卞之琳

《斷章》

　　你站在橋上看風景，

　　看風景人在樓上看你。

　　明月裝飾了你的窗子，

你裝飾了別人的夢。

《一代人》 顧城

黑夜給了我黑色的眼睛
我卻用它來尋找光明












這是一首死亡的詩。

李清照詩

《武陵春》

風住塵香花已盡，
日晚倦梳頭。
物是人非事事休，
欲語淚先流。
聞說雙溪春尚好，
也擬泛輕舟。
只恐雙溪舴艋舟，
載不動許多愁。


《臨江仙》

庭院深深深幾許，
雲窗霧閣常扃，
柳梢梅萼漸分明，
春歸秣陵樹，
人老建康城。
感月吟風多少事，
如今老去無成，
誰憐憔悴更彫零，
試燈無意思，
踏雪沒心情。


《漁家傲》

天接雲濤連曉霧，
星河欲轉千帆舞﹔
彷佛夢魂歸帝所，
聞天語，
殷勤問我歸何處。
我報路長嗟日暮，
學詩漫有驚人句﹔
九萬里風鵬正舉，
風休住，
蓬舟吹取三山去。


《滿庭芳》

小閣藏春，
閒窗銷晝，
畫堂無限深幽。
篆香燒盡，
日影下簾鉤。
手種江梅更好，
又何必臨水登樓？
無人到，
寂寥恰似何遜在楊州．
從來如韻勝，
難禁雨藉，
不耐風揉。
更誰家橫笛，
吹動濃愁？
莫恨香消玉減，
須信道掃跡難留。
難言處，
良窗淡月，
疏影尚風流。


《慶清朝慢》

禁幄低張，
雕欄巧護，
就中獨占殘春。
客華淡佇，
綽約具見天真。
待得群花過後，
一番風露曉粧新。
妖嬈艷態，
妒風笑月，
長殢東君。
東城邊，
南陌上，
正日烘池館，
競走香輪。
綺筵散日，
誰人可繼芳塵？
更好明光宮殿，
幾枝先近日邊勻，
金尊倒，
拚了盡燭，
不管黃昏。

《聲聲慢》 李清照

尋尋覓覓
冷冷清清
淒淒慘慘戚戚
乍暖還寒時候
最難將息
三杯兩盞淡酒
怎敵他晚來風急
雁過也
正傷心
卻是舊時相識
滿地黃花堆積
憔悴損
如今有誰堪摘
守著窗兒
獨自怎生得黑
梧桐更兼細雨
到黃昏點點滴滴
這次第
怎一個愁字了得

《短歌行》 曹丕

對酒當歌，人生幾何？
譬如朝露，去日苦多。
慨當以慷，憂思難忘。
何以解憂？唯有杜康。
青青子衿，悠悠我心，
但為君故，沉吟至今。
呦呦鹿鳴，食野之萍。
我有嘉賓，鼓瑟吹笙。
明明如月，何時可掇。
憂從中來，不可斷絕。
越陌度阡，枉用相存，
契闊談宴，心念舊恩。
月明星稀，烏鵲南飛，
繞樹三匝，何枝可依？
山不厭高，海不厭深，
周公吐哺，天下歸心。

"The Three Oddest Words" by Wislawa Szymborska

When I pronounce the word Future,
the first syllable already belongs to the past.

When I pronounce the word Silence,
I destroy it.

When I pronounce the word Nothing,
I make something no non-being can hold.

"Tortures" by Wislawa Szymborska

Nothing has changed.
The body is susceptible to pain,
it must eat and breathe air and sleep,
it has thin skin and blood right underneath,
an adequate stock of teeth and nails,
its bones are breakable, its joints are stretchable.
In tortures all this is taken into account.

Nothing has changed.
The body shudders as it shuddered
before the founding of Rome and after,
in the twentieth century before and after Christ.
Tortures are as they were, it's just the earth that's grown smaller,
and whatever happens seems right on the other side of the wall.

Nothing has changed. It's just that there are more people,
besides the old offenses new ones have appeared,
real, imaginary, temporary, and none,
but the howl with which the body responds to them,
was, is and ever will be a howl of innocence
according to the time-honored scale and tonality.

Nothing has changed. Maybe just the manners, ceremonies, dances.
Yet the movement of the hands in protecting the head is the same.
The body writhes, jerks and tries to pull away,
its legs give out, it falls, the knees fly up,
it turns blue, swells, salivates and bleeds.

Nothing has changed. Except for the course of boundaries,
the line of forests, coasts, deserts and glaciers.
Amid these landscapes traipses the soul,
disappears, comes back, draws nearer, moves away,
alien to itself, elusive, at times certain, at others uncertain of its own existence,
while the body is and is and is
and has no place of its own.

"It Could Happen" by Wislawa Szymborska

It could have happened.
It had to happen.
It happened sooner. Later.
Nearer. Farther.
It happened not to you.

You survived because you were the first.
You survived because you were the last.

Because you were alone. Because of people.
Because you turned left. Because you turned right.
Because rain fell. Because a shadow fell.
Because sunny weather prevailed.

You were in luck - there was a forest.
You were in luck - there were no trees.
You were in luck - a rake, a hook, a beam, a brake,
a jamb, a turn, a quarter inch, an instant.
You were in luck - just then a straw went floating by.

As a result, because, although, despite.
What would have happened if a hand, a foot,
within an inch, a hairsbreadth from
an unfortunate coincidence.

So you're here? Still dizzy from another dodge,
close shave, reprieve?
One hole in the net and you slipped through?
I couldn't be more shocked or speechless.
Listen,
how your heart pounds inside me.