作者：鲁若迪基,Saul Thompson
出版社：中译出版社
格式: AZW3, DOCX, EPUB, MOBI, PDF, TXT
No Water Cleaner than Tears 没有比泪水更干净的水试读：
版权信息书名：No Water Cleaner than Tears 没有比泪水更干净的水作者：鲁若迪基,Saul Thompson排版：汪淼出版社：中译出版社出版时间：2016-08-01ISBN：9787500151500本书由北京欣博友数据科技有限公司授权北京当当科文电子商务有限公司制作与发行。— · 版权所有 侵权必究 · —Luruo Diji, a Pumi poet born in 1967, comes from Ninglang, Yunnan province. He has published more than three hundred poems and several standalone collections. His work has won numerous prizes, including the Fifth and Seventh Junma Awards and the People’s Literature Prize for Outstanding Poetry.Part One—Songs from the LittleLiang MountainsThe Little Liang Mountains Are Little
The Little Liang Mountains
Are little
Just about as big as my eyes
I close my eyes
And the sky above darkens
The Little Liang Mountains
Are little
Just about as big as my voice
Exactly the right size
For my words to traverse it
And respond to my mother’s calls
The Little Liang Mountains
Are little
Just as small as a needle’s eye
My poems often cross them
Mending my mother’s clothes
The Little Liang Mountains
Are little
Just about as big as my thumb
When I’m away
I always hold it out
On a level
With other people’s eyesChoices
The sky is too big
I chose only
That small slice over my head
The rivers are too many
I choose only
That nameless one
Which runs through
My native place
Among all the people
Living here
I choose only
A man named Azheng Wujin
To be my father
A woman named Che’er Lamu
To be my mother
No matter where I go
The sole mountain at my back
Takes its name:
Sibu-jiong
In my arms
I only hold
A village named GuoliuA Village That Won’t Grow Up
Growing up is for children
When old people grow up
They get even older
Villages aren’t made to grow up
That piece of land
That sliver of river
That handful of houses
Those people
Their lives and their deaths
Some villagers walk out
Of the village
And never come back
They keep the village
In their eyes
An ache in their heart
But most people grow roots
That last their whole life
And never once leave
Until death takes themLady Peaks
After snowfall
Those mountain chains
Seem as women
Fresh from bathing
Laying tender
On the shore
Of Lugu Lake
In the moonlight
They are lovely
Passions stir
Among erect breasts
That point to how
The sky is the child
Of their sucklingBlues That Won’t Blow Away
The day will never come
That can sweep clean every last
Dust particle
There will always be some
Left to fall in memory’s gutter
Under the eaves
Our parents grow shorter
By the day
I think of how in the end
They’ll be buried in dust
The wind will never blow away
The sorrow in my heartThe River That Runs By Me
The river that runs by me
Still has no name
The grassland it flows through
Where green blades
Grow luxuriant
It passes through villages
Where cooking smoke lingers
It flows on through
Never to return
And yet now
It soundlessly strips from me
My youth
My love
It leaves me behind
Like a stone
On the Little Liang Mountains
In the windA Flock of Sheep Walk Through a County Town
A flock of sheep
Is herded vocally
Through the county town
The cars all slow down
Some even stop
To let them pass by
Now and again the sheep look round
All around
Before moving on
Ever alert
As if
Behind the tall buildings
Lurked animals
More awful than wolves
With utmost caution
Under shining sun
They walk
Toward the slaughterhouseThe Year 1958
In the year 1958
A young woman
A beauty
Lay by my father’s side
But though he was a man
And strong as an ox
He was starving
No strength
To lift eyes to her
Many years later
When he spoke of this
With his old friends
His heart still weighed heavy
Those truly were the dog days
He said
No need for family planningMaking My Intentions Clear
I want to be like a mountain
And stand
I want to be like a river
And shed myself of myself
I want to become
The grain of time
And feed history
I want to lead an ancient Nation
Back out of the earthSky of Yunnan
Such wonder workers
The Yunnanese
They wipe their own sky clean
Every day they compel clouds
To polish the heavens
Till they’re so blue
Nothing to say about it
That clean Yunnan sky
