Four poems by Na YeTranslated by Ouyang YuRead original language versions
To wash down the north-western wind with liquor, like the dishes
To wash down the north-western wind with liquor, like the dishes
With no stray lambs coming up to ask for directions
We are talking about the width and cleanness of a river and its meaning to all the
mountains and rivers
And the meaning of the other shore to the heart and soul
After the middle age
We refrain ourselves from the bad habit of sighing about life
And we have stopped looking in the direction that others point
Wooden effigies, of course, can also be placed where God's images are placed
You clap your hands
Only for the purpose of improving your health
True and falsehood are an endless litigation
But you only have one life
Times are speeding up we are in no hurry
We pour ourselves a drink and drink it and, occasionally, we talk to ourselves
Lights in the distance strike a righteous attitude but lack a kind heart
And we no longer have the passion for getting drunk, once and for all
In a floating life, gatherings and departures are like the clouds
Only heavens know
Every time I sing praise of the green mountains and waters on my journey
I miss the vast desolation of the plateau in the northwest
Migrating to Chongqing
Getting further away now ...
All right, Chongqing
Let my dry skin fall in love with your moisture
My eyes, used to the desolation and wind and sand, have grown used to your green
mountains and waters
The French plane-trees
The gingko trees
Your sudden flashes of lightning and thunder
Commotion of dripping water
And the heaving quietness
The fate of history, one step higher, one step lower here — it with us mankind
Having no experience of tomorrow
When together with your heavy fog
With heaven and earth merged in a chaos
I hold my shoulders, looking about me and talking to myself: getting further away ...
Pleasure
The ancient flame is so trustworthy
These potatoes bok choy with mud and roots
The steam on this steamed bread
The frost on the turnip
Among them
I'm no longer a stranger to myself
And I no longer live elsewhere
I experience what is said in the Buddhist scriptures: pleasure
The sunflower on my apron, like love, twists my body:
Old sun how are you going?
As good as in an agricultural era?
Sadness, like a wisp of chimney smoke, comes surging out of whose eyes
The old sun
I do not love a violently speeding age
These rooms that are connected, like rails, with the world ...
Morning dew and sweat and echoes of