Come upon them

Golden light swaying at the cliff’s edge…

Zhuang Xiaoming

Zhuang Xiaoming, art name Dongxiang, was born in Yangzhou, Jiangsu Province, in April 1964. He is a member of the Chinese Writers Association and a member of the Jiu San Society. He has published a large body of poems, critical essays, prose and fictions in numerous journals nationwide. Twelve works have come out in print, including poetry collections Evening Breeze, Treading Snow to Go Home, Shape and Shadow, Requiem for Wenchuan, Echoes of Heavenly Questions, Poetry and Thought and A Dictionary of Zhuangzi; prose collection Skylight of Time; fable fiction collections Net in the Air and Notes from Dongxiang; short story collection Fables and Labyrinths; and poetics treatise Retreating Vanguard. His writings have been anthologized in dozens of selected works, such as Appreciation of Famous Modern Chinese Poems, A Hundred Years of Modern Chinese Poetry, A Century of New Poetry from Jiangsu, Twenty Folk Poets of 20th-Century China, Fifteen Mid-generation Poets of the First Fifteen Years of the 21st Century, as well as annual anthologies like China Annual Poetry Anthology, China Poetry Ranking List and bilingual Anthology of Chinese Poems (Chinese-English). Net in the Air is included in the series One Hundred Classic Micro-Fictions of a Century. Shape and Shadow is listed on the Canonical Poetry Roll of the Lixiahe Literary School. The magazine China Talents ran a special feature covering his literary achievements. He has also composed ten poetic dramas. On the evening of December 20, 2023, his poetic drama Regret for the Past • Zijun premiered successfully performed by the Fanding Theatre Troupe at Hongshan College, Nanjing University of Finance and Economics. His honors include the 2nd Zijin Mountain Literature Prize of Jiangsu Province, the Critical Writing Award of China Regional Poetry Prize, the 6th China Long Poem Prize, the 2025 Outstanding Chinese Poetry Critic Award, the Excellent Thesis Award of the 9th Huaxia Poetry Prize, and the Excellent Thesis Award of the First Frontier Dialogue Between New-Style and Classical Poetry. He currently resides in Yangzhou.

庄晓明，号东乡。1964年4月出生于江苏扬州。中国作家协会会员、九三学社会员。曾在各大刊物发表诗歌、评论、随笔、小说若干。已出版有诗集《晚风》《踏雪回家》《形与影》《汶川安魂曲》《天问的回声》《诗与思》《庄子词典》，随笔集《时间的天窗》，寓言小说集《空中之网》《东乡笔记》，短篇小说集《寓言与迷宫》，诗学论集《后退的先锋》等12部。作品入选《中国现代诗歌名篇赏析》《中国百年新诗经》《江苏百年新诗选》《中国二十世纪民间诗人二十家》《21世纪15年中间代诗人15家》，及《中国年度诗选》《中国诗歌排行榜》《中国诗选》（汉英双语版）等多种选集。《空中之网》入选“百年百部微型小说经典”。《形与影》入选“里下河文学流派经典诗歌榜”。《中华英才》杂志曾对其文学成就做了专题报道。另创作有剧诗10部，2023年12月20日晚，创作的剧诗《伤逝•子君》，在南京财经大学红山学院由凡丁剧社成功首演。曾获第二届江苏省紫金山文学奖、中国地域诗歌奖评论奖、第六届中国长诗奖、2025年度华语诗歌杰出诗歌评论家奖等。以及第九届“华夏诗词奖”优秀论文奖，首届“新旧体诗前沿对话”优秀论文奖。现居扬州。

Translated by Ma Yongbo

Wild Chrysanthemums

I wander, and by chance

Come upon them

Golden light swaying at the cliff’s edge

The dark abyss below, the sapphire vault above

All are fused as one

By this wavering gold

All creation lays bare, each mirroring the other

Golden sparks keep surging upward

As if a celebration unfolds

They sway along the cliff rim

Fading away in solitude

As though they had never been

Yet one strand of golden radiance

Still roams on, borne by my brush

Crossing the world’s far edge

野菊

我漫游，偶然中

遇见了它们

金色的光，摇曳于悬崖边缘

沉黑的深渊，湛蓝的天幕

由于这金色摇曳

而焊为一体

万物敞开，相互为镜

金色的焰火，不断升起

仿佛一个节日

它们摇曳于悬崖边缘

将寂寞中凋谢

似从未存在

但有一束金色的光

仍在漫游，随着我的笔

穿越于世界边缘

***

You and I

You and I

Live in adjoining rooms

With a door

That sways now and then

You and I

Are close sometimes

Strange other times

Like strangers on a chaotic street

You and I

One heads east

One west

Yet meet around the corner now and then

You and I

Turn toward emptiness at times

Talking of each other

As if speaking of another planet

You and I

Roam our separate starry skies

Yet sometimes feel

The gravitational pull between us

我与你

我与你

住在相邻的房间

有一扇门

时而晃动

我与你

时而熟识

时而陌生

像在混乱的街头

我与你

一个向东

一个向西

却时而墙角相遇

我与你

时而面向虚无

谈论彼此

像谈论另一个星球

我与你

各自的星空漫游

却时而感着

彼此的引力

***

Echo

Empty valley

Echoes linger

Chasing themselves

Against the valley’s twin cliffs

They bounce

Interweave

With every drift back and forth

They absorb more of the valley’s hollow breath

Little by little they forget

Which flees

Which pursues

Forgetting they once sprang

From a single call

They drift farther apart

Growing alien to one another

Trapped between

The valley’s two stone walls

And also between

You

And me

回声

空谷

回声在

自我追逐

在空谷的两壁

弹弄

交织

每一次摆渡

便加入一些空谷的元素

它们渐渐忘了

谁在逃亡

谁在追逐

忘了它们

来自一个呼唤

它们愈行愈远

渐渐陌生

在空谷的

两壁之间

在

我与你

之间

___________________

Read: The Wild Steed – Poetry from China

The post Wild Chrysanthemums – Chinese Poetry first appeared on Sindh Courier.

Has never ridden

Any horse at all…

Gu Bei

Gu Bei, was born in Minhou County, Fujian Province in 1965. He is a core founder of the Fanke Poetry Society. He has published six poetry collections including Pure Silver, Disciple of Ecstasy and Notes on Reading Lions. His poems, prose and literary critiques have appeared in domestic and overseas newspapers and periodicals such as People’s Literature, Poetry Journal, Chinese Writers, Poetry Monthly, Poetry Tide and Southern Weekly. His poetic works have been anthologized in numerous selected volumes, namely Chinese Poetry Since 1991, Selected Chinese Poems of the New Century, Anthology of Twenty Years of Chinese Online Poetry, One Hundred Poets of Min School Poetry in a Century, Cross-Strait Poetry Collection of the 21st Century (Wuxu Volume) and Anthology of Modern Poetry of the 21st Century. He has won honors including the Annual Outstanding Poet Award from Selected Poems Journal and Fujian Provincial Excellent Literary Works Award. He has served as an initial judge for the Haizi Poetry Award for three consecutive sessions.