Now cleanses its clouds out
Not a speck of dirt left
White
Spotless
So white
You think of draft paper
On which to pen a poemCold Blows the Wind
A screen of mountains
Cannot hold the wind
In a corner of the sky
Wind gathers strength
To blow through my village
To make tatters of kitchen smoke
And scatter the sheep flock
On the slopes
My village in the wind
Grows colder
With time
And more wind
My thoughts
More distantBirds in the Snowfield
Birds on the snow
Have no home
Nothing to eat
They fly blind
For a while
Then come back down
On the snow
Then flap back
Into flight
To perch on a tree branch
The snow does not stop
Falling
The birds curl
Into little balls
Glancing up
Once in a while
At the grey sky above
How small the world
In their eyes
So small
They’ve nowhere to hide
The snow still
Does not stop
Falling
The birds can hear nothing
As children with slingshots
Draw silently nearA Poem from the Snowfield
The snowfields
This white paper
Given by the god
Is not here
For just anyone
To pen
Their black letters
Without thinking
It’s hard to write anything
On this kind of paper
I use a special style
Of the Pumi People
I look skyward and sing
So that my words
May enter the snowflakes
Thus I write
My poem
On this paper sheetEagle1
The sky of my village
Is the deepest blue
Cloth
I use the eagle’s wing
To measure and cut it
Then I wrap it
Around you2
A sky without eagles
Is empty
With imagination
An eagle flies out
From my heart
And wheels in the sky
Searching with sharp eyes
It stoops
And dives
And plucks you
From the human tide
And carries you here
To my sideWatching the Sun Falls Down the Mountains
The sun’s coming down
The mountain
The gates
Of all the walled villages
In these mountains
Are open
The roads that lead
Into them
Are like hands
Calling the cattle and sheep back
Late on their way home
Children out from school
People back from their labour
And so walled villages
Keep all that is theirs
Only still no trace of the hunters
And there’s a child
Still sitting on the slope
Watching the sun
Come down the mountains
The sun
In its last mischievous moment
Smears the mountaintops
And slides down
Towards where
Black night’s open mouth waits
To gulp it down
Just then
The child hears his mother calling
Startled night’s jaws hang wide
On a long delay
At that moment
He didn’t know
Where the sun went
Or in whose care
He now found himselfThe Birchleaf Pear Tree
My memory recalls
A birchleaf pear tree
And oh how tall it was
A crowd of people
Sit beside it
Talking about something
Saying something or other
About oh how far it is
How dozens of bulls
Could never haul it back
Today
I belatedly found out
That the birchleaf pear
Really isn’t all that tall
A few familiar faces
Are gone from the crowd now
And there are a few more
Strange faces than before
Talking about something
Mother stands up
From their midst
Several dozen pairs of eyes
Search my body
To see whether or not
I lost somethingBirds of My Heart
In my innermost heart
Live birds beyond number
Tweeting
Fluttering
I watch ever vigilant
Over them
I fear they will flit out
Only to find no shelter for sleeping
Nor food for eating
And perishLanguage of the Mountains1
Who says
I blocked out your view
It’s just that
You’re standing
Under my feet2
Plains people
Get a wide open look at the world
Mountain folk
Must climb peak upon peak
And stand on summits
Before they get to
Open-eyed wideness
Coast dwellers
Have profoundness
To their thinking
Mountain folk
Must mount peak after peak
And approach
The sky-void
Before their thought
May deepen3
I could be flat
Too
But why
Would I want that
Why would they
Want me to fall
Prostrate
On the ground
Isn’t it better
To stand4
This isn’t the snowline1
This is a white pure khata
Offered up
To those brave enough
To scale it5
Believe it
As long as it’s a mountain
At a critical juncture
It’s capable of making
Its peaks
Like wolf teeth
And gnash
Their iron bonesWood Ear Mushrooms
Wood ear mushrooms
Are wooden logs
Are the ears that logs grow
Log ears
Hear something
When torn out alive
By some human
Does or does not the log scream
Long the time we boil it
