K. SATCHIDANANDAN
薩奇達南丹（印度），是當代印度獲翻譯得最多的詩人，發表過三十一本翻譯詩集，共十九種語言，包括阿拉伯語、漢語、英語、法語、德語、愛爾蘭語及義大利語，以及印度的主要語言如坦米爾語、孟加拉文和印度語。他曾為英語教授，歷任印度國家文學院院長、英迪拉甘地公開大學翻譯學院總監、印度高級研究所國家研究員，亦是喀拉拉邦文學院成員，曾多次代表印度參加國際文學節及書展，並於不同國家贏得四十七項文學獎。
如何去道觀
（選自《北方詩章》系列）
不要鎖門。
輕輕離去如微風中的葉子
沿著黎明的山谷。
若你太美麗
便用灰塵掩蓋自己。
若太聰明，便曚曨。
那走得快的
會累得快：
走得慢的，慢如止水。
如水無形。
處下，莫圖往上。
莫圍繞神靈：
空無無方，
無前亦無後。
莫以名呼喚，
其名無名。
無供奉：空罐
比滿罐更易攜帶。
也無祈禱：欲望
於此無立足之處。
默言，如要說你須：
如石對樹
如葉對花。
沉默是最美妙的聲音
而空無有
最美麗的色彩。
無人見你來
無人見你去。
越過門坎時退縮
就像冬天過河。
你在這裡只有片時
如融雪。
無驕：你甚至沒有成形。
無怒：甚至灰塵
也不受你的掌握。
無悲：它不改變任何事。
棄偉大：
沒有其它方法可以偉大。
永不要用你的手：
他們正在冥思
不是愛，而是暴力。
讓魚兒靜止在水中
讓果實靜止在樹頭。
柔持久於剛
如舌持久於齒。
唯不作之人
能作一切。
去吧，未成之偶
等著你。
（楚府道觀）
How to Go to the Tao Temple
(From the sequence, Northern Cantos)
Don’t lock the door.
Go lightly like the leaf in the breeze
along the dawn’s valley.
If you are too fair,
cover yourself with ash.
If too clever, go half-asleep.
That which is fast
will tire fast:
be slow, slow as stillness.
Be formless like water.
Lie low, don’t even try to go up.
Don’t go round the deity:
nothingness has no directions,
no front nor back.
Don’t call it by name,
its name has no name.
No offerings: empty pots
are easier to carry than full ones.
No prayers too: desires
have no place here.
Speak silently, if speak you must:
like the rock speaking to the trees
and leaves to flowers.
Silence is the sweetest of voices
and Nothingness has
the fairest of colours.
Let none see you coming
and none, going.
Cross the threshold shrunken
like one crossing a river in winter.
You have only a moment here
like the melting snow.
No pride: you are not even formed.
No anger: not even dust
is at your command.
No sorrow: it doesn’t alter anything.
Renounce greatness:
there is no other way to be great.
Don’t ever use your hands:
They are contemplating
not love, but violence.
Let the fish lie in its water
and the fruit, on its bough.
The soft one shall survive the hard,
like the tongue that survives teeth.
Only the one who does nothing
can do everything.
Go, the unmade idol
awaits you.
(Tao Temple, Chu-Fu)
逝去的人
緩緩地，緩緩地他們逝去
用母乳把我們餵養並把我們送上床的人
努力工作供我們
到學校和上大學的人
責罵和懲罰我們的人
尊敬和嫉妒我們的人
擁抱並且渴望我們的人
盼著我們死去的人
一個接一個，緩緩地，緩緩地。
緩緩地，緩緩地
我們中的一部分也隨著他們逝去，
一小部分，一口氣，一些血，
一點花粉。
我攀上爬下的所有地方
我們爬下和行走的所有地方
所有路徑下沉，像葉子
更綠的一面落下，
依戀土地。
微風吹過我們頭上
逝去的人的回憶
以胡椒、大蒜、野茉莉的香味
把我們包圍。
緩緩地，我們活過來，像一些雕像
在午夜時活過來，
閒蕩過古代
並回想古老的生命，透過一行又一行
幾經斟酌的詩。
河流繼續唱歌，
不死者的原始之歌
它徑直穿過河床，一如時間
沒有國界，沒有形相，
緩緩地，
緩緩地。
Those Who Pass
Slowly, slowly they pass by
Those who breastfed and put us to bed
who worked hard to send us
to schools and colleges
those who scolded and punished us
who revered and envied us,
hugged and desired us,
those who longed for our death,
one by one, slowly, slowly.
Slowly, slowly
A part of us too passes with them,
a small part, a breath, some blood,
a bit of pollen.
