BIOGRAPHICAL SUMMARY
OF
THE AUTHOR
Li Ying, native to Fengrun county, Hebei province, was born in Jinzhou city,
Liaoning province on Dec. 8, 1926. He was
admitted into the Chinese Dept. of the College for Literature, Beijing
University in 1945, and engaged in progressive movements of students during
study. After his graduation in 1949, he
served as a reporter, a chief editor of literary magazines, Director of
the Art and Literature Press, Minister of Cultural Bureau, General Political Department of People’s Liberation Army, Commissioner of the Chinese Writers’
Association (CWA) and Vice President
of the Chinese Arts and Literature League (CALL). Now he has been honored as a member of CWA and CALL,
acting Vice-president of the Chinese Poetry Society, Managing Member of a board
of directors of the Chinese Seminar of International Friendship, Member of a
board of directors of the Sino-Japanese Friendship Association and Editorial
Member of Poetry, etc.
He began to write and publish poetry in 1942, collected his volume of poetry Seedling
Under the Stone City with a classmate
as coauthor in 1944. He published his first volume of poetry Gun in 1948. Since the
foundation of New China, he has
continued writing poetry except for the interruption of the ten-year catastrophe in China. Up until now he
has published 48 volumes of both long and short poetry collections, and collection on poetics as well. His poetry
collection I Take My Pride in Figuring Myself As a
Tree won the first prize of the First National Poetry Collection Award
in 1983; Spring Smile won the prize for excellence of the Second
National Poetry Collection Award in 1985; Life is a Single Leafwon the Prize. Award for Poetry of the First Lu Xun National Literature
Prize in 1997; China of My Own won the award for excellence of
the National Book Prize. Furthermore, Traveling in the USA, On
Burning Battlefield and his long poemsMourning in January, A Great Festival of Nationality,A City and A Star, etc. won many prizes respectively. There appear several specialized publications on the
research of his poetry such as The Collection of Research on Li
Ying, New Poetry in Special, On the Poetry of Li Ying,
etc. In the early 1980s’, he was twice present at Sino-American Writers’ Conference and visited over ten countries in
Africa, the Americas, Asia and Europe. Many collections of his poetry
have been translated into different languages and published overseas.
Tr.
Hai An
CELESTIAL DRAGON
With sparkling
scales and fiery eyes
It thunders
round in flashes of lightning
High in the sky
or deep into the sea
There throbs
boundless and great vitality
It is the Yellow
River and the Great Wall
It is a roaring
and surging nationality
A new century
reverberates with drums and bells
Look! Billions
of people initiate a new march
Beijing,
Dec. 1999
THE YELLOW RIVER
Whatever surging
waves or deep hidden current
Oh, Mother! You
are the root of nationality
Down from the
farthest sky, through boundless field
You are pouring
from above a great spirit of life
It is you who
foster gene and blood
We cultivate the
noble nature, brave and confident
Now, time passed
as the clouds go farther
Look! We have
grown from infancy to manhood
Beijing,
Aug. 1999
THE LAND
A traveler ready
to go far away
Takes up a
handful of soil
The earth, the
root of his life
Makes his heart
beat more strongly
A wanderer back
from traveling
Bends to kiss
his nursing ground
Dedicates his
tears and blood to her
Deep into the
earth buries his heart
Beijing,
June. 1996
BEATING SONG
No further than
you could we reach for
No sunshine than
you love us more
Listen to the
beating song of ancestors
To the original
pulse and breath of our life
In sweeping rain
was buried the ancient history
The song yet
more and more authentic
Urges us to sow
and reap, along with poetry
Walks barefooted
into the bosom of the earth
Beijing,
June. 1996
AFTERGLOW OVER
THE YANGTZE RIVER
Down the
headwaters
Flows a
torrential current
Nine thousand
years across the moor
Nine thousand
years through the mountains
There blows the
wind
Blowing the
wings of a low-flying bird
Into the
