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Shelly Bryant

Poetry

Shelly Bryant – Two Poems

Shelly Bryant divides her year between Shanghai and Singapore, working as a poet, writer, and translator. She is the author of eight volumes of poetry (Alban Lake and Math Paper Press), a pair of travel guides for the cities of Suzhou and Shanghai (Urbanatomy), and a book on classical Chinese gardens (Hong Kong University Press). She has translated work from the Chinese for Penguin Books, Epigram Publishing, the National Library Board in Singapore, Giramondo Books, and Rinchen Books. Shelly’s poetry has appeared in journals, magazines, and websites around the world, as well as in several art exhibitions. Her translation of Sheng Keyi’s Northern Girls was long-listed for the Man Asian Literary Prize in 2012, and her translation of You Jin’s In Time, Out of Place was shortlisted for the Singapore Literature Prize in 2016.  You can visit her website at shellybryant.com.

Canal (1)

2017 April 27, Shanghai 
we’ve become acquaintances
this past fortnight
of the sort I call
nodding neighbours
I’ve mentioned to some friends
that first day, when I startled you
on the staircase by the canal
I confess
I stared
you are not, after all
at all the sort usually seen
in my xiaoqu
I confess
I snapped
those photos less furtively
than I’d have liked
– and I knew you weren’t pleased by it
but I did not mean to incite
your flight from the rail
and out over the water’s face
I’ve taken to calling you
my bird, to the amusement of friends who hear
it first as the Chinese euphemism
and wonder what I’m not telling
in fact
I’d like it
if we could be friends
I’ll even try to learn your name
where you’re from, what you like
(beyond the seafood I saw you catch
yesterday at dawn)
I’ll learn
to give you your privacy
and perhaps one day we may
know how to interpret one another’s stares
for their friendly intent
since, after all, we seem
to have both settled in quite well
~

At Home (1)

2017 May 14, Shanghai
a pair outside my window
nesting
as it seems so many do
instinctively
decades spent
accumulating and assembling
laying eggs
and hatching them
then pouring every resource
into feeding the younglings
and sending them out
to do it all over again
while my inclinations lead
to a washing machine’s hum
as blankets wash
keys clicking in the purchase
of tickets
as the south calls
where the remnants of a nest
await the touch-ups
that will keep it home
until the next cycle starts
and I set out
to do it all over again
Continue reading
Related posts
Shelly Bryant – two poems from “Peregrinations”
May 7, 2018
Wu Mu (Teo Sum Lim) – 新加坡组曲 (translated as ‘Singapore Suite’ by Shelly Bryant)
December 11, 2017
Dan Ying – 梳起不嫁 (translated as “Combing Up, Never to Marry” by Shelly Bryant)
December 4, 2017
Poetry

Shelly Bryant – two poems from “Peregrinations”

SHELLY BRYANT divides her year between Shanghai and Singapore, working as a poet, writer, and translator. She is the author of eight volumes of poetry (Alban Lake and Math Paper Press), a pair of travel guides for the cities of Suzhou and Shanghai (Urbanatomy), and a book on classical Chinese gardens (Hong Kong University Press). She has translated work from the Chinese for Penguin Books, Epigram Publishing, the National Library Board in Singapore, Giramondo Books, and Rinchen Books. Shelly’s poetry has appeared in journals, magazines, and websites around the world, as well as in several art exhibitions. Her translation of Sheng Keyi’s Northern Girls was long-listed for the Man Asian Literary Prize in 2012, and her translation of You Jin’s In Time, Out of Place was shortlisted for the Singapore Literature Prize in 2016.  You can visit her website at shellybryant.com.
Shanghai International Studies University (1)
2018 April 9, Shanghai
we sit in the sunlit garden
a few moments between obligations
to share a simple lunch
placing the plastic spoon
into the empty yogurt cup
you reach up
and sweep a leaf from my hair
then you ask
how I might translate
another old, worn cliché
~
Shanghai International Studies University (2)
2018 April 14, Shanghai
settled into my favorite corner
huddled over a project
translating a text on a familiar topic
I grow suddenly uncomfortable
the author’s explanation unfolding
in my own language
          from my own pen
telling why one must never
allow his slave to wash a vase
it being, after all,
worth more than she
if it breaks, the cost
will not be recouped
even after she is sold
Continue reading
Related posts
Shelly Bryant – Two Poems
November 18, 2019
Wu Mu (Teo Sum Lim) – 新加坡组曲 (translated as ‘Singapore Suite’ by Shelly Bryant)
December 11, 2017
Dan Ying – 梳起不嫁 (translated as “Combing Up, Never to Marry” by Shelly Bryant)
December 4, 2017
Poetry, Translation, Uncategorized

