My son, me and the old poets
星期日 三月 04, 2007 4:37 pm
My son, me and the old poets
We painted my son’s room.
He chose the colour blue,
it’s supposed to be cool.
We end the day there.
He reads his book,
I read mine, we dream.
Nearby, a new library will be
an ocean of books. I will throw
him in so he can learn to swim.
I joined a new poetry group.
I am the youngest, surrounded
by deep lakes and old trees.
Thirty years from now,
I will be like them, settled
in my meditation.
By then, my son
will be sailing on his ambition,
exploring beyond my ocean.
儿子,我和老诗人
儿子的房间刷成蓝色
在他眼中,
蓝据说很酷.
那里,我们结束每天,
他读他的,
我读我的,幻想很多…
新建的图书馆
书的海洋去让他沉浸,
让他遨游.
我加入的诗人团体,
我是最年轻的一个,
被深湖和老树围绕.
30年后,我也会
象他们安定下来
沉浸在回想中.
而我的儿子
怀着一颗更远的雄心,
航行在更广的海洋.
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I almost felt my inspiration drained, then I recalled yesterday: a poet 80 years old, he said if you were young you had explored a lot and had a lot of fun, then when you were old, you would have much joy than others. You would be very busy to recall the past time and enjoy them and not regret that you had not done anything in the end.
