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朝阳的一面向着你
他站在烈日下
在一辆红色出租车旁
等你
他就像他的国家
假装
什么事情也不曾发生
此刻是正午
连建筑物都没有阴影
你看见的只是他的外表
就像大约二十分钟后
被端上餐桌的那只螃蟹
有着坚硬的外壳
餐后赠送的果盘里
有一只西红柿
饱满 鲜亮
当你轻轻咬了一口
你才发现它内心是烂的
你惊讶得差点叫出声来
他依然不动声色
就像刀叉下的那爿苹果
把朝阳的一面向着你
他和你重新走到阳光下分手
似乎 什么也没有改变
你知道 一切都早已改变
2001年8月20日
Turning That Sun-lit Side of His in Your Direction
he waits in brilliant sun
beside the crimson taxi cab-car
for you
he resembles his country
dissembling
as if nothing had ever happened
it's now right on noon
even the architecture casts no shadows
all you see of him is his outside
resembling the crab carried to your table
approximately twenty minutes later
in its hard outer casing
on the complimentary food platter
a solo persimmon sits
luscious shiny
when you gently bite into it
it's then you find that inside it's rotten
so great is your shock that you almost shout out loud
he doesn't bat an eyelid
and like the slice of apple beneath the knife
turns the sun-lit side of his in your direction
the two of you part ways once more beneath bright sunshine
as if nothing at all had altered
but you know everything's utterly altered
失踪的猫
猫的丢失是预料中的事情
九命猫妖
命定养在京城王府残颓的后花园
在雪泥里走来走去
当它乘火车南下
也带来了轰隆隆响的大雾
那个我喜爱的美国诗人桑德堡早就描述:
(我像他一样热爱堕落的都市)
“雾来了 踩着小猫步”
在四楼阳台
猫“坐着俯瞰
港口和城市”
一不小心关好门
它就溜出去了
“撑着 一动不动的屁股
然后 又往前走”
我不替它担心
猫妖有九条命是死不了的
它肯定跑到更明亮开阔的天地去了
镀银的爪子一闪一闪
正撕扯一只大鸟的内脏
2001年8月23日
注：引号内为桑德堡的诗《雾》，由本人汉译。
The Missing Cat
the cat's leaving was something predictable
nine-lived grimalkin
raised by fate in a prince's crumbling garden in Peking
in mud and snow, roaming alone
when it makes the train ride down South
it brings with it a rolling-rumbling great fog
just as that American poet I'm fond of Carl Sandburg once described it
(both he and I alike in love with fallen cities):
"The fog comes on little cat feet"
from a fourth-floor balcony
the cat "sits looking
over harbour and city"
a door left open carelessly
and away it strays again:
"on silent haunches
and then moves on"
I have no worries for it
this grimalkin with its nine lives is indestructible
it's no doubt left for a brighter, more spacious place to be
gilt-silver cat-claws shining, shining
ripping to shreds the entrails of some large bird
人 民
那些讨薪的民工。那些从大平煤窑里伸出的
148双残损的手掌。
卖血染上爱滋的李爱叶。
黄土高坡放羊的光棍。
沾着口水数钱的长舌妇。
发廊妹，不合法的性工作者。
跟城管打游击战的小贩。
需要桑那的
小老板。
那些骑自行车的上班族。
无所事事的溜达者。
那些酒吧里的浪荡子。边喝茶
边逗鸟的老翁。
让人一头雾水的学者。
那臭烘烘的酒鬼、赌徒、挑夫
推销员、庄稼汉、教师、士兵
公子哥儿、乞丐、医生、秘书（以及小蜜）
单位里头的丑角或
配角。
从长安街到广州大道
这个冬天我从未遇到过“人民”
只看见无数卑微地说话的身体
每天坐在公共汽车上
互相取暖。
就像肮脏的零钱
使用的人，皱着眉头，把他们递给了，社会。
The Chinese People
The workers who have to beg for wages. 148 pairs of injured hands
waving from the Daqing coal mine.