Wu Mu (Teo Sum Lim) – 新加坡组曲 (translated as ‘Singapore Suite’ by Shelly Bryant)

新加坡组曲

冒烟的枪管
辜加兵们举着一支支冒着热烟的枪管
冷冷地,瞄准我
以英国殖民地政府的语言和警告
在当年基里玛路的光华学校校园内
在一触即发的沸腾点上
(杀戮是可怕的——
那两个在枪管前临阵退缩的学生领袖
犹如两个弃械而逃的败将
她们不堪的溃散形象,塑成我
半个世纪后犹新的记忆)
群龙不能无首
我选择走出对峙的课室
挺身面对这个时代的惶恐和浪尖
在英国殖民地政府的算计与镇压下
在最为喧闹的世纪叫嚣前
在学生群众的不解眼神前,我高举双手
我以我孱弱的身体
一种舍身成仁的感性语言
走向那些雇佣兵
走向那些兀自冒着热烟的枪管
走向炼狱
作于2010年2月15日
原载2010年3月5日《联合早报·文艺城》
地铁工事
组屋之外,公路之外
高楼大桥与一切文明建设之外
还有一种奔放的声响
正在萌芽
筑着历史,筑着
混凝土与钢筋的骄傲
狮岛的血脉
以巨大的手掌穿云插地
音符是长长长长的衔接轨道
自南向北,横跨西东
如此粗犷的性格
将时空浓缩的地铁工事
每一节车轨是一下脉搏
每一根圆柱皆奠下一种无比的信心
作于1986年6月9日
原载1986年6月13日《联合早报·星云》
城市
城市从甜梦中晨起睡醒
黄色街灯揉着睡眼惺忪睡去
走廊上众排日光灯睡去
屋顶那颗红色夜间飞行警告灯睡去
夜间霓虹在太阳升起后暂停营业
播种组屋,五年一次翻新
硬质土地上,打桩声迫不及待地响起
碎路器赶着前来合唱
诸灯乍熄,树枝上的小鸟未曾展喉
急急的声响长长的声波已重重地切肤而入
那边厢印族同胞击鼓而歌
联络所一隅,有人正和城市主调抗衡
为一种名曰亚洲文化价值的东西
在大清早
作最后的力挽
作于1988年11月14日

原载1988年12月8日《联合早报·文艺城》

 

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.

Singapore Suite

Wu Mu (Teo Sum Lim)
– Smoking Barrel –
the Gurkhas hold the hot smoking barrels
aimed coldly at me
with the language of the British colonial government
that year at the Kong Hwa School on Guillemard Road
exploding at the boiling point
(killing is terrible –
the two retreating student leaders before the barrels
like two abandoned, fleeing defeated foes
their crumpling girlish images mesh into mine
refreshing memories now lost half a century)
the group cannot go headless
I choose to walk out on the conflict
to stand and face this turbulent, fearful age
the schemes and oppressions
              of the British colonial government
where the century’s loudest clamour was raised
before the students’ puzzled eyes, I hold my hands high
with this weak flesh
a kind of sacrificial expression
I walk toward these mercenaries
I walk toward the hot smoking barrels they hold
I walk toward purgatory
– Building the MRT Tracks –
outside the house, outside the expressway
highrise buildings and all the civilised construction
accompanied by an unrestrained sound
of continued building
building history, building
of concrete and reinforced pride
the bloodline of a leonine nation
huge palm fronds piercing the clouds
the note sounds unendingly
spread south to north, west to east
such a rugged character
building the MRT tracks, rich in time and space
each section of track pulsing
each cylinder overlaid
      with unparalleled confidence
9 June 1986
first published 13 June 1986 in Lianhe Zaobao • Nebula
– City –
the city wakes from sweet morning dreams
the yellow streetlamps rub sleepy eyes
and corridor lights doze
at rest, red night lights warning flying planes overhead
as neon’s glow is suspended in the rising light of dawn

