《New Poems》

2011-09-05 22:11:58  巢圣Chao  所属诗集  阅读5041 】


【The Poet of Our Time】
for Stephen Crane

He spent his life eating of his heart
with the red badge of courage
having sold his birthright
a hunter in the desert

We watch his works on the ppt
in the air-conditioned classroom
I was the one who translated him
and he stole my manuscripts

He has been interpreted by lecturers
who become professors
by students who turn into teachers
without any cease all over the earth

Now I sneak out of the voices
to climb onto the roof of the building
hiding myself in the cloud
waiting to be taken up in mid-heaven

【Responding to Stephen Crane】

In the desert
I heard a voice shout
Come, eat my flesh and drink my blood!
I was appalled
and opened my mouth

He filled me immediately
He was sweet in my palate
but bitter in my stomach
and I was puzzled

and heard the voice whisper
Now shout: I'm edible!
I'm drinkable!
I was amazed

and realized
this is life
the life from above
Myself I decide to give up

【For Emily Dickinson】

A lonely woman in a beautiful prison.

The letter that kills
stilled a window of imagery
where introversion was philosophy
and the elements of the universe.

Alas! No essence--no oil--no lamp!

Born in a wrong time, poor virgin
you did not meet the bridegroom.
A life wrung, screwed up with hyphens-
bones, lined up like fences.

Poesies sloping the historical carriage.

【To T.S. Eliot】

You are so so so well-known, T.S. Eliot,
that anyone who criticizes you might be an idiot.
You have built up a most literary language
In a most poetic and philosophical baggage.

You were a Nobel Prize laureate in literature,
not only favored in England, but also in America,
actually all over the world including our China,
a country filled with poetry in its calendar.

Eliot, you annouced the death of many an age,
the death of memory, and the death of any sage,
the death of poetry with the sea and the land
and the death of imageries with a head.

T.S. Eliot, if the two Empires have declined,
You are to blame as a person enshrined.
You have destroyed the western civilization
without finding a solution for its construction.

Those who understand you sigh and suffer,
And those who do not, marvel at you as a winner.
T.S. Eliot, I just want to say by taking a risk--
You have thrown away the earth like a disk,

And then died.

【For Bertrand Russel】

The night woke up with a moon, eyeing me with calm.
The mouth of the moon is the best wine.

I sat by my bed, mute and muffled,
pleaing in heart for the living water
to well up and gush out of the inner spring.

A voice burst out, speaking to Bertrand,
Philosophy takes captive even if
clothed in the term of charity and love.

Wisdom is the truth, and the truth is spirit.
There allows no confusion. Now it cries aloud
by the gate of a century, but ears have been lent
to ilogical reality, unfurling irrational event.

【Russel Compared Life to a River】

Russel compared life to a river,
narrow at first, running wider and wider
until it merges in the sea.
I told my students I somehow disagree,
though most of them like this analogy.

I shared the story of my son's childhood
who was friendly to everybody,
old and young, poor and rich,
as if we were but one family.
He would go up to a rubbish collector,
addressing him grandpa with his toy;
or he would go down to a beggar,
greeting her auntie with his pocket money.

I was again and again impressed
by his kind, open and broad mind.
Compared with a child,
people of my age are just shabby--
we are always on watch,
and have made this world somewhat strange.

My students begin to nod their heads,
and they have also come to know
human minds become more and more narrow,
more and more closed, or self-contained
as they grow and grow,and know and know...

【How Not to Grow Old】

The textbook I am currently teaching tells me
Bertrand Russel lived almost a century
and wrote an essay of how to grow old.
He dealt with it from four perspectives-
genetically, physically,
psychologically and philosophically.

What's crucial in his writing is
human thinking, which relates to our interests,
our memories and our views of life.
In a word, you might conclude scriptually,
as you think, so you will be.


The Bible I read every day says
Adam down to his eighth generation
most of them lived over nine centuries.
But unfortunately,
none of them left a record
of how to really enjoy such longevity.
P'haps it's why their story has become
a fairy tale or mythology.

From my Biblical research
I've learnt they are all vegetarians.
And what's more,
they all walked with the Lord.
That's to say,
they shared the same thoughts as He
who was and is and will be.

【A Quick Dialogue with New Writers from Britain】


The poster is arresting--
Many many books have piled up a man,
A man who seems wild with joy,
Ready to flee and take his flight!

I have appreciated the poster twice,
Trying to eye which book is mine--
In the part of the head or the hand?
In the part of the leg or the hip?

Does the poster want to say--
A man is but some books?
His desire, his thought and his walk,
From nowhere but books do they arise?

As I study the poster again,
I realize that it is like a shadow--
An empty soul which may collapse
Any time, especially his right leg tossed up

In the air. I will confess that the artist is really
Somebody if the writers happen to be
Ordinary. Having read such a poster,
I feel I have heard a whole library.


Ross Raisin's book name The God's Own Country
Is quite funny, sounding like a cartoon army.

Yes, idolatry! A proper word to make it new and sharp.
Luke says the Kingdom of Elohim abides in human hearts.

