聽John Cage 音樂會回來的路上 After John Cage

Translated by Leung Ping-kwan & Gordon T. Osing  


Pale white mist in the forest
night mist is occasional
white
scattered street lights
eyes
listening by chance to new sounds in the quiet night nobody
I put coins in the vending machine beside the tennis court
waiting for an icy can of fruit juice
no tin can rattles down the machine's sad intestine
nothing
(the machine is out of order
machines also have
their speechless moments)
Standing here
I cannot see the moon
(no tin can of moonlight
rattles down the machine's sad intestine)
no sound
I walk on
entering the white mist
dry lips
the mist is moist
moist mist cannot quench thirst
An empty bus-stop
the rain gave a performance last night
I had waited with the ghost of Cage’s play
at the bus-stop
one by one, buses that did not exist
drove past
the sky let down the rope of temptation
and pulled it back up
Our thirst cannot be quenched
The bus we are waiting for never came
Things we are expecting send no reply
until the man passing by told me:
“Route 34 no longer stops here"
Machines also change
like weather
So you went to the Veteran Hospital to wait for the bus
drenched in the rain
trousers stuck
on the advancing knees
The handicapped pushed the rattling wheelchair
back under windless eaves
In front of the hospital
something hit against the flagstaff
making a monotonous thumping noise
And rain, rain lingered
the sound of rain entwining and sprouting
encompassing the clamour that extended straight ahead
Who at the end of this muddy day
was still trying new ways to play the violin
change the swamp before the hospital, wake
the hearts of people that had gone gradually numb, pluck
those sleep-laden eye-lids?
The rain soaked me, and
dissolved the violent clamour of the machine
into its own voice
like a gleaming plant cleansed by the rain
an ordinary lamppost met me
with a new face, in the quiet night of whispered secrets
There is no rain tonight
no rain but mist
(this is also occasional)
white silence
hides the chanting of rivers in the world
Someone has invented a new way to play the piano
tickling its wooden armpits with his hand
(someone has invented a new way to play
the weather, giving us mist
or rain)
The routine greetings of the day have quieted down
The new song
fills in the silence when people run out of words
When I am thirsty
(mist fills in the armpit of the white night)
birds ask us to listen to the daily sounds with our hearts
Night is silent
where shall I go now?
parched lips
cannot put forty cents into the night
for a can of white mist
(the rattling sound of the machine
is gone)
Night is silent
and then there seems to be raindrops dripping
at the corners of the house, the turn of the road
I wait
for a possible rain
a bus that may or may not come

1980


View Work in Original Language

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 



Copyright © AIEL 2008. All words and images are the property of Leung Ping Kwan and his associates. All Rights Reserved.