 

the HDB flats sown, then renovated every five years
on hard earth, the sound of pile drivers can hardly wait to ring
the jackhammer rushes to join the chorus
the lights have faded, but the birds
     in the branches have yet to open their mouths
the long waves of sound sink heavily into earth and skin
there where our Indian compatriots drum and sing
at the corner of the community centre,
and someone contends with the city’s main tune
for the sake of something called Asian cultural values
in the bold morning
giving a final pull
14 November 1988
first published 8 December 1988 in Lianhe Zaobao • Art City
Continue reading
Related posts
Shelly Bryant – Two Poems
November 18, 2019
Shelly Bryant – two poems from “Peregrinations”
May 7, 2018
Dan Ying – 梳起不嫁 (translated as “Combing Up, Never to Marry” by Shelly Bryant)
December 4, 2017
Poetry, Translation

Dan Ying – 梳起不嫁 (translated as “Combing Up, Never to Marry” by Shelly Bryant)

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
Continue reading
Related posts
Shelly Bryant – Two Poems
November 18, 2019
Shelly Bryant – two poems from “Peregrinations”
May 7, 2018
Wu Mu (Teo Sum Lim) – 新加坡组曲 (translated as ‘Singapore Suite’ by Shelly Bryant)
December 11, 2017
Poetry, Translation

Xi Ni’er – 加冷河 (translated as “Kallang River” by Shelly Bryant)

加冷河

希尼尔
有一条河
静静流着

之一

就这样踌躇地流着
一条河,舒展龙爪
自北回南,向两岸扩张
日日夜夜,呜咽低吟
在先祖的记忆里
坚持一种流动的肤色
多少梦里唤他回去
多少日子,夹带两岸泥沙的深愁
水位的升涨
随汗水血泪的盈寡而漂动
潆洄中迟滞里寻找出路
不曾有一泻千里的雄姿
一条河,历史告诉他应该倒流
以泥土的颜色
日夜奔成一片希望的远景
那河,曾经在我脚下在我心中
属于过去也属于记忆
没有苇白的两岸依然肥沃依然
辉煌我的长河呵
灌我,沐我,那河
小时候不知道将它砌好围起
一任它摊开奔腾向南海
一去不回的旧梦
洸洸不安的河水
每洄汨一段,即盘聚成泥沼
河水就此回溯
自赤裸的童年,鱼虾的水乡
萎缩成一脉孤藤,曲伏在小小的地图上
史书的末章,静静
低咽
太息
不幸呢还是大幸,河的浅滩
整个历史的根曾在这里驻扎
加冷人的足迹印过
武吉士人漂泊的身影停留过
先祖的渔网撒过
莱佛士舰队的余波掠过
东洋武士刀的血在这里
洗过
如今,不曾留下
一丝痕迹
昨夜,一架架重吨的机械
在河之涘,在水中央怒吼
在时光的隧道里
为你换胎,为你整容
那粗糙的铁腕
千百回折将你引渡
不舍昼夜,沿两岸朝八方
赐你新生
向苦海

之二

小小雨后
抛锚在桥上
多少年了!来来往往
不曾停车暂追思。后方
后方该是头石狮
前面有碧水蓝天
浪静风平,独添一道人造虹
而昨日,两岸的风景不是这个样子的
昨日,我们靠在栏杆吃烤番薯
左边有满船橡胶,驶向南益栈
右边有舯舡堆满货箱,从大华仓库出发
我们蹲在岸边放线收线
从晌午收到黄昏
从人手田米收到寄小读者
我们骑在石狮上拍小六毕业照
三元半的相机留下一叠朦胧的记忆
譬如红鸡蛋与粗藤条
譬如三个五与公仔书
譬如拉辫子与放蟑螂
譬如东方红与圣歌班
譬如斗争与争斗
譬如饿与不饿
譬如该与
不该
那更早呢
更早的时候
涨潮时我们网黑纹虾退潮后捉指甲蚌
中午十二点胶厂的钟声,有人
吃饭有人上学去
我们唱刘三姐吃稀米绿豆汤
光着屁股沐浴河上玩烂泥巴游戏
有一天黑牛党的人匆匆来过又匆匆离去
有一天一把大火把我们的童年烧得干干净净
我们流着稚子泪
祈求下雨
雨下在昨日的心头,今天的桥头。河上
桥的两岸,野草萋萋
石墩两边,渔舟不再
凭栏,该回想些什么?
车水马龙,是桥上的车辆
桥下,浓浊的河水,涂上一层七彩的油渍
流水,依旧顺着从前的方向流去
流光,在我额前发霉。举目四顾
我的后方,武吉士村只剩下几根残柱
前方,有滨海城,向我招手
我去不去呢?
河畔,有张石椅
带有雨水与尘埃,让我坐下
静静回想。这河
曾经有最长的绿岸,曾经
有我最初的梦……
作于1986年10月27日
收入希尼尔诗集《绑架岁月》,1989年
~
Shelly Bryant’s 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.

