Poem
Lü De\'an
As Told to the Poet: 1
New York, one Sunday morning,just because I woke late I dreamed lines of poetry.
Lines shining bright. Yet not like they were
extracted from actuality's drawer
and carried furiously in the hands. No, more like
the being fallen raindrop-wise from the heavens,
in a certain mysterious outskirts, which we ourselves obtained:
a poem both lean and lengthened, now bright, now dark,
every interval in it
resembling the tiny conclusions in the meanings of language.
If you ask me But what does it mean?—even that "between the lines"
apparently discloses someone's whole life casually described—
I can only fall silent. Because when I wake up
I'll startle the spirit right now tossing and turning on my bed.
For a long time now he's asked for contact and touchdown.
His eyes are piously sinking;
his torso, however, has been raised to the water's surface!
© Translation: 2003, Simon Patton
AS TOLD TO THE POET: 1
Poems
Poems of Lü De\'an
Close
As Told to the Poet: 1
New York, one Sunday morning,just because I woke late I dreamed lines of poetry.
Lines shining bright. Yet not like they were
extracted from actuality's drawer
and carried furiously in the hands. No, more like
the being fallen raindrop-wise from the heavens,
in a certain mysterious outskirts, which we ourselves obtained:
a poem both lean and lengthened, now bright, now dark,
every interval in it
resembling the tiny conclusions in the meanings of language.
If you ask me But what does it mean?—even that "between the lines"
apparently discloses someone's whole life casually described—
I can only fall silent. Because when I wake up
I'll startle the spirit right now tossing and turning on my bed.
For a long time now he's asked for contact and touchdown.
His eyes are piously sinking;
his torso, however, has been raised to the water's surface!
© 2003, Simon Patton
As Told to the Poet: 1
New York, one Sunday morning,just because I woke late I dreamed lines of poetry.
Lines shining bright. Yet not like they were
extracted from actuality's drawer
and carried furiously in the hands. No, more like
the being fallen raindrop-wise from the heavens,
in a certain mysterious outskirts, which we ourselves obtained:
a poem both lean and lengthened, now bright, now dark,
every interval in it
resembling the tiny conclusions in the meanings of language.
If you ask me But what does it mean?—even that "between the lines"
apparently discloses someone's whole life casually described—
I can only fall silent. Because when I wake up
I'll startle the spirit right now tossing and turning on my bed.
For a long time now he's asked for contact and touchdown.
His eyes are piously sinking;
his torso, however, has been raised to the water's surface!
© 2003, Simon Patton
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