导读：北塔，原名徐伟锋，诗人、学者、翻译家，生于苏州，现居北京，中国现代文学馆研究员，系世界诗人大会常务副秘书长兼中国办事处主任、河北师范大学等高校客座教授、中国外国文学研究会莎士比亚研究分会秘书长种。
黄莎 吴佳娜 校
市场上的公鸡
双脚沾满了自己的粪便
羽毛掉了，翅膀松了
但它还在打鸣
市场就是刑场
交易就是杀戮
出卖者就是刽子手
但它还在打鸣
在血管被割开之前
在喉管被割断之前
从笼子到屠刀是漫长的等待
但它还在打鸣
在血被放完之后
在羽毛被拔光之后
它的骨肉和鸣唱被做成美味
我的肚子成了坟冢，时满时空
Rooster at the Market
Both its feet stained with its own excrement,
Feathers fallen, wings loosened,
But it is still crowing
The market is the execution ground--
The transaction is slaughter--
The seller, the executioner—
But it is still crowing
Before the blood vessel is cut
Before the throat is cut
From the cage to butcher's knife is the long waiting
But it is still crowing
After the blood is drained up
After feathers are all pulled out--
Its body and songs are made into delicious food
And my belly becomes a tomb, now filled and then emptied
入秋
几乎在一瞬间
一座巨塔，在秋风脚下
轰然倒塌
无数的传说如蝌蚪
从它的腹部泻出
随着隐秘的河流
流向即将干涸的水库
一个人在秋天走向果园
就好像一块石头滚向坟墓
一个人在秋天独坐书斋
就好像一块石头沉入大海
而时间，海水似的时间
在与岸滩似的钟表指针
进行着殊死的搏斗
而我们，自从发明了钟表后
就被裹入这致命的战场
我将像蚂蚁，拖着秋虫的尸体
我将像野马，驮着受伤的骑士
我将逼迫自己交出果园
然后，逼迫冬天交出火焰
Entering the Autumn
Almost in a moment
A huge tower, at the foot of the autumn
Collapsed with a rumble
Unnumbered legends like pollywogs
Were rushing out of its belly
And flowing with the hidden stream
toward the reservoir going to be dry
A man walks toward the orchard in the autumn
Is just like a stone rolling toward the tomb
A man alone sits in his own library in the autumn
Is just like a stone sinking into the sea
And time, like sea water
Is fatally struggling
With the hour hands like shores
While we, since we invented the timekeeper
Have been coerced into this vital battlefield
Like an ant, I will drag corpses of autumn insects
Like a horse, I will carry the wounded cavalier
I will force myself to hand out the orchard
Then force the winter to hand out flame
拾树叶的人
我只是个弯腰拾落叶的人
捡起来又丢下
再捡
这就是我全部的工作
那些葡萄的手臂
为了自身的安全和升迁
环抱着榆树的大腿
不关我的事
我只是个拾落叶的人
你挑选什么样的花
摘进你五彩的竹篮
在镜子前编成花冠
戴在你罗马城似的头上
不关我的事
我只是在拾落叶
我不羡慕那榆树
被藤蔓幸福地缠绕
也不同情那盼望你手指的
花朵被黑夜的眼泪侵犯
The Man Picking up Fallen Leaves
I am only a man stooping and picking up fallen leaves
Picking and hurling
And picking again
This is all what I do
The arms of grapes
Are embracing the big thigh of elm
In order to survive and thrive
Nothing to do with me
I am only a man picking up fallen leaves
What kind of flowers you choose
And throw into your colorful bamboo basket
And weave into a coronal before a mirror
And put on your head like the City of Rome
Nothingto do with me
I am only picking up fallen leaves
I don’t admire the elm
That is blissfully entangled by vines
Or sympathize the flower yearning for your fingers
Yet being violated by tears of the dark night
遭遇大风
一
大风摇晃着大树
却又逼迫那大树停止摇晃
阳光是一把爱打抱不平的柳叶刀
砍着大风，卷起了刃
衰草宁愿俯伏
——等待伏法的一群死刑犯
大路被吹得直起了身
像一个赶着去上早班的人
谁能迎风将一张白纸展开？
谁能顺风将一匹烈马放跑？
我愿意是一粒
稍微重一点的尘埃
在我亡命的生涯中
希望能抱住一块
公共汽车的站牌
二
一座大山压下来
在快要压碎一幢大楼时
自个儿轰然崩裂，大楼和大楼之间
满是风的碎片
面子偌大的一块招牌
被掀倒在商场的血盆大口前
一棵草仅仅因为细小
而躲过了它的魔掌
喜鹊在树枝上准备好了
欢迎的颂歌，而应答
它的只有乌鸦，那黑色的喇叭
经受得住任何一阵风的演奏
阴暗角落里的积雪所剩无几
在这个冬天不可能再融化
而高出所有房顶的烟雾
试图弯腰捡拾一片破瓦
树叶被揪下枝头
被摁倒在篱笆墙边
哪怕所有飞鸟都掉转方向
也还会有人背着包袱前行
Encountering a Gale
(1)
The gale is shaking a giant tree
Yet forcing it to stop shaking
The sunshine , like a lancet fond of defending things against injustice
Is chopping the gale till its blade is curved
Withered grasses would rather lie prostrate
