But the water, the water
Turning over the poems
My fingers are like knives
One at a time
Slashing myself
Kanek said this to him:
"The rain came down in torrents, and there is yet another to be had; for it is the Jaya rain. Jaya is not a native, but an Oriental."
(Elmiro Afreu Gomez)
The First Site (A Poetry Play in Three Acts)
The Second Fish-Born Man
The Third Old River Channel
The Fourth Three Lives of All Things
2 The First Site (A Poetry Play in Three Acts)
The First Site (A Poetry Play in Three Acts)
Act I
(In the background is the great river, completely dry, and the four old men are sitting like tree roots)
Poets
Sweat soaked my hands ...... my hands
Soaked their foreheads
Their thin, black faces, their arms
Their mud-stained clothes
< p>their once-breeding thighsA waiting for them is a summer ...... without wind
My hand seems to hold them
as if it were holding wood after wood
The sound of the Qin Terracotta warriors
But I have long since arrived, and to the song of the miserable ship
p>Sailing, I arrived.
Poets
Their sweat overflowed down again more
The hot night singers were like clouds ...... puzzling
They took off their cloth shoes and dipped their feet into the imaginary river
They suffered the top of their heads, thinking
They had been sitting from morning till night Sitting like this
Their dark ribbed bones glowed in the dusk of the riverbank
They ruffled the imaginary river and scrubbed each other's bodies
The sound of the Qin warriors
But I had long since arrived. Among the moons
The same thing before and after. The same sounds before and after
Poetry People
are not the same. The sounds
are not the same
First the voice of the lonely shepherd
The sound of dry, cracked lips
Then the sound of wind and thunder on the Qinling Mountains
Then the sound of wind and snow on the Qilian Mountains
......The sound of the dull, dreary ship's cavity
...... The sound of rain on the shield streaming back
...... The sound of streaming fireflies crashing into the night picking up the sound
The sound of rain hitting mankind. The sound of guns in cornfields and briar fields
The sound of snowflakes and breasts. The sound of bugs. The sound of corn leaves
The sound of terracotta warriors
But I arrived long ago. Arid as the earth
Buried all the way up to the neck ...... all the way up to the top of the head
Poets
They're still sweating ...... the pain of life
It goes on. There is still a woman's moan in the kiln
The cry of a lone beast among the moons
That's the call of the sun
But there is no sound
The pain lies in the absence of sound ......No sound
The sound of the Qin Terracotta Warriors
I am the absence of Sound is buried ...... How many years have passed
The ewe still hasn't come.
Poets
Ewes?
The voice of the Qin figurines
It's the water. It is the eyes of those old men
Water is the only
Pain without sound is all the same
Just as there is only one breeze in August
Pain flows in every direction
Only to return to a place long ago inhabited. I arrived
Only only the head land underneath like water pouring into each other ...... not tears
Moreover not tears at the time of thawing
......Green again
The hand of the tree
I had to go under the LIXIL Mountain the more Buried deeper and deeper
Poet (still puzzled)
Ewes?
The voice of the terracotta warrior
Yes, the ewe. Never to come again
Death as pottery. Completely stored
The sky is part of my limbs and dreams
The sky wears the garments of the dead
Never again - ewe sheep
Buried the river's many strangers who come and go
Never again, ewe sheep
What a reassuring Reassuring burial, O all represented by the grass
Yellow flowers before and after like love
Fall into the fields
The honest sun catapults over the spines of many beasts
Our surnames fall into the fields like dust
Poets
But there are the stars. Stars and Mars. The Northern Void Star
With four directions, the feet have to make themselves
Step away O ......
With the woods around my flesh
The flesh has to shake O
And there's blood ...... Blood older than bones
The sound of terracotta warriors
Maybe you're right
But bones, white flowers. A delicate flower
Flowers pale and peaceful
What a reassuring burial!
A white animal sleeps in the earth, and perhaps that is
for all time
gloomily white, and that is because we lived
and loved each other, and wrote poems that glorified the plains and fell back on them
loverly mute
That is because it is then called Bones
No matter the day or the night
Heard The dead river like a bird flying away
overhead. Ewes, never to come again
Poets
But there will be grass
There will be bird droppings ......And a lover's breast ......And singing wood
- -fingers, thighs, lips
...... and beauty bright as a brilliant star, and the descending sun
there will be wild beasts and flowers, and poets...... there will be coffin boards and cradle cloths
there will be blind men and Prophets ...... there are women who look to the sea
And the first day
The second day and the third day
On the fourth day someone dreamed of my son ......The wife was indeed pregnant
...... And the well
As for the ewe, I'll pick a day
To lead it and look east
The two sides of the plateau parted ......
