汉诗英译：南书堂、李志勇、王二冬、臧棣、憩园-凯发娱乐亚洲

爱恨秦岭

作者：南书堂

恨它的理由，是它一直

阻挡我的视野，充当着

世界的尽头。可它又像为我的恨

专设了一个衙门，让我把

想恨不敢恨的人和事

冲着它，恨上一回，再恨上一回

这样一推算，它的某个山峰

肯定由我的恨堆积而成

从山顶偶尔传来的闷雷

仿佛这些恨的回声

爱它，却无言表达

因而鸟鸣和桃花

抢先说出了鲜丽的部分

长着白牙的巨石和父亲坟头的小草

代言了执著的部分

我只需药师一样，把一些词语

按秘密的剂量，写在

春风或者秋风的处方笺上

据说，它的主峰，还在以每年

两厘米的速度往高里长

是不是其中也包含了我爱的力量

现在，我对它更多的是

不爱不恨，就像它

始终都在平静地倾听

而不显露悲喜

现在，我已是可以与它坐下来

促膝相谈的人，如果它能

把我曾经的爱恨还给我

我就会用那些爱去填补恨

砸出的深谷，使人生看起来

像这崇山峻岭间，确有

一个个值得信任的平缓地带

选自《诗刊》7月号

my love and hate relationship with mt. qinling

by nan shutang

the reason why i hated it

was because it blocked my view, pretending

to be the end of the world. still, it served

as a prison where i jailed people and things

that i loved to hate but dared not hate.

i took it all out on mt.qinling,

so when i hated you, and you, once, twice, and thrice,

i piled my hatred mountain high;

surely one of qinling’s peaks was my work.

hear the rainless thunder from the mountain,

hear its echoes spreading hatred.

but i loved it, too, though knew not how to say it

the way birds sang their praises

or peach blossoms showed their ardent love.

the craggy headstone and hardy grass

around my father’s grave spoke for my constant love,

which i simply wrote down as a list of words

and arranged them based on a secret formula,

just like a pharmacist writing out a prescription,

then fed them to the spring breeze and autumn wind.

the peak of the mountain is said to grow at a rate of two millimeters per year.

does that growth partly come from the power of my love?

nowadays i am more nonchalant,

very little love or hatred involved,

and the mountain seems to treat me just the same way,

listening to me calmly

without a trace of joy or sadness.

now i can sit down with it snugly

and strike up a conversation.

if my past love and hatred could be returned to me,

i will use that love to backfill the cavities

undermined by hatred, so that we will see,

between the steep cliff faces and deep trenches,

some gentler landforms worthy of our trust.

灯焰就像山峦，顶峰处也是蓝色的。在那山脊上

也许也有积雪，有一些岩石，散发着光芒

在那山脊上可能也有人站着，远眺着天空的边际

太阳还在很远的地方升起落下，落下升起

灯更像是专门为了锻造什么而生起的

炉火，深夜中，一个身影一直在它旁边忙碌着

挖掘的人、逃生的人、写作的人，都在灯边

灯能为所有幻想燃烧到天亮

灯担负着自己光的重量，静立在桌上

在灯焰中，几乎所有的油都燃烧着

当它耗尽，一切也许就会呈现另外一种面目

但那，仍然还得通过灯来辨认

通过灯，事物把影子留在墙上，甚至灯自身

都会有一道影子，因为光的存在

灯走出屋子。灯上到高山之巅。灯来到了海上

闪耀着，也渴望大海枯去，渴望着水的宁静和冰凉

选自《诗刊》8月号

the lamp

by li zhiyong

the flame is similar to a mountain, whose precipice is also blue.

perhaps snow and boulders sit on the ridge of the mountain, reflecting light.

someone may even be standing on it, looking at the edge of the sky.

the sun continues to rise and dip, dip and rise.

the lamp seems to be there specifically to forge something.

a stove, in the middle of the night, a silhouette busy by its side.

an excavator, a refugee, a writer, each huddles by the lamp.

it burns for their imaginings until the break of dawn.

the lamp carries the weight of its light, standing quietly on the table.

every drop of oil takes part in fueling the flame.

when all is used up, things will take on a different look,

but it will be recognizable with the help of the lamp.

because of the lamp, things cast shadows on the wall, even the lamp itself

casts a shadow. there is light,

therefore lamp walks out of the room, finding its way to the mountaintop.

it also finds its way to the sea.

as it glows, it hopes that the sea will dry up,

it hopes that the water will stay calm and stay cold.

