Fishing Room
　　Although this is a cold night
　　But in a room under the fishing
　　A Lao Yumin still sitting there networking
　　His network, in the mist is almost impossible to see the screen
　　Just a mass of purple and brown
　　His shuttle has been polished with the old.
　　That the air smells so strongly of cod
　　The nose is sour man lookin people
　　There Jianqiao the five fishing room roof
　　From the attic storage room under the narrow suspension bridge stretching
　　Convenient for the trolleys up and down
　　Wrapped in silver being everywhere:
　　Slowly, as if wondering emission uplift the ground,
　　That the heavy sea surface is opaque,
　　But scattered among rocks in the wilderness
　　That bench, that lobster tank, then mast
　　Translucent silver,
　　As a small building that for years
　　Grow in the sea of green moss on the wall.
　　That big fish pots have been beautiful herring scales
　　Painting heavy wrinkles,
　　And that cart was painted the same creamy things.
　　Bite with a thick layer of iridescent flies
　　In that little slope behind the house,
　　Hidden in the dim light reflecting glass after
　　There is an old winch, dilapidated,
　　Two long white hands have been grinding
　　Part of the iron
　　There are some dark scars, like dried blood.
　　Accept "good luck" smoke of the elderly,
　　My grandfather's friend.
　　Cod fishing boat when he was waiting for the arrival time,
　　We talked about the decline in population
　　There are herring and cod.
　　He wore hoop wraps and thumb,
　　Fish from being mutilated
　　Scrape off the scales -
　　That the best part
　　Old knife with a black
　　That edge has been worn away a few.
　　Further down to the water's edge,
　　Place in that boat to shore,
　　Leaned over the long slope that water, thin silver tree trunks
　　Through the gray stone
　　Lying in parallel, gradually down
　　Forty-five yards away from the middle distance.
　　Cold dark deep and completely clear,
　　Firestone can not stand is the element
　　Of fish and seals ... ... especially for a seal.
　　Night after night I've looked at here,
　　The seal was curious to me. It's great interest
　　Addiction as I am a believer,
　　So I sing hymns to it.
　　I also sing: "God is my impregnable fortress."
　　It stands in the water ceremony to me with eyes
　　Slowly moving its head slightly
　　It disappears from time to time, then he suddenly appeared in the
　　In the same vortex, the shrug
　　Established as long hindered its discretion.
　　Cold and dark and to completely clear
　　Clear gray icy water ... ... the back, behind us,
　　Start the ranks of TV drama majestic cedar.
　　Faint faint, accompanied by their shadows,
　　One million Christmas vigil
　　Waiting for Christmas to come. The water seems to hang with
　　Hanging in the round blue-gray stone.
　　I've seen it countless times, and that the same sea, and likewise,
　　Gently, absently tapping a stone,
　　Stone cold at ease in the above
　　Then on top of the stone on top in the world.
　　If you are hand dipped in water,
　　Now you will feel pain wrist hand was burned
　　Just like water is the embodiment of fire
　　Consumption of stones, burning out the gray flame.
　　If you taste the water, it began to be bitter,
　　Then salty, then certainly burning your tongue.
　　This is what I imagine the "knowledge" appearance:
　　Dark, brackish, clear, and totally free movement,
　　Since the world
　　Kennedy drain out of the mouth of the cold, from that eternal breast Petrochemical
　　Engrossed flowing, our knowledge is historical, flowing in
　　Soon it without trace.
