汉诗英译 | 杨克、池凌云、天界、刘伟雄、闫画晴（貔貅神山录）

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我的中国杨克

有人酸甜，有人麻辣，有人喜原汁原味

八大菜系风靡神州，各不遑让

当周游列国，从巴黎到纽约

在刀叉下受虐一周的胃

所有人的味觉，瞬间全被唤醒

炒煮蒸烹的中餐佳肴就是我的祖国

有人粤语京腔，有人西南官话

吴侬软语与东北大嗓门

少数民族语音更是五花八门

各地方言千差万别，互相不一定能听懂

踏上拼音的国度，横竖撇捺方块字就是我的祖国

机翼划过蔚蓝的天空

补天的女娲是我的祖国

船舷剪开波涛的雪浪

填海的精卫是我的祖国

日升东方，见追日的夸父

禺谷在望，那一片辉煌是我的祖国

月落西窗，有玉兔嫦娥

记忆中那一阵桂花飘香是我的祖国

一颗竹叶裹的粽子

抛下去汨罗的万里惊涛

满腹柔肠翻滚的《离*》是我的祖国

一枚枚月饼向天而拜

岁岁年年的怀乡与思归是我的祖国

万户千家俪采七字之偶，斗艳一句之奇

四海庆安澜万民怀大泽是我的祖国

张灯结彩、点响爆竹、对联红红火火是我的祖国

连年有鱼，花生、枣子、石榴……

连蝙蝠也成了吉祥的图腾

龙、凤、龟、麒麟，兴云致雨

太平盛世，竹、兰、菊和文房四宝福泽心灵

就是独角兽貔貅也能辟邪

喜鹊、鹤、鹿、十二生肖都是我的祖国

惊蛰，候桃花而棠梨而蔷薇

春分，望海棠而梨花而木兰

布谷布谷，种禾割麦

玉秧玉秧，稻花白练

有序多变的二十四节气是我的祖国

苍龙连蜷于左，白虎猛踞于右

朱雀奋翼于前，灵龟圈首于后

五行、八卦、二十八星宿还是我的祖国

攀崇山峻岭，想起头触巨峰的共工

乘飞驰高铁，踩风火轮的哪吒

在最高的神主宰教堂和寺庙的这颗星球

愚公、大禹和张弓搭箭的后羿

不屈服命运的神话就是我的祖国

看见海雕金狮双头鹰的国徽

金黄的谷穗和黑铁的齿轮是我的祖国

我倾倒维纳斯的断臂蒙娜丽莎的微笑

更迷恋反弹琵琶的飞天聊斋的白狐

在音乐厅听交响乐和花腔女高音

耳边盈绕《茉莉花》和小提琴《梁祝》

在动物园遇见北极熊和袋鼠

憨态和平的熊猫就是我丝绸柔软的祖国

欧洲建筑那石头上的史诗

江南庭院草长莺飞瘦石枯木

关公的忠义黛玉的痴恋

牡丹亭的悲欢西厢记的情色

李白长安一片月杜甫落木萧萧的秋兴

扇面上的书法，宣纸上的写意

哪怕随蓝色多瑙河圆舞曲轻盈曼舞

胸腔里轰鸣的是冼星海的黄河

浪子回头金不换是我的祖国

红山玉猪龙和殷墟的甲骨上

矗立北上广深簇新的高楼大厦

航天潜海，我依旧怀抱颓败的小小村落

银杏树缓慢生长，让人痛苦揪心

两鬓染霜，身体里流动青春五四的热血

念兹在兹我永远梦想的少年中国

选自《诗刊》

My China

by Yang Ke

Some like it sweet and sour, others hot and spicy, or the natural flavors.

Eight major cuisines conquer the hearts of China, each boasts to be the best.

During a grand tour overseas, from Paris to New York,

the stomachs suffered under the reign of knives and forks,

but all taste buds are instantly reawakened

where foods are stir-fried, simmered, steamed, or glazed

into marvelous dishes. This is my motherland.

