I know the joy of the fish

These poems are selected from Yang Tiejun's new poetry collection "I Know the Joy of Fish", and the biggest change is that he has developed a precious openness from his original introverted and contemplative path. Unlike the early poems, which gained dramatic and emotional power through more inward focus and self-justification, these recent works write about his true feelings, immersion and understanding of the world, and the mind is open in the outward expansion, more connected to things, and therefore more active, more contained, unique and particularly moving. The language maintains his usual hardness, condensed, precise, surprising, full of small changes, and at the same time more comfortable. The most valuable thing is that these poems embody the poet's very clear sense of "poetry writing", they are both independent and self-contained, mutually existential, but also interconnected and internally unified, and their events, philosophies, lyricism, metaphors, etc., together constitute a rich and vibrant complete space - this is the best side of the function of poetry: to build a new place for us, and to bring us a completely different but so personal experience. --Wang Zhijun

Yang Tiejun, a native of Ruicheng, Shanxi. In 1988, he was admitted to the department of Chinese of Peking University, began to write poetry in his sophomore year, studied a master's degree in world literature at Peking University in 1992, and went to the University of Iowa to pursue a doctorate in comparative literature after graduation. He is the author of his poetry collection "And Forward" (World Knowledge Press, 2008), "Rose Collection" (Landscape Prints, 2015), "Dialogue with a Voice" (Guangxi People's Publishing House, 2015), "I Know the Joy of Fish" (copy production, 2017). His translations include Forest Clearing ([United States] Frost, Shanghai Literature and Art Publishing House, Hardcover Edition, 2015, People's Literature Paperback Revised Edition, 2016), Electric Light ([Ireland]Heaney, Guangxi People's Publishing House, 2016), Omaros ([St. Lucia], Walcott, Guangxi People's Publishing House, 2018), Imagine a Future Rose Gompos Poetry Anthology ([Portugal]Pessoa, Yazhong Zhongxin, 2019), Birth of Poetry · Teaching Manual of Youth Literature And writing ([English] Ted Hughes, Guangxi People's Publishing House, i.e. out).

<h3>* Cotton cloud</h3>

A few cotton clouds fell and sank,

Bright and bright at the top, stripped of the poles of the towering layer,

The black cloud that had not yet swallowed in the low place was clear.

Two of them came closer, biting each other,

After a while of not watching, the chaos spread and faded.

Red maple that grows to a fifth-story height,

Swinging crisp leaves sends a gust of wind away.

Gradually, thin clouds retreated to the edge of the sky,

Steamed up by the atmosphere, it is crumbling.

The depth of the sky blue disintegrates into light gray.

The earth absorbed the bright sparkle.

On the hills in the distance, the pine branches are clearly distinguished,

A fluffy complex green needle is also delicate.

Undulating expanses of deep forest——, sink shadows,

Hold this bright moment from below.

Landscape with Trees | David Burliuk

<h3>* Heavy woods</h3>

The rain stopped for half a day,

The woods are also self-conscious, rustling

Clicking. Every tree grows

A microclimate that belongs only to itself.

The fog rolls above the canopy,

Occasionally steaming out from under your feet,

Invite you to enter the loose moving door.

On one side of the wooden bridge pressed against the rushing stream,

The other side couldn't hold back

Billowing turbid currents, from time to time from the shore of the erosion

Drag a few leaves or break branches into the water,

Suddenly, it disappeared.

Above the fog, the wind blows black clouds,

Large black clouds collapsed, towering

A tower of blue sky, thin and scattered black cloud silk

Speeding through this wellhead,

Looming black clouds looming in the west

Do not distinguish between bright colors,

Gradually kneaded into a dark red before sunset.

Rainwater in all directions, carrying mud into the stream,

The dry stomach of the creek can not retain water,

It empties into the main river, raises the water level and washes away violently

The broken roots and whiskers of the trees that are half exposed,

Crooked from both sides deeper into the middle of the river,

Gradually forming a situation of sandwich shore,

Suppressing the aggressiveness of the middle channel,

Suppress the roar to a lowering,

Create a roaring, chaotic background.

Then

Brown-capped buntings are heard from the woods

Thorn-stab-stab, prick-sting-sting

Jump above the reverberation of water, trees, and wind

That restless, short, clear cry,

Maybe it's the rush to tell your companions something,

Conveyed in sharp frequencies

Dark woods, rivers heading west

I can't help but feel a heavy emotion.

If so, Lake Alatura

Not far downstream, it seems that it can be received and understood,

Feedback to the deep silt is readily available

Expanded a whole summer's, fertile dream.

