方文竹[安徽]
风在风里论证了波浪
风在风里论证了波浪。在历史的风里
秦始皇与另一个秦始皇论证了万里长城
我住九楼，向七楼的方文竹论证了生活的
上下对齐。两个人的夜晚相加论证了万家灯火
同声相应，同类相求，万物却热衷于
异质连接生成。风在风里论证了波浪
就是这么一回事：两个人就是一个人
但同时是更多的人，惊喜地创造了世界
意义在于新生，问题是人们麻木不仁
而满脸春光，任凭我一个人玩着
时间的积木游戏，心灵一直在蹦跶
就像风在风里论证了波浪。那是谁
拉响了风中的暗箱，在事物之间架桥
Fang Wenzhu [Anhui]
The Wind Births the Waves within its Breath
The wind births the waves within its breath. While in the winds of history
Qin Shi Huang discourses on the Great Wall to another Qin Shi Huang
The “Fang Wenzhu” on the seventh floor and I, on the ninth, converse on life’s alignment.
Two people herald the night of lights in myriad windows
The echoes resonate from the same source, and kindred species call to each other.
Yet why do beings are always desperate to link disparate things?
It is the wind that births the waves within its breath.
So simple it is: the two is one.
And one encompasses all, creating the world that startles its dwellers
While the essence of existence lies in renewal and rebirth.
Yet, the conundrum is that people seem indifferent to this truth.
Radiantly, they leave me to play the building blocks alone,
With a restless heart
Like the wind that births a wave. Then, who is it
That pulls the secret bellows in the wind, blowing on and thus bridging all?
(Tr. Wu Chunxiao；吴春晓 译)
蒋宜茂[中国]
辨识鸟鸣（外二首）
几日不见
雨后的天宫殿公园
更显葱茏。草尖未刺破的露珠
读出暗夜对黎明的哭诉。
树荫下，遛鸟的群体
陆续聚集，几个鸟笼的黑布罩
赫然印着“XX爱鸟协会”招牌。
爱不释手的主人们
掀开鸟笼的半边天，
悬挂在树枝上摇曳。
笼中鸟们欢快蹦迪
引来林间一片声援的鸣啾。
我未曾探究鸟语，
拉近镜头，察音观色，
枝丫间漏洒出鸟群的心绪。
这片城中林并不大，
鸟鸣辨识的高中低音符
齐而未跑调。
隐约可见，鸟的种类不少。
天台山即景
徐霞客三登天台山的足迹
在古道深处扎根叠印。
《游天台山日记》打开了
《徐霞客游记》的大门。
明代那个英姿勃发的身影，
手握天台山的一串密码
穿越华顶丛林，
掠过千树万花闪电。
谷壑长出的雾气
争先恐后向华顶弥漫，
归云洞口徘徊，
湿润了葛玄的衣衫，
肆意与如织的游人纠缠。
杉树笔直列阵，
凝视漫山杜鹃的笑靥。
常青藤紧抱佝偻老树的颈
尽情缠绵，
黯淡了路人的脚步声。
沸腾的茶香袅过屋顶，
窗外洒落一地鸟鸣。
来来往往的浮云，
从不对它俯瞰的事物说再见。
在禾木村邂逅慢时光
蒙古族图瓦人的祖先们
从游牧到此聚居，
也许是神的旨意。
仰视与平视绕村的岗峦，
不高不矮，一身青翠。
河谷平畴长出来的木屋们
像雨后的蘑菇群，
错落别致，对望成邻。
炊烟驮着鸟鸣轻袅，
原著民进取的轨迹敞亮。
山坡缀满花草，
黄昏身披金辉，
闭目诵经打坐。
悠闲的褐色蝴蝶，
相约在花朵间翩飞缠绵。
蹲在禾木河上的禾木桥
坦荡叙说百年沧桑，
鹤发童颜，面溢慈祥。
两岸簇拥的白桦林
站姿自在，怡然相向。
过往村子里的风，无拘无束。
马队的步伐不紧不慢，
牛羊们一边吃草
一边抬头向游人轻叫打望。
我坐在浅吟低唱的禾木河滨，
凝视斜躺青峰的夕阳，
不急不缓的清流，
泛着朵朵浪花，从心田潺潺流淌……
JiangYimao [China]
Recognizing Birdsongs (and other two poems)
No see for a few days,
the Heavenly Palace Park after rain,
is more verdant. The dewdrops unpricked at the tip of the blade,
read the cry of the dark night to the dawn.
