[中国]王舒漫 诗五首【中英对照，张琼 译】
[中国]王舒漫
银杏的天空（外四首）
美，是可以通约的。
静静地蹲在自己的心峰，读银杏的微笑。
——题记
才到浅秋，这公孙树，一树一树高出了云端。
比起鸽子，我没有忘记，
银杏，澄澈的天空，更使我
着迷。
一袭冷色的金风，去踌躇，去跋涉，我
从未想过在八月，找回自己流浪的
羽毛，但我知道你
会择一天的
痴情。
没有自己的演说，秋，来歌咏。
阳光，掩埋着缠在虬枝上的童话，
黄昏，用眼睛挖掘天空留下的最后一片
残红。
别说孤独，站在银杏面前，我看见
世界最精致的天空，看见你青青的果儿，
和我不肯枯萎的眼瞳。
隔着夜，日子像庄周梦蝶，谁也
不知道它能扇出几多高韵！
甘苦的骨头，谁也
不知它能撬动多少难醒的梦？
躲不开，八月又八月，打开银杏
这把折扇，秋来，黄了又黄
半个又半个世纪的
深情，一下子滚落在地。
没有了哀伤，我用一个词在深夜
恸哭了许久，许久。人在故里流放，
谁一笔泪写潸然？
第二天醒来，金风变成了果儿，
你变成了我。
漂流而来
那是一个心跳的日子，我背囊里
藏着行走的思想，而你在敞开的浅春。
二月吹开你的黑发，你用眼睛接纳，
告诉我，不要错过生命开花的季节，
告诉我，岁月的翅羽怎样
穿过一片破洞的树叶，
告诉我，一瞬，可以延伸
无数个，无限。
光，无须寻找。
卸下轮廓，明亮，漂流过来。
一切刚开始，心，变得
如此雀跃。我，爱海的深度，
你的深度，光的深度。
是时候了，我埋头在石头上书写
草叶的缩影，书写五色的自己。
卸下冗余，太阳，漂流过来，
你，已迈过半个多世纪，愿
还有半个世纪，你的卓越，真实
像一首歌，如滔滔的海，深蓝，深蓝。
心醉于茶
煮一壶雨花茶，约老庄。
"道可道，非常道，
名可名，非常名。"
袅袅升起隔江月，午窗剪叶。
对坐听茶，时光倒在杯中流趟，
茶人，茶寿。
只此绿水青山，升起，放下身段，
功名，利禄，和尘世的喧嚣，
心，守静。
无需妙器，一只瓷碗，陶泥杯，
玻璃杯，即可茗到泛水登山，
自有野趣。
茶韵，茶香，几片云和绿色世界，
瞬间，袅袅婷婷。
一杯茶，一部人生，一壶水，
一条江河，与一颗静宁的心
对流，对话，沁肺沁脾。
茶到亭间歌自绕，不负
清尊，不负静。
谁不入骨，入神，醉心。
我是落在你肩上的梦蝶吗？
又是，匆匆来去。
谁念？
八月的凌晨，我写下一行伤感。
翻开乡愁的词典，泪水簌簌，被昨天又昨天的夜色，
点亮。
还能说什么，这里的河岸，曾流落过
我扑蝴蝶，捉蜻蜓的枝条，今天，
我被时间
流落。
我来，我去，隔着大江，
谁不被乡音，模糊，被住在
星光下的你，模糊，被大明清砌成的古城墙，模糊。
一片松风袅袅，几处梧桐叶飞行。
算了，算了！
去故乡而远，丢失了什么？
心魂不宁，吮吸着挂在前方的
夏花，出走了
另一个巨大的空间。
我定要回来，只要生命还在。
我的灵魂像发动机，突突地
呜咽着。无论我走得多么长，
多么害怕，
在流浪漂泊中，直起童年的背，
不弯曲。
人，孤独在高处，睁开眼睛，
独自潸然。
假如旷野无法把你留住，我
会自己将自己放逐。
我是落在你肩上的蝴蝶吗？
清晨，我将词语装入背囊，
你在桥头，我还能
第二次出走么？
南京之眼，在画外
一道光把我系住，不松开，
我的眼睛说服了，南京之眼被说服了，星光被说服了。
我会来，再来。
——题记
谁，悠闲地坐在画外？
纳凉，去河西的南京之眼，
深秋，浅秋去河西南京之眼。
答案，在画外，风里。
滤去喧闹，一个人独自坐在石上，
烟霞，留下最后的一片残红下，
静读，或独步世界，
或握住恋人的手，
披着没有褪色的夕阳，静听，或
脉脉相对。
一首诗的游客，一片花草的静寂，
一个久别故乡的游子，你漂泊，你
眺望，风，会最温柔地抚摸你的伤痛。
你的眼与南京之眼，同时注视
高的云，浩瀚的江天。
流水之下，这眼睛，像一杯斟满月光的
葡萄美酒，在不同方位点燃，
谁能不醉？
从光到光，南京之眼冒出思想之光，
分泌出来的溪流，
临在江水之上，跳舞。
所有的睫毛跃出苍穹。
哦，天！这，明亮的大眼睛，俯瞰
整座金陵城，这壮观，谁愿将
自己的眼目，放在别处！
不要淹没时间，不要。
我的眼睛说服了，南京之眼被
说服了，星光被说服了。
我会来，再来。
[China]Wang Shuman
Sky of Ginkgo Biloba (and other four poems)
Beauty is of a common division.
