奇文共欣赏，疑义相与析（第十五辑）

郭德军

汉诗英译

文、胡弦等


从永兴岛到七连屿     胡 弦



1

歼击机的轰鸣过后，

鸟儿们重新开始歌唱。

那歌声中的愉悦被游客消费。

而阵阵轰鸣，

已被歼击机带往云天深处。



2

不，这不是另外的地方。

你从没到过的小岛、

一阵风暴、一颗椰子、一只从水中

刚刚爬上沙滩的寄居蟹，

正是你我的祖国。



3

风经过草海桐，

风说了什么？

石头和珊瑚都有年纪，

海水为何没有？

有人在礁盘上捞牡蛎，

夕阳的美，不能用于交换他手中的牡蛎。

大海，已从天空中收集了那么多蓝，

但还要教会它

在一张地图上如何蓝。



4

我不能把这些小岛仅仅

比喻成项链，

就像祖国不仅仅是一位美人。

我还希望它们是顽皮的孩子，

在时间中无忧无虑玩耍。

我还希望它们是蓬勃青年，

是有力、健壮的七兄弟。



5

也许这就是那最好的爱了，

浪扑向礁石而礁石

不动——它沉默、坚定，仿佛

语言是多余的。

也许这就是那最好的幸福了，

椰子落入水中，随波荡漾，

内心怀抱着不一样的水。

郭德军

From Yongxing Island to Qilianyu

by Hu Xian



1

After the fighter jets roared by,

the birds started to sing again.

Their cheerfulness was consumed by the tourists.

And the roaring sound is

now high above the clouds with the fighter jets.



2

No, this isn't just another place.

These small islands where you haven't set foot,

the storm, the coconut, and the hermit crab

that just climbed up the beach,

this is our ancestral land.



3

The wind ruffles the beach cabbage.

What did the wind say?

Stones and corals grow old,

why doesn't the sea grow old?

Someone is dredging oysters from the reef.

The beautiful sunset cannot be used

to barter for the oysters in his hands.

The sea has collected so much blue from the sky,

but still need to make it

to the map with the right kind of blue.



4

I can't say this chain of small islands

is like a necklace,

just like a motherland is not only a beauty.

I also want them to be fun-loving children,

playing through the day without a care.

I also hope they are vibrant,

seven young brothers, tough and strong.



5

Maybe this is as good as love can be,

waves rolling up the reef, the unmoving

reef-quiet, steadfast, as if

all words are unnecessary.

Maybe this is the highest bliss,

a coconut falls in the water and bobs with the waves,

it holds a different kind of water inside.

郭德军

哭   泣            向武华



在河边哭泣的女人，有点空洞

也许她的哭泣毫无理由。在山上哭泣的人

站得那么高，他明显感觉不妥

即时跪下来啦，并高举瓷碗，洒下烈酒

在街上边急走边哭泣，一定事发突然

有人在剧院里，泪流满面

散场灯打开，他是多么难堪

最让人动容的，是一脸横肉的屠夫

扶着棺材在哭，他瘦小的母亲在内面

他的哭像在杀一头猪

不是所有的人都哭得出来

最让人想哭的话是，心里难过就哭出来吧

过了五十岁后，没有人好意思哭

一张脸都成铁块啦

有时，你想哭(写这话时，我就觉得特别难为情)

你顶多去找一个人喝酒

这样的人也不是那么好找

你还是想哭。来到河边，你即使哭出来了

也是那么空洞，你不知道为什么要哭

每一条过往的船，它的马达声都像怒吼

你更加不好意思哭

郭德军

CRYING

by Xiang Wuhua



By the river, a woman cries, her hollow voice

makes one wonder if she cries for any reason.

A man cries on the mountain, standing tall,

but suddenly kneels down, obviously feeling awkward.

He raises a china bowl and pours the wine on the ground.

If someone rushes down the street and cries, it must be some crisis.

Another one bursts into tears in the theater,

and looks embarrassed when the light turns on after the show.

The most moving thing is the fat butcher

crying while holding to the edge of the coffin for his skinny mother.

His sounds like a squealing pig.

Not everyone is able to cry.

The words "cry if you feel sad" can cause people to tear up,

but at fifty or older, when our faces become as hard as iron,

crying out loud gets harder and harder.

Sometimes, you feel like crying (I feel particularly embarrassed when I write this),

but end up going for a drink with someone at most,

and it can be difficult to find this someone.

You still want to cry. By the river, even if you cry out loud,

it sounds hollow, you don't know why you cry.

Every passing ship has a motor that roars,

too intimidating for us to cry.

