我是无名河 

岁月  在浅浅的河床上奔波

留给地图的  却往往是省略

短短的曲线  构不成激动人心的画图

平缓的行吟  留不下磅礴激越的诗歌

没有造访  没有和声  更没有

黄河那冲决三门  一泻千里的气魄

只有汗珠般璀璨的太阳

随着我从石隙间滚出

又随着我渗入沙漠

——我是无名河

也许命运注定  我干不成轰轰烈烈的事业

甚至没有成功   终生奋斗也冲不出沙漠

就像这小草  只能在希望的河边生长

就像这星光  只能在梦幻的海上闪烁

平凡  微小  也许是我永恒的主旋律

没有名字  没有记忆   更不会有

为我打开的辉煌的史册

只有纯贞的热情永不消失

成为戈壁荒滩上沙砾和风景的作者

——我是无名河

涓涓细流  只能多几道曲折

才可穿过这起伏的沙丘和沟壑

既然我的使命已经从脚下开始

我就不会停留  我就不会喑哑

露珠和牧草  会承认我的开拓

即使等待的   仍将是蒸发

我也要变成云  我也要变成雨

再播洒进这片需要我献身的旷野

——我是无名河

无名  并不是我的过错

既然历史已把我列入河的家族

我就应当奔流  我就应当放歌

就应当用每一滴水

去扩大绿树的篷帐和春草的视野

只要有希望  就会有力量

只要去奋争  就会有结果

于是  我让水流和着驼铃在风沙中奔走

日夜不停的  是一支唱给大海的歌

——我是无名河

1982年12月16日

《天津青年报》1985年7月13日

I Am a Nameless River

Years, flow on the shallow river bed,

Omission, is what often left on the map.

Stirring pictures, cannot be drawn by short curves;

Powerful poems, cannot be sung by slow whispers.

Without company, without harmony,

Let alone the courage of the Yellow River

To burst the Dam of Three Gate Gorge, to run on thousands of miles;

Only the sun shining as beads of sweat

Accompanies me, as I roll out of the stone cracks;

Accompanies me, as I seep into the desert sands.

—I Am a Nameless River

Maybe it is my destiny, that I will never accomplish a magnificent career,

That I will never succeed, escaping from the desert after lifelong struggles;

Just like the grass growing, merely by the river of Hope,

Just like the stars twinkling, merely in the sea of Dreams.

Maybe it is my musical theme, that I will remain ordinary and tiny eternally;

Without name, without memory, let alone

The annals of glorious history opened for me;

Only the ardor of purity will never extinguish,

To be the author of the sand and scenery of desert and wasteland.

—I Am a Nameless River

The trickling stream, only with more twists and turns,  

Can traverse the undulating dunes and gullies;

Now that my journey has begun from beneath my feet,

I will not stop running, I will not stop singing.

Even if Evaporation, ever awaits for me ahead,

I still yearn to be the clouds, I still yearn to be the rain,

To plunge myself into the fields that need my devotion;

Dewdrops and pasture grass, will remember my pioneering.

—I Am a Nameless River

Being nameless, is not my fault;

Since I have been listed in the river family by History,

I am supposed to flow, I am supposed to sing;

I am supposed to use every drop of water,

To enlarge the canopy of trees and broaden the horizon of spring grass.

As long as there is faith, there will be strength;

As long as there are efforts, there will be rewards.

So I let the streams flow through the wind and sand, day and night,

In tune with the Camel Bells, singing the songs of praise to the Sea.

—I Am a Nameless River

Written on December 16, 1982

Carried on Tianjin Youth Daily, July 13, 1985

Notes：

①Yellow River, principal river of northern China, is often called the cradle of Chinese civilization; with a length of 3,395 miles (5,464 km), it is the country’s second longest river.

② Dam of Three Gate Gorge (Sanmenxia Dam) is the largest dam built on the Yellow River; the three gates refer to the three gorges on the Yellow River, “Gate of Human,” “Gate of God” and “Gate of Ghost.” 

