Like divine power descending upon vast wilderness and mortal villages; like we stepping barefoot toward perilous depths, tearing apart the agony of false appearances all along the way.
Heaven and earth hold primal hues.
Bu Cundan, is a National First-Class Writer and Editor-in-Chief of *Prose Poetry* Magazine. She holds multiple professional titles: Member of the Chinese Writers Association, Director of the Chinese Poetry Society, Executive Deputy Director of the Prose Poetry Committee under the Chinese Poetry Society, Member of the Plenary Committee of Hunan Writers Association, Vice President of Hunan Poetry Society, Executive Director of Hunan Periodicals Association, and Deputy Director of the Hunan Professional Committee for Children’s Newspapers and Periodicals.
She has been honored as an Outstanding Young and Middle-aged Periodical Publisher of Hunan Province and a literary artist selected for Hunan’s “Three Hundred Talents Program” for Literary and Art Support. She is a Model Worker of Yiyang City and a core talent under the “Five Batches” Talent Program of Yiyang’s publicity, ideological and cultural sector.
Bu published her debut work at the age of 14. At 15, her writing won the Excellent Award at the First National Prose Poetry Grand Prix and was included in The Complete Anthology of Chinese Prose Poetry. Her book Objects and Matters was featured in the “Scholarly China” column of Literary and Art News; another work Pictograph was selected as a funded project under Hunan’s “Three Hundred Talents Program”.
Over the past 30 years, Bu has regarded editing as both her career and lifelong mission. The semi-monthly journal Prose Poetry, which she edits and helms as chief editor, is China’s first publicly distributed prose poetry periodical, the nation’s first audio-visual integrated literary journal, and one of the best-selling poetry publications since the new century.
The journal has received numerous national-level accolades, including recognition as a “Dual-Benefit Journal in China’s Periodical Matrix”, inclusion among the Top 100 Key Journals of the 2nd National Journal Award, a Nomination Award for the 3rd National Journal Award, and a spot on the 9th list of 100 Excellent Newspapers and Periodicals Recommended to Juveniles nationwide by the National Press and Publication Administration. It has been showcased at the BIBF China Excellent Periodicals Exhibition for eight consecutive years and twice received commendation letters from the Publicity Department of the Communist Party of China Central Committee, making pivotal contributions to the development of Chinese prose poetry.
卜寸丹，国家一级作家，《散文诗》杂志社总编辑。系中国作家协会会员、中国诗歌学会理事，中国诗歌学会散文诗工作委员会常务副主任，湖南省作家协会全委会委员、湖南省诗歌学会副会长、湖南省期刊协会常务理事、湖南省少儿报刊专业委员会副主任委员。湖南省优秀中青年期刊出版工作者、湖南省文艺人才扶持“三百工程”文艺家。益阳市劳动模范，益阳市宣传思想文化系统“五个一批”人才。14岁发表首篇作品，15岁作品获全国首届散文诗大奖赛优秀奖，并入选《中国散文诗大系》。著作《物事》被《文艺报》“书香中国”推介；著作《象形》入选湖南省文艺人才扶持“三百工程”扶持项目。
30年来，卜寸丹以编辑为职业、为志业，她所编辑与主编的《散文诗》半月刊杂志是中国首本公开出版的散文诗刊，首本全本可视听的文学期刊，新世纪以来发行量最大的诗歌刊物之一。获得“中国期刊方阵•双效期刊”、“第二届国家期刊奖百种重点期刊”、“第三届国家期刊奖提名奖”以及国家新闻出版署“第九届向全国少年儿童推荐百种优秀报刊”等国家级荣誉，连续8年入选BIBF“中国精品期刊展”，两次受到中宣部函奖，为中国散文诗发展做出了重要贡献。
Translated by Ma Yongbo
Descendants (Ten Chapters)
“What can I transcend?”
“To exist is to vanish eternally.”
The homesick man stands on the bank, homeless and adrift.
He abandons the land he has nourished; those he loves are framed with flesh and bones woven of water.
He drinks wine, paints pictures, and writes poems, like a latent cheetah, with all mortal scenes flickering in his eyes.
