Tuesday, June 16, 2009

Poet Li Yu 937-978

Poet Li Yu

He was a young king, and captured and surrendered when he was old.
He was one of the best poets for Chinese Ci poetry.
The following are three of his lyrical Ci poems.

Wave Wash Sand
By Li Yu (937-978)
Translated by Laijon Liu20090615

Outside the window, rain drizzling.
My silk shirt can’t stop the midnight cold.
In my dream, I forgot I was just a guest,
And still struck by the joy of moment.

Alone I stood on the balcony,
Staring at this limitless landscape blankly.
How are we, so easy to depart
And too difficult to meet?

The river slowly flows,
The flowers silently fade,
And the spring gone away.
Ah, heaven and world!


Yu Mei Ren
By Li Yu (973-978)
Translated by Laijon Liu20090615

Spring blossom, and autumn moon,
They are circling,
But when shall they cease?

Memories, and the past,
How much are they,
That I should recall?

Last night, the east wind blew,
Again it past by my small chamber.
It reminded me of my home state,
That I dare not to think,
But the image
Still shining in the bright moon.

Those carved railings,
And pale marble stairs,
They should remain the same;
Only our young face changed.

Do not ask me
how much sorrow
I must bear,
It’s like a river
full of spring ripples
That rolling to the east.


Crow Cry Night
By Li Yu (973-978)
Translated by Laijon Liu20090615

The flowery trees faded their spring red,
Ah, too soon!
Yet the cold rains drizzle in morning,
And winds gushing at the evening.

Their rouge mixed with their tears,
Made me drunk, but when I can revisit?
Life always with griefs, is like a river
That always streams to the east.

Thursday, June 11, 2009

A Tiger in a Cage

A Tiger in a Cage
By Laijon Liu 20090611

A tiger in a cage
A crown taken away
In forest he’s a king
But here he falls into Cat category

Children adore him all day
Dogs bark at him
Behind bars he laps his paws
Invincible daggers he’ll never use

What kind of beast
Waits for people to feed?
Isn’t he a sun-god?
Plays a devil role at night?

Beautiful camouflage coat
Should be an art of mystery
But now he can’t find a bush
To show off his magic mark

A pair sad and big eye
Golden and mild
No light of hope
Shining no pride, nor wild

Ah, he is a tiger
But caged behind bars
A god of mountain
Became a wooden idol

Society is a jail that locks our spirit and breaks down our will. I often feel I should accomplish more with whatever I have, but often feel that I’m unable to do. There is a greater force that shut all the doors right in front of me, till one day I stop hitting my head against walls, and I would walk by its side back and forth, couldn’t give up, and one day I might eventually become that brother tiger I met at the zoo years ago, that he stopped looking at the visitors, stopped walking by the bars to hope a miracle gate to be opened, just laying there half-sleep all day, given up dreaming the green forest, high mount top, deep valley, living springs, and never cared if he was alive or dead, or hungry or lack of mate or sex. He should have his kingdom and title, his deity and honor. I shed tears for him, sometimes I only pity him that he did not deserve such treatment, he was not human, he only took what he needed, but even so strong like him still could not break away from the bars we made, all of his identity stripped away, and such life even worst than death. There is a Chinese saying: “Rather live a day of tiger, should not suffer for hundred years like a sheep.” But in our zoo, no one can break loose, not even terrible beasts, maybe only Jesus. And a few prophets and suicidal poets? I doubt. They simply lived a short life in our zoo. Just an opinion.





失去了野性, 也没有骄傲.


Tuesday, June 9, 2009

An Elegant Chrysanthemum

An Elegant Chrysanthemum
By Laijon Liu 20090609

An elegant Chrysanthemum, she’s foreign and mild.
Her sunflower skin attired her delicate form,
And her golden face glares in the rose field.
Autumn is her spring, when all blossom fade,
Then she quietly spreads out her bloom,
As if she’s late, or too shy to compete.
East wind blows; she trembles, but hangs on.
West wind blows; she shivers, yet stands still.

Her root, sticking into her new planting soil
–the same red earth, that irrigated by history.
Whether east or west she seeds as she’s at home,
In valley or upon hill she’s determined to grow,
But in bloomy seasons she’s forbidden to show.
The east wind blankets the sky with clouds,
And the west wind pours its cold shower,
Yet she holds up her golden blaze unyieldingly.

Her petite body fits into her silky Qi Pao precisely,
A tiny gorgeous dress that nature precut it for her,
As her present and future predestined by her past,
As her identity tag always written by her birthplace,
But a flower can never choose her time and dress,
She can only pierce her root into earth and face heaven,
And stand up to four winds, night rains and morning frosts,
Till that first snow bury her unique smile.

This is an Asian American poetry, or Chinese American poetry, or accurately a Transplantation Poetry, that time, soil, history, identity or culture all mismatched by the process. And this poem only concentrates on inner experience, never compares the difference of surroundings, especially for a flower that transplanted back and forth.

“But in bloomy seasons she’s forbidden to show.” This phrase does not indicate any discrimination of the new soil, simply it means ‘by fate and nature’ or ‘by her inability to adapt the new environment’ that she cannot catch up the flowery seasons to bloom, even though she is eager to.