All that we climbed up we climb down
All that we climb down we walk
All that walk fall, like leaves,
the greener side down,
clung to earth.
A breeze blows above us
The memories of those who passed
envelope us with the odours of
pepper, garlic, wild jasmine.
Slowly, we come alive, like some statues
coming alive at midnight,
loiter along the ancient times
and recall that old life, line by line,
through measured verses.
The river goes on singing,
the primal song of those who do not die
It cuts across the banks, like time
that has no borders, bodiless,
slowly,
slowly.
中文翻譯：鄭政恆
Yasuhiro YOTSUMOTO
四元康𧙗（日本），日本詩人、隨筆作家、文學批評家和翻譯家，現居德國慕尼黑。首部詩集《大笑的臭蟲》出版於1991年，其後八本詩集相繼出版。其中《午後禁語》（2003）獲荻原朔太郎獎，《日本囚徒》獲鯰川信夫獎。四元康𧙗作品曾被翻譯成多種語言。他是「Poetry International Web」的日語編輯，也是詩歌雜誌《びーぐる》的編輯。
影中邂逅
是在夜晚睡覺前
還是在早晨醒來時
妻子說
「我去見了你母親」
那時我只是簡單應了聲「嗯」
我清楚，二十五年前死去的母親
不可能從那裡趕來見她
一定是妻子去了那裡
橫穿過夢的原野，再走下死亡的山谷
明明膽小卻又莽撞
跟二十五年前第一次見她時一樣
被關門的聲音嚇得跳起來
輕易被太陽的邀請耍弄
獨自一人也能跳舞的她
可是，風停後是死一般的寂靜
閉上眼，從山丘對面
妻子向我走來
她渾身泥濘，臉頰滲血
懷抱著珍奇野獸的沉默
An Encounter in Shadows
Was it before we fell asleep at night
or just after we woke up?
My wife said,
「I saw your mother.」
I just answered then, 「Oh.」
I knew that my mother, dead these twenty-five years,
couldn’t have come to see my wife.
My wife must have gone to see her
crossing a dream-field and descending into the valley of death.
She is timid but bold,
the same as when I first met her twenty-five years ago.
The door slams and she jumps.
Easily tempted by sunlight, and tossed about,
she is a woman able to dance even just by herself.
But when the wind dies down, everything is as still as death.
In my dream
my wife comes walking from over the hill,
covered with mud, her cheeks bloodied up,
the silence, as of a rare beast, in her breast.
團圓
父親不知道
兒子在森林盡頭
像北美原住民舉行儀式
莊嚴地吐著萬寶路煙圈
兒子不知道
妹妹在洗漱檯的鏡子前
像變成蜘蛛的公主
一直站了一個半小時
妹妹不知道
貓咪桑丘被車碾過
豔粉色的腸子散落一地時
在疼痛之餘還感受到了什麼
貓咪不知道
院子裡的白蠟樹
猛烈地抖落葉子時
向遠離屋頂的雲朵託付了什麼
只有雲朵
察覺到
母親身心的深處
正慢慢養育一頭白鱷
母親不知道
自己緊繃的臉
在丈夫眼裡是什麼樣
丈夫又從中讀懂了什麼預言
在曾祖父的情書、孟德爾與鹹鮭魚的名下
他們構成家庭
聚集在散落著骨頭和羽毛的客廳
以和睦和爭吵結界短暫的永生
復活的貓咪桑丘
磨著指甲邊注視這一切
The Family Room
The father doesn’t know
that in the forest clearing, his son
is solemnly, ceremoniously smoking a Marlboro
as if in a Native American ritual.
The son doesn’t know
that his little sister has stood transfixed before the bathroom mirror,
like a princess turned into a spider by magic,
for well over an hour and half.
The sister doesn’t know
what Sancho the cat felt other than pain
when he was run over and his brilliant pink intestine
spilled out over the pavement.
The cat doesn’t know
what the ash tree in the garden was entrusting
to the cloud drifting far off over the rooftops
as it shook its leaves off into a tempest.
Only the cloud notices
a white alligator growing slowly, steadily,
in the depths of the mother’s body and soul.
The mother doesn’t know
how her sullen face looks
through the husband’s eyes
and what prophecy he reads therein.
In the name of great grandfather’s love letters, Mendel’s law, and salted salmon,
a family is constituted.
Its members gather in a living room
scattered with bones and feathers,
laughter and quarrels granting them momentary immortality.
Sancho the cat, now resurrected
and sharpening his claws, watches all this go by.
