楊克詩選

朝陽的一面向著你

他站在烈日下

在一輛紅色出租車旁

等你

他就像他的國家

假裝

什么事情也不曾發生

此刻是正午

連建筑物都沒有陰影

你看見的只是他的外表

就像大約二十分鐘后

被端上餐桌的那只螃蟹

有著堅硬的外殼

餐后贈送的果盤里

有一只西紅柿

飽滿 鮮亮

當你輕輕咬了一口

你才發現它內心是爛的

你驚訝得差點叫出聲來

他依然不動聲色

就像刀叉下的那爿蘋果

把朝陽的一面向著你

他和你重新走到陽光下分手

似乎 什么也沒有改變

你知道 一切都早已改變

2001年8月20日

Turning That Sun-lit Side of His in Your Direction

he waits in brilliant sun

beside the crimson taxi cab-car

for you

he resembles his country

dissembling

as if nothing had ever happened

it's now right on noon

even the architecture casts no shadows

all you see of him is his outside

resembling the crab carried to your table

approximately twenty minutes later

in its hard outer casing

on the complimentary food platter

a solo persimmon sits

luscious shiny

when you gently bite into it

it's then you find that inside it's rotten

so great is your shock that you almost shout out loud

he doesn't bat an eyelid

and like the slice of apple beneath the knife

turns the sun-lit side of his in your direction

the two of you part ways once more beneath bright sunshine

as if nothing at all had altered

but you know everything's utterly altered

失蹤的貓

貓的丟失是預料中的事情

九命貓妖

命定養在京城王府殘頹的后花園

在雪泥里走來走去

當它乘火車南下

也帶來了轟隆隆響的大霧

那個我喜愛的美國詩人桑德堡早就描述:

(我像他一樣熱愛墮落的都市)

“霧來了 踩著小貓步”

在四樓陽臺

貓“坐著俯瞰

港口和城市”

一不小心關好門

它就溜出去了

“撐著 一動不動的屁股

然后 又往前走”

我不替它擔心

貓妖有九條命是死不了的

它肯定跑到更明亮開闊的天地去了

鍍銀的爪子一閃一閃

正撕扯一只大鳥的內臟

2001年8月23日

注：引號內為桑德堡的詩《霧》，由本人漢譯。

The Missing Cat

the cat's leaving was something predictable

nine-lived grimalkin

raised by fate in a prince's crumbling garden in Peking

in mud and snow， roaming alone

when it makes the train ride down South

it brings with it a rolling-rumbling great fog

just as that American poet I'm fond of Carl Sandburg once described it

(both he and I alike in love with fallen cities):

\"The fog comes on little cat feet\"

from a fourth-floor balcony

the cat \"sits looking

over harbour and city\"

a door left open carelessly

and away it strays again:

\"on silent haunches

and then moves on\"

I have no worries for it

this grimalkin with its nine lives is indestructible

it's no doubt left for a brighter， more spacious place to be

gilt-silver cat-claws shining， shining

ripping to shreds the entrails of some large bird

人 民

那些討薪的民工。那些從大平煤窯里伸出的

148雙殘損的手掌。

賣血染上愛滋的李愛葉。

黃土高坡放羊的光棍。

沾著口水數錢的長舌婦。

發廊妹，不合法的性工作者。

跟城管打游擊戰的小販。

需要桑那的

小老板。

那些騎自行車的上班族。

無所事事的溜達者。

那些酒吧里的浪蕩子。邊喝茶

邊逗鳥的老翁。

讓人一頭霧水的學者。

那臭烘烘的酒鬼、賭徒、挑夫

推銷員、莊稼漢、教師、士兵

公子哥兒、乞丐、醫生、秘書（以及小蜜）

單位里頭的丑角或

配角。

從長安街到廣州大道

這個冬天我從未遇到過“人民”

只看見無數卑微地說話的身體

每天坐在公共汽車上

互相取暖。

就像骯臟的零錢

使用的人，皺著眉頭，把他們遞給了，社會。

The Chinese People

The workers who have to beg for wages. 148 pairs of injured hands

waving from the Daqing coal mine.

