诗人曰：我是一整颗橙子

美国[綜合新聞]文藝版800期

主编：佩英

总顾问：马华胜

编者按：

      印度女詩人雷什瑪，帶來一股清新之風。她是一名牙科醫生，其詩風有科學理性的一面，又有印度文化一脈相承的古樸與純粹。她的那首“他留下的東西”以真實意向入詩，真實具體的物象，無一絲故弄玄虛。其詩源於生活，但又高於生活，把祖父留下的東西精神化，成為活著的人的生命延續下去的信念支柱，動人心魄。另外一首“我是”，把理性與感性完美結合，把一個美麗、深邃、才情橫溢又激情滿滿的女性形象多維立體呈現出來。讀完，如口含橄欖，甘之如飴。

       比利時女詩人西爾維，其詩天馬行空，想象力極其豐富。那首[無題·三]以形象的方式，表達了一種刻骨銘心、揮之不去的情感，讓抽象具象化。“無題·二”可謂絕佳的寫照，以一條魚美人的獨白與想象，把迂迴曲折的人生描繪出來，生命可以修正后再開始嗎？人生可有後悔藥？出其不意的想象，描繪愛情、人生的美妙及苦樂，異常活潑靈動。（佩英）

Editorial

Indian poet Dr. Reshma Ramesh brings a refreshing breeze to poetry. Not only is she a dentist, but her poetic style also combines a scientific rationality with the simplicity and purity of Indian cultural heritage. Her poem The Things He Left Behind employs genuine imagery and concrete objects, with no trace of pretension or mystification. This poem is rooted in life yet transcends it, spiritualizing the things her grandfather left behind into a pillar of faith that sustains the living, touching the hearts of readers. Another poem, I Am, blends reason and emotion, presenting a multidimensional and vivid portrait of a beautiful, profound, talented, and passionate woman. Reading it feels like savoring an olive—bitter yet sweet and deeply satisfying.

雷什玛·拉梅什博士，印度诗人、作家、翻译家和活动家、牙医。她用英语和卡纳达语双语写作，已用多语言出版了六本诗集，其诗作被永久陈列在土耳其安塔利亚的古城奥林波斯遗址，这是她的独特荣誉。她曾获女性艺术节国际荣誉奖、伊斯坦布尔加拉塔之光奖、塞尔维亚国际印迪亚专业诗人奖诗人奖、卡纳塔克邦女性成就奖、萨维特里·拜·富勒全国女性成就奖以及印度MI女性成就奖等多项奖项。她的土耳其诗集《我的心在奥林波斯》的第二版被陈列在土耳其恰纳卡莱的博兹贾阿达博物馆。她举办过多次国际个人摄影展。

这首诗

这首诗是一所关着门的房子
在冬天停下来，翻阅书本
寻找熟悉的折痕或已消失的痕迹
这首诗正望向窗外
在城市之间转换
开始将大海一行一行地引入诗句中
像一个穿着沉重靴子的士兵，想着家
这首诗是一艘从你到我的纸船
黑白分明，湿漉漉的，载着孩子们和岛屿
他们梦见在母亲身旁醒来
这首诗是一条街道，在某个地方某天
我们相遇
发现自己在你的胸口，触碰到的是不存在的的彼此
这是一首第二次到来的诗
一个满身煤灰的男孩
他的话语声提醒你
你从未离开过出发的地方

This Poem

This poem is a house with closed doors

where winter pauses to look into books

for familiar ear marked pages or the absence of it.

This poem is looking out of a window, 

swapping cities, split 

beginning to draw the sea into its lines, line by line,

like a soldier walking with heavy boots thinking of home.

This poem is a paper boat sailing from you to me,

black and white, wet, carrying children and islands 

who dream of waking up beside their mother.

This poem is a street where somewhere someday 

we would meet to find myself drawn 

to our absence with your hand in my chest.

This poem is a poem that arrives for the second time 

a boy covered in soot,

sound of his words, reminding you that 

you never left where you started

他留下的东西

我的祖父留下
带橙色茎的坠落的夜香花
一个像世界般展开的庭院
充满待发现的事物
却如爱人的肌肤般熟悉
他留下了一间客厅，清晨的阳光
如河流般流淌，轻触
我祖母疼痛的双脚
他留下了向阳倾斜的茉莉
用一种合一的语言交谈
留下了芒果树，果实落入
任何张开双手祈祷的人手中
他留下了破碎的瓦片，屋顶上
织巢鸟会在那里建造它的家
他留下了游走的书虫，栖息在
霉味的书页中，那些渴望结局的故事里
他留下了我的祖母
在一间闷闷不乐的房间里，打开的窗户
将大海中破碎的事物引入，填满她的胸怀
带来空荡房子的沉重
以及所有他留下的东西

