吳耀宗
2011年1月23日傍晚，Kubrick詩會為我在油麻地的書店舉辦了一場讀詩會。在朗誦《半存在》過後的交流時段裏，有人问詩歌於我有何意義。我説：「它是我生命的一部份。」
這樣的回答或許過於平淡，缺乏驚喜，無法令人滿意，但我以爲貼切地描述了當時脈搏起伏血液流動的姿態。儘管身在室內,在照明燈與麥克風之間，我卻感受到層層的春風吹開綠到不能再綠的樹葉，瞅見展露出來枝幹上變幻莫定的陽光。
這「一部份」，用英文說就是part and parcel - 重要的、主要的 - 不能恣意捐棄。即如學術研究一樣，不能從我的生命中抽走。飯後我買了杯咖啡，沿著小徑回返桃園樓的研究室，途中遇見同事，微笑寒暄，步履如常，這也是生命的一部份。
這「一部份」，在時間如沙粒從手指間漏失的存在中悠悠呼吸，呼出去不必要的誇飾,吸進來舒坦的自在。用矛盾語來說，是「無意識的意識」(unconscious consciousness) ，可以細如檐滴，可以闊如江海。
夜裡小貓輕巧一躍,在我膝上盘曲而卧。我嘀噠嘀噠敲打鍵盤,寫下這樣的字句: 「我是詩歌的一部份。」
Unconscious consciousness
By Gabriel Wu
Following a sunset poetry reading organised by a local literary group called the Kubrick Poetry Club, a member of the audience asked me what poetry meant to me. I had been reading from my recent collection Ban Cun Zai (A Half-Existence) at a bookstore in Yau Ma Tei, and in reply I said, “It is part of my life”.
Perhaps my reply was too dull and unexciting, and didn’t satisfy the audience’s expectations. But I thought it aptly described how my pulse beat and my blood flowed when I replied to the question. Although physically indoors, standing between the spotlight and microphone, I could sense a spring breeze gently blowing to bring forth leaves so green that they could not be greener as I seemed to see the ever-changing sunlight radiating through the twigs and branches.
I could never relinquish this “part”, expressed as part and parcel in English, something which is important and essential, just as I could not ever give up academic research, which is part of my life, too.
I bumped into a colleague after I bought a coffee following my meal, and was heading back to my office in the To Yuen Building. We exchanged greetings and then said our goodbyes, and I returned to my usual footsteps. Such an encounter is also part (and parcel) of life.
This “part” gently breathes in an existence where time slips, like grains of sand through one’s fingers, exhaling unnecessary exaggerations and inhaling a soothing sense of calm. Unconscious consciousness—if I may use an oxymoron—can be felt to be as fine as a single droplet of water clinging to the eaves of a house or as vast as deep rivers and expansive oceans.
Night falls. My kitten leaps onto my lap, curling up to sleep. The only sound is that of my fingers tapping at the keyboard. “I am a part of poetry,” I write.
Special thanks to Linkage from City University for the English version.
http://www6.cityu.edu.hk/puo/newscentre/publication/linkage/images/L288e.pdf