Li Aiye， who caught AIDS after giving blood.

The shepherd bachelors of the loess slopes.

Gossipy women， mouths slick with spit as they count their cash.

Hair salon girls: unlicensed sex-workers.

Peddlers engaged in a running battle warfare with city authorities.

Old bosses

in need of a sauna.

The 9 to 5 tribe off to work on their bicycles.

Good-for-nothings with no where to go and nothing to do.

The bar-room wasters. Old men

sipping tea as they pet songbirds.

Scholars who fill the heads of their listeners with fog.

Derros， punters， porters stinking to high heaven;

dandies， beggars， doctors， secretaries (and secret mistresses into the bargain);

workplace clowns

and other supporting actors.

From the Avenue of Heavenly Peace to the Guangzhou Dadao

I am yet to see 'the Chinese people' this winter;

I've seen ordinary， speaking bodies

which keep each other warm

on buses day after day.

They're like grimy coins:

those who use them hand them over frowning

to society.

風中的北京

風中的北京

騎自行車的人

四下驚飛的麻雀

發粘的空氣很臟

陷在灰蒙蒙里的太陽

像一圈暗紅的月亮

昨天昨天還秋高氣爽

翻飛的紙形而上飛翔的紙

掠過頭頂的塑料袋鼓脹的塑料袋

使我看清了風的形狀

樹葉在響

灰頭土臉的麻雀

吱吱喳喳回巢的麻雀

灑落一地京腔

風吹人低見車輛

騎自行車的我

像一支箭

緊繃在弓弦上

射進北京的風里

射入租的家門

兩個敲門的警察

令我憶起少年屋檐下

我伸進鳥窩的兩根手指

Beijing Wind

Windy Beijing:

people on bikes

and startled sparrows everywhere

The sticky air is filthy

Trapped in haze， the sun

is like a ruddy moon

Yesterday， only yesterday， we had clear autumn weather

Air-borne paper metaphysical， soaring

Plastic bags glide overhead swollen

so that the form of the wind is visible to me

Leaves rustle in trees

Covered from head to foot in dust， sparrows

fly twittering back to their nests

The ground is covered with Beijing accents

Thou， from whose unseen presence the buses and taxis

are driven

Riding my bike， I

am like an arrow

taut against the bow-string

Fired into the Beijing wind

I shoot through the door of my rented house

Two policemen come knocking:

