The book is really good, which made me interested in poets such as machado, Bonnefoi, Rilke, Nie Luda and Pasternak, and also found translators such as Huang Canran and Shu Cai.
However, I can't understand more poems. Some poems are like riddles. Do you know what is the most dangerous possibility of this metaphor? -Maybe the author doesn't know the answer himself. This despicable idea will appear in front of me when I am exhausted by a chewy poem. So many so-called good poems that amazed the critics gathered in front of me. They look either mediocre or talking in their sleep. ..... but I don't want to, I said to myself, poetry is solvable and unsolvable, and you can't force others to understand it. Poetry is for feeling, not for analysis. I am in a hurry. Poetry is different from poetry, just as love is different from love. Look at fate. Some poems may be good, but it's normal that I don't like them ... I want to slow down and then slow down. Looking for poetry among many fakes requires vision and patience. (looking for a lamp)
I have read several poems intermittently and reread this set of books in recent years. A while ago, Yi Xiang told me that the new edition of this set of books came out, and I immediately bought two sets for my classmates. Reread it again and feel a lot. As usual, I chose a few poems to type-there are many poems I like that I didn't type, because some of them were extracted before, and some of them I want to type later. For me, some comments in the book are very valuable, but I really don't have time, so I omitted them.
Now, I still have no introduction, but my attitude towards poetry has changed a little. I strive to become a qualified reader of modern poetry in a few years. Thanks to this set of books, thanks to Yi Xiang's two recommendations a few years later. Thanks to the poets who wrote beautiful poems, they are like stars all over the sky, giving me "distant comfort".
To my sleeping wife.
Author: (France) Crowe
Translator: Shu Cai
You fell asleep. You believe my lines.
Will be full of this kind of disaster
The burning universe;
However, I sang this song at sunset.
Songs, and my distant songs
Sad song, but pitiful!
If I interrupt you sometimes,
The tranquility of the cold sky,
If it is iron, copper or gold
Voice, echoing in my song,
Please forgive these high gestures,
Because I live in a hurry!
You will always love me.
Eternal is love,
My memory is its nest;
Our children will become proud repairmen.
Will cure their father.
The damage you've done in your life.
The children fell asleep and didn't dream.
In the clouds in the sky
Hair covered their delicate foreheads;
And you, next to them, you fell asleep,
Put the pain of labor and debt
I completely forgot
What about me? I stayed up late. I wrote it down.
These lines make up the whole universe.
No suffering, no fire;
Tomorrow, when the sun rises,
Listen to this quiet lamentation
You will smile.
(28 pages)
pray
Author: Kawafi
Translator: Huang Canran
The sea swallowed a sailor in the deep sea.
His mother doesn't know, so she's still here.
Light a tall candle in front of the virgin Mary,
Pray that he will come back as soon as possible and that the weather will be fine-
She always listens to the wind and grass.
When she prayed and begged,
Icons listen, solemn and sad,
Knowing that the son she was waiting for would never come back.
(Page 4 1)
when you are old
Author: (English) Ye Zhi
Translator: Yuan Kejia
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 shadow of their past;
How many people love you when you are young and happy,
Worship your beauty, hypocrisy or sincerity,
Only one person loves your pilgrim soul,
Love the painful wrinkles on your aging face;
I hung my head, by the red fire,
Whispering sadly about the passing of love,
On the mountain overhead, it walked slowly.
A face is hidden among a group of stars.
(47 pages)
Wang Bujian: This is Ye Zhi's most famous poem. Yuan Kejia's translation of Selected Poems of Ye Zhi by Hunan Literature and Art Publishing House (20 12 edition) also included this poem on page 5 1. The translators are the same, but there are two slightly different sentences: "Recalling the heavy shadows of their past", and Hunan Literature and Art Edition is "Recalling the heavy shadows of their past". The two versions have their own advantages and disadvantages, and the latter seems to be better; Love the painful wrinkles on your aging face, Hunan literature and art edition is Love the painful wrinkles on your aging face. I think the latter is better. I wonder where the version adopted by commentator Cai Tianxin came from?
grazing land
Author: (America) Frost
Translator: Cao Minglun
I'm going out to clean the fountain in the pasture,
I just want to rake off the dead leaves in the water,
Maybe I'll wait until the water becomes clear.
I won't be away for long, and you can come.
I'm going out to get that calf back,
It stands next to the cow, very small,
Mom fell down while licking.
I won't be away for long, and you can come.
(55 pages)
I have read this poem many times and never get tired of listening to it. Mr. Wang Jiaxin's explanation is wonderful. His narrator said, "The world of a poet begins here. There are metaphors, observations, naive concerns, wise humor, cordial narration, touching tone, and an invitation from a poem that people can't shirk, "I won't be gone for long-come on. "No wonder Frost used it as the preface of all his poems. His poems are so essential from the beginning, so he is not afraid of being said to be simple! Mr. Wang's quotation is wrong, it should be "I won't be away for long." "
autumn
Author: (Austrian) Rilke
Translator: Feng Zhi
Lord! It is time. Summer used to be grand.
