为进一步繁荣新时代诗歌,推动汉语诗歌走向世界,激励本土诗人们创作出具有世界影响力的优秀作品,中国诗歌网与美国华盛顿PATHSHARERS BOOKS(出版有季刊21st Century Chinese Poetry)合作开展汉诗英译活动。《诗刊》每期刊登的诗作及中国诗歌网“每日好诗”中的佳作,将有机会被译成英语,刊于21st Century Chinese Poetry,并在中国诗歌网做专题展示。

另外的命运

林 莽

一块钢化玻璃从窗户上卸了下来

工匠师傅说再也用不上了

一块钢化的玻璃无法再用钻石刀切割

工匠师傅说只能当废物处理了

他用锤子轻敲四角,一块很大的玻璃

瞬间龟裂成许多均匀的碎屑

是啊,一些可再塑造的会有新的用途

一件不可改变的事物和有一定之规的人

便有了被淘汰或被清除的命运

我办公室的一块弧形钢化双层玻璃碎了一层

因为不易置换,为了避免脱落

工匠师傅在外面又附上了一层透明的薄膜

阳光下,那些碎裂的花纹折射出变幻的光谱

办公室里多了一种破碎的装饰之美

也许因为一次偶然的碰撞,一层玻璃碎了

也许因为得过且过,也许因为独特的造型

也许因为多种偶然的偶然

一些事情有了完全不同的命运

A Twist of Fate

by Lin Mang

A tempered glass was taken down from the window.

The foreman said it would never be used again.

The tempered glass couldn’t take the diamond knife again.

The master craftsman said it was a piece of junk now

and tapped the four corners of it with a hammer. A large piece of glass

instantly became synonymous fragments.

Indeed, some things can be repurposed,

but an incommutable item, similar to a dogmatic person,

suffers the fate of being ousted.

The outer layer of a curved glass in my office cracked.

As it was tricky to replace, to avoid it falling apart,

the craftsman attached a see-through film to it.

In the sun, its cracked lines reflected an ever-changing hue,

decorating the office with a kind of doleful beauty.

Perhaps it was a naïve bump that fractured the glass,

or someone choosing to grin and bear it, or the unique prism

—a coincidence rising from many other coincidences—

that caused a twist of fate.

林莽,生于1949年11月。著有《我流过这片土地》《永恒的瞬间》《林莽诗选》《秋菊的灯盏》等诗文集。

漫山岛

娜 夜

黄昏时上岛

更寂静了

小桥流水柴门棉花地

押的都是平仄韵

什么都是远的

只有照在身上的阳光是近的

失去听力的老人

更加沉默

除了慈祥

从未奢望过另外的人生

因一朵蒲公英和两只小山羊

而跳跃

旋转

荷叶裙一圈一圈的

小女孩的快乐一直荡漾到天边

旧木窗的灯光似萤火虫

路过的人

和神

要问候它

Manshan Island

by Na Ye

Coming to the island at dusk,

one senses an extra layer of silence.

The foot bridges, brooks, wooden doors, and cotton fields

are laid out like metrical stanzas in a poem.

All seems so faraway

except the sun on my back.

The golden-agers’ hearing has gone,

making them even more unassuming.

Other than being kind,

they have no other ambitions.

Hopping and skipping

for a dandelion and two little lambs,

and pirouetting

in her ruffled skirt,

a little girl unfurls her jubilation to the edge of the sky.

When the old lattice window lights up like a firefly,

all passersby

and all saints

pay homage to it.

娜夜,诗人,著有诗集《起风了》《个人简历》《神在我们喜欢的事物里》等。曾获鲁迅文学奖、人民文学奖、十月文学奖、天问诗人奖等。现居重庆。

火山口

路 也

环形坑的上方,一朵白云

正对着锥形漏斗的圆心

直通地壳的脉管,在沉默中想着爆发

熔岩堆积成宽厚的边缘

我绕行一圈

青草长满了斜坡

小花在风中绽放,我是那样的软弱

但并不拒绝让命运每时每刻

都处在火山口上

今夜我就在这黑色砾石堆上安营

满怀对天地的庄敬

脸庞映着满天繁星

心脏岩浆奔腾

巨大的炼丹炉,有没有力气醒来

亿万年其实就是现在

充满敌意的圆心

一场爆发覆盖另一场爆发

一场疼痛压过另一场疼痛

绝望是好的,荒凉直通迢遥的内心

大风呼呼吹过头顶

我说过了,我并不拒绝让命运每时每刻

都处在火山口上

The Crater

by Lu Ye

Over the volcano, a puffy white cloud

perches over its conical funnel.

Magma rises in the vents near Earth’s crust, lurking to explode.

Old lava piled up and formed a broad lip,

I walk a lap around it.

Green grass overruns the slope,

wild flowers outbloom in the wind. I feel vincible,

but will not for a second pull my fate away

from the firing line of the volcano.

Tonight I shall camp out on this black pumice,

in awe of the wonder of the universe.

As my face feasts on galactic light,

molten magma roils in the chambers of my heart.

This giant alchemic furnace, does it have the mojo to reawaken?

It takes a billion years of transmutation

to produce this hostile caldera.

An eruption encrusts another eruption,

a new woe overtakes an old woe.

