Sunday, March 15, 2009

Poetry by Ma Lan: The hand and he 手和他

The hand and he
Translated by Martin Winter

he burns at the fingertips, night and day
no birds on the toy tree, no wind
to scratch off his name
in leaving i swallow my tears, returning i hang down my head
i arrange on the arm a new space for his name
the hand is my mask, and he is the other side of the mask
come raise your hand against yourself, and
push him away
i sleep on the ground, my bug net is torn
fingers play out the last bit of love between shadow and hunger
fingers crossed to point out the land, repeating my image
i represent the aim of the hand, while he appears from
time to time
the game will reach its climax soon, the hand will walk
in distant lands, the illusion of home
repeated again, he disappears in foreign grounds
i bury him under the hand, surrounded
by bits of smoke that roar and scatter

(Where to sit) 2004, p.68

手和他

他在手指尖燃烧,夜以继日
玩具树上无鸟,无风
擦掉他的名字
饮泣而别,掉头而归
我在手手臂上重新给名字布局

手是我的面具,他是面具的另一面
举手伸向自己,并
把他推开
我席地而眠,蚊帐破裂
手指在阴影和饥饿中演绎最后的爱
手指交错指点江山,重复我的形象

我象征手的目的,他时隐时现
游戏快到达了高潮,手离我
远走,异乡,家园的迷梦
再一次重复,而他消失在他乡
被我埋葬于手下,突围
零碎的烟一哄而散

Poetry by Ma Lan skin--for Zhang Er 皮肤 --写给张耳

skin
- for Zhang Er
Translation by Martin Winter

who has moved away our skin
it is frivolous today
men, they're yours, or mine, their men
breathe me in another time, what a beautiful pain
it is too late for our skin to be lustrous
including skeletons and bloodstains
hardly flexible at ease
we can only get rid of the poison inside our body
i am setting free the words
a new word attached to a word that i know
truth and phantasy confused
no-one can escape from karma
from here, let's have our lust fall into traps
entering the laboratory
put in setup from the past, bottle base is full of air
in the room there is a lightbulb
let me set up this result
we are thirsting
once again, and for disaster, even if it's for our skin
please come weigh us down with stones

(Where to sit?) 2004, p.98

皮肤
--写给张耳

谁移走了我们的皮肤
今天格外轻浮

男人,你的,我的,她们的男人
再次呼吸我,多艳丽的疼痛

我们的皮肤成色已晚
包括骨骼、血迹
很难伸缩自如
我们只能在体内排毒

你看我把字放生了
一个生字连着一个熟字
真相和虚幻混淆
谁也无法摆脱因果

从此,让情欲掉进陷阱
走进实验室
置入过去的装置,盛满空气的瓶底
室内还有一支灯泡
让我假设这个结果

我们再次渴望
浩劫,即使为了皮肤

请把石头压在我们身上

2002,2,春

Poetry by Ma Lan: in sickness, a series 病中系列

in sickness, a series
Translation by Martin Winter

machines are surrounding the room
i am at the center, awaiting operation
falling ill is a case of practice makes perfect
to be washed by pain again and again
life is at the left side or at the right
out the window is a river and there are tall buildings
the river has an iron bridge
from august comes a light wind blowing
this is a scene in another land in a foreign bed
let us talk about the past
i like to stir up the water
to fish in troubled waters
i am ruled by the moon i come out at night
i ponder my fingers and my five senses
i recall everything i have ever eaten
the doctor examines the fluids inside
tears break through an apple sounding crisp
the tears
but i know he is still alive
he has food poisoning, like a heap of grains
right across the road
and many years later
my disease is in a dilemma and hurts
all of them are young and tender
everyday i swallow tablets we enhance each other's glory
i develop a disease
just like this

(Where to sit?) 2004, p.56

病中系列

机器围绕着房间
我在房间的中心,等待手术
生病是一件熟能生巧的事
被疼痛之水洗了一遍又一遍
生命是在左边还是右边
窗外是条河 以及高楼
河上有铁桥
淡淡的风从八月吹过
这是异域的风景和异域的病床

让我们谈点往事吧
我喜欢把水搅浑
浑水摸鱼
我受月光统治 昼伏夜行
我端详我的十指 我的五官
我缅怀我吃过的所有食物

医生检查身内的液体
泪水穿破苹果 声音清脆
泪水

可我知道他还活着
他食物中毒如一堆杂粮
横断街头
很多年以后
我的病进退艰难并且疼痛
他们都年轻多情
我每日吞服药片 和他交相辉映

我发育疾病
如此而已


(1995/9.纽约市表维医院)

Poetry by Ma Lan: muslim grandmother 回族外婆

muslim grandmother
Translation by Martin Winter

muslim grandmother standing outside the light far away
her clothes are kind and beautiful
in the last lonely winter of the fifties
she died lonely from famine and
hanging on trees were dead crows, an interesting contrast
outside are such enchanting orchids
when I think of my muslim grandmother
life goes through samsara, grandmother
under the plum blossom tree, the girls from the banquet
having stepped on your, the bones
people guarding the coffin singing
strange incantations, my grandmother
the years annotating the changing landscape
but running away is the sunlight, the sunlight explodes
i am walking at night at the t-intersection, straining my ears
to understand the secrets of crows
my muslim maternal grandmother
green bracelets come dangling, the robes and the wine
a lady of standing, a rich merchant's wife
i have no way to resolve this death and the karma
but i am still beautiful oh my grandmother
i am sleepy right now
you are within my sights, through the earth and the sky
we come from a faraway place, blossoms open and fall
grandmother standing behind me, motionless
the plum blossoms on her underwear cannot take up her weight
my grandmother who died from hunger
a giant fate leans on the wall
dust, wilfully blowing around your grave
grandmother, karma is there
like ramadan coming and going
who is mine, the man striking root in the wind
my muslim grandmother


(Where to sit?) 2004, p.54

Poetry by Ma Lan: Summer's Teeth 夏天的牙齿

Summer's teeth
Translation by Martin Winter

teeth are plants
become possible in summer

our bodies
not only went through traffic accidents
on a level surface
these bloody disturbances
but running away is the sunlight
under the sunlight, we wriggle our bodies are jealous
and buried in bed after death
we have said one sentence
harder than bones
the teeth dropped out of our mouths
this is a language of the limbs
concentrated on the face
we enter the toothless age