　　-------------------------------------------------- ------------------------------
　　This is a mad house
　　This is a man
　　Lying lunatic house
　　It is time
　　To the unlucky man
　　Lying lunatic house
　　It was a watch
　　That is the time
　　So that more people would
　　Lying lunatic house
　　It was a sailor
　　Wearing the watch
　　That table tells people that the time honored
　　The man lying on the mad house
　　It was barricaded by the port board
　　Is the sailor to reach places
　　Sailor wearing the watch
　　That table tells that the brave old time
　　The old man lying on the mad house
　　That is that the cell walls and
　　That ocean wind and cloud deck
　　The sailor is sailing is
　　Sailor wearing the watch
　　That table tells people that the time sour
　　That cynical people lying on the lunatic house
　　It was a Jew wearing a paper hat to do
　　Dancing burst into tears in the prison
　　Wood is creaking at the foot of Ocean
　　The sailor is the distance
　　On the tight winding watch
　　That table tells the time that the cruel man
　　That cruel man lying on the mad house
　　This is a book to be tipped over the world
　　It was a Jew wearing a paper hat to do
　　Dancing burst into tears in the prison
　　Wood is creaking at the foot of Ocean
　　The sailor is the distance
　　On the tight winding watch
　　That table tells the time that busy people
　　That house mad rush of people lying
　　This is a boy tapping the floor
　　Is it that you want to Discovery World
　　It was tipped over the world
　　Wearing a hat that Jews of the world newspaper
　　It burst into tears in the world dancing
　　Waltz across the entire deck of shaking
　　It is silent on the deck sailor
　　Listening to watch sailor
　　Tick the reports that the time table
　　At that moment the dull man
　　Lying lunatic house
　　This is the age that the walls and doors that
　　Put the tap in which the floor of the juvenile prison
　　The boy was in touch if there was tipped over the world
　　It was a Jew wearing a paper hat
　　That the Jews was happily dancing in the cell
　　In that lost the deck above the sea
　　Passing around the sailors that gaze fixed
　　The sailor shook his table
　　That time table tells the poet
　　The house that the poet lying on the lunatic
　　This is a soldier returned from the war also
　　This is the age that the walls and doors that
　　Put the tap in which the floor of the juvenile prison
　　The boy was in touch if there was tipped over the world
　　It was a Jew wearing a paper hat
　　That the Jews to walk carefully in the cells
　　Walking in the thick of the coffin
　　With the crazy sailor TV drama
　　The sailor gave us his watch
　　The poor people that watch tell the time
　　The poor man lying on the mad house
　　-------------------------------------------------- ------------------------------
　　Marianne Moore's invitation
　　From Brooklyn across the Brooklyn Bridge, in this beautiful morning,
　　Come fly with.
　　In the pale into the nose of the chemical clouds,
　　Come fly with,
　　That fly in the tens of thousands of rapidly spinning drum in the blue
　　In that mackerel sky fall color
　　That flash of water over the pier site,
　　Come fly with.
　　Whistle, pennants and smoke in the wind. The ship
　　Sincerely with a lot of flags in the signal
　　Ups and downs as he flew over the harbor.
　　Flowing into the two rivers, gracefully bearing the negative with
　　Numerous small clear jelly
　　Carved in the silver chain drag in glass fruit plate.
　　Flight is safe; some arrangements for a good weather.
　　That morning, the waves surging on this beautiful line of poetry.
　　Come fly with.
　　As the only black shoes that each toe pointing in the direction
　　Follow that the high light sapphire color
　　Enough with that black butterfly wings and beautiful aphorisms
　　At this point God knows how many angels riding on his broad black hat you the edge
　　Come fly with,
　　With a silent voice of the music thinking,
　　With a slightly critical frown, and blue ribbons,
　　Come fly with.
　　Events and in that wave of skyscraper flash; Manhattan
　　Completely washed by the waves of moral
　　Come fly with it.
　　Naturally the heroic mettle to step onto the sky
　　On top of those accidents, in which malicious movies above
　　Taxis and large in those over injustice,
　　When the horn in your ear that echo the beautiful
　　Whenever you hear of a musk deer for the
　　Simple soft music,
　　Come Fly with
　　Who put the dark museum
　　As courteous male bower bird
　　Who told the Lions that obedient
　　V steps in the public library waiting
　　Eager to follow up and the door
　　Came to the reading room,
　　Come fly with.
　　We can sit together and weep; we can go shopping together
　　We can do "to see who was wrong," the game
　　The priceless treasure of words,
　　Or we can be bold to explore, as long as you come
　　Come fly with.
　　Let the negative sentences of the dynasty
　　Around you bleak and death,
　　Let the grammar suddenly turned and flash
　　Like a group of sandpiper in flight,
　　Come fly with.
　　Come on, just like the white mackerel sky in a flash of color,
　　Come on, just like the day of the comet
　　Accompanied by unambiguous words long train,
　　From Brooklyn, over the Brooklyn Bridge, in this beautiful morning,
　　Come fly with.
　　-------------------------------------------------- ------------------------------
　　Fish
　　I caught a big fish
　　Put him beside the boat
　　Half of the exposed surface of the water, with my hook
　　Fixed in a corner of his mouth
　　He did not resist.
　　He did not resist.
