显示标签为“诗歌与影像”的博文。显示所有博文
显示标签为“诗歌与影像”的博文。显示所有博文

2024年7月6日星期六

唯色:空,或者不空——献给嘉瓦仁波切89寿诞 (Empty, or Not Empty —dedicated to the Dalai Lama on his 89nd birthday)



空,或者不空——献给嘉瓦仁波切89寿诞[1]


唯色



1、空法座:修赤


修赤的意思是法座

林卡的意思是林苑

修赤林卡[2]在颇章布达拉[3]的前面

往昔葱茏,簇拥着虬枝左旋的老树,水塘和小桥

稍远有一座方柱形的石碑[4],记载千年前的帝国事迹

那法座,应该是用尽量平整的石块垒成,从缝隙间长出

参差不齐的草,也会开花,而更多的花朵

是远近走过的人们每日供放,香气四溢

这一切都出自我的想象

却也大致符合老人们的回忆。数年前

有过俊美容貌但福报甚浅的贵胄公子,将我引至此处

从他微微颤抖的手指望去,已荡然无存,更名为广场

因此布满这样的标配:红灯笼、升旗台、纪念碑……

正播放着一首首赞歌的大喇叭、小喇叭……

赞歌:旋律如昨,却更换了歌词


那尊原本于一九五九年三月之前存在的

法座是如何消失的?那尊

在树木与花丛中的,总是虚位以待的

法座有着怎样的故事?我问过许多人:你听说过

修赤林卡吗?在电视台工作过的退休干部突然失声哭泣

他说,你懂得怀念的感觉吗?你尝过心碎的滋味吗?

而当年,他是调皮少年,随渴求祝福的人们由此经过

不禁仰头,望见盘坐的嘉瓦仁波切[5]多么年轻,笑靥如花

他再也无法忘记。一生不会忘记。

我继续低声询问:你知道修赤林卡吗?

遇见一位青年,他出生于伟大赞普[6]故乡附近的农户家中

天赋画才,善于描绘不曾见过的失乐园

其中一幅,是的,那幅画,在他不幸丧生前完成[7]

翠绿的山峦重叠,洁白的云朵翻卷,但房屋已变样

空空的法座设于正中,装饰华美,等待的心愿如气球飘飘欲飞


2、空房间:甚穹


七支百合在深夜怒放

必须是深夜,才能及时目睹最美的瞬间

而我祈愿这是一种奉献:虽然这百合

只能放入简单的玻璃器皿,供在一张照片前

有的房间,不,有许多房间,甚至连这张照片

都不容许出现。真奇怪,这世上,会有人

连一张照片都害怕。他们是什么样的人呢?

强悍的唯物主义者不是无所畏惧吗?

百合的盛开化作慰藉。香气氤氲,我伏身敬拜

至少这个房间不再空无


我见过多个空的房间

在大昭寺,在罗布林卡,在布达拉宫……

敬语称为甚穹[8]。有一天,我找到一位结识多年的僧人

他又从一大串钥匙中找到一把做了记号的钥匙

四顾无人,低头走入黄色窗幔遮住的房间[9]

梵香浓郁,似乎掩护着另一种芬芳

我竭力分辨,如同寻觅往昔那不堪重负的纤细身影

沉默的僧人将我拉回现实,以眼神示意

那绘有菩萨和众生的墙上,布满刺刀凶狠的划痕……

空空的法座前,哈达[10]洁白,几张完整的章噶[11]纸币意味深长


前些日子,传来两个安多青年唱的歌:

“阳光下,活蹦乱跳的,昨天的那个孩子,

把成群的行星磨成粉末,用彩粉绘写出明天,他把所有的

问题都抛向别人,可世界又聋又哑,默不作声……”[12]

我想起康区北部的一座有名的寺院

打开不为他人所知的门,所见到的,你会泪下:

精雕细琢的檀木长椅上,仿若真人的照片

各种敬供,皆是精心挑选。里面的那间

水晶灯散发着温馨的光

一双金色的拖鞋摆放在纯白的浴缸前……


3、空城:拉萨


站在这里。每一次站在这里,会

“被一种奇异而衰颓的风景包围”[13],内心

就有个声音在拒绝,在反抗,要尽快去做

去实现一个个逆缘的转变,不然真的来不及了


想起那年深秋时,哦不,是初冬时节

带上几串经幡和一小包叫作桑[14]的植物碎末、

一些刚磨好的糌粑、一小瓶用青稞酿成的酒

缓缓走上五千多米的山脊,心跳加快

这是因为临行前,堪布[15]仁波切[16]的叮嘱:

“勿要说话、叫喊。要坐下,祈祷,就能看见未来。”


一面是阳坡,阳光照耀,赐予些许温暖

一面是阴坡,被浅浅的白雪覆盖

那状如佛冠的圣湖,拉姆拉措[17],恰在不远的凹形之处

像明镜,像幻境,像所有不真切的真切,充满力量

周围无人。只有我和爱人。

先向班丹拉姆[18]奉献桑的香味、糌粑与酒的美味

再将经幡系在石块之间,以示一种代言

分开坐下,互不干扰,其实我已有几分急切

尽量专注地凝视着:“请指给我看命运的样貌。”


两只鸦倏忽而至

一只落在我的右边,一只落在他的左边

用不似鸦的叫声使我回眸:有着黑色的羽毛、红色的嘴与双足……

“迥嘎[19]是松玛的使者,不是凶兆是吉兆。”我似乎听得有人说

鸦在踱步。间或鸣叫。那么继续凝视,一幅画面从湖水渐渐呈现:

那是坚热斯[20]在人世间的形象,熟悉的笑容寄予某个意义

就像一个奇迹多么明亮,一切尽在不言中


天色将晚,携手返回那座已空了几十年的城

途中,两只鹿轻盈跑过,犹如去往时轮金刚的坛城

是这个寓意吗?无论如何,与许多归来的族人一样

内心不空,倾注了爱与希望。


2017-7-6,尊者达赖喇嘛寿诞日


注释:


[1]这首诗完成于2017年7月6日,原本献给尊者达赖喇嘛82寿诞,这里重发,献给尊者今年今日89寿诞。

[2]修赤林卡:བཞུགས་ཁྲི།་གླིང་ཁ།名为法王宝座的园林。

[3]颇章布达拉:ཕོ་བྲང་པོ་ཏཱ་ལ།布达拉宫。初建于公元七世纪,扩建于十七世纪五世达赖喇嘛时代,属吐蕃(图博)君王松赞干布及五世之后历代达赖喇嘛居住的宫殿,兼及西藏(图伯特)甘丹颇章政教合一的政府处理事务之处。

[4]即达扎鲁恭记功碑:ཞོལ་རྡོ་རིངས་ཕྱི་མ་历史记载,吐蕃(图博)君王赤松德赞时代大将恩兰·达扎鲁恭,于763年率兵攻陷唐国长安,赞普下令在布达拉宫前立碑铭记。

