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This pocket-sized paperback is one of the twenty-four titles published for 2017 Hong Kong International Poetry Nights. The theme of IPHHK2017 is “Ancient Enmity”. IPNHK is one of the most influential international poetry events in Asia. From 22–26 November 2017, over 20 invited poets from various countries will be in Hong Kong to read their works based on the theme “Ancient Enmity.” Included in the anthology and box set, these unique works are presented with Chinese and English translations in bilingual or trilingual formats.

作者简介

哈维尔‧贝略Javier Bello

　　哈维尔‧贝略，从马德里孔普鲁腾塞大学获西语文学博士学位，现任智利大学拉丁美洲及智利文学助理教授。第一本诗集La noche veneosa出版于1987年，此后诗作得到广泛的发表、收录及翻译。1992年获任Pablo Neruda基金会成员。曾获奖项包括Gabriela Mistral市政文学奖（1994）、Jaime Gil de Biedma国际诗歌奖（1998）、Juan Ramón Jiménez西语美洲诗歌奖（2006）、Pablo Neruda诗歌奖（2007）等。

　　(Chile 智利)

　　Javier Bello holds a Ph.D. in Spanish Literature from the Complutense University of Madrid and is now Assistant Professor in Latin American and Chilean Literature at the University of Chile. He published his first book of poems La noche venenosa (Concepción, Letra Nueva) in 1987. Since then his poems have been widely published, anthologized and translated. In 1992, he became a fellow of the Pablo Neruda Foundation. His honours include The “Gabriela Mistral” Municipal Literary Prize (1994), The “Jaime Gil de Biedma” International Poetry Prize (1998), The “Juan Ramón Jiménez” Hispanic American Poetry Prize (2006), The “Pablo Neruda” Award (2007), etc.
 

通往天空的小梯子（节录）
 
这个下午雨下得格外大；而我
不想再活下去，亲爱的。
──塞萨尔‧巴列霍
 
那个下午雨下得格外大。确切地说它不是一只无嵴椎动物
但是它一旦学会像一只蝾螈一样行走
它就一直这样走下去。像这样，这个小异乡人进入到
他喜欢的骨头中。你没有看见我正在更换皮肤，他对我说，
更换时代，我正在更换物种。就我而言
我欢迎他来头骨的贪婪的更衣室，洞穴的家当。
那是我的错，混淆了幻境和栀子花，
湍流的高耸的卷发，和吞食问题的腺体。
一旦他学会了像海豚一样滑动并映在玻璃上闪闪发光
就很难把舌头从泥土的小盒子裹取出来。有碎片，腹股沟
尚未准备就绪。有遗弃之物，无缘无故地就位。
渔叉无比繁复，但是用脚磨尖一根长矛要耗去半生的时间。
 
Little Stairway to Heaven（excerpt）
 
Esta tarde llueve como nunca; y no
tengo ganas de vivir, corazón.
—César Vallejo
 
That evening it rained, as never before. He wasn’t precisely an invertebrate
but once he learned how to walk like a salamander
he never stopped. So the small foreigner
went into the favourite bone. Can’t you see I’m shedding my skin, he told me,
shedding my time, my caste. As for me,
I welcome him to the insatiable dresser of the skull, to the wardrobe of holes.
That was my error, mistaking mirage for gardenia. the high curl of the turbulence for a question-eating gland.
Once he learned to glide like a dolphin and shine against the glass it was difficult to pull out the tongue from the box of soil. There was shrapnel
and the crotch was not ready. There were objects no longer used, placed in no order.
The harpoon was thorough, but it takes half a life to sharpen a spear with our feet.

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