In the tree shade, a group of walkers with birds,
gather one by one; the black cloth covers of several bird cages,
are impressively printed with “XX Association of Bird Lovers” as signboards.
The hosts who love them too much to part with them,
lift half the sky of the cage,
dangling from the branches.
The caged birds are hopping and dancing merrily,
to solicit a chorus of support from the forest.
I have never studied the birds twitters;
zooming in, to observe the sound and others,
the mood of the birds spilling from the branches.
The woods in the city is far from large,
and the high, middle, and low notes of the birdsongs to be identified,
in chorus, not out of tune.
Faintly visible, there are many kinds of birds.
Inspired by Tiantai Mountain
The footprints of Xu Xiake, a great tourist-writer, have been printed in Tiantai Mountain for three times,
rooting in the depths of the ancient path.
The Touring Diary of Tiantai Mountain has opened
the gate of The Travels of Xu Xiake.
The dashing and spirited form of the Ming Dynasty,
holding a string of codes for Tiantai Mountain,
through the jungle atop the mountain,
the lightning through a thousand trees and flowers.
The fog growing out of the valley
scrambles to the top of the mountain,
wandering at the entrance to the clouds,
to wet Ge Xuan’s clothes,
entangling wantonly with crowded visitors.
Fir trees in a straight line,
gazing into the smiles of a mountainful of cuckoos.
The ivy clasps the neck of the stooped old tree,
making love passionately and lingeringly,
to dim the footsteps of the passers-by.
The boiling tea wafts over the roof;
without the window the birdsongs are sprinkling all over the ground.
The clouds floating here and there,
never say goodbye to what it overlooks.
Encounter Slow Time in Hemu Village
The ancestors of the Mongolian Tuvan people,
from being nomadic to inhabiting here,
maybe it is the divine will.
Looking up and down at the hills around the village,
neither nor short, all in green.
The wooden houses growing out of the flat valley,
like mushrooms after the rain,
scattered and unique, looking at each other as neighbors.
The kitchen smoke carries the lingering sound of birds;
the path of the indigenous progress is bright.
The hillside is dotted with wild flowers;
the evening is clothed in a golden glow.
Recite sutras with closed eyes while sitting with crossed legs;
the idle brown butterflies,
an appointment to meet in the flowers, flitting and flying together.
The Hemu Bridge spanning the Hemu River,
talk about the vicissitudes through a century,
his hair is young and his face is beaming with kindness.
Birch groves along the two banks,
stand at ease, in an easeful position.
The wind that passes through the village is free,
and the army of horses run unhurriedly.
The cows and sheep are grazing,
while looking up to salute the visitors.
Sitting on the bank of the babbling Hemu River,
I gaze at the setting sun reclining against the green peaks;
the unhurried flow of clear water,
the waves are blossoming, flowing from the heart…
(Tr. Prof. Zhang Zhizhong；张智中教授 译)
马蒂尔[福建]
大海的回声（外二首）
选择掉头
还是不掉头
精卫鸟
呆在海滩上
不敢思考
西山上的树枝石头
早已光秃秃了
大海依旧不吭声
既淹死一叶小舟
也颠覆一艘艘航空母舰
犹豫不决间
它看到一个小孩
拄着一根盲杖
往大海扔了一块石头
很专注地侧耳细听
——啊！我听到了大海的回声
空宅
蚊子说
我是这屋子的老大
都五代同堂了
子孙万万千
老鼠说
我是这屋子的老大
想咬哪根梁
想睡哪间房
根本不用
民主集中制
话音未落
一只手影伸进来：
放肆，看看我是谁！
左手边
习惯从左手边的袈裟
伸出肥嘟嘟的左手
从供台拔起一支烛火
在黎明前，忐忑地
巡逻前殿及后殿
烛火，摇摇，晃晃
惊醒走廊上的老木鱼
跌落雾笼的放生池
刹那，鱼跃，雾散
扰乱了方丈的镇静
他左手边的袈裟
仿佛几千个日夜
念叨、背诵的经文
沉重如纸剪的弥勒菩萨
Ma Di’er[Fujian]
Echoes of the Sea (and other two poems)
To turn back
Or not to turn back
The mythic bird, Jingwei
Stuck on the beach
Dare not to ponder
The branches and stones on the West Mountain
Already bare
The sea remains silent
Sinks a small boat
And overturns aircraft carriers in a breeze
Hesitating
It sees a child
Leaning on a blind cane
Throwing a stone into the sea
And lending an ear to listen
—Ah! I hear the echoes of the sea
Empty House
The mosquito says,
I'm the boss of this house,
Five generations on,
With countless offspring around.