漁村公墓

走过这里 便会久久地伫立

把视线远远地抛掷

耸立的浪 以凝固的姿态

分割出锯齿状的蓝天

暴露一个偈语般的神秘

这里 是海和渔村间的滩地

渔民死了 就在这里举行葬礼

一口木棺 几抔咸泥

浓浓的海腥味 才能

使这些高傲而不安的灵魂安息

每一个沉重的棺头

都朝向海

朝向涌浪

朝向鱼群

朝向白帆的轨迹

喧哗的海水 会把一切遗憾

都变成生命完美的结局

海啸 每年一次地掠过坟头

疯狂的手指扒开泥土扒开棺板

使这里低洼使这里像海

使这里拥有海的一切神秘

亲吻这些属于海的灵魂吧

欲望像爱 充满神秘的魔力

虽然 并非每一座坟头

都拥有坟墓完整的涵义

几件衣冠 不也代表

那早已奉献给海的精神和躯体

每块肌肉 每条骨骼

都是为海所生

即使死了 也要让鱼

变得肥美 变得亲昵

三两老翁 一轮落日

钓线总是沉沉地绷直

却钓不起这无边的空旷和肃穆

他们已经习惯

就这样平平常常地生活

就这样平平常常地死去

只有那些远方来观海的大学生们

对这一切不住地啧叹和惊奇

只有关于海关于渔民的无数传说

像身边丢落的一堆堆烟头

开成黄黄的矢车菊……

1985.6.天津东沽  

《黄河诗报》1986年1月号

The Cemetery of Fishing Village

I walk down here, standing for a long time,

Staring into the distance.

The zigzag blue sky is carved out,

By the stiff towering waves, in an upright posture,

Unraveling the mystery of a Buddhist chant.

Here is the beach, between the fishing village and the sea;

Here funerals are held, when the fishermen pass away.

Only several glasses of salty mud and wooden coffins, 

With the strong smell of the sea, can rest

These stubborn and restless souls.

Every heavy head of the coffins

Turns towards the sea,

Towards the surging waves,

Towards the shoals of fish,

Towards the trails of white sails.

The roaring waves, will turn every regret,

Into a perfect ending of Life.

Once a year, tidal waves sweep over the tombs,

Crazily parting the mud and tearing off the coffin planks with their fingers,

Making here low-lying and making here like the sea,

Bringing here all the mysteries of the sea,

Kissing these souls that belong to the sea.

Similar to Love, Desire is full of magic and mystery.

Although, not all graves 

Are with the complete meaning of tomb,

Several garments and hats, are still on behalf of

The spirits and bodies having been dedicated to the sea.

Every muscle, and every bone of the fishermen

Are born for the sea.

Even if they are dead,

They still endeavor to make fish plumper

And more delicious, in a different way.

Two or three old men, a setting sun.

The fishing lines are always heavy and straight,

Yet they have never fished out the boundless emptiness and solemnity.

These old men have been used to

Simply leading a normal life,

Simply dying a normal death.

Here are only college students who come to watch the sea from afar,

Who marvel at all things here and gasp with admiration;

Here are only countless legends about the sea and fishermen,

Like the piles of cigarette butts thrown everywhere

Blooming as yellow Cornflowers...

