在我柔情深處

在我柔情深處

我是蒙古遊牧民族的孩子。我們每每在黎明破曉時分遷移。小小的我總是坐在推車上的籃子裡，在駱駝 勤奮的均勻步伐中，我欣喜地迎接著晨曦。或許這正是我日後寫詩的靈感節奏韻律。當我們到達了新營地, - 藍色起重機, 白色霧影, 層層的岩石、變化多端的小山，一切看來都那麼新奇。


那時，我父親會讓我坐在他腿上，把我環抱 住，再拿著他的小琴，拉奏出一首悠長而清新的旋律-Dariganga Mongols的" Jaakhan Sharga"J，當圍繞著我的嘶鳴聲響起，山彷彿更加雄偉，水更加清澈，鳥的歌唱更加悅耳。我小小的身體也因而成了父親彈奏的樂器。我的詩歌跟著 Morin Khuur 的旋律，橫跨過令人肅然起敬的草原。


遊牧民族的孩子喜歡在一種距 離之外觀想事情。一個遊牧家庭，在海市蜃樓的幻景裡，沿著地平線緩緩移動，游牧孩子看見了，並且告訴母親。於是母親和我帶著一壺茶和滿盤子的乳塊和奶酪招 待這些搬遷的遊牧人。他們因長途遷徙而饑渴，他們充滿了感激，在我的我童年裡我學到這些，我也因此了解到如何向那些仰賴大地生存、相互依靠的人類伸出溫暖 的手。這些無疑都是我詩中養分的來源。
遊牧人家的爐床總是像世界的中心。Morin Khuur置放在祭壇邊，"長歌"播放著。拴住的馬在自己的崗位上嘶鳴，一隻年輕的駱駝在樁住邊低吼，風如長笛般在草地上演奏...。一個個傳奇在爐火邊燃起，北斗七星巨大的弧形壟罩著霧濛濛的蒙古包...


一股難言的力量，似乎從天而降，感動著我。又宛若一支柔和的曲調，由地面上升、漂浮向天堂。彷彿一個石人般，我獨自站立在草原中間，冥想著遊牧人的祖先長久以來的偉大歷史。石人不朽，將隨時間之旅與我們步入千年萬年...游牧生態表達的是一種精神。


游牧之旅啟程時顯得無精打采，然而，朝著天地交接處行進時，某種感動終究使漫長旅途興起不屈不撓的意念，那麼，又是什麼力量令人渴望了解那首"長歌"的真意，還有使人不知不覺陷入生活的柔情深處呢?

Invitation to a Mid Summer Month Poetry Festival

It wasn’t a painter who was invited to design a stage
It was the divination who decided the mid summer sun
To draw a curtain of red cheesecloth in the horizon,
Through the fancy clouds’ brocade-blue gaps

Steppe Blue Mountains would come, from far, riding pillion on a Horse-Fata Morgana
Like old men from neighborhood their horses mounting and dismounting, in turn
A herd of horses with its chestnut stallion would come, too, haunted by swallows over a narrow appliqué mountain ridge,
Testing their gait in spank and canter, in turn

Sounds of bridles’ harnesses from more than hundred riders
Producing jingle of jingle bells in the mid summer sky,
The God’s demeanour of the old men with Zurgaadai sticks
Who walk very carefully through the steppe in their vamped boots not to harm the flowers

And watching a twittering sparrow against the sun
Listening to the sound of a trotting horse’s hooves
Getting excited of the smallest virtue of nature
Why all this? Isn’t it, because everything fits into its own being and space?

On fancy stages before an audience of hundred thousand
I often happened to stand, cherished by the pouring rain of applause
O dear, why was I not hasty to lean against the backs of the old men with suntanned face
To recite my verbs of horse’s neigh melody to them?

O, my dear countryside being forced to distance from me as ancient caravan roads did
My heart’s lovely spot that, too, comes running toward me when I rush to it
And my father, always at peace, who left on the lead of a horse and cart
And my lovely mother looking over the pass with her eyes shaded for her son, and chaffing year by year


Mare’s milk turns fermented when a horse neighs in the steppe
Fire shimmers in the hearth when stars start to blink in the sky
Making colostrums-tea by making water and fire meet
In essence, doesn’t all existing come to being through their alliance in Substance’s Holy Globe?

As everything returns to its origin and everything leaves breaking in pieces
I, too, will depart dissolving in the steppe and leave dispersed in the air
But before this happens, from the fancy of the oasis that hosts the sun in its marrows
I want to see how Holy Yanjinlham of Poetry rises prominent

Touching the withers of barkhans (dunes) with their silk-blue tufts
Blue teapot like storks come heading to their pool
Their small dark bellies denuded, chubby boys come rushing over
Along with their little sparrows, almost flying

Everything is in its place fitting its nature
With silver ingot-mountains growing dim when one cries and flaring up when one sings
With calico-clouds fraying when one grieves and swaying when one smiles
Doesn’t the simplest decore of everything keep the immeasurable nature of everything?

I’ll ride levering the silver inlayed stirrups my cotoneaster whip in my hand
To the stage of my poetry - the flower-covered green mound
To the sky where vultures and eagles cool their wings flapping, forcefully
Somewhere over the roof of the auditorium – where it is so blue!