Some speak Cantonese or Peking Mandarin, others talk the southwestern parlance,

or with a Yangtze soft lilt, or the Manchurian full lungs

Ethnic tongues are even more varied,

and local dialects can be wildly different and mutually unintelligible.

Where pinyin phonetics are used, accompanied by written characters

with strokes going up and down, it is my motherland.

Where the deep blue sky is divided by airplanes

but patched up by goddess Nuwa, it is my motherland.

Where ships cut open the billowing waves,

and an angelic red-footed bird hovered to mend it, it is my motherland.

From where the sun rises to where Kuafu chases it all the way to

the western Yu Valley, that brilliant horizon is my motherland.

The moon rises over the westside window, where goddess Chang’er and her pet rabbit

visit with the familiar osmanthus scent, it is my motherland.

Rice dumplings in bamboo husks, tossed into the churning Miluo River,

where Parting Sorrows the heart-breaking political lament is celebrated, it is my motherland.

Where people offer moon cakes to heaven

when homesickness pervades in mid-autumn, it is my motherland.

Where every home and household exhibit their wits

with seven-word couplets, all one of its kind, it is my motherland.

Where people are jubilant and thankful for peaceful times, it is my motherland.

Where red lanterns are raised, firecrackers are lit,

and the new-year couplets are fiery red, it is my motherland..n

There’ll be running years of surpluses: fish, nuts, dates, pomegranates . . .

even the bat has become an auspicious totem.

Dragon, phoenix, turtle, unicorn bring in spectacular rain clouds.

Bamboo, orchid, chrysanthemum, and the four essentials for calligraphy are food for the soul in good times.

Even Pixiu, the one-horned winged lion, can ward off evil spirits.

Where magpies, cranes, deer, and the zodiac animals thrive, it is my motherland.

In the month of Insect Awakening: peach and Callery pear will bloom, followed by roses.

Around spring equinox, we admire crabapple flowers, then pear blossoms, then magnolias.

When cuckoos croon, it’s time to plant rice and reap winter wheat.

Around summer solstice, rice stalks turn emerald, wearing white flowers.

Where farmers go by twenty-four solar terms, it is my motherland.

Where stars belong to four groups: Green Dragon on the left, White Tiger on the right,

Red Finch in the front, and Sacred Tortoise towards the back,

where the philosophy of five elements, yin-yang, and twenty-eight constellation mansions endures, it is my motherland.

Climbing a mountain, I think of river god Gonggong’s furor when he crashed into giant massifs.

Taking the high-speed rail, I think of Lotus Prince Nezha’s fire wheels.

When Gods are revered in the churches and temples on this planet,

there is a land of many legendary heroes

who refused to yield to fate, this land is my motherland.

Other nations have sea eagle, golden lion, and double-headed eagle as their emblems,

the golden heads of grains and iron gears symbolize my motherland.

Though I admire Venus's disarmed statue and Mona Lisa’s smile,

I’m even more fascinated by the apsaras pipa player, and the flying white fox.

Listening to a symphony or the coloratura soprano in the concert hall,

I cannot dispel the Chinese aria Jasmine and the violin concerto Butterfly Lovers.

When admiring the polar bear and kangaroo at the zoo,

my heart is warmed by the childlike gentle panda from the country of silk, my motherland.

There are epic poems on the stones of European architecture,

in comparison, the courtyards of Yangtse River Delta house tall grass, birds, craggy stones, and fossil wood.

Then, there are General Guangong’s chivalry, Daiyu’s dreams in the Red Chamber,

the bitter happiness at Peony Pavilion, the romance in the Westside Chamber,

Li Bai’s moonlit Chang’an, Du Fu’s autumn melancholy,

calligraphy on the fans, freehand paintings on scrolls.

No matter how graceful the Blue Danube Waltz is,

what’s roaring in my heart is The Yellow River by Xian Xinghai.

The place that embraces the return of its prodigal sons is my motherland.

