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�����DZ����ߵ�ͨ��֤�� �����Ǹ����ߵ�Ĺ־���� ���ɣ����Ƕƽ������У� Ʈ�������������ĵ�Ӱ�� ������ȥ�ˣ� Ϊʲô�������DZ��裿 �����Ƿ����ˣ� Ϊʲô������ǧ���ྺ�� ��������������ϣ� ֻ����ֽ����������Ӱ�� Ϊ��������֮ǰ�� ������Щ���о��������� ������ɣ����� ��--��--��--�ţ� ��ʹ�������һǧ����ս�ߣ� �ǾͰ���������һǧ��һ���� �Ҳ������������ģ� �Ҳ������Ļ����� �Ҳ��������Ǽٵģ� �Ҳ��������ޱ�Ӧ�� �������ע��Ҫ���̣� �������еĿ�ˮ��ע�������У� ���½��ע��Ҫ������ ������������ѡ������ķ嶥�� �µ�ת���������Ƕ��� ������û����������ա� ������ǧ����������֣� ����δ���������ӵ��۾��� Answers Cruelty is the ID pass of the cruel, honesty the grave stone of the honest. Look, in the sky plated gold, crooked reflections of all the dead float around. The glacial epoch is over, so why is there ice everywhere? Good Hope was rounded a long time ago, so where are these thousands of boats racing on the Dead Sea? I came into this world with only blank pages, rope and my fingers; therefore, before final judgements are given, I need to speak in all the voices of the defendants. Just let me say, world, I--don't--believe! If a thousand challengers are under your feet count me as challenger one-thousand-and-one. I don't believe the sky is always blue; I don't believe it was thunder echoing; I don't believe all dreaming is false; I don't believe the dead cannot bring judgement. If the sea is doomed someday to break its levees my heart must flood with all the bitter waters. If the land is destined to form the hills again, let real human beings learn to choose the higher ground. The latest, favorable turnings, the twinkling stars studding the naked sky, are pictographs five-thousand years old. They are the eyes of the future staring at us now.
��ʧ������ ������������ѷ�������� ��ɢ��һȦȦ���� û�м��䣬ʯͷ ���ɵ�ɽ���ﴫ�������� ʯͷ��û�м��� ��С·�ƿ������ʱ�� ������Ҳ������ �ӷ����ϴ�����Ƶ����� �IJ�һ��һ�� ��������ôĮȻ ���ں��������ӵ����� ��ɮ�µIJ�Ь�����Ƿ� ʯ����ȱ������������Ѿ�ĥ�� �·�ֻ����һ�����֮�� ���ܱ��ϣ�Ҳ�� ������һ�����ߵ�Ŀ�� �ڹ��������и��� ���ų��ص����ܣ������ż� An Ancient Temple The long ago songs of a bell weaved this spider web; in the column's crevices, grown outward, one sees annual rings there for the counting. No memories are here; stones that merely scattered the echoes in this mountain valley, have no memories. That little path, even, by-passed it; its dragons and strange birds are gone. They took with them the silent bells that hung from the eaves. They took the unrecorded legends of the place, too. The words on the walls are all worn clean and torn. Maybe if it caught on fire one could read the words on the inside. See the annual growths of the wild grasses, so indifferent. They don't care if they submit to any master, to the shoes of the old monks, or to the winds, either. Out front the sky is held up by a broken stone tablet. Still, led by the gaze of some living person, the tortoise may revive and come out carrying his heavy secret, crawl right out there on the temple's threshold.
