Chapter 3 The third series (1989-1998)

city ​​at night in november only the rivers of amsterdam Sudden oranges on my tree swaying in the autumn wind I closed the windows, it didn't work The river flows backwards, it's no use The pearl-studded sun rises no use Pigeon flocks scattered like iron filings Streets without boys suddenly seem empty after the autumn rain the roof covered with snails --My Homeland From the river in Amsterdam, slowly passing by... 1989 We only kiss when they drink beer in the sky We turn off the lights while they sing When we sleep, they use silver-plated toenails Walk into our dreams, we wait for the time to wake up

They have already formed the river in timeless sleep They shave, we hear fiddles They paddle and the earth stops they don't row, they don't row we have no chance of waking up in the time without sleep They wave to us, we wave to the children when children wave to children The stars wake up from a faraway hotel everything will be painful wake up The beer they drank has already flowed back to the sea children who walk on the sea All are blessed by them: flow Flow is only the submission of the river With secretly shed tears, we form the river... 1989 When church steeples and city chimneys sink to the horizon

The skies of England are darker than a lover's whisper Two blind accordion players walk by with their heads down Without a farmer, there would be no Vespers Without tombstones, there would be no reciters Two rows of newly planted apple trees stung my heart It's my wings that make me famous, it's England bring me to the place where i was lost memory, but leave no more furrows Shame, that's my address There's not a woman in all England who won't kiss There's no room for my pride in all England From the dirt hidden between my fingernails, I Recognize my motherland - mother

It has been packed into a small package and sent far away... 1989-1990 The sound of the leaves, changed The rotten fruit pit hurts the eyes of passers-by On the roof of the red house where the grain was dried in the past The bright carcasses of bugs pile up into the content of autumn Autumn, brushing on the woolen coat prepared for winter Fungus, has gone from the rotten coffin to winter boy in the sun has become ugly Marble parents, weep aloud: when water passes down the well plow, rotted in the ground when iron is bent in the hands of the blacksmith The reaper puts the scimitar in his arms

Funeral companions swaying drunk May Mailang's voice of translation is so long ago Trees, looking at the distance where they are ready to marry them away The herd resists the movement of the sky with the posture of holding back the feces... 1989 We cross the sea, and the damned river Where should it flow? we turn back, and behind us no later life no life Worth resurrecting again and again? The people on the boat all stood dumbfounded. Loved ones, breathe far underwater the bell keeps ringing The longer it lasts, the less confident it is! The tree on the other side looks like a man in fuck

Substitutes for starfish, seashells and anemones Needles, cotton wool scattered on the beach and pubic hair - have we seen the other side? So we turn back like fruit And behind us - a tombstone Inserted into the middle school playground Only, only the woman who weeps her child by the sea Know how long this winter is: Without the dead, the river would not have its end... 1990 After seeing the sea in winter, the blood flowing in the veins must no longer be blood So when you make love, you must look at the sea sure you are still waiting Waiting for the sea breeze to turn towards you again

The wind must come from the bed So is the memory, it must be The Illusion of the Sea in the Eyes of Dead Fish fisherman must be engineer and dentist on leave The cotton in the field in June must be cotton wool Surely you're still looking for trouble in the fields The trees you pass must have been knocked out Huge resentment must make you have a different future Because you love to say yes Like Indian women, they must show the flesh in their waists You must not choose a place far from the place where you live together Not far from Chinatown There must be a moon as bright as a mouthful of phlegm

Some people will say that it is your health No matter less or more importantly, definitely sure it stays in your heart Like that haughty cannonball skin on England's face Watching the sea must have exhausted your years The constellations left in my eyes must have turned into cinders The shadow of the sea must leak from the bottom of the sea to another world On nights when someone has to die anyway, someone has to die Although the ring must not want to die in the flesh Spanking a horse's ass on steroids must be exciting So tidying up must be a mess If the chain is broken, the pedals must be pedaling fast

The wind of spring must be the green belt worn by patients with kidney stones The taxi driver's face must look like boiled fruit That old chair must be young when you come home, must be 1989-1990 finger in pocket change and genitals They're playing another way to grow between the stripper's pouting buttocks There is a small church that walks on the legs of three white horses they see it with their noses And their nails will sprout in the fields in May The yellow earth in May is piles of flat explosives Death simulates them, and so does the reason for death In the last spur of the rutting iron to the soil

