Creation: "Expedition" (1945), "Mu Dan's Poems (1939-1945)" (1947), "Flag" (1948), "Mu Dan's Selected Poems" (1986), "Mu Dan's Poems" "Collection of Dan Poems" (1996); "Winter".
Translated works: "Pushkin's Lyric Poems" (1954), "Eugene Onegin" (1957), "Don Juan" (1980), "Selected Modern British Poems" (1985), "Mu Collected Translations of Dan Dan (2005). "Praise"
Endless mountains and undulations, rivers and grasslands, countless dense villages, roosters crowing and dogs barking,
Continuously in the originally desolate Asia On the land,
The dry wind howls in the vastness of weeds,
The monotonous east-flowing water sings under the low-pressure dark clouds,
There are countless buried ages in the melancholy forest.
They hugged me quietly:
The endless stories are endless disasters, the silent ones
are love and flying in the sky The eagles,
are dry eyes looking forward to the hot tears from the fountain,
when the unshakable gray ranks crawl in the distant sky;
I have Too many words, too long feelings,
I want to use the desolate desert, the bumpy road, the mule cart,
I want to use the trough boat, the wild flowers in the mountains, the rain The weather,
I want to embrace you with everything, you,
The people I see everywhere,
The people living in shame, the rickety people ,
I want to hug you one by one with bloody hands.
Because a nation has risen.
A farmer, his rough body moves in the fields,
He is the child of a woman, the father of many children,
How many dynasties are by his side It rose and fell again
and pressed hope and despair on him,
and he followed the plow silently, spinning behind it forever,
turning up The same soil dissolved that of his ancestors, and the same image of suffering solidified on the roadside.
How many times on the road were happy songs passing by,
How many times were the sorrows that befell him;
On the road people made speeches, Shouting, joyful,
However, he did not, he only put down the ancient hoe,
believed in nouns again, melted into the love of the public,
firmly Earth, he watched himself melt into death,
And this road is infinitely long
And he could not shed tears,
He No tears were shed because a nation had risen.
Surrounded by mountains, under the blue sky, when passing by his home in spring and autumn,
The most subtle sadness is hidden in the deep valley:< /p>
An old woman is looking forward to a child, and many children are looking forward to it
Hungry, but enduring in hunger,
There is still a gathering of darkness on the roadside The hut,
the same unknown fear, the same
the soil that erodes life in nature,
and he walked away from Curse of not looking back.
For him, I want to hug everyone.
For him, I have lost the comfort of hugs.
Because of him, we cannot give happiness.
Cry bitterly, let us cry bitterly on him,
Because a nation has risen.
The same is the wind of this long time,
The same is the endless groaning and cold that spreads from under the collapsed eaves.
It sings on the top of a withered tree,
It blows across the barren swamp, with the chirping of reeds and insects,
The same thing flies by the sound of a crow.
When I walked by and stood hesitating on the road,
I was hesitating for many years of shameful history
Still waiting in this vast mountain and river,
p>
Waiting, our silent pain is too much,
However, a nation has risen,
However, a nation has risen.
December 1941
"Sorrow for the National Disaster"
The same blue sky, the same sun,
The same white mountains and black waters spread out over a barley field ;
But even birds flying over have to exclaim:
Ah! Is this still the scene from the old days?
I shed tears in silence to the birds——
We endure this proud red national flag flying in the sky!
Seeing the blood and sweat of our ancestors turned into smoke,
The iron bird shattered the smiling faces of the deceased heroes!
Seeing that the glory of four thousand years has collapsed,
The iron hoofs have stirred up the enemy's fierce flames;
The people in the grave may be anxious to shout :
"Hey, how can our achievements be destroyed by others?
Your kind descendants, how can you set an example for future generations!"
It's a pity that the loess and mud stuffed his lips,
Crying and swallowing their voices.
New blood paints new cracks,
The vast crowd is once again violently divided;
The same life, the same arms,
I am silent to the bird with all my passion. < /p>
Tell me - Spring is putting on her evening dress charmingly;
But the sun is still warm and brilliant,
The wild grass clings to my feet softly Side,
Half a branch will stick out of this ancient wall,
On the verdant ground, a little fragrance floats in the air...
In the distance, green seedlings Several mud houses are supported, and Yingchuo's figure leans against the white cloud peak.
