诗歌 | 秦风
译者 | 张琼
◎ 芒城遗址
“漏风的遗址，四周吹拂神的耳语，
犹如失声的歌唱，将自己遗忘与想象。”
时间是一种海拔，四千年的芒城遗址
自古蜀国的内心瘫塌。向下或者向内
成为一种高度，陷入岁月的深度之中
八百里青城群峰，远望于一种旁观或佐证
在时光的斜坡上，万物一次次掩埋于
自己的引力与重力
风雨雷电，隐身于善的暴力
一次次将自己撕开
裂心的痛，是抵达自己唯一的路
将自己解剖开，荒芜怀抱一种存在
仿佛独自站在时光暗处的漠视
凭吊一个人的流失，与一个部落的消失
空旷的我，是这遗址其中的碎片
成为古蜀先民的死守的一种证据
为山河证明，为时光证伪
从北自营盘山而来，向南往宝墩而去
青城山芒城遗址之下
古蜀国的意志已经碳化
部落与光阴的面孔，熄灭于城墙
先祖的肉体空握着一根耻骨
一些石块，退守于城墙的一隅
伫立于自己的硬度与光芒之上
光芒的石块，是沉陷大地的王
先祖与部落，把自己砍伐成石器
在苦难之中，尖锐是唯一的活
几千年后这种尖锐生长成铁
连同今夜的星辰月光，降临我身上
苍茫大地上，粮食反复死去
而这地下不灭的刀耕火种
如同灰烬、信仰与种子
睁着洞穴之眼的腐烂者
向着自己与未来
“生命将不断把草叶砸进土里。”
稻草与麦杆，终将站在不知饥馑的
成都平原的屋顶之上
此刻，我是一个人的烟火，与人间
刊于《诗刊》《菲律宾商报》/菲律宾
收录于《世界华人诗歌精选2021》
◎ 玉垒山，让香与月色吹进你的面孔
岁月饮酒。坠入月色的桂花酒
让九月枝头的露水与灵魂，失重
被梦里岷山的雪与岷江的水，流走
岁月淘滩。掉入江中的缺月
是古堰不锈的卧铁
卧铁，怀抱山川的锈与内心的铁
岁月雕像。一些防御抵抗成墙
一些死亡自燃成草，一些雕像
再次深陷，松茂古道的万重绳索
茶与马，在千山万水之外走丢
盐与铁，像道路往返着亘古的饥饿
岁月登高。花朵与浮云的悬梯
深渊的力量，引体向上成山的高度
鲜血在古城墙上，旗帜一样飘扬
登山的人，在找他的脸孔
喊山的人，在等他的灵魂
仰止的怒发，如身后成都平原麦浪翻滚
玉垒浮云，来自头顶的灌溉
这青城的古今与锦江的秀色
天府之源，一轮醉过爱过的下弦月
坐忘在天府之国的杯中
与自己的怀中
刊于《环球人文地理》
入选《2022华语诗坛排行榜》
《第二届香港紫荆花诗歌奖作品集.诗与远方》
获第五届“李煜文学奖”
◎ 我想和你一起晒一晒花花太阳
拾级而上，在阳光的斜坡登高
群山，书简一样次第打开
在石头长成悬崖的地方
在山花长成云朵的地方
我站在自己的头顶之上
一个人的，秋高气爽
这翻山越岭的野草山花
让自己与异乡，云开雾散
阳光在树叶草尖的枯黄之上
像一滴露珠，与人间保持一种
距离与高度，含着万物所有的
悲凉与感伤
就在这里，秋天的斜坡上
我想和你一起
晒一晒花花的太阳
躺坐在岷山辽阔的摇曳中
沉寂在灵岩寺香火的钟声里
在瞬间，在永远
就在这里，时间的斜坡上
我想和你一起
晒一晒花花的太阳
既不痛哭流涕，也不虚度光阴
与秋风并肩，一起放养
漫山遍野的花花心事
就在这里，梦的斜坡上
我想和你一起
晒一晒花花的太阳
看自己，山长水阔
念你时，花香扑面
红尘破碎。你的背影是风
是流水，是瓷器
是我，散落在人间的
花花的太阳与花花的心事
刊于《金融文坛》
图：折耳兔
◎ 问花村：朝花自夕拾
