梳起不嫁
淡莹
柔柔披在肩上的
岂只是乌黑水亮的秀发
是炫丽闪烁的青春啊
从唐山逶迤到南洋
蕉风拂过，椰雨淋过
那匹玄色动人的瀑布
千里一泻至小蛮腰
袅袅娜娜，摇曳生姿
多少汉家郎的心弦
多少好男儿的遐思
都被一一牵动
一一撩起
六月初九，麻雀啾啾
啼亮了晨光
万物睁开双眼
发现世界依旧美好
怎会料到，样样
美好依旧的这天
掌中小小竹篦
一梳就梳起了
今生今世的岁月
梳掉憧憬和浪漫
梳走汉家郎
好男儿的
无限深情，万般眷恋
一篦一篦，梳得
如此整齐，一丝不苟
如此利落，决不含糊
连刹那间的回眸
都是冰清玉洁
三千缕情愫
自六月初九开始
被紧紧绾在脑后
顺溜、密实、服贴
再也不能随意飞扬
不能招风、不能妆扮
凡触及它的，眼神
无不伤痛，目光
无不黯然、惆怅
为何把灿烂的
灿烂的二八年华
梳成漫长寂寞的道路？
为何把似水的
似水的少女情怀
梳成午夜梦回的叹息？
为何把少年家的爱慕
梳成终身的遗憾？
为什么？到底为什么？
佛祖，观世音，目善眉慈
在莲花座上，静静
倾听不嫁少女的心声
为了唐山破败的家园
为了继承香火的弟兄
为了逃避为人妻
为人媳的未知命运
你毫无怨尤
以一双纤纤素手
你心甘情愿
以一辈子孤清
换来亲人的丰衣、足食
决定梳起那天，你说
庙宇的钟声特别脆亮
烟飞烟灭中，尽是爹娘
兄弟们亲切的笑靥
你说，你心里充满喜悦
果真是这样吗？
果真永远不后悔吗？
岁月峥嵘，五十年
在尘埃、油垢、污水中
悠悠流逝，无恨，亦无爱
你胼手胝足
为远方的家人、侄儿
盖起一栋又一栋房子
如今，夕阳老去，晚风渐起
你是那截快燃尽的蜡烛
这些手足，这些身上
有着或亲或疏血缘关系的人
会在头上，赐你
一块瓦？脚下
赏你一寸土吗？
当年，跪在神灵前
欢天喜地，全心全意
梳起不嫁时，那颗
令人动容的美丽孝心
可曾想到，半个世纪后
如何梳理缭乱的愁绪
是不是越梳越愁？
越梳越乱？终于
乱得一片凄凉
乱得不堪细诉，更
不堪回首
作于1980年代末
收入淡莹诗集《发上岁月》，1993年
The English translation of this poem was first published in the programme notes of A Melody named Memory, an event on October 7, 2017 as part of The Arts House’s Poetry with Music series.
Combing Up, Never to Marry
lying softly on the shoulders
is it only shiny, raven-black hair?
it is dazzling, flickering youth
meandering from Tangshan to Nanyang
a rustling banana breeze, a drizzling coconut rain
the mysterious waterfall
purged over thousands of miles to a slim waistline
delicate and slender, swaying
how many heartstrings from the Han household
how many sentiments of a good man
all have a single effect
– each in turn lifted
ninth day of the sixth month, the sparrow chirps
crying in the morning light
as everything begins to open its eyes
to find the world still beautiful
how can it be
that the day is still lovely
small bamboo comb in the grasp
the present age
combing out the longing and romance
coming out the good man
of the Han household
infinite affection, all-embracing love
every stroke, combed
so neat, so clear
looking around in this moment
all is cold and clean
three thousand strands of affection
starting from the ninth day of the sixth month
tightly bound to the back of the head
smooth, dense, neat
no longer free to fly
unable to attract the wind, unable to dress up
where it is touched, the eyes
none without pain, bright eyes
all saddened and melancholy
why comb this brilliant
this bright age of sixteen
down this long lonely road?
why comb sentiments
this girlish sentiment
into sighs of midnight dreams?
why comb the love of the young man
into a lifetime of regret?
why? tell me, why?
Buddha, Kuanyin, eyes of kindness
in the lotus position, silent
listening to the voices of celibate girls
for the sake of dilapidated Tangshan homes
for the sake of the brothers who must carry on the family line
for the sake of not becoming a wife
the uncertain fate of the daughter-in-law
you have no resentment
with your slim hands
you are willing
to live a lonely life
in exchange for sufficient clothing and food
the day you decided to comb your hair up, you said
the temple bells were especially crisp
smoke drifts, full of father and mother
and brothers’ kind smiles
you say your heart is full of joy
is that true?
have you really never known regret?
an age towers, fifty years
in dust, grease, sewage
long past, with no hate, no love
callouses on your hands and feet
for the distant family, a nephew
building house after house
now, the sun setting, the breeze starting
you are a fast-burning candle
will these brothers, these people
with blood ties or without
grant to you
a tile? beneath your feet
an inch of ground to give?
that year kneeling before the gods
joyful and wholehearted
comb up, never to marry
so moving, that filial piety
did you imagine half a century later
how you would sort through the melancholy
is it more sorrowful the more it is combined?
does each stroke not bring more chaos? at last
the chaos is desolate
unsettled, even more
an unrelenting pain
written in the late 1980s
from Dan Ying’s The Tales Behind the Hair, 1993