Li Aiye, who caught AIDS after giving blood.
The shepherd bachelors of the loess slopes.
Gossipy women, mouths slick with spit as they count their cash.
Hair salon girls: unlicensed sex-workers.
Peddlers engaged in a running battle warfare with city authorities.
Old bosses
in need of a sauna.
The 9 to 5 tribe off to work on their bicycles.
Good-for-nothings with no where to go and nothing to do.
The bar-room wasters. Old men
sipping tea as they pet songbirds.
Scholars who fill the heads of their listeners with fog.
Derros, punters, porters stinking to high heaven;
dandies, beggars, doctors, secretaries (and secret mistresses into the bargain);
workplace clowns
and other supporting actors.
From the Avenue of Heavenly Peace to the Guangzhou Dadao
I am yet to see 'the Chinese people' this winter;
I've seen ordinary, speaking bodies
which keep each other warm
on buses day after day.
They're like grimy coins:
those who use them hand them over frowning
to society.
风中的北京
风中的北京
骑自行车的人
四下惊飞的麻雀
发粘的空气很脏
陷在灰蒙蒙里的太阳
像一圈暗红的月亮
昨天昨天还秋高气爽
翻飞的纸形而上飞翔的纸
掠过头顶的塑料袋鼓胀的塑料袋
使我看清了风的形状
树叶在响
灰头土脸的麻雀
吱吱喳喳回巢的麻雀
洒落一地京腔
风吹人低见车辆
骑自行车的我
像一支箭
紧绷在弓弦上
射进北京的风里
射入租的家门
两个敲门的警察
令我忆起少年屋檐下
我伸进鸟窝的两根手指
Beijing Wind
Windy Beijing:
people on bikes
and startled sparrows everywhere
The sticky air is filthy
Trapped in haze, the sun
is like a ruddy moon
Yesterday, only yesterday, we had clear autumn weather
Air-borne paper metaphysical, soaring
Plastic bags glide overhead swollen
so that the form of the wind is visible to me
Leaves rustle in trees
Covered from head to foot in dust, sparrows
fly twittering back to their nests
The ground is covered with Beijing accents
Thou, from whose unseen presence the buses and taxis
are driven
Riding my bike, I
am like an arrow
taut against the bow-string
Fired into the Beijing wind
I shoot through the door of my rented house
Two policemen come knocking:
I remember my boyhood,
reaching into a nest beneath a roof
石 油
一
结构现代文明的是液体的岩石
石头内部的冷焰
零度激情，绵长的黑色睡眠
保持在时间的深渊
水与火两种绝对不相容的元素
在事物的核心完美结合
蛰伏的黑马
永恒的午夜之血，停止呼吸的波浪
谁也无法涉过的光明河流
上下驰骋
从一个世界进入另一个世界
二
石油的死亡不是生命的终结
而是转换，从地狱到天堂
从一种形态变为另一种形态
火焰是尖锐的预言
瑰丽的梦境在死的光华中诞生
火中盛开的石油看不见花朵
二十世纪是最黑亮的果实
接连之声不绝，石油在混沌流淌
生死回环的石油气象万千
广大无边的气息
浸淫物的空间，甚至精神的空间
塑料器皿，凡士林，化纤织物
石油在一切感觉不到石油的地方汹涌
石油是新时代的马匹、柴、布、喷泉
金苹果，是黑暗的也是最灿烂的
今天石油的运动就是人的运动
石油写下的历史比墨更黑
三
就像水中的波痕，伤害是隐秘的
大自然在一滴石油里山穷水尽
灵魂陷落，油井解不了人心的渴意
游走奔腾的石油难以界定
在石油的逼视中
回光返照的绿色是最纯美的境地
一尘不染的月光，干净的美
在汽车的后视镜里无法挽留
oil
1
liquid-rock has been the making of modern civilization
the cold flame inside stone
a zero-degree passion, prolonged black sleep
sustained in time's abyss
two absolutely unmixable elements, fire and water
blend perfectly at the core of things
dark dormant horse
eternity's midnight-blood, a wave that stops breathing
river of light no one can ford
galloping across heaven and earth
from one world to the next
2
death of oil is not the end of life
but a conversion, from hell into heaven
from one form into another
flame is intense prophecy
magnificent dreamlands are born in the brilliance of dying
no flowers are visible in the fire-blooming oil
the twentieth century: bright-blackest of fruits