[5]嘉瓦仁波切:རྒྱལ་བ་རིན་པོ་ཆེ།对历代达赖喇嘛的敬称,意为至尊如意宝。藏语对达赖喇嘛的敬称很多,本诗集也多有采用。

[6]赞普:བཙན་པོ། 吐蕃(图博)君王。这里指松赞干布,公元七世纪吐蕃帝国第三十三代赞普,以缔造帝国、建造布达拉宫并将佛教引入图伯特等功德伟绩而著名于世。

[7]指的是曲尼江白,ཆོས་ཉིད་འཇམ་དཔལ་ 图伯特当代艺术家,2011年3月29日车祸遇难,年仅三十岁。

[8]甚穹:གཟིམ་ཆུང་敬语,寝宫。

[9]在拉萨大昭寺,往昔尊者达赖喇嘛于法会期间下榻的日光殿,文革期间被红卫兵、造反派和解放军所占。墙上壁画被刀刃乱划,至今留有痕迹。

[10]哈达:ཁ་བཏགས། 图伯特文化作为礼仪或献祭用的丝织品。高级哈达上印有图案和文字。

[11]章噶:ཊམ་ཀ། 公元1911年,图伯特噶厦政府即甘丹颇章政权所印制和发行的纸币。

[12]即在图伯特安多地区的西藏病人乐队的歌曲《空房间》。

[13]引(美)雷蒙德·卡佛(臺譯:瑞蒙.卡佛Raymond Carver)《为了今天的埃及币,阿登,谢谢你》(《我们所有人》,舒丹丹译)。

[14]桑:བསང་། 指用于祭祀、敬供等仪式的植物、香料、糌粑等。

[15]堪布:མཁན་པོ། 深通经典的僧侣上师,而为寺院或经学院的主持者。

[16]仁波切:རིན་པོ་ཆེ། 意为珍宝,通常也是对藏传佛教转世高僧的尊称。又称祖古。汉语称活佛,其实是错误的称呼。

[17]拉姆拉措:ལྷ་མོའི་བླ་མཚོ། 图伯特最神圣的湖,寻访达赖喇嘛转世的观相湖,是图伯特、拉萨及达赖喇嘛的护法神班丹拉姆的魂湖,位在今西藏自治区山南地区加查县境内。

[18]班丹拉姆:དཔལ་ལྡན་ལྷ་མོ 吉祥天女,藏传佛教万神殿众护法神中最主要之一,图伯特、拉萨及尊者达赖喇嘛的护法神。

[19]是红嘴山鸦སྐྱུང་ཀ 藏语发音“迥嘎”,该物种的模式产地在喜马拉雅山脉地区,学名Fregilus himalayanus。

[20]坚热斯:སྤྱན་རས་གཟིགས། 观世音菩萨,尊者达赖喇嘛被认为是观世音菩萨的化身。




Empty, or Not Empty

TRANSLATIONS

The Dalai Lama's dharma-throne—the Potala Palace. The date of this photograph is unknown, sometime between 1900–1940. During this period, there were Russians, British, Germans, Austrians, etc. who took photos in Lhasa.

[This poem is published on the occasion of the 60th anniversary of the Tibetan uprising, March 10, 1959.]

Empty, or Not Empty

          —dedicated to the Dalai Lama on his 89nd birthday

1. The Empty Dharma-Throne: Shukti

Have you heard of the Shukti Lingka?

Shukti means ‘dharma-throne’;

and lingka means ‘park’.[1]

In the past, the Shukti Lingka spread out

before the Potala Palace, lush and verdant,

filled with ancient trees whose branches twisted

counterclockwise like dragons

and mirrored in the ponds crossed by small bridges.

A little ways away stood a stele,

the Lhasa Zhöl Pillar,[2] a tall, square column

recording imperial deeds of a thousand years ago.

The dharma-throne in this park

must have been made with layers

of the flattest possible stone.

There would have been tufts of grass growing

from the crevices, and flowers would have bloomed,

and then even more bouquets of flowers

would have been left on the seat by visitors

who came from near and far,

the fragrance permeating every corner.

This vision, from my own imagination,

matches the memories of the older generation.

A few years ago, I was brought to this spot

by a son of old Lhasa royalty, a handsome man

with a shallow karmic reward.

He couldn’t bear the sight, covering his eyes,

he looked out through his trembling fingers

pointing through tears to where the throne had stood.

All vestiges of that park had been obliterated.

What had been a park was now a “square,”[3]

concrete paved and filled

with red lanterns, flagpoles, memorial monuments….

And loudspeakers, large and small, blared

songs of propaganda. The melodies were old,

but the lyrics had been changed.

That honorable dharma-throne, which existed before March 1959—

How did it disappear? What kind of story did that throne have,

always left vacant to wait among the trees and flowers?

I have asked so many people: Have you heard of the Shukti Lingka?

A retired official from the local television station burst into tears

He asked, Can you understand what it feels like

to miss your cherished memory?

Have you tasted the flavor of heartbreak?

And he told me this memory from before the occupation:

In those years, His Holiness was a mischievous teenager.

People eager for a blessing would pass by

and could not help but raise their heads,

and see the young Gyalwa Rinpoche[4] sitting on the throne,

so young, his face like a smiling flower.

There is no way he could forget this sight,

one could not forget over the course of an entire lifetime.

I continue to ask in a low whisper: Have you heard of the Shukti Lingka?

I met a young man named Choenyi Jampel, [5]

who was born in a farmer’s house

near the hometown of the great Songtsen Gampo.[6]

He had a great talent for painting,

and was able to depict our lost paradise

in ways I’ve never seen before.