June, 1985, Donggu, Tianjin

Carried on Yellow River Poetry Daily, January, 1986

孤马

风凝固成山了

山 凝固成你

你站立成山顶一块突兀的岩石

目光起伏成连绵的草坡

草坡 是野马群的村落

你漠然地看着山下

草滩如浪

羊们牛们马们悠然游动如歌

尾巴为了蝇子们的热恋而舞之

蹄脚为了水草的丰美而蹈之

乳头晃动如云

留下一片片白蘑菇的倒影

雄性的风暴 不时地掠过

草原上的金莲花一茬茬盛开

成了洪水 成了漩涡

无世纪无朝代无年月的故事

永恒地流过 流成一条条季节河

高原依然寂寞

草滩寂静如死

山峰冰冷似铁

残阳涌动 如一汪污血

远天模糊 地平线散淡成烟霭

你目光默然而痛苦

头颅沉重 坠成弯月

猛然如弓弹起

你仰天长啸啸声如雷

撕裂一身鬃毛抖落几世霜雪

愿天薄如纸愿路明像河

愿长啸之后再不会空落

你属于野马群的后裔

你不过一匹生马客

没有鞍鞯

没有辔头

没有绳索

甚至不必站立山顶

让孤独的痛苦把你淹没

你也许仍得老成一匹野马

只属于某一片荒寂的山地或草坡

无论悠然无论焦灼

无论痛苦无论欢乐

你都无法追回岁月改变岁月

你却依然伫立 依然渴望

渴望战阵  渴望厮杀

甚至渴望——

有一道鞭影

有一阵马刺

或者 有一挂大车

让鞭痕深深让刺痛彻骨让车辕重压

让你的灵魂沉重地复活

复活得大唱大笑 笑声如歌

歌声使太阳雄壮地起落

也许 暗夜就将带你去了

夕阳坠成的铜铃不再在你颈项间挂着

轰然成杀声轰然成号鼓轰然成热血

都不过是你伫立山顶的幻觉

草滩消失 马群消失

星星隔得太远 勾不出目光的轮廓

你却依然倔强地站立

站立成岩石 站立成雕像

站立成一曲

轰响震荡了千百年的大风歌

让痛苦而高傲的孤独

沉雷般从这片草原上忧郁地滚过

使远方的牧人从这里归去

便再不敢安睡得昏昏噩噩

1986.7.多伦到浑善达克沙地

《天津文学》

A Solitary Horse 

Winds have solidified into mountains;

The mountains, have solidified into you;

You stand like a rock on the top of the mountain.

Undulating grassy slopes, the villages of wild horses,

Grass fields become a vast expanse of green stretching to infinity.

You cast an indifferent downhill look:

The grass is waving in the wind;

The carefree cattle, horses and sheep swim like melodies,

Rejoicing in the love with flies, their tails dancing;  

Celebrating the richness of weed, their feet dancing;

Staring at white mushrooms and their images in the water,

Their nipples shaking like clouds.

Masculine storms sweep over, from time to time.

Golden Globeflowers bloom in the grassland one after another,

Blooming as a flood, blooming as whirlpools.

The stories forgotten for years, dynasties and centuries

Flow through Eternity, like hundreds of seasonal streams.

The plateau still lies there alone,

The grassland as silent as death,

The mountains as cold as steel.

The setting sun surges, like the stained pool of blood;

The distant sky blurs, vanishing into the haze near the horizon.

Your eyes silent and painful,

Your head bent heavily, like the crescent moon,

You plunge and rear all of a sudden;

You jerk your head up and cry into the air like thundering;

You toss your mane and shake off the snow of centuries.

May the sky be as thin as paper and the road as bright as a river;

May the loud cry never end and never fade into emptiness.

You are the descendant of wild horses;

You are the solitary horse without an owner,

Without a saddle,

Without a bridle,

Without a rope;

You stand on the top of the mountain,

Let yourself be drowned in the agony of loneliness.

You have grown into an old wild horse,

Only belonging to the desolate hill and grassy slope.

No matter how carefree or anxious you have been,

No matter how painful or joyful you have been,

You can never turn back time to the good old days.

Yet you still stand and still yearn,

Yearning to battle and fight again;

Yearning for—

The shadow of whips,

The push of spurs,

Or the rumble of large chariots.

Let the whips hit faster, let the spurs push harder,

Let the chariots rumble longer,

To bring you back to life with a brand new soul;

Let your new soul laugh like singing and sing like laughing;

Let the sun rise and set majestically with the songs and laughter.

Maybe the dark night will take you away;

You will no more wear the bronze bells of setting sun around your neck.

You stand on the top of the mountain alone with your illusions,

The roar of killing, the roar of drumming and the roar of burning blood.

The grassland disappeared, the horses disappeared;

The stars are too far to draw the outline of their eyes.

