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

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page of a newspaper to each window

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 of
multiple 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