詩人曰：女人是一面鏡子

海外文苑

<h5 align="center">美國紐約【綜合新聞】829期作品選<div>主編：佩英</div><div>總編：程朗</div><div>總顧問：馬華勝</div></h5> 漢譯：佩英（Chinese translated by Christine Chen ） <h5>芭芭拉·波加奇尼克（Barbara Poga?nik）斯洛文尼亞詩人、譯者、文學(xué)評論家及文學(xué)推廣人，是其一代詩人中最受翻譯界關(guān)注的聲音之一。她已出版四本詩集。她也撰寫短篇小說、文學(xué)評論和隨筆，其作品被翻譯成34種語言傳播，她參加了全球80多個文學(xué)節(jié)。她翻譯的作家超過200位。她現(xiàn)任斯洛文尼亞作者協(xié)會——集體版權(quán)管理組織（ZAMP）總監(jiān)。</h5> 沉沒的葡萄——引馬拉美《愛倫·坡之墓》：“他們，如同九頭蛇一次卑賤的抽搐……” 世界在滿載的托盤上搖晃無力購桌的人如熟透的葡萄般滑落明天就太遲了想看清這場紙上戰(zhàn)爭究竟，端來了哪道前菜我們的舌，細長如蛇人畜無害地游走于掌心之間烘烤與否，四面翻覆穿透破碎的面包。你詫異于那沉沒的船長--早已越過饑餓卻依然在黑暗中低聲發(fā)令 <h5><div>SUBMERGED GRAPE</div><div> </div>Eux, comme un vil sursaut d`hydre... Mallarmé, Le Tombeau d`Edgar Poe</h5><h5> The world is swaying on a laden platter and whoever can't afford to buy a table, slides off like over ripe wine grapes. Tomorrow it'll be too late to see which starter the paper war has brought us to. Our tongue is long, an unending, harmless snake winding between our hands, roasted or unroasted from every side, piercing its way through broken breads & you are surprised at how way beyond hunger the sunken captain ushers his commands. (Translated by Ana Jelnikar & Stephen Watts)</h5> 全息圖 穹頂在我們小舟之上層層旋轉(zhuǎn)我們的指尖觸到天邊的浮雕與深淵此刻，另一重蒼穹在陽光下蛻變剝落舊皮膚，仿佛無聲的啟示一只手掌，靜靜擱在海的呼吸之上親吻中，一顆頭顱徐徐綻放如同一朵未知的花花萼深處，謊言的花粉漂浮著在一圈又一圈新的絕望邊界上描摹、沉積那是天幕新生的脈絡(luò) <h5><div>Hologram</div><div> </div>The vaults above our boats have many layers. We touch the depth and the relief of sky’s border. Now other heavenly vaults shed their skins under the sun. Calmly a palm rests at the sea’s edge. While kissing, a head opens like a flower and in its calyx, lies’ pollen outlines against new desperate borders of vaults. (Translated by Carolyn Dille)</h5> 六月之線 這不僅是哭泣 不似達洛維夫人手中顫抖的花朵 而是淚水歸源 仿佛沿著細微的根脈 逆溯，攀升至一棵巨樹的脊骨， 一段旅程，照亮液體的本質(zhì)—— 它們?nèi)绾闻c我們夢中呼吸的空氣 共生，纏繞 這一切 都是在時光中摸索著的 尋找抓手處的信號； 是他人，在此刻所說的話語 在晨光灰白的胡須之間 夜與曙光的縫隙里回響 而他們，如劇院角落里的老鼠 彼此依偎，為生命喝彩 而你 那個徘徊、內(nèi)觀的自我 與那個愿與身旁之人分享的自我之間 仿佛一枚繭的意涵，纏繞著彼此 兩個身體的溫度與語言 夢中 思想的汁液依然緩緩流動 <h5><div>JUNE THREAD</div><div> </div>And not just the weeping, as with Mrs. Dalloway's trembling flowers, but it is about the tears returning to their source, as if travelling through tiny root veins up the backbone of a great tree, a journey enlightening us about the nature of liquids, their symbiosis with the air we breathe in sleep – all of these are signs of feeling for handholds through time, of words others speak at such times into morning’s grey beard of light, between night and dawn, while like theatre mice they were hugging and cheering for life, and you find yourself between an inward looking self and another that you share with the one next to you in a cocoon of meanings between two bodies through which, even while dreaming, the sap of all thoughts moves. </h5> 當(dāng)寂靜拒絕開口 露水，露水，穿過矛形葉片敲打我們，覆滿全身草葉在門檻上遲疑一雙雙眼波流成細流，墜入露水之中可露水從不在我們喉嚨中作響也不在池底淤泥中回聲要如何卸下凍土的鎧甲？