The Poetry of Wang Yin
王寅
Selections: 1982-1994
Wang Yin was born in 1962 in
1) Remembering a Czech Film Unable to Recall its Name [想起一部捷克电影想不起片名]
2) We Are Such a Success [我们如此成功]
3) A Recitation [朗诵]
4)
5)
6) Walt Whitman [华尔特 惠特曼]
7) A Night in Conversation with the Poet Bly [与诗人勃莱一夕谈]
8) Outside My Room It Seems to Rain Everyday [好像每天室外在下雨]
9) If You Can Write Poetry, That's Not Bad [能写出诗就不错]
10) A Person [一个人]
11) A Walnut Poem [核桃之诗]
12) A Flowering Walking Stick [开花的手杖]
13) Important Matters [重要的事情]
14) The Red Hotel [红色旅馆]
15) Melancholy [忧郁]
16) A Story of the Eastern District [东区故事]
17) Continue [继续]
18) A Man Drops Out of Midair [一个人从半空中落下]
19) You Told Me the Image of the Dead [你告诉了我死者的形象]
20) A Minor Injury [一点小伤]
21) To A Local Poet [致一位本地诗人]
22) The Intruder [闯入者]
23) Kafka's Way [卡夫卡的方式]
24) The Gardener [园丁]
25) Witnesses [目击者]
26) Martians [火星人]
27) Starlight on Teeth [齿上的星光]
28) Analogous [类似]
29) Saying Too Much is a Menace [说多了就是威胁]
30) Get Close [靠近]
31) A Summer Day Together with Ghosts [和幽灵在一起的夏日]
32) Autumn[秋天]
33) A Divine Gift [神赐]
34) A Horse Trough at Dawn [黎明的马槽]
35) People Far From The Beach [远离海滩的人们]
36) Because [因为]
37) A Hot Winter [炎热的冬天]
38) Song of Idiocy [白痴之歌]
39) The Affairs of Life [生活之事]
40) Contemporary Poetry or September [当代诗歌或九月]
41) Fearful Esteem [恐惧的尊敬]
42) My Friends in
#7: The Rossetti Bookstore [罗塞蒂书店]
43) Love [爱情]
44) For a Time an Illusion [一度是幻想]
45) The Slope Beyond the Slope [倾斜而上的土坡]
46) Shadows Start to Tilt in the Afternoon [阴影在午后开始倾斜]
Remembering a Czech Film Unable to Recall its Name [想起一部捷克电影想不起片名]
November 1982
A wet cobblestone street
a wet
on a corner in a park a girl kisses you
you do not even blink
later confronting the muzzles of guns it was like this too
The SS wearing raincoats inside out
like bright leather overcoats
three-wheel motorcycles drive past
When you and friends fell the rain was still falling
I saw one raindrop and then another
on a power line pursuing
finally falling on the cobblestone road
I think of you
lips move
nobody sees
We Are Such a Success [我们如此成功] 1983
We are such a success
dropping from high dive towers
the inside lining of nylon parachutes a stretch of black
We are such a success
passing through sundeck railings passing over bird nests
onto the mountain opposite
nor do bullets shrink back open bottles of alcohol too
We are such a success
so successfully stand on this bleak lunar surface
The poet Gary Snyder
sits at the end of that mountain path
colorless dim we can't clearly see whether he
still has sideburns
he takes off his shoes dumps out some dust
the sand blows away with the wind
a crow a head of black hair blown by the wind
We are such a success so successfully
we feel people have been beasts since birth
A Recitation [朗诵] 1983
I am not a person who can recite poems
and make everybody cry
but I can use my words
to move the blue walls surrounding me
when I walk out on stage, the audience is
black birds, wings cushioned on
open red-cover notebooks and handkerchiefs
This I see every morning Every morning I see this
Thank you all
Thank you everybody the winter still loves a poet
(1913-1954, LIFE photo-journalist) 1984
A battlefield photojournalist says to me
rain's stopped
Really, we came out of the restaurant on the corner
and the rain stopped
there was only wind
But on the
three weeks later he died there
died in the black rainy season
On his face there was never a scar
none
Finally when he fell under a banana tree
also none
His left hand gracefully clutching a camera as if
holding his own right hand
softly a dark green leaf
flashes on black leather boots a black jacket
When he and I came out of the restaurant
after the rain in the sky
there was a dark brown spot
like a button on
but neither of us said a thing
Night on the brink of the seashore
a palm tree
suddenly dreams itself
changed into
a man holding a knife
a campfire
a lion
In the morning waking he saw
a lion
a pile of ashes
one dead
Walt Whitman [华尔特 惠特曼]
He is now in my front yard chopping firewood
He should make sound
like sunlight that way
I have to squint to see him
He should make sound
not obscurely chew a leaf of tobacco
also not a butterfly
seasoning soup or a plate
falling under an oak in
He should make sound
chopping firewood is best
stand in my front yard chopping wood ding-ding dang-dang
like sunlight that way
pure and proud
We all squint to see him
A Night in Conversation with the Poet Bly [与诗人勃莱一夕谈]
In the night's light grass is very deep
