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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.

作者簡介

哈維爾‧貝略Javier Bello

　　哈維爾‧貝略，從馬德裏孔普魯騰塞大學獲西語文學博士學位，現任智利大學拉丁美洲及智利文學助理教授。第一本詩集La noche veneosa齣版於1987年，此後詩作得到廣泛的發錶、收錄及翻譯。1992年獲任Pablo Neruda基金會成員。曾獲奬項包括Gabriela Mistral市政文學奬（1994）、Jaime Gil de Biedma國際詩歌奬（1998）、Juan Ramón Jiménez西語美洲詩歌奬（2006）、Pablo Neruda詩歌奬（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（節錄）
 
這個下午雨下得格外大；而我
不想再活下去，親愛的。
──塞薩爾‧巴列霍
 
那個下午雨下得格外大。確切地說它不是一隻無脊椎動物
但是它一旦學會像一隻蠑螈一樣行走
它就一直這樣走下去。像這樣，這個小異鄉人進入到
他喜歡的骨頭中。你沒有看見我正在更換皮膚，他對我說，
更換時代，我正在更換物種。就我而言
我歡迎他來頭骨的貪婪的更衣室，洞穴的傢當。
那是我的錯，混淆瞭幻境和梔子花，
湍流的高聳的捲發，和吞食問題的腺體。
一旦他學會瞭像海豚一樣滑動並映在玻璃上閃閃發光
就很難把舌頭從泥土的小盒子裹取齣來。有碎片，腹股溝
尚未準備就緒。有遺棄之物，無緣無故地就位。
漁叉無比繁復，但是用腳磨尖一根長矛要耗去半生的時間。
 
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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