Things that he left behind

 My grandfather has left behind

Falling parijathas with orange stems

A courtyard that opens like the world

With things to be discovered 

Yet Familiar like a lover’s skin

A living room where light flows

Like a river every morning touching

The banks of my grandmother’s aching feet

He has left behind mogras that lean

Towards the sun and speak a language 

Of togetherness

Mango trees that drop fruits into 

Anyone’s hands who open

Their palms into prayers

Broken tiles where a weaver bird 

In the roof will build her home

Slithering book worms dwelling 

In musty pages with stories that long for closure

He has left behind my grandmother

In a sulking room with open windows that draws

Broken things from the sea to fill her bosom 

With heaviness of an empty house 

And all the things that he has left behind 

水井的解剖

The anatomy of a well

一口井总是赤裸裸地暴露在外
在阳光下伸展开来
她的肌肤满是冲积土
一圈圈的砖环，旋转的湿润梦境
不断地旋转。
一根绳索垂吊，像殉道者般。
一口井等待着一双疲惫的女人的手
将她拉进湿润的纱丽里
水罐吻着她裸露的腰际
水花时不时溅在她的肚脐上
她的眼睛闭合着，听着女人们的闲谈
她的手指学会描绘
云朵、树木、鸟儿和倾身而视的人们的倒影
她的静脉与动脉是通向地下水道的秘密通道
夜晚，她成了月亮的摇篮
为干涸的黄昏唱着摇篮曲
她等待着一艘小船，等待着那些
油亮头发的女人们，她们俯下身子
棕色的胸膛低垂，乞求施舍水的恩惠
一口井是一位与河流保持远距离关系的女人
爱上了雨，嫁给了水泵
她的心努力追随着天空中的风筝

The anatomy of a well

A well is always lying naked out in the open

stretched wide under the sun

her skin packed with alluvial soil

concentric rings, bricks a carousel of wet dreams

going round and round

a tongue of rope which hangs like a martyr.

A well is waiting for a woman’s tired

hands to draw her into her wet saree

where the pots kiss her naked waist

and water splashes her navel

now and then

her eyes close to the gossip of women folk

Her fingers learning to draw reflection

of clouds, trees, birds and leaning people

Her veins and arteries are secret passages

to an underground water way,

At night she is a cradle for the moon,

singing lullaby to the dry mouth of dusk

She is waiting for a boat, for women with

oily hair who will bend over their brown

breasts hanging down asking for alms of water

A well is a woman in a long distance

relationship with the river, in love with rain,

married to the pump and her heart is trying

to keep up with the kites in the sky

我是

或许我是半途而止的对话
是晨光与窗台之间的阴影
是吞没广阔森林的呼吸
是空荡码头的荒凉景象
是一整颗橙子
我可能是菩提树的唾液
是两只眼睛交流的声音
是你肌肤的国度
是游走四方的奇迹，或是一个吻的低语
是时间与遗忘之间的距离

或许我是湿润土壤的记忆
是破碎玻璃的惊叹
是豌豆荚里的黑暗，或是井中的寂静
是你遗忘之海
也是我来来去去的浪潮

I AM

Perhaps I am a conversation halted mid-way

or the shadow between morning light and the windowsill,

A breath swallowing vast woodlands,

a barren sight of empty dockyards

a whole orange.

I maybe the saliva of a Peepal tree,

the sound of two conversing eyes,

the country of your skin,

a footloose miracle or the rumble of a kiss,

the distance between time and forgetfulness

Perhaps I am a memory of wet soil,

the gasp of shattering glass,

the darkness in a pea pod or the silence of a well

The ocean in which you forget things

and the waves in which I come and go.

加沙

在你下一顿饭前
我会失去一只耳朵，一些肋骨
或者我的肝脏会流血
直到它化为瓦砾的一部分
成了邻居阿赞的碎片
姐姐扭曲的骨盆
姑姑的噩梦
都与我那颗将从小小的眼窝中
弹出的眼睛一起被埋葬
我只请求
留我一只眼睛，一只眼睛就够了
足以让我望进
那个轰炸我家的士兵的眼中
我想问他
你们国家的孩子
死后也会变成诗篇吗？
他们会变成
每个人的嘴唇上被禁止的词语吗？
是否有一天，连低声说“加沙，你将自由”都不允许？
当你炸毁我家时
请至少留下我母亲的一根手指
一根手指，足够她
收拾散落的玩具
以及我的腿的碎片
并疯狂地寻找我父亲的
肺，肺在叫喊着我们的名字
至少留我父亲一只肺吧
因为他梦想有一天
能像其他人一样去上班
呼吸自由的空气
请给我小弟弟留一只小小的脚，
当他学会走路时
他会走遍这片被鲜血浸透的土地
以至于明天每条河流
每片海洋都会成为废墟
你的沉默
将永远在这里回响