for a long time no human trace
for a long time I never thought of you
your isolated chin twinkles
like that red star in the sky
Besides the night I must also silently sit in the deep grass
intertwine my fingers
so as to forget the approach of dawn
to forget I have parted from books for many years
A white horse gallops head-on at me, a white butterfly
tramples over insect sounds firefly light
Outside My Room It Seems to Rain Everyday [好像每天室外在下雨] 1985
Everyday outside my room it seems to rain, studying
burying my head in books
never again can I be conquered by whoever
Books have already become books, I have already died too
long months and years, all have gone a little gray
they all are a little sad
Like the bristle of a dark-color bird arranged neat and tidy
everyday outside my room it seems to rain, deep in thought
now what do they duck their heads to do
If You Can Write Poetry, That's Not Bad [能写出诗就不错] 1985
If you can write poetry, that's not bad
who cares what's good what's right
five months not combing my hair
there are always a few weeds
consider yourself lucky if your incisors have not fallen out
Nor am I a painting
night and day day and night picked at by people
living is enough
living one doesn't have to be like Robbie Burns
I do not feel a thing when I plow over a chrysanthemum
A Person [一个人]
A person at leisure is like morning rain in front of the gate
smell the light green wooden partition
wave your hand, pat the low wall
this is all of responsibility
The right knee has an injury
then you should give up
skiing on slopes
This world is an affair outside the window
eyesight only reaches to fingertips
Climbing a mountain is even more of a high hope
lifting a bed up onto a stage is already enough
A person cuts with both hands, seems to hear a sobbing sound
sink into a deep sea
fish scales shimmer
only their own kind can see
A Walnut Poem [核桃之诗] 1985
Following an abandoned rail-line you can walk alone for a long time
trees and water flow grow and do not stare at the sky
At the end of a tunnel there is a hard fruit
me, and you
cannot enter
Of course this cannot be a walnut
smashing a walnut
is like reading a good poem
the crisp clean sound of the hard shell shattering
the sound of a river flowing
Blood illuminates sunlight
What has he smashed
A Flowering Walking Stick [开花的手杖] May 1986
You read to me a poem written by
a man to his wife, and I listen
so entranced
this makes it clear that the war is already over
and not that there is something now starting anew
The wind is already weak, birds pull in their wings
I still attentively listen
hearing something still blackening
still navigating under the moon
sailing under green grass
fresh air like a glass of ice water
Beneath the north's horizon, snowmen
like a constellation
flash
Important Matters [重要的事情] July 6, 1986
Important matters always start from the left
a hand of folded paper
has always cherished a great ambition
to write a book on a bed sheet
the other hand holds an Adam's apple of folded paper
without any expression
a satisfying work
poured into boiling coffee
Following this path too many become people
too many grow into birds and hurt feelings
the shadow under the stairs is always somewhat longer than summer
the dance arrayed beside this is a light color
the courtyard is first class too
Fallen trees lying east to west
steadily open the only body they have
The Red Hotel [红色旅馆] 1986
Following my death, after
I am dead, I saw them on my bookshelves
casually looking
leafing through my collection of books
You see, just as they flick their cigarette ash
they spit out one or two funny lines
tug at the turned-up collars of windbreakers
You see I wait in a little black box
a black book of poetry
a black planet
cold and outlandish
You see, they so naturally
beat this black color with pistols
The first few seconds are silent
you see the wind opens the door to the room
you see all their white eyes .sticking close the green wall collapse
you see their blood stained on shoes
then on the floor stepped on
Melancholy [忧郁] 1986
Unease is the form of the saddle
behind there are no waves
when we are too rushed
when fingers bend
normally
already we are not jockeys
The black night is like rain
but we are not soaked
the day is kinder to you and me
on a summer table you sink deep into sleep
I put a glass of water by your side
you will trek along a river
you will calm the water as it was before
And I in another room
fill each cup with water
