以石头的硬度抵达海或者水（组诗）
秦风
美瑞莎海滩：雪的遗骸
世间的一切，除了海与水
谁都别想闯进我的心门
我以石头的方式抵达水
水与水相逢，然后走散
两个人走散的地方，即是天涯海角
此刻的印度洋，不断地撕裂自己
再给自己灌入水，河流与海
仿佛千山万水之后
所有的苦难，更深地渗入彼此
海岛的手掌，抓不住海的梦游
惊涛拍岸。水与岸是相濡以沬的鱼
肉体相互撞击，彼此打造成船
江湖无水。水在海中打捞自已
水的铁石心肠，埋葬着怎样的海枯石烂
就用这海枯石烂撞击我吧
用水撞击，用岛礁撞击，用岸撞击
用整片海洋，全部撞击我吧
卷起的千堆雪。是你我，斯里兰卡
唯一的雪。是火焰，是爱，是雪的遗骸
乌纳瓦图纳海滩：水的鱼欢
海天一色，被空旷的欲望全部占有
海水倒流，向着海岸与夕照的背影
此刻，万物都归于水
在跌荡的时间与弯曲的空间
漩涡，交欢。一尾鱼的全部裸体
向大海与天空完全呈现
此刻，星球与我们，被一滴水覆盖
层层波光，向着海的纵渗透
这将是我走丢的明天
今夜，我必将死于你不被宽恕的海潮
岛屿，用一种几乎绝望的力度与深度
祭拜我们梦想的诗与远方
沿着波涛与星光坠落的轨迹
在你失重的夜色，我必是通向黎明的血路
万劫不复的彼岸，浪的灯塔
将我们，引照和摆渡
加勒城堡：一滴水的防线
潮起，潮落。不被振救的自我放逐
守不住防线，守不住底线
没有一座城堡与肉身不被攻克
失声的钟，被浪的头颅撞响
子弹击碎钟声，透过敌人的眼睛
穿过城堡的胸膛，绕过所有的视线
击中石头酣梦的枕头，以及城市
黎明的前额。时间的血在时针的手指上
点燃烽火。一种漆黑的硝烟
就这么叫嚣地告诉世界
它就是明目张胆的侵略者
所有的善，都不设防
所有的恶，都防不胜防
包括爱与苦难，从背后对我的
偷袭。我的善良必将成为我的敌人
梦见自己是子弹，海浪般朝自己扫射
被你一滴不剩地抢劫与掠夺
正如城堡，千万次的坍塌
正如海水，亿万年的救亡
正如现在，正如你，正登上
我的，一个人的国王的，城堡
科伦坡：一滴泪的海岛
一条倔强河流，沿着自己的泪痕翻越自己
遥远的海，在一滴不被抚摸的水的梦里
无数没有方向的迷途，被歧路意外救活
逆流的水，从石头的遗嘱出发
放弃那些没有骨节的水，离开那些没有
头颅的岸。沧海桑田之后垒石为峰
石头与山峰，都是一捧固态的水
四海为家。我的前世是海底的山
我的来生是水面的云，我与自己生死守望
顺流而下的人间，逆流而上的天堂
直至你的水滴，我的石穿，我们彼此倒流
在漩涡之中，鱼贯而入
墨尔本：十二门徒石
所有来者不是为了门徒，而是石头
亿万年执迷不误的石头，才能称为门徒
不是为了禀持虔诚，而是猜度其中的背叛
为了成为自己，世界与人类，必将自我出卖
罪恶与救赎，都跪拜于走投无路的传说
风蚀与腐化，是真相的搏弈
我只信仰真理，是第十三个门徒
用整个太平洋，擦洗原罪的肉欲
在海水遗忘的镜面，打捞自己消逝的脸
一堵风化的岩石，无法转身
捧起自己面目全非的面孔
让一种空无裸露与曝晒，来者皆为路人
仿佛都带不走欲望肉身的虔诚
太多的浪踩在自己的阴影中
纷纷向人间倒塌，无论我，还是我自己
悉尼：袋鼠的行走
蓝色是一种自我的陷诱惑
在云朵的眼里的，我是受困风情的海
南太平洋，像是一杯雪碧中的冰块
率先登陆澳洲大陆的
都带有动物侵略或占有的野心
我必须忽略这些腥味，与膻味中
同样野心深藏着的矿物质
太多的活着先天含毒，空旷地存在
再一次遗忘，那些过眼云烟的烟云
唯有袋鼠的蹦跳越过动物与人性的栅栏
不断地撞在我耳朵的后视镜
一种躲避或逃亡，却从不丢下
怀中受惊的子孙与辽远的祖国
一种动物不离不弃的爱
令所有人以回头的方式致敬
迎着陷阱，踏破夜色，走遍人间
奥克兰：生死推开的海岸线
都将消亡。包括在我眼里手里
体内的你。无论真实，或者想象
都将会不辞而别地消失
像突然的死，意外地撞上了我
以及彼此为避难掩藏的孤单
存在比活在更陈旧更长久
比死亡更沉默，比沉默更破碎
这逐水的海岸线，一种生的偶然
撞上一种死的意外
我与世间隔着苦难之墙
我与自己，在意外之外一见钟情
你是我珊瑚心底斑斓的暗室
被误打误撞的水草曝光
看不见有谁，看不清你是谁
谁，正掀开自己，拍岸涌来
纽西兰：北岛的血与南岛的雪
避开激流岛。河流劈开自已
从一把斧头的锋刃上再次诞生
流水是血的一种遗憾，与遗忘
诗歌的激流，从诗人的额头喷涌
而出。只剩电闪雷鸣的瘦骨
在异乡，风筝有如斧头绝望地
坠落。河流再度放空自己遍体的血
像是青铜，再已无法返回烧焦的故土
抵达火山岛。那里有石头喷涌的
蓝色之血，直指头顶与日月
土著毛利人，始终以日月之眼
俯瞰祼身的大地与自己
南太平洋的孤独在火山口反复死去
浩瀚的海，定会被石头再度分娩
北岛的血与南岛雪，生死之望
雪峰，被周身的血牵引，攀升到
一种更高雪的凝望，从不融化
神灵与阳光，反复降临与祷告
走丢的人在寻找自己丢失的面容
不是干净的雪，就不能坚持自己
云朵与冰雪，阳光的灰烬
万物有灵，我在你倒影中复活
向着海波推开的深渊
成为你，也成为自己
诗人近照:
——————
秦风，本名蒲建雄，男，文学博士。中国诗歌学会会员，四川省作家协会会员。曾获首届全球汉语诗歌主奖、首届天府文学作品奖、长城文学奖、苏东坡文学奖。文学作品发表收录于国内外多种文学诗刊与专辑。著有诗集《独步苍茫》。
英语版翻译：齐凤艳
Mirissa Beach: Remains of Snow
None in the world, but the sea and water
Would break open the door of my heart.
I reach water in the form of a stone.
Water meets with water, and then they separate.
The place where two people lose each other is the end of the earth.
The Indian Ocean at this moment is tearing itself apart constantly,
Then it pours water into itself again. In rivers and seas,
As if after a life long journey,
Are all the sufferings which permeate deeper into each other.
The hands of the island are unable to grasp the sea’s sleepwalk,
