Poetry International Poetry International
Poem

Bei Dao

Colleagues

This book is so heavy, like an anchor
Sinking onto resurrectionary interpretations
Your face, like the clock on the other shore of the ocean
Is unable to be spoken to
Words have been floating on seas all night
And in the morning suddenly fly high

Laughter falls into an empty bowl
The sun revolves on the butcher’s hook
The first bus of the day drives toward
The post office on the end of the fields
O, in the green variations
Sits the king of departure

Lightning, the postman of storms
Is lost beyond the flowering days
I trail you as close as the shadow to the body
From the classroom to the playground
Under the rapidly growing poplars
We get small, one going east, another west

VAKGENOTEN

dit boek is zwaar, als een anker
zinkt het weg in uitleg van overlevenden
je gezicht is een klok aan gene zijde van de oceaan
het is onmogelijk te praten
woorden drijven ’s nachts op zee
om ’s ochtends op te vliegen

gelach valt in een lege kom
de zon tolt aan een slagershaak
de eerste bus gaat op weg naar
het postkantoor aan het eind van de velden
o in die variaties op groen
de koning van het afscheid

weerlicht, boodschapper van storm
verdwaalt buiten de bloeiende dagen
ik volg je als je schaduw
van klaslokaal naar sportveld
onder woest groeiende populieren
worden we klein rennen weg van elkaar

同行

这书很重 ,像锚
沉向生还者的阐释中
你的脸像大洋彼岸的钟
不可能交谈
词整夜在海上漂浮
早上突然起飞

笑声落进空碗里
太阳在肉铺铁勾上转动
头班公共汽车开往
田野尽头的邮局
哦那绿色变奏中的
离别之王

闪电,风暴的邮差
迷失在开花的日子以外
我形影不离紧跟你
从教室走向操场
在迅猛生长的杨树下
变小 ,各奔东西
Close

Colleagues

This book is so heavy, like an anchor
Sinking onto resurrectionary interpretations
Your face, like the clock on the other shore of the ocean
Is unable to be spoken to
Words have been floating on seas all night
And in the morning suddenly fly high

Laughter falls into an empty bowl
The sun revolves on the butcher’s hook
The first bus of the day drives toward
The post office on the end of the fields
O, in the green variations
Sits the king of departure

Lightning, the postman of storms
Is lost beyond the flowering days
I trail you as close as the shadow to the body
From the classroom to the playground
Under the rapidly growing poplars
We get small, one going east, another west

Colleagues

This book is so heavy, like an anchor
Sinking onto resurrectionary interpretations
Your face, like the clock on the other shore of the ocean
Is unable to be spoken to
Words have been floating on seas all night
And in the morning suddenly fly high

Laughter falls into an empty bowl
The sun revolves on the butcher’s hook
The first bus of the day drives toward
The post office on the end of the fields
O, in the green variations
Sits the king of departure

Lightning, the postman of storms
Is lost beyond the flowering days
I trail you as close as the shadow to the body
From the classroom to the playground
Under the rapidly growing poplars
We get small, one going east, another west
Sponsors
Gemeente Rotterdam
Nederlands Letterenfonds
Stichting Van Beuningen Peterich-fonds
Ludo Pieters Gastschrijver Fonds
Lira fonds
Partners
LantarenVenster – Verhalenhuis Belvédère