Ling Xi
Bell sounds, snuggling by a sopping body, fall into sleep
Flat peach trees count the babies of spring
That are arranging themselves between tomorrow and bird nests
Chinaberries raise a season of pale purple heads, by broad roads
Under a white magnolia a dog lips its toes, lazily
I find among tender green leaves
A face, so clear
It’s a newly-shed cicada giving its first song
晨歌
凌曦
钟声，紧挨湿淋淋的身体沉睡
扁桃树，细数春天的婴儿
排列，明天与鸟巢之间
苦楝树捧出一季浅紫色花朵，道路广阔
玉兰树底，一只小狗懒懒舔着脚趾头
我从青嫩的叶片中
找出一张脸，清晰
知了刚刚蜕壳，发出最初的鸣唱
About the author
I believe this author has never been known or read by anyone. The author is a woman of nearly forty years old from a minority nationality of Dong village in Guangxi in the Southwest China. She had finished high school education before doing various odd jobs in the nearby towns and cities. Due to lack of relevant skills, she did mostly hard manual work besides waitressing. Only for the recent four years when she finds a relatively secured job in a small pesticide factory can she find time writing poems. Apparently, she can find no one to talk about poetry with, and no one around her could understand her words. Looking back at her hardship, she has nothing to complain; instead, she finds it a blessing that she could finally write, without any interference. She is very shy of talking about poetry with me, insisting that she only wanted to keep a journal-like stuff. I can understand her, and my interpretation of the following poem in Chinese was meant to be a way of analyzing, for her sake, so that she could find what is strong in the poem.
She has been following my blog for a while, and then finds in my blog the number of my Messenger. So she approaches me, asking to be listed as a friend. It was already well past mid-night, when I accepted her request. My usual practice is to allow others to be listed by asking a what-you-are question. Usually, I will get an answer of “a stranger who likes your writing,” which I interpret as “I’d rather be anonymous.” However, as my info is there on the blog, therefore I usually think that others should at least give a basic self-introduction before I could make them my friends. But, this does not usually happen. Therefore, after a couple of weeks of non-communication, they will be deleted from my contact list. When I asked her this question, assuming that she had already been off-line, she replied. It turned out that she had just returned from her night shift. So we talked for a while, and I found her quite outgoing and sincere. Perhaps because there are only a few years between us, we carried on talking, quite at ease.
A few days later, she showed me a couple of poems. I found her a natural poet or a born poet, although I could find some cliche or clumsily phrased lines. This poem I find especially good.
这首诗是作者一首叫做《凌晨的幸福》中的第二首，由于其第一首写的是凌晨三点多，而这首诗歌中的时间不明朗，或者说跳跃得比较大，因此，我无法判断这首诗到底写的是什么时间。
第一行说的是钟声与沉睡的身体，而后面的场景基本上是白天的，因此我们可以说这里的钟声可能是户外的钟声（当然也有可能是室内的）。户外有钟声，应该是早晨了，作者在这个时候醒着，或者感到钟声紧贴着身体，这种感受是一种身体的感动。感官的感，导致身体的动。这是一个人能够进入体察的关键，不是用语言的夸张或表述。身体对于外界的回应，无论多么细微，都是一种切入本质的感动。
