No need to lower eyebrows to the cold wind in spring; like a victim I surrender myself to the cold iron
[author title=”Sansejin ” image=”https://sindhcourier.com/wp-content/uploads/2021/06/Sansejin-China-poet-sindh-courier.jpg”]Sansejin, real name Zheng Ping, born in Shandong province, now living in Xi’an, Shaanxi province, is a famous contemporary Chinese poetess and painter, a member of Chinese Writers Association, a contract writer of Shaanxi Provincial Institute of Literature, and a contract writer of Chinese Writers Online. She has won many awards, such as “Tianma Prose Poetry Award”, “Contemporary Chinese Poetry Award & Poetry Collection Award”, “Outstanding Poet Award” and “Top Ten Poets of Modern Youth”. Her works have been published in a variety of anthologies and different periodicals, such as People’s Literature, Beijing Literature, Shanghai Literature, Poetry Periodical, Poetry Monthly, Stars, etc. She has published three collections of poems, Traces of the South, Selected Poems of Sansejin, and Sitting in Backlight, a collection of prose poems Palpitation.[/author]
Dangerous Middle Age
Like carrying staggering fireworks on my back I carry my life
Pervaded by depression of some shadows and sunsets as well
Too many secret sorrows are sapping my patience
Leaving the rest of my life pushed by others regardless of death or filth
Once again, paper encumbers the dangerous middle age
Look, spring is strolling over the lake
Not far away a hard world quiets time
Falling upon something I feel sad or happy about
The light in front of my eyes dies out
Only with gestures can I talk with the gentle breeze and the bright moon
What else can I take to feed my spiritual image?
Now the dusk is overflowing and the banquet is darkening
A Brief History of a Man
No need to lower eyebrows to the cold wind in spring
Like a victim I surrender myself
To the cold iron
Never will I pray to the world for flowers and love
The ashes I skipped are under the peach trees
Counting my bitterness
Nor will I expect spring to come back
The falling rain knows not where to ask the way home
After all I will release my arms for life
Never mind the man with private ammunition
The rest is just a mirror of words and a brief history of a man
Just let it be, “a flame is wandering”
Frequent Hidden Pain
Of so many doors in the world
I wonder which can lead to the Buddhist kingdom
And which can guide me back home
White potions, white walls, white stuff
Are infesting the whole spring
Flowers outside the window seem to be peeling off
Some accepting the absence, some pasting the wounds of life
Wind lifts the curtains and gets on my nerves
Life’s siren once sounded
No one can tighten the pain, no one
Can forgive time
In dusk, one old tree watches another old tree
Trembling in the wind
A Night Stay at Hongfu Temple
Sitting under a magnolia tree at Hongfu Temple
Smelling the fragrance of perilla, a man
Eventually unloaded the worldly coldness and downpour
And unloaded the lure of goblets
In the night that no one cares
I know not what’s in my mind
Incense curls up between you and me
Making me try to let go of the worldly mess
Hongfu Temple keeps on mending my broken heart
The pious chanting reconfirms my whereabouts
I’m enchanted by the touch of these scriptures
Never has such tranquility enveloped the fleeting ripples
Nor any appropriate context can express my mood tonight
A kind of clarity, a grain of dust, and some memories
My heart, remaining idle for years, suddenly feels chilly
Master Chueh-dao, can you tell me
How not to lose someone I hold in my hand
The heavy night
Brings the bustling world of mortals to my heart
Why trembling in evensong since the lotus is in bloom
Yet the time I’ve deeply repented is an exception today
I hide you in my life
Telling no one in the night breeze
Slanting Life
No more living in the mournful music
I cannot bear to face the end of bitter fate
What makes me peel off the coat of pain
The shivering darkness is like a stabbed gash
When life begins to slant, split and be shaken
I wonder. No need to hold on to the roses in my dream
I’m waiting for rain to wash over the island and the messenger
I’m waiting for the first whistling lightning of spring
Piercing the myth that has lasted half a century
Waiting for the only moonlight to shine on my dirty eyelids
_____________________
(Translated by DING Liqun)
DING Liqun is the professor of English at College of Foreign Languages, Shandong Agricultural University, academic visitor of University of Southampton (2010) and University of Cambridge (2019-2020), member of Translators Association of China, and council member of Chinese Classics Bilinguals Association and Shandong Foreign Literature Association.