Kallang River

There is a river
flowing quietly
– One –
flowing so hesitantly
a river, dragon claws extended
from north to south, its banks spread wide
day and night, its low sob
in the memories of our ancestors
sticking like the colour of skin
how many dreams call him back
how many days, deeply entrenched
in the sediment on each bank
water level rising
with each drink of sweat and tears
a whirlpool swirls, looking for a way out
never seeing a thousand miles of majesty
a river, history telling him that it should return
to the colour of the earth
day and night, becoming a scene of hope
that river, beneath my feet and in my heart
belonging to the memories of the past
without reeds, the whitened banks remain fertile
my glorious river
irrigate me, wash me, that river
in my youth I did not know to build a wall around it
once it is allowed to move out into the South China Sea
it never returns to its old dreams
turbulent river
each whirl turns a muddy disk
the river returns
from the naked youth, home to fish and shrimps
it shrinks into a solitary vine, a song creeping on a tiny map
the history book’s final chapter, silently
whispers
at rest
misfortune is still fortune, misfortune or fortune
the roots of an entire history stationed there
the footprints of the Kallang people
the drifting shadow of a Bugis man
the fishing nets of our ancestors
Raffles’ fleet swept past
the blood from the Japanese warrior’s blade
all have been cleansed here
today, leave no more
a trace
last night, a heavy machine’s frame
in the river, amidst the water’s roar
in the tunnel of time
making big changes for you, a complete facelift
that rough iron wrist
thousands of twists and turns leading you
night or day, along these banks and outward
– giving you new life –
to the bitter sea
– Two –
after a light rain
anchored to the bridge
so many years! coming and going
never stopping for a minute to think. Behind
behind is a stone lion
before green waters and blue skies
soft current, calm breeze, solitary man-made rainbow
and yesterday, the scene on both sides so different
yesterday, we leaned on the rail, consuming sweet potatoes
on the left a boatful of rubber, sailed southwards to thriving warehouses
on the right, a tongkang full of boxes started from the UOB Bank warehouse
we squatted on the shoreline releasing and retracting the line
from noon till dusk
from ABCs to PSLE

 

we ride the stone lion for a photo of our P6 graduation
a cheap camera leaves behind a stack of hazy memories
such as red eggs and coarse rattan
such as Triple 5 cigarettes and comics
such as pulling braids and throwing cockroaches
such as Oriental Red and hymn class
such as struggle and conflict
such as hungry and not hungry
such as ought
and ought not
but what about earlier
an earlier time
at high tide when we caught black shrimps and fingernail clams at tide’s ebb
at noon the rubber factory bell sounds, some
ate and some went to class
we sang of Liu Sanjie and eating green bean soup
bare-butted bathing in the river and playing in the mud
one day members of the Black Ox Party rushed over, then hurried away
one day a fire burned, purging our youthful dreams
we shed tears
and prayed for rain
rain fell on the heart of our yesterdays, and
the bridge of today. On the river
the bridged banks, the lush weeds
stone pier on either side, the fishing boat here no more
leaning on the rail, what should we recall?
the bustle of cars on the bridge
beneath the bridge, the thick waters
coated with a rainbow of grease
flowing waters move toward the past
flowing time grows mouldy before me. Look around
behind me, only a few columns of Bugis Village remain
before me, Marina City waves to me
should I go?
on the riverside, two chairs
with rain and dust, let me sit
and quietly recall. This river
was the longest green shore, and here
lies my first dream…
27 October 1986
from Xi Ni’er’s Kidnapped Years, 1989
 
 
 
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Poetry, Translation, Uncategorized

Chua Chee Lay – 同一片天 (translated by Shelly Bryant)

With deep interests across literature, visual arts, culture, education and digital technology, Chua Chee Lay’s literary writings reflect his diverse influences and span across modern poetry, prose, song lyrics and short stories. Chua holds a PhD in East Asian Language and Literature from the University of Wisconsin. A linguist, educator, award-winning poet and children’s book writer, he is also the Chief Editor for several books and series, including Keeping My Mandarin Alive: Lee Kuan Yew’s Language Learning Experiences (Chinese, English and China Edition) and Journey of Our Young, a Young Writers Project by the Ministry of Education.

