The Translation of Lin Huiyin's Complete Works into Poetry and Drama

Chapter 4 Poetry Volume (3)

In the spring of 26, Beiping
Before and after
silent boat on the river

carried people past;

Bridge - the foundation of the third ring cave,
Added footprints on it;
morning,

It's early evening again,

this goes on and on

long road...

can't ask anyone
The end of desire,—

no end
this front.

behind,

History is a burden!

to spring
But last spring, the scent of flowers,
Red and white alternate with a small winding path,

On this pale afternoon, climbing again

Looking back, there is a pine wind in front of the hill

Just blow a long distance, beside yourself.

When people go, peacock-green garden gates, white lilacs,
Accompanied by moving details, at this time,
Another season when the water of the lake is about to dissolve has completely changed the picture.

Hanging in time, facing the sun does not come,

Even when it comes, it obliquely erases a line of silent memory, under the tree.

Looking at flowers on New Year's Eve
Newly bought from the flower market that is noisy with foreign accents,

The snow-white long branches of green peaches are like the blood-red camellias.

Focus on your own small corners and then use exquisite and bright colors to combine them,

Don't focus on the sharp sadness, only the blunt ones are left!

Knowing that the silence in the room seems to be the wrong season,
In the atmosphere, the hometown is farther away, and time hangs backwards;

Chinese New Year is not like Chinese New Year, I can see that the lanterns are burning with little blood,

Under the curtain of flowers, I can no longer remember the old enthusiasm and old words.

If my heart revolves around Fang Fei who is familiar with the old days,
Blurred like a path over countless fences,
The flowers, leaves and branches, the grass makes people stunned,
Today's footsteps, no longer willing to step on the sand of the past.

The moonlight has frozen, pointing to the hills everywhere, the river is more chaotic,

What I care about is the hard work on the horseshoe plain, Wuxiang is portraying,
The flowers on New Year's Eve are no longer flowers, only a sentence is here,
Trembling with the worries of thousands of people, everyone is concerned about it.

poems (three)

give autumn

Just like everything in life,
We love too hastily;

As if it was only yesterday,

You are still at my window!
smiling face to the sky
Your forest leaf laughter is dyed red

You spread the yellow light like gold
Childish, extravagant, you have no sorrow.

Your red leaves are a kind bond, the mess
The morning light that must come to haunt me every morning.

I kiss you too, regardless of your back through the glass!
You often pass by mischievously, but you are not shy to me.

But how madly I love,
Unaware of the terrible night

Has followed behind,—

Waiting to destroy you cruelly!
The howling wind of the night
It really didn't wake me up
wait until the morning when it's too late

what.sky!You have disappeared.

I curse myself harshly
but who walks here now

Get rid of the severe winter iron face
In the mist, I saw it by chance.

人生
life,

you are a tune,
I am the one who sings;
you are the river
I am a boat, a small white sail
When I was a traveler,
You, the fields, the forests, the mountains.

no matter what,

upside down intimately implicated
you and me,
I will pass through you forever;

i survive
You are the river of my life,

Reason equal force.

Your existence
in the beating of my chest
five-color splendor

but we cross each other

Did not leave each other in trouble.

…………

now i'm dead
you,--

I will hand you over to others!

delay
when all the emotions
all merged into one lament

Like small rivers, big rivers, converging toward
The boundless sea, - whatever

How rushing, how circling,—

The strong wind on the river, the big and small pebbles,

reverse flow
Little harbor, like
In that life, the unintentional tranquility
escape the mainstream; emotional

Pingbo became more and more sad.

Stop, this galloping blood;
they don't have to be totally flaccid

All to cause tears.

Might as well go back and forth a few more times, back to the flowing water,

In spite of all the chaos in front of me,
All this, go to building logic.

