A collection of poems from 诗天空(http://www.poetrysky.com). Translated by Yihang Translation Studio.
谁在深夜丈量黑暗 的面积？天使？猫头鹰？精神病患者？ 土地测量员？失眠的诗人？失去的圣贤 森林高山深渊 鹅突然飞向天空 人习惯了在暴雨下的睡眠 闪电在平原的腹部 留下伤疤，黑暗中的河流让你感到安全 Night Observations Who in deep night measures the area of darkness An angel? An Owl? A schizophrenic patient? Surveyor? Insomniac? Poet? Departed sage Forest, high mountain, abyss A goose rises skyward in sudden flight People get used to sleeping under storms Lightning over the torso of a plain Leaves scars, a river of darkness your anchor? your security?
我亲手烧掉全部候鸟的来信 并看见秋天在刀尖上站了一个世纪 大地毁坏自己的脸之后又毁坏自己的心脏 世上的妇女纷纷在雪花里安家 她们落下时是一个意外 隐蔽在女人心里的女人 永远疼痛并飘摇 今夜我暗访大地的全部过程 听见了豹与少女的秘密 看见春天出生的人挤满天空的医院 我观察这个时代的飘雪 心就像石头一样沉默 我弯腰捡起一块神圣的瓦片 用衣袖擦亮后看人类在岩石上飞奔 一群黑衣修女像音乐涌向他乡 另一群是罕见的道士和僧侣 我诚实地看着流逝的万物 等待飘雪向漫天飞舞的疾病前来找我 这是一个肤浅的年代 没有弃儿沿着祖父的铁轨向前爬行 这是一个吞噬的日子 机器损坏了人类的大脑 大地上发生的一切令人伤心 我在音乐中以泪洗面 不是我有罪 而是我孤独 Requiem for Me and God With my own hands I burned all letters from migratory birds And I watched autumn standing for a century on the tip of a knife After the good earth disfigured its face, then it ruined its own heart Women of our time are flurrying to make their homes in snowflakes Their fall to earth is unexpected The woman hiding in the heart of a woman Is forever suffering hurt and also floating This night my secret survey of the good earth, the whole process Hears the secret between a young woman and a panther Sees people born in springtime crowding the hospital of the sky I observe the floating snow of this era My heart as silent as a stone I bend my waist to pick up a fragment of holy tile After rubbing it with my sleeve, I see human traces streak across boulders A group of black-robed nuns stream like music toward other towns Another group of monks and hermits, almost never seen I wait and watch these evanescent objects Until snowfall comes looking for me, like a skyful of fluttering disease This is a superficial age Abandoned infants do not crawl along the rails of their grandfathers This age is ravenous to swallow everything Machines damage the brain cells of human beings What has happened on the good earth is a wound in people's hearts Within music, I use tears to wash my face This is not a matter of my sins It is my solitude