生命之树常青-法兰克福记

海外文苑

Published in New York "Compact News" Edition #854 (Translated by Christine Chen)汉译：佩英

武如梅（VO THI NHU MAI），澳大利亚越南裔诗人、作家、教育工作者，二十多年来致力于英文与越南语的写作、翻译与出版工作，架起一座亚裔文化与澳大利亚本土文化交流的桥梁，2025年度获越南驻澳大利亚领事馆颁发优秀荣誉证书。她的双语文学网站《越南的律动》已成功推广15年，分享越南及澳大利亚作家作品，其出版社亦为作家们出版二十余部作品。

生命之树在法兰克福的冬日常青

“所有理论都是灰色的，我的朋友，但生命之树永远常青。”

——约翰·沃尔夫冈·冯·歌德，《浮士德》第一部

踏入法兰克福的那一刻，歌德的话在我心中回响。这里，莱茵河的寒风轻抚古老屋顶，残留的秋叶仍带着脆弱的金色光芒，仿佛在努力遮掩冬日的灰意。

我与诗人兼译者陈佩英女士从澳大利亚、新西兰、希腊、土耳其一路辗转而来，旅途漫长，但心中充满期待。法兰克福为我们打开了另一片天空——安静、温柔、常青，仿佛“生命之树”伸展荫凉，欢迎每一个诗意的脚步，追寻的灵魂。

在这里，我们遇见了张英秀先生——一位在文字上同行多年，却未曾谋面的诗人。相遇似乎突然却非偶然，仿佛命中注定的那样，由诗歌、语言及文字做桥梁，一股目不可视却坚不可摧的力量，将彼此相连。

跟随张先生的脚步，我们漫步在古老教堂的街道，钟声如薄雾般笼罩空气。英秀说说笑笑，不像导游，而像一位法兰克福的守护者，把法兰克福折叠进他的生命里。

他将我们引入一本活字典：

——这是保罗教堂，1848年德国第一届民主议会在此召开……

——这是法兰克福大教堂，信仰之光从未暗淡……

——而这些古老街道，你驻足片刻，能听见历史的低语……

我们穿行于香气四溢、笑声盈耳的圣诞集市。金色灯光下的摊位、手工礼物、童话旋律，使法兰克福温暖、柔软，是一座诚心向陌生人敞开心扉的城市。

第二日，我们攀登陶努斯山。初冬的雪野如白纸铺展，站在寒风中，冰冷触及肌肤。静默片刻，诗意自心中生发。英秀拍下无数照片，记录我们的欢笑、初见雪的惊叹，以及在林间发现灵芝的惊呼，童真如小孩：“为什么没人采它们？”

然而，真正让我们屏息的，是踏入歌德故居的那一刻。

时间静止。

每一阶木楼梯都是回声。

桌上的每一张纸，都是起点。

我想象歌德的脚步，他的思绪是如何流转又聚拢的，诗句如何如光般洒落纸上。歌德的存在依旧充盈房间——不是雕像或陈设，而是一种深邃而坚定的能量：一个从未停止相信生命之美的人。

站在那里，我明白了英秀曾说过的话：

——有生命的气息，便有诗歌。

——有“生命之树”，便有希望。

或许，这就是为什么英秀的诗总是新鲜、温柔、常青，如他写下的句子：

“纯净如一滴水

她是一道色彩的光谱

脆弱如一片草叶

唤醒夜晚沉静的灵魂”

