Poetry International Poetry International
Poem

Yang Lian

PEKING OPERA LESSON

peonies cluster round     on their fine stamens stand pergola and patio
her cheek transits over to him     a dream half-white half-red
his sweet tenderness becomes her springtime soprano
is’t man? is’t ghost?     an impossible beauty dallies with the world beyond
dalliance approaching     the perfume of powder shores up the aroma of flesh
hip-swinging     high buskins     wade the riffling pool till it overflows
he sings     and she autographs each drawn-out end-rhyme
life is like theatre     but not  everyone puts on a brilliant show
                                                                                    – says Father
 
Dongan Market     Fortuna Theatre     Goldfish Lane
all chasing the king’s concubine     clouds want clothes flowers want faces
history is wanting the broken-down relics that follow after the greasepaint is gone
he and she     amorous looks and sweet ogling fill in the blank storyline
white silk sleeves have been rippling for a millennium     who cares about dried-up names?
the shot glass is filled up all unseen     is knocked back all unseen
a snapped neck hangs by a strap in a darkened private party
pirouetting     a true cut flower encounters this false coming of age
                                                                                    – says Father
 
a world hidden in air     materializes
with the crane’s cries     oh dynasties     both crimson and white are bliss in deed
an aria forced from deep in the throat     forces out Deep Time’s metamorphoses
always the same story     always this girl and this boy
treading the margin of the stage as if it were the margin of time
treading the blade of now     the oceans below the cliff recede
she and he watch us from a great height     only elegance’s extremes allowed
oh how golden shines art’s alembic     it fills every silence in the ear
                                                                                    – says Father

LES IN PEKINGOPERA

pioenen rondom      een verfijnde stamper staat op een paviljoenterras
haar kaak steekt naar hem over     een droom halfrood halfwit
zijn zachte gevoeligheid wordt haar voorjaarszangstem
mens of geest?      onmogelijke schoonheid kringelt voorbij de wereld
kringelt dichterbij      de doordringende geur van poeder ondersteunt de geur van vlees
lotusstappen      wolkenschoenen      waden tot de rimpelende vijver overstroomt
hij zingt      en zij ondertekent alle lang uitgerekte slotwoorden
het leven is als opera      maar het is niet zo dat iedereen kan schitteren
                                                                                                             – zegt vader
 
het theater Voorspoed op het marktplein van Dongan aan de Goudvissteeg
allemaal concubines najagend      wolken doen aan kleren denken bloemen aan gezichten
geschiedenis denkt aan de ingestorte muren na de make-upverwijdering
zij en hij      mooie glanzende ogen vullen de futiele verhaallijn
lange watermouwen wuiven duizenden jaren lang      wie geeft er om uitgedroogde namen
het borrelglas wordt ongemerkt volgeschonken      ongemerkt in één teug geleegd
gebroken hangt een nek in een donkere thuisvoorstelling
wervelende dans      een echt afgesneden bloemennek ontmoet de valse leeftijd
                                                                                                 – zegt vader
 
de wereld ligt verdekt in de lucht      met de roep van een kraanvogel
verschijnt hij      o dynastieën      donkerrood lijkbleek is allemaal vreugde
een diep uit de keel afgedwongen aria dwingt de wisselvalligheden van de wereld af
eeuwig en altijd hetzelfde verhaal      eeuwig en altijd deze man en vrouw samen
over de rand van het podium lopen is als over de rand van de tijd lopen
over het lemmet van nu lopen      de zee onder het steile klif gaat ver weg
zij en hij kijken van hoog op ons neer      extreme elegantie moet
o de perfectie van het vuur      doordringt de stilte in je oren
                                                                                             – zegt vader