Quietly squatting in my own heart peak, I read the smile of ginkgo.
—Preface
It’s just in the light autumn, and the ginkgo trees grow higher and higher, even higher above the clouds.
Compared with pigeons, I’ve never forgot
Ginkgo biloba against the clear sky is more
Fascinating me.
In the cool golden wind, I pause and ponder. I
Have never thought, in August, to find my own wandering
Feathers, but I know you will choose a day
Of infatuation.
I don’t have a speech. Let autumn intone.
The sunshine hides the fairy tale in the twisted branches,
Dusk excavates with her eyes the last residual
Red sky.
Never say “I’m lonely.” Standing in front of the ginkgoes, I see
The most exquisite sky; I see your green fruits
And my never withered eyes.
Between nights, the days are like the butterfly in Zhuang Zhou’s dream; No one knows how high it can go!
Bitter bones, who knows
How many dreams it can move?
August and another August has passed, we can't hide. Open
The folding ginkgo fans. When autumn comes, they grow yellower.
The deep feelings for more than half a century
Suddenly roll about to the ground.
Without sorrow, in the deep night
I wail for a long, long time in a word. A man in exile in his native land,
Who writes with tears?
When I wake up the next day, the golden wind turns into Fruits,
And you become me.
Drifting in
It is a heart beating day. In my backpack,
There hide thoughts of walking, and you are in the open light spring.
February blows your black hair, and you take it in with your eyes.
You tell me not to miss the bloom of life;
You tell me how the feathers of age
Pass through a broken leaf;
You show me that a moment can extend to
Countless infinity.
Light, it’s no need to seek.
Removing the silhouette, the bright moon drifts in.
Everything just begins, my heart become
So happy. I love the depth of the sea;
I do love the depth of light; and I love the depth of you.
It's the very time for me to write on a stone
The miniature of the blade of grass and colorful myself.
Shedding the redundancy, the sun drifts in.
You have passed over more than half a century.
There is still half a century left. May your excellence and truth
Be like a song, like the surging sea, deep blue, deep blue.
Enchanted by a Pot of Tea
Boiling a pot of scented tea, we chat thoughts of Lao Zi and Zhuang Zi.
“Tao (the natural law) can be expressed, but not in general language;
Ming (the nature of objects) can be named, but not named in general language.”
The Moon rises gently from the river, casting moonlight on leaves besides the window.
Sitting face to face with each other over tea, time is flowing in the cup.
Tea people live a long life of tea.
Between the green mountains and clear water, keep a low profile, Forgetting fame, fortune, and the noisy world.
Keep a peaceful mind.
We need not fancy wares. With a china bowl, a clay cup,
Or a glass, we can enjoy the pleasure of tea-tasting
In the mountain or on the lake.
In a moment, the charm of tea and the scent of tea curl up with
The white clouds and green world.
A conversation between a life and a peaceful mind
Over a cup of tea, a pot of water and a river
Is refreshing.
Enjoy tea-tasting in a pavilion with songs, we make live up to
The tea and the tranquility.
Who cannot be absorbed and enchanted.
Am I the Butterfly on Your Shoulder?
Again, I haste out and in.
Whom do I miss?
In the August morning, I write a line out of sadness.
Upon opening the dictionary of homesickness, my tears stream down and they are lit up by the dim night
Of yesterday and the day before yesterday.
What else can I say? On the banks of the river,
There once left the twigs that I used to catch butterflies or dragonflies. Today,
I am lost in time.
I come, and I go. Separated by the river,
Is there anyone not blurred by the village sounds, blurred by you living
In the starlight, blurred by the ancient wall
Of the Ming and Qing Dynasty?
A wisp of pine wind curls, and some parasol leaves fly about.
