我是李箱。?我要說的便是我的名字。

[ LCB ??? ] ??-[ LCB 囚犯] 李箱

????? ??. ??? ????.

???-(四寅劍)

四寅劍，原為古代道教所用之法劍，劍身的一面以北斗起首刻有二十八星宿，另一面刻有27個(gè)篆體字：

四寅劍：

乾降精，坤援靈；

日月象，岡澶形；

?雷電，運(yùn)玄座；

堆山惡，玄斬貞。

后兩行咒語(yǔ)出自唐?司馬承禎的《景震劍文》。

所謂四寅，是指寅年、寅月、寅日、寅時(shí)，四寅劍即在四寅重合的一刻淬火打造之劍，有四重虎煞凝聚于劍體，會(huì)顯得更加威力無(wú)比，更利于壇場(chǎng)上的法師驅(qū)魔克敵。

除了四寅劍，我們道教還有級(jí)別稍遜的三寅劍、二寅劍，都屬于斬妖鎮(zhèn)邪的法器。

四寅劍后來在韓國(guó)演變?yōu)槿珓Γn語(yǔ)：???），作為一種榮譽(yù)的象征，是韓國(guó)總統(tǒng)授予將軍的寶劍。三精既指韓國(guó)陸海空三軍，也指護(hù)國(guó)、統(tǒng)一、繁榮三種精神。

其最早的傳承來自于公元1542年，朝鮮中宗下令制造四寅劍。當(dāng)年和今年一樣，正是壬寅年，寅對(duì)應(yīng)虎，中宗認(rèn)為若在寅年寅月寅日寅時(shí)作四寅劍，就會(huì)有四支虎靈來幫助消災(zāi)避難。

“四寅劍”源自中國(guó)道教。所謂“四寅”，是指寅年、寅月、寅日、寅時(shí)。天干地支中，寅時(shí)代表老虎，象征軍權(quán)，“四寅劍”在四寅時(shí)重合的一刻淬火打造，古人相信它有某種神秘的力量可以驅(qū)魔克敵。除了“四寅劍”，還有意義稍遜的“三寅劍”和“二寅劍”。
? ? ? ?此劍身背面有韓文書寫的“乾降精 坤援靈 日月象 岡澶形 撝雷電 運(yùn)玄座 堆山惡 玄斬貞”等文字（天降下精氣，地生出靈氣，精氣與靈氣變成日月、山川河流和雷電，運(yùn)功除去天地間的惡，用玄妙的道法匡扶正義），這幾句咒語(yǔ)也是出自唐朝司馬承禎的《景震劍文》，往往與星宿圖一起刻在道教作法的劍上，通過符咒劍鏡的形式，來達(dá)到接天地靈氣，運(yùn)化日月精氣，號(hào)令天地鬼神，斬惡除邪的作用。

「????(街外街傳)」

??··?? ??? ????? ?? ??.

嗯...肺里面沾滿了垃圾。（這段是寫當(dāng)時(shí)箱哥肺結(jié)核的）

https://bombmagazine.org/articles/four-poems-by-yi-sang/（資料來源網(wǎng)址，該書已經(jīng)出版）

（目前只有英文版）

BRAZIER

The freeze touches and desires to enter the room. The room endures. Holding on to the brazier, I struggle together with the book I am reading and pull on the house’s main pillar. The freeze pushes in and the room’s window caves in like a tumor. The brazier’s fire goes out. Frozen inside what is barely a room, I lose my mind. Tides must be ebbing and flowing on a distant ocean. Suddenly, my mother sprouts from the room’s finely tilled floor, takes the brazier from my wound, and carries it away into the kitchen. Outside, there was a tumult, I think, but a tree grows out of me. I stretch out my arms and block the window. Laundry clubs drum on my back—I am covered in rags. My mother carries off the freeze on her shoulders—it is a miracle. She brings back the brazier in her arms, warm like a cough medicine. She stands on my feverish body. My terrified book flees.