要如何排空壓在露水上的沉沉之夜？夜里，棍枝、矛尖、魚鉤--盡數(shù)卡在去路之中而露水，無手露水，露水消失了像一只初生的小鳥夜里悄然棲落只為守望那些燈火活著的模樣 <h5><div>When the Silence Won’t Speak</div><div> </div>The dew, the dew, the spear-shaped leaves through which the dew beats and covers us, the delay of the grass blades on the threshold and the stream of eyes, spilling into dew. How the dew’s not heard in our throats or in the pond silt. How can we lighten the armor of the frozen ground. How can we drain the heavy night that oppresses the dew. The night in which sticks, spear points, fishhooks are wedged obstructing the way, for the dew has no hands. The dew, the dew disappears like a newborn bird, as if it settled in the night to watch the lights live before descending into the valley. (Translated by Barbara Siegel Carlson)</h5> <h5></h5><h5>詩歌賞析：</h5><h5>斯洛文尼亞詩人芭芭拉·波加奇尼克（Barbara Poga?nik）四首詩歌在語言密度、內(nèi)在哲思與情感質(zhì)地上，共構(gòu)出一個具有現(xiàn)代意識流與自然：身體隱喻交織的詩性宇宙。四首詩共同指向一個核心議題：語言如何在感知與沉默之間踉蹌前行。《沉沒的葡萄》是語言與世界斷裂的覺知，象征“降臨”與“沉落”；《全息圖》是意識結(jié)構(gòu)的掃描，體現(xiàn)人如何“在多重天幕下存在”；《六月之線》是情感與身體的共享狀態(tài)，是“意義之繭”的纏繞；《當(dāng)寂靜拒絕開口》——是對終極沉默的凝視，是詩人對“語言失效”進行的最后祈禱。其詩沒有現(xiàn)實里的戰(zhàn)爭、流血或任何大事件，詩人以“自然物”為鏡，回照“人的意識邊界”，是極少數(shù)能在語言失效處“繼續(xù)說話”的詩歌。詩以液體般的情感滲透，溫柔、堅定，在沉默中盛開、流動、消失。（佩英）</h5><h5>Editorials:</h5><div><h5>The four poems by Slovenian poet Barbara Poga?nik weave a poetic universe of modern stream-of-consciousness and natural–bodily metaphors, marked by linguistic density, inner philosophical reflection, and emotional texture. Together, they point to a central theme: how language staggers forward between perception and silence. “The Submerged Grapes”reveals an awareness of the rupture between language and the world, symbolizing both “descent” and “arrival.” “Hologram”scans the structures of consciousness, showing how one exists “under multiple skies.” “JUNE THREAD”explores the shared state of emotion and body, entangled in a “cocoon of meaning.” “When the Silence Won’t Speak” is a gaze into ultimate stillness, a final prayer confronting the breakdown of language. Her poetry is devoid of real-world wars, bloodshed, or grand events. Instead, the poet uses elements of nature as mirrors to reflect the boundaries of human consciousness. She is among the poets who can “continue speaking” at the very point where language fails. Her poems seep like liquid emotion—gentle yet firm—blooming, flowing, and dissolving within silence.(By Christine Chen)</h5></div> <h5>艾哈邁德·阿莫爾·扎阿巴爾（Ahmed Amor Zaabar），突尼斯詩人、作家及媒體專家，現(xiàn)居倫敦。他曾擔(dān)任英國阿拉伯文化論壇文化委員會主席，以及英國阿拉伯俱樂部媒體委員會主席，已出版三部詩集，其詩歌已被翻譯成多種語言傳播，作品涵蓋詩歌、短篇小說、評論文章與散文。</h5> 我在水的裂隙中，看見自己 我走出去，去尋找……想在雨中覓得一首詩卻滿身濕透而歸帶著那些語言也拭不去的哀愁下水道流著血街道上，散落孩子的殘肢他們就這樣書寫生命的篇章那個孩子--赤裸、赤足--在廢墟邊尋找一片面包歸來時渾身是血饑腸轆轆手中空空如也心中埋著一座墓頭上嵌著一顆子彈只因他腹中的饑餓激怒了一名狙擊手??