Two poems by Lai Ho
Original Text (原作) can be found here and here
Worldly People
The people come in all sorts and sizes. Fantastical worldly affairs are not unexpected. The people’s hearts are each unique, the possibilities stretching from one pole to the other.
The contours of the people’s hearts are unpredictable, yet follow a steady rhythm. The rich play extravagantly on the backs of the servile poor. The lazy mistake stupidity and calm.
Sweet words are saved only for requesting help. The one who rises to success forgets who they were before, totally remade.
This is how the people have progressed since ancient times, and our customs are etched in the clay that makes us. I long to dip my hands into the Milky Way to wash and free my heart.
The single lightbulb dangling over the table, and the wind beats at the curtains. Lai Ho is enveloped in a frustrated daze.
Pencil in hand, pushing out the words one by one but no sentence forms. Set the pencil down and turn to face the unrelenting winter night.
I stumble down the corridor to the tempo of the dogs barking, the light flickering. A figure appears, calmly putting on his slippers and stepping out.
I give a startled yelp, and he flies out the window with the ease of an apelike macaw. He was swifter than a hare. Oh, why did this being enter my room?
I search through the room, looking for a trace of him. Suddenly I notice a crease on my shirt.
My notebooks are gone? Oh my notebooks are here. All I have to my name are these poems. Words are worth far less than gold, who would trade money for these verses?
Love is certainly not thievery…but is it futile? What I’ve lost is not so much compared to others. I sigh and twirl my mustache.
Struggle to the Death (ii.)
I thank the gods for their grace
planting me in this flesh,
if I have an ounce of strength, I can be sold,
sell! sell!
I will wait until some time
when some person comes to buy,
with favor on my side the customer swoops in
and send this body into endless servitude
these deep thoughts invite anxiety
別想不出圖存工具
ah! death? really starving to death?
death! it’s all been arranged
but I will not go willingly
I steel my heart against it–the only recourse
yet of course my heart is sent in spirals
like the son changing money on the counter
go out! go out!
go out and take your chance!
he does not know the misfortune of his parents,
the hardships this world has brought them.
a mother would never agree to this
one doesn’t have to guess, one just knows
“Only this child,
there is no ugliness in him
there is only that cute face
that self-soothing skill
I’ll never leave his side
how could I sell him off?
death! –death offers escape!
I could starve to death
and make him promise not to find help,
look! look at this world we’ve made
is there anyone who loves another’s child?”
a wife’s role is not difficult to explain
she understands it well:
sprout grain from rock
this was the choice
this is the burden