犁田白鷺 Egret in a Ploughed Field

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.

馬克•卓狄尼，當代澳洲著名詩人、散文家，在澳洲各地學校教寫作，參加過澳洲、美國和英國等地的文學節。曾獲Montreal詩歌獎、Cardiff詩歌獎、Blake詩歌獎、Newcastle詩歌獎、Calibre散文獎。兩次獲頒澳洲國內的州長文學獎。他所著的地景回憶錄The Blue Plateau入選澳洲總理文學獎。2016年獲ACU詩歌獎；2017年獲Ron Pretty詩歌獎。

Mark TREDINNICK (Australia 澳洲)
Mark Tredinnick is a celebrated poet, essayist, and writing teacher. His honours include the Montreal and Cardiff Poetry Prizes, The Blake and Newcastle Poetry Prizes, two Premiers’ Literature Awards, and the Calibre Essay Prize. The Blue Plateau, his landscape memoir, shortlisted for the Prime Minister’s Prize. He travels and teaches widely, in schools and at festivals, through Australia and in the US and UK. In 2016 his poem “The Horse” won the ACU Poetry Prize; in March 2017, his poem “Panic Very Softly, Love” won the Ron Pretty Poetry Prize.

Egret in a Ploughed Field 8

犁田白鷺

 

Catullus, at dusk, / heartbroken and lustful, tries / his hand at haiku 12

卡圖魯斯，黃昏 / 心碎了，色心起 / 生手寫徘句

 

House of Thieves 14

賊窩

 

The Kingfisher 16

藍翠烏

 

Lotus Pond 18

荷塘

 

Wrack 22

失事

 

Your Skin 24

愛的肌膚

 

The Ugly 31

醜陋

 

Lucy and the Tree 39

露絲與樹

 

The Horse 42

馬

 

When the Panic 50

恐慌之時

賊窩

 

我住在一個賊窩裹。

他們偷走我的吐司。他們偷走

我的時問。他們偷走我的早晨

他們偷走我的夜晚。他們偷走最好的我，

他們偷走最壞的我，

直到我不知道自己還剩下幾多

剩下的用處幾何。但是我只做自己，不要做別人。

這個被洗劫一空的我，得到偷竊的保祐，

這個港灣，愛之最不堪。

 

House of Thieves

 

I live in a house of thieves.

They steal my toast. They steal

My time. They steal my mornings

And they steal my nights. They steal the best of me,

And they steal the worst,

until I do not know how much is left of me

And what it’s any good for. But I’d be no other man than this.

This looted self, blessed by theft,

this harbour for love’s worst scoundrels.