boundless sky
When the riptide
rolling
Across the
swelling chest of sailors
The broken bits
of gold sunset
Glimmer in the
wine cup
All are
exhausted
All have found
beds to pass their night
Except for the
waves
There should be
a shining lighthouse
Upriver and
downriver
Nine thousand
years extend a vast water
Even the earth
throbs slightly—–
What a dignified
and magnificent subject
What a vigorous
and brilliant thought
At the end of
the horizon
The blood of a
strong nationality
Falls into the
Yangtze River
Nanjing,
May 1987
CITY IN SNOW
The first snow
Makes the city
lost, hard to find
Only the
potsherds out of the ashes
Gaze at the
remaining wall and golden palace
Dreams suspended there
The second snow
Makes the city
shiver in the worn padded cotton
All the
sleepless stones sprout
Vigorous cypress
meditate in the narrow alley
Clouds suspended there
The third snow
Urges the city
to arise in feather-padded jacket
There leap the
brisk steps of warmth
Flowers bloom
everywhere, birds fly happily
Songs suspended there
Beijing,
Dec.11, 1992
FLOWER
A small flower
blooms at the window
As red as blood,
as a firing muzzle
Bright as the
sparkling eyes of a child
Pretty as a star
of deep emotions
Never withers as
an eternal smile
Everlasting as a
diamond
Vibrant as a
resonant note
Sweet as a ripe
grape…
Removed from the
front line four years earlier
It blooms every
year, reminding me of the sentry
Up to now I am
unable to know its name
Oh, my
Motherland! Let me name it “Freedom”
Beijing,
July 1982
SMALL FLOWER
IN STONE RIFT
One or two wild
seeds
Casually blown
into a stone rift
One or two
fearless flowers
Unyieldingly
blossom in the ground
Everyone could
feel her misery
Everyone could
feel her beauty in heart
The only red of
her life
Is dedicated to
you, only to you
That is all of
her love, all of her blood
Do you know? My
great land!
Helan
Mountain, Dec., 1998
A BOAT WITHIN THE SHOAL
Originally
integrated with the sea
It takes the
stormy sky as its mother
Now seagulls and
fishes return home
It lies across
the shoal in sunset
Alone with the
forsaken seaweeds
No, the mottled
hull
Reveals its rich
experience
It stays here
only for cleansing the wound
Look! The keel
aglitter of its adamant will
Its bow sharper
than a knife
Shrugging its
shoulder, it looks up
And turns to the
wave at the side
The tide across
the sea surging in heart
Bones and
muscles, wings and fins
Now all its
belongings, with its shadow
Wait for the next
sail in silence
Qingdao,
August 4, 1992
SLEEPING SAILOR
A motionless
wave
Ripples the glamour of water
All sunk down,
tides and storms
Bury the endless joy and sorrow
A jagged reef
Listens to the roaring of a billow
Blood burnt out,
the remnant bone
Stands firmly overlooking the sea
A silent anchor
Runs deep and dignified
Its life,
down-to-earth
Demonstrates birth and death
He sleeps deeply
on the beach
As on the bed of his homeland
As an anchor, a
reef or a solid wave
His heaving bosom broader than the sea
Qingdao,
August 5, 1992
SOLDIER CRAB
“Soldier
crab”, renamed “soldier shrimp”, a crustacean, has small, short feet, and rudimentary appendages. The
first pair of feet is cheliform, the right one bigger than the left one. The
body is hidden in the shell; it crawls on the beach or deep at the bottom of
the sea.
I come to the
ebbing water
All the soldier
crabs
Hide themselves in panic
But one left
behind coming
Turns its face to me whispering
In the pillaging
world
No matter to be
called shrimp or crab
I only want to
show you
An embodied
definition
Easy to live in
shame
Hard to live
upright
Instead of
hiding yourself
Prepare your own
pincers
Yes, nothing is
more vital than the great pincers
Life is so cruel
and realistic
Qingdao,
August 8, 1992
RECALLING QU YUAN
AT MILUO RIVER
As thin as an
orchid
With only an
upturned beard
With a pot
holding the world
He plunged into
the rolling river
Suffering and
indignation
Boil the river
as casting down a burning mold
The seething
water surging in the cold moon
Who might find
the key lost in misery?
Twisted with the
reed, deep in the sandbank
A hundred and
eighty riddles rusted in the mist
Answer please!
