永勿濕組曲

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多迷你‧齊暈 2012-09-23 14:35:40

1. El

2. wy
3. cl
4. CwL

EP

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Looking for a poet
/Leung Ping-kwan

Yesterday turning pages of newspapers looking for your verses
vulnerably dim, marginized from the light and shadow
of a photostat machine,
falling leaves of yellow locust tree.
Today in a foreign land at the beginning of spring, we drive to look for you
but lost our way amidst young leaves and bright flowers..

Spring whispers flowing through the edge of
branches, like black ink imprinted on grey walls, men surely
grow continuously, but how much can we memorize in photography
and recording?
At times the smiley image uprises with shadow of the lights
of our youthful traces waterprint, nights of farewell, see ya,
said the host of hotel, to me, European wars,
a heart of homesick, sailing back across the sea, reaches
to embrace a city in its falling, cuckoo… you long for the voice of
cuckoo……

Will the verses recited in our adolescence
leading us toward the poet, in our heart?
Growing up in trials, our lives are twisted even more
than poetry, pressed beneath polluted soil, bursting up amidst some unknown fire
before a reborn in two unfamiliar worlds.
Would the word from its last life, overcoming prejudices piled, stumbled
at the two shores, in separation of the whole generation, which followed
by mere secular, consideration of materials?
Will what were confused be opened once again, in our reading?

It felt like we have seen you, and had talked a lot
until the voice sounded a bit dry and dumb── it’s still about seeking a way,
a wrong address, a wrong timing,
flowers blooming at this end, withering at the other end,
sunrise at this side, sunset at the otherside, waking up
is but another dream? What will be linking those
spilled starry sparks? Will it be poetry,
that the hearts in different ways be gathered?

Still it is the foreign land, still crossing the repeated sceneries
again and again seeking the way,
turning left and turning right again,
we drive the car in order to find you so eagerly,
repeatedly mistaken the light and shadow alongside
as the tapestry of flowers.
I have loved such a heart so wide,
not to compare with yellow flowers. Many years passed in a blink,
still looking for you, the poet in our heart.

Trans. by Chantelle Tiong
2010.12.25

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Two poems FSP

Rope

In between the wake up of

The black and the grey

Dream, a rope collapsed

above the wet soil

unknot, two ends as if unanswered

telephone hung, echoes

reflecting in the room set parallel

the red and blue lightnings

an orange ray crossing a floor toward walls

alienized by glasses of the window the advertisement

caresses one or two table or chairs

Ding dong!

Two reflection of sound directed from the wardrobe

in the mirror a rope

trying a tie on grey air but

glued with the cold fluid spinally

if it is awaken.. in the thick dark warmth

o the frequent broken music…

rain in spring rain in spring

the young sprout shall come……

but nobody has answered a phone nobody

called

left the chair and dining table awaken

mirror remains in its grey black incidental image

my two ends flat as the old times

as old time flats…

1994.10

Ice Listening

Ice vanishing beneath ice

I hold my breath in listening to a heavy split

Its flow mark a sound trace

no wave nor fish but

A colour named white upmost innocent

Carving the two shores motionless

is of a full will

Only the uprising is some unknown cold

alike forms grasped abstractly vanishing

doubtfully a

doubt: no ice beneath ice

1993.5

Tr.: chantelle tiong 21.12.2010 P.J.

Shanti [會員] 2012-09-24 @ 08:50

TT! Wangsa! Write poem, don't waste your talent!