诗人曰：你是黑暗森林中舞动的清明

海外文苑

纽约【综合新闻报】第850期（08/11/2025）
主编：佩英

总编：程朗

总顾问：马华

汉译：佩英（Translated by Christine Chen）

希拉尔·卡拉汉博士（Dr.Hilal Karahan）
1977年生于土耳其加济安泰普，诗人、散文家、翻译家与医生，作品获国际奖项并多语出版，现任世界诗歌节跨洲总监、土耳其世界诗歌运动成员，创办FeminIstanbul女性诗歌节，活跃于全球文学交流。

你是那声音，某个夜晚，我忽见你的声息
You were the voice, one evening, I suddenly saw the voice

仿佛你焚尽了旧日苍穹
用那火焰擦拭我的面庞
手工鸟鸣，树影成礼
你安置在我的童年里：
若大地不嗅银果的枝香
岂会轻抚种子的足跟？
若她未思琥珀的温柔
花儿怎会似风的手
抚摸她的发丝？
当沉重的夜色
停落在藤蔓的肩头
阴影便悄然降临。


你是那声音，我触碰喧嚣夜的面庞
You were the voice, I touched on face of a noisy night

这深沉嗡鸣，心中颤动
原以为，是你声息的余烬
你未曾温柔，也未全然放手
便用血脉，将我的心
紧缚、勒住
随后，如借来的书
悄然归位，羞于迟到
放回你借去的地方
那是我的心
整夜，追随你的脚步奔跑。


你是那声音，踪迹却是多重的爱
You were the voice, the trace is a plural love

爱你，如同爱一生
在你唇间，我亲吻
你拖过的所有亡灵
你用留在他人身上的手
抚慰我颤动的血液
逃离，是你寻常的姿态
如同饮水，点燃香烟
习惯你的爱，便是向
将撕裂我心的痛，投降
当你离去
痛苦，是我最安全的避所
在你缺席的日子，我躲藏其间。


你是那声音，蹒跚的秘密，向内弯曲
You were the voice, rickety is the mystery that curves inward

你自一口井中呼唤而来。
你以为清明，
是你所见的唯一光。
但不，你并未疯癫——
我们从未存在。
我以残缺的血肉
创造了你。
而分裂者的爱，
早已坏疽。


你是那声音，夜，以你的声息而启
You were the voice, the night has started with your voice

我以你，
补全了自身的一切残缺。
你每一次退后，
我便更深悬挂于你的空间。
那些遥远的港口，
我总为你奉上——
我所遗失的，
都因你而得名。
我恳求，立誓，
在你面前俯首。
多年之中，
我在一具身躯里
藏着两颗灵魂：
一为渴念你的存在，
一为怒于你的缺席。

诗歌赏析：

土耳其诗人希拉尔·卡拉汉博士这组以“你是那声音”为纲的诗，整体呈现出高度统一的情绪结构：迷恋、伤痛、幻象与自我分裂在五个片段中层层递进，如同心理深处的回声不断回荡。语言极具触感与视觉性，火焰、树影、藤蔓、井、港口等意象串联出一个在爱中迷路的灵魂景观。《蹒跚的秘密》一节尤为关键，它揭示“你”或许仅是内在裂口的幻影，使前文的爱与折磨呈现为自我投射的轮回。文本的力量来自其诚实的赤裸与语言的雕刻感：爱是缠绕、是创造、也是腐坏；夜由“你”开启，主体在“你”的缺席与出现之间持续撕裂。整体具有成熟的自剖能力与审美张力，是一组兼具心理深度与诗性光芒的作品。（佩英）

Editorials:

Turkish poet Dr.Hilal Karahan this cycle of poems built around “You were the voice” presents a unified emotional architecture: obsession, hurt, illusion, and self-division unfold across the five sections like echoes rising from the depths of the psyche. The language is tactile and vividly imagistic—flame, branches, vines, wells, distant harbours—forming a landscape of a soul lost within love. The section “rickety is the mystery that curves inward” is pivotal, revealing that “you” may be a phantom born from an inner fracture, casting the earlier love and torment as a cycle of self-projection. The poems gain their force from an honesty laid bare and from the precision of their imagery: love is binding, creating, and decaying; the night begins with “you,” and the speaker is torn endlessly between your absence and your presence. As a whole, the sequence displays a mature capacity for self-interrogation and a strong aesthetic tension, resulting in work that carries both psychological depth and poetic radiance.（by Christine Chen)