我被八百里青城的幽静惊醒
眼睛朝五官的纵深睁开
像蛇信，吐出岷江两岸的田园
林盘，花海，火焰与人间
在问花村，我独自寻找
人山花海里丢失的自己
朝花夕拾：被普照寺与味江
一一抚摸的植物与村庄
花开以钟声，花落以流水
朝日与晚霞，成为我与花朵的
另一种形式，诗意地栖居
风在我的脸前吹过
花在我的背后盛开
不是，我见花开
而是花，一瓣一瓣地开放了我
一片挤满背影的花海
看不见人类背阳的脸
影子，撒播的世间
混于花丛的摇摆
像匆忙的蜜蜂跳过花枝
万千姿态透明的深渊
在梅花坞，就做梅妻鹤子
用一池白云，擦洗倾倒的天空的蔚蓝
在海棠园，学一树梨花压海棠
用满园春风，吟哦两鬓对视的斑白
在问花村，万紫千红顿时明白起来
我是这其间花朵与时间的姓名
红色，是我思想的底料
白色，是我灵魂的肤色
问世间，花为何物，我为何物
像植物那样，更多的依赖黑暗而生长
像花朵那样，更多的向着夜间而绽放
一切的美好，都举头向着光芒
我是问花村与芳香的一部分
是我们彼此，深深的呼吸
刊于《人民日报》海外版
《诗殿堂》/ 美国
◎ 白石在上
一块块云朵碎开的白石
托举整片川西高原与天空
白色太阳，月亮和星辰
打坐在嘉绒藏寨的屋顶上
马尔康，在一块白石中诞生
与生长。高原峡谷隐藏于火苗
燃烧于远古的一次次熄灭
白色风的火焰，在藏南高原
苍鹰一样，千万年地吹拂与翱翔
太多雪峰，太多的沧桑
太少的祭拜被触化
太多峡谷，太多的横断
太少的征途被拯救
太多草甸，太多的冰霜
太少的秘境被敲醒
太多祼露，太多的苦难
太少的冻土被埋葬
白石，一颗高原冻僵的心脏
被万物种植在自己的胸膛
白石，把自己活成一个
生生不息的种子
青稞的骨骼里的火种
梭摩河的血液里的火把
格桑花的笑容里的火苗
经幡的手指里的火焰
嘉绒是火，马尔康是燃烧
噼噼啪啪炸响的锅庄
是藏寨的夜晚，与夜晚内心的石头
白石在上，高原上不断长高的是
头颅，行路与石头
刊于《诗选刊》、《海华都市报》/美国
收录于《中国乡村诗选编》（1917/2020）
◎ 清明：四月的两滴泪眼
清明。荒芜的四月中
仅存活的两个
汉字。寂寥而冷清的两滴泪
被异乡的雨水反复擦洗
村口。敞开故乡的生死之门
空旷的天地，早已坍塌入土
衰草，枯树与风的守望
归途之上，没有归人
苦难。被大地一次次收养
长成唯一站立的庄稼：
母亲的坟和父亲的墓
我，是祖先的生死
我是，自己的孤儿
是人间，直立行走的墓碑
刊于《扬子江诗刊》《作家报》
收录于《亚洲之歌》 /埃及
获意大利梅莱托国际诗歌奖
◎ 拐向冬天的早晨
冬天的冷，像剥开羞耻的祼露的疼
必须把自己抱紧，或者捂热
澡雪之后，才敢以干净的拥抱
给你手指的火苗的燃烧，给你嘴唇的雪的融化
迷茫的晨雾，提着太阳的灯笼
在早晨的冬天，拐向冬天的早晨
需要堆积多少冷啊，结冰的河流
从此岸，直抵彼岸
自度。从无数个我凝结成一个我
从自身趟过吧，苦难，与道路
刊于《星星》诗刊
收录于《中国2021年度诗歌精选》/梁平主编
获“中国新写实主义诗歌2021年度十佳作品奖”
◎ 大渡河，五月的弹孔
五月的河流，依然爬雪山过草地
活着就是再次趟过自己的死亡
苦难从未解冻，高原与我在融化
成为流水，与流逝的一部分
每处漩涡，都是落水的五月
浴血的急流，举头撞向河岸
上岸的流水，坚守成为石头
