筆會英文季刊
季刊索引 近期刊物 訂閱刊物

2008筆會英文季刊-春季號

CONTENTS
 
  BACK TOWARD THE SEA— an overnight stay at Henan Temple 背向大海——夜宿和南寺
By Lo Fu 洛夫
Translated by John J. S. BALCOM 陶忘機
 
  THINKING OF YOU IN RAINY DAYS 憶你在雨季
By Hsiung Hung 敻虹
Translated by Lisa Lai-ming WONG 黃麗明
 
  ENEMY 仇家
By Dominic Cheung 張錯 
Translated by John J. S. BALCOM 陶忘機
 
  FACES 面容
By Shoo Tao秀陶 
Translated by Steve BRADBURY 柏艾格
 
  HOME 家
By FONG Ming 方明 
Translated by John J. S. BALCOM 陶忘機
 
  TIME WITHOUT LETTERS 歲月無信
By FONG Ming 方明 
Translated by John J. S. BALCOM 陶忘機
 
  THE KILLER 殺人者
By Hwa Yen 華嚴 
Translated by Faye PENG 彭斐
 
  THE CURSE OF LIPSTICK 口紅咒
By Chien Chen 簡媜 
Translated by Yingtsih HWANG 黃瑛姿
 
  THE OLD ALLEY IN THOSE DAYS 當年舊巷
By Chien Chen 簡媜 
Translated by Yingtsih HWANG 黃瑛姿
 
  THE FAT GIRL’S RED CLOGS 胖女孩的紅木屐
By KAN Yao-ming 甘耀明 
Translated by Michelle M. WU 吳敏嘉
 
 

ONCE UPON A TIME, WHEN THE PRINCE MET THE MERMAID PRINCESS... 從前從前,當王子遇上人魚公主⋯⋯
By YANG Mei-hung 楊美紅
Translated by Michelle M. WU 吳敏嘉

 
  7-11
By HSU Cheng-Ping 許正平
Translated by Mark I. HAMMONS 何邁
 
  GETTING TO KNOW YUYU YANG 認識楊英風
By Yuyu Yang Foundation 楊英風藝術教育基金會
Translated by Carlos G. TEE 鄭永康
 
  LIFESCAPE SCULPTURE: MODERN CHINESE ECOLOGICAL AESTHETICS 現代中國生態美學觀——景觀雕塑
By Yuyu YANG 楊英風 
Translated by Carlos G. TEE 鄭永康
 
  LOCAL PASSION, AVANT-GARDE HEART: a few words written on the eve of Yuyu Yang’s exhibition 本土的情 前衛的心──寫在楊英風畫展之前
By HSIAH Lifa 謝里法
Translated by Carlos G. TEE 鄭永康
 
  NEWS & EVENTS 文化活動
Compiled by Sarah Jen-hui HSIANG 項人慧
 
  NOTES ON AUTHORS AND TRANSLATORS 
作者與譯者簡介
 
  APPENDIX : CHINESE ORIGINALS 附錄 :中文原著
 
  ADVENT OF THE PHOENIX (I) 鳳凰來儀(一),
stainless steel, 104 × 140 × 50 cm, 1970.....COVER
 
 

DRAGON SHRILL IN THE COSMIC VOID 龍嘯太虛(II)(A), stainless steel, 68 × 69 × 30 cm, 1991.........................................................BACK COVER
By Yuyu YANG 楊英風

 

