英漢雙語詩選（吳盛青 顧愛玲譯）

In the following section dedicated to the work of Chi Lingyun 池凌雲, literary scholar Shengqing Wu 吳盛青 and translator Eleanor Goodman 顧愛玲 offer CLT readers an avenue into the lively scene of contemporary women poets. Focusing on Chi's poetry, they explore issues of the feminist consciousness, different possibilities for the expression of empathy, questions of a writer's social responsibility, and the status of a poet's relationship to language in contemporary China. Born in 1966, Chi has emerged as one of the most prominent feminist voices in poetry during the past decade. Her books include Darting Snowflakes (Feiben de xuehua 飛奔的雪花) published in 1997, One-Sided Dialogue (Yigeren de duihua 一個人的對話) in 2005, _Select_ed Poetry of Chi Lingyun (Chi Lingyun shixuan 池凌雲詩選) in 2010, and Stealth's Gleam (Qianxing zhiguang 潛行之光) in 2013.

As a whole, Chi's work is characterized by a strong female voice and charged with lyrical emotionalism. Many of her early poems offer reflections upon and metaphorical transformations of her struggles growing up as an intelligent, inquisitive child in the restrictive environment of rural China, and then coping with the rapid changes the country has undergone in the last several decades, an experience shared by many of her generation. She also writes extensively about the experiences of other prominent female figures, from Lin Zhao 林昭 to Jacqueline du Pré, through which she delves into a collective experience of—and resistance to—the forces of seemingly predetermined fate, as well as to gender and social hegemony. Much of her literary inspiration is drawn from other great writers of the past century, especially the poets of the Silver Age of Russian literature, such as Marina Tsvetaeva and Anna Akhmatova, and, like these writers, Chi uses a deft touch to reveal "the beauty of tremendous difficulty" in life as in art. Her work draws upon personal experience and everyday life to explore often-disturbing themes of death, suffering, and assault. Yet she is also able to write about a full range of topics, and demonstrates a virtuosic ability to render everyday subject matter with an abstract and philosophical dimension. In this way, she has made great contributions to the larger artistic exploration of the ethical dimension and affective power of contemporary Chinese poetry. In her personal ethos, "Sorrow is ever / the slow walk of maturity."

According to contemporary critic Xi Du 西渡, Chi Lingyun belongs to the third wave of Chinese female poets who have come to the fore since the late 1970s. Having internalized a "consciousness of night" (a phrase coined by her contemporary Zhai Yongming 翟永明), her articulation of a feminist grounding can be more subtle and mediated than what is sometimes found in the work of her peers. Further, Chi is deeply committed to dealing with subject matter such as poverty, despair, injustice, and death, all of which carry significant social import. With these dark materials she fashions a melancholic voice, a "feeble murmur" that in the current situation in China can paradoxically be heard more clearly than a shout. She understands her own writing to be a form of "hungry writing," a concept indebted to Nietzsche, which she uses to mean a commitment to the social responsibility of writing about poverty, disasters both natural and manmade, and the plight of the less privileged. This idea is also revealing of her attitude toward language, which she considers "another skeleton of my spirit, giving me a second life." In purely artistic terms, her poetry is characterized by concrete imagery, a strong lyric voice, and the use of oxymoron and concise description. With its expressive power, language is a "dangerous light" that can combat darkness of social, historical, and existential import.

The Chrysanthemum's Question

The chrysanthemum enters the wheat field, and reaches up between the wings  

of gold-plumed birds. Why does its hungry stomach  

reject the real grains of wheat? The pitch-black prairie  

refuses to subside. The shadows of days bearing chrysanthemums

shift about, worse than a yoke.


More chrysanthemums pace along the road.


More white-colored rites
fall from the sky. More empty earth


comes under the potter's hand. One by one, human puppets

are captured, offered up for sale.  

You are all the same sort of thing.  

Anonymous spasms


are also the same.