Answer please!
Two thousand and
five hundred years for a poem only
Changsha,
August 1993
YEARNING
IN
HAINAN ISLAND
As the moon
rises between
Two palm trees
in Hainan
There will flow
my love
As a bubbling
stream
Hainan glitters
as rare metal
Each leaf plays
a musical tone
Brittle and
thin, moist and warm
Even a stone so
emotional
For your soulful
gazing
My heart, bitter
and sweet
Immersed in your
song
Your wine and
tears
There is a
jequirity bean in Hainan
There is a
blood-red bean
Leaping out of
the pod
Beijing,
June 1998
SANYA IN SPRING
None overcast it
Whatever eagle
or seagull
The seaport
against the hill
Overlooks the
ocean to the South
Down sets the
door of history
No more wind
blows the smelly dust
No more sighs
depress the thatched cottage
Only the scales
mirror the town in decline
Now erect the
solid metropolis
Glittering in
the sunshine
The smell of the
floating air
Half sugarcane,
half pineapple
Taking off my
feather-padded jacket
I become part of
your integration
Sanya in spring,
no other hearts
Bloom more like
a flower than mine
Sanya,
March 1998
THE YELLOW EARTH
A kind of temper
A kind of memory
Silent and
implicit is the yellow earth
Eroding, burying
and accumulating
It cultivates
maturity in a furious motion
Limitless and
powerful
It shows great
fantasy and expectancy
Listen to the
blowing wind and pouring rain
Listen to the
sun rising and stars falling
The yellow earth
reveals a depressed power
A power is a
beauty
It illustrates a
notion of time
An inscription
of time
An eagle flying
over the yellow clouds
Reminds me of
countless
Mountains beyond
mountains
Rivers beyond
rivers…
Northwestern
Shanxi, Oct. 1987
WILD JUJUBE TREE
Iron-cast bough
as being printed
Grows high on
the cliff
Among the
thicket and thorns
Even stones feel
astonished
It is a wonder
for her to grow
Hard yet happy
Her petals small
and weak
Tremble in the
fierce wind
Poor and
miserable
As the
descendant of a mountaineer
Her life moved
to tears
Painful yet
honorable
Her glimmering
thorns
Tug at the arm
of a shepherd
Only to offer
him fruits
As red as the
flaming sun
Bitter are her
tears and sweat
Yet sweet in
heart
Beijing,
Jan. 1989
PASSING THE REED DITCH
The ochre sea
floats
Our green island
Our small oasis
As a fallen leaf
Shoals heavy
Oasis light
Honest wheat
ripens rather late
Timid rapes
blossom out of the village
Aspens watch the
cottage
Made of pure
yellow soils
The blue sky high
The village low
Out of chimneys
rise warm smoke
On the
rammed-earth wall leaps the sunshine
There overflow
laughter and wine
With sparrows
chirping about
A path narrow
A hut small
Lonely are the
pebbles of the exposed riverbed
A shepherdess is
singing on the riverbank
Her red dress
turns into a landscape
With hoofprints
like small flowers blooming about
Clouds white
Ballads sweet
Tianshuijin,
July 22, 1993
WITHERED-LEAF BUTTERFLY
An undressed
butterfly
Leans on the
branch of a tree, maybe
She is the first
leaf withered in spring
Solemnly
watching the world alive
I ask: “why
don’t you
Dress yourself
colorfully?”
