I Can Almost See The Clouds of Dust: Selected Poetry of Yu Xiang

X. If I Can Indeed Have a Background

X IF I CAN INDEED HAVE A BACKGROUND 136 我的诗 我要告诉你一件事 那是我的诗，而你正读到它 我永远不会飞起来，也不会离开，因为我脚踏大地，头顶天空，在为 一首诗蓄备足够的阴影 我有一把椅子，它从未发出声响 我有另一把椅子，上面有个屁股印儿。一把没人坐过的椅子，灰尘已 把屁股印埋葬 我身上有块疤，小时候我妈打的，长大后我们“亲爱的妈妈” 打的。 没人见过它，而我随时能够到它。在夜里，它是我的诗 我几乎是由疤构成的。于是，在拐弯处，我浑身闪亮，而太阳刺痛我 的眼 我爱上一个藏族汉子，他纠结的长发里黏着虱卵和经文，当越野车抛 锚在雅江。我想着这件事的时候坐在馄饨摊前，嘴里含着一只被现实 舔过的汤勺 如果你重温《对她说》，请调到29分07秒，那儿有我的诗 我的生活需要一场灾难，一场平息灾难的灾难。需要我的诗 137 My Poem I want to tell you something It’s my poem, you’re reading it now I’ll never fly, or leave, for I stand on firm feet and look far, gathering shadows enough for a poem I have a chair that makes no sound I have another chair, with an ass print. A chair no one has sat in, dust has already buried the print There’s a scar on my body, beaten by my mother when I was little, beaten by our “dear Mother” from my grown-up years. No one has seen it, but I can touch it anytime. At night, it’s my poem I’m virtually built of scars. So my body glitters at a turn, while the sun pierces my eyes I’m in love with a Tibetan, his tangled long hair glued with nits and scripture when the jeep broke down in Nyakchu. I think of this when sitting at a wonton stall, a spoon licked by reality in my mouth If you revisit Hable con ella, please rewind to 29:07, my poem is there My life needs a disaster, a disaster to appease disasters. It needs my poem 138 Reinaldo Arenas早已写出我的诗句，“我一直是那个愤怒 / 而孤独 的孩子 / 总是被你侮辱 / 愤怒的孩子警告你 / 如果你虚伪地拍拍我 的头 / 我就趁机偷走你的钱包 // 我一直是那个在恐怖 / 腐败、跳蚤 / 冒犯和罪恶面前的孩子 // 我是那个被驱逐的孩子……” 我是那个孩子，“脸圆圆的，显然不讨人喜爱”，我喜爱我的狗， 但它死了 我养的小狗一条一条死去，那是我一点一滴的冷 基督死于人，人死于他爱的事物。我该为谁哀悼 我在哀悼。别打扰我 这是我的诗，请别打扰它 139 Reinaldo Arenas already wrote my verses, I am that angry and lonely child of / always, that throws you the insult of / that angry child of always / and warns you: if hypocritically you pat / me on the head I would take that / opportunity to steal your wallet. / I am that child of always, / before the panorama of eminent terror, / of eminent leprosy, of eminent fleas, of / offenses or of the eminent crime. / I am that repulsive child . . . I’m that child, a round face, clearly unlikable, I like my dog, but it’s dead My dogs died one by one, each and every drop of my coldness Christ died for man, man dies for things he loves. Who should I mourn I’m mourning. Don’t disturb me This is my poem, please don’t disturb it 140 2009，中秋夜 这人丁兴旺的一夜 月亮们滚滚而来 黑暗中偎在墙角的孩子 如真理一般虚无 141 Mid-Autumn Festival Night, 2009 On this flourishing night moons rush in a child cuddles in a dark corner futile as truth 142 信 每天都有一些信在途中遗失 它与不信有关 它被风吹进树林，吹向 林中的坟地、墓碑以及碑前的 枯枝败叶 经过光线，它弯了一下 把死亡吹成一个美妙时刻 每天都有一个美妙的时刻 它与信有关 它落向焚烧的落叶。落在 乞丐指尖，落得下落不明 或被狗叼着，进入 动物世界 每天都有一封美妙的信，落在 雨中的路面 就像脚印 尘世被一步一步走远 143 Letter every day some letters are lost on the way it has to do with nonbelief blown by wind into the trees, blown into the woods, their cemeteries, their tombs and their dead leaves through light, it arches blows death into a wonderful moment every day contains a wonderful moment it has to do with belief it falls onto burnt fallen leaves falling on beggar’s fingertips, with unknown whereabouts or bitten by a dog, entering an animal world every day has a wonderful letter, falling on a road in the rain like footprints the world afar step by step 144 惊叹 回头看我的人 与我选择的这具身体以及 我为这具身体选择的衣衫以及 我为这衣衫搭配的表情没有关系 与我的怪异没有关系 如果我真的怪异 与我的背景没有关系 如果我真的能够拥有背景 回头看我的人 与其他人没有关系 在这座城这条街，这个时刻 一个回头的时刻。仅仅是 一个回头的时刻。之后 回头看我的人继续 赶路。命运是否改变 我惊叹什么 145 Marvel the man who turns back to look at me is unrelated to this body I choose and the clothes I choose for this body and the expression I match with these clothes unrelated to my strangeness if I am indeed strange unrelated to my background if I can indeed have a background the man who turns back to look at me is unrelated to others in this city this street, this instant an instant of turning back just an instant of turning back then the man who turns back to look at me continues his way does fate change what do I marvel at 146 离开的地方还在摇晃 我站上月台 看地铁启动。看着你 随地铁而去。看着我自己 被锋利的车窗切过 薄薄的，一片一片 幽灵色的，一个一个 插进鲜亮的人群 你不能看到我，就像 今生你再也看不到我 没人注意我。人群中 没有人 注意我。我看到一张皮囊 我的又一张皮囊 一张比一张面目模糊 一张比一张 接近无辜 一张比一张 目瞪口呆 147 The Place I Left Is Still Swaying I stand on the platform watching the metro in motion. Watching you leave with the metro. Watching myself sliced by sharp car windows thinly, slice by slice spectrally colored, thrust one by one into a bright crowd You can’t see me, as if you won’t see me in this life again No one notices me. In the crowd no one notices me. I see a body another body each blurrier than the other each closer to innocence and more dumbstruck 148 在关闭的屏幕上，你看到 一个独自在家的人 一个伟大的演员 一场蹩脚的室内剧 一个所有角色的扮演者 一个众人 独自的众人 一个人，众所周知 [18.223...