　　He ordered the hanging weight of worries,
　　Obedience and solemn
　　Seems to not care. Here icy,
　　His wrinkled brown skin is pulled
　　Like the old wallpaper,
　　There it was dark brown stripes
　　Also like the wallpaper
　　It rose in full bloom
　　In the years lost by contamination and wear.
　　His little body covered with circles,
　　Bodhi as beautiful floral,
　　He was the little white sea-lice infection,
　　Hanging twenty-three green seaweed.
　　At this point he's still breathing terrible gill oxygen
　　- That frightening gills,
　　Fresh and full of blood.
　　The rough white fish would be so terrible to the cutting,
　　Folding sensational like feathers,
　　That big bones and little bones,
　　The internal organs of his flashes,
　　Red and black showing exaggerated
　　And that pink swim bladder
　　Like a big peony.
　　I looked into its eyes
　　That big eyes than my eyes a lot,
　　But more shallow, and is yellow,
　　Since the old
　　Watch full scratches into the fish paste
　　Aluminum foil with a dirty
　　That support and the iris is pressed.
　　That eyes slightly turned, but did not
　　Caught my gaze.
　　- It is more like a small object
　　In the light of the slight tilt.
　　I admired his sullen face,
　　That the mandibular body,
　　Then I saw
　　In his lower lip (if you can call it the lower lip)
　　Cruel, wet the old fishing line to hang five,
　　Or a four, plus a guide,
　　That reel is still fixed on the top,
　　Five large hooks,
　　Long firmly in its mouth.
　　A green line, the point he brake the bands are worn,
　　There is an intact black line
　　Suddenly the place off stretch also wrinkled ripples
　　This strength enabled him to escape.
　　Like the gold medal on the ribbon
　　Been eroded rock friction
　　The wisdom of five root hairs of a lock of his beard
　　The pain from his jaw in the grow.
　　I stare for a long time
　　Triumph filled the small cabin with a gap,
　　From the pond in the bilge.
　　Where gasoline spread a rainbow
　　From the rusty motor
　　To sink rusty orange,,
　　The sun drying crack to that thwarts board
　　Department of rope led to that award by frame,
　　Gunwale to that - until every thing
　　Have become iridescent, iridescent, iridescent!
　　I put the fish back into the sea.
　　Sense Xie Sangke feed
　　-------------------------------------------------- ------------------------------
　　Gulf
　　- To my birthday
　　In such a low tide the water is shallow and transparent how
　　Gray mud crushed ribs, prominent and glaring
　　Hull dry, dry as a match stakes
　　Absorbing, rather than being absorbed,
　　Bay water is not wet anything.
　　Gas flame color becomes weak as possible
　　Can you smell gas it is becoming
　　If you are Baudelaire
　　You can hear it is becoming a marimba music.
　　Loess dredger working in the end of the pier
　　Irregular playing with the clay dry.
　　Particularly birds. Pelican crashed into
　　This is strange in the air unnecessarily violent
　　In my opinion, like the beak hoe,
　　It appeared to catch any little thing,
　　And left elbow with a funny.
　　Black and white birds are hovering in the battle
　　Invisible raft over
　　Curved tail hanging open like a pair of scissors
　　Or, as the tension of the fish bone, until they tremble.
　　Funky foam collection vessel holding fast forward
　　With the eager hound wind, erect a small wooden harpoons and hooks
　　Decorated with sponge foam.
　　A chicken wire fence with metal fixed at the dock
　　There, like a little plow blade gleams
　　Is hung up to dry in the blue-gray shark tail
　　China ready to sell the hotel.
　　Some boats are still white
　　Piled one by one, or sideways, full of holes,
　　From the recent turmoil, salvaged,
　　Like a tear, but also did not respond to the letter
　　They discard the bay, which the ancient letters.
　　Du. Du. Dredger drove off
　　Started a slow fall of the plaster.
　　Continued all the varied activities
　　Messy but enjoyable.
　　Translation DONGBEI
　　-------------------------------------------------- ------------------------------
　　An art
　　Lost Art is not difficult to grasp;
　　Filled with so many things
　　Loss is not a disaster.
　　What is lost every day. Because of lost door
　　Keys and driven to distraction, time to get through in vain.
　　Lost art is not formidable.
　　Then he lost farther and faster;
　　Address, name, and you would have to get there
　　Tourism, will not give you all this disaster.
　　I lost my mother's table. Look! My last,
　　I'm almost the last of the lovely destination has also been lost
　　Lost art is not formidable.
