<h5 align="center"><div><b>美國紐約【綜合新聞】826期作品選</b></div><div>主編：佩英</div><div>總編：程朗</div><div>總顧問：馬華勝</div></h5> 本期翻譯：佩英（Translated by Christine Chen) <h5>三宅勇介（Yusuke Miyake）日本作家、詩人，也是一位資深的國際航班飛行師，他除致力于日本傳統(tǒng)詩歌創(chuàng)作，如短歌（Tanka）、俳句（Haiku），對現(xiàn)代詩創(chuàng)作也造詣頗深。其詩作被收錄進土耳其、羅馬尼亞、以色列等多國詩歌合集。他與其他日本詩人共同翻譯了緬甸的見證詩。三宅曾獲2012年“現(xiàn)代短歌批評獎”（Gendai-Tanka Criticism Award）。</h5><div><h5>Yusuke Miyake is a Japanese writer, poet, and veteran international flight pilot. In addition to his dedication to traditional Japanese poetic forms such as *tanka* and *haiku*, he is also highly accomplished in the realm of modern poetry. His works have been included in poetry anthologies from countries such as Turkey, Romania, and Israel. Miyake has also collaborated with other Japanese poets to translate testimonial poetry from Myanmar. In 2012, he was awarded the *Gendai-Tanka Criticism Award* for modern tanka criticism.</h5><br></div> <div><b>短 歌 選（外二首）</b></div><div><b>恒河</b></div><div><b><br></b></div>父于東京病榻垂危<br>我此刻身處印度<br>我要返東京<br>然，父親那張巨大的床<br>卻像一道堤壩<br>堵住恒河水流 <h5><b>The Ganges River</b><br><br>My father is on his deathbed in Tokyo<br>But I am now in India<br>So I decided to go back to Tokyo<br>Still my father's big bed<br>Dams up the Ganges River</h5> <b>喧囂之中</b><br><br>喧囂之中<br>你可曾感到孤獨？<br>沒錯，正是那份孤獨<br>我置身于自己心靈的<br>喧囂之中 <div><b>Hustle and bustle</b></div><div><b><br></b></div>In the hustle and bustle<br>Have not you ever felt solitude?<br>That’s right,<br>In that solitude<br>I am in the hustle and bustle of my heart. <b>量子計算機</b><br><br>什么叫同時擁有 0 和 1？<br>你不明白嗎？<br>我也不知道<br>大概就像--<br>串在簽子上的餃子吧 <h5><div><b>Quantum computer</b></div><div><b><br></b></div><div>What does it mean to have 0 and 1 </div><div>at the same time?</div>Don’t you understand?<br>I don't know. <br>It's about dumplings on skewers</h5> <b>我之短歌</b><br><br>“日語的祖先，<br>在泰米爾語中。”<br>一位語言學(xué)家如是說：<br>“日本短歌，源自泰米爾的桑岡詩?！?lt;br>或許，真如他所言<br>于是我<br>向泰米爾人民<br>誦我之短歌<br>那短歌將從泰米爾歸來<br>在數(shù)千年后<br>一個偉大的輪回就此誕生<br>靜臥于圓周的弧線之上<br>在空白時間里<br>等待聲音的波紋<br>緩緩泛起…… <b>My Tanka </b><br> <br>"The ancestor of the Japanese language<br>Is in Tamil'<br>There was a linguist who once said so<br>"Japanese Tanka is derived from the Tamil Sangam」<br>He also said that<br><br>So I<br>To the Tamil people<br>Want to perform my Tanka<br>That Tanka will come back from Tamil<br>Thousands of years later<br><br>A great cycle is established<br><br>I'm in that blank time<br>While lying on the arc of the circumference<br><br>I'm waiting for the ripples<br>Of my voiceprints <b>穴居人</b><br><br>走進一個洞穴<br>那里還有一個洞穴<br>又走進那個洞穴<br>里面又是一個洞穴<br>我繼續(xù)往前<br>還是一個洞穴<br>也許<br>從一開始<br>就在這洞穴里<br>我抬頭<br>只見無數(shù)蝙蝠倒掛四處<br>正等待我的命令--<br>飛入這無盡的洞穴深處 <h5><b>A cave man</b><br><br>I went into a cave<br>And there was another cave,<br>And I went into that cave<br>And there was another cave,<br>And I went into that cave<br>And there was another cave,<br><br>Maybe I was in the cave in the first place.<br><br>I looked up<br>And saw countless bats<br>Hanging all over the place,<br>Waiting for my order<br>To enter the endless caves</h5> <h5><p></p><div><b>詩歌賞析：</b></div><div>日本詩人三宅勇介（Yusuke Miyake）創(chuàng)作的這組短歌及兩首新詩，可謂匠心獨具，兼具哲思、幽默與東方意象之美。每首詩獨立成章，卻又在語言的密度與哲理的深度上相互呼應(yīng)，構(gòu)建出一個關(guān)于生死、記憶、語言、科技與存在的多維世界。其短歌不僅是延續(xù)傳統(tǒng)的繼承，更是短歌現(xiàn)代化的實驗者，將短歌從風(fēng)花雪月帶入全球視野與哲學(xué)維度，是對“日本詩歌未來”的一種回應(yīng)與預(yù)言。