Figures by a Riverside | David Burliuk

<h3>* Cloud on cloud and down</h3>

For several days in a row, it rained in the evening,

The river is clear in the morning, and after the rain, it will reveal a rusty red.

A white, gigantic heron

The jaws, the jaws, the jaws, the water facing upstream,

Patrol the swirls that are swirling beneath you.

The branches that stretched out from both sides of the shore struggled to stand up,

But only for it left a narrow river,

Give this majestic bird the necessary respect.

A gust of wind passed, and the broken branches and remnants of leaves snapped and fell,

The river birch on the periphery tightened his tattered clothes.

On the slopes, pine trees tower like the crown of mountain tips,

Huge oak trees, beech expansive domes

Hu-hu-hu-hu, stirring up a tight burst of air currents.

The narrowed river was even more turbulent, with bushes

It was airtight, and suddenly there was a tuk sound,

Like a pheasant barking half cut off, half mute

And more, maybe some kind of woodpecker but maybe.

The forest releases a slight sour rot of summer,

There is a bush that emits a strong smell of tsubaki elephants.

The fishy breath of the river is swept into the depths by the rapids,

Bury the water mosquitoes in the hiding place and wait

When the waves are not alarming, they are densely planted on the surface of the water

A circle of ripples, splashed into the water by a drizzle

And the ripples that spread faster and stronger washed away, gradually

The diffusion of each circle of ripples is carried by another circle

Block back, surrounding their respective centers.

Then, a fierce wind rolled up the waves of white teeth,

Eliminates the inertia of calm landscapes.

The trees of the whole river valley are caught up in the undulations of the air currents,

Each leaf rolls up and down.

Sycamore broad leaves turn out their white belly from time to time,

Oak's fingers trembled, and willow strips kept whipping themselves.

All the lines suddenly came alive,

Every detail depicting the airflow becomes more and more vivid.

A night bird with hair coming from deep in the throat

Lelele's sinking voice muttered nervousness.

The torrential rain was pouring in quickly

Stirring up a thin curtain on the river valley,

Punctuality covered up the appearance of this comedy one by one,

Hula, crackling, bustling.

The forest was whipped by the rain and returned to the not-so-distant past:

It wasn't dark yet, dark clouds were hanging low, and there were rows of wires through the fog

Secretly playing the black crow,

With several flashbacks of the glass, it is transferred to the same space,

Share the joy of meeting past time and present time,

And irrepressible, suddenly, with great sadness.

A Walk by the sea | Pierre-Auguste Renoir 1915

<h3>* Forest walks in the rain</h3>

It rained overnight

River birch trees in the morning

Soaked in water, opened up

Because of the heavier air

Eat deeply, confused

Which is ink and which is paper.

The river was muddy and the tiger roared

Throw out an unreasonable temper.

Four streams of infusion

Shivering, but in the grass

Under the cover, it burrowed in

The river flows deeply. High,

The higher jungle shed tears,

The rattling sound is like the sea.

She also had thick fallen leaves

Calm down the gloomy mood,

It is postponed more wet and slippery under the feet

An early winter.

Two American robins

In the opposite of a Metasequoia plant

Whispering between the leaves, Metasequoia

There will be a transition between red and green, between red and green

Smeared by the brushstrokes of the rain

More even, only for me to see

Robins are different in red.

Why it has to be so abrupt

I heard the robin's questioning

It suddenly sounded inside me,

Involuntarily looked up

Dark clouds changing under white clouds.

This kind of change happens all the time,

I recognize the change

Too late and too early.

<h3>Three</h3>

The rain mixed with a few wisps of invisible fog

Wrapped in a reluctant oak tree,

I was almost invading her mind

The least thing to say about the rain should be honesty.

But I

Bowing his head, a wisp of mist carried the rain from

Eyes crossed, I looked at the oak tree,

All that's left is slipping justification,

What falls from heaven can only be on the earth

digestion.

The rain was falling more urgently—

A few pine trees in front grinned

The mouth of the armor, the oak tree behind it

The leaves haven't fallen yet, there are

Sickly red like a cold.

But I have felt it rise from my heart

A grid of temperature, felt

Rain's face was burning.

I don't remember how I got back.

How to shake off the rain on your body,

The car roared up the slope.

I feel like there's a miner

Dug out of the pit of the black hole hole

A piece of coal, and the coal precipitated me

I can't remember the missing part,

I'm sure I don't need such miners,

What is lost is also compensated for by the loss itself.

The rain merges into flowing water, and then merges into a river,

Lake Alateura, where the river flows

We have seen its blue in advance.

