2008/4/24

零八‧四月詩會‧夏宇的腹語術

時間 Time: 2008/4/27 (Sun) 5:00pm-6:00pm
地點 Venue: 油麻地kubrick
主持 Moderator:Polly Ho、黃懷琰

有些詩句,不是不好,但是你會忘記,像充斥於報紙雜誌的廣告,夏宇的詩句,竟叫人刻骨銘心!首先,你會被詩中描繪的神秘意境牽引住,然後臆測推敲,想辦法弄清楚裡面的蛾繭,你不得不佩服她拿捏文字的出色,然後你又懷疑她是不是一位文字魔術師,你又再拿起她的詩集,一遍又一遍。夏宇這個人,與她的詩句一樣,是一個充滿引力的黑洞,她是台灣詩人,一共出版五本詩集,第一本自資出版的「備忘錄」成為千金難求的珍本。

四月是接近夏季的日子,是時候讓大家認識這位懂腹語術的詩人!

2008/4/10

17.9

(Markus Mo)

<17.9>
I was 17.9.
I throw myself into deepest dives.
Deoxygenation crossed my mind.
Ambient Darkness surrounds me.
Come to the riskiest part of my life.

Am I cooling down or Am I burning out under the sea?
May I take the rest or lay down,
Come to bed and stop crying,
Let my heart shut and end its bleeding.
Literally I keep me breathing,
In fact, I haven’t never live and never stay.
There’s no pulses, no heartbeat, I had passed away.

Long been the care, happiness and elation I have sought.
Make the brightest love official in May.
There I get more sweetest taste.
Where’s it’s the most memorable and gorgeous day
The most sensitive moment on the innocent lips.
It’s like honey drip to tip, it’s the first kiss.

My Birthday in June.
Never though my 18th birthday come so happy, so soon.
Dramatically believe there’s love,
It was falling on me without hiding in shades.

The scent in the garden with all those colourful flowers,
We’re into the wonderland with sunshine everywhere.
Sat together and enjoy the most beautiful day.
Then the drops of water keep falling in the sky.
We didn’t run away, we are sitting in the rain.
We had all wet but we appreciated what we had.
There’s circle of love on the park.
Might be there’s the one what I missed,

I don’t want to lose in the immense test.
But we failed and it’s proved ourselves in progressive sadness and deadly depressed.


<17.9>

A reluctant save,
Change my value, change your life.
I originally guessed I had more abundant time to waste.
You previously thought I was the one that would bring you to heaven.
Time turned to show were are wrong, It’s comes to the moment that I,
Been used up all my strength,
To save the day with the absolute effort,
It’s the something I could never afford.

You’re a outsider and a stranger.
We come together and get through extreme adventure in the summer,
Months later, I opened the secret closet.
Mystery is revealed and shows all misery inside the wooden chest.
Counting the days and all the numbers.
Now going to the December,
Still no clue of why god divine power,
Made all this happen, taking all the things back.

Now I would understand, cos’ it’s 99 percent death.
I barely live, Happy to see I had made a hopeless leave.
Or choose to eventually lie down and die.
I burnt myself to ash and let it spread and fly.
Over the canyon to the zephyr,
Across the ocean and reach to another life.

<17.9:>

I now have more impatience before.
I wonder when it would end.
I turned my heads and that would be today.
I am sure I will be okay.
No more venom and evil infection,
More human love affection, passion and appreciation.
Less malediction and vindictive vengeance.

All I see is the starry sky,
Love weavers over the clouds.
Been used up all my strength to be here tonight,
To save the millions hearts from day to night.
Even it seems it’s something I might not afford,
It’s the something I could once in my life put all of my effort.

I was 17.9.
I make a stride over the mist of facts and lies,
I see the truth and I found the meaning of life.
I discovered the true happiness.
My vitality surprised my eyes.
Till the angel rescued my soul, that day I changed my mind.
Since that day, I look at the sky, I smile.
Come to the most beautiful part of my life.

Tsunami

(Markus Mo)

Say hello and wave goodbye
The lilies and daisy on the water pool
Chrysanthemum laid next to your gravestone.
Aroma and scent spread all inside the rooms.
Even The promises are broke
For orphans, widows and bloke who lost his wife
Reminiscence never shook.

The memories unfolded, the knot untangled.
Blessing, colour and graffiti sprinkle from above,
The dorm of pandemonium is finally closed.
Dominance of dark lord removed in the tainted flow.
Tricks of optical illusion, pains and sorrow have now unloaded.

Standing at the staircase.
Watching the footstep.

We would hold our hands,
We would sing another song that it won't be the last to have.
I would not bewildered if there is no voice in the air.
Because there is no atmosphere.
My lips has been sealed recently,
There is no way for me to speak or kiss.
I found your charm in my pocket,
And an amulet on my neck
When the water pour in and the rain rustled,
The sound of our smile and your crystalline but briskly voice attenuated,
Following the rainwater, finally washed away.

I am drowning deep down from below
But wishing you living well above.
In the way I could open my mouth,
Like the bubbling of fish,
I would swim across the ocean and see this amazing world.

