Duo Duo Poems

Waking at night with snow on the forehead it's still
the same like walking on a piece of paper and it's still
like walking into the field of invisible snow, and it's still

like walking between words, wheat fields, walking
in the shoes on sale, walking to the words
The moment you can see where your home is, it's like

still standing in the empty field, fixing your suit, still
bending your knees. The gold shields. It still is.
The world's most loud, the loudest

is, still, the earth

And the October light is passing though his legs when he's mowing, it's
like a golden corn field
with a burst of wild laughter, a burst
of firecrackers, a bright red pepper field, still, it's

the golden that no arrangement can reproduce
the order of furious growth is a burst of October
which is persuasive, omnipresent, it's

like the cold ox dung of September shoveled in the air, it's
the stones in October walking to us, forming a team, it's
November rain passes over a place without you, still, it's

the seventy pears on the tree laughing their faces off
Your father is still the cough among your mother's
laugher

The ox moves towards our disappearance, jotting
Still it's a family sitting on the cart watching the snow
licked by a huge ox tongue

O warm, it's still warm

And in memory, snow increases the weight of remembrance
It's what snow owes us. Snow falls to cover
the page that snow has turned over

turned over, but still is

And the winter field understands the cemeteries
four trees planted by four trees here
the old light opens the speaking, outside words'

cracking, but still it is

your father who saw your mother's death as the sky
and his own death as your mother's tombstone
your father's bone is walking up these hills

and still is

the planet walks through this life
every piece of broken glass in the backyard talks
for the reason of not seeing us again, says

still, it is still

(1993)
...

走在额头飘雪的夜里而依旧是
　　从一张白纸上走过而依旧是
　　走进那看不见的田野而依旧是
　　走在词间，麦田间，走在
　　减价的皮鞋间，走到词
　　望到家乡的时刻，而依旧是
　　站在麦田间整理西装，而依旧是
　　屈下黄金盾牌铸造的膝盖，而依旧是
　　这世上最响亮的，最响亮的
　　　　　　　　　 依旧是，依旧是大地
　　一道秋光从割草人腿间穿过时，它是
　　一片金黄的玉米地里有一阵狂笑声，是它
　　一阵鞭炮声透出鲜红的辣椒地，它依旧是
　　任何排列也不能再现它的金黄
　　它的秩序是秋日原野的一阵奋力生长
　　它有无处不在的说服力，它依旧是它
　　一阵九月的冷牛粪被铲向空中而依旧是
　　十月的石头走成了队伍而依旧是
　　十一月的雨经过一个没有了你的地点而依旧是
　　依旧是七十只梨子在树上笑歪了脸
　　你父亲依旧是你母亲
　　笑声中的一阵咳嗽声
　　牛头向着逝去的道路颠簸
　　而依旧是一家人坐在牛车上着雪
　　被一根巨大的牛舌舔到
　　　　　　　　　 温暖啊，依旧是温暖
　　是来自记忆的雪，增加了记忆的重量
　　是雪欠下的，这时雪来覆盖
　　是雪翻过了那一页
　　　　　　　　　 翻过了，而依旧是
　　冬日的麦地和墓地已经接在一起
　　四棵凄凉的树就种在这里
　　昔日的光源进了诉说，在话语以外崩裂
　　　　　　　　　 崩裂，而依旧是
　　你父亲用你母亲的死做他的天空
　　用他的死做你母亲的墓碑
　　你父亲的骨头从高高的山冈上走下
　　　　　　　　　 而依旧是
　　每一粒星星都在经历此生此世
　　埋在后园的每一块碎玻璃都在说话
　　为了一个不会再见的理由，说
　　　　　　　　　 依旧是，依旧是
　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　
1993
...

在漆黑的夜里为母亲染发，马蹄声
近了。母亲的棺材
开始为母亲穿衣
母亲的鞋，独自向树上爬去
留给母亲的风，像铁一样不肯散开
母亲的终结

意味着冬天
从仇恨中解体

冬天，已把它的压力完成
马蹄声，在响亮的铁板上开了花
在被雪擦亮的大地之上，风
说风残忍
意味着另一种残忍：说
逃向天空的东西
被麻痹在半空
意味着母亲的一生
只是十根脚趾同时折断
说母亲往火中投着木炭
就是投着孩子，意味着笨女儿
同情炉火中的灰烬
说这就是罪，意味着：
"我会再犯！"
...

Dark night—dyes Mother's hair, clip clop,
Horses are approaching. Mother's coffin
Begins to dress her up.
Her shoes climb up the tree by themselves.
Her wind refuses to disperse, like iron.
The ending of Mother means

The winter is dissolving
from hatred.