　　I lost two lovely city. Little farther
　　I have two kingdoms, two rivers, a continent.
　　I miss them, but this is not a disaster.
　　- Even losing you (the humorous tone,
　　I love the use of hand gestures) I will not lie.
　　It is difficult to deal with the fact that art is not lost
　　Although it looks like a disaster.
　　Translated by Li He
　　-------------------------------------------------- ------------------------------
　　Small Project
　　Think about disturbing the sky hovering storm
　　Like a dog looking for shelter for
　　Listen to it roar.
　　In the dark, those mahogany bolt
　　No response to its attention
　　That the composition of crude fiber den
　　There is a chance there will be hanging his head egrets
　　Shook his feathers and his mouth made with no understanding of himself
　　When the water began to light up the surrounding
　　Think of boulevards and small palm trees
　　All of a sudden flash of the ranks of the trunk
　　The weak like a fish bone.
　　There in the rain. Sidewalk
　　Every crevice in the weeds
　　Was hit, was wet, the water becomes fresh.
　　Now again, the storm left, minor
　　Sequence, violent war scenes illuminated
　　Each of the "field of another."
　　Think of the red stakes or tied to the yacht on the bridge columns
　　A sleeping man
　　Think he seems safe and did not have a trace of alarm.
　　Translated by Ma Hua Jiang Tao
　　-------------------------------------------------- ------------------------------
　　Shampoo
　　(The following six days of the new translation by Choi)
　　Expansion of the rocks silent,
　　Moss growth, spread
　　Gray waves as homologous.
　　They look forward to meet
　　On the ring around the moon,
　　Still retained in our memory.
　　Since Paradise
　　Attracted to take care of us,
　　Honey, why you
　　Emphasis on practical results, keep busy;
　　May wish to wait and see eyes. Time
　　Wasted if not moved.
　　Stars through your hair
　　The formation of a bright
　　Closely together
　　So straight, so rapidly
　　Come on, let me use that big tin pots for your hair
　　It is broken, like the moonlight kind of flash with no fixed.
　　-------------------------------------------------- ------------------------------
　　Orleans Riverside
　　- To Marguerite. Miller
　　Each barge on the river off easy
　　Vast waves,
　　Like a huge gray oak leaves
　　Suddenly appeared;
　　It carries a flow of real Yezi Shun
　　Drift out to sea.
　　Giant leaf-like veins on the Mercury -
　　Those ripples
　　Toward the dam on both sides of the river
　　Destroy itself,
　　Quietly as fallen stars in the sky
　　The end of their lives.
　　Piles of leaves that towed the real
　　Continue to drift
　　They silently away, dissolve in the
　　Hall of the sea.
　　We observe that stood motionless
　　Leaves and ripples
　　When light and water tight manner
　　Formal meeting.
　　"If we have seen can easily forget,"
　　I want to say to you,
　　"Let it go, we are destined not escape
　　Leaves the entanglement. "
　　-------------------------------------------------- ------------------------------
　　Letter sent to New York
　　- To Louise. Karen
　　I hope you talk about the next letter,
　　Where you want to do your
　　Those who show how, after the finish
　　What else you have fun?
　　You take a taxi in the midnight
　　Such a hurry to save his soul
　　Continuously around the park where the road
　　Meter such as a dying owl staring eyes
　　Trees and green seems bizarre anomaly
　　Stand alone big, dark cave ago
　　Suddenly, your exposure to another place
　　Where the incident occurred one after another like the waves
　　Most of the jokes you could not understand
　　Wipe the slate as a few bad words
　　Singing loud and clear can be somewhat hazy
　　Could not be more black sky has been dark
　　Brown stone from out of the house
　　You get to the gray water spilled on the sidewalk
　　Side of the sun will rise buildings
　　Keep rocking like a wheat field
　　Honey, wheat is not oats. I guess
　　The wheat sowing the seeds is not your
　　Regardless, I want to know
　　You want to do you want to go
　　-------------------------------------------------- ------------------------------
　　Map
　　Land lying in the sea, covered by the green shadows.
　　These shadows, if true, then the edge of their
　　Appeared in a long string of rocks covered with seaweed
　　That seaweed so the water from green to pure blue.
　　Perhaps reclining on land under the sea from the hold up
　　And then calmly back to their side?
　　Beautiful brown sand and gravel along the continental shelf
　　Land towing force from below the sea?
　　Newfoundland's shadow still flat.
