Lingering at Hainan by Hei Feng, tr. Wang Ping

Lingering at Hainan 

 by Hei Feng, tr. Wang Ping

 

Today I just want a bowl of noodles

The coconut breeze is as soft as the southern music

A piece of glass, so blue

Peace between water and salt

Pieces of paper are flying

White birds whirling, more real than paper

In a space no one can reach

Deep sleep…

But today I

Just want a bowl of noodles

I enter the island through my last grains of rice from Hubei

I can’t deny: I see the island’s sky

“Swishing—“into the landscape of post-industrial country

But today

When the black screen is shut off from the “future”

Today all day

I gaze at the coconut. My attention goes

To the smooth coconut

--sour, perhaps

But I don’t care

For a whole day today, I feel clean

At dusk I borrow a bird nest for the night

I dream birds flying around my dreams

Kakakakaka

Birds didn’t return to their nest

I dream my dreams are hatching their eggs

A bird

Flying

In the sixth dimensional space

Tonight

I can’t close my eyes

Tonight

I think about the bird

More than my wife

Tonight I go over my “lessons” word by word

Tonight, I’m hungry, but I refuse to eat the eggs

The sun shines on me lightly

Like a beach in mirage, after the tide

I learn to wade into the hard water of the self

I wake up

The moon is high

The sun is shallow

 

逗留海南

这一天，我只想吃一碗面

虽然椰风与南韵柔软

一块玻璃很蓝

水与盐平静

虽然有一些纸在飞

一些比纸更真的白鸟在摇

在触及不到的一片空间里

深睡眠……

然而，这一天我

只想吃一碗面

我用最后的几粒湖北大米进入岛屿

不能否认，我看见了岛屿的天空

“砉——”的推进的国家后工业社会的前景

而这一天

在关闭“前景”的黑屏的这一天

整整一天

我只端详椰子。我只关心近处的

一颗光滑椰子

——它也许很酸

但我不怕这种“酸”

而这一整天，我干净

傍晚我在岛语之外借鸟窝过夜

我梦见鸟嘎嘎嘎嘎嘎嘎嘎嘎嘎叫着袅绕着我的

梦境飞

鸟终夜不归

我的梦孵化鸟蛋

一只鸟

在第6维

飞

这一夜

我彻夜无眠

这一夜我思念一只鸟

胜过妻子

这一夜我反复温习“功课”

这一夜，饥饿。但我不吃鸟蛋

太阳很浅地照我

犹如蜃气中的退潮的沙滩

我学习并涉过自己坚硬的水

我醒了

月亮很高

太阳很浅

 

Hei Feng is from Hubei, Black Harvest.

 

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Wang Ping is a Chinese-American poet with over a dozen books to her name who lives in St. Paul, MN. See her webpage, WangPing.com.

 

See my reviews of her latest two poetry books at this post.

Spider King by Akuwuwu, tr. Wang Ping

Spider King 

by Akuwuwu, tr. Wang Ping

 

Spinning silk marks the meaning for a spider’s existence. How much silk does a spider spin throughout its life? Its webs have so many patterns and shapes. They are the mirror image of the cosmos, also the inner design of life. I heard spider’s silk comes from its saliva, mapping its life journey, with bones, blood, meridians. To me, spiders are more like a spider language, writing “Spider Bibles” with their spiderwebs all over the world.

 

吐丝是蜘蛛生命的标志和意义。但要吐多少丝蜘蛛才算完成终生使命，获得完美的生命结局？那些形状各异，姿态万千的蛛网，既是宇宙规律的缩影，又是生命内在的图式。据说蛛丝是蜘蛛的唾液，是蜘蛛一生走过的道路，是蜘蛛的骨血和经脉。其实蛛丝更像蜘蛛的语言文字，遍布世界的蛛网就是一部部《蜘蛛经》。

 

Prof. Akuwuwu is one of the most prominent Yi ethnic poets from the Cold Mountain of Sichuan. I invited him twice as a visiting scholar, to a liberal arts college where I taught poetry for 21 years. I took him to the Indian Center in Minneapolis where he met the Indigenous leaders. The meeting sparked years of friendships, research, and poetry. Akuwuwu is a medicine man, poet, professor, writer, performer, leader. His chapbook "King of Spider" has been translated into many languages. Here's the first piece from the book. 

 

To know more about Yi Ethnic People, please check out https://uw.manifoldapp.org/proj.../the-nuosu-book-of-origins

 

—Wang Ping

 

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Wang Ping is a Chinese-American poet with over a dozen books to her name who lives in St. Paul, MN. See her webpage, WangPing.com.

 

See my reviews of her latest two poetry books at this post.

Island by Huang Lihai, tr. Wang Ping

Island 

by Huang Lihai, tr. Wang Ping

 

We often bring up the no-man island

It’s a wedding bed burning in the sea

It doesn’t need to lie down to rest

Just as time has no need to live in a calendar

We also say, moist skin

Shows the visitor’s anxiety

The white mist in the woods fades away

We see the faint reflection of the old lighthouse

It’s a pillar of tears from the sea, standing at shore

Silent, gazing at the bird’s feet

Painting a map step by step on the beach

I believe the island is the echo of your calling

You can discard its spices and pearls again

Every life sings happily with you

Goutweeds are growing wildly

Whales are spraying one bubble after another

Shadows move, life still hanging on

Like coconut trees slanting to the sea, its hanging fruit

Shimmering in water, tiny waves looking exactly like shells

Nobody knows, the wind from the propeller

Spins with sand, birds, sails, and plants

They’re wild horses in another world

Their man flying, in the vast dusk light

 

岛屿

我们常提到无人居住的岛屿

它是大海光中燃烧的婚床

歇息不需要在床上

就好像岁月可以不在日历里

我们还说起，湿润的肌肤

闪耀着心神不安的来访者

树林里白色的雾已散去

倒影中的旧灯塔隐约可见

它是大海站在岸边的一柱泪水

不再说话，专注海鸟用小脚

一点点在沙滩画出的地图

我确信岛屿是你召唤时的回声

那些香料和珍珠可以再一次丢弃

凡是有气息的都与你一起欣喜地歌唱

羊角叶肆意的生长已揭开一角

鲸鱼向上的喷泉竖起另一个水的形体

阴翳移动，未完结的生命

如斜向海面的椰子树，悬浮的果实

倒映到水里，细小的波纹像极了贝壳

此时，没人知道，如桨之翼扇出的风

与沙子、鸟翅、风帆，还有植物一起旋转

它们是自然放养在别处的野马

它的鬓毛，在黄昏的夕光里辽阔地疾飞

 

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Wang Ping is a Chinese-American poet with over a dozen books to her name who lives in St. Paul, MN. See her webpage, WangPing.com.

 

See my reviews of her latest two poetry books at this post.

Awaken by Hu Xuan, tr. Wang Ping

Awaken 

by Hu Xuan, tr. Wang Ping

 

When I woke up, you were still sleeping

I listened to the birds singing, alone

Then you wake up, I’m no longer the man 

Listening to birds, just someone accompanying you

What separated us is the bird song and your sleep

And I can’t connect them, or bring the bird song 

Into your dream, it’s hard

Too hard to describe all this

But had I awakened you 

I’d have been the man listening 

To the birds with you, not the man 

Listening to their singing, alone

Fortunately, the world hasn’t changed a bit

Only I did

 

醒来

胡弦

我醒来时，你还在沉睡，我独自听鸟鸣。

等你醒来，我已不是那个听鸟鸣的人，只是一个

陪伴着你的人，把我区别开的

是鸟鸣，和你的睡眠，我却不能把它们

联系在一起，把一阵鸟鸣

带到你梦中，多么困难，描述这一切

多么困难，而如果把你提前叫醒，

我将只是个和你一起听鸟鸣的人，而非

刚才那个听鸟鸣的人。

——还好，除了我，世界并未曾有所改变

 

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Wang Ping is a Chinese-American poet with over a dozen books to her name who lives in St. Paul, MN. See her webpage, WangPing.com.

See my reviews of her latest two poetry books at this post.

 

Encounter by Chile Chuan, tr. Wang Ping

Encounter 

by Chile Chuan, tr. Wang Ping 

 

That was August, I was roaming on the grassland

I encountered a tiny blade of grass

With a sad face, it told me

His friend, so strong, healthy, died suddenly

“It was so handsome, so vital, but…”

It started to cry, its tears

Thicker than human tears

I wanted to say a few words as condolence

But what does a man know to comfort a blade of grass?

 

邂逅 敕勒川

是八月间的事了，我在草原上

遇到了一棵我认识的小草

它遇到我时一脸哀痛，它向我讲述了

另一棵健壮的草，是怎样转眼就夭折了

“它是那么英俊，充满生气，然而……”

它说着说着就哭了起来，我看见

它流下的眼泪，比我们人类

稠多了

我想安慰它几句，但一个人

怎么能安慰一棵草呢

 

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Chi Le Chuan hails from Hohhot, Mongolia. His name comes from the famous nomad song from the 5th century, by the Chile nomads, distantly related to the Uighur. (Song appears below.) Migration was constant and natural, like wind and water. There was no border then—only sky, land, and songs. 

 

Song from the Northern Dynasty （439-581）

 

The Chile valley flows down the Yin Mountain 

The sky covers the earth like a dome

Oh heaven so far away, oh land so wild

Wind bends grass, revealing sheep and cattle

 

敕勒川，陰山下。

天似穹廬，籠蓋四野。

天蒼蒼，野茫茫。

風吹草低見牛羊。

 

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Wang Ping is a Chinese-American poet with over a dozen books to her name who lives in St. Paul, MN. See her webpage, WangPing.com.

 

Noon by Qimanqul Awut (tr. by Wang Ping from Ysupujiang's translation from Uighur)

Noon 

by Qimanqul Awut

 tr. Wang Ping, from Yusupujiang’s translation from Uighur

 

A horse, limp with worn hooves,

Comes out of the poplar woods

No sound of bells,

Only silence in the desert, leaves sparkling in green.

It’s stuffy everywhere, like noon

Wind blowing in the water ditch

A woman is running from distance

She forgot her purse

Pieces of naan in my imagination

Soaked in salty tears

Wearing the ascetic’s attire

Standing among rocks

 

 

正午

作者： 其曼古丽·阿吾提

译者：玉苏普江

蹄子磨损的一匹马，

从胡杨林疲惫地走近。

在这儿没有铃音，

沙漠安静，树叶鲜艳。

四周像正午很闷，

水渠里正在流风。

从远处跑来 ，

忘记包的一个女人。

仿佛想象的一块块馕，

泡软在咸眼泪中。

穿着苦行僧服的一个人 ，

与岩石排队站在列中。

（译自诗集“正午”，新疆人民出版社 ，2012年 2月）

 

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Qimanqul Awut, from Xinjiang, is China’s most active and renowned female poet who writes in the Uighur language. She’s published five books of poetry— Noon, Stone Leaf, Pomes of Qimanqul, and others. She won the major “Fast Horse Award."

 

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Wang Ping is a Chinese-American poet with over a dozen books to her name who lives in St. Paul, MN. See her webpage, WangPing.com.