Translation: Qi
Three modern poems
Author/Wang Jianping
Tr。 /Qi Yanfeng
mountain village
I just happened to pass by here. I just wanted to hold back.
The world is so sad.
Crows in the valley are more emotional than I am.
A shrill cry
Let me endure the pain again and again.
The mountain village wet with tears is desolate and dilapidated.
When the sun comes, there is no fresh energy to stand up to meet it.
The sheep with their heads buried in the grass lazily did it for us.
A simple welcoming ceremony was held
These sheep will not deceive strangers, nor will they panic.
A carefree look of resignation.
The bright peace in my eyes is what I have worked hard for many years.
An unattainable realm
Walking into the old house, a little temperature saved the whole room.
Thick dust is not surprising.
Spiders lie in hammocks and enjoy their time.
The mouse on the dining table greeted us as the host.
The old man in the corner shouted for water in confusion.
The houses built on loess are gloomy.
With a heavy heart
As if to prepare for a lifetime of suffering
Tell me everything about it.
As if I were someone they trusted.
Shame on me, I have nothing.
You can only pour out all your feelings.
Complete an elegy of a mountain village
mountain village
I just happened to pass by, just trying to be tolerant.
The overwhelming sadness in this world.
Crows in the valley are more emotional than I am,
Their shrill cries made my eyes water at once.
Although I have endured the pain for a long time.
The desolate and dilapidated mountain village is also crying.
The sunshine has come, but there is no new vitality to stand up to meet it.
Sheep, drowsily eating grass, held for us.
A simple welcoming ceremony.
In front of strangers, they are neither hypocritical nor flustered.
They looked at the carefree in obedience.
The bright peace in their eyes is a state.
Despite my efforts for many years, I still failed to achieve it.
When I entered the old house, everything came back to life as if it had been salvaged by my body temperature.
Thick dust is undisturbed,
Spiders enjoy their time in hammocks,
The mouse at the dinner table called me the master,
The old man in the corner vaguely called for water.
These houses are made of loess and look gray.
Very worried,
As if they were ready for the hardships of their lives.
Trying to tell me everything,
As if I were someone they trusted.
What a shame! Nothing,
I can only put all my emotions into it.
To complete an elegy for the mountain village.
Ba ling shan Ji
In Baling mountain area, after the epidemic period of insect cicada.
Still have a good voice.
Turn the horn for a while, and then turn it on.
Leisure spruce, except for a few.
Homeless egret
All autumn, in an old opera.
Kill a good time
The rice is yellow, the sorghum is drunk, and the cotton field is full of white clouds.
The wind made the morning glory flourish.
I lost my way and met a married magpie and a married butterfly.
Accompanied by the weasel guard.
Mantis with knife
Swarms of grasshoppers
A chirping sparrow
Walking in the mountains, the lake clarified the shadow of birds.
The withered lotus near meditation
Meditation that almost flashed under the bodhi tree
Climbing the mountain adds a sense of ceremony.
Pretend to be a weed
Developed roots have a complicated relationship with Baling Mountain.
When I left, I caught an alert insect cicada.
I know it was left on purpose.
Become a beautiful autumn in poetry
On badaoling mountain
On Baling Mountain, although their good times have passed,
Cicada still has a wonderful voice.
One moment is the horn, the other is the oho key.
Apart from taking in a few homeless egrets, spruance is still at leisure.
All autumn, in an old opera.
They wasted their fairy-tale time.
Beige, sorghum drunk, cotton fields filled with white clouds,
The wind blew the blooming morning glory as red as fire.
Although I was lost, I met magpies and married butterflies on my way to a wedding.
And the weasel with me,
A cloak with a knife,
Swarms of grasshoppers,
And chirping sparrows.
Walking on the mountain, I feel like I am in a fairyland.
By the lake, the shadows of birds are clearly visible.
Meditate beside the withered lotus,
Miraculously bright under the bodhi tree near Zen.
When I climbed the mountain, the altitude enhanced the sense of ceremony.
I disguised myself as a weed and maintained a complicated relationship.
Pass through my strong roots with Baji Mountain.
When I left, I caught a clever cicada.
I know it was left there on purpose.
Become a beautiful autumn in a poem.
cricket
There must be something that scares me
Suffer from sleepwalking at night
Drag the sleepy shadow to the window.
Like dreaming, like waking up.
Just use the night to cover up the unknown origin.
Black and white suspicion
Just a sleeping moon
A city that has curbed its desires and restored its tranquility and peace in the past.
On earth, I don't cry.
Those sorrows that can't be entrusted
By considerate crickets one by one.
And distribute it to the cold autumn land.
Weeping wind
Down and out star
These short-lived autumn insects, elves who try their best to defend themselves.
I owe them something I can't repay.
I feel ashamed and my eyes are full of tears.
cricket
There must be something worrying and frightening.
Causing night trips,
Dragging the sleeping shadow, I went to the window.
As in a dream, semi-consciously.
Just cover the unknown background with the night.
And imperceptible suspicion,
With only one sleeping moon
To reduce the desire of the city and return to the tranquility and peace of the past.
In this world, I don't cry
Unbelievable sadness
By understanding crickets one by one,
And distributed to the land in the cold autumn.
The wind is crying,
Depressed stars,
These short-lived insects, pleading creatures.
I can't repay the debt I owe them,
My heart is guilty and my eyes are crying.
Brief introduction of the poet: Wang Jianping, director of TV station, independent writer, editorial board member of the folk magazine Gone with the Wind. He has published poetry anthology "Ephemera", prose anthology "Thinking on God's Shoulder" and "South of the South Wall", and published more than a thousand works. He has successively won the gold medal in the first World Poets' Jingui Grand Prix, the first prize in the National Poetry Competition "Meeting Poems and Distances", the top ten new realistic poems in China on 20 18, and the gold medal in the Selected Poems of Contemporary Chinese in China 1000, and won the "World Chinese List". His TV works won the China News Award four times and the first prize of the feature film of Hubei Television Society.
Poetic point of view: with the piety of saints, the pity of nuns, the purity of virgins, the happiness of angels, the exquisiteness of craftsmen, the indifference of hermits and the distress of ordinary people.
Brief Introduction of Translator: Qi, whose pen name is Jing Lingyin, is from Kangping, Liaoning, and now lives in Dalian. Prose, poetry and literary criticism are published in People's Daily Overseas Edition, Haiyan, Huaxi Daily, China Literature, Selected Proses, Selected Proses in the West, Coconut City, Short Stories, Heilongjiang Daily, Yangcheng Evening News, Entrepreneur Daily and Popular Science Writers Daily. Poetry view: Poetry is a door, open yourself.