The flowing water sucked in the breath every second, undulating,
Silence—silence—
Suddenly there were several loud noises,
< p>A few water birds have rushed out of the pond and flew high into the sky to swirl.June 13, 1935
"Winter"
1 I love to do my favorite work quietly by the window in the short-lived days of the pale sun. End; It's only four o'clock in the afternoon, it's cold and dim, I will irrigate my heart with a glass of wine. How quickly, life has reached the harsh winter. I love being on the withered grassy slopes and the dead wilderness, mourning the buried fiery year alone, watching the frozen river still flowing under the ice, I don't know what is being whispered, but I can't hear it. Oh, life also beats in the harsh winter. I love to sit around the warm fire on winter evenings, chatting heartily with two or three old friends, listening to the north wind rustling the doors and windows, while we recall the happy and carefree past years. The joy of life is also in the harsh winter. I love to cherish my dead or surviving relatives on sleepless nights when snowflakes are flying. When the vast white snow covers the forgotten world, I want the torrent of emotions to overflow from my heart to warm this harsh winter of life. 2. Cold, cold, restrains the hands and feet as much as possible, the gurgling river has sealed the mouth and tongue with ice, the cicadas and frogs in midsummer are silent, and the earth has written off its laughter and exuberance. Caution, caution, make life frustrated, what about flowers? What about green? The blood blocks desire, and after many days of haze and indecision, a faint ray of sunlight leaks from the dead branches. strangeness! Spring is so deeply hidden, there is no news anywhere, and everyone is afraid of showing up. The young soul is wrapped in the hard shell of old age, as if we are wearing a thick cotton jacket. 3. You have probably stopped sharing love. You stopped halfway through writing the letter and looked out the window. The weather is so desolate, because winter is the executioner of emotions. You take out the gifts of summer, whether they are honey, fruit, or wine, and then sit in front of the stove and taste them slowly, because winter has withered the soul. Your novel is lying on the bed, traveling in another fantasy world. It makes you sigh or yearn for it, because winter has sealed your door. You have been tired for a whole day before you have to rest. Listening to the roar of trees, grass and rocks, although you fall asleep, you can't dream, because winter is the executioner of good dreams. 4. In the small earthen house next to the stable, the wind rustled the window paper, and a few muddy feet carrying snow came in to let the horses eat, while the carriage rested in the wind. They sat down around the fire, some adding firewood, some drying, and some using their thick and short fingers to roll tobacco into paper. A pot of water was boiling, and white mist filled the smoke-filled hut. I was eating, humming a tune, and talking about boring things in the boring wilderness. The north wind called to them on the wires, and the road in the wilderness was still endless. A few warm bodies walked out of the house, and faced the cold air again.
December 1976
"Eight Poems"
As soon as your eyes see this fire, you cannot see me, although I light it for you , "Hey, what's burning is just the mature age," "You're in charge, I'm in charge." We are separated by mountains! From this natural process of transformation, I fell in love with a temporary you. Even if I cry, turn gray, turn gray and be reborn, Girl, that's just God playing with Himself. 2. You and I are deposited in the water between mountains and rocks, and we grow in the womb of death.
Amidst countless possibilities, a transformed being can never complete himself. When I talk to you, trust you, love you, I hear my Lord laughing secretly, and constantly he adds others to you and me, making us rich and dangerous. 3. The little beast of your age, It breathes like grass, It brings you color, fragrance and richness, It wants you to go crazy in the warm darkness. I pass over your marble temple of wisdom, and cherish the life it buries; the touch between your and my hands is a pasture. There is its stubbornness and my surprise. 4. Quietly, we embrace the world that can be illuminated by words, and the unformed darkness is terrifying, and the possible and impossible make us obsessed. What suffocates us is the sweet unborn and dying word, its ghost shrouds us, making us swim away into the chaos of love's freedom and beauty. 5. As the sun sets, a breeze blows across the fields. How many reasons have accumulated here. The moving heart of my heart that moves the scenery flows from the oldest beginning to you, sleeping peacefully. That which formed the trees and the standing rocks will perpetuate my desire at this time, and all the beauty revealed in its process, teach me how to love you, teach me to change. 6. The sameness and the sameness dissolve into fatigue, and the strangeness solidifies between the differences; It is such a dangerous narrow road, I drive myself to travel on it. He exists and listens to my orders. He protects and leaves me alone. His pain is the constant search for your order. After he has found it, he must deviate from it. Seven storms, long roads, lonely nights, loss, memory, eternal time, all the fears that science cannot eliminate, let me rest in your arms - Oh, in your involuntary heart, you The beautiful image that comes and goes, there, I see your lonely love pen standing, growing parallel to mine! 8. There is no closer approach, and all the accidents are finalized between us; only the sunlight shines through the colorful branches and leaves, dividing the two willing hearts, the same. Each one will fall when the season comes, but the giant tree that gave birth to us will remain evergreen, and its unkind mockery (and weeping) of us will turn into peace in the old roots of unity.
December 1976