中文翻譯：田原、劉沐暘
Translated from Japanese to English by Jordan Smith, Akiko & Yasuhiro Yotsumoto
HWANG Yu Won
黃有源（韓國），詩人、翻譯家，於2013年獲得文學村出版社新藝術家獎。2015年出版的詩集《世間萬物最大化》獲得韓國最重要的詩歌獎金洙暎詩歌獎；2019年出版最新詩作《你應該看見我戴皇冠》。翻譯著作包括鮑勃·迪倫的《歌詞集：1961–2012》、美國作家赫爾曼·梅爾維爾的《白鯨記》，以及麥斯·波特、戴維·邵洛伊、約翰·加德納、卡理·紀伯倫和沃爾特·惠特曼的詩歌。黃有源現於東國大學攻讀哲學博士學位。
關於初冬的半跏思惟
我在這裡，靜默地坐著，手扶臉頰
若是桌上放著的水瓶顫抖不止，那顫抖
便從，
我獨自一人的顫抖，
變為，
整個世界的顫抖
在冰冷的地板上
秋草倒掛於牆上風乾的時間裡，
半跏思惟像的左腳掌，潔白如雪
窗外，一隻汲滿水的水甕浮於空中
顫抖，
翻湧
翅膀從銳利發光的破碎水甕中灑出
伸展，
變寬，
從腳，至膝蓋
至盆骨，至胸腔
寒冷蔓延
最終，大腦一陣冰涼
半跏思惟有何特別？
甚至不及一陣涼爽的風、一場十分鐘暢快的換氣
像敲下輸入鍵，猛然
起身，不要試圖衝向窗邊
空格，
又一空格，像按下空格鍵
我移開發麻的腳
金銅如來立像有何特別？
在天空再次染成久違的天青色時
開窗站定，無論是誰，都可享受片刻開闊
佛像臉龐如同機場跑道，
在跑道上，在無許可便飛行的表情和
時常著陸的表情之間，
金銅如來立像嘴角上揚，
定格成一旦起飛便不再返航的表情
半跏思惟像的思緒，潔白如雪
金銅彌勒半跏思惟像和金銅如來立像之間的差異只有序號
按下空格鍵
再敲下輸入鍵
若是調換順序
或許會成為驚喜鍵
每當那時，燭火墜入夜晚的大海
水平線、豎直線、
分界線等等
形形色色的線，化為火海
若是火焰將晚風點燃，若是火焰高漲
便不好了
而然，即便不好
也並非不可能
每當那時，剎車，剎車，從遠方海岸公路傳來輪胎燃燒的氣味
像水流泛濫一般
溢出火焰的時節，
水火不分
用沒有手指的眼睛
在這晚秋最後一日的清晨中，久久地觸摸那捉不住的雲，
如同長長地按下空格鍵一般
半跏思惟像的思緒
灑落在那天空
如來立像諸類
輸入鍵，
輸入鍵，
在那裡，噗通一聲
徹底跌坐
The Meditating Buddha Sitting Full-Lotus That Meditates on the Beginning of Winter
I am still here, sitting with my head in my hands
and over there on top of that table
if the vases are really trembl-ling
their trembling is a trembling that is really only me—
Only me
in a way
where the trembling won’t stop
until it becomes the trembling of the entire world.
On the cold special floor that is found in only Korean buildings,
in the time it takes
for the autumnal grass hanging upside down on the wall to dry,
the left sole of the foot of the Meditating Buddha Sitting Full-Lotus
turns white as rice.
Hanging outside the window, floating in the sky
is a water scooping pot.
Shaky, shaky,
splashy, splash and
within the widening surface
of the wings that spill from the
acute and light emitting
spreading out of the
shattering of the water pot
is a cold that grows
from foot to knee
through pelvis to chest
until finally coming
to brainfreeze at the head.
What’s so fucking special about a Buddha sitting full lotus anyway?
It’s not even as nice as a handful of cool wind,
or ten minutes of wide-open ventilation.
Like pounding the enter key, I jump up!
Intending to dash to the window, I hesitate
like pressing Spacebar like
Space,
and then
Space,
I remove my sleeping
feet.
What’s so special about the Standing, Gold-Plated Buddha anyway?
Whenever the sky turns sky-colored for the first time in who remembers when,
anyone that stands in front of an open window can momentarily expand.
Yes, the face is a thing like a runway—
between expressions that fly without permission overhead
and the familiar ones that frequently land,
the corners of the Standing, Gold-Plated Buddha’s mouth
always end in an expression that takes off
and never comes back.
The meditation of the Meditating Buddha Sitting Full-Lotus
becomes white and
the only difference between Gold-Plated Future Buddha sitting in meditation
and Standing, Gold-Plated Buddha
is just a serial number.
I press Spacebar.
I pound Enter.