like plucking fruit after transparent fruit
all afternoon doing only this
the river water waits for us
waits for green water
waits for a big whale to spout flowery vines
the water will wait for us
We will dry out before the water does
A Story of the Eastern District [东区故事] 1986
The weekend you and me in a cafe, you and me
reside high above the big trees in the heart of the street
the black rooves of
soft and within reach
Already I don't have to tell you the way here
already no need to pray
you are beside me
we are above the tall trees in the heart of the street
Night like a stepladder passes overhead
descends
does not want the day, so seize it
Continue [继续] 1986
A canal behind
the pasture shrinks
some more trees
the sea
closer
poems already seldom cold
death, should be happier should have more
trifles, such as
a brief sleep at noon in the wind
like a sail hanging aslant
as I in your dream
hang overhead upside-down, clothed and asleep
out of your dresser mirror
appears
my hope for a hundred years
like blue sea anemone
occupied by handkerchiefs, books, a table
and waves around a wood
A Man Drops Out of Midair [一个人从半空中落下] 1986
A man drops out of midair
what will he see
Fragments of hawks
rivers blackened by the sun
blue volcanic chains of mountains
burning automobiles
a white flight of stairs like the flashing ridges of rooves
a square in the end he will die in the square there
on the square from a distance watching him
a large flock of gray and white pigeons
it could also be children
before this they too were watching this way
A man drops out of midair
a stone falls down
You Told Me the Image of the Dead [你告诉了我死者的形象]
You told me the image of the dead
your eyes
still twinkle with the light of a summer morning
I gaze at you, wring my hands
what else can I say
everybody has their own moment of sorrow
we went to the graveyard five kilometers away
no one said a thing
what is worth celebrating is not our living
but that between the cracks of our fingers
only a week of winter remains
Winter is also a season, a night
all or us wearing black cotton-lined coats
around a stove
A Minor Injury [一点小伤]
The injury did not occur then but later the entire time after
While answering question after question
following behind person after person going up and down the stairs
tearing away the bandages layer upon layer
this is a minor hurt a minor injury under the winnowing of a black ceiling fan
a little red violet blue injury
a minor hurt the pain came later
a little hurt lying on the bed knees not able to bend dreams of tulips in a meadow also brown
butterflies after a breeze they also are lonely also read poems after the breeze
those that enjoy sleep all sleep
a bit of a minor injury a minor hurt sleep and not death
suffering an injury is also a kind of life
spending the afternoon lying down is really not so bad at that
To A Local Poet [致一位本地诗人]
On a train to the island you are on, I come to see you
in this land of sunlight
you still stay in the depths of your board shack
under the table your legs tightly crossed
your expression grave
fingers slender and dry
In the dark
your eyes naked, no shadows
and your vacant four walls
after the rain black-green tree leaves flash cold light
I find I have already been hung up high
suspended between you and the land
to walk on your board shack
is bound to be like walking on thin ice
during a moment without people, dawn or dusk
your hair like waves blown out by the wind
crosses a shore of shingle
steady, spry, you
like an open book
fly away
The Intruder [闯入者]
The intruder is always to one side
stretching in under the door like the carpet next door
crawling toward the four walls
like a door opening inward
A fan leisurely fluttering
the flames of a summer day
someone else's hair
handwriting on paper
needles in a box
a fifth chair in front of the dinner table
a severed hand
can not find the rest of itself
the unseeable face of the intruder
like the abstruse innards of a clock
Simultaneous with stillness
there is an even quieter sound
moving nearer
I always stare with expectation
at the clean inner wall of .a cup
at any time the strings of the instrument are drawn
Kafka's Way [卡夫卡的方式]
The cornering vehicle tilts to one side
you take a strong grip of the armrest you alone feel a burst of outward force
this is why why only you grasp the armrest
why only you feel the centrifugal force
one day the mirror also tilts to one side; happily the whole house
revolves, then it is Kafka and you
