图伯特女子Drugmo的诗

从一位在西方求学的图伯特女子的博客（Drugmo's Blog）上，选了三首诗请台湾悬钩子翻译，我做了语言上的一些校订，为的是与诗人的诗和心境相贴切……这幅画也是一位图伯特女子画的，她叫Selhatso，从康地走到印度，一年多前，我没见过面的五之把她的画发给了我。

图伯特女子Drugmo的诗

http://drugmo.wordpress.com/

他人

为了身在图伯特，过着双重生活的友人，为了双重生活总是带给他们的幽默与痛苦……

佛藏在一条哈达下面
藏在拉萨的一个抽屉里
晚上，我把它放回原位，默诵我的祷告
祈求原谅我的懦弱
祈求减轻我的痛苦

我从远方望向巨大寺院的门
信众们数着念珠走进去
我已经向共产主义立誓
我不能带着我的旧酥油灯走进去

夜复一夜，我在梦里醒来
我听到我过世双亲的回声
我重温他们在革命中的饥饿与流血
正是在这里，我看到自己
未死的可能性……火仍未燃尽
我骑着一匹桀骜难驯的马越飞越高
挥着一把利剑，旗帜掠过我的胸膛
我一头冲向成千上万的汉人堆里
满腔怒火，我对他们大叫
我要他们就在这里杀了我
我是我自己命运的主人

再一次，被黎明的曙色中止
我慢慢地骑着自行车去上班，为我的老板工作
他用你好跟我打招呼，啜饮着茉莉花茶
聊起那个刚被关押的男子的事情
就为了你无法想象的最愚蠢的理由
没用的，这是自杀嘛——他继续说
我唯唯诺诺，在我的位置上坐下来
恐惧又回来了，带着为我准备好的面具
然而暮色降临时，我会再度撕毁它。

2009年9月17日

The other…

September 17, 2009 by drugmo

For friends in Tibet whose dual lives are a constant source of humour and pain…
Buddha lies hidden under a silk scarf
Tucked in a drawer at home in Lhasa
At night I restore it, and say my prayers
Prayers to forgive my cowardice
Prayers to relieve me of suffering.

I look from afar at the giant monastic doors
The crowd walks in with their prayer beads
I have pledged my hands to communism
I can’t go in with my old butter lamp.

Night after night I am awake in my dreams
I hear the echo of my dead parents
I relive their hunger and blood in revolution
It is here that I see myself-
The potential not yet dead…the fire still left
I am flying high on a rebellious horse
Brandishing a sword with the flag on my chest
I plunge headlong amongst thousands of Hans
Screaming at them with all my fury
I dare them to kill me right there
I am the master of my own fate.

Again morning comes to intervene
I pedal slowly to work for my boss
He greets me Ni Hao and sips jasmine tea
Tells me about the guy who just went to prison
For the most stupid cause you can ever imagine
It is futile, it is suicidal- he goes on
I respond with respect and sit at my desk
Fear is back with its mask for me
Come evening, I’ll tear it again.

再次，给图伯特

我最后一次见到你，
我被困在贡嘎机场
抓着我的背包，暗暗祈祷
离开家，去一个连神也不知何处的地方

通过海关
我的签名嘲笑着它所代表的陌生名字
我的护照上说这就是你的身份
我却怨恨着
为了生存而非得如何如何的这种想法

我透过每一扇窗户向外看
我想要把远山都刻印在我的记忆里
这里曾经发生了许多事情
其中，大多数将被永远掩埋的事情

我恍惚地走上飞机
跟我坐在一起的人，不停地惊叹：
我一定会喜欢未来等着我的东西
我看着他，泪水终于落下
我告诉他我所知道的事……

比起你离开的这块土地，外面的世界不可能更美
不可能更贴近你的心
过去你在爱与和谐中形成的依恋
无法形容的牵绊，绑在这里的空气里
风马旗在招展的清脆响声，一个民族所共享的历史

这些，有多少还会留下来
有多少会随着火车消失？
当大山愈来愈小，田野消失的时候，
我明白了身为一个难民的苦痛

2009年9月17日

For Tibet…again

September 17, 2009 by drugmo

The last time I saw you
I was stuck at the Gonggar airport
Clutching my bag, whispering my prayers
Fleeing home to god knew where.