Winter has completed its task of giving pressure.
The horses clip-clop, loudly blooming on the iron board.
On the earth polished by snow, wind says
Its cruelty is
Cruelty of another kind; it says
Things fleeing away to the sky are
Paralyzed in mid-air which is to say
Mother's life means
Ten toes breaking at the same time
Which is to say Mother is casting charcoals into fire
Which is to say Mother is casting her child, the stupid daughter
In sympathy with the ashes in the fire
Saying this is sin, which means:
'I will repeat!'
...

十一月入夜的城市
唯有阿姆斯特丹的河流

突然

我家树上的桔子
在秋风中晃动

我关上窗户，也没有用
河流倒流，也没有用
那镶满珍珠的太阳，升起来了

也没有用

鸽群像铁屑散落
没有男孩子的街道突然显得空阔

秋雨过后
那爬满蜗牛的屋顶
——我的祖国

从阿姆斯特丹的河上，缓缓驶过……
...

November—while the night takes the city
there is only the River of Amsterdam

But look—
the oranges from my trees are on the river
swaying in the November wind
I try to close the window, it's no use
The river reverses its current, it's no use
The pearl-studded sun rises

it's no use
Doves fly off like metal scraps
The street without the boys is instantly hollow inside the river

After rainfall
the roof where snails crawl
—my country
sails up to me, slowly, the waters of Amsterdam…
...

他们将在街头同人生的三个意向相遇：
老人烟斗的余火、儿童涂写在墙上的笔迹
和湿漉漉的雨中行走的女人的小腿
他们徘徊了一整夜
围绕小白房子寻找标记
太阳升起来了，归宿仍不能断决
错误就从这时发生
没有经过祈祷
他们就会睡到一张床上
并且毫不顾忌室外光线
在晚些时候的残酷照射
因而能够带着动人的笑容睡去
像故去一样
竟然连再温柔的事情
也懒得回忆
就起身穿行街道
一直走进那
毫无标记的楼房大门
他们因此而消失
同母亲！临终前
预言过的一模一样
其实在他们内心
时时都在寻找
穿插那段往事的机会
时时都在用暗语交谈
就像雪天
用轻柔的步子从雾里归来
剥喂病人桔子时的心情一样
那花房的花
透过紫红的霜雾
肯定给他们留下难忘的印象
让他们的情调
就此炽烈起来
那就让他们
再短暂地昏迷一下吧
——去
给他们一个拍节
但不要给他们以觉察
不要让他们同居的窗口
因此变得昏暗
不要让他们因此失去
眺望原野的印象力量
当他们向黎明的街心走去
他们看到了生活。生活
就是那个停住劳动
看着他们走近的清道夫
他穿着蓝色的工作服
还叨着一只烟斗，站在早晨——
...

They'll meet the three intents of life
around the corner: embers from an old men's pipe,
children's graffiti on the wall,
and a woman's wet leg in the rain.

They wander around, a whole night,
near the small white house, for signs.
The sun rises, a place to stay is still not settled.
From this point on things start to go wrong.
Without praying they cuddle in bed.
They pay no attention to the light that brutally breaks in
later on and fall asleep with a hearty smile
as if dead.
They get up and leave—not even bother to recall
the tender moments—they walk through streets
and enter a building with no marks—
disappearing in there—
in the same way
his mother predicted before she died.

In fact they have every intention
to look for the moment
that intersperses with memories of the past.
From time to time
they carry on conversations in code,
as on a snow day
walking back from the fog with a gentle pace,
in the same mood as peeling an orange for a patient.
The flowers from that greenhouse
must have left them, through the purple fog,
a memorable impression.
They start to cheer up
and blaze.
Let it be. Let them
stay unconscious briefly.
—Go
whisper a beat
but do not stir them.
Do not let the window of where they live together
go dim.
Do not let them lose
the strength to overlook the impressionistic wilderness.

When they walk to the street center at dawn
they see life. Life
is the cleaning man in blue overalls
who stops working
to watch them approach. A pipe in his mouth,
he stands in the morning—
...

冬日老鼠四散溜冰的下午
我作出要搬家的意思
我让钉子闹着
画框，装过雪橇
书桌，搬到田野的中央
我没发觉天边早就站满了人
每个人的手是一副担架的扶手
他们把什么抬起来了——大地的肉
像金子一样抖动起来了，我没发觉
四周的树木全学我的样儿
上身穿着黑衣
下身，赤裸的树干上
写着：出售森林。
...

Winter afternoon, mice skate around
I pretend to move out
I hammer here and there, taking nails out
of painting frames
and sleigh a desk to the center of the field
finding the horizon full of people,
each person a handrail of a stretcher
lifting something—the flesh of the earth
quivers like gold, the trees around
all dressed like me, with a black jacket on top
the lower part—the bare trunks
read: forest for sale.
...