Among his paintings, one stood out: one of the last

paintings he completed just before his unfortunate death:

Layers of emerald green mountains, rolling

white clouds, a few houses that no longer survive,

and there, right in the center,

sat the completely empty dharma-throne,

richly decorated, the heart’s dream waiting

like a balloon floating through desire.

Description
This is the Dalai Lama’s dharma-throne in the Norbulinka. Woeser took this photograph on July 6, 2018, the Dalai Lama’s 83rd birthday. In 1957, the most important organization of Tibetans rebelling against the Chinese Communist Party was a group of guerrilla fighters called the Chushi Gangdruk. To celebrate the Dalai Lama’s 23rd birthday, they called out for all the people to dedicate gold and jewels to His Holiness to make a golden dharma-throne. People from all over made offerings and the dharma-throne was completed in just over a month and demonstrates the unity and piety of the Tibetan people.

2. The Empty Room: Gzim Chung

Five lilies bloom in the middle of the night.

At this late hour, when one is able to witness

the most beautiful moments,

I want to make this offering:

lilies in a simple glass vase placed in front of a photograph.

There are some rooms, no, there are many rooms,

where even this photo is not allowed.

So strange.

In this world there are people who are afraid

of a photograph. What kind of people are they?

Aren’t the intrepid materialists fearless?

The blooming lilies bring comfort.

In their dense fragrance,

I prostrate myself in prayer.

At least this room is no longer empty.

I have seen many empty rooms

in the Jokhang, in the Norbulinka, in the Potala Palace.

The honorific word for one of these rooms is: Gzim Chung.[7]

One day, I encountered a monk I had known for many years.

He showed me a single key with a mark on it

attached to a large ring of keys.

Looking around and seeing no one,

we lowered our heads and entered a room

covered with yellow curtains.

The smell of incense was thick, as though covering up another fragrance.

I did my best to identify it, as if searching the past

for a silhouette of one who could not bear a heavy burden.

The silent monk pulled me back to reality, and with his eyes indicated

a wall painted with images of bodhisattvas and other beings.

The images were written over

by the fierce scratches of a bayonet.[8]

In front of the empty dharma-throne, a white khata

and a few complete Kashag banknotes.[9]

A few days ago I was sent a song

sung by two Amdo youth[10] that goes:

“Under the sun, the child of yesterday leaps and frisks about.

He grinds groups of planets into pigment,

and uses the pigment to draw tomorrow—

he takes all of his problems and casts them to other people,

but the world is deaf and mute, it doesn’t make a sound…”

I think of a famous temple in the northern district of Kang.

If you open that door that is not known to others,

you will shed tears at everything you see:

on a beautifully carved sandalwood bench,

all kinds of offerings, each carefully selected.

And inside that room, in the warm light of a crystal lamp,

a pair of golden slippers in front of a pure white bathtub.

This is a view of Lhamo Lhatso, the most sacred lake in Tibet. It is considered to be the soul lake of the goddess Palden Lhamo, the protectress of Tibet, Lhasa, and the Dalai Lama. This photo was taken by Wang Lixiong on December 2, 2005.

3. The Empty City: Lhasa

Stand right here.

Every time I stand here,

I am “surrounded by a strange fading landscape”[11]

in my innermost heart

there is a voice that refuses, that rebels.

If we are to achieve a reverse of course,

we must do it as soon as possible,

otherwise it will truly be too late.

I think of the deep autumn of that year.

Wait—no, it must have been early winter.

We carried a few strands of prayer flags,

a bag of powdered bsang to burn like incense,

some freshly ground barley, a bottle of barley wine.

We walk slowly along a ridge 5000 meters high,

our hearts beat faster and faster.

Before the Rinpoche left, he exhorted:

You must not talk, must not yell.

Sit down, pray that you may see the future.

To one side is the sunny slope, where sunlight bestows a little warmth;

the other slope is shady, covered with a shallow snow.

Lhamo Latso.[12] This holy lake is the crown of the Buddha,

a pure mirror held by this U-shaped valley.

Filled with power, it’s so vivid it seems unreal.

Not a soul around its edges. Only me and my lover.

First, I offer the bsang and barley wine to Palden Lhamo.[13]

Then I tie prayer flags between the stones

which convey our wishes and our prayers.

We sit down, separate from each other,

not interfering. I focus my mind and gaze at the lake:

“Please grant me a vision of my fate.”

