Ma Yongbo

Two poems translated from the Chinese by the poet

A Man Carrying a Pane of Glass

A man walks carrying a pane of glass on the road

with the sharp, rough edge wrapped in newspaper

that screens his upper body,

thinking himself invisible to others.

His upper half appears flat through the glass,

making it different from carrying a painting

or a framed glass window—

his looks waver deep in the glass.

When a larger pane of glass hides him,

things will change accordingly.

I will then disappear together with the world.

If I follow him this summer,

I’ll turn more obese and bored,

more dust will gather on my glass,

I’ll have to walk sideways.

拿玻璃的人

一个人拿着玻璃走在路上
一个人用报纸包住玻璃锋利粗糙的边缘
玻璃遮住了他的上半身
他以为别人看不见他了

他的上半身在玻璃里是扁平的
这和他拿着一幅画
或一扇窗户是不同的
他的表情在玻璃深处摇曳着

如果有更大一块玻璃遮住他
情况将会不同
消失的将是我，和这个世界

如果像他一样，这个夏天
我会更胖更厌倦
我的玻璃上的灰尘将会更多
我将是侧着身走过

Ode to Mother: Litany of Fire

My mother is cold flame.
Mother is a flame from the bottom of the sea.
Mother is a flame of pure-white lily of the valley;
a broken miner’s lamp—my mother is
a flame of clay.

My mother lies lower than death.
My mother walks an extra length beyond the end.
My mother cannot find her own flame.
My mother gives birth to me
like a big flame
that shivers on an isolated branch.
My mother burns; crosses the threshing ground of a tyrant.

My mother is flame of hair,
flame of clothes, flame of the crystal sound of ankles,
flame of a smile with eyes tightly closed,
flame of bones, delicate like birds,
flame of transparent fingernails, skin, and fine collarbones.
My mother filters through basket-like ribs,
from the hollow of a pure silver ring, from a wedding carpet of tongue,
filters through a holy grail formed by both hands; a secret auricle,
filters through the chamber of a furnace with black grates.

I push her lost grace with my own hands,
in the heavy, dark, iron carriage,
into the blazing fire.
I watch her sleeves blown full with flames—
she is charging, holding the shield of her knees.
Flames rise and burst from every leak between the bones,
like a furious baby past due for birth.
I see my mother climbing in the flames,
up a steep path, leaving behind her countless selves.
My mother is a burgundy cello, bent and stiff.
My mother is a canoe of cedar,
is a memoryless young girl, rippling in her forefathers’ sky.

母亲颂：火的连祷

我的母亲是冰冷的火焰
我的母亲是海底的火焰
我的母亲是洁白的铃兰花的火焰
是摔碎的矿灯，我的母亲
是黏土的火焰

我的母亲躺在比死亡更低的地方
我的母亲在终点之外又走出了一段
我的母亲找不到自己的火焰
我的母亲每生下一个我
就像一支大的火焰
又颤抖着分出一支
我的母亲燃烧着穿过暴君的打谷场
我的母亲是头发的火焰
衣服的火焰，清脆的脚踝的火焰
是眼帘紧闭的微笑的火焰
是鸟儿一样轻盈的骨头的火焰
是透明的指甲，皮肤，细小的锁骨的火焰
我的母亲从筐状肋圈中漏下去漏下去
从纯银的戒指的空洞，从舌头的结婚地毯
从双手的圣杯，从秘密的耳廓
漏下去，从她黑格栅的炉膛漏下去

我亲手用沉重黝黑的铁车
把她迷失的优雅送入熊熊众火
我看着她的袖子灌满了火焰
她擎着膝盖的盾牌冲锋
火焰从她每一条骨缝里冒出来
像愤怒的来不及诞生的婴儿
我看见我的母亲在火焰中攀登
陡峭的狭径，把无数个自己一一剥离
我的母亲是暗红色的大提琴变得弯曲而坚硬
我的母亲是香柏木的独木舟
是没有记忆的少女，荡漾在她父辈的天空

_____

Poems and translations from “Love Across the Borders” (Global Fraternity of Poets, 2024)

---