The original Chinese is written by Scavenger, which can be read HERE. I don't think my translation does justice to his delicate and beautiful description of the sad story. I just couldn't help translating it into Engilsh.
Before I broke into pieces, I was in love with a girl.
I won't say silly words like each girl is different in her own sweet way,
for I had never known any other girl before her.
or rather, had never GENUINELY known any.
We have discussed this many times.
Even now, I can still feel in her young heart, deep down,
that my self is still there.
Her heart is warm.
Apart from that, I can't tell you more.
When dusk was falling, that girl would cook a wok of tasty Russian soup.
To do that, she would rise early in the morning and
climb over the mountains and valleys all the way to Scarborough Fair.
Her shoes and socks were soaked in dew
must have been uncomfortable, wasn't it?
But she still carried a delicate smile on her face and walked through the fair
picked out the suitable ingredients, whose names I couldn't tell,
nor their distinctive colours and scents.
But I stood by her quietly afterwards, listening to the things
she described to me one by one and that--
that black little cat hiding in the shop.
She asked me, with pushiness, to find
that kind of black little cat for her.
I pulled at her hair, and said "Don't worry."
Then I started on my cause to look for the cat she wanted.
I had no idea that I could have walked for so long.
News came from the other side that she dropped many tears
into the soup that had already become cold.
She sewed winter clothes in the hope of my return
but the needle pricked her fingers.
I also heard that they burried us in the mountain of Scarborough
because when we were in love we had dated
at the mountain foot in the early morning.
We quickly walked up to the top.
Her face was redened and she gasped
as she pinned a little flower onto my collar.
You probably don't know that we still meet in the morning
only we are never able to come down the mountain together
I have a messy memory but I remember in my descent
I've seen numerous cats, cats of all colours and ages
but never did I find a black little cat.
2011年9月23日星期五
Trickitty Tracy
*A Poem for Jiang Xiaomao (Tracy)
I saw that cat sitting on the wall every morning
while I was carrying the crazy stone on my way to work
I broke down one day and threw it off my shoulder
I said hi to the cat and she greeted me with a Chesire grin
A trick? I thought, gaping
at the empty space which had been filled by a cat
"No, Trickitty"
A small voice broke into my ear
A trick-kitty?
Like an appiration, she was sitting on my right shoulder
"I'm Schrodinger's cat with ever-changing appearances
and an ever-lasting spirit"
What's your name? I asked
with my head turning to the right
But there was nothing, not even
a cat paw's mark left
A trickitty? I murmured
wondering whether it was me who'd been tricked
"No, Tracy" A small voice rose again
and climbed into my left ear
Tracy Cat? I turned my head to the left
trying to catch the source of the voice
A furry tail flashed in front of my eyes
before I could follow its trace
There she was, on the wall again stretching her legs and
arching her back as all cats do after a sweet nap
She squinted at me against the sun and
with a "Meow" she jumped off the wall
I looked down at the heavy stone, not knowing how to continue
the ever-lasting routine with an ever-changing heart
I saw that cat sitting on the wall every morning
while I was carrying the crazy stone on my way to work
I broke down one day and threw it off my shoulder
I said hi to the cat and she greeted me with a Chesire grin
A trick? I thought, gaping
at the empty space which had been filled by a cat
"No, Trickitty"
A small voice broke into my ear
A trick-kitty?
Like an appiration, she was sitting on my right shoulder
"I'm Schrodinger's cat with ever-changing appearances
and an ever-lasting spirit"
What's your name? I asked
with my head turning to the right
But there was nothing, not even
a cat paw's mark left
A trickitty? I murmured
wondering whether it was me who'd been tricked
"No, Tracy" A small voice rose again
and climbed into my left ear
Tracy Cat? I turned my head to the left
trying to catch the source of the voice
A furry tail flashed in front of my eyes
before I could follow its trace
There she was, on the wall again stretching her legs and
arching her back as all cats do after a sweet nap
She squinted at me against the sun and
with a "Meow" she jumped off the wall
I looked down at the heavy stone, not knowing how to continue
the ever-lasting routine with an ever-changing heart
2011年7月23日星期六
这颗星球上最高的男子
“你听听这个人的歌，应该会喜欢。”柏桑说，“叫地球上最高的男人（the tallest man on earth）,其实个子可小了，真的是个小个子，又瘦又小。”柏桑像捏着一粒芝麻那样并住两根手指，好像那人就捏在指间。
“哪个国家的？”我问。
“瑞典的。所以这名字取得很有意思吧。歌写得也有意思。”
不久柏桑去了Green Man艺术节，见到了这个“地球上最高的男人”，回来后又兴奋地提到了他。
那差不多是一年前的事了。去年9月离开英国的时候，我带着着行囊在开往机场的大巴里听着他的歌，听着他唱到“I plan to be forgotten when I'm gone. Yes, I'll be leaving in the fall.”立马就神伤了。你看， 好歌的出现总是需要天时、地利、人别。
还是一把吉他，加上出色的歌词。只靠这两样东西立足的人一般都活得很艰辛，Nick Drake, Leonard Cohen, Damien Rice，英国人不到30便抑郁而死；加拿大人命硬，但也直到74岁才被晚生Lou Reed引入摇滚名人堂，致辞时老头子仍不忘翻出陈年往事揶揄在场的美国乐评人John Landau；爱尔兰人也是在退出了唱片公司、怀着一颗破釜沉舟大不了在意大利做农民的心才大器晚成的。如果Bob Dylan不是身处那个越战、嬉皮士、民权运动风起云涌的年代，凭他的嗓音条件要成名还真不好说。高中刚脱离后街男孩、西城男孩、辣妹组合的那个阶段，我读到了那时流行的音乐杂志上介绍Bob Dylan的文章，心潮澎湃，于是跑到镇上唯一一个能买到40岁以上西方男歌手的CD店，找到了一张Dylan的大拼盘碟（当时盗版的惯常做法，即把一名歌手的歌曲尽可能多得塞到一张碟里）。回家后我怀着景仰、敬畏、期待的复杂心情，按下了CD机的播放键。一分钟后，我在一种听完恐怖故事的氛围里按下了停止键，并惊魂未定地告诉自己“他的嗓音不可能这样的，一定是盗版碟的原因。”直到进了大学再次听到Dylan，终于确信那个来回颠簸、四处漏风的声音就是他的真声。所以说，破嗓音的成名总是需要天时、地利以及John Baez.
这名“地球上最高的男子”叫Kristian Matsson，嗓音倒也没有Bob Dylan那样不堪，但是想从他的歌声里获得些愉悦也不容易。吸引我的，无非是漂亮的吉他和弦和别致的歌词（几首歌里还能听到他弹奏的banjo）。不知道为什么要给自己起这么个艺名，不过在Gardener这首歌里，他倒是唱了为什么要做“最高男”的原因——为了女人。这是一首很邪恶的歌，因为欢快的曲调之下歌唱者以第一人称讲述了一桩连环杀人案，叙述的场景丝毫不带血腥，相反让我们看到了阳光，闻到了花香、听到了爱情密语——但美丽的花圃之下却埋着三具尸体，凶手骗取了女主人公的芳心，并以一个胜利者的姿态向我们讲了这个故事。是不是很邪恶？
歌词将这个故事处理得很好，首段不露声色地出场、抱怨了一下自己变坏的头脑后，“凶手”以相同的结构讲述了三件命案的起因、结果和动机，很像三张同主题邮票并成的小型张。最后的结尾宣告了黑暗势力的胜利：死神出场，但没有黑斗篷、冷风、枯叶这些肃杀的意象，而代之以簇拥的鲜花和安宁的情绪，这样将恶与美放一起制造的诡吊效果在《香水：一个谋杀犯的故事》里有精彩的呈现；“不会再有青蛙吻你的手了”——坏蛋以这样自信的胜利口吻宣告，童话被终结。很邪恶，不是吗？
翻译歌词是一件吃力不讨好的事情，因为歌词本身的歌唱性（音节、韵脚都踩着音符走）几乎是不可译的。所幸这首歌的故事性比较强，换做Dylan的歌，虽然叙事性强，但光是对称的结构和连串尾韵一致的单词就让人断了翻译的念头。再说，干嘛要翻译歌呢？好歌就要听原文歌词。以后我再也不翻译歌了，下不为例。
园丁（Gardener）
我察觉到有人在花园里奔跑
不过你也知道，我的判断正在衰老
我曾在草坪上造过一艘蒸汽船
但我已忘了如何驾驶
我知道那个人会跑去告诉你
我的头发里并没有住着牛仔
因此他被埋在了雏菊旁
这样我可以继续是你眼中最高的人，宝贝
我察觉到有个探子伏在烟囱上
根据我烧掉的证据
我猜他会在烟雾里将毁证宣读
那样我就很快会化为灰烬
我知道那个探子会告诉你
旗杆上挂着的并非我的旗帜
因此他被埋在了水仙花旁
这样我就可以永永远远留在你的眼中，宝贝
我觉察到我的电话里有了漏隙
过去撒谎的经验告诉我
他已得到了你的私人号码
他很快会给你打一个恶毒的电话
我知道那个漏隙会告诉你
你的绳索并没有系着狗崽
因此，他成了滋养玫瑰的肥料
而我可以继续做你眼里的国王，宝贝
现在我俩在花园里跳舞
看啊，这花园多么美丽
死神养护着我的茉莉花
我得说我感到了内心的安宁
再也没必要疑神疑鬼
不会有什么青蛙吻你的手
而我要对你说的下面这话也不再是谎言：
我是个园丁，我就是你眼中的
男人，我的宝贝
“哪个国家的？”我问。
“瑞典的。所以这名字取得很有意思吧。歌写得也有意思。”
不久柏桑去了Green Man艺术节，见到了这个“地球上最高的男人”，回来后又兴奋地提到了他。
那差不多是一年前的事了。去年9月离开英国的时候，我带着着行囊在开往机场的大巴里听着他的歌，听着他唱到“I plan to be forgotten when I'm gone. Yes, I'll be leaving in the fall.”立马就神伤了。你看， 好歌的出现总是需要天时、地利、人别。
还是一把吉他，加上出色的歌词。只靠这两样东西立足的人一般都活得很艰辛，Nick Drake, Leonard Cohen, Damien Rice，英国人不到30便抑郁而死；加拿大人命硬，但也直到74岁才被晚生Lou Reed引入摇滚名人堂，致辞时老头子仍不忘翻出陈年往事揶揄在场的美国乐评人John Landau；爱尔兰人也是在退出了唱片公司、怀着一颗破釜沉舟大不了在意大利做农民的心才大器晚成的。如果Bob Dylan不是身处那个越战、嬉皮士、民权运动风起云涌的年代，凭他的嗓音条件要成名还真不好说。高中刚脱离后街男孩、西城男孩、辣妹组合的那个阶段，我读到了那时流行的音乐杂志上介绍Bob Dylan的文章，心潮澎湃，于是跑到镇上唯一一个能买到40岁以上西方男歌手的CD店，找到了一张Dylan的大拼盘碟（当时盗版的惯常做法，即把一名歌手的歌曲尽可能多得塞到一张碟里）。回家后我怀着景仰、敬畏、期待的复杂心情，按下了CD机的播放键。一分钟后，我在一种听完恐怖故事的氛围里按下了停止键，并惊魂未定地告诉自己“他的嗓音不可能这样的，一定是盗版碟的原因。”直到进了大学再次听到Dylan，终于确信那个来回颠簸、四处漏风的声音就是他的真声。所以说，破嗓音的成名总是需要天时、地利以及John Baez.