其新詩像一張扇面，每一頁都是洞見，也是隱喻。在翻動之際，讀者與詩人一同進穴，傾聽蝙蝠、衛(wèi)星、恒河水、以及遠古與未來的回響與共鳴。（佩英）</div><div><b>Editorials:</b></div><div>The set of tanka and two new poems by Japanese poet Yusuke Miyake are truly masterful—infused with philosophical insight, humor, and the beauty of Eastern imagery. Each poem stands alone as a complete piece, yet they echo one another in linguistic density and philosophical depth, constructing a multidimensional world exploring life and death, memory, language, technology, and existence. His tanka are not only a continuation of tradition but also a bold experiment in modernizing the form—transporting it beyond fleeting romance into a global and philosophical realm. This is both a response to and a prophecy of the “future of Japanese poetry.” His new poems unfold like a fan—each panel offering insight and metaphor. As the reader turns each page, they journey inward with the poet, listening to the echoes and resonance of bats, satellites, the waters of the Ganges, and voices of the ancient and the future. (By Christine Chen)</div></h5> <h5>武如梅（VO THI NHU MAI），澳大利亞越南裔詩人、作家、教育工作者，二十多年來致力于英文與越南語的寫作、翻譯與出版工作，架起一座亞裔文化與澳大利亞本土文化交流的橋梁，2025年度獲越南駐澳大利亞領(lǐng)事館頒發(fā)優(yōu)秀榮譽證書。她的雙語文學(xué)網(wǎng)站《越南的律動》已成功推廣15年，分享越南及澳大利亞作家作品，其出版社亦為作家們出版二十余部作品。</h5><div><h5>Vo Thi Nhu Mai is a Vietnamese-Australian poet, writer, and educator who has dedicated over two decades to writing, translating, and publishing in both English and Vietnamese. She has served as a vital bridge between Asian cultures and Australian local culture. In recognition of her outstanding contributions, she was awarded a Certificate of Excellence by the Consulate General of Vietnam in Australia in 2025.</h5><h5>Her bilingual literary website *Rhythm of Vietnam* has been promoting Vietnamese and Australian literary works for 15 years. In addition, her publishing house has successfully published more than twenty books by various authors.</h5></div> <b>致童年故土</b><br><br>你問我離開多久了<br>這顆心依然縈繞那片土地<br>那片晨光灑落的寧靜田野<br>風(fēng)低吟著掠過稻田<br>那時母親<br>給我們甘薯，給我們沉默<br>她的手溫暖守候<br>她的眼承諾著糯米糕的甘甜<br>那時青蛙胖乎乎<br>鳥兒輕聲歌唱<br>父親暮煙中的身影<br>帶回河流的野性饋贈<br>他的笑點亮屋子門前的一片地方<br>啊，我們是餐桌上的王<br>從未察覺的風(fēng)暴<br>其實已潛伏于睡夢里<br>如今，鋼鐵高聳<br>覆蓋了我們留下足跡的土地<br>但我仍渴望那歪斜的老屋<br>那些漏雨的夜晚<br>星光透過屋頂<br>靜靜灑落<br> <h5><div><b>TO THE LAND OF MY CHILDHOOD</b></div><div><b><br></b></div>you ask how long since I left<br>this heart still hanging around<br>where morning light breaks on quiet fields<br>and the wind humming low across the rice<br>once mother gave us<br>sweet potato and silence<br>her hands warm with waiting<br>her eyes a promise of sticky cakes<br>if the frogs were fat<br>and the birds sang softly<br>my father is a figure in twilight’s smoke<br>brought home the river’s wild gifts<br>his laughter lighting our door<br>and oh, we were kings at the meal<br>never knowing the storm folded<br>in the sleep<br>now, steel rising where mud<br>once held our footprints<br>but I long for that leaning house<br>those leaky nights with starlight falling<br>through the roof<br></h5> <div><b>秋之熟</b></div><div><b><br></b></div>你說<br>似春的豐盈<br>季節(jié)也會如果實般成熟<br>每一枝都漲滿了承諾<br>甘甜、溫柔墜落<br>如今，秋天赤足而行<br>穿過金光涌動的果園<br>她的發(fā)絲在微風(fēng)中飛舞<br>在低語的落葉間起舞<br>樹木漸趨睿智，優(yōu)雅放手<br>金色的手一枝枝地放下<br>每一片葉子都是告別<br>每一顆果實都是秘密<br>飽含陽光的記憶<br>獨立園中<br>思念那溫柔的眼神<br>因驚擾而頓住的一頭鹿<br>踏破世界的寧靜。<br>若此刻出現(xiàn)，風(fēng)也會靜默<br>你曾經(jīng)卸下衣衫<br>像林間緩緩落<br>不急迫，不羞怯，<br>自然而然，如暮色降臨<br>何須再去夢境？