A Black Bird With Snow Covered Red Hills | Georgia O'Keeffe 1946

<h3>* Retrospective</h3>

<h3>A low cloud swept through the treetops in the early morning</h3>

Low clouds move quickly over the treetops

The treetops are immovable and spread by low clouds

Birds in the distance receive this message

Suddenly it flew down and swayed in the treetops

Before deciding, say please don't in the treetops

Before falling, the wings have been flapped and flown

Bring the message to the empty air behind you

Bone joints around the cold

Outline the shape of the unseen treetops

I was mistaken for the spirit of winter

Mist is emitted in the early morning on a cloudy day

Lively shot out pillars of light

Walk through solid branches

Shoot down obliquely, no longer gloomy

Let me turn to the untrustworthy

It can only fade out in the form of miracles

Another new hope

<h3>Two sparrows replaced robins</h3>

Sparrows replaced robins

Gray replaces the dark red of winter

The eight large mountains and rivers were even lighter in the fog

But the flames of The Flame appeared

From the ochre smoke

I heard the sparrow chirping

But there is no one I gathered in this line

Focused, I hear the chirping

It's also as if it doesn't exist, but it can

See in your mind, form shapes

Consciousness, what should I do with this consciousness

What to do? I was asked by this consciousness

Involuntarily that takes this question

Look for wet branches and look

Where is the branch wet

Lively head, give me one

Unsurprising shape?

<h3>The last rhyme of the thirty-five rhymes</h3>

I heard again on the Yellow River beach

The grunt of the dove, in the earth

Echoes between, or occasionally a pheasant barks

Released from the fire of a single-barreled shotgun.

Thorny jujube branches took us

Hooked up on the slope of the earth where the footsteps are floating,

Descend a cliff before stepping on the platform to look out

In the distance, the Yellow River is like a belt, meandering through it

Wide canyon. Stork House not far away

It seems to have sent the eyes of the Tang Dynasty over,

In a higher level of contemporaneity,

Exhausting our myths. From where

Able to find yourself? Just ask ourselves,

Just ask those silent eagles

Hovering in the air, staring at the hare,

Not content with simple, ephemeral clarity.

This was once the ashram of Lü Dongbin,

The secluded cave is attached to the spirit of the times.

When I pulled my eyes back, I got used to it

Retreat from darkness to the light, and also from the light

Retreat to the ten colors of no light.

Perhaps, it is not the so-called zeitgeist

Let us make a judgment of conscience.

There was no He Xiangu or Zhong Liquan anywhere

Diverging in the clouds, allowing personal pain to overflow

To the heavens, let the world include the heavens,

End me when it's getting dark outside the window and birds are ringing

Fifteen rhymes are written in the last rhyme.

<h3>4 Yangshan Port</h3>

Along the East Sea Bridge,

The dusky East Sea below is endless

The slowly blowing blades give us electrical input

After passing through the free trade zone

In the dustpans of the Qiantang and Yangtze rivers

Ferry to Shengsi

The hills of the port area shaved off the face

Replaced by wrinkles of several horizontal bricks

Continue the pre-decay of life before aging

And no character is the greatest character

A whistle is a whistle

It's all the same thing, rolling kids all over the place

Snot is flying around, you are so happy

Really let a bunch of people worry about you

I was so happy when I was younger

Although I don't represent the future like you

My future is never future

My I am my plural

It was "we" who faded my cicadas

It is the strict restoration shared by our Heavenly Dynasty

Fall of the Trees Yorkshire | J.M.W. Turner

When the dark incense of the word floats,

Fall under the branches of autumn

Every word is on the path

Found my place,

That's when the meaning is fulfilled.

Implemented in the empty and in the real place,

Or hidden places and open places,

Maybe buried in the heart, can be

Find simple sentences one by one,

Stringed into crisp large beads and small beads,

How good that should be, how good that should be!

However, language can also be used

Lost in the jungle, like that,

Whether in the light or in the dark

Is it a sparkling blackberry skewer, still

The sweet echo of the fluorescence,

All fall into the void, absolutely the opposite.

I understand the language.

Shine on the first rays of sunlight in the morning

The top of the mountain of Dazhenyu, cooking smoke

It was as blue as a huge mountain

When blown away by the wind, I

Forgetting the dialectic of good and bad,

By the babbling pond of the stream

Say, I know the joy of fish.

From the freedom of language

What I found was the cage, and there were people

Found greater freedom.

Under the blue sky, there is no paradise,

Without exception, what you think

Swirling fallen leaves on your head

In that moment of stay, countless things happened

A moment of unevenness in the world,

But I don't know where, as usual

There is a naïveté with no heart and no lungs

Like a fallen leaf rising up,

Back to the branches to blossom?

<h3>A beech</h3>

Beech is always at the end

Also hang a tree with deep leaves

There is also a little bit of greenery

Only two precious Metasequoia trees remain

Fine red needles, lightly caged

A cloud of fog faded into moisture

Barely worthy of beech

Amazingly reserved, on this side

The hillside did not wither

You can get it like a beech

Perfectly saved for me

Give up the depressed reservations in your heart,

Put this contradiction between the lines

Doubly deep and distinct,

At this time the canopy of the beech

Slowly shake the secret leaves,

But he couldn't speak.

Always green at the end,

Dark red erection in the depths of the withering.

<h3>Two river birch</h3>

River birch in winter

It gives the feeling of shivering in the wind

If it rains, the river birch

White and gold coat corners

Will be smoother than smoother skin

Also moisturize and drip

Although it does not sway, it gives people a taste

The illusion of swaying and femininity

Take advantage of the uniform shadow in the skylight

Diagonally towards the river surface

The shadow plunged into the rugged streaks of water

O river, you flow slowly

River Birch borrowed my mouth and said to flow slowly

But the anthropomorphism of the river birch

Use the wrong object, let me tell you

But he was silent about Ezekiel

Can't tell

Is that anthropomorphic or water-like, this

Was it really a problem

Tree Trunks in the Grass | Vincent van Gogh 1890

<h3>* Down the hill, the woods give way to dry grass</h3>

The flowing water of the shadow of the sun,

Wash the softleaf,

No pecans

and the absorption of giant oaks,

River birch, wild apple,

Large-leaved sycamore, acacia

Co-vine interception,

Ferns that should have been drilled into the forest,

Transpiring dew.

Flying sparrows

Plunge headlong into the dry grass,

Startle the gray hare.

The shadow is gone,

The look is exceptionally vivid.

A light moon

The blue sunken

Make the mountains empty,

Subtle.

<h3>* A torrential rain in the evening</h3>

The water was muddy

There is a slight sedimentation in the curved place

The green trees on the shore can't

Tilt down more, poop

From time to time a drop of stagnant water falls,

Pan up one ring set one ring

ripples. A giant blue heron

Fly past the river

The wings are wide and sideways at first glance

Cover an entire river channel

The dullness of rust could not be concealed

The liveliness of the robin.

Even the deepest spring has subsided——

Weeds can no longer pick up thorns

It also closed the uneasiness in my heart.

A torrential rain in the evening,

Let the water flow expand even more,

Summer has arrived.

<h3>* Cow Horn Ridge</h3>

Five o'clock in the morning

Drill out of the door, north of the sky

Imposing Bull Horn Ridge,

Blue is a line bluer than deep blue,

The mountain is high, but there is the illusion of leaning over,

There are two peaks clustered to the left and right

Not much lower, defined separately

A less accurate, hard-to-describe blue.

The air is exceptionally clear,

A large vat town in the courtyard

Under the walnut tree against the wall,

The landlord's sister-in-law carried firewood across the courtyard,

Fill the plate in the open air stove,

Scoop water from the jar with a rusty iron scoop,

Shake the cord and light the fire.

A wisp of green smoke lingered

A thin mist that fell into the village.

Everything was quiet, and suddenly I felt something different,

But there is no brake that has happened,

The horns of the cattle protruding into the sky are sharp

Red as small as a grain of rice, almost impossible to see clearly.

It took a moment to think

It is the rising sun, rising from the invisible place,

As soon as he emerges, he transpires through the sea,

Heavy mountains and undulating forests,

Skimming over the arrow buckle, over the Lianyun Ridge,

After running out of light, the little bit that remains

Compressed all the red of light and shadow,

Cast on the side walls of the spire that cannot be moved,

But it did not leave any traces of light in the air,

Only asagiri remains, which is caught by the tip of the horn

Dripping into the vast blue, and without the slightest leakage,

Hidden and out of reach,

It's all out of thin air.

The red dot never widened, about a few minutes later

It even disappeared, across the mountain range

For one dark, slightly more blue inherent solemnity,

The sky was a little light and prominent

Dark blue, huge and towering.

After a long rest, the redness faded

Printed back to the same position, slowly expanded,

Winter wheat half a year of growth period

Condensed into a second, in the blink of an eye, the joints have been drawn,

And the red gradually golden, along the ridgeline

Divide the dawn.

Original title: I know the joy of fish| Yang Tiejun's poem

|. Rocks with Shrimp Fishermen Pierre-Auguste Renoir 1892 partial

#飞地策划整理, reprinted with advance notice #

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Planner: Wang Xiangwei, Dust Roll 丨 Editor: Dust Roll, Shochu (Internship)

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