A river that has flowed for three thousand years
Wants to keep a piece of
The waves from last dusk…
Yao Hui is a poet from Renhuai City, Guizhou Province of China
Yao Hui, of Han ethnicity, was born in Renhuai City, Guizhou Province in January 1965. He has published poetry collections such as The Man Who Collects the Sound of Wind and A Tribute to Li Bai, a prose poetry collection On the Plateau, and a short story collection Walking Through the Endless Rain, etc. He has won awards including the Top Ten of the 5th Chinese Poetry Biennale, the 9th China Prose Poetry Award, the Mountain Flower Literature Biennial Award, the October Poetry Award, the Annual Award of Stars Prose Poetry, the Poetry Award of Writer magazine, and the Yangtze River Poetics Award.
姚辉，汉族，1965年1月生于贵州省仁怀市。出版诗集《收集风声的人》《致敬李白》、散文诗集《在高原上》、小说集《走过无边的雨》等。获第五届汉语诗歌双年十佳、第九届中国•散文诗大奖、山花文学双年奖、十月诗歌奖、星星散文诗年度奖、《作家》诗歌奖、扬子江诗学奖。
(Translated by Ma Yongbo)
Du Fu
From paper to bronze—of the flesh
Its efficacy fades by degrees
Yet pain and love have found
Their final confirmation
It is not merely the ache of March
Those who feed on spring’s intent, from blossoms
With their more tangled details, catch sight of
Vigilance soon to stretch on
From the Great Tang Dynasty
Do not simply consign them
To the vigilance of paper
While silk retreats to distant
Opulence—they
No longer need such watchfulness
Shadows of halls crumble by inches
What still do you hope to prop up
With two feet of shimmer
From the Jin River’s waves?
Bronze is twisted into spears
Partridges bathed in fire wheeling and dancing
Like a vast expanse of spring
Worth wasting, over and again
Why does bronze abandon its vigil?
From March to September
Wind and smoke no longer cling to doubt
From September to this dusk at hand
Bronze sharpens again
Your gaze across the ages
Who presses the boundless vastness
With their left hand, eroding its edges?
The other trembling hand
From the rust of bronze, retrieves
Half a handful of words that transcend
Green flame and love
***
杜甫
从纸质到铜 肉身的
有效性逐渐减弱
但痛与爱却得到了
最终确认
那不仅只是三月之痛
以春意果腹者 从比较
繁琐的花朵上觑见
即将从大唐延续
而下的警觉
别简单将它们
归入到纸的警觉
而绢帛缩在较远的
浮华中 它们
已不需要这种警觉
殿堂之影逐渐塌陷
你还想借锦江的两尺
波光 撑住些什么？
铜被扭曲成戈矛
浴火的鹧鸪 旋舞
像一大片值得被反复
浪费的春色
铜为何放弃警觉？
从三月到九月
风烟不再坚持质疑
从九月到这眼下的黄昏
铜 让你隔世的眺望
再度清晰
谁左手紧按的苍茫
蚀了边界？
另一只颤抖的手又从
铜的锈迹里 拾回
半把超越绿色
火焰与爱的文字
***
The One Who Paints Mountains and Rivers
First he subtracts the mountain ridges from the paper
The brown stones, the silk-like clouds
Subtracts the trees heavy with birdsong
And the trees’ invisible joints
Then subtracts the earth that casts seeds
To the wind—this is also the earth
Wrapped in fire and dreams—
Subtracts the water beside the earth
A river that has flowed for three thousand years
Wants to keep a piece of
The waves from last dusk
He subtracts the waves’ future
Now, a painting
Hesitates into being
The paper is turning into a legend
That ink stains must forever
Be wary of…
***
画山水的人
他先从纸上减去山脊
褐色石头 丝绸状的云
减去挂满鸟声的
树及树的隐形骨节
然后减去将种子抛在
风中的土 这也是
裹着火与梦境的土——
减去土边的水
一条流了三千年的河
想留下一片
上个黄昏的波浪
他减去波浪的未来
现在 一幅画
犹豫着出现
纸正变成
墨渍必须永久
警惕的传说……
***
Song
The man who hangs the sea on a tree
Is some mark of dusk
He is a bit paranoid
He has made clear the wrinkles of the sea
He once made the sea part of a dream
He can make the sea condense into blue star lanterns
In the strong wind, the star lanterns have a reserved
Tortuous path
He is the one who turns the road into lightning
The entire sea, hung by him
On the slanting branches
He has copied the oldest cry of the sea
***
歌
那个将大海挂在树上的人
是黄昏的某种记号
他有些偏执
他说清过大海的皱纹
他曾经让海成为梦境的一部分
他可以让海凝结成蓝色星盏
在疾风中 星盏 有一条预留的
曲折之路
他是让道路成为闪电的人
整座大海 被他挂在
倾斜的树枝上
他复制出了大海最古老的呼叫
____________________
Read: Rain Water – Poetry from China