һ�������Ļ���� ��һ�����ڹ��� ���� �����ڰ������� �㾭����ʱ�� ���õ����� �����������й� ��һ�������ճ��� �������� ���� �����ڲ�����Ӿ �����쿴 ����СС��Ƣ�� ��·����˯�� �ڴ����Ĺ����� ���������դ�� Outsider one generation drops like a curtain the next is applauding the lifetime you've known hiding in dark places starts gaining attention groping, hence light letting half a life empty out and fill with crane song someone's swimming in sickness as autumn wind inspects the small temperaments of young animals the road joins sleep and in radiant light that's defeated you you stand fast at the nameless fence
��ʦ�ڵ�������· һ��ͨ�細 ������һ��ʱ�� �������ڷ�ǽ ���� ��������Ĵ������� ���ߵ����ಡ �����������Щ ץס�ͱ�����۵� �����ĸ� ���� ���쵽�� �����ǵ��¸����� �����DZ���Ⱥ���˵� ��ɫ˯�� ����һ���籩 Mission The priest gets lost in prayer an air shaft leads to another era: escapees climb over the wall panting words evoke the author��s heart trouble breathe deep, deeper grab the locust tree roots that debate the north wind summer has arrived the treetop is an informer murmurs are a reddish sleep stung by a swarm of bees no, a storm
˭������ߵĿ��� ˭���ſ����Ĺ��� ����ʧȥ���� �����Ϊ�糿 ���� �ͱ��ĺ��Ӵ��糿���� ������С�����ȫ�� ����IJ��һ����ҵIJ��� �������߲˰� ũ���ǰ����Խ����� ����ץס�����ĺ��꾰 �������Լ���ͷ�� ���ź����� ���������������� �Ǿ��������������� ���� ����������糿 ���ͱ��ĺ��������� һ�������ӹ���ͷ ��˯�� Delivering Newspapers Who believes in the mask��s weeping? who believes in the weeping nation? the nation has lost its memory memory goes as far as this morning the newspaper boy sets out in the morning all over town the sound of a desolate trumpet is it your bad omen or mine? vegetables with fragile nerves peasants plant their hands in the ground longing for the gold of a good harvest politicians sprinkle pepper on their own tongues and a stand of birches in the midst of a debate: whether to sacrifice themselves for art or doors this public morning created by a paperboy revolution sweeps past the corner he��s fast asleep
1 �緫���䡣 Φ�ˣ��ⶬ�����ľ�� ����������Ĵ��⡣ 2 ����ķ��棬 �廳����ȥ�Ĺ�â�� �㿿�Ųд�Ľ��ݣ� ������������ϣ� �ó�һ�������������졣 3 �����ׯ���У� ��Ӱ��ѡ����ŵĵط��� ���еĽ��䣬 �����������յĺ��䣬 ��һ��һ���Ļ���֮�⡣ 4 Զ�� ��ãã�� ˮƽ�� �⸡���ļװ壬 ���¶��ٰ��ߵ����� 5 ͷ���� ��ֻ��ɫ���� ���ձ����Ϸ��衣 ����ķ��⣬ �Ѻ�������Ӱ�ӣ� Ͷ�������κ��˵���Ļ�ϡ� û�з籩���ˣ� Ȼ��Ҳû�й̶��ķ��� Ҳ����Ϊ�˻ش��ٻ��� ����������졣 6 �䳱 �������� �ڽ�ɫ�ĵ�̺�ϣ� ���·�����ĭ��ҹ���� ��ɢ���������۶ϵĽ��� ���������Ź���ļ����� ���ŷ籩�е��������á� 7 ����������һ�����¡� һֻ��Ÿӭ�������� ȴû����������������ϡ� An Unfamiliar Beach 1 The sails have been lowered. A winter forest of masts contains unexpected sights and sounds of Spring. 2 The ruins of a lighthouse still hold the great beams from the past. You lean on the remaining stairs, on the rusted banisters, beating the same rhythm over and over. 3 In the dignity of high noon our shadows look for temporary lodging. All over the place salt rock glistens, condensed and sparkling with memories. 4 In the distance there is a vast, white expanse. The blue horizon is like a moving deck. How many nets have been cast? 5 A scarf, like a red bird, waves over the Sea of Japan. It flings its imitation of fire at this grey end of the world, and at your fixed gaze. An absence of storms is fine, but there is also no direction and no wind. Perhaps in answer to a call, its wings thrum like a bowstring. 6 The ebbing tide wave after wave, spills on a golden carpet, spills a night suffused with foam, a lost rope, a broken oar. Fishermen bend their naked backs and repair the temple the storm collapsed. 7 Children chase a crescent moon. A sea gull flies right for you, but doesnt light on your outstretched hand.
һ���Ӱ������������ �վ��ֵܺ������� ���ҹ�ҹ������ �����ֵ����� ���� �ùݽӴ�Ա������ ����������������� ������������� �����ǼDZ� ���� �⻬�Ĵ���ʯ�� �������ߵ� ���ݰѹ�Ƿ��ɽк� �����ƹ����ĭ ���� �����չ������ �������� Spending the Night A river brings a trout to the plate brother alcohol and father sorghum ask me to spend the night, the glass has the wrinkles of a murderer the hotel clerk stares at me I hear his arrhythmic heart that heart now bright now dim lighting the registration form on the glossy marble the piano goes out of tune the elevator turns a yawn into a scream as it cuts through lamplit foam coming out of its sleeve the wind bares an iron fist
ʧ������ ���ŵ����ϴ��� ���� �˰̷���������ת�� ���߱����� �������˵�ʱ�̣� ����DZ���ʾ� �ŷ����к� ���� ���Ӱ����� ���ʲ��ɸ��� ľ�����§��һ�� Ѱ������ ���� Ѱ�Ҷ������ ������ͷ ����ȴ���ããĺɫ ���� ��������д���� We lost souls and scattered spirits holdings lanterns chase spring scars shimmer, cups revolve light's being created look at that enchanting moment a thief steals into a post office letters cry out nails o nails the lyrics never change firewood huddles together searching for an audience to listen searching for the heart of winter river's end a boatman awaiting boundless twilight there must be some one to rewrite love