顾北，男，1965年生于福建省闽侯县。反克诗社主要发起人。著有诗集《纯银》《狂喜之徒》《读狮记》等6种。在《人民文学》《诗刊》《中国作家》《诗歌月刊》《诗潮》《南方周末》等国内外报刊发表过诗歌、散文、评论等。诗作收入《1991年以来的中国诗歌》《新世纪中国诗选》《中国网络诗歌20年大系》《闽派诗歌百年百人作品选》《21世纪两岸诗歌鉴藏（戊戌卷）》《21世纪现代诗歌鉴藏》等。获得“诗选刊”年度优秀诗人奖，福建省优秀文学作品奖等，连续三届担任“海子诗歌奖”初评委员。

Translated by Ma Yongbo

The Wild Steed

He who has never ridden a wild steed

Has never ridden

Any horse at all

Between horse and wild steed

I once thought there was but one difference

Horses come in every shade

Yet the wild steed bears only one hue

Crimson red —

Its temper

Its speed

Its longing

Its very being

And even its love

Only red can bear witness to all of it

When it stands still and calm

The gaze it fixes on you is as if it stares

Into a sea of blazing fire.

烈马

一生没有骑过烈马的人

当然也没有骑过

马

马与烈马

我一直以为就一点不同

马有各种各样颜色

而烈马颜色只有一种

——红

它的脾性

它的速度

它的梦想

它的存在

甚至，它的爱情

唯有红色可以证明

它安静站着

看你的眼神，仿佛看着

一片沸腾的火海

***

The Guilty Flesh

I secretly convict my own flesh of guilt

Consumed by shame. Often I dream

I slip down cliff faces, making no effort to survive

Or dream of a great plague yet refuse to accept reality

These are trivial things, the worst affliction is colour blindness

The world is sick, and faith has caught vitiligo

When rain falls, the crowd’s surging longings

Are hollow and false, like scarecrows standing in the fields

They exist only to pretend the future will be pure. I am guilty

Grass blades crawling across the earth cling tighter and tighter to the soil

They too refuse to depart — these artificial gadflies

Just like our forefathers! Ah —

My flesh is guilty. Though I dwell within it, I cannot

Halt the endless flood of hallucinations. O heaven, O divinities,

This mortal world spares no soul

I am the digger of my own grave, and yours as well

身体有罪

因为羞耻，暗暗判决自己的

身体有罪。常梦见自己

从崖壁滑落而不愿求生

梦见大疫却不愿认同现实

这些都没什么，最严重的是色盲

这世界病了而信仰染上白癜风

雨落下时世人升腾的夙愿

多么虚伪，像田野上的稻草人

仅限于保证未来是纯洁的。我有罪

匍匐大地的草茎对土地越抓越紧

他们也不愿离开——这仿生的

先辈一样的牛虻！唉——

我的身体有罪。我跟它在一起却不能

阻止幻觉一再出现。苍天呐，神明呐

这人世就没饶过谁

我是自己的掘墓人，也是你的。

***

Father

Father in the old kitchen

Is like air

Like the years, months and days

That lie plain within this kitchen

I push the creaky kitchen door with effort

As if pushing Father’s hunched back—sour, slow yet steady strong

Often I reach to pull the light cord

But Father waves his hand firmly: No need

This stove room is known to me

As intimately as every stretch of land

Upon your mother’s body

Father in the old kitchen

Has melted into everything here

And I am the extra part

That does not belong to this kitchen

父亲

老灶间里的父亲

像空气一样

父亲就像老灶间的

年月日，明摆在那儿

我艰难推动老灶间的门

像推动父亲的背，酸酸的，缓慢而有力

经常时候，我拉开老灶间的灯泡线

父亲却坚定地摇手：不用

这一间灶堂，我熟悉得就像你母亲

身上的每一寸山河

老灶间里的父亲

已是所有物事的一部分

而我，就是老灶间

多出的那部分

__________________

Read: Father and Mother – Chinese Poetry

The post The Wild Steed – Poetry from China first appeared on Sindh Courier.

I turned to my aged father

To beg for the patch of earth where my cord and placenta were laid to rest.

Cheng Lu

Cheng Lu, born in Shitou Street, Luochuan County, Shaanxi Province in June 1968, is a poet who also writes literary theories, non-fiction works, and historical studies on the Shaanxi-Gansu Revolutionary Base Area and the Northwest Bureau of the CPC Central Committee.

成路，1968年6月出生在陕西省洛川县石头街。诗人，兼写文艺理论、非虚构、陕甘革命根据地和中共中央西北局历史等作品。

Translated by Ma Yongbo

Father and Mother: The Twenty-Fifth Day of the Tenth Lunar Month, Year Ji Hai (Thursday)

— Why Do You Knock at My Lonely Gate

As Mother cried out her final throes giving birth to me,

Father took a sharp metal scissors and cut my umbilical cord

Father was a resident of a small northern town

He surely never knew

The despair of a kite flyer clutching a broken string, staring up at an empty sky

Yet he understood this truth

Burying half the umbilical cord and afterbirth deep in the earth is a hiding, a loosening of bonds

Yesterday, dust from foreign lands clinging to my skin

I turned to my aged father

To beg for the patch of earth where my cord and placenta were laid to rest

But he said to me

Your boarding pass for international flights bears no trace of my fingerprints.

Why do you knock at my lonely gate？?

父亲、母亲: 己亥年十月廿五（星期四）

——我的孤门你何必敲响

母亲生我喊出最后一声阵痛时，父亲便用钢口很好的剪刀

剪断了我的脐带

父亲是北方小镇上的居民

他一定没有见过

放风筝的人儿手捉断线仰望空空天的沮丧

可他知道——

把孩子的半截儿脐带和胎衣埋进大地深处，是掩藏，是解开系绊

昨天，我身上沾着异乡灰尘

向年迈的父亲

讨要埋葬我半截儿脐带和胎衣的大地

可他却说——

你乘坐国际航班的登机牌上不会留下我的指纹，我的孤门你何必敲响？

***

Father and Mother: The Twenty-Seventh Day of the Eighth Lunar Month, Year Xin Chou (Sunday)

— The Hundred-Day Memorial of Father

Day and night, whether awake or asleep, I dwell in remembrance.

Father’s pupils blazed like white-hot flame burning dry firewood.

Coming, going, going, coming—endless drift to and fro.

He took my right hand and kissed its back, his lips cold to the touch.

Childishly playful, mischievous, yet solemn all at once.

His beard, no longer coarse as it once was,

Brushed away the mark of his kiss upon my skin.

A faint unease stirs within my heart.

The nation’s birthday brims with joy and celebration.

Yet within the homeland of my ancestral name,

These hundred days blur wakefulness and slumber alike.

父亲、母亲: 辛丑年八月廿七日（星期日）

——父亲百日祭

白昼，夜晚，我醒着，我睡着。

父亲的眼睛仁，如硬柴的火焰，白炽。来去，去来，来去来。

父亲拉过我的右手，亲吻手背，冰冷。贪玩，调皮，又肃穆。

父亲用他已经不太坚硬的胡须，擦干净我手背上他的吻痕。我有点儿不舒服，是心。

祖国的生日，是喜庆的。我在姓氏的祖国，一百天，似乎醒，似乎睡。

***

Father and Mother: The Fifth Day of the Tenth Lunar Month, Year Gui Mao (Friday)

I lie awake, yet the girl says I am asleep

Well, then let me be one who cannot be roused,

Clutching the pipe mouthpiece my father held between his lips for half his life as I slumber

Upon the bean-green jade pebble, dark stains of old dry tobacco and the crimson tint left by Father’s lips bloom into patterns

Unfolding wide—the pipe mouthpiece stretches like a vast wilderness plain

I remain lost in sleep. The girl busies herself tending delicate porcelain wares

Visions and memories bleed into one realm—click-clack, click-clack, hooves of a herd of horses trotting home

So be it; I will plant myself upon this plain of the pipe mouthpiece

Waiting for wind, waiting for rain, waiting for heavy ripe ears on the branches.