Bringing desperate conclusions to slightly

delay, delay,—

Delaying rational judgment,—

Will give pure emotion another hope!
six o'clock in the afternoon
what to decorate with
Six o'clock in the afternoon?

six o'clock in the afternoon
embellished in your life,
Only the light that seems,
fading sunset, outside the window
A fallen leaf is spinning!

what to accompany
Six o'clock in the afternoon?

six o'clock in the afternoon
Sitting with you in the twilight,
When the light is gone, the shadows change,
a cigarette for a little rain

Go on, hopeless!

Kunming Immediately
a tea shop
This is a three-dimensional composition,
Draw many faces here
In the tea shop at the foot of Shuncheng
There was a faint commotion.

various poses, life
Different aspects are marked:

The teahouse is full of people, laughing,

Frowning, some smoking dry tobacco.

old, kindly face,

young, quick eyes,
I need time for the teacup
Stop, stop disturbing your mood!

A whole bunch of hard work every day,

Only at this moment can I earn back a small amount of peace,
There is still a long way to go home at night,
During the day, who has time to look at the cloud shadows?
Not all for real thirst,

Four windows open, drinking tea,
It is fatigue that raises its knees,

Gossiping with your neighbors with bare arms.

Also to put down the shoulder pole
Gasping for fate, leaning against the wall,
Live by this bowl of tea every night

Humorous assessment of life's short and long...

This is a three-dimensional composition,
Coloring beside the little life,

The tea shop under the cool pumpkin shed,

Another lively day passed!
second small building
Daddy Zhang’s low building facing the street,

Half hidden, half upright, standing in the street,
tiles cover it, the window opens a crack,

The setting sun dyes it red, like writing down an ancient dream.

Some grass grows on the low eaves, and small melons grow,

The gravel road is in front of the building, no one is planting flowers,

It is the companionship of old jars, earthen jars, big and small;

Grime lists many interesting messes.

But Daddy Zhang passed by, it would be better not to chant it;

Big Daddy himself (getting old) doesn't believe in antiquity.

On crutches, he often goes to the next door to buy wine,
I would rather cross the bridge and the earth embankment to see Xinliu!
a bunch of crazy words

Like this lilac tree, a few branches of apricot,

Believe that there is a string of words in my heart,

Around many leaves, green stillness,

Wind and dew day and night, I only hope that May will come to bloom!
If you're May, blow it up for me in August
The blue sky is full of rosy clouds, it looks like spring is coming,
Forget shyness, I must turn my face,

Say a bunch of crazy words in front of you!

Miscellaneous poems in sickness (nine poems)
Poetry ([-])

Thanks to the irony of life for mocking me,
The throat that can sing is hoarse and becomes a wordless song.

A veil-like emotion, originally ethereal,

Now it's all covered with clumsy patches.

On the shoulders first stir up two loads of clouds,
With radiance to arrange in the calm sky;
Now the darkness sinks down the truth of reality,

The soul and the spine of hunger will be crushed together!
I dare not ask how life should be now

pant!Experience wears out like the soles of old shoes,
On this divergent road, stones and mud are blurred,

It is still convenient to go barefoot, to recognize new hard work.

Poetry ([-])

There are all the colors in the little shell;

The whole rainbow is hidden inside.

The colorful existence is his secret,

There was no sunset outside and no raindrops.

There is nothing but nothingness in the night sky;
Where the stars of the whole universe shine,
Distant light is like the boundless sea,

It is every small crystal that gives you direction.

bad mood

In my sickness, thus clinging to cares and troubles,
Like a cold northwest wind blowing from the desert wasteland,

Gradually blowing into the garbage dumps in the streets and alleys at dusk;

Seeking comfort in musty crumbs,
Himself horrified at the wreckage of everything consumed,
Little by little, they raise terrible dust for others!

Blowing away memories like old newspapers wandering here and there,
Fragmented records only upside-down reminders of past turmoil.

Extra reason is like a hungry wild dog
Chasing empty cans and bones like that, chasing lonely
chewing human sentimentality; life can't say anything yet,
There are already so many scums before my eyes!