“I don’t want to
be a flower”, she says
“I’m not a
butterfly unable to dance
Nor a poor and
ugly one
My life is
vigorous,” she says
“Life is most
beautiful in the world
Which makes the
earth lean and tremble”
“Don’t associate
me with winter
I wonder if I am
like a withered leaf
Or vice versa”,
she says
“I want to tell
you
My being is myself
Yes, I want to
tell you
How rich is
nature
And how cruel
and hard is life”
Ruili,
April 13, 1991
THE YI’S FOLK DANCE
On the pasture
alongside the mountain
Burns the
campfire and passion
Swings the
reflective silver necklace
Mad are the lute
strings in arms
By this way to
present their lives
They enrich the
existence of their own
Confiding their
love and illusion
They reveal a
power and rustic beauty
Mountains blend
into their rough bones
Rivers flow with
their ancient blood
They are the
stones and water in the field
Shaking the
earth with their shouts and rushing steps
All the horn
cups fill the mellow wine
Lingering eyes
brim with happiness
All the lantanas
blossom with song
Each boot loses
its way home
Chuxiong,
July 2000
THE GREAT
NORTHWEST CHINA TODAY
If you see the
endless desert
Rolling the
black fire in the broiling sun
You have come to
the great Northwest China
If you see a
growing tree
Floundering with
rage
You have come to
the great Northwest China
If you see the
stirring wheel and headlight
Flinging the
festive horizon all night
You have come to
the great Northwest China
If you see the
tankers and containers
Marching into
the desert and border cities
You have come to
the great Northwest China
If you find the
fairy tale changing into the landscape
From the first

You have come to
the great Northwest China now
Beijing,
May 2001
DABAN CITY
You are an
island in a sea of vast desert
Famed throughout
the country
An island
sensitive of love
Yet as a cloud
too far away
Alone is your
personality
All taken by the
storm
Only poems
remain
Several walls
painted white
Smoke rising
from an earthen chimney
Three girls
peddle eggs, two old men sell pancakes
Dusty trucks
rest and move further
Lonesome is your
life
Tambourines
pause, strings broken
Only songs
remain
Watermelons
unseen, carriages lost
A pain to miss
an exciting appointment
Emerges from the
eyes
Fastened on the
braid
Beautiful is
your yearning
A naked love
flaming bright in heart
Only dreams
remain
March
1989——- Sept. 1990
GRAPES
Fibers of roots
reach the fiery mountain
Fibers of roots
extend to the great desert
They say the
world
Remains too hot
or too cold
Tines of leaves
suffer the blustering wind
Tines of leaves
withstand the scorching sun
They say in the
world
Exist too many
hardships and bitterness
Then they bear
A cluster of
heavy grapes
A cluster of
heavy and sober silences
A cluster of
deep meditation and love songs
Long fibers
twine around you
Sweet juice
clings to you
Along the
oblivious desert
One heart after
another is dedicated to you
Beijing,
March 1989——– Sept.1990
A SMALL GRASS-LAKE
Is the small
lake converged by
Fluid tones and
revolving rhythms
Sliding from
tambourines?
When the
twinkling stars at night
Swim as fishes
in the sky
Bleat of
homeward sheep change into
Flourishing
reeds and fragrant waterweed
Ah, beyond the
oleaster, desert and camel
Mountains close
and seas afar
The grass-lake
hidden deep in the highlands
Is the gorgeous
blush of a silk weaver
Or the mellow
wine of a hunter
In reeds
disappears a chirping sparrow
Its teeth gnaw
at destiny
Its feather
treasured forth in a diary
Like a free
cloud or a single leaf
Or a beautiful
lyric
Ah, beyond the
oleaster, desert and camel
The sky close
and dreams afar
March
1989——- Sept. 1990
A GRAIN OF SAND
A grain of sand
falls to my shoulder
From the great
desert vast and afar
It reminds me of
the rolling dune
Of the lofty
Mount Qomolangma and
Of the endless
waves
Dazzling and
choking
A grain of sand
primitive and dense
A vigorous life
meditates on my shoulder
Confiding to one
another
Its heart throbs
with mine
At the moment
nearest to eternity
Dedicate it to
philosophy and poetry
A grain of sand
falls to my shoulder
A camel of
dreams I would like to be
Ningxia,
Dec. 1998
AIR-SLAKED STONE
Deep
in the desert around Jiayuguan are strewn many unique stones. Composed ofmultiple elements of different colors and
textures, the stone is naturally carved into fascinating “air-slaked
stone” through long-term exposure to sunshine and rain. The stone is
everlastingly appreciated for its inimitable style and lingering charm.