这名“地球上最高的男子”叫Kristian Matsson，嗓音倒也没有Bob Dylan那样不堪，但是想从他的歌声里获得些愉悦也不容易。吸引我的，无非是漂亮的吉他和弦和别致的歌词（几首歌里还能听到他弹奏的banjo）。不知道为什么要给自己起这么个艺名，不过在Gardener这首歌里，他倒是唱了为什么要做“最高男”的原因——为了女人。这是一首很邪恶的歌，因为欢快的曲调之下歌唱者以第一人称讲述了一桩连环杀人案，叙述的场景丝毫不带血腥，相反让我们看到了阳光，闻到了花香、听到了爱情密语——但美丽的花圃之下却埋着三具尸体，凶手骗取了女主人公的芳心，并以一个胜利者的姿态向我们讲了这个故事。是不是很邪恶？
歌词将这个故事处理得很好，首段不露声色地出场、抱怨了一下自己变坏的头脑后，“凶手”以相同的结构讲述了三件命案的起因、结果和动机，很像三张同主题邮票并成的小型张。最后的结尾宣告了黑暗势力的胜利：死神出场，但没有黑斗篷、冷风、枯叶这些肃杀的意象，而代之以簇拥的鲜花和安宁的情绪，这样将恶与美放一起制造的诡吊效果在《香水：一个谋杀犯的故事》里有精彩的呈现；“不会再有青蛙吻你的手了”——坏蛋以这样自信的胜利口吻宣告，童话被终结。很邪恶，不是吗？
翻译歌词是一件吃力不讨好的事情，因为歌词本身的歌唱性（音节、韵脚都踩着音符走）几乎是不可译的。所幸这首歌的故事性比较强，换做Dylan的歌，虽然叙事性强，但光是对称的结构和连串尾韵一致的单词就让人断了翻译的念头。再说，干嘛要翻译歌呢？好歌就要听原文歌词。以后我再也不翻译歌了，下不为例。
园丁（Gardener）
我察觉到有人在花园里奔跑
不过你也知道，我的判断正在衰老
我曾在草坪上造过一艘蒸汽船
但我已忘了如何驾驶
我知道那个人会跑去告诉你
我的头发里并没有住着牛仔
因此他被埋在了雏菊旁
这样我可以继续是你眼中最高的人，宝贝
我察觉到有个探子伏在烟囱上
根据我烧掉的证据
我猜他会在烟雾里将毁证宣读
那样我就很快会化为灰烬
我知道那个探子会告诉你
旗杆上挂着的并非我的旗帜
因此他被埋在了水仙花旁
这样我就可以永永远远留在你的眼中，宝贝
我觉察到我的电话里有了漏隙
过去撒谎的经验告诉我
他已得到了你的私人号码
他很快会给你打一个恶毒的电话
我知道那个漏隙会告诉你
你的绳索并没有系着狗崽
因此，他成了滋养玫瑰的肥料
而我可以继续做你眼里的国王，宝贝
现在我俩在花园里跳舞
看啊，这花园多么美丽
死神养护着我的茉莉花
我得说我感到了内心的安宁
再也没必要疑神疑鬼
不会有什么青蛙吻你的手
而我要对你说的下面这话也不再是谎言：
我是个园丁，我就是你眼中的
男人，我的宝贝
2011年6月15日星期三
the story is so meaningless and I don't know why I translated it
The following article and poem are translated by me, and edited by Robert Berold, from the original Chinese written by Wuqing (乌青, meaning Bruise, pseudonym of Zheng Gongyu), who quited college in his second year and led a normadic life since then. Wuqing published his own books and sells them online. He also made short films, which I haven't seen.
Smash slate on chest
It was a hot and stuffy afternoon, and I was feeling in low spirits. Even a cigarette wouldn't have made me feel good. So I walked over to the cold drink shop at the gate of our compound and bought a cup of cucumber juice. I wandered through the neighbourhood as I drank it. A girl was pushing her bike along in front of me. She had a nice ass. So I followed her for a while. I kept walking between the apartment blocks. Water was oozing out of the air conditioners. I spat and my spit was cucumber-green.
I felt bored and restless. Then suddenly I was overcome by this strange desire. I wished I had a board with nails on it. I wanted to lie on it, and then have a heavy piece of slate laid on my chest, so heavy that I wouldn't be able to breathe. Then a person with a hammer would come along and hit it onto me. Think of that! Wouldn't that be fun!
When something comes up, act on it – that’s what I believe. There was an old woman who collected garbage where I lived. I could get anything from her. So I said to her, I need a wooden board studded with nails, a heavy slab of slate and a huge hammer. But she couldn't understand Chinese. So I explained to her with gestures. I said, wooden board, board with nails, full of nails coming out of it; slate, big big piece of rock, and very heavy; hammer, huge hammer, to hit the rock.
Nothing would lift my spirits that night. So I went back to the cold drink shop and ordered another cucumber juice. I walked out of our compound as I drank it. I decided to fritter away the time in the supermarket nearby. There was a woman on the slow escalater. Her legs were huge. I came up with a kind of desire.
‘When something comes up, act on it’. So I walked up to her and said, Your legs are fat. She responded, It's none of your business! I had said the one thing I wanted to say, so I went away without a word.
I walked to the section selling sanitary pads, and my mind got carried away while I was standing there. It's not that I was watching the stuff on the shelves, it’s just that I wanted to let my mind drift. After a while I noticed that a woman next to me was staring at me. Without saying anything, It forced a kiss on her for about 10 seconds. Then I spat out a gum and gave it back to her. It's yours, I said.
Back to my living area, I saw a stray cat. I wanted to catch it. ‘When something comes up, act on it’. So I dashed towards it, but it sprinted away without a trace. I shouted out loudly to the old woman, Where is my board with nails, and the slate and the hammer?
*“想到了就要做”原本译成do it when something comes up，改成when something comes up, act on it之后，要切合得多。
Crying
I think crying is useless
mom cried
grandma cried, too
even papa's and grandpa's crying
didn't solve anything
when they were crying
they put everything aside
tears
blocked the whole world
not even God could stop them
from crying
Smash slate on chest
It was a hot and stuffy afternoon, and I was feeling in low spirits. Even a cigarette wouldn't have made me feel good. So I walked over to the cold drink shop at the gate of our compound and bought a cup of cucumber juice. I wandered through the neighbourhood as I drank it. A girl was pushing her bike along in front of me. She had a nice ass. So I followed her for a while. I kept walking between the apartment blocks. Water was oozing out of the air conditioners. I spat and my spit was cucumber-green.
I felt bored and restless. Then suddenly I was overcome by this strange desire. I wished I had a board with nails on it. I wanted to lie on it, and then have a heavy piece of slate laid on my chest, so heavy that I wouldn't be able to breathe. Then a person with a hammer would come along and hit it onto me. Think of that! Wouldn't that be fun!
When something comes up, act on it – that’s what I believe. There was an old woman who collected garbage where I lived. I could get anything from her. So I said to her, I need a wooden board studded with nails, a heavy slab of slate and a huge hammer. But she couldn't understand Chinese. So I explained to her with gestures. I said, wooden board, board with nails, full of nails coming out of it; slate, big big piece of rock, and very heavy; hammer, huge hammer, to hit the rock.
Nothing would lift my spirits that night. So I went back to the cold drink shop and ordered another cucumber juice. I walked out of our compound as I drank it. I decided to fritter away the time in the supermarket nearby. There was a woman on the slow escalater. Her legs were huge. I came up with a kind of desire.
‘When something comes up, act on it’. So I walked up to her and said, Your legs are fat. She responded, It's none of your business! I had said the one thing I wanted to say, so I went away without a word.
I walked to the section selling sanitary pads, and my mind got carried away while I was standing there. It's not that I was watching the stuff on the shelves, it’s just that I wanted to let my mind drift. After a while I noticed that a woman next to me was staring at me. Without saying anything, It forced a kiss on her for about 10 seconds. Then I spat out a gum and gave it back to her. It's yours, I said.
Back to my living area, I saw a stray cat. I wanted to catch it. ‘When something comes up, act on it’. So I dashed towards it, but it sprinted away without a trace. I shouted out loudly to the old woman, Where is my board with nails, and the slate and the hammer?