The order of the seasons has fallen out of joint

I struggle to wake. The girl sings a lullaby in a loud, clear voice

Father has moved to his grave dwelling, and now he welcomes Mother to hers.

They slumber, they stir, and they slide the earth’s bolt shut behind them

Heap upon heap of dreadful dream shadows: Father dwells there,

Mother dwells there, my two elder sisters, grandfather and grandmother too

They snare the horse hooves bound for home. My home—I am left an orphan

父亲、母亲: 癸卯年十月初五（星期五）

我醒着，姑娘说我睡着了

好吧，那就做个叫不醒的人，手里攥着父亲噙了半生的烟锅嘴儿睡着

豆青色籽料上，老旱烟的黑、父亲嘴唇的红沁透的花儿

盛开——烟锅嘴儿如阔大的原

我还在睡。姑娘忙碌地打理精致的瓷器

幻视、记忆交混成一个场域——吧嗒吧嗒，吧嗒吧嗒，似马群回家的蹄声

那好，就把自己种在烟锅嘴儿的这片原上吧

等待风、等待雨、等待枝条上的穗儿沉甸甸。季节的次序有点儿乱

我在挣扎着醒来。姑娘高音唱着摇篮曲

父亲乔迁坟穴居住，父亲迎接母亲坟穴居住。他们睡着，他们醒着，他们插上了大地的门闩

可怕的梦影一堆一堆，父亲在里面，母亲在里面，两个姐姐在里面，还有祖父祖母

他们绊住了回家的马蹄。我的家——我的孤儿

_______________________

Read: Peach Blossoms Red – Chinese Poetry

The post Father and Mother – Chinese Poetry first appeared on Sindh Courier.

Events remembered by men are mere accidents.

Only fragments of piano melody above the clouds endure forever.

Zhuang Ling

Zhuang Ling, a young poet and artist, was born in Tianshui, Gansu Province in 1991. He is the recipient of the Youth Poetry Award at the 5th Yellow River Literature Prize, a member of the Chinese Contemporary Literature Research Association, a member and committee member of the Theoretical Art Committee of the Gansu Artists Association, and a member of the Gansu Writers Association. He also serves as Vice President of the Gansu Dunhuang Chinese Painting Academy and Director of the Macao Humanistic Art Research Association. His artistic career has been featured in interviews and reports by numerous media outlets including Gansu Television and China Calligraphy and Painting Channel. He has held solo and joint exhibitions in Beijing, Guangzhou, Zhengzhou, Lanzhou, Zhongshan, Dunhuang, Zhangye, Dingxi, Jiuquan and other cities. His artworks are collected by academic institutions such as Lanzhou University, Lanzhou University of Finance and Economics, Gansu Art Museum and the Digital Publishing Center of Duzhe (Readers) Magazine. He has published multiple poetry collections, including Notes from Weinan, Lanzhou Journals, Picking Vetch on Long Slopes, Departing from Ancient China, and Up and Down the Yellow River: Selected Poems by Xu Zhaoshou and Zhuang Ling. He has also released a number of painting albums, namely Communing with the Spirit of Heaven and Earth: Art Collection by Xu Zhaoshou and Zhuang Ling, This Old Courtyard Is My Home: Collaborative Works by Ma Qingshan and Zhuang Ling, and Watering Horses by the Great Wall: Freehand Flower-and-Bird Paintings by Zhuang Ling.

庄苓：青年诗人，艺术家，1991年生于甘肃天水。第五届黄河文学奖诗歌青年奖获得者，中国当代文学研究会会员，甘肃省美术家协会会员、理论艺术委员会委员，甘肃省作家协会会员，甘肃敦煌中国画院副院长，澳门人文艺术研究会理事。事迹多次被甘肃电视台，中央书画频道等媒体采访报道，前后在北京、广州、郑州、兰州、中山、敦煌、张掖、定西、酒泉等地举办个展或联展。艺术作品被兰州大学、兰州财经大学、甘肃艺术馆、《读者》数字出版中心等学术机构收藏。出版诗集《渭南记事》《兰州笔记》《陇坂采薇》《从古中国出发》《大河上下—徐兆寿庄苓诗歌精选集》多部，画集《与天地精神往来—徐兆寿庄苓作品集》《此是吾家旧庭院—马青山庄苓合写作品集》《饮马长城—庄苓大写意花鸟画作品集》等多部。

Translated by Ma Yongbo

Peach Blossoms Red

Mountains and rivers hold no inherent hue; paper alone bears the painter’s stroke.

We remain praisers and owners speaking with alien accents.

Time offers no abiding home, rivers grant no identity.

Yet the great bard still tinkers with tiny nuances of notes.

The peaks tower as ever, the bridge worn as always.

Events remembered by men are mere accidents.

Only fragments of piano melody above the clouds endure forever.

I love all this fleeting dreariness, all these illusory guises.

No one can stand upright to count each grain of grain and its worth.

Still: west wind, white steed, page after page strewn with miswritten words.

桃花红

山河没有颜色，纸张才是一种笔触

我们依旧是外地口音的赞美者和拥有者

时间不会给你归宿，河流不会给你身份

而伟大的歌者还在摆弄音符的几个细节

山还是那么高，桥还是那么旧

被人记起来的事件是偶然事件

只有云层之上的几段钢琴声是永恒

我爱这些短暂沉闷，爱这些虚幻的打扮

没有人能够站着数清粮食的颗粒和价格

依旧是，西风白马，错字连篇

***

As Such

Slow, soft winds linger time and again

Across the stone-strewn wasteland; dusk has fallen.

Silence wraps around me once more, brief and fraught with haste.

I plant everlasting flowers, their hearts aged wine brewed years ago.

You and I drink apart, till heaven and earth wear thin.

This is no oath. The mountains and rivers of our homeland lie slumbering.

Empty words, it seems, dare not face a sudden outburst.

I lie worthless beneath the wind’s low sweep.

All things pass like flowing water; countless grasses and trees sway on.

如斯

缓慢而柔软的风，不止一次的停留在

满是石头的荒原，天已经黑了

静谧再次覆盖了我，短暂而忙碌

种下永久的花，花蕊是陈年的老酒

你我各自喝着而天荒地老

这算不上誓言，祖国的山河沉睡着

看上去，空洞的词语也碍于一场爆裂

我一无是处的躺在风的低处

逝者如斯，数不清的草木摇晃

***

All Landscapes Carry Freshness

I pass a pagoda tree—

The sole tree on the whole hillside.

With my arrival,

Dusk slackens its pace.

The closest bond in this world

Remains a humble posture amid emptiness.

I lie out on the wilderness,

Where that lone tree

Once stirred endless unease in me.

The sun bleeds crimson at sunset,

Wheat stalks hunch low,

Loess cracked dry.

