2016年11月8日星期二

Ian Boyden的诗:这样的星光夜晚——写给唯色




【Ian Boyden,中文名薄英,画家、诗人、作家、译者、雕塑家、书法家、书籍装帧设计师、艺术策展人。曾在中国学习中文、中文书法等,并研究碑刻、学习禅宗。现居住美国华盛顿州的圣胡安岛。

Ian Boyden推特截图
基于对废墟的兴趣——不只是具象的某一座废墟——我们虽不曾谋面却成为朋友。起初是关于他的系列作品的了解——以自己的头像为原型,他用一系列天然材料造像,再将造像置放于大自然中,如同送给大自然的礼物,却又实现从自我变成无我的意义。如用小米和葵花籽造的自像,被飞鸟和蚂蚁吃掉了。用蜂蜜和鲞鱼造的自像,被黑熊吃掉了。用鱼食造的自像放在水里,鲤鱼游来亲吻。用石头造的自像放在河里,河水将其吞掉。他说“我自己成了一只鸟,成了一个熊,成了一条鱼,成了透明的流水,突然明白自我不存在。人与周围环境分不开。一个门打开,一种大悟,很深,很玄秘,同时很自然的体验。不知不觉地,我到达无我的佛法。原来,无我是一种生态的关系。”当他用木头造自像,并用火点燃,却不同寻常,因为被火烧过的自像如同“佛教自焚的声明”,这令他有异样的感受。第二天,他读到了我关于藏人自焚的文章,他说“这是我第一次听说唯色这个人”。

然后是我写的一篇文章引发的共鸣——《镇魔图,抑或罗刹女复活》。然后是我几乎每天发在社交网站上的废墟照片引发的共鸣:尧西达孜废墟,喜德林废墟,甘丹寺废墟,琼果杰寺废墟等等。正如伟大的诗人米沃什所言:“……人用废墟中找到的残余来建造诗歌。” Ian Boyden则为这句话增添了一个更深邃、更具希望的注脚:“并用诗歌来帮助澄清我们的文化关系和生态。”

我要的是,以下文字,如Ian Boyden上所写:这首诗我开始用中文写,同时把中文翻译到英文。然后再用英文写,又把那些部分翻译到中文。一些事我不能翻译到英文,一些事我不能翻译到中文……语言反响!”】

                                                
825日,唯色了一夜晚的照片:在充了星辰的天空,河像光芒的耳旋绕西达孜的墟上,旋绕着达喇嘛的人在拉的老房子,空。在照片旁,她问题这样的星光夜晚若真能目睹,有一个愿望也就可以实现了吧? 然她生在拉然她来自伯特,但她不能自由地在那里旅行,并且已两年不能返回家 
      
有一古老的伯特地,整个国家是一位女人的身体。她的身体覆盖着寺,山脉,森林,河流。 个女人的名字是森。那些星辰旋着达喇嘛及人在拉的老房子,也旋着森的身体。而森,有感的土地,每晚躺在那里,看着旋的星。 她想回中心的愿望是永无止境的。

这样的星光夜晚》
   ——唯色

我想打开森
羊保持他的皮肤
我想打开森
羊在高原散如云.....
羊皮上画的地可以卷起
当我打开另一
伯特一
代独立主伯特一

会用手把磨平
摩挲草原,摩挲最小的石
无法分清
哪个是画哪个是国家
无法分清
料与伯特的高山

清澈的眼
峡谷的氿泉
皮肤上的瘊子
牛的屎
身上的寺
章布达拉
的菩提
寺的菩提叶上的文字……
音回响在幽的山谷
她的八瓣围绕的胸怀
鹰鹫心里的漩星系
转经
雪豹秘地跑线
枯笔的偏…… 
所有些不可分割:地,土地,心

彼岸。此岸。。土。 

永恒的森斜躺着望上面
望天空密布星辰
望大气人的灰……

~Ian Boyden
10月10日2016年

On August 25, Woeser posted a photograph taken at night. In its star-filled sky, the Milky Way seems like a whisper of ancient light as it turns above the ruins of Yabzhi Taktser, rotating over the Dalai Lama’s old family house in Lhasa, empty and quiet. And accompanying this photo, Woeser asked this question: “This kind of a starlit night, if I could genuinely see it with my own eyes, if I had but one wish, could I make this happen?” Even though she was born in Lhasa, and even though she’s from Tibet, she cannot travel there freely and hasn’t been able to return to her native home for two years.

There is an ancient map of Tibet in which the entire country is depicted as the body of a woman. Her body is covered with temples, with mountains, with forests, with rivers. This woman’s name is Srinmo. The same stars circling over the ruins of the Dalai Lama’s old family house also circle over the body of Srinmo. And Srinmo, sentient earth, lies there night after night and looks up at these circling stars. Her wish to return to the centering is timeless.


This Kind of a Starlit Night
       for Woeser

I would unfurl the map of Srinmo
but let the sheep keep their skins
I would unfurl the map of Srinmo
but let the sheep drift like clouds across the high plateaus
The map painted on sheep skin would remain rolled up
while I unfurl the other map of Srinmo
this one painted as large as Tibet itself
when it was the size of its sovereign
independent self

We would run our hands over it
smoothing it over the fields, over the smallest stones
until it is impossible to distinguish
what is map and what is country
impossible to distinguish
pigment from the mountains themselves

Srinmo’s clear eyes
the springs pouring from the canyons
Srinmo’s warts
yak shit
the temples built upon Srinmo’s body
the Potala Palace
Srinmo’s sandalwood tree
the mystical words written upon the leaves
       of the golden sandalwood tree
       of the Kumbum Monastery
the dialects whispered in remote valleys
Srinmo’s breast surrounded
by an eight-petaled lotus
the galaxies spinning through vultures’ hearts
prayer flags
prayer wheels
a snow leopard’s hidden movements within the snow line
the swept edge left by a withered brush
All of this inseparable: map, land, heart

That shore. This shore. Paper. Earth.

Eternal Srinmo lies looking at the heavens
a sky full of stars
the atmosphere filled with the oncoming enemy’s dust

—Ian Boyden

October 10, 2016

延伸阅读:

唯色:镇魔图,抑或罗刹女复活http://woeser.middle-way.net/2016/04/blog-post_10.html

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