That split-second it’s put in our mouth
Just a noise singular and loud
We appear to have bit our own ears
Before the second’s passed
We are numbThe Beast Within
You yourself don’t know
How it made that strange noise
From its mouth
After that noise
You felt very relaxed
And you didn’t notice
This question
In the slightest
Is it a question
You kept walking forward
And within you
The beast opened its eyes again
Stretched itself out
I’m waiting to hear
The strange cry of the beast
From your mouth
But you stop
Shoot me an odd look
Like you just heard somethingConversation About a Dead Man
I don’t know on whose tongue
The dead man first landed
This man
Known to us all
Reached out his feet
Into the back of our mouths
Once he found space
To stand
He listened quietly
While we talked
Of his life
Of his experience
With love
Even of his death
And so life continued for him
As long as he sucked
On our spittle
Once we talked ourselves hoarse
He’d already lived
A full other life time
On our tongue tips
But while we converse
There’s one topic:
We steer clear of
That we too will dieLight
An old person
Spits a glob
Of saliva
On his hand
Picks up a sickle
Walks into the fields
Far far into the fields
I saw a flash
And then nothing
I seem to have sunk
In the earth
And right now
I’m getting closely acquainted
With a substantially
Sized pair of feet
When the sickle flashes again
Its light shines on a black corner
Of yonder log cabin
In the distance
In that twinkling
I saw
Marked with this world’s transformations
My father’s
FaceDay
The days are possessed of teeth
Only they’re not casually visible
Just like a breastfeeding child
That suddenly
Bites down
Agonising pain
It hurtsWolf
Wolves have come
Now even in the mountains
People no longer say these words
To their children
To soothe their tears
The wolf we saw in the zoo
Was actually a stray mutt
A crossbreed
Wolf being a noun
That lives in dictionary corners,
The dull blue light of their eyes
Ah Woo
Such a simple expression
Leaves modern poets ashamed
For seeing where they fall shortCuckoo
Always in spring
Always early some morn
The flying cuckoo arrives
From somewhere in the world
To call the people awake
From their deep slumber
And urge them out
Into the fields
To till the land
To sow the seed
She’s worried
They’ll miss the season
For farming
Anxious she calls
Flies from this hill to that
Blood coming out her mouth
When she shrieks
Her rapid beating heart
Looks ready to jump
Up her throat
Under her urging
People file out
To the fields
And begin
To get busy
In harvest season
No one knows where the cuckoo went
But when it calls out
Next year’s spring
People remember
Time to sow seed againA Crow I Once Saw1
Beihai Park Beijing
So black was that top
Atop the iron rod
When it took off
I knew it for a crow
Out in the country
Crows are a common type of bird
Why would Beihai park
Have a bird like this2
This crow I’m talking about
Isn’t the one
In my primary school textbook
Drinking water
This one’s not as clever
As all that
I don’t know who put him up to it
Flying over here
To perch on a pine tree
And tell me
One of my close ones
Is gone
I use my slingshot
To shoot a rock at him
He takes flight
Perches on another tree
And tells me
One of my close ones
Truly is gone
When I got home
One of my close ones
Truly was gone
I think of that crow
That crow that was always
Telling me bad news
He really is an excellent crow
I think in my heart
Perhaps in this world
Crows are the only birds
That can’t liePiccolo1
How many years ago
That wolf howl
And tonight
It arrives in my heart2
A dog’s bark
Jolts the world awake
It steps on
Night’s tail3
Mountains are waves
Coalesced
Their bloodways link oceans4
Lin Daiyu’s handkerchief
Floats in the air
Wring it once
You get a fistful
Of tears5
A stone drum skin
Who can pound it to thunder
Who hears its heart yell6
Yes
I am a rock
A hard worthless rock
You looked at me once
And I shattered7
A poet asked my parents
Why not move to the city
They said there’s no soil
No food to be grown there8
Who says the wind
Is illiterate
Lamas hang sutra flags
From high up on mountains
For the wind to intoneBachelor Town