他們開槍，播撒死亡向希望向歡樂向詩與民謠向孩童的笑聲向歷史--他們開槍，播撒死亡向愛因為他們要建造“神的國”??我看見我自己，也看不清在水的裂隙中支離破碎我的詞語斷裂崩塌我唯一的過錯是夢見了生命--而我是個也門男孩他們的靈魂幽暗點燃你的，是烈火可我卻看見你如鳳凰自灰燼中飛升我所追問的是：他們體內(nèi)的人性何時蘇醒？何時蘇醒？ <h5>I See Me in the Rapture of Water I go out, I seek… I look for a poem in the rain Only to come back soaked With sorrows that no words can dry. There is blood in the sewers, The remains of children’s bodies in the streets This is how They write the texts of life. That child, who was - Barefoot and naked - Looking for a piece of bread near the rubbles Has returned, covered in blood Hunger in his stomach Emptiness in his hand A grave in his heart… And a bullet in his head For the hunger of that child has incensed the sniper. …………………… They shoot bullets/death At hope, Joy, Poetry and folk songs, The smile of children, History They shoot bullets/death At love So that they build God’s realm. ………………………. I see me, and I don’t, in the rupture of water. Fragmented, My words are broken I have no fault but the dream of life, And that I am a Yemeni boy. For their souls are dark They light you up with fires But I see you as a phoenix Rises from the ashes of fire Yet it is the humanity in them I am wondering about When will it wake up? When will it wake up?</h5> 一點點愛，已足夠 一點點愛--已足夠 讓我們知曉，心能被點燃 燃成火光 只要我們敢于渴望 而憂傷-- 只是豎琴上輕輕撥出的旋律 一縷寂靜中的渴望 悄然打破沉默 繃緊靜謐的心弦 直到它開始歌唱 <h5><div>A little love is enough</div><div> </div>A little love is enough To know that hearts can blaze Whenever we desire, And that sorrow Is but a melody on the lyre, A whispered yearning to shatter monotony, And draw the strings taut.</h5> 女人是一面鏡子 女人是一面鏡子世界在她眼中倒映著自我，在她心中回響著她--一半誕自無形的神秘一半是喚醒生命的呼吸她不是祖?zhèn)鞯倪z物不是傳統(tǒng)的碎片不是權(quán)力、恐懼與失敗的附屬品她不是一桌盛宴--供病弱的肉身覬覦供迷失的靈魂吞噬供傲慢的歷史踐踏未來她是予存在以靈魂的本源 <h5>A Woman is a Mirror A Woman is a Mirror, The world reflects within her, And the self finds its echo. Woman: half born of the mystique of the unseen, And half the breath that animates life. She is not an heirloom, Nor a fragment of tradition, Like power, fear, and defeat. Nor a feast For the body oppressed and ailing, For the soul led astray by malice, For history that scorns what is to come. She is___ What grants existence the essence of life.</h5> <h5>詩歌賞析：<div>突尼斯詩人艾哈邁德·阿莫爾·扎阿巴爾（Ahmed Amor Zaabar）三首詩風(fēng)格各異，卻共同展現(xiàn)出詩人對生命、人性與情感的深刻洞察，具有現(xiàn)代抒情詩的思想力度與語言美感。《一點點愛，已足夠》如一枚精巧的玻璃珠，折射出人類情感的柔光與深意，短小卻耐讀；《我在水的裂隙中，看見自己》具有反戰(zhàn)詩經(jīng)典的結(jié)構(gòu)與精神傳承，兼具個體敘述與群體痛感，是一種對人性沉睡的叩問，也是一曲為弱者發(fā)聲的哀歌與吶喊；《女人是一面鏡子》是一首具有尊嚴感與宣言意味的女性頌詩，脫離憐憫和贊美的窠臼，代之以存在論的深度表達。詩人情感細膩，既有對愛的溫柔頌揚，也有對苦難的控訴和對女性身份的哲思宣言，展現(xiàn)出豐富而多元的人性光輝。語言凝練而富有張力，喚起讀者對生命、希望與尊嚴的共鳴。