在这样的一种身体与外物交融的状态下，诗歌中的感受者开始“看到”了外部世界的虚实之景。我说的“看到”，还是一种感受，只是借助了视觉。从第二行开始的四行，全都是视觉描述。虚实与远近错落有致。第二行中，扁桃是春天的婴儿，然而我们不知道这是扁桃在数还是那个隐匿的眼睛或者心之眼在数；数，因为要有一个顺序，因此也就是一种排列，但是巧妙的是，作者说那排列是向着未来的，也就是排列在明天和鸟巢之间。作者已经从此刻看到了未来，而这又回应了春天的婴儿这个意象，多么令人欣喜的明天。似乎是为了赞美这种美好，苦楝树献上一树的花，而且指向一条宽广的道路。起码在我的农村老家，苦楝树是和贫苦联系着的。如果说到这儿，这首诗中似乎还少点什么，那么就是生物；于是有了眼下的活生生的生命：懒懒的小狗。它恬静的，自我的，“舔着脚趾头”。
最后三行，诗歌中的我终于明确了自己观看者的身份。我在青嫩的叶片中看到了一张蜕变出来的脸，一张催发生命的雨后，新生命的诞生，知了爬到树上唱出自己的歌声。
这首诗中的我如此洒脱，心境如此净洁清新。
最后说说我对这个作者的了解。这位作者至今毫无人知，还没有人读过。我认识她是因为她看到我的博客上有QQ号码，然后加了我。我在半夜登陆的时候，答应了加入好友的请求，然后像惯常一样，问一句您是谁。以为也许会在几日之后得到一个“一个陌生人”的回答，然后就再也不会联系的了；通常，我将那样的回答读成一个暗示：“你没有必了解更多”。结果，往往是过不了一两周，就会被删除。然而，她回了话，在深夜两点多钟：原来，她是下了夜班不久。因此我们就聊了起来，这是一个天真诚挚且直率的女子。从其后的了解中得到如下一些基本信息。她是一个侗族女，十多年前从广西的一个苗族高中毕业后，就一直孤身四处漂泊打工，由于没有职业培训或相关技能，基本上都是在做体力活，大概做得比较多的是餐馆服务员，而目前在一个私人的小农药厂做工。因为在这家工厂做了三四年了，因此才有点安稳的感觉，所以终于能够偶尔写一些诗了。
从她的经历来看，她的生活中显然是很少有人谈论诗歌的，甚至连阅读的可能都很少。我看了她不少诗歌，很多都写得很不错。我自然也看出她的弱点和不足，但这首诗写得几近完美。我努力不带个人情感地评读诗歌，不会因为作者的身份而影响我对于诗歌的判断。这首诗起码从表面上看不出与作者生活场景有什么直接联系，它不是现实生活的直接反映，然而我看到的却是作者的精神和心态，也正是这一点使得这首诗具有了构成诗歌本质的东西。
2009年6月7日夜
扁桃树，细数春天的婴儿
排列，明天与鸟巢之间
苦楝树捧出一季浅紫色花朵，道路广阔
玉兰树底，一只小狗懒懒舔着脚趾头
我从青嫩的叶片中
找出一张脸，清晰
知了刚刚蜕壳，发出最初的鸣唱
About the author
I believe this author has never been known or read by anyone. The author is a woman of nearly forty years old from a minority nationality of Dong village in Guangxi in the Southwest China. She had finished high school education before doing various odd jobs in the nearby towns and cities. Due to lack of relevant skills, she did mostly hard manual work besides waitressing. Only for the recent four years when she finds a relatively secured job in a small pesticide factory can she find time writing poems. Apparently, she can find no one to talk about poetry with, and no one around her could understand her words. Looking back at her hardship, she has nothing to complain; instead, she finds it a blessing that she could finally write, without any interference. She is very shy of talking about poetry with me, insisting that she only wanted to keep a journal-like stuff. I can understand her, and my interpretation of the following poem in Chinese was meant to be a way of analyzing, for her sake, so that she could find what is strong in the poem.
She has been following my blog for a while, and then finds in my blog the number of my Messenger. So she approaches me, asking to be listed as a friend. It was already well past mid-night, when I accepted her request. My usual practice is to allow others to be listed by asking a what-you-are question. Usually, I will get an answer of “a stranger who likes your writing,” which I interpret as “I’d rather be anonymous.” However, as my info is there on the blog, therefore I usually think that others should at least give a basic self-introduction before I could make them my friends. But, this does not usually happen. Therefore, after a couple of weeks of non-communication, they will be deleted from my contact list. When I asked her this question, assuming that she had already been off-line, she replied. It turned out that she had just returned from her night shift. So we talked for a while, and I found her quite outgoing and sincere. Perhaps because there are only a few years between us, we carried on talking, quite at ease.