They will be part of the sacrificed field long dead silence before the dead make them know that nothing will change They stubbornly think so, they do they donated their childhood keep death intact They copied our experience. 1991 I'm always glad to have a light in the dark night In the wind and the bells I wait for the light In the morning when I didn't wake up until noon The last leaves hang dreamily Plenty of foliage goes into winter Fallen leaves surround the tree from all sides Trees, gathering the winds of the seasons from the sloping edge of the city— Who makes the wind always be misunderstood as the lost center

Who made me insist on listening to the sound of the tree blocking the wind again In order to force the wind to be the five fingers forced to open again in harvest time The shadow of the wind grows new leaves from dead hands Nails were pulled out, by hands.tools in hand Clenched tightly, a kind of human-like but spurned Like a shadow of a man, walked by It is it that dispels the last light on the dead man's face But the light cut into the woods is polished brighter and brighter! Against the light of spring, I walk into the light before dawn I recognize the only tree that hates me and remembers me under the tree, under the apple tree The table in my memory is green The splendor of May, whose bones were awakened by the separation of wings, unfolded to me I turn around, grass grows on my back I'm awake and the sky has moved Death written on the face enters the word Illuminated by stars accustomed to death death, shot into the light Make the lonely church the last pillar to measure starlight What is left out is left over. 1991 no meaning from the weather The land has no size, the railroad tracks have no direction rejected by an unfinished dream packed into a shoebox controlled by an incomplaint in the time the worm walks People who fear death rely more on fear in such a weather you are a gap in that weather what you look at, you are forgotten by it Inhale it and exhale it, it burrows into your scent Looking at the changes before dawn You will find a chance to become grass pass by the trees planted by man you forget everything in such a weather you won't be on the side of the weather Not on the side of faith, only on the side of fiction when the clatter of horseshoes is no longer a fictional dictionary Please stop making up wasps with your tongue when the wheat ripens in fiction and then rots please eat the last plum in the song of the nightingale eat it, and leave the winter chimes on the branches in such a weather only fiction is going on 1992 From any direction of the tree I accept the sky olive green words hidden among the trees like light hidden in a dictionary recorded by the departed stars Balanced by a flock of blind birds, the light and its shadow, dead and checkmate Two pears dangling, on a tree fruit with initial shadow like a bell hidden among the trees In the trees, the December wind resists stronger wine There is a gust of wind that urges the words to come blocked by barn posts, blocking Dreamed by marble nightmares, dreamed Startled by the sound of the wind walking down the tombstone, awakened The last leaves run to the sky The writing of autumn, sprouting from the death of the tree Ringtone, just then light up my face In the last golden sky-- 1992 The moment when the street cellist sings memories The last speck of light in the evening sky is dying died on an old railway station A gray gut opened up in the sky there's nothing beyond it Continue to sit on the river except for one weight The weight that once made the church dizzy Now, it seems like there's just silence After the sound of the cello there is only silence The trees quietly change color The children drank the milk quietly The sand boat sails quietly We watch, like tiles silently watching the roof We sniff, who's in the air with us has died quietly Who exists, only the light no longer shows who leaves himself, only for a moment Who said that moment is our whole life And now the sound of rain in Scotland Suddenly knocked a pot-- 1992 Often they occupy an iron chair in the park as they often have many clothes There was a life in the house they owned This city is often dreamed by them this world too like the long years they spent Often they are still hungry while reading the newspaper that hunger from a distant country It's just a pain to make them feel that they can gain weight While their lives don't change as a result, the map does get bigger when they read the newspaper They have been lovers, wives, mothers, and are still It's just that no one wants to remember them Even the pillows they slept with Also no longer remember.so They talk to themselves longer and longer It seems to be facing the Lord.so They are good now, if they were not They are willing to listen, no matter to animals, or to rivers, often They feel like they're waiting for a ship the same port of departure or arrival They don't have to go to Africa Just sit in that fixed iron chair The exiles across from them can be covered with apple leaves sleep, sleep and dream To dream that their womb is a church of tomorrow. 