The two ravens suddenly appear.

One lands to my right, one to my left:

black feathers, black feet, red mouth.

I glance back toward an un-ravenlike cry

and a voice within the vision says,

“The raven is a messenger of the srung ma,[14]

not a bad omen.” The ravens pace back and forth.

They caw occasionally while I continue to gaze.

Gradually, an image emerges from the lake,

                                                 it’s Chenrézik,[15]

her smile is familiar in its compassion:

a vivid miracle, outside the realm of words.

When the sky grew dark, we returned hand in hand

to that city which has been empty for decades.

Along the way, two deer ran lightly by

as though we were within the Kalachakra mandala.

Could this be the case?

Like so many of my people who have returned—

my heart is not empty. It is filled with love and hope.

—Woeser, July 4-5, 2017, edited July 6, 2017, Beijing

    Translated by Ian Boyden, March 9, 2019

Endnotes:

[1] Shukti Lingka (བཞུགས་ཁྲི། གླིང་ག)

[2] The Lhasa Zhol Pillar (ཞོལ་རྡོ་རིངས་ཕྱི་མ་) was erected in the late eighth century and describes deeds of the Tibetan Empire. It is also one of the oldest surviving examples of Tibetan script, a writing system attributed to Thonmi Sambhota, who was a minister to the founder of the Tibetan Empire Songtsen Gampo who is mentioned later in the poem (see note 6).

[3] The Shukti Linka was destroyed in 1965. The park and its wetlands were drained and filled, then covered with concrete and turned into what what was then known as the People’s Cultural Palace Square (人民文化宫广场). This square was subsequently renovated in 1999 and renamed as Potala Square. In 2002, it became the site of the monstrous Monument to the Peaceful Liberation of Tibet, a 37-meter high structure commemorating the PLA liberation of Tibet in 1951. And in 2005, it was once again renovated to its current state.

[4] Gyalwa Rinpoche is one of the honorific names of the Dalai Lama.

[5] Choenyi Jampel (ཆོས་ཉིད་འཇམ་དཔལ་) was a very promising young artist in Lhasa. He was tragically killed in a car accident on March 29, 2011. He was only 30 years old.

[6] Songtsen Gampo (སྲོང་བཙན་སྒམ་པོ) was an early 7th century king. He is credited with founding the Tibetan Empire and introducing Buddhism toTibet.

[7] Gzim Chung (གཟིམ་ཆུང་)

[8] In the past, the Dalai Lama would stay at the Jokhang during the Buddhist ceremonies celebrating the New Year. He had a special room, which was known as Gzim Chung. During the Cultural Revolution, this room was occupied by Red Guards, members of the Opposition Party, and the People’s Liberation Army. During this time, the murals in this room were scratched by bayonets, and these scars exist to this day.

[9] In 1911, the Tibetan government printed and distributed Kashag banknotes. They also minted gold, silver, and copper coins.

[10] The song is titled “Empty Room” and is sung by the Tibetan Patient Band (西藏病人乐队).

[11] This is a line from the poem “For the Egyptian Coin Today, Arden, Thank You" by Raymond Carver.

[12] Lhamo Latso (ལྷ་མོའི་བླ་མཚོ།) is the most sacred lake in Tibet. This is the lake where visions are sought for the reincarnation of the Dalai Lama and is presided over by the the Dalai Lama’s guardian goddess Palden Lhamo. It is located Gyaca County, Lhokha Province to the southeast of Lhasa.

[13] Palden Lhamo (དཔལ་ལྡན་ལྷ་མོ།) is the primary goddess of protection in the Tibetan Buddhist Pantheon and is the guardian god of Tibet, Lhasa, and the Dalai Lama.

[14] Srungma (སྲུང་མ། ) are protectors of the dharma, also known as dharmapālas.

[15] Chenrézik (སྤྱན་རས་གཟིགས།) is the Tibetan name for the bodhisattva Avalokiteśvara.