A few days later, she showed me a couple of poems. I found her a natural poet or a born poet, although I could find some cliche or clumsily phrased lines. This poem I find especially good.
这首诗是作者一首叫做《凌晨的幸福》中的第二首，由于其第一首写的是凌晨三点多，而这首诗歌中的时间不明朗，或者说跳跃得比较大，因此，我无法判断这首诗到底写的是什么时间。
第一行说的是钟声与沉睡的身体，而后面的场景基本上是白天的，因此我们可以说这里的钟声可能是户外的钟声（当然也有可能是室内的）。户外有钟声，应该是早晨了，作者在这个时候醒着，或者感到钟声紧贴着身体，这种感受是一种身体的感动。感官的感，导致身体的动。这是一个人能够进入体察的关键，不是用语言的夸张或表述。身体对于外界的回应，无论多么细微，都是一种切入本质的感动。
在这样的一种身体与外物交融的状态下，诗歌中的感受者开始“看到”了外部世界的虚实之景。我说的“看到”，还是一种感受，只是借助了视觉。从第二行开始的四行，全都是视觉描述。虚实与远近错落有致。第二行中，扁桃是春天的婴儿，然而我们不知道这是扁桃在数还是那个隐匿的眼睛或者心之眼在数；数，因为要有一个顺序，因此也就是一种排列，但是巧妙的是，作者说那排列是向着未来的，也就是排列在明天和鸟巢之间。作者已经从此刻看到了未来，而这又回应了春天的婴儿这个意象，多么令人欣喜的明天。似乎是为了赞美这种美好，苦楝树献上一树的花，而且指向一条宽广的道路。起码在我的农村老家，苦楝树是和贫苦联系着的。如果说到这儿，这首诗中似乎还少点什么，那么就是生物；于是有了眼下的活生生的生命：懒懒的小狗。它恬静的，自我的，“舔着脚趾头”。
最后三行，诗歌中的我终于明确了自己观看者的身份。我在青嫩的叶片中看到了一张蜕变出来的脸，一张催发生命的雨后，新生命的诞生，知了爬到树上唱出自己的歌声。
这首诗中的我如此洒脱，心境如此净洁清新。
最后说说我对这个作者的了解。这位作者至今毫无人知，还没有人读过。我认识她是因为她看到我的博客上有QQ号码，然后加了我。我在半夜登陆的时候，答应了加入好友的请求，然后像惯常一样，问一句您是谁。以为也许会在几日之后得到一个“一个陌生人”的回答，然后就再也不会联系的了；通常，我将那样的回答读成一个暗示：“你没有必了解更多”。结果，往往是过不了一两周，就会被删除。然而，她回了话，在深夜两点多钟：原来，她是下了夜班不久。因此我们就聊了起来，这是一个天真诚挚且直率的女子。从其后的了解中得到如下一些基本信息。她是一个侗族女，十多年前从广西的一个苗族高中毕业后，就一直孤身四处漂泊打工，由于没有职业培训或相关技能，基本上都是在做体力活，大概做得比较多的是餐馆服务员，而目前在一个私人的小农药厂做工。因为在这家工厂做了三四年了，因此才有点安稳的感觉，所以终于能够偶尔写一些诗了。
从她的经历来看，她的生活中显然是很少有人谈论诗歌的，甚至连阅读的可能都很少。我看了她不少诗歌，很多都写得很不错。我自然也看出她的弱点和不足，但这首诗写得几近完美。我努力不带个人情感地评读诗歌，不会因为作者的身份而影响我对于诗歌的判断。这首诗起码从表面上看不出与作者生活场景有什么直接联系，它不是现实生活的直接反映，然而我看到的却是作者的精神和心态，也正是这一点使得这首诗具有了构成诗歌本质的东西。
2009年6月7日夜
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