This life is scrawled, like a bird stripped of its plumes,
yet the painter grows wings.
Xiao Huang
Xiao Huang, real name Zhang Xiang, was born in August 1979 in Quzhou, Zhejiang Province. His poems have appeared in journals including Poetry Periodical, Poetry Monthly, Stars, Selected Poems, Jiangnan Poetry, Yangtze River Poetry Journal, Poetry Tide, Green Wind, and Poetry Forest. His works are anthologized in The Best Chinese Poetry of 2003, Selected Chinese Poetry 2007, Chinese Poetry Map • 2023 Volume, and other collections.
小荒，本名张翔，1979年8月生，浙江衢州人。作品在《诗刊》《诗歌月刊》《星星》《诗选刊》《江南诗》《扬子江诗刊》《诗潮》《绿风》《诗林》等刊物发表，入选《2003中国年度最佳诗歌》《2007年中国诗歌精选》《中国诗歌地图•2023年卷》等选本。
Translated by Ma Yongbo
Short Songs
I
This life is scrawled, like a bird stripped of its plumes,
yet the painter grows wings.
There is too little firewood in this world,
forgive them for taking your warmth and the light above your crown.
II
Rain ticks outside the window,
ticks, like wandering wraiths passing to and fro.
The world is too vast,
and sorrow so small.
III
Plants and trees possess souls; beneath haze
they hang their heads, as you and I.
You are not even grass,
while I, numb, drift among mortal men.
IV
Let winter’s wild grass
bear frost.
That solid grief
outweighs a liquid heart.
V
Time to me is wind overhead:
now the scent of blossoms, now stench of wine and flesh.
And toward it,
I never stint my scorn and indolence.
VI
Rain comes from high places,
falling on people below.
The heights hold cold,
and the low places hold cold people.
VII
I carry a faint sorrow,
hidden among plants and trees.
Only when light snow arrives,
does it show itself.
短歌
一
这一生潦草，像小鸟丢失羽毛，
而画画的人，却长了翅膀。
这人间的柴火太少，
原谅他们拿走你的体温和你头顶的亮光。
二
雨水在窗外滴答
滴答，像怨灵来来往往。
这世界太空旷，
悲哀那么微小。
三
草木有灵，对雾霾
垂头丧气，仿佛我和你。
你连草都不是，
而我木然，混迹于人世。
四
冬天的荒草
让它结霜。
那些固态的哀伤
胜过液体的心。
五
时光于我，
是头顶风：有时鲜花香，有时酒肉臭。
而我对它，
从不吝啬我的蔑视和懒惰。
六
雨水从高处来，
落向低处的人。
高处有寒冷，
低处有寒冷的人。
七
我有小小的悲凉，
藏在草木间。
只有当小雪来临，
才显现。
_____
Love Letter
Only when the heart grows dead do you know
the willfulness and recklessness of youth
were blasphemy against love.
Only moonlight so clear is worthy of
your face, lodged deep within my bones.
How vast this heaven and earth, fit for me
to write you a love letter.
The stars in the sky shine over all things under heaven.
Yet I, would shine only for you.
情书
唯有心死，才知年少的任性与妄为
是对爱的亵渎。
唯有如此清澈的月色，才匹配你
在我骨头里的容颜。
这天地多么辽阔，正适合我
给你写一封情书。
那天上的星辰，照耀世间万物。
而我，只想照耀你。
_____
Wuxi River
I was born here,
and so was my son. He has just learned to swim,
afraid to dive into your depths.
This place is called Guandui —
the official water-powered trip-hammer, the name carries
a mouldy reek steeped in history.
Yet this history is not mine.
I am Xiao Huang, no origin, no resting place,
only a faint, desolate wind drifting everywhere.
The stream before my gate is your branch,
though a secondary offshoot, it still shares your nature
cold.
Many times I have travelled a mile to behold
your true self, vast and mighty. Waves beat the banks,
and slap my hips, like my father’s palm.
My father lost his homeland as a boy, his mother in youth.
When he reached middle age, I fulfilled the name he gave me,
spreading my wings to fly, vanishing without trace.
I wandered far, from the Yangtze to the East China Sea,
from noisy drinking tables to weeping alone,
water is everywhere, the fate you force me to swallow.
I row upstream against the current,
I drift along with the tide.
I am like a log, rising and falling in eddies.
My outer skin rots away,
my core long hollowed out.
What remains for this solitary frame of mine —
My indulgence is copied from Li Bai,
my freedom mimicked from flying birds.
Is what I chase merely to become a corpse or a beast?
Thank you for casting a rope for me,
when I sink into despair —
while I still draw breath, and my conscience endures.
乌溪江
我生于此，
儿子也是。他才学会游泳，
不敢潜入你的深处。
他们叫这里官碓——
官家的水碓，名字里就有一股
被历史浸泡的发霉味。
这历史不属于我。
我是小荒，无出处，无归宿，
只是渺小、荒凉的，四处飘荡的风。
门前小河是你的分支，
即便庶出，性情还是跟你一样
冰冷。
我曾多次去一里外瞻仰
你的真身，浩瀚威武。水浪拍打两岸，
也拍在我屁股，像父亲的巴掌。
父亲年幼失故土，青年丧母。
当他中年，我践行他给我的命名，
张翅飞翔，没了踪影。
我东奔西走，从长江到东海，
从喧闹的酒桌到独自泪流，
到处是水，是你要我咽下去的宿命。
我逆流而上，
我随波逐流。
我像块木头，在漩涡里沉浮。
表面开始腐烂，
内里早就空洞。
还有什么属于我孑然的身骨——
放纵是抄袭李白的，
自由是模仿飞鸟的。
我所追求的，难道就是成为死人或禽兽？
感谢你在我绝望之时，
抛下缆绳——
趁我一息尚存，良心未泯。
____________
