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14 鞋匠之死 那时他放下粪桶,在徐营村头 傍晚。一个鞋匠为兄弟 干着他的手艺活 木楦子变得沉闷 黑色泥泞,从脚趾缝里向悲哀打开 熟悉的贫困朝笔尖讨债。 雨越下越大。破窗棂上的纸 瑟瑟作响,风劈开他和省城会议桌上的缝隙。 在寒冷中变绿,萝卜地的田埂 印上了趔趄的脚印。 再也没有牛被他买去,拴在课桌腿上。 他只想笑,也这么 做了。墨水瓶底还有一层结冰的洋油 灯芯静静地烧。补丁盖不住暴力的 裂口。锤头。他缝着雨和黑暗,为了 无人继承的遗产:砧子上 一根钉子将痛苦深深地 砸进他的脑袋。 只有被遗弃的鞋知道——徐玉诺, 河南诗人,死于1958年。 赤脚,带着疯子的绰号和将来之花园 向丘陵和平原逶迤而去,身后 是跟随他的群山。 15 Death of a Cobbler At the entrance of Xuying Village, he put down the shit buckets Evening. A cobbler practiced his craft for his brother The wooden last turned gloomy Black mud, opening into sorrow from between the toes A familiar poverty demanded repayment from the pen tip. Rain poured more and more. Tattered lattice windows with rattling paper, wind split open a crack between him and the provincial city’s conference table. Turning green in the cold, ridges in carrot fields bore prints of staggering footsteps. No more cows for him to buy, to be tied to a school table leg. He just wanted to laugh, and so he did. And a coat of kerosene frozen at the bottom of the inkpot A wick quietly burned. The mend could not make up for the fissure of violence. Hammerhead. He stitched rain and darkness, for a legacy no one would inherit: on the anvil a nail drove misery deep into his head. Only abandoned shoes would know — Xu Yunuo, poet from Henan, died 1958. Barefoot, nicknamed madman, he took Garden of the Future into hills and plains, meandering with mountains behind him. ...

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