〈Luchang Dashan〉

 

(1)

Upon the rings of a felled tree, I place a blade of thatch.

The spinning needle of the phonograph plays the four seasons,

the cycle of decay, of renewal, of green and withering.

On cliffs with the bearing of Daoist immortals, a gentle push of the palm—

and fox spirits, rustic tales and untamed sprites

leap forth in chorus, echoes rolling like waves,

surging one after another.

 

Then a crow’s cry seizes me,

carrying me off under an assumed name, an erased face.

I become the dusk wandering the mountain summit.

In middle age, no poems remain—

only images as lavish as falling snow.

Who still lingers, circling like an eagle overhead?

 

Like an old monk with wrinkled skin and crane-white hair,

seated cross-legged upon a moss-covered cushion,

awaiting the wheel of rebirth,

awaiting the Saisiyat warrior’s triumphant return

from Lianxing Village.

 

The tung blossoms, unable to bear their solitude,

at the passing wind begin to sway their waists and sing,

loud enough to startle.

The mountain is a monk seated cross-legged,

clad in a gray robe of mist.

Leaves hang like long eyebrows,

closed in listening to the evening bell preach the Dharma.

And once enlightened,

they slip free from stem and branch,

and drift with the wind.

 

(2)

From afar come songs of men and women—

there lies Siwaxi’ge.

My friend, the old warrior Walis,

hands me a deerskin flask:

“Millet wine—two sips to warm your body.”

 

Above the snow line, lying by the fire,

dry pinewood spits out tongues of flame,

pine resin perfuming the air.

The mountain, in silence, holds up its frost-red ears

to listen to the distance.

 

Walis’s rough-hewn song floats in the evening wind,

its echoes mingling with birdsong, insect cries,

the moan of the breeze—

a sonata in mixed chorus.

 

His lips tremble; his bleary eyes strain wide.

In an instant, two murky tears

bloom into crystals of frost.

The firelight licks our cheeks,

illuminating the tattoos upon his face—

this ghost forgotten by the world,

exiled by heaven and earth.

 

“That year,” he says,

“gunfire cracked from the mountain’s foot.

My people and I ambushed them

on the trail toward Siwaxi’ge.

The Japanese assault faltered—

they left a dozen corpses behind,

and, carrying their fear of the great mountain,

they fled, tails tucked…”

 

(3)

Hunting paths wind into the mountain

like blue-green veins,

reaching the place where waters end

and clouds rise in the hollow.

 

On the ridgeline, the pines,

unable to resist a lover’s embrace of breeze,

at once reveal infinite grace.

Across the greenstone slope,

a pinecone tumbles to my feet,

pleading for release.

 

Yet in the shadow,

where trees stand like imagined foes,

and the trail twists through peaks and deep forest,

I too am only a wanderer,

my soul as hollow as the berries by the wayside—

though at least still full of spirit,

still swollen with the lustrous joy of roaming.

 

Before me, a jagged peak turns sideways;

sudden rain seizes the chance to close in.

I break a taro leaf,

like an acrostic poem,

curling myself inward.

 

From my shadow I wring

the year’s first cold and cough,

while the mountain itself

is rhymed into verse

by the patter of falling rain.

 

That sound, limpid, far-reaching,

makes me suspect—

this cluster of wild lilies beside me

are in truth

just awakening suona horns…

 

Written in 2002, awarded 2nd Prize,

2005 “Dream Blossom” Literary Awards (Poetry).

〈鹿場大山〉
（1） 
在斷樹的年輪上，放一枝茅草 
唱針旋轉出四季，枯榮與青黃的循環 
仙風道骨的崖壁，輕推一掌 
那些狐仙精靈，野趣逸聞 
便應聲蹦出，回音如排浪，前呼後擁而來 

隨即一聲鴉鳴將我銜走 
埋名隱姓，我是山巔徘徊的暮色 
中年無詩，只有意象繽紛如雪 
誰還滯留原地，盤旋如蒼鷹？ 
如雞皮鶴髮的老僧，趺坐 
在青苔滿佈的蒲團上，等待輪迴 
等待賽夏勇士，自聯興莊凱歌回來 

桐花耐不住寂寞，一見路過的風 
立即搖擺著腰肢嘔歌，聲音大得嚇人 
山是盤腿圍坐的僧人，披一襲灰色袈裟 
樹葉長眉垂閉，聽晚鐘講佛法 
一旦有所頓悟，便解脫枝蒂束縛 
飄然隨風而去 

（2） 
遠方傳來男女的情歌，那裡是斯瓦細格 
我的朋友老戰士瓦歷斯，遞給我一隻鹿皮酒袋 
「小米酒，喝兩口暖身子。」 
這時，在雪線之上，躺在營火旁 
乾枯的松木吐出火舌，松香飄揚開來 
大山默默地支著凍紅了的耳朵諦聽遠方 
瓦歷斯蒼勁的歌聲漂浮在晚風裡 
此落彼起的迴音混雜著風聲鳥啼和蟲鳴聲 
彷彿混聲合唱的奏鳴曲 
他蠕動著嘴唇，使勁睜大一雙迷離的眼睛 
兩行渾濁的淚水，刹那間開出兩束晶瑩的霜花 
火光時而舔著我們的臉頰，映照出 
瓦歷斯臉頰上的刺青，這個被世界遺忘 
被天地放逐的幽靈： 
「那年，槍聲從山腳下響起 
我和族人埋伏在往斯瓦細格的越嶺道上 
日本軍攻堅受挫，留下十幾具屍體 
帶著對大山的恐懼，夾著尾巴逃走…」 

（3） 
蜿蜒的獵徑如青筋伸進山裡 
直抵水窮處，雲起的山坳 
稜線上那些青松，經不起輕風一攬 
立即顯得風情無比，行經青石坡 
跳落的一枚松果，踉蹌地滾來腳下 
求我替它開釋，然而，在樹影 
如假想敵林立，時而路轉 
峰迴的深林裡，我也是貪看山色的行者 
和山徑旁那些漿果一樣，靈魂空洞 
所幸還飽滿著精神與鮮豔欲滴的遊興 

眼前，一座險峰剛剛側身 
急雨便趁隙包抄而來 
折一支山芋葉，如同一首隱題詩 
我把自己藏頭縮尾起來 
從影子裡擰出今年頭一回傷風咳嗽 
而大山，卻被淅淅瀝的雨聲給押韻了 
那聲音清麗悠遠，讓我不禁懷疑 
身旁這叢野百合，其實都是 
剛甦醒過來的，嗩吶…… 

寫於2002年，2005年夢花文學獎第二名