In the end, he shall turn into air, dwelling in the musical instrument of his own tender flesh.
My innocent child is besieged by mortal worldly ways, walking amid raging flames and cold ashes.
“Let hands of light dig away all gloom and murk. I fear nothing at all.”
A longevity lock hangs on his silver collar, and his dreams are veiled by lush moss and soft rouge hues.
My child slumbers soundly in a vast chamber, breathing freely and peacefully.
All phenomena retreat into seclusion, and all creatures reveal their inherent truths.
“The azure holy infant reigns above all order; it is He who fashioned all worldly laws.”
My beloved rides steed-shaped lotus blooms, wandering in utter solitude.
He sees no sworn blood brothers by his side. His father coughs and gasps through dark nights, and his mother has long returned to dust.
“O fettering ropes, turn these binding tools into ashes.”
“O wings of freedom, ride the winds far and wide, and call back the souls trapped in suffering.”
My beloved stands rooted where he is.
The language of death is the fatal illusion prevailing in the mortal world.
Heap up earth to form mountains,
hiding stone veins, the murmurs of woods, and hues of floral dew; hiding ants and tigers, joys and sorrows of all beasts.
“Who hunts under the night sky? Who refines elixirs deep in mountains? Who shall forever bask in starlight overhead?”
“Who lets sacrificial altars crumble, yet keeps ancient customs passed down through ages.”
Clutching earthen jars, I stride toward surging flames and bronze sunflowers.
Deep beneath the earth, we are severed from all living things, our mortal flesh sinking back into silence and anonymity.
The stranger builds nests with mud in mouth.
He wanders along streets, passing churches with arched gates in small towns.
He is like damp midsummer air lingering in the south.
Day after day, he falls prey to lingering stubborn ailments.
“Will he let out shrill screams and turn into a lizard?”
“Will his inner being be hollowed out, just like empty shelled mollusks?”
She presses close to the earth, concealing her gorgeous patterned marks.
Our vast clans keep migrating eastward, carrying away talismans, joss paper, divinatory symbols and all secret unspoken scriptures.
“O divinity, grow freely by nature, beyond all mortal control.”
She has merged utterly with all things around her, turning into a creature of mimicry.
Her true features grow increasingly blurred.
She turns away, transforming into a wisp of aching shadow hidden deep within the heart.
What a blessed soul, cherished, affirmed and acknowledged by all creation.
I fail to see him for he dwells within all things; I behold him for he emerges distinctly from all beings.
“Every pair of eyes beholds a different world; in every familiar heart lies a different version of you.”
“Lay down the coffin lid, and we draw infinitely close to all living creatures.”
What a serene soul, covered with yellow soil, needing no sunlight nor chants.
The kind rustic land is the eternal dwelling place of mankind.
A female ghost rises out of the water.
Silvery moonlight spills over her. She stays silent, her glossy long hair flowing loose.
She strides past heavy wet shrubs and calamus, through the misty witchcraft aura of Jiangnan land.
She draws near you unconcernedly, growing intimate while draining your thoughts and blood.
“Alas, you are slain by this wanton water ghost.”
“Alas, what you see is nothing but illusion, just as staring into an empty mirror.”
Father stands atop the cliff.
He can no longer recall his children’s names, nor recognize himself nor the way home.
Old age creeps near, and he lays aside thunderous wrath, raging storms and his heavy mortal frame. He steps down from his lonely lofty heights.
“Behold the cliff rocks, soaring goshawks and fading mortal desires; life cycles back to its original essence.”
“Behold the grand ritual of fleeting time; he passes by an era dyed in deep blue.”
My father bids me take over the scepter of honor, to hold grace and sway over all realms.
He unfurls and flicks open a folding fan.
His younger sister in emerald gown and crimson skirt stands right in the center.
Irresistible carnal desires and pure inner visions are plain and unadorned.
Like divine power descending upon vast wilderness and mortal villages; like we stepping barefoot toward perilous depths, tearing apart the agony of false appearances all along the way.
Heaven and earth hold primal hues.
