Poem
Sheng Xing
the winter-built house
the winter-built housethe workmen wearing padding jackets
the frost-covered rocks
the snow-covered timber
and the lake water you have to smash a layer of ice to get to
later, black smoke rises slowly from the chimney on the roof
women are visible through the cloudy window panes
but the walls stay ice-cold
when scorching summer arrives
you needn't worry that the house will melt like ice-cream
beneath the sun's burning rays
at this time
the workmen will be napping in shade of the trees
the rocks will be on a distant hill
the timber will buried underneath green leaves
the lake water will be suffused with ripples
there is a deep lovingness between all these things
and the hotter the summer sun
(or the colder the winter)
the tighter they embrace
© Translation: 2002, Simon Patton
THE WINTER-BUILT HOUSE
© 2002, Xing Sheng
Poems
Poems of Sheng Xing
Close
the winter-built house
the winter-built housethe workmen wearing padding jackets
the frost-covered rocks
the snow-covered timber
and the lake water you have to smash a layer of ice to get to
later, black smoke rises slowly from the chimney on the roof
women are visible through the cloudy window panes
but the walls stay ice-cold
when scorching summer arrives
you needn't worry that the house will melt like ice-cream
beneath the sun's burning rays
at this time
the workmen will be napping in shade of the trees
the rocks will be on a distant hill
the timber will buried underneath green leaves
the lake water will be suffused with ripples
there is a deep lovingness between all these things
and the hotter the summer sun
(or the colder the winter)
the tighter they embrace
© 2002, Simon Patton
the winter-built house
the winter-built housethe workmen wearing padding jackets
the frost-covered rocks
the snow-covered timber
and the lake water you have to smash a layer of ice to get to
later, black smoke rises slowly from the chimney on the roof
women are visible through the cloudy window panes
but the walls stay ice-cold
when scorching summer arrives
you needn't worry that the house will melt like ice-cream
beneath the sun's burning rays
at this time
the workmen will be napping in shade of the trees
the rocks will be on a distant hill
the timber will buried underneath green leaves
the lake water will be suffused with ripples
there is a deep lovingness between all these things
and the hotter the summer sun
(or the colder the winter)
the tighter they embrace
© 2002, Simon Patton
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