汉诗英译：顾春芳、楚吴、官长剑、汗漫、殷常青-凯发娱乐亚洲

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。

蝴蝶标本     顾春芳

蝴蝶，被钉在时钟之下，

指针刚刚经过十二点。

它触动了一架标本的记忆，

在亚马逊水域的正午，

时间正在丛林里热烈地狂欢。

孩子，在整个夏天奔波于

从桌子到椅子的距离。

他们垂手伏案在木格子里，

这情形让我想起幽闭的忏悔室，

在一所教堂尽头的过道里。

选自《诗刊》

butterfly specimen

a butterfly, pinned on the clock,

the hands have just passed twelve.

it jabbed at the memory of me watching a specimen made.

surrounded by amazon's waters, midday,

in the jungle, time was reveling.

the children, they hustled for the entire summer,

all within the distance between the table and the chair.

they bent over the desk, over wooden frames.

it reminded me of the secluded confessional

down the aisle at the end of the church.

顾春芳，笔名四月。北京大学艺术学院教授，博士生导师。北京大学美学与美育研究中心研究员，北京大学戏剧与影视研究中心研究员，北京大学文化产业研究院研究员。教育部高雅艺术进校园特聘专家。著有诗集《四月的沉醉》（译林出版社）。

给 我         楚 吴 

给我小，尘埃的小

给我空，玻璃窗的空

给我细，蛛丝的细

给我弱，门环生铜绿的弱

给我痛，梁木如肋骨断裂的痛

给我湿，苍蝇翅膀上的湿

给我浅，洗衣池泥土的浅

给我污，塑料袋埋一半的污

给我恶，枸骨树突出的恶

给我低，大雪压弯村庄的低

给我不悟，斜视一轮残月的不悟

我是一处废墟，在内心的黑暗里行走

给我光，人类故事燃烧的光

给我爱，春天让木梯发芽的爱   

选自中国诗歌网·每日好诗    

give me something small, a tiny dust

give me nothingness, an invisible window glass

give me something slender, the silk of a spider web

give me something fragile, a green rusted door ring

give me pain, a broken beam, a fractured rib

give me moisture, the wet wings of a fly

give me shallowness, the thin sediment in a wash basin

give me something dirty, plastic bags buried halfway

give me something bad, the evil thorns of a horned holly

give me something low, a village weighed down by snow

give me a fool, a heart untouched by a sickle moon

i am a ruin, a walking dead on a dark road of the mind

give me light, from the tinderbox of human stories

give me love, that will make a log ladder sprout new buds.

楚吴，1990年生于安徽望江。毕业于安徽师范大学中文系，曾任江南诗社社长，有诗歌发表在《星星》、《诗选刊》、《诗歌月刊》、《草原》、《中国诗歌》等，入选《当代新现实主义诗歌年选•2011卷》、《2012年中国诗歌年选》、《北漂诗篇2018卷》等。参加星星诗刊第四届大学生诗歌夏令营。2012年大学毕业后停笔6年。现居北京。

黄旗山行        官长剑

一

暑气未消，绿色的小汗珠

映出秋天的半个粉脸。脚步声里

藏着小动物，虚心像大红灯笼

在高峰处耸立。山未行时林在风中

你来看花：茉莉，黄槿，蔷薇带刺

你不来，佛音静听着黄旗山  

二

风景的故人，在方言里藏匿

新面孔在草尖，石缝，或莞香枝头

成群羞涩。流水线上的玫瑰已盛开

阳光落在湖心，箭环蝶正化身

溪水的小马驹，用比喻驯服大地

众神就着微风与香火，畅饮狂欢

三

入口的修辞里，塞满旧时代的歌声

盛产工业品的新美学，在人群中隐现

你来看山，围观的故事里尽是无名者

只有秋枫生长新的预言，叶子红到掌心

山雀与斑鸠，像跳跃的词语互不相识——

它们掌握唯一的真理，我只有小谬误

四

城市在夜色中隆起，不变之中

有漂亮的名声，盘旋，上升，在镜头里

躁动不安。人群混迹于秋色，却难挡

你世间的悲喜。“只缘身在此山中”

四十年已成此景，此山依旧不是彼山

当众神在山顶欢呼时，你始终在低处  

选自中国诗歌网·每日好诗

a trip to huangqi mountain

by guan changjian

i

summer heat lingers, fresh tiny drops of sweats

mirror a hemisphere of pastel autumn. between footsteps,

little critters scurry by, with the same humility of the red lanterns,

who happen to sit on the mountaintop.

the mountain is unmoving, the forest withstands the wind.

you come for the flowers: jasmine, milkvetch, thorny wild roses.

without your presence, buddha attends to the sounds of huangqi mountain.

ii

the ancients in the scenery slipped into our dialect.

rookies show up on the grass, in stone cracks, on agar woods,

looking timid. roses along water's edge,

sunset in the lake, jungle queens leaving their pupas.

a stream winds its way, like a little horse, to soften the earth.

the deities love the breeze and the incense, drinking to their hearts' full.

iii

the entrance is inscribed in the old lyrical style,

but the modern industrial designs loom among the visitors.

you visit the mountain, surrounded by anonymous taletellers,

new oracles written in autumn leaves, palm-size red maple,

chickadees and sables, leaping like disjointed words—

they speak the truth, while i only talk in fallacies.

iv

the city stands out at night, its stardom is

unchallenged, and still rising, but it looks like

a restless world through my lens.

the crowd blends in with autumn, but they are

separated by human pathos. “for i am in the mountain"

for forty years, and it has shaped me, still this mountain is not the mountain.

when gods cheer on the mountaintop, we are always somewhere below.