 

同一片天

——为2013年国家图书馆全国阅读运动“读吧!新加坡”而作
蔡志礼
混沌天地
缓缓地张开
沉睡千年的眼
浩浩沧海
渐渐凝成万顷桑田
似曾相识的飞燕
来自天上来自人间
来自同一片天
青涩少年
改朝换代后
早已风霜满面
抬望眼啊
皆是不轻弹的英雄泪
洗也洗不尽的怨
所有悲悯所有爱怜
来自同一片天
不同肤色
不同的语言
不一样的祖先
命运嬗变
上天要我们紧紧相连
赤足走在赤道边
一样阳光一样雨露
来自同一片天
不能再叫
梦沉淀搁浅
不能再叫
悲情继续蔓延
撒下心愿
全情灌溉用爱耕心田
仰望渺渺云河边
明月微笑星光点点
来自同一片天
摊开浩荡的历史长卷
翻阅盘古开天的容颜
任豪情无限壮志伸延
让心与心手和手相嵌
我们拥有同样一片天
祸福与共
直到永永远远

The Same Stretch of Sky

written for the 2013 National Library Board “Read! Singapore” campaign
a world of chaos
slowly opening
eyes that have slept for a millennium
vast sea
gradually condensing millions of miles of mulberry fields
deja vu
coming from earth to heaven
from the same stretch of sky
sentimental youth
after the regime change
faces already covered with frost
lift your eyes
aren’t these the flickering tears of a hero
and the resentment that can never be purged
all the compassion
all the sympathy
all the affection
from this same stretch of sky
different skin color
different language
different ancestors
Fate’s evolution
– heaven wants us tightly intertwined
barefoot on the equator
the same sun
the same rain
from this same stretch of sky
never again to allow
dreams to founder, stranded
never again to allow
sorrow to continue to spread
scattering the dream
love fills the irrigation channels
cultivating the heart
watching the river of clouds above
the moon smiles in the stars’ twinkling
coming from the same stretch of sky
spread the scrolls of the chronicles
read of Pangu opening up the heavens
with all our lofty ideals
let heart and heart
hand and hand be joined
we all have this same stretch of the sky
our shared good fortune
now and forever
(Reprinted with thanks to The Arts House, Singapore)
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Poetry, Translation

Three poems by Ikuko Tanaka – translated by Miho Kinnas & Shelly Bryant

1.

雪の時間

 

深雪に埋めつくされた苅田は見知らぬ国の原

降り積んだ雪に記憶の風が

吹き寄せ吹きだまりができる

斜面ができる

さらに雪が降りさらに風が吹き

やがて像の耳がかたどられていった

いま おさない象が群れからはぐれたのだ

はぐれた象のために

吹雪はひそかに胴体の輪郭を描いていった

さらに雪は降りさらに風は吹き

胴体のつづきに長い鼻の輪郭を描いていった

ああ やっと

低い声で助けの信号を送りはじめたのだ

しかし 風は吹き荒れ雪を舞い上げ

やっと伸ばした鼻を消し去り

胴体を消し去り

耳のかたちひとつだけを残した

谷間の川面から吹き上げる風が

ほうほうと身をよじり

象とたわむれているのだ

だが 聞く耳ひとつあればいい

わたしは ふと自分の耳に触ってみる

わたしの一番深いところでねむっている無数の耳

忘れている耳

はぐれたわたしの耳のために

吹雪はやがてわたしの耳をかたどり始める

そのように雪は降りつづき

そのように風は吹きつづけ

 

Snow Time

 

The bare paddy field buried in deep snow is an unknown field

The wind of memory blows over the piled snow

The snow drifts

The snow slides

Some more snow falls, some more wind blows

And the drift is shaped into an elephant ear

Now a young elephant has strayed from the herd

For the stray elephant

the snowstorm slowly begins to draw his body

Some more snow falls, some more wind blows

Following the body the snowstorm outlines the trunk

Ahh- finally

a distress signal is sent out in a low voice

But the wind roughens and blows up the snow

the painstakingly stretched trunk is erased

the body is erased

only one ear is left

The wind blows, ho ho, from the river surface

in the valley twisting

and playing with the elephant

You know, though, one ear to listen is enough

I now touch my own ears

A countless number of ears are asleep

in the deepest place

The forgotten ears

For my stray ears

the snow storm begins to mold my ear

Thus some more snow falls

Thus some more wind blows

~

 2.

