有时，某人会带着他 在沉重发炎的膝关节里——走向郊外 旧铁轨旁在一丛被压倒的野蒿上与另一个他相遇——
在这横亘的安宁中我拥有无限的时刻。广袤夜空中的群星。 [End Page 106]
总是这样，摇晃着在深夜起身，喝口水坐下。信。电话线中嗡嗡的雪原。躺在键盘上被自己的双手运走。翻山越岭 [End Page 108]
我总是这样。盯着荧屏，长久地一行字跳出黑暗。黝黝的田野。矿灯飞快地向后丘陵。水塘。夜晚从我的四肢碾过。凄凉。单调。永不绝望你知道，此时我低垂的额头亮起一颗星：端着米钵。摇动铁轮的手臂被活塞催起——火苗窜上来。一扇窗口飘着晾晒的婴儿尿布，慢慢升高了…… [End Page 110]
A man is lost in letters. In books.Lost in the dust left by a handand chairs after the lightsyokes of used feelingsand the shadow of a train whizzing past
He has the shape of leaves and cloudsIn his footprintsthe reflection of shapes of seasons
Sometimes, someone will accompany him withthe seriously inflamed knee joints-walking to the suburbs near the old railwaysabove the defeated wild mugwortsto meet another him-
A man is lost in everything that he lost.
Disappear.Further than death, closer to a hug.I accept legacy, what you award: silence.
Your decree, I obey.
In this transverse peace I owninstants of infinity. Stars in a vast night sky. [End Page 107]
Your golden body is glittering, everywhere.Your golden lips. Golden!
Wheat field plants its past glorieson the roof of my fate.
Ruins of the Great River Village
Again a great river village.Crows rest on tall poplarssparrows fly over a grain-sunning groundtheir wings tinted with a golden wheat shineThey recognize me.
Some years ago a breeze still blewTimeless partitionAm I a partition?
At dusk, long tree shadows throw themselves to the dunesAgain time to raise a cooking fireFamiliar villagers carry shovels and spadesand walk in the fieldsOxen bear big bundles of grasslike before. I dodge-
a timeless partitiononly the great river village, this still andtorrential flow of water.
. . . Midnight. A line of words howls,dashing from a dark tunnel. A blue signal lampflashes. Train, hauling cars by an umbilical cord,crosses the bridge. Under the sleepersmy chest can't stop shaking. It resiststhe bent falling sky, flattens, and expands-You know, I
am always this way, wavering,getting up late at night, drinking water,sitting down. Mail. Snow fields hum in the phone line. Onthe keyboard my hands travel over mountains and valleys. [End Page 109]
As I sweep past the tops of redwoods, branchesscratch my hungry face, or perhaps, close to the groundice crystals emerge and hang on my eyebrows. You know, sometimes
I walk under japonicas along Weisi Road, carrying vegetables,pushing open the door. I seem to see you from behind, children shriek happilyrushing to hug my legs. Rain dripsfrom the windowpane.The house shakes, wheels glide past without a sound,hauling evening kitchen smoke. City noise falls.
Downstairs, a cobbler takes a nail from his mouthand wields a hammer, driving it violently into the sole of life, withouthesitation. These rag-and-bone menpull broken carts, hide any coins they find,their thick joints barely worn out. You know, at Dragon Boat Festival
in thick fragrance of wormwood, we stop wherecuckoos call from night till daybreak, lying in the shadein a distant forest. Your long eyelashesclose. A cup turning cold at hand and the last smoke from ashes. Before the window,I'm thinking: I love this world. There,a fissure opens, my chance is here.It turns toward me slowly, around the curve . . .I am always this way. Staring forever at the screen.A line of words jumps out of the dark. Black fields. A miner's lamp flies backward.Hills. Ponds. Night runs over my limbs.Desolation. Monotony. Never despair.You know, at this instant, my head lowered, a star shineson my brow. I carry a rice bowl. Arms moving iron wheelsare driven by the piston-flames gush forth. By a windowdrying diapers flutter, and slowly rise . . . [End Page 111]
Lan Lan 蓝蓝 (1967-) is the pen name of Hu Lanlan, born in Yantai, Shandong Province. At fourteen, she published her first sequence of poems, "I Want to Sing." Her books include Life with a Smile (1990), Songs of Romance (1993), Inner Life (1997), Dream, Dream (2003), and From Here, to Here (2008). In addition to writing poetry, she is also a prolific prose and children's fiction writer. In 2009, she received four national literary awards...