A Chi Lingyun Poem

A Kind of Poetry


To discover a tree's memories is impossible.

To seek a pebble's experience
 is also impossible.
We spy on water's motion

but in the end we still can't touch its core.

The cloud has always been there, we exhaust our energy
to understand its will, yet there's no hope
it will reveal the sky's mysteries.

Poetry also has the will of clouds

with words like rain, to avoid madness

it creates more madness. Just as when love

is written down, it loses half of its sincerity.
When explained, there is only a layer of sticky
mist left. No one is quick or deft enough

to capture poetry for long. Everything perfect
contains a dark cave.

I can't explain the attraction of this cave.

A kind of tranquility, which carries a greater sacrifice
undissolved by light. A kind of dizziness

from this shore to the farther shore, crossing freely.

It has enslaved every golden finger.

A wild cave, harboring minerals, ice and feathers

a few symbols, and I still don't know what it is.


(2014)

(Trans. Eleanor Goodman and Shengqing Wu)

一种诗艺

发现一棵树的记忆,是不可能的。
寻找一块鹅卵石的经验
也不可能。我们窥探水的运动
却始终无法触及它的核心。
云朵一直存在,我们耗费力气
理解它的意志,却无法祈望它
泄露空中的奥秘。

诗歌也有云朵的意志
言辞如雨水,为逃避疯狂
制造更多的疯狂。就像爱情
被写下,就失去一半纯真。
意义经过阐释,只留一层黏糊的
薄雾。没有人能做到眼明手快
捕获长久的诗意。一切完美
都存在一个黑洞。

我无法说清黑洞的诱惑。
一种寂静,带着更大的牺牲
不被光所溶解。一种晕眩
从此岸到彼岸,自由过渡。
所有的金手指都受过它奴役。
野性的黑洞,包藏矿物、冰块和羽毛
一些符号,我至今不知它是什么。