Unit six.
Invert a long scroll depicting the frontier.
The mountains fill the valley floor.
There's no sin on the back of a lie.
It's just a mediocre opening and the next lie.
They say they stick to the next rain. days
Dreaming prisoners will present proof that everything works.
But I'm not moving.
I'd rather be immersed in oral literature that goes through the fire.
I'd rather lock myself in the backyard of the executed landlord.
They're about to announce.
Only those who submit should eat.
I don't think about it.
But Mom, don't cry for me.
That doesn't mean you're waiting.
Please look forward to better lines and lyrics.
Because I'm not dead yet.
I'm not the first or the first Emperor.
It's full of radiation from the pores to the universe.
The mystery of extracting energy.
This is how we get rid of the bad luck of the white whales trapped under the ice
It's for a 20-minute run-off.
He's in the mouth of the northern lord.
I'm not bowing, I'm not afraid.
The gray face of the clouds.
A woman's finger on the table.
It's only because I've seen the mystery.
There's no room for this. Yes.
And once it's over
The stereotype that people have to depend on food to survive
You and I were able to quit this game.
Poet profile.
Chen Gyu Li
The power of poetry has been suppressed and censored, and tends to be unstoppable. It was called by the ancient sages, and now it is ready to call. It's lit by drama and lit by drama. It competes with images and goes to freedom. It blooms and melts the ice of the language in order to awaken it.
Yes, write poetry.
Edit
When hunger ceases to be a form of torture, when it ceases to be driven by the stomach to bend over and beg for survival, I am able to escape the precepts of the Lord for those who tame, and I am free from the fate of being a swordfish.
It is only because I have discovered the mystery and the absurdity of the woven sin, but only because I have already seen the true face of the subversion and lies of all things.
The fatness is nothing but the ugliness of the heirs, so that the flesh of the ribs may reveal Our courage.
To hold my breath and turn my scent off, I'm not lonely in the empty void of the five senses: only because words and words have been hallucinating in my mind, and only because I never yearn for the magic medicine of the plume. I accept the narrowness with which I am given my life and reject all the obstacles beyond me.
The confrontation with the abyss of death will only make me bolder - the more the clouds over my head rage and the more the pen I hold back.
Mom, please don't cry for me. And if I kneel on my knees, I shall not stand still. I will stab the chest with a pen and sacrifice with my blood to the building.
At the same time, we provide translations of the poem in English, German, French and Spanish and maintain the original style and rhythm of the poem to the maximum extent possible.
Readers can also feel the unique and commonality of the poem in different linguistic contexts.
English Version
In the Sixth Ward
A scroll of borders turned upon its head
Where mountains fill the valleys deep and wide
Behind the lies, no original sin reside
But banal openings and the lies ahead.
They say to hold until the next rain's slide
Dream-prisoners will present the proof they've bred
Yet I remain unmoved by what they've said
I'd rather sink in spoken tales of pride.
Soon they'll declare that only those who heed
Deserve their share of daily bread to feed.
Without a thought, I'd fast and deny the bite
But mother dear, please shed no tear tonight
For I'm not ready to admit defeat
My words and songs, they're yet to reach their peak.
For I'm not destined to meet the end
Not before emperors or ancient men
I've glimpsed the secret of cosmic array
Not doomed like whales beneath ice layer's sway.
I won't bow down, nor will I live in fear
Of clouds that sketch grim faces oh so clear
Nor of the lady fingers' tapping sound
Upon the rosewood desk, where truth is bound.
For once we conquer man's innate need to dine
You and I, from this game, may both resign.
from: Henri Matisse
Deutshce Version
Das sechste Krankenzimmer
Ein umgedrehtes Gemälde der Grenzen zeigt
Wo Berge das Tal ausfüllen
Auf der Rückseite der Lüge findet man keine Erbsünde
Nur eine triviale Eröffnung und die nächste Lüge.
Sie sagen, halte durch bis zum nächsten Regentag
Der traumliebende Gefangene wird Beweise für den Geist in allem präsentieren.
Doch ich bin nicht bewegt, ich ertrinke lieber in mündlicher Literatur, die durch Feuer ging
Bevorzuge mich selbst, im Hinterhof des exekutierten Landbesitzers einzusperren.