I stand aside with folded arms,

Powerless to intervene.

All things to me

Are as I am to all things.

所有风景都夹杂着新鲜

路过一棵槐树

整个山坡唯一的树

我的出现

黄昏慢了下来

世上最近的关系

仍是空寂中放低的身段

我躺在旷野

旷野上唯一的树

曾那么让我不安

血色残阳

麦子低矮

黄土干裂

我袖手旁观

无能为力

万物于我

如我于万物

______________________

Read: Dream of Swans – Chinese Poetry

The post Peach Blossoms Red – Chinese Poetry first appeared on Sindh Courier.

Swan after swan,

Winging toward Jishi Mountain in Gansu,

Where the world bears its bitterest sorrows.

Zhao Xiaobo

Zhao Xiaobo, President of the Hong Kong Vanguard Poetry Association, Founding Director of the editorial board of Chinese Schools poetry journal, Editor-in-Chief of Hong Kong’s New Poetry Almanac, Editor-in-Chief of Singapore’s Youmi Poetry Journal, and author of the “Poems on Poetry Circle Figures” series.

In recent years, he has composed poetic biographies for more than one thousand contemporary Chinese poets. He has published eight monographs, including Minor Odes, Seven Strings, Biographies of Poets, Holding the Lamp, Star Chart, as well as Volume I, Volume II and the Platinum Volume of Biographies of Contemporary Poets. Up to now, he has authored a total of seventeen poetry collections.

招小波, 香港先锋诗歌协会会长，《 中国流派》诗刊社创刊社长，香港《新诗黄历》主編，新加坡《有米》诗刊主編，“诗坛人物诗”系列撰写人。近年用诗歌为中国当代一千余位诗人立传, 出版了《小雅》《七弦》《诗列传》《提灯》《星图》《当代诗人列传》上下卷和铂金巻八部专著。至今共著有诗集十七部。

Translated by Ma Yongbo

I Dreamed Swans Flew Into My Quilt

I heard the down manufacturer say

The plumage plucked from two full-grown geese

Could make a thick winter coat.

So last night I dreamed

Swans slipped into my quilt,

Turning all the bitter wind and biting frost

Into blossoms soft as wine’s gentle glow.

I dreamed still more:

Swan after swan,

Winging toward Jishi Mountain in Gansu,

Where the world bears its bitterest sorrows.

梦见天鹅飞进被窝

听厂家说

两只大鹅的羽绒

就可以制一件寒衣

于是，我昨夜梦见

天鹅飞进被窝

把漫天的风刀霜剑

化作了花柔酒软

我还梦见

一只又一只的天鹅

正飞向甘肃的积石山

那里有最寒怆的人间

***

Seeing People, Why Demand Perfect Clarity

After my cataract was removed,

It was like stripping away a heavy veil.

Colours instantly came alive,

Hundreds of blooms blooming in vivid rivalry.

The gloomy city

Suddenly embraced sunlight,

Bursting into countless bright shapes.

Yet my beloved wife,

Aged in the blink of an eye.

All those hidden fine wrinkles

Laid bare before my eyes, plain to see.

To know another human being—

Why insist on crystal clarity?

Let me put the veil back on.

I still prefer the soft haze of days gone by.

阅人，何必非要清晰

当白内障被摘除

就像扯掉了厚厚的面纱

颜色首先获得生命

色彩像百花争妍

阴沉的城市

一下子抱住了阳光

变得千姿百态

曾经的美妻

却在瞬间变老了

一些深藏的皺纹

被看得一清二楚

阅人

何必非要清晰呢

把面纱装回去吧

我还是喜欢以前的朦胧

***

No Sublime Heights, Only Redemption From the Low Ground

That Hollywood blockbuster

Pretty Woman

Ends with two lines

Thought-provoking to the core.

A wealthy businessman falls for a woman of the streets.

He fancies himself an old-world knight

Riding to rescue the “princess trapped in a tower.”

He says: “I saved you.”

The woman replies:

“After you saved me,

I turned around and saved you too.”

The curtain falls here.

Neither of them

Stands upon lofty moral ground.

It is their mutual redemption from humble depths

That renders the story’s theme far more profound.

沒有崇高，只有低处的救赎

好来坞大片

《风月俏佳人》

最后的两句台词

发人深思

富商爱上了风尘女

他充当古代的骑士

去解救 “ 塔尖上的公主 ”

他说：“ 我救了你 ”

风尘女说：

“ 我在获救之后，

反过来救了你 ”

至此，全剧终

没有一个人

站在道德高地

而是在低处的相互救赎

令主题变得更加深刻

_______________________ 

Read: Meeting a Leaf – Chinese Poetry

The post Dream of Swans – Chinese Poetry first appeared on Sindh Courier.

and in one careless fall,

it bears down the whole heavy autumn.

Zhou Zhanlin

Zhou Zhanlin is a member of the Chinese Writers Association. He serves as Editor-in-Chief of China Poetry Network, Deputy Secretary-General of the Organizing Committee for the All-China Poetry Tour, and Vice President of the Institute of Modern Poetry. He has published eighteen works in total, including the full-length novel Lotus Overnight; poetry collections The Couple Tree, You Sit Across from Me, Selected Poems of Zhou Zhanlin, Selected Lyric Poems of Zhou Zhanlin, Chinese Poetry • Volume of Zhou Zhanlin, In Full Bloom, Singing While Marching, Century Love (published in the United States), and Thoughts Among Star Rivers (published in Taiwan); as well as prose anthologies Riding the Tides and Return and Transcendence. He edited Selected Olympic Poems 2008 commissioned by the Cultural Department of the Beijing Organizing Committee for the Games of the XXIX Olympiad. His works have been anthologized in numerous compilations such as Anthology of Outstanding Literary Works of the 70 Years of New China • Poetry Volume, China Poetry Ranking List, and Annual Anthology of Chinese Poetry. His accolades include the Annual Poet Award from Mangzhong Magazine, the Annual Poet Achievement Award from Chinese Poets Journal, the China Long Poem Award, the Guo Xiaochuan Poetry Prize, the 2nd Hong Kong International Poet Award, the Contemporary Fiction Award from the Chinese Fiction Society, the 20th Lebanese Naji Naaman International Literary Prize, and the honorary title of “Poetry Knight” conferred by Romania at the 5th Iași International Poetry Festival. He attended the 12th “Glimpses of Youth” Poetry Session hosted by Poetry Periodical.

周占林，中国作家协会会员。中诗网主编，中国诗歌万里行组委会副秘书长，现代诗歌研究院副院长。出版有长篇小说《一夜芙蓉》、诗集《夫妻树》《你坐在我的对面》《周占林诗选》《周占林抒情诗选》《中国诗歌•周占林卷》《盛开》《且歌且行》《世纪之恋》（美国）《星河有念》（台湾）、散文集《弄潮》《重返与超越》等十八部。主编2008年奥组委文化部《2008奥运诗选》。作品入选《新中国70年优秀文学作品文库•诗歌卷》《中国诗歌排行榜》《中国诗歌年选》等多种选本。曾获《芒种》文学年度诗人奖，《中国诗人》年度诗人成就奖，中国长诗奖，郭小川诗歌奖，第二届香港国际诗人奖，中国小说学会“当代小说奖”，第二十届黎巴嫩纳吉阿曼国际文学奖，罗马尼亚授予第五届雅西国际诗歌节“诗歌骑士”荣誉。参加诗刊社第十二届“青春回眸”诗会。

Translated by Ma Yongbo

Meeting a Leaf at the Botanical Garden

A leaf drifts down from the tree,

and in one careless fall,

it bears down the whole heavy autumn.

