【國際關係深度評🇬🇧🇭🇰】如何理解香港共同體和cynicism：如何閱讀香港19歲青年的獲獎新詩《Fricatives》？

不少朋友談論獲英國國家詩詞比賽冠軍的香港19歲學生Eric Yip的新詩《Fricatives》。

我從不是英國文學愛好者，對詩詞毫無研究，不敢亂談文學。讀過這首詩幾次，我從職業病角度，只感到充滿社會科學的概念和隱喻，每一句都足以理解新一代的「香港共同體」。以下是我嘗試閱讀的7點筆記：

大家可以留意以下重點 (bolded)：

1. 最直白、最值得思考是這一句：You will have to leave this city, these dark furrows stuffed full with ancestral bones. Furrows 直譯是深溝，也可以是耕地，我的大學老師Helen Siu有一本講述中國農民的著作，就是名叫《Furrows》，而dark furrows stuffed with full ancestral bones，本應是一些古老大國才有的意象。香港這樣的「this city」，當然也有自己的ancestral bones，但香港人的祖先遺骨不少都在中國大陸。然而在作者心目中，「香港人的祖先」的遺骨，就是在香港，而且遺骨可能是屬於下一代人會看的「祖先」，也就是我們這代或上一代人，即現代人。這和後面的where you came from, what you were made of all along 呼應。這是一種政治理念。

2. 全詩的筆觸相當cynical：我不知道這是否新一代特性，我認識好幾個二十多歲的非常聰明、英文程度極好的香港青年，CV都是傳統精英，但每一句說話都表露出對精英主義的強烈不滿，就是這種腔調，而他們選擇的路，也非常反傳統。言下之意，就是「他們」不懂「我們」，「我們」唯有做一些表面功夫敷衍「他們」，其實心底裏每一刻都在冷笑。這裏的「我們」是誰，「他們」又是誰，大可自行意會。

3. 另一句很直白的是 they are releasing the students arrested five years ago。而同一場景是作者母親只在乎口音、食物。這就是鴻溝：價值觀、世代，也是藍黃，和身份認同。這是很寫實的一幕：坦白說，連我這一代和母親相處，也是這樣，上一代的眼中最重要的是溫飽、titles，但新一代另有追求。

4. 有了上述脈絡，再看這一句：nobody wants to listen to a spectacled boy with a Hong Kong accent。這究竟是他對自己說，母親對自己說，老師對自己說，還是假想外國人對自己說？其實這句話的意思也可以是：「無人對你的香港故事有興趣」。但作者強調自己made of all along都是香港。現在，他的新詩獲得英國專業肯定，證明其實人家是對香港有興趣。那對香港故事沒有興趣的，其實反而是母親和老師，另一些「香港人」。

5. 假如是否聆聽、口音之類，全部都是訴說香港的故事沒有得到應有的重視，以下這一句，自然也可以理解為「新香港」教育制度：「You must learn to submit before you can learn」。不過更語帶雙關的還是這一句： 「You must be given a voice before you can speak.」被賦予一種聲音，自然不止是口音/腔調，而是一把政治正確的聲音：只有這把聲，在「新香港」才可以發言。

6. 但別人對香港的興趣，卻諷刺地源自2019年「唔靚既畫面」：You will speak of bruised bodies skinnier than yours, force the pen past batons and blood, call it fresh material for writing. 瘦弱少年在前線，警棍，流血，瘀青，然後人家終於有了興趣。這是暗中控訴其他人消費運動，而且心有不甘，但又無可奈何：不少香港新一代，都有這種創傷後遺症。

7. 他為何離開，是開宗明義：Three men escaped from Alcatraz in a rubber raft and drowned on their way to Angel Island. 「新香港」就是惡魔島，也像哈利波特世界的阿茲卡班監獄，但其實作者對「自由世界」也充滿cynical，暗示世界無樂土。詩中顯示作者會盡力融入新環境，也可以融入新環境，但心底裏，其實並沒有離開那個地方，哪怕那個地方已經面目全非，by blood的親人、長輩只關心物質層和title。

但新一代自己知道需要的是甚麼。

附錄：Fricatives by Eric Yip

To speak English properly, Mrs Lee said, you must learn the difference between three and free.
Three men escaped from Alcatraz in a rubber raft and drowned on their way to Angel Island.
Hear the difference?
Try this: you fought your way into existence.
Better.
Look at this picture.
Fresh yellow grains beaten till their seeds spill.
That’s threshing.
That’s submission.
You must learn to submit before you can learn.
You must be given a voice before you can speak.
Nobody wants to listen to a spectacled boy with a Hong Kong accent.
You will have to leave this city, these dark furrows stuffed full with ancestral bones.
Know that death is thorough.
You will speak of bruised bodies skinnier than yours, force the pen past batons and blood, call it fresh material for writing.
Now they’re paying attention.
You’re lucky enough to care about how the tongue moves, the seven types of fricatives, the articulatory function of teeth sans survival.
You will receive a good education abroad and make your parents proud.
You will take a stranger’s cock in your mouth in the piss-slick stall of that dingy Cantonese restaurant you love and taste where you came from, what you were made of all along.
Put some work into it, he growls.
C’mon, give me some bite.
Your mother visits one October, tells you how everyone speaks differently here, more proper.
You smile, nod, bring her to your favourite restaurant, order dim sum in English.
They’re releasing the students arrested five years ago.
Just a tad more soy sauce please, thank you.
The television replays yesterday on repeat.
The teapots are refilled.
You spoon served rice into your mouth, this perfect rice.
Steamed, perfect, white.

(https://www.theguardian.com/books/2022/mar/31/national-poetry-competition-youngest-ever-winner-eric-yip-fricatives)