「讓石頭開花」香港國際詩歌之夜2026嘉宾预告|馮啟明
夜晚
[新加坡] 冯启明
郑政恒 译
夜晚是否更适合
等待？
这是向这份不安
提出的疑问。
夜晚
一如中断。一如停顿。
一如重置。平息躁动。
但我们已受够了。
夜晚是一群
阴影
聚集起来抗议
日常的罪犯特征分析。
在盲眼警员眼中
所有夜晚都一模一样。
漆黑
隐于白昼的破碎之下。
某样事物不声不响
穿过
在通往
正经事途中。夜
犹如白昼的南方。
这些未被标记、未被开发的时光
尚未投入
运作。
慵懒的土著时间。
掩饰目不识丁的
毫无悔意的夜晚。
夜晚如病毒
阻隔我们
远离商店与学校
以及永无止境的增长。
所有的夜晚
都重要吗？
有些只是麻烦，像这个。
有些是熔炉
蕴藏未耗尽的热量。
有些耗尽自己
化为光，
一片白色的投降。
Night
Alvin Pang
Is night kinder for
waiting?
is the question asked
of this unquiet.
Night
as break. As pause.
As reset. Quelled restiveness.
But we’ve had enough.
Night is a mob of
shadows
gathered to protest
daily profiling.
All nights look the same
to a blind policeman.
Black
beneath day’s tatters.
Something to pass through
without fanfare
on the way
to real business. Night
as diurnal South.
These unmapped, unmined hours
not put to work
yet.
Lazy native time.
Dissembling, illiterate
impenitent night.
Night as a virus
keeping us
from shops and school
and constant increase.
Do all nights
matter?
Some are just trouble, like this.
Some are crucibles
of an unspent heat.
Some exhaust themselves
to light,
a white surrender.
慢慢失明是什么感觉
[新加坡] 冯启明
郑政恒 译
即使是黑洞也会透出微光：如同讯号的幽灵，转瞬即逝，令人疑惑。
护理站里有人在呼唤某个名字：是你的名字吗？那不过是大脑在做梦，自己完整无缺。
有时开关会因为使用而断裂。有时潮气会渗入，或是老鼠（哈！）会啃咬电路，在你知道之前，你这下可毀了別人的退休生活。
炖菜的咸味一次比一次淡。海水的刺痛感，也渐渐减轻，变得更加平缓，更加模糊。
我没注意到玻璃的边缘，它突然就在那里，就像邮件里的坏消息。就像午夜过后的电话。
淡淡的茶香，像遥远的嘴唇。感冒的太阳前来收集。
装不进袋子带回家：在这里吃完，或寻求帮助。没有人会因为你打破了鸡蛋，就停止快乐。
夜幕降临得更早，而且持续。
闷笑声，却带着光子。毛毯下的柔软感。树皮被刮掉，令树液干涸。
是你碰了我，还是乌鸦的羽毛？你知道，大声说话或说慢一点，都没用。
为抽屉里剩下的餐具而感激。玫瑰的臭气。
在闸门关上前，把你的花园打理好。
What It Is Like to Go Blind Slowly
Alvin Pang
Even black holes let glimmers out: like the ghosts of signal, fugacious, dubitable.
They’re calling a name at the nurse’s station: is it yours? That’s just the brain dreaming it is whole.
Sometimes the switches snap from use. Sometimes the damp gets in, or rats (ha!) chew up the circuitry and before you know it you’ve gone and ruined someone’s retirement.
The stew a little less salty, every time. Sea stinging a little less, becoming more horizontal, more cloud.
I did not notice the edge of the glass, it was suddenly there, like bad news in the mail. Like a phone call after midnight.
A faint tea scent, like distant lips. The sun with a headcold come to collect.
Not enough to take home in a bag: finish it here, or get some help. Nobody is going to stop being happy just because you broke your eggs.
It gets night earlier and stays there.
Muffled laughter, but with photons. The pillowy underneaths of blankets. Tree bark scraped off so the sap dries out.
Did you touch me or did the feather of a crow? Speaking louder or more slowly doesn’t help, you know.
Be thankful for the rest of the cutlery drawer. The stench of roses.
Get your garden ready before the gate closes.
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