寶石，
善的輝光，閃在我們眼底。
七月，預示一個命運。
難以輓留的山雨交談
在魯山的天空，雨，讓我們
舉着蘑菇抵達餐廳，各國的
神物對應表，各不相同。
荷蘭顯影的是鹿！
中國本應顯影的是竜，
投影的卻是狼與豬，
古陸仿佛停止了進化。
大野有無數的報廢，
有腐朽推土機的醉意。
你們也像飛來的燈塔，
照亮了大原的泥濘。
泥珠上蠕動夢遊荒涼的人群。
平原蒸熟了苦難、黑暗和愛。
人們費力走在坑窪的泥路，
空前的泥濘，使平原傾斜。
你們匯入了無光無聲的人們
在茫茫大地上的橫渡。
夜雨令人有鬆脂的清香，
夏夜陽臺令我們享受沉重。
青蛙的交響樂，雨的古箏，
無數的麥剋風在發言，
平頂山也是中國的一個話筒，
代表一顆沉沒的巨彈即將發言。
幽默的心，有自由的光芒，
那種自由的自由是一種軸心，
還從未出現在中國的海洋中。
鼓詞，書法和審查，在滾動
世界如同渾濁的烈酒在滾動，
展露自己的暈眩。而海因、
歐陽關雪、北渡和我們——
都是夜的軟石，都融進了溫泉。
下湯的暖河，是相互的背景，
不同空間裏，我們有平行的飛行。
而當我們進入鄭州，那巨大升騰的
土撥鼠之城，製造着另一種泥濘。
樓群像速生的怪物，似乎在感傷舞動
吉普賽的美和恨。當你們講完藝術，
在大街的甲板上消失，在另一顆星上重現，
我們會踩着星星的臺階，在鏡中變成白鷺。
2016.10.27
To Feng Xin Wei
In the great black earth, the night again descending on Lushan,
You were like the lone lantern stumbling on,
Since long the fertilizer plant was closed, since long you were fired,
This is the triptych of a destiny: darkness, lone light, joblessness.
The dust whirling up on People’s Road, the chaos of crowds,
You changed your mind like a wild swan, your voice into a quill,
On the white wall of your bedroom you wrote: “Before the sky is dark,
Complete a new work, you have much time to kill.” 1
Woebegone you stepped far behind the mirror,
Our world let you down, and your poetic aims with that.
Your experience was that there is no substitute for suffering.
Like Poseidon the sea god, you bear the heavy load of the waves.
You live in a house of wine, under the table the floor is covered with bottles,
The house smells of wine, you said: “Come, brother,
Let me get you two bundles of poems,” at
Your bedside under the lonely light, dark and damp –
A spider’s web had made a sort of night sky against the ceiling,
We all live in our helpless webs.
You said: “at the worst we pay for it with the rest of our life,” 2
You read poems to me under the lonely lightbulb, the excitement
Made you breathe heavily, a ferocious tiger or a whale emerging from the deep.
Yellowing fans were flying saucers, overlooking the demonic planet of the
Lonely poet. I believed I felt the universe split in two
By shock, you must have convoked the god of poetry himself.
We then climbed to the roof, of the county’s central village
The observatory, north of the sheep’s pen, pervading the night with its smell,
With the help of your glasses you identified vague groups of stars,
Large clusters of them stare at you since long, and ignore you.
The moon was low and seemed to sink into a sublunary bedroom.
The cypress in the courtyard, moving like drunken,
Its fingers as fine as if stitching, pointed at the stars. A hawthorn
Threw its silence over the sleep of the sheep, while the Jiao Zhi
Train mooed lower than a cowherd, and far away a tower crane,
A gigantic gun, aimed at high buildings crazily popping up.
We were like the night train under November stars moving.
The water of the Xia Wa released the sweet smell of mud.
Your roof, the squalid cave wrapped in cold night,
The spider’s web, the peeling ceiling, the ragged walls,
The greasy wires, the rough sand concrete floors,
The lost mirror of the wardrobe, the missing mat for a bed.
Dust covered the table, like the dust of time,
A ghost bends over it often and writes, turning in circles,
In the dark room the owner, often sitting in the chair, motionless
In a somber cave, like oblivious in still water a black fish.
