Two poems by Wu Yu Hsuan (Taiwan) translated from Chinese by Steve Bradbury
The Still Object of Kazuo Ohno
The still object Kazuo Ohno caressed is already growing old
The golden cicada shell outside the window still hangs in the air
The white chair he cherished has tumbled from the photo
Falling smoothly to the center of the room
Whenever I go past it
I have the urge to nudge it with my toe
And see what happens
But I figure the chair is too heavy
Would be much too hard to move
Nor does anyone dare sit down there
Seeing him still in his white chair
Engrossed in the problem of subliming into air
Now and then he rises and goes into a corner
Lifts the fallboard of the black piano, a little deflated
At his never been able to play the music that fills his ear
Not that he minds
Sitting on the floor, not a bit
He overturns the basket of paper flowers
Restoring the colored paper to its original form
Then slowly arching his back
He folds himself into just such a flower
For just such a basket
Now and then he stretches again
Steps over to the bookcase close by
Leafs through a volume of Monet
Observes the clouds reflected in the lotus pond
Gather and disperse about the sky
In the end
In the end he never forgets to return
To his beloved white chair
Which like some ordinary household object imparts a touch of languor
Author’s note: Kazuo Ohno (1906-2010) is the co-founder of Butoh, an improvisational dance movement that has taken fire around the world since he and Tatsumi Hijikata introduced it in Japan in the late fifties.
大野一雄的靜物
大野一雄摸過的靜物已慢慢變老
窗外金色的蟬殼還懸在半空
他心愛的白色木椅從照片跌出來
平穩地落在房間中央
我經過它的時候
總想伸出腳背
無禮地移動看看
我猜木椅太沉
難於搬動
也沒有人敢坐
因為他還坐在白椅子上
入迷地把自己變成空氣
偶爾他起身走向角落
掀開黑色鋼琴有些失望
他始終彈不出耳朵裡的音樂
但他毫不介意
坐在地板上
倒出籃子裡的紙花
恢復色紙的原形
然後徐徐彎曲背脊
將自己摺成一樣的紙花
放進籃子
偶爾他又伸展開來
走向門邊的書架
翻閱莫內的畫冊
看雲影在荷花池中聚攏又散去
最後
最後他總不忘歸來
坐回他的白色木椅
像尋常的靜物那樣浮現倦意
Feral
Don’t cut the cord
We entangle
In the tightest places
Tie ourselves into a “dead knot”
Gently, lightly
Break into a laugh
野
不把線剪斷
我們交纏
在最緊的地方
打死結
輕輕
笑出聲來