Lo Fu 洛夫

BACK TOWARD THE SEA— an overnight stay at Henan Temple 
背向大海——夜宿和南寺

Translated by John J. S. BALCOM 陶忘機


A monk’s robe, broad and empty
Raised high
Covers the whole of Henan Temple
Ahead, not far away
The vast sea, oblivious of its own safety
Courageously tilts toward the tile-gray sky
The tapping of the wooden fish, the tolling bell
Mixed with the swoosh of the tide
  Break the silence
As if one saw many faces
Turn suddenly on the street
To face the sea
The dying sun lacquers my spine into
The shadow of a mountain
Eyes, ears, nose, tongue, hair, skin
  Two hands, two feet
As well as so-called feeling, cognition,
  formation, and consciousness
Are all nothing
Extinguished in the deep blue roar of the waves
My non-existence stems
From my having existed
Dull as a drop of water
But with the knowledge that
A sea is hidden deep within me
And as I turn
My back to the sea
I discover
Soaked to the bone as I am
Emerging from the sharp toll of the bell
A huge shadow
Coming ashore in a flurry
With the dull scratching shuffle
  Of a multitude of sea turtles
On my heels
A huge
Blue teardrop
I turn and grasp the setting sun and say
I want to sink away with you
The warmth of the setting sun lingers yet
The stones linger yet
The fire and embers in the stones
Remain. On the beach
A pair of straw sandals lingers yet
Hesitating, hesitating, hesitating to journey
To the far corners of the earth until
One steps out of one’s own shadow
The first footprint
A kind of desire
The second footprint
A dumfounded cry
The third footprint
A moment of silence
The forth footprint
Some regret
The fifth footprint
Nearly forgotten
The sixth footprint
A self lost in time
The distant toll of the bell
Once again overflows the bones
Resounding in a
Colder and more distant
Lamplight that cannot be fathomed
Who knows when
A sacred text was discovered hidden in a stone
The flame of wisdom that cannot be
Extinguished by the entire sea
Brewing the beauty of a city hurriedly set afire
My back to the sea
I cock my ears and listen
As the wooden fish of Henan Temple blows its gloomy foam
The scene behind my back gradually widens
The monsoon raises
Wrinkles on the face of the sea
I lie flat on a huge boulder
Then from my chest I scoop
Handful after handful of blue
Smear it on the sky
Other than our scaly bodies,
The schools of fish and I
Possess nothing but a tonsure
And melancholy is but the final rest in the third movement
Oh, that the world has such a perfect mortise
My head
Was just tightly topped with a solitary tail
A deconstructive version
Mainly to express the hopelessness
After the blue of the sea fully saturates

My back to the sea
I have no sooner turned my face away
Than the setting sun sinks through the sound of the wooden fish
Falling toward a future where no echo is heard
Tomorrow may bring fortune or disaster
I fear that even the tombstone suddenly appearing before me
Knows no more. Enough
What’s important is
Will the wooden fish break as it is tapped?
If it should break
That, too, is a form of tapping
If it should not break
That, too, is a form of tapping
Tapped or not
Everything must break
But broken does not necessarily mean empty
And if it’s empty why must it break?
The sea empties
The blue follows suit
The clouds and fog are empty the moment they appear
The setting sun is the day’s final emptiness
My eyes
Were originally an empty barrow
Left behind by a prehistoric culture
Buried inside is an unknown
But prophetic sea
A docile beast

The moment I turn away, my back to the sea
I slyly watch and wait for its calm
But am unmoved by its readiness to stir up trouble
Busy or not, it never fails to howl at the void
Demanding that I pursue the light today and embrace 
  loneliness tomorrow
Suddenly the face of the sea is covered in darkness
Startled, like a water spider I hesitate to go forward
Convinced though my heart is as bright as a lamp
Actually it is the starlight chiseling out my transparency
And the sea merely makes me think of the ship run aground and
The deck and cables held by the moonlight till mouth is
  parched and tongue is scorched
The compass at the bottom of the sea still
Points chaotically
East
West
South
North
At this moment, the sliver of the moon has just risen
The tranquility of the sea witnesses
The absurdity of the storm, the illusion of the rainbow
And its own immature rebellion
But the sea still has its destiny, and I my helplessness
When there is not the slightest choice I discover
A grain of salt begins to seek among the waves
For the bitterness prior to becoming salty
Existence precedes essence
Bitterness always comes before tears
And tears
Before the eyes

My back to the sea
The bell at Henan Temple tolls once more . . .
2008春季號 2008夏季號 2008秋季號 2008冬季號