Five poems by Mimosa Lam Translated from the Chinese by Fion Tse
I love these poems that evoke wonder at the everyday, in beautiful translations by Fion Tse. Please share #TranslationMonth and your favorite poems. —Dana Serea
In a voice both direct and contemplative, Mimosa Lam’s poetry evokes wonder at the everyday, a wonder that sometimes manifests in childlike joy (such as in “room”) and, at other times, becomes an alienating detachment (such as in “Winter” or “Us”). Her poems run the gamut between tender warmth and violent chaos, bringing in striking images—moss collected in a jar, pages of a book turning into pigeon wings—in succinct delivery. This is reflected in the language she uses: from the confusion of selfhood and the biting chill of solitude, to finding solace in nature, Lam’s poems are marked by her simple, approachable language.
But this is not to say her language does not excite—far from it. Lam builds, experiments, invents. In “Us,” she writes that “我是無數聲音淹沒的無數把聲音” (“I am the countless voices drowning in countless noises”). In the Chinese, she uses the same basic characters (“無數聲音”) twice, but the addition of a single character “把” instantly transforms “noises” into “voices”. I’ve tried to replicate that here through a close rhyme between “noises” and “voices”, but I remain in awe of how she manages to push beyond visual and auditory images to play in the sandbox of grammar and linguistic invention.
Lam’s original poems have been published inFleurs des Lettres,p-articles,Voice and Verse, and other major publications in Hong Kong.
—Fion Tse, translator
time, from here to there stand in the middle of a river; grab the tail of a droplet. let it wriggle, swim, swell into a wide expanse of ocean just like that, hold yourself back —focus, stay still. don’t move a muscle. let time wriggle, swim swell from a moment into a whole day each day of a moment is enough to contain the textures of a leaf that appear midair within a single flower, the smell of springtime behind a pair of eyes, a person whole and yet I want to stretch out time, reclaim every step I’ve walked all my thoughts gather at a single point. stand still, not moving a muscle halt a moment into a lifetime focusing, gazing into a pair of eyes but the wind sweeps me into other thoughts, from one puddle to another, and yet another no well to rest my deep emotions. not yet Winter Winter arrives. And so I arise, truly, from my slumber. See the clear-cut silhouette of the streets. The edges of people scrape against and cut me. Each person living alone within themselves. They speak in voices crisp with frost as though from a faraway place. Speak in the past. Immediately the future comes The concept of now is like an unholdable hand that makes me lonely. Contemplate, and time keeps flowing. Words: claps of thunder forever lagging behind the light Thoughts: fish refracted in a river Keep a distance from reality Winter: I try to acclimate to solitude. Layered shadows walk the same street My gaseous body solidifies into bright, transparent ice With a gaze calm and collected Studies in Flora Gifting flowers is a kind of violence You make me think of flowers And when you think of flowers I want you to think of me chamomile, acacia, mimosa Just like that I share something with the sunlight Gifting flowers is a kind of violence I only passed by a florist Allured, for a moment that bloomed Spent some money that blossomed A gift into your hands And you carry home the bouquet Feed the stems water Watch as the