我已将英秀近三十首诗译成英文，但唯有在法兰克福，我才在另一个层面真正遇见这些诗：字句与寒风、钟声与最后的黄叶融为一体。

法兰克福不再只是建筑，不再只是历史，也不只是歌德的足迹。

它成为一片友情之地，由诗领我抵达， 领我归来。

感谢张英秀先生，开启了城市的大门——也开启了心灵的共鸣之门。

感谢陈佩英女士，无怨无悔地同行，共享每一份感受、每一段旅程。

感谢诗歌，让我们相遇、并肩同行，跨越语言。

有些旅程是为了看世界，而有些旅程，是让我们看见自己：与所遇之人的谈话、共享的笑、手之触碰，甚至只是一片挂在枝头的黄叶，见自己。

离开法兰克福了，但法兰克福未曾离开我。

城之角、河风、歌德雕像、森林中的灵芝、童话般的街道，留在我心中，宛如永恒常青的季节。

我终于明白：

诗歌是家

一个无论走多远都能回归的地方

THE TREE OF LIFE REMAINS GREEN IN FRANKFURT’S WINTER

“All theory is gray, my friend. But forever green is the tree of life.”
― Johann Wolfgang von Goethe, Faust, First Part
Goethe’s words echoed within me the moment I stepped into Frankfurt, the city where the winds of the Main River brush against old rooftops, where the last autumn leaves still hold their fragile glow of gold, as if trying to hide the grey that winter brings.
I arrived with poet–translator Chris Chen, after a long journey from Australia, New Zealand, Greece, and Turkey. I thought I was tired, thought my heart had been filled to its brim with travels. But Frankfurt opened into another space, quiet, tender, evergreen, as if the “tree of life” itself was spreading its shade to welcome wandering souls who carry poetry in their footsteps.
And there, I met Trương Anh Tú, the poet whose words I had accompanied for years on the page, though never once in person. The encounter was sudden, almost accidental, yet it felt destined, a meeting arranged by poetry itself, by language, by the invisible but unbreakable bridges words can build.
We walked with him through the streets where church bells rose from afar, ringing like a thin layer of mist draped over the air. Tú spoke and laughed, not as a tour guide, but as a keeper of memories, someone who had folded Frankfurt into his own life.
Beside him, I felt as if I were being led into a living book:
— This is Paulskirche, where Germany’s first democratic parliament convened in 1848…
— This is Frankfurter Dom, where the light of faith has never dimmed…
— And here, these old streets—stand still for a moment and you can hear history whisper…
Chris and I followed him through the Christmas market fragrant with cinnamon and bright with laughter. The golden-lit stalls, the handmade gifts, the fairytale melodies, everything softened Frankfurt, made it welcome, warm, like a city that willingly opens its heart to strangers.
Then he took us up into the Taunus mountains. Fields of early winter snow stretched out like a blank page. I stood in the cold, letting it touch my skin, quieting my thoughts for a few seconds, long enough to realize that this was the moment a poem writes itself. Tú took countless photos of us, capturing my smile, my awe at seeing snow for the first time, and our childlike delight when we stumbled upon mushrooms in the forest, exclaiming, “Why does no one take them?”
But the moment that stilled me, truly stilled me, was when we stepped into Goethe’s house.
Time paused.
Each wooden stair was an echo.
Each sheet of paper on his desk, a beginning.
I imagined his footsteps, the way his thoughts must have shifted and gathered, how his verses might have fallen onto the page like drops of light. Goethe’s presence lived in that room—not in statues or artifacts, but in a deep, unwavering energy: the spirit of someone who never stopped believing in the beauty of life.
Standing there, I understood why Tú once said:
— Where there is the breath of life, there is poetry.
— Where there is a “tree of life,” there is hope.
Perhaps that is why Tú’s poems, our companion that day, always feel fresh, tender, evergreen, like the lines he wrote:
“As pure as a water droplet
She is a spectrum of colours
As fragile as a blade of grass
Stir the soul of its quiet night”
I have translated nearly 30 of his poems into English. But only in Frankfurt did I truly meet those poems again on another level where the words blended with the cold wind, the bells, the last yellow leaves.
Frankfurt became more than architecture, more than history, more than Goethe’s footsteps.
Frankfurt became a place of friendship where poetry led me to arrive, and led me to return.
Thank you, Trương Anh Tú, for opening the doors of the city—and the doors of resonance. Thank you, Chris Chen, tireless companion, sharing every feeling, every step of this long journey. Thank you, poetry for giving us a chance to meet, to walk beside one another, to speak in a language without borders.
Some journeys are for seeing the world. But some journeys help us see ourselves through the people we meet, the small conversations, the shared laughter, the touch of a hand, or a single yellow leaf still clinging to a branch.
I leave Frankfurt, but Frankfurt does not leave me. A part of the city, the river wind, Goethe’s statue, the forest mushrooms, the fairytale streets has stayed in my heart like an ever-green season.
And I understand now:
Poetry is home
A place we can always return to
no matter how far we go