why this is only you know
A door at the base of the lane temple is half open
another door is half open too
this is also why this is as somebody told you
what is Kafka in hunter's garb Kafka in the sound of a bell
sand Kafka black Kafka peanut Kafka
why they want to tell you this and not something else
why this is this only you know
From underwater you see a person is not a tree
but the bark peels off and this is you
what does this show, you shiver when it is not cold, split
like a burst of red rain anxious rain
Kafka's rain
why is it again you and Kafka Kafka and you
why this is this only you know
If you live very happily then live
if living you might become stupid very content with your lot not daring to mount an overpass
then this is why Kafka is dead and you still live
Kafka lives then you die
dead and still baring teeth when you smile
and this is why you and Kafka Kafka and you
why this is only you yourself know
The Gardener [园丁]
This garden is full of secrecy
The shrubs and I go forward side by side
intricate seven-toed flowers bloom across my shoulders
birds fly to a height I can not fly to
pine branches angle crosswise
winter days spew a thin blue
The sound of my son
like a little old man
older than me
in the air more rapidly vanishes
than my look
A shriveled orange with no ears
like a dinosaur egg that just crawled up on the riverbank
more oranges
faces askew
like an anonymous master who abandons this and goes
The bird has already flown to the height beyond my reach
I stand on the ground
like a dry well
in invisible places spring trees
quietly grow
Witnesses [目击者]
Step on your shadow
chew your exposed wrists
hot air is exhaled on your neck
the broken base of a bottle cuts your heel
scissors clip your last button
The witness
tugging a fishing rod, strikes the surface of the water
the witness
facing the street in a round-backed chair sips tea
reads a paper, rubs sugar between his fingers
the witness
on a sundeck releases pigeons
gathers the click of an instant
When the pedestrian fell
when the tall building caught fire
just as panic-stricken you remove your glasses
immediately there will be someone to put them on for you
If you also forget yourself
ubiquitous witnesses
will piece you together again in your entirety
more beautiful than at first
Martians [火星人]
They give me cubes of orange ice
a flying ship of the same color
together with me they drink the tea on the table
share cookies in a box
they pick up my books
as if lifting a corner of the air
teach me to walk on flames on water
Just them, these sole three friends of mine
friends flying wild as leaves
like music spread over china
and following the night
beyond a round mirror quietly fade away
Starlight on Teeth [齿上的星光]
A dizzy body
startled awake in exile
starlight on teeth
dispels the raging inferno that has long waited
A spring of incomparable beauty
still in refuge in music
this forever recurring fancy
this young poem's
entire secret and hesitation
Comes from the dead
comes from earrings of snow
and invincible darkness
Analogous [类似]
A local disease, discarded drizzle
a distant fiery scene florid shadows
the head pillowed on hands has no sound or odor
Enforced loneliness, doubled peace
your sole joy differs from
the whole of freedom
The dismal years fall to pieces
fragile strength still is courage
sacrifice caused grief to lose its showiness
Sunlight comes from a tree leaf long asleep
now my eyes are adapting to the light
Saying Too Much is a Menace [说多了就是威胁]
Saying too much is a menace, friend
but do not forget to smile
do not forget the problem is always with the wheels
don't forget the nearly inescapable distress of fellow-travellers
do not let damaged friendship
be hidden that way like a water-stain on a table
Say it, keep an irreplaceable envy
use this hand to conquer
another similarly fierce hand
A penny thrown into the air must have a front and a back
dear friend, saying too much is a menace
speaking correctly, that is death
Get Close [靠近]
Finally I can recall my country
the
the essence destroyed
In order to remember autumn, we must
once again pass through summer
unpredictable hot days
the season we start to die
We must hand over our wings to the driver of an army pack train
give seed to the world
like rainwater migrate that way
like crickets wail that way
like a key that way
full of desolate implicit meaning
Finally I can recollect my nation
my deerskin gloves. and
a white storm
already without a shadow or trace
