隨錄現代詩一首----我曾經擁有一個女孩

十六歲
或者該說
從未單獨旅行
她曾經擁有我
胸罩仍然由媽媽購買
她讓我看她的房間
第一封情書還沒有出現
不是很好嗎？
每年持續長高一點五公分
挪威木
輕微口吃
當我醒來的時候
對世界的看法絕對純粹
我獨自一人
彷彿切開手指就可以把空氣切開
這隻鳥兒已經飛走了
１９７８年夏天
所以我生起火來
鳳凰樹咳血似的開花
不是很好嗎？
十六歲的我與十三歲的歌
挪威木

Downpour

for Stick, also for me, for our forever young childhood memory
(starts to sound as if i wrote it, i'm so sorry Master Zamora)

Downpour

-Daisy Zamora

From an airtight office window
I gaze out at the downpour
Yellow flowers
From an acacia shaken by the wind
roll along a rusty tin roof

A fish in a fishbowl
I recall with envy the young girl who was
Drenched and happy, jumping
Mud puddles and ignoring calls
Because later
My go-between great aunt
Hidden from grandfather
Would dry my hair,
Change my clothes,
Clean the mud off my shoes.
And wrapped up in a bedspread
Warm as love
I slept

An old downpour that succeed in soaking me
Only within
Is now beating the tin roof,
Flooding the canals and levies
And the riverbed of memory

introducing Jane Hirshfield

Lying

He puts his brush to the canvas
with one quick stroke
unfolds a bird from the sky
Steps back, considers
Takes pity.
Unfolds another.


Arja

She spoke almost no English
was there as a spouse
'You talk, but I don't understand nothing,'
she said

But on the good-bye card
she painted,
the words I most remember from that time--

'Only the clouds are faithful to the mountain.'


Abundant Heart

Because the pelicans circle and dive, the fish
Because the cows are fat, the rains
Because the tree is heavy with pears, the earth
Because the woman grows thin, the heart


Secretive Heart
(What's this? This is an old toolshed.
No, this is a great past love.)
Yehuda Amichai

Heart faulters, stops
before a Chinese cauldron
Still good for boiling water

It is one of a dozen or more,
It is merely iron,
It is merely old,
there is much else to see.

The few raised marks
on its belly
are useful to almost no one

Heart looks at it a long time
What do you see? I ask again,
but it does not answer.


Clappered Heart

As always
the day flares up
in the shape
of a small brown
bird. She is
inconsequential
and lovely;
as you were,
one night's beloved,
now long ago.
Two decades
appear and vanish
while I ponder
why you are suddenly here,
standing between her singing
and the red pine
In the distance,
a truck gears down,
the bells
of morning begin.
But because I can,
I silence them.
I stay
a little longer
behind these
ink-stilled clappers,
to watch you shift
in puzzlement and wonder


Manners/Rwanda

They took the woman
and tied to one arm a child
to the other arm a child
to one leg a child--
you also read this in the paper--
and threw them all in.
No marks of damage, not one
on the five bodies,
which means of course
that they drowned,
which means of course
that she knew.
The river made its way
from higher ground toward lower
and carried them with decorum,
the way a river does
it carries what it is given
and because in the night
a border was crossed,
what was given then was
taken out with a pole.
It may have been united
before before added
to the tally sheet with others
and given next
to the quicklime and earth,
but probably not.
There it will likely stay,
where it was carried,
the last contact with anything living
a hand's continuing rising,
almost a waving,
almost a plea
letting go after rolling it in.
The two beats of its fall
almost gentle,
a door being carefully opened,
quietly closed.
And through you too
are sickened, as even the river
is sickened, undrinkable now
with the human heart,
you also carry
what you were given with decorum.
Perhaps reminded later
by something mentioned
only in passing--
a large family,
a cat's toy of string--
you stop smiling a moment soon.
Across the table
someone notices,
but does not speak.
You watch his quesitn rise
and seem to waver like a hand
about to act,
a hand about to change its mind,
and drop politely away.