（佩英）</div><div>Editorials：</div><div>The three poems by Tunisian poet Ahmed Amor Zaabar, though diverse in style, collectively reveal the poet’s profound insight into life, humanity, and emotion. They embody the intellectual depth and aesthetic beauty of modern lyrical poetry. <h5>A Little Love Is Enough resembles a finely crafted glass bead, refracting the gentle glow and deep significance of human emotion—short in length, yet rich in meaning and re-readability. I See Me in the Rapture of Water carries the structural clarity and spiritual legacy of classic anti-war poetry. It blends personal narrative with collective suffering, serving as both a wake-up call to humanity’s slumber and a lamenting cry for the voiceless and the weak. A Woman Is a Mirror is a dignified and declarative ode to womanhood, breaking away from the clichés of pity and praise, and instead offering a profound ontological reflection on female identity.</h5>Zaabar’s emotional sensitivity is evident throughout his work: a tender hymn to love, an impassioned outcry against suffering, and a philosophical proclamation of woman’s being. His language is concise yet charged with intensity, stirring in readers a deep resonance with themes of life, hope, and human dignity.</div></h5> <h5>拉娜·德爾卡奇（Lana Derka?）是克羅地亞一享有盛譽、屢獲殊榮的詩人和作家，已出版十五部作品，涵蓋詩歌、短篇小說、戲劇、散文以及長篇小說。拉娜曾榮獲多項重要文學(xué)獎項，包括克羅地亞的茲德拉夫科·普察克詩歌獎（Zdravko Pucak Poetry Prize）、精神之橡樹獎（Duhovno Hra??e Prize）和酒與詩獎（Vinum et Poeta Prize），并獲得黑山的里斯托·拉特科維奇獎（Risto Ratkovi? Prize），該獎授予黑山、塞爾維亞、克羅地亞和波斯尼亞和黑塞哥維那地區(qū)最佳詩集。她的詩歌曾被納入聯(lián)合國教科文組織駐羅馬辦事處的《詩意巴比倫》項目以及“雨落杜布羅夫尼克的詩篇”項目（由智利與克羅地亞聯(lián)合發(fā)起）。她的作品已被翻譯成23種語言傳播。</h5> 為一位難民而作 POEM FOR A REFUGEE 每一座島嶼，都是水面上的一道疤痕 星星，是黑暗中敞開的傷口 我坐著的露臺，距離太遠 無法向它們投擲一包泰若舒粉—— 抗感染的藥 每位難民，都是一座島嶼。里法特*是，萊雅爾*也是 又如何呢，哪怕這座島嶼在移動！ 在水面、草地、柏油路上滑行，只為最終擱淺于 一座山、一支軍隊，或一道鐵絲網(wǎng)前 他可以是一塊男形狀巖石，也可以是女形巖石 邊境警察如同翻抽屜一樣 梳著遍地難民巖石 里法特盯著地平線上的天空，像在看大電視 他聽見雷聲，如同世上最強大聲音 他坐著的那片田地，是他的客廳、廚房 甚至是他的沐浴間--因為烏云正在對他撒尿 這次實在太過分了。 清晨，一朵遲緩的云，在古董市集上替一只茶炊加水 它并未察覺，下一朵云將打濕展臺上的那枚 曾屬于里法特的勛章 也沒注意到，一只蒼蠅正輕松飛過皮草 而那道邊境，阻止了勛章抵達桌子的西端 每一座島嶼，都是平滑水面上的一道疤痕 星辰，是黑暗中的傷口 我的露臺太遠，天上的手 無法夠到那瓶泰若舒 它選擇不讓自己感染 譯者注：里法特（Rifat）是常見的阿拉伯男性名字（????）；萊雅爾（Layal）是常見的阿拉伯女性名字（????）。 <h5>POEM FOR A REFUGEE Every island is a scar on water. Stars are open wounds on darkness. The terrace I’m sitting on is too far to throw Tyrosur to any of them - the powder against infections. Each refugee is an island. Rifat is an island as well. Layal too. So what if the island moves! If it glides across water, grass, asphalt only to end up stranded against a mountain, an army or a wire. He is a man-rock, he could just as well been a woman-rock, as the border police combs the meadow with refugee-rocks like they’re going through drawers. Rifat stares at the screen of the horizon as if it’s a TV-set, hearing the thunder like it’s the most powerful sound ever. The field where he is sitting in is his living room, his kitchen, even his shower cabin for the clouds are pissing down on him. They have