A Life Of Its Own - 其生自倉

Sometimes, a poem can take on a life of its own. It had been raining nonstop for the past few days in Los Angeles. I was listening to the rain; listening to the sounds of my brush strokes when suddenly an idea came. And In no time, paper piled up like small hills as drafts upon drafts and refinement upon refinement, the poem unceasingly took shape. However, it would not bend to the way I had envisioned. But then, as if it had its own mind; slowly but surely, forming and coalescing according to its will and I, its mere instrument, an invisible hand to which this work finally composed.

有時一首詩可自創其生.羅省在這幾天中,雨下不停.聽着聲滴,聽着毛筆隨習之寫音.忽然間,一念頭不意而臨. 頃刻紙積如山, 稿上加稿,精上鍛青, 漸漸墨黑成體. 雖此,為其心所意,不服我預念. 慢緩緩地,莫停停地,把其思維聚結,而我呢?只不過一木儡也,為其無形之手替作,終斷定此文.

雨後聲滴若心拍
The rain's gone but like the beating of my heart, sounds a drip,
壺暖杯空待路客
To the traveller, a warm pot and an empty cup await.
昔日商女昔日曲
Same old songstress with same old tunes,
景前只是春色隔
Only the scene before me are spring colors apart.

弦盡音斷幾銅錢

The strings are done; the melody broken; measly coppers paid,
想當眉鎖千金刻
To think that once upon a time, a thousand gold pieces for her brows in knit.
難留嵗月更難請
Difficult it is to stay the leaving years; impossible to invite back,
休憐今景己髮白
So pity not the scene of now when one's very own hair too, is white

Wednesday, February 13, 2019