(Where to sit?) 2004, p.53

夏天的牙齿

牙齿是植物
在夏天成为可能

我的身体
穿过交通事故
这些流血事件
在平面
飞奔的却是阳光

阳光下,我晃动身体
吃醋
死了就埋在床上

青年说了一句话
一句话比牙齿还硬
牙齿就脱口而出
这种植物的肢体语言
集合在面部
我们进入无齿时代


(1996,10)

Poetry by Ma Lan: The accident and the reason 事故和理由

The accident and the reason
Translation by Martin Winter

It is only an accident
parking the car
i stepped on the gas
but i cannot stop the fear
if there was a reason i would show my powers
to fill this single room with roses
not much connection with the accident
up to a point you can still drive the car
but we haven't bought any insurance
when you buy insurance you go through formalities
you need as much money as for the car
there is a structure you have to keep up
i would surrender if there was a reason
but how can i find my companion
on the steps of memory
these structures i kept up since i was small
a good appetite but no interest in kitchens
who knows if all of this is enough
to flee from the scene, after the accident
they say you don't need a reason
the victims, their relatives
entering the scene, to look for a reason
the colour on the wall slowly refuses to eat
the fear and the reason no reason the fear
so i go and spit some flowers

(Where to sit?) 2004, p.52

事故和理由


这只是一场事故
在停车的时候
踩了油门
但我不能停止恐惧
如果有一个理由我就去显灵
在单身的卧房插满玫瑰
这与事故没有太大的关系
在某种程度上车还能开
可是我们还没买保险
买保险需要一些手续
以及和车同样贵的金钱
有一个结构需要保持
只要有理由我就投降
可我怎么样找到我的同伴
在记忆的台阶上
那些我从小保持的结构
对厨房不感兴趣但胃口很好
谁知道呢这一切够不够
逃离现场,事故发生之后
据说不需要理由
被害之人他们的亲人
进入现场寻找理由
颜色在墙上渐渐绝食
恐惧理由没有理由恐惧
那么我口吐鲜花

(1996,7,13)

Poetry by Ma Lan: Spoken in the Year of the Cock (for Ma Jian) 鸡年说话——给马坚

Spoken in the Year of the Cock
For Ma Jian

Sister, you have shut me out of the room.
There is no one here;
What are you afraid of?

And I don’t know where
Your ashes are;
I paid the fee to store them ten years
But they said the crematorium was washed away in a flood

Sister, come quickly
You insane maiden
We can fly in the clouds
Try hard to live in the future
Fabricate childhood, imagine the past

Sister, your days were only enough to become
An enemy to you and me;
Who could make sunshine a little brighter
Or a little darker?

But sister, you were an educated youth
Dead at eighteen
No chance to become a woman
Under the shadows in the fields, even God
Saw you still hurrying, three months of labor
Your body empty, wronged, and endangered

Learning to express your feelings from a tree
At a good pace
Bending, changing. Who says people, when they die
Can rise again?

But when you die you stand in the light
Illuminated
This scorching city, our home
Even the mosquitoes stopped flying
Something was brought to an end

If not for you, my sister
Could I have become me?
Where did it come from, this ponderous destiny?
As if dreaming a dream outside the universe

March 4, 2005

鸡年说话
——给马坚

姐姐,你把我关在门外
空无一人
你还在害怕什么

可你的骨灰我不知道
在哪儿了
我交了十年的存灰钱
他们说火葬场被洪水冲没了

姐,快一些到来
你这疯狂的处女
我们云朵里飞
尽可能活在未来
伪造童年,想象过去

姐,你的天才足够成为
你我的敌人
谁能把阳光弄得更明亮些
或更暗一些

但姐姐,你是知青
死在十八岁
还来不及成为女人
在田间的影子之下,上帝都
看见你仍在疾走,三个月的劳动
你的身子空荡,委屈又危险

向一颗树学习表达感情
以好的速度
弯曲,变化。谁说人,死了
还能浮现

而死就站在光中
照亮了
这炎热之城, 我们的家
蚊子都停止飞扬
一件事情被结束

如果没有你,姐姐
我是否更能成为我?
从哪里来的,这巨大的姻缘
仿佛在做梦,一个宇宙之外的梦。

2005/3/4

Poetry by Ma Lan: Off Key 走板

Off Key

The night deepens, early winter
My cat and dead fish are hard to distinguish, approaching
While my memory slowly pulls out an old dream:
A shabby straw hat
About to be blown into the valley
No matter who
That kiss can never be realized, only reached for

My Ming, maybe this is still a dream
Red May in the city of spring, the windmill battle is a draw
If we start again, it would be a different story
The people I love or want to know
There are no extras born into this world

As night’s curtain sinks low, silent branches outside the window
Yearn alone for the autumn winds of before
I’m just one person, outside
I once held ideals
Imagining one eye is enough

2004/10/7

走板

天色转深,初冬时分
我的猫和死去的鱼都难以区分,接近
而记忆慢慢拖出曾经的梦境:
一顶破损的草帽
准备飞向山谷
无论是谁
那相亲的场面都不可实现,只能追忆

我的阿明,这或许还是做梦
在春城的红五月,与风车战成平手
如果我们重头再来,必定物是人非
我热爱或我想认识的人
没有一个多余的人出生于世

看这夜幕低沉,窗外沉默的树枝
独自挂念着先前的秋风
我只是一个人,在屋外
曾经怀抱理想
幻想一只眼晴就够了

2004/10/7

Poetry by Ma Lan: The Fires of July 七月流火

The Fires of July

When she goes, she leaps over the landscape
Embracing an armful of fish
Like stumbling upon the Peach Blossom Spring
That other world

Ever since woman gave birth by the road
To a child, her inverted shadow grew into an adult
Ah, little Xun, it early summer already
You can hear the sound of fishing
You better prepare to sweat
And push the fishing pole farther
Through the limits of the bait, past the real surface of the water