*“想到了就要做”原本译成do it when something comes up，改成when something comes up, act on it之后，要切合得多。
Crying
I think crying is useless
mom cried
grandma cried, too
even papa's and grandpa's crying
didn't solve anything
when they were crying
they put everything aside
tears
blocked the whole world
not even God could stop them
from crying
学单车的大龄宅男你伤不起！
谨以本文献给即将离开校园的pia叔
我满以为骑单车泡妞的时代已经一去不复返了，直到pia叔告诉我，为了载一个女生，他在29岁的高龄决定学骑自行车。
其实在这样一个岁数决定对自己的人生重新洗牌的人不在少数，有人30岁决定做建筑师，有人40岁开始写歌，有人50岁丢开老婆、小孩徒步穿越中亚，前者如安藤忠雄，次者如罗思荣，第三者如20年后的我。但问题是，pia叔是为了一个女人——确切的说，是为了载女生在校园里兜风的一个承诺——决定学自行车的，这样大一新生头脑里才有的动机着实令我有些猝不及防，要知道pia叔已经研三了啊！
pia叔是一个本硕断断续续读了9年的老研究生。我第一次去见他的时候，他一个人在寝室里，四人间的寝室空着三张床。
“这个人是博士，一直跟导师在外地做项目。”pia叔指着其中一张床道。
“这个人有老婆，已经搬出去跟老婆住了。”pia叔指着另一张床说。
“这个人是富二代，每天泡妞、开房，而且是希尔顿。”pia叔指着一张下面有辆自行车的床说，左眼里写着嫉，右眼里写着妒，“我因公因私都没有住过希尔顿，这他妈天天开房希尔顿。”
发黑的蜘蛛网从寝室的天花板垂下来，纠成一团。
柜子上是一张关之琳的海报。
“是我贴的。”pia叔说，“我最喜欢的女明星，小时候常幻想她。”
“我懂的。”我说。
“你懂个屁啊，我那时就幻想和关姐姐一起上下学。”
后来我把希尔顿开房富二代的自行车拿出去在重庆大学的校园里骑了一圈，听pia叔说，车主为了跟寝室打赌能从重庆骑到成都，专门花了1600块钱买了辆车，用了3天时间随车队在成渝间骑了个来回，赌注是30块钱。
这件事对pia叔的影响有二：一，pia叔在那个赌中压了5块，并从中获利5块，这进一步刺激了pia叔买体育彩票的热情；二，pia叔因此爱上了自行车运动。
但去过重庆的朋友都知道，想在那个地形凸翘起伏的地方骑车无异于自虐，这就好比生活在水里的鱼突然决定到岸上走走，难度可想而知。当然我们知道世界上确实有这样一种会跳出水面到岸上行走的鱼，正因此，世界上也就有了pia叔这样的人。
pia叔是在QQ上告诉我这个决定的，这多少让这个决定显得不够酷，如果换做G-talk或是Skype，效果可能会好一些。其实我白天很少上QQ，更何况是在办公室，大家都忙着淘宝或是斗地主，但是因为上司要我给他的一个女同事传份文件，所以我就配合着对方用起了QQ。
我得交代一下办公室的状况，因为这对我之后的影响很大。我后面坐着一个不太年轻、但总喜欢把自己称为“小姑娘”的——怎么说呢，叫她王姐吧。王姐的一大爱好是时不时地欠过身看我在做什么，并附上简短的评论，“哎哟，小郑，你好厉害哦，英文的网站都看得懂。”“哎哟，小郑，你好用功啊，那么复杂的表格能看嘎久。”我的左边是一个瘦瘦的姑娘，在淘宝上买衣服的时候总是能坐出一副刚正不阿的样子，并会有一句没一句地接过王姐的短评，“那是，人家学历高啊。”“那是，人家年轻力壮啊。”我的左边是一个胖胖的姑娘，喜欢团购，每天吃过午饭都会在网上拍下两杯奶茶。我的前面是一个净水器。我们三人之间只有一块短短的塑料隔板，这不仅让我们看对方时无所不见，也让我们的关系很廉价。
好了，说了那么多办公室的姑娘，我得回到pia叔身上啦。当时pia叔在QQ上向我汇报了最近学骑自行车的动态：因为在拐弯、下大坡时没控制好车子，在毁了一个尾灯的同时，也把自己摔得浑身是伤。然后pia叔补了一句：“我浑身擦伤得都木法穿衣服，我现在裸体呢。”
当时我的大脑里立马浮现出了一丝不挂的pia叔坐在空荡荡的寝室里，咂吧着舌头在电脑上跟我打字。这让我始料未及，因为我是一直习惯于幻想女人裸体的，所以那一瞬间我对自己有些失望。
pia叔继续向我陈述他摔伤的各个部位以及断了的指甲，我以男性特有的方式安慰他，并建议他去豆瓣景涛咆哮组用排山倒海的“伤不起”让更多的人知道他的不幸。
也就是在那个时候，pia叔做了一件改变我整个下午的事情——他拍下了自己赤裸的腿、胳膊、小腹和胸，并截图在QQ对话框里发给了我，而王姐也就是那个时候欠过了身子来看我在做什么。“哎哟，小郑，你……”我当时的第一反应是——就像许多人在家看毛片父母突然闯进来时的反应一样——手忙脚乱地去关那个对话框。但是一切都晚了，王姐看到了那些在不仔细看的时候很像是毛片截图的东西，更糟糕的是，毛片里的主人公是个男的。
瘦姑娘转过脸，有些迷茫地看了一眼我和王姐，因为只听到了王姐半句话，她不知道该怎么接。我红着脸马上说了一句：“我在给客户传文件呢。”这句话事后经我的分析，效果无比糟糕，因为这在王姐听来是做贼心虚、欲盖弥彰。当时我还不如说“我在和一个要好的朋友聊天呢”。不过那在王姐听来，肯定会是恬不知耻之类的了。总之发生了那样的事，我是跳进黄河也洗不清了。在那之后，王姐整整一个下午都没有探过来瞧我在做什么。
更让我郁闷的是，我上完厕所回到办公室时看到王姐在和胖瘦二位姑娘窃窃私语，她们看见我进来马上做鸟兽散，各自回到座位上。更反常的是，胖姑娘一下子在团购网上买了8杯奶茶，像是在庆祝一件喜事，分发给了办公室里的每一个同事。
就这样，我在一种无比郁闷的心情和诡异的办公室氛围中度过了余下的一个下午。
下班时，我和王姐、胖瘦二位姑娘站在电梯口等电梯。我想说些什么，可脑中除了pia叔的裸体，愣是找不到可以开口的话题。进到电梯之后，王姐又和胖瘦二位姑娘耳语了几句，三人捂着嘴窃笑，并朝我看了看，这让我我又羞又臊，只感到血流一个劲地拍打着脑门。“你看到的不是裸照，那是我朋友！他在给我看他学自行车时摔伤的照片！”我差点把这句话喊出口，但在把脑门里的血流摒回去一点之后，我马上意识到这么解释下去只会越描越黑，因为一个男人给另一个男人看他受伤的肉体照，在我们这个小地方已经够骇人听闻了，再向她们解释一个男人在29岁的时候开始学骑自行车更像是天方夜谭。所以我就憋屈地看着她们窃笑私语，并和她们默默地对眼，直到走出电梯。
我觉得我在这个单位已经很难“直”着做男人了，就在几天前三番五次要给我介绍小姑娘的人力部主任，下班临走时也给了我一个意味深长的眼神。
但我一想到pia叔可以在一个礼拜后学满出山，载着姑娘在校园里上坡下坡、过弯道而不摔跤，单想想此情此景，我就觉得被办公室里的人误会又算得了什么呢？
pia叔真名陆续，来自四川泸州，因为从小被人唤作阿pia，岁月的流逝让他变成了现如今的pia叔。因为某种说不清道不明的巧合，我俩原来还同过一年校，只是那时候我不知道身边有个叫阿pia的人，阿pia也不认识那个忧郁的一心想着要退学的小郑。
我满以为骑单车泡妞的时代已经一去不复返了，直到pia叔告诉我，为了载一个女生，他在29岁的高龄决定学骑自行车。
其实在这样一个岁数决定对自己的人生重新洗牌的人不在少数，有人30岁决定做建筑师，有人40岁开始写歌，有人50岁丢开老婆、小孩徒步穿越中亚，前者如安藤忠雄，次者如罗思荣，第三者如20年后的我。但问题是，pia叔是为了一个女人——确切的说，是为了载女生在校园里兜风的一个承诺——决定学自行车的，这样大一新生头脑里才有的动机着实令我有些猝不及防，要知道pia叔已经研三了啊！
pia叔是一个本硕断断续续读了9年的老研究生。我第一次去见他的时候，他一个人在寝室里，四人间的寝室空着三张床。
“这个人是博士，一直跟导师在外地做项目。”pia叔指着其中一张床道。
“这个人有老婆，已经搬出去跟老婆住了。”pia叔指着另一张床说。
“这个人是富二代，每天泡妞、开房，而且是希尔顿。”pia叔指着一张下面有辆自行车的床说，左眼里写着嫉，右眼里写着妒，“我因公因私都没有住过希尔顿，这他妈天天开房希尔顿。”
发黑的蜘蛛网从寝室的天花板垂下来，纠成一团。
柜子上是一张关之琳的海报。
“是我贴的。”pia叔说，“我最喜欢的女明星，小时候常幻想她。”
“我懂的。”我说。
“你懂个屁啊，我那时就幻想和关姐姐一起上下学。”
后来我把希尔顿开房富二代的自行车拿出去在重庆大学的校园里骑了一圈，听pia叔说，车主为了跟寝室打赌能从重庆骑到成都，专门花了1600块钱买了辆车，用了3天时间随车队在成渝间骑了个来回，赌注是30块钱。
这件事对pia叔的影响有二：一，pia叔在那个赌中压了5块，并从中获利5块，这进一步刺激了pia叔买体育彩票的热情；二，pia叔因此爱上了自行车运动。
但去过重庆的朋友都知道，想在那个地形凸翘起伏的地方骑车无异于自虐，这就好比生活在水里的鱼突然决定到岸上走走，难度可想而知。当然我们知道世界上确实有这样一种会跳出水面到岸上行走的鱼，正因此，世界上也就有了pia叔这样的人。