Even you are brute with a stoned heart.
That should not be reprimanded anymore.
In the cold winter, the faces and the breathing air I discern,
Could be much more better than waiting for thaw in reverse.
Spring tide and warmed temperature made me liquefied.
Flower, butterfly, trees, this nature and sun bring me back to live.
-

Now, I lost my identity, at the same time, searching my missing integrity.
Where my retardation and morbidity have entered me,
I will be spineless.
The excursion of the animal kingdom
Remodeling of human structures from head to toes,
to the supernatural denudation from tip to tail.

The gloomy night falls with heavy rain,
All the sentiment fall down to drain.
I am meticulously searching a way to escape,
but there is no exits or doors,
Is the god the only one I have to blame?
In such ruthless world filled with atrocity,
More than a misfortune to virulent sensation of pain.

Under the ground, the fury of the mother nature unleashed.
The ocean quake erupted, creating the lethal magnitude of ripples.
Radically fires the burst of astronomical anger.

You told me there seems to have a turmoil underneath.
But I mistook it is a wrong way for a better relief.
So we neglect it as if there is another hysteria.
Am I asking an monstrous beast to be obedient?
Or have I ever overlooked my friend as ignorant?
I am a little bit tender, a bit too soft.
The tremor over my body
Involuntary agitation of my nerves.
But the silence of my stormed mind,
would rather to stay absolute calm in the aftermath.

Vile hunter making the crosshair locked on her target.
Turning pages of another cartoon myth story,
The colour of the crayon draw on the paper.
However reality is not any legendary tales
With the heroes will always stay alive.
Flipped the last page and ended the story.
Tuning the characters with a pleased smile so that everyone is merry.
I know such plot would be very pretty,
but in the notorious world, life would not be this ludicrously easy.

At the primitive village, a woman washing her clothes at the steam found me.
I am sliding down with your necklace that swore as our will.
The caustic word came out from your mouth became the bitter taste of the ghastly memories.
In such remote, placid land of native soil.
The harmony of life and nature.
Everything in such living heaven is spotless and completely immaculate.
The little children are joyfully playing, toddler are sitting with the rabbit hopping on the grass.
I recalled the sweetest smile on your weeping face.
Hope are always in our heart, the twinkle star lighten up the mid-night sky.

I consider this land is never exploited.
For the first time, I am expediting this wonderland that is so amid the globe,
Away from the neon light and architectural skyscraper of a modern city.
I walked along the beautiful landscape,
The tadpole, small fishes washed downstream.
I can see a lady braiding her hair at a distance.
So pure, so clear and so innocent.
Under the skyline and the forest with all the natural locals,
Am I dreaming too easily?

Perhaps I am too exhausted as that point,
I afraid I have lost the acquaintance of my old friend.
Am I exiling myself from them too far away?
Making my life inaccessible and contrary.

Praise The One

(Markus Mo)

You’re the one, Allah
So transcendent and omnipotent
The Most Merciful with compassion.
Give life to human, as well as Mohammad the prophet
Wrote’ the law of nature and order in Quran.
Seize the enemy, slay betrayers for treason.
Open the doors of hell and heaven, push them into justice
When the Day has came, all deeds revealed, all men will be sentenced
Murder those who reject the good and divinity,
Kill those who disbelieve the god and who laid their hands on their sins.
For them, The paradise and garden would be pitifully forfeited.
But then, Arrest the evil infidel and burn their ghastly soul in inferno.

May long blessing and joy last for eternity
You send gifts to this land for free in everyday miracle.
We find Valor the Armor in the wardrobe.
To bring splendor and order to this globe.
We follow, deliver hope, love and peace to all people.
We are mortally dead, but spiritually alive to serve you
You stroke our back to secure our peace and protect us from darkness.
You caress us to give us strength and power, for harmony and survival.
You slapped our face and punished us, to understand life, forgiveness and appreciation.
You forced us to stand still, repel the devil and make us able.
We kneel down as you granted us life and rescue us from hollowness and emptiness in this broken world.
We do prayer, prostrate, acclaim ‘Praise be to Allah’ as we always should.
You are the One, who compose and create life to our brothers and sisters
You are the True Only One, Our Lord.

2008/4/5

理想的詩會

(Polly Ho)

形式

怎樣經歷詩?讀詩還是唱詩?答案是「都可以。」

詩不但是文學形式,更是一種韻文,以不同語言讀會有不同的音樂美,因此詩會初期以演繹為主,由幾位核心成員構思演繹方式,以廣東話﹑普通話﹑英文﹑法文進行,配以結他為背景音樂,觀眾和核心成員一起經歷詩,感受詩的音樂美。對比現在的討論交流方式,以往的演繹方式是單向的,觀眾被動地接受我們的給予。後來,我們改變方式﹐以討論為主,大家圍坐一起,主持人的角色由主導變成輔助,如今,討論亦變成詩會最重要的一環。

理想的詩會

怎樣的詩會才是理想?一句話:思考不止於詩會。一小時的詩會其實真的很短,我們可以做的只是介紹某個詩人,欣賞他/她的幾首作品,如果討論止於一小時,那是最失敗的詩會。我們希望,觀眾在詩會之後引發更多的思考,詩會不過是一個起點,一個小小的引子,詩會之後的自我發掘才是最精采的!

