李少君：渡 | 王美富 Michael Soper 译 || 新诗在线
2021-08-07 20:10:05 作者：李少君 | 来源：中诗网 | 阅读： 次
李少君，1967 年生，湖南湘乡人。1989 年毕业于武汉大学新闻系，曾发起设立 “珞珈诗派”。现任《诗刊》主编。
渡
作者：李少君
译者：王美富 Michael Soper
李少君，1967 年生，湖南湘乡人。1989 年毕业于武汉大学新闻系，主要著作有《自然集》、《草根集》、《神降临的小站》、《应该对春天有所表示》等十六部，被誉为“自然诗人”。曾任《天涯》杂志主编，海南省文联副主席，现为中国作家协会《诗刊》主编，一级作家。
《云之现代性》
诗人们焦虑于所谓现代性问题
从山上到山下，他们不停地讨论
我则一点也不关心这个问题
太平洋有现代性吗？
南极呢？抑或还有九曲溪
它们有现代性吗？
珠穆朗玛峰有现代性？
黄山呢？还有武夷山
它们有现代性吗？
也许，云最具现代性
从李白的“众鸟高飞尽，孤云独去闲”
到柳宗元的“岩云无心自相逐”
再到郑愁予的“云游了三千岁月
终将云履脱在最西的峰上……”
从中国古人的“只可自怡悦，不堪持赠君”
到波德莱尔的巴黎呓语“我爱云……
过往的云……那边…….那边……奇妙的云！”
还有北美天空霸道凌厉的云
以及西亚高原上高冷飘忽的云
东南亚温润的云，热烈拥抱着每一个全球客
云卷云舒，云开云合
云，始终保持着现代性，高居现代性的前列
Cloud Modernity
Poets worry about the so-called modernity.
Coming down the mountains, they do not let up.
As for me, I don't worry about it at all.
Can we say the Pacific Ocean is modern?
How about Antarctica? The Nine-Turn Creek?
Are they modern?
And Everest?
How about the Yellow Mountain? The Wuyi Mountain?
Are they modern?
Clouds are perhaps the modernest.
From Li Bai's "The birds are gone high and far, only one roving cloud left",
to Liu Zongyuan's "The clouds play tag with the cliffs without a care”,
to Zheng Chouyu's "after three thousand eons of roaming, the clouds
come to rest at the westernmost peak . . ."
From the classic "Sufficient for self-amusement,
inadequate as a gift",
to Baudelaire's Parisian raving "I love clouds …passing clouds … there …over there…
marvelous clouds! "
Then there's the bellicose clouds in the sky of North America,
the icy cirrus over the western Asiatic plateau,
the warm clouds of Southeast Asia for every global trotter.
Roving and roiling, converging and diverging,
clouds are constantly modern,
the frontiersman of modernism.
《西山如隐》
寒冬如期而至，风霜沾染衣裳
清冷的疏影勾勒山之肃静轮廓
万物无所事事，也无所期盼
我亦如此，每日里宅在家中
饮茶读诗，也没别的消遣
看三两小雀在窗外枯枝上跳跃
但我啊，从来就安于现状
也从不担心被世间忽略存在感
偶尔，我也暗藏一丁点小秘密
比如，若可选择，我愿意成为西山
这个北京冬天里最清静无为的隐修士
端坐一方，静候每一位前来探访的友人
让他们感到冒着风寒专程赶来是值得的
Western Hills, There and Not There*
Winter always comes on time, frosting our clothes.
Skeletal trees delineate the mountain with a stately profile.
All is indolent, no one and nothing expects anything.
So am I, staying in every day,
sipping tea reading poetry, no fancy diversions.
A few sparrows hop on the leafless twigs outside the windows,
as for me, I am ever content with the way things are;
not jittered at all if forgotten by the world.
Once in a while, I do hide a small secret,
for example, my choice existence is the Western Hill,
that serene, zen-like hermit in Beijing’s Winter,
patiently waiting for every friend to visit
and leave with the satisfaction of having braved the elements to come.
Translator’s note: Western Hill or Xishan(西山)is a mountain range
to the west of Beijing.
《热带雨林》
雨幕一拉，就有了热带雨林的气息
细枝绿叶也舒展开来，显得浓郁茂盛
雨水不停地滴下，一条小径通向密林
再加上氤氲的气象，朦胧且深不可测
没有雨，如何能称之为热带雨林呢
在没有雨的季节，整个林子疲软无力
鸟鸣也显得零散，无法唤醒内心的记忆
雨点，是最深刻的一种寂静的怀乡方式
Tropical Rainforest
The rain releases the scent of the tropical rainforest.
Barks and leaves loosen up, looking luxuriant.
A foot path goes through the unfathomable jungle,
where raindrops and mist add to its mystic.
How can we call it tropical rainforest but not for the rain?
Without the rain, the entire forest droops,
bird songs become scant,
memories pale and blur.
Raindrops manifest the quietest and deepest kind of homesickness.
《与子侄短信》
你说起你在旅途中迷恋的一些画面：
幽绿的湖面上生起薄雾
林子的深处似乎永远藏着仙气
我在红尘忙碌的间隙回复我之向往：
落花傍故门，晚马
于夕阳西下之际犹踏青苔
Text Message to My Nephew
You talked about the images you fell in love with on the journey:
thin mist on the emerald lake,
mythical atmosphere in the deep forest.
I replied with a list of my longings amid a tight worldly schedule:
fallen flowers by the old house, horse returning late
at sunset, unhurriedly trotting on the mossy road.
《渡》
黄昏，渡口，一位渡船客站在台阶上
眼神迷惘，看着眼前的野花和流水
他似乎在等候，又仿佛是迷路到了这里
在迟疑的刹那，暮色笼罩下来
远处，青林含烟，青峰吐云
暮色中的他油然而生听天由命之感
确实，他无意中来到此地，不知道怎样渡船，渡谁的船
甚至不知道如何渡过黄昏，犹豫之中黑夜即将降临
Crossing
Dusk, at the ferry crossing, a passenger stands on the steps.
He looks perplexed, looking at the river and the wildflowers.
He seems to be waiting, or perhaps is lost.
As he hesitates, twilight descends.
Far away, the forest turns misty, and the mountains breathe out clouds.
In the twilight, he is overwhelmed by a sense of destiny.
Indeed, his presence here is incidental, unsure about
where to ferry to and whose ferry to take.
He doesn't even know what awaits him at the end of dusk,
as darkness slowly descends on his dubiousness.
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