2023年2月11日星期六

【诗及英译】满城回响救护车催命般的鸣笛声…… ——献给我的母亲,献给我们的拉萨

这张照片拍摄于去年9月21日,既是“静默管控”的拉萨封城41天,也是我母亲离世42天。

今天,2023年2月11日,是我母亲离开人世整整半年的日子。这首献给母亲的诗,写于拉萨因新冠疫情被封城期间,因此也是献给故乡拉萨的诗。前不久,我在给友人Dechen Pemba 的访谈中写道:“所谓‘疫’,不只是指疫病,也指灾难。……对于我来说,我所经历的正是双重的不幸,双重的灾难:丧母;遭遇新冠疫情,都发生在拉萨。”在我的“双疫”之时写的这首诗,现已译成英文发布于High Peaks Pure Earth(高峰净土)网站。感谢Dechen 啦,感谢译者Christopher Peacock。


满城回响救护车催命般的鸣笛声……

——献给我的母亲,献给我们的拉萨


茨仁唯色



预先设好的手机铃响,提醒供酥[1]的时间到了,

我放下奥兹的《爱与黑暗的故事》[2],

起身走向门口,将糌粑和特殊药粉搅拌的酥,

均匀地撒在熏黑的不锈钢盘子上,

打开电炉,烤出的香味随烟飘散[3]。

已值正午,烈日当空,白云寥落,

点开噶玛巴念诵《极乐净土愿文》的视频,

却听见不远处传来救护车的鸣笛声,

很急促,催命般,又时断时续,像是不只一辆,

像是满载了不少病人,需要快快地送走。

送往哪里?听说拉萨的方舱已增至八、九个[4],

而方舱这个词没译成藏语,若汉语发音不准,

就成了藏语谐音的猪圈或乞丐的房子[5]。


这些日子,这三十多天被“静默管控”的日子,

救护车的嘶鸣是这座空空荡荡的城市

唯一的最强音(想起新话“时代最强音”),

还有什么声音呢?啜泣,呼告,谁听得见?

院子的四面墙头有雀鸟啁啾,盛开的

月季红得像鲜血,被小蜜蜂无声地吸吮;

长得像花豹的野猫跃下堆满朽木的房顶兀自离去。

越盖越高的世俗居所遮挡了颇章布达拉,

也遮蔽了原本可以随风传来的风铃声。

我静下心,举起金刚铃,朝着香烟袅袅的

酥,摇响三次,并须念诵三次:嗡啊吽

多么盼望走了整整一个月的阿妈会听见,会再来……


然后,我会沿着那个永别的深夜,我消瘦的阿妈

被年轻力壮的天葬师放上担架前,给她穿上

她喜爱的那套绿衬衣、绿条邦典[6]的藏装,

从刹那空寂却残留香味的卧室抬出的路线:

穿过用一条条挽结的白哈达隔出的通道,

两边是残花凋落的纷乱枝条出自她的栽种;

绕过供着美丽佛陀塑像和大桶清水的木桌,

桌下用糌粑画了古老的雍仲符号,而窗户上

映出几十盏点燃的酥油灯,摇曳着,如同照亮莫测的中阴;

依顺时针方向转一圈,再依逆时针方向转一圈,

这是让亡灵找不到回家之路的意思吗?

不料,紧攥着拴在担架上的哈达走在前面的我

一个踉跄,是阿妈不愿离去吗?泪水奔涌,


走出大门……不,我不能走出大门,据说奥密克戎

仿如可怕的巨兽,张开血盆大口,蹲伏门外!

是的,我们都不能走出大门,所有人;

我们都要乖乖地听话,所有人;

我们都须随时听令,所有人(新话称“不漏一人”);

或者排长队做核酸,或者等大白[7]入户做核酸,

有天半夜还做过什么抗原,就像某种被操控的游戏……

人们啊,要活着还真是花样百出,心存侥幸,

最多隐约地感觉到有些深渊早在暗夜挖好。

对了,我们还要双手接过恩赐的连花清瘟[8],

我们还要感激涕零,三呼万岁……


但我此刻不关心疫情,我已深陷生离死别的疫情!