在香港這個小城市,有不少的詩會,中文的﹑英文的,中文詩會有個特色,就是各個圈子清清楚楚,互不重疊,反觀英文詩會有一個交匯點,他們互相分享,他們是朋友,為什麼中文詩會不能這樣?我們希望,Kubrick詩會是一個容納不同詩人﹑不同文化的平台,詩會完結後我們是朋友,不是過客,更不是陌生人。

有沒有發現很少人拿詩來詩會分享?或者中國人「害羞」的特質作祟;或者詩是私人的情感,不好意思在「大庭廣眾」之下讀出來;又或者根本沒有寫詩的習慣,哪來分享可言?我們希望,更多的人寫詩,在傷心的時候,在深夜的時候,寫在小本子上,寫在blog上,寫在百佳收據上,然後寄到這個電郵上 kubrickpoems@gmail.com, 我們會把它放在Kubrick的部落格上。

總而言之,Kubrick詩會是一個有討論﹑有交流﹑有朋友﹑有分享的交匯點,是文化的土壤,是一種氣候,這是我們理想的詩會!

2008/4/4

詩會起源

(吳智欣)

不知你們有沒有發現,Kubrick是很「詩」的。

沒有一家書店那麼膽敢將「書房毒藥」──詩集──放在門口最當眼的書架上,也沒有書店那麼慷慨地固定將每個月最後一個星期日的一個小時撥給一個演詩會。

已忘記了在何年在Kubrick搞第一個詩工作坊,總之,是看著「一人一劇場」的時候,我和身旁的朋友說了一句:「為甚麼我們不可以就在這裡搞詩?」

05年11月,我和Amanda在電話簡短地一句起兩句止,Amanda和我鎖定06年2月開始每月搞一個演詩會。起初的想法是:詩走到21世紀的今天,好像走進了一個死胡同似的,愈來愈少眾,詩集滯銷,中外如是。打開一本聖經的中心,你看到的便是詩篇,為甚麼一種如此神聖的文學形式到了今天會如此不濟?我從中學拿到第一個青年文學獎到這那時候,一直對詩不離不棄,詩,可算是我唯一最長的愛情,可是往後該怎麼走?還要出詩集嗎?出版的意義何在?我們還需要詩嗎?也許,答案是:把今天的人重新帶進詩歌裡面,首要的是能讓他們在生活中經歷詩!要這樣做,我們必須探索詩的「可能性」,這將會是詩會,也是終我一生的使命。

每次我們都做事後檢討,由起初講者主導到後來講者與聽眾分享交流,由現場結他伴奏到影像播放,從白紙黑字的文字媒介到肢體演繹,我盼望我們的探索能像漣漪,從圍坐著的幾個人一路擴散開去……

成員簡介

吳智欣 Florence Ng

畢業於香港大學文學院,主修比較文學。
曾獲「青年文學獎」及Nosside 2010獎項。
首本詩集為手作仔《鞋子集》,邀請了五位朋友
義務繪畫了二百個不同的封面。



黃懷琰 Wong Wai Yim

於香港及巴黎兩地生活游走。
留學法國八年,取得國立藝術學士一等榮譽學位,及國立藝術碩士學位,主修錄像媒體藝術及玻璃。
曾在法國、加拿大、中國、南韓等展覽。





何世鳳 Polly Ho

香港大學畢業生,主修心理學,副修藝術。
享受生活,喜愛藝術。



張文耀 Adam Cheung

畢業於多倫多大學教育學院
曾擔任獨立電台節目製作
愛寫短篇小說





王大宝 Cyrus Wong  

加洲大學栢克萊分校工程碩士, 普渡大學工程學士。擁有理科人的科學思維及對精準的執著, 文科人的感性與直覺導向, 遊走於左右腦, 在矛盾中生活及成長。興趣是教學, 寫作, 沖咖啡, 攝影, 以及尋找下一個想去的地方。








成員簡介

吳智欣 Florence Ng

畢業於香港大學文學院,主修比較文學。
曾獲「青年文學獎」及Nosside 2010獎項。
首本詩集為手作仔《鞋子集》,邀請了五位朋友
義務繪畫了二百個不同的封面。




黃懷琰 Wong Wai Yim

於香港及巴黎兩地生活游走。
留學法國八年,取得國立藝術學士一等榮譽學位,及國立藝術碩士學位,主修錄像媒體藝術及玻璃。
曾在法國、加拿大、中國、南韓等展覽。




何世鳳 Polly Ho

香港大學畢業生,主修心理學,副修藝術。
享受生活,喜愛藝術。



張文耀 Adam Cheung

畢業於多倫多大學教育學院
曾擔任獨立電台節目製作
愛寫短篇小說







王大宝 Cyrus Wong  

加洲大學栢克萊分校工程碩士, 普渡大學工程學士。擁有理科人的科學思維及對精準的執著, 文科人的感性與直覺導向, 遊走於左右腦, 在矛盾中生活及成長。
興趣是教學, 寫作, 沖咖啡, 攝影, 以及尋找下一個想去的地方。






2008/4/2

Kubrick Poetry in March –Rumi

(Polly Ho)




This is unprecedented! The monthly Kubrick poetry gathering is supposed to last for one hour, but this time, it was two hours. Our speaker, Sayed Gouda, and our audience were so into the discussion that no one paid attention to the fly of time. We felt “spiritual drunken” after the poetry gathering! How could this happen? What made us drunk?