Leaf after leaf, tracing autumn’s veins,

drawing near the earth,

as if drawing near their hometown.

I pick my steps with care,

afraid one misstep

will wound the autumn hidden deep beneath fallen leaves.

Boughs sway,

yet the wind stands perfectly still—

only my gaze drifts to and fro.

At the botanical garden, I meet a single leaf.

No excuses needed,

no fanciful longing either.

I need only open my heart wide,

to let this last fallen leaf of autumn

find a fitting resting place.

• 在植物园，我和一片叶子相会

一片叶子从树上飘落

一不小心

就压垮了这个沉重的秋天

一片片，沿着秋的脉络

向泥土靠近

就像靠近自己的故乡的一样

我小心翼翼地寻找落脚之处

害怕一失足

踩痛隐藏在落叶深处的秋天

树枝摇晃

风却纹丝不动

只有我的目光在左右飘移

在植物园，我和一片叶子相会

不需要任何借口

也不需要任何意淫

只需要敞开胸怀

让这个秋天的最后一片落叶

找到一个晚加合适的归处

***

Thin Mid-Autumn Beneath Cool Moonlight

Beneath the osmanthus tree,

endless yearnings wander to and fro.

The sweet, stirring scent

renders the moonlight even whiter.

Yet a cool ache lingers—

after floods, after typhoons sweep through,

only quiet desolation and loneliness remain.

The full, round moon

is torn open by the wind,

letting sorrow pour forth unbridled.

Nostalgia stands alone in the empty night,

tasting the mooncakes of this festival

with melancholy verse,

savouring the bitterness hidden beneath their sweetness.

On this night meant for reunion, countless families drown in grief upon grief,

stretching this Mid-Autumn Festival

thin and endless.

• 凉凉的月光瘦瘦的中秋

桂花树下

游走的是不尽的思念

那些兴奋的味道

让月光更加洁白

而有凉凉的痛

在洪水过后在台风走过

只剩下清寂与孤独

圆圆的月

被风吹破一个缺口

一任悲切流淌

有乡愁站在空旷的夜晚

用愁愁的诗意

品味这个中秋的月饼

在甜中深藏的苦

团圆之夜，有无数家庭在悲苦中悲苦

让这个中秋

有着瘦瘦的漫长

***

Lament for Autumn

The autumns of my childhood

unfolded before my eyes each year.

The autumn winds, the autumn rains,

tumbling with wandering fallen leaves, steeped in peril.

I saw no harvests at all—

every stalk of crop

as lonely and forsaken as my own childhood.

Plants lie drowned in muddy water,

like convicts marched to the execution ground,

listless, their gazes blurred and lost,

submitting to torrential downpours

that unleash a wild, relentless autumn drenching.

Old furniture tucked away in shadow

heaves quiet sighs,

trapped indoors, muffled by gust after gust of wind.

• 秋之叹

小时候的秋天

在这个季节开始在我眼前展现

那秋风，那秋雨

随着落叶的流浪而惊险

我没有看到丰收

所有的庄稼

都和我的童年一样孤苦伶仃

躺在泥水里的植物

就像走上刑场的罪犯

无精打彩且目光迷茫

任一场场暴雨

开启秋浴的狂热模式

隐藏在暗处的家具

发出的叹息

被一阵阵风声堵在屋里

_______________________

Read: A Respite – Poetry from China

The post Meeting a Leaf – Chinese Poetry first appeared on Sindh Courier.

Return to your true, mature self.

Shen Qi, born in Mian County, Shaanxi Province in 1951, embarked on poetic creation and literary activities in the 1970s. Starting from the 1980s, he has long devoted himself to poetry writing, poetic research, poetry teaching and literary criticism up to the present day. He has authored 19 works in total, including Selected Poems of Shen Qi, the three-volume Collected Essays on Poetics by Shen Qi, the seven-volume Selected Prose and Poetry of Shen Qi, the poetic remarks collection Seedless Clouds, and the poetic essays A Cook Dissects Words. He has edited nine anthologies such as the ten-volume Contemporary Remarks on New Poetry, Essentials of Western Poetics, 300 Modern Short Poems, and Taiwanese Poetry of the 1990s. He is currently a member of the China Writers Association and a Distinguished Research Fellow at the Institute of Chinese Poetry, Peking University.

沈奇，1951年生，陕西勉县人。1970年代开始诗歌写作和文学活动，1980年代起诗歌写作、诗学研究、诗歌教学及文艺评论潜沉修远至今。著有《沈奇诗选》《沈奇诗学文集》（三卷）《沈奇诗文选集》（七卷）诗话集《无核之云》诗随笔《庖丁解词》等19种。主编《当代新诗话》（10卷）《西方诗论精华》《现代小诗300首》《九十年代台湾诗选》等9种。现为中国作家协会会员，北京大学中国诗歌研究院特聘研究员。

Translated by Ma Yongbo

A Respite

Stay hidden in the dim like this,

Return to your true, mature self.

You will break free from the tangles of light—

All hollow honors and fabricated truths.

Whether you adorn light,

Or become a fragment of it.

I recall my mother’s soft words from youth:

Turn off the lamp and rest; cease your restless striving.

One line of verse mirrors the moon,

Half a cup of tea calms the heart.

Grass grows freely, unknowing of worldly cares.