endless unbroken sound, oil flows in chaos
its cycle of births and deaths is spectacular
infinite unlimited fumes
fill material space—even non-material space is inundated
plastic containers, petroleum jelly, synthetic fibres
oil gushes in all those places oil cannot be sensed
oil: the horse, the fuel, the cloth, the fountain of a new age
golden apples: dark and most glittering of all
today the movement of oil is human movement
and the history it writes is blacker than any ink
3
like ripples in water, the damage is concealed
in a drop of oil, nature comes to the end of her resources
spirit collapsed, oil-wells cannot quench the thirst in human hearts
surging, mobile—oil is impossible to define
in oil's steady gaze
the green of that final moment of consciousness is the most beautiful scene of all
stainless, unsullied moon-light, a clear beauty
irretrievable in the vehicle's rear-view mirror
1993
１９６７年的自画像
一只快活的狗崽子从街上穿过
那一年我十岁，没见过一堵干净的墙
使夏天生动的是绿军装
我在辩论的词语中间窜来窜去
在大字报上认字
敏感的鼻子嗅着焦灼的气息
太阳很烫，口号火爆爆的那个夏天
一只狗崽子从革命风暴中穿过
教室空空荡荡
一只狗崽子从子弹的呼啸声中穿过
终于闯到了枪口上方
兴奋无比，十岁的那个夏天我不理解死亡
我觉得自己像是活在电影中
赶上了保尔的时代
当我小心翼翼地从地上捡起一颗弹壳
手指接触的只是一场恶梦的开始
1967年我目睹一张张脸孔在空气中消失
一只惊慌的狗崽子从街上穿过
飞快地逃离1967年的风景
1994年3月7日
self-portrait, 1967
a happy "sonofabitch"* crossing the street
I was ten that year, had never ever seen a bare wall
green army uniforms made the summer exciting
I scampered in and out of the language of debate
learning how to read from political posters
my sensitive snout picking up the smell of burning
the sun was blistering that summer of raging slogans
a sonofabitch crossing through a revolutionary storm
classrooms empt-empt-empty
a "sonofabitch" crossing through a whizz of bullets
finally charging up onto the muzzle of a gun
more thrilled than I'd ever been, I had no idea what death was in my tenth summer
I felt like I was living in a movie
and had caught up with the life and times of the heroic Pavel Korchagin*
when I care-carefully picked up a bullet off the ground
what my fingers touched was only the start of the nightmare
in 1967 I saw faces vanishing into thin air with my own eyes
a jittery little "sonofabitch" crossing the street
and running as fast as it could from the scenes of 1967
* Translator's note: The word gouzaizi, translated above as "sonofabitch", requires some explanation. Zai on its own means "son" or "young animal". Gou means "dog", and the compound gouzaizi is a term of abuse roughly equivalent to "sonofabitch". However, according to a Chinese friend of mine, the term has a special meaning associated with the Cultural Revolution (1966-1976), the period Yang Ke evokes in his poem. At that time, gouzaizi was used to refer to the children of parents classified as landlords, rich peasants, anti-revolutionaries, convicted prisoners and so-called "Rightists" (intellectuals who had criticized the Chinese Communist Party)—in other words, all those people condemned by Maoists. Pavel Korchagin is the worker-hero of the novel How the Steel Was Tempered by Nikolai Ostrovsky. The book was extremely popular in China (millions were sold) and was recently made into a television series.