菊問

菊花進入麥地,延伸到金翅鳥的

翅膀中。不知為什麽,它饑餓的胃

拒絶真實的麥粒。漆黑的曠野

拒絶下沉。背負菊花的日子,

影子的移動,比牛軛艱難。

更多菊花在路上徘徊。

更多白色的禮儀

從空中降落。更多空土

在製陶匠手中。一個個人形

被擒住,被出售。

你們有着同一種色彩。

匿名的抽搐

是同一種。  

Cloth's Dance

Her longing is soundless


her longing covers all of longing's eyes  

it shocks all those who are falling

An unstoppable descent


each soft closure  

drives a woman to madly  

entangle her own body in the dark

and dance in silence. An aching bird  

takes off in low flight  

her pain has a warm exterior

This one single refuge, an inexpressible  

loneliness, adds to life's urgency—


the _set_ting sun in her heart is transparent  

and emits a mysterious radiant halo

A soundless violation is beautifully patterned  

I've gazed at it for a long time, touching  

her loosening pain


it lets someone completely different from me  

live inside my body

But she has forgotten her fate


she hopes to encounter a thief  

and be stolen. She dashes through the stillness  

with a tearing sound

布的舞蹈

她的渴望無聲

她的渴望覆蓋了所有渴望的眼睛

讓所有下降的人感到驚奇

無可阻擋的陷落

一次鬆軟的關閉

讓一個女人瘋狂

在黑暗中糾纏自己的身體

安靜地舞着。一隻疼痛的鳥

開始低低的飛翔

她的痛苦有一副溫暖的外表

這唯一的庇護,無法言說的

孤獨,加重了生命的緊迫

她內心的落日是透明的

發出神秘的光暈

無聲的侵害有着美麗的圖案

我長久地註視,撫摸

她正在鬆開的傷痛

任由一個與我有着不同秉性的人

住在我的軀體中

然而,她忘記了自己的命運

她希望碰到一個竊賊

被偷走。她在寂靜中飛跑

發出撕裂的聲音  

A Kind of Poetry

To discover a tree's memories is impossible.  

To seek a pebble's experience
is also impossible.  

We spy on water's motion  

but in the end we still can't touch its core.  

The cloud has always been there, we exhaust our energy  

to understand its will, yet there's no hope

it will reveal the sky's mysteries.

Poetry also has the will of clouds


with words like rain, to avoid madness


it creates more madness. Just as when love


is written down, it loses half of its sincerity.  

When explained, there is only a layer of sticky  

mist left. No one is quick or deft enough


to capture poetry for long. Everything perfect  

contains a dark cave.

I can't explain the attraction of this cave.  

A kind of tranquility, which carries a greater sacrifice  

undissolved by light. A kind of dizziness


from this shore to the farther shore, crossing freely.  

It has enslaved every golden finger.  

A wild cave, harboring minerals, ice and feathers  

a few symbols, and I still don't know what it is.

一種詩藝

發現一棵樹的記憶,是不可能的。

尋找一塊鵝卵石的經驗

也不可能。我們窺探水的運動

卻始終無法觸及它的核心。

雲朵一直存在,我們耗費力氣

理解它的意志,卻無法祈望它

泄露空中的奧秘。

詩歌也有雲朵的意志

言辭如雨水,為逃避瘋狂

製造更多的瘋狂。就像愛情

被寫下,就失去一半純真。

意義經過闡釋,衹留一層黏糊的

薄霧。沒有人能做到眼明手快

捕獲長久的詩意。一切完美

都存在一個黑洞。

我無法說清黑洞的誘惑。

一種寂靜,帶着更大的犧牲

不被光所溶解。一種暈眩

從此岸到彼岸,自由過渡。

所有的金手指都受過它奴役。

野性的黑洞,包藏礦物、冰塊和羽毛

一些符號,我至今不知它是什麽。

Sea Lily

As it retreats step by step into the deep sea  

opening into a sea lily, the world's  

loneliest flower appears on the horizon.

My path also secretly revolves.  

The breeze blows over the water and the newly built towers,  

lurks between the railings and inscribes its yellow mark


and spreads the sea lily's seeds.

This lithe lit gold,  

the feather-light petals dance with flames.  

These ancient young deaths in the ocean, the end  

to which it has retreated, let it all rise from the dead.  

海百合

當它一步步退到深海

開成一朵海百合,這世上

最孤獨的花,現出了地平綫。

我的道路也在悄悄回轉。

風吹着流水也吹着新建的塔樓,

潛流在柵欄之間打上金黃的印記

送出海百合的種子。

這守護光明的柔軟的黃金,

輕如羽毛的葉瓣與火焰共舞。

這古老的深海之殤,退守的

終點,讓一切死而復生。

A Flame's Hardship

A sheep sparkles in crystal—it's very important not to run.  

Inside, he softly lifts his front hoof.  

So it goes year in and year out. A flame's hardship


has never pulled along a wisp of smoke. No fissures.

I am convinced that a sheep lives in the crystal.  

I don't pity him. The sky


darkens with every minute.  

We are already soaked through.

I tell them his heart is pure.  

People haven't changed the bark and grass.  

No one knows what his breath means.  

Anyway, trees are pulled up tall from the earth.  

A woman hovering over the craggy terrain  

goes on her way alone.  

一朵焰的艱難

羊在水晶裏閃光,不奔跑,這多麽重要。

它在裏面輕輕舉起一隻前蹄。

常年如此。一朵焰的艱難

從不曳着一縷輕煙。沒有裂縫。

我確信,一隻羊住在水晶之中。

我沒有感到惋惜。天空

每分鐘都在變暗。

而我們早就濕透了。

我對人說,它的胸中沒有一點雜物。

樹皮和青草沒人動過。

呼吸怎麽樣,沒有人知道。

總之,樹從地下被高高拉起。

飛翔的女人,在嶙峋的岩石上

獨自走去。

Jacqueline’s Tears

The rich song of the silver rain

and a zither’s heart. The chanting

of lips changes a motionless tree.

Your moon outruns the white birch forest

stirring up pine twigs. I even believed  

it was a cello that lifted her lovely hair

her glance surpassed chrysanthemums.

I see her frozen black wristwatch  

facing her tilted shoulders. Their smiles

are welts that wave to themselves

this painful beauty, a nameless melancholy

without a single break.  