Yet you still stand stubbornly,

Standing like a rock, standing like a statue,

Standing like a song

About the gales that have been howling for thousands of years;

Let the pain and pride of solitariness

Thunder across the grassland gloomily;

Let the shepherds dare no more to sleep one night here,

Rushing back to their distant home.

July, 1986. From Duolun to Otindag Sandy Land, Inner Mongolia

Carried on Tianjin Literature

斜屋

阳光扭曲着进来

窗子开得很怪

上午十点  楼下小店铺的门

准时被客人打开

楼梯旋转了很久

你的连衣裙旋转了很久

我的快要倾倒的门旋转了很久

终于 阳光斜斜地进来

房间很小  

盛不下长久的等待

你的连衣裙很小

幽幽的蓝眼睛是夜晚的光彩

我的心很小

怎么也想不起那些空洞的表白

我把房间和心都放在盘子里

让一阵甜蜜的惶恐啜成葡萄

任你随心所欲

为我系好斜斜的领带

窗外的世界很大很大

我们却无法穿过这小小的斜屋

走上阳台

         1987．9．1．

     原发于《天津文学》1990年2月号

The Inclined House

The sunshine slants in;

The window opens in an odd way.

The door of the small shop downstairs, is opened by guests

Exactly at ten in the morning.

The stairs have been whirling for a long time;

Your long dress has been whirling for a long time;

My nearly fallen door has been whirling for a long time;

Finally, the sunshine slants in.

The room is too small

To be filled with a long wait;

Your dress is small too,

Your blue eyes faintly glowing in the dark night;

My heart is too small

To be filled with those empty confessions of love.

I put the room and my heart on a plate,

To be soaked as grapes in sweet timidness.

I let you adjust my slanting tie

As you wish.

The world outside the window is very, very big,

Yet we cannot walk across this tiny, tiny inclined house

To step onto the balcony.

Originally Carried on Tianjin LiteratureSeptember 1, 1987

风蚀城

     ——西行记事

羌笛在这里吹了很久

吹大漠孤烟吹斜阳残月

而野骆驼仍然步履匆匆

成为时间苍老的过客

戈壁滩在时间中深深沉沦

一片黄土雕塑

使视线野性而朴拙

祁连山上有常常消融的积雪

大戈壁上有常常刮风的寂寞

常常消融的积雪里

可听洪水咆哮的黄钟大吕

常常刮风的寂寞里

可闻古人征战的浩歌鼓角

常常泛滥的季节河一律向北

毁灭和新生的故事相互泛滥

在荒凉的石滩上疯狂地切割

这里的季节河都是内流河

就像性格内向的西北汉子

即使发疯时也不对海诉说

这里的城池无须砖石堆垒

黄土夯夯打打亦便坚如钢铁

任风任雨摧摧打打

仍然站稳了这千秋岁月

只有城池的内容沉默不语

由你在这里徘徊

由你在这里抚摸

由你想那曾有的呦呦鹿鸣

由你想那曾有的亭台楼阁

由你想那生生不息的母爱亲情

由你想那人类再次的繁衍灭绝

每一座圆雕般的土柱墙垣

都有飓风般冷峻的目光

从你的骨髓间幽幽地穿过

风蚀了你的想象

风蚀了你的思索

就连最大胆的牵驼人

也从不敢在这里宿夜

      1988．4．嘉峪关至阳关

      《天津日报》1990年5月23日

The Wild-Erosion Cities

—On the Westward Journey in Gansu, China

Melodies have been floating through the Qiang flute for a long time,

Floating towards the desolate desert and lonely smoke,

Floating towards the setting sun and waning moon.

Wild camels have been travelling enormous distance in haste,

Travelling as old passers-by on the journey of time;

Time has been sinking deeply into the Gobi desert.

Pieces of sculptures made of brown dust

Are dotted in the wild and simple scene.

A blanket of snow on the Qilian Mountains melts perpetually;

Solitary strong winds in the Gobi Desert whistle perpetually.