Act II
(The setting is deep and far away. South by a great river. Herb-picking groups of wizards appear and disappear on the surrounding dangerous peaks. It is noon when the song is heard.)
Leader: red fishing boats
Ringing at noon
Ringing at noon is the sun
Collaboration: the sun
Leader: white fish bodies
Hanging high above the night
Hanging high above the night is the moon
Collaboration: the moon
Leader: Quzi, O
Miluo Miluo's algae and grasses are tangled up in his body
Ya Qu Zi
Collaboration: a man.
Leader: He walked softly ashore
In a white dress
Collaboration: a man!
Leader: He gently buckled the gangway, and he appeared
On the water and under the water, and he appeared
Collaboration: a man, a man! (pause, then violent outburst)
A man!
Act III
(Lights go up. The poet stands like a waffle, sideways, soliloquizing. The old men look like stonemasons drilling a well, still as tree roots. The poet holds the ewe in his hand, and in the background there seems to be the sound of rain, intermittent)
I come back from the wilderness, from all the rough fingers, from the womb of a woman weeping, from my site
of accumulated ashes as from the heart, from the ewe in my hand, with my eyes closed like the leaves of a linden, I come back from the wilderness
. The pagoda proves, the pipes of the city prove, that I
I do not want to sing
I did not bring the seed, I did not bring the soil, the oxen or the plow, I did not bring the light or the fire of the first day. No text
was brought. I came back from the wilderness, and I
had only one thing on my mind: water, water ...... Water of the Third Day
I am a tall pool of water, standing here, standing here.
My clothes are raised like a snake, and people say: the lotus flower is blooming.
Yes, the lotus blooms. Of course the lotus had not yet blossomed when I was taken in the arms of the multitude ...... from the song
Back from the hands of those immovable stonemasons. I thought and thought:
All will be safe. I came back from the wilderness, and I only repeat the things of the East at night
Doing these simple things. The need for rain
Not more or less
The need for the moon and the body, the need for understanding, and the need for solitude
I think of my wife at night, and my sons and daughters who plow the earth in the bale fields
Think and think. In the East, being born, nourished and raised is the only thing that matters.
The stonemasons' palms are like lips.
The land
Poets
mumbled
The pumping snowflakes overflowed the riverbanks. The river reroutes and resumes.
How the wildflower floats away the lover
Rain and the poet send her back.
I, too, returned from the wilderness, bringing no seed, no sunlight
I thought and thought in the night
Expecting a downpour of rain, expecting a woman to give birth to a son
Born and not gone, I returned from the wilderness, blood outlasts bone
Though not blooming I outlive time
...... I have dragons in my body
Falling into the wilderness limbs grow fuller. I return from the year of rain, or
from the wilderness of drought
Only remember the song:
Masons have hands like lips.
(The poet staggers down. Old men leap like children into the setting light. From afar comes the cry of a baby. The sound of rain fills the final stage and curtain like divine music.
The faces of the audience are like wine glasses, slightly shaken.)
3 PART 2 FISH LIVING MAN *
PART 2 FISH LIVING MAN *
WATER ...... BEFORE AND AFTER THE FLOOD Totem or Man's Loneliness
1. Flooding 1. Burial of Fish Patterns in the Earth
Heavy rains dousing the sun
Exodus of Ships
If the mouths were barred
Two men silently guarding the fire
No wind blowing through their heads
Tilted back like yellow bells
No sound
A long log
Laid out across the bay
Three voices of relatives
Before they die
Distant agony calling for a bird's beak
Pecking at the sore skin
The loess sinks
People gather in the water and lie down
Looking at fish in the loess water
Raining is also three years and five years
Separated from the water
Lifetime of the head swinging the fish, swinging the fish
It doesn't ring
Coming from the news of the fleeing, far away
And lonesome fish as I am
As if the earth is away from I am gone
As if the earth were a lifetime away
Send me a lifetime
Fish ...... ...... fish
The call of man spits from the mouth of the fish
Heavy rains douse the sun
The crowd Scattered in all directions, probing into the water
Black is not dark
White is not chaste
Red does not burn
The woods
False flowed through
The man who ate all the muddy mud
Kept all
Out of his face
Sinking the sun, sinking the ashes
The silent The water flows for miles
Before turning back to our homeland
Something flows away
We're disappointed
Other flood nights
We seem to gain something
The woman and I
speak forlornly.