カヤパの庭

 

今夜、鶏が鳴く前にあなたは三度わたしを知らないと言うだろう マタイ二十六章

 

ゆうぐれの窓から

ぼんやりと椿の花を見続けると

心の底までのぞき込まれていると思う日がやってくる

赤い花の芯にとらえられ つつぬけにのぞき込まれてしまう

誘われるままに樹の下をくぐり敷石を横にたどり裏口から

あの人が裁かれているというカヤパの中庭に入る

大祭司カヤパの庭にも椿の花がいっぱい咲いていて

わたしが葉と葉の間から見ていると

「何をいっているのかわからない」と一番弟子の男が否んだ

二千年前の炭火が赤く燃え 裏切るもの死刑を望むもの

しもべや女中が集まっていた

またしても「そんな人は知らない」恐れて誓う声がした

遠く波打つガリラヤの湖から一匹の魚が泳ぎ去った

わたしが赤い花をのぞくと 男の涙がこぼれそうだった

こんなところに誰がつまずく石を置いたのだろう

三度目の声がまたしても

「その人のことは何も知らない」と言うと

追い打ちをかけるように女中が

[この人はナザレ人イエスと一緒だった]と言った

それはわたしの声だった わたしはそこにもいたのだ

静かなゆうぐれに包まれると椿の花がまっ赤に咲いて

ぼんやりしていると 鶏が鳴いて男は外に出て激しく泣く

いつのまにか二千年はあっけなく過ぎて

そのまま赤い花の形をして地面に落ちるものがある

罪も弱さもそのまま受け継いで

わたしはカヤパの庭を行ったり来たりしている

 

Caiaphas’ Courtyard

 

Verily I say unto thee, that this night, before the cock crow, thou shalt deny me thrice Matthews 26

 

Out of the window of twilight

I gaze blankly at the camellia blossoms

There comes a day the camellia sees

through to the bottom of my heart

Caught by the core of the red blossom

through and through I am seen

Being led I stoop under the branches

and step into Caiaphas’ courtyard from the back gate

where he is said to be judged

The high priest Caiaphas’ courtyard is also

filled with camellia blossoms

I watch from the space between the leaves

He denied, saying, I know not what thou sayest

Two thousand year old charcoal burns deep

who betrays and wants death

a crowd of servants and maids gathered

And again he denied with an oath, I do not know the man

A fish swims away from the far away heaving lake of Galilee

I look inside the burning

and see his tear about to overflow

Who left a stumbling stone, here?

For the third time I hear the voice, saying, I know not the man

Another maid said unto them that were there,

This fellow was also with Jesus of Nazareth

That was my voice;

I was there, too

Camellias, wrapped by the dusk, open their crimson petals

I am lost in thought; the cock crow, and the man goes outside,

cries out

Unnoticed, two thousand years have passed

Unchanged, something in the shape of a red flower

falls onto the ground passing on

Sins and weaknesses

I go to and from Caiaphas’ courtyard

 

~

3.

オブジェ

 

かつて 父たちが植林し造林につとめた杉山に分け入っ

たことがある 天に垂直なその杉の木に絡みついたカズ

ラを切るのだ きつく巻きついた紐状のものを力ずくで

引っ張る 細い毛根がびりびりと剥がれる 引きながら

解きながら木の周りをぐるぐる回る 解くと締めつけら

れた跡がケロイドのようだ

わたしは 解いたカズラを束ねて 一つの輪に編んで行

く 最初の輪につぎつぎ絡ませ 縄目を作り隙間を埋め

ながら 偶然にゆだねてオブジェを作る 壁掛けを作っ

ていく 隙間には野の花と杉の実とカモガヤの野を飾る

と 朝と夕を加え小鳥も加えることになって ドライフ

ラワーの壁掛けとなる やがて乾いてくるとピソンの川

もユフラテの川も流れはじめる 浅瀬の葦の間にきのう

誘われた聡い蛇のことばを置く これがわたしの園であ

る それを玄関に飾る 誰にも気づかれない わたしだ

けのオブジェの中で わたしは いまだエバのままであ

り 出る時も入る時も 魂のありかをとわれつづけてい

るように思う

 

 

(Miho Kinnas’s translation of an essay by Akira Kisa, Where Bibliobattles Are was published in Asian Literary Journal Cha in June, 2017.  More poems by Ikuko Tanaka in translation can be found at Poetry Kanto.)

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Poetry, Translation

Xu Zhimo – ‘Listening to a Wagner Opera’ (translated by Shelly Bryant)

The translation of this poem was originally commissioned by Lynn Pan for use in her research for her most recent book When True Love Came to China. She has generously allowed us to reprint the work at AlluviumWhen True Love Came to China can be found at Amazon.