The tides beat the shore. Water and shore are two fish mutually dependent for existence.
Bodies bump into each other, and forge each other into a ship.
Rivers and lakes have no water. Water fishes itself in the sea.
In the stone heart of water, what an eternity that is buried!
Hit me with that eternity,
Hit with water, hit with reef, hit with shore,
Hit me with the whole ocean. All, hit me.
A thousand rolls of snow surging. It’s yours, mine, and Sri Lanka’s.
The only snow. It is fire, it is love, and it is the remains of snow.
Unawatuna Beach: Exultant Water
The sea and the sky, which seem connected, are completely occupied by the empty desire.
The sea is flowing backwards towards the shore and the back of the sunset.
Now all things are claimed by water,
Time leaping, space curving,
Eddies whirling, joy motivating joy. The whole naked body of a fish
Shows itself totally to the sea and the sky.
At this moment, the planets and we are covered by a drop of water.
Wave’s light, layer upon layer, is penetrating longitudinally toward the sea.
These will be my lost tomorrow.
Tonight, I shall die from your tides which will not be forgiven.
Islands, with an almost desperate intensity and depth,
Worship the poetry and the distance of our dreams.
Along the path of the waves and the stars,
In your weightless night, I must be the blood road to the dawn.
On the other shore beyond redemption, the lighthouse of the waves will
Us lead, illuminate and ferry.
Galle Castle: The Defense Line of a Water Drop
Tides rise and tides fall. The self-exile without being saved
Guards no defense line and has not bottom,
There is neither a castle nor a body not conquered.
The speechless bell is struck aloud by wave's heads,
A bullet breaks its toll, penetrates through the enemy's eye
And the chest of the castle. And evading all the watching,
It hits the pillow of a stone’s dream, and shoots the city
On its forehead of dawn. The blood of time on the finger of the hour hand
Lights the beacon fire. A dark cloud of smoke
Tells the world in a clamor
It is a flagrant aggressor.
All goodness is unguarded,
All evil cannot be effectively defended against,
Including love and suffering, which, from behind,
Sneak an attack on me. My goodness will be my enemy.
In a dream I am the bullets strafing like waves towards myself,
Robbed and pillaged by you without a drop left.
The castle has undergone thousands of times collapse,
The sea, billions of years of salvation.
Now, you are climbing on
The kingdom of mine, me, the ruler of no subjects.
Colombo: The Island of a Teardrop
A stubborn river is running over itself along its own tear stains.
The sea at distance is in the dream of a drop of water lack of fondling.
Countless roads which lose their directions are accidentally saved by the wrong ones.