I hear the resonant sound of roaring flood and ringing bell

In the melting snow perpetually;

I hear the resonant sound of drums and horns from ancient battles

In the whistling winds perpetually.

The seasonal rivers in frequent flood flow northward together,

Cutting the rocks and pebbles on the bleak beach frenziedly,

The stories of death and rebirth alternating with each other.

All the seasonal rivers here are inland ones,

As introverted as the men from northwest China;

Even when they are in a temper, they will not lash out at the sea.

Without the contribution of bricks or stones,

The wild-erosion cities are built with brown dust;

Battered and washed by the wild wind and heavy rain,

They stand firm for thousands of years as steel and iron.

Yet the cities keep everything inside and stay silent,

Letting you wander around the streets;

Letting you caress every wall of them;

Letting you wonder about the bleating sheep and deer that once lived;

Letting you wonder about the pavilions and terraces that once existed;

Letting you wonder about the endless love of all mothers and siblings;

Letting you wonder about the endless circle of human birth and death.

Every wall and column made of brown dust

Cast a deadly look like a biting wind against you,

Chilling you to every marrow of your bones.

Your imagination has been eroded by the wind;

Your contemplation has been eroded by the wind.

Even the boldest man who travels with the camels

Is not bold enough to spend one night in these cities.

April, 1988, from Jiayuguan Pass to Yangguan Pass, Gansu Province

Carried on Tianjin Daily, May 23, 1990

Notes:

① Qiang flute is an ancient single-reed gas singing instrument in China with a history of more than 2000 years.

②Qilian Mountains is a rugged mountain range on the border of Qinghai and Gansu provinces, west-central China. 

③ Gobi Desert is a great desert and semidesert region of Central Asia. The Gobi (from Mongolian gobi, meaning “waterless place”) stretches across huge portions of both Mongolia and China.

重访咖啡屋

屋里的灯光很熟悉

橘红色的浪漫重新把你洗涤

火车座很熟悉

文学沙龙的朋友们总在这里相聚

吧台很熟悉

卖咖啡的女孩常把你默默注视

炉台上的咖啡壶很熟悉

浓浓的黑咖啡曾使人忘乎所以

太熟悉的空间里  你没有一个朋友

周围熟悉的目光

都在非常陌生地看你

你对咖啡女孩莫名地发火

看看那美丽的脸庞惊恐失色

却记不起她的名字

加糖加奶当然还要加酒

滴滴香浓意犹未尽

广告语言忽然使你心绪顿失

喝咖啡的人们不是寻找新的话题

咖啡屋不过几年已经老了

卡拉OK比文学沙龙更有名气

桌上的咖啡壶如一架旋转的日晷

缤纷的液体从杯子里出出进进

却已经找不回过去的日子

皱纹奇怪地伸缩

常常联想起了皮的奶子

朋友们纷纷在说 咖啡屋太小了

喝着咖啡聊天总感觉有个框子

火车座太高了 灵魂流浪过整条大街

仍然越不过感情的距离

黑咖啡太苦了 加了那么多佐料

常常怀疑如今的文学不过如此

天亮之前 朋友们纷纷告别

在告别的时刻忽然醒悟

属于咖啡屋的那些夜晚

不一定是回忆录中的空白

将来再喝起咖啡 可以向孩子们

讲讲那些现在不得不忘却的故事

         1989．3．16．

The Coffee House Revisited

The light in the room is very familiar to you;

The orange romance refreshes your memory repeatedly.

The booths are very familiar to you;

The friends of Literary Salon used to meet here.

The bar is very familiar to you;

The girl who serves coffee used to watch you in silence.

The coffee pots on the stove are very familiar to you;

The visitors used to immerse themselves in bitter black coffee.

Any friend is not with you, in the too familiar space;

All strangers around cast a familiar look

At you in a strange way.

You get angry at the coffee girl for no reason;

You stare at her beautiful frightened face,

Her name having escaped you for the moment.

A cup of coffee with sugar, milk, and, of course, wine,

“Every drop tasted, savored, and still lingering on your lips;”

The words in the advertisement suddenly upset you.

