Solitary Light (a set of poems)
■ Solitary Light, the Burning Hope of the Soul
"Don't say the moon is shining. Show me
Flickering on the broken glass."
The ever-growing round and full takes the shape of a larger black hole
Sinking into the abyss. Against the black earth and still blacker night,
Everything hangs in the air. Who hath lifted up his head and looked with all his eyes to give light unto himself?
This solitary light is like a uterus, flickering only in suffering.
The night will break and die out on a roof of lights and stars.
The planet is always tilted to us. Tomorrow we will all be out of
Balance. The lost moon is like a pupil open
In the abyss of death. There's an iceberg inside her, with nothing but a burning tree.
Everything is in the way of leaving, constantly close to themselves.
The crescent moon gnawed itself away with a sharp hunger.
Solitary light, the gap of the night, is a foreign land, where the world is lost.
In the dream, I see the glass, trance of moonlight and face.
Broken is the only awaken in the world:
"Solitary light, the burning hope of the soul."
■ September: a Hermit in the Osmanthus Tree
"... And... Suddenly the world is motionless.
Calm down, release yourself... "
Silent September, a hollow and narrow
Space in autumn. Like a hermit, osmanthus flowers in the courtyard release the empty meaning, purpose, and aroma
The silence of September is soothing. All over the fields are blowing silence and wilt.
The leaves having turned a deep golden shade of melancholy overnight
Like the lens of September meditating on its head
Open their eyes of despair where the veins break.
Take a deep breath of the aroma, pushing yourself away from the virus, heat
And smoke of gunpowder. Step back. Everything steps back and leave me alone.
Flowers are ultimately the orphans of incense, and so is the whole world.
■ Pod Pepper in September
The green leaves are falling off, as if it were a necessary separation
Of spirit and flesh. Like me, a vertical red held up by August.
The September thermometer: hot, bare and sharp
Like a missile whistling in from the Black Sea, a piece of red-hot shrapnel from Ukrainian sky.
The sword pointing to the angry heat and silent fire, scorch themselves.
Each species wanders far from home.
Blight, an inextinguishable flame
Hiding all the truth and pain of humanity.
It covers half the mouth and face of the world.
The earth is full of frying pans.
Who's scared? I'm hot tempered as chili peppers.
作者： 秦风，本名蒲建雄，男，文学博士，成都文学院特邀作家。曾获首届天府文学作品奖、苏东坡文学奖、李煜文学奖、上海市民诗歌节诗歌奖、意大利梅莱托国际诗歌奖、悉尼国际诗歌节诗人奖。应邀参加第27届（印度）世界诗人大会，著有诗集《独步苍茫》。
本期翻译：张琼 本期制作：晓芳
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