现代诗三首

作者：汪剑平

翻译：齐凤艳

Three modern poems

By/ Wang Jianping

Tr./ Qi Fengyan

山村

我只是偶然路过这里，我只是想忍住

这人世太过泛滥的哀怨

山谷里的乌鸦比我更动情

凄厉的喊叫

让我一忍再忍的悲苦夺眶而出

泪水打湿的山村荒凉破败

阳光走来，没有鲜活的生机站出来迎接

埋头吃草的羊懒洋洋地为我们

举行了简单的欢迎仪式

这些羊不欺生，不慌张

一副听天由命，随遇而安的样子

眼里透亮的平静是我努力多年

无法达到的境界

走进老屋，身上的一点温度救活了满屋的事物

厚厚的灰尘处世不惊

蜘蛛们躺在吊床上享受它们的时光

饭桌上的老鼠以主人的身份向我们招呼

角落里的老人迷糊地喊着要喝水

黄土垒砌的房屋面色灰暗

心事重重

好像要把准备一生的磨难

一股脑地向我诉说

好像我就是它们赖以信任的人

羞愧难当啊，一无所有的我

只能倾尽所有感情

完成一首山村的挽歌

A mountain village

I just happened to pass by, just wanted to tolerate

The overwhelming sorrow in this world.

Ravens in the valley were more emotional than I,

Their shrill cries invited tears instantly bursting out of my eyes

Though I had endured the pain for quite a long time.

Desolate and dilapidated, the mountain village was in tears too.

Sunshine came, yet no fresh vitality stood up to meet it.

Sheep, drowsily grazing, held for us

A simple welcome ceremony.

In front of strangers, they were not fraudulent or panic,

They were submissive with a happy-go-lucky look.

The bright calm in their eyes was a state

I failed to reach though I had endeavored for many years.

When I entered the old house, all the things, as if salvaged by my body temperature, returned to life.

The thick dust undisturbed,

Spiders enjoying their time in hammocks,

The mice at the dinner table greeting me as masters,

The old man in the corner dimly calling for water.

Built by loess bricks, the houses seemed grey-faced

And worrying a lot,

As if they had already prepared the tribulations endured in their lifetime

And planed to tell me all,

As if I was the one they trusted.

How shameful! Owning nothing,

I could only devote all my emotions

To complete an elegy to the mountain village.

八岭山记

在八岭山，过了当红期的蝉虫

依然有一副好嗓子

一会喇叭调，一会哦嗬调

清闲的云杉，除了留宿几只

无家可归的白鹭

整个秋天，在一曲古老的戏文里

消磨动听的时光

稻谷黄了，高粱醉了，棉田里落满了白云

风把喇叭花吹得红红火火

迷路的我，与迎亲的喜鹊，出嫁的蝴蝶迎面相遇

随行的还有护驾的黄鼠狼

带刀的螳螂

成群结队的蚂蚱

叽叽喳喳的麻雀

走在山中，湖水澄清飞鸟的影子

近乎禅定的枯荷

近乎菩提树下灵光掠过的冥想

登上山丘，高度抬升了仪式感

以荒草自居

发达的根系，和八岭山维持错综复杂的关系

离开的时候，捕到一只机敏的蝉虫

我知道它是故意留下来的

成为诗歌里一片亮眼的秋意

On the Eight Ridge Mountain

On the Eight Ridge Mountain, though their good time had passed,

Cicadas still had a wonderful voice.

For a while, the sound of a horn, for a while, an oho tune.

Spruces were at leisure, except hosting a few homeless egrets,

All the autumn, in an old opera

They idled their fairy-sounding time.

Rice yellow, sorghums drunk, cotton fields filled with white clouds,

And the wind blowing petunias red as fire in full bloom.

Lost as I was, I encountered face to face with the magpies on way to a weeding and married butterflies,

Also I was accompanied by weasels,

Mantes with knives,

Hordes of grasshoppers,

And chirping sparrows.

Walking in the mountain, I was in a wonderland,

Near the lake clearing the shadow of birds,

Near the withered lotuses in deep meditation,

Near the dhyana miraculously brightened under the Ficus religiosa.

When I climbed up the hills, altitude heightened the sense of ritual.

Posing myself as a weed I preserved a complex relationship

With the Eight Ridge Mountain through my strong root system.

When I left, I caught a clever cicada,

I knew it stayed there on purpose

To become a bright autumn sense in a poem.

蟋蟀

一定有什么让我惊悸

患上夜游症

拽着昏睡的影子走到窗前

似梦非梦，似醒非醒

正好借夜色掩盖来历不明

黑白不清的嫌疑

只需一片安眠的月亮

收敛了欲望的城市，回归往日的宁静与平和

在人间，我不哭

那些无以托付的悲伤

被善解人意的蟋蟀一一承受

并分发给秋寒的大地

如泣的风声

落魄的星星

这些短命的秋虫，竭力申辩的灵物

我因欠下它们无法偿还的情

心生愧意，眼含热泪

The cricket

There must be something worrisome and fearful

Incurring the night travel,

Dragging the sleeping shadow I walk to the window

Like in a dream and half consciously.

Just use the night to cover up the unknown background

And indiscernible suspicion,

Use only a sleeping moon

To reduce the desire of the city and return to the tranquility and peace in the past.

In this world, I do not cry

The grief that is beyond trust

Is undertaken by the understanding cricket one by one,

And distributed to the cold autumn land.

Wind crying,

Stars in depression,

These ephemeral insects, creatures that plead.

I owe them a debt I cannot repay,

My heart in guilty, my eyes in tears.

诗歌作者简介：汪剑平，电视台编导、独立写作人、民刊《湍流》编委。出版诗歌集《蚍蜉》、散文集《站在上帝肩膀思考》、《南墙之南》，发表作品千余件。先后获“首届世界诗人金桂冠大奖赛”金奖、“遇上诗和远方”全国诗歌大赛一等奖、中国新写实主义诗歌2018年度十佳，中国当代汉诗精选一千首大赛金奖，荣登“世界华人榜”。电视作品获中国新闻奖，四次获湖北电视学会专题片一等奖。

诗观：怀着圣徒的虔诚、修女的怜悯、处子的纯洁、天使的快乐、工匠的精致、隐士的淡泊、平民的苦恼。

翻译者简介：齐凤艳，笔名静铃音，辽宁康平人，现居大连。有散文、诗歌、文艺评论发表在《人民日报》海外版、《海燕》、《华西都市报》、《中华文学》、《散文选刊》、《西部散文选刊》、《椰城》、《精短小说》、《黑龙江日报》、《羊城晚报》、《企业家日报》、《科普作家报》等各级报刊。诗观：诗是一扇门，打开自己。