郭德军

执  手          桑 眉



现在我坐下来

我们坐下来

夹杂在旧木桌、旧竹椅和陌生人之间

那只灰斑鸠比师父和香客还自在

烈日炎炎，碧荷在殿外举着伞柄

无人落座的桌椅在廊角叠罗汉

我们那两个盖碗茶盖也交叠在一起

怀中清凉信物呢？可否交付沸水

阁楼上所有房门都紧闭

晾晒的僧袍隐约勾勒主人形态

他们是另一个世界派到这个世界的人

肉身装着轻风和白云

记起来，不久前也曾生出浮云意

可当我们泼茶揖别，他却悄然拾起我的手

仿佛我是一粒崖柏

仿佛我们永远不会失散

郭德军

HAND IN HAND

by Sang Mei



Now I sit down.

We sit down.

Amid old wooden tables, old bamboo chairs and strangers,

the gray turtledove looks more at ease than the masters and the pilgrims.

In the hot sun, a lotus holds up an umbrella outside the temple.

Unoccupied tables and chairs pile up like a pyramid in the corner.

The lids for our two bowls of tea also overlap.

What about the cool token in your bosom? Will you let it boil like water?

All doors in the attic are closed.

Robes hanging to dry faintly outline their masters' shapes.

They are people sent to this world from another world,

flesh occupied by light breeze and white clouds.

I remember it, I was once preoccupied with clouds and breeze, too,

but when we poured out the last drops of tea and bowed to say goodbye,

he quietly picked up my hand,

as if I was a cliff cypress,

as if we would never be separated.

郭德军

上海琐记      郭丛与



弄堂狭窄而古旧，一间早点铺

点一碗甜豆浆，荷包蛋

最好是溏心的。热气

蒸腾。三月的潮湿，一息尚存的

阴冷。老板娘在最唠叨的年龄里

沉默，拿着不锈钢大勺，斜倚

餐台。电线胶皮的剥落与墙角的

霉迹视而不见，门框外是一家

望不到边的购物中心。我认识的

所有奢侈品都在这里，不认识的

往往更加奢侈。黄浦江的水声

不远，陆家嘴是一个突出的循环。

城市的印象交织于，南京路上的

擦肩而过。我一早便收到前一天

下单的手机，打字的速度

还没有恢复。原来，在时间之前

连键盘都无法了解我，上海

也更接近于某种谵妄。店里

没有其他客人，老板娘注视着我

面前空空的碗，我发现自己

早应结账。积极与主动也许可以

换来继续坐一会的权利。

郭德军

SHANGHAI VIGNETTE

by Guo Congyu



On the narrow and dated alley, at a breakfast shop,

I ordered a bowl of sweet soy milk, and a poached egg,

the very best, with a soft yolk. All is steaming

hot. Wet March, the last of the lingering

cold. The breakfast shop owner spoke little even though she looked to be

at the "chatterbox" age.  She held a large stainless ladle, leaning

on the kitchen counter. We tried not to notice the rubber peeling off the electric wire

or the sign of mold at the corner. From inside the door frame, one could see

a sprawling shopping center. All the luxury goods I knew

could be found here, and those unknown to me were usually even more luxurious.

The flowing sound of Huangpu River was near,

and Lujiazui was in a remarkable cycle.  

The city gave different impressions depending on whom I brushed shoulders with

on Nanjing Rd. Still early in the morning, but I already received

the cell phone ordered the day before. My typing speed

still lagged behind. Even the keyboard, with an age gap with me,

did not understand me, and Shanghai was moving a step closer to

delirium. No other guests at the breakfast shop. As the owner looked at

my empty bowl, I realized I could have settled my bill. Being proactive and showing initiative

might earn me the right to hang out here a little longer.

郭德军

清  明       诗之梦人



年年去父亲坟头看一样的青草长高，

又看到周围鼓起几个掖在山腰的小包包。

几滴雨落入石碑的痕迹，说明不了什么，

只是我们非要拿它唤作一种悲伤。

烧过的纸灰任风吹起，还有泣声也随风吹远，

惟独头顶的天空，照旧飘荡几朵浮云，

浮云下，我们哭肿的脸总面朝来时的村庄

少了一个人身影的村口，梨花正白。

纯白的梨花哟，真的，我不想借你的名义

再去凭吊游离的亡魂——

清明，算是一次被雨水洗净后的镜子

我们都成了镜子里装饰自己的野山和树荫。

郭德军

FRESH GREEN

by Shizhi Mengren



Every year I go, to my father's grave, to see the same grass grow taller,

and a few new small mounds nearby tucked into the mountainside.

A few raindrops seep into the headstone, nothing remarkable,

but we like to call them tears for our sadness.

Paper ash flies in the wind,

carrying with it sobbing and weeping,

only a few floating clouds remain in the sky.

Under these clouds, with swollen eyes, we turn our face towards the village,

where one person is no longer there, where white pear flowers are blooming.

Pear blossoms, really, so white, so fine, but I won't mourn

the restless souls because of you—

The season now is fresh and green, a mirror washed clean by the rain,

in which we turn into wild mountains and cool shades for ourselves.