The mayor says
This village lacks water
There’s not enough food
Either
The women have all left
To find work
It’s a bachelor town
Full of nothing but bachelors
The county magistrate jokes with the mayor
He should hook up with widow-ville
Then he raps his gavel
And solves the problem
Of drawing water
For humans and livestock
Water was drawn
Naturally the question
Of day to day needs
Was adequately answered
But the women who went away
To work
Still didn’t come back
I hear a few came to visit
For New Year
Then stole their little sisters
Away with themThe Sea on Its Back
A mountain road
Like a rope
Plunges deep
In the shoulder-blade
Of the mountain
The sea on its back
Starts to shake
The moon’s like a ladle
Of silver
That floats
On the surfaceRiver
A few thousand years past
Confucius stood
By a river
And sighed
That things
Flow away thus
The year 1999
I was by a river
In Yunnan
Thinking how great it would be
If time were flowing water
A dam could be built
And maybe Confucius
Would sit knee-to-knee
With me
And chatSieves
We have two sieves
In the house:
One fine sieve
One rough sieve
The fine sieve mother uses
To sift out money
For my studies
She then uses the rough sieve
To sift out grain for our family
Tonight
As I face the draft paper
It’s like facing
The holes of a sieve
I’m in pieces
Before I even register
The last thing to sift out
Is a stone
But look closely
And it’s a heart
Grown of fleshBroken Chapters1
To love or not to love
A question even harder to answer
Than to be
Or not to be2
Why do joy’s wings
Cast a sorrowful shadow
When on a big road I think of you
Why does the traffic pile up
But when on little paths I think of you
It’s rocks that heap up3
Actually I’m not at all lonely
In the absolute dark
Of the night
My shadow
Keeps me close company4
The sand was taken by wind
The rain was taken by clouds
But you
You hide out deep in my memory
Nothing can take you awayOver Distant Hills
By the asphalt roadside
Is a swathe of rice paddies
The most beautiful spot
In this small town
On my way
In and out
Of my office
I would often catch sight
Of people at work in the paddies
The way they look
Reminds me of my parents
And my village
Now building upon building
Has swallowed the rice paddies up
The fields leave no mark
On the corners of their mouths
It’s hard for me
To brush past those farmers
I know a few by sight
They’re always wearing
Western clothes
At harvest
And planting time
When I think of my village
My eyes can but roam
The far hillsWood
Prior to being a log
That log was a tree
The trunk of a tree mind you
After becoming a log
It didn’t say anything else
But before it became ash
In some fiery furnace
It cried out for
— MotherMeeting on the Road
After the rain
Frogs the size of your finger
Cover the earth
With hopping
I walk down the road
With exceptional care
Fearful that otherwise
I might cost them their lives
Sometimes
I’ve no choice but to stop
And carefully examine
A little grey blob
To determine if it might be a frog
Imagine
If something else were to pass
Over our heads
And take such pain-staking care
I don’t know
If anything could be
More fortunate than thatSaya Temple
Each time I see visitors
Out of my office
With my eyes
Saya temple is there
Standing before me
And yet I’ve never once noticed it
It’s as if there’s just no connection
Between its existence and mine
Today when I peered earnestly
Through the rain at Saya Temple
That pagoda
That wind-chime
That sweet curling incense
And then there’s
The never-ending mountains
Off in the distance
It pulls at my gaze
With the tiniest force
I feel a shapeless hand
Hollowing out my heart
I shiver
Quickly I recall
My wandering gaze
And pick up a newspaperMagpie
In Labotuodian
A Pumi village
I spied two magpies
They looked to me
Like two lines of fine verse
They screech happily
From their branch
I’d lost my primary school textbook
Many years earlier
But one phrase from it
Kept coming back to me:
The magpie on the branch
Goes ka-ka
I got the unmistakeable sense
That another thing I’d lost
Was one magpie
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