Poem
Zheng Xiaoqiong
Industrial zones
Lamps burn bright, buildings burn bright, machines burn brightFatigue burns bright, blueprints burn bright . . .
This is Sunday night; this is the night of August fifteenth
The moon is a blank circle; in the lychee trees
A cool breeze sways inside the pure white body, so many wordless years
Silence in the evergreen weeds, insects cry out, the lamps of the whole city burn bright
Inside the factories, so many dialects, so much homesickness,
So many frail and skinny workers dwell there, so much moonlight falls upon
Sunday’s machines and blueprints. And now it is rising
Shining on my face. Slowly, I am loosing my heart
So many lamps are glaring, so many people passing by
Place yourself inside the bright factories, memories, machines
The speechless moonlight, lamplights, like me
Are so tiny, fragments of spare parts, filaments
Using their vulnerable bodies to warm the factory’s hustle and noise
And all the tears, joy, pain we have ever had
Those noble or humble ideas, spirits are
Illuminated, stored up by moonlight, and taken so far
To fade away as unnoticed rays of light
© Translation: 2011, Jonathan Stalling
工业区
工业区
白炽灯亮着，楼房亮着，机器亮着疲倦亮着，图纸亮着……
这是星期日的夜晚，这是八月十五的夜晚
月光亮出了一轮空白，荔枝林中
清风吹拂着体内的素白，多年沉默不语的
安静，常绿草丛里虫鸣，一城的灯火亮着
工业区里，多少方言，多少乡愁，
多少微弱与单薄置身其中，多少月光照耀
星期日的机台与图纸，而它在上升着
照着我的脸，慢慢落下来的心
多少灯在亮着，多少人正经过着
置身于工业区的灯光，往事，机台
那些不能言语的月光，灯光以及我
多少渺小，小如零件片，灯丝
用微弱的身体温暖着工业区的繁华与喧哗
而我们有过的泪水，喜悦，疼痛
那些辉煌或者卑微的念头，灵魂
被月光照耀，收藏，又将被它带远
消隐在无人注意的光线间
Poems
Poems of Zheng Xiaoqiong
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Industrial zones
Lamps burn bright, buildings burn bright, machines burn brightFatigue burns bright, blueprints burn bright . . .
This is Sunday night; this is the night of August fifteenth
The moon is a blank circle; in the lychee trees
A cool breeze sways inside the pure white body, so many wordless years
Silence in the evergreen weeds, insects cry out, the lamps of the whole city burn bright
Inside the factories, so many dialects, so much homesickness,
So many frail and skinny workers dwell there, so much moonlight falls upon
Sunday’s machines and blueprints. And now it is rising
Shining on my face. Slowly, I am loosing my heart
So many lamps are glaring, so many people passing by
Place yourself inside the bright factories, memories, machines
The speechless moonlight, lamplights, like me
Are so tiny, fragments of spare parts, filaments
Using their vulnerable bodies to warm the factory’s hustle and noise
And all the tears, joy, pain we have ever had
Those noble or humble ideas, spirits are
Illuminated, stored up by moonlight, and taken so far
To fade away as unnoticed rays of light
© 2011, Jonathan Stalling
Industrial zones
Lamps burn bright, buildings burn bright, machines burn brightFatigue burns bright, blueprints burn bright . . .
This is Sunday night; this is the night of August fifteenth
The moon is a blank circle; in the lychee trees
A cool breeze sways inside the pure white body, so many wordless years
Silence in the evergreen weeds, insects cry out, the lamps of the whole city burn bright
Inside the factories, so many dialects, so much homesickness,
So many frail and skinny workers dwell there, so much moonlight falls upon
Sunday’s machines and blueprints. And now it is rising
Shining on my face. Slowly, I am loosing my heart
So many lamps are glaring, so many people passing by
Place yourself inside the bright factories, memories, machines
The speechless moonlight, lamplights, like me
Are so tiny, fragments of spare parts, filaments
Using their vulnerable bodies to warm the factory’s hustle and noise
And all the tears, joy, pain we have ever had
Those noble or humble ideas, spirits are
Illuminated, stored up by moonlight, and taken so far
To fade away as unnoticed rays of light
© 2011, Jonathan Stalling
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