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人们常常说起诗意。
而什么是诗，什么又是意

当诗的时刻降临的时候，
我是知道的。

但却不能够明白，
到底诗是什么




People speak of poetry.
But what is poetry,
and what does it mean to be poetic

There are moments when I knew,
that the moment of poetry had arrived.

Yet I could not tell,
what really poetry is

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    我的童年是跟着爷爷奶奶在山村里度过的，那些潋滟眩目，被亚热带的碧绿和蝉鸣环绕着的日子里，水库边看水面波光、捉小鱼追蜻蜓，到山里砍柴、摘野菜、祭祖扫墓，屋后是茶叶竹林，前坪是橘子香椿，珍宝阁般的菜地是我的乐园。在侯孝贤的电影《冬冬的假期》里，那样的风景就是我小时候看过的风景，那样晃着眼、等电话、睡凉席、爬树玩水、田野嬉闹、善与坏迷迷糊糊、日记总以“就此搁笔”结尾的夏天，就是我也有过的夏天。我所经历的人生，也就像这样看一场又一场的电影，在这一个又一个画面和想象中穿行。穿过去，穿过一段又一段旅程，慢慢地，去冲洗、去完成。


My childhood was spent in a mountain village with my grandparents,
in those days shimmering and dazzling,
surrounded by subtropical greens and the drone of cicadas—
watching the shimmer of light on the reservoir’s surface,
catching small fish, chasing dragonflies;
going into the hills to gather firewood,
picking wild greens,
taking part in ancestral rites and grave sweeping.

Behind the house were tea bushes and bamboo groves;
in the front yard, orange trees and Chinese toon.
The vegetable garden—
laid out like a cabinet of treasures—
was my little paradise.




In Hou Hsiao-hsien’s film A Summer at Grandpa’s, 
those landscapes are the very ones I saw as a child. 

The summer of eyes drifting in the light,
of waiting for the telephone to ring,
of sleeping on bamboo mats cooled by night air,
climbing trees, playing in water,
running wild through the fields—
where good and evil were still vague and indistinct,
and diaries always ended with the words
“I lay down my pen here.”

That summer
is a summer I, too, once had.

The life I have lived in my imagination is also just like watching films—moving through one image after another, one imagining after another, passing through, passing through again, through journey after journey, slowly—to be developed, to be brought to completion.





Later, I returned to live with my parents. The place where I grew up was still a small town in a valley—
farmland stretching out in front of us, beyond it, ranges of mountains rolling on and on.
Behind the house there was also a small vegetable plot of our own, and a river whose water level shifted visibly with the seasons. In summer, we would step down onto the exposed riverbank, wading through the water, turning over stones, searching and peering.
The wind was always carrying the scents of grass, river water, damp earth, and cooked food.
My soul was steeped in it—and for the rest of my life, it will continue to give off a trace of the raw, earthy fragrance of forests and fields, vast skies, and vegetable gardens.

As a child, I loved playing hide-and-seek. Once I hid inside a cupboard and fell asleep, sending my grandparents to rally the entire village to search the hills and fields for me. Later, I took to lying beneath the dining table, chairs pushed together to form my small, cool bed—and again I fell asleep, leaving my parents to search everywhere.
Every vegetable garden has such a pool of water—clear, mysterious. I would stare into it, imagining, drifting into an Alice-like doze: beneath the surface lay my dazzling, multicolored fairyland, my hidden paradise.
Then one day, I truly dreamed a dream: a fairy emerged from the pool in the vegetable garden of my old home, her hair dripping wet, tangled with water plants, leaves, and flowers, walking straight toward me.
It was only later that I encountered Millais’s painting—the figure glancing left and right—and realized I did not know, after all, what kind of world this truly was.