To most of us, Rumi, a Persian mystic poet in the 13th century, seemed to be speaking another language and too old to be understood. However, it is not the case; otherwise there would not be ceaseless questioning and arguing. We immediately jumped into a puddle of debate after reading the first poem, “Enough Words?” Can the essence of something leave its basic quality? Does truth exist in the essence of words? If truth cannot be told or expressed in language, where can we find it? In complete silence? A question like “Where did I come from, and what am I supposed to be doing? I have no idea.” from Rumi’s poem named Who Says Words With My Mouth?, as a participant put it “It is still a question asked by secondary students nowadays.” We all laughed knowingly. One of the most interesting debate occurred in the last poem about “you” and “me”.


When you are with everyone but me,
you’re with no one.
When you are with no one but me,
you’re with everyone.
Instead of being so bound up with everyone,
be everyone.
When you become that many, you’re nothing.
Empty.


It can be a love poem. It can also be a poem about the relationship between God and the poet. But who is God in this poem? You or me? Most of us perceive “me” as God, but there is one participant insisted that “you” represent God. There always can be a pluralistic point of view in understanding the same poem. We respect that though most us did not agree. In this short and powerful poem, we can see Rumi is very clever in playing words to convey complex relationship in a philosophical way. To understand Rumi’s poems, sometimes we need to know the symbolism of the Bible and Qur’an and the historical background of his era. More importantly, we need some wisdom in reading between the lines. His thinking was beyond his time that it became so timeless. He asked questions we still ask today. He asked questions we ask regardless we are Jews, Christians, Muslims, Buddhists or Taoists. Perhaps, it is the reason why Rumi is universally loved and respected.



Lastly, we were so grateful to have Sayed Gouda as the speaker who is so generous in sharing his knowledge and understanding and we were impressed by his patience in explaining! The joy in exploring Rumi’s poems together made this month’s poetry gathering an unforgettable and eye-opening experience.

Rumi Poetry

Rumi Poetry
Translated by Coleman Barks


Who Says Words With My Mouth?

All day I think about it, then at night I say it.
Where did I come from, and what am I supposed to be doing?
I have no idea.
My soul is from elsewhere, I’m sure of that,
And I intend to end up there.

This drunkenness began in some other tavern.
When I get back around to that place,
I’ll be completely sober. Meanwhile,
I’m like a bird from another continent, sitting in this aviary.
The day is coming when I fly off,
But who is it now in my ear who hears my voice?
Who says words with my mouth?

Who looks out with my eyes? What is the soul?
I cannot stop asking.
If I could taste one sip of an answer,
I could break out this prison for drunks.
I didn’t come here of my own accord, and I can’t leave that way.
Whoever brought me here will have to take me home.

This poetry. I never know what I’m going to say.
I don’t plan it.
When I’m outside the saying of it,
I get very quiet and rarely speak at all.


Enough Words?

How does a part of the world leave the world?
How can wetness leave water?

Don’t try to put out a fire
By throwing on more fire!
Don’t wash a wound with blood!

No matter how fast you run,
your shadow more than keeps up.
Sometimes, it’s in front!

Only full, overhead sun
diminishes your shadow.

But that shadow has been serving you!
What hurts you, blesses you.
Darkness is your candle.
Your boundaries are your quest.

I can explain this, but it would break
the glass cover on your heart,
And there’s no fixing that.

You must have shadow and light source both.
Listen, and lay your head under the tree of awe.

When from that tree, feathers and wings sprout
on you, be quieter than a dove.
Don’t open your mouth for even a coooooooo.

When a frog slips into the water, the snake
cannot get it. Then the frog climbs back out
and croaks, and the snake moves toward him again.

Even if the frog learned to hiss, still the snake
would hear through the hiss the information
he needed, the frog voice underneath.

But if the frog could be completely silent,
Then the snake would go back to sleeping,
and the frog would reach the barley.

The soul lives there in the silent breath.

And that grain of barley is such that,
When you put it in the ground,
it grows.
Are these enough words,
or shall I squeeze more juice from this?
Who am I, my friend?


* * *

When you are with everyone but me,
you’re with no one.
When you are with no one but me,
you’re with everyone.
Instead of being so bound up with everyone,
be everyone.
When you become that many, you’re nothing.
Empty.

* * *

I am so small I can barely be seen.
How can this great love be inside me?

Look at your eyes. They are small,
but they see enormous things.


A Thirsty Fish

I don’t get tired of you. Don’t grow weary
of being compassionate toward me!

