Eight Poems by Lao Dao

            A Remote Place

      Huge needle eye.

      History, weeds, threats and death.

      Tree leaves have all rotten away, and fruits are still in the milk.

      The shining clamour has heated the earth.

      The reticence is till roaming .

      Agony without prescription.

      Sufferings, suppositions, premature hopes.

      Who is hiding beneath the leaves,

      And dare not answer me?

      Who, now with a heavy chop and now a light chop,

      Is trying to fell these innocent trees?

　　　　　　　2013

　　　　　　　tr. May.2nd , Aug.3rd, 2022

            After a Heavy Snow

      After a heavy snow

      My father let me

      Help him with hand to toilet.

      My heart was sinking all the way.

      My father was so light, so light.

      His arm was

      As skinny as a bird wing.

      I reckon the least absent-mindedness

      Would at once make him

      Fly from my hands.

　　　　December, 2008

　　　　tr. Aug. 3rd, 2022; May 11th, 2023　　　　　　　　

            Common Days · 1. 

      Ringing the speaker phone on the burglar-proof door,

      My daughter knew I had parked my motorcycle properly.

      We met on the second floor.

      Arms off my neck,

      She took the plastic bag from me,

      She opened it and saw a raincoat,

      Was reluctant to give me back.

      She grasped my hand,

      Which had over-travelled on the computer keyboard.

      And walked upon the third floor,

      She seemed to realize something suddenly,

      Moved her pretty little mouth close.

      On my stubbly face,

      Which had been blackened

      By the tail-gas from street vehicles,

      She kissed.

　　　　　　　June，2001

　　　　　　　tr. May 31st – June 1st, 2022; May 11th, 2023

      I See the Whole of Sweat

      I see the whole of life,

      But what I saw was only a stem of Chinese cabbage.

      I see the whole of a tree,

      But what I saw was only a leaf.

      I only saw a lashing tail of a horse,

      But I see the whole of a gadfly.

      I only saw a lesser face a migrant worker,

      But I see the whole of sweat. 

      I didn’t see the sky well,

      But I saw a bird flying

      Past the window, already.

　　　　　2002

　　　　　tr. May.14th  - 20th , 2022; May 11th, 2023

                  Piano

      Each house

      Contains a lamp that once sheltered a bird.

      So many years,

      I have been walking against the wind.

      Today, I would turn around,

      And pin the village on the brook in rain.

      Do not ask me: what is rice soup,

      What is tea oil?

      A small stone flung up must finally fall back onto the ground.

      Who is it that sent the brightness

      Back to rain?

      Oh, Zhangqiao my hometown,

      I never do anything vile,

      All the same I’ll bow and confess.

　　　　　　　July 16th, 2012

　　　　　　　tr. May.5rd ,2022; May 11th, 2023

            Turn it over

      I want to tell you.

      The blood is on the reverse side.

      May you turn it over.

      The blood is on the reverse side.

      Turn it over, and read.

      The blood is on the reverse side.

      May you turn it over,

      And over.　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　

　　　　　　　June 25th, 2013

　　　　　　　tr. May.3rd ,2022

            On an Ancient Boat

      Everything has been so far away.

      Yet in an instant it becomes so near, as near as the soil.

      It makes one so sad, so grudging,

      And desire to reappear against winds and waves.

      I am only a grain of salt melted on time.

      Who is playing in the sleep beyond?

      Who is blooming on the winter reef?

      Who, in the horror of blue,

      Is sturdily growing up riding winds and waves.

      Who is releasing weather forecast with his indisputable tongue?

　　　　　　　June 10th, 2022, New Zealand

　　　　　　　tr. July 6th - 14th, 2022; May 11th, 2023

            Dulin Temple, Visited in Dream

      Despite the long and difficult journey,

      From thatched cottage as his former residence, I tracked along up to Dulin Temple,

      Named after the former abbot poet-sage.

      The shallow water, wild flowers,

      And the brightly shining time,

      Aroused on my face

      The tears, remote, yet full of respect.

      What a fine rain.

      I firmly reckon

      It is the rain that wet me

      In the old days.

      The water that stops me

      Is from the same stream that urged you to stay a few more days.

      I plunge myself here

      Into a long gaze.

      What a time of prosperity,

      Your Dynasty of Tang has been only a part of history.

      What of it?

      This is but the course of nature.

      Days are so called only when the daytime can alternate the night time.

      Life is so called only when the lifespan of time may expire.

      Isn’t it true?

      Stones are lifeless,

      Even if they were inscribed with words.

      The prosperous dynasty is gone,

      But all mountains and rivers survive.

      The rain survives.

      Flowers and weeds survive.

      The site of the Temple survives.

      And the poems you wrote exactly survive !

      Standing here,

      I cannot discern the sequence of time.

      Rather than a poet,

      I am like a poetic line you composed.

      Amidst the rain drops,

      The stones,

      The weeds,

      I stand motionless.

      The rain is pouring down.

      The water is flowing far.

      The beauty of the Temple,

      Like my small village,

      Is persistent and dauntless, dilapidated and too painful to mention.

　　　　　　　Jan.21st, 2012

　　　　　　　tr. May.9rd -11th , 2022; Mya 11th, 2023

            Let there be Light

      Let there be light,

      And there were horses.

      There were hooves black and white,

      Bright or dim,

      Galloping day and night.

      All lives recedes.

      Let there be water,

      And there were dykes and dams,

      And the chances of their being

      Higher than both banks.

      Love is necessary,

      So are a bumper harvest of all crops

      And peaceful life and contented work.

      Then, there occurs

      Face-to-face interaction between people.

      A fruit’s oozing honey

      Crawl upon all mortal beings.

      Then there appears homeland,

      And the seam of happiness.

　　　　　　　July, 2022, New Zealand

　　　　　　　tr. July 30th – Aug. 3rd, 2022; May 11th, 2023

      Lao Dao (Old Sward),a contemporary poet, was born in Zhuzhou, Hunan in 1964 and currently resides in Guangzhou. A commoner poet who has been hailed as paving his own path of writing.

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