<h5>Published in New York "Compact News" Edition #854 (Translated by Christine Chen)漢譯：佩英</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> <p class="ql-block" style="text-align:center;"><b>生命之樹在法蘭克福的冬日常青</b></p><p class="ql-block"><br></p><p class="ql-block"><i> “所有理論都是灰色的，我的朋友，但生命之樹永遠(yuǎn)常青?！?lt;/i></p><p class="ql-block"><i>——約翰·沃爾夫?qū)ゑT·歌德，《浮士德》第一部</i></p><p class="ql-block"><br></p><p class="ql-block"> 踏入法蘭克福的那一刻，歌德的話在我心中回響。這里，萊茵河的寒風(fēng)輕撫古老屋頂，殘留的秋葉仍帶著脆弱的金色光芒，仿佛在努力遮掩冬日的灰意。</p><p class="ql-block"> 我與詩人兼譯者陳佩英女士從澳大利亞、新西蘭、希臘、土耳其一路輾轉(zhuǎn)而來，旅途漫長，但心中充滿期待。法蘭克福為我們打開了另一片天空——安靜、溫柔、常青，仿佛“生命之樹”伸展蔭涼，歡迎每一個詩意的腳步，追尋的靈魂。</p><p class="ql-block"> 在這里，我們遇見了張英秀先生——一位在文字上同行多年，卻未曾謀面的詩人。相遇似乎突然卻非偶然，仿佛命中注定的那樣，由詩歌、語言及文字做橋梁，一股目不可視卻堅不可摧的力量，將彼此相連。</p><p class="ql-block"> 跟隨張先生的腳步，我們漫步在古老教堂的街道，鐘聲如薄霧般籠罩空氣。英秀說說笑笑，不像導(dǎo)游，而像一位法蘭克福的守護(hù)者，把法蘭克福折疊進(jìn)他的生命里。</p><p class="ql-block"> 他將我們引入一本活字典：</p><p class="ql-block">——這是保羅教堂，1848年德國第一屆民主議會在此召開……</p><p class="ql-block">——這是法蘭克福大教堂，信仰之光從未暗淡……</p><p class="ql-block">——而這些古老街道，你駐足片刻，能聽見歷史的低語……</p><p class="ql-block"> 我們穿行于香氣四溢、笑聲盈耳的圣誕集市。金色燈光下的攤位、手工禮物、童話旋律，使法蘭克福溫暖、柔軟，是一座誠心向陌生人敞開心扉的城市。</p><p class="ql-block"> 第二日，我們攀登陶努斯山。初冬的雪野如白紙鋪展，站在寒風(fēng)中，冰冷觸及肌膚。靜默片刻，詩意自心中生發(fā)。英秀拍下無數(shù)照片，記錄我們的歡笑、初見雪的驚嘆，以及在林間發(fā)現(xiàn)靈芝的驚呼，童真如小孩：“為什么沒人采它們？”</p><p class="ql-block"> 然而，真正讓我們屏息的，是踏入歌德故居的那一刻。</p><p class="ql-block"> 時間靜止。</p><p class="ql-block"> 每一階木樓梯都是回聲。</p><p class="ql-block"> 桌上的每一張紙，都是起點。</p><p class="ql-block"> 我想象歌德的腳步，他的思緒是如何流轉(zhuǎn)又聚攏的，詩句如何如光般灑落紙上。歌德的存在依舊充盈房間——不是雕像或陳設(shè)，而是一種深邃而堅定的能量：一個從未停止相信生命之美的人。</p><p class="ql-block"> 站在那里，我明白了英秀曾說過的話：</p><p class="ql-block">——有生命的氣息，便有詩歌。</p><p class="ql-block">——有“生命之樹”，便有希望。</p><p class="ql-block"> 或許，這就是為什么英秀的詩總是新鮮、溫柔、常青，如他寫下的句子：</p><p class="ql-block">“純凈如一滴水</p><p class="ql-block">她是一道色彩的光譜</p><p class="ql-block">脆弱如一片草葉</p><p class="ql-block">喚醒夜晚沉靜的靈魂”</p><p class="ql-block"> 我已將英秀近三十首詩譯成英文，但唯有在法蘭克福，我才在另一個層面真正遇見這些詩：字句與寒風(fēng)、鐘聲與最后的黃葉融為一體。</p><p class="ql-block"> 法蘭克福不再只是建筑，不再只是歷史，也不只是歌德的足跡。</p><p class="ql-block"> 它成為一片友情之地，由詩領(lǐng)我抵達(dá)， 領(lǐng)我歸來。</p><p class="ql-block"> 感謝張英秀先生，開啟了城市的大門——也開啟了心靈的共鳴之門。</p><p class="ql-block"> 感謝陳佩英女士，無怨無悔地同行，共享每一份感受、每一段旅程。</p><p class="ql-block"> 感謝詩歌，讓我們相遇、并肩同行，跨越語言。</p><p class="ql-block"> 有些旅程是為了看世界，而有些旅程，是讓我們看見自己：與所遇之人的談話、共享的笑、手之觸碰，甚至只是一片掛在枝頭的黃葉，見自己。</p><p class="ql-block"> 離開法蘭克福了，但法蘭克福未曾離開我。</p><p class="ql-block"> 城之角、河風(fēng)、歌德雕像、森林中的靈芝、童話般的街道，留在我心中，宛如永恒常青的季節(jié)。</p><p class="ql-block"> 我終于明白：</p><p class="ql-block"> 詩歌是家</p><p class="ql-block"> 一個無論走多遠(yuǎn)都能回歸的地方</p> <b>THE TREE OF LIFE REMAINS GREEN IN FRANKFURT’S WINTER</b><br><br>“All theory is gray, my friend. But forever green is the tree of life.”<br> ― Johann Wolfgang von Goethe, Faust, First Part<br>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.<br>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.<br>And there, I met Tr??ng 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.<br>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.<br>Beside him, I felt as if I were being led into a living book:<br>— This is Paulskirche, where Germany’s first democratic parliament convened in 1848…<br>— This is Frankfurter Dom, where the light of faith has never dimmed…<br>— And here, these old streets—stand still for a moment and you can hear history whisper…<br>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.<br>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?”<br>But the moment that stilled me, truly stilled me, was when we stepped into Goethe’s house.<br>Time paused.<br>Each wooden stair was an echo.<br>Each sheet of paper on his desk, a beginning.<br>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.<br>Standing there, I understood why Tú once said:<br>— Where there is the breath of life, there is poetry.<br>— Where there is a “tree of life,” there is hope.<br>Perhaps that is why Tú’s poems, our companion that day, always feel fresh, tender, evergreen, like the lines he wrote:<br>“As pure as a water droplet<br>She is a spectrum of colours<br>As fragile as a blade of grass<br>Stir the soul of its quiet night”<br>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.<br>Frankfurt became more than architecture, more than history, more than Goethe’s footsteps.<br>Frankfurt became a place of friendship where poetry led me to arrive, and led me to return.<br>Thank you, Tr??ng 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.<br>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.<br>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.<br>And I understand now:<br>Poetry is home<br>A place we can always return to<br>no matter how far we go