故乡的火焰,及艺术家Ian Boyden的英译(唯色)

2017-04-02
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图说:日本艺术家Tomoyo Ihaya(井早智代)为2017年3月18日在康娘绒(四川省甘孜州新龙县)自焚的白玛坚参绘画。24岁的白玛坚参是2009年以来自焚抗议的第152位藏人。(唯 色)
图说:日本艺术家Tomoyo Ihaya(井早智代)为2017年3月18日在康娘绒(四川省甘孜州新龙县)自焚的白玛坚参绘画。24岁的白玛坚参是2009年以来自焚抗议的第152位藏人。(唯 色)

【唯色按:我的这首诗,已由Ian Boyden先生译成了英文。他是艺术家、诗人、作家、译者、雕塑家、书法家、书籍装帧设计师、艺术策展人。曾在中国学习中文、中文书法等,并研究碑刻、学习禅宗。现居美国华盛顿州的圣胡安岛。实际上,我写这首诗也与他有关。因为这之前我们谈到了火、火葬、火的生态,等等。他写道:“……火的生态特别贪食的,吃完了以后只有灰,二氧化碳。我要我的身体变成羽毛、鱼鳞、树叶,等等。这就是一个生态愿望,一个佛教生态愿望。”他建议:“我有一个想法,我们各自写一首诗,关于‘火的生态特别贪食,吃完了以后只有灰’。写了以后我们可以比较我们的诗,看看我们互相的心的形状。”是的,他也写了一首诗,比较长,分八节,犹如八瓣莲花。也可以说,我们写了一首“同题诗”,只是遗憾我无法翻译他的诗。】

 

故乡的火焰

 

三月异样。迟迟不来的大风,

似要遮蔽故乡的一朵火焰。

火焰若明若暗,这是我受限的视角所致。

若在近处,无法靠近,那景象会令人心碎。

 

更多的房舍毁于无形之手。

更多的祈祷消失在尖厉的外地口音之中。

更多的掳掠和交易从未停止。

流离失所。尘世间的故事过于悲情。

 

站在二十一层高楼窗前,

犹如置身于二十一世纪的危险时刻,

无须远方,近在咫尺竟已蒙昧不清,

毒气翻涌,难怪这个国度的众生纷纷变坏。

 

我低头记录着忽起忽灭的火焰。

一朵,一朵,一百五十二朵还不止!

但万籁俱寂,“蘸上墨水禁不住哭泣!”[1]

却又似乎望见:灰烬中,重生的灵魂美丽无比。

 

2017-3-25,北京

 

[1]“蘸上墨水禁不住哭泣!”为俄罗斯诗人帕斯捷尔纳克诗句。

 

Flames of the Homeland

 

March is peculiar.

The sweeping winds are long in coming,

and dust-filled air obscures a flame

in my homeland.

From where I sit, my view is limited,

the flame bright then dark.
But even if I were nearby

I couldn’t approach it.

To behold such a sight

would break my heart.

 

Even more houses destroyed

by an invisible hand.

Even more prayers disappeared

in the din of harsh and alien accents.

Even more pillaging and unstoppable negotiations.

Drifting, destitute and homeless.

This world of dust, a story

full of grief.

 

From where I sit

at the window

on the twenty-first floor of a highrise,

it is as though I’ve placed myself

in a perilous frame

of the twenty-first century.

No need to distance myself.

The flames are almost within reach

but obscure.

 

Outside the window, the poison air

seethes and boils.

No wonder all the living creatures

of this country rot

one after another.

 

I bow my head to record

my homeland’s flames

that spark suddenly and extinguish suddenly.
One by one by one, one hundred fifty-

two flames and counting, unstoppable.[1]
But there’s not a sound to be heard.

I think of the poet Pasternak,[2]

who wrote “dipping my pen into ink,

I can not help

but cry.”

 

And I also see this:

in the ashes,

a reborn soul

beautiful beyond compare.

 

Tsering Woeser

March 25, 2017, Beijing

(translated by Ian Boyden)

 

[1]The flames in this poem are the flames of Tibetan self-immolators. Since 2008, a wave of self-immolation has swept across Tibet, to date 152 individuals have burned themselves alive, many of them Buddhist monks. The majority of these self-immolations have been expressions of political protest against China’s occupation of Tibet, as well as its oppression and systematic destruction of Tibetan culture. Woeser discusses this topic in her extraordinary book Tibet on Fire (Verso Books, 2016).

 

[2] This line is from Boris Pasternak’s poem “February” written in 1912. There are many translations of this poem into English, however, they are all quite different from how the poem was rendered in Chinese. So, to this end, I have translated the Chinese translation of this poem, as it carries a tone not present in English translations made directly from the original Russian.

 

 

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