豪尔赫·孔特雷拉斯·埃雷拉(Jorge Contreras Herrera)
墨西哥诗人、散文作家、编辑和文化经理人。他担任“洗礼者”组织负责人，以及国际诗歌节“伊格纳西奥·罗德里格斯·加尔万诗歌节”和“何塞·玛丽亚·埃雷迪亚诗歌节”的总监。

赤足而入Bare Your Feet

一首好诗，对于不敏感的读者，可能是一首糟糕的诗；
而一首糟糕的诗，对于不敏感的读者，可能又显得出色。
那么，哪一首才是真正的诗？
敏感应当如何调校？
灵魂又该处于何种状态？
我思索那被乐器拥抱的音乐之魂，
使乐声不仅动人，而是完美无瑕。
在“动人”与“完美”之间，存在深渊。
多少人止步于圣殿门口，
我必须解释，因为不敏感的读者无法理解。
也就是说，无数人被诗排除在外：
去读不存在的东西。
而真实的，却未曾呈现。
换言之，并非人人都能触及诗。
诗，既在诗中，也在你心中。
若你无法读懂它，再试一次。
读些其他的，再回来。
人必须赤足踏入诗境，
若不如此，你将踏入别处，却不是诗。
当某物被揭示，直觉唤起情感时，
影像、奇异的力量与感受被照亮，
那便是诗已接纳了你。


她的描写Description of Her

你是光的诞生，
凝视的升华，
如果实般温柔，浸透诗意的汁液。
你是山间诱人的风暴，
脆弱如落叶上的颤泪。
你是黑暗森林中舞动的清明。

难民Refugee

我曾看见孩子们逃离家园，
父亲与母亲逃离家园，
一家一家的人，逃离他们的家园。
我曾看见孩子逃离祖国，
父亲与母亲逃离祖国，
一家一家的人，逃离他们的祖国。
我曾看见城镇被逐出自己的城镇，
神圣的殿堂被改作煤矿、铜矿。
我曾看见诸神与女神——
他们怀抱着古老的秘密——
被迫迁离，只因有人
要出售他们的土地与领土。
——加夫列拉说过：
“没有人是为了快乐而逃亡。”
我终于明白：
人逃离贫穷，
逃离饥饿的惩罚，
逃离绝望、疯狂与死亡。
若有一天我也必须逃亡，
在夜色中翻越边界，
当边境警察巡逻着，
用夜视镜锁定我，
最终将我击杀——
若有一天我饥饿至极，
而你想羞辱我，
对我说：“你就是为此而来”，
说你比我高贵，
将你的靴子踏在我的脸上，
朝我吐唾沫、撒尿，
然后把食物丢在地上让我去吃——
若有一天你路过，
看见我瑟缩于寒夜街头；
若有一天，我成为了你——
请，给我一个避难所。

诗歌赏析：

墨西哥诗人豪尔赫·孔特雷拉斯·埃雷拉这三首诗虽然在语调与旨意上各不相同，却共同构成一个思想与情感的整体。《赤足而入》是一篇关于诗的自我审视：什么才是诗？敏感如何塑造理解？读者必须“赤足踏入”诗境，才能被诗真正接纳。其思想清晰，结构递进，是论述，也是启示。《她的描写》则转入抒情语调，以光、风暴与森林的意象刻画一位女性——既温柔又野性，脆弱却明亮。语言凝练，美而不浮。《难民》最具冲击力，重复的结构如同流离失所的浪潮，而结尾的一连串假设迫使读者进入极致的共情，瓦解优越感的幻觉。三首诗合在一起，展现了娴熟的技艺、丰富的情感洞察，以及在抽象与现实之间自由穿梭的能力。(佩英）

Editorials：
Mexican poet Jorge Contreras Herrerathree poems, though varied in tone and intent, form a coherent constellation of thought and emotion. *Bare Your Feet* stands as an introspective meditation on poetics itself: what makes a poem a poem, how sensitivity shapes understanding, and how the reader must “enter barefoot” to be admitted into the realm of poetry. Its philosophical clarity and structural progression make it both an argument and a revelation. *Description of Her* shifts to a lyrical register, portraying a woman through images of light, storm, and forest—suggesting a being both tender and untamed, fragile yet luminous. The language is distilled, offering beauty without excess. *Refugee* delivers the strongest emotional impact. Its repetitive structure mimics waves of displacement, while the final conditional sequence forces the reader into radical empathy, dismantling the illusion of superiority. Together, the three poems demonstrate refined craft, emotional intelligence, and an ability to navigate between abstraction and visceral reality.(By Christine Chen)