Cast your shadow on the sundial,
Let the autumn wind blow across the fields.
Let the last fruit grow plump,
Give them two more days of southern climate,
Forcing them to mature,
Brew the last sweetness into spirits.
No one needs to build a house at this time.
At this time, whoever is lonely will always be lonely.
Just waking up, reading, writing long letters,
Go back and forth on the boulevard
Wandering uneasily, dancing in front of the fallen leaves.
(57 pages)
I sit. ...
Author: (Spanish) Xi Mennes
Translator: Huang Canran
I sit at my desk.
In the flowers, reading
A poet who knows my dream.
Wrote a painful and sad poem
She came up to me quietly
Said, "If those poems
You like it better than my kiss,
I will never kiss you again. 」
"You follow? dusk
How beautiful! Juste Avant La Nui
I want to go to the garden.
Pick some jasmine flowers. 」
"If you like, we can go,
You pick your jasmine and I'll read it.
This poet knows my dream.
Painful and sad poems. 」
She looked at me sadly: her pair
Look at me with loving eyes
Say no "You're not going? Then I'll go by myself ... "
Then I went on reading.
She walks slowly, poor thing.
People are silently bearing;
Picking jasmine flowers in the garden ...
I stayed there and read my poems.
She is wearing a white dress.
Then my eyes saw her.
Picking flowers while crying.
In the dark garden.
(73 pages)
The sentence "My eyes saw her ..." may have been done by Mr. Huang Canran on purpose, but when I think about it, it still seems inappropriate.
Winter dusk
Author: (America) Mervyn
Translator: Kazuo
When the sun goes down, there is no companion.
After finishing the work, nobody blamed us.
I fell down and lost my faith.
When it left, I heard the sound of the stream.
It brought a flute from far away.
(234 pages)
The tone of this translated poem is really subtle. It's beautiful.
city
Author: (England) Hughes
Translator: Hu Xudong
Your poem is like the center of a dark city.
Your novel, your story, your diary, your letter, that's it.
Suburbs of big cities.
The hotel is as bright as the city hall all night.
Filled with scholars, priests and pilgrims. At night
Sometimes when I drive by, I find that
I'm the only one who drives slowly, so
Walking in your own darkness, recalling the past.
What you did. I can almost always
I caught a glimpse of you-at the crossroads,
Staring at the sky in confusion, in his sixties.
You are surrounded by piles of noise. You've been standing.
Your face, under the green or orange light.
This is an Indian desert, desolate and vacant.
What do you want to ask, but you can't.
You look at every face.
Try to recognize someone.
They ignore you. Then the light turned red.
They are all running away from you.
Then you saw me in the car, looking at you.
I know you're thinking: should I know him?
I know you are frowning. I know you're trying.
Remember or try to forget.
(242 pages)
According to the original note, "you" refers to the author's ex-wife and poet Sylvia Plath.
How did poetry come into being?
Author: (America) Snyder
Translator: Zhou Zan
It tripped over a boulder.
Come on, at night, it stops.
Stopped in horror at my
Outside the bonfire
I stepped forward to meet it.
On the edge of light.
(246 pages)
A snowy landscape
Author: (Serbia and Montenegro) Ristovic
Translator: Huang Canran
What makes your hands so dexterous, killing pigs?
A second ago, that thing was desperate,
Now I look at you meekly, even in trust.
Raise your head and ears, beauty.
Looking at the sunrise like leaves,
You put her on your knee,
Don't let cigarettes fall out of your mouth.
What makes you laugh, butcher,
When you stand next to something that was alive just now
Peeling her skin is like taking off an expensive dress.
Stick your greasy hand in her uterus?
What makes you silent when you
Sitting at a table with white cloth and wine,
Country violins reverberated throughout the house,
People talk about this and that?
You're sitting on a sleigh, covered with embroidered blankets,
Wearing the clothes that butchers who kill pigs should wear,
Touching the thin neck of a farmer's daughter,
Her ears and round arms,
Snow has been falling around you.
(260 pages)
Click: This poem can be read together with Han Dong's Kill the Chicken.
Chicken seller
HanDong
He has the ability to kill chickens quickly, so
Became a chicken seller, like this
He doesn't need to kill anyone, even in his heart.
His life is calm and warm, and he never beats his wife.
Taking off your wife's clothes is like plucking a chicken.
Similar memories always have something in common.
Brutality and gentleness are always changing.
When he took off his chicken feathers and his wife slowly collected money.
I always feel that there is some sinful sweetness in it.
suggestion
Author: (English) Stevenson
Translator: Huang Gao
Don't think about it.
I don't know
When you talk to me,
The hand of your heart
Is quietly.
Take off my socks,
Smart and blind
Moving on my lap.
Don't think about it.
I don't know
You know that.
Everything I said.
It's all one dress.
(263 pages)