February 1936

MORNING

The midnight air ruins my lungs. Soot settles in. I make a fuss about my pain all night. Night comes and goes endlessly. Day breaks, when I can no longer remember what has been happening. Like a lamp inside my lungs, morning is turned on. I look around to see if anything has disappeared overnight. My habit has returned. I have ripped out many pages from my shamefully extravagant book. The early light carefully writes itself on my book’s exhausted conclusion. As if the noseless night will never return.

February 1936

FAMILY

Though I keep pulling, the gate does not open, because my family inside is barely alive. Night fiercely scolds me. You have no idea how annoyed I am before the gate, where hangs a plaque with my name on it. I burn like a straw effigy in the night. My family is trapped inside the sealed door, but I cannot trade myself in. Frost comes down on our roof; the sharp needlelike tips on the roof are colored with moonlight. They tell me my family is suffering. One of them might be taking out a loan against the house. My family members are being pawned off one by one. I hang on to the gate’s knobs like a drooping iron chain. Because I am trying to open the unopenable gate because I am trying.

February 1936

STREET OUTSIDE STREET

Clamor grinds my body to nothing. Everyone says I am a boy, but I have an old face. Like an abacus bead punished for leaping out of its line, I barely hang on to my bridge and look down on a tranquil world below. Children as old as me giggle, gang up, and attempt to cross my bridge. Already, moonlight’s weight is wobbling my bridge. Strangers’ shadows are huge at first, then grow fainter, until they all collapse. Cherries ripen. Seedlings fade into smoke.?

My investigation leads nowhere—where is the applause I deserve? Perhaps this is a treason against my father. Silence—when I try to speak through my blocked pharynx, my speech sounds like a dialect. No—silence is clamor’s dialect. I try to spill it all—my tongue’s sharp edge probes my fresh bridge’s center. Every day I rot, and my rotting follows a path, and an alley miraculously opens inside this path. My rotting flows in and comes upon a door of opulence. Inside the door are golden teeth. Surrounded by the golden teeth, a degenerate tongue dangles from diseased lungs. O—O—. I can enter this alley, but I cannot escape its depth. Its depth begins to resemble my internal organs. A switched pair of shoes stagger over. Germs make my lower abdomen ache. Watery.

I ruminate. Because I am a crone. A sleep-inducing benefit of a disbanded government comes into view on a mirror in front of me. It is a dream—dream—dream that tramples on vain labor—this century’s fatigue and bloodthirst spread out like the grid of a?baduk?board. My voracious lips secretly pretend to dine above such maliciously crumpled mire. Sons—many sons—their heavy shoes kick over the crone’s wedding—the soles are made of iron.

When I climb down many stairs, wells become harder to find. I am a little late. Stale wind blows—school pupils’ maps change colors daily. Far from home, the roofs of the houses have no choice but to shake. The colony is in its season of acne. People stagger and pour hot water on those who are sleep-talking. Thirst—the thirst is unbearable.

This ground was once the bottom of a primal lake. Salty. The pillars holding back the curtains become damp. Clouds do not come near me. My tonsils swell in the humorless air. There is a currency scandal—my hand, looking like a foot, shamelessly holds the crone’s throbbing hand.

A rumor goes around about a tyrant’s infiltration. Babies constantly turn into little grave mounds. The grown-ups’ shoes hit other grown-ups’ shoes. I never want to see them again, but where can I escape to? In a state of emergency, quarantined neighbors mingle. The distant cannon blasts and the blisters on our skins soothe us.

All I have here now is the stifling trash that came out of sweeping my vast room. Crows as big as suffocated doves once flew into my thunderbolt-infested room. The stronger crows tried to get out, but they caught the plague, and fell one by one. The room was purified, ready to explode. However, everything I have put down here is just my recent trash.

I go. A train car carrying Sun Tzu avoids my room. A note written in shorthand is laid out on my desk. There is also a cheap dish, and on the dish is a boiled egg—my fork bursts the egg’s yolk. A bird, a medal, flies out—a wind from the bird’s clapping wings tears up the grid. A flock of prophetic documents dances wildly on a field of ice. My blood wets a cigarette. The red-light district burns through the night. Fake angels begin to breed, flying every direction, covering up the entire sky. However, everything I have put here in my room is heating up, clamoring all at once. The vast room rots from within. The wallpaper gets itchy. The trash wildly sticks to my walls.