The reverse flow, abiding the will of a stone,
Gives up the water without bone and leaves those shores
Without heads. After the vicissitudes, stones build up peaks,
Rocks and mountains are both handfuls of solid water,
Regarding as home the place wherever they stand. My previous life was a mountain under the sea,
My next life is s cloud over the water. I keep watch of myself all my life,
The mortal world going downstream and the heaven upstream,
Till your water drops force a hole in my stone. We flow back to each other,
In the whirlpool, we swim together.
Melbourne: The Twelve Apostles
People come not for the apostles, but for the stones.
Only those stones that do not change their minds for billions of years can be called apostles.
Piety is not embraced, and the betrayer is in guess.
In order to become their own, the world and the human race will have to sell themselves.
Both sin and redemption kowtow to tales of no beginning and no end.
In wind erosion and corruption is the game of facts.
I believe only in the truth, and I am the thirteenth disciple,
With the whole Pacific Ocean, swabbing the carnal desires of the original sin,
And in the sea forgotten mirror, salvaging my vanished face.
A block of weathered rocks, unable to turn around,
Hold up their unrecognizable faces.
Let a kind of empty exposed in nudity and under the sun. All the comers are passers-by,
Not likely to take with them the piety of desire itself.
Too many waves tread in their own shadows.
Collapse to the human world, both I, and myself.
Sydney: the Walk of the Kangaroo
Blue is a temptation to the pitfall of the self.
In the eyes of clouds, I am the sea trapped in wind.
The south Pacific is like a piece of ice in a Sprite.
Those that landed on the Australian mainland first
Have the ambition of animal aggression or possession.
I have to ignore the smell, and the same ambition
Minerals hide.
Too much living creatures congenitally contain poisons. Empty exists,
Forgetting once again the smoke and clouds of the past passing.
Only the kangaroo’ jumps, which stride over the fence between animals and humanity,
Keep hitting the rearview mirrors of my ears.
A kind of evading or escaping never leaves behind
The frightened children held in arms and the motherland vast and remote.
The perpetual love of an animal,
All people salute to by way of looking back,
Then face the trap, trudge through the night, and go all over the human world.
Auckland: the Coastline Pushed Away by Life and Death
All will die, including you
In my eyes, my hands and my body. All, whether real or imagined,
Will disappear without saying goodbye,
Like the sudden death, which accidentally bumped into me.
We hide between each other the loneliness during the journey of refuge.
Existence is longer and older than living,
More silent than death, and more shattered than silence.
Water chases coastline, the chance of birth
Bumps into the accident of death.
There is a wall of suffering between me and the world.
Outside the accident, I have fallen in love with myself.
You are the dark room at the bottom of my heart of colorful corals,
And were exposed by the water plants out of sheer coincidence.
No one can be seen, and your face is not clear.
Who is unveiling himself, coming and licking the shore?
New Zealand: North Island’s Blood and South Island’s Snow
To avoid the Waiheke Island, the river splits itself
And gets reborn from the sharp edge of an axe.
Water is a kind of regret of the blood, and its lost memory.
The torrent of poetry from the poet’s forehead gushes
Out. Only the bones of lightning and thunder are left
In a foreign land, and the kite, like an axe, desperately
Falls down. The river empties again the blood all over its body,
Like those bronzes, which have no way back to the old charred soil,
And reaches the Volcanic Island. There rocks spout out
Blue blood, pointing directly above their heads and at the sun and the moon.
The indigenous Maori people, always with the eyes of the sun and the moon,
Survey the naked earth and themselves.
The loneliness of the south Pacific dies repeatedly in its craters.
The vast sea will be born by stone again as is destined.
The blood of the North Island and the snow of the South Island look at each other from the distance through life and death.
The snow-topped peak, pulled by the blood in its body, climbs to
The gaze of a much higher snow, which never melts.
The gods and the sun shine come and pray again and again.
The lost ones are looking for their lost faces.
Only undefiled snow can stick on its own.
Clouds, ice and snow, ashes of the sun,
All things have spirits, and I resurrect in your reflection.
Toward the abyss broken through by the waves,
I, become you, and be myself.
————————
About the author
A Doctor of arts, Qinfeng, real name Pu Jianxiong, is the member of the Chinese Poetry Society and Sichuan Writers Association. He has won the Main Prize of the First Global Chinese Poetry Prize, the First Tianfu Literature Prize, the Great Wall Literature Prize and the Su Dongpo Literature Prize. His works have been published in a variety of literary and poetry journals and collections both at home and abroad. His poetry anthology is titled Walk Alone in the Vast.
About the translator
Qi Fengyan was born in Kangping, Liaoning province. Some of her poems, essays and literature review articles have been published in journals and newspapers such as Grain in Ear, Yangtze River, Sea Swallow, Liaohe River, Selected Essays (original edition), Chinese Literature, Yangcheng Evening News, Short Stories, People's Daily (overseas edition), Heilongjiang Daily, Entrepreneur Daily, Jiangnan Times and West China Metropolis Daily. She has published two co-translation works.
本贴仅代表作者观点，与麻辣社区立场无关。
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发表于 2020-6-2 14:44
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