Despair is a good thing when bleakness goes all the way to the heart

and the wind whistles overhead.

As I already said, I will not for a second pull my fate away

from the firing line of this volcano.

路也,现为济南大学文学院教授。已出版诗集、散文随笔集、中短篇小说集、长篇小说和文学评论集等二十余部。

许多年

郁 葱

许多年,

有的经历,成为了叶子,

有的经历,成为了树。

夏天,是紫色的绿色的,

是一些好,是一些美丽,

也好像是我们的信条,

是原汁原味的感受,

是一些肖像和自画像。

许多年,有的人远了,

有的人忘了,

有的人,走了。

你看那树,它那么繁密,

它不是浅草,不在乎多一点儿或者少一点儿阳光,

不在乎冬天或者是更冷的冬天。

许多年,什么都有了沧桑,

连季节也是,连时光也是。

夏天,雨有时候是龌龊的,

可不要太干净,不要至纯,

不要在意眼前是一片叶子还是一树叶子。

许多过去了的久远的事情,

原来没有觉得有什么意义,

时间久了,再回忆起来的时候,

竟然觉得能够记住那些旧事,

那许多年,其实就是一棵绿树的价值。

窗外的那棵树轻微地摇曳,

一棵树如果年代很久了,

周围事物的盛衰兴替就与它的枯荣有关。

夏天火热,

能觉出温度,就知道爱,

就能爱许多年。

许多年,很慢就过去了,

很快就过去了,

就觉得那些年越来越如傍晚,

越来越沉厚,

想起那许多年的时候,

树如翠盖。

Year In, Year Out

by YuCong

Year in, year out,

some experiences acquire the air of a single leaf,

others bloom into a tree.

Summertime, purplish and greenish summertime,

there is something nice about it, something beautiful about it,

like articles of faith,

tangible and authentic,

interwoven with faces and self-images.

Year in, year out, some people have gone beyond the horizon,

some are forgotten,

and some have passed.

But look, the tree is exuberant,

not oversensitive to a little more or a little less sun, unlike grass,

not easily damaged by the severity of winter.

After so many years, all is timeworn

including seasons, even time itself.

Summertime, rainy and soppy sometimes,

but there is no need to overstress tidiness and purity,

best to take kindly to a leaf or a tree of leaves.

Many events in the old diary

might seem insignificant at the time,

but when recalled long afterwards,

may strike as vividly memorable.

Those years, they are indeed priceless like a living tree.

See the tree by the window gently sway.

When a tree grows old,

its leafiness, or the lack of it, is tied to the fortune of its surroundings.

In the incandescent days of summer,

in raised temperature, one feels love

and loves for many years to come.

All those years, they have slowly passed by,

and swiftly passed by,

taking up more and more the likeness of evening,

dusky and hefty,

when one suddenly looks back

and sees a tree with an emerald crown.

郁葱,原名李立丛。著有诗集《生存者的背影》《世界的每一个早晨》《郁葱的诗》等十余部,散文、随笔集《江河记》《艺术笔记》、评论集《谈诗录》《好诗记》等。诗集《郁葱抒情诗》获第三届鲁迅文学奖,《尘世记》获塞尔维亚国际诗歌金钥匙奖。现居石家庄。

写下诗

马 累

整个下午,母亲

都在剁肉,切白菜和胡萝卜。

那刀似乎钝了。

院子清冷而洁净,

流淌着人世惯常的悲欣。

父亲喊我去墓地清理杂草。

祖先们的家园,局促而狭小。

阳光像鱼鳞,在琐碎的空气中展示

生的确定与死的熄灭。

父亲的眼神肃穆、虔诚。

墓碑上松散的名字,

人世的有常与无常。

一只蓝色羽毛的鸟在枯死的

树枝间跳跃。我仿佛能听懂

它急促的啼鸣。

我想母亲也一定听见了。

她额头滑落的汗珠

像寂寞轻盈的流星。

就是她抬手擦拭的动作,

转瞬即逝的无名,教会我

遣词造句,写下诗。

The Making of Poetry

by Ma Lei

All afternoon, my mother

was mincing meat, cutting cabbage and turnip.

Her knife sounded unkeen.

The courtyard seemed lorn and clean,

witness to the usual flow of worldly joy and sorrow.

Father summoned me to tidy the graveyard,

home of our ancestors, cramp and small,

where sunlight gleamed like fish scales in the trifling atmosphere,

revealing the surety of life and the nullity of death.

Father’s eyes looked somber and pious.

The names on the headstones were frayed,

evidence of the impermanent nature of things on earth.

A blue bird hopped between

dead branches. I seemed to understand

its pressing calls.

Mother must have heard it, too.

Beads of sweat rolled down her forehead,

as lonesome and weightless as the shooting stars.

It was the way she raised her hand to wipe it dry,

a fleeting moment in nowheresville, that taught me about

the art of the wordsmith, the making of poetry.

马累,本名张东。获《人民文学》诗歌奖、红高粱诗歌奖、《诗神》诗歌奖、山东文学奖等。出版诗集《纸上的安静》《内部的雪》等。

Translated by Duck Yard Lyricists

DuckYardLyricistsisagroupofdevotedpoetrylovers:Meifu Wang, Michael Soper, & Guy Hibbert.

编校:寇硕恒;审核:彭敏;核发:李少君

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