Bald werden sie verkünden
Nur die Gehorsamen sollen essen.
Ohne zu überlegen werde ich mich enthalten
Aber Mutter, weine nicht für mich
Das bedeutet nicht, passiv zu sein
Erwarte bessere Verse und Lyrics von mir
Denn ich werde nicht sterben.
Nicht weil ich vor Ming Shizong oder dem ersten Kaiser
Das Geheimnis erkannt habe, Energie aus Poren in kosmische Strahlen zu ziehen.
Damit dem Schicksal des weißen Wals unter dem Eis entfliehend
Nur um alle zwanzig Minuten aufzutauchen, um Luft zu holen
Sterbend im Maul des nördlichen Herrn ohne Freunde.
Ich werde nicht nachgeben, ich werde nicht zittern
Vor dem grau-blauen Gesicht, das durch wilde Wolken gezeichnet wird
Oder dem Frauengleichem Finger, der leicht auf dem Rosenholz-Tisch tippt.
Nur weil ich die Antwort erblickte
Das Erbe der Fülle ist unbestreitbar.
Und wenn man das Vorurteil besiegt, dass Menschen essen müssen, um zu überleben
Können wir beide dieses Spiel verlassen.
from: Henri Matisse
Version française
La sixième infirmerie
Un rouleau dépeignant des territoires inversés
Où les sommets comblent les vallées profondes.
Derrière les mensonges, nul péché original n'est trouvé
Seulement des débuts médiocres et un autre mensonge en seconde.
Ils disent d'attendre le prochain jour de pluie
Le prisonnier rêveur montrera que tout est vivant.
Mais je ne suis pas ému, je préfère m'immerger dans la poésie
Préférant être enfermé dans le jardin d'un propriétaire condamné.
Bientôt, ils proclameront à haute voix
Seuls les soumis méritent leur ration.
Sans hésiter, je refuserai leur loi
Mais mère, ne pleure pas en cette occasion.
Cela ne signifie pas l'abandon
Attends mes meilleures paroles et chansons.
Car je ne mourrai pas si tôt
Pas avant les empereurs d'il y a longtemps, dont j'ai vu le tableau.
Découvrant le secret d'énergies extraites des pores
Échappant au destin de la baleine sous la glace.
Je ne baisserai pas les yeux, j'aurai encore
Face aux nuages furieux, et le tapotement délicat d'une femme sur la table de palissandre.
Hélas, j'ai vu la réponse au bout
L'opulence héréditaire est indiscutable.
Mais une fois que l'idée de manger pour vivre est renversée
Nous pourrions tous quitter ce jeu détestable.
from: Henri Matisse
Versión española
La sexta habitación del hospital
Un pergamino que retrata territorios invertidos
Montañas llenan valles profundos.
Detrás de la mentira, no hallarás pecado original
Sólo aperturas mediocres y otra mentira esencial.
Me dicen que aguante hasta la próxima lluvia que vendrá
El prisionero soñador ofrecerá prueba de un mundo espiritual.
Pero no me conmueve, prefiero sumergirme en literatura oral
Prefiero encerrarme en el jardín del terrateniente que se va a ejecutar.
Pronto dirán que sólo los obedientes merecen cenar
Sin pensarlo dos veces, rechazaría ese manjar.
Pero madre, no derrames lágrimas por mí
No significa que me rendiré tan fácilmente aquí.
Espera mejores líneas y canciones de mí
Porque no moriré, eso ya lo decidí.
No es que haya descifrado antes que Ming o el emperador
El secreto de tomar energía del cosmos con fervor.
Evitando el destino del cachalote atrapado debajo del hielo
Por un respiro, caer en la boca del señor del cielo norteño.
No me inclino, ni temo
A las caras esbozadas por nubes, ni al dedo que resuena lento.
Quizás porque vislumbré la respuesta, lo confieso
La opulencia heredada es un hecho que no cuestiono.
Y una vez que superamos la idea de depender de comida para existir
Podemos dejar este juego, y finalmente desistir.
from: Henri Matisse