Grow up in the Dark

There is a wispy sound in the dark
I cannot tell, is this your groan
or the memory from many years ago
on my bare forehead
stepping tone

Say goodbye in the dark
Grow up in the dark
The warmness in the dark, a body
against another body, the stroke
cannot be seen. Only the fragrance of drink
residues, in the glass of the dark
speaking out flirting words
as soft as cheese

In her mouth, a crow holds a slice of cheese, on a tree
A fox is flattering, below the tree
The crow smiles happily, the cheese falls into the fox’s mouth
The story spreads out and passes on to us
It is the story about you and me
For a beautiful word
we walk up to cliff, and
dash ahead regardless of our life

Until our black hair
is burned out by the fire of time
we turn around and look back, trying to distinguish
the fox and the crow
the man and the woman
those similar loving words and eye expression

La Fontaine we are here
listening to ancient chime in the dark
to whispering sound of guitar
to flickering of well water in moonlight
to flower boldly blooming arms
to moist footstep of night traveler
Perhaps the sunshine is burning far
But we are growing up in the dark
We have grown up in Plato’s allegory of the cave

效应

收起一把黑伞
天光也随之阴暗了
视觉效应也许不足靠
心理效应却是靠谱的
若不然
就难以解释人的行为了

如果止于某一点
一只花蝴蝶落在一朵花上
潜意识可能无法分清
那是两朵花在成双起舞
还是一种视觉的异化叠加

找到一个定点
也就确定了一段轨迹
一个人傲立于一块山石
说不定就成了一座纪念碑
死后多年仍在向世界招手

用无数根雨水擦燃火柴
并非一桩不可能之事
看看闪电就知道了

星火燎原之天象
宁可点到为止
拒绝为天下大乱负责
正如用小说中的人物
去衡量现实中的人物
是无论如何也行不通的

Pillar of Water

On abruptly erecting water
in the sprayed fog
who smiles in her preexistence?
Who stands under a tree where
green shade, as water, pours down to heel?
When your life spurts pillar of water
who, standing shoulder to shoulder with you
touches your heart?

Strike me, splash me, and transform me
The midnight moonlight overflows the wall of water
A dream and flowing water are always like this:
sometimes staying tranquil, sometimes pouring out
blasting news
about you and me, the inner truth

When other pillars of water gradually fade away
and you too, finally leave
The echo of memory is no longer a tremor
I scan myself over again: now

Only one pillar of water remains, experiencing
calm solitude, gushing
into stele, wall, monument
wilderness with blossom, village with herds
summer street passed by sprinkler
gloomy riverbed, and lighthouse on reef

How do we shape ourselves into
new images, whether they are pillar of water, monument
brick wall, or a silent chrysalis
that turns into a butterfly after twitch
and dances in the years’ sky

换季

关于夏天的传说,关于
从鹊桥两端靠近的可人儿
节气过后就再不见提起
一切都合乎礼仪
一旦露真,脱下礼服
谁能预料会发生什么呢

时过境迁,断不至于
一点也不念旧情吧
要不怎么会暑热如昨退回往事呢
不过,当你站在门槛前顾后盼
胸贴盛夏的余热,背靠冷秋的崛起
便知季节去意已定,不会改变了

春风曾鼓胀原野的青衫
拂过毗邻竹苑的蒲公英
看它头顶的黄花
如何借喻湖畔的芦花
自留些许,其余匀给黄昏
下一场潇潇粉雨
然后说,一切都过去了

岸畔黄叶鼓瑟,音符络绎
你听,水韵的确已饱含秋声了
但女红的颜色
仍然哼着一曲牛郎之歌

在客人云集的厅堂
话语无不凸显秋意
出口的是女儿的女儿
儿子的儿子

Softening

If you were a mollusk
the pain you bear
would be much severer than a vertebrate’s
Sometimes you can only observe
how a song from afar
like an earthworm
squirms, swells, and finally
festers in your heart

Don’t remember when the boundaries and limits
are overlapped
making a great frustration to the emotional rules
The traffic lights have gone wrong
There is a flame over the street
The police patrol frequently calls out, the siren
like a canine, seizes the vehicle running away

To hard intrusion
from the initial whack
you respond quickly by shrinking yourself
As to adapting for sharp appliance
it is nothing more than lacking backbone
bruised and cut through
bearing the suffer silently, never budge
for greeting the new turn of cycle

However to those softer than you
you appear not to know what to do
like the song from afar
can soften you to a puddle of mud
then turn the mud to clean water
a trail of smoke

看一根树枝起火

燃烧的是树枝
但火光看见的是色染的空
枝头先冒出一缕烟
然后升起一个金黄气球
而牵着气球的那根线
被隐身者拉紧,又放松

树枝的实有,从一开始
就完全无力控制火苗
烽火轮上红孩儿的骄横
全无灵秀的水性,殊不知
冰,水为之,而寒于水
火,木纵之,而自焚之
宠溺的结果果只能自己咽下

其实,论证异化的方式
大可不必如此残忍极端
异化既是一种分离
更是一种活剥
但在撩开其华丽面纱时
难道非要听一声惨叫不可吗?