pia叔是在QQ上告诉我这个决定的，这多少让这个决定显得不够酷，如果换做G-talk或是Skype，效果可能会好一些。其实我白天很少上QQ，更何况是在办公室，大家都忙着淘宝或是斗地主，但是因为上司要我给他的一个女同事传份文件，所以我就配合着对方用起了QQ。
我得交代一下办公室的状况，因为这对我之后的影响很大。我后面坐着一个不太年轻、但总喜欢把自己称为“小姑娘”的——怎么说呢，叫她王姐吧。王姐的一大爱好是时不时地欠过身看我在做什么，并附上简短的评论，“哎哟，小郑，你好厉害哦，英文的网站都看得懂。”“哎哟，小郑，你好用功啊，那么复杂的表格能看嘎久。”我的左边是一个瘦瘦的姑娘，在淘宝上买衣服的时候总是能坐出一副刚正不阿的样子，并会有一句没一句地接过王姐的短评，“那是，人家学历高啊。”“那是，人家年轻力壮啊。”我的左边是一个胖胖的姑娘，喜欢团购，每天吃过午饭都会在网上拍下两杯奶茶。我的前面是一个净水器。我们三人之间只有一块短短的塑料隔板，这不仅让我们看对方时无所不见，也让我们的关系很廉价。
好了，说了那么多办公室的姑娘，我得回到pia叔身上啦。当时pia叔在QQ上向我汇报了最近学骑自行车的动态：因为在拐弯、下大坡时没控制好车子，在毁了一个尾灯的同时，也把自己摔得浑身是伤。然后pia叔补了一句：“我浑身擦伤得都木法穿衣服，我现在裸体呢。”
当时我的大脑里立马浮现出了一丝不挂的pia叔坐在空荡荡的寝室里，咂吧着舌头在电脑上跟我打字。这让我始料未及，因为我是一直习惯于幻想女人裸体的，所以那一瞬间我对自己有些失望。
pia叔继续向我陈述他摔伤的各个部位以及断了的指甲，我以男性特有的方式安慰他，并建议他去豆瓣景涛咆哮组用排山倒海的“伤不起”让更多的人知道他的不幸。
也就是在那个时候，pia叔做了一件改变我整个下午的事情——他拍下了自己赤裸的腿、胳膊、小腹和胸，并截图在QQ对话框里发给了我，而王姐也就是那个时候欠过了身子来看我在做什么。“哎哟，小郑，你……”我当时的第一反应是——就像许多人在家看毛片父母突然闯进来时的反应一样——手忙脚乱地去关那个对话框。但是一切都晚了，王姐看到了那些在不仔细看的时候很像是毛片截图的东西，更糟糕的是，毛片里的主人公是个男的。
瘦姑娘转过脸，有些迷茫地看了一眼我和王姐，因为只听到了王姐半句话，她不知道该怎么接。我红着脸马上说了一句：“我在给客户传文件呢。”这句话事后经我的分析，效果无比糟糕，因为这在王姐听来是做贼心虚、欲盖弥彰。当时我还不如说“我在和一个要好的朋友聊天呢”。不过那在王姐听来，肯定会是恬不知耻之类的了。总之发生了那样的事，我是跳进黄河也洗不清了。在那之后，王姐整整一个下午都没有探过来瞧我在做什么。
更让我郁闷的是，我上完厕所回到办公室时看到王姐在和胖瘦二位姑娘窃窃私语，她们看见我进来马上做鸟兽散，各自回到座位上。更反常的是，胖姑娘一下子在团购网上买了8杯奶茶，像是在庆祝一件喜事，分发给了办公室里的每一个同事。
就这样，我在一种无比郁闷的心情和诡异的办公室氛围中度过了余下的一个下午。
下班时，我和王姐、胖瘦二位姑娘站在电梯口等电梯。我想说些什么，可脑中除了pia叔的裸体，愣是找不到可以开口的话题。进到电梯之后，王姐又和胖瘦二位姑娘耳语了几句，三人捂着嘴窃笑，并朝我看了看，这让我我又羞又臊，只感到血流一个劲地拍打着脑门。“你看到的不是裸照，那是我朋友！他在给我看他学自行车时摔伤的照片！”我差点把这句话喊出口，但在把脑门里的血流摒回去一点之后，我马上意识到这么解释下去只会越描越黑，因为一个男人给另一个男人看他受伤的肉体照，在我们这个小地方已经够骇人听闻了，再向她们解释一个男人在29岁的时候开始学骑自行车更像是天方夜谭。所以我就憋屈地看着她们窃笑私语，并和她们默默地对眼，直到走出电梯。
我觉得我在这个单位已经很难“直”着做男人了，就在几天前三番五次要给我介绍小姑娘的人力部主任，下班临走时也给了我一个意味深长的眼神。
但我一想到pia叔可以在一个礼拜后学满出山，载着姑娘在校园里上坡下坡、过弯道而不摔跤，单想想此情此景，我就觉得被办公室里的人误会又算得了什么呢？
pia叔真名陆续，来自四川泸州，因为从小被人唤作阿pia，岁月的流逝让他变成了现如今的pia叔。因为某种说不清道不明的巧合，我俩原来还同过一年校，只是那时候我不知道身边有个叫阿pia的人，阿pia也不认识那个忧郁的一心想着要退学的小郑。
2011年5月16日星期一
杜然以及蒂姆·海瑟林顿
接到杜然的电话时，我正坐在广州的地铁里，下一站——农讲所。
车里人贴人很挤，因为农讲所的创办人曾经以太阳的形象号召人们卯足干劲多“日”。车里的喇叭用普通话、广东话和英语报着站名。事实上，我周围的人都说着广东话，这几年来，我已经习惯了这种身处中国却仿佛在异域的感觉。想起不久前的“保粤”运动，以及家乡越来越少人说的方言，多少有些感慨——因为就在昨晚，我听了林生祥在雕塑公园的现场，歌唱的语言是客家话，歌唱的主题是家乡的树、老人、妻女和农事。我全然听不懂客家话，但林生祥的音乐丝毫不受方言的局限，反而因为方言有了更浓烈的乡音和地域色彩，而这其中传递出来的乡愁恰恰是引起我共鸣的。
其实我当时在满车厢的广东话声浪里用普通话接起杜然的电话时，由于耳朵感受到的强烈反差，突然觉得自己是个混入了一堆同质体里的异物。
“最近的新闻有没有看？”杜然问道，“一个英国的战地记者死了。有没有兴趣写一篇关于他的文章？”
接着他在电话里略微介绍了那个人的事迹，然后跟我说了稿费——我一口答应了。
回去查了资料，这名刚刚去世的英国战地记者叫蒂姆·海瑟林顿（Tim Hetherington），在利比亚报导途中遭到炮袭遇难，和他一同遇难的还有美国的摄影记者克里斯·洪德罗斯（Chris Hondros）。看的资料越多，就越发感到蒂姆·海瑟林顿的死是一个躲也躲不掉的结局，一方面是因为职业本身潜在的危险，另一方面是因为海瑟林顿内心强烈的人道主义责任——就像历史上那些为了道义或是使命屡次出入死神境地的伟大人物，他们的死都加重了人物命运的悲剧色彩。
翻墙看了Youtube上几个海瑟林顿的采访，他的语调平稳，谈到几次生死大劫都说自己很“幸运”，从容地像是在叙述丢了东西、失而复得的经历。“这只是职业的一部分，”他接受PBS电台的采访时说，“你报导完，然后回家、调整，修复在战场上留下的精神创伤，接着就又可以拿起相机了。”以前在卡迪夫念新闻的时候为了写一篇作业，我采访了当时在学校做博士论文的Janet Harris——一名曾在伊拉克随英美联军拍摄纪录片、报道新闻的战地记者。我问她战场上的杀戮和血腥是否会对她的精神产生影响。“我记得第一次看到一个爆炸现场，精神冲击还是很大的。”Janet说，“不过后来就觉得没什么 了，因为随军记者之前要经过一系列培训，这也是我们的职业的一部分。职业的记者会调节好自己的。”
可是为什么还要去报导战争？扛着摄像机、专注地拍摄一个没有战火的世界已经不易，何况周围都是枪林弹雨？“只是一份工作而已，你要生活就需要收入，所不同的是这份工作的风险是你的生命。”Janet的这个回答多少有些不给力。我当时期待的是诸如“为了道义或是内心的calling”之类的答案。我记得问过Verica同样的问题——“为什么选择战地记者这个职业？”Verica的祖国是一个曾经叫南斯拉夫的国家，她在成为大学教师之前一直是那里的记者。她蠕动了一下疤痕下面的嘴唇，用因为口音而略显凝重的英语说：“有些人喜欢肾上腺激素涌起的感觉，就像赛车手喜欢速度，战场是个能给人带来职业刺激的地方。”
海瑟林顿是因为什么选择了这个职业？钱？他经历过身无分文的窘迫，他面临着图片报导业的寒潮，他这次去利比亚是自费的。刺激？他说话平和沉稳，对生死看得比较超脱。我愿意相信他是因为人道主义的使命感选择这个职业的。我看James Brabazon给《卫报》写的讣告，里面提到海瑟林顿在印度旅行时见过达赖，听过藏经。其它的资料里还说海瑟林顿的另外一个身份是“人权观察”组织的观察员，他在塞拉利昂报导那里因战争而失明的儿童时，曾经把这个问题反映给了“人权观察”，并希望能发明一种类似于布莱叶文的能让盲人“看”的图片。我看他拍摄的那张获得“荷赛”大奖的照片，里面手捧头盔、身着迷彩服的士兵脆弱像是一枚布满裂纹的蛋。
在PBS的同一个采访里，海瑟林顿提出了自己对战争的理解，而这种理解更多地把视角放在了人的身上：“战争机器不仅仅是科技——炸弹、导弹、电子系统，或是CNN的电视时间。战争机器是那种把男人放到一个极端环境之后产生的纽带，这种纽带剔除了他们身边的女人，却让他们紧密联系在一起、为彼此而战也为彼此而亡。这是战争机器的核心。”
我记得Mark Brayne在卡迪夫大学新闻学院那次演讲里说了这么一句话，“我相信人类文明会因为全球变暖、环境污染、人口等系列问题而在这个世纪终结，但我不会对‘人’丧失希望，因为人道的力量（humanity）不会终结。”
我想正是因为有了像海瑟林顿这样伟大的心灵，我们谈论这个世界的时候才会看到希望。
感谢杜然，让我生平写的文章第一次见报，也让我了解了一颗伟大的心灵。当然还要感谢杜然让我第一次靠文字赚了一笔稿费（虽然还没拿到，但我对钱会打到帐上还是坚信不疑的）。
杜然的博客：I'm blinded by blackness.