Listening to a Wagner Opera

by Xu Zhimo
powers divine or demonic
bring forth thunderous
sounds, a raw howl
like waves on the wild deep;
hellish fires’ rumbles
thrill, like a leonine roar
commanding the seas to split
the skies rent ‘twixt stars and sun;
a sudden silence; only soft
sounds of pine forest
its gentle birdcall before
the cabin’s fluttering curtains;
silence, a portent overshadowing
a barren snowy landscape
o’erflown by a solitary bird
singing its sorrowful song;
in sorrowful song, the reed
flute’s secret seduction
like hoofbeats on a frozen
arid land, armor’s beating rhythm;
beating rhythm, a flood of sound
booming, crashing, banging
to signal a new epoch, the tune
of hoofs pounding and blood flowing;
it is Prometheus, the theft
and the rebellion, chained
to his mountain peak, each meal
dug out from his breast;
it is romance, sorrowful and tragic
it is love, devoted and loyal
all-consuming, universal and miraculous
all-surpassing love;
the artist’s inspiration
the genius of heaven
beyond all powers of explanation
lasting beyond human bonds;
a brewing gloom’s complaint
a raging holy love
a tragic compassion’s spirit
– the genius of the arts.
brilliant, furious, fervent, tragic
out of the forge of love
the artistic impulse draws
the peerless opera of Wagner
• Published in March 10, 1923 “Current News · Learning Light” Volume 5.3.8
† translated by Shelly Bryant, October 2013

听槐格讷(Wagner)乐剧

– 徐志摩

是神权还是魔力,
搓揉着雷霆霹雳,
暴风、广漠的怒号,
绝海里骇浪惊涛;
地心的火窖咆哮,
回荡,狮虎似狂嗥,
仿佛是海裂天崩,
星陨日烂的朕兆;
忽然静了;只剩有
松林附近,乌云里
漏下的微嘘,拂扭
村前的酒帘青旗;
可怖的伟大凄静
万壑层岩的雪景,
偶尔有冻鸟横空
摇曳零落的悲鸣;
悲鸣,胡笳的幽引,
雾结冰封的无垠,
隐隐有马蹄铁甲
篷帐悉索的荒音;
荒音,洪变的先声,
鼍鼓金钲荡怒,
霎时间万马奔腾,
酣斗里血流虎虎;
是泼牢米修仡司
通译普罗米修斯,
的反叛,抗天拯人
的奋斗,高加山前
挚鹰刳胸的创呻;
是恋情,悲情,惨情,
是欢心,苦心,赤心;
是弥漫,普遍,神幻,
消金灭圣的性爱;
是艺术家的幽骚,
是天壤间的烦恼,
是人类千年万年
郁积未吐的无聊;
这沉郁酝酿的牢骚,
这猖獗圣洁的恋爱,
这悲天悯人的精神,
贯透了艺术的天才。
性灵,愤怒,慷慨,悲哀,
管弦运化,金革调合,
创制了无双的乐剧,
革音革心的槐格讷!

五月二十五日■原载1923年3月10日《时事新报·学灯》第5卷3册8号。

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Poetry

Shelly Bryant – five poems

SHELLY BRYANT divides her year between Shanghai and Singapore, working as a poet, writer, and translator. She is the author of eight volumes of poetry (Alban Lake and Math Paper Press), a pair of travel guides for the cities of Suzhou and Shanghai (Urbanatomy), and a book on classical Chinese gardens (Hong Kong University Press). She has translated work from the Chinese for Penguin Books, Epigram Publishing, the National Library Board in Singapore, Giramondo Books, and Rinchen Books. Shelly’s poetry has appeared in journals, magazines, and websites around the world, as well as in several art exhibitions. Her translation of Sheng Keyi’s Northern Girls was long-listed for the Man Asian Literary Prize in 2012, and her translation of You Jin’s In Time, Out of Place was shortlisted for the Singapore Literature Prize in 2016.  You can visit her website at shellybryant.com.

 

Guerrilla

 

in my defense

ditches dug, mounds erected

smooth surfaces made rough

safety measures

preventing passage of hostiles

the scarred face of home

my safeguard

against invasion

 

~

 

7 March 3529

 

Kepler K20 mission arrives

at HAT-P-11b

then looks back, homeward

 

on Earth the descendants

of those whose jaws dropped

at the K20’s images

of the titan Saturn

 

note in despair

 

even Sol is not the lucida

in the probe’s newfound constellation

 

~

 

Images 2014

 

a stellar year

images

 

the Berlin Wall falling

finally

arriving

at Altair’s orbiting wards

 

while Attila the Hun

ravaging Rome and

Muhammed fleeing Mecca

descend

on Dereb’s planetary plane

 

lightyears crossed

distant eyes espy

movements of Earth’s people

long deceased

 

the same day Hubble descries

a star’s death throes

its exploding ecstasy

 

~

In the Reading Room at the Science Academy

 

The astronomy journal knows its audience. On the stodgy-looking cover, Luke Skywalker’s name and home planet in large, bold print. I turn to page 03-114, an article about recently-sighted circumstellar and circumbinary planets. I read: as of late 2014, all the circumbinary planets so far sighted are gas giants; none have rocky surfaces. 