Don’t disturb
their dream
They will feel pained
Don’t bring them
back to the city
They will feel ashamed in a sitting room
The
frost-bitten, sun-burnt and war-fired stones
Belong only to the great Northwest China
Each of them
vivid and sacred
If you come here
in a moonless evening
They will tell of history with a metallic voice
And proudly show
you their bones and teeth
Fed on the last blood without tears and sweat
The
horse-trodden, axe-chopped and blood-soaked stones
Are wounded with countless scars
Each of them
vivid and proud
Jiayuguan,
July 23, 1993
FLYING AGAINST THE WIND
A brown bird
Rather than a single leaf
Flying against
the wind
Over the exhausted wasteland
In the raging
storm
It falls near to
the ground
Before swiftly
soaring again
Its crouching
claw stretches out bravely
Its almost
broken wings
Ever stroke
breathlessly
It struggles for
fearless flying
Ever onwards
A fire flames in
the storm
A flower blooms in the air
The world vivid
solely for you
Even with the endless wind and rain
Flying against
the wind in Qilian Mountain
The bird is the
most beautiful ever seen
Qilian
Mountain, July 24, 1993
AFTERGLOW
OVER
GRASSPLOTS
The grassplot
extends as an elegant curve
The curved slope
erects a white tower
The motley spire
aloft in the sky
Flings pieces of
colorful flags
Flickering far
in the distance
There comes a
lone Lama
Whose red
cassock tapping his black dog
From one
grassplot after another
At this moment
over the grassplot
The green,
white, yellow, red and black
Blend in perfect
harmony
A strong
customary painting silently
Hangs in the
afterglow over Shatuo Temple
A sense of
simplicity, serenity and mystery
Along with its
long silhouette silently
Hangs in the
afterglow over Shatuo Temple
Waiting for the fall of evening
Beijing,
March 1999
SALT LAKE
The milk of
mother
The sweat of
father
And their tears
Sad and turbid
Flow a thousand
years
Till one
thousand and one
They converge here
Become crystal salts
Prismal and pure
Without any
impurity
A bitter life
lowers the ground
Dachaidan
Military Depot, August 2, 1994
IMPRESSION ON xizang
If you stay in
xizang, you are sure to
Come across a
brilliant magnificence
Boundless
snowcapped mountains
Countless wavy tiles and red walls
Old temples with golden spires
Cloisters deeply across the doors
Silently clasped
with solitude and simplicity
Solemnly with
honest prayers and swift changes of history
If you stay in
xizang, you are sure to
Feel the
mysterious power of religion
Numerous rings rotate in hands
Thousands of beads glare around necks
Limitless bells chime together with trumpets
Figures of Buddha innumerable
In the smoky fire
of ghee lamps
Lection bless
the world with luck and happiness
Lhasa,
August 1994
MY POETRY OF xizang
If my poetry of
xizang
Were unable to
fly as high as an eagle
It would be buried in the storm
If unable to be
as strong as a yak
It would die in the valley of snow
If unable to
bear barley
It would wither in the highland
If my poetry of
xizang
Were unable to
be as firm as a stone
It would burn to ashes
In the fire
I’d like my
poetry of xizang
Be an eagle or a
yak
Like barley or
stone
From blood to will
to soul
Strong, solemn
and beautiful
Simple and magic
Bitter and tragic
I’d like my
poetry of xizang
Be at least the
deep shadow
Of their lives
Beijing,
Oct. 1994
GIVE ME BACK
Give me back
space
Give me back the
way home
Give me back
forests, earth and wind
Let the tree
free from dreaming an axe or saw
Let the earth
bury the fallen sighs and tears
Let the wind
flickering free
Give me back
time
Give me back
wings and fins
Sky, clouds and water
Give me back the
lost youth and great expectations
Give me back the
life, its quality and value
Give me back the
life, its order, reason and flower
Give me back the
loyal love refined from minerals
The mature sun
rises in the morning
The mature stars
twinkle in the evening
Honest as a key to a lock
Trustful in their mutual future
I don’t want the
whole sky
But only to open
the window
Give me back a
world
Fresh as a morning after rain
A world awakening with energy
Beijiing,
June 30, 1994
STILL LIFE
The whole world
is rotating at high speed
Only they far