　　Yellow Labrador, the Eskimos in the above
　　Coated with oil. We can stroke these lovely bays,
　　The following looks at the glass mirror is about to bloom,
　　Something like a clean cage full bloom did not see the fish.
　　Standard name of the town along the coast to the sea,
　　The names of several cities over the nearby mountains are
　　- When passion far beyond motivation
　　Printing workers enjoy the same excitement.
　　The Peninsula extracted from the sea between the thumb and index finger
　　As if the woman's belongings smooth touch courtyard.
　　Land on the map is more comfortable than the ocean,
　　It is the shape of the waves left the land:
　　Norway's hare eagerly toward the south
　　Its silhouette swaying in the sea and on land between.
　　The color distribution of the national good, or you can choose?
　　- Water feature that best represents the color is.
　　Geography is no preference, from the north and west have nearly the same
　　Color map should be more sophisticated than historians.
　　-------------------------------------------------- ------------------------------
　　One moth
　　Here, above,
　　The gap is filled with broken buildings moonlight.
　　Hat man as the shadow is only the size of
　　V in the feet, as if the doll with a single step of the circle.
　　An inverted pin, the tip is attracted moonlight.
　　He did not see the moon, just observing her vast territory,
　　That strange feeling on the _set_ light, neither cold nor hot,
　　There is no instrument that can measure the temperature.
　　However, when one moth
　　Occasionally, several times on the ground searching for rare,
　　The moon has become as unusual. He appeared
　　Opening in a sidewalk, and began
　　Nervously climbing the buildings surface.
　　He felt like the sky at the top of the moon cave
　　That the sky is simply unreliable asylum
　　He trembled, but must explore the possible upward.
　　Approaching the roof
　　His shadow dragging behind, like the photographer's black cloth,
　　He was afraid to climb, it is envisaged that this time may be able to
　　Will head into his own little neat, rounded openings
　　Wrapped in black like a paper, took out the hard from a bobbin
　　Into the light (in the ground no such illusion.)
　　He moth fear most people still do, although
　　He was bound to fail, scared, falling, but no injuries
　　Later he returned to
　　He called home, the pale concrete subway.
　　His light to fly, can not wait to catch up
　　The silent train. Rapidly close the door
　　Moths themselves are always people sitting back to front
　　The train at full speed immediately, there is no shift
　　Or any process of becoming fast, terrible speed,
　　He was not himself how quickly retreat.
　　Every night he must
　　Ride through the man-made tunnel, doing the same dream.
　　As if the sleeper's head and trunk in the EU following
　　Repeatedly. He did not dare look out the window toward,
　　Because the third rail, and that the flow of toxic gases
　　Running on the edge. He saw it as a disease
　　Themselves on a susceptible genetic. He had
　　Hand in his pocket, as the others wore scarves.
　　If you catch him
　　He raised his flashlight eyes. Which are all black pupil,
　　Self-contained one night, he stared at you see, that burr
　　Tightening the horizon, and then closed eyes. Where from his eyelids
　　Drops out of a tear, his only property, like a bee sting.
　　He secretly caught with their hands, if you do not pay attention
　　He will swallow it. But if you find to give you,
　　Cool and pleasant as underground springs and pure to drink.
　　-------------------------------------------------- ------------------------------
　　Armadillo
　　- To Robert. Lowell
　　This time of year
　　Can be seen almost every night
　　Those fragile illegal fire balloons.
　　Rose to the height of the mountain,
　　Rise to this region is still
　　Respected a saint,
　　Red wall paper, which is full of light
　　Flickering, like the stars beat.
　　Once promoted to the sky, it is difficult
　　Distinction between them and the stars -
　　These are the planet - in color
　　Fall of Venus, or Mars,
　　Sinking, or light green. Wind, the
　　They burn, overturning, rolling, shaking;
　　Otherwise they will float to the line
　　Kite-like on the Southern Cross constellation,
　　Away, and dim, and solemn
　　Slowly left us
　　May, run into the wind blowing down the mountain pass
　　Sudden danger.
　　Last night, a big balloon and crashed.
　　It hit the rock behind the house
　　Splash off, as if the fire broken eggs.
　　Dripping flames leap up. We saw a pair of
　　Where owls nest fly
　　Upward, rotate the exposed white and black
　　The following shiny red belly, until
　　They screamed fly vision.
　　That must have been the old Eagles Nest burned.