The house is packed with Tao Er River brandy boxes, you shout
Loudly: “Tao Er River”, like calling the god of the Changbai Mountain,
But there is no redemption from the god – those books though
Make a pile at your bedside, a form of revolution.
Tonight we will sleep in the turmoil of this revolution,
A useless revolution it is, we are always the turmoil’s victim.
Later that night in the window, the sky collapses, the poplar shuffles darkly
Like a space shuttle until, king of the night, the rooster, calls for dawn.
As early as nine, going down Xia Wa Street we come across the big iron mantis,
Its giant arms hanging steel bars; we walk by these iron limbs,
The sky becomes a white cave, like lit by LED lights, countless torches,
Buoys float by us, the detectors as usual drifting off.
_____
1 This is a quote from Feng Xin Wei’s poem “A Poet in the Golden Week”.
2 A quote from Feng Xin Wei’s poem “A Nude Song”.
Zhang Jie, 2016-11-08
Translation by Jan Laurens Siesling 2017-05-23
張傑：《給詩人馮新偉》
在黑色的大地上，夜又降臨了魯山，
你像一盞跌跌撞撞的孤燈，
化肥廠早已破産，你也早已下崗，
這是一個命運的三件套：黑暗，孤燈和失業。
塵土飛揚的人民路，混亂的人群，
你像變卦的野天鵝，喉頭化為筆，
在你的臥室白墻上，寫上“趁天黑前，
完成一首新作，有的是時間供你消磨”①。
你埋頭走在一個幽深的鏡框裏，
這個世界辜負了你，一個詩人的美意。
你所經歷的是你無法替換的苦難。
你像海神波塞鼕，承受住了重載的海浪。
你已住在酒屋，桌下滿是酒瓶，
屋中滿是酒香，你說“來，老弟，
我給你整理出兩套詩”，就在
你床頭的孤燈下，黑暗又潮濕——
蛛網在天花板扭麯成小小的天網，
而我們就活在這無可奈何的網下。
你說“大不了把餘生全賠進去”②，
你在孤燈裏為我讀詩，因為激動
喘着氣，猶如一頭猛虎或浮出深海的鯨魚。
發黃的扇葉像個飛碟，望着這顆魔鬼星球上
孤寂的詩人。我似乎感到了宇宙分裂的
震撼，那一定是你感召到了飛過的詩神。
我們又走上屋頂，這是縣城城中村的
瞭望臺，北面的羊圈，在夜晚膻味彌漫，
你戴上眼鏡，辨認着模糊的星群，
大片的星團，早已把你凝望，又忘卻。
月亮低的，似乎沉入人間的睡房。
院中的雪鬆，像喝醉的醉漢，舉着
刺綉的細手，指着星空。那山楂樹
在歇息的羊群上沉默，焦枝綫上
火車牛群一樣低鳴，遠處，塔吊
像一把巨大的手槍，指着瘋長的樓群。
我們像夜行列車駛過繁星下的十一月夜。
下窪的水，帶着混濁的甜味。
你的屋頂，寒夜籠罩的貧民窟，
蛛網，掉皮的天花板，破爛的墻，
油污的電綫，粗糙，沙愣愣的水泥地面，
丟了鏡子的衣櫃，沒有墊子的床。
灰塵落滿的桌子，像積塵的時代，
一個幽靈時常在那裏伏案寫作，轉圈，
而昏暗屋子的主人，時常呆坐在椅中，
如同昏暗洞穴裏，在靜水裏走神的黑魚。
屋中堆滿洮兒河酒的酒箱，你大聲
喊出“洮兒河”，像呼喊長白山的山神，
但山神也無法救贖什麽——那些書，
堆壘上你的床頭，像鬧了一場革命。
今晚我們就要睡在這革命的漩渦中，
漩渦是無益的，我們永遠是漩渦的犧牲品。
後夜的窗外，是倒塌的天空，夜楊嘩嘩
似飛船，黑夜的帝王，雄雞，呼叫着黎明。
早九點，下窪街中橫着大鐵螳螂，
巨臂吊着鋼筋，我們從鐵臂下走過，
天空的洞穴變白，像LED燈，無數火把，
浮標流過我們，探測器一般飄散着出發。
註：①引句摘自馮新偉《一個詩人在黃金周》一詩；
②引句摘自馮新偉《裸體之歌》一詩。
2016.11.8