I memorize the name Kepler 16B, the first transiting circumbinary planet seen by Earth eyes. Perfect for the planet in my short story. I wonder if anyone will pick up on the poetic license – my Kepler 16B will be inhabited, not a huge gasball orbiting its two suns.

Exoplanets in orbit around a single star in a binary system, the two stars orbiting each other once every century or so. I wonder whether Tatooine was meant to be circumstellar or circumbinary. Not well-versed in Star Wars lore beyond the films, I cannot answer the circumbinary-or-circumstellar question. I make a guess. Tatooine: transiting circumbinary planet (but not a gas giant). At least, this fits the sunset in that iconic scene.

The long hand draws near the 5 on the clock’s face. An afternoon, whiled away pondering the path of a planet that does not exist. “Never his mind on where he was, what he was doing.” Owning the chide, I pack up and leave the Reading Room. Outside, the blaze of my single sun nears the horizon.

evening commuters

under a plane tree canopy

– standstill traffic
~

 

bound by metaphors

provided by my race

I think of his magnetism

as that which draws me

not noting its other

equally strong impulse

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Poetry

Shelly Bryant – six poems

SHELLY BRYANT divides her year between Shanghai and Singapore, working as a poet, writer, and translator. She is the author of eight volumes of poetry (Alban Lake and Math Paper Press), a pair of travel guides for the cities of Suzhou and Shanghai (Urbanatomy), and a book on classical Chinese gardens (Hong Kong University Press). She has translated work from the Chinese for Penguin Books, Epigram Publishing, the National Library Board in Singapore, Giramondo Books, and Rinchen Books. Shelly’s poetry has appeared in journals, magazines, and websites around the world, as well as in several art exhibitions. Her translation of Sheng Keyi’s Northern Girls was long-listed for the Man Asian Literary Prize in 2012, and her translation of You Jin’s In Time, Out of Place was shortlisted for the Singapore Literature Prize in 2016.  You can visit her website at shellybryant.com.

Kowtow

forehead

awaiting still the appearance
of a qiagban to mark my piety
my thoughts turn to you
– a beginning of my devotions

throat

breath sucked along the passage
blocked, the words that wish to fly
on a heavenward trajectory, me to you
– the suppression of mine for yours

heart

point from which all else flows
thought and speech mustering
as if for a final stand
before at last dropping to our knees

prostration

knees, palms, breast, face
all laid out on the earth
a single string vibrating
within the chthonic chord

~

Special Administrative District

names   changing
changing       hands
Khitan        Liao          Manchu
Rehe         Jehol
Japan
a buffer zone             shredded
absorbed by a neighborly trio
no trace left
on the maps we know
today

~

Not Your Business

it’s not your business, she said
when I commented on the pair
lounging nearby in the teahouse

then turned to the dragonfly
just settling in the flowerbed
with her lens, six inches long

~

Bonsai

tiny trees in robust bloom
azaleas’ varicolored blaze

yesterday
their prismatic symphony
had yet to sound

a short-lived song
silenced again
two days later

their voices
as I spoke of the hues
echoed in the setting sun
reflected in your eyes

~

a pine stands by the plum tree
at the pond’s edge
white blooms, a celebration of the snow
releasing its hold on the earth
laid over the prickly scene
of a more constant verdure

~

Fu Xi Temple

Brought here by fortune’s turn, hearing the whisper in ancient branches, I feel no regrets.
“How old is that cypress?”
“That one? It’s young. Four, maybe five hundred years. This one over here, though, it’s 1,300 years old. Give or take.”

engraved dragon
encircling a phoenix –
the twist of his blade

~

Horology

sundial
measured, moments
the movements of timepieces
on high; Earth’s flow
around her sun

hourglass

a running stream dammed
time, pooling at the neck
insisting on its trajectory
with each falling grain

clock

walking on its hands
we pace ourselves
its cadence prescribing
the flow of our days

timeline

life’s events marked
birth graduation marriage death
life’s days passed
in the spaces in between

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