Then crash through the genderless wall
Wait for injured July to turn
And look, August will put down the stones
Lift up the cotton bolls,
Nearing the pests
This libertine melancholy grasps at the moon in the lake
A skin-shrinking
Motion, caressing each other
Faster than light, deeper than water

July 4, 2003

七月流火


她走时要翻越一片山水
怀抱满腹的鱼
好似转入了桃花源
那个另外的世界

自从女人沿街生下
孩子,她的倒影正长大成人
呵,小迅,已经初夏了
听见打鱼的声音
请你们准备好一场虚汗
把鱼杆推的更远
穿透诱饵的限制,跨过真实的水面

再撞破无性别的墙
等那受伤的七月转身
相望,八月将放下石头
举起棉花
和害虫亲近
这份自由的多情是湖中挖月
一种收缩皮肤
抚摸彼此的运动
比光更快,比水更深

2003/7/4

Poetry by Ma Lan: Angela Lee 安吉拉 李

Angela Lee

Angela Lee is a woman
She sits in a house without doors
Never laughs out loud
A string of prayer beads round her neck, a cigarette in her right hand
Her left hand curled up, pressing into her round wicker chair

Angela Lee is a middle aged woman
She could be a fan of James Bond
Keeps two crows and a dozen yellow roses
Lives simply but a lot of her money
Just disappears

Angela Lee is a woman who loves to look in the mirror
She used to hunt, and now wants to try again
But the mirror falls to the floor. She sees the white door
Beside her, and bends over to pick up the shards
Some things just get changed like this
Motherhood is born, egg becomes hen.

March 15, 1997

安吉拉


安吉拉 李是位妇女
她坐在没有门的家里
从不高声大笑
脖子上有串佛珠,她右手吸烟
左手紧缩,压在圆形的藤椅上

安吉拉 李是位中年妇女
她可能热爱吉姆斯帮
养了二只乌鸦,和一打黄玫瑰
过着简单的生活但她也有许多钱
不知去路

安吉拉 李是爱照镜子的妇女
她过去打猎,现在想再试一次
可镜子落在地上,她看见白色的门
在身边,并弯腰拾掇碎片
一些事情就这样被改变了像
母性的生育,蛋成为鸡

(1997/3/15.纽黑纹)

Poetry by Ma Lan: Theatric Life 戏剧生活

Theatric Life

I.
This winter I put on a costume
Applied powder and paint
Those sad and beautiful things, I will surely meet them again.

I walk with my head down, afraid I will see who is my family
Because there has never been an ugly woman
Chicken feathers will all fly into the sky, no matter how many of the dead walk below

This is a war of self-defense
She is a mare, already tame, just waiting for a man to leap into
The obstacles ahead

But New York in winter, has not yet seen the snow fall
Only breezes blowing through skirts will be struck by something and end up fluttering into the dust

One cannot get free of the darkness to arrive at the morning, not only morning

II.
I stand between myself
Look at this cow not yet seduced
No fat, eyes level, groin curved, breasts just right

I stand between my legs
Whose machine am I?

I stand between my breasts
Love too hard, hard kung fu, hard against hard
No shape, so easily corrupted
Beneath the shadows, we just turn amidst recollections

In fact women have no scene

III.
This is a criminal act—you pull out my tooth
Mysterious woman, Indian doctor from afar
You know your philosophy, expert with steel instruments
A little more anesthetic, things and experience can get separated
Beneath the light
Outside the window is crisp air, and silent passersby

A molar will fall to the floor
On the road to elopement I step on a ball
My hand makes a cherry offering, oh little Xun
Dozens of highways boldly roll towards me
I cannot control my yearning
A dark blue cloak, head buried in my chest
So many past events pass away amidst waiting

I rapidly stare at today
This old tooth’s feelings were moved, and it learned to meow

But anesthetic understands pain, the two depend on each other
Struggling to pay their respects to the dead

IV
I raise my head, it’s the 42nd Street subway station
So you won’t see me for the rest of your life?

The crowd scatters in all directions, the clock bell sounds
This eloping woman’s heart, I lower my head
Blushing, my toes press tightly into a hole

Is your toothache better?
Southern dampness, a fog you couldn’t bite through

Wave his hand, turn the days
All the flowers have bloomed to death, facing him
This is real, under the shining sky and sun

Going out the door, facing forward, I still have my head down
Moving ahead, how old is the child?
She has been standing here for a whole lifetime
And still is not sleepy

V
That bridge between life and death
Was blown away by the wind, into who knows what dream it blew
Burned down by fire, but did the fire melt the water?

It’s not convenient for me to forget: to write a eulogy for you
My little Xun, we haven’t any news
Bear down hard with your jaws, gnaw this southern orange to nothing
This orange, now “forty with no more doubts”
This orange that debauched half its life away

Three hundred year landscape, ten thousand year body fat
Let me salute you with a fascist gesture
Once I kill you I’ll be a woman warrior

VI
Some worse things will come
Some more beautiful sadnesses will come
Some internal secret histories will be revealed
This is real, my little Xun
All of this is limited to you
It stops with you

My theatric life
Ming dynasty romance, prewar martial arts, republican revolution
Playing now, a matinee

June 2003, New Haven

戏剧生活

1:
我在这个冬天穿了一身的戏装
涂脂抹粉
那些忧伤而美丽的事物,我必将与他们重逢

我低头走路,生怕看见谁是我的家人
因为从来没有丑陋的女人
鸡毛全部会飞上天,不管地下有多少行尸走肉

这是一场自卫的战争
她是一匹母马,已被驯服,只等男人跨入
前面的障碍

可冬天的纽约,还没有看见下雪
只有一些风在裙子中穿行,要被什么击中,最终飘入尘土

一个人不能摆脱黑暗,抵达清晨,不仅仅是清晨

2:
我站在我自已之间
你看,这一头未被引诱的母牛
没有脂肪,眼晴平直、胯部弯曲,乳房适度

我站在我双腿之间
我是谁的机器?

