Joy

How trustworthy this old flame,
these potatoes with fresh mud, these cabbages,
the steam from the hot bread,
the frost on the radishes.
        
With them I’m no longer a stranger
to myself,
nor is life elsewhere.
        
I’m tasting what the Buddhist Scripture says: joy.
        
The sunflower on my apron twists my body like love.
How are you my old sun?
        
As good as in the agrarian age?
From whose eyes comes out a wisp of blue smoke then?
        
I don’t like this fast moving era my old sun.
And this room in pace with the world…
        
A wuthering echo in the morning dew and my sweat—I love
the kitchen that smelled agriculture
but with an empty bottle at dusk. I love
        
the me that sat on a small stool.

喜悦

喜悦

这古老的火焰多么值得信赖
这些有根带泥的土豆  白菜
这馒头上的热气
萝卜上的霜
        
在它们中间
我不再是自己的陌生人
生活也不在别处
        
我体验着佛经上说的：喜悦
        
围裙上的向日葵爱情般扭转着我的身体：
老太阳  你好吗
        
像农耕时代一样好？
一缕炊烟的伤感涌出了谁的眼眶
        
老太阳   我不爱这个猛烈加速的时代
这些与世界接轨的房间……
        
朝露与汗水与呼啸山风的回声——我爱
一间农耕气息的厨房  和它
黄昏时的空酒瓶
        
小板凳上的我