他站在烈日下
在一辆红色出租车旁
等你
他就像他的国家
假装
什么事情也不曾发生
此刻是正午
连建筑物都没有阴影
你看见的只是他的外表
就像大约二十分钟后
被端上餐桌的那只螃蟹
有着坚硬的外壳
餐后赠送的果盘里
有一只西红柿
饱满 鲜亮
当你轻轻咬了一口
你才发现它内心是烂的
你惊讶得差点叫出声来
他依然不动声色
就像刀叉下的那爿苹果
把朝阳的一面向着你
他和你重新走到阳光下分手
似乎 什么也没有改变
你知道 一切都早已改变
2001年8月20日
Turning That Sun-lit Side of His in Your Direction
he waits in brilliant sun
beside the crimson taxi cab-car
for you
he resembles his country
dissembling
as if nothing had ever happened
it's now right on noon
even the architecture casts no shadows
all you see of him is his outside
resembling the crab carried to your table
approximately twenty minutes later
in its hard outer casing
on the complimentary food platter
a solo persimmon sits
luscious shiny
when you gently bite into it
it's then you find that inside it's rotten
so great is your shock that you almost shout out loud
he doesn't bat an eyelid
and like the slice of apple beneath the knife
turns the sun-lit side of his in your direction
the two of you part ways once more beneath bright sunshine
as if nothing at all had altered
but you know everything's utterly altered
失踪的猫
猫的丢失是预料中的事情
九命猫妖
命定养在京城王府残颓的后花园
在雪泥里走来走去
当它乘火车南下
也带来了轰隆隆响的大雾
那个我喜爱的美国诗人桑德堡早就描述:
(我像他一样热爱堕落的都市)
“雾来了 踩着小猫步”
在四楼阳台
猫“坐着俯瞰
港口和城市”
一不小心关好门
它就溜出去了
“撑着 一动不动的屁股
然后 又往前走”
我不替它担心
猫妖有九条命是死不了的
它肯定跑到更明亮开阔的天地去了
镀银的爪子一闪一闪
正撕扯一只大鸟的内脏
2001年8月23日
注：引号内为桑德堡的诗《雾》，由本人汉译。
The Missing Cat
the cat's leaving was something predictable
nine-lived grimalkin
raised by fate in a prince's crumbling garden in Peking
in mud and snow, roaming alone
when it makes the train ride down South
it brings with it a rolling-rumbling great fog
just as that American poet I'm fond of Carl Sandburg once described it
(both he and I alike in love with fallen cities):
"The fog comes on little cat feet"
from a fourth-floor balcony
the cat "sits looking
over harbour and city"
a door left open carelessly
and away it strays again:
"on silent haunches
and then moves on"
I have no worries for it
this grimalkin with its nine lives is indestructible
it's no doubt left for a brighter, more spacious place to be
gilt-silver cat-claws shining, shining
ripping to shreds the entrails of some large bird
人 民
那些讨薪的民工。那些从大平煤窑里伸出的
148双残损的手掌。
卖血染上爱滋的李爱叶。
黄土高坡放羊的光棍。
沾着口水数钱的长舌妇。
发廊妹，不合法的性工作者。
跟城管打游击战的小贩。
需要桑那的
小老板。
那些骑自行车的上班族。
无所事事的溜达者。
那些酒吧里的浪荡子。边喝茶
边逗鸟的老翁。
让人一头雾水的学者。
那臭烘烘的酒鬼、赌徒、挑夫
推销员、庄稼汉、教师、士兵
公子哥儿、乞丐、医生、秘书（以及小蜜）
单位里头的丑角或
配角。
从长安街到广州大道
这个冬天我从未遇到过“人民”
只看见无数卑微地说话的身体
每天坐在公共汽车上
互相取暖。
就像肮脏的零钱
使用的人，皱着眉头，把他们递给了，社会。
The Chinese People
The workers who have to beg for wages. 148 pairs of injured hands
waving from the Daqing coal mine.