把落水的五月，垒成一座纪念碑
石碑捧起所有失去的肉体与姓名
给苦难与死亡，以高过人间的站姿
五月的大渡河，时间的流血
涛声，捂住了川西高原的哭
我是一块中弹的五月的弹孔
射出的另一个黎明与自己
刊于《四川日报》、《新大陆诗刊》/美国
获“海河杯”全国诗歌大赛一等奖/中国作家万里行
◎ 大藏寺，山水合掌的恩施
有一种道路，是独自离开
向上的高原与峡谷，成为一种退守
高原每抬高一步，天空便低了一头
在人间，欲望的每一步都是苦难的深陷
有些灵魂，给肉体跪下
有些命运，给苦难跪下
有些天空，给大地跪下
有些泪滴，给自己跪下
一炷香，把自己插入灰烬中
替那些跪下去的事物孤单地站着
俯身的光芒，是内心的钟声
仰视的头颅，是山顶的云烟
我不在人间。在白云外
以草原的自牧，与高原的自诩
刊于《中国文艺家》
获“海河杯”全国诗歌大赛一等奖/中国作家万里行
◎ 在黄姚古镇，我遇见另一个我
“万物都是自己的镜子，它只映照
回头的人。”
黄姚，时光把自己走丢，却把梦
与梦中喊你的姓氏，留住
在古镇，通往这里的路长满石头
竖起的道路，伸手而来的岭南
岭南的万千群山用石头的眺望
追踪八千里路云和月的行程
古镇抱紧江南，坐在梦中：
宋朝，与我，以及更远的中原走散
曾经一路的风霜，走成古镇今夜
弦月。一个是我的人
在另一个征途与生活之中
就像古镇被突然照亮的梦中
走出的，另一个我
“这些安静，纯粹，陌生，孤独
正弥合着世间被撕裂的部分。”
在古镇面前，一切事物都无可遁形
房屋与安静并肩站着
墙壁的每一面，都映照阳光
墙影的手指，指向万物的内心
寂静的古镇，扩散为一缕缕青烟
万物皆在梦中，像水底五彩斑斓的
石头。青草、树木，虫鸣与鸟啼
一抹晚霞中的山色，撞响古寺的钟
荷塘里莲与月，滚动一滴露水的初心
水边的闲云与野鹤，对影成三人
与我一样，把头伸向天空交谈
村头，万物合围成一棵巨大的榕树
植物的思想，一如根须倒挂
一棵奔跑了五百年的榕树
身后：绿色的乡愁赶来
灵魂在流水中，那纯粹的古镜
找到了自己的脸，与光芒
“你才会用心灵说，有一个彼岸的
世界。”
在古镇，万物都向着内心深处生长
古井，在内心挖掘天空的雨水
闭上眼睛，就能看清梦的甘甜
古石桥，从自己的内心出发
淌过河，向着彼岸
古屋，心中背负一个人的地老天荒
那座古亭，倚在内心的远望与守候中
古街，倾听内心风的脚步声
所有的脚步，都是为了赶上远方的心跳
远方的山水中，藏有飞瀑与古寺
古寺的内心，怀着香火与晨钟暮鼓
时间的浓雾沿归途渐渐散开
“此刻的我，一个在南方的艳阳里
大雪纷飞的人”
成为流水，再陪伴一千年的流离
成为岩石，再打坐一千年的慈悲
刊于《四川诗歌》
获第十届扎龙诗会二等奖
Selected Bilingual Poems of Qin Feng
Tr. ZHANG Qiong
◎ Mangcheng Historic Site, an Evidence for the Land in Old Times
"The draughty ruins with the whisper of the gods all round,
Like an aphonous song forgetting itself and imagining itself."