附英文原诗

Dr.Hilal Karahan poems：

You were the voice, one evening, I suddenly saw the voice

As if you have burnt an old sky
with which you rubbed my face

Handmade birds, trees as a gift
you have laid down on my childhood:

Does the earth caress
the seeds’ heels,
if it didn’t smell
a branch of silverberry?

If she doesn’t miss the amber,
does flower like the wind’s hands,
caressing her hair?

When rests on the shoulder of vines,
a heavy evening
will fall into shadows.

You were the voice, I touched on face of a noisy night

This deep buzzing, my heart,
supposed your voice to be ember

Without tenderly, not so absolutely
you have tied and choked my heart
with your veins

Afterwards like a loaned book,
quietly and shy of being late
you put it to the place
where you have borrowed

It was my heart
running behind your steps
all night

You were the voice, the trace is a plural love

Loving you was to love a lifetime

In your mouth, I kissed
all the corpses you have dragged

You caressed my fluttering blood
with your hands remained on other women

Escaping was your ordinary behavior
like drinking water,
lighting a cigarette

To get used to your love,
was a defeat to the pain
that will slice my heart;
when you go.

Suffering was the safest feeling
I took shelter in
during your absence

You were the voice, rickety is the mystery that curves inward

You were hailing from a well

Clarity you supposed
the only light you saw

But no, you did not go crazy
We have never existed

I created you
by my incomplete flesh

The schizophrenic loves
gangrene

You were the voice, the night has started with your voice

I completed with you
whatever was half in myself

I hang up more to your space
as you stepped back

The remote ports I have offered
always to you
whatever I missed
was defined with you

I pleaded, I took the oath of allegiance
I bowed before you

For years, I had two souls in my body:
need your existence,
fury for your absence.

Jorge Contreras Herrera poems：

Bare Your Feet

A good poem can be an awful poem to an inept reader,
as an awful poem might appear to be a good poem to an inept reader.
Which is the real poem?
In what manner must sensitivity be calibrated,
or in what condition the soul got to be,
and I ponder about the musical soul that instruments embrace
so that they sound not only remarkably good, but rather perfect.
Between good and perfect, there is an abyss.
How many do stay at the doors of the temple,
and I must explain it, because an inept reader, would not understand me.
I mean, countless are left out of the poem:
read something that does not exist.
What does exist isn’t present.
That is, once more. Not everyone can access the poem.
The poem, is within the poem and within yourself.
If you cannot read it, try again.
Read something else, then come back to it.
One must enter barefoot to the poem,
if you don’t do it like this, you will enter somewhere else, but not to the poem.
When something gets revealed and intuition stirs emotions,
images, strange forces and feelings get enlightened,
it is a signal that the poem has received you.

Description of Her

You are the birth of light,
the gaze’s exaltation,
the tenderness of the fruit with its poem’s sap.
You are the storm that seduces in the mountain,
fragile as a quivering tear on fallen leaves.
You are the dancing clarity in the dark forest.

Refugee

I have seen children flee
from their houses
mothers and fathers
flee from their houses
families flee from their houses
I have seen children flee from their countries
mothers and fathers flee from their countries
families flee from their countries
I have seen towns displaced from towns
holy places changed into coal mines or
copper mines
I have seen gods and goddesses
holding ancient mysteries
removed so someone could
sell all their land and their territory-
Gabriela said ‘No one flees for pleasure’
and I understood :
Escape from poverty
and punishment by hunger
escape from desperation
from madness and from death.
And if someday I have to
escape,
jump across the border at night
while border police are on the prowl
with their night vision binoculars and finally kill me.
If some day I am starving
and you want to humiliate me,
Saying you are here for this
That you are better
you put your boot on my face
and spit on it and urinate
and then you toss me food to eat
on the floor
and if some day you pass by
and see me trembling with cold
sleeping in the streets
If someday, I am you
give me refuge