All this thirst equipment
must surely be tired of me,
the waterjar, the water carrier.

I have a thirsty fish in me
that can never find enough
of what it’s thirsty for!

Show me the way to the ocean!
Break these half-measures,
these small containers.

All this fantasy
And grief.

Let my house be drowned in the wave
that rose last night out of the courtyard
hidden in the center of my chest.

Joseph fell like the moon into my well.
The harvest I expected was washed away.
But no matter.

A fire has risen above my tombstone hat.
I don’t want learning, or dignity,
or respectability.

I want this music and this dawn
And the warmth of your cheek against mine.

The grief-armies assemble,
But I’m not going with them.

This is how it always is
When I finish a poem.

A great silence overcomes me,
And I wonder why I ever thought
to use language.


Those Who Don't Feel This Love



Those who don't feel this love
pulling them like a river

Those who don't drink dawn
like a cup of spring water
or take sunset like supper

Those who don't want to change
Let them sleep.

This Love
is beyond the study of theology
that old and trickery and hypocrisy

If you want to improve your mind that way
Sleep on.

I've given up on my brain
I've torn the cloth to shreds
and thrown it away.

If you're not completely naked
wrap your beautiful robe of words
around you

and sleep.

零八‧三月詩會‧Rumi

時間 Time: 2008/3/30 (Sun) 5:00pm-6:00pm
地點 Venue: 油麻地kubrick
主持 Moderator:Florence Ng、Polly Ho
嘉賓:Sayed Gouda

誰是Rumi (魯米)?他是十三世紀伊斯蘭神秘主義的重要詩人,在中文世界裡,Rumi是一個陌生的名字,是一個真空,但是在近十五年間,他在美國,甚至是西方世界裡是最受歡迎的詩人。人們發現他的驚喜,就像音樂家發現馬勒般,大家如飢似渴地研究他,他的重要性可以與但丁和莎士比亞並列,他的人生充滿戲劇性,他的詩句是智慧,超越了文化和宗教,他不屬於蘇菲派﹑印度教﹑基督教或中國的佛道,他是屬於全人類的,他已被公認為世界文學中的珍貴瑰寶!

I am so small I can barely be seen. How can this great love be inside me?
Look at your eyes. They are small, but they see enormous things.
--Rumi

這個三月我們邀得埃及詩人Sayed Gouda與我們一起欣賞這個偉大的詩人,期待你們,期待這個不平凡的三月!

攞景Postcard

由攞景開始

(Polly Ho)

你著呢件藍色嘅衫裙,嗰套白色嘅衣裳
都係一景
喺鏡頭嘅面前
你笑我,嬲我
你嘅笑,你嘅嬲
都係表情
(節錄)

第一次看「攞景」,我就喜歡上了,舒巷城是香港土生土長的詩人作家,為什麼不藉詩會介紹他的詩,讓更多人認識?這一想法開始了二月詩會,本想邀請舒巷城太太出席,可惜始終緣慳一面,儘管如此,是次二月詩會有別於平日詩會,因為它特別親切和輕鬆,並進行了深入而富啟發性的討論。

我們都同意舒巷城的詩夾雜口語,讀起來格外朗朗上口。舒巷城多才多藝,能文能曲,正因為他懂得音律,他的詩句抑揚頓挫,揮手而就的打油詩更輕易獲獎,在詩會上,我們選了「阿香同我勾手指」,此詩風趣幽默,記錄當代的社會現象。夾雜口語是舒詩的一大特色,但是口語會否不能登大雅之堂?為此,我們進行了好一會兒的討論,其中Florence認為元代雜曲加入口語,它的藝術價值正因為其大量口語,然而舒詩的藝術成就要待時間的考驗。

另一位詩會成員Victor對文學有深厚的認識,他直言舒巷城的寫詩技巧非常高,無論長句還是短句,他皆能隨手拈來,反映其紮實的文學根基。另一位朋友認為「霧」很有美國詩人桑德堡的味道,Florence認為整體舒詩是道地的,表達的感情是香港式的情懷,而桑德堡描繪的世界是美國沙漠大馬路式的,各有千秋!

我想,香港詩人什麼時候才能衝出香港這個地域,在世界詩壇佔一席位?口語在翻譯時會否成為一種阻礙?當代香港人有共鳴的,今天的香港人還有共鳴嗎?除了香港人之外,其他地方的人呢?許多許多疑問只有時間才能回答。

舒巷城詩選

攞景

舊時我好歡喜
帶住我副攝影機
去呢處去嗰度攞景
我「影」白色嘅雲,
藍色嘅海沙灘﹑
石頭我都「影」

自從我識咗你
我個心同口講
菲林價錢咁貴
扯旗山嘅雲﹑沙田嘅霧都唔係風景……

一個酸梅兩個核
今時唔同往日
而家我揸住副攝影機
淨係喺你身上攞景
你著呢件藍色嘅衫裙,
嗰套白色嘅衣裳
都係一景
喺鏡頭嘅面前
你笑我,嬲我
你嘅笑,你嘅嬲
都係表情




你不相信嗎?
你的掌紋
刻著類人猿的血與淚?