我站在我双乳之间
爱情硬度过份,硬功夫,硬碰硬
没有形状,说腐败就腐败了
在阴影之下,我们只有在追忆中转动

其实女人没有现场




这是一种现刑犯的举止,你拨出我的牙齿
神秘,遥远的印度女医
你精通哲学,熟悉铁器
再加点麻药,事物和经验会被分开
灯光下
窗外是清脆的空气,安静的行人

一颗大牙要落地了
我在私奔的道上,脚踏皮球
手祭红樱桃,我的小迅呵
几十条公路,勇敢地滚滚而来
我无法控制我的想念
一件青衣,埋头于胸
许多往事在等候中过去了

我飞快地注视今天
这颗老牙在感动,以及学会猫叫

而麻药了解疼痛,两者相依为命
争着向死者深深致意


抬起头来,在四十二街地铁站
你就一辈子不看我了吗?

人群四处散开,钟声在响
这颗私奔的妇人心,低头
脸红,脚指头正紧逼一个地洞

你的牙痛好点?
南方的潮湿,雾气,牙齿咬不断

摇他的手,转动日子
所有的花都开败了,对着他
这是真的,光天化日之下

走出门,正面,我仍然低头
朝前,这孩子多大了
她站在这儿已经一生一世
还没有睡意


生死之间的那座桥
被风吹走,不知风朝哪个梦里吹
被火烧掉,不知火是否溶化了水

我不便遗忘,为你写下掉词
我的小迅,我们音讯全无
请咬紧牙关,啃完这南方的桔子
这只四十不惑的桔子
这只放荡了半生的桔子

三百年的山水,万年的脂肪
请允许我向你敬礼,用法西斯的手势
杀你之后,我就成为女英雄



一些更坏的事情要来
一些更美的忧郁要来
一些内部的秘史要透露
这是真的,我的小迅
这一切仅限于你
止于你

我的戏剧生活
明代的风月,民国的武打,共和国的革命
正在演出,午夜场

2003,6.纽黑纹

Poetry by Ma Lan: For Him, No. 6 给他之六

For Him, No. 6

I walk to the west and describe a circle
Who can say if I'm coming back or going back
But why am I here
At morning's open incision
Striking a stone with an egg
Vainly hoping the old horse knows the way

However at some normal times
Times I am in love
I grasp the color of flesh
Covered with fresh blood like a newly laid egg
Perfect and fresh
Rolls toward the horizon like a sleepy lily
If it is certain that birds are things that can fly
The flight of desire will surely always be in the heart
Then I shall be an enormous skin following wings into dance the speed of flight
With the sorrow and fragrance of a tattered sheet of silk
Nibbling fermented bean curd
I understand that my infatuation with decadence goes way back
And even let a fossilized egg deep inside me
Riding the void like this never amounts to being finished
Dying together like this is a way out.



给他之六



我向西而行绕着园圈
回来或者回去谁说的清楚
可我为什么在这里
在早晨的刀口上
以卵击石
妄想老马识途

如果肯定鸟一定会飞
那我分明是张巨大的包皮
包裹女人破碎的香气和忧伤
随翼高速起舞

我恋爱的时候
掌握着皮肤的颜色

我明白我对腐败生活的迷恋
由来已久
任凭一枚石化的蛋
深入自己 ,乘虚而行
这还不算完
在傍晚的嘴边
同归于尽 这才是唯一的
出路

(1996,8)

Poetry by Ma Lan: For Him, No. 5 给他之五

For Him, No. 5

Handling a vase
Slicing open a fruit
How much longer will I live
How much longer can I wait for you
Man walks erect but is not tall
Man hurries by but has no speed
I slide toward you on the edge of the morning
With calligraphic arabesques
An attitude already conceptualized
Language is everybody's face
Running wildly away amid the frustration of communication
My choice of him awaits him
To approach quietly takes time
Time is our common waiting
Or bullets more pure than time.

July 1996, New York

给他之五


手握一个花瓶
切开一块水果
如此快的日常生活
我们来日无多

人自立行走没有高度
人匆匆而过没有速度


我在街角向你滑来
以书法的姿态
姿态已经概念化了
语言是脸
在沟通的困惑中狂奔而去

午后的我们
在等待谁的果实
需要时间
时间是我们共同的等待
一粒比比时间更纯结的
子弹



(1996,7。纽约)

Poetry by Ma Lan: This Kind of Man 这样的男人

This Kind of Man

There was a man who may have become a bird, a great legendary bird
He might have even made his shadow move forward with time on the wall
This man often thinks of others, taking off his gloves and putting them back on, in winter
This was his greatest trick; the repeated movements emaciated him, innocent
Finally he found a reason to climb a tree, wishing to touch the sound of the air currents
Wishing even to breathe to make the winds flow. But how did he separate
His not having married from his career-building dreams? Never again could he be punished on this earth, even if it is walking
He heard sounds flying up from the past and the future. At this point he grew feathers
His companions running wild on the barren wastes, their feet gradually leaving the ground, dramatically their bodies
Transformed into soaring bird bodies. Long afterward people on the ground were still looking for him
Inquiring into how he disappeared, how he died. Legends and gossip blurred into booming winds
Children, happy as you please, watch movies and listen to stories in their wildly fantastic games
They gaze at flocks of birds in the sky, arranged in a "man"-shaped formation
Can they imagine a man becoming a bird? Under the transitory, clear skies, countless possibilities
Appear and vanish, countless editions of romances: a man dies or comes back to life.

Poetry by Ma Lan: Touring 观光

Touring

Looking at someone, my eyes fixed
Looking with a tree
Using acuity my eye sockets are quite metaphysical
I open up someone, a flower and bird painting

Butterflies fly out of sight, leaving the dust to meander downward
The gulls eternally at the beach
The water's location is not my personal problem
The peeling of the water's layered veil is like skinning a hide

Standing in a certain place, posture empty
The carpet's door talks up a storm, but someone still stammers

And my line of vision is harmed by a kite
They say I am a plane, a lens
Simple because homely, my life and times

Handle in hand, when I look at someone
Quite fashionable, it's either me or you
And you, the one in the picture album
Wrapped in a sleeve with me and fluttering away
Or to achieve union in death

January 1997, New Haven

观光


看一个人,目不转晴
和一颗树同时看
使用视力,眼眶就很形而上学
我打开了这个人,花鸟画

蝴蝶飞逝,尘埃缓缓降落
花还挂在树上
谁还能继续口吃?