Why? Yahweh, the breath of life, reigns over all nostrils.
Job says if His breath departs, all flesh will perish.

Oh Nietche! That philosopher who must have tasted this,
Who declared that Elohim is dead. Wow!

Ross Raisin, sorry, I have not yet read your work.
Anyway, this piece tends to be poetic, not academic.

Hope you will forgive me if there is any offense.
But the word Own does isolate a reader from life.


I like the title What Was Lost.
I think the British should strive to pen such theme.

I was in London for three months last year,
And was taken to different churches, disappointed.

There were only some old old people in there.
The churches, I have to agree, are prepaid graves.

Some would explain to me politely
The church is away on holiday except the old.

Pastors ministers are having eye problem,
Or neck problem or denomination problem.

What was lost, I will listen to Catherin O'Flynn.
For my heart does care about the wonderland.


Beauty is the second maiden work of the three.
It strikes me as delicate and lovely,
Strange, nothing like cliche or out of date.

Perhaps it is the impact of the country on me--
My photos have always retained a good memory.
The landscape and its people are both reading quietly.

【A Lonely Stroll】

A lonely stroll through the woods of words-
the world comes down and down-
filled with the desires of the eyes-
the lust of the flesh-
the boasting of riches-

A lonely stroll through the world of words-
the wood comes down and down-
weighted with the worries of life
dissipation and drunkenness-
choked by thorns and briers-

A lonely stroll through the words of the wood-
where birds of every kind assemble
with wild animals
to gather for the feast of God-
the sacrificial feast of the end

A lonely stroll in the wood-
a blind man who could see
first found human beings like trees-
forests were thus formed-
where Adam and Eve hid themselves
afraid of the voice of Elohim

A lonely stroll in the wood-
the wood has become the world-
where life and death is in the power of the tongue-
the tongue, a small part of the body
can set the forest on fire

A lonely stroll in the wood-
the blind man who can see clearly
is no longer lonely-
for the One who has opened his eyes
is with him until the end of the age

Loneliness leaps up
and turns its body around in the air in an aesthetic way

I placed four dead carps in the fish jar
and they became alive one by one
as I poured water in
The fish stared and there was a sea in its eye

And then appeared the faces of two writers
who used to be my friends
I said to them
You have left your life as prize of war
so that you may live

When I turned back, and to my surprise I realized
the jar was suddenly a pond
and that my carps were gone

【My Candid Camera】

The Conference for Formal Linguistics
is taking a picture downstairs
I happen to be stringing words together upstairs
to make language into forms or forms into psychology
so that the coming generation might see my works
and publish papers by their names
Acoustically different forms of units
and their research will establish
various names of phonemes
There will be no confusion
at the new Babel's contruction

Sometimes I just wonder
where they will position poets in the language--
in its words or in its sounds or in its meanings
If poets could be identified as linguists
they would again be scattered all over the earth
employing their images to set up a nation
allowing no citizen to drift in ruin
but in accents of linguistics
or categories of academics

【The Intoxicating English】

As I was writing in English this morning
I felt drunk, my face reddened, charging my hair
I murmured to myself, I seem still
restrained by my brains
though power also arose in heart

I can not but wonder
who has put wine in the golden cup of the language
This morning, even when I thought of English
my nerves begin to energize themselves
I was like ginseng
standing in a bottle of wine

Why is the English language like this?
Who has cast a spell over it
that the language has colonized the world
setting up a common speech
to retrive the days of old

Elliot disturbed the globe with the language
and a few others followed his suit
Shall I make it,a Chinese poet of English?
Sure, I might appear like the mighty angel
with my right foot on the sea
my left on the land
bringing a change
to the tongues of the waters

【Bumping over the Sound】

Bumping over the sound of the English language
one may experience a lot of fun
for it takes you where you have never trodden
and undresses you, like you are old
its surfs rhyming rapping
into series of minds
where you turn out to be an echo-
the tearful nuances of an onion

Here I sit, a poet of English in China
typing travelling on fingertips to mirages
with time ticking cracking in its parade
I trace back to the ancient confusion
Do I want to restore the tower?
Or recall the Chaldeans' desire?
Phonemes can be emotional
and units sensational

As a speaker from the tribe of Judah
I just want to say to you, English-
you can be a language that does not languish
once we can control or drive your jackal

【The Kinship】

From the same blood have we come
multiplied by the same breath
nostrils to nostrils
vessels to vessels
though we are scattered over the earth
within predestined boundaries
and lengths of years

We are but a breath
our days like a shadow
We grow out of the womb like a flower
and wither at the sunset
We fall, with none really aware

The hidden flow
buried deep or shallow
generation after generation
the tunnels of infinity
the silent turmoil of pulsation
the blowing of the bellows-
the hollows of the universe

Oh, let's write a poem for now
let's take a photo for the future
Life, life, we observe
and pass the day with the void
We groan with all creations
and the lurking fluid
beavers and badgers
into instruments
of nonentity and inanity
waves after waves at sea...

【The Desires of the Eyes】

Making covenant with the eyes is a great sin

The eyes in the head are really bad-
they turn around within without cease-
a glance is followed and swallowed
by thoughts from the heart

When I look around
eyes are murmuring all the time

【The boasting of Riches】

These people are also pitful
for they can never use up their money-
they build up their places of rest high up in the rocks
yet their belly is their god


Vinegar made of strong and light drinks-
some are deep in their doctrines-
some are shallow

Only when we speak the word of God in our mouth
our vinegar given to Jesus
can we say it's fulfilled

【The Birds of Every Kind】

which fly in midheaven
are spiritual forces of evil-
they eat the flesh and drink the blood-

the lawless the deceived
they have turned into their dwelling place-
a haunt of every foul spirit
a haunt of every foul bird

【A Creative Day for the Real Poet】

Normally the real poet is invisible.
He abides in the heart,
and conceives.
He writes songs
in a whisper
and becomes a stronghold.

The real poet is always tangible.
I would feel His heart
heavier and heavier
as pregnant
as such a mountain
like Zion.

【For Kate】

So profound
as a waterless well
So profound
as a deep pit

Can a rainless cloud explain?
Can an autumn tree answer?

though accidental
is a bunch of tears

【For a Chinddaily Friend】

In an age of money
poor to be rich in poetic thoughts
for money is their god
then comes their belly

Both the rich and the poor
are being coined by mamon
which even drives ghosts
turning the millstones
of hard hearts


As I reread your comment
this word alone pops up in my mind
I have thought of the Babel tower
that the ancients were trying to build
for the sake of their name
before they were confused in language

And I have also thought of the confusion
that the language and literature
have brought about today
even if they claim to have one God
one Lord and one Bible

Now I hit upon a funny thing
you see my surname and pseudonym is Chao
my first tri-lingual book is Out of Chaos
for I thought I was no longer in a mess
Chao not in plural form may mean order

The strange thing, I have discovered-
what is clear to one may be confusing to another
what is shallow may be profound
and what one tries to include may exclude
Alas for now, but not for ever

【A Great Artist】

Please buy me! Please sell me!
He shouts to the earth with his hands up

And a great city begins to fall
with its images shattered on the ground
language and literature laid in waste
a desolation of wisdom and wit
which was a golden cup
making nations drunk

【The Halloween】

the darkest psyche of Americans
in the howl and prowl of ghosts

the horrible hollow of human hearts
the halloween harrowing homo sapiens

condemning them to the dead
and the beautiful land to Hades

【This Floating Kingdom】

My life for the lasting Kingdom has not yet begun,
Though I have hidden myself for such a long time,
Preparing myself for this long and long run.
The Wisdom I have desired has not yet come.

I do float, I do shake, I do wobble, I do cry,
For my heart is in the wilderness, failth
To find water, the word from His mouth.
I do struggle, I do withdraw, I do dry.

In Mara, I do feel bitter--bitter is its water,
Bitter is its wine, and bitter is its bread.
It is the Almighty who has made us bitter.
He says nothing but: patiently wait.

I do fear my patience will not endure,
For I plan, plan, plan with my wisdom,
Cannot live a day, really relying on Him.
My life for the lasting Kingdom has not yet come.

I do feel bad, I do feel sad, and I do moan:
A fountain He has opened, but I have labored in vain.
Guilt strikes me, away from His throne.
Shame shades my face and wets my palm...

In this floating kingdom, oh, when will You rise?
So I can rise, so I can race, so I can fight.
And in You, only in You can I delight.
In this floating kingdom, nothing else.

【At Dawn】

The East Wind was wrestling with the forest
overnight, and the tribe of Judah limped
at dawn. The wounding was a blessing.

Jacob an example, had struggled with Elohim
and men, and both won.
His earnest begging was the key.

The standard bearer faints.
His own self dies.

The number of such can be counted
even by an infant.

【The Child and the Man】

Flourishing with her hands
the child is crazy about the stars
awarded by her teachers

The man is keen on the morning star
arising in his heart
which is his teacher and light

【Sitting Alone】

Sitting alone like Abraham
I plead in my heart

feeling the weight of power
muscular like a boulder-

the spiritual rock
the everlasting rock

【The Moon Festival】

A desolate planet
is a longing land for tonight
in the possession of light.

Diasporas of the earth
gaze upwards--
when shall we meet up there
to repose our heads?

【The Moon Festival】

A stone rejected by builders
shines fully in the heavens,
bringing a nation into unity
in the form of a family.

【A Poem on Man】

A breath in the nostrils
A remnant of the spirit
Confined in bones and flesh
Which come out
like flowers
And withers
Like grass

The years
A shadow



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  •   鉴赏、评论:
  •   juliotulipan     2011/9/8 21:55:33     3 楼

  • 拜读了!如果诗友有更好的外国原创诗,请多发表些,cheers!
  •   juliotulipan     2011/9/8 21:52:24     2 楼
  • 送了5朵鲜花
  •   查实     2011/9/5 22:44:20     1 楼
  • 送了5朵鲜花