秋

杯盞喝令杯盞；野菊傳誦著野菊
路徑細長的蛇信子絲絲地──岔分天際
隨著我一聲響徹方圓數裏的忽哨
藏青色發藍的丘陵，牛頭齊刷刷地擡起

塵霾的現實生活中我混得不濟
可回到這午色澄黃的夢景，我轉憂為喜
藏匿藤葉間的神明的指環返著光
自河對岸；有一爿爿排簫似的金色藩籬

谷穗狀的陽光，剌癢馬背
我的肌膚也密集地泛起感恩的小米粒
而腦後──那堊白而空靜的場院
颶風般的鳥群轟地喚醒雷暴年代的回憶

我們這一輩祖國隱患與災禍時期的
斑竹的姐妹們；向日葵擊節吟遊的兄弟
到如今，湮埋的湮埋；瘋癲的瘋癲
甚至有的尚未被命名，便彗星般地殞去

秋天！你為何身懷抱歉的麥子
為何胸佩荒山大河上那歲歲祭獻的茱萸
當你良久遠眺黑柏所環繞的墳冢
粗糙的臉頰緩緩淌下琥珀色松脂的淚滴

悲歡抑或榮辱!?還有什麽值得顧忌
引領我吧！同胞彎曲的脊椎制成的耕犁
無論我是最後一個浪漫主義詩人
還是重歸紫微家園第一位赤腳的先驅

我都將歌唱！矢志不渝地歌唱
並在停歇時述說……朝行將就木的世紀
朝那從獸骨縫隙和扇形的車輻間
收攏回夕光的世紀，深深地，深深地一鞠


Autumn [秋]

～ from <The Home Garden Singer>
[家園歌唱者], a sequence; poem #11

Cups shout orders at cups; wild chrysanthemums are on the lips of wild chrysanthemums
along the path long thin snake messages hiss --- diverging from the horizon
following me a whistle echoing over a radius of several miles
a dark blue hill, in unison cattle heads swish up
in the dusty haze of real life I make out poorly
but when I return to this orange midday dream, my sorrow turns to glee
the mysterious bright finger ring concealed among vine leaves reflects the light
from the river's other bank; from golden bamboo hedges laid out like flutes
We, this generation of our ancestral land's era of calamity and hidden damage
sisters of mottled bamboo; wandering minstrel brothers of sunflowers
today the buried are buried; the mad are mad
even some who were as yet unnamed fell like comets
Autumn! Why do you hold the wheat of apologies in your body
why is your chest adorned by the zhu-er herb sacrificed year after year on your bleak mountains and
great rivers
when you gaze long and hard at the far-off tomb encircled by black cypress trees
tear drops of amber pine sap slowly flow down your rough face
Joy and sorrow or glory and humiliation?! what else is worth misgiving
Guide me! plows made of the curved spines of my compatriots
no matter if I am the last romantic poet
or the first bare-foot pioneer returning to his myrtle-garden home
I will sing it all! on my oath I will sing
and when I rest, detailed accounts ….. I will deeply bow
to the century with a foot in the grave
to the century gradually drawing in the orange setting sun
from between cracks in the bones of beasts and wheel spokes fanning out