站在某个地方,姿势空虚
我的视线是一个平面,镜片
因陋就简,我的岁月

但把柄在手,我看一个人就
非常时髦,你死我活
你呢,画册里的人
与我同卷在袖子里
坐以待毙

(1997,1。纽黑纹)

Poetry by Ma Lan: Funeral 丧事

Funeral

The matter proceeded on a windy autumn day, the great land incontinent
The horse lay on his side, face drenched with rain

The funeral came suddenly; the secrets of heaven cannot be revealed
On the funeral procession's way
With the speed of a fugitive bullet

The real funeral begins on the ground, agricultural poem
Bearing the casket, dust, reciting poetry
As I casually grasp at wording the skin is beautiful

Lantern light shines on the dying horse
A silent key, and all is emptiness
I see my hope liquefy under my skin
But by body is like a bird, an emaciated bird

A funeral is a kind of spiritual life

1996

丧事


事件进行在多风的秋天,大地腹泻
马侧身而卧,满脸的雨水

丧事突如其来,天机不可泄露
在奔丧的路上
以一颗子弹逃亡的速度

真正的丧事在地里开始,农事诗
出殡,尘埃,唱诗
我随手抓住词汇,皮肤就很美丽

灯笼照亮垂死的马
没有声音 虚张声势
我看见我的马在我的皮下液化
而我的身体像鸟,一只瘦弱的鸟

丧事是一种精神生活


1996

Poetry by Ma Lan: Imitation Woman 模仿女人

Imitation Woman

I.
I read a few pages of landscape poetry
Put on my lipstick, fashionable from now on
Like flowers and jade, I'm burning with impatience
Cleaving to my gender
But the door's gesture is drooping and bleak
I looked for you, last night
For your disappearance I endure
Full of vitality
If I am to continue having this dream
Whatever man comes I'll open the door
I don't like sloppiness
Time already wheezes tenderly on the wall
Really, many buildings and hunters
Wanting now to give up on myself is my best way to show gratitude

II.
A brown river flows outward from within my body
Regardless of whether dreams have a background
The expression of the night sky is quite candid
My pain has no misgivings about your pain
As if you fly in with the wind every May
Unable to suppress your laughter with a fatalist bird
I quietly await
That impulsive wind on the mountain peak to blow down my monstrous vision
To emerge and perish of itself
Do you crave the aftermath of growth?

III.
I keep making mistakes because of a verb and an adverb
Before me where it has been painted over by your tools
Perhaps mutual regrets abound
But my pillows and furniture are all living normally
They have no gender
All of a sudden it is as though I am detached from the world, am I a woman?
In the dance hall, some women discuss other women
All I had was the desire to be a woman, I began to imitate
First I got a manicure, fluttered my eyelashes
I say you are a man or not a man
Where did I put on a disguise,
Including walking toward childbirth, splitting forth another likeness
This is my own matter

IV.
I am flesh, mortal offspring, I'll just act like the others
I hurry, decorating the holiday love language
Men come and go, climb up and climb down
Why do I rise and fall with the tides
The black night seeps into my chest drop by drop
My body lightly floats like a landslide
I should learn to evade the pursuit of my shadow
I know the wall covered with hanging clothes is gazing at me
The good-natured sunlight smiles angelically
Those roads and arts are round
And all boils down to habit
Let me go to a breezeless grove
They all say that loneliness is the art of the lonely
All in all you can never say I have no father

March 1988 Meishan
Revised February 1992 in New York


模仿女人

     一

 读了几页风景诗
  抹一把口红,从此成为时装
  我如花似玉,心急火燎
  向性别靠拢
  可人的手势低垂、苍凉
  我找你
  为了你的失踪我将生存得
  野气勃勃

  如果让我继续做这个梦
  任何男人来了我都开门
  我不喜欢拖泥带水
  时间已经在墙上温柔地哮喘
  我想自暴自弃是对你最好的答谢

      二

  一条棕色的河从体内向体外穿过
  不管梦是否有背景
  夜晚天空的表情都非常坦率
  我的痛苦对你的痛苦也就无所顾忌
  仿佛每年五月你乘风归来
  同一只宿命的鸟哑然失笑
  我静静地等待
  那山顶任性的风击败我魔鬼般的梦想
很多房屋和猎人
  自生自灭
  你渴望成长之后吗

      三

  我因一个动词和副词而一错再错
  在被你的工具涂遍了的我面前
  彼此也许遗憾许多
  但我的枕头和家具都正常地活着
  他们没有性别
  我恍若隔世,我是女人吗

  在舞厅,几个女人谈论别的女人
  我只有做女人的欲望,开始了模仿
  首先修指甲、眨眼睛
  我说你是男人或不是男人
  我在哪里乔装打扮,
  包括我走向生育分裂出另一幅肖像
  这是我自己的事

      四

  我是肉体凡胎,我就入乡随俗
  我的匆匆而行粉饰节日的爱情语言
  男人们来来去去、爬上爬下
  我怎么潮涨潮落

  黑夜一点一滴浸入我的胸膛
  我的身体塌方般地轻浮
  我该学会逃离影子的跟踪
  我知道挂满衣服的墙仍眺望我
  呵那些善良的阳光天使般地笑
  那些道路和艺术都是圆的
  一切归于习惯
  让我去无风的丛林
  都说孤独是孤独者的艺术
  总之无论何时你不能说我没有父亲

(1988年,3写于眉山。1994年改于纽约)

Poetry by Ma Lan: Dedication 献词

Dedication

We're sitting here, writing the last poem
Of my life
Our eyes now fatter, now thin
Waiting for a beauty--beauties are always past their prime
Acclimating to the rains of an unfamiliar land, a cold compelling glamour
A beauty is like a sword, hanging from a windward tree
Occasionally we confer on subjects of no importance
Some days hope comes carrying words
Riding the wind through the waves it goes into the bottom of the broad, open sea
We see our own inverted reflection, high tide occurring frequently
Overturned in one direction
The seaweeds living and dying of themselves, entangling each other
Now the last thing for example
Abandoning love, flowers blooming and falling to the ground
The heavier they are the faster they fall
Or for example poems, arriving gracefully
Ripening under the tree, enchanting, the remaining light a solo
Bordering on our bodies
The inner garden deep, leaves sundered we stoop and collect the fragments
Something predictable, writing poetry
Watching the front door, imagining
The glorious fruit of ours that slipped away.

