在车轮声与人声之间，我试图写下这个时代与这个时空的节奏印记。
Zwischen dem Klang der Räder und den Stimmen der Menschen versuche ich, die Rhythmus-Spuren dieser Zeit und dieses Raumes niederzuschreiben.
台湾纵贯线，一场五站五诗的节奏播种旅程。从山线南下、海线北返，我不是走马观光，而是走一趟文明选择的铁道书写。送孩子，也是送自己确认——要种下的，不是回忆，而是节奏文明的印记。Taiwan’s main railway line — five stations, five poems, and a journey of rhythm and choice. From mountain line southward to coastal return, this was no sightseeing trip, but a path to plant civilization’s cadence, one verse at a time. I sent off my child, and also sent myself —to choose, to write, to remember.
在广州，铁道的节奏从清晨展开——南站的动车，如歌般掠过晨光；不久，我走进铁路博物馆，在旧轨与路签之间，听见秩序的回声；一周后，绿皮车的摇晃，让铁重新有了人声。速度、秩序与呼吸，在三处铁脉之间，汇成南方的节奏。In Guangzhou, the rhythm of rail begins at dawn—trains at the South Station glide through morning light;soon after, I enter the Railway Museum,where old tracks and tokens echo with order; a week later, the green train’s slow swayreturns the human voice to iron. Speed, order, and breath intertwine across these lines,forming the southern rhythm.
在八达岭，我先向詹天佑纪念馆致意；其后乘 S2 沿原京张线南下。列车停在青龙桥时，《湘夫人》正巧响起——百年前他以铁轨劈山，今日我以泪眼折身，让歌与轨在山谷相遇。At Badaling, I began at the Zhan Tianyou Memorial; later I rode the S2 along the original Jing–Zhang route. When the train paused at Qinglongqiao, “Ode to the Lady of Xiang” rose—he once cut mountains with steel; I bowed with tears, letting song and track meet in the gorge.
在济南，我听见了三种文明的声音：沉默的铁轨、仍在书写的字、以及泉水不息的回响。铁未响，但信已寄；泉在流，文明未断。
In Jinan, I heard three voices of civilization: the silence of steel rails, the letters still being written, and the unending murmur of spring water. The iron did not ring, but the message was sent; the spring flows on, and the thread of culture remains unbroken.
一趟从广西南宁东出发、穿越长沙、抵达武汉的高铁旅程，也是一场身体与文明的同步召唤。从祠堂走向站台，从惊魂拼车到祖源落地，返魂列车沿着山河的节奏，把楚辞的回响，一站一站唱回身上。A high-speed rail journey from Nanning East to Wuhan—via Changsha—is more than geography. It is a soul-train of ancestral return, where body and civilization re-align. From ancestral halls to train stations, the rhythm of the land carries back the echo of Chu Ci, station by station.
在青岛中车四方的参访之旅中，我看见了高铁的骨架、节奏的心跳，也在一场陌生却自在的饭局中，尝到了一口人情的回甘。从展厅到组装线，从虚拟舱到晚宴桌，这不是一场技术参观，而是一首写给速度与人味的节奏小调。
In Qingdao, amidst the CRRC Sifang visit, I witnessed the heartbeat of high-speed rail—and unexpectedly, the warmth of a meal among near-strangers. From showroom to assembly line, from a virtual cockpit to a real dining table, this was not a factory tour, but a quiet ballad of rhythm, precision, and shared breath.
在香港，我第一次能用自己的节奏走路、说话、存在。叮叮车的铃声与沉默，让我听见这座城市的温柔与缝隙，太平山顶的灯火与亲人的饭桌，则给我一个静静呼吸的空间。这不是旅程，是一首写给文明节奏的回声诗。In Hong Kong, I finally walked and breathed in my own rhythm.The Ding Ding Tram carried not just sounds, but silence and softness—while atop Victoria Peak and around the dinner table,family gathered like a quiet poem.This was not a trip, but a resonant echo of rhythm and belonging.
我不是旅客，我是诗的携带者。从节奏错置的苏州南站出发，我在复兴号第二节车厢播放自己谱写的《离骚》《天问》《九歌》，不是给人听，而是让高铁听。途经黄山、景德镇、赣州，我将诗句贴进铁轨与站台的缝隙里，最终在广州东站与血脉相认。这不是一次旅行，是一场节奏文明的南行修复。I am not a traveler; I am a bearer of poems.
Setting out from the rhythm-misaligned Suzhou South Station, I played my own settings of “Li Sao,” “Tian Wen,” and “Jiu Ge” in the second carriage of a Fuxing train— not for people to hear, but for the high-speed rail to listen. Passing Huangshan, Jingdezhen, and Ganzhou, I tucked lines of verse into the seams of rails and platforms, and at last, at Guangzhou East, I met my bloodline.
This was not a journey; it was a southbound repair of Rhythm Civilization.
我与台铁北回线同年诞生，在花莲树林脚平交道旁长大。火车的铃声，是我尚未学会语言前的节奏母语。从童年的铁轨出发，走进花莲铁道文化园区，我记录下身体记得的节奏，也写下一段东部铁道与个人文明的孪生史。I was born the same year as TRA’s North-Link Line, and grew up beside the level crossing at the foot of Hualien’s woodlands. The train’s bell was my mother tongue of rhythm, learned before language itself. From the rails of childhood to the Hualien Railway Culture Park, I record the tempos my body remembers and write a twin history of the East Coast railway and my own civilization.
一场在广州詹天佑故居展开的节奏回声：从像前的低语，到铁轨、图纸、车钩与那面“北上筑路，扬名中外”的墙，我在院落与展厅之间，对话一位百年前的工程师，聆听中国铁路的第一颗心跳。A rhythmic echo unfolds at the former residence of Zhan Tianyou in Guangzhou: from a whisper before his likeness to rails, blueprints, couplers, and that wall proclaiming “Build northward, win renown at home and abroad.” Between courtyard and gallery, I converse with an engineer from a century ago and listen for the first heartbeat of China’s railways.
一场在青岛站展开的节奏文明吟诵：从博物馆的国殇之声，到站前、大厅、站台与车厢的低声回响，我在四方吟诵之间，聆听铁轨从百年汽笛到今日心跳的呼吸。A chant of Rhythm Civilization unfolds at Qingdao Station: from the museum’s lament for the nation to the hushed echoes at the forecourt, concourse, platform, and carriage. Amid fourfold recitation, I listen to the rails breathe—from the century-old steam whistle to today’s heartbeat.
一场在胶济铁路青岛博物馆展开的节奏文明追问：从德意志的铁轨到今日的回声，我在这些钢铁遗迹间，聆听文明由外来节拍到自我呼吸的改写。A Rhythm-Civilization inquiry unfolds at the Qingdao Museum of the Jiaozhou–Jinan Railway: from German-laid rails to today’s echoes, among these iron relics I listen as civilization rewrites itself—from imported tempos to its own breath.
一场在北京中国铁道博物馆展开的节奏文明追问：从蒸汽机车到高铁模型，我在这些钢铁遗迹间，聆听文明呼吸的变奏轨迹。A Rhythm-Civilization inquiry unfolds at the China Railway Museum in Beijing: from steam locomotives to high-speed rail models, amid these iron relics I listen to the modulated track of a civilization’s breath.