A Summer Day Together with Ghosts [和幽灵在一起的夏日]
A summer day together with ghosts
the sunlight bathes sad colors
an inscribed bicycle
goes with a town raised long ago by ancestors
An extreme excess of heroes
tolerance almost destroyed
everyday affairs too painful to endure
ceremonies numbed and inhuman
Major rivers and secondary seas
blend nearly like a dream
too many gods
have already transformed the season into a lie
At dawn an unbridled water lily blossoms
wood pulp soft like a butterfly's wing
ghosts together with a summer day
a wildly beating heart full of worry
Autumn[秋天] Oct. 23, 1991
Sunlight appears in days that are not holidays
the sunlight comes from the direction people have left
gloomy dispirited flies
in similarly exhausted fields
moving with slow small steps
Feeble things, second-rate items for everyday use
wanton extravagance, artful words and reputable appearances
wigs spinning like pinwheels
hot blood surging forward under scalps
winged snowflakes are about to arrive
The first that may enter the tomb
are always budding seeds of chestnut hue
in front of an abstemious door
they halt
and tidy their clothes and hats
A Divine Gift [神赐] Feb. 1, 1992
How will you thank the sunset and genius
how will you treat these political roses
these springs with absolutely no definite views
How will you hear the rebellion of the hour hand
how deal with the fire in paper
the tempestuous river under the city
A vision in a sleeve
passed over reasonable and credible boundaries
the look of a patient and the wild laughter of flags
similar like this
an undertaking as false as this
a concealing as quick as this
Distressed skull bones, the heart of summer day
the fragrance of sorrow, also
the sound of children crying over by the milky way
However can you reply
A Horse Trough at Dawn [黎明的马槽] April 9, 1992
A trough at dawn
like a horse's back
covered by coarse kernels of grain
rubs my neck
I lean on the shore of the eastern sea
put on and take off my gloves
lungs full of the smell of rusting iron
dismal and shameful too
Thunder and lightning flash by, a swallow
black wings disappear at the slightest relaxation
the sea also is only
a simple mysterious dead-end alley
The head pressed into a notch in the trough
like a star come back to life
slowly opens its eyes, gasping blood and water
purifies the life that daily thins ghosts
People Far From The Beach [远离海滩的人们]
Gust after gust of glistening air
blows coal dust toward the surface of the sea
the remains of a boat buried by sandy soil
limbs that cannot be restored
millions of workdays forgotten
on the ocean unwatched
the grief of heroes forever shines
Because [因为]
The nose of language extends toward the sea
the secret finally bares its teeth
a dawn of dissipation on paper
the very image of yet another teaching in an ancient text
a horse with a broken foreleg
on the deck can only
sit and watch the ship's rudder split open a school of fish
Like clay, god represents
the commonest virtue, and sailors
are comatose grains, a life
dismal and brief
a soft fragmented skull mixes with fresh blood
An ancient fly treads the waves
its odor pungent, resolute
its wings dominate to the left and the right of
terror, chance and
a section of a bridge in the soul
A Hot Winter [炎热的冬天]
Why does my era want to oppose me
why twist and break my neck
why does the season I've sung of
want to exterminate me too
why does a dissident smell suffuse the square
natural hostility, inauspicious silence
hypocritical glory, false undertaking
a plot I am entirely unaware of
mixed with a soup spoon
Why has fate placed me in the heart of conflict
why does it want to control my timid soul
exempting me from sobbing
and make me like an ordinary reader
in a library on a shiny table surface frittering away time
why make my heart
become the place that beats slowest on earth
This is why
god is still so kind to me
giving me time to finish reading this all
in this hot winter making me
take the time lost again and again by delay
and pour it all out
Song of Idiocy [白痴之歌]
My name is not important
what is important is that seawater has already gone red
ige cubes are already used up
revolution finally is affirmed
exile has a prototype again
My name is not important
what is important-is the excellent southland
well-defined hues
round-the-clock weak points
quiet without a sound
My name is not important
what is important is that I must choose
a sound inside an echo
what is important is that my eyes are already well-prepared