Gaza

Soon before your next meal

I will lose an ear, some ribs

Or my liver will bleed

Till it becomes a part of

The rubble, a part of my neighbor’s

Azzan, sister's mangled pelvis

My aunt's nightmares

All buried with my eye

That will pop from a tiny socket

All I ask is

Spare me one eye, one eye is

All I need to look into the eyes

Of the soldier who bombed

My home and I want to ask him

Do children in your country

Too turn into poems when

They die? Do they become

Words that will be banned

From every lip of every human

From whispering Gaza, you will be free ever?

When you bomb my home

Just spare my mother's

One finger, one finger

Is all she needs to

Tidy my toys strewn around

With pieces of my legs and look

Frantically for her husband's

Lungs, lungs screaming our names

Just spare my father one lung at least

For he dreams of someday

Going to work like everyone else

And breath freedom

Please spare one tiny foot for

My little brother when

He learns to walk,

Then he will walk

All over this land that is soaked

So much in blood that

Tomorrow every river

Every sea will be a ruin

Where your silence

will echo Forever.

夜晚

我喜欢我的夜晚被阳光灼烧，
未曾发育，崭新初生，
或许少了些少年诗句和回忆。
我喜欢我的夜晚变成迅速缩小的方块，
一个名字的拼图，
寂静的风景，
康乃馨的风，
一丝口误，
一公文包的气味，
你眼中的黄昏。
我喜欢我的夜晚成为你的舌尖，
能将一个吻卷入床垫，
让我闭上眼睛，聆听你的动词。
我喜欢我的夜晚只是一个普通的夜晚，
在其中你的叹息
来来去去，
而清晨
退入月亮之中

NIGHT

I like my nights sun burnt,

Underdeveloped and nascent,

Perhaps a little low on

Juvenile poetry and memories, I like my nights to be rapidly

Narrowing squares,

A jigsaw of names,

Landscape of silence,

Winds of carnations,

A slip of tongue,

A briefcase full of smells

An evening in your eyes.

I like my nights to be your tongue

That can roll a kiss into a mattress

And let me close my eyes to your verbs

I like my nights just to be a night

Ordinary

In which your sighs

Comes and goes

And the morning

Retreats into the moon

影子

黄昏时分，

我决定用一个影子

来替代我，因为

雨水从未浸湿影子

黄昏也不会让它变得褐色

夜晚吞噬它

就像它从未存在过，

就像我从未存在过

如果你想学会

消失的艺术，那么就去拥抱

一个影子

影子不会像我那样嫉妒树木

或是谦卑的小种子

它不会将水洼带回家

作为纪念品，用言语窒息它们

它不会想象每天都有一个家

可以回去，能写情书、喝茶

它只会静静地坐在窗边

试图成为别人

Shadow

Its evening

When I decide a shadow
Is perfect to replace me because
The rain never soaks a shadow
Nor does the dusk brown it
And the night swallows it
Like it was never there,
Like I was never there.

If you want to learn the art
Of disappearance then adopt
A shadow
A Shadow will not envy trees
Or a modest winged seed like I do,
It will not bring home puddles as
Souvenirs and strangle them with words,
It will not imagine that there is a home
To return to everyday where it can
Write love letters and sip tea,
It will just sit by the window quietly
Trying to be someone else.

无题（一）

我们可以坐进

一只咖啡杯里。

你知道的，

一只老式的杯子，

带有斜斜的杯壁，

这样我们可以滑向彼此。

不是马克杯，不是那种

不是一个

带平底的大圆筒

而是那些精致的小杯子

饱满可爱的

也许我们应该

投资这个：

把所有的房间都变成杯子

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we could sit down

in a coffee cup.

you know,

an old-fashioned one,

with slanting walls,

so we can slide towards each other.

not a mug, not that.

not a big cylinder

with a flat bottom

but one of those dainty ones,

plump.