Time is a kind of altitude, Mangcheng ruins of four thousand years
Collapses from the heart of the ancient Shu. Downward or inward
It becomes a height, caught in the depth of time and tide
The eight-hundred-mile Qingcheng Mountain watch afar, as a spectator or an evidence
On the slope of time, everything is buried again and again
Their own gravity and weight
Wind and rain, thunder and lightning are hidden in good violence
Tearing themselves apart again and again
The wrenching pain is the only way to reach their own
I dissect myself, embracing the barren as kind of existence
I seem to stand alone in the dark disregarding of time
Mourning the loss of a man and the disappearance of a tribe
The empty me is a fragment of the ruins
Becoming a kind of evidence of the ancient Shu ancestors
Proving for mountains and rivers, for the time
From the Yingpan Moutain it its north to Baotun at its south
Under the ruins of Mount Qingcheng
The will of the ancient Shu has been carbonized
The faces of the horde and time extinguish on the walls
The body of the patriarch is holding an empty pubic bone
A few blocks of stone retreat to a corner of the wall
Standing in their own hardness and light
The shining stone is the king of the sunken earth
Ancestors and tribes cut themselves into stone tools
In misery, acuteness is the only work
After thousands of years the sharp points grow into iron
With the stars and the moon tonight, down on me
On the vast earth, crops die repeatedly
The eternal farming by the slash-and-burn method on the land
Like ashes and faith and seed
Like the rotten one with cave-like eyes
Goes towards itself and the future
"Life will keep throwing blades of grass into the soil."
Straw and straw shall stand upon the rooftops of the plains of Chengdu
Where hunger is not existed
At the moment, I am the fireworks of mankind and world
◎ Yulei Mountain, Let the Fragrance and Moonlight Blow into Your Face
The aged wine. Osmanthus wine falls into the moonlight
Making the dew and soul of September branches weightless
Flowing away with the snow and water of Minjiang River
The aged beach. The waning moon that fell into the river
It is the rustless lying iron in ancient Dujiang Weir
Lying iron embraces the rust of the mountains and the inner iron
The aged statues. Some resisting works becomes walls
Some dead becomes grass, some aged statues
Gets stuck in mud again. The heavy ropes on the ancient road
Tea and horse are lost beyond thousands of mountains and rivers
Salt and iron, go to and from like roads to the ancient hunger
The aged height. A hanging ladder of flowers and clouds
The power of the abyss, the pull-up mountain heights
Blood on the walls of old town waves like flags
The climber is looking for his face
He who calls the mountain is waiting for his soul
The hair of the angry is rolling like the wheat billows on the Chengdu plain behind him
The floating clouds over MoutYulei comes from the overhead irrigation
The ancient Qingcheng Mountain and the beautiful Jinjiang River
Are sources of the Land of Abundance. A loving waning moon
Is lost in the cup of the land of Abundance
And its arms
◎ I Want to Bask the Shiny Sun with You
Along the stairs, we go up to the sunny slopes
The mountains, like books, open one by one
Where rocks grow into cliffs
Where the mountain flowers grow into clouds
I stood above my head
Enjoy the cool autumn air alone
The wild grass and flowers over the mountains
Let me get away from the foreign land
The sunshine on the yellow leaves and grass tips
Like a dewdrop, maintains a distance and height
from the human world, containing
All the sadness and sentiments
Right here, on the slopes of autumn
I want to be with you
Basking in the shiny sun
Lying in the vast sway of Minshan Mountain
Lost in the bells and incense of Lingyan Temple
In the moment and forever
Right here, on the ramp of time
I want to be with you
Basking in the shiny sun
Neither crying nor wasting time
Side by side, with the autumn wind, grazing together
Secrets like flowers all over the mountains
Right here, on the slope of dreams
I want to be with you
Basking in the shiny sun
Thinking of myself, a long way to go
Missing you, the flowers are so sweet
When the mortal world breaks, your back is the wind