Seeds resting on the nightstand
......Water abruptly aborted
Dead people as first awakened
Sunlight full and still fresh
Joyful and painful
Sunlight all over the place weeping
Winging on the water
Calling:
The ground is as lonely as a man
Watery and lonely
Distressed bitter joe blossomed all over
Distressed bitter joe blossomed over
Depths of the earth
My bones are unbearably aching
The people of the ground then said:
Let the sunshine be all over the land and flow gold
2. Coffin
This is wood.
This is wood. This is the breast
This is the moon. This is the cave of the ancestors
Bloodstained
Arms broken like twigs
Arms
Arms
A sound
Mountains before they sailed
Deeper holes are deeper
This is the wood, the wood for which mothers
Buried sons
Father's burial
Fathers burying themselves. p>
The tears are shallow
This is the breast. This is the moon
Escaping the flood with the beast
Escaping the song
This is the cave arranged by my ancestors
I chased myself
into the cave into the song
without words
I escaped permanently into my children and grandchildren with my form and my wounds
An arm broken
The night released birds in the trees
The blood was crimson. The arm
crunched
Deeper in the hole the beast thought alone
The sunlight danced its own golden fur
around the hunter
The hole grew deeper and deeper.
Our first seeds
Rubbed in. In the flood
One leg reflected the moonlight outside the hole
Later in the snow
The one-legged man appeared
Clear and lonely tracks
Our first lovers
Receded with the flood
Nature's sun flowed all over
Our first eyes
Dying of thirst on the picture
Our first eyes. p>
A wolf surrounds the summer
sun. Shedding blood stains
Ships in flames
Like firewood brittle and bright
Burning out our first lives
Water ...... water
This is wood. This is breast
Sucking it is like sucking
Our own plasma Chestnut and tamarind
The halberd tree Northern elm ah
Bury me
Bury me in the ground at four o'clock this night
Don't wake up the multitude
Bury me, please
A bowl of wine. A handful of rice
Cuckoos will naturally bloom everywhere
O yellow earth and dry land
Quickly treasure me with your silent body
At about four o'clock in the night
Unbutton your buttons
Bury me on the spot
Bury me in your flesh
With your mothers
Treasure me
With your fathers
With men, bells and solitude
With kisses, women and ships
I am permitted to enter into the many eternal
flesh, the dark flesh of the
East
In your bodies
One
Massive
Thing
Spins around himself
Perhaps called Kunlun.
After the third age
he remained silent.
2. Man
My head
pokes through the sky
Only one bloody hole
one hole
placed Huayun
Bloody all the way
My head
rolls through the generations
Bloodied
Buried Beyond the heavens
Only I, Kunlun,
this headless body
standing alone
getting to see the sky and the ground
a piece of coffin nailing
sound
rolling in the east
the haze, like blood, rushes out
one star dead across the other
And plain
And hateful
Boundless knocking on the vault of the sky
...... mother
Mother's painfully convulsing abdomen
Finally cracked
Cracked:
The Yellow River ah tragic river
The East rolls on
The years are like beasts, the moon blood-shield
Leaps into my broken neck
And grows another sun
Naked, defiant, writhing
Bronze bronze bronze bronze
Row upon row of vivacious pungent
Maidens
Blood-cells split
Bringing forth my first life
The East Rolls on
Crying awake
The languid field of babies
Flesh and blood
Valley of flesh and blood
Comes a river that divides the heavens and cuts the earth
The Yellow River, ah the grievous river
Me
Kunlun
In the first warmth of my life
Circle round the fires and the accumulating dust
The navel of the East throbs
The Yellow River, O Miserable River
lives
I live
My breath: the earth and the swamps
With millions of hard cave bears leaping
My breath: countless dinosaurs
Dance wildly around my waist
Into layers of ropes
My breath Darkness like a wall
4 Part 2 Fish Born *
My breath rivers like intestines
Countless seeds and music
Waking up in the night crying by themselves
My eyes build temples
My hands rob fire
My ears hang bells
Live
I am on my own shoulders
Raising my head for the sun, bending my bones into a bow
The east rolls on
Drowning
This plateau in the light of blood
The Yellow River, O tragic river
The Yellow River, O tragic river