petals, from life to death Wilt into nothing Gifting flowers is a kind of violence And I take immense pleasure in it To continue living I pass by florists Pass by your gaze Till all the names in the book of flowers Read like my name Us Every waking has its subtle differences Morning light outside window, heartbeat, throat tight from long silence in midair to reach, coincidentally, a balance. Cat stands at bedside, watches me, notices a person return No food. Still each and every sense has grown a new sense. Yet another me, stuffed into my body until new adjectives separate me out At the library, searching for a diary’s ISBN only to discover that the crowded city chatter is really our conversation Cars pass by, each seeking the exit of a riddle In a larger riddle roundabout Look back—the pages flap, pigeon wings flutter The pages flap open, pigeon wings flap-flying Strands of hair, windswept, stir awake the shadow play of myriad things The world has never been larger than me: [another] a riddle [as such] I am the countless voices drowning in countless noises Grabbing at all my pain points with all that I can muster In my dream I build a psychiatric ward to interrogate myself Awake, I’m in a zoo to be marveled at Even more me is nailed to the ground by a wound running through me Like a hefty sheaf of old drafts that find at last a thematic throughline And there is no moment more mysterious than this, when I fall in love with a tree We are swallow-silent, watching as sunlight shines through each leaf Like many glimmering wind-chimes swaying Like never before I feel I exist, existing and exorcized within my lovely quiet self In the crisp autumn, body airy once more, I take us on a walk, like puppies on a leash One wants to go left, one wants to go right, another two begin to wrestle I stand still—this is my time of stupor We have yet to reach a consensus on the future, the past, who I am And so I have many friends: friends who understand me 時間從這裡到那裡 站在河流的中心 捉住一滴水的尾巴，讓它游動 擴張成一片廣袤的海 用同一個方法，扯住自己 專注地停留原地 一動不動 —— 讓時間游動 從一瞬間延長成一整天 每一瞬間的一天足以容納 樹葉憑空出現的許多肌理 一朵花裡整個春季的氣味 一雙眼睛背後 完整的人 我還想把時間拉長 把所有邁出的步伐都收回來 所有想法都聚焦在一點 站在原地，一動不動 把一瞬間駐足成一輩子那麼長 專注地望著一雙眼睛 大風卻我把我刮到別的想法裡去 從一個水窪、到另一個水窪、到另一個水窪 未有一口井，能讓深刻的情感棲息 冬天 冬天來到 我真正甦醒 看見街道清晰的輪廓 人與人的邊界，把我劃傷 每個人都獨居在自己裡面 說話的聲音凍得清脆 像從遙遠的地方傳來 用過去交談，馬上又到了未來 現在的概念像一隻捉不住的手 使我孤獨 一旦思考，時間不斷流動 話語如雷聲般永遠錯過光 想法像河裡偏折的小魚 與真實保持距離 冬天，我試著習慣獨處 用許多重影，走在同一條街上 身體從氣態結成透亮的冰 擁有安定的眼神 花卉學 林閒 送花是一種暴力 因為你令我想起花 我也想你 想到花就想起我 洋甘菊 金合歡 含羞草 就這樣 我與陽光扯上一點關係 送花是一種暴力 我只是路過花店 花一瞬間被吸引 花了些錢 送到你手上 而你捧著花回家 餵花喝水 看著花從生到死 凋零 送花是一種暴力 而我樂在其中 我是為了延續生命 路過花店 路過你眼前 直到整本花卉名錄 都像我的名字 我們 林閒 每個醒來的早上，都有微妙的不同 窗外光線、心跳，久未發聲的崩緊喉嚨 在懸空中巧合地達至平衝 貓站在床邊看我，注意到一個人歸來 沒帶來糧食，但每個感官 都長出了新的感官 又一個我，塞進了我的身體裡 直到學會新的形容詞，把我分辨出來 到圖書館尋找日記的索書號 發現城市裡人來人往的說話聲，都是我們在交談 每輛駛過的汽車，都正通往不同謎題的出口 同時在另一個更大的謎語迴旋處 回頭，翻開的書頁，翻飛的鴿翼 被風吹起的頭髮絲，撩動萬事萬物的皮影戲 世界不曾大過我，謎語如是 我是無數聲音淹沒的無數把聲音 盡我所能力地捉住我所有的痛處 在夢中建一所拷問自己的精神病院 清醒是供人觀賞的動物園 更多的我被一個貫穿的傷口釘在地下 像一大疊老舊的草稿紙，終於找到連貫的主題 而當我爱上一棵樹時，沒有比此更神秘的時刻了 我們鴉雀無聲，看著被陽光穿透的葉片 像許多發光的風鈴搖曳 我前所未有地感覺我存在，存在又消弭於安靜美好的我裡面 在涼爽的秋天，身體重新變得輕盈 我像領著小狗般，領著我們散步 一隻想往左，一隻想往右，另外兩隻忽然打起架來 我站在原地 — 這是我發愣的時刻 關於未來、過去、我是誰 我們未曾真正地達成共識 於是我有了，許多了解我的朋友
About the author and translator
Mimosa Lam was born on Hai Zi‘s death day; on Tranströmer’s death day; on Whitman‘s death day; and on the vernal equinox.
Fion Tse (she/they) is a translator working between English and Chinese (Cantonese and Mandarin). She is currently pursuing an MFA in Literary Translation at the University of Iowa, and her work has been published in Asymptote, World Literature Today, and Cha, among others.