Li Aiye, who caught AIDS after giving blood.
The shepherd bachelors of the loess slopes.
Gossipy women, mouths slick with spit as they count their cash.
Hair salon girls: unlicensed sex-workers.
Peddlers engaged in a running battle warfare with city authorities.
Old bosses
in need of a sauna.
The 9 to 5 tribe off to work on their bicycles.
Good-for-nothings with no where to go and nothing to do.
The bar-room wasters. Old men
sipping tea as they pet songbirds.
Scholars who fill the heads of their listeners with fog.
Derros, punters, porters stinking to high heaven;
dandies, beggars, doctors, secretaries (and secret mistresses into the bargain);
workplace clowns
and other supporting actors.
From the Avenue of Heavenly Peace to the Guangzhou Dadao
I am yet to see 'the Chinese people' this winter;
I've seen ordinary, speaking bodies
which keep each other warm
on buses day after day.
They're like grimy coins:
those who use them hand them over frowning
to society.
风中的北京
风中的北京
骑自行车的人
四下惊飞的麻雀
发粘的空气很脏
陷在灰蒙蒙里的太阳
像一圈暗红的月亮
昨天昨天还秋高气爽
翻飞的纸形而上飞翔的纸
掠过头顶的塑料袋鼓胀的塑料袋
使我看清了风的形状
树叶在响
灰头土脸的麻雀
吱吱喳喳回巢的麻雀
洒落一地京腔
风吹人低见车辆
骑自行车的我
像一支箭
紧绷在弓弦上
射进北京的风里
射入租的家门
两个敲门的警察
令我忆起少年屋檐下
我伸进鸟窝的两根手指
Beijing Wind
Windy Beijing:
people on bikes
and startled sparrows everywhere
The sticky air is filthy
Trapped in haze, the sun
is like a ruddy moon
Yesterday, only yesterday, we had clear autumn weather
Air-borne paper metaphysical, soaring
Plastic bags glide overhead swollen
so that the form of the wind is visible to me
Leaves rustle in trees
Covered from head to foot in dust, sparrows
fly twittering back to their nests
The ground is covered with Beijing accents
Thou, from whose unseen presence the buses and taxis
are driven
Riding my bike, I
am like an arrow
taut against the bow-string
Fired into the Beijing wind
I shoot through the door of my rented house
Two policemen come knocking:
I remember my boyhood,
reaching into a nest beneath a roof
石 油
一
结构现代文明的是液体的岩石
石头内部的冷焰
零度激情，绵长的黑色睡眠
保持在时间的深渊
水与火两种绝对不相容的元素
在事物的核心完美结合
蛰伏的黑马
永恒的午夜之血，停止呼吸的波浪
谁也无法涉过的光明河流
上下驰骋
从一个世界进入另一个世界
二
石油的死亡不是生命的终结
而是转换，从地狱到天堂
从一种形态变为另一种形态
火焰是尖锐的预言
瑰丽的梦境在死的光华中诞生
火中盛开的石油看不见花朵
二十世纪是最黑亮的果实
接连之声不绝，石油在混沌流淌
生死回环的石油气象万千
广大无边的气息
浸淫物的空间，甚至精神的空间
塑料器皿，凡士林，化纤织物
石油在一切感觉不到石油的地方汹涌
石油是新时代的马匹、柴、布、喷泉
金苹果，是黑暗的也是最灿烂的
今天石油的运动就是人的运动
石油写下的历史比墨更黑
三
就像水中的波痕，伤害是隐秘的
大自然在一滴石油里山穷水尽
灵魂陷落，油井解不了人心的渴意
游走奔腾的石油难以界定
在石油的逼视中
回光返照的绿色是最纯美的境地
一尘不染的月光，干净的美
在汽车的后视镜里无法挽留
oil
1
liquid-rock has been the making of modern civilization
the cold flame inside stone
a zero-degree passion, prolonged black sleep
sustained in time's abyss
two absolutely unmixable elements, fire and water
blend perfectly at the core of things
dark dormant horse
eternity's midnight-blood, a wave that stops breathing
river of light no one can ford
galloping across heaven and earth
from one world to the next
2
death of oil is not the end of life
but a conversion, from hell into heaven
from one form into another
flame is intense prophecy
magnificent dreamlands are born in the brilliance of dying
no flowers are visible in the fire-blooming oil
the twentieth century: bright-blackest of fruits
