熱帶魚

道风山上认识的半生熟朋友。当时“天人之际”的作者（何）也在。好时光～～

呼喚“工頭” 孫友聯﹐ you are wnated! You are wanted!
: ))))))))

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And when the time bowed down toward the Rivers... ....

On father’s Degeneration
By eL, Tr. By Apple

From the beginning this Peninsular is Father, very wet.

Later this house is Father, very quiet.

And after this, this well is Father, very deep.

The last this scene of view is Father, very cold and clear...

"Silence has already grown until our inner part"
-- Chen Qianghua (1960- )

內部的細節/ 林颉轢 詩集
挤不出版社

1 Becareful, Fallen leaves will lightly pulling, our so heavily homesick.

My Nanyang

My Nanyang, is of sense of desperation, it countlessly begging the bone pluckedly back shadow, fallen into own, difficult to once again founding, abstract, the sitting pose, in my historical knowledge waiting for inner hurt, or, infection.

. The Nanyang that I know, skillful in conquering own grammar
--

Because of Love, they destroyed the hidden trick,
the surrounding doubting, guessing, longing
of worries, discovering only left with ruins......
(Little Universe/ Chen Li)

--

銹鉄时代
邢诒旺詩集 （1995-2004）

First Collection Homeland Beneath the Crayon (1995-2000)

Smear a home on paper
Red Yellow Orange
Warm your Heart

Above the roof there is blue Sky
Blue sky has got returned wild goose
Crows return home

Below the roof Children are Watching
Two cats fighting
"Meow!"
Man chasing cats
Scattered
Childhood
Homeland Under the Crayon

Year 1995 Award Winner of the First Secondary School Student Literature Award In New Poem Category

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或 迟来的信

*调用“上海滩”（周润发版）

我超爱打乒乓。
我是说，我现在就要！ 打乒乓。

我忽然想再和Zl打一次乒乓，如果可能。可不可以... ....?(The style of Chok Leong playing table tennis only a bit less graceful than ballet, not, not to mention his facial figure. I could imagine if I were a girl.)

My "idol/s" if I would also have so called secular idols, I said. Were those my earlier life Pingpong kakitangan. Zl, HS, ZW, etc, etc.

[对我而言，那是舞蹈， 啊～ 那么快乐，当一记弧圈球被我优美地发明。]

(待续。）

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1. El

2. wy
3. cl
4. CwL

EP



------------------------

Looking for a poet
/Leung Ping-kwan

Yesterday turning pages of newspapers looking for your verses
vulnerably dim, marginized from the light and shadow
of a photostat machine,
falling leaves of yellow locust tree.
Today in a foreign land at the beginning of spring, we drive to look for you
but lost our way amidst young leaves and bright flowers..

Spring whispers flowing through the edge of
branches, like black ink imprinted on grey walls, men surely
grow continuously, but how much can we memorize in photography
and recording?
At times the smiley image uprises with shadow of the lights
of our youthful traces waterprint, nights of farewell, see ya,
said the host of hotel, to me, European wars,
a heart of homesick, sailing back across the sea, reaches
to embrace a city in its falling, cuckoo… you long for the voice of
cuckoo……

Will the verses recited in our adolescence
leading us toward the poet, in our heart?
Growing up in trials, our lives are twisted even more
than poetry, pressed beneath polluted soil, bursting up amidst some unknown fire
before a reborn in two unfamiliar worlds.
Would the word from its last life, overcoming prejudices piled, stumbled
at the two shores, in separation of the whole generation, which followed
by mere secular, consideration of materials?
Will what were confused be opened once again, in our reading?

It felt like we have seen you, and had talked a lot
until the voice sounded a bit dry and dumb── it’s still about seeking a way,
a wrong address, a wrong timing,
flowers blooming at this end, withering at the other end,
sunrise at this side, sunset at the otherside, waking up
is but another dream? What will be linking those
spilled starry sparks? Will it be poetry,
that the hearts in different ways be gathered?

Still it is the foreign land, still crossing the repeated sceneries
again and again seeking the way,
turning left and turning right again,
we drive the car in order to find you so eagerly,
repeatedly mistaken the light and shadow alongside
as the tapestry of flowers.
I have loved such a heart so wide,
not to compare with yellow flowers. Many years passed in a blink,
still looking for you, the poet in our heart.

Trans. by Chantelle Tiong
2010.12.25

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