---a group of prisoners under sentence of death to be executed
The broad road is blown so as to stand up
Like a man hurrying to be on the morning shift
Who can spread a blank sheet against the gale
Who can free a fiery steed following the gale
I’d like to be a grain
Of heavier dust
In my fleeing career
I hope to embrace
A bus stop board
(2)
A mountain was pressing
The moment when it was almost crushing a mansion
It was abruptly broken by itself. Between mansion and mansion
There were pieces of the gale
A signboard with so big a face
Was lifted up and thrown down in front of the bloody mouth of the mall
A grass avoided its evil hands
Just because of being tiny
The magpie had already prepared
A welcome hymn, yet only
A crow responded to it like a black trumpet
That could endure the play of any gale
Little snow left at the dark corner
Couldn’t melt any longer in this winter
While the smog higher than all roofs
Tried to stoop to pick up a broken piece of tile
Leaves were pulled off from boughs
And pushed down beside the fence
Even if all birds would turn away
Some of us would still go ahead with burdens
拴马桩
这些腿，这些离开了躯干的腿
这些在奔跑中渐渐缓慢下来的腿
这些在厮杀中被砍掉的腿
像彩虹的碎片，被抛进了现实
它们曾高高地、直直地矗立
如同大地向天空射出的欲望
在尘土中停留、沉默得太久了
以至于成了石头，马的敌人
一匹马驮着风，已经跑过
无数个村庄，一堆鲜嫩的草料
岂能让它停住？但是拴马桩
用缰绳咬住了它的脖子
主人的鼾声大作，这马
正强忍着泪水，强忍着虱子的
嘲弄。还有什么比耗子的尖叫
更能迫使它的血液冷冻
今夜，有多少马由于劳累而睡去，
又有多少马企图逃离而一夜无眠?
The Poles to Tie Horses
The legs, the legs that have left the body
The legs, the legs that gradually slowed down while running
The legs, the legs that were cut off in fighting
Like broken pieces of the rainbow, were thrown into reality
They once stood tall and upright
Like desires of the earth shot at the sky
Stayed for toolong a time silently
So as to become stones- enemies of horses
A horse, with the wind on its back, has run
Past countless villages. How could a pile
of freshg rasses stop it? Yet the pole
Bit its neck with a rein
With the master snoring, the horse
Held on its tears and endured jeers
Of lice.Nothing is more forcible
To freeze its blood than sneaks of mice
Tonight, how many horses have gone to sleep due to tiredness
And how many will be sleepless overnight, trying to run away?
北塔，原名徐伟锋，诗人、学者、翻译家，生于苏州，现居北京，中国现代文学馆研究员，系世界诗人大会常务副秘书长兼中国办事处主任、河北师范大学等高校客座教授、中国外国文学研究会莎士比亚研究分会秘书长，出版有诗集《正在锈蚀的时针》、《滚石有苔》、《巨蟒紧抱街衢——北京诗选》等、学术专著《一个诗人的考辩——中国现当代文学论集》、《照亮自身的深渊——北塔诗学文选》和译著《八堂课》等约30种。曾受邀赴美国、荷兰和马其顿等20余国参加研讨、采风、朗诵和讲座等各类文学、学术活动，曾率中国诗歌代表团前往墨西哥、匈牙利等10余国访问交流并参加诗会。有作品被译成英文、德文等10余种外文。曾在国内外多次获奖。有“石头诗人”之称。
Bei Ta, Whose real name is Xu Weifeng, born in Suzhou City, now lives in Beijing and serves for National Museum of Modern Chinese Literature as a professional poet, scholar and translator. He is the vice secretary general and board member of World Congress of Poets as well as secretary general of Chinese Shakespeare Research Society. He has published around 30 books such as “A Rolling Stone Gathers Mosses”, “Serpents Clasping Streets---Le Spleen de Pékin”,“Lightening One’s Own Abyss---Essays on Poetics by Bei Ta” and “Eight Lessons”(Chinese translation of the novel by John Maxwell Coetzee), etc. His poems have been translated into more than 10 languages including English, French, German, etc. He has won a variety of prizes home and abroad. He has got the reputation of "the stone poet".
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