Zhdanov [Russian]
When the bird dies,
Its tired bullet is crying,
That bullet is like a bird,
Its only hope is to fly.
Very simple, very straightforward, I don't need to say more. I should remind you that the only adjective "tired" is a bullet. Why are you tired? Tired of traveling? The desire to fly came to an abrupt end because of birds? Think for yourself. The two trajectories cross and tend to annihilate at the same time, and the brilliant spark only shows the degree of energy release. A few years ago, a comet hit Jupiter, which was novel and fun for human beings. Further on, an asteroid hitting the American continent is not fun, because it wiped out the whole Mesozoic era. In the cosmic galaxy, such collisions are constantly staged, which is the so-called natural law. Only God can end this game. With living things, "primates" are different after they evolved from living things. As a result, the trajectory of artificial crossing is becoming more and more complicated, and it is difficult to complete it in one sentence, or it can be called fate. It is not only sparks but also blood flowers that mark the fierce collision. For example, for a beautiful face, thousands of spears collided with the trajectory of Trouvat's chest, producing bright flowers. There are also some accidents in the artificial trajectory, such as a loose tile hitting someone's head. But there are still many unnatural things. Today's civilization is that human ancestors fought their way out in the jungle of Africa. The topic is getting bigger and bigger, which has reached the level of philosophical existence. There are also some invisible tracks that overlap, such as words, thoughts and power. They are abandoned by different institutions, and the strong often annex the weak ... I don't know about these, and it has nothing to do with this poem by zhdanov. Stop. Back in zhdanov, the philosophy implied in this little poem seems to be more than the sadness and joy of fate, which is the beauty of the poem. There is another intersection, not at the same time, so there is no way to let anyone get in the way. For example, a few years later, I met zhdanov's path, so I could play with it again and again. Ivan zhdanov, 1948, was born in Altai rural area not far from China. He is about the age of our leader now and should retire in 2008. Through independent exploration, zhdanov became the representative figure of Russian trendy poetry. Using the fragments of language, experience and memory, he not only praised or satirized the world like a postmodernist, but also tried to oppose postmodernism and create a real voice of expression in the contemporary era. Zhdanov lives in Moscow now. This poem was translated by Liu. I like Liu very much. In the field of translation (not limited to Russian), Liu is a knowledgeable and energetic translator. Good eloquence, too.