1992 Only one memory is allowed Extend to the direction that the rails can't reach-teach you Measure the future with millet, pave the road with cloth only one season allowed Wheat Season - Sunshine in May From a bare back, pull the land in all directions only one hand is allowed Teach you to look down - there are furrows in your palm The idea of ​​going to the ground has been slowly flattened by the other hand only one horse allowed Paralyzed by the gaze of a woman at five o'clock in the afternoon Teach your temper, endure your flesh only one person allowed The person who taught you to die is already dead Wind, teach you to be familiar with this death only one death is allowed Every word is a bird that smashes its head The sea continues to overflow from a broken crock... 1992 no one says goodbye to me no one says goodbye to each other No one bids farewell to the dead when the morning begins no margin of its own Beyond language, toward the land's lost margins Beyond the tulip-blossoming fresh meat, to the windows that never close at night Except for my windows towards a language I no longer understand no language Only the light tormented repeatedly, tormented The saw that repeatedly pulls at dawn Only the tulips are stirring until they are no longer stirring no tulips Only light, stagnant at dawn Starlight, sprinkled in the sleeping luggage room of the speeding train The last light, streaming down the baby's face no light I split the flesh with the ax and heard the shepherds scream at dawn I opened the window and heard light and ice shouting It is the cry that breaks the chains of the fog no shout only land Only the people who land and transport the millet know The bird that sings only at midnight is the bird that has seen the dawn no dawn 1991 In the wheat field in November I read my father i read his hair the color of his tie, the line of his trousers And his hoof, caught in the laces While skating, while playing the violin The scrotum shrinks, the neck stretches to the sky due to excessive understanding I read that my father was a horse with big eyes I read that my father was briefly away from the horses On a small tree hung his coat And his socks, and looming among the horses those pale butts like the fleshed ones A woman's body soap in an oyster shell I read about the smell of my father's hair oil the smell of tobacco on him And his tuberculosis, lighting up a horse's left lung I read a boy's question Rising from a field of golden corn I read at my sensible age It began to rain on the roof of the red house where the husks were dried The legs of four dead horses are supported under the plow in the wheat season The horse hide looks like an open umbrella, and there are scattered horse teeth I read faces taken away by time I read my father's history quietly rotting underground The locust on my father is living alone Like a gray haired barber hugging an old persimmon tree I read that my father put me back in the belly of a horse When I'm about to turn into a stone bench in the London fog As I look past the man walking on Banks Avenue... 1991 in the cemetery without memories there is a sigh, but it is delayed Cover your face and kneel down Sing No one wants us, we're together It's the cloud behind us that wants us to lean together The trees behind us, getting closer to each other Sing because of humiliation Snow comes from the sky, because of the blessing Where the wind is, this is oblivion The farther you are from the wheat fields, the more lonely you are listen to Then reap, cold, and sow endure so long Believe, so read; Have There is a flying home - looking for us. 1992 —In Memory of Sylvia Plath bare, is their shadow like a bird's breath they are out of this world Under the sea, like oysters confide, then close the meeting stay alone The loneliness that can give birth to pearls stay in their shadow where memories are icebergs It's a memorial made of shark heads It's sailing that turns the sea gray Like London, an open black umbrella remain in your death It's snowflakes, braille, some numbers but not memories Let loneliness turn into calling Let the loneliest one move tables and chairs all night let them vacuum the smell that keeps you in the world It has been completely absorbed for thirty years. 1993 Walking in the night with snow on the forehead but still Walking on a blank sheet of paper and still into the invisible fields and still be Walking between words, between wheat fields, walking in Sale shoes, go to word Looking at the moment of hometown, but still Standing in the wheat field tidying up the suit, but still Bow down the golden shield's forged knees, and still The loudest in the world, the loudest Still, still the earth When an autumn light passes between the lawnmower's legs, it is There's a wild laugh in a field of golden corn, it's A burst of firecrackers reveals the bright red pepper field, it is still No arrangement can reproduce its golden color Its order is a burst of vigorous growth in the autumn field It's persuasive everywhere, it's still it A burst of cold September cow dung is shoveled into the air and still October's stone walks into a procession and remains The rain in November passes through a place without you and it is still There are still seventy pears on the tree smiling crookedly your father is still your mother a cough amidst laughter The bull's head bumps toward the passing road But it is still a family sitting on a bullock cart watching the snow licked by a huge ox tongue warm, still warm It's the snow from memory that increases the weight of memory It is the snow that owes it, and now the snow comes to cover it It was snow that turned the page overturned, but still The wheat field and the cemetery in winter have been joined together