Forget it, forget it!
What is lost when I leave my hometown?
Restlessly, sucking the summer flowers hanging in front of me,
I run away to
Another huge space.
I will return if life lasts.
My soul is like an engine, heavily
Whimpering. No matter how long I walk,
How afraid I am,
In wandering, I straighten my young back,
Without a curve.
I am on the height by myself. Opening my eyes,
Alone my tears rustling down.
If the wilderness cannot hold you, I
will cast myself out too.
Am I the butterfly that landed on your shoulder?
Early in the morning, I put the words into my backpack.
You stand on the end of the bridge; Shall I
Run away for the second time?
Nanjing Eye Footbridge
A light binds me tightly.
My eyes are convinced; the Nanjing Eye is convinced; the starlight is convinced.
I’ll come. I’ll come again.
—Preface
Idly, who is sitting outside the picture?
To seek cool, let’s go to Nanjing Eye Footbridge.
In late autumn, or in early autumn, let’s go to Nanjing eye Footbridge.
The answer lies outside the picture, but in the wind.
Filter out the noise, sit alone on the stone and read quietly.
In the haze against the setting sun, walk about alone
Or hold your lover’s hand.
Draped in the unfaded sunset, listen quietly, or
Looking at each other in affectionate.
A poem by a tourist, a silent flower,
A wanderer after a long absence. You wander, and you
Gaze afar. Gently, the wind will stroke your pain.
Your eyes and the Nanjing Eye will gaze at the high clouds
And the vast sky above the river.
In the water, the Eye, like a glass of wine filled with moonlight, lights up different directions.
Who won’t be intoxicated?
From light to light, the Nanjing Eye shines with the light of thought.
The secreted streams dance over the river.
All lashes are leaping into the sky.
Oh, my! The huge bright eye, overlooking
The whole Nanjing City. What a spectacular! Who
Would like to put their eyes elsewhere!
Don't overwhelm time, never.
My eyes are convinced; the Nanjing Eye is convinced; the starlight is convinced.
I’ll come. I’ll come again.
（Tr. Zhang Qiong；张琼 译）
作者简介：
王舒漫，中国当代著名女诗人、作家、画家、编剧、独立学者。笔名：蕙兰于心，舒漫，辛夷子等。现寓居上海。主编《中国百年诗画典藏》《翰墨空谷文萃》《中国当代知名诗人年历》，编著《诗人丁芒评传》。2012年荣获中国散文华表奖，2021年度荣获“十佳华语诗人”称号，同年荣获“茶亭”文学奖，作品散见于国内外各大报章杂志和各种经典选本。出版诗集《耕云播月》《心岸》等多部，著有散文诗千余首，绘画作品百余幅；著有广播剧《暗恋38》，诗剧《水太阳》《忆到透明》《流放人间》等。部分诗作被翻译成英语、德语、波兰语、日语、塞尔维亚语等多种外国文字。绘画作品被苏州第二图书馆、中国台湾地区美术馆、江苏省湖海艺术馆，上海醉白池碑刻艺术馆收藏、展出。
About the Author:
Wang Shuman is a famous contemporary Chinese poet, writer, painter, screenwriter and independent scholar. She lives in Shanghai. She is the chief editor of the Collection of Chinese Poems and Paintings in 100 Years, The Anthology of Hanmo Konggu, and the Almanac of Famous contemporary Chinese Poets, compiler of Biography of Ding Mang as a Poet. She has won the Chinese Prose Huabiao Award in 2012, the title of “Top Ten Chinese Poets” in 2021, the “Tea Ting” Literature Prize in2021. Her works are scattered in newspapers and magazines at home and abroad. She has published many poems, such as Ploughing clouds and Sowing the Moon and Heart Bank. She has written more than 1,000 prose poems and drawn more than 100 paintings. She is the author of radio drama Unrequited Love 38, poetry drama Water Sun, Memory to transparency, Exile and so on. Some of the poems have been translated into English, German, Polish, Japanese, Serbian and other foreign languages. Her paintings have been collected and exhibited by many Art Museums.
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，华诗会会员，《诗殿堂》翻译部执行主编，七星译诗社之瑶光。出版诗歌翻译研究著作四部，发表诗歌翻译论文数篇。
About the translator:
Zhang Qiong, an associate professor of School of Foreign Languages of Zhaoqing University, a senior member of Translators Association of China, President of Translators Association of Zhaoqing, member of the Chinese Poetry Association, an editor in Translation Department of Poetry Hall，Celestial Jade of the Seven Stars Poetry Translation Association. She has published four books on poetry translation and several papers on poetry translation.