New Haven, November 4, 1996

献词


我们坐在这里,写一生中
最后的诗
我们的眼晴时而肥胖时而瘦削
等待美人,美人总是迟暮
配合着异域的雨水,冷艳逼人
美人像剑,挂在迎风的树上
我们偶而交流无关痛痒的话题
希望有天挟词汇
乘风破浪深入广阔的海底
看见自己的倒影,高潮迭起
倾倒在一个方向
水草们自生自灭彼此缠绕
现在最后的事情比如说
放弃爱情,秀发落地
越重落得越快
比如还有诗歌,娉婷而来
在树下成熟、迷人,残灯独奏
与我们的身体接壤
体内庭园深深,叶子破碎俯身即拾
意料之中的事情,写诗
守着家门,想象
我们私奔而去的灿烂果实

1996年11月4日于纽黑纹

Poetry by Ma Lan: Where to Sit 坐在哪里

Where to Sit

I sit on a block of ice,
Water beneath me.

I sit in his house.
To the left and right are years carried by the wind like confetti.
I touch some books that are crawling across the floor.
They grow thinner as they trek, form groups,
Collect dust.

I sit outside his house,
Raise my eyes and see the blue sky, white clouds.
He is behind me, criticizing,
“Your beauty has become tears that choke.”

I sit in my own mind,
Remain there for so long
I become a package, a bundle of herbs.

I sit on a wooden fence,
“Mark the boat to find a sunken sword”*
And then return to sit on the block of ice,
The current flowing beneath me.


*This idiom originates from an ancient story of an idiot who drops his sword from a boat, and to recover it, he marks the spot on the boat from which the sword fell, anchors the boat, and dives in (of course he does not find the sword). The story has been interpreted philosophically as a critique of the tendency to apply fixed standards to changing phenomena.

December 28, 1995

坐在哪里


坐在一块冰上
下面是水

坐在他的家里
左右是花纸纷飞的岁月
摸了几本在地上走动的书
他们越走越瘦成群集队
上面灰尘满脸

坐在他的家外
抬头是蓝天白云
他在我身后指点我
你的美丽已是呛人的泪水

坐在自己的心里
很长的时间
坐成包裹像堆草本植物

坐在一根木头上
刻舟求剑
然后再回到冰上
下面是滚动的河流

(1995.12.28)

Poetry by Ma Lan: Lotus Blossom Girl

Lotus Blossom Girl

A meditation bench, empty.
Girl embosoms a lotus blossom,
Sits on the bench.
A lone goose flies wounded over the mountain ridge.
Old man by a lake prophesies the flood.
A girl sees
People floating on the current.

The girl sits perfectly still.
Her posture reflects forgetfulness.
The girl swells out from water.
Water overflows without border.
A gushing cascade floods the land,
Its area increasing exponentially.
The world’s realm, increasingly a mirror, a level surface.
Discrete plants and animals are hard to distinguish.
Even lotus and girl fuse.

A wooden bench, empty, cleaves to
Lotus girl, the lotus girl
Is in the world under water, she cannot surface.
The world belongs to water, and the land is beneath.
The empty bench is proof of it, a way of living.

Lotus girl,
Tragedy of the flood belongs to men, not women.

August, 1995 New York


荷花少女


  一把空虚的木椅
  一位怀抱荷花的少女
  在上面坐着
  一只受伤的雁子飞过山岗
  一位老人在湖边预言洪水的爆发
  少女看见
  人们随流而下

  少女坐着坐着,不动
  这姿态如同我们的遗忘是一种姿态
  少女从水中而来
  水越来越辽阔无边
  水朝着陆地不屈地绽放
  面积一次次地重复
  世界越来越是一面镜子是一个平面
  植物和动物再难区别和联系
  包括荷花和少女

  一把空虚的木椅依附着
  荷花少女,荷花少女在
  水下的世界,她走不出水
  世界属于水了,陆地在水下
  空虚的木椅是陆地的证据是一种生活

  荷花少女
  水上的悲剧属于异性

(1995,8。纽约)

Poetry by Ma Lan: It is Raining 下雨

It Is Raining

Let it rain. I relax on his lips.
I am flexible--look at my fingers,
They are nimble enough to play music.

Let this man utter his intended destination.
I depart from his lips.
I know he will set off quickly,
But how to get from the left to right ventricle?

Not enough time to spend with the sick font I am visiting
Who is skin and bone.
Long ago I was on the road. Tearful reproaches are relatively potent.
Let it rain, now! Restrain,
Protect me.

Though the clothes I wear touch my body, a thick mist
Separates me from the fabric.

New Haven April 10,1997

下雨


下一场雨吧,我在他的嘴唇上
我很弹性,你看我的手指
弹琴的手。

让这位男人讲话,他要到哪里去
我可以离开他的嘴唇
我知道他会走得很快
可怎么样才能从左心室走到右心室

时间太小,我所看望的字体
也瘦可见骨
很久前我在路上,哭诉比较有力
现在下一场雨吧,抑制我
包庇我。

我的衣裳放在手上,和我
有浓雾般的距离


(1997,4,10。纽黑纹)

Poetry by Ma Lan: Events 事件

Event I

Without even a cat’s meow,
Spring has begun.

For example, the harsh Beijing dust storms.
Plastic bags on the street are stuffed into winds.
As outsiders we do not understand the source of this power.

We cannot see the sky, only each other
And the whirling bags, we imagine as
Life’s joys that ride the dust, grow distant, taken by the wind.

There is a poetry-theme party at the karaoke bar.
I bought a rose--
One rose equals a hundred.
We sit and listen to Hu Ma-ge sing:
“How could I have feelings?”

Still, no cat meows this spring,
No yowling, though the red apricot has grown beyond the wall*.