《一休》

就这样，待在暗处

成熟原本的你自己

便不再有光的纠缠

那些虚构的荣誉与真理

便是你装饰了光

或成为光的一部分

便想起年轻时母亲的叮咛

关灯睡吧，别再折腾

印月一行诗

牧心半盏茶

草色无知自在萌

***

Sitting Alone on a Southern Balcony

I sit alone on a southern balcony, watching the rain

Watching southern rain arrive and unfold

Vivid trees and heavy blossoms in the downpour

Grey clouds stirred into motion by the wind

This is the balcony of a friend’s house in the south

Borrowing this southern scene, I stand apart

A detached sensitivity settles over me

Restrained yet absorbed, calm yet lost in vague feeling

In this mood, words grow faint

I refuse to speak, to avoid empty sentiment

Reject northern restlessness and hollow longing

Only rest my head gently against my collar

Rest against the rain, against thunder rolling through it

Become one damp living thing among the plants

A single lamp left lit through this dusk

Waiting for a lover inside this borrowed moment

Tonight I will make no calls

Stop asking myself

After the tide rises

Will the shore remain whole…

《独坐于南方的阳台》

独坐于南方的阳台，看雨

看南方之雨的来临与发生

雨中树的鲜活、花的凝重

为风所激动起来的灰色云层

这是南方朋友家的阳台

在借来的、南方式的风景中

一种局外的敏感，使你

矜持而又投入，清新而又莫名

如此的感觉里语言模糊起来

拒绝言说如同拒绝矫情

拒绝北方式的焦虑和虚妄

只是将头静静靠向自己的衣领

靠向雨，雨中滚动的雷声

成为植物淋湿的部份

成为这个黄昏独自亮着的一盏灯

在虚构的情景中等待着恋人

哦，今晚不再打电话

不再提醒自己

涨潮之后，是否

岸会依旧完整……

***

Winter Reading in the North

Heavy snow falls outside the window, no stove burns indoors

Central heating hints at city life

All my friends have gone south

Only the books stay where they always were

I pull one out at random

And flip its pages the whole afternoon

I retain nothing at all

Yet many frayed feelings grow mild

Books are faithful old friends

They stay by your side anytime

And never betray you in secret

Holding the best of lovers and servants both

Such thoughts lighten my heart

Two birds sing within my eyes

At forty, I feel like a boy with his first love

Counting snowflakes drifting down outside

When this poem drifts into mind

I am not bent over the desk staring at books

I sit before the television, watching

A thrilling English football match

The white ball flies like a male pigeon

Darting back and forth over old England

My inspiration is a lazy cat

Roaming slowly across northern China tonight

《北方冬日的读书生活》

窗外大雪，屋内没有炉火

暖气暗示着一种城市生活

朋友们都去了南边

只有书待在老地方

随便抽出其中的一本

就那么翻了一个下午

当然什么也没记住

却温暖了不少冷去的情绪

书真是个恋旧的好朋友

随时会来到你的身边

且从不会悄悄地背叛你

兼有情人和仆人的优点

这样想着心情更加舒畅

眼睛中便有两只小鸟歌唱

四十岁的你便如初恋的小伙

数着窗外的雪花静静飘落

是的，当这首诗悠然降临

你并未守着书桌对书凝神

只是坐在电视机前，看一场

英格兰的足球联赛精彩纷呈

那只白色的皮球像只雄鸽

在过去式的英伦上空来回飞舞

你的灵感则如一只懒猫

在今夜的中国北方缓缓地散步

____________________  

Read: Gloom of Dusk – Chinese Poetry

The post A Respite – Poetry from China first appeared on Sindh Courier.

And take slow walks. Can you picture

My calm steps tinged with faint sorrow?

Chi Lingyun, born in Rui’an, Zhejiang Province in 1966, began writing in 1985. Her poetry collections include The Smallness and Lightness of Eternal Things, Selected Poems of Chi Lingyun, Light Creeping Forward and Golden Lichen. Some of her poems have been translated into English, German, Korean and other languages. She is the recipient of the October Poetry Award, the Dong Dangzi Poetry Prize, and the Outstanding Poet Award of the Liu Bowen Poetry Prize.

池凌云，1966年出生于浙江瑞安，1985年开始写作。著有诗集《永恒之物的小与轻》《池凌云诗选》《潜行之光》《金色地衣》，部分诗作被翻译成英文、德文、韩文等。曾获《十月》诗歌奖、东荡子诗歌奖•诗人奖、刘伯温诗歌奖•杰出诗人奖。

Translated by Ma Yongbo

Gloom of Dusk

Someday I shall lay down my pen

And take slow walks. Can you picture

My calm steps tinged with faint sorrow? By then

I will have settled all debts for every joy I’ve known,

No more restless dread. I am no fugitive,

Nor do I bear any glory to speak of.

I simply let all visions come to me:

A fir tree, beside a bodhi tree.

Silently I inscribe the vastness of great souls,

The weariness of nameless lives,

The hush of dead desires.

Then my nightfall shall set forth, bearing my new birth.

I remain clumsy, unversed in spring breezes:

Depth is but an ancient dry well. Warmth

Resides in the hearts of strangers hurrying down roads.

All things will shift, all things fade—

There shall be no lakeshore left to haunt my memory. Not even

My most beloved melody can sing the whole of me.

I know not whether to turn left or right. A thousand times

I rouse myself, lifting my face to the sky

I’ve gazed upon a thousand times. At last it sinks into gloom—

This truest light, drawing me deep within itself.

This unshakable beauty of despair holds me lost in solitary reverie.

黄昏之晦暗

 总有一天，我将放下笔

开始缓慢的散步。你能想象

我平静的脚步略带悲伤。那时

我已对我享用的一切付了帐

不再惶然。我不是一个逃难者

也没有可以提起的荣耀

我只是让一切图景到来：

一棵杉树，和一棵

菩提树。我默默记下

伟大心灵的广漠。无名生命的

倦怠。死去的愿望的静谧。

而我的夜幕将带着我的新生

启程。我依然笨拙，不识春风：

深邃只是一口古井。温暖

是路上匆匆行人的心

一切都将改变，将消失

没有一个可供回忆的湖畔。甚至

我最爱的曲子也不能把我唱尽

我不知道该朝左还是朝右。我千百次

将自己唤起，仰向千百次眺望过的

天空。而它终于等来晦暗——这

最真实的光，把我望进去

这难卸的绝望之美，让我独自出神。

***

Iron Water Lily

When a block of iron is melted, plated silver,

And cast into the shape of a water lily,

It resembles a brief ballad, exquisite yet desolate,

Casting faint glimmers amid cups and goblets.

Its desolation is tangible. Hard sharp edges

Carry a wisp of cold; where the metal seems broken,

Raised veins stretch outward—a new birth

Spanning from raw iron to a lily bloom.

A subtle revelation lingers within it:

The fine grain etched into metallic leaf veins,

The deliberate missing notch, neither too big nor too small,

An exact likeness of unfulfilled longing.

What of the craftsman’s hands behind this forging?

Why are they obsessed with stitching fractures whole?

The art of poetry, the craft of mending brokenness,

Is fraught with uncertainty. A lump of iron,

Aided by molten liquid, enters a unique mould,

Taking shape while bearing inherent rifts.

This transformation can blur a master artisan’s gaze,

Deadening his sharp sense of smell.

This improbable fusion brings quiet perplexity,

Like a poem woven from endless ambiguities.

A brand-new creation carries on,

Marked with minor flaws, ashes hidden deep inside,

While an indescribable beauty flows endlessly forth.

铁睡莲

当一块铁被溶解，被镀上银色

并有了一朵睡莲的形状

像一首短歌，精致而荒凉

在杯盏之间流泻淡淡光泽。

它的荒凉是真实的，坚硬的边角

带有一丝寒意，断裂之处

有凸出的经络延展，一种新的诞生

从一块铁，到达一朵睡莲。

某种微妙的启示

比如金属的叶脉中，细密的纹理

比如这故意缺损的一角，不多不少

正如无法抵达之遗憾。

这背后的锻造之手，

为何热衷于弥合？

诗的艺术，避免破碎的艺术

也有不确定性。而一块铁

借助溶液，到达一种特殊的容器

形成结构与分歧。

这过程足以让一个好匠人的目光

突然模糊，嗅觉失灵

这不可能的交融，带来困扰

像一首充满不确定之诗

全新的发明，在延续

尽管有些许残损，一些灰烬隐藏其中

而一种难以言说的美，在流动。

***

Mother, Every Time I Teeter on the Brink of Collapse

Mother, every time I teeter on the brink of collapse,

I long to come see you. To behold how you bear everything

Without complaint or regret, unflinchingly resigned.

What you taught me goes far beyond mere endurance—

It is a whole way of being alive. And yet

Countless times I’ve caught you

Sitting alone in pitch darkness,

Lingering for ages, unwilling to turn on the light.

Mother, you tell me not to dwell on absurd trivialities,

Not to steep myself too deeply in grief.

