Zheng Min Poems

There is no such a gate.
It's only in the fate of certain people.
Those who want to enter
are blocked
by those wishing to go out.
Ten years have left no trace.
But one glance can be eternal.
No 'sorry' has been
more sorrowful than this "I'm sorry."

The gate is still there
but it doesn't really exist.
Only when people turn around
to look back
do they realize
it's a leading
to the Divine Comedy.

It exists in nothingness
that can be anywhere.
...

这扇门不存在于人世
只存在于有些人的命运中
那要走进来的
被那要走出去的
挡住了.
十年可以不留下一丝痕迹
一眼却可能意味着永恒
没有一声"对不起"
说得比这更为惆怅

那扇门仍在那儿
但它不再存在
只有当人们
扭过头来回顾
才能看明白
那是一扇
通向神曲的门

它存在于虚无中
那可能是任何一个地方
...

Tightly wrapped
with silk
the pale young body
a lotus flower
is buried five meters under the soil.
You and I
stand by the gravestone, like stones
or stone horses.

We are buried in
all immortals.
The grave is closed, the sound
ringing in the world.

One evening
I walk through a busy street
alone. Suddenly I smell
a lotus scent, and hear
an organ vaguely.
The mummy is sending a message
from the dark underground
five meters below.
...

用绫绸
紧紧地，紧紧地
裹著那苍白而年轻的肢体
像一朵荷花
将它埋在无米下的泥土里
你和我
站在墓穴边
像石人，石马

我们埋在了
不朽的一切
封墓的声音
沉沉地打在
这个世界里

一个寂寞的黄昏
我走过繁忙的街头
突然闻到
荷花香，和听到
管风琴的飘忽声
木乃伊从那
黑黑的无米深处
送来了信息
...

It stays in me.
The sun has climbed down,
the mountainous long limbs
stretch, and then crouch.
Through the impenetrable armor
it returns to my consciousness
where it releases
a light only visible to me.
...

不能忘记它
虽然太阳已经下山了
山峦的长长的肢体
舒展地卧下
穿过穿不透的铁甲
它回到我的意识里
在那儿放出
只有我看得见的光
...

Golden rice stands in sheaves
in the newly cut autumn field.
I think of many exhausted mothers,
I see rugged faces along the road at dusk.
On the day of harvest, a full moon hangs
atop the towering trees,
and in the twilight, distant mountains
approach my heart.
Nothing is more quiet than this, a statue,
shouldering so much weariness -
you lower your head in thought
in the autumn field that stretches afar.
Silence. Silence. History is nothing
but a small stream flowing under your feet.
And you stand over there,
becoming a thought of humanity.
...

金黄的稻束站在
割过的秋天的田里，
我想起无数个疲倦的母亲
黄昏的路上我看见那皱了的美丽的脸
收获日的满月在
高耸的树巅上
暮色里，远山是
围着我们的心边
没有一个雕像能比这更静默。
肩荷着那伟大的疲倦，你们
在这伸向远远的一片
秋天的田里低首沉思
静默。静默。历史也不过是
脚下一条流去的小河
而你们，站在那儿
将成了人类的一个思想。
...

What's beautiful are the two shoulders sinking
into the shadows locking the chest, rich as an orchard.
Only the radiant face, a dream suddenly appearing,
corresponds to the slim fingers that rest on the low

gate. River of time carries away another leaf.
From her half lowering eyes, sphinxlike, flows out a tranquility
that dazzles. Her unchangeable calm is facing a limited life
when in a chance evening she casts a long glance
at this changing world
...

优美的是那消失入阴影的双肩，
和闭锁着丰富如果园的胸膛
只有光辉的脸庞像一个梦的骤现
遥遥的呼应着歇在矮门上的手，纤长。

从日历的树上，时间的河又载走一片落叶
半垂的眸子，谜样，流露出昏眩的静默
不变的从容对于有限的生命也正是匆忙
在一个偶然的黄昏，她抛入多变的世界这长住的一瞥。


注：此诗有关荷兰画家伦伯朗的一幅画《门口的年轻女子》。
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