于坚 (Yu Jian)

Speed  The Beer Bottle-top  The Naming of a Crow  Mouse  Rivers 


Speed

the people planting potatoes are infected by dawn
infected by the sun as it rises
quickly they work     the world is quick at this time
quickly the dew dries     quickly the field voles scamper off
at times like this you need to be quick     labourers
are quick to remove their jackets     to bare their arms
a whole day's work depends on a good morning start     this is how
primary school teachers educate their students     they
react with speed     the invisible world in their classrooms
the morning’s Chinese lesson     is understood on paper as
a few     set phrases left over from yesterday
at dusk     the world slows right down
the ranks of the earth slow down facing westwards
formations of corn-fields and low hills
formations of rivers and forests
formations of villages and sunflowers
everything slows down facing westward
all those shadows dragged over things slow right down
like silk wrapped round the body of night
slipping away, bolt by bolt
the potato planters     carrying their tools
mingle with the kids coming home from school
they walk slowly over the uplands
home ahead of them     not worried about time
the children dawdle
no more homework to do
the adults dawdle
because the potatoes have all been planted
they’re all so slow
as if the earth had somehow got into their bodies
but those things planted at speed
have in no sense slowed down     nor have they ever gained speed
incapable both of speed and slowness
they’ve simply begun   and all they have to do is grow
is be     from morning to night
from spring to autumn
neither hurried nor slow     right to the very end

速度

种土豆的人们受到黎明的感染
受到正在上升的太阳的感染
活干得很快这时候世界是快的
露水干得很快田鼠逃得很快
在这样的时候应该赶快劳动者
很快就脱去了上衣光起了膀子
一日之计在于晨小学教师
也是这样教育学生他们
快速反应着教室里看不见世界
早晨的语文在纸上被理解为
一些昨天剩下的成语
在黄昏中世界就慢下来
大地的队伍朝着西方慢下来
玉米地和山岗的队列
河流和树林的队列
村庄和向日葵的队列
一切都朝着西方慢下来
所有拖在物体上的影子都慢下来
像裹着黑夜之身的丝绸
一匹匹滑落下去
种土豆的人们拎着工具
和离开了学校的孩子们会合
在高地上缓慢地走着
前面是家他们不担心时间
孩子们慢吞吞的
再没有课外作业
大人们慢吞吞的
因为土豆已经全部种下
他们那么缓慢
仿佛大地进入了他们的身体
那在快速中被种下的东西
并没有慢下来也从未快过
它们不能快也无法慢
只是开始了就要生长着
就要从早到晚从春天到秋天
在着不紧不慢直到结束


The Beer Bottle-top

unsure how to address it     it was still sitting at the head of the table only a moment ago
the custodian of a bottle of stout     absolutely indispensable     it has a sense of its own status
signifying conviviality as the sun goes down     and the depth of froth in a glass
opened with a pop at the start of the evening meal     the action strikingly similar to that of a bullfrog
the waiter even believes that it really is a frog
believes that something on this table covered with cooked food has unexpectedly been brought back to life
he is vexed by his misunderstanding     and immediately shifts his attention to a toothpick
he is the last one     after him     the world gives it no further thought
with no other entries on it in the dictionary     no original meanings extended meanings transferred meanings
but those dishes originally arranged in submission before it     signify nothing less than the flavours of Sichuan cuisine
the napkin is touched by the hand of a general     the roses in full bloom     an allusion to privilege
in an eccentric arc it exited this gathering     an arc not its own
the brewery     never designed such a line for its product
it now lies on the floor with the cigarette butts     footprints     bones and other rubbish
an unrelated jumble     an impromptu design     of no use to anyone
but its plight is even more wretched     a butt reminds the world of a slob
a bone brings to mind a dog or a cat     and footprints of course allude to a human presence
it is waste     its whiteness being nothing more than its whiteness     and its shape nothing more than its shape
it falls beyond the reach of our adjectives
I wasn’t a drinker then     it was I who opened the bottle of beer
and for this reason I noticed its strange leap     its simple disappearance
I suddenly tried to imagine the pop it made     jumping out into space     but was unable to
mine was the body of an author of a collection of poetry and sixty kilograms of corporeal existence
all I did was bend down     and pick up this alluring small white object
it was hard     with a serrated rim     which cut into my finger
and made me feel a sharpness so unlike that of knives