Four desolate trees are planted here The light of the past pours into the telling, breaks apart beyond the words cracked, but still Your father used your mother's death as his sky Use his death as your mother's tombstone Your father's bones come down from the high hills and still Every star is experiencing this life Every piece of broken glass buried in the backyard speaks For a reason not to see you again, say still is, still is 1993 It was the unemployed locksmiths who saw you first As your flying hips pass through the apple tree shadows The sullen face of a cook, turned to the field When the tongues are kneeling, gradually kneeling in the same direction They can't find the mouth to speak you out They want to talk but can't Say: and two olives Can get firm when kissing you There is also a tongue that can be used as a corkscrew to open wine bottles There are two clouds of tomorrow, embracing on the river bank The kisses you had with someone are turning into wild strawberries growing everywhere tongue agreed Yes there are riddles in the corn!history decays And the marble bites your neck Two olives, a riddle within a riddle Dominate the lodestone within the aconitum, shake the ancient landscape Let the nothingness wander between two concrete pillars dead people have souls On a street full of black umbrellas There's a heavy bag of oranges about to be lifted Another sky opens up from a poisoned oyster Inside the horse's head, a marble tub cracked: green time is coming A chicken frozen in the freezer craves Two raisins sitting on a roast leg of lamb longing for from an unpredictable weather From the dripping water that tempts boys to piss from skim milk from the last surgery Desire, with the golden sands into the storm again A storm rising from bacon's sweat glands and violent armpits As an ice floe, continue to drift in the posture of a pregnant woman Desire is the only word they have left When your flying buttocks open the direction you can't lock Block the passage of the long night with naked flesh The words they left behind were the sperm that penetrated the cement— 1994 It was the unemployed locksmiths who saw you last As your flying hips pass through the coma of the roasted chestnut man A chef covers his face and kneels towards a field When tongues kneel, gradually kneeling in different directions They found a mouth to speak you out But no more.say they abolished it It is said: and two olives can get firm while kissing you It is said to have a tongue that can replace the corkscrew for opening wine bottles Who said that there are two clouds of tomorrow, once embraced on the river bank The kisses that were kissed by who have turned into wild grasses growing everywhere It's nothing if corn agrees It's corn in the shadows.history decays There's a marble shadow biting your neck The shadow of two olives, the shadow of shadows Disassemble the magnet in the bird's head and control the sand in the bird's crop Let the nothingness of the people stagnate between two concrete pillars The dead no longer have souls On a street once full of black umbrellas A heavy bag of oranges was finally lifted A gray sky, a large theater opened from within a poisoned oyster The thought inside the horse's head is as clear as an electric filament: green time arrives at the show A chicken frozen in the freezer wakes up Two raisins on a roast leg of lamb woke up from a forecasted weather From the sound of water dripping to keep boys from pissing from defatted semen from an incompetent operation Wake up and ride the storm again with the golden sand storm blowing from the shower head As a pregnant woman, continue to drift with the attitude of floating ice Drifting is the last word left by them When your flying hips lock the direction that cannot be locked Confess the passing of the long night with a naked confession The sperm they leave behind are words that have been cemented to death. 1994 Dragging a pair of red shoes over the beer caps For an eternal enmity between the legs swollen legs dip into the water and stir For the sake of the bones in the flesh For the little fish swimming between the toes to have an education Drove the tar from the black skin Wounded under these feet for the land For it, endlessly minting miles pointing with a missing finger Migrate naked for the nations For there would be no place of death, and no more seasons For the cry, and the cry has no price for all, not only for the eternal has been twisted, for that twist Expanded to a full map From, from the gore, draw the daily picture— 1993 are some toes that really leave the shoe They formed in flight, and they remained in the land They're real tumors that stay in the brain and they stay in time Experience change in an immobile landscape With every crash of the waves say no Their loneliness comes from the bottom of the sea from the face of a sailor left over by fish From those who miss the stormy sea the cry of the toothless man ever got there Alone, where I was judged to save When I accompany tourists, like fake beads down to their docks, I Seeing my shadow on the bottom of the sea A plow covered with pearls plowed open the cemetery in the mind; There, under the laughing sands of the naval base Still, there is still a salutary wasteland in which confessions grow. 1993 Get to know the sea from the deck Instantly, recognize its gigantic hovering Know the plow from the sea, instantly recognize the courage we had At every moment, only from each individual fear From forehead to forehead, standing on the threshold Say goodbye, five years in an instant From clenching hands tightly, saying let go In an instant, all the sand in the shoes came from the sea Just learned to read by candlelight In an instant, the weight in the rucksack is reduced Just now, when I swallowed rough bread, I realized In an instant, the water in the bottle has been released back into the sea Stared at by cows from their hometown, Yun Call me to tears, instantly I cry but i go in any direction In an instant, it becomes drifting Scrubbing the back of a paralyzed cow Memory, find the source in an instant word, walk back to the dictionary in an instant But within words, sailing let those who never set sail Eternal life - no return. 