Passing through the customs
My signature mocked its alien name
The passport that said this is who you are
While I resented the very thought
Of what survival makes you do.

I looked outside every window
I wanted to imprint the mountains to memory
So much has happened here
So much of it will always be buried.

As I stepped on the plane in a daze
my seatmate, couldn’t stop exclaiming
How much I will love what awaits me
I looked at him, and the tears finally fell
I told him what I know…

Nothing outside can be as beautiful
As close to your heart as the land you leave
The connections you formed in love and harmony
The unspoken bond tied with its air
The crispy sounds of prayer flags, the shared history of a race.

How much of it will still be there
How much will disappear with the train?
As the mountains grew smaller and the fields disappeared
I understood the pain of a refugee.

展位

站在咖啡馆里排队，
等着轮到我，压下一个哈欠，
老天！我一早起来总是烦躁，
一半要怪那门讨厌的课

我身后的两步之遥
立着一个“捐款救助中国震灾难民”的牌子
我看着那个展位
再把注意力放回咖啡上

怎么能？你怎么能要求别人施展善心？
你自己一点都不给别人？
当你夺走了我自由的权利的时候
我为什么连零钱也要掏出来给你？

“Yes”……她打断了我沉思
噢抱歉……嗯……请给我一杯普通咖啡，我说。
“大中小杯？”我可以听出声音里压抑的不耐烦
噢……请给我超大杯。（妈的，有人强迫她在这里工作吗？）

喝了一口以后，我再次望向那个展位
上头贴着一些我已经变得怕看到的同样图片——孩子们有着老人的眼睛
男女惊魂未定地依偎在一起
让我想起看到的新闻故事

我走过去，听到布置展位的男人在跟一群少女讲话
他们可能是越南人、柬埔寨人、或中国人——亚洲任何地方都可能
很难说他们来自哪里
他们说话的口音好似寻常的加拿大人

在他们当中，我听到了他的中国口音
以及他描述地震的方式……他说了两次：“我的国家”
又指着图片中的碎石块堆
我转移视线，太痛苦了

在这里，你跟我是一样的
离家千万里，挣扎着适应异地的空间
不愿意放弃我们过去的根……
我穿过排队的人，递给他一张钞票
他看着我在表格上的签名——“哪个国家？”
我说图伯特，然后看到他的眼神
他再问：“藏族吗？”
我点头，一边喝着我的咖啡走开。

2009年9月23日

Booth

September 23, 2009 by drugmo

Standing in line at the coffee shop
Waiting for my turn suppressing a yawn
God! I am irritable first thing in the morning
And the darn class is half to blame.

Behind me, a couple of steps away
Stood “Donation for China Earth Quake Victims”
I looked at the booth
And turned my attention back to coffee.

How? How can you ask for kindness?
When you dispense none to others?
Why should I even drop a spare change?
When you kill my right to freedom.

“Yes”…she broke into my reverie
Oh sorry…ummm…one regular coffee please, I said.
“What size?” I can hear the suppressed annoyance
Oh…extra large please. (f*** did someone force her to work here?)

One sip later, I looked at the booth again
Decorated with the same pictures I have come to dread- children with old eyes
Men and women clinging together in shock
Again it reminded me of the news.

I wandered over; and heard the guy talk to a group of teenage girls
They could be Vietnamese, Cambodian, or Chinese- anywhere in Asia
It’s hard to say what their origins were
They spoke like every other Canadian.

In their midst I heard his Chinese accent-
and the way he described the quake…twice he said “my country”
And pointed at the pile of rubbles in the picture
I looked away, it was too painful.

Here you and I are on equal ground
Miles away, struggling to adapt in a foreign space
Unwilling to let go the roots of our past…
I crossed the line and handed him a note
He looked at my signature on the form -”which country?”
I said Tibet and saw his look
He asked again “Zang Zu ma?”
I nodded and left drinking my coffee.