The water, and the porcelain
It's my, my shiny sunshine and secrets
Scattered all over the world
◎ Recalling the Past as Picking up a Flower
I am awakened by the solitude of Mout. Qingcheng
Opening my eyes toward the depth of my features
Like a snake's tongue, shooting out for the fields, forests, flowers, flames and the world
On both sides of the Minjiang River
In the flower village, I seek myself alone
Lost in the flowers
Recalling the past begins with the plants and villages Touched by Puzhao Temple and Weijiang River
Flowers bloom at the bell and fall to the running water
The morning sun and the evening glow, become another form
Of me and the flower, poetic dwelling
The wind blows on my face
The flowers bloom behind me
No, it’s not that I see the flowers bloom
But the flower makes me bloom leaf by leaf
In the vast expanse of flowers crowded with shadows
I cannot see the human face
The shadow, scattering into the world
Mingles with the swaying of flowers
Like a bee in a hurry jumps over the branch
Into a vast transparent abyss
In plum wood, I’d live in seclusion with a plum and a crane
Scrubbing the blue sky with a pool of white clouds
In begonia garden, I’d follow the allusions pear blossoms over begonia flowers
Chanting a song about the graying hair on my temples in the spring breeze
In the flower village, suddenly I understand
I am the name of the flowers and time
Red is the basis of my thought
White the color of my soul
What is a flower, who am I
Like plants, I rely more on darkness to grow
Like flowers, I bloom more toward night
All good things lift up their heads to the light
I am part of the flower village and its fragrance
I am in breath with them deeply
◎ To Holy WhiteStone
Pieces of white stone of the broken clouds
Lift the whole western Sichuan plateau and the sky
The white sun, moon and stars
Sit on the roof of Jiarong Zang Village
Malcon was born in the holy stone
And grows up. The highland and canyon hidden in fire
Burns in ancient times over and over again
The white-wind flame, on the southern Tibetan plateau
Like an eagle, blows and soars through thousands of years
Too many snow peaks, too many vicissitudes
Too little worship is touched
Too many canyons, too many crossings
Too few journeys are saved
Too much meadow, too much frost and snow
Too few secrets have been awakened
Too much nakedness, too much misery
Too little permafrost is buried
The white stone, a frozen heart on the plateau
Is planted in the breast by all things
The white stone, make itself into a living
Seed that keeps growing
The fire in the skeleton of highland barley
The troche in the blood of the River Somo
The flame in the smile of Gesang flower
The blaze in the fingers of a prayer flag
Jiarong is a fire burning in Malcon
The crackling fried Tibet dance
Is the night of Zang village and the inner stone of the night
O! Holy white stone, on the plateau growing higher and higher
Are the head, the road and the stone
◎ Pure and Bright: April's Two Teardrops
Pure and Bright. The only two Chinese words
Alive in the forlorn 'nd deserted month of April.
The two teardrops, lonesome and desolate,
Are time and again being scrubbed and rinsed
By rainwater in the alien land.
Th'Entrance to the Village. The gate of life and death
Of my native place is wide agape.
The vast universe has long collapsed into earth.
The watchful watch of withered grass, dried trees, and winds.
On the way home, no one's on his way back.
Sufferings. Adopted over and over,
Have grown into the only standing crops:
Mother's grave, and Father's tomb.
I, I am the life and death of my ancestors;
I, I am orphan to myself,
A gravestone, that walks upright.
◎ A Morning Turning to a Winter
The cold of winter is like the pain of stripping naked shame;
You have to hold yourself tight or warm yourself up.
Only after the snow shower could I give you a clean hug
To emblaze the fire for your fingers, to melt the snow for your lips.
The confused morning fog, carrying the sun lantern
In the morning of winter, turns to the winter morning.
How much cold is it to pile up, the frozen river,
From here, reaches to the shore?
Save myself. Innumerable I condensed into one,
Walk through it all, the suffering and the way.
