(I’ve been under too much pressure recently, so I’ll translate some poems randomly. I’m just expressing my subjective feelings about poetry.)
The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock
BY T. S. ELIOT
Then let's go, you and me,
When the night is spread across the sky,
Like a patient being Anesthesia is as good as on the operating table.
Let's go, through some deserted streets,
Through the sleepless nights in cheap hotels,
Chattering to oneself,
And row upon row of restaurants covered in sawdust and oyster shells:
The streets wind like a lengthy argument,
with sinister intent ,
Leading you to the big question...
Oh, don’t ask, “What is that?”
Let’s go with it Be a guest.
The women walking through the room
Talking about Michelangelo.
The yellow fog caressing its back on the window glass,
The yellow smoke twisting its animal mouth on the window glass,
It once licked its tongue into the corners of the night,
It once wandered around the pond leaning against the ditch,
It once let the cinders rolling out of the chimney tip over on its back ,
When I slid down from the balcony and jumped,
I saw this soft late autumn night,
I walked around the house , fell into sleep.
Indeed, there will be time
Let the yellow smoke pass through the streets,
lean on the window glass and rub your back;
There will be, there will be time
Let a face encounter the shapes you have encountered;
There will be time to drag the soul to the underworld or to the human world;
All labor and civilization are condensed into the current time,
Throwing a question in front of you;
Your time, my time,
p>
There are still a hundred times to hesitate,
A hundred times to go to the bizarre and the precipice,
all before finishing this worldly fireworks.