■Works of Dylan Thomas
◇Translated by Wei Bai
◎Preface
In the last summer of God’s acceleration
In the orange-red sun tide
This day is being swept away by the wind,
In the house shaken by the sea
In On the precarious rocks lingering with birdsong and fruits,
foam, flutes, fish fins
and buoys
on the dancing feet of trees,
There, black crows, clutching the clouds
People kneeling to the net of the setting sun,
The geese near the sky, stabbed
Children, herons and shells
Tell of the endless ocean,
Eternal waves leaving
Filled with darkness
The city, whose towers
will cling to the pious wind
like tall stalks of hay,
in pitiful calm
p>
I sing to you, strangers (although
Singing is a burning, surging action,
because of my jagged, clumsy Songs
The fire of birds coils in the woods where the earth rotates),
Through the leaves of the great altitude
They will rise or fall
p>Like leaves, like
broken and immortal
will enter the sultry night.
Towards the sea, the orange-red withered sun slid down,
While I was chopping down this ghostly noise,
The silent swans struck In the name of melancholy
My gently unfolding bay dusk
As you know, I, a dizzy person
How can I be as glorious as a star, a bird
Roaring, Haiyin endured, people cried, and blood prayed.
Listen: I play the earth,
From swimming fish to leaping hills! Behold:
When the floods rise
With all my love
I build my roaring ark,
It comes from A source as red as fear, life and anger
melting, winding around the mountains to reach the stream
Sleep covering the pain
The sheep dyed the empty The Farm
Wales between my arms.
Ho, there, under the protection of the castle,
You kingly singing owl, your moonlight gaze
Swaying and slinking
The death of the furry deer in the glen!
Aha, above the vertical moss,
Oh, my frightened and circling dove
In the scornful cry, in the almost complete darkness
With the pious rook of Wales
cooing the praises of the woods,
whispering melancholy tunes in its nest
Spread to the flocks of curlews!
Oh, noisy Klansmen
Sorrow is like your lips,
On the chatting cape, suddenly stunned!
Hey, on the steep hill, capture
the flying hare! It hears,
There, the cunning light, the jingle of my flood boat
As I chop and strike
(A tumult And the random
beating sound of the anvil, the tone
like coming from a kind of rumbling puffball ①)
In God, it is rough and stumbling
The animals are as dense as thieves
(Cheers for the helmet crown on its head).
On the ridge, hush, the beasts sleep peacefully
and weakly! In a large body of water
An empty farm with piles of haystacks
Huddled together and cawing,
While on the roof of the barn the rooster crows the dawn !
Oh, in the adjacent place, the fins were cut off
The knocked down and impaled (creatures) splashed
I wore a patch on the ark, while the moonlight
sipped Noah nestled in the bay
with animal skins, fish scales and wool:
Only those who drowned Deep
The remnants of the noisy sounds of sheep and church bells
The poor tranquility is like the setting sun
And the dark sandy land connects everyone. A sacred field.
We will ride away alone, and then,
under the Welsh starry sky
Weeping bitterly, countless arks passing through
The land covered with waves,
love makes them alive, they
will move like wooded islands, from hill to hill.
Hello, I am as brave as a dove carrying a flute!
Aha, the old, sea-sweeping fox,
Tom Tit and Daley Mouse!
My ark sings in the sun
In the last summer of God's haste
In the flowers of this moment's torrential flood.
①The name of a plant
◎I know this evil bit of time
I know this evil bit of time;
It is a sour movement in the blood,
It is like a tree, rooted in you,
and sprouting in your body.
Every silver moment emits a majestic piano sound,
and I am still a little bird, maybe I can
Catch it in mid-air and hear it.
You have an restless, ticking heart;
I will be crazy about you, stuffing you
into me, I found
You are darker than ever.
Filled with blood, my love cannot flow in.
Suspension is unreal;
I want to capture the truth with my touch
No, just as a Symbols, stones,
statements or nothing,
and truth, I know its phonology
is a loop of sound rather than a pitch.
I hope to disappear;
Then I will disappear,
But I think that the passing seconds are mine.
I might be able to do something else with it.
Not for a moