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第8章 Shipwrecked (1)

— Dedicated to the Years That Bear Us

I know a river

Which is called the Yellow River

Which is Salar’s eternal memory

And far-reaching echo

Of the river

— Preface

1.

Meeting on the bank

In a rainy season

To tolerate time with deep gratitude

It is the trend of the river

It is the cruel idea of the midsummer

Owing to the trend of my life

Not to be shrouded by the permeating smoke

To plunge oneself into the crowd of city

To gaze at the flowing fragrant cloud like a ball of fire

Like waiting for the son on the horseback to set off

Invariably belongs to the vast wilderness

Standing here is not the bitter north wind that belongs to me

Or a group of coquettish wild horses

Lingering on the land of the mind

The strong gale identified by the flesh and soul

In vogue for a while the storm which attacks from time to time

Infused with brains inebriated

The wilderness penetrated by the soul

2.

Only the experience of life creates miracles

Only birth or death in the shadow of love

Trickling into a long ballad

Or it is the palm handed over by us

To touch the silent ground shedding tears like rain

3.

Now the sky like a mirror

The hawk leaves a deep trace in the blue

And the trend of human beings is the trend of the river

O long river when the ship of thought sinks deep into the river bed

Where shall my ship run aground?

Now the flowing fragrant cloud

Floats across the roof of the sky flowing toward the bank

Looking up toward the boundless sky

4.

But the cry of the baby is like a silver snake dragging countless sons and grandsons

Walking across the water back to the place where the sun returns to its nest

To produce a hoarse voice which is reversal of past the behavior

Imagining the aged mother

But with the same connotation of life

But with the same suggestion of crickets’ chirping

Onto the bank sons and grandsons of life

The long-awaited carriage

Has been shaken by the distant mountains

5.

The melancholy eyes are penetrating

The ancient tale the remote events

Gazing for long but without the ship to escape

Only in the empty wilderness in the wind

Raising the stubborn head

6.

Climbing the treetop by the river your heart is moved

Except for walking skeleton there is no sign of degeneration

The river watcher is at ease the view of the bridge is at ease

The sun sits by itself at the silent ferry

Without weeping willows and without tranquil lakes to visit

Your budding thought they are mere nobodies

Half man and half beast all have proverbs to be cut open by the earth:

About Adam and Eve

Like a pair of eyes of a walking person

Out of the door the mountain greets

Behind the door it is the river O mountain and river

For the existent the origin of the world

The fleet gazes at the floating cloud overhead

Flowing past agedly — let the master of the river wonder and marvel

Whose feet attempt to step into the same river?

In face of the attack of a storm a wisp of smile still remains intact

Lo the thought enveloped in bitter water is building a nest in your belly

7.

In summer there is always a person with the scorching sun

Who clusters round the black circling overhead

To prepare a burning torch for joy and pain

To be entangled in the process of a season then

To boldly conceive the day that reaches a great height

In the last moment facing the eternal river

They replace wordless tears with blood

Like an undying bird struggling out of the cage

The defined hell is destroyed in the attack of a storm

Summoning boatmen, rivers and ships

Haunting the land, gorging and disgorging stars

Freedom is still the trend of the river

Waiting for the land and the thinking mode of the land

A head in place of another head

To pursue a black hawk which is wounded

At the moment when the land quakes

Sudden enlightenment in new birth: 365 days

Produce 365 tales of soul possession

Hatch the primitive shell to stir in straining of interpretation

Lo we are born

The birth pangs have surprised a large blossom of floating cloud

Without complaint without lament

The sun flies over our heads

Alliance with the river to become the posterity of mountains

It is life and death behind truth

To produce the waving sound of a century

8.

Like the shadow of a standing snake full of sorrow

To stand upside down the nobility and prosperity of the sun

Fling off the cruelty of lie lingering fear persists in the heart

Now the sun walks toward infinity in the return of life

To seal up dawn and choose another morning twilight

— Light and darkness existence and emptiness

It is trembling with fear when body and mind tilt and lean

A decisive battle with the head in defeat converging into a river

9.

But I am still silent like a mountain

Standing beside the bank contemplating the river

And like the starry sky the huge wing covers the endless night

And the shrunk body behind the mountain

Is trembled with heavy footsteps while apperceiving a piece of pure land

Baptizing in the river

Therefore in the posture of pilgrims

We walk across the bank as leisurely as possible

Gazing for whom in the dusk

And the west wind is past

Without revealing a more intrinsic day

10.

It turns out to be the shadow wading across the river beach

Weeping for whom in meat pudding

In dusk the lonely boat which belongs to us is out of bank tentatively

Temporarily stranded in the narrow belt between the north and south poles

In a trance to realize the alternating days and nights

Out of the door the mountain greets

Behind the door it is the river

Like two substantial idols

The shadow approaches the stone wall from afar to near

There is no lamp or light in the empty world

No echo in spite of the footsteps of crickets

11.

Only the sound of summer waves blows into the ear once and again

Throughout the lengthy night to warn drowsy people

It is you who have bound away the shadow which I adore

It is the only unprecedented existence and our

Short life is no more than an exception

To this existence to drive the head hanging low

High-spirited in vast and mighty torrent

Consistently in the belt overgrown with weed

Filled with ideals, belief, herds and flocks on the hillside

Or I feel something the temptation of an idea

12.

Or it is a kind of substantial existence

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