<br>番石榴溫暖的果皮<br>鳥兒高聲的歡唱<br>歡愉是它們唯一的勞作<br>周遭果實光中閃耀<br>不為占有，只為被理解<br>嗅它的香氣，就明白——<br>我們?yōu)楹卧敢?lt;br>留在這美麗的星球之上<br> <h5><div><b>AUTUMN RIPE</b></div><div><b><br></b></div>Like ripe Spring, you said<br>the season could ripen like fruit<br>every branch a promise swollen<br>to sweetness, falling softly<br>Now Autumn walks barefoot<br>through gold-flooded orchards<br>her hair flying softly in the breeze<br>dancing among whispering leaves<br>The trees grow wise, they let go with grace<br>one golden hand at a time<br>Each leaf a goodbye, each fruit a secret<br>bursting with sun’s memory<br>And I am alone in this garden<br>long for the deer, soft-eyed, startled<br>stepping on the serenity of the world<br>If he came now, the wind would be so quiet<br>You undressed once<br>like the forest shedding its leaves<br>not hurried, not ashamed<br>just natural as twilight<br>What need is there for dreaming<br>The warm skin of the guava<br>the loud song of birds feasting<br>as if joy were their only labour<br>All around, the fruit glows<br>not to be possessed, but to be known<br>To breathe its scent is to understand<br>why we stay in this beautiful planet<br></h5> <div><b>尚未歸家</b></div><div><b><br></b></div>思鄉(xiāng)之痛尚未填滿<br>否則，如何成為真正的人？<br>你的名字在寂靜中閃爍<br>像老信紙上的燈光<br>被問及這份渴望的名字時，我結(jié)巴<br>它藏在詞語間的呼吸里<br>真實如皮膚下的血液<br>童年是一盞昏暗燈籠<br>它的光被饑餓與戰(zhàn)爭吞沒<br>房子太小，容不下喜悅<br>連笑都是羞怯<br>我披著貧窮<br>一件用羞恥縫制的斗篷<br>夢想深藏，像米粒那樣細小<br>每一個短促的微笑<br>都是黑暗中的一顆星<br>江河、群山與風(fēng)<br>在我血液中起舞<br>母親的搖籃曲<br>松針與海鹽的氣息<br>村莊沉甸甸的記憶<br>壓我心頭<br>離開，為了追逐幸福<br>可沒有故鄉(xiāng)的幸福<br>就像沒有星星的天空<br>走得再遠，也有一部分滯留原地<br>坐在冰冷的石頭上<br>心懷感激——<br>感激這份痛楚<br>讓我仍未漂離<br> <h5><b>NOT YET HOME</b></h5><h5><br>not yet full, this ache of home<br>how can one become a person otherwise?<br>your name flickers in quiet moments<br>lamplight on old letters<br>asked to name this longing, i stumble<br>it lives in the breath between words<br>real as blood beneath skin<br>childhood was a dim lantern<br>its light lost to hunger, war<br>a house too small for joy<br>even laughter was shy<br>i wore poverty like a cloak<br>stitched with shame<br>dreams tucked deep as rice-grains<br>each brief smile, a star in the dark<br>the rivers, mountains, and wind<br>dance in my blood<br>my mother’s lullaby,<br>the scent of pine and salt<br>the weight of a village in memory<br>to leave was to chase happiness<br>but happiness without home<br>is a sky with no stars<br>i walk far, yet part of me stays<br>and so i sit on cold stones<br>thankful for the ache<br>that holds me in place<br></h5> <h5></h5><h5><b>詩歌賞析：</b></h5><h5>澳大利亞越南裔詩人武如梅（Vo Thi Nhu Mai）的這三首詩歌，飽含深情，娓娓道來對故土親人的懷念，款款細述在這片落地生根的新家園的恬靜圓滿的生活。詩歌語言純凈如清泉，把一個異鄉(xiāng)女子一步一個腳印生活與奮斗的人生如一幅鄉(xiāng)間風(fēng)景畫般描繪，有不舍、有深情、有愛戀，更有光明與希望，動人心弦。（佩英）</h5><h5><b><br></b></h5><h5><b>Editorials:</b></h5><h5>The three poems by Vietnamese-Australian poet Vo Thi Nhu Mai are filled with deep emotion. With gentle and steady tone, they express a longing for her homeland and loved ones, and describe in vivid detail the serene and fulfilling life she now leads in her new homeland. Her language flows like a clear spring, portraying the life and struggles of a woman rooted in a foreign land as if painting a pastoral scene. These poems are filled with nostalgia, affection, love, and also light and hope—deeply moving to the heart. </h5> (所有文字均獲作者授權(quán)）