我的文章刊登在《经济观察家》报2011.5.9刊的“全球视角”版块，题为：
蒂姆·海瑟林顿：我只是想表现战争本身的质感
以下是正文：
2011年4月2日星期六
Ballads for Bad Children
These poems are translated from the ones in Chinese by Bao Huiyi (包慧怡), who called herself Madame Blavatsky. As you can see, her poems contain a celestial mysticism and magical imagination. You can go to her BLOG for more of her original works. Bao Huiyi is also the Chinese translator of Margaret Atwood's Good Bones.
Desert Giant
My dear dearest girl
please don't blame my rudeness
don't blame me
for swallowing you into my chest
without your permission
Calm down and mind your skirt
my gullet is probably damp
and my throat might be dark
just stay calm, don't be panicked
Turn around that curve
and you will see my heart
dry and spacious, burning
white candles give off a lovely scent
For you, my dear
I went to France and swallowed beignets
piled on the table neatly in order
For you, my dear
I went to the East and swallowed the chinaware
containing the nectar of lilies
Of course
I also swallowed many other things my throat resists--
a pair of silk dancing shoes
an ivory harp
a birch forest
and a pond filled
with sweet flag grass
I'd even swallow a little boat
so you could row it adrift
I'd even swallow a swarm of bees
and let them fly about by your hair
My dear, dearest girl
if there is anything I've forgotten
please forgive my short memory
please forever and ever
live in my heart
no turning back or whatsoever
I will be careful and make sure
it'll be a warm and peaceful place like never
My Lovers
My lovers
have always been the same one
tall and walking in hesitancy, none of the others
but always bearing the water zodiac signs
when smoking, his face looks like ceramic in profile
when walking in the sun, he is weightless almost unnoticeable
He wrote poems for me, asked me out on the phone in a low voice
and kissed me only at sunset
He never made decisions, but always kept his ambitions
as fragile as me, we were the best people
He bid me farewell with a smile, caring about me no more ever after
like two friends knowing each other so well
My lover grows a thorn that reaches inwardly
with so many enduring bronze blades
a pair of ebony hands find nowhere to land
his white face can be written on
his white eyelashes blink without an answer
a gloomy heart-beating happens once and for all
I pushed the door open and went out in the morning
the flowers were calm and elegant, silently the dews imploded
the clouds assumed an air of some sort
I thought I was a lovely being then
I thought I could love a different one
I thought I could move on anytime, and leave cape jasmine stems
on my way to gauge the border of the island
stand in the water for a bit when tired
and let the rhinoceros beetle
stand on my eyebrow for a while
I though I could plant those transparent zebras
I thought my heart was huge and grand
I even thought I could finish this song
without being sad
A long train is piercing through my rib cage
but I think I will see it again
I can Still Look at You
I can still look at you
like I've never met you before
also like
we have been in love for so long
a leopard walks out of the moonlight
by the window a basket of jelly fungi is covered in dust
If I love a man
I will only kiss his left cheek
If I'm loved
I only want to be touched on my eyebrows
Desert Giant
My dear dearest girl
please don't blame my rudeness
don't blame me
for swallowing you into my chest
without your permission
Calm down and mind your skirt
my gullet is probably damp
and my throat might be dark
just stay calm, don't be panicked
Turn around that curve
and you will see my heart
dry and spacious, burning
white candles give off a lovely scent
For you, my dear
I went to France and swallowed beignets
piled on the table neatly in order
For you, my dear
I went to the East and swallowed the chinaware
containing the nectar of lilies
Of course
I also swallowed many other things my throat resists--
a pair of silk dancing shoes
an ivory harp
a birch forest
and a pond filled
with sweet flag grass
I'd even swallow a little boat
so you could row it adrift
I'd even swallow a swarm of bees
and let them fly about by your hair
My dear, dearest girl
if there is anything I've forgotten
please forgive my short memory
please forever and ever
live in my heart
no turning back or whatsoever
I will be careful and make sure
it'll be a warm and peaceful place like never
My Lovers
My lovers
have always been the same one
tall and walking in hesitancy, none of the others
but always bearing the water zodiac signs
when smoking, his face looks like ceramic in profile
when walking in the sun, he is weightless almost unnoticeable
He wrote poems for me, asked me out on the phone in a low voice
and kissed me only at sunset
He never made decisions, but always kept his ambitions
as fragile as me, we were the best people
He bid me farewell with a smile, caring about me no more ever after
like two friends knowing each other so well
My lover grows a thorn that reaches inwardly
with so many enduring bronze blades
a pair of ebony hands find nowhere to land
his white face can be written on
his white eyelashes blink without an answer
a gloomy heart-beating happens once and for all
I pushed the door open and went out in the morning
the flowers were calm and elegant, silently the dews imploded
the clouds assumed an air of some sort
I thought I was a lovely being then
I thought I could love a different one
I thought I could move on anytime, and leave cape jasmine stems
on my way to gauge the border of the island
stand in the water for a bit when tired
and let the rhinoceros beetle
stand on my eyebrow for a while
I though I could plant those transparent zebras
I thought my heart was huge and grand
I even thought I could finish this song
without being sad
A long train is piercing through my rib cage
but I think I will see it again
I can Still Look at You
I can still look at you
like I've never met you before
also like
we have been in love for so long
a leopard walks out of the moonlight
by the window a basket of jelly fungi is covered in dust
If I love a man
I will only kiss his left cheek
If I'm loved
I only want to be touched on my eyebrows
2011年3月30日星期三
a little history about today and the past
I was at Jane and Nichola's today last year. It was a starry night and the leafy trees were swaying outside the shimmering bungalow house. I was taking a shower in the bathroom, fumbling in a pile of "woman use" lotions with my eyes covered in hair shampoo. Jane said the tap water in town had been contaminated, but still could be used to clean our contaminated bodies. I found the tub drain was clogged so I bent over to unclog it. A tiny ball of hair was pulled out in a tangle. Judging by the color, I knew they were not mine.
I had just returned to Grahamstown from Queenstown, where I did a whole day's documentary shooting with Asa and Zikhona, two Xhosa girls who kept making fun out of the things they had seen.
"That's the hospital where I was born! " Zikhona shouted when we were waiting for the mini-bus outside Fort Hare. "I can't believe it's still there."
She pointed to a piece of white wooden board which said "Victoria Hospital". As the bus took me away, I saw a sign nailed to a tree on the side of the road: "Abortion is a sin. God will punish you." I had heard that polygamy was a commonplace among the Xhosa people and that unprotected sex was started at an early age by the youths in townships before they even had a good knowledge about AIDs. However, Catholic churches ruled all.
The hot shower did me tremendous good or perhaps it was because I had attempted to use some of Jane and Nichola's beauty products. Mithril, Jane's wolf dog was scratching his itchy part when I came out in my top and short pants. Jane insisted that I use her room for the night. "I'll sleep in the living room. Don't worry, I like sleeping there." Jane said. Her room was tidy with three kinds of decoration: framed photos, light wooden pieces in animal shapes hanging from the ceiling, and a low shelf stacked with books. I recognized Lord of the Rings among them, from where Mithril got his name. A rug was placed before the bed and I smelt a strong scent coming out of it. A dog's smell, by all that my nose could tell. I felt a little bit sorry for Mithril who might have been a regular sleeper in this room.
"...really? Today's Chong Way's birthday?... I see..." Jane was talking on the phone when I came into the light in the living room. "Chong Way," Jane handed the receiver to me with one hand covering the upper end, "Here's a call from Mindy."
I took it over and heard Mindy saying in guilty voice. "Chong Way, I should've told Jane earlier so that she could prepare a cake and some candles for you. I'm sorry that Robert and I can't be with you to celebrate your birthday. I wish you a happy birthday."
"Thank you, Mindy, but it's alright." I scratched my head and said, "I really appreciate that you still remember it. My father could hardly tell the day I was born. It's really OK. My family doesn't have a tradition of observing birthdays."
"Oh, poor Chong Way. " Mindy said, "You deserve a birthday celebration here. Don't worry, Jane will do it for you."
I hung up the phone and found Jane discussing with Nichola.
"Hey, boy, how come you don't tell us today is your birthday?" Nichola said accusingly.
"I didn't realize it until Mindy called me." I said. Obviously the matter was taken far more seriously than I could expect.
"Well I think we've still got a half cake in the fridge. haven't we?" Jane asked.
"Oh, yes. And some candles we had used in the last black-out." Nichola added.
Then both of them giggled.
A couple of minites later, an incomplete cake and some used candles were ready out on the wooden table on the veranda.
"Make a wish, boy." Nichola said after she had lit the candles with a matchstick.
I closed my eyes and palms, and made a wish of God-knows-what. When I was about to blow the candles, Nichola interrupted, "Give it a hard blow, boy. Concentrate and wipe them out once and for all."
I re-inhaled and blew the air out.
"Hurray!" They shouted, and Jane took out a long knife and gave it to me.
"OK, now you need to cut the cake. Remember when knife touches the bottom, you must scream the hell out of you." Nichola said.