I hope: the wind has stopped; the mood will be like a light snow tonight,
Silent white lightly falls to the ground;
Each snowflake has a kindness of patience towards oneself and others,

Layer by layer to hide the bad, broken and painful;
In the light of the beautiful tomorrow morning, there is no need for anxiety,--

When despair is coming, it is simply the cruel cold snap after the snow!
to my eldest sister
When I go, there are still unfinished words,

Like the tea left in the cup after the guest left;

While talking, the opportunity to drink together has been missed,

The host and guest are sad, but there is no need to regret it.

If a little sentimental, you turn your face out of the window,

When the setting sun is about to end, there is always a sunset glow in the western sky.

All little nostalgia is not a sin,
It is also normal to have unfinished songs.

You forgive me for having a bunch of mental dodges,
Admitted at dusk, denied until dawn;

Some things I haven't said yet,
The understanding of others comes from intuitive understanding.

When I go, there are still unfinished words,

Like time suspended in the air after a clock has struck,

You have reason to wait for a better continuation;

You have reason to be afraid of sudden termination.

But forgive me, my words can never be complete,
Emotional contradictions from ancient times to the present have made hoarseness.

One day

Twelve hours today,
are my twelve guests,
Each comes and goes,
Finally, the sunset dragged its shadow and left!
I don't have time to question my own mind,

Twilight crept in, sneaking in curiously!

I said: friend, I will not tell you this time,

Every time I say it, it hurts my pride.

The dusk is gloomy, and walks away wordlessly,

Alone and silent, I throw myself into the arms of the night!
For stumps

Plum blossoms, you withered branches,
It's the sorrow you can't tell!
After this shower of rain tonight,
I close the window and part with you again.

But I fantasize about the night comforting your sorrow,
The last quarter moon shines on you, the most sympathetic,
I fell asleep, my poem records your tenderness,
You might as well put the buds at ease to make shade.

To Beimen Street Garden
Don't say you are lonely; the big tree arches,

Flowers are blooming, a garden will last forever

Asleep; no sound of footsteps.

Your treetops are coiled with birds, every morning the sky is cloudy

Kiss your forehead, every night you leave a conversation
It is the best sunset in Xishan.

village in november
I imagine that I am softly talking to myself:

What is it like outside the village in November?
It is the indifferent sky beside the boundless river;

It is the reddish leaves scattered through the fog;
It is nostalgia, and so many unspeakable loneliness;

Or is it this mountain road that turns back and forth alone?
It is the village that is lost, and there is a trace of smoke around;

Is it the thatched hut surrounded by bamboos on the white sand?
It is the sound of dry wood crackling in the stove fire,
Is it the singing of boys necking in the deciduous forest?

It was the old farmer who followed the oxen and went far away,
Or the scattered cattle and sheep grazing on the side of the slope?
What makes the heart of this November,
Whose disease is the soul of November?
The mountain col made me stand on a loess wall;

In the afternoon, through the clouds and haze, the sun shines!
A wild vine stumbled over a corner of an old wall, squinting
Two gates erected with bluestones fell by the side of the road
Wherever I sit, I go away again,

My heart beats the same; before my heart
Although disturbed, always like many clouds around,

But Jijiyiwan paddy fields, these few barren graves,
They'll never tell who's in charge of it all

I fold a stalk to see the longest shadow in the afternoon
To wait for November's answer to blow in the breeze.

Melancholy
Melancholy is not your friend;

But it is not your enemy, you cannot wrong him!

He's your tough creditor, what about you?yes

The gambler who put his soul on him.

You gambled with your dreams like that, unfortunately
Thou hast lost; lay down the last estate of spirit,

Most valuable clothes, then everything you

Isn't it natural to lose even one's own emotions and beliefs?