啤酒瓶盖

不知道叫它什么才好 刚才它还位居宴会的高处
一瓶黑啤酒的守护者 不可或缺 它有它的身份
意味着一个黄昏的好心情 以及一杯泡沫的深度
在晚餐开始时嘭地一声跳开了 那动作很象一只牛蛙
侍者还以为它真的是 以为摆满熟物的餐桌上竟有什么复活
他为他的错觉懊恼 立即去注意一根牙签了
他是最后的一位 此后 世界就再也想不到它
词典上不再有关于它的词条 不再有它的本义 引义和转义
而那时原先屈居它下面的瓷盘 正意味着一组川味
餐巾被一位将军的手使用着 玫瑰在盛开 暗喻出高贵
它在一道奇怪的弧线中离开了这场合 这不是它的弧线
啤酒厂 从未为一瓶啤酒设计过这样的线
它现在和烟蒂 脚印 骨渣以及地板这些赃物在一起
它们互不相干 一个即兴的图案 谁也不会对谁有用
而它还更糟 一个烟蒂能使世界想起一个邋遢鬼
一块骨渣意味着一只猫或狗 脚印当然暗示了某个人的一生
它是废品 它的白色只是它的白色 它的形状只是它的形状
它在我们的形容词所能触及的一切之外
那时我尚未饮酒 是我把这瓶啤酒打开
因而我得以看它那么陌生地一跳 那么简单地不在了
我忽然也想象它那样“嘭”地一声 跳出去 但我不能
身为一本诗集的作者和一具六十公斤的躯体
我仅仅是弯下腰 把这个白色的小尤物拾起来
它那坚硬的 齿状的边缘 划破了我的手指
使我感受到某种与刀子无关的锋利


The Naming of a Crow

from somewhere invisible the crow kicks aside blocks of autumn cloud with its toes
and dives into the sky in my eyes hung with the wind and the light
the sign of the crow sulphur brew of a nun of black night
croaking and piercing a hole in a flocking bird mattress
to perch on a branch in my heart
just as in the days of my youth conquering crows’ nests in the treetops of my home town
my hands will never again touch that autumn landscape
hands scaling another tall tree intending to pluck another crow
from its darkness
crow once it was a kind of bird meat a pile of feathers and entrails
now a desire for narrative the impulse to speech
and perhaps it is self-consolation in the face of adversity
escape from a mass of inauspicious shadow
this kind of labour is invisible compared to childhood days
reaching with my bravest hand into black nests full of pointed beaks this is even more difficult
when a crow perches in the wilds of my heart
what I wish to give voice to is not is symbol not its metaphor or its mythology
what I wish to give voice to is crow just as in years gone by
I never found dove in a crow’s nest
since childhood my hands have been covered in the thick calluses of language
but as a poet I have never given voice to a crow

with the circumspection and far-sightedness of age proficiency in various inspirations styles and rhymes
just as when one begins to write dipping the brush deep into the ink-well
I thought that the syllables had to be drenched in black from the very start to handle this crow
skin flesh and bones the flows of the blood as well as
the flight-paths disclosed in the sky all drenched in black
a crow begins in this blackness in flight towards an outcome drenched in black
from the moment of birth it enters into solitude and prejudice
into universal persecution, pursuit and capture
no bird it is crow
in a world full of evil every single second
ticks its ten thousand pretexts in the name of the forces of light or beauty
guns are trained on this living representative of the powers of darkness and fired
but for all that it cannot escape beyond the bounds of crow-being
neither fly higher encroaching on eagle territory
nor condescend to the lowly realm of the ants
cave-maker of the skies both its own black hole and black drill-bit
on high and alone from the heights of a crow
it sets a course according to its bearings its time its passengers
it is one happy-go-lucky big-mouthed crow
and outside it the world is a mere fabrication
no more than the boundless inspiration of crow
you people the vastness of the land and the sky the vastness beyond the vastness
you people Yu Jian and ensuing generations of readers
are nothing but food in the nest of a crow