About Jane Hirshfield
Jane Hirshfield was born in New York City in 1953. After receiving her B.A. from Princeton University in their first graduating class to include women, she went on to study at the San Francisco Zen Center. Her books of poetry include Given Sugar, Given Salt (HarperCollins, 2001) which was a finalist for the National Book Critics Circle Award, The Lives of the Heart (1997), The October Palace (1994), Of Gravity & Angels (1988), and Alaya (1982). She is the author of Nine Gates: Entering the Mind of Poetry (1997) and has also edited and translated The Ink Dark Moon: Poems by Ono no Komachi and Izumi Shikibu, Women of the Ancient Court of Japan (1990) with Mariko Aratani and Women in Praise of the Sacred: Forty-Three Centuries of Spiritual Poetry by Women (1994).Her honors include The Poetry Center Book Award, fellowships from the Guggenheim and Rockefeller Foundations, Columbia University's Translation Center Award, the Commonwealth Club of California Poetry Medal, and the Bay Area Book Reviewers Award. In addition to her work as a freelance writer and translator, Hirshfield has taught at UC Berkeley, University of San Francisco, and been Elliston Visiting Poet at the University of Cincinnati. She is currently on the faculty of the Bennington MFA Writing Seminars.



all the above poems from her collection 'The Lives of the Heart'


How I came across her work- random pick from library
any further read beside 'lives of heart'?-no
thoughts- very feminine and subtle, free verses, can be used as lyrics.

Jady's Comments:
hmm seems randomly picking up stuff from the stale shelves of libraries really has some merits . i have yet to run out of clear ideas of what i wish and have yet to read, but i''ll adopt your spontaneity when that day finally comes when i finally have read all i wish to read and dunno what next, hehehe..
i like ''Manners/Rwanda'', almost a mesmerizing silent film, in fragmentary, slow motion..keep loading~~

POTD:天梯上的夜歌 by 海子

　　天梯上的夜歌

天堂的夜歌

　　夜歌歌唱了我

　　弓箭放下

　　我画出山坡

　　太阳放下弓箭

　　夜晚画出山坡

　　一群群哑巴

　　头戴牢房

　　身穿铁条和火

　　坐在黑夜山坡

　　一群群哑巴

　　高唱黑夜之歌

　　这是我的夜歌

　　这是我的夜歌

　　歌唱那些人

　　那些黑夜

　　那些秘密火柴

　　投入天堂之火

　　黑夜 年轻而秘密

　　像苦难之火

　　像苦难的黑色之火

　　看不见自己的火焰

　　这是我的夜歌

　　黑夜抱着谁

　　坐在底部

　　烧得漆黑

　　黑夜抱着谁

　　坐在热情中

　　坐在灰烬和深渊

　　他茫然地望着我

　　这是我的夜歌


评论/留言

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作者：Slappuju　　时间：2004-11-29 3:05:32

stick this''s deep n sounds morbid to me. and i think it''s beyond my comprehension. despair as dark as the night?

More on 海子

【明天醒来我会在哪一只鞋子里】


我想我已经够小心翼翼的
我的脚趾正好十个
我的手指正好十个
我生下来时哭几声
我死去时别人又哭
我不声不响的
带来自己这个包袱
尽管我不喜爱自己
但我还是悄悄打开