I remember my boyhood，

reaching into a nest beneath a roof

石 油

一

結構現代文明的是液體的巖石

石頭內部的冷焰

零度激情，綿長的黑色睡眠

保持在時間的深淵

水與火兩種絕對不相容的元素

在事物的核心完美結合

蟄伏的黑馬

永恒的午夜之血，停止呼吸的波浪

誰也無法涉過的光明河流

上下馳騁

從一個世界進入另一個世界

二

石油的死亡不是生命的終結

而是轉換，從地獄到天堂

從一種形態變為另一種形態

火焰是尖銳的預言

瑰麗的夢境在死的光華中誕生

火中盛開的石油看不見花朵

二十世紀是最黑亮的果實

接連之聲不絕，石油在混沌流淌

生死回環的石油氣象萬千

廣大無邊的氣息

浸淫物的空間，甚至精神的空間

塑料器皿，凡士林，化纖織物

石油在一切感覺不到石油的地方洶涌

石油是新時代的馬匹、柴、布、噴泉

金蘋果，是黑暗的也是最燦爛的

今天石油的運動就是人的運動

石油寫下的歷史比墨更黑

三

就像水中的波痕，傷害是隱秘的

大自然在一滴石油里山窮水盡

靈魂陷落，油井解不了人心的渴意

游走奔騰的石油難以界定

在石油的逼視中

回光返照的綠色是最純美的境地

一塵不染的月光，干凈的美

在汽車的后視鏡里無法挽留

oil

1

liquid-rock has been the making of modern civilization

the cold flame inside stone

a zero-degree passion， prolonged black sleep

sustained in time's abyss

two absolutely unmixable elements， fire and water

blend perfectly at the core of things

dark dormant horse

eternity's midnight-blood， a wave that stops breathing

river of light no one can ford

galloping across heaven and earth

from one world to the next

2

death of oil is not the end of life

but a conversion， from hell into heaven

from one form into another

flame is intense prophecy

magnificent dreamlands are born in the brilliance of dying

no flowers are visible in the fire-blooming oil

the twentieth century: bright-blackest of fruits

endless unbroken sound， oil flows in chaos

its cycle of births and deaths is spectacular

infinite unlimited fumes

fill material space—even non-material space is inundated

plastic containers， petroleum jelly， synthetic fibres

oil gushes in all those places oil cannot be sensed

oil: the horse， the fuel， the cloth， the fountain of a new age

golden apples: dark and most glittering of all

today the movement of oil is human movement

and the history it writes is blacker than any ink

3

like ripples in water， the damage is concealed

in a drop of oil， nature comes to the end of her resources

spirit collapsed， oil-wells cannot quench the thirst in human hearts

surging， mobile—oil is impossible to define

in oil's steady gaze

the green of that final moment of consciousness is the most beautiful scene of all

stainless， unsullied moon-light， a clear beauty

irretrievable in the vehicle's rear-view mirror

1993

１９６７年的自畫像

一只快活的狗崽子從街上穿過

那一年我十歲，沒見過一堵干凈的墻

使夏天生動的是綠軍裝

我在辯論的詞語中間竄來竄去

在大字報上認字

敏感的鼻子嗅著焦灼的氣息

太陽很燙，口號火爆爆的那個夏天

一只狗崽子從革命風暴中穿過

教室空空蕩蕩

一只狗崽子從子彈的呼嘯聲中穿過

終于闖到了槍口上方

興奮無比，十歲的那個夏天我不理解死亡

我覺得自己像是活在電影中

趕上了保爾的時代

當我小心翼翼地從地上撿起一顆彈殼

手指接觸的只是一場惡夢的開始

1967年我目睹一張張臉孔在空氣中消失

一只驚慌的狗崽子從街上穿過

飛快地逃離1967年的風景

1994年3月7日

self-portrait， 1967

a happy \"sonofabitch\"* crossing the street

I was ten that year， had never ever seen a bare wall

green army uniforms made the summer exciting

I scampered in and out of the language of debate

learning how to read from political posters

my sensitive snout picking up the smell of burning

the sun was blistering that summer of raging slogans

a sonofabitch crossing through a revolutionary storm

classrooms empt-empt-empty

a \"sonofabitch\" crossing through a whizz of bullets

finally charging up onto the muzzle of a gun

more thrilled than I'd ever been， I had no idea what death was in my tenth summer

I felt like I was living in a movie

and had caught up with the life and times of the heroic Pavel Korchagin*

when I care-carefully picked up a bullet off the ground

what my fingers touched was only the start of the nightmare

in 1967 I saw faces vanishing into thin air with my own eyes

a jittery little \"sonofabitch\" crossing the street

and running as fast as it could from the scenes of 1967

* Translator's note: The word gouzaizi， translated above as \"sonofabitch\"， requires some explanation. Zai on its own means \"son\" or \"young animal\". Gou means \"dog\"， and the compound gouzaizi is a term of abuse roughly equivalent to \"sonofabitch\". However， according to a Chinese friend of mine， the term has a special meaning associated with the Cultural Revolution (1966-1976)， the period Yang Ke evokes in his poem. At that time， gouzaizi was used to refer to the children of parents classified as landlords， rich peasants， anti-revolutionaries， convicted prisoners and so-called \"Rightists\" (intellectuals who had criticized the Chinese Communist Party)—in other words， all those people condemned by Maoists. Pavel Korchagin is the worker-hero of the novel How the Steel Was Tempered by Nikolai Ostrovsky. The book was extremely popular in China (millions were sold) and was recently made into a television series.