為什麼把你掌中的生命
賣給廉價的命運呢?

人,勇敢的人
當你舉起緊握的拳頭時
上帝與眾神
將會死亡在你的五指間

The Palm

Don’t you believe
That your palm lines record
The anthropoid apes’ blood and tears?

Why sell your life in the palm
To paltry Fate?

Man, brave man
When you raise your clenched fist
God and gods
Shall die in your five-fingers

瑞士

你打算世世代代
擁著你的旅館沉睡嗎?
醒一醒吧,醒一醒。
遊客們遲早要回家。
瑞士,你不能夠只有風景。

Switzerland

Are you going to embrace your hotels
And lie asleep century after century?
Wake up, wake up.
Tourists will sooner or later be home.
Switzerland, you can’t have only sceneries.


英雄


在一個當眼的廣場上
高高在上的站著
一個銀行家銅像。
我想,他一定是個英雄
在大魚吃小魚的世界上。

A Hero

In a conspicuous square
There stands high with pride
A banker bronze statute
I figure, he must be a here
In a big-shark-eat-small-fish world



霧來了,輕輕的
踏著貓一樣的腳步……

岸失去了船
船失去了岸

我的心是沉重的
像那落下的錨

你在哪兒?你在哪兒?
我在期待那破霧的陽光……


阿香同我勾手指

鄰家有女范阿香,珠喉一串人稱賞;
十八登台作歌伶,清歌夜夜歌壇唱。
獨惜親娘無母愛,愛賭麻雀十三張。
阿香一棵搖錢樹,搖到幾時不斷腸?
猶記童年竹馬時,阿香同我勾手指。
傷風流涕尋常事,贈我紅巾醒鼻子。
同窗放學一齊歸,相約明朝聲細細。
天真一對小情人,笑玩「拜堂」隨俗例。
鶯聲初試學曲音,周朗我是第一人;
此夜聽歌茶樓上,愁眼相看幾丈分!
去年冬日觀「梁祝」,阿香和我多感觸。
執手暗中遞淚巾,兩心相愛不孤獨。
只恨無情阿香母,收押女兒待價沽。
不重人材愛錢銀,條件堅持直到今。
茶禮三千屋「揸手」,妄把嬌女當貨留!
阿香相約長相守,爭取幸福到白頭。
有道婚姻要自由,況復當年手指勾?
說服私奔兩條路,好事同歸出異途。
世間多少阿香母,如此「阿媽」不如無!

此詩署名顧曲兒,投「大公報」徵文「我的戀愛怎樣成功」得第一獎,獎金三十元。


臨江仙

異國相逢喜上眉,圍中竹葉青青,眼前一亮現「星星」。分明華盛頓,卻見北京城。

憨憨純真衣黑白,此身何用輕盈。隔鄰影杳睡「鈴鈴」。思家她有夢,明日我登程。


1977年在華盛頓突然遇到由中國送抵的熊貓,星星﹑鈴鈴是熊貓的名字。

零八●二月詩會: 舒巷城

時間 Time: 2008/2/24 (Sun) 5:00pm-6:00pm
地點 Venue: 油麻地kubrick
主持 Moderator:Florence Ng﹑Polly Ho

每一個人有其最佳語言,可以是音樂,可以是衣服,可以是食物,舒巷城的最佳語言是文字,尤其是詩句。

沖杯一茶,啜一口,拿起舒巷城的詩集,輕輕一翻,掉下鯉魚門﹑攝影機﹑白雲﹑雨天,還有小阿寶。舒巷城生於香港,成長於西灣河,是道地的香港詩人,他的詩充滿香港情懷,他關心喜歡的人,關心朋友,關心香港社會,他曾經說過:「詩的技巧固然重要,但個人覺得,比這更重要的是,下筆時的真情實感。」

優美的是文字,但是動人的是情!

T.S. Eliot's Poetry

The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock
(1915, excerpt)

Let us go then, you and I,
When the evening is spread out against the sky
Like a patient etherised upon a table;
Let us go, through certain half-deserted streets,
The muttering retreats
Of restless nights in one-night cheap hotels
And sawdust restaurants with oyster-shells:
Streets that follow like a tedious argument
Of insidious intent
To lead you to an overwhelming question...
Oh, do not ask, "What is it?"
Let us go and make our visit.
 
In the room the women come and go
Talking of Michelangelo.

The yellow fog that rubs its back upon the window-panes,
The yellow smoke that rubs its muzzle on the window-panes
Licked its tongue into the corners of the evening,
Lingered upon the pools that stand in drains,
Let fall upon its back the soot that falls from chimneys,
Slipped by the terrace, made a sudden leap,
And seeing that it was a soft October night,
Curled once about the house, and fell asleep.
 
And indeed there will be time
For the yellow smoke that slides along the street,
Rubbing its back upon the window-panes;
There will be time, there will be time
To prepare a face to meet the faces that you meet;
There will be time to murder and create,
And time for all the works and days of hands
That lift and drop a question on your plate;
Time for you and time for me,
And time yet for a hundred indecisions,
And for a hundred visions and revisions,
Before the taking of a toast and tea.
 