I thought that a few dozen words would be enough to handle this crow
description has made it a black box in words
but I do not know who holds the key to the box
who thinks up secret codes in crow-darkness
in another description it appeared as a priest wearing puttees
beneath the mighty walls of Heaven, this holy one in search of an entrance
but I know now that the abode of the crow is closer to God than the priest’s
perhaps while perched on the spire of a church one day
it saw the fair body of the Nazarene
when I describe the crow as a swan nourished on the everlasting blackness of night
the actual bird shining with the light of a swan flies past that radiant swamp beside me
and at once I lose all faith in this metaphor
I attach the verb to descend to its wings
yet it soars to the Ninth Heaven like a jet
I call it taciturn and it immediately comes to rest on wordless
as I look at this lawless wild witch-bird
a swarm of verbs is drawn to my head crow verbs
I cannot utter tongue fastened down with rivets
I see them speeding up into the sky vaulting
diving down into the sunlight then gathering again above the clouds
leisurely and carefree forming crow-motion pictures

that day like a hollow-hearted scarecrow I stood in an empty field
and all my thoughts were steeped in crow
I clearly sensed that crow felt its dark flesh
its dark heart but I could not escape the sunless fortress
as it soared so I soared
how would I ever get back out of crow in order to catch it
that day when I looked up into the blue sky each crow was already drenched in darkness
a corpse-eating crowd I should have turned a blind eye earlier in the sky of my home town
I stalked them once so innocent then
a whiff of the stink of death and I’d panic and loosen my grip
as for the sky I should have kept my eyes on the skylarks white cranes
how I love and understand those beautiful angels
but one day I saw a bird
an ugly bird the colour of crow
hanging from the grey ropes of the sky
with mangled legs stiff and straight as the limbs of a puppet
in crooked flight on the slopes of the sky
circling a centre of some kind out tracing
an enormous insubstantial circle
and I heard a chorus of ominous cawings
suspended somewhere out of sight
and I wanted to say something
to declare to the world that I was not afraid
of those invisible sounds

对一只乌鸦的命名

从看不见的某处
乌鸦用脚趾踢开秋天的云块
潜入我的眼睛上垂着风和光的天空
乌鸦的符号黑夜修女熬制的硫酸
咝咝地洞穿鸟群的床垫
堕落在我内心的树枝
像少年时期在故乡的树顶征服鸦巢
我的手再也不能触摸秋天的风景
它爬上另一棵大树要把另一只乌鸦
从它的黑暗中掏出
乌鸦在往昔是一种鸟肉一堆毛和肠子
现在是叙述的愿望说的冲动
也许是厄运当头的自我安慰
是对一片不祥阴影的逃脱
这种活计是看不见的比童年
用最大胆的手伸进长满尖喙的黑穴更难
当一只乌鸦栖留在我的内心的旷野
我要说的不是它的象征它的隐喻或神话
我要说的只是一只乌鸦正像当年
我从未在一个鸦巢中抓出过一只鸽子
从童年到今天我的双手已长满语言的老茧
但作为诗人我还没有说过一只乌鸦

