The river heaves up waves

Washing some pebbles onto the shore…

Song Xiaoda is a Chinese poet having passion for journeys, writing poetry and photography

Song Xiaoda, born in the 1960s, has his ancestral home in Zhangwu, Liaoning Province. He was born in Heihe and raised in Sichuan. He once built roads and bridges across mountains and rivers, inscribing three-dimensional lines of poetry with his work. Later, he developed a passion for long journeys, writing poetry, and photography. He is the author of poetry and prose collections including Cooking Smoke is a Tree Planted by Mother, Pure Style, and A Horse-Drawn Cart and a Cloud. Currently, he resides in both Panzhihua and Chengdu. 

宋晓达，六零后，祖籍辽宁彰武，生于黑河，长于四川。曾在山川大地上筑路架桥，镌写立体的诗行。后好远行、写诗、摄影。著有诗歌散文集《炊烟是母亲栽的一棵树》《淳风》《一驾马车和一朵云》，现居攀枝花与成都两地。

Translated by Ma Yongbo

A Stone with Eyes

The river heaves up waves

Washing some pebbles onto the shore

The golden sandbar spreads like a vast, boundless book

Each stone a ideographic character

To read them, you must lower your stance

Bend down to examine and caress the stones

Their shapes, surfaces, patterns, and zen-like aura

 

Among thousands upon thousands of stones

One clearly bears a pair of eyes

Our gazes meet

The pupils beneath its curved eyebrows so distinct and clear

Meeting a fine stone is a matter of fate

 

I say to this stone, No need to fear the sand trucks carting you away anymore

I take you home and place you on my desk

Sometimes I read my books, sometimes I look at you too

When I hold the stone in my palm

My palm suddenly grows damp

I cannot tell if it is my sweat, or tears shed by the stone

***

一块长着眼睛的石头

江水举起波浪

把一些鹅卵石推上岸

金沙滩如摊开一本浩瀚的书

每一块石头都是一个表意的文字

阅读需放下身段

俯身去审视、抚摸石头的形状、表象、图案和禅意

 

万千石头中

有一块石头上分明长着一双眼睛

和我的眼睛碰撞到一起

弯眉下的瞳仁那么清晰

遇见好石头是一种缘分

 

我对这块头说，再不用担心装砂石的车把你运走

我把你带回去，放在书案上

有时看书有时也会看你

把石头握在手心里

手心一下子湿润了

不知是我出的汗，还是石头流出了泪

***

The Eyes of Dukezong

In Dukezong, Shangri-La

The only sound left is the faint tap of footsteps on stone slabs

Midnight has not yet come, but loneliness has emptied the street

Only one shop still keeps its light on

The eyes of the night watching me walk out of the long darkness

 

That lit-up shop,

Knows not who I am

Yet I understand its loneliness

In this spring where the economy is colder than the winter

So many shops have fallen silent

Unawakened even by ten thousand spring thunderclaps

***

独克宗的眼睛

在香格里拉独克宗

静的只剩下脚步零落在石板上的声音

午夜未至，寂寞将一条街掏空

只有一家店铺的灯是亮的

这夜的眼睛，目送我走出长长的黑暗

 

那家亮灯的店铺

不知道我是谁

可我知道它的孤独

在这个经济比寒冬还冷的春天

那么多睡去了的店铺

一万颗春雷也叫不醒

***

Beyond the Red Walls of Wenshu Courtyard 

The sound of ca-ca-ca 

Comes from the corner of Dongzikou 

It is the noise of kitchen knives being sharpened on whetstones

Impossible to tell which one is happier or more painful

The knives or the whetstones 

 

Early in the morning, kitchen knives from nearby shops—

Chen Mapo Tofu, Dragon Dumplings, Zhang Laoe’r Cold Noodles— 

Gather one after another, forming a line

 

Across the street, the chanting from Wenshu Courtyard is vast and compassionate 

It climbs over the wall, presses the sharpening sound to the ground, and strokes it gently

The sharpening sound grows softer and softer

Shrinking to the size of an ant

 

Along the red walls of Wenshu Courtyard 

A line has formed before anyone notices 

Tourists stream in, one after another,

To touch the character “Fu” carved on the wall— 

Tender hands, rough hands, hands of men and women, young and old

Before the character “Fu,” they look like 

Rusty kitchen knives, one after another. 

***

文殊院红墙以外

嚓嚓嚓的声音

源自洞子口的拐角处

是菜刀在磨刀石上发出的

分不出菜刀和磨刀石

谁更快乐或者疼痛

 

一大早，附近的陈麻婆豆腐、龙抄手、张老二凉粉

各家的菜刀，纷纷赶来排起了队

 

街对面，文殊院的诵经声辽阔而慈悲

翻过墙，把磨刀声摁在地上轻轻抚摸

磨刀声越来越小

小成一只蚂蚁

 

文殊院红墙

不知何时排起了队

游客们接踵而至去摸墙上的福字

稚嫩的手、粗糙的手、男女老少的手

在福字面前，好像一把把生了锈的菜刀

***

Mother’s Willow River 

Mother bends low 

Scooping hard at the water of Willow River

She catches nothing, she scoops again, still nothing 

In truth, mother is trying to grasp those bygone years 

Now in her octogenarian years

Mother has not returned to her hometown for over fifty years 

 

Mother stands up 

And her shadow tumbles into the river

As a young woman, she washed clothes here, fetched water here, in summers just like this

She chased dragonflies and butterflies along the riverbank, plucked wild flowers

Today, the river remains clear and pure, 

Like a mirror reflecting mother’s once handsome, youthful face

 

The old willow tree across the river recognizes her 

It leans over, waving at mother 

A few wispy trails of cooking smoke, wandering above the village, drift over too 

Last to arrive is the setting sun, sinking down the mountain

It plates Willow River in gold

Mother’s golden years flowed from here toward the south

***

母亲的柳树河

母亲矮下身子

用力抓了一把柳树河的水

没抓住，又抓了一把还是没有抓住

其实，母亲是想抓住那些逝去的岁月时光

耋耄之年的母亲

五十多年没有回过故乡了

 

母亲站起身

影子便扑入了河里

小时候母亲在河里洗衣、提水，同样的夏天

在河边追逐蜻蜓、蝴蝶，采摘野花

如今，河水依旧清清净净，

镜子一样映出母亲当年俊俏的容颜

 

河对面的老柳树认出来了

探出身子和母亲招手

屯子上空几片闲游的炊烟也过来了

来得最晚的是下山的夕阳

把柳树河镀成了金色

母亲的金色年华，就是从这儿流向南方的

____________________

Read: The Gray Bird – Poetry from China