我在黄昏时坐在地球上
我这样说并不表明晚上
我就不在地球上 早上同样
地球在你屁股下
结结实实
老不死的地球你好

或者我干脆就是树枝
我以前睡在黑暗的壳里
我的脑袋就是我的边疆
就是一颗梨
在我成型之前
我是知冷知热的白花

或者我的脑袋是一只猫
安放在肩膀上
造我的女主人荷月远去
成群的阳光照着大猫小猫
我的呼吸
一直在证明
树叶飘飘

我不能放弃幸福
或相反
我以痛苦为生
埋葬半截
来到村口或山上
我盯住人们死看
呀, 生硬的黄土 人丁兴旺

死亡之诗(之一)】



漆黑的夜里有一种笑声笑断我坟墓的木板
你可知道。这是一片埋葬老虎的土地

正当水面上渡过一只火红的老虎
你的笑声使河流漂浮
的老虎
断了两根骨头
正当这条河流开始在存有笑声的黑夜里结冰
断腿的老虎顺流而下, 来到我的
窗前。

一块埋葬老虎的木板
被一种笑声笑断两截

【死亡之诗(之二)】


我所能看见的少女
水中的少女
请在麦地之中
清理好我的骨头
如一束芦花的骨头
把他装在箱子里带回

我所能看见的
洁净的少女, 河流上的少女
请把手伸到麦地之中

当我没有希望坐在一束
麦子上回家
请整理好我那凌乱的骨头
放入一个小木柜。带回它
象带回你们富裕的嫁妆

但是, 不要告诉我
扶着木头, 正在干草上晾衣的
母亲。

【死亡之诗(之三:采摘葵花)】


雨夜偷牛的人
爬进了我的窗户
在我做梦的身子上
采摘葵花

我仍在沉睡
在我睡梦的身子上
开放了彩色的葵花
那双采摘的手
仍象葵花田中
美丽笨拙的鸭子

雨夜偷牛的人
把我从人类
身体中偷走。
我仍在沉睡。
我被带到身体之外
葵花之外。我是世界上
第一头母牛(死的皇后)
我觉的自己很美
我仍在沉睡。

雨夜偷牛的人
于是非常高兴
自己变成了另外的彩色母牛
在我的身体中
兴高彩烈地奔跑

扶着木头, 正在干草上晾衣的
母亲。

亚洲铜】


亚洲铜, 亚洲铜
祖父死在这里, 父亲死在这里, 我也会死在这里
你是唯一的一块埋人的地方

亚洲铜, 亚洲铜
爱怀疑和飞翔的是鸟, 淹没一切的是海水
你的主人却是青草, 住在自己细小的腰上,
守住野花的手掌和秘密

亚洲铜, 亚洲铜
看见了吗? 那两只白鸽子, 它是屈原遗落在沙滩上的白
鞋子
让我们----我们和河流一起, 穿上它吧

亚洲铜, 亚洲铜
击鼓之后, 我们把在黑暗中跳舞的心脏叫做月亮
这月亮主要由你构成


评论/留言
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作者：moviegoer (SlapStick)　　时间：2004-11-29 18:14:37

应该听过海子吧。在山海关卧轨结束生命的诗人。还是童年时代的事了，那时听到，什么都没意识到。等真正接触的时候，尸骨已寒多年。就像beyond和家驹，就像三毛，翁美玲，（这么列举的话可以一直到女娲和神农氏...），没等我出生就逝去了。生不逢时。

喜欢海子的诗。从没读过解析他的学术文章，不喜欢他们神经地把人和诗分门别类而后把诗一个词一个词肢解掉的野蛮。喜欢只是个人喜好，喜欢那种不着边际漫游的疯狂脑子，流浪，不羁，荒野，草原，女人，生命，死亡。多么希望他还活着，这样还会有更多诗，但明亮燃烧的蜡烛烧完得也快，终结生命未尝不是人力能所为最强烈的诗。所谓大象无形，大音希声，大概就是如此。

Munch's Colours

'Go to the billiard room. After you have looked on that intense green table- cover for awhile, look up. How strangley red everything is! Those men you know were dressed in black now dressed in crimson red, and the room-the walls and the ceilings-are red.'

'After some time, the clothing is black again. But if you want to paint an emotional mood like that, with a billiard table, then you must paint it crimson red.'

'I paint not what i see, but what i saw'- 40 years later he summed up his practice : 'I do not finish a work until I'm a bit removed from the vision of it so that my memory can clarify its emotional impressions. Nature confuses me when I have it directly in front of me.'

The Kiss
Munch Notebook

It rained a warm rain
I took her around
the waist-she walks
slowly after
Two big eyes against
mine-a wet
cheek against mine
My lips sank into hers
the trees and the air and
All the earth anished
And I looked into a new
world-I never
Before had known

People at Night

PoTd-Nov 28th

People at night
Denise Levertove

A night that cuts between you and you
and you and you and you
and me : jostles us apart, a man elbowing
through a crowd. We don't
look for each other, eight---
wander off, each alone, not looking
in the slow crowd. Amond sideshows
under movie signs
pictures made if a million lights
giants that move and again move
again, above a cloud of thick smells,
franks, roasted, nutmeats---

or going up to some apartment, yours or yours,
finding
someone sitting in the dark:
who is it, really? so you switch the
light on to see : you know the name but
who is it?
But you won't see.