The mouse declares,
I'm the master here
Bite any beam I wish,
Sleep in any room I want,
No need for democratic centralism.
Before the words fade,
A hand shadow reaches in:
How dare you! Look who’s here now!
On the Left Side
Used to reach out of the cassock
The plump left hand
Plucking a candle from the altar
With a trembling heart before dawn
Patrols the front and rear halls
The candle light flickers
Waking the old wooden fish in the corridor
Which tumbles into the misty free life pond
In an instant, the fish leap, the mist dissipates
Disturbing the abbot’s calm
The cassock on his left side
Seems like for thousands of nights and days
Chanting and reciting scriptures
Heavy as the paper-cut Maitreya
（Tr. Wang Xin；王欣 译）
西可[陕西]
在酒吧坐坐
过路的汽车喇叭声
带着所有的重量
隆重的节日，酒吧空无一人
深夜的十字街头
我是一个迟到者，隐形单身
连续做梦，量血压或者做CT
信封背面的图片是旧火车站
湖泊里有教堂的倒影和一些落叶
恐怖信息不断
我反复听到绑架者的录音
家具无效安放，没有挪动
这只是一次遭遇
下午的走廊里和小区门口
他们反穿着皮袄
提着撕碎乐队的大提琴和一些冷饮
这附近没有清醒的人
喝醉了酒，和我一样
在河水里挣扎
Xi Ke [Shaanx]
I Sat in a Bar
The honks of cars passed
Carrying all the weight
Of a festival, while in a deserted bar
At the crossroads of a street,
I, a late comer, an invisible single man
Sinking in an endless nightmare, my blood pressure measured, brain scanned.
An old railroad station on the back of the envelope
the inverted reflection of a church in the lake and some fallen leaves
There continuously sounded the news of a terrorist attack
I rewound the record of the kidnapper
Amid the hazardly arranged furniture, not a trace of movement
This is but one encounter
In the afternoon aisle and by the gate of the block
They wear their fur coat inside out
Carrying some cold beverage and the cello that tore apart the band
No one around is sober
Drunk, like me
Floundering and gasping in the river
(Tr. Wu Chunxiao；吴春晓 译)
木兰[重庆]
老者晚钓
许多悠哉的日子 你都坐在朦胧的湖边
看着时光流逝 数着白云变幻
守着闹中的宁静 写满晚秋的咏叹
还有身边那位 悄声等待的老伴
都是你在夕阳里 满载快乐自信得风帆
走进倒影的柳树 相拥湖水的思念
收获黄昏的果实 吟出飘逸的秋天
人老了虽然会遭嫌弃 但还有天地的疼爱
你说那是你写给子孙的 一句夜话童言
那是用晚节钓出的 绿水青山
鱼群私语暗中试探 小鸟叽喳不懂机关
风雨笑你很傻 烈日说你痴呆
可你依然稳坐钓鱼台 用草帽遮住黝黑的脸
即使两手空空 哪怕鱼儿从不上钩
你也不会收起 那条放飞心情的长线
几度春夏秋冬 几回月落乌啼
你从明清的画中走来 透出一身的洒脱自在
你只想独钓中原 哪怕相忘于江湖
也要钓起一片纯粹的晚霞 诗意的淡泊
也要拂尽尘埃见到生命的真禅
木兰[重慶]
老者の夕釣り
いろいろなのんびりの日、いつもぼんやりとした湖のほとりに座り
時間の流れを眺め、白い雲の変わりゆく姿を数える
侘びのむらを守り、晩秋の嘆きを書き綴る
及び、傍らにひそひそと待っている連れ合い
この全ても、あなたが夕日の中で喜びと自信に溢れた帆だ
柳の映像に近づき、思い出の湖水に抱かれる
夕暮れの実りを収穫し、飄逸な秋を吟じる
年を重ねると嫌われるけれど、人間はそれでも愛している
それは子孫への夜の物語のようなものだ、とあなたは言う
それは晩年に釣り上げた青々とした山や緑の水だ
魚たちはひっそりと動き、小鳥たちはさえずりながらその真意を悟ることはない
風雨はあなたを嘲り、猛暑はあなたを愚かだという
それでもあなたは変わらず釣り台にじっと座り、麦わら帽子で黒ずんだ顔を隠す
たとえ両手が空いても、魚が決して釣れなくても
あなたは心の解放をつなぐ長い糸を巻き取ろうとはしない
いくども春夏秋冬を巡り、いくども月が沈み鳥が鳴いた
あなたは明清時代*の絵画から抜け出したかのように、洒脱で自由な姿を見せる