六、京剧课

牡丹簇拥 细细的蕊上站着亭台
她的腮过渡给他 梦半红半白
他的多情婉转成她春天的歌喉
人耶鬼耶 不可能的美袅袅于世外
袅袅近了 扑鼻的粉香托起肉香
莲步 云靴 趟得涟漪满池漾开
他唱 而她为每个拖长的尾音签名
人生如戏 可并非人人都演得精彩
                  ——父亲说
东安市场 吉祥剧院 金鱼胡同
都追着妃子 云想衣裳花想容
历史想着卸妆后的断壁残垣
她和他 美目流盼填充虚无的剧情
水袖甩着千年 谁在乎干透的名字
酒杯看不见地斟满 看不见地一饮而空
勒断的脖子悬在一场黑暗的堂会中
旋舞 真剪下的花颈迎着假的年龄
                  ——父亲说
世界埋伏进空气 随一声鹤唳
而显现 朝代啊 殷红惨白都是喜
一只咽喉深处逼出的唱腔逼出沧桑
永远同一个故事 永远这对男女
踩着舞台的边缘就像岁月边缘
踩着现在的刃 悬崖下大海远去
她和他俯瞰我们 非风韵到极点不可
炉火纯青啊 贯穿耳畔的沉寂
                  ——父亲说
Close

PEKING OPERA LESSON

peonies cluster round     on their fine stamens stand pergola and patio
her cheek transits over to him     a dream half-white half-red
his sweet tenderness becomes her springtime soprano
is’t man? is’t ghost?     an impossible beauty dallies with the world beyond
dalliance approaching     the perfume of powder shores up the aroma of flesh
hip-swinging     high buskins     wade the riffling pool till it overflows
he sings     and she autographs each drawn-out end-rhyme
life is like theatre     but not  everyone puts on a brilliant show
                                                                                    – says Father
 
Dongan Market     Fortuna Theatre     Goldfish Lane
all chasing the king’s concubine     clouds want clothes flowers want faces
history is wanting the broken-down relics that follow after the greasepaint is gone
he and she     amorous looks and sweet ogling fill in the blank storyline
white silk sleeves have been rippling for a millennium     who cares about dried-up names?
the shot glass is filled up all unseen     is knocked back all unseen
a snapped neck hangs by a strap in a darkened private party
pirouetting     a true cut flower encounters this false coming of age
                                                                                    – says Father
 
a world hidden in air     materializes
with the crane’s cries     oh dynasties     both crimson and white are bliss in deed
an aria forced from deep in the throat     forces out Deep Time’s metamorphoses
always the same story     always this girl and this boy
treading the margin of the stage as if it were the margin of time
treading the blade of now     the oceans below the cliff recede
she and he watch us from a great height     only elegance’s extremes allowed
oh how golden shines art’s alembic     it fills every silence in the ear
                                                                                    – says Father

PEKING OPERA LESSON

peonies cluster round     on their fine stamens stand pergola and patio
her cheek transits over to him     a dream half-white half-red
his sweet tenderness becomes her springtime soprano
is’t man? is’t ghost?     an impossible beauty dallies with the world beyond
dalliance approaching     the perfume of powder shores up the aroma of flesh
hip-swinging     high buskins     wade the riffling pool till it overflows
he sings     and she autographs each drawn-out end-rhyme
life is like theatre     but not  everyone puts on a brilliant show
                                                                                    – says Father
 
Dongan Market     Fortuna Theatre     Goldfish Lane
all chasing the king’s concubine     clouds want clothes flowers want faces
history is wanting the broken-down relics that follow after the greasepaint is gone
he and she     amorous looks and sweet ogling fill in the blank storyline
white silk sleeves have been rippling for a millennium     who cares about dried-up names?
the shot glass is filled up all unseen     is knocked back all unseen
a snapped neck hangs by a strap in a darkened private party
pirouetting     a true cut flower encounters this false coming of age
                                                                                    – says Father
 
a world hidden in air     materializes
with the crane’s cries     oh dynasties     both crimson and white are bliss in deed
an aria forced from deep in the throat     forces out Deep Time’s metamorphoses
always the same story     always this girl and this boy
treading the margin of the stage as if it were the margin of time
treading the blade of now     the oceans below the cliff recede
she and he watch us from a great height     only elegance’s extremes allowed
oh how golden shines art’s alembic     it fills every silence in the ear
                                                                                    – says Father
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