perhaps we should

invest in that:

turn all the rooms into cups

有时候

有时候我想让你死去，亲爱的

不是说我真的想让你死去，而是

偶尔我想

抱着你的身体

你的手垂着

无力地荡着，舌头伸出来

想象我拖着你走了多年，直到

眼睛和肉体腐烂，你脱落的

皮肤留下一条痕迹

仿佛指向回去的路

尽管那条路永远不会再走

最后只剩下骨架

骨头、关节和

其他碎屑

而你被随意地挂在我肩上

像一件轻薄的夏季外套

我的小指穿进衣环里

sometimes

sometimes i want you dead, sweetheart,

not that i want you dead but

occasionally i’d like to

carry your body while

your hand is dangling down

limp and your tongue sticking out.

imagine me lugging you for years until

eye and flesh decay, your flaking

skin leaving a trail

as if pointing the way back

though that road will never be taken.

in the end only the skeleton

with bones, joints and

other crumbs would remain,

while you’re flung across my shoulder

like a light summer jacket,

my little finger in the loop

无题（二）

很久以前，不想再做一条鱼

我奋力跃出水面，长出了双腿

换掉鳞片成了皮肤，开始用

一对肺呼吸

如今我站在陆地的岸边

凝望大海

与波浪协商是否还能回归

我想知道那会是什么样子：

双腿消失，皮肤长出鳞片

呼吸重新变成那种抽搐般的喘息

那神圣的抽搐般的喘息，多么神圣

如果海不会张开泡沫的嘴迎接我

它就不成其为海

果然

我开始急促地喘息。

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once upon a time, not wanting to be a fish any more,

i thrust myself out of the water, got legs, swapped

scales for skin and began to breathe

through a pair of lungs.

now i gaze at the sea

from the shores of the land,

negotiating with the waves whether a return

is possible.

i want to know what that would be like:

legs that disappear, skin growing scales

and breathing turned back to gasping, that

spasmodic gasping, how divine.

the sea wouldn’t be the sea if it didn’t

foam at the mouth to welcome me.

and indeed, i

gasped for air.

无题（三）

我早该知道：不适合建造的沙子

也不适合用来掩埋。比如说

要埋你，需要多少层？我把你埋下

大声哭喊告别，一遍又一遍地埋你

可是这里的山在游走，变成丘陵、

平原、山谷、平原，接着又是丘陵和远方的山脉

我试着把你藏起来，但你不停地唱着

从土里钻出来，吹响你的双唇

你的沙粒再次扑打在我脸上

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i shou

ld have known: sand that isn’t fit for building on

is no good for burial either. for instance,

how many layers are needed for you? i bury you

cry farewell loudly and bury you and bury you

but the mountains walk about here, become hills,

plains, valleys, plains, hills and mountains again, further on.

i have tried to hide you, but you keep singing your way

back up, whistle your lips free

and your grains hit me in the face again.

愿望

又是一个清晨，声音

沉入我心，仿佛一只手随意

从桶中抓出它们。它们浮现时纯真而意外

就像你一样

每次睁眼前，总是以不同的方式

抿紧嘴唇，眼角还带着露珠

拉起床单盖过我们的头

仿佛我们是雪，仿佛

太阳不该找到我们

wish

let it be a morning once again in which sounds

sink into me as if a hand had randomly

grabbed them from a barrel. innocent and surprising

as they surface, just like you

who always clench your lips in a different way

before opening your eyes and with the dew

still in your corners pull the sheets

over our heads, almost as if

we are snow, as if the sun

mustn’t find us.

无题（四）

在一个女人的屋子里

地上躺着一只翅膀

那边又有一只

女人瞥了它们一眼

双臂交叉，

轻轻哼了几声

慢慢弯下腰

从地板上拾起翅膀

“这到底是什么？”她说

她戴上翅膀，

然后走向

窗户

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in the house of a woman

a wing lies on the ground

and there another one

the woman peeks at it,

her arms folded

she utters a few hmms

slowly bends down

and picks the wings off the floor.

what is this in heaven’s name she says

she puts on the wings

then walks

to the window

无题（五）

有时候通过 谷歌 地图

我想要

看看我们前生的街道

放大

看看我们曾经的模样

从鸟瞰的视角了解

我们的街道、邻里、区域

是如何相连的

然后再拉近一些

一直到沥青上

把淡绿色的 谷歌地图小人拖到终点

看看一切是如何被毁坏的

有时我差点就这么做了，我让那小人悬在

地图上，看着街道亮起蓝色，准备好

进入街景模式，只要松开手指

我就回去了

但接着我想象到那些人

躺在草地上凝望

蓝天

凝望着我

我便畏缩，转身离开

跑到街上

抬头仰望

你

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sometimes via Google Maps

i want to

take a look in the streets

of our previous life

zoom in

on how we used to be

from a bird’s perspective learn how