These grey tiles were always damp, even on sunny days
Tearful, “there are crueler things than wind and rain”
Gong Xueming is an acclaimed poet from China
Gong Xueming, was born in May 1964 in Jingshang Village, Zhangpu, Kunshan, Jiangsu Province. He began his studies in the Department of History at Nanjing University in 1981 and graduated in 1985, then was assigned to Xinhua Daily News Agency. He has long worked for Yangtze Evening News (including Jiangnan Times), founded the poetry journal Poetic Style in Yangtze Evening News and served as its editor-in-chief. He is a senior journalist, a member of the China Writers Association, and the vice president of the Jiangsu Chinese Poetics Research Association. He has published thousands of poems and other works in over a hundred literary periodicals such as People’s Literature.
He has won the 2nd (2019) and 3rd (2020) Haiyan Poetry Awards, the 12th (2021) Shanghai Literature Award, the Excellent Editor Award of Xinhua Newspaper Group (2019), the National Top Ten Poets Award granted by the China Poetry Spring Festival Gala (2022), the 8th Jiangsu Zijin Mountain Literature Award (2023), the 8th China Long Poem Award (2023), and the 1st Yu Guangzhong Poetry Award (2024), etc. The poetry journal Poetic Style edited by him won the First Prize of the Column Award, the highest award for Chinese evening newspapers in 2020.
Since 1991, he has successively published poetry collections including River Water and Humans, Ice Marks, White Birds and Purple Flowers, Father’s Ballad, All Things in the World Are Relatives, Poems of Gong Xueming, Mother of the Moon Village, and Blood Land. He is hailed as “the first person in modernist writing of Chinese family love poetry”.
龚学明，男，1964年5月生于江苏昆山张浦泾上村。1981年起求学于南京大学历史系，1985年毕业分配至新华日报社，长期供职于《扬子晚报》（含《江南时报》），在《扬子晚报》创办《诗风》诗刊，并任主编。高级记者，中国作家协会会员，江苏省中华诗学研究会副会长。在《人民文学》等上百家文学期刊发表诗歌等上千篇（首）。获第二届（2019）、第三届（2020）海燕诗歌奖，第十二届（2021）上海文学奖，新华报业集团优秀编辑奖（2019），中国诗歌春晚授予的全国十佳诗人奖（2022年），第八届江苏省紫金山文学奖（2023），第八届中国长诗奖（2023），首届余光中诗歌奖（2024）等。主编的《诗风》诗刊，获2020年度中国晚报最高奖——专栏奖一等奖。从1991年起，先后出版诗集《河水及人》《冰痕》《白的鸟 紫的花》《爸爸谣》《世间万物皆亲人》《龚学明的诗》《月亮村庄的妈妈》《血地》，被誉为“中国亲情诗现代主义写作第一人”。
Translated by Ma Yongbo
Grey Tiles
Green tile is an elegant term
Yet it is actually grey-blue tile; I care more for grey tiles
“Pink walls and black tiles” refers precisely to these tiles
When I was young, our home was a three-room tile house
Grey tiles pressed against grey tiles in order:
Some lying prone, some supine, heads touching heads, hands and feet linked
Like all ancestors, distant relatives gathered
“Doing one thing together”
—sheltering their children, a family living in the world
From wind and rain
We sang, ate porridge, cried under the roof
Joy was not absent, just too scarce
The darkness inside the house and the brightness outside
Like swallows flying in and out, spring grew up quickly
Mother only relaxed when humming folk songs
Father said nothing, cigarette butts burned his embarrassment for him
Poverty was like a strange beast, unseen but tangible
The emptiness in the rice jar laid bare life’s bottom
These grey tiles were always damp, even on sunny days
Tearful, “there are crueler things than wind and rain”
That night they did not sleep—
Their child, our father, was so shy
He hesitated but had to go out to borrow rice
Very late, very late, he came back
Carrying a small bag of rice and heavy footsteps…
***
灰瓦
青瓦是一个雅词
其实是灰蓝瓦，我更在意灰瓦
粉墙黛瓦，指的即是这瓦
我年少时，家里是三间瓦房
灰瓦与灰瓦挤挤挨挨
是有序的：或俯卧或仰躺，头靠头，手脚相连
就像所有的祖先，遥远的亲人都来了
“一起做一件事”
——庇护他们的孩子们，一个活在人世的
家庭，遮风挡雨
我们在屋底下唱歌，喝粥，哭泣
快乐不是没有，只是太少
屋内的暗和室外的亮
像燕子进出，春天很快长大
妈妈只在哼唱民歌时放松
爸爸不说话，烟头替他燃烧窘迫的滋味
贫穷像一只陌生的兽，看不见而摸得到
米缸里的空让生活见底
这些灰瓦总是湿的，晴天时
也眼泪汪汪，“有比风雨更残酷的”
那夜他们没有睡——
他们的孩子，我们的爸爸多么害羞
他犹豫着不得不外出去借米
很晩很晚，他提着
一小袋米和沉重的脚步回来……
***
Wooden Basin
Mother said, “When you were born,
You were placed in a wooden basin, filled right up”
This ordinary day is also precious:
On the 27th day of the fifth lunar month in 1964, I came into the world
Speaking of the wooden basin, I imagine it is the one I saw
After I could remember:
The clear varnish did not cover the natural wood grain
Its greyish-yellow wood came from the careful interweaving of soil and moist air
Pouring away the blood and the first cry
My simplicity finds its origin in this wooden basin
The large wooden basin that accompanied my childhood also accompanied Mother
She washed clothes, kneading out soap bubbles
Dazzling in the sun yet bursting soon
My little surprises formed unexpectedly and were struck down just as suddenly
Clothes were washed repeatedly, fished out of the basin and hung on the bamboo clothesline
Straightening the toil of Mother’s bent waist
And washing away the mischief in my growth
And the sorrow born of poverty time and again
In winter, I put my feet in the basin
Hot water sent warmth rising from the feet, straight to tears of happiness
After washing, my feet were taken out, yet still
Had to step on the ground, had to keep walking
That container also held, at year’s end
The chopped pig’s head and the stones pressing down the pickled vegetables
Containing all the heavy love and the life stained with blood
***
木盆
母亲说，“你生下来时放在木盆里，满满当当的”
这平凡的一天也或珍贵：
1964年5月27日（农历），我来到人世间
说到木盆，我想象就是我记事后
见到的那一只：
它用的清漆没有掩住天然的木头纹路
灰黄色木质来自泥土和湿润空气的细心交织
倒去血水和最初的啼哭
我的朴实在一只木盆上找到出处
陪伴着我童年的大木盆也陪伴母亲
她洗衣，揉搓出肥皂的泡沫
在阳光下耀眼又很快破灭
我的小小惊喜意外形成并随之陡然打击
一件件衣服反复清洗，从木盆捞出并张挂在晾衣竹杆上
将母亲弯腰的辛劳拉直
也一次次洗去我成长中的玩劣
和因贫困新生出的忧伤
冬天将脚放在木盆中
热水让温暖沿着脚上升，直达幸福眼泪
洗过的脚拿出来，还得
落在地上，还得去走
那一只容器，还盛放过年终
砍下的猪头和压腌菜的石头
容下全部沉重的爱和血色的生活
***
Cloth Shoes
In my childhood, there were no leather shoes or sneakers
Only cloth shoes:
Mother stitched them painstakingly under the kerosene lamp
Stitch by stitch;
The cloth soles wore out before long
I hated myself: my unruly little feet
Were always running about, failing to cherish Mother’s toil and fatigue
For two years, every weekend I would hurry
To Grandma’s house and stay the night
But that familiar road
How could I walk it—I had no intact shoes:
Those
Little cloth shoes discarded under the loom
Were covered in dust
Some gaped open like broken mouths, some had holes
In the soles—I chose the least tattered ones
Stuffed a piece of hard paper inside, and went to seek
My warmth:
At Grandma’s house, there was fragrant
White rice, and occasionally braised pork. Grandma, with a smile
Chatted with me in a cheerful way, not knowing
I hid the holes in my shoes, and life
Was piercing through the fragile gaps of my sensitivity
My growing inferiority and unease
***
布鞋
孩提时没有皮鞋和运动鞋
只有布鞋：
妈妈在煤油灯下
一针一针辛苦缝制成；
布做的鞋底不多久就破了
我恨我自己：管不住的稚脚
总在奔走，不知珍惜妈妈的辛苦和累
有两年，我在周末时总往
外婆家赶，住上一夜
可是那条熟悉的路
我怎么去——我没有完好的鞋子：
那些
在纺织机下丢弃的小小布鞋
满是灰尘
有的张着裂开的嘴，有的穿了
底——我选尽量破得小些的
鞋子，垫上一张硬纸，去寻
我的温暖：
外婆家有香香的
白米饭，也偶有红烧肉。笑眯眯的外婆
陪我说笑眯眯的话，她
不知道我隐瞒着鞋子的破，生活
在戳穿我敏感的漏洞
我越来越大的自卑和不安
***
Renovating the House
My hometown house is being renovated
My room and my sister’s room are next to each other
I don’t have many demands for the renovation
Just want to tell my siblings to make the eaves wider
Never use aluminum alloy or glass
Wood, tiles, or stone slabs are fine
In short, it should be convenient for swallows to build nests
I hope there’s a river in front of the house
Perfect for them to fly and catch insects in spring
They will surely build nests in our house
Raise their young, just like we saw in our childhood
I’m nearly retired, going back to my hometown to spend my old age
Returning to the innocence of childhood
I’ll be with my parents again
They fly from the sky, like two swallows
In our home
We start over, filled with joy and harmony
***
修屋
老家在装修房子
我的屋和妹妹的屋紧临一起
我对装修没有太多要求
只想对兄妹说廊檐大一些
千万不用铝合金和玻璃
用木头，瓦，石板也行
总之要方便燕子筑巢
我想屋子前面是一条江
很适合春天时它们翻飞捉虫
它们一定会在我们家筑巢
养育后代，像我们童年时看到那样
我快退休了，就要告老回乡，返老还童
就要和爸妈在一起了
他们从天上飞来，像两只燕子
在我们的家中
我们重来一遍，其乐融融
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