by Yi Sha
(translated by Denis Mair)
As easy as you please, again
You start to talk of farming
Of proper tillage, and dripping sweat
Like rain in the march of seasons,
Until the wheat bears harvest.
Do you think the kernels are yours,
From the tears you shed for women?
Does the wheat-awn seem as tender
As whiskers against your cheek?
That year you crowded the road with your wanderings;
The wheat plants in the North grew on their own
Then danced to curve on curve
Of scythes in the sun,
Severing stalks, their own necks,
Severing last ties to the land,
Letting you be yourselves.
The poets have eaten their fill,
A wheat field stretching out of sight
Exudes a rich scent in their bellies.
The city's consummate idlers
Are blue-ribbon farmers of poetry.
In the name of sun and rain
I raise this cry, wheat plants:
Starve them,
The damned poets!
But first of all starve me:
Polluter with ink-stained fingers, I play my part
Planting my bastardly strain in the field of art
Denis, such a well translated great poem by Yi Sha...10+++
Starting to talk farming is definitely very nice. Rising the cry with wheat plans motivates farmers. Only food can remove hunger ad crops can give food grains. For crops we need farming to harvest. A nice poem is well penned by Yi Sha and you have beautifully and perfectly translated this. Your effort is highly appreciated...10
As you say, Yi Sha is grateful for work done by farmers; at the same time, he feels ambivalent about his own role as poet. Coming from an agricultural district, he is concerned that poets are becoming alienated from the land. He ironically describes the poets who fancy that their creative work is similar to farming. Maybe he recognizes that our society is entering new territory, so we cannot rely on the thought-patterns of agricultural society to guide our way forward..
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
A powerful poem, in another realm of poetry as I’ve come to expect from you, Denis. Some beautiful and unusual images. Time alone can be productive and restorative, but isolation is destructive. Hunger for beauty and meaning - yes, that kind is good.