“Sister, come hither—”
A cry rings out in the festive year-end season, mingling with endless flowing tears.
后裔（10章）
“我能超越什么？”
“存在即是永恒的消失。”
那怀乡的人站在岸边，无家可归。
他所滋养的土地，被他抛弃；他所热爱的人，用水来做成骨肉。
他喝酒，画画，写诗，像潜藏的猎豹，眼底投过万象之影。
他终将像空气，栖居于自己柔软身体的乐器。
我纯真的孩子被世俗围攻，他在烈焰与灰烬中行走。
“让光明之手掘走黑暗。阴晦。我无所畏惧。”
他的银项圈上挂着长命锁，他的梦境覆盖着苍郁的青苔与胭脂。
我的孩子在一个巨大的房间里安睡，自由地呼吸。
万象皈隐。万物显露旨义。
“蔚蓝的圣婴，在一切秩序之上。是他，创造了秩序。”
我的郎以莲花为马，走在孤绝之境。
他看不见歃血为盟的兄弟，他的父亲在黑夜里咳嗽和喘息，他的母亲归于尘土。
“呵，绳索，让这捆绑之器，化为灰烬。”
“呵，自由之翅，尽可以驭风而行，为苦难招魂。”
我的郎立在原地。
死亡的语言，那是人间致命的幻术。
垒土为山。
以藏石，藏林木之音，花露之色；以藏蝼蚁、猛虎，藏万兽之哀乐。
“谁在夜间行猎？谁在山中淬炼金丹？谁将永享头顶的星光？”
“谁让祭台坍塌，古老的习俗得以流传。”
怀抱的陶罐，带我走向流驶的火焰，青铜的葵花。
在大地深处，我们与万物隔绝，我们的肉身重归于静默与无名。
异乡人衔泥筑巢。
异乡人行走在街道，经过小城镇里有着圆拱形大门的教堂。
异乡人像南方初夏一团潮湿的空气。
异乡人在日复一日中身患顽疾。
“他会不会尖叫，而变成蜥蜴？”
“他会不会被掏空，像那些空壳的软体贝类。”
她紧贴于大地，将艳丽的斑纹隐匿。
我们庞大的族群继续向着东方迁徙，带走符咒、冥纸、卦爻、一切秘不可传的经文。
“神呵，自然生长。不可掌控。”
“她已经与周围的事物融为一体，成为拟态的虫子。”
她真实的面目越来越模糊。
她转身，置换成内心一小块疼痛的阴影。
多么幸福的人啊，他被万物疼爱、确证与指认。
我看不见他，是因为他化身在万物之中。我看得见他，是因为他正从万物中凸显。
“每一双眼睛里，看见的世界都不相同；每一个熟识的人心里，是不同的你。”
“盖上灵柩，我们与万物的距离将变得如此之近。”
多么安详的人啊，黄土加身，他已不需要阳光与吟唱。
善良的乡村，那里是人类永远的居所。
女鬼从水中升起。
银亮的月光照耀她。她沉默，披散着水亮亮的长发。
她越过湿重的灌木、水菖蒲、江南氤氲的巫气。
她旁若无人地靠近你，一边和你亲热，一边吸吮你的思想与血液。
“呵，你被人尽可夫的女鬼所弑。”
“呵，你所看到的只是幻象。像你面对空空的镜子。”
父立于悬崖之上。
他记不起他的子女的名姓，他已不识自己与归途。
老之将至，他放下了雷霆，风暴，沉重的肉身。他从孤独的高台之上走下。
“看哪，崖石，苍鹰，疲软的性器，生命复归于生命。”
“看哪，一场盛大的时光之祭，他与一个深蓝的时代擦肩而过。”
我的父，他让我接过那荣誉的权杖，母仪天下。
他把折扇打开，抖动。
翠衣红裙的妹妹站在中央。
无法逃逸的情欲，心灵的图景，干净而质朴。
如神附体于苍茫原野，广阔民间；如我们赤脚走近雷池，沿途不断撕裂假象之痛。
天地玄黄。
“妹吔，来哟——”
年关里一声喊，眼泪和声而出。
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