outland poetry
anthology 诗选
James Tate
James Tate (James Tate) _Select_ed Poems Yellow leaves with the fog of dawn rising regret squares stray animals -------------------------------------------------- ------------------------------ Yellow leaves (The following four poems translated from yellow Vatican) Get rid of the man and his swirling mill, Peach pink flesh of a woman, will be preserved. Although the rapid, but the implicit anonymous love Break the power of our peace, Like an article full of dash White excited. In a glacier in the Maintaining eternal, where she crossed the Violin-like valley: our happiness Like the pheasant in the open outbreak. When she brushed past What a strong desire to contain We head sparks and alarm! Avalanche about to begin, perhaps Will be buried in town. I think I know Her name, her name is "yellow leaves": I should not let other people know. She is the immortal dream: lost love With a slender fingers with the rotation, She grabbed the loose, and it remains of the Parts. The world needs a kind of love It does not rely on chain and buy: untouchable "Yellow leaves" to lead us beyond Loss and Gain. Let grace is We love parting, and failure - Life in the rest of the first day. -------------------------------------------------- ------------------------------ Dawn's Place Consumption is not every place on earth; Washed away a piece of the red machine drains. Stern musicians Be seen in their clarinet Rare cactus is quietly approached them themselves. Mosquitoes hovered in the air Feathers like snow. Has been flowing in the night what happened? Pale, like the Arctic wolf. A small coffin filled with buoyancy Drift over the square; larvae in a lamp Finally, the beam forming, Laborious, as an old-fashioned excitement Alphabet ink. This novel works just as a feather Clear in the alley Sale kiss the angel of death. Sitting in a yellow car train women in early Lobe was taken ill at ease under the Man biting nails, just as the ancestral quilt In our town of fools Green did not latch the door loose line. Rents on the rise, the cat Dead: we should go home. -------------------------------------------------- ------------------------------ Unfortunately, with the mist rising He had no past, and he has been conclusively No future. All important Shortly after the start of things in their Coming to an end. He said the mother had been told Earth is the way that he could not accept: I Have been thinking about it and her world Long contact. Expand the night Numerous umbrella wings of fire, his Gaze even narrower than the mercury. Or not into the sky, the rain, when Here the land was not the time Half-dead fish floating exposed Full body. He was familiar with it all. She could spit out the word at any time will take He has let go of everything, Of course he should let go of everything. I think he would be in pain The end of May or in January, although the weather Particularly clear, for I thought about anything In addition to the solemn farce. -------------------------------------------------- ------------------------------ Stray animals This alone towards the end of summer The beauty of life: A dozen stray animals sleep in the veranda of Hong Footsteps of my shadow, And another block The smell of burning leaves. Near noon Beating my brow shadow I'm humming the beat in order to meet A group of bats flying around the swaying, Mimosa and the bees with shaking. This is not a finished house of poetry, Here is my unborn place.
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