“Nothing will ever amount to nothing, never.”

“Even if all seems reduced to emptiness, do not draw your verdict—

Or it shall surely come to pass.”

Again and again, I marvel

That you never received formal schooling,

Yet your wisdom dwarfs mine by far.

Mother, your flowery summer dress brings to mind

An aged flower goddess dwelling hidden among mortals.

You still think of the childhood betrothal arranged for me long ago,

Softly murmuring your excuse: “We were simply too poor back then.”

You chatter of mundane odds and ends as you tidy bowls and plates

In the kitchen, and every clink and rustle you make

Speaks against my despair: nothing exists

That cannot be borne. Nor does any perfect, finer life await us.

One of my feet bears an old wound, while the other

Cannot resist the pull sinking me down. Bereft of strength

To carry my burdens, sorrow overwhelms me. Some mending,

I find, no longer works at all. Mother, last night

I dreamed I’d lost my mind. In that dream,

My clothes hung tattered, and I could not recall the way home.

You gazed at me like a sorrowful horse

Halfway up the mountain slope, turning back

To watch me with unending grief in your eyes.

母亲，每一次濒临崩溃的边缘

母亲，每一次濒临崩溃的边缘

我就想来看看你。看你无怨无悔，

坦然接受一切的样子。

你教我的，不止是忍耐

而是一种活着的态度。可是

好多次我看到你

也独自坐在黑暗中，

久久不愿开灯。

母亲，你要我不要介意荒谬的日常，

不要过度品尝那些伤心事。

“不会一切等于零，不会的。”

“即使一切等于零，也别下结论，

不然就会真的应验。”

一次又一次，我惊讶

你并没有读过书。

我的智慧，却远不如你。

母亲，你夏天的花衣让我想到

老去的花神，隐身在人间。

你惦记着早年给我定娃娃亲，

委婉地解释，“只怪家里太贫穷。”

你一边说着琐事，一边在厨房

整理碗碟，你发出的每一种声音

都在反驳我：没有什么

不堪承受。也没有更好的生活。

我一只脚受过伤，另一只

抵不住下坠之势。失去负重的能力

让我禁不住悲伤。而有些修补法，

已不管用。母亲，昨天夜里

我梦见自己疯了。在梦中，

我衣衫褴褛，不记得回家的路，

你看着我，像一头忧伤的马，

在半山腰，你回头，忧伤地

望着我。

______________________

Read: Cold Moon of the Tang Dynasty

The post Gloom of Dusk – Chinese Poetry first appeared on Sindh Courier.

No wine, no meat. His frail frame stands firm, bearing a stance of unbroken resolve.

Tang Honghui (1975), Member of the Poetry Committee of the China Society of Popular Literature and Art, and Member of the Hunan Federation of Literary and Art Circles. His works have been published in eight major poetry journals including Poetry Periodical, Stars, Poetry Tide, Green Wind and Yangtze River Poetry Journal, as well as literary periodicals such as Chinese Artists, Lotus, Hunan Literature and Xiangjiang Literature, alongside numerous poetry anthologies. He is the recipient of multiple honors including the 4th National Qu Yuan Cup Poetry Competition Award, the inaugural Annual Poetry Award of European Poets, and the Annual Poetry Award of Chinese Poets. He has published a poetry collection titled Moonlight Flows Through the World.

汤红辉（1975-），中国通俗文艺研究会诗歌委员会委员、湖南省文联委员。作品散见于《诗刊》《星星》《诗潮》《绿风》《扬子江诗刊》等八大诗刊及《中国文艺家》《芙蓉》《湖南文学》《湘江文艺》等文学期刊和多种诗歌选本。曾获第四届“屈原杯”全国诗歌大赛奖、首届《欧洲诗人》年度诗歌奖、《中国诗人》年度诗歌奖等荣誉。出版有诗集《月光流过人间》。

Translated by Ma Yongbo

A Tribute to Liu Zongyuan (Poem Suite)

Epigraph

In 805, Liu Zongyuan was demoted to Sima of Yongzhou after the failure of the Yongzhen Reform. He received the imperial edict to return to the capital in 815. During his ten years in Yongzhou, he roamed mountains and rivers and composed the Eight Records of Yongzhou. Through depicting landscapes and natural scenes, he poured forth his inner aspirations and sentiments, pioneering a distinctive school of landscape prose.

致敬柳宗元（组诗）

题记：805年，因永贞革新失败，柳宗元被贬为永州司马，至815年诏书回京。永州10年中，他游历山水，写下《永州八记》，写景状物，多所寄托，开创山水散文一派。

A Cold Moon of the Tang Dynasty

Inside taverns along Chang’an’s streets, goblets clink and cups overflow,

Liu Zongyuan helps his aged mother climb the carriage bound for Shaozhou,

Mid-journey, hooves thunder fast, an imperial edict sends him straight to Yongzhou,

He looks back, above Chang’an hangs one cold, solitary moon.

On the Xiang River, the boat struggles upstream against the current,

No wine, no meat. His frail frame stands firm, bearing a stance of unbroken resolve.

An old fisherman burns bamboo to cook meal on Western Hills; fragrance drifts into the cabin,

In a daze, a fisher’s oar cry echoes, and mountains and rivers burst into full green.

The Xiang, the Xiao, the Foolish Stream

Though three thousand waters flow, he chooses only the Foolish Stream to keep him company.

From then on, the imperial court fades far away, the folk hinterlands

And mortal hearts are separated only by the thin blue robe of a prefectural Sima.

《唐朝一片冷月》

长安街，酒肆内觥筹交错

柳宗元搀扶老母登上前往邵州的马车

半路马蹄声急，一纸御旨直指永州

回望长安一片冷月

湘江之上，逆水行舟

无酒无肉，瘦弱的身影站立成一个逆袭姿势

渔翁在西山烧竹煮饭，清香直达船舱

恍惚间欸乃一声山水全绿了

湘水、潇水、愚溪

弱水三千，独选愚溪作伴

从此庙堂渐远

而江湖和人心只隔着司马薄薄的青衫

***

The Sima Brushes the Old Dust from His Robes

Snow falls ceaselessly, drifting all the way from the imperial capital,

Past the Hengyue Mountains, it blankets the whole land of Xiao and Xiang,

This flawless white carpet stretches straight from Chang’an to Yongzhou.

Liu Zongyuan straightens his official headwear and robes,

Then mounts the stone steps of Longxing Temple with head held high,

The sight transports him back to the Daming Palace at morning court.

Leaning lightly against the northern window, he holds palm-leaf scriptures in hand,

He pictures Jiang Ziya angling by the Wei River,

Who waited long enough to meet King Wen at last.

Outside the window, an old fisherman sits with his rod,

His immense loneliness stirs every thread of his straw raincoat,

Resounding with the trembling note of an entire age,

So he takes up his brush and pens lines of verse at will.

At that hour, venomous serpents slumber deep within frozen soil;

Banana leaves outside Green Heaven Nunnery chant Buddhist sutras together amid bitter wind.

Crackers pop in the distance, must the New Year be drawing near?

The Sima brushes the old dust from his robes,

Setting aside all thoughts of the imperial court for a while.

