Home Categories Poetry and Opera Poets of Nine Leaves - Selected Poems of Zheng Min

Chapter 4 Volume Four: Yuxiang's Words

Who said it was black? eyes are deceiving their transparent torso loops Spring blood, red. Who said they were bald? old man tottering on street corner they are full of baby babbles Hidden full of green, gushing out every second The excitement of the birds, bouncing and turning their heads Takes off suddenly, grinds its beak hard Why are people shaking their heads? Only children and poets see all this When the tree has not yet awakened from hibernation. It is not loess that surges up to the chest The tide is reclaiming the empty shells night black sea and pale moon direct night flight to

the other side that will not reach What am I waiting for? haven't let go Let go and wait: a fish, a pigeon greed annoys me I don't know what else to wear What kind of tea to make, welcome Master, Fate, and the Summoner His presence needless to say maybe the most beautiful Always silent. oblivion, burial of consciousness she came out of the grave in spring The stolen Persephone surfaced land again today, when half awake The dormitory is filled with twilight haze she visits i touch the loneliness in the depths of the soul my ghost chases out she has drifted away take everything away

clouds, birds, trees, flowers and laughter I was still young at that time soul and body in an empty room flow under the ceiling evening glow, golden sunset Squirt lifts and tourists Glimpses the portrait in the mirror Heads of countless geometric shapes salvaged from the deep sea still with ancient times A demeanor left by chance. The volcano has been extinguished. Sha Tin, December 1990 When the sunset of Mona � and those torn by it � Pieces of blue sky from the narrow west window into the dark hut what can separate me and that flooded by sunlight � Boundless and bottomless

universe? yesterday's little wildflowers opened another flower dark light yellow six petals around a brown heart heart sinking added how mysterious what can separate me and it, it's deep A flirt who doesn't want to show off? Sha Tin, December 1990 Dawn walks through the window, footsteps Awaken countless birds in limbs The river flows quietly in the bath Lie on your back on soft water deep blue someone?nobody? Phantom flows across another river Appears only to those special eyes. Sha Tin, December 1990 night lily in a bottle tell me dusk is approaching bursts of fragrance

with the darkening sky let me stop and listen words of lily repeating wishes every night Knowing that it's just a short-lived fragrance But always invites the footsteps of dusk Then darkness surrounded her when the moon shines on them it's dead of night Only the inspired night sky sprinkle moist dew Liming says goodbye again and again footsteps gradually go away Snow-white lilies sway in the breeze no longer count time no more waiting, no more anxiety fall into a deep sleep that won't wake up Like a dream, it has no volume leave the world in the mist Today, the mountain came out

� extra blue � extraordinarily close right in front of my long window Show every pleat and stripe I seem to be able to stroke its back like a loving cat reluctant sky after rain smeared on canvas gray, orange, yellow light The sea suddenly turned green. imagine waiting window ancients waiting for friends Looking at the sea between the two mountains Just waiting for the tiny sampan in the distance ups and downs in the waves promised a precious afternoon drink on pillow Listen to the wind in the gorge Although, only passing moment in downtown throwing knowing glances at each other

Disappeared in misty rain again. Sha Tin, January 8, 1991 If there is no negation of the cloud Where are the green onions of the mountains? A few days of misty rain and fog dissipated.cloud, cloud long short feet climb up from behind the saddle One step, one group, one piece is walking Conquering the mountain's high After the clouds pass, the mountains disappear After the procession, the mountain regain ground with amazing curves showing pale green spikes gray sky again negation is only woven into elegant surrounded by long white yarn ethereal shifting dress If there is no play of clouds

Where is the condensation of mountains vigorous, Trion... Sha Tin in 1991 One gloomy and sweltering August morning The dead come in from the garden Holding yellow, orange-red, dark purple, and snow-white roses and unrestrained honeysuckle branches it says Realized after living seventy years real gems fake gems look real A game of indiscernibility Coming to an end. You've been struggling between two whirlpools between two colliding plates The tsunami, the earthquake, It all happens in a peaceful shell. The universe offers black space stars shine in the dark Free rotation