already taken it too far this time. In the morning a lame cloud is filling a samovar at the antiques fair. Not sensing that the next one will wet the medallion on the stand, that once belonged to Rifat. Or that a fly will easily fly over the fur coat, the border preventing the medallion from reaching the western end of the table. Every island is a scar on the smooth surface. Stars are wounds on darkness. My terrace is too far for the celestial hand to reach the bottle with Tyrosur. Sparing itself from an infection. (Englisht translated by Damir ?odan )</h5> 樂隊 春、夏、秋、冬組成了一支爵士樂隊 他們偶爾讓山或河流走上前臺 獨唱一段即興曲 并不要求完美的演出 并允許風(fēng)突兀退場 冬、秋和夏讓春天 獨立走出來，在廚房里演奏屬于她的樂章 她在那里調(diào)和著黎明、溫暖與月光 釀成鮮嫩的芽 春愿意把“世界難民日” 讓給秋天—在樹葉都在流亡之際 但她也試圖接管 并創(chuàng)建一個由樹葉構(gòu)成的難民數(shù)據(jù)庫 當(dāng)夏天與春天對話時，它就是一支薩克斯： 是誰將水流放出源頭 迫使它穿越海峽奔逃？ 它開始幻想時，是一支口琴 而當(dāng)它登上高山，我認出 那是所愛之人的化石 秋敲起鼓點：你應(yīng)該研究草地的解剖學(xué)-- 但前提是，你愿意把一些草原 訂購為你家的居所 一注雨，一瓶面霜 是天空征服樺樹的方式 是此季節(jié)柔和開始的序曲 冬天？是其他聲音間的一個停頓 它沉默著，我相信，從前門的屋檐開始 雪就悄悄出征了 <h5>THE BAND Spring, Summer, Fall and Winter comprise a jazz band. They let the mountain or the river sometimes step out to sing a solo section. Yet they don't demand perfect performance. Allowing the wind to retreat abruptly. Winter, Fall and Summer let Spring separate, and play its own part from the kitchen where she mixes Dawn, Warmth and Moonlight into fresh buds. Spring would like to cede the World Refugees Day to Fall when the leaves are in exile too and she also attempts to take over by creating a refugee database made of leaves. When addressing Spring, Summer is a saxophone: Who has exiled water from its spring, forcing it to run away through the strait? When it starts inventing things, it is a harmonica, and when on the mountain, climbing to the top, I can recognize the fossil of my loved one. Fall drums along: You shall study the anatomy of the meadow but only if you'll order some as your home square footage. A packet of rain, a face moisturizer with which sky conquers the birch tree is but a gentle introduction to that season. Winter? A pause between other voices. It keeps silent and I believe that out of the front entrance ceiling the snow starts sallying. (English translated by Boris Gregori?)</h5> 鐵絲網(wǎng)THE WIRE 我試圖數(shù)清鐵絲網(wǎng)的各種用途 在奧斯維辛，我見過它被編織成 惡魔般的長籬笆 “帶上一杯咖啡吧”，我聽見母親的聲音 懸在鐵絲網(wǎng)上，連同她的鑰匙一起 她知道一切都應(yīng)該被安排好 散亂開來可不好 我看著父親割草 他的動作緩慢，時不時抿一口 母親從商場帶回來的咖啡 我羨慕草的自由 自古以來，它就拒絕做鐵絲網(wǎng)的幫兇 但家家不同 每家都有鐵絲網(wǎng) 在自家圍欄里沿著它行走 默默追隨，信任它 但有時我覺得 那些打理園子的女人 其實根本看不見菜蔬 她們仿佛在為希望畫出鐵絲網(wǎng) 讓它成為攀援植物的依靠 而非豌豆藤 鐵絲網(wǎng)一直垂到我的胸口，細長且銀白 我夢見掛在網(wǎng)上的瞪羚繁衍起來 于是，到了夜晚 它們成群跳躍，越過世界文學(xué) 散落一室，不對稱 白天，我思索上帝對鐵絲網(wǎng)的立場 他是否也用它 他的機械手 正握著某個不合調(diào)的社區(qū)或風(fēng)景 <h5>THE WIRE I try to count the applications of the wire. In Auschwitz, I saw it set into demonic long fences. A