Huo Junming: Four Poems
齐凤艳译
The Opposite Shore
A man from one side of the river
Swims to the other side of it
Neither the sound of water running nor
That of water being lapped can be heard
All happens quietly
He looks back
As if he left just now a mortal world
Here there are no trees
No stones
No houses
Even no wind
Only this river bank
It seems that all these have happened in a dream
Just to verify
A man who cannot swim
Can reach the other shore of a river too.
Pine Needles, another Kind of Time
We become as if ancient people overnight
Hearts are empty but of the past
An Arhat pine is not a tree of an arhat
Pine needles are another kind of time
Heads covered by them in a moment
We seem to have no other place to go
Hot, humid summer
Breathes quietly
If in mountains
Sounds of the nature will come early in the evening
However you are afraid of
The squirrels that pop out from nowhere
They jump too fast
The needles become quiet too
Fish Scales Glowing in the Darkness
They were dried fish posted from the east coast
Hard like pieces of dead woods painted silver
That dawn when salts fell off from their bodies
Life was added with another layer of salts
They were soaked in water and became soft
Both salt and fish come from the sea
A fisherman and a salt-making man are strangers to each other
You are separated from other people by the water of days
Night in the north was full of the breath of an approaching snow
The fish scales glistened under the white porcelain lamp in winter
Thin, hard, crisp scales were scraped off one by one
Some bouncing into the sink and onto the cutting board
As well as the kitchen ground
And some scattered on the bedroom floor
Others washed away by the sink water to a place deeper and darker
A few days later
The scales still glued to my hair
Hid in the creases of my trousers, sneaked in
My sweater, and adhered inside my shoes
I walked in the streets of the north
Carrying these fish scales
The light in the dark
Noticed by none
Black Wood Air Box
Now at the garden of the familiar court yard
Without the roar of freight trucks on the highway last night
I am close to the air box of hometown again
Knowing the black secret door quite well
I often removed its little bar in the autumn
Even though it had been worn a lot
Yes, a hill is always there in the box
The garden of night
Not a zebra, but a black horse in the dark
Those flowers, planted by my parents themselves
Are above the red roofs sparsely scattering here and there
And above the treetops with leaves quivering like small silver iron sheets
诗四首
汉译英
霍俊明
对岸
一个人从河的这岸
游到了河的另一岸
没有水流声，也没有
拍打水的声音
一切都悄无声息
回头看看对岸
仿佛刚刚离开了一个尘世
这里没有树木
没有石头
没有房屋
甚至风也没有
只有这条河岸
这一切都似乎是在梦里发生的
只是为了验证
一个不会游泳的人
也抵达了河的对岸
松针是另一种时间
仿佛我们一夜之间成了古人
空怀故人之心。
罗汉松，不是罗汉的一种树
松针是另一种时间
不到片刻，它们已落满头顶
我们似乎已经没有地方可去
安静的呼吸
是整个湿热的夏天
如果此刻在山中
可提前进入万籁的暮晚
你却害怕
那些突然出现的松鼠
它们跳得太快了
松针在此时也变得寂静
鱼鳞在身上的暗处发亮
收拾一条东海岸寄来的干鱼
板硬的像一段上了色的枯木
盐粒簌簌崩落
生活在黄昏又多了一层咸苦
把它们用清水泡软
盐和鱼都来自大海
捕鱼的和晒盐的都是彼此的陌生人
你和另一个人隔着日常之水
北方的夜带着即将降临的雪意
鳞片在冬天的白瓷灯下闪亮
一个一个揭开
薄硬干脆的鳞片弹射进水池里，案板上
地上也是
还带到了卧室的地板上
其他的被池水带入更深的下方和黑暗
几天后
那些鳞片还沾在我的头发里
裤子的褶皱上，夹杂在
毛衣上，鞋帮里
我带着这些鱼鳞
走在北方的街上
那些暗处的亮光
没有任何人察觉
黑色木风箱
此时，故地的菜园
并没有昨夜高速路上货运卡车的轰响
我再次回到故乡的风箱
我熟悉那道黑色的暗门
经常在秋天拨开那小小的横挡
尽管它磨损得厉害
是的，里面一直有一座
夜晚的花园
不是斑马，是有一匹黑马在黑夜里
那些花朵，父母亲手栽过的
高过了红色的稀疏房顶
高过了银色铁片抖动的树梢
作者简介：
霍俊明，诗人、批评家。出版诗集和评论集多部。中国作协诗歌委员会委员，首都师范大学中国诗歌研究中心兼职研究员，中国现代文学馆首届客座研究员。
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读好诗不辛苦~
大牛，别默默的看了，快登录帮我点评一下吧！:)
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