The fluorescent light flickers sullenly, a
pause. But you command. It grabs
each face and holds it up
by the hair for you, mask after mask.

you and you and you and I repeat
guestures that make do when speech
has failed and talk
and talk, laughing, saying
'I', and 'I',
meaning 'Anybody'.
No one.

POTD: Eternity & Abstinence, two poems by William Blake

Eternity

He who bends to himself a Joy
Doth the wingèd life destroy;
But he who kisses the Joy as it flies
Lives in Eternity's sunrise.

The look of love alarms,
Because it's fill'd with fire;
But the look of soft deceit
Shall win the lover's hire.

Soft deceit and idleness,
These are Beauty's sweetest dress.
----------------------------------
Abstinence Sows Sand

Abstinence sows sand all over
The ruddy limbs and flaming hair,
But Desire gratified
Plants fruits of life and beauty there.


评论/留言

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作者：Slappujudu　时间：2004-11-30 8:51:28

stick! i''m with you on this one! those shitheads, shut them up!! wish i could hear the song too. i do miss legends of the fall!! tristan n susanna!!!! Tristan he personally killed himself after samuel was gone. indians they do appeal to you if i remember correctly you wanna join their tribe haha! alrite, i''ll post some indian legends up.


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作者：Stickyjady　时间：2004-11-30 2:16:39

Abstinence is actually a poem selected for the literature curriculum this term. The adorable lecturer Dr Turner played us a folk song version of the poem, artist named Williamson (terrific musician, check him out. I still can''t find any free download though..). Very different from what we pop music addicts are usually exposed to. Had a very mysterious, melancholic, Oriental feel to it, slow, and deeply moving. The poem only has four lines and the song was a long one, repeating the lines with varying rhythms and emotional input. (I couldn't help get a bit irritated when patches of shitheads all over the lecture theatre started laughing at it) And in those moments I hallucinated, entering the opening scene of Legends of the Fall, the old Indian hunter murmuring intimate family stories, fragrant dry embers burning, cackling, the tent a weathered fiery brown, and the music seemed strangely apt there, in the background and foreground at once, soaking everything in a grainy, croaky solemnity that''s private possession to wanders and hunters only. "Abstinence sows sand all over/The ruddy limbs and flaming hair,/But Desire gratified/Plants fruits of life and beauty there."Somehow I think this wouldn''t be out of place at all if the song turns up somewhere in the film itself. Tristan and Susanna. The Ludlows, father and sons...

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作者：Slappujudu 时间：2004-11-28 10:50:13

absolutely great poems!!
abstinence sows sands, what a succinct and pictoral title.

A Bird, a continuation

A bird was lying on the ground,
no life, no motion.
I wonder if it's a carefully sculpted figurine.
But finally I noticed
it's still breathing,
its chest heaving
a bit too fast.
Maybe death's come to her.

I extend my hand to her
My hand extends to her
Hovering above those once supple feathers
and now lifeless eyes
The fixed stare of death piercing
the pathetic shield of the hand
sniggering away at life
O I am unable to touch her
her, about to disintegrate into the earth underneath
my hand, now brown and dull, already resembles it too

and so my hands,
or are they mine?
carelessly brushes against its motionless body,
it suddenly crumbles into stardust,
carried away by a swirl of wind,
not a trace
all happens too fast,
except for my heart,
that fails to remind itself to beat,
and the fear,
that now sits so tight in my throat,
until it can no longer hold,
and bursts into whimpers.
the shape of my hand morphing,
as if a dream ageing,
all that remains,
is the vision of the bird,
reforming,
into its beautiful being before it ceases to be


评论/留言

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作者：Jady　　时间：2004-11-26 17:49:54

i changed it from prose to a poem-oid thing, dunno if it''s worse, better, or just different...continue~~~~~

Judu 在 Jady 的文章中回复道：
that''s great stick!
continue loading