coffee to go, I hear my mother whose voice is hanging from a wire together with her house keys. She knows things should be kept under control and it’s not good when they scatter around. I watched my father mow the grass. His movements were slow and from time to time he sipped the coffee my mother had brought from the shopping mall. I envied the grass on its independence. Since the beginning of time, it refuses to be the wire’s collaborator. But families are different. All of them obtain the wire. To walk along it in their fenced-in yards, follow it unnoticed and trust it. But sometimes I think that women who tend to their gardens actually don’t see the vegetables. It seems they draw the wire for hope it is a climbing plant. And not the pea. The wire goes down all the way to my chest, slim though and silver, and the gazelle hanging from it, I dreamt, is multiplying. So, come nighttime, its whole herd jumps over world literature, asymmetrically scattered across the room. During the day, I wonder about God’s stand on the wire. Does He use it too while in His mechanic hand He holds some community or landscape out of key. (English translated by Tomislav Kuzmanovi? )</h5> <h5>詩歌賞析：<div>克羅地亞詩人拉娜·德爾卡奇（Lana Derka?）三首詩以不同視角、不同象征層層展開，對現(xiàn)實世界的復(fù)雜與人性的細膩描繪，形成了豐富而深刻的詩意畫卷。三首詩均采用簡練且富有畫面感的語言，具有強烈的視覺與感官沖擊力。《為一位難民而作》語言質(zhì)樸而具象，細節(jié)生動，感情真摯；《樂隊》語言靈動，節(jié)奏感強，擬人手法突出，結(jié)構(gòu)上如樂章般變化豐富；《鐵絲網(wǎng)》則略顯冷峻，語言中融合了生活瑣碎與沉重歷史，帶有一種沉思的肅穆氛圍。詩中既有對個體生命尊嚴的呼喚，也有對社會結(jié)構(gòu)、權(quán)力邊界的批判，體現(xiàn)了作者對人類共同命運的敏銳感知。三首詩可獨立成章，又形成一個關(guān)于流亡、時間與人性交織的整體敘事，讀完令人深思。（佩英）</div><div>Editorials:</div><div>The three poems by Croatian poet Lana Derka? unfold through varied perspectives and layers of symbolism, offering a rich and profound poetic tableau of the complexities of reality and the subtleties of human nature. Each poem employs concise yet vividly imagistic language, delivering a strong visual and sensory impact. <h5>“POEM FOR A REFUGEE” is marked by its plain, concrete language, vivid details, and heartfelt sincerity. “The Band”is lively and rhythmical, with a pronounced use of personification and a structure that shifts like a musical composition. “THE WIRE” adopts a more austere tone, blending mundane fragments of life with the weight of history, evoking a solemn and contemplative atmosphere.</h5>The poems simultaneously call for the dignity of individual lives and critique the structures of society and the boundaries of power, reflecting the poet’s acute awareness of our shared human fate. While each poem stands alone, together they form a cohesive narrative interwoven with themes of exile, time, and the human condition—leaving the reader deeply moved and thoughtful.(By Christine Chen)</div></h5> <h5>馬克·麥克勞德博士（Dr Mark Macleod），澳大利亞兒童文學(xué)作家和編輯，現(xiàn)任查爾斯特大學(xué)高級講師。