The Cotton Field in Front of My Inn
Written by Yunchuitian; translated by Xiaoyuan Yin
The snow-white camel ambles through the cotton field
A maiden leading it, acts as if she were taking her sweetheart by the hand
On this moonlit night, they saunter along, neither hurried nor sluggish
Once have I met them in the south, over the rainbow
The fleecy clouds of smiles drifting across their faces
roused more emerald and ruby luster out of the spring river
The snow-white camel ambles through the cotton field
and the maiden leading it, acts as if she were taking her sweetheart by the hand
On this sun-drenched day, they are neither hurried nor sluggish
Once have I seen them on Yunnan Plateau
They stopped in front of an old inn
and it has drunk plenty of water
Though there is no shortage of water here
《我家客栈前的棉花》
云垂天
雪白的骆驼，走在棉花地里
牵它的少女，就像牵她的情人
月下，她们走得不急不缓
我曾在江南虹桥上
见过她们，她们白云般的笑脸
让一江春水更绿更红了
雪白的骆驼，走在棉花地
牵它的少女，就像牵她的情人
阳光下，她们走得不急不缓
我曾在云南高原上，见过她们
她们在一家客栈前，停了下来
尽管我们这儿不是很缺水
它今天还是喝了很多很多的水
The Tribulation From Death
Written by San Yuan; translated by Xiaoyuan Yin
Tribulation is a creature both dark and thirsty
with barb-shaped thorns on his muzzle
Every time I touch it
Tears as white as milk will ooze unconsciously
from my fingers…
I Wanted to Stop a Leaf From Falling
Written by Qiquan Sun
I wanted to stop a leaf from falling
but more surged down
so I had to hold my breath and stop there
disguising myself as a tree
I feared that leaves from the whole mountain would flood in
and overwhelm me
I feared that the echo of my call
Would get lost in an immense sweep of mountain ranges
I Stand Inside a Cloud
Written by Jingtao Li; translated by Xiaoyuan Yin
When I am inside a poem, joking, being witty and contemplating my life is no longer
unimaginable. The clouds are floating in the sky over my head:
There is no more suspense or wonder
only some vapor, rising and condensing then,
Half of it took the shape of a woman- you; and the other turned to a cup of tea for me
‘In the distance wave shadows of the trees, a crescent moon and four-eyed human-beings.’
everything is as real as you have seen them: you must be asleep now, but I decide to call
to tell you, I do not care about
my motherland, or Europe, or anything else above or below me,
I have to admit, that I am more concerned about the rain, the soil and rotten bodies underneath
Do not fancy me as an innocent man, no, absolutely wrong
There is loess, rivers and chemicals inside of me
But I can nevertheless stand firm in this poem, though rather decadent
without speaking a word
A Morning in the Town of Zhaoxing
Written by Wangqin; translated by Xiaoyuan Yin
On a July morning, I opened the window and let in the glimmers of dawn
The lined-up black birds, bathed in sunshine, were preening themselves
before they dived into a pool of light lower. For a second,
There was a splash of waves around the Drum Tower, waves of dialect syllables, and waves of visions
The rivers wind their way around the mountains, and by the inns
Dreams have left a flavorful finish in my eyes and ears, when they were still soundly sleeping
Everything looms out of a pure-tone background
and every signpost is a grindstone, which sharpened the edges of time and distance…
Under the bridge, people washing clothes sprinkled last night’s stars
on the pebbles. A cloud of dust swirled into the air, and fluttered down on the collars of the town
A stranger was wakened, so was a life of
Bargaining in the streets. All is steaming, and I hide myself behind a bowl of noodles
I have sailed across the visual distance, further and further
in the balminess and exquisiteness of this town. In July of Zhaoxing
A revelation comes on me that it has been the only morning when I ever stand so close to God
when even pains are as dreamy as a mystery
Picturesque Lake of Kangbao County, You Cast Your Halcyon over the Grasslands
Written by Junhou Bi; translated by Xiaoyuan Yin
The halcyon of Kangba Lake is so beauteous
for me to consecrate my joy and exhilaration to
For this moment, the great vault above is crystal clear
and silky grass lies below, so mischievous and fondly
As I stand on high, with panoramic views of Kangba, the brisk Mongolian wind from the back
died down slowly. No wind has been strong enough
To steal a sand from this boundless desert
Tranquility and mildness will bloom resplendently, with her flax and Chinese yam
Lying here for thousands of years, like a piece of blue-and-white porcelain
She sealed the roaring waves inside, where they disclose their soft petals of water
one after another, witnessing the mellowness of the lake
Like a sedate young maiden, watching from her own boudoir
The lake sparkles with light, with her sailboats, before me
Its waters ripped now and then, and healed soon, just like
the rises and falls of Kangba
like the confrontation between the oasis and the desert
You cast your halcyon over the grasslands
And the aura of the grassland will light up your eyes in return
The scorching summer rouses waves of heat around me
But the tranquility has sprouted up inside
Only a Tree Trunk Remains of Autumn
Written by Gaoshansong; translated by Xiaoyuan Yin
The autumn wind hastens through while the season become gaunter
Only a tree trunk remains of autumn, with all fruit
laid to rest, like a supreme blade of myth
pointing upwards to the sky, puncturing the lies of the moon
and shattering them into pieces. The blood-stains on the setting sun
are wounds you have made. You have written tales of spring
on lily-white clouds, but nobody will ever figure them out
It is so incredible even to you, that a little poem is the only thing left
of your former grandeur. The fallen petals foreshadow
the story you tell, but without branches luxuriant with fruit
how can you sublime your theme of autumn? The wrinkled bark
dimmed your face, and dropped anchor in the sky
like a compass of Fate. As the proverb goes: ‘One log cannot prop up a tottering building.’
How long could this trunk prop up the autumn
of your solitude?
The Ancient Battlefield
Written by Guoxiu Liu; translated by Xiaoyuan Yin
The clatters of the hooves flushed through
The 13th year of Jian’an, Han Dynasty
A man on horseback
Pointed his sword to the sky
Flames have ensanguined the eastern sky
The wind howled and the water billowed
While flames singed the horizon
The silhouettes of water villages and camps were all so vague
My lord! Why are the chains linking-up the boats so unbreakable?
Whose robes have the flames burnt?
And whose faces have they kindled?
It was inevitable that Cao lost ground and fled by way of Huarong Road
He was attacked front and rear
By Sun’s army on the south bank, joint with Liu’s
There would be no more solemn, heroic fanfare of trumpets
Only a scene of destruction, armors scattered around
The cry of agony that he once let out
Would echo in the air above the ruins
Trembling, never fading away
