池凌云 | Chi Lingyun

 

 

中文

 

寂静制造了风

 

 

寂静制造了风,河流在泥土中延续

一个又一个落日哺育灰色的屋宇

它的空洞有着炽烈的过去

在每一个积满尘土的蓄水池

有黎明前的长叹和平息之后的火焰

我开口,却已没有歌谣

初春的明镜,早已碎在揉皱的地图上

如果我还能低声歌唱

是因为确信烟尘也能永恒,愁苦的面容

感到被死亡珍惜的拥抱。

 

English

 

SILENCE STIRS THE BREEZE

 

 

Silence stirs the breeze. Rivers

extend themselves across the earth.

Once more grey rooftops suckle sunset,

at its core a blazing past.

Before dawn, dust-filled reservoirs

exhale, aglow in silence.

I open my mouth, no ballads.

Bright mirror of early spring

fractured on a crumpled map.

If I can sing still, softly,

it’s because smoke, I believe,

perpetuates, these worried faces

revering death’s embrace.

 

trans. © Diana Shi & George O’Connell

 

more by Chi Lingyun

黄昏之晦暗 | Darkness at Dusk

一秒钟归去来 | A Moment, To and Fro

水穿石 | Water Piercing Stone

苦恼之夜 | Fretful Night

所有野兽都戴花 | Each Beast Wears Flowers

玛丽娜在深夜写诗 | Midnight, Marina Writing

巫术 | Incantation

一个针灸的下午 | Afternoon, Acupuncture

一种诗艺 | One Kind of Poetics

Winter 2016-17

Anastassis Vistonitis | 安纳斯塔西斯·维斯托尼提斯

鍾國強 | Chung Kwok-keung

Photos © 胡敏 | Hu Min