mahuairong 童生
注册时间: 2008-07-19 帖子: 51 来自: Qingdao China mahuairong北美枫文集 |
发表于: 2008-07-29 00:47:49 发表主题: To Martin Harrison,the Poet Australian |
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Tracing human movement
You might get it right:
Theory builds projects
Which poetry unbuilds.
------Martin Harrison
A farmer, certainly a farmer you are not
Yet a farm, a kangaroo farm you do manage
On the farm plant rose and poem.
Freedom sings higher above.
A wild swan glides by, soaring and sailing,
vacillating from the sky before landing.
As soon as the spring dust it touches,
With a February night song it rockets.
Setting is the old sun reflected on mirror shapes,
where a Chinese poem a prime minister enjoys.
Among Eight films are close-ups of a shepherd
with his lambs covered with three snows.
A wall of burnt-out cotton roses,
falls and piles up on the west horizon
where the childhood of another poet spends
He learns how to plant wheat, cabbage and corn.
Radiance of the camel-humped clouds
reveal Chinese poetry is on the brink of extinction.
Moon is not as round as straw hats
for there is only one for women to trade.
Rhythm and music echo from the shore.
Disappear into the chronicles this and more.
And for thirty years and a noon and a while,
He has been in a statue, forgetting smile.
But he likes portrait of a true republican.
The first thing he remembers is the sea.
He waits in the freezing north wind seeing
ships transport their grains to the world revolution.
Misled by your passion and imagination,
In dream he is roaming on a swan’s back
from the Olympic Village to Buckingham Palace
then to the Amazon and still to the pyramids.
The swan cuts a beauty’s line, traveling out east
with the late and the latest western thoughts
Peers at the window of a professor’s studio
the ugliest image of autocratic-socialism.
Without natural enemies or adversaries
Simple, simpler and the simplest is turning the swan.
The eyes of both poets are clear and transparent.
So are their lungs and their songs.
Now an east kangaroo farm is awakening.
On an elm tree an unfledged eagle is perching.
Poets, lend it your wings, hi!
To the heaven’s gate it’ll try to fly. _________________ You see me, you lose me |
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