If it were possible to do this in reverse,
wouldn’t that be a surprise?
Because when it does happen in reverse
the fire of the candles collapse into the night sea and
the becoming of the sea of flames is made up of
horizontal lines, vertical lines,
border lines, etc…
until it is that which is every line.
And if that fire caught on to the night wind, if that fire swelled,
no, no, don’t even think it.
It would be bad.
Yeah, it would be bad, but
bad does not mean impossible.
Because every time that happens, Brake, Brake,
in the distance, the smell of burning tires on a road near the beach.
The way water expands,
an overflowing season of flames.
Waterfire, firewater, with no discrimination,
in this late Fall when I finger the untouchable clouds
for a long time with eyes that don’t even have fingers,
on the morning of the final day,
for the duration of time I hold down the spacebar,
the meditation of the Meditating Buddha Sitting Full-Lotus
spills into the sky.
Standing, Gold-Plated Buddha, whatever,
Enter,
Enter,
flop there, crashdown,
collapse.
在寒山中
冬天雙腳冰涼
心未冰冷
雙手尚溫
冰涼的腳化作飛鳥
那日在下班路上莫名架起的東湖大橋
矗立在封凍的漢江之上
未加思索，群鳥一列升空
冰涼的雙腳像冬天一樣
你在十年前為我買下的登山襪
如今每到冬日我還會拿出來穿
只穿在屋內
不曾在屋外穿過
只在冰冷的屋內將之穿在腳上
冬日若消逝便再次脫下
用那雙冰涼的腳
我再次前往曾經踏足的寒冷國度
儘管雙腳會被凍僵
只要心臟未涼
定要將襪子脫下
如此一來，在突然重新湧現的凌晨，若是雙腳冰涼
我便仿若無處可去
儘管看似何處皆可去
儘管看似無論去何處都無法脫離此處
冰涼的腳似凌晨一般
所有凌晨的腳皆是冰涼
仿佛所有凌晨的腳都不穿襪子
在深夜酒席上老人常對我說
你是詩人
便試著祝辭作為完美的收尾吧
詩人並未祝辭，只能脫下襪子
露出冰涼的赤足
只能整夜像狂人一般獨自赤足
攀登冬日的山
無精打採直到思如泉湧為止！
直到牙齒為那呼之欲出的靈感發寒為止！
如此一來在雙腳仿若要消失時
猛然清醒
在此刻用雙手撐開在腳踝處變長的襪子
遲遲地將雙腳伸入其中
直到那似是要消失的腳
在襪中變得柔軟為止
先輩詩人寒山
在山中寒冷的夜裡
也會拿出往日誰人為之買下的襪子穿著入眠嗎？
儘管無從得知
儘管已是十年歲月飛逝
但我還未曾遺忘
此刻襪子伸長至全身
儘管徹底變得無法在屋外穿
On the Cold Mountain
In winter, my feet feel cold,
but my heart doesn’t,
and my hands are still lukewarm.
So cold my feet transform into birds.
That day on my way home after work, I saw Dongho Bridge
was hanging over the frozen Han River.
Without thought, a flock of birds rise to the sky.
My feet are as cold as winter itself.
The hiking socks you bought me ten years ago,
I take them out and wear them in winter every year,
but I only wear them inside the house
never outside
I only wear them inside the house where I feel cold.
I take them off as soon as winter ends.
My feet that once felt cold
will step on all the warm places they stepped on before.
Even though my feet feel cold,
as long as my heart does not,
I will take off the socks.
In the dawn that breaks in a sudden, if my feet feel cold,
I would as though have nowhere to go.
Although I seem to have everywhere to go
I cannot escape no matter where I go.
My feet are as cold as the dawn.
The feet of all the dawns feel cold,
as if none of them wear socks.
At a midnight drink, old people often say:
You are a poet.
You end the drink with a note.
But the poet does nothing but takes off the socks
and shows his cold bare feet.
He can only climb the winter mountain alone
all night long with his bare feet like a wild man,
low-spirited until inspiration channels
until his teeth chatter for the inspiration about to burst
At the moment the feet are to vanish
the poet sobers up
pulls the socks that have slipped to the ankles.
He slowly stretches his feet inside
until the vanishing feet
soften in the socks.
Did the ancient poet Han Shan
take out the socks that someone bought for him
and wear them in bed at a cold night on the mountain?
Though no way to tell,
and it has been ten years,
I haven’t forgot
the socks have stretched to cover my whole body
cannot be worn outside the house.
中文翻譯：陳佳琳
Translated from Korean to English by Jake Levine and Jialin Chen
主編:Jeffrey|濛
出品人:王淩|何依亭
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