Coffee drinkers do not look for new topics any more.

The coffee house has grown old only over a few years;

Karaoke has been better known than Literary Salon.

The coffee pot on the table revolves like a sundial;

The cups are emptied and filled with colorful liquid again and again,  

Yet they can never turn back time to the good old days.

The surface of coffee is strangely cleft with lines,

Which often reminds you of the skin of breasts.

“The coffee house is too small,” always complain the friends;

They feel shackled all the time when chatting over coffee.

“The booths stand too high.” Souls aimlessly wander around the streets;

They can never traverse the bridge of romantic relationships.

“Black coffee tastes too bitter,” with so many ingredients;

They doubt that the present literature is nothing more than this.

The friends bid farewell one after another before the dawn;

At the moment of parting, they are in for a rude awakening:

Those nights spent in the coffee house

Are not necessarily blank pages in their life memoirs;

Those stories born in the coffee house, which have to be forgotten now, 

Possibly will be told to their children over coffee some day.

March 16, 1989

盘古爷

盘古爷是开天的爷

盘古爷是辟地的爷

盘古爷开天辟地把那混沌打破

是为了后代不再糊里糊涂地活着

盘古爷是人之祖

盘古爷是人之父

盘古爷沿着黄河留下子孙千千万

是为了后代不再糊里糊涂地活着

盘古爷是没有家的爷

盘古爷是没有庙的爷

盘古爷浪迹天下不停地走啊

是为了后代不再糊里糊涂地活着

盘古爷流出了血

盘古爷烧起了火

盘古爷把岁月写成血与火的历史

是为了后代不再糊里糊涂地活着

  1989年 4月 河北青县盘古村

 《天津文学》1990年2月

Lord Pang Gu

Lord Pang Gu was the creator of the heaven;

Lord Pang Gu was the creator of the earth;

Lord Pang Gu separated the heaven and earth to end the chaos,

So that the future generations would no longer live in disorder and foolishness.

Lord Pang Gu was the ancestor of human beings;

Lord Pang Gu was the father of human beings;

Lord Pang Gu left thousands of his descendants along the Yellow River,

So that the future generations would no longer live in disorder and foolishness.

Lord Pang Gu was the lord of no family;

Lord Pang Gu was the lord of no temple;

Lord Pang Gu kept walking and wandering around the world, 

So that the future generations would no longer live in disorder and foolishness.

Lord Pang Gu shed his blood;

Lord Pang Gu started a big fire;

Lord Pang Gu wrote the history of Blood and Fire by Years,

So that the future generations would no longer live in disorder and foolishness.

April, 1989, Pang Gu Village, Qingxian County, Hebei Province

Carried on Tianjin Literature, February, 1990

Notes:

① Pan Gu, a figure in Chinese Daoist legend of creation, was the first man that came forth from chaos. Some accounts in China credited him with the separation of heaven and earth, setting the sun, moon, stars, and planets in place, and dividing the four seas.

楼上的房间

落满灰尘的角落里

是谁  弹响那把竖琴

你何必，让往事

再纷纷扬扬地飞起呢

如果不往下看

你找不到我的房间

你给过我的 那些

丁丁当当的声音呢

我找不到钥匙，开你那扇门

当树苍老的时候，季节不老

当山苍老的时候，水依然流动

当水流动的时候

鱼和水草互称生命

只有时间死了

在你的琴声里

只有我死了

在那些灰尘下面

       1990．8．13．

     发表于《天津文学》1991年12期

The Room Upstairs

Who is it, that plays the harp

In the dusty corner?

Why should you, let the past memories

Flood and flood back again?

If you do not look down,

You cannot find my room.

The tinkle and jingle, that you gave me,

Where are them now?

I cannot find the key, to open your door.

When trees are old, seasons are still young;

When mountains are old, rivers still flow;

When the rivers are flowing,

Fish and weed call each other Life.

Only time is dead,

In the tune of your piano;

Only I am dead,

In that dusty corner.