History fills time with flesh and death Two vortices collide when they are tangent abandon each other One should be at ease like a bird Fragrant like love Swing the carving knife at random like lightning cut the sky into pieces The other should use itself as the center of the circle circle your kingdom Weigh people's souls with their own scales Designing rise and fall, survival and death Examining the laws of the ant kingdom Longing for the arrival of the century of Changle Can't abandon the scaffolding of reality struggling between two whirlpools you realize one morning

The breeding ground of human beings is the innocence of children repeating the naive fallacy until knowledge regrets its cleverness Because real gems seem fake fake gems look real rest in peace smart stupid soul will get its due freedom Once we get out of this mystery of true and false Time is the high-speed rail Open a true and false amusement park. From then on in that unpredictable cloud You are bathed in the twilight of the setting sun soaring freely in the darkness of space Your feathers shine like stars In the summer of 1990, Shi was reading "Writing and Difference"

anger: because of innocence and peace become a tool of deceit look down and see yourself in the hands of a magician spread your wings Only the attitude of flying he finally let you fly away but only in Before the next show. (Words are often treated as things in dreams...--Freud) silky, silky like a love that has passed through half a century youth under the gray morning sky Stop and go, stop and go Mixed in the richness of white hosta Black silk trousers are entangled with rose branches The black nylon umbrella emits a depressing feeling The endless blue sky of Kunming under the umbrella and its lonesome goshawk hovering won't leave.From rose to honeysuckle Various aromas and raindrops collected I can't bear to take them with me into that strange gloom, where An emptiness that no one knows sinks, though outside drizzle of rain Still going down, stop, down, down... In August 1990 in Tsinghua University, when I was reading Derrida's "Writing and Diversity", I was touched by Freud's words and wrote this poem. Through the glass window, closed, seeping in A dark cloud flows in the room, under the ceiling The leaves are falling like rain Bury my flesh, with its unquenched fire A white dove flies out of the dead body It looks at the incomplete ugly wall from high above It flew thousands of miles and landed on under the bodhi tree Hungry thought: Is there a roof A square, a church steeple, can accept Drifting rain clouds. A child stretches out a tender palm let it peck the kernels of corn It thought of the body buried under the fallen leaves. April 25, 1990 Though the sky sees all the wonders of flight Can really fly, from yesterday to tomorrow only imagination and memory Their wings are lighter than feathers and harder than steel when i got your card at the end of 1989 I saw you in 1986 standing in an apartment elevator Our supper is a homeless feast Just before the elevator doors close We bid farewell, you have a bewildered expression I have the bitterness that only Chinese can have and strong waiting, hope, friendship It's dark, cold, unsafe in New York outside Not making people transparent this fall Although the leaves are as golden We sent away another beauty in memory The dryness of winter invades our minds The desert still has a menacing beauty we're done taking on greatness to the winter desert The animals hide quietly in the cave Stomach motility to endure hunger only brave sparrows fly out to spy Find some groves in the snow Nobody knows next year's harvest When I went to read poetry, I was shocked by such lines "Like an old blind man who raises the curtains and realizes that the morning I know the changes: no smile on the silent side But when I breathe with the birds angry spirit transformed into blessing The dead begin to sing to my sleep from the darkness. "** He also said: "I let my sighs extend into songs But like a tree bears the transformation of things. "*** Nothing compares to the following line It makes me want to tell you: "Growing old, I cry sometimes But still laughing in the dream"**** Like the people sent to the abyss by Dante we sometimes come out of the fog to poets and friends speak the words soaked in fog Our levitation makes our few words With the wind blowing to you, my friends far away Goodbye, remember the chances we had Goodbye, we've been swallowed by the fog, bye bye * Rosenthal, a famous American poetic theorist and professor of poet at New York University, once visited China. ** Rydke, Journey to the Outback. *** Rydke "Becoming New". **** Rydke The Other.
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