    后来我回到爸爸妈妈身边，所成长的地方仍然是一座山谷里的小镇，对面是农田，更远处是绵延的山峦，屋后也有一片自己的小菜地，一条四季水量变化明显的河流，到了夏天就下到露出的河滩上去淌水，翻开石头探来探去。风里总是飘着青草、河水、泥壤、饭菜的气味。而我的灵魂浸润其中，也终其一生都将散发出一股来自山林、田野、开阔的天空、菜地的土气腥香。

    小时候爱捉迷藏，曾躲到柜子里，结果睡着了让爷爷奶奶动员全村漫山遍野地找，后来又喜欢躺在餐桌下面，椅子拼成我的小床凉凉的，又睡着了让爸爸妈妈屋前屋后找。每一块菜地都有那样一湾潭水，清澈神秘。我总盯着潭水想象，打着爱丽丝的盹，潭水下是我缤纷绚丽的仙境桃源。结果某天真的做了一个梦，梦见一个仙女从老家菜地的水潭里钻出来，湿漉漉的发丝里还夹着水草、叶子、花朵，向我迎面走来。我后来才看到米莱斯那副画，左顾右盼，不晓得这到底是一个怎样的世界。




   也许正是因为我诞生在这样的地方，所以才会遇见树木、流水，才会选择亲近与之伴生的一切。我知道我的意念不仅仅是生发于我私自的个体的内心，而可能是这片土地，在我还未诞生的时候，就将我包裹了起来。它想要借我的生命去了解生长在它之上的这些森林、河流、天空、泥土、花草蔬果、虫鸟鱼虾。然后我带着它赋予给我的能量，去感应到同样柔润的流动、滋养、发芽。

I came to understand that it was precisely because I was born in such a place that I encountered trees and flowing water, and that I chose to draw close to everything that lives and grows alongside them. I know now that my intentions do not arise solely from the private interior of my individual self, but may instead be something this land had already wrapped around me before I was born. It wished to know, through my life, the forests, rivers, sky, soil, flowers and fruits, insects, birds, fish, and all other living things that grow upon it. And so I carry the energy it has bestowed upon me, sensing the same gentle currents—of flow, nourishment, and germination.

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秋天打柿子

在秋天打柿子，缩着手脚爬上树桠，
眺望云雾里远处那些山，正在雾气中
磅礴。我的身躯无限壮大，蓬勃而出，
向潮湿的寒冷伸出臂膀，正在升起，
我无限的躯体，照耀金红的果实。
雨从空无中降落，清洗积年的尘土。
十七个人，在秋天打柿子，挥动
铁灰色胳膊，长臂竹竿敲响无声的
节奏，果实落在我无限空旷的躯体。

马雁(Ma Yan)，2002年冬                            

                    

秋、柿を打つ  
秋、柿を打つ、手足を縮めて枝に登り、  
霞みがかった遠くの山々を眺める、霧の中で  
巍然と聳える。私の体は限りなく膨らみ、湧き上がり、 
湿った寒さに向かって腕を伸ばし、昇っていく、  
私の無限の体は、金赤い実を照らす。  
雨は虚無から降り、積もった塵を洗い流す。  
十七人、秋に柿を打つ、  
鉄灰色の腕を振り、長い竹竿で無音の  
リズムを刻み、果実はこの無限に茫漠たるわが身に落ちた。


“Picking Persimmons in Autumn”
In autumn, picking persimmons, I climb the branches with my limbs curled.
From the mist, distant mountains rise, shrouded in clouds,
majestic. My body stretches vast and boundless, bursting outward,
arms reaching into the damp cold, rising—
my boundless body, to bathe the golden-red fruits in light.
Rain falls from an empty sky, cleansing years of accumulated dust.
Seventeen of them, who pick persimmons in autumn, swinging—
their iron-gray arms, long bamboo poles striking
a silent rhythm, the fruits falling onto my boundless vast body.

我希望作为世界的某人，
在世界的某处，
于世界的某时

但做的事情却不是某事。

而是要明确的、细微的，
清清楚楚、落落大方的，
属于我的一件事。
I wish to be
somebody in the world,
somewhere on the planet,
at some moment in the universe—

but not to be doing something.

Rather,
to be doing this exact thing,
a thing specific,
a thing clearly defined,
a thing quietly and fully—
my own.

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人类一切后天所得都是身外之物，
记忆是我们唯一的财产，拥有无穷的想象就是财富；
请只是怀着不断变化的感受力和好奇，轻装上阵。


Human beings—
all we acquired after birth is external to the self;
memory is the only true possession;
to have boundless imagination, is to be wealthy.

So travel light,
carrying a constantly shifting sensibility and curiosity,
like carrying nothing.

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About
xiaohongshu: Sachiko
Instagram: saaaaachikooo
Wechat Official Account: Noctober
Email: wxt201030@gmail.com

ようこそ、さちこの宇宙へ
謝謝來到，Sachiko這裡。