得一忘二，60后诗人、译者。他以中英文写诗，出版了多部翻译作品和诗集，诗作发表于中国大陆、台湾、新加坡以及美国等杂志与文选，曾获奖并多次受邀出席国际诗歌节。他目前定居新加坡，在大学任教。

Fan Jinghua is a bilingual poet and translator. His poems have been published in literary magazines and anthologies in Mainland China, Taiwan, Singapore and USA. He has been invited to several international poetry festivals and has read his poems in different occasions, and he has been awarded prizes for his poems and translations. Jinghua works as a university lecturer and lives in Singapore.

夏娃在伊甸园

Eve in Eden

当天气犹如猫儿舔舐手心，就是夏季的来临；
夏季，这是我所知的惟一的季节；
我们的一年便是从一个夏季过到另一个夏季。
当天气像母牛舔舐手心，那就是夏季的消逝。
而你的手心，我用我的脸颊感受，
一只脸颊告诉另一只脸颊，我凝然于
你的双眼，看它们盯着越来越低的太阳，
看它变大之后，又突然变小，接着，黑暗降临。
哦，男人，你是惟一的，你温顺而俊美，
手臂上有肌肉，有如小鼠趴守着洞穴，
你的胸膛比池边的岩石平台还要稳妥坚实，
是我手与头的床枕和内陆。
在没有月亮的夜晚，当我们的主去他处巡视，
当蛇虫的窸窣和蟋蟀的尖鸣在风静夜沉中更加清晰，
你的呼吸令我心安神宁，而你的沉默，有时那么遥远，
犹如你出神凝视的天，仍然是我寻求平静的源泉。
这一切你从不对我讲述，而我也从未对你说出。
在这个园子里，我能够想得到的
我都能看见、听到甚至触摸，我还能要求什么？
我惟一不明白的
在你眼睛背后，尽管我能看见它们像镜子一样
含着星星和云朵，犹如水里的图像。
我有时也去那个池塘，一人，
那是因为
你坐在无花果树下，有点心不在焉，虽说我就在你身边走来走去，
你似乎没有看见，或者你好像不喜欢受我打扰。
我喜欢跪在池塘边，看我自己在水里，不可触摸，但我知道
那也是我。
我不明白云朵为何也会在水里生长，犹如你眼里的云朵与星星，
它们本该在我们头上漂浮，陪伴我们的主。
那个世界，你从不对我讲。
也许你一直以为我所理解的和你所知道的一样，
但是我只知道如果我有所不知，
那就是我们的主如此规定，也就是你的愿望。
可是有那么多事物，因为它们从不对我说话，而又无法触摸得到，
所以我无法了解。
还有一些事我会忘记去了解：
每当你拥着我的腰或者你的手心抚摸我的脸颊或颈项，
我似乎突然有所领悟或者突然间忘了要了解什么或者这世界还有什么需要去了解。
可是，男人，你拥抱和触摸我的时候不多，
有时我觉得野兽和禽鸟是更好的伴儿。
还有一些时候，我真想有一对翅膀，
不是要成为天使，而仅仅是想做一回鸟。
			

When it feels like the lick of a cat, it is the coming of a summer;
Summer, this is the season I know. 
Our year is one summer after another.
When it feels like the lick of a cow, it is the going of a summer.
Your palm, I feel with my cheeks, one cheek telling the feel to another,
While my eyes see your eyes fixing on the sun that is lowering, 
Bigger first and then suddenly small before the canopy of darkness.
My man, my only, you are meek and good, 
Your upper-arms hide muscles like mice, and your chest, 
Firmer than the rock terrace by the pond, is the upcountry for my hands and head.
When there is no moon and our Lord is absent on his inspection tour,
When the rustlings of snakes and the chirpings of crickets are clearer 
In the stillness of winds, your breath is soothing, and 
Your silent gaze into the distance, sometimes unintelligible, is my peace, 
Though you never speak and I never tell.
What else do I want 
When in this garden whatever I can think of 
I see and hear and touch?
The only unknowable lies behind your eyes, even when I can see they mirror 
Stars and clouds like images in the water. 
I sometimes go to the pond, alone, when you sit under a fig tree, a little absent-minded,
As if you do not see me when I am around, or 
You like to be undisturbed.
I like kneeling down by it and see myself in it, untouchable, but I know that is me too. 
I do not know why the clouds also grow in there as in your eyes
When they are flowing above our heads with our Lord.
You never speak to me about that world. 
You might have always assumed that I understand as much as you know,
But I only know that if I do not know 
That is because our Lord so ordains and you, too, wish so. 
But there are so many things that I do not know,
Because they do not speak and cannot be touched.
There are things that I forget to learn: 
Whenever you hold me around my waist or your palm touches my cheeks or nape, 
I feel a sudden knowing or suddenly I forget what to know or to be known.
But your touch and hold are so seldom, my man,
And sometimes beasts and fowls are better companions.
Sometimes, I wish I have wings, not to be an angel, but a bird. 
			

雪下的石头

Stones Covered with Snow

你从未行远过，而所有的形容词
都纷纷从你的此刻剥落
退回到它们名词的始源
你不再像任何其它事物，而是物本身
黑白的，至多呈现出层次不多的灰
你的形状曾经锐利，如今那些棱角都已圆润
冬天稳实，一切茂密也都变瘦
唯有你裹得松松泡泡，免除了显见的动作
半倚在一个没有螺纹皱的雕像姿态里
不再期待同一种颜色的世界能体察你
身上暗暗淌过融雪的细流
有时生命需要离开两次才被铭记
死去，然后消亡，犹如转身与不见
而今你和它贴在一起，最简单的永远
			

You have never traveled far and yet
All the adjectives are returning from your present time 
To their origins of nouns
You are now not like anything else, but you are a thing itself
Black and white, and at most grey with few shades
The sharp edges of your shape are rounded
It is winter now, and when the exuberant grows thin
You are clad in puffiness, exempted from overt movements
Reclining into a posture with no rococo clothes, you do not 
Expect the world in one color to detect 
The snowmelt streamlets trickling on your body
Some life has to be off twice before it is recognized
First it dies, and then it is dead, as if it turns away and disappears
But now you've come back to it, simply forever