Author: Yuan Ruojuan
(Wedding Dance in Gana Village, Galili Prefecture)
Black eyes,
Oh my dream The woman in the middle,
Ivory dance clogs,
No one can dance like you
With such nimble feet.
In the tent
In the broken darkness,
I cannot find you.
At the well, among the women carrying water,
I cannot find you.
Your arms are like twigs under the bark of a tree;
Your face is like the river water under the moonlight.
As white as almonds are your shoulders,
Fresh almonds that have just opened their hard shells.
There is no eunuch to guard you,
There is no brass railing to stop you.
Where you rest, there is turquoise inlaid with gold and silver,
A brown robe, embroidered with gold thread, wraps you around you,
Oh, Nathat-lkanaie, "the tree by the water."
Your hand rests on my shoulder, like a stream among the calamus bushes,
The running water freezes into your fingers.
Your girlfriend is as white as a garden stone at the bottom of a stream.
Their music surrounds you.
There is no other dancer like you,
so nimble on your feet.
(Translated by Zhao Yiheng)
(USA) Ezra Pound
Jesus once passed by the village of Cana in Galilee, where a grand ceremony was being held. At the wedding dance, when the wine was exhausted but the fun was still lingering, and the lights were dimmed but the people were still there, Jesus showed extraordinary divine power and turned six large vats of water into six large vats of fine wine. Maybe it's good wine that makes people drunker, maybe it's good wine that makes people more excited. The people were excited and excited. Among the carnival and dancing crowd, she was the only one who stood out.
The poet looked carefully. Dazzlingly white, tender and dripping. Like almonds that have just emerged from the shell, like twigs that have just sprouted. His face is like water, quiet and elegant.
The poet touches timidly. Smooth and cool. Like the rushing stream among the calamus bushes, like the humming stream among the flowers.
The poet listened quietly. The stream water hits the garden stones at the bottom of the stream, making a ding-ding-dong-dong noise, and the beads fall on the jade plate, playing a tune. The garden stones surround the creek, and the garden stones hold out the clear spring, just like a lyric poem, like an aria.
Who is she? Could it be the noble princess of the Sultan's harem? She is covered in embroidery and gold. Escaped from the cage, broke free from the shackles, came to this free place, and danced to the fullest. Could it be that they are fairies sent by Jehovah to show off Jesus’ divine power and to cheer up Jesus’ good deeds.
In the darkness, the poet cannot find her; among ordinary people, the poet cannot find her, but her dancing posture remains deeply in the poet's mind, and her beauty is firmly buried in the poet's mind. In my heart. The poet will never forget this dancer with ivory clogs and light steps.
This poem is like a serenade, like a love song under the moonlight, hazy, blurred, peaceful and remote.