啊,我的阿妈,你走过的这条离开我的,

离开你多年前一手盖起来的这座宅院的路线并不长,

如今我每日三次供酥都会反复地走来走去,

会边走边念六字真言,声音很大,如同呼喊,

就仿佛,被打动的观世音菩萨会垂怜丧母的人……

而我抬头,深邃、碧蓝的天空一缕白云飘来,

于是我再也、什么都听不见:救护车的不停

哀号,金刚铃的三声脆响,法王声若洪钟的救度,

以及这些日日夜夜我的祈祷……我啊我

什么都听不见,只听见那个生养我的亲人

最后的叹息:“来不及了,已经来不及了……”


2022年9月12日写,15日改,28日再改,于拉萨


注释:

[1]酥:གསུར་是一种烟供。传统上,须用特殊药粉及“三白三甜”(酥油、牛奶、酸奶;冰糖、红糖、蜂蜜)与糌粑搅拌,点燃后或烤出的香烟是某种食物,以求上供下施,以及亲人亡灵享用。

[2]《爱与黑暗的故事》是以色列作家阿摩司·奥兹(1939-2018)写的长篇自传体小说。

[3]传统上,是在陶罐内放置点燃的牛粪,再撒上酥,以供亡灵七七四十九天享用。

[4]修改这首诗时得知在拉萨盖好的、或临时设的方舱不止八、九个,而是二十多个,甚至更多,并扩延至附近的墨竹工卡县等。另外,将核酸检测为阳性、甚至也有阴性的人们拉往方舱的车,除了救护车,更多的是公交车,因为常常是深夜拉人,被拉萨人以黑色幽默的方式戏称为“恐怖片:拉萨午夜的公交车”。据公交公司的报告,截止9月23日,转运人员达到34.9万人次,而拉萨只有 80余万人口。补充:至9月28日,即我母亲离世“七七”四十九日,拉萨封城已是49天,尚不知何日解封。

[5]藏语的猪圈发音“帕仓”,乞丐的房子发音“邦仓”,与汉语方舱谐音。

[6]邦典:པང་གདན།,藏人妇女藏装裙袍上的围裙。

[7]大白:也是中国发明的一种新话,指参与疫情防控的人员,因穿白色防护服被称为“大白”。

[8]连花清瘟:中国发明的用中药材制成的以对付新冠病毒的药,是中国卫健委的推荐用药。


(这首诗发表于自由亚洲唯色博客2022年9月20日:https://www.rfa.org/mandarin/pinglun/weiseblog/ws-09202022131133.html。之后有修改和注释补充)



“The City Echoes with Ominous Ambulance Sirens…
––For my mother, for our Lhasa”
By Woeser
Translated by Christopher Peacock


The preset alarm sounds on my mobile, reminding me it’s time for the sur[i] offering
I put down Oz’s A Tale of Love and Darkness,[ii]
Rise and go to the doorway, take the sur mixed with tsampa and special medicinal powders,
And sprinkle it evenly in the smoke-blackened stainless-steel dish
I turn on the hotplate, and a roasted fragrance wafts up with the smoke.[iii]
It is midday, the scorching sun high in the sky, white clouds scattered about
I play a video of the Karmapa reciting the Prayer to be Reborn in the Blissful Pure Land,
But all I hear is the wail of an ambulance siren coming from nearby,
Urgent, ominous, intermittent, like it’s not just one,
Like they’re full of patients who need to be taken away in a hurry,
But taken where? Apparently there are eight or nine fangcang in Lhasa now[iv]
This word fangcang hasn’t been translated into Tibetan, and if your Chinese pronunciation is off,
It becomes the Tibetan word for a pigsty or a beggar’s hovel.[v]

These days, thirty-plus days now of “silent management,”
The whine of the ambulance is the only “strongest voice” in this empty city
(as in that Newspeak phrase, “the strongest voice of our times”)
What other sounds are there? Who can hear the sobs and cries?
Sparrows chirp atop the walls of the courtyard, The roses
In full bloom are red as blood, sucked silently by the little bees;
A stray cat, like a leopard, leaps off the rooftop piled with rotten wood and steals away.
The worldly apartment blocks, ever more and ever higher, block out the Podrang Potala,
And block out the sound of the chimes that used to carry on the wind.
I calm myself, raise the vajra bell, and face the sur and its curling smoke,
I ring it thrice and recite three times: Om ah hum
How I wish that Ama, gone a month now, could hear it, and come again…