深谋远虑的年纪精通各种灵感辞格和韵脚
像写作之初把笔整枝地浸入墨水瓶
我想对付这只乌鸦词素一开始就得黑透
皮骨头和肉血的走向以及
披露在天空的飞行都要黑透
乌鸦就是从黑透的开始飞向黑透的结局
黑透就是从诞生就进入的孤独和偏见
进入无所不在的迫害和追捕
它不是鸟它是乌鸦
充满恶意的世界每一秒钟
都有一万个借口以光明或美的名义
朝这个代表黑暗势力的活靶开枪
它不会因此逃到乌鸦以外
飞得高些僭越鹰的座位
或者降得矮些混迹于蚂蚁的海拔
天空的打洞者它是它的黑洞穴它的黑钻头
它只在它的高度乌鸦的高度
驾驶着它的方位它的时间它的乘客
它是一只快乐的大嘴巴的乌鸦
在它的外面世界只是臆造
只是一只乌鸦无边无际的灵感
你们辽阔的天空和大地辽阔之外的辽阔
你们于坚以及一代又一代的读者
都是一只乌鸦巢中的食物
我断定一这只乌鸦只消几十个单词就能说出
形容的结果它被说成是一只黑箱
可是我不知道谁拿着箱子的钥匙
我不知道是谁在构思一只乌鸦藏在黑暗中的密码
在第二次形容中它作为一位裹着绑腿的牧师出现
这位圣子正在天堂的大墙下面寻找入口
可我明白乌鸦的居所比牧师更挨近上帝
或许某一天它在教堂的尖顶上
已窥见过那位拿撤勒人的玉体
当我形容乌鸦是永恒黑夜饲养的天鹅
一群具体的鸟闪着天鹅之光正焕然飞过我身
旁那片明亮的沼泽
这事实立即让我丧失了对这个比喻的全部信心
我把"落下"这个动词安在它翅膀之上
它却以一架飞机的风度"扶摇九天"
我对它说出"沉默"它却伫立于"无言"
我看见这只无法无天的巫鸟
在我头上的天空中牵引着一大群动词乌鸦的动词
我说不出它们我的舌头被这铆钉卡住
我看着它们在天空疾速上升跳跃
下沉到阳光中又聚拢在云之上
自由自在变化组合着乌鸦的各种图案

那日我像个空心的稻草人站在空地
所有心思都浸淫在一只乌鸦中
我清楚地感觉到乌鸦感觉到它黑暗的肉
黑暗的心可我逃不出这个没有阳光的城堡
当它在飞翔就是我在飞翔
我又如何能抵达乌鸦之外把它捉住
那日当我仰望苍天所有的乌鸦都已黑透
餐尸的族我早就该视而不见在故乡的天空
我曾经一度捉住过它们那时我多么天真
一嗅着那股死亡的臭味我就惊惶地把手松开
对于天空我早就该只瞩目于云雀白鸽
我生来就了解并热爱这些美丽的天使
可是当那一日我看见一只鸟
一只丑陋的有乌鸦的那种颜色的鸟
被天空灰色的绳子吊着
受难的双腿像木偶那么绷直
斜搭在空气的坡上
围绕着某一中心旋转着
巨大而虚无的圆圈
当那日我听见一串串不祥的叫喊
挂在看不见的某处
我就想说点什么
以向世界表白我并不害怕
那些看不见的声音


Mouse

you, little uninvited pest
made your stronghold in my room
sneaking in, creeping out     never stopping to say “hello”
it was only this evening when I saw your illustrious name
listed beside that of Donald Duck on the TV     that I realized you were a movie star
that was the end of my peace of mind
there was a mouse in my room
like a lump     growing inside my body
many times I’d been to the hospital     but they’d never found anything
half a steamed bread bun had been sawn away
there were suspicious black specks in my rice
who, after all, was the culprit?
I became more cautious     ears straining to hear the slightest noise
listening to cupboards     listening to floorboards
of course, I tracked down those small but solid sounds
but I had no way of knowing for sure
whether the little runt was nibbling on my favourite clothes
or gnawing away at antiques left to me by my grandfather
you were always so light on your feet
it was almost as if you wanted to spare my feelings
my mother’s mother used to be like this
in the middle of windy nights     she would quietly get out of bed     and close all the windows
you dance on cakes     piss on tablets
the books I like are riddled with gaping wounds
but when it came to the crunch, you had no idea what made a noise     and what didn’t
so when you knocked over my chinaware     which then jumped to the ground from a great height
you triggered, much to your surprise, an earthquake
that startled me from dreams     on tip-toes
unable to fly into a rage
having to be lighter on my feet than you
I felt my way from the bed-head to the book-shelf     worried that you would hear me
like you were in the middle of writing something     not to be disturbed
but I was clumsier than you     in the end, I knocked over a chair
panicked, I looked left and right    ashamed of something, it seemed
in fact, you, you little runt, were probably already fast asleep
after a drink of milk     and a change of bedroom
hiding in your hole     eyes like a couple of black beans, twitching in your head
watching me, big and lumbering     stark naked     stripped of all poise
and learning about what I looked like at night
you kept quiet     in this you were different from your father
this quality of yours     put me in an unbearable position
I couldn’t stand it any longer     I knocked and poked at random
hell-bent on a thorough search     to arrest you     and to put you to death
but when I saw the massive articles of furniture around me
and the bunkers concealed within countless household odds and ends
frustration got the better of me    and not knowing what to do
I called off the hunt
outsiders were under the mistaken impression that I had the room to myself
that I was calm and steady     devoted to study
actually, I was a nervous wreck     I avoided going out
I’d hurry home as soon as work was over
and, once inside, start opening cupboards    and cases
checking up on that rotten bastard who always kept me guessing
to see what new tricks he’d played on me

