outland poetry
anthology
诗选
Li Young Lee
I asked my mother singing
She began, then joined my grandmother
Mother and daughter sing like little girls.
If the father is still alive, he would pull
His organ, like a rocking boat.
I have not been to Beijing or the Summer Palace,
Nor stood watching that big stone boat
Showers passing Kunming lake, picnic are
Ben scattered on the grass.
But I want to hear them sing;
Lotus leaf to fill rainwater
Until the bear, the water dumped into the water
And then bounce back, and then starting from scratch note.
The two women began to cry.
They do not have to stop singing.
Translation is not a horse
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Single meal
Last year I pulled out the green onions.
The garden was empty. Land ice-cold,
An He, old. Embers of the day
Maple in my eyes
Combustion. I turned, a cardinal flies.
In the cellar door, I wash the onions,
Metal tap water from the cold.
Once, years ago, I walked around my father
By the wind, the pears in the middle. I can not remember
We say. Perhaps we just quietly walk. But
I still see the way he bends his left hand propped ─ ─
Knee creaking ─ ─ pick me
A rotten pear. In it, a bumblebee
Crazy rotation, was stuck in the thick shiny sauce.
This morning I saw my father
In the trees waved to me. I almost
Him, until I approached to
See the shovel, leaning against me
Leave it a place in the flickering dark green in.
In the steaming rice, instant the. Fresh peas
Fried onions. Sesame oil
Garlic Shrimp. And my own loneliness.
I, a young man, but also to anything.
Translation is not a horse
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Sharing meals
There is a steamer trout
With ginger, two tender onions,
And sesame oil seasoning.
We have to take it to them with rice,
Brothers, sisters, my mother
She will head the most delicious taste of meat,
Fingers deftly sandwiched, as
Several weeks ago my father's look.
Then he lay down to sleep
If a winding road snow
Through the pine trees is older than he,
No pedestrians, but not lonely.
Translation is not a horse
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Iris
1
At night, in the wind, the rain's edge,
I found five iris, I call them cute.
Like a woman, once, in their lying around a bit
Then wake up, get up, walk away, the hair to hang around
Sweet tongue in their memory.
I wanted to rip the petals with his teeth.
I really want to study these hairy self
Their beauty and indifference. They
Simmering gas lifetime
Open, open.
2
We are not lovers, brothers or sisters,
While wandering through the hall hand in hand
Tremor, agitation when the thoughts and desires
Off off, and in this dream of life,
This is the life of sleep, we awake to die ─
Purple, blue, turn
Black, black ─ All
Iris is one of the prayer
When she prayed, the end result.
Translation is not a horse
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