Only the white strings move

they know the reason, but cannot

say it all in one song.

This faraway Jacqueline

is everything. In the end sorrow

is the slow walk of maturity. The early

fading holds onto seedlings

and draws from the depths.

(Note: The title is from a piece by Bach.)

雅剋的迦可琳眼淚

富於歌唱的銀色的雨

錦瑟的心。唇的

吟誦，改變着一棵靜止之樹。

你的月亮追過白樺林

撥弄鬆的細枝。我竟會以為

是大提琴揚起她的秀發

她的眼神勝過菊花。

我看見她不會走動的黑色腕表

嚮她傾斜的肩。他們的笑容

都有揮嚮自己的鞭痕

這痛苦的美，莫名的憂鬱

沒有任何停頓。

衹有白色的弦在走動

它們知道原因，卻無法

在一麯之中道盡。

遙遠的雅剋的迦可琳

這就是一切。悲傷始終是

成熟生命的散步。提前來臨的

消逝，拉住抽芽的幼苗

正從深處汲取。

（註：題目取自巴赫麯名）

The Sabbath

——In memory of Lin Zhao

Please release one handcuff from the woman wearing two

let her leave this tiny dark room for awhile

and walk over to the green plants

to breathe the fresh air, to say what she wants to say.

Beyond the high wall a joyful dance weighs down the mist

blind enthusiasm builds up the stage, but who is cheering?

Please give her hot water and a white shirt

the old one is dirty, and blocks out the light

the latecomers can’t read her scribbled poetry

thinking that the world was destroyed in a heat wave.  

So many happily slavish people

they are never surprised, they can’t see themselves clearly.

Please love her, let her become a mother

and smile at a swaddled baby

singing a hundred-year-old lullaby in mezzosoprano

waiting for him to grow into an accomplished young man.

Constant interrogation makes a sick man well

countless healthy men become ill, circulating inside a shared body

Please give her a silk scarf, return the dew-filled morning to her

let her come from the crowd, loudly denouncing

the stifled cries. Soldiers of freedom

let the regretful people mourn openly.

What was once an endangered city is now a boundless territory where she is buried

at Weiming Lake, grass and trees and endless time.

安息日

——兼悼林昭

請給帶兩副鐐銬的人取下一副

讓她暫時離開小小的黑房間

移步到那叢緑色植物邊

呼吸清新的空氣，說出要說的話。

院墻外快樂的舞蹈加重了迷霧

盲目的熱情築起高臺，是誰在歡呼？

請給她熱水和白色襯衣

原來那件已經髒了，遮住了光綫

後來的人看不清她匆忙中寫下的詩句

以為世界已在一股熱浪中毀壞。

這麽多心甘情願被奴役的人

他們從不感到驚訝，已看不清自己。

請給她愛，讓她成為母親

衝着襁褓裏的嬰兒微笑

用女中音吟唱流傳百年的搖籃麯

等待他成為一個品學兼優的少年。

無休止的審訊讓一個患病的人健康

無數健康的人病倒，在共同的身體裏循環。

請給她絲質頭巾，還她帶露的早晨

讓她在人群中走來，大聲斥責

停住的呼號。一名自由的戰士

讓遺恨的人當面說出哀嘆。

曾經是危城，現在是安葬她的無邊的疆域

在未名湖畔，草、木和永恆的時間裏。

Marina Writing Poetry Late at Night

Falling asleep in solitude, waking in loneliness

God knows what kind of person you are, Marina

you draw from poverty, you sing

let everything forfeited return to the chair.

You hide red carbon fire in your heart

like a moon that inclines toward evening.

But you know what darkness is

and there is only the abyss in your eyes.

There is no magician, no one confessing to the ocean

my dear, after a hundred years it is still the same

the campfire has cooled. No one can make us happy.

“There are too many people, I feel a new kind of loneliness”

so I cry quietly, and send my regards to the night.

Aside from this, only the sweet stabbing black cypress  

only the dazzling point of the knife, that calm galloping light.

(Note: Marina Tsvetaeva (1892-1941), a well-known Russian poet.)

瑪麗娜在深夜寫詩

在孤獨中入睡，在寂寞中醒來

上帝知道你是什麽樣的人，瑪麗娜

你從貧窮中汲取，你歌唱

讓已經斷送掉的一切重新回到椅子上。

你把暗紅的碳火藏在心裏

像一輪對夜色傾身的月亮。

可是你知道黑暗是怎麽一回事

你的眼睛除了深淵已沒有別的。

沒有魔法師，沒有與大海談心的人

親愛的，一百年以後依然如此

篝火已經冷卻。沒有人可以讓我們快樂

“人太多了，我感到從未有過的寂寞”

為此我悄悄流淚，在深夜送上問候。

除此之外，衹有又甘甜又刺痛的漆黑的柏樹

衹有耀眼的刀尖，那寧靜而奔騰的光。

註：瑪麗娜指茨維塔耶娃·瑪麗娜·伊萬諾夫娜（Цветаева Марина Ивановна），1892—1941年，俄羅斯著名的詩人