Two poems from Yu Guangzhong

Bitan

Sixteen handles of cinnamon slurry and broken green glaze

A few romances hiding under the parasol

My, What I didn’t bring, my romance

On the lower reaches of the river

If Bitan were more glassy

it could illuminate my sad silhouette

If the grasshopper boat was just grasshoppers

My sadness would be gone

Eight thirty. The suspension bridge has not yet woken up

Summer vacation has just begun, Xia is young

The laughter of sophomore girls is flying on the water

Dragonflies are flying in, dragonflies are flying away

Flying to you. If you were perched on the stern of my boat

How light this boat would be

These pairs of oars would remind me

Who is Xi Shi and who is Fan Li

< p>Then row to Taihu Lake, row to Dongting

Listen to the apes of the Tang Dynasty

Paddle to the gurgling Tianhe River

It depends on you, in the myth

The boat capsized. It’s also a beautiful traffic accident

You are weaving your brocade on the other side

I am playing my flute on this side

From the last Chinese Valentine’s Day to the next Chinese Valentine’s Day

Nostalgia

When I was a child

Nostalgia is a small stamp

I am here

Mother Over There

When I grow up, nostalgia is a narrow ticket

I am over there

The bride is over there

Later

Nostalgia is a short grave

I was outside

My mother was inside

And now

Nostalgia is a shallow strait

I am at this end

The mainland is at the other end

Wind Chime

I My heart is like the wind chimes hanging on the eaves of the seven-story tower

ding-ding-ding-ding-ding-ding

one after another, knocking a person’s name

--- -Did you also feel a slight tremor on your tower?

This is the pulse of silence, day and night.

Did you hear it, ding-ding-ding-ding-ding-ding?

This The annoying tones cannot be suppressed

Unless all the winds are diverted

The bells are removed and the towers are knocked down

Just because my heart is high and low Low wind chimes

Ding-Ding-Ding-Ding-Ding

One after another

Knocking on a person's name

Waiting for you, in the rain

Waiting for you, in the rain, in the rainbow-making rain

The sound of cicadas falls, the sound of frogs rises

A pond of red lotuses is like red flames, In the rain

It doesn’t matter whether you come or not, but I feel

Every lotus looks like you

Especially across the dusk, across this drizzle< /p>

Eternity, moment, moment, eternity

Waiting for you, in time? Within time, waiting for you, in a moment, in eternity

If your The hand is in my hand, at this moment

If your fragrance

is in my nostrils, I will say, little lover

No, this hand Lotus should be picked, in Wu Palace

This hand should shake a handle of cinnamon pulp, in a magnolia boat

A star hanging in the science museum Cornice

Hanging like earrings

The Swiss watch said it was seven o'clock and suddenly you came

Stepping into the red lotus after the rain, graceful, you go Come

Like a small order

You come from an allusion of love

From Jiang Baishi's words, you come with rhyme Come

The piccolo that summons the soul

The soul returns, mother, we cannot stay in the East for long,

The tropical sea where typhoons are born,

The North Pacific air pressure is very low in July.

The soul is back, mother, we cannot stay in the south for long,

The one-way street of the sun train

The equator in July moxibustion the soles of pedestrians' feet.

The soul is back, mother, don’t stay in the north for long,

The white kingdom of reindeer,

There is no Sabbath night in July, only daytime.

The soul is back, mother, you cannot stay in a foreign country for long.

The small urn sleeps beside the floor-to-ceiling windows,

accompanied by the small plants planted by your hands.

Come back, mother, to guard your little town behind the fire.

When spring comes, I will walk on the wet and cold Qingming Road,

I will bury you in a small grave in my hometown.

Bury you in Jiangnan, a small town in Jiangnan.

The weeping willow hair hangs straight down to your grave.

When spring comes, you will have a girl’s dream.

Dream about your Mother.

And on the road to Qingming, mother, my footprints will be deep,

The long hair of the willow tree is dripping with rain, mother, my memories are dripping,

p>

The soul has returned, mother, come and guard this empty city in all directions.