"Scream? Really?" I asked doubtfully.
"Yes, Scream, Ahhhh--! Like this." Nichola demonstrated by holding her face in two hands and let out a high-pitched voice.
I slowly slid down the knife through the cake's softness.
"Do you feel it?" Nichola asked tentatively.
"Yes, I think I've touched the bottome."
"Ahhh---!!!" Jane and Nichola screamed, both holding their faces in hands.
"Ahhh---!!!" I joined them with my coarse voice.
We all laughed and finished the cake while sitting on the veranda facing the starry sky. Mithril jumped onto the couch and put his head upon Jane's legs. It was early winter, but the breeze still felt warm.
We chatted and Jane told me her child story when I posed a question about the Afrikaners and British living in South Africa.
"I was about 7 when my family moved from Liverpool to South Africa. My father was an engineer, and to work as an engineer in South Africa, one can make a better life than in Britain in the 70s. I remember the family living next to our door were Afrikaners, but I was too little to know what that means. They had a little girl of my age and we'd often play together. Her mother never saw us playing so everything was OK, until one day she took me into her house. Her mother saw me, and asked me about my family. I told her that we were from Liverpool, that's when she grew furious and shouted 'Out out you go! Do you know my grandparents were killed by you people!' She pushed me out of their house. I was petrified. After that, I and that girl were never allowed to see together."
We kept silent for a while, then I started, "I remember in one of Howard's classes, he said that actually it was the British who invented concentration camp. It was during the Boer War, when the British rounded up the Afrikaners and put them in camps like what the Nazis did to the Jews. Right after Howard said that, a student, who was obviously British if not English, interrupted. 'It can't be true!' He protested, 'The Brits didn't do that.' 'It is true.' Howard said sternly, 'Go to a library, it's all written on the books. There is no need for an arguement on a historical fact, which there is no doubt about.' The student looked very defeated and didn't say anything."
"Yes, I can understand why he was upset." Jane said, with one hand stroking Mithril's head, "I also came to understand why that little girl's mother was so furious after I have learned what happened to them in the past."
I had just returned to Grahamstown from Queenstown, where I did a whole day's documentary shooting with Asa and Zikhona, two Xhosa girls who kept making fun out of the things they had seen.
"That's the hospital where I was born! " Zikhona shouted when we were waiting for the mini-bus outside Fort Hare. "I can't believe it's still there."
She pointed to a piece of white wooden board which said "Victoria Hospital". As the bus took me away, I saw a sign nailed to a tree on the side of the road: "Abortion is a sin. God will punish you." I had heard that polygamy was a commonplace among the Xhosa people and that unprotected sex was started at an early age by the youths in townships before they even had a good knowledge about AIDs. However, Catholic churches ruled all.
The hot shower did me tremendous good or perhaps it was because I had attempted to use some of Jane and Nichola's beauty products. Mithril, Jane's wolf dog was scratching his itchy part when I came out in my top and short pants. Jane insisted that I use her room for the night. "I'll sleep in the living room. Don't worry, I like sleeping there." Jane said. Her room was tidy with three kinds of decoration: framed photos, light wooden pieces in animal shapes hanging from the ceiling, and a low shelf stacked with books. I recognized Lord of the Rings among them, from where Mithril got his name. A rug was placed before the bed and I smelt a strong scent coming out of it. A dog's smell, by all that my nose could tell. I felt a little bit sorry for Mithril who might have been a regular sleeper in this room.
"...really? Today's Chong Way's birthday?... I see..." Jane was talking on the phone when I came into the light in the living room. "Chong Way," Jane handed the receiver to me with one hand covering the upper end, "Here's a call from Mindy."
I took it over and heard Mindy saying in guilty voice. "Chong Way, I should've told Jane earlier so that she could prepare a cake and some candles for you. I'm sorry that Robert and I can't be with you to celebrate your birthday. I wish you a happy birthday."
"Thank you, Mindy, but it's alright." I scratched my head and said, "I really appreciate that you still remember it. My father could hardly tell the day I was born. It's really OK. My family doesn't have a tradition of observing birthdays."
"Oh, poor Chong Way. " Mindy said, "You deserve a birthday celebration here. Don't worry, Jane will do it for you."
I hung up the phone and found Jane discussing with Nichola.
"Hey, boy, how come you don't tell us today is your birthday?" Nichola said accusingly.
"I didn't realize it until Mindy called me." I said. Obviously the matter was taken far more seriously than I could expect.
"Well I think we've still got a half cake in the fridge. haven't we?" Jane asked.
"Oh, yes. And some candles we had used in the last black-out." Nichola added.
Then both of them giggled.
A couple of minites later, an incomplete cake and some used candles were ready out on the wooden table on the veranda.
"Make a wish, boy." Nichola said after she had lit the candles with a matchstick.
I closed my eyes and palms, and made a wish of God-knows-what. When I was about to blow the candles, Nichola interrupted, "Give it a hard blow, boy. Concentrate and wipe them out once and for all."
I re-inhaled and blew the air out.
"Hurray!" They shouted, and Jane took out a long knife and gave it to me.
"OK, now you need to cut the cake. Remember when knife touches the bottom, you must scream the hell out of you." Nichola said.
"Scream? Really?" I asked doubtfully.
"Yes, Scream, Ahhhh--! Like this." Nichola demonstrated by holding her face in two hands and let out a high-pitched voice.
I slowly slid down the knife through the cake's softness.
"Do you feel it?" Nichola asked tentatively.
"Yes, I think I've touched the bottome."
"Ahhh---!!!" Jane and Nichola screamed, both holding their faces in hands.
"Ahhh---!!!" I joined them with my coarse voice.
We all laughed and finished the cake while sitting on the veranda facing the starry sky. Mithril jumped onto the couch and put his head upon Jane's legs. It was early winter, but the breeze still felt warm.
We chatted and Jane told me her child story when I posed a question about the Afrikaners and British living in South Africa.
"I was about 7 when my family moved from Liverpool to South Africa. My father was an engineer, and to work as an engineer in South Africa, one can make a better life than in Britain in the 70s. I remember the family living next to our door were Afrikaners, but I was too little to know what that means. They had a little girl of my age and we'd often play together. Her mother never saw us playing so everything was OK, until one day she took me into her house. Her mother saw me, and asked me about my family. I told her that we were from Liverpool, that's when she grew furious and shouted 'Out out you go! Do you know my grandparents were killed by you people!' She pushed me out of their house. I was petrified. After that, I and that girl were never allowed to see together."
We kept silent for a while, then I started, "I remember in one of Howard's classes, he said that actually it was the British who invented concentration camp. It was during the Boer War, when the British rounded up the Afrikaners and put them in camps like what the Nazis did to the Jews. Right after Howard said that, a student, who was obviously British if not English, interrupted. 'It can't be true!' He protested, 'The Brits didn't do that.' 'It is true.' Howard said sternly, 'Go to a library, it's all written on the books. There is no need for an arguement on a historical fact, which there is no doubt about.' The student looked very defeated and didn't say anything."
"Yes, I can understand why he was upset." Jane said, with one hand stroking Mithril's head, "I also came to understand why that little girl's mother was so furious after I have learned what happened to them in the past."