1994 Make cakes across the world, use Child's tooth marks on toast Make the bed, take the other pacifier be a flying bird Don't cry, don't buy insurance not prayed out not in this order never dream Extinguished candles in a windless night As starlight, shining on the back of the rider's neck To be grass that only grows for one season, to write poetry a plow frozen in a tree as rye, enduring meditation in the wind never dream style, shout the land Be a drop of water, drop silently as a galloping spasm an egg that may hatch from the father from the time taken In the time of insomnia, commemorate the stars good time to gather riddles overhead 1994 no expression, so dominate, from There is no direction from any more, no Order, that sucks away, logic no end, no just increasing, there are boats, but empty But if you are still crossing, someone has to lie down at the bottom of the river hold the stone for a great river Up when encountering a high place, and then flow into Those who can't stay, the river, will have metal Flat, ice transparent, no blood mixed will age, will not corrode, the cornerstone will Doubter's head won't, reason Yes, pain will not, at its boiling point, love will Hold on will, wait will not, hold on just waiting take its share Before, let those who hold on Free from just population, horsepower refers to It's still mileage, the sand will still arrive Where they are, without surroundings No deadlines, no rust, no... 1998 On the banks of several great rivers frozen simultaneously Enduring standing upright, enduring in posterity's piss Things are not just things, in the past It is the position of a person who endures others I'm also a human being, and I've always been exhausted In the season that was always redundant, endured Some of the posts for penning cattle have been some Philosopher's head, always mourned Alternative corrections in various languages those missed hours, instead of Fathers who are always embarrassed the places where I stood On the road where the little whore's big feet are used to Enduring the road, thinking about the sound of hitting the wall After being sucked away by persistent training, enduring time, is thus given, by The tumor in the horse's leg predicts that it will let Nails in horse manure are bent and won't that becomes yeast again, in the ground than have a pair of bells in the ovary Shaking even more urgently, they endured together Change the singing voice when it's always towards the front In the place where there is still a piece of sand to miss the melon shed Endure thunder more than the cotton picker's whisper Even weaker, that can no longer be said Let there be no more hearing, no more silence The handwriting when the wind blows, the wheat field with tens of thousands of needles The north that can crack the coin is still there Teach them to be the same age as the annual cold snap They, too, stretch out their feet in the stone Even in the stone statue, the face is covered, and when someone While rolling your hands into a trumpet, enduring— 1998 raindrops on roof Reminder, in late autumn, stories of old people The fruit that broke through generations of families The house is full Every gust of wind plunders the teeth of the comb A cabinet painted with ox blood Rat teeth that can be used as headgear, an old smell lingering Old houses hide scales but not clocks, but How many myths, Viva picked up On the body, the last name is more important than the first name many musical instruments It has been a long time since I played in this world, five saws In the drawer, ten golden bowls hit the forehead Don't hesitate to ring the bell, can't send with apricot blossoms Braiding each other's hair, four girls Surrounded by a weeping willow, I saw it in the early years God, has been removed with the fish tank pointing at stone horse cherries on branch without - count the net, only with the mother projection in the same time full moon bedside Dreaming is the age of reading newspapers Qiuli collided according to the old score, once Someone intercepted it and stringed it into words Sarcophagus wooden cart ancient road city base Across a piece of bungalow ridge, the courtyard Logic, the criss-cross streets, is from Whose palm print predicted a square A burst of cold with wrongly buttoned skirts Small change in the palm, scattered on the table According to the collapsed stone steps of the old city While picking up and pulling, while Missing more joy Gently hold my father in his old age on his lap Facing the direction where the ancestors washed their faces in the morning The yelling of knife sharpeners in the alley came Looking around, raising the fence again... 1998