◎ The Dadu River’s Bullet Holes in May
The River in May climbs the snow-capped mountains and crosses the marshland as usual
To live is to wade through one’s own death again
Suffering has never thawed; the plateau and I are melting
Into water and part of the passage
Every whirlpool is May falling in the water
The bloody torrent crashes headlong into the bank
The water goes ashore and stands fast as a stone
Putting up the fallen May a monument
The stone holds all the lost bodies and names
Giving suffering and death a standing position higher above the world
The Dadu River bleeds in May
The waves covered the cry of plateau west of Sichuan
I'm another dawn and myself
Being shotted out from the bullet hole in May
◎ Grand Tibetan Temple, the Gift of Mountains and Rivers
There is a way to leave alone
The highlands and valleys become a retreat
The higher the plateau rises, the lower the sky drops
In the world, every step of desire is a deep suffering
Some souls kneel to the flesh
Some fates kneel down to suffering
Some skies kneel to the earth
Some tears kneel down to themselves
A joss stick sticks itself in the ashes
Standing alone for the things that kneel
The bending light is the inner bell
The up-looking head is the cloud of the mountain
I'm not in the world, but beyond the white clouds
Self-grazing on the plateau
◎ In Huang Yao Ancient Town I Met Another Me
"Everything is a mirror of itself; it only reflects
The one who turns back."
In Huangyao, time lost itself, but kept the dream
And the name that called you in the dream
In the ancient town, the road to here is covered with stones
The upright road is Lingnan within reach
Lingnan mountains with stones overlooking
Trace the eight-thousand-mile journey of cloud and moon
The ancient town holds tight the south, sitting in a dream:
The Song Dynasty, and I, as well as the further Central Plains are separate and lost
The bygone hardships of a journey walk into the crescent moon
Of the old town tonight. One is myself
From another journey
Like a dream of an ancient town suddenly lit up
Walk out of another me
"The serenity, pureness, strangeness, solitude
Are healing the tearing world."
In front of the ancient town, everything is impossible to hide
Houses stand side by side with silence
The sun shone on every side of the wall
The finger of the wall shadow points to the heart of everything
The quiet old town is diffused into plumes of smoke
Everything is in a dream, like colorful stones
in the water. Grass, trees, insects, and birds
A touch of mountain color in the sunset rings the bell of the ancient temple
Lotus and the moon in the lotus pond, a drop of rolling dew
By the water side, idle cloud and wild crane, and the shadow take shape of three people
Head to the sky like me, they are talking
At the end of the village, a huge banyan tree is surrounded by all things on earth
The thoughts of plants are like roots hanging upside down
A banyan tree that has been running for 500 years
Behind it: green homesickness follows
The soul in the water, the pure ancient mirror
Has found his face with the light
"Then you will say from your heart, there is another shore
Of the world."
In the ancient town, everything grows toward deep heart
The old well digs in the heart for the rain from sky
Close your eyes, you will see the sweet dream
The ancient stone bridge, from its own heart
Runs across the river toward the other shore
That ancient house carries a person's life
That ancient pavilion leans on the heart of waiting for the distant
That ancient street listens to the footsteps of the wind inside
All the steps are to catch up with the heartbeat in the distance
In the distant landscape, there are waterfalls and ancient temples
The heart of the ancient temple hides the incense and morning bells and evening drums
The fog of time is lifting
"At that moment, I’m alone in the southern sun
Fluttering like snowflakes"
Become water, wandering another thousand years
Become a rock, meditating another thousand years
秦风，本名蒲建雄，男，文学博士，成都文学院特邀作家。曾获首届天府文学作品奖、苏东坡文学奖、李煜文学奖、上海市民诗歌节诗歌奖、2022年度十佳华语诗人奖、意大利梅莱托国际诗歌奖、悉尼国际诗歌节诗人奖。应邀参加第27届（印度）世界诗人大会，著有诗集《独步苍茫》。
About the author:
QIN Feng, real name PU Jianxiong, Doctor of Literature. is a specially invited writer of Chengdu Academy of Arts.He has won the first Tianfu literature award, Su Dongpo literature award, Li Yu literature award, Shanghai citizen Poetry Festival poetry award,2022 Top 10 Chinese Poets Award, Italy meleto International Poetry award and Sydney International Poetry Festival poet award. He was invited to participate in the 27th World poet Conference (India). He is the author the poetry anthology Stepping on the Horizon.
译者简介：
张琼，肇庆学院外国语学院副教授，中国翻译协会专家会员，广东肇庆市翻译协会会长。
ZHANG Qiong， Associate Professor of School of Foreign Languages of Zhaoqing University，senior member of Translators Association of China, President of Translators Association of Zhaoqing.
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 2023-4-17 13:13
发表于 2023-4-17 21:17
