熙林格尔[中国]
秋意渐浓（外二首）
打开窗子
邀请一缕浸凉的秋风
一起煮茶
茶的颜色是秋天的颜色
也邀请一两声鸟鸣
掠过秋风
鸟儿的叫声传播秋韵
在秋高气爽中远走他乡
我走不进他乡
茶汤溢出浓烈的乡愁
窗外的秋已过半
半秋烟雨锁住几滴寒露
秋风拉着落叶又一次拂过旅人的脸庞
初冬
初冬的第一场雪
被夜晚的一阵狗叫拦截在半山腰
裸露的山峰和一半的森林
穿上初冬的新装，在阳光下招摇
下半山的森林和山脚下的寨子
显得有些落寞
红嘴鸟穿梭在森林和寨子之间
太阳翻过山顶的时候
憋了一眼黑白分明的两个世界
决然躲进了幽深的云层
凌厉的寒气从山上弥漫下来
老狗缩在火塘的角落里
爷爷呷了一口酥油茶
“雪就要下来了，这个冬天比去年冷”
其实，我期待一场纷纷扬扬的大雪
给我一次机会，走进童年
寻找一个遗落在雪野深处的梦
光影之隙
从太阳流浪而来的光
把眼睛里的天空撕开
有时生出一两朵云或者一片云
光影模糊起来
风从撕开的缝隙中挤过来
在人间肆无忌惮
光影是一棵巨大的树
雪花是它的叶子
喜怒哀乐是它的果实
是不是就把这些叶子果子
交给风，风过之处
人间唏嘘，多少欢喜多少愁
光影之隙幻化的周而复始
被卡在人间
叫轮回
Xilin Ger [China]
As Autumn Deepens (and other two poems)
I open the window
Invite a thread of chilled autumn wind
To brew tea together
The color of tea is the color of autumn.
I also invite a birdcall or two
Passing through the autumn breeze
Birdsong carries the cadence of autumn,
Drifting far away in the clear, lofty air
I cannot venture to distant lands
The tea overflows with the rich taste of longing for home
Outside, autumn has passed its midpoint
Half-autumn’s misty rain locks in a few drops of cold dew
The autumn wind pulls the leaves once more
Brushing the traveler’s cheek gently as they pass
Early Winter
The first snow of early winter,
Caught midway down the mountain,
By a barking dog in the night.
Bare peaks and half the forest—
They don new winter garb, flaunting beneath the sun.
The lower forest and the village at the foot,
Stand solemn, almost forlorn.
Red-beaked birds weave between forest and village,
As the sun slips over the mountain’s crest,
It glances once at this stark black-and-white world,
Then hides decisively behind the deep clouds.
Sharp cold seeps from the mountain heights,
The old dog curls in a corner by the hearth,
Grandpa sips his butter tea,
“The snow will fall soon—this winter is colder than the last.”
But I, I yearn for a snow that falls thick and deep,
To give me one more chance to step into my childhood,
To look for a dream lost in the heart of the snowy wilds.
The Crevice of Light and Shadow
Light, a wanderer from the sun, drifts,
Tearing open the sky within my gaze.
Sometimes, a cloud or two blooms softly—
Or an entire veil emerges, light and shadow merging,
Till all becomes a gentle blur.
The wind squeezes through this rift,
Reckless and wild, sweeping through the mortal realm.
Light and shadow—a vast and mighty tree,
Its leaves but falling snowflakes,
Its fruits the tender burdens of joy and sorrow.
Shall we not offer these leaves and fruits
To the wind’s whim? Wherever it passes,
The world shivers, sighs—how much joy,
How much sorrow?
This crevice between light and shadow,
A ceaseless mirage of transformation,
Caught, tangled here in our earthly realm—
They call it reincarnation.
(Tr. Wang Aikun；王爱焜 译)
作者简介
熙林格尔，本名王永康，男，藏族。生在康巴高原，长在康巴高原。与诗结缘数十载，认为诗是诗人心灵历程的展露。偶有作品发表和获奖。
About the author
Wang Yongkang, pen name Xilin Ger, a man of Tibetan descent. Born and raised on the Kham Plateau, he’s been entwined with poetry for decades, seeing it as the soul’s journey unveiled.