August 13, 1990.

Carried on Tianjin Literature, Issue 12, 1991

威海观海

可以想象你的深厚

却无法明晰你的内心

可以体味你的温柔

却无法承受你的激情

以俯视的目光看你

是我的悲哀

以仰视的目光看我

是你的悲哀

融为一体的快乐如此神圣

却终于无法逾越现实的断层

站在夜的边缘听潮涨潮落

是真诚的灵魂使海永恒

1991.7. 29.天津作协文学院诗歌夏令营

《今晚报》1992年1月28日

Watch the Sea in Weihai

I can imagine your depth,

Yet I fail to perceive your heart;

I can appreciate your tenderness,

Yet I fail to bear your fervor.

It is my sorrow

To look down on you;

It is your sorrow

To look up at me.

The joy of being One is so sacred,

Yet I finally fail to cross the line between reality and the sea.

I stand at the edge of the night listening to 

The flood and ebb tides alternating with each other,

Thinking, it is the sincere souls that make the sea eternal.

July 29, 1991. The Poetry Summer Camp of the College of Arts in Tianjin Writers’ Association

Carried on Evening News, January 28, 1992

Notes:

① Weihai, a port city in eastern Shandong province, eastern China, lies on the north coast of the Shandong Peninsula.

感谢生活

我感谢生活

为了春天这一个乍暖还寒的季节

冰雪  孕育了阳春

痛苦  孕育了欢乐

邪恶  孕育了美好

善良  战胜了暴虐

我感谢生活

为了被弹雨洞穿的岁月

从血染的旗帜上认识历史

在敞开的国门外深深思索

在崎岖的山路上学会行走

从平民的心灵中彻悟诗歌

作为一个诗人

我感谢生活

我感谢生活

为了生活中那些感情的折磨

为了爱  需要不爱

为了恨  需要笑着

为了真诚  需要学会欺骗

为了自由  需要一条又一条绳索

作为一个诗人

我感谢生活

我感谢生活

为了那些活泼的灵魂开成美丽的花朵

庄稼  要感谢土地

河流  要感谢沟壑

果实  要感谢花蕾

成功  要感谢挫折

作为一个诗人

我感谢生活

我感谢生活

因为生活给予我的

实在太多太多

1992.2.19.

发表于《城市人》杂志1992年第三期

收入作家出版社1998年7月中国诗人自选丛书《若夫诗选》  

《中国诗人》报1998年10月20日转载

《天津新诗选编》（1917-2016）中英文版.五洲传播出版社2016年2月出版

I Am Grateful to Life

I am grateful to Life,

For Spring, a season turning coldness into warmth.

Snow, gives birth to Sunshine;

Pain, gives birth to Joy;

Evilness, gives birth to Goodness;

Kindness, triumphs over Violence.

I am grateful to Life,

For those years shot through by raining bullets.

I understand history from the blood-stained flag;

I think deeply outside the open gate of my country;

I learn to walk on the rough mountain tracks;

I understand poetry thoroughly from ordinary people’s hearts.

As a poet,

I am grateful to Life.

I am grateful to Life,

For those torment of complicated emotions.

Do not love, in order to love;

Keep smiling, in order to hate;

Learn to cheat, in order to be honest;

Use one rope after another, in order to be free.

As a poet,

I am grateful to Life.

I am grateful to Life,

For those lively souls blooming as beautiful flowers.

Crops, give thanks to the earth;

Rivers, give thanks to the gullies;

Fruit, gives thanks to the buds;

Success, gives thanks to the setbacks.

As a poet,

I am grateful to Life.

I am grateful to Life,

For Life has given me

So many things, so many.

February 19, 1992

Carried on the third issue of City Man, 1992

Carried on Selected Poems of Ruofu, a series of collections of poems of Chinese poets, by Writers’ Publishing House, July, 1998

Carried on Chinese Poets Daily on October 20, 1998

Carried on Selected Poems of Tianjin Poets (1917-2016) in English and Chinese, by Five Continents Communication Press in February, 2016