2 Poems by Feng Zhi

Snake

My solitude is a snake,

In its quietude speechless.

If you dream of it,

Never fear it, please!

It is my loyal companion,

Homesickness over heart does spread;

It longs for that luxuriant grassland —

The rich dark hair on your head.

As the moonlight gently passes,

It gently passes by your side;

It brings your dream from you,

Like a bloom in red dyed.

We Are Now Listening to a Tempest

We are now listening to a tempest,

And feeling so lonely in the lamp-light,

In such a small and small hut where we rest,

There are thousands of miles away despite

The distance of utensils is not wide:

The brass stove thinking of its former mine;

Porcelain kettles of th’ clay by riverside,

They are all like birds flying not in line

In the rain. Close we each other embrace,

As if we ourselves could not keep our place.

The gale blows all things high into the air,

The storm drops everything to the earth’s base,

Only leaving this red light dim and rare

To prove that our life just transiently stays.

[The editor's note:: The above work is selected from 300 New Chinese Poems (1917-2012), a Chinese-English college reader published by Poetry Pacific Press in October 2013.] 

About the author:

Feng Zhi (1905—1993), originally named Feng Chengzhi, was a native of Zhuoxian County, Hebei Province. In 1921, he was enrolled in Peking University. In 1930, he went to study in Germany. After his return to China, he successively taught in Tongji University, Southwest United University and Peking University. In 1964, he was the director of Foreign Languages Institute of Chinese Academy of Social Sciences. His major works include The Songs of Yesterday, A Northern Trip and Others, A Collection of Sonnets, and A Collection of Western Outskirt (collections of poems). He also had many translated works.

                                                                   (Tr. by Yang Xu)

冯至

蛇

我的寂寞是一条蛇，

静静地没有言语。

你万一梦到它时，

千万啊，不要悚惧！

它是我忠诚的伴侣，

心里害着热烈的乡思；

它想那茂密的草原——

你头上的、浓郁的乌丝。

它月影一般轻轻地

从你那儿轻轻走过，

它把你的梦境衔了来，

像一只绯红的花朵。

我们听着狂风里的暴雨

我们听着狂风里的暴雨，

我们在灯光下这样孤单，

我们在这小小的茅屋里

就是和我们用具的中间

也有了千里万里的距离：

铜炉在向往深山的矿苗

瓷壶在向往江边的陶泥，

它们都像风雨中的飞鸟

各自东西。我们紧紧抱住，

好像自身也都不能自主。

狂风把一切都吹入高空，

暴雨把一切又淋入泥土，

只剩下这点微弱的灯红

在证实我们生命的暂住。

作者简介：

冯至（1905—1993），原名冯承植，河北涿县人。1921年入北京大学。1930年赴德国留学。回国后先后任教于同济大学、西南联大、北京大学。1964年任中国社会科学院外文研究所所长。主要作品有：诗集《昨日之歌》、《北游及其他》、《十四行集》、《西郊集》等。另有译著多种。