Modern Poetry on the Spring Equinox (2)

8. "Farewell to Landscape"

Text/Vislava Szymborska

I don’t blame spring,

It has reappeared.

I won’t blame,

Because, year after year,

It fulfills its duties.

I know that my sadness

cannot stop Xinlu.

The blades only bend in the wind.

It does not pain me to see something that makes the alder trees rustle in the clumps by the water's edge.

I got a piece of news,

The embankment of the lake is still beautiful, just like before?

Just like you are alive when.

I don’t resent

This view,

This bay with dazzling sunshine.

I can even imagine,

At this moment,

It is not us, but two other people

Sitting on the fallen white birch On the tree trunk.

I respect their right:

To whisper, to laugh,

To fall into blissful silence.

I even believe that,

They are bound together by love,

He stretched out his strong arms

to hold her in his arms inside.

Perhaps it is a newly hatched bird

It is rustling in the reeds.

I sincerely hope

that they can hear me.

Farewell to the scenery

I do not ask for it

The changes in the waves,

They are sometimes fast, sometimes slow,

Does not follow my orders.

I have no expectations about the depth of the lake near the forest.

It was green at first,

and then turned blue,

Finally it became dark again.

There is only one thing I disagree with:

Let me come back here.

Do I give up?

The privilege of survival.

I have lived longer than you, which is enough,

It is enough for me to miss you bitterly from afar.

9. "Spring, Ten Haizi"

Text/Haizi

In spring, all ten Haizi are resurrected

In the bright In the scenery

Laughing at this savage and sad Haizi

Why did you sleep for so long?

In spring, ten Haizi roared lowly

Dancing and singing around you and me

Tearing your black hair, riding on you and flying away, the dust is flying

You were split open Pain spreads across the earth

In spring, the savage and vengeful Haizi

This is the only one left, the last one

This is the son of the night, immersed in winter, Fascinated with death

Unable to extricate myself, loving the empty and cold countryside

Where the grains are piled high, covering the windows

Half of them are in one family The mouths, food and stomachs of six people

Half of them are used for agriculture, and they reproduce themselves

The strong wind blows from east to west, from north to south, ignoring the night and dawn

What do you mean by dawn

10. "Spring"

Four seasons? Spring song

?Dedicated to Juan Juan

Text/Zhang Zao

One day your noisy voice

A virtual circle rose along the long telephone line

I am here thinking about you over there, where are you?

Thin clothes and pink you in the gentle sunshine

Thick hair scattered in the wind outside the window

How uneasy your eyes are when the distant breath spreads

As uneasy as seeds, my dear

I stared at you in that unfamiliar direction in surprise

The thawing clouds stick to you tightly

I want to tell you that everything has changed since then

The sycamore tree walked away coldly without an old man or a kite

The road has completely changed. I smoke a cigarette?

I stick close to you and look at the approaching clouds in the distance.

You said this is the last day. It’s also the last day

Everything is sprouting. You asked me what I was doing

You said there are thousands of new leaves floating in the air

You keep Shake me, shake me, you want

Stretch your body and let me imagine the movements of birds

You want me to sprout, want me to come closer, come closer

Tight Closely stick to my slightly swollen white soap face

11. "Bright Moment"

Text/Xichuan

What is extremely precious is that The bright moment

Returning to my heart in the winter depression

In a northern city

I am defeated by life

What is bright is a cigarette and a lyrical song

What is bright is the young man’s pure voice and his guitar

What is bright is a cloud in front of the door and in front of the window A flower

Bright is the torrent of sunlight rolling through the street

Bright is the high-spirited hair of a young woman

Bright is your joy. The flight of joy

It is you who stops at dusk

Call my name

I hear this call

This call makes I yearn for you

But I stand far away under the sycamore tree and look at you

Appearing among the crowd and disappearing like a shadow

It is that How bright the dusk in late spring is

How bright it is when you pass by me

You bring me the feeling of the coming shower

I put This feeling carries into the dark night of December

12. "Give the Thawing Wind"

Text/Frost

Oh, the noisy southwest wind, Come with the rain!

Bring singers, bring nest-builders;

Give dreams to buried fallen flowers;

Let stable snow banks Transpiration;

Please find the brown beneath the white;

But everything you do tonight,

Wash my windows, please let it flow,

Melt the snow after it has gone;

Melt the glass and leave the sticks behind;

Like a hermit’s cross;

Please break into my narrow stall;

Please shake the paper on the wall;

Turn over the chattering pages;

Please disperse the noise from the floor Poetry;

And drove the poet out the door.

13. "The Last Lesson"

Text/Chen Xianfa

The spring at that time was dense and difficult to stir, and the wild rapeseed flowers

Over the mountains and ridges. The sweet buzzing of bees hangs in the bright vision

The lonely small hydropower stations in thirteen provinces are all generating electricity. And she

still didn’t come. You are holding Murabe's black rocker phone

Your lips are purple and trembling. You look much thinner now

than you did in the fifties. Still wearing a blue khaki tunic suit

Her hair is parted, and chalk dust falls on her thick eyebrows

She has to teach the sick girl one last lesson before sunset.

You hold a paper umbrella and walk through the silent fields in late spring. As a person who has passed away for many years, you are very light and the mud will not splash on your trousers

14. "In Spring"

Text/Zhai Yongming

In spring, when the fake flowers on the tree bloom until they are blushing

I miss the traditional authentic flowers The mountains

The real water, the flowers and birds, and the fine brushwork

The colors that make the girl’s face beautiful

The beauty comes from the plants

Obtaining Qi

Sleeping in the mountains has become traditional

Thinking of that person in the mountains

Getting up, washing your face and working hard

Born with cold bones

Irrelevant to all dynasties

In my life, I will always meet a noble heart

I meet in some poems

In a certain In these paintings

In the lotus leaves or among the rows of fish

With the ancient meaning that cannot be removed

I break the pen and dry it

Broken pen and dry pen

Unable to relieve inner weariness

Paper and ink fly towards the time in the heart

Flying over a landscape