and my blood is too
The Affairs of Life [生活之事]
Let the living accurately put food in their mouths
let the dead be wrapped in the sole scarf
Let the eye of a needle afraid to seek
pleasure and happiness shrink even smaller
let the tearful part of the years gradually subside
let pain, this trembling flower petal
cover the bright and beautiful world
Like a repentant criminal
a red pencil
sticks into the soft soil of May
Contemporary Poetry or September [当代诗歌或九月]
Hysterical intellect, painful modesty
the number of poems, the archetype of revolution
follow the western path of the setting sun, a long walk
take this unique panacea
until the autumn wind scatters
a season of bumper crops will bring us
up to be meek children
In the depths of the sunlight
misery also blanches
Fearful Esteem [恐惧的尊敬]
A fractured revolution, the power of dogma
has already thrown me into a series of moving prisons
this blow, without a sound
like black head ornaments, like the crest of waves
like the arms of rain
spans the white window lattice
The black night shocks me
daylight makes me tremble
death must be accepted or rejected
ruin is now persuading
the china cup soon to be sold
amid the turbulent flow of fingers
Soaring poems
fly over a tiny winter
in the depths of sunlight
the bones of a bird are of value beyond compare
FROM: My Friends in Denmark [我在丹麦的朋友们], a series of nine poems.
#7: The Rossetti Bookstore [罗塞蒂书店]
This is your life
Green tea black coffee
red lips white fingers
colorful lattice windows chinese clay figurines
even more it is English and Spanish conversation
like using two books to converse
This is your life
Shades half raised with the wind, mazes come into being
pale sunflowers
tall green-leaved trees with worried expressions
aside from the sound of them
nobody else will come
This is your life
Books slice bread hair is carved into stela
gentle love
a dead predecessor
an idle paper knife in the shape of a fish
quite like a bird without wings
This is your life
A lock is put on time you pace within
one hand clamped in a closed book
the other hand kept back
in a dream in the dark
strokes a tearless cheek
This is your life
In the weak sound of reading
you always hear your own body
walk up wooden stairs pass over an incessant series of rooftops
vanish inside
a rough net
This is your life
Love [爱情]
A violin in water
a butterfly in water
a finger in water
erratic fluctuations
For a Time an Illusion [一度是幻想]
For a time it was an illusion
for a time a passion
Sometimes it is dimmer than being by the sea
sometimes wearier than today
sometimes subtler than the wind
sometimes flowing farther than my train of thought
sometimes icier than flames
sometimes lengthier than a life
sometimes even brighter and more beautiful than May
sometimes even higher than the sound of a fiddle over a rooftop
sometimes even harder to grasp than tears
The Slope Beyond the Slope [倾斜而上的土坡]
The slope beyond the slope
trees tilting
grow in the same direction
The boat we took
prow wrapped in iron skin
painted a cold color
moored on shore
A solitary light, rain, a blue bug
a cushioned chair
a fractured arm and a shattered heart
All this, also us
and characters in books
all frighteningly alike
More frightening is our story
already shot into a film
no longer between the kind and the good
The mysteries of the universe are all in a walnut
and we can only be outside
a spiral staircase takes us back again to origins
Shadows Start to Tilt in the Afternoon [阴影在午后开始倾斜]
After noon shadows start to tilt
the street warm and wet
sunlight makes fresh flowers
bloom allover the building on the right
__________
A water bottle, the water in the bottle
the room so soft
the air clean
the contours of things clear-cut and prominent
__________
The skin of crickets falls off
pieces of ice melt in the wind
supple thorns
like water slapping faces and hands
__________
Your gentle back
an a corner of a bench
now silent soundless
as if a horse galloped by
__________
Time is behind you
revolving like a sphere
under your skin
there will be mornings, small birds, fruit
__________
I think of you again
because I lose you again
I cannot stop
there is no way to stop
__________
In a mirror of memories I am forever passing through
a pretty sunset
a beautiful evening
watching our raised heads
__________
A feeling an atmosphere
a magnet at the heart of the river
passed through ten thousand points of starlight
there you and I will ascend
No comments:
Post a Comment