　　An armadillo rushed to escape the fire,
　　It is left alone, is illuminate the burnished feathers,
　　Blossoming rose, bowed his head and tail contraction,
　　Later, a short-ear rabbits
　　Jumped out of us a fright.
　　How soft! A handful of intangible ash
　　Eyes motionless, Huoshaohuoliao's.
　　Fantastic, this dream-like simulation!
　　Oh, falling fire, piercing scream
　　And terror, and that the weak residual threat of force
　　Mingle with the sky twisted ignorance!
　　... ...
　　Since the end of six or more preferred
　　-------------------------------------------------- ------------------------------
　　Crusoe in England
　　The newspaper said, a new volcanic
　　Has erupted, and I read last week
　　Where a ship saw an island being born:
　　First, the smell of steam, ten miles outside the spread;
　　Then a little black spot may be basalt ---- ----
　　In a pair of binoculars in the rise
　　Then stick to the horizon like a fly.
　　They gave it the name. But I had the name of the poor island
　　Not yet been re-discovered, was not renamed.
　　Never write a book on it too.
　　Oh, there fifty-two
　　Bad foot I can slip a small volcanic
　　---- A few steps to climb
　　Die like the volcanic ashes.
　　I used to sit up tall crater
　　Number of the other volcanoes,
　　Naked and dreary, blow their heads.
　　I think if the volcano is really
　　This size, I
　　Become a giant;
　　If I was a giant,
　　To imagine
　　Goat and turtle that was the extent of
　　Or gulls, or layered roller
　　---- Roller in a shiny hexagonal
　　Close proximity to, but never did
　　Shiny, even though the sky
　　Almost always sunny to cloudy.
　　I like islands
　　A garbage heap clouds. Left hemisphere
　　All clouds are shipped out and hang
　　Volcano --- they burnt throat
　　Too hot to touch by hand.
　　Whether it is raining so many reasons?
　　And why sometimes the place is in the hissing?
　　Convex round the back of sea turtles, heavy to walk,
　　Like a teapot sizzling sound.
　　(And, of course, I will of some time, or take away
　　A few, no matter what teapot. )
　　Lava pouring out from the sea floor,
　　Will be sizzling. I fixed it. Original
　　They are more turtles.
　　Beach full of lava, variegated,
　　Black, red, and white, and gray;
　　That show off the beautiful colors of marble.
　　I have had Dragon volumes. Oh,
　　The latest half a dozen each time,
　　They come and go, forward and backward
　　Their heads buried in the clouds, dragging their feet
　　Milled white departments and regions.
　　Glass chimney, brittle, weakened,
　　Like a ritual I looked at the glass ... ...
　　Water column in which the spiral seems to smoke.
　　Yes, very beautiful, but the lack of companions.
　　I often become self-pity.
　　"I deserve this? I assume to be the case.
　　Otherwise, I is not in here. I choose to do so
　　Is it just a moment away?
　　I do not remember, but perhaps something like this. "
　　In short, there is nothing wrong with self-pity?
　　I am proficient in a crater rock
　　Two legs, I told myself
　　"Mercy should begin at home." So I
　　The more I pity, feel more at home.
　　The sun into the sea; as a sun
　　Rising from the sea,
　　And that was it and I being one among a.
　　Everything that the island has a:
　　A tree snail, with a light purple
　　Thin shell, climb anything,
　　A wide range of tree climbing,
　　Those coal black bush and the like.
　　Snail shells lying in wait and see that the following
　　Moreover, across a distance
　　You will swear that they are a layer of the iris.
　　There is an berries, dark red.
　　I tried, then a one, and time is passing by.
　　Luedaisuanwei, but good, no bad effect;
　　So I stuffed home the wine. I will drink
　　Those who braved the bubble, the terrible things that stimulate
　　Them directly to my head
　　And played the flute produced in my hometown
　　(I think it has the world's most mysterious scale)
　　Then in the flock dizziness, breathing the dance.
　　Native, native! Do not we all so?
　　I feel deeply loved
　　I have the smallest island industry.
　　No, that is not accurate, because the smallest
　　Is the most miserable philosophy.
　　Because I know more than enough.
　　Why do some things that I did not spend enough?
　　Greek drama or astronomy? I've seen
　　Those books are full of gaps;
　　The poems ---- Yes, I tried
　　Listen to me recite the iris,
　　"They quickly Shanshe toward the eye,
　　This is happiness ... ... "What kind of happiness?
　　I went back first thing after
　　Is it looking at it.