In the room the women come and go
Talking of Michelangelo.

….

The Waste Land
(1922, excerpt)

I. The Burial of the Dead  
April is the cruellest month, breeding
Lilacs out of the dead land, mixing
Memory and desire, stirring
Dull roots with spring rain.
Winter kept us warm, covering
Earth in forgetful snow, feeding
A little life with dried tubers.
Summer surprised us, coming over the Starnbergersee
With a shower of rain; we stopped in the colonnade
And went on in sunlight, into the Hofgarten,
And drank coffee, and talked for an hour.
Bin gar keine Russin, stamm' aus Litauen, echt deutsch.
And when we were children, staying at the arch-duke's,
My cousin's, he took me out on a sled,
And I was frightened. He said, Marie,
Marie, hold on tight. And down we went.
In the mountains, there you feel free.
I read, much of the night, and go south in winter.


The Hollow Men
(1926, excerpt) 
A penny for the Old Guy
 
I
 
We are the hollow men
We are the stuffed men
Leaning together
Headpiece filled with straw. Alas!
Our dried voices, when
We whisper together
Are quiet and meaningless
As wind in dry grass
Or rats' feet over broken glass
In our dry cellar
 
Shape without form, shade without colour,
Paralysed force, gesture without motion;
 
Those who have crossed
With direct eyes, to death's other Kingdom
Remember us - if at all - not as lost
Violent souls, but only
As the hollow men
The stuffed men.
 
……
  
V
 
Here we go round the prickly pear
Prickly pear prickly pear
Here we go round the prickly pear
At five o'clock in the morning.
 
Between the idea
And the reality
Between the motion
And the act
Falls the Shadow
For Thine is the Kingdom
 
Between the conception
And the creation
Between the emotion
And the response
Falls the Shadow
Life is very long
 
Between the desire
And the spasm
Between the potency
And the existence
Between the essence
And the descent
Falls the Shadow
For Thine is the Kingdom
 
For Thine is
Life is
For Thine is the
 
This is the way the world ends
This is the way the world ends
This is the way the world ends
Not with a bang but a whimper.

Ash Wednesday
(1927, excerpt)

I
Because I do not hope to turn again
Because I do not hope
Because I do not hope to turn
Desiring this man's gift and that man's scope
I no longer strive to strive towards such things
(Why should the agèd eagle stretch its wings?)
Why should I mourn
The vanished power of the usual reign?

Because I do not hope to know
The infirm glory of the positive hour
Because I do not think
Because I know I shall not know
The one veritable transitory power
Because I cannot drink
There, where trees flower, and springs flow, for there is
nothing again

Because I know that time is always time
And place is always and only place
And what is actual is actual only for one time
And only for one place
I rejoice that things are as they are and
I renounce the blessèd face
And renounce the voice
Because I cannot hope to turn again
Consequently I rejoice, having to construct something
Upon which to rejoice

And pray to God to have mercy upon us
And pray that I may forget
These matters that with myself I too much discuss
Too much explain
Because I do not hope to turn again
Let these words answer


For what is done, not to be done again
May the judgement not be too heavy upon us

Because these wings are no longer wings to fly
But merely vans to beat the air
The air which is now thoroughly small and dry
Smaller and dryer than the will
Teach us to care and not to care Teach us to sit still.

Pray for us sinners now and at the hour of our death
Pray for us now and at the hour of our death.

…….

EAST COKER
(1940, excerpt)
(No. 2 of 'Four Quartets')
I
In my beginning is my end. In succession
Houses rise and fall, crumble, are extended,
Are removed, destroyed, restored, or in their place
Is an open field, or a factory, or a by-pass.
Old stone to new building, old timber to new fires,
Old fires to ashes, and ashes to the earth
Which is already flesh, fur and faeces,
Bone of man and beast, cornstalk and leaf.
Houses live and die: there is a time for building
And a time for living and for generation
And a time for the wind to break the loosened pane
And to shake the wainscot where the field-mouse trots
And to shake the tattered arras woven with a silent motto.

In my beginning is my end. Now the light falls
Across the open field, leaving the deep lane
Shuttered with branches, dark in the afternoon,
Where you lean against a bank while a van passes,
And the deep lane insists on the direction
Into the village, in the electric heat
Hypnotised. In a warm haze the sultry light
Is absorbed, not refracted, by grey stone.
The dahlias sleep in the empty silence.
Wait for the early owl.
.....

