The ten modern poems about May Day are: "The First of May, My Tribute", "Silent Song", "Laborer's Festival", "Hymn to the Carpenter", "White Note", "May-Blooming White Lotus", "May is like a Poem, and we are listening", "Labor Creates Spring", "Father's Flat Stretcher", and "The City Beautician".
1, "The First of May, My Tribute"
Author: Yang Dongzeng.
May 1, leaving the brain work.
I put a hoe on my back or picked up a hammer.
To the countryside or to the factory, to participate in sweaty physical labor.
The things in front of me changed in the exuberant hammering of prana.
Even everything that would continue in the future slowly became colorful in the footsteps of time.
Wrapping up my work, I stood quietly in front of the wall calendar.
Clenching my fists, my respect fades into May Day.
This infinitely honorable and sacred holiday.
2, "Silent Songs"
Author: Nanno.
You take music and interpret it like no other.
There is no stage, no instruments as well as sets.
And you sing with the highest listenership.
All of them use visual listening, and all of your notes are synthesized with light.
Smiles that can be experienced are applauded, you spread the harmonies the widest.
Planted in the motion of the machine, pasted on the screen of the classroom.
And all the melodies you played in the minutes and seconds of the office building.
All rejected paragraphs, rejected interludes.
Continuity and peace are your constant themes, and dusk comes.
It's the part of your song that stirs, and the neon of the city will dance across the leaf gaps.
Streets and parks won't be cold for the night, and village square dances will be the star of the night.
The most spectacular part is the thousands of windows.
With your music in hand, shove the blackness where it belongs.
3. "Laborer's Day"
By Ching-Fa Lee.
Sing for your own holiday. Also write a hymn for yourself that laborers are the most honorable.
But can't find the magnificent words, looking for them in the spring plow.
Topping the back of the ox, looking for it in the factory.
The clang of the hammer, caressing the scythe of yesteryear at dawn.
Revealing dark robustness at noon. In the smoke of the cooking fire and in the afterglow of sunset.
Tasting the agar of the harvest.
4. "Hymn to the Carpenter"
Author: Lai Huasun.
From your eyes comes a ray of light that turns into a black silk string.
Bouncing branded on the burl of wood, hammer, axe, planer.
Clang! Clank!
Interpret the wood into squares and circles, lengths and lengths.
Chisel the recesses of mortise and tenon, like your gleaming eyes.
Far away from me, yet I still hear it faintly.
Tinker! Tinkerbell!
Accompanying this sound, that new house.
Coming to me, very, very close.
5. "The White Note"
By Xu Qingping.
If cotton swabs are staccato notes, the white gloves that move up and down rhythmically are legato notes.
If the collection tube is syncopated, then the nucleic acid detector, constitutes an infinitely extended legato line.
This late spring/early summer, a piece of music without a change of breath notation.
Destined to fill the treble clef under the protective suit by day, destined to fill the beat of a husband and children's thoughts by night.
You put the slender clouds, the brocade waters, the fragrant grasses, and the dangling gullies into sweet lyrics.
You have put peace, health, the building and the geese into a beautiful melody.
Your figure, on this colorful day.
Beating into a string of white notes, composing a song of laborers without rest.
6, "May - Blooming White Lotus"
Author: Dou Yuehong.
Spring leaves the fragrance on the ground, and the petals soak in the rainy night.
Lightning draws a line through the air, isolating the peaches and pears and apricots on the opposite shore.
The grass carries a dream, stretches its neck and strives upward.
Peeking at the wind's trail, the date the rain came.
There will be an event in the pond, a medal for the white lotus that strives to bloom.
Hang on the first day of May, a halo for putting up a good fight.
Winning applause from the frogs and waking up the water lilies.
The sun is blazing, and the lotus leaves hold up the sky.
7. "May is like a poem, we are listening"
Author: Xu Bingshu.
Speed up the spring breeze and open the book of sunshine.
Visit the forests, fields and green seedlings.
Fill your stomach with birdsong and flowers, and the meaning of life is full of vastness.
With your fingertips, touch every city and village.
Learn the balsam fir, sycamore, butterfly, standing posture.
To listen to each new leaf, each gaze.
Lines of poetry, from the sound of a plowshare striking metal.
A drop of rain best met, a tree of pungent flowers traced into the sea.
Composed into a white music, brewed into a cup of wine.
Time's ears perk up, and the branches sway with spring.
The bones of steel and concrete, the rich May.
There is always light floating, retrograde footsteps clanging.
In fact, May is quite warm.
Every dawn is filled with the fragrance of golden fruit.
8, "Labor Creates Spring"
Author: Ye Changbin.
You came from the east, and the mountains and rivers clothed you in verdant dresses.
The rivers are dressed in crystal crowns for you, and the rhododendrons dance in the breeze.
The larks sing in peace, and the north pitches its brightly colored tents for you.
The Southland draws a colorful canvas for you, and youth glows in your heart.
Life is born in your arms, and you give to nature's generosity.
Bugs, fish, birds and beasts acquire the power to catalyze life, the gift you give to the earth.
Men, women, and children receive boundless blessings.
9. "Father's Flat Stretcher"
Author: Huang Yunfeng.
The first day of May, I miss you.
Thinking of your flat burden had stuck through the morning dew under the big rock, whisking through a hundred rows of wind.
Holding the evening sun of the water-carrying palm, the spring of the fog-dew pit.
The stretcher bent your back, and the sweat of the rain was the unique scenery painted on your shirt.
The heavy creaking sound of heavy breathing, in the stars and moon in the forward march.
You picked back the days of firewood, rice, oil and salt, and five children's books.
At that time, I was still swinging on your stretcher.
Father and the stretcher are the family's prime mover, the family's oar.
10, "City Beautician"
Author: Ye Xiaorong.
From the grass and trees thinking of spring to the river hibernating in winter, you run with the seasons.
Continuously dressing up the city, tireless you are.
The drum beat of your feet, together with the notes of your broomstick, flows into a friendly melody.
Late at night and into the early hours of the morning, the streets and alleys are waiting for your review.
The green buckets on the corners of the streets are watching in silence, waiting to be deployed at any time.
In order not to disturb people's dreams, the grass and flowers of the trees, houses and flower gardens choose to hide their applause in their hearts.
When the stars give the canopy to the morning sun, the morning light is so clean of your sweat and smiles.
Like white clouds that are waking up from the golden light.