既然被带到这个世界，那么就生日快乐一下
Luca打来电话的时候，我正坐在办公室里昏昏欲睡。抓起电话，听到了一句久违的意大利语，耳朵顿时像找到了失散多年的亲人，却无法认出对方的脸，又羞又恼。
“Buon Compleanno！”
“啊？什么？”
“生日快乐啊！”
我惊叹一声，既为亲人的真身恍然大悟，又为这突然的生日问候感到惊喜。
“怎么，今天不是你生日吗？”
“啊，不是，Luca，明天才是。”
“我真是个笨蛋，太对不起了。”
“没什么，就当提前祝贺嘛。Grazie！”
“我知道你不觉得有什么，但是在意大利，提前祝福生日，会被朋友骂的。”
这是3月29号的下午，我在一幢写字楼的过道里打着电话。在那之后的10个小时，将是我来到这个世界的28周年纪念日。
28岁了，我银行账户里的钱仅够我在这个城市买两平米的立锥之地；28岁了，我已经丢失了我的人生目标，就像我曾经弹过的吉他被丢在了结满灰尘的角落，断了弦；28岁了，我那记不得自己儿子生日的父亲要我回去做一份他为我好不容易争取来的工作——我没有怪他，他早逝的母亲一直都记不得自己儿子的生日，靠村里接生婆的回忆，他才在自己的身份证上估摸写了个数字；28岁了，我那絮絮叨叨的母亲要她的儿子回去，为她繁衍后代，用另一个新生稳定她衰弱的神经，就像28年前她为这个家族做的那样。我快30了，他们说“你好落定了”，可我他妈还没二够呢。
“Buon Compleanno！”
“啊？什么？”
“生日快乐啊！”
我惊叹一声，既为亲人的真身恍然大悟，又为这突然的生日问候感到惊喜。
“怎么，今天不是你生日吗？”
“啊，不是，Luca，明天才是。”
“我真是个笨蛋，太对不起了。”
“没什么，就当提前祝贺嘛。Grazie！”
“我知道你不觉得有什么，但是在意大利，提前祝福生日，会被朋友骂的。”
这是3月29号的下午，我在一幢写字楼的过道里打着电话。在那之后的10个小时，将是我来到这个世界的28周年纪念日。
28岁了，我银行账户里的钱仅够我在这个城市买两平米的立锥之地；28岁了，我已经丢失了我的人生目标，就像我曾经弹过的吉他被丢在了结满灰尘的角落，断了弦；28岁了，我那记不得自己儿子生日的父亲要我回去做一份他为我好不容易争取来的工作——我没有怪他，他早逝的母亲一直都记不得自己儿子的生日，靠村里接生婆的回忆，他才在自己的身份证上估摸写了个数字；28岁了，我那絮絮叨叨的母亲要她的儿子回去，为她繁衍后代，用另一个新生稳定她衰弱的神经，就像28年前她为这个家族做的那样。我快30了，他们说“你好落定了”，可我他妈还没二够呢。
2011年3月28日星期一
今年的春天来得特别早
在男人的推动下，隔壁屋的女人又开始叫床了。时间是凌晨3:30。
通常在凌晨3:00，过道里会响起凌乱的皮鞋声和两股声浪交织而成的笑声——我门上原本安装猫眼的地方是个窟窿，所以声音能畅通无阻地直达我的床，穿过我的鼓膜，在我大脑皮层的沟壑里回响，并最终将我的意识唤醒。
我睁开眼，我的意识尚不能感到肉身的存在，它仍一半沉浸在自我的深渊里，一半透过双眼在黑暗里寻找出口。但是很快，深重的黑暗将它打了回去，我的肉身化为乌有，变成一团失重的混沌之物，漂浮在无边无际的黑暗里。
一阵清冷、零碎的金属撞击声后，门被打开，又被砰地关上，那两股持续的声浪突然被截断，猫眼孔至鼓膜的无形通道顿时消失，我的心随之一沉——也就是在那个时候，我的意识找到了我的肉身。我清醒过来，感到了莫名的痛苦。
隔屋的声音变得丰富起来：桌椅和地面的摩擦声，摔东西的声音，女人一惊一乍的笑声，男人翁声瓮声的怜讨声，女人开始呻吟，听不到男人的声音，床终于开始有节奏地吱嘎起来——床头肯定顶着墙，因为我听到墙壁也在呻吟——你太单薄了啊，谁让你这么单薄！
这时，屋子里的落地窗也配合着墙壁，将隔壁的声音请进了屋。这他妈大半夜开窗做爱啊，有木有！！！
终于，女人开始忘我地叫起了床。
我起床烧上水，解了个手，然后泡上茶，坐下，开始聆听起了这天籁之音。
已经半个月了，这出戏的高潮还要持续多久？
通常在凌晨3:00，过道里会响起凌乱的皮鞋声和两股声浪交织而成的笑声——我门上原本安装猫眼的地方是个窟窿，所以声音能畅通无阻地直达我的床，穿过我的鼓膜，在我大脑皮层的沟壑里回响，并最终将我的意识唤醒。
我睁开眼，我的意识尚不能感到肉身的存在，它仍一半沉浸在自我的深渊里，一半透过双眼在黑暗里寻找出口。但是很快，深重的黑暗将它打了回去，我的肉身化为乌有，变成一团失重的混沌之物，漂浮在无边无际的黑暗里。
一阵清冷、零碎的金属撞击声后，门被打开，又被砰地关上，那两股持续的声浪突然被截断，猫眼孔至鼓膜的无形通道顿时消失，我的心随之一沉——也就是在那个时候，我的意识找到了我的肉身。我清醒过来，感到了莫名的痛苦。
隔屋的声音变得丰富起来：桌椅和地面的摩擦声，摔东西的声音，女人一惊一乍的笑声，男人翁声瓮声的怜讨声，女人开始呻吟，听不到男人的声音，床终于开始有节奏地吱嘎起来——床头肯定顶着墙，因为我听到墙壁也在呻吟——你太单薄了啊，谁让你这么单薄！
这时，屋子里的落地窗也配合着墙壁，将隔壁的声音请进了屋。这他妈大半夜开窗做爱啊，有木有！！！
终于，女人开始忘我地叫起了床。
我起床烧上水，解了个手，然后泡上茶，坐下，开始聆听起了这天籁之音。
已经半个月了，这出戏的高潮还要持续多久？
2011年3月26日星期六
The Summer Sun
I dedicate this translation, which probably doesn't do justice to the original one, to Haizi on his Death Anniversay
In summer
If there is no cobbler on this street
I will stand barefoot
under the sun and watch it
Then think of the children born during the day
-- they must have planned it
You come to this world
You should take a look at the sun
and walk on the street
with your beloved one
To understand her
you need to understand the sun
(a group of healthy workers
are smoking cigarettes at midday)
The summer sun
oh, the sun
When Jesus came into this world
he also grew up in the sunshine
In summer
If there is no cobbler on this street
I will stand barefoot
under the sun and watch it
Then think of the children born during the day
-- they must have planned it
You come to this world
You should take a look at the sun
and walk on the street
with your beloved one
To understand her
you need to understand the sun
(a group of healthy workers
are smoking cigarettes at midday)
The summer sun
oh, the sun
When Jesus came into this world
he also grew up in the sunshine
阳光灿烂的日子
华一路东路口有一家小店，卖炒饭、小面和米线（经营重点逐次递减）。路的旁侧是陡坡，往下塌陷出一块二十米深的凹地。小店就搭在路崖边，一个用水泥和铁皮支起来的L型微棚。外墙已被油烟熏得漆黑，一层沥青似的东西凝固在排烟口。墙角的灌木像是一排烟鬼的牙齿，发黑并且长势稀拉。两个临时方桌放在门口狭长的过道上，提醒着路人旁边逼仄的无名小屋是个卖吃的地方。
经营小店的是一对老夫妻，老太婆负责烧，老头子负责收钱和送饭。年轻的儿媳下晚班后会来搭个手。孙女和孙子两个通常会坐在昏暗的电灯泡下，姐姐念一本发黄的童话书，弟弟拉长了声腔向爸爸提出各种得不到满足的要求。一只尾巴掉毛、身体瘦弱的小白猫会准时地从墙角的细缝里钻进来，爬过地上的土豆、萝卜和四季豆，用微弱的叫声安慰坐在地上赌气的弟弟。我就坐在靠墙的长条桌旁，默默地读报——北碚的新步行街，贝鲁斯科尼的丑闻，易建联的初秀，半年前的故事就这样糊在了墙上，被我念了一遍又一遍。
小店的拐角处是一个熟食摊，卖猪拱、猪尾、猪头和猪耳朵，还有鹅肝、鹅翅和豆干。我会关照大嗓门的老板娘不要味精，少放海椒多放葱，称5块钱猪头肉，切细了再拌上蒜泥和花椒。然后折回小店，一盘用猛火炒出的炒饭已经在桌上备好。这就是我来重庆第一个月的伙食，急火多油的炒饭和香腻的猪头肉见证了我肚子上长出的10斤赘肉和变慢的头脑。
那天是重庆少有的艳阳天。傍晚出去吃饭的时候，还能闻到阳光在街道停留一天后的味道。我已经有三四个月没有系统地吃小店的炒饭+熟食摊的猪头肉了。在老家的一个礼拜让我强烈地感受到了嘴和胃的渴望——它们已经被重庆的食物驯化，这是我不愿看到却不得不接受的现实。
下面要叙述的其实跟吃无关，跟太阳也无关，只是因为恰好发生在我去吃饭的路上，并且那天阳光又出奇地好。也就是我走在瓷砖路上，离小店还差两张桌子的距离时，背后传来了嘈杂的叫喊和奔跑声。还没等我完全转过头，一个中学生模样的小孩就被一个同样中学生模样的人踹到在马路上。他侧身倒在地上，蜷曲双脚，抱住头，任由后者在他身上猛踢。紧接着，一阵纷乱的脚步，大队人马杀到，几个顶着五颜六色头发的中学生模样的人停步在半米远的地方，气喘吁吁地看着出脚的人像喊号子一样来回喊着“我打死你狗日的”、“你妈卖P”。
老太婆拿着铁勺站在小店门口，她的围裙旁探出两个小脑袋，很快被爸爸伸手按了回去。大嗓门的老板娘站在远处，跟身旁的人耳语着什么。路上的行人都收住了脚步，只有汽车迟疑地划过躺在地上的人。作为一个心跳猛烈的旁观者，我站在原地，看着穿过树叶的阳光洒在我们所有人的身上，不知所措。
经营小店的是一对老夫妻，老太婆负责烧，老头子负责收钱和送饭。年轻的儿媳下晚班后会来搭个手。孙女和孙子两个通常会坐在昏暗的电灯泡下，姐姐念一本发黄的童话书，弟弟拉长了声腔向爸爸提出各种得不到满足的要求。一只尾巴掉毛、身体瘦弱的小白猫会准时地从墙角的细缝里钻进来，爬过地上的土豆、萝卜和四季豆，用微弱的叫声安慰坐在地上赌气的弟弟。我就坐在靠墙的长条桌旁，默默地读报——北碚的新步行街，贝鲁斯科尼的丑闻，易建联的初秀，半年前的故事就这样糊在了墙上，被我念了一遍又一遍。
小店的拐角处是一个熟食摊，卖猪拱、猪尾、猪头和猪耳朵，还有鹅肝、鹅翅和豆干。我会关照大嗓门的老板娘不要味精，少放海椒多放葱，称5块钱猪头肉，切细了再拌上蒜泥和花椒。然后折回小店，一盘用猛火炒出的炒饭已经在桌上备好。这就是我来重庆第一个月的伙食，急火多油的炒饭和香腻的猪头肉见证了我肚子上长出的10斤赘肉和变慢的头脑。
那天是重庆少有的艳阳天。傍晚出去吃饭的时候，还能闻到阳光在街道停留一天后的味道。我已经有三四个月没有系统地吃小店的炒饭+熟食摊的猪头肉了。在老家的一个礼拜让我强烈地感受到了嘴和胃的渴望——它们已经被重庆的食物驯化，这是我不愿看到却不得不接受的现实。
下面要叙述的其实跟吃无关，跟太阳也无关，只是因为恰好发生在我去吃饭的路上，并且那天阳光又出奇地好。也就是我走在瓷砖路上，离小店还差两张桌子的距离时，背后传来了嘈杂的叫喊和奔跑声。还没等我完全转过头，一个中学生模样的小孩就被一个同样中学生模样的人踹到在马路上。他侧身倒在地上，蜷曲双脚，抱住头，任由后者在他身上猛踢。紧接着，一阵纷乱的脚步，大队人马杀到，几个顶着五颜六色头发的中学生模样的人停步在半米远的地方，气喘吁吁地看着出脚的人像喊号子一样来回喊着“我打死你狗日的”、“你妈卖P”。
老太婆拿着铁勺站在小店门口，她的围裙旁探出两个小脑袋，很快被爸爸伸手按了回去。大嗓门的老板娘站在远处，跟身旁的人耳语着什么。路上的行人都收住了脚步，只有汽车迟疑地划过躺在地上的人。作为一个心跳猛烈的旁观者，我站在原地，看着穿过树叶的阳光洒在我们所有人的身上，不知所措。
2011年3月25日星期五
I want to take you to my childhood
translated from a Chinese poem by an unkown author
edited by Robert Berold
I'll take you to eat the elm leaves
edited by Robert Berold
I want to take you to my childhood
It's neither large nor far away
(just big enough for two)
and although I was small as a potato
I managed to save many secrets
one was my cat who lived
between when I was 7 to 14 years old
she was my best friend
and at times my enemy too
It's neither large nor far away
(just big enough for two)
and although I was small as a potato
I managed to save many secrets
one was my cat who lived
between when I was 7 to 14 years old
she was my best friend
and at times my enemy too
once she bit my pet chick and killed it
but I felt sorry for her when she was injured
and on cold winter nights
but I felt sorry for her when she was injured
and on cold winter nights
I let her crawl into my bed
we kept each other warm
I liked planting flowers
you really should have seen my China Rose
it grew up higher than the roof of our house
growing without limits, petals huge and dense
On summer nights its fragrance
I liked planting flowers
you really should have seen my China Rose
it grew up higher than the roof of our house
growing without limits, petals huge and dense
On summer nights its fragrance
filtered through the screen window
making me confuse reality with dream
The water in the pond was green and plentiful
and when a breeze arose the willow leaves
