Poem
Jike Bu
One flower one world
Along the brilliantly climbing vine, splendid, is the flower of prophecy.Nourished by the rain and dew, it looks charming, enchanting,
catching every eye. But the flower outside this season
remains silent. It’s intense in a quiet way,
it faces the wind, embracing another kind of spring
in its mysteriously far-stretching chambers.
The shepherd girl is dreaming under a newly awakened tree.
A seemingly surreal twig on which the moon rises and sun sets,
what’s momentary intertwined with eternity. She lies there. She lies
on this cold, barren plateau,
bare and plain, utterly free, as if no one
can grasp this land more tightly than she, this land she dwells on.
No one has waited longer and witnessed this more than she has––
the bird that flies away early and the plant that flowers late.
This, and this only. All other encounters become meaningless.
一花一世界
一花一世界
向灿烂攀升的是预言里的花享尽雨露，长得妖娆、夺目
而季节之外的花沉默并且剧烈
包裹着另一个春天迎风静立
在它遥远而神秘的心房内
牧羊女在刚苏醒的枝桠下做梦
抽象的枝桠上月升日落
瞬息和永恒相交，霎时
她躺在这荒凉的高原上
无比朴实又无比自由。仿佛
无人比她更紧地抓住这可居的大地
无人比她更准地等到——
早迁的飞鸟或迟到的花开
除此，其他相遇都是多余
Poems
Poems of Jike Bu
Close
One flower one world
Along the brilliantly climbing vine, splendid, is the flower of prophecy.Nourished by the rain and dew, it looks charming, enchanting,
catching every eye. But the flower outside this season
remains silent. It’s intense in a quiet way,
it faces the wind, embracing another kind of spring
in its mysteriously far-stretching chambers.
The shepherd girl is dreaming under a newly awakened tree.
A seemingly surreal twig on which the moon rises and sun sets,
what’s momentary intertwined with eternity. She lies there. She lies
on this cold, barren plateau,
bare and plain, utterly free, as if no one
can grasp this land more tightly than she, this land she dwells on.
No one has waited longer and witnessed this more than she has––
the bird that flies away early and the plant that flowers late.
This, and this only. All other encounters become meaningless.
One flower one world
Along the brilliantly climbing vine, splendid, is the flower of prophecy.Nourished by the rain and dew, it looks charming, enchanting,
catching every eye. But the flower outside this season
remains silent. It’s intense in a quiet way,
it faces the wind, embracing another kind of spring
in its mysteriously far-stretching chambers.
The shepherd girl is dreaming under a newly awakened tree.
A seemingly surreal twig on which the moon rises and sun sets,
what’s momentary intertwined with eternity. She lies there. She lies
on this cold, barren plateau,
bare and plain, utterly free, as if no one
can grasp this land more tightly than she, this land she dwells on.
No one has waited longer and witnessed this more than she has––
the bird that flies away early and the plant that flowers late.
This, and this only. All other encounters become meaningless.
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