Disqualified
myth
What's wrong with temples?
What's wrong with the growth rings?
Memories of spices are soft
We have heard too much about immortality
Never despise anonymous gods
It often has unlimited mana
Enough to dominate villages without primary schools and
Apartment with gunman on guard
it masters making
Peach wood sword, human skin thangka and timeless mantra
As a temperate god
It does not devour all the boys and virgins under the sun
It invites me to go to the Shrine on a full moon night and taste its spittle
Promise me to start from the pile of old papers and save a whole life
century
But who am I?
What do storytellers use against rulers or anklets?
Since twenty megalomaniacs were publicly hanged in the square
I learned to paint signs like the Star of David
Grit your teeth and patiently guard the vulgarity and vulgarity of your tribe.
Fierce and stubborn
Introduction to the poet
Chen Jianli
The driving force for writing poetry has been suppressed and scrutinized several times, and it becomes unstoppable. It was summoned by the ancient saints and sages, and now it begins to prepare for the summons. It is ignited by drama and ignites drama. It battles with the image over and over again and then rushes to freedom together. It blooms into language and melts its ice in order to awaken it.
Yes, write poetry.
Editor's Note
The temple is silent, but its power is so boundless, running rampant in the most primitive or most coercive forests. The myth that makes the ears grind out cocoons continues to be sung, and the power of the rings and centuries makes it unquestionable.
Every devout bow, bow, and kowtow is a surrender to its majesty; every chanted scripture, spell, or decree is a fear of its manifestation.
It enjoys unquestioned nourishment, and its well-fed belly is so fat that it is dripping with oil and glowing with gold. But it is not satisfied with fresh sacrifices and humble service.
It needs to taste the taste of boys and girls, the slaughter of life and the sweet blood of young people. It is greedy beyond measure, yet everyone obeys the few words it throws out at will.
What do storytellers use against rulers and shackles? What's more, everyone voluntarily imprisons themselves and swallows the key.
At the same time, we also provide translated English, German and French versions of the poem, and maintain the original style and rhythm of the poem to the greatest extent during the translation process.
When reading, readers can also feel the uniqueness and commonality of the poem in different language contexts.
English Version
The Myth of the Disqualified
What sins do temples bear?
What fault lies in tree rings clear?
Of fragrant memories, they're but tender
Of immortality, we've heard without end.
Don't ever mock the gods unknown
Their power can't easily be overthrown.
Enough to rule the village with no school's song
And guarded apartments, standing strong.
Masters in crafting, oh, so profound
Peachwood swords, human tapestries around
And spells that time can't confound.
A god of restraint, not bound by greed
Doesn't devour every maiden and steed.
Invited to the graveyard, under the moon's glow
Promising a century, if I follow its echo.
But who am I in this ancient tale's flow?
How can a bard fight against chains or blow?
Ever since the hubristics were hanged in the square
I've learnt to wear symbols, with caution and care.
Gritting my teeth, enduring our tribe's glare
Guarding their crudeness, their raw despair.
from: Bastien-Lepage
Deutsche Version
Disqualifizierter Mythos
Was hat der Tempel falsch gemacht?
Was haben die Jahresringe verbrochen?
Erinnerungen an Gewürze sind zart
Über Unsterblichkeit haben wir oft gesprochen.
Verachte nicht den unbekannten Gott
Seine Macht ist grenzenlos, glaub mir.
Er regiert Dörfer ohne Schulen
Und Wohnhäuser mit bewaffneten Wachen dabei.
Er ist ein Meister im Herstellen
Von Pfirsichholzschwertern, menschlichen Thangkas, alten Zaubersprüchen.
Als ein gemäßigter Gott
Verschlingt er nicht alle Jungen und Mädchen im Licht.
Er lädt mich ein, in der Vollmondnacht zu kommen
Verspricht, dass ich aus alten Papieren starte und ein ganzes Jahrhundert rette.
Aber wer bin ich?
Was kann ein Geschichtenerzähler gegen einen Lineal oder Fußfessel tun?
Seitdem zwanzig Narzissten öffentlich auf dem Platz gehängt wurden
Habe ich gelernt, Sterne wie David zu zeichnen
Meine Zähne fest zusammenbeißen, geduldig das Vulgäre und das Störrische meiner Leute bewachen.
from: Rembrandt
Version française
Mythe Disqualifié
Pourquoi la faute du temple?
Pourquoi celle des anneaux d'âge?
Les souvenirs d'épices, ils sont doux et souples
D'immortalité, nous en avons trop entendu à chaque étape.
Ne sous-estimez pas le dieu anonyme
Sa puissance est vaste, sans mesure
Dominant villages sans écoles, tours pleines de gardes armés
Il maîtrise les épées en bois de pêcher, les thangkas en peau humaine, et les sorts qui durent.
Dieu modéré, il ne dévore pas tous les jeunes sous le soleil
Il m'invite à goûter sa salive lors d'une nuit de pleine lune
Promettant un retour d'un siècle, depuis un tas de vieux papiers.
Mais qui suis-je face à tout cela?
Que peut le conteur face à une règle ou un bracelet?
Depuis que vingt arrogants furent pendus en public
J'ai appris à dessiner des symboles semblables à l'étoile de David
Je serre les dents, défendant patiemment la grossièreté et l'obstination de ma tribu.
from: John Millais