The pig-dragon jade artifacts from Hongshan and the writings on turtle shells

are the foundation of the modern high-rises in Beijing, Shanghai and Guangzhou.

Having seen the cutting-edge sciences in space and undersea,

I still carry in my bosom a tiny decaying village.

Ginkgo trees take time to grow, people watch them with heartaches and angst.

Both my temples have greyed, but my young heart still resonates with the May-Fourth movement.

The dream of a youthful China is always in my mind.

Translated by Duck Yard Lyricists

Duck Yard Lyricists is a group of devoted poetry lovers: Meifu Wang, Peter Micic, Michael Soper & Johan Ramaekers.

杨克：当代汉语诗人中一以贯之具有个人化历史想象力和求真意志的诗人，其城市诗歌写作开启了某种意义上的主体性。30多年来，他的现代诗走在“另一条大道上，那里有广阔的情感和传统的支撑，诗人可以大踏步走在人群前面”。在人民文学出版社和台湾华品文创有限公司等出版《杨克的诗》《有关与无关》《我说出了风的形状》等11部中文诗集、4部散文随笔集和1本文集，日本思潮社、美国俄克拉赫马大学出版社、西班牙萨拉戈萨大学出版社等出版多种外语诗集，诗文收入《中国新文学大系》《中国新诗百年大典》等400种选本。主编《中国新诗年鉴（1998-2017每个年度）》《<他们>10年诗歌选》《给孩子的100首新诗》等。获英国“剑桥徐志摩诗歌奖“、罗马尼亚出版版权总公司“杰出诗人奖“，广东鲁迅文艺奖、首届双年十佳诗人奖等外国、中国大陆和台湾文学奖十多种。在深圳美术馆等举办过诗书个展。中国作家协会主席团委员，中国作协诗歌委员会副主任、中国诗歌学会副会长。

他们在下棋池凌云

还要再过些年头，才分出胜负。

也许不会有结果，因为有人在中途

毫无征兆地离开。一开始

他们并不难过，谁也没把谁孤零零留下。

他们只是筑城墙，手无寸铁

却屏住呼吸或喃喃自语，

像真的掌控着千军万马，

他们以为这游戏会持续几十年，

然而提前离开的人不管这些。

即使棋高一着，最终还是无从下手。

他们都哭了。折戟沉沙

疼痛，出现在睡梦中。

那曾经危险的陆地，在每年春天

茂盛起来。他们为失去的

点燃蜡烛，写下离去的对手的名字

静待一个个战事平息。

那时，他们从各自的居所出发，

喝一杯烈酒，策马而来

开始四国大战，有人扬鞭

马鬃就在棋盘上空飘荡。

他们高声争执，用嘴、用手争夺，

在一个不属于他们的世界里

彻夜征战，直到其中的一个

放下棋子。他们不知道

这么快，有人出局，并且永远离开。

选自《诗刊》

They Are Playing Chess

by Chi Lingyun

It will be years before the victor becomes apparent,

but maybe the result won’t be clear as someone may leave

midway without warning. In the beginning

they were not sad because no one left anyone alone.

They were preoccupied in building walls, barehanded,

holding breaths or muttering only a word or two

as if commanding an army, men and horses,

and thought the game would last forever.

But people who left early didn’t care.

Sometimes the best strategist didn’t get to play the winning hand.

People cry. Swords and spears get buried.

Painful dreams recur.

The once-dangerous field turns lush again

every spring. They light candles pining for what’s lost,

writing down the names of the opponents who have left,

hoping the battlefield will soon calm down.

They would set off from their own homes,

gulp down a glass of strong wine and meet up on horseback

to fight in the War of the Four Kingdoms,

and when the whip is raised, one can see

horsehair flying over the chessboard.

They argue loudly and fight with words and hands

for affairs in a farfetched place.

They fight through the night until someone

put down a chip. There’s no way to predict

someone would strike out so soon and never to return.

Translated by Duck Yard Lyricists

Duck Yard Lyricists is a group of devoted poetry lovers: Meifu Wang, Peter Micic, Michael Soper & Johan Ramaekers.