endless unbroken sound, oil flows in chaos
its cycle of births and deaths is spectacular
infinite unlimited fumes
fill material space—even non-material space is inundated
plastic containers, petroleum jelly, synthetic fibres
oil gushes in all those places oil cannot be sensed
oil: the horse, the fuel, the cloth, the fountain of a new age
golden apples: dark and most glittering of all
today the movement of oil is human movement
and the history it writes is blacker than any ink
3
like ripples in water, the damage is concealed
in a drop of oil, nature comes to the end of her resources
spirit collapsed, oil-wells cannot quench the thirst in human hearts
surging, mobile—oil is impossible to define
in oil's steady gaze
the green of that final moment of consciousness is the most beautiful scene of all
stainless, unsullied moon-light, a clear beauty
irretrievable in the vehicle's rear-view mirror
1993
１９６７年的自画像
一只快活的狗崽子从街上穿过
那一年我十岁，没见过一堵干净的墙
使夏天生动的是绿军装
我在辩论的词语中间窜来窜去
在大字报上认字
敏感的鼻子嗅着焦灼的气息
太阳很烫，口号火爆爆的那个夏天
一只狗崽子从革命风暴中穿过
教室空空荡荡
一只狗崽子从子弹的呼啸声中穿过
终于闯到了枪口上方
兴奋无比，十岁的那个夏天我不理解死亡
我觉得自己像是活在电影中
赶上了保尔的时代
当我小心翼翼地从地上捡起一颗弹壳
手指接触的只是一场恶梦的开始
1967年我目睹一张张脸孔在空气中消失
一只惊慌的狗崽子从街上穿过
飞快地逃离1967年的风景
1994年3月7日
self-portrait, 1967
a happy "sonofabitch"* crossing the street
I was ten that year, had never ever seen a bare wall
green army uniforms made the summer exciting
I scampered in and out of the language of debate
learning how to read from political posters
my sensitive snout picking up the smell of burning
the sun was blistering that summer of raging slogans
a sonofabitch crossing through a revolutionary storm
classrooms empt-empt-empty
a "sonofabitch" crossing through a whizz of bullets
finally charging up onto the muzzle of a gun
more thrilled than I'd ever been, I had no idea what death was in my tenth summer
I felt like I was living in a movie
and had caught up with the life and times of the heroic Pavel Korchagin*
when I care-carefully picked up a bullet off the ground
what my fingers touched was only the start of the nightmare
in 1967 I saw faces vanishing into thin air with my own eyes
a jittery little "sonofabitch" crossing the street
and running as fast as it could from the scenes of 1967
* Translator's note: The word gouzaizi, translated above as "sonofabitch", requires some explanation. Zai on its own means "son" or "young animal". Gou means "dog", and the compound gouzaizi is a term of abuse roughly equivalent to "sonofabitch". However, according to a Chinese friend of mine, the term has a special meaning associated with the Cultural Revolution (1966-1976), the period Yang Ke evokes in his poem. At that time, gouzaizi was used to refer to the children of parents classified as landlords, rich peasants, anti-revolutionaries, convicted prisoners and so-called "Rightists" (intellectuals who had criticized the Chinese Communist Party)—in other words, all those people condemned by Maoists. Pavel Korchagin is the worker-hero of the novel How the Steel Was Tempered by Nikolai Ostrovsky. The book was extremely popular in China (millions were sold) and was recently made into a television series.