你走之后，所有事物都成了旧的

没穿的新衣，一把火就成了灰烬

没咽的饭菜，一炷香就成了祭品

就连新坟上的土也是旧的

这一次，你终于躺在了年轻时

长跪不起的地方，等待来世

来世，你或许会再次成为新的

我是等不到了，就算再见

我们也不会相识。在我的生命中

你是旧的永恒，吹过窗台的风

也会蒙上你渴望自由的灰尘

旧的窗棂，红漆刷得越多

时光脱落得越快，你走之后

我决定，爱过的就不再去爱了

选自《诗刊》7月号

old things

by wang erdong

all have become relics since you’re gone.

some clothes were never worn, now reduced to ashes.

food not eaten was offered to ancestors with incense.

your new grave sits on the old earth

where you used to kneel and refuse to leave.

it’s your bed now.

you may be waiting for reincarnation,

but i don’t believe in meeting in the afterlife.

in any case we won’t recognize each other.

you have become a relic of eternity.

the wind will blow away the dust collected on the window sills

while you stood there dreaming of liberty.

the window frames were painted red over and over,

but peeling will accelerate with time.

after you left, i have decided

not to love love’s past.

大觉寺归来

臧 棣

黄昏时分，一个废墟谦卑如

人生的空白还从来没有

在你面前如此安静过；

半山腰多娇一个自然的角度，

俯瞰交替远眺，乾坤的极限逃不过

有时，缓冲带在历史中藏得太深；

而人心一旦缥缈，自我难免会

投靠深奥；看上去，生动多于冲动，

但总差那么一点，才是灵魂出窍。

或者，地平线也不过是一道门槛；

借着山风，古老的遗风吹进来，

将巨人的悲伤过滤成沉浮太偏僻。

选自中国诗歌网每日好诗

returning from temple of great awakening 

by zang di

dusk, an unassuming ruin of the day,

an unprecedented break of

silence and presence in life’s routine;

halfway up the mountain, with the loveliest angle to look out and far,

it affords the view of every ridge and every trough,

but the softer transitions are well hidden, in space and in time;

there will be time when a human heart feels ethereal

and goes for the profound; then life flows instead of following impulses.

still it will take a little extra something for the soul to transcend.

there, perhaps the horizonis more than just a portal;

lend us the mountain's breeze, which brings with it relics of a distant past,

and bales out sorrows through a sieve, floating, far away.

像梦里，悬崖到处都是。

你不断跳悬崖（或类似悬崖），跳入光亮。

它有轮廓，因为亮着，不能确定其深度。

每次跳完，你又从里面升上来

继续跳，变换姿势跳。跳过来跳过去，

死不了，跳崖的恐惧明显如初夜。

现实中，你不该这样操作，即便二楼，你都颤抖

如某种临危的小动物。有人不信，在桥上，在楼顶

在树上，跳下去，死了，我为这些死难过。那么难过。

比较梦境和现实是没意义的。它们没尺寸，可是

谈论一尺、三尺、六尺却是有必要的。

相较而言，我喜欢游离之物。你有忧伤，我也有。

忧伤突然显现，像感到幸福那样

进入醒着的洁白。在十一月初的清晨，我感受最多的

是内心的悬崖。陡峭而且芬芳。现在，我们坐在这里。

并不多话。在野兽的眼里跳过来跳过去。 

选自中国诗歌网每日好诗

marriage

by qi yuan

crags everywhere, as if in a dream.

you hop between crags (or something like crags), into the light.

the light shows a cliff’s silhouette but not its depth.

with each jump, you rise from the valley,

and continue to jump, changing postures, here and there.

although it can be very frightening, just like the night

when you lost your virginity, but no one dies from it.

in the real world, it doesn’t work that way—

you would be trembling with fear to jump down a floor.

vertigo is very real to us small creatures. some didn’t believe it and jumped off the bridge,

off a tree, or off a roof and died, i feel sorry for these deaths. so sad.

it is pointless to compare dreams to reality. in dream things do not have dimensions,

still it may be necessary to discuss what a foot is, or three feet, or six feet.

relatively speaking, i prefer unattached objects. you have sorrows, so do i.

sadness can suddenly appear, just like happiness

can suddenly enter a pure waking world. early morning in november,

the most significant crags are those in my inner world;

they rise straight up, fragrant. now, we sit together,

but don’t talk much. we are crag hoppers in the eyes of wild beasts.