Shaojun Li

Talking about our wishes under the tree
You say, you will write a biography of mountains and waters.

But I love only to take pictures of clouds
...

Nightfall, time for dinner.
I go out to the woods, calling my old father.
The night is seeping through little by little, the darkness diffuses
like ink on rice paper.
...

The tranquility of this small place is in its bone:
the spring water runs in the river, flagstones paved along the alley,
vines and weeds climb the fence, and a bird hops on the wall.
All have tranquility in them.
...

A few wooden cabins.
A small pool of light.
Small as an ant, I'm stranded in this nameless way station
in the depths of Hulunbeier grasslands,
...

In the desert,
a blade of grass is a miracle, so is a drop of rain.
God's sign is easily shown in all small things.
...

Cloud gifts the mountain a white cap.
Trails and vines intertwine, gripped by flowers and weeds.
A stream splashes down the cliff, then rushes to the ocean.
Spring breeze does all the idle things,
...

Spring comes.
Willow catkins fly. Everyone is stirred.

In the rain, a bud cries out loud.
...

Carrying little lanterns, fireflies
float under the empty night sky,
drift in the dark and boundless field.
...

All our effort is nothing
to a burst of spring wind which urges flowers to bloom,
inspires birds to sing, forces all things to open,
and makes love shine.
...

When the country is big, there's room for convolution
When you are small, it can be grabbed in the palm to enjoy bit by bit
As soft and warm as jade
He's maneuvering between you and the country
...

If things have meanings
If rivers and mountains have feelings
No one could be as affectionate as I am
...

The accumulated dried leaves send off burning breath
Flock together, cram, and save up day by day
At last become a gigantic tinderbox that would explode with a single spark
A loud crashing sound, debris everywhere, smoke billowing
...

The partridge hidden inside the Boshen temple called out dusk
By the Jinshui brook bridge, stars and a few folks appeared over the lawn
Clean and calm fragrance emerged from Osmanthus flowers
In contrast to the mundane myriad of twinkling lights from the town
...

An ancient moon
Is radiating the light of nowadays

Western wind
...

In my dream, a call arising from the inside of a mansion of my hometown
Woke me up at a small hotel in a distant foreign land
O, it's mid-autumn again, and getting cooler
The autumn wind carried me back to the slate path in front of the mansion
...

She sat in the center, the stars dipped in the wild
Grass shrimp, crabs and eels danced in the palace
Whales were the pilot troops, seagulls showed up in riding waves
The curtain was up, the sky was full of bright stars
...

Nihilists in the world are rioting, gesturing
From London to New York, from Europe to the Americas
The new Spring of Prague was launched at the heart of capitalism
Evolved into cell phone messages, Twitter and Weibo uprisings
...

At dusk, time for dinner
I went out to call my old father walking in the woods

The night color was saturating little by little
...

Under the tree, we chatted about our dreams
You said you would write biographies for the mountains, and chronicles for the water

For me, I just wished to shoot a portrait album of the clouds
...

Nostalgia for Snow
Translated by Peter Jingcheng Xu
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