梧桐 天界

——南方有鸟，非梧桐不止

庄子《秋水》

在危崖搭建一座高台，你来不来①

在乡野修整一所木屋，你来不来

如今我在自己渐将老去的身体里

腾出一间旧房，你来不来

大树破壁凌空，向死而生

烟花始终惊艳中与世界告别

可我想见证奇迹啊。时间有一扇玄幻之门

看谁更耐心。谁能把梦境变成现实——

身体早已爬满藤条。我长有犄角

搬运磨盘一样的天命

挣破一张网，需要多大勇气

可我还有什么呢。这幸福而潦草的中年

注①：佛祖说：只要你搭好高台，我便来说法。

选自《诗经》

Wutong,the Parasol Tree

by Tian Jie

There is in the south a bird, it doesn’t rest but on a parasol tree.

—The Flood of Autumn,by Zhuangzi

If I build a platform on the cliff, will you come

If I fix up a cottage in the countryside, will you come

Now I have freed up an old dwelling

in my steadily aging body, will you come

A tree grows out of a crag, perched free over death,

and, as always, fireworks vanish in flying colors.

Ah, but how I wish to see miracles. Time has a mystery door

that will open for a heart patiently waits. Dreams may come true—

even if vines have taken over the body. I have horns on my head

and am predestined to carry millstones,

it’s but a test of nerve to break away from this web.

What else do I have? This happy and unkempt midlife.

Note 1: it is said that Buddha once said: as long as you build the platform, I will come.

Translated by Duck Yard Lyricists

Duck Yard Lyricists is a group of devoted poetry lovers: Meifu Wang, Peter Micic, Michael Soper & Johan Ramaekers.

天界，1969年出生，浙江黄岩人，中国作协会员，以诗歌和评论为主。曾参加诗刊社第二十四届青春诗会。业余编《浙江诗人》和《黄岩文学》诗歌。

洋屿灯塔刘伟雄

尽管灯火已随历史沉睡

那些羊在草坡上的动作

还是让我们看到了生动的景致

这些活着的记忆就像

满坡的水仙花从百年前

一直开放到今天的奇迹

也许怀古会让锈迹斑驳

海浪却蒙着记忆的云翳

在今天阳光照耀下的灯塔

痛苦的往事正被风吹浪打

望茫茫的海天海峡风

吹在浩荡的天际

选自《诗刊》

Island Lighthouse

by Liu Weixiong

Even though the light has fallen asleep,

the way the sheep move on the green hill

still lends us a window into its lively past.

Living memories like them are a miracle

same as daffodils lasting for a hundred years.

Perhaps nostalgia spawns mottled rust,

but the sea churns beneath the clouds of memories.

The lighthouse with its painful past,

still sits in the sun, still battered by winds and waves.

See the sky and earth become one. The wind is blowing

into the strait, to where the sea meets the sky.

Translated by Duck Yard Lyricists

Duck Yard Lyricists is a group of devoted poetry lovers: Meifu Wang, Peter Micic, Michael Soper & Johan Ramaekers.

刘伟雄，1964年3月生于霞浦西洋岛，上世纪八十年代初开始业余文学创作，曾在《人民文学》《诗刊》等报刊发表作品，多次获省、市文艺“百花奖”及福建省优秀文学作品奖。诗歌入选多种全国性选本，出版过诗集《苍茫时分》《呼吸》(与谢宜兴合作)《平原上的树》；编辑出版《丑石五人诗选》《作家笔下的霞浦》等。系中国作协会员、省作协全委会委员、宁德市作家协会主席。

终别闫画晴

那年你把我送到门口，彼此无言

你以为我要开口说些什么

但我没有

那年你把我送到门口，身后有氤氲的汤

和暖黄色的烛火

出了门，骤然寒彻

入夜，走廊开着窗

顶楼望去，满城繁星与灯火

我把头靠在门上

立了许久

选自《诗刊》