　　That island goat and guano smell.
　　Goat is white, gull also the case,
　　Both are too tame, or they think
　　I also had a goat, or a seagull.
　　Baa, Baa, Baa, and clamor, clamor, clamor,
　　Baa baa ... ... ... ... ... ... din I still can not
　　His voice shaking from side to my ears; they are stung.
　　Tip din the question, the answer was ambiguous
　　Over the hissing of the rain
　　And the hissing of the sea turtle movement
　　Get on my nerves.
　　When all the gulls immediately launched into their sound
　　Like a tree in strong winds, as it leaves.
　　I close my eyes like a tree,
　　Oak tree, for example, where it has real shadow.
　　I heard that some livestock had island syndrome.
　　I think some sheep.
　　If a goat standing on the crater
　　I put it named Mont d'Espoir 1 or peak of despair
　　(I have plenty of time to spell these names),
　　And called called, and smoking a gas.
　　I grabbed his beard and looked at him.
　　His pupil, reducing the level of
　　But said nothing, or just express my malicious.
　　I have tired of the same color!
　　One day I was with my cranberry red
　　A lamb, just want to see that
　　Different colors.
　　Later, his mother would not recognize him.
　　Dream worst. Of course, I dream of foods
　　And love, they are better than others
　　To be happy more. But then I will do
　　Cut off the neck as a baby, so that
　　Like a sheep confused dream. I also have
　　Nightmare, a number of islands from my
　　Stretch out to infinity on the island, Island Health and the island,
　　Like the frog eggs hatch islands
　　Tadpole, I finally know
　　I had to live in it and any of the above,
　　As age, record of their botany,
　　Their zoology, their geography.
　　Just as I was intolerable
　　When Friday came.
　　(The record so that everything went wrong.)
　　Friday good.
　　Friday, well, we were friends.
　　If he is a woman better!
　　I would like to breed their offspring,
　　And told him to do, I think, poor boy.
　　He sometimes raise a number of lamb,
　　Also, and their race, or turn around with them.
　　---- Look good; he has a nice body.
　　Then one day they come to us away.
　　Now I live here, another island,
　　And which one is not, but who obtained distinction?
　　My blood is full of islands; my mind
　　Raising them. But those islands
　　Has disappeared. I am old.
　　I have trouble enough, drinking real tea,
　　No interest in being surrounded by wood.
　　The knife was still on the shelf ----
　　Exudes a sense of smell, like a cross.
　　It alive. I have many years
　　Beg for it, and Aiken that it has not burst?
　　I memorized every gap and lack of marks
　　That blue blade that broken nose ... ...
　　Now it has totally see me.
　　That living soul is slowly running out.
　　Rely on my eyes to the upper and away.
　　Local museum asked me to
　　All things give them:
　　Flute, knives, dry wrinkled shoes
　　Off my sheepskin leather pants
　　(Fur in moths has been longer),
　　That put me a good while female parasol
　　Think of the arrangement of the ribs.
　　It can sustain, but close up,
　　Looks like a plucked poultry skin only.
　　How people would want this kind of thing?
　　- And on Friday, my dear friend, died
　　Seventeen years ago, the measles epidemic in March.
　　丁丽 English
　　-------------------------------------------------- ------------------------------
　　Night City
　　[From the aircraft]
　　No foot can bear
　　Shoes too small.
　　Broken glass, broken bottles,
　　They burn piles.
　　No one can come
　　The Fire:
　　Mottled blood
　　And flashing ecstasy.
　　That city is burning tears.
　　A jade color
　　Accumulation of water
　　Begins to smoke.
　　That city is burning sin.
　　---- In order to dispose of sin
　　Center of the heat that
　　Must be very strong.
　　Transparent lymph,
　　Swelling of the blood bright,
　　In the gold in the
　　Sewage spilled into the
　　That flow, melted
　　Black wrapped in green
　　And bright
　　Portland river.
　　A tycoon
　　Secreted by their own
　　A pool of asphalt,
　　A black through the moon.
　　Another shouted
　　A skyscraper.
　　Look! Chi White
　　It forces coming down.
　　That big fire
　　In a vacuum
　　Competition for the air.
　　Sky dead.
　　(But there are some biological,
　　Be careful of those, high above.
　　They put down their feet, walking
　　Green, red; green, red. )
　　Note: 1 French, desperate mountain.
　　丁丽 English
　　Preferred since these two "wings"