from the whirlpool of storm
A bunch of roses
before two wineglasses
Expresses
warm and fragrant love
Two mandarin
fishes plus a jug of wine
Present
soft-drunken silence
At the end of
time
These lines,
colors and shadows
Stand still at the first or the last gesture
Against the
uproaring world
Do not ask what
is hidden in them
Soundless life
Soundless years
Condense here
into an eternal view
All sink down
In actual life
There is no
silence
Even the rusty
time
Flakes off in
tears
Beijing,
Feb. 1994
DEEP IN LOVE
Deep in love
extends a world
Deep in blood
extends a life
Only poems reach
love in tears
Between the
birth and death
Between the sun
and the earth
Sufferings grow
into a tree
Beijing,
Oct. 1998
ON A PHOTOGRAPH
A green melody
Reverberates at
windows
Faraway is my
dream
A moving
landscape
Makes life clear
Beautiful is my
dream
Beijing,
May 1995
A KEY
A solemn key
Solemn as
metal
A common key
Common as
neglected
Whichever to me
or
To its own
keyhole
It is absolutely loyal
Before opening
the door
It says “Come in, please”
Chairs, potted
flower, books and pen
Waiting for me in silent breath
I sit down to
have a teatime in the lamplight
I take to my bed
with the curtains down
Shutting the
wind and rain outside
As well as the
noisy city, mountains and oceans
After closing
the door
It says “Bye-bye”
It helps us
maintain order
I praise it
Hoping to say
farewell
Someday in the future
Beijing,
March 1993
A CANDLE
A candle burns
before a soul of the deceaced
In a hall filled
with pains, guiding
The last
return trip of a person
It hears many
pale dirges and elegies
I wonder how to
console it
A sign of wail
burning
In a
long, long night
A candle burns
in a wedding feast
Happily blooming
as a flower
It stands
near the heart with pride
Gazing at it,
you will feel warm and sweet
Its halation is
a palace
A traditional
blessedness burning
In a
short, short evening
Whatever cry or
joy
Whatever tears
or honey
They are shed deep from a rib of the chest
With pure and holy emotions
It knows the
distance between them
Happiness and suffering are halves of life
There is no
Fool’s Day in China
A candle is a
poem of truth
Beijing,
Feb. 1994
RECALLING MY CHILDHOOD
My childhood
through hunger and poverty
Was sodden in my
mother’s tears
I buried it in
the wasteland
It grew into
clumps of wild grasses
It had a thorny
stem and bitter leaves
Swaying in the
storm all day long
Without flowers
and fruits
I grow up
earlier with pains in heart
Decades of years
pass in a flash
I still recall
the clumps of unbending grasses
Sad, sterile and
tameless, its shape
Resembling a
wild fire burning angrily
Beijing,
July 1998
DISTANCE
Hanging from the
forehead of April
The willow twigs
are close to the water
With catkins
wafted in the air
My mother
broke a sallow
To make a
whistle
April is
noisy and happy
My small
feet stained with spring mud
Hanging from the
forehead of September
The willow twigs
are close to the water
With leaves
fallen in the air
My
wife flicked the sallow to lean
Close to
me on a bench
September
is warm and silent
Where to
hang the moon without willow
Hanging from the
forehead of January
The willow twigs
are close to the water
With tresses
broken in the air
I lead along
my grandson with a sallow
Walking
on the frozen river
January
is solemn and profound
Deep
within life glitters the distance
Beijing,
March 1996
THE STATUE OF LU XUN
Only the stone
from atop Mount Qomolangma
Could sculpt his
figure
A clear-minded
soul
A person with a
hatchet face
Even the enemy
must look up to
Old epoch was
shuddering in blood
His heart
throbbing in pain
An ox bowed its
head in labour
A lion uttered a
roar in anger
His spear
polished in bile and blood
Now every spark
in the stone
Burns his spirit
and thought
He told us with
his life
Hate older than
love
Dignity and
freedom brighter than the sun
Beijing,
Sept. 18, 2001
YESTERDAY
He has the same
Beautiful face
as today
I could not meet
him farther
He sent me ahead
today
And
returned alone
All of a sudden
I recall
something lost
And go back to
look for it
But find
no way to return
Before a window
only
I gaze at a leaf
falling
In spirals
Resounding far
away with
An echo
Beijing,
Oct.1994