《司马掸了掸衣上的旧尘》

雪一直下，自京师而来

经衡岳，覆盖整个潇湘

这洁白无瑕的地毯从长安径直铺到永州

柳宗元扶正衣冠，昂首踏上龙兴寺的台阶

这让他想起早朝的大明宫

轻倚北窗，手持贝叶书

他看见姜子牙渭水垂钓，终是等来了文王

窗外渔翁垂钓，千万孤独感动蓑衣上每根神经

发出时代的颤音

于是他随手写下了一些诗句

其时，异蛇仍深眠于冻土

蕉叶在绿天庵外寒风中齐诵梵音

爆竹声起，该是过年了吧

司马掸了掸衣上的旧尘

把庙堂暂且放了下来

***

Every Stretch of folk hinterlands is a Temple for Spiritual Cultivation

Which flurries of snow drift down from the northern lands,

Which snowflakes take shape amid Xiao and Xiang’s expanse,

After swirling endlessly, they sink into Foolish Stream, yielding calmly to the fate of water.

He builds his hut by the brook, learning to reconcile and make peace with a river,

He learns from barnyard grass to bow low, and restrains the stubborn white-headed reeds,

Every stretch of rivers and lakes is a temple for spiritual cultivation,

It is his own mortal body that sits upon the lotus dais at last.

The first autumn leaf of the Tang Dynasty traces a graceful arc through the woods

Has anyone heard its soft sound as it touches the ground?

A startled elk stirs the Sima’s boundless melancholy.

Chang’an, where horse hooves thunder in urgent haste,

The Sima steps down from his lotus seat.

《每一处江湖都是修行的庙宇》

哪一片雪来自北方

哪一些雪花产自潇湘

纷纷扰扰之后，落入愚溪安然接受水的命运

结庐在溪畔，学会与一条河流握手言欢

学稗子弯腰，也隐敛芦苇白头的执着

每一处江湖都是一座修行的庙宇

端坐莲台的终是自己的肉身

大唐的第一片秋叶在林间划着美丽弧线

可曾听见落地的声响

一只麋鹿惊起司马的怅然若失

长安，马蹄声疾

司马，走下莲台

_________________________________

Read: Sweeping Snow – Poetry from China

The post Cold Moon of the Tang Dynasty first appeared on Sindh Courier.

Letting flakes settle thick on his cap and eyebrows.

Li Shangyu writes poetry and fiction, and engages in theoretical research on modern Chinese new poetry. His poems have appeared in major domestic literary journals including Poetry Periodical, Mountain Flowers, October and People’s Literature. His writing centers on the aesthetic modernity of everyday life. Rooted in the classical Chinese poetic tradition, his verse bears the Japanese aesthetic quality of mono no aware (the pathos of transient beauty). Academically, he is influenced by the thought of Maurice Merleau-Ponty, the French phenomenologist. He currently serves as a part-time research fellow at the Chinese Poetry Research Center of Anhui Normal University.

李商雨，写诗、小说，并从事新诗理论研究。曾在《诗刊》《山花》《十月》《人民文学》等中国国内文学刊物发表诗歌。其写作注重日常生活的审美现代性，诗歌植根中国古典诗学传统，兼有日本物哀特质；另外，在学术上，还受到了法国现象学家梅洛-庞蒂思想的影响。现为安徽师范大学中国诗学研究中心兼职研究员。

Translated by Ma Yongbo

Sweeping Snow

Father bends low, gripping the broom with both hands to sweep snow away.

Stone tiles emerge beneath the yard’s white blanket;

He has cleared a path leading from the main hall

All the way to the front gate,

While snow still falls thick and fast.

He sweeps on without pause, refusing to rest,

Letting flakes settle thick on his cap and eyebrows.

This sight unfolding before my eyes drowns me in overwhelming loneliness.

It takes me back to childhood, crossing snow-blanketed streets

On my way to school. Every grown soul out sweeping snow,

Chatting as they work.

Children dash about in wild laughter,

Chasing one another through the drifts.

The street I tread shimmers with pale white light,

Yet for some reason, that radiance carries a dimness within it,

Hollow and desolate to behold.

• 扫雪

父亲双手握着扫帚弯腰扫雪。

院子里地砖显露出来

他已经扫出一条从堂屋

通向大门口的路了

而雪还正下得紧。

他不停地扫，不肯停下

任凭雪落在他的帽子上、眉毛上。

这眼前的一幕让我无比孤独。

就像童年时代，穿过一条白色街道

去上学，街上的人都在扫雪

他们一边说话，一边扫。

而孩子们在疯笑着

相互追逐

我走过的街道充满了白光。

但不知为什么，那些白光却是暗的

看上去有些空无。

***

I Can Never See Your Face

Now I am back to the place where I spent my childhood.

A brick path stretches down the long, narrow courtyard,

Jujube and pomegranate trees line one side,

Connected side chambers and the kitchen the other.

Why is the light so dim?

Has it always been this shadowed?

I walk the length of the brick path from one end to the other,

And stop beneath the kitchen’s eave.

Yes, this is where I stand. I know

You will surely appear in the kitchen doorway,

Just as you always have been—

Yet I can never make out your face.

A haze of slate grey, no distinct features at all,

A dark blue towel wrapped over your head,

A lined cross-collar jacket on your frame.

Why do you always come to me like this,

Even when I know full well I am dreaming?

• 我总是看不见你的脸

现在，我又回到幼年生活的地方。

狭长的庭院铺着一条砖路，

一边种着枣树、石榴树，

一边是相连的厢房和厨房。

为什么光线这么昏暗

难道不是一直这么暗吗

我从砖路的一头走向另一头，

在厨房的屋檐下站住了。

是的，我就站在这里，我知道

你必定会出现在厨房的门口，

是的，和以往一样，

我总是看不见你的脸。

一团青灰，没有五官，头上顶着

深蓝色毛巾，上身穿斜襟夹袄。

为什么，你总是这样出现

即便我在梦里知道这是梦里

***

Falling in Love with Time

We walk along the river embankment.

To our left stretch half a sky dotted with lamplights,

And to our right flows the river.

The sky on the right is far deeper in hue than the left,

With Jupiter twinkling above the treeline.

You break into a run, letting out joyful cries.

We hurry after you at a half-jog.

As we race forward,

The luminous expanse of sky on the left sways and shimmers,

While the sky to our right grows ever calmer,

Unfathomably profound.

Against the glow of the left sky,

The river on the right darkens further.

No sound of flowing water reaches our ears; nothing can be discerned.

Upon this embankment, your laughter,

The sight of you running freely,

Render the whole world shrouded in quiet mystery.

This is how we fall in love with time itself.

• 爱上时光

我们走在江堤上

左边是半天的灯火，

右边是江水。

右边的天空比左边的天空深很多，

木星在树林的上面闪烁。

你开始跑动，同时发出欢乐的叫声。

我们只好在后面半小跑地跟上。

在跑动的过程中，

左边的天空开始晃动，

那是明亮的部分。

而右边的天空却越发沉静，

仿佛深不可及。

在左边天空的映衬下，

右边的江水更加幽暗，

听不见水声，什么都看不见。

在江堤上，你的笑声，

你跑动的样子，让人世间

变得这么神秘莫测。

我们就是这样爱上时光的。

________________________ 

Read: Water Lilies – Poetry from China

The post Sweeping Snow – Poetry from China first appeared on Sindh Courier.