给你话语权指鹿为马
你会做赵高第二吗?
学术毕竟是学术
证明空与实有的关系
每一步皆须踩准逻辑
空本来依附于实有
后来势力做大
就反过来成为实有
变一度绿色的树枝为空

如果抛开理论只看现实
为什么双方不能妥协
双赢成久燃不熄的磷火呢?
就连春秋时代的郑庄公
对与自己为敌的生母
也未使其灰飞烟灭
而是黄泉相见,其乐融融

Addition and Subtraction of Dream

On one hand dream exaggerates us
enabling our beard to rise sky high
our languor become romance
our coward turn into presumption
Dream constantly applauds us
giving extra credits to us

On the other hand
Dream relentlessly belittles us
exposing our hypocrisy
making our barbarity touchable
Dream constantly leaks our secrets
deducting our points

Plus and minus
pierce our balloon of ideal
following teeth along the open mouth of clock
wash off the light broth in the bowl

If the phenomenological reduction
forcefully strips the ribs of rationality
then could defining dream and reality
be ultimately the same?

闻声

不同的小兽在你心里吼叫
用形状、声音、皮色的重叠
组成一个五花斑斓的世界

铺盖,混声,此起彼伏
一顶帽子戴在不同的铃声上
七个小矮人肩扛七个音符
开始了一场组字比赛

你的心思无法不牵动岁月的南北朝
在流水浑浊的江岸
兽齿亮出的白旗和兽尾拖长的黑夜
交替在摇摆不定的渡口
涛声里月亮圆熟了
在你眸中的湖泊无声淌水

而你不得不退回
敏感的年龄面对激流是危险的
你的座右铭会莫名其妙滑坡
穿衣镜变成天文望远镜
虽不情愿,你仍会扮演一次嫦娥
为期待心理整合的人提供安慰

首音和尾音彼此追逐
像一只猫狂追自己的尾巴
发出兴奋难耐的尖叫
而以光年计算
你尚未完成文化符号就躺倒了

当铃声再起的时候
眼前出现巴甫洛夫的狗
条件反射地在你心里分泌唾液

An Eyewitness of a Road

Led by the name of a place
a nightwalker of daylight
along the coffee’s wakened pulse
The matured fruit juice sweetens in blood

No matter how a road is to be taken
at the end, the road still leads to itself
Shaping square or circle, the fixed point has four corners
each one can be self justified

The mature is always relative
It can be measured by dreamless rationality
and be decorated by lintels of dream as well
At the edge of a trash cabin
lay a dog-eared Anna Karenina
Is it implying
the reader has given up looking for the railway track

Checking emails, online videoing
The fairy on the phone
after witnessing countless insomnia
gingerly bypasses the minefield
The caller says the code signal as usual
but the content of the code
is sound asleep somewhere unknown

In the steadiness of one’s walk
one reveals his mental state
indicating he is heading for autumn or spring

重听李姆斯基.柯萨科夫 (外二首)

一滑至底。波涌
溅起一千零一朵浪花
不规则地跌宕,眩晕
无缝地胀破日夜

时光下意识地投标
面团被揉软,发酵拉长
一条白色蚯蚓从黑土钻出
变成光柱,然后无限切分
在一个细腻得发颤的高音区
甩出一把银针
刺向记忆的不同穴位

云中浮现消失多年的人
灰蒙蒙的老房子
提着铅壶一次次浇水
始终不改容颜的红蔷薇

无论当年带给你的
是欢乐还是痛苦
都无法被时间抹去
而成为体内的一部分
不以你的忧喜为转移
不因生死改变颜色

打蜡的弦上童年在飞奔
看不见的琴弓
娴熟地联奏不同岁月的故事
一千零一夜毛发直立
每一个毛孔
都曾经是散发着体味的旧居

 

倾听

只要倾听
就一定能够听出什么
无论何时何地
也无论何种心境

即使没有手机
你也能随时被接通
与冥冥中的隐身者对话

下雨的时候
你能够听出酸甜的果汁
滴涌一只透明的玻璃杯

你会觉得疑雾散去
脓肿的泥潭
飞出翅翼轻盈的钢琴声

逝去的每一个昼夜
都是连心的十指
弹奏生命幻想曲的黑白键

 

如果没有那样的小岛

如果没有那样一座小岛
比如高更的塔希提岛
比如叶芝的茵尼斯弗利岛
或者不一定是小岛
只是一个湖
比如梭罗的瓦尔登湖
比如施笃姆的茵梦湖
甚至也不是湖
只是安妮的绿山墙

如果没有那样一个地方
你会觉得身处异乡
虽然一生从未出远门
宅屋窗明几净,杯盏交错
但总觉得缺少了什么

那个地方其实并不远
一本书和一段音乐
就引你入岛上的花园
一眨眼就能听见
薰衣草和马蹄莲的故事
她们如何被一道灵犀之光
变成紫衣仙女和白衣仙女
在琴弦的沙沙夜雨中
你久旱的心田油然润透
冒出绿茸茸的希望

如果没有那样一座小岛
你会四处寻找
去天内和天外,去书中
去音乐的大海
找,就一定能找到