官长剑，诗歌作品散见于《诗刊》《诗歌月刊》《诗林》《延河》等刊。

静安宾馆       汗 漫

香樟树围拢庭院，草地上

几只灰鸽子在微风的伴奏下

复习民国时代上流社会的舞步。

这座西班牙风格的历史保护建筑

需要一个牙医来保护——

露台像牙齿，品尝上海雨季的酸涩度。

美工师定期为大堂穹顶的彩色天使

换换新裙子、新魅力。

午后，数百女士面对梳妆台维护自我

数百先生在窗前回忆另一次出行。

时间的威胁，各自面对。

木质护墙板很像斗牛士护身服。

前廊下，门童接过行李

拾阶而上，像陪伴客人到西班牙去。

他可能不知道洛尔迦的谣曲——

马在山间，船在海上。

宾馆在客愁里。每次路过

想起远方和友人，我的心就安静下来。

选自《诗刊》

camphors surround the courtyard; on the lawn

a few gray doves practice the retro dance steps

of the post-dynasty era in the breeze.

this spanish-style historic building

can use the help of a dentist for preservation—

like teeth, its terrace endures acids in shanghai's wet season.

the angels in the dome ceiling of the lobby are repainted regularly, 

given new skirts and new charms.

in the afternoon, countless ladies face the dressing mirror

to refresh themselves,

hundreds of men recall previous trips in front of the window.

each and every one will weather time, alone.

the wooden siding of the hotel is like a matador's suit.

at the entrance, a teen bellhop takes the luggage, 

walks up the steps as if to lead the guests to spain.

he may not know anything about lorca's ballad —

the ship on the sea, and the horse on the mountain.

a hotel with visitors' melancholies. each time i pass by it,

i think of journeys and friends, and my heart is at peace.

汗漫，诗人，散文家。著有诗集、散文集《片段的春天》《水之书》《漫游的灯盏》《一卷星辰》《南方云集》等。曾获《诗刊》“新世纪（2000-2009）十佳青年诗人”、“人民文学奖”（2007年度，2014年度）、“孙犁散文奖”（2015-2016双年奖）等。

灯 塔         殷常青

从黑夜的海上浮出，照到隐约的航船，

也磨亮了那些不知疲倦的眺望，

它带来隐喻、指引，也暗含着孤单、不安。

风声吹动风声，叹息穿过叹息——

当船队侧身而过，灯塔恋恋不舍，

在茫茫黑夜里，在荒凉的瀚海中。

血养荆棘，花开似锦。大海之上——

灯塔熄灭之前，月亮比故国那轮更圆，

远方的爱，比远方更远。那些波涛，

是空阔中盛开的苜蓿花，那些鱼群，

曾经是诗篇中的词语，我爱上它们之间隐藏的暗礁，

也爱上它们之间的翻涌、颤抖，以及动荡。

在灯塔熄灭之前，它是黑夜的指针，

甚至一直在怂恿：黑夜再黑一些，大海再广阔一些，

仿佛对黑夜的羡慕，归于被黑夜毁灭的幸福，

再次被扶助着从黑夜的海面缓缓升起——

很久以前的一座灯塔还在照彻，

那么多人在触及了它的光芒之后，仍在眺望。

选自《诗刊》

floating in the sea at night,

a light beams at indistinct ships,

and brightens the sailors' tireless eyes.

it guides, a symbol itself, but also underlies loneliness and restlessness.

the winds ride on winds, sighs enter sighs  —

the lighthouse hesitates to say goodbye when a fleet passes by

through the boundless night in the vast desolate sea.

like blood-thirst thorns and teeming flowers, the lighthouse

and the ships flourish side by side. above the sea —

before the lighthouse goes out, the moon looks rounder than the one back home,

and the sailor's longing for the distant one becomes longer and longer. the waves

dance like alfalfa florets in the wilderness, the fish

are written into a psalm, and the hidden reefs look as lovely

as the waves, churning, rippling and surging.

before the light goes out, the lighthouse resembles a wand,

as if urging the night to get darker and the sea to get wider,

until its envy turns into joy in the reign of the dark night,

until it slowly resurfaces above the sea again—

an old lighthouse shines on,

and people, once touched by it,

are still looking to it with hope. 

殷常青，1969年出生于陕西眉县。中国作家协会会员，河北省作家协会理事。曾参加第16届青春诗会。出版有《岁月帖》《春秋记》《沿途》《纸上烟岚》等诗歌、散文随笔、评论集多部。先后获河北省首届孙犁文学奖、中华铁人文学奖、河北文艺评论奖、河北省十佳青年作家、中国石油十佳艺术家、河北省德艺双馨文艺家等奖项。

“汉诗英译” 同步更新于美国“21st century chinese poetry”网站 

http://www.modernchinesepoetry.com/

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