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