Event II

A fish that eluded the net has been following me.
I don’t know what that means.
Maybe she was strewn by the flow of time.
Time comes from behind, pushes my eyes out their sockets.
They drop into my hands, dash about nonstop.

Illness has always followed me.
I don’t know what that means, either.
Do I have to visit hospitals forever with the hope one day I’ll be cured?
From the painkiller the doctor begins.

There is also a butterfly taking medicine that wraps around me.
I run into the day, my head lowered,
And feel the light and dark, months and years, melt into my hair.
A straw hat floats down the river,
Which is the dream of my childhood,
Dancing with dust until sunset.

Event III

I am close to you,
As distant as my palm to the back of the hand.
I miss you so much,
Even perfume can injure, now.

A bird
Falls on my left shoulder,
My right wing loses its balance.
Where can I sleep tonight?

This winter
Wants to fly farther than a bird.
My love, I’m so sick I cannot rise.

I thrust myself out of the world--
That is a possibility.
To imitate vanishing, I disappear my hands.
My love, the snow continues to fall,
Tell me how to face the floods.
This winter
A bird falls on my right shoulder.

I can accept, or reject

Event IV

I walk toward you minding my pings and zes*.
As I stride with my left foot and extend my right, they cross.

You planted a tree on my back.
That is a snake. It forgot precisely how to molt.
Sinking boats since childhood--
I unlock the door and enter: I have molted into a pile of clothes,
Which hangs on the floor.

We open the door from inside,
Wash our tools one by one.
We need five minutes, then must sleep
Heedless of the cycle of seasons.

That day I used up my life
And was not able to put on my clothes again.

December 2000-March 2001

Notes

Event I
1. A common image in old Chinese romantic literature signifying pre-marital or extra-marital liaisons.

Event IV
1. Literarily "ping"s and "ze"s refer to the strict prosodic requirements of traditional Chinese poetry whereby the words chosen for a given line have to constitute a sequence of tones that correspond to a standard pattern.

事件

事件(一)

没有听见一声猫叫
春天就开始了

比如,北京的风沙很大
满街的塑料袋全盘钻进了风中
我们外地人不懂这力量从何而来

我们看不见天,只能对视
或者看塑料袋,想象那无非是
一生的幸福在风沙之上,渐行渐远

一个以诗歌为名的聚会在酒吧
我们买了一朵玫瑰
一朵玫瑰等于一百朵玫瑰
我们坐着,听胡吗个唱
“我怎么会有感情呢?”

仍然没有听见猫叫,在春天
红杏却要出墙

事件(二)

一只漏网的鱼跟踪着我
我不知道是什么意思
可能她被时间冲散
时间从背后而来,把眼晴推出眼眶
落在手心,奔忙不停

疾病一直跟踪我
我也不知道是什么意思
难道只能走向医院,抱着治愈的希望
从麻醉开始

还有一只服药的蝴蝶包裹我
我就跑进白天,低头
感受光阴滑入头发
一顶草帽浮在河里
这是儿时全部的梦想
随灰尘而舞,直到天黑


事件(三)

我离你很近
手心和手背的距离
我这么想念着你
香气都能伤人,这时

一只鸟
落在我的左肩
我的右翼从此失去平衡
今晚还能睡在哪里?

这个冬天
想比鸟飞得更远
我的爱人,这让我一病不起

我把自己推到世界之外
这是一种可能性
我模仿消亡,以自己之手
我的爱人,雪继续下着
叫我如何面对洪水
这个冬天
鸟又落在我的右肩

我要么接受,要么拒绝


事件(四)

我面向你走,保持平仄
迈了左脚再出右脚,交叉而行
你种了一棵树在我的后背
那是蛇,遗忘了脱皮的细节
还有沉船,从童年
开门而入,看见我变成一堆衣服
挂在地上

我们把门从里面打开
一件又一件地清洗工具
需要五分钟,然后睡觉
无所谓四季轮转
那天用完了我的一生
也没能把衣服重新穿上

(2000,12-2001,3)

Poetry by Ma Lan: Dialogue 对话

Dialogue

Over there is an ancient land.
Many heads are flying,
One of them hangs on mine, suspended in perpetuity.

There’s a market:
Eat, drink, and be merry; brawl over love and beauty.
My amorous rival lives inside my body, hiding by day, budding at night.

That, there, is a film.
You and the actors engage in a massacre.
You protect the pretend dentist, and dentures he inserts are taken for real.

I hold a rose in my hands
On Valentine’s Day
As if bearing aloft some cabbage leaves
To challenge earth's gravity.
It seems the apple will fall,
An indicator there’s never been utter nothingness.

March 2001

对话


那是个古国
有许多人头在飞
还有一颗挂在我的头上,永垂不朽

那是个市场
吃喝玩乐,打情骂俏
我的情敌就在我体内,昼伏夜行

那是场电影
你和他们杀戮
你保护了改行的牙医,假牙真做

我手拿玫瑰花
在情人节
像高举一把白菜
挑战地球的引力
似乎苹果要掉下来
告诉我们从来没有一无所有

2001,3

Poetry by Ma Lan: Autumn Words 秋语

Autumn Words

I feel a little hungry, but don't know
If I should eat something. Tonight autumn has already begun.
Perhaps, for you, this is dry information--
Volition and grief of a shattered drinking glass--
Maybe it’s as inconceivable as options to spare.
Just now, I draw open the window and stand before it.
The curtain grazes me, wanton and blithe.
Autumn bears wind,
Adornments half-hidden, partly concealed, from the eye,
Eyeing each other as we reap crops,
The crops we sowed alone, the wind-blown crops,
Arousing crops, flitting into view
Having lost one’s way with a fluid border.
Did Eve eat mango or an apple?
Fruit does not transfer,
Fruit makes women's lips ripen.
But I get hungry, when I’m loitering in the past.
I drape a floral tablecloth around my body,
Paper napkins line up to conceal my breasts,
I think: gazing at plums quenches thirst, sketching small cakes satisfies hunger.
In this harvest season nothing’s inconvenient.
Before I know it, my body’s covered in tears,
My tears have fallen into another’s hand, or
They lie in wait in my mouth.

