Notes of a Proustian
原文網址：http://blog.udn.com/le14nov/130336145
列印日期：2021/01/27
Selected poems：王良和的《舊物》
2020/10/31 05:37:04
Selected poems：王良和的《舊物》
https://www.books.com.tw/products/0010529981
舊物
OldThings
作者：王良和
出版社：香港中文大學
出版日期：2011/11/01
語言：繁體中文
《舊物》是收藏於《WORDS&THEWORLD詞與世界》盒裝叢書裡，此叢書由二十本袖珍版詩選組成，分別收錄來自二十位國際著名詩人的精選作品。
作者簡介
王良和(1963-)，原籍浙江紹興，在香港出生。香港中文大學榮譽文學士，香港大學哲學碩士，香港浸會大學哲學博士，現任香港教育學院中文學系副教授。曾獲青年文學獎、中文文學獎、香港中文文學雙年獎、香港藝術發展局文學獎。著有詩集《驚髮》、《柚燈》、《火中之磨》、《樹根頌》、《尚未誕生》、《時間問題》；散文集《秋水》、《山水之間》、《魚話》；小說集《魚咒》；評論集《余光中、黃國彬論》、《打開詩窗－－香港詩人對談》。
〈如果我〉
如果我記憶中的破屋
能變成你筆下簡單的線條，我就可以飛揚
如果我可以強行加入
你筆尖的煙囱，我就可以長久
俯視冷寂的爐灶，然後滿懷煙霧
文字已經失去形象的光彩，詩歌也是
它繞到你的境域退回來
你不曾拆閲，但你已經閲讀
我口水的郵票，它乘過飛機
你的焦點不在我的詩歌，而我也不去關心它
我開始喜歡簡單，記憶不勝負荷
你是風，你的圖畫像飛氈
你為我的屋頂貼上膠布，貓貓ＺＺ熟睡
逐漸上升的夢，伏着也可以飛翔，穿過我的煙囱
就像一面飄揚的旗幟：開張大吉
我想念你。
If I
If the beaten-down room of my memory
can transform into inklines from your pen, I can fly
If I can force my way into
your nibs chimney, I can look down long
at the lone furnace, and fill my chest with smoke.
Words have lost the luster of form, poetry too.
It circles into your domain and is sent back
An unopened letter youve already read
The stamp of my saliva has ridden on airplanes
Your focus is not my poetry, nor will I care much about it
Ive begun to enjoy simplicity; memory cannot bear the weight
You are wind, your picture like a flying standard.
You tape up my ceiling, kitty there snoozing
a steadily rising dream, it can fly even when laid flat
shooting up my chimney like a fluttering banner:
Grand Opening
Im thinking of you.
(Translated by Canaan Morse)
〈尚米誕生〉
尚未誕生，這是一九九八年的盡頭
我坐在巴士的上層，翻看詩集
我的身體已經習慣無所往而往
我總是這樣被動，卻前進得更多
一株石栗在窗外，一個早晨在窗外
石栗只知道陽光的好處，金色是我們的名詞
是的，語言，葉子來到我這裏
葉脈明亮，我是一陣風，吹它搖動
這是一九九八年的盡頭
我沒有穿很多衣服，我喜歡在和暖的冬晨讀詩
許多事物奔向我，我讓它們從眼角流逝
遺忘並非甚麼罪過，許多事物奔向我
我喜歡消逝的世界多於永恆的世界
我喜歡想起那些想不起的事物多於想念本身
這是一九九八年的盡頭
我讀着我的詩，而它尚未誕生
Yet Unborn
Yet unborn—this the end of 1998
I sit on the upper deck of a bus and
flip through a collection of poems,
my body accustomed to moving without purpose.
I am always this passive, it takes me faster.
A candlenut tree outside the window, a morning outside the window
The candlenut only knows the benefits of sunlight, golden is our noun
Yes, language, leaves fall on me here
their veins bright, and I am a wind, setting them moving
This is the last of 1998.
Im not wearing much; I like reading poems on warm winter mornings.
Objects rush at me, I let them pass by my eyes.
To forget is no crime; objects rush at me
I like the ephemeral world better than
the permanent; I like recalling the things
Ive forgotten better than recollection itself.
This is the end of 1998
I am reading my poem, yet unborn.
(Translated by Canaan Morse)
〈舊物〉
舊物無緣無故回到我的意識
噢茶壺和四隻杯子
突然帶着陰影現身
色彩在灰塵的外圍逐漸鮮明，忽然閃出火花
背景的黑暗馬上把它們冷卻
暗淡的幾塊石頭，我眼中
聽到那離去的手拿起又放下
聲音在相碰的一點散向杯盤的邊緣
被杯子拉回來用靜默封藏
固定着同一的姿態，再不知移動
直到我失明的意識有一天看見它們突然現身
壺嘴的茶漬像極了乾燥的樹枝
Old Things
Old objects return to my mind unlooked-for
Teapot and four cups
appear with their shadows.