March 1936

「????（街外街傳）」

嘎，好像不止一點(diǎn)唉ε=(′ο｀*)))唉

? ? — ? ?

鏡子 — 李箱

????? ??? ??.

鏡子里沒有聲音。

????? ??? ??? ? ?? ???.

不會(huì)再有如此寂靜的世界了。

????? ????? ??.

鏡子里的我也長(zhǎng)了耳朵。

??? ? ?????????? ?????.

兩只尷尬的耳朵聽不懂我的話。

???? ?? ?????.

鏡子里的我是左撇子。

????? ?? ? ??? – ??? ??? ?????.

不懂握住我伸出的手—不懂握手的左撒子。

?? ??? ?? ???? ?? ?? ?????? ????

因?yàn)殓R子我無(wú)法觸摸鏡中的我。

??? ????? ?? ?? ???? ?? ?? ?????????.

即便沒有鏡了我怎么可能觸摸鏡中的我呢。

?? ?? ??? ? ???. ?? ????? ? ???? ? ? ??.

我現(xiàn)在沒有鏡子，鏡子里卻總有鏡子里的我。

?? ??? ?, ??? ??? ?????.

雖然不甚清楚，我要埋頭于與世隔絕的工作，

???? ?? ???? ?????

雖然鏡中的我和真我正相反，

?? ???.

卻又極其相像。

?? ???? ???????? ?? ? ??? ? ????.

我為無(wú)法擔(dān)憂和理解鏡中的我而難過。

《??? ??》 1934? 10?

發(fā)表于(天主教青年)1934年10月

【作品分析】
? ?這首詩(shī)發(fā)表于1934年10月《天主教青年》，是一首描寫人類內(nèi)心矛盾沖突和自我意識(shí)的超現(xiàn)實(shí)主義詩(shī)歌。由于在形式上沒有遵守韓國(guó)語(yǔ)的單詞分寫法，所有單詞連接在一起使用，被認(rèn)為是李箱否定和背叛所有形式的觀念的外在表現(xiàn)。在內(nèi)容上把各種形象加以變形并逐漸抹殺掉，從而凸顯自我意識(shí)引發(fā)的內(nèi)心的緊張沖突。

? ?鏡子是關(guān)照自我的一個(gè)媒介，詩(shī)人通過觀察鏡中的“我”而發(fā)現(xiàn)了一個(gè)分裂的自我，可以看作是對(duì)現(xiàn)代人的不安和焦慮心理以及自我分裂的精神世界的探索。這兩個(gè)分裂的自我一一鏡中的我和現(xiàn)實(shí)中的真我—處于隔絕狀態(tài)，即“我無(wú)法觸摸鏡中的我”?！扮R中的我和真我正相反”則暗示了現(xiàn)實(shí)中的我和內(nèi)在的我是兩個(gè)全然不同的自我。尤其值得留意的是，本來在現(xiàn)實(shí)生活中再平常不過的客觀事實(shí)—鏡子里沒有聲音、鏡子里的我不能握手—在詩(shī)人眼里卻成了表現(xiàn)沖突和背離的依據(jù)，即現(xiàn)實(shí)中的我和鏡中的我之間不可能逾越的鴻溝。

? ?李箱作品描寫的人物大多是在現(xiàn)實(shí)社會(huì)中倍受壓抑而無(wú)法實(shí)現(xiàn)欲望，在極度壓抑下形成的自我精神分裂的知識(shí)分子形象，是李箱否定當(dāng)時(shí)韓國(guó)社會(huì)的現(xiàn)代性和傳統(tǒng)美學(xué)的重要裝置。

啊，箱哥的名字和醫(yī)生的名字一樣

（還會(huì)更新，讓我摸會(huì)魚）