Liang Shenling (China)

Liang Shenling (China)
Liang-style Poetry, a famous poet in contemporary China, real name Liang Shenling, native of Nanning, Guangxi, China, now a free-lance writer. He has been invited to attend the “Academic Meeting on Literary Language”, which was hosted by Zhejiang Normal University. Some of his poems have been translated into English, Italian, Spanish, Dutch, and French, etc. He has published several poetry collections such as A Nail Is Advancing, etc. Inheriting the Chinese poetic tradition of combining musicality and image into one and absorbing the theory and composing method of “new free verse” proposed by Liu Yilin, gradually he is forming a unique form of Chinese poetry by fusing “external rhythm” and “internal melody” — “Liang-style poetry”.
In preexistence there is no sunshine, the moon invisible
Your form untraceable, your countenance out of touch
This is the bitter root left by me in remote antiquity
Like the cells of revenge, fission and heredity
A drop of blood is hurt, another drop is like a fish bone stuck in the throat
Without your despair and your existence is beyond reach
The demerit of preexistence is peeling off like nails
This life I have my life, but I cannot live it for you
Like thanksgiving, for hunger and cold to feel satiety and warmth
Like pray, through the hell and the heart goes through paradise
Leaving this life, the earth of dead cave is buried inch by inch
The yin and yang which refuses to be cut off, without your breath
Without darkness but no light is seen
Awn on the back, poison into the heart, being put to death by dismembering the body to reveal the bone
Not to miss it in the next life, I shall not be able to die for you
On Qinghai-Tibet Plateau
Only the eagle warns the distance between me and the sky
Those stories and legends make me firmly believe
The soul of plateau people draws people closer to the sky
In high air, the wafting sutra streamers and scriptures
Is the height above me in my life
But my heart is still hovering over the plateau
Carelessly handle the silverware and fondle the agate
Sanctity clears away the dust over body and heart
Beg for a heavenly bead, put on a Khatag
The low human life seems to be rising secretly
Upward looking, I find the sky kissing me passionately
This is an eternal memory of soaring
When I chase fantasy to be named on the plateau
I walk in the posture of a crawling train
Pious like tender grass sucking lamb milk
The load on the mind of the old lamb has been left on the grassland
Puzzlement is worsening cataract of its eyes
It lowers its head, seemingly to retrace its thoughts from the footprints on the ice
The plough bigger than it has held fast its neck
Ice flowers all over the eyes, bare-footed, slightly trembling
In south China thousands of miles away, back to many years ago
The thoughts have been lost on a boy barely out of his teens
He seeks and searches under the ox tail, no taller than buttocks of the ox
Rolling and tumbling in the field mud and mountain rain
From where appears a farming lad which is lean and weak
Born assemblance, the old lamb and my early years
Walk in severe winter, shoeless and without warm clothes
Different thoughts and different ends, similarity in spite of all
Whether I sit on the plough or not, it fails to reach the end
No matter how old it is or how young I am, no pity for our fate
Translated Zhang Zhizhong

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