他曾在澳大利亞及全球多所大學(xué)教授兒童文學(xué)、澳大利亞文學(xué)和創(chuàng)意寫作。2024年，他作為十五位國際駐地作家之一，受邀赴烏茲別克斯坦駐留；2025年，他出席了在印度尼西亞西蘇門答臘帕當(dāng)舉辦的國際明古瑙文學(xué)節(jié)。馬克曾任職編輯及總編于多家出版社，曾任塔斯馬尼亞作家中心（TasWriters）主席。他因其對兒童文學(xué)的卓越貢獻以及以其個人品牌“Mark Macleod Books”出版作品而獲得多項獎項。</h5> <h5>中國新年，甘托克</h5><h5> 從“龍鍋”餐廳望去 我看到一位僧人，穿著血色僧袍 漫步于圣雄甘地街 對著高高舉起的手機微笑 仿佛那是一面化妝鏡；他身后 五位師兄正蹣跚走過鵝卵石路 被巧妙地框入畫面。 一張藍色天鵝絨沙發(fā) 和一對胖扶手椅 被三位男子背在背上 從相反方向緩慢穿過街道 從僧人微笑的左右擦肩而過 接著，一只衣柜 長著兩條細瘦的棕色腿，穿著涼鞋 踉蹌走來 在一塊菜單板旁停下 那菜單板立在一段 水泥樓梯的頂部 衣柜轉(zhuǎn)身 開始緩慢地 倒退下山 朝“饑餓的牦牛”走去 這頓午餐如此從容 仿佛食客們決定 就此搬進來住下 沒有舞獅、沒有鞭炮 也沒有喧鬧的銅鈸和鼓樂 為新年助興 而中國其實近在咫尺 只有一扇扇鐵卷閘門 在節(jié)日中隆隆落下 購物者一邊交談、發(fā)訊息、大笑 人數(shù)還不及 站在坦克旁的迷彩軍人 而在霧中 在山谷與蛋殼色的天際之間的某處 雪頂?shù)目禋J章加山 低聲咆哮 譯者注：甘托克（Gangtok），印度錫金邦（Sikkim）首府，位于喜馬拉雅山脈東部。</h5> <h5>Chinese New Year, Gangtok</h5><h5> From the Dragon Wok I see a monk in robes the colour of blood stroll along Mahatma Gandhi Marg, smiling into a phone held high like a make-up mirror and five of his brothers scumbling over the cobblestones but neatly framed behind him. A blue velvet sofa and a pair of fat armchairs lope in the opposite direction strapped to the backs of three men, and pass on either side of the smiling monks. Then a wardrobe with two thin brown legs and sandals lurches towards them, stops by the menu board at the top of a concrete staircase, turns and starts the slow descent backwards down the mountain to the Hungry Yak. A lunch so unhurried that the diners have decided to move in. No lion dance, no firecrackers or brash brass cymbals for the new year here, and China so close; just steel roll-a-doors rumbling shut for the holiday as shoppers talk and text and laugh, outnumbered by men in camouflage standing by tanks, and through the fog, somewhere between the valley and the eggshell sky snowcapped Kanchenjunga growls.</h5> <div>詩歌朗誦</div><div> </div>為何當(dāng)我聽見 詩人訴說他的真相 在跑道盡頭振翅欲飛時 淚水便悄然襲來？ 哭吧，我為那些未完成的事 哭泣，為那些 終將化為虛無的計劃 在我抵達終點之時 哭吧，也別哭-- 哭泣之外，還有事要做 別奢望北去鯨魚 和她的幼崽對你心存感激 對它們來說，一切都一樣 一個男孩的頭 優(yōu)雅地掠過窗外 快得仿佛由身體之外的 某種力量驅(qū)動 他又緩慢地歸來-- 然后再次掠過 他渴望有某物 值得他停留 卻無法 聽見詩句，或看見淚水 詩人望向窗外-- 那是不可能之事 仿佛人兩次踏入同一條河流 我既非為他而來 也不是為那孩子而來 而這一切，僅是文字而已 我發(fā)短信告訴你我 孤身一人，這感覺是真的-- 但“i”鍵緊挨著“o” 我的手指似乎注定要打出： “I live you（我活你）”， 而我一直努力地 活成我自己 可自動糾正機制，卻以為 我分不清兩者的區(qū)別 <h5><div>Poetry reading</div><div> </div>Why do I feel the tears come as I hear the poet speak his truth and lift at the end of the runway? Cry, I cry for the things undone, for the plans that will come to nothing when I reach my destination. Cry, don't cry. There is work to do beyond crying. Don't look for thanks from the whale heading north with her calf. It's much the same to them. A boy's head glides past the window with such grace and speed it is powered by some out of body force. And back he comes - slowly, this time - then back again. He