ただ広い中原**で一人釣りをしたい、たとえ世の中で忘れられても
純粋な夕焼けを釣り上げたい、詩の心が淡く静かであっても
日々の煩わしさを払って、命の本当の悟りを見つけたい
（王凌志 訳）
注：
*明清時代（めいしんじだい）は、中国の歴史上、明朝（1368年〜1644年）と清朝（1636年〜1912年）という二つの王朝が続いた時代を指します。
**中原（ちゅうげん）は、中国の中央部、特に黄河流域を指す地域です。古代文明の発祥地で、歴代王朝の政治・文化の中心とされ、しばしば「天下の中心」と見なされてきました。
吴山[湖南]
影子（外二首）
你很低调也很高傲
总是贴近大地
成为我一生的支撑
你从不让别人践踏
车子碾压过来
你迅即贴在车身上
似乎要为我挡住危险
有人踩踏你
你会立马盖过他
没有践踏过你的事物高于你
唯独让我正午
把你踩在脚下
仿佛将大地踩出个黑洞
让我在尘世站稳脚跟
或者是你把我扛在肩上
让我离太阳更近
无边的思念
家乡的青山越来越肥
父亲的坟却一年比一年瘦。后来
坟和祭道被树遮掩
母亲每年都要爬山
砍出一条窄窄的毛路，供我们
去祭祀父亲
如今，母亲爬不了山
就坐在家里发呆
将自己最后一根黑发打通
每根白发都是父亲回家的路
月的独白
我孤悬太虚
你独行尘世
在地球两侧，擦拭万物与人心
我拎一把光，抹去山峰尖锐
也消弥谷底幽暗
煙灭烟火，也擦亮梦境
擦白黑发，也抚平忧伤
你执一支帚，用汗水洗涤污垢
用晨曦疗愈隐痛
用月光照亮现实
用落英书写春秋
我们朝暮聚首
互为影子
以阴晴、圆缺互致问候
你扫除红尘的尘
我修补人间的间
Wu Shan [Hunan]
The Shadow (and other two poems)
The shadow is low-profiled and high-profiled
It is always close to the earth
To become my life-long support
You never let others step on you
When the car rumbles over
You lose no time to cling to its body
Seemingly to shun dangers for me
Some tramp on you
And you immediately cover him up
Things which have not trampled on you are higher than you
Only in the high noon for me
To step you beneath my feet
Seemingly to tramp it into a black hole
For me to steady my feet in the mortal world
Or for you to carry me on your shoulders
For me to be closer to the sun
Endless Yearning
The hometown blue mountains are fatter and fatter
Father’s tomb is thinner and thinner from year to tear. Later
The tomb and the road of sacrifices are cloaked by the trees
Mother climbs the mountain annually
To blaze a new narrow trail, for us
To offer sacrifices to Father
Now, Mother cannot climb the mountain
And she is closed behind the door, in a daze
To get through the last black hair
Each white hair is Father’s road to be home
Soliloquy of the Moon
Solitarily I hang in the great void
And you solitarily walk in the mortal world
To both sides of the earth, to scrape myriads of things and human heart
I carry a handful of light, to scrape off sharpness of the peak
And to set off dimness in the bottom of the valley
Smoke & fire extinguished, and to scrape bright the dreamland
To scrape and whiten the black hair, and to ease the sorrow
Holding a broom, you wash dirt with sweat
With morning rays to cure the hidden pain
With moonlight to enlighten reality
With fallen leaves to compose spring and autumn
We gather morning and evening
To be shadows to each other
Greeting with something dim or bright, waxing or waning
You sweep away dust in the mortal world
I to mend up something in the world
(Tr. Prof. Zhang Zhizhong；张智中教授 译)