September 1996, New Haven

秋语

我感到一点饿,可我不知
该不该吃东西。已经立秋了
已经在深夜
或许只是干燥的信息
玻璃杯破碎的那股意志和忧伤
或者像多余的选择一样不可思议
正是这个时候,我推窗而立
窗帘擦身而过,放肆又从容
秋天是有风的
眼到之处是半遮半掩的衣饰
眉来眼去的收割,庄稼
自己种下的庄稼呵庄稼
感动白色出没
太多的迷失,一种液体分界线
夏娃吃的是芒果还是苹果
水果不能互相替代
水果使女人的嘴最先成熟
可我饿了,当怀旧的时候
我身披一块碎花桌布
让餐巾纸裸体陈列
我在想,望梅止渴、画饼充饥
在收获的季节
这没有什么不方便
我一动不动全身就充满了泪水
可泪水又被谁握在手中或者
依然躺在我的嘴里

(1996,9,纽黑纹)

Poetry by Ma Lan: A Woman Like This 这么一个女人

A Woman Like This

Once upon a time there was a woman from a distant land.
She ate, slept, caught cold, even married.
She shined her shoes with eyes wide open, focusing on their colors, noting their moods, talked big about her private life.
This woman was most probably a beauty, red showing through white (1).
I imagine she’s spectacular; but simply because a woman’s beautiful
Are her shoes wider, larger than mine?
My primary job is to help others gauge distance.
The distance between one person and the next, calculated by feet and inches, is more measurable than the distance between this woman and me.
I’ve been sluggish since the day I was made,
The day I first risked danger of abstraction; who says fear is the harbinger of a troubled pregnancy?
Women who have had difficulty birthing remain logical, especially those quasi-beauties who show black through yellow.
Oh, beautiful woman,
At twenty you will die of revolution, at thirty: illegal cohabitation,
At forty: an auto accident. The man who died on the road is the poet of our generation.
Poet, oh fond and cherished poet, am I still your princess?
If I'm not, then on whose throne do I reign? crazy and tender as I am?
Tender as snow, I'd rather be a humble tile than precious jade hammered into shards.
Dubious life, virtual life’s sold--the woman or me?
One or the other. Woman plagued with painful wounds, will you, gazing at the fire from across the shore,
Pay me your last respects? I want you to be satisfied; the thousand-mile journey begins
on the tip of your typing fingers.
The waters flow back and forth in decipherable patterns, but what’s to come of me this year!
I, a woman who plants nine hundred-ninety kinds of roses (2), know that grasses bend only when wind blows,
That no one can duplicate my craft; I know when you are in the kitchen thinking of me and tasting bile, tempering your resolve (3).
I have long since departed. We live in distinct castles, anonymous eyes watching out for us over ramparts.
We both have good judges of talent behind us (4). I’m constantly changing direction, searching
For an exit. The trains pass quickly
Through the tunnel
I see countless schools of fish swimming above my head, joyous.
Is this the process of naming, my prized, inspiring hometown friend (5)? How far can this kind of woman walk?
Though it is said she has married, eliciting outrage,
This kind of woman must resort to buying public bonds to repay private debts, both sides wounded, defeated.

April, 1998
_____
Notes:

1. “Showing through white” is a common expression describing beautiful skin; Lan plays on this later in the poem with “black showing through yellow,” describing ugliness.
2. This line is from a popular song, the kind often sung in karaokes in China.
3. Literally translates as "sleeping on brushwood and tasting gall." The dictionary explains, "The state of Yue was defeated by the state of Wu [during the Spring and Autumn Period of the Eastern Zhou dynasty, 777-475 BC], and Gou Jian, King of Yue resolved to take revenge. He would taste a gall bladder and rest on brushwood before eating and sleeping to remind himself of the humiliation he had experienced. After a long period, he finally defeated the Wu."
4. Literally "Bo Le," a name of a legendary connoisseur of horses in ancient times. His name is synonymous with “a good judge of talent.”
5. Another venerable idiom, literally "arising for sword practice at cock's crow.” The dictionary explains, "In the Eastern Jin dynasty, Zu Ti and Liu Kun were good friends and often encouraged each other, and both rose at cock's crow to play with their swords.”

这么一个女人


我觉得,有一个女人在遥远的天国
她吃饭睡觉感冒伤风,还嫁了人
她把皮鞋擦得察言观色,把私生活夸张到直径水平
这样的女人最可能是白里透红的美女
我想象,美女,有一个女人是美女时
我的皮鞋是不是增加了宽度、高度
可我每天主要的工作是帮人测量距离
距离与距离的关系比我与女人的关系更有尺寸感
可我感受到时差,从出来的那天开始
那天冒着被抽象的危险,谁说危险是女人难产的前沿
难产过的女人都很逻辑,尤其是黄里透黑的准美女
我准美丽的女人呵,我认为
二十岁她将死于革命,三十岁死于非法同居,决不可能
四十岁死于车祸,死在路上的是我们时代的诗人
诗人,我又亲又爱的诗人,我还是你的宝贝吗?
我不是你的宝贝那我坐在谁的宝座上如此疯狂温柔!
温柔如雪呵,我发现我真是宁为瓦全不为玉碎了
可疑的生活,虚拟的出售生活,我或者女人?
两者必有其一。我且痛且疼的女人,想隔岸观火为我
送终吗?我承认你应该得到满足,千里之行始于手下。
水流过来又流回去,很格律的运动,可我的一九九八年!
我种九百九十种玫瑰的女子,我发现风吹才能草动
发现谁也没有重叠我的手艺。在厨房卧薪尝胆你想着我的时候
我早就走了,我们住在不同的城堡,都有一双眼睛隔墙警惕我们
还说我们拥有伯乐。我告诉你吧我在路途中不停地转换方向想
寻找一个出口。火车轻易地穿插而过
我在邃道里看到无数的鱼群从我头上游戏、欢喜
这是命名的过程吗,我闻鸡起舞的同乡。这样的女人可能走多远
虽说她成长为已婚者,激起公愤
这样的女人只能买公债还私债,两败俱伤

1998,4