零八‧一月詩會‧T.S. Eliot

時間 Time: 2008/1/27 (Sun) 5:00pm-6:00pm
地點 Venue: 油麻地kubrick
主持 Moderator:Florence Ng、Polly Ho、黃懷琰

T.S. Eliot不像一般的詩人,你可能會愛上他,你可能會討厭他,有一點可肯定,你不會對他沒有感覺。這樣的人一定很有意思,不是嗎?試問有誰可以像他那樣同時得到英國和美國文學界的高度重視?有誰的詩集可以在Amazon.com得到多如繁星的五顆星評價?一句 “In my beginning is my end”可以夠我們咀嚼一遍又一遍,這就是詩的味道,在懂與非懂之間。

讀T.S. Eliot的詩不能只讀一次兩次,要欣賞他行雲流水的文筆或富音樂節奏的韻句不難,但要讀懂他字裡行間的意思需要一生的時間,讓我們在這個寒冬披上藍色的詩意,一起認識這個二十世紀的詩壇巨人!

曹植詩選

公宴

公子敬愛客,終宴不知疲。
清夜遊西園,飛蓋相追隨。
明月澄清景,列宿正參差。
秋蘭被長阪,朱華冒綠池。
潛魚躍清波,好鳥鳴高枝。
神飆接丹轂,輕輦隨風移。
飄颻放志意,千秋長若斯。

白馬篇

白馬飾金羈,連翩西北馳。
借問誰家子,幽并遊俠兒。
少小去鄉邑,揚聲沙漠垂。
宿昔秉良弓,楛矢何參差。
控弦破左的,右發摧月支。
仰手接飛猱,俯身散馬蹄。
狡捷過猴猿,勇剽若豹螭。
邊城多警急,虜騎數遷移。
羽檄從北來,厲馬登高隄。
長驅蹈匈奴,左顧凌鮮卑。
棄身鋒刃端,性命安可懷?
父母且不顧,何言子與妻?
名編壯士籍,不得中顧私。

雜詩六首 (其五)

僕夫早嚴駕,吾行將遠遊。
遠遊欲何之?吳國為我仇。
將騁萬里塗,東路安足由?
江介多悲風,淮泗馳急流。
願欲一輕濟,惜哉無方舟!
閒居非吾志,甘心赴國憂。
捐軀赴國難,視死忽如歸!

野田黃雀行

高樹多悲風,海水揚其波。
利劍不在掌,結友何須多?
不見籬間雀,見鷂自投羅?
羅家得雀喜,少年見雀悲。
拔劍捎羅網,黃雀得飛飛。
飛飛摩蒼天,來下謝少年。

零七‧十一月詩會‧曹植

時間 Time: 2007/11/25 (Sun) 5:00pm-6:00pm
地點 Venue: 油麻地kubrick
主持 Moderator:Polly Ho、Wong Wai Yim

是什麼影響一個詩人的風格?是身世﹑時代環境﹑還是個人際遇?在曹植身上,三個因素與他的詩歌風格密不可分。曹植得天獨厚,自幼聰穎,又是曹操最欣賞的兒子,少年時詩氣充滿公子哥兒的意氣風發,直到曹操去世,哥哥曹丕成為魏王,他的詩風蛻變,一首「七步詩」「本是同根生,相煎何太急」不但打動曹丕,更感動千萬人的心。曹植被鍾嶸的「詩品」評為「骨氣奇高,詩采華茂」,又被謝靈運稱為「才高八斗」,讓我們於十一月細細品味曹植的詩。

歡迎帶作品與我們分享。

我仿佛回到法國詩會

(Polly Ho)


誰說埃及是遙不可及的國度?誰說阿拉伯是外星語言?上星期Kubrick詩會邀得居港埃及詩人Sayed Gouda為嘉賓,出席者除了一班一直支持詩會的舊面孔,還有不少新面孔,他們都是Sayed Gouda的詩人或作家朋友。讀詩不再是主持人的權益,差不多每一位出席者都有參與,當日大家破天荒用了四種語言演繹,首先是英文,其次是粵語或國語,最後是阿拉伯語,四種語言,四種抑揚頓挫,各自領會不一樣的詩情。

詩會除了讀詩,另一個重要環節是討論分享,讀第一首詩「詩人先知」之前,Sayed解釋詩人某程度是先知,詩句是未來式的,他曾經寫過一些詩句,覺得過悲,改了,可是事情依然按照第一次下筆發生了,頃刻,在座的每一位都感受到詩的莊重和神聖。詩曾經享受超然的地位,從中國的詩經以至古希臘荷馬的史詩,詩是文學﹑哲學和音樂,反觀現代新詩,越新的詩越不受尊重。難怪,如果詩人只談風花雪雨,詩的境界自然不高,自然得不到尊重。




詩會前,我問Sayed Gouda:「你現在還寫詩嗎?」他笑了一下,說「有,前天寫了一首。」從22嵗寫詩獲獎至今,他仍然寫,從年青時候寫愛情,到今日寫信仰﹑生活態度,可見詩人在不同的人生階段,體現不同的精神面貌,詩的光澤質感自然不同,偉大的詩人與舊普洱茶一樣,是越久越醇厚!這是我第一次體會,詩不但抒發個人感受的「小品」,它同時是一種偉大的體裁,可以承載歷史﹑哲學﹑音樂和藝術。



詩會的目的不但推廣詩,作文化交流,最重要是讓人親近詩,愛上詩,然後寫詩。懷琰說:「我仿佛回到法國詩會。」這是對Kubrick詩會最大的讚美!