motherly love
is like the spring wind
only when she gently blows the earth will it be green
motherly love
is a cloud in the sky
always let the scorching sun
drive through her body first
give the earth wind for rain and bring peace
motherly love
is a sunset after rain. To my mother
Goethe
Although I haven't greeted you for a long time,
I haven't written to you, but don't let your heart
doubt, as if your son's due love for you has
disappeared from my chest. Not at all. Just like that rock,
it is deeply rooted forever under the water.
It will never leave its original place, even if it is running water.
Sometimes it flows over it with wind and waves, and sometimes people can't see it.
My love for you is also inseparable from
my chest, though.
Covered and blocked, it can't
appear to the sun, can't reflect the sunlight around it, and
show you how your son respects you in front of your loving mother.
Note: Selected from Selected Poems with Foreign Inscriptions (Baihua Literature and Art Publishing House, 1994). Qian Chunqi translation. The next poem comes from the same source. Goethe (1749-1832) was a German poet, novelist and thinker. His representative works include the poetic drama Faust and the novel The Trouble of Young Werther. This poem was written in May 1767.
dedicated to mother Bei? Heine
Heine
I'm used to swaggering with my eyes turned to the sky, and
I'm a little stubborn.
even if the king faces me face to face,
I won't lower my eyes.
But, mother, I want to be honest with you:
Although my pride is so strong,
I often feel inferior when I come to your happy and kind side,
.
You have a sublime spirit that permeates everything.
It shines brightly and flies straight to the sun, the moon and the stars.
It is this spirit that has conquered me secretly?
Recalling the past really makes me feel sad.
I made many mistakes and broke your heart.
You loved my loving mother's kindness so much!
Note: [Heine (1797-1856)] German poet. Representative works include Germany, a fairy tale in winter, etc. This poem was written about 1821 when the poet went home to visit relatives.
Ah, mother
Shu Ting
Your pale fingertips touch my temples,
I can't help but
hold your skirt tightly as I did when I was a child.
Ah, mother,
In order to keep your disappearing figure,
Although the morning light has cut the dream into smoke,
I still dare not open my eyes for a long time.
I still cherish that bright red scarf,
I'm afraid that washing will make it
lose your unique warmth.
ah, mother,
isn't the running water of the years just as ruthless?
I'm afraid my memory will fade, too.
How can I open its screen easily?
I cried to you for a thorn.
Now I'm wearing a jingguan, but I dare not.
I dare not moan.
Ah, mother,
I often look up at your photos sadly.
Even though the call can penetrate the loess,
how can I disturb your sleep?
I dare not display the gift of love like this,
although I have written many songs
for flowers, for the sea and for the dawn.
Ah, mother,
My sweet and deep memory,
It's not a torrent, it's not a waterfall,
It's an ancient well that can't sing among flowers and trees.
1975.8?
Note: Selected from Poems of Shu Ting (People's Literature Publishing House, 1994).