几年前我在老海川里面贴文，曾经用的幽灵笔名。想起一些我的文章，就去那里看看，顺便搬运几首过来。

作者：幽灵 在 寒山小径 发贴, 来自 http://www.hjclub.info

电波年代

――唐夫译――

父亲拍摄的照片
在查理.帕克去世时期
我站立笔直，看上去似个王子
满脸神采的微笑
头上像编织着金色的蔓藤
从那以后我注意收音机
查阅炫耀的报刊

父亲在发薪的日子
总要带些微小的玩具回家
那是给长子的奖品
期望我将有安稳的地方
才能斩杀雄狮

我看着自己的儿子、兄弟
也望着父亲，
四人环绕着一串希望和恐怖
漂浮在生存与死亡的背后

我们举起手来 托出梦幻
像飞出蓝电的青鸟

2006-8-13 下午二点半动手，不到四点完成 初稿。唉！残缺不在，翻译了没有跟帖的，无聊......ing！



听广播的日子

北塔 译

大概在查理·帕克去世的时候
我父亲给我拍了一张照，
我摆出姿势，像一位王子，
笔直、欢快、微笑着。我的前景
被织进了脑袋周围金黄的藤蔓。
但是，这不是照片里的情形。
从那时起，我都记着一边收听广播
一边核对报纸上有关我言行的报道。

父亲有往家里给我
带玩具的习惯；在他拿工资的日子
给我带来一些小玩意。这是
对头生子和儿子的奖赏。
他推想，有了我，未来
就有了保障。我得杀掉狮子。

我看着我的儿子和兄弟
看着我的父亲。我们四人
组成一个电路，那电流
是希望和恐惧，流动着，
回流着。不管是流还是不流

我们都举起手，让梦想从手掌
飞出，像鸟群，像蓝色的电光。



收音機年代

——給蔚馬可


我父親有一張我的照片
大約在查理．帕克死時
所照。我端坐如一名王子，
直立，燦爛，微笑。我的頭上
籠罩著以黃金藤編織成的
希望，但這並沒有在照片中顯現。
我記得從那時起的收音機，
翻報紙搜尋我愛聽的節目。.

我父親習慣在他領薪日
帶些玩具回家給我，一些
小東西。那是給
家中長子的獎賞。.
他們期望我讓未來成為
安全之地。我必須屠獅。

我注視著我兒子，我弟弟。
我注視著我父親。我們四個
是一道電路，其中的電流是
希望與恐懼之流，流動，
倒退，存在又不存在。

我們舉起我們的手，夢想
從中飛出——帶電的青鳥。.


--陳黎．張芬齡譯




For Mark J. Weaver

My father has a picture of me
taken around the time Charlie Parker
died. I am sitting up like a prince,
erect, bright, smiling. I have promise
around my head woven in vines
of gold, but this is not in the picture.
I remember radio from then,
checking the paper for my shows.

My father had a habit of bringing
home toys to me, small things on days
he got paid. It was a reward
for being firstborn and being a son.
I was supposed to make the future
a safe place. I had to kill the lion.

I look at my son and my brother.
I look at my father. The four of us
are a circuit where the current is
a stream of hope & fear, floating,
going back, living and not living.

We hold up our hands and dreams
fly out of them, birds of blue electric.


作者：幽灵 在 寒山小径 发贴, 来自 http://www.hjclub.info

昨日翻译了首情诗，多年不摸英语，已是脸上涂腊，献丑贴来，是寄望于诸位指点，各位高手居住在英语环境，比起来，我是门外汉。


恋人之魔

美国著名诗人 Afaa Weaver
－－唐夫 译

我守护着自己的臂弯
随她的魔咒，旋转甜蜜的鸟语舌头
指头敲点，依靠着木门敲打一曲摇篮
灵声之舱灼灼发光
我们的音乐消亡在追逐的天空
一對象征慾望的圖騰
她旋转的头颅正编织细绒的羽毛
湿润的青草在她的脚趾下轻柔悲鸣
我唱着母親的那首歌

河流的幻想――
奔来、这里，奔去
像轻轻的月儿哭泣
奔来、那里，奔去

歌唱时我撫摸你
由窗內，到另一個唱詩班
她那黑色的憤怒
像星星沉醉的石头
长久干渴而悲泣出血的肺魚
忌妒为紫色的怒气

我的手熟悉你
拍击的掌声，让鸟的泪水从灌木叢湧出
汗湿的歌声——我的手搜索你
就像在品嚐你。

2006-8-9



Afaa Weaver

In the guarded arms of my own sentries,
her spell, her tongue against sweet taste
of bird song, fingers a lullaby against my wooden doors,
light beating accomodations of soul rings, music
of our escape.
We chase the air,
a pair of totems for desire,
her head twirling braids in tiny feathers,
soft squeals of her toes mashing
wet grass. I sing our mothers’ one song,
river reverie—
now, here, now
low in the moon’s cry
now, there, now
I sing, I touch you.
In the window, another choir,
the other in her dark rage,
stones smashed into the stars,
blood from the wailing
of lungfish too long dry,
jealousy in purple rage.

My hand knows you,
clap and clatter, bird rush
from the thicket of tears,
sweat song—my hand knows.
I taste you.

About the writer：

Afaa Weaver was born in Baltimore, Maryland, in 1951. He studied in University of Maryland (1968-70) and Morgan State University (1975), but left with no degree. In 1983, he entered Excelsior College and in 1986, he was awarded a B.A. in Literature in English. In 1985, he attended Brown University, majoring in creative writing, and got his M.A. in 1987. He worked as an assistant professor and lecturer and taught writing, poetry, black literature, and playwriting in many universities; he is now Professor of English in Simmons College, Boston, Massachusetts. Besides poetry, he is also a playwright. He has published many collections of poetry: Gathering Voices (1985), Water Song (1985), Some days it’s a slow walk to evening (1989), My Father’s Geography (1992), Stations in a Dream, (1993), Timber and Prayer (1995), The Ten Lights of God (2000), Sandy Point (2000), These Hands I Know (2000), and Multitudes / poems selected and new (2000). He has received several awards, grants and fellowships, including Pennsylvania Arts Council fellowship, Outstanding Young Man of America and PDI Playwrights Award.

Weaver thinks, after decades of experimentation and change, the future for poetry will be the union of cyber space and the old traditional reality of poetry. To popularize poetry, Weaver has advocated poetry readings. Besides U.S.A., he has been invited to read poetry in London, Paris, and many other cities. However, he is concerned that we have a quantitative increase rather than a qualitative one. That is sort of parallel with America’s cult of the celebrity, which he thinks is very dangerous.

作者：幽灵 在 寒山小径 发贴, 来自 http://www.hjclub.info

储藏页面，空了再搬：

http://www.hjclub.info/bbs/search.php?search_id=98842399&start=160