colors grow brighter around the dust, shimmering sparks bloom
Cooled off by the dark background
into dull stones, in my eyes
I hear a departing hand pick one up, then put it down
The sound at the point of contact spreads to the edge of the porcelain,
is pulled back by the cups and sealed by silence,
frozen in position, never to know movement
until one day, when my blind consciousness sees them return
The dregs on the spout looking too much like shriveled branches
(Translated by Canaan Morse)
https://www.books.com.tw/products/0010529981
舊物
OldThings
作者：王良和
出版社：香港中文大學
出版日期：2011/11/01
語言：繁體中文
《舊物》是收藏於《WORDS&THEWORLD詞與世界》盒裝叢書裡，此叢書由二十本袖珍版詩選組成，分別收錄來自二十位國際著名詩人的精選作品。
作者簡介
王良和(1963-)，原籍浙江紹興，在香港出生。香港中文大學榮譽文學士，香港大學哲學碩士，香港浸會大學哲學博士，現任香港教育學院中文學系副教授。曾獲青年文學獎、中文文學獎、香港中文文學雙年獎、香港藝術發展局文學獎。著有詩集《驚髮》、《柚燈》、《火中之磨》、《樹根頌》、《尚未誕生》、《時間問題》；散文集《秋水》、《山水之間》、《魚話》；小說集《魚咒》；評論集《余光中、黃國彬論》、《打開詩窗－－香港詩人對談》。
〈如果我〉
如果我記憶中的破屋
能變成你筆下簡單的線條，我就可以飛揚
如果我可以強行加入
你筆尖的煙囱，我就可以長久
俯視冷寂的爐灶，然後滿懷煙霧
文字已經失去形象的光彩，詩歌也是
它繞到你的境域退回來
你不曾拆閲，但你已經閲讀
我口水的郵票，它乘過飛機
你的焦點不在我的詩歌，而我也不去關心它
我開始喜歡簡單，記憶不勝負荷
你是風，你的圖畫像飛氈
你為我的屋頂貼上膠布，貓貓ＺＺ熟睡
逐漸上升的夢，伏着也可以飛翔，穿過我的煙囱
就像一面飄揚的旗幟：開張大吉
我想念你。
If I
If the beaten-down room of my memory
can transform into inklines from your pen, I can fly
If I can force my way into
your nibs chimney, I can look down long
at the lone furnace, and fill my chest with smoke.
Words have lost the luster of form, poetry too.
It circles into your domain and is sent back
An unopened letter youve already read
The stamp of my saliva has ridden on airplanes
Your focus is not my poetry, nor will I care much about it
Ive begun to enjoy simplicity; memory cannot bear the weight
You are wind, your picture like a flying standard.
You tape up my ceiling, kitty there snoozing
a steadily rising dream, it can fly even when laid flat
shooting up my chimney like a fluttering banner:
Grand Opening
Im thinking of you.
(Translated by Canaan Morse)
〈尚米誕生〉
尚未誕生，這是一九九八年的盡頭
我坐在巴士的上層，翻看詩集
我的身體已經習慣無所往而往
我總是這樣被動，卻前進得更多
一株石栗在窗外，一個早晨在窗外
石栗只知道陽光的好處，金色是我們的名詞
是的，語言，葉子來到我這裏
葉脈明亮，我是一陣風，吹它搖動
這是一九九八年的盡頭
我沒有穿很多衣服，我喜歡在和暖的冬晨讀詩
許多事物奔向我，我讓它們從眼角流逝
遺忘並非甚麼罪過，許多事物奔向我
我喜歡消逝的世界多於永恆的世界
我喜歡想起那些想不起的事物多於想念本身
這是一九九八年的盡頭
我讀着我的詩，而它尚未誕生
Yet Unborn
Yet unborn—this the end of 1998
I sit on the upper deck of a bus and
flip through a collection of poems,
my body accustomed to moving without purpose.
I am always this passive, it takes me faster.
A candlenut tree outside the window, a morning outside the window
The candlenut only knows the benefits of sunlight, golden is our noun
Yes, language, leaves fall on me here
their veins bright, and I am a wind, setting them moving
This is the last of 1998.
Im not wearing much; I like reading poems on warm winter mornings.
Objects rush at me, I let them pass by my eyes.
To forget is no crime; objects rush at me
I like the ephemeral world better than
the permanent; I like recalling the things
Ive forgotten better than recollection itself.
This is the end of 1998
I am reading my poem, yet unborn.
(Translated by Canaan Morse)
〈舊物〉
舊物無緣無故回到我的意識
噢茶壺和四隻杯子
突然帶着陰影現身
色彩在灰塵的外圍逐漸鮮明，忽然閃出火花
背景的黑暗馬上把它們冷卻
暗淡的幾塊石頭，我眼中
聽到那離去的手拿起又放下
聲音在相碰的一點散向杯盤的邊緣
被杯子拉回來用靜默封藏
固定着同一的姿態，再不知移動
直到我失明的意識有一天看見它們突然現身
壺嘴的茶漬像極了乾燥的樹枝
Old Things
Old objects return to my mind unlooked-for
Teapot and four cups
appear with their shadows.
colors grow brighter around the dust, shimmering sparks bloom
Cooled off by the dark background
into dull stones, in my eyes
I hear a departing hand pick one up, then put it down
The sound at the point of contact spreads to the edge of the porcelain,
is pulled back by the cups and sealed by silence,
frozen in position, never to know movement
until one day, when my blind consciousness sees them return
The dregs on the spout looking too much like shriveled branches
(Translated by Canaan Morse)