On Ye Zhi's English poem Sailing to Byzantium
That's not the country of old people. Young people
Hugging each other, the birds are in the tree.
-The dying generation.-In their songs,
Salmon waterfall, mackerel-dense ocean,
Fish, meat, or poultry are recommended all summer.
Life or death.
Immersed in music, everyone was ignored.
Monument to immortal wisdom.
An old man is just a trivial thing,
A tattered coat is on a stick unless.
Soul clapping and singing, singing loudly.
Every rag in mortal clothes,
There is no singing school, only study.
Its own magnificent monument;
So I traveled across the ocean to come here.
Go to the holy city of Byzantium.
Oh, saints standing in the flame of God.
Like the golden mosaic on the wall,
From the sacred flame, spinning in rotation,
Become a master singer of my soul.
Consume my heart; Full of desire
Tied to a dying animal
It doesn't know what it is; Call me.
Into the eternal scam.
Once divorced from nature, I will never
My body shape comes from anything natural,
But this form, made by a Greek goldsmith,
Hammer gold and gold enamel
Keep the sleepy emperor awake;
Or stand on a golden branch and sing.
The nobles and ladies of Byzantium
Past, past, coming.
That's not a country for the elderly. young people
Hug each other; The dying generation,
Birds in the tree are singing;
Fish waterfall, the sea is full of blue and white fish,
Fish, animals or birds praise all summer.
Everything that exists in life and death.
Addicted to the music of the senses, everyone neglected.
An eternal monument to reason.
An aging old man is just a waste,
It was a tattered coat propped on a stick,
Unless the soul clapped its hands and sang, for its sake.
Every crack in the skin sings louder;
But there is no school to teach singing, only
Study the glory recorded on the monument,
So I crossed the ocean to come here.
The sacred castle of Byzantium.
Oh, smart guy! Standing in the flame of God,
Like the golden eagle on the mural,
Coming out of the divine fire, spinning in the sky,
Please be the singing teacher of my soul.
Burning my heart, it's tied to a
Dying flesh, corroded by desire,
I don't know what it used to be; Please ... as soon as possible
Collect me into the eternal artistic arrangement.
Once I'm divorced from nature, I won't be divorced from it.
Any natural object has my shape,
As long as the Greek goldsmith used gold glaze
Hammer gold,
Supply the sleepy emperor to stay awake;
Or sing on a golden branch
Everything past, present and future.
The nobles and ladies of Byzantium
On Ye Zhi's English Poetry Part II When you are old,
When you are old, gray-haired and sleepy,
Take a nap by the fire, take down this book,
Read slowly, imagine the gentle eyes,
Your eyes were once, and their shadows were deep;
When you are old, gray-haired and sleepy,
Take a nap by the fire, please write down this poem.
Read slowly and recall the tenderness of your eyes in the past.
Recall the heavy shadows of their past;
How many people love your happy and elegant moments,
Love your beauty with false or true love;
But there is one person who loves your pilgrim soul,
Love the sadness on your aging face;
How many people love you when you are young and happy,
Out of hypocrisy or sincerity, the beauty of adore you;
Only one person loves your pilgrim soul,
Love the painful wrinkles on your aging face;
Bend down by the glowing fireplace,
Whispering a little sadly, how love dies.
Pacing on the mountains overhead,
Hide his face among the stars.
Bend down beside the blazing fire,
Whispering sadly that love is gone,
On the mountain overhead, love walks slowly,
Hide your face among the stars.
On Ye Zhi's English Poetry (3) The Lover tells the story of the rose in his heart.
Author: William Butler Yeats
Everything ugly and broken, everything shabby and old,
The cry of a child by the roadside, the creak of a heavy cart,
The farmer's heavy footsteps are splashed with winter mold,
Your image is wrong, and a rose blooms in my heart.
The mistake of intangible things is a big mistake that cannot be told;
I am eager to rebuild them and sit on a green hill.
With the earth, sky and water, it is like a golden box.
Because I dreamed of your image and opened a rose in my heart.
The rose in my heart
Ye Zhi's Poetry/Li Li's Translation
Everything is broken and incomplete, and everything is worn out.
The heavy carriage creaked and the children cried all the way.
Farmers trudge and fertile soil splashes in winter.
The beautiful image of the rose reflects my heart, but it is flawed.
The defects of ugly things are too serious to describe;
I sat on the distant green hill, eager to rebuild it,
It is composed of the earth, the sky and the river, just like a golden box.
Dress up in a dream, like a rose in full bloom in my heart.