longs for something to stop for, but cannot hear the words or see the tears. The poet glances through the window - impossible as entering the same river twice. I am here for neither of them, and these are just words. I text you to say I am alone, and that feels true but the 'i' key is next to the 'o' and my fingers seem bound to say, 'I live you,' when I have been trying to live myself and autocorrect thinks I don't know the difference.</h5> <div>你的回答</div><div> </div>“愛。” 你剝?nèi)チ?lt;br>這個詞的外衣 它站在那里 局促不安， 尋找遮蔽， 找個地方 安放雙手。 我低下頭。 我希望 燈能關(guān)掉。 “我并不是 這個意思，” 你說。 <h5><div>Your answer</div><div> </div>'Love.' You undress the word and it stands there awkward, looking for cover, for a place to put hands. I glance down. I want the lights out. 'That's not what I have in mind,' you say. Crate Training Don't jump up on me. Don't lick my face. Don't give my sleeve a bite. Don't drape yourself across my legs. I'm sleeping alone tonight. I'm turning my back. I'm crossing my arms. I'm giving myself a hug. I'm laying a blanket over your crate. I know all you want is love. </h5> <h5>詩歌賞析： 澳大利亞詩人馬克·麥克勞德博士（Dr Mark Macleod）三首詩題材和風(fēng)格各異，卻共同展現(xiàn)了澳大利亞詩人 Mark Macleod 作品中一以貫之的特質(zhì)：對“生活與情感真實”的敏銳捕捉，對當(dāng)下瞬間的詩性把握，以及溫柔中帶刺、克制中有力的語言功底。《中國新年，甘托克》是典型的“觀察詩”，詩人用電影鏡頭般的語言，將異國小鎮(zhèn)在中國新年這一天的“缺席性”節(jié)日氛圍娓娓道來。《詩歌朗誦》層層剝離出對人生未竟之事的哀傷，對自我存在的疑問，以及人與人之間交流的斷裂感。你的回答》是三首詩中最短，卻最鋒利的一首。詩人通過將“Love（愛）”擬人化，展示了在情感表達時語言的無能為力與人性的尷尬赤裸。它們共同呈現(xiàn)出一個復(fù)雜、誠實、不炫技但極具穿透力的詩人：有對世界的深情凝視，也有對內(nèi)心荒涼的誠實記錄。形式上克制，思想上鋒利；語言中簡潔，內(nèi)核卻深沉。 Editorials: The three poems by Australian poet Dr. Mark Macleod, though varied in subject and style, share a consistent hallmark of his work: a keen sensitivity to the authenticity of life and emotion, a poetic grasp of fleeting moments, and a mastery of language that is both gentle and sharp, restrained yet powerful. “Chinese New Year, Gangtok” is a quintessential “observational poem,” where the poet, with filmic precision, unfolds the atmosphere of an absent celebration in a foreign town on Chinese New Year—quiet yet richly evocative. “Poetry Reading” gradually unpacks the sorrow of unfinished life stories, the uncertainty of selfhood, and the disconnection in human communication. “Your Answer” is the shortest of the three, yet the most piercing. By personifying Love, the poet exposes the awkward vulnerability of human emotion and the futility of language in the face of it. Together, these poems present a complex, honest, and unpretentious poetic voice—one that gazes tenderly at the world while truthfully recording the desolation within. Formally restrained yet intellectually sharp; linguistically minimalist yet emotionally profound.(By Christine Chen)</h5> <h5>(所有作品均獲作者授權(quán)）</h5>

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