Your creditor he is, so don't ask him about his face

What the hell!God, if you must see clearly
There's a little light here tonight, under the light you might as well be with him
Face to face, you are so desperate, he is so ruthless!

our rooster

Our rooster never thought
I am a peacock
Confident that their combs are enough for him

Stroll with your head up—

He walked around a yard

Instrument demeanor
All in front of the group of females!
Our rooster never thought
I am the leader

In the dawn, he only raises his voice

This cry wakes up others
He saves the cry economically
(keep that rule)

So it symbolizes time!

Tsinghua University on February 1948, 2
Shimmer
There is no light in the street, no lights,
There is one hanging in a corner of the shop corridor;
He and she put the fate of their family together
Vague, give it all to the darkness.

There is no light in the street, no lights,
On the shop window, there is half a light on the oblique corner.

Family-sized, modest heads,
Side by side, sleeping soundly on the kang.

There are snowy nights and muddy outside;
There is not enough rice for tomorrow in the casserole;
Hut, hold on to the twilight,
There is a lack of everything that is needed in life.

What is lacking is a pair of dry firewood and a glass of water; wheat flour...

For this food and drink, there is no faith at all,—

Life is already, fixed, by strength alone,
On the shoulders and arms, to support the guts of that life.

Tomorrow, and tomorrow, and tomorrow...

Everything is limited, who says hope,—

Even in dreams, in dreams, flashing,

Is it still this lonely light?

There's a lamp on the street corner, a little light,

hung on the shop porch; shone on the window sill;
He and she, the fate of their family
I understand, leave everything to this miserably.

22 September
ancient city at dusk
I saw the ancient city concentrating in the setting sun;
The tower looks at the tower,

Forget the golden dome in the middle;

Ten noisy streets are still scattered at the foot,
There are countless pedestrians like insects and ants.

I see the ancient city contemplating at dusk;
The crows whirling noisily,
The ancient cypresses of the abandoned garden are supported in sleepiness.

Countless altars and temples are lonely and desolate,
Lock the peeling temple doors one by one!

I hear the ancient city talking alone in the evening;
The monastery was silent, the incense was extinguished,
The bell sinks, the city loses its voice;

The chariots and horses keep kicking up the dust of the ages,
The wind and sand sighs history everywhere.

bridge

His mission:

The hand in hand of the two roads of Mang Mang on both sides of the North and South Straits;

his completion
Do not block the river and the moon, the communication between the boats up and down;

his shoulders
Resolutely let your footsteps pass by, and find your way;
his chest,

The empty ring hole does not block the torrent in the heart of the river.

He is a bridge:

A bold beam stands on the vast water;

a pile of mud,
The perfection of painstakingly heaped or fashioned, above nature;
A stroke of reason,
Adapt to countless magic and support three-dimensional commemoration;
once manually,
Corrected the negligence of good fortune, and reconnected the isolated one!

He is a bridge,

Behold the railings that balance the two rows like meditation;

his power,

Under the two piers, there are many thick stones inlaid;

his patience,
Let each rut be carved into the polished stone of footprints;
his leisure,

As time goes by, let Diao Weng Yecao be by your side.

his beauty,

Like the lock and key of the mountains and moons, it is showing the ingenuity of human beings;

his soul,

Immersed in the cold wave, it continues to form a circle in the reflection of a hook.

his presence,

But not duty for playful idleness;

his ideal,

A kind of piety should be sent to the travelers in life.

isolated island
Looking into the distance, it is a picturesque mountain

Standing far away in the heart of the river towering proudly

Pity it is but an island of misfortune,—

Naturally, there is no embankment, and artificially, there is no Hongqiao.

He and his reflection are forever prisoners of the surrounding waters;
The land is an unattainable hope for it!

Sooner or later, when it is lonely, it often holds the boat!
Ren Jiangwu hides himself in the rainy season.

On a sunny day, it erects a small tower, Linglong alone facing the heart of the cloud;
Panpan stone steps, from the bells in the pine forest, beyond the quiet.

The peculiar contours which it painstakingly made,

Where can I find a little sympathy in the deserted land?
(End of this chapter)