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汪有榕
Yourong Wang

汪有榕,《海峡诗人》杂志社编缉。曾用名阳光。生于70年代,福建福州人。其作品散见美国《诗天空》、台湾《创世纪》《中国微型诗》《诗选刊》《福建文学》《闽都文化》《潮诗刊》、《九月诗刊》《陌生诗刊》《诗歌蓝本》《海西茶话》《情诗季刊》等诗刊杂志。现为福州作家协会会员,居福州。

Yourong Wang was born in Fuzhou, Fujian in 1970s. He once used his penname Sunshine. He is the editor of Strait Poets. His poems have appeared in dozens of poetry and literary journals in China and Taiwan. He is a member of Fuzhou Writers Association. He lives in Fuzhou.



译者
Translator


璎洛
Yingluo

璎洛原名孟丰敏《闽都文化》编缉,著有散文集《约你花开》。

Yingluo is the editor of Fujian Culture. She is the author of non-fiction Dating You When Flowers in Bloom.

春光万亩

In Spring's Million Acres

轻轻哼唱—— 别忘了放开摇曳的自己 在离春光最近的那亩良田里 我做不了一个安静的人 做不了一个安静的人 那么就相遇吧 霜满弦 月半弓 就着一杯薄酒 我想遇见自已 然后遇见你 遇见让我有些把持不住生长的你 在春光里 做迎风摇曳的事 我已遇到了你 只卑微不放手 只记得不遗忘

 

Softly humming-- Don't forget to release my flickering self In the acres of farmland of the recent spring I cannot be quiet I cannot be quiet There, where we met each other Frost covered chords, the moon at half bow I grabbed a cup of weak wine Hoping to greet myself, then I met you Meeting gave me a growing vision of you uncontrolled In spring light Making waves in the breeze. I knew you humbly holding on remembering not to forget

走梦的中年,形影依旧

Dreaming in Middle-Age

这是年迈的祖母眯起眼睛,在门廊下端坐的时分 梦才行进了一半,你恍惚起身,让水掩饰住你的慌乱 黑暗开始一天的梳洗,而被黑暗盖住的镜子,请开门,容纳我! 一个人,鬓白,伤感,按捺住丛生的苦难? 像夜的幕僚悄悄爬上你的脸。(无知的日子缓缓拉开了弓) 我在水面上行走,惊起了许多年轻的鸟 老人在水与石头之间找一块干燥的空位坐下 用手捋了一下我的鬓角,鬓角微白 泛滥的纹路开始将我苦思冥想的人物细细讲述 纠结中年, 微温的脸布, 热情如水, 如水满溢我的脸庞.

 

This is the age of old grandmother's narrowed eyes, seated at the lower end of the porch. The dream marched on half-way, you got up in a trance and let your tears conceal your confusion. The dark cleans up for the day, and the mirror covered in darkness, please open, let me in ! A person, gray hair, sad, restraining a life overgrown with suffering ? Like the night's minions quietly climbing up your face (The ignorant days slowly draw the bow) I walk on water, rousing many young birds. The elderly search for a dry space to sit down between the water and the rocks. They pass a hand through my temples, temples barely white Flood lines begin to recount in detail the characters of my troubled musings.. Tangled middle-aged, lukewarm face cloth, passionate like water, like water flowing over my face.

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