And then, I would follow that deep night of eternal farewell, before Ama, so frail,
Was placed on the stretcher by the sky burial master, young and strong,
And dressed in that green Tibetan shirt and the matching pangden[vi] she loved so much,
Out from the bedroom, suddenly silent, but where a fragrance lingered:
Through a passageway separated by knotted white khatas
Flanked by tangled branches and withered flowers from all her planting;
Past the wooden offering table with the beautiful Buddha statue and the vat of fresh water,
The ancient yungdrung symbol made out in tsampa beneath, while the window reflects
dozens of lit Butter lamps, flickering, as if to illuminate the unfathomable bardo;
A clockwise circumambulation, and then one anticlockwise,
Is that so the departed won’t be able to find their way home?
As I walked ahead tightly clutching the khata tied to the stretcher, all of a sudden
I stumbled, did Ama not want to leave? The tears flowed,

And I walked out the door… No, I can’t walk out the door; they say Omicron
Lies in wait right outside, like a fearsome beast, bloody maw gaping!
Yes indeed, none of us can go outside, all of us;
We must obey like good little children, all of us;
We must heed the orders at all times, all of us (in Newspeak: “all without exception”)
Must stand in long lines for COVID tests, or wait for the Big Whites[vii] to come do them on the doorstep,
And one time an “antigen test” in the middle of the night, like some kind of rigged game…
Ah, humans––to survive we need a big bag of tricks and a lot of luck
At best we have the vague sense that some abysses were dug out in the deep night long ago
That’s right, we must receive with both hands the gift of Lianhua Qingwen pills,[viii]
We must shed tears of gratitude, and thrice call out Long Live the Emperor…

But I don’t care about the epidemic right now, I’m sunk in the epidemic of separation and death!
Ah, my Ama, this path you took to leave me, to leave the house you
Built all those years ago, was not a long one,
Now I walk it again and again as I perform my thrice daily sur offerings,
Reciting om mani padme hum as I go, loud, like I’m yelling it,
As if the Bodhisattva Avalokiteshvara will be moved and take pity on one who’s lost her mother…
And I look up, and a wisp of cloud drifts across the deep, azure sky,
And then I don’t hear anything anymore: the incessant wailing
Of the ambulances, the three crisp rings of the vajra bell, the resounding salvation of the Karmapa’s voice, and these prayers of mine, day after day, night after night… I, oh––
I don’t hear a thing, just the last sigh of the mother who carried and raised me:
“Too late, it’s too late now…”

Lhasa, September 12th, 2022; revised on the 15th, and again on the 28th.

Notes

[i] གསུར། a type of smoke offering for those who have passed into the bardo. Traditionally, it is made with special medicinal powders and the “three whites and three sweets” (butter, milk, and yoghurt; crystal sugar, brown sugar, and honey), all mixed together with tsampa. When roasted, the fragrant smoke it gives off acts as a kind of nourishment that is offered to the departed consciousnesses of close relatives.

[ii] A memoir by the Israeli author Amos Oz (1939-2018).

[iii] Traditionally, this ritual is performed by burning cow dung in a clay pot and sprinkling the sur on top, an offering to the deceased to be used for forty-nine days.

[iv] Fangcang is the Chinese word for a portable cabin, referring here to the temporary buildings set up to quarantine COVID patients. When I was revising this poem, I discovered that eight or nine was far too low an estimate: there are some twenty-odd of these makeshift hospitals in Lhasa––perhaps even more. They have also spread into Meldro Gungkar and other neighboring counties. What’s more, ambulances aren’t the only vehicles taking people away to the fangcang when they test positive (or even negative) for COVID: public buses are yet more common. Because they often come to take people away in the middle of the night, city residents have dubbed them “Lhasa’s Midnight Buses”––a black humor horror movie title. According to a report from the bus company, 349,000 people had been transferred in this way as of September 23rd, and Lhasa only has a population of just over 800,000.

[v] In Tibetan, pigsty is pronounced paktsang, while a beggar’s hovel is a trangtsang––both sound similar to the Chinese fangcang.

[vi] པང་གདན། the apron worn over a Tibetan woman’s dress.

[vii] Another “Newspeak” term coined in China referring to COVID prevention personnel, so-called because of their white protective suits.

[viii] A type of traditional Chinese herbal medicine, originally developed in China to combat SARS. It is recommended by the National Health Commission of the PRC as a treatment for COVID-19.

https://highpeakspureearth.com/new-poem-by-woeser-the-city-echoes-with-ominous-ambulance-sirens-for-my-mother-for-our-lhasa/