The water in the pond was green and plentiful
and when a breeze arose the willow leaves
would draw ripples on its surface
A shoal of fish would play hide and seek
A shoal of fish would play hide and seek
with the ducks
If you want to we could play in the water
don't be afraid --
on a quiet afternoon like this the wild geese
don't be afraid --
on a quiet afternoon like this the wild geese
give way to the flourishing reeds
I'll take you to eat the elm leaves
and the flowers of the pagoda tree
we can collect sweet potatoes left behind in the soil
In autumn the rats' holes were always
we can collect sweet potatoes left behind in the soil
In autumn the rats' holes were always
stocked full of corn and beans
and I never disturbed them
(shhh-- mother doesn't know, it's our secret)
My brother had a dark skin
I never disliked it
but when he said my hair was yellowish
and called me Yellow Weasel
I decided to call him Black Dog
You know he was born in the year of dog
but I wasn't born in the year of weasel
I peeped at my sister's diary
and learned about something called love
like a wrinkled skirt it made her mind run wild
and I never disturbed them
(shhh-- mother doesn't know, it's our secret)
My brother had a dark skin
I never disliked it
but when he said my hair was yellowish
and called me Yellow Weasel
I decided to call him Black Dog
You know he was born in the year of dog
but I wasn't born in the year of weasel
I peeped at my sister's diary
and learned about something called love
like a wrinkled skirt it made her mind run wild
I tried to imagine its shape and scent
It must be far away, I thought,
mysterious like a riddle I could never guess
I want to take you to my childhood
I mean it
compared with your innocence
It must be far away, I thought,
mysterious like a riddle I could never guess
I want to take you to my childhood
I mean it
compared with your innocence
it’s the only thing
I'm not ashamed to show you
2011年3月20日星期日
学舌的小孩
那天我走到沙坪坝正街，拐进了一条小巷。水泥路往下降，延伸成一个坡。坡两侧是水泥灰的居民楼，几盆植株放在太阳照不到的阳台上。旁若无人，我开始顺着地势扭起了身子。
嘣！嘣！嘣！
一记三连声的喊叫从身后传来，接着是猛烈的脚步顺坡而下。我回头一看，是一个穿着红衣服的小胖子张牙舞爪地朝我跑过来。我侧过身，没想到他在我身旁刹住车，停下了。他抬起头朝我嘻嘻一笑。他的脸很红，衣领敞开，冒着汗。
“你去哪儿啊？”我问道。
“你去哪儿啊？”他说。然后他扭起了滚圆的身体，边扭边甩着兰花指，并且有节奏地发出“哎哎哎”的叫声。
阴冷的巷子里只有我和这个突然从天而降的小胖子。我才开了个头的下午顿时变得诡异起来。
“你是在学我走路吗？”我问道。
“你是在学我走路吗？”他说，这回他左右摆起了屁股，并继续“哎哎哎”地给自己打节拍。
我笑了几声。
他也笑了几声。
“你家就住这楼里？”我问道。
“你家就住这楼里？”他说。
我有些被惹恼了，但不知道该怎么冲他发火。
“o-no-gezenguang-guang-aio,ai-ke-nei-naha-o.”我用家乡的方言说道。
小胖子怔了一下。但他他很快回过神，并且吐着舌头叽里呱啦地弄出了些声响。然后他朝我白了一眼，一蹦一跳地闪进了一旁的居民楼。
我站在原地，发现坡下面是一堵围墙。我只好转过身，按原路返回，走出了巷子。
嘣！嘣！嘣！
一记三连声的喊叫从身后传来，接着是猛烈的脚步顺坡而下。我回头一看，是一个穿着红衣服的小胖子张牙舞爪地朝我跑过来。我侧过身，没想到他在我身旁刹住车，停下了。他抬起头朝我嘻嘻一笑。他的脸很红，衣领敞开，冒着汗。
“你去哪儿啊？”我问道。
“你去哪儿啊？”他说。然后他扭起了滚圆的身体，边扭边甩着兰花指，并且有节奏地发出“哎哎哎”的叫声。
阴冷的巷子里只有我和这个突然从天而降的小胖子。我才开了个头的下午顿时变得诡异起来。
“你是在学我走路吗？”我问道。
“你是在学我走路吗？”他说，这回他左右摆起了屁股，并继续“哎哎哎”地给自己打节拍。
我笑了几声。
他也笑了几声。
“你家就住这楼里？”我问道。
“你家就住这楼里？”他说。
我有些被惹恼了，但不知道该怎么冲他发火。
“o-no-gezenguang-guang-aio,ai-ke-nei-naha-o.”我用家乡的方言说道。
小胖子怔了一下。但他他很快回过神，并且吐着舌头叽里呱啦地弄出了些声响。然后他朝我白了一眼，一蹦一跳地闪进了一旁的居民楼。
我站在原地，发现坡下面是一堵围墙。我只好转过身，按原路返回，走出了巷子。
2011年2月15日星期二
when Matteo is Nicola
If I had a son
I would name him Nicola
Nicola, who sympathizes
who can't tell the difference between the normal and abnormal
between the sane and insane
but who can tell those who suffer
from those who inflict pains upon the former
If I had two sons
I would name the other one Matteo
because when Matteo is Nicola (and he always wants to be)
he smiles and loves
he covers his face but opens his soul
If I had a daughter
I would name her Giorgia
Giorgia, who blossoms and bends
like a flower towards the sun
who waters the cactus with orange juice when
she is mistreated in the best of her youth
but Nicola and Matteo will play music for her
and talk to her until
she unfolds herself again
Surely none of these would happen
Surely if only I were an Italian
I just love the film too much
2011年1月27日星期四
a poem from W.Z. to X.Y.
A-B-C-D-E-F-G
where can I find thee?
It is only the start of the alphabet
how can it end with you and me?
U and I, I and U
little by little we can find some more new
not a bad way to start with, you see?
but how can I make it end with me and you?
In the kingdom of two, U are Q and I am K
like in cards that's Queen and King, two hearts of sunshine ray
and if you like we can make a little j (let's call it Jack)
but how can we sort out the other letters before he grows to be J ?
I know everyone calls you Grace, because you R
grace, and I want to write you a poem in a bar
how about a love poem written in HTML?
so that our road to the alphabet's end won't be far
But you said NO, a cold N and a bitter O.
You said, Don't let wine spoil your mind and let your love go
just use a human language and I'll be fine
P.S. When can we get to the end that nobody seems to know?
Yes, yes, you are right, wine is no good, that's true.
But don't you see the letters we've been through?
You just picked out 4, so 21 letters are gone.
The flag of V is flying over the kingdom of two.
Hold my hand, here we come to the end: WXYZ
There you are, W-X-Y-Z
interlocked initials of the king and queen
now the alphabet is complete with you inside me
where can I find thee?
It is only the start of the alphabet
how can it end with you and me?
U and I, I and U
little by little we can find some more new
not a bad way to start with, you see?
but how can I make it end with me and you?
In the kingdom of two, U are Q and I am K
like in cards that's Queen and King, two hearts of sunshine ray
and if you like we can make a little j (let's call it Jack)
but how can we sort out the other letters before he grows to be J ?
I know everyone calls you Grace, because you R
grace, and I want to write you a poem in a bar
how about a love poem written in HTML?
so that our road to the alphabet's end won't be far
But you said NO, a cold N and a bitter O.
You said, Don't let wine spoil your mind and let your love go
just use a human language and I'll be fine
P.S. When can we get to the end that nobody seems to know?
Yes, yes, you are right, wine is no good, that's true.
But don't you see the letters we've been through?
You just picked out 4, so 21 letters are gone.
The flag of V is flying over the kingdom of two.
Hold my hand, here we come to the end: WXYZ
There you are, W-X-Y-Z
interlocked initials of the king and queen
now the alphabet is complete with you inside me
2011年1月21日星期五
Mr. King
The pictures of Mr. King are drawn by 扫把（Besom）, who is an illustrator and picture book writer based in Chongqing, China. I translated the Chinese into English and applied it to the original pictures. Thank Besom for her kindness to let me share this imaginative story told in her beautiful drawings on my blog.
For more illustrations done by Besom, please go to her Douban album.
2011年1月9日星期日
订阅：
博文 (Atom)
博文