灰鼠

不请自来的小坏蛋
在我房间里建立了据点
神出鬼没 从来不打照面
晚上在电视里看到你的大名
和唐老鸭并列 方知你是明星
我再也不得安宁了
灰鼠已来到我的房间
像是一个瘤子 已长在我身体内部
多次去医院透视 什么也没有查出
我的馒头被锯掉一半
我的大米有可疑的黑斑
到底作案者是谁
我开始小心翼翼 竖耳谛听
听听衣柜听听地板
我当然搜到那细小而坚硬的声音
可我无法断定
你小子是在咬我心爱的衬衣
还是在啃外公留给我的古玩
你总是轻溜溜地走动
似乎出于对我的关心
从前外祖母也喜欢如此
在深夜 悄悄下床 关好风中的窗子
你在蛋糕上跳舞 在药片上撒尿
把我的好书咬得百孔千疮
但毕竟你不知道什么会响 什么不会
于是撞翻瓷器 又跳过某个高度
居然造成一回地震
吓得我从梦中逃出 踮起脚尖
又不能勃然大怒
还必须干得比你更轻
从床头摸到书架 担心着被你听见
似乎你正在写作 不能打扰
我比你笨拙 终于撞倒了椅子
我惶惶然东张西望 显得心中有愧
其实你小子或许已酣然睡去
喝了牛奶 换了一个套间
你在暗处 转动着两粒黑豆似的眼珠
看见我又大又笨 一丝不挂 毫无风度
你发现我在夜里的样子
你保持沉默 这一点和父亲不同
这种品德 使我深觉难堪
我终于不能忍受 乱敲乱捅
找决定彻底搜查 把你逮捕 处死
但一看到周围这些庞大无比的家俱
那些隐藏在无数什物中的掩体
我就心烦意乱 茫然失措
只好放弃行动
外面都以为我独处一室
必定神清思静 潜心学问
其实我担惊受怕 避免出门
一下班就匆匆回家
一进门就打开柜子 打开箱子
检查那个不露声色的家伙
又干了些什么勾当


Rivers

there are many rivers in the mountains where I grew up
in deep gorges they flow
they rarely catch a glimpse of sky
there are no expansive sails hoisted high over their surfaces
nor huge flocks of river gulls drawn on by boat-songs
it’s only when you’ve climbed endless ridges and hills
that you hear this river sound
it’s only on rafts made of great tree-trunks lashed together
that you dare ride upon these waves
some areas will stay forever unknown to humankind
the freedom of those places belongs to the eagles alone
in the rainy season the waters turn brutal
gale winds on the high plateau push boulders down into valleys
mud dyes the rivers red
as if the mountains were actually bleeding
only when it’s calm
do you see the plateau’s bulging veins
those people who live on either side of these rivers
may never come to know of one another’s existence
but wherever you go in the place I grew up in
you will here people talking about these rivers
as if discussing their gods

河流

在我故乡的高山中有许多河流
它们在很深的峡谷中流过
它们很少看见天空
在那些河面上没有高扬的巨帆
也没有船歌引来大群的江鸥
要翻过千山万岭
你才听得见那河的声音
要乘着大树扎成的木筏
你才敢在那波涛上航行
有些地带永远没有人会知道
那里的自由只属于鹰
河水在雨季是粗暴的
高原的大风把巨石推下山谷
泥巴把河流染红
真像是大山流出来的血液
只有在宁静中
人才看见高原鼓起的血管
住在河两岸的人
也许永远都不会见面
但你走到我故乡的任何一个地方
都会听见人们谈论这些河
就像谈到他们的神


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