Poem
Zheng Xiaoqiong
Singing
Inside the furnace singing iron, full of memoryIt's bass or treble, painful and piercing life
Its dialect is draped in spring’s fire and autumn’s rain
This burning brilliance gives way to life's deterioration
Dying out, the young woman sitting by the furnace
Sings a folk song, she sees the setting sun cross the furnace
Walks into the industrial complex’s rush hour
In its engulfing glow reside my grief and prospects
Along with the iron’s frantic sobbing
My grief steadfast in the setting sun
My song passes by like the whisper of water passing through
What remains is white hope in a bucket of swaying flames
© Translation: 2011, Jonathan Stalling
歌唱
歌唱
在炉火中歌唱的铁,充满着回忆的铁它的低音或者高音,疼痛而尖锐的生活
它的方言披着春天的炉火与秋天的雨水
这烙红的光泽,让生活慢慢的磨损
熄灭,那个在炉火中坐着的年轻人
唱着歌谣,她看见落日正从炉火间
走进工业区楼群的车流间
在它宽阔的明亮中,有着我的忧伤与眺望
也有着铁绝望的哭泣
我的悲伤在落日中坚定
我的歌声像低声的流水穿过
剩下,一桶白色的希望在火光里晃动着
Poems
Poems of Zheng Xiaoqiong
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Singing
Inside the furnace singing iron, full of memoryIt's bass or treble, painful and piercing life
Its dialect is draped in spring’s fire and autumn’s rain
This burning brilliance gives way to life's deterioration
Dying out, the young woman sitting by the furnace
Sings a folk song, she sees the setting sun cross the furnace
Walks into the industrial complex’s rush hour
In its engulfing glow reside my grief and prospects
Along with the iron’s frantic sobbing
My grief steadfast in the setting sun
My song passes by like the whisper of water passing through
What remains is white hope in a bucket of swaying flames
© 2011, Jonathan Stalling
Singing
Inside the furnace singing iron, full of memoryIt's bass or treble, painful and piercing life
Its dialect is draped in spring’s fire and autumn’s rain
This burning brilliance gives way to life's deterioration
Dying out, the young woman sitting by the furnace
Sings a folk song, she sees the setting sun cross the furnace
Walks into the industrial complex’s rush hour
In its engulfing glow reside my grief and prospects
Along with the iron’s frantic sobbing
My grief steadfast in the setting sun
My song passes by like the whisper of water passing through
What remains is white hope in a bucket of swaying flames
© 2011, Jonathan Stalling
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