Editor-in-Chief:
  Yidan Han


王莎莎
Shasha Wang

生于七十年代。2004年开始写作,曾用笔名冯碧落、余小蛮。诗作见《诗选刊》《2005-2006华语诗歌双年展》等多家杂志与选本。以《夜读清水寺》为主的一组诗得2007年第二届叶红全球女性诗奖二等奖。现居黑龙江。

Shasha Wang, born in late 1970s, start writing poetry since 2004. Her work has appeared in various magazines and anthologies, and she won the Second Prize in Ye Hong International Women Poetry Competition in 2007. She now lives in Daqing, Heilongjiang Province.



译者
Translator


得一忘二
Jinghua Fan

生于中国江苏,1987年毕业于北京师范大学,后任教于南京东南大学十余年,写诗、译诗、研究诗歌,目前在新加坡国立大学,为博士候选人。

Native of Jiangsu, PRC, upon graduation from Beijing Normal University in 1987, taught in Southeast University Nanjing for a dozen of years.  He writes, translates and currently is studying poetry in National University of Singapore.

哀歌

Elegy

如今,我不再用你 做悲伤的道具 星光和月光,太遥远的光辉没有温度 如今,我看到你的伤口 那些陨石留下的坑痕 每一次撞击对你都是致命的 我只能想象那些暴烈之美 是如何 让你重生 你能,而只能 凭借你血管的曲线 延长你王国里的秩序 但如今我不是你山峦的叠翠 不是你河床的流动 那些水分子,藏在你能想象的细节里 在休息日,人们从超市出来 手里拎出叫做物质的东西 我也和他们一样。

 

By now, you can no longer be The property of my sorrows; Starlight and moonlight are too distant, no warmth. By now, I've known your wounds, The craters by meteorites; To you, each collision is fatal. I can only imagine the terrible beauty And how it Leads you back to life again. You can, but can rely only On the crooked lines of blood vessels To extend the order in your kingdom. By now I can be neither the layered green in your mountains Nor the clear fluid along your riverbed; Between the imaginable details in your landscape are hidden all the water elements. On days off, among the people coming out of supermarkets With what are called Materials in their hands, I am one, the same as all the others.

夜读凉水寺

Night Reading of the Cool Water Temple

故人曾于某夜带月光入寺,清凉如水。小寺因此得名。杜撰者说。 今夜清朗,月圆,我踩着细碎的卵石 小径无尘无痕,亦无纠缠迷醉 竹叶擦肩。 石阶渡一层白霜,百会清凉,睡眠垂落 然和我一起垂落的还有空肠胃 空荡的院落及树枝。这安宁姿态优雅,肃穆庄严 故人曾身披月光,夜行、入寺。清辉处,寒凉如水 此前小寺无名。被月光洗净后决绝今世之尘 一人一寺,尚还一月一影 时如流水而今人无觉,空寂无声百年。如今我来 我非有大彻悟,亦尘丝未断,只因心中常照一盏孤灯 如今我身披月光穿越时间之水,如今我踏着薄脆的月光 此寺隔绝,但寺门如镜。空寂深处隐隐传来 悲苦嘈杂。寺门紧闭如心门。杀戮之事并未消失 人间血肉碎在天际,银河当空。无数闪耀的灵在各自的夜 事实上,关于这个凉水寺的夜晚和圆月,都由我杜撰而来 我只是冥想自己身披袈裟,一人一寺,空寂无声 但也许我正穿过重重的前世来到曾经 故人在月光下不仅仅是一个影子,他亦有温度、气息、庄严。 他亦在某个时候对我彬彬有礼,点化、教诲。若非冰冷的刺痛提醒 我可作一思一梦绕行而忘却。若非澄明我仍将此处认做幻境 但故人来后我即入此寺,于圆月夜偶然相逢 若此身即此寺,我便真懂得自由了。来去尘世的高速公路或任何之路 无一不是通向凉水寺的弯曲小径。

 

Once, an ancient acquaintance entered a temple, carrying into it the moonlight cool as water. Hence, the name of the temple. Or, such has been the rumor. The night is clear, the moon full, I treading on creaky gravels; on this pebble path, no dust, no traces of beings, no enchanted entanglement, bamboo leaves stoop to touch the shoulders that pass by. Stone steps deliver in their ferry a faint coat of frost, and from the acupoint of zenith, sleep is dropping, cool. Also dropping is my set of emptied bowels, the empty courtyard and the trees. This calmness holds a graceful posture and grave solemnity, in which an ancient acquaintance in a cloak of moonlight entered the gate of the obscure temple. Where the moonlight drops, the coolness flows like water. The temple got its name ever since, and, moonlight-washed, it stood immaculate from the dust of this world. One man, one temple. One moon, one shadow. Time flows, as does the ignorance of man, and emptiness has been flowing, wordless for a hundred years. Now, I’ve come, not because I have the great wisdom of transcendence. I am entangled with worldly tentacles, but I have a lasting lamp in me. In the cloak of moonlight I wade through the water of time, treading on the crispy light. This temple is isolated, with a gate like a mirror. From the depth of its emptiness comes a faint hubbub of sufferings. The gate clams up like the doors of a heart. Killing has never ceased, human blood and flesh scattered in the outer space across the spread-eagle Mercury River. A myriad of spirits glitter in their own night. The fact is the temple and the night and the moon are all my fabrication. Only in meditation am I housed in a cassock, and hence a being is a temple, everything stilled. Perhaps I am journeying through all my previous lives toward a past one, while this acquaintance of mine not only stands as a shade but also has respiration, warmth and dignity. The light for my edification, igniter for my epiphany, he is so gracious and civilized. But for the acupuncture of coldness that keeps me awake I may evolve into a thought and dream, orbiting into oblivion. If not for the clarity I attained in awakenness, I would still take here as an illusion, but on the heels of this acquaintance, I entered here, a chance encounter achieved. If my body is the temple, I am already initiated to true freedom. With no exceptions, all the highways and roads to any direction are winding paths to the Temple.

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