The High-Flying Birds

Music does not matter

 

Not much poetry to read

 

The fresh air by the lake

Only helpful to the lungs

 

Throughout the year, I rarely dream

But meditate a few times

 

My life depends on others

 

Some people, whose names I don’t know

Others, already dead

 

They watch me from behind

The swaying leaves, if I’m right

I take a cut of their happiness

 

The high-flying birds are here

 

Those kind birds, why

On every flight do I feel

The bad omens they’ll drop

 

飞鸟

 

音乐无所谓

 

诗歌可读的不多

 

湖边的清新空气

只对肺有所帮助

 

一年之中,我很少做梦

有几次冥想

 

我的生活,离不开其他人

 

有些人,我不知道姓名

还有些已经死去

 

他们都在摇曳的树叶后面看我

如果我对了

就会分掉一些他们的幸福

 

鸟飞过来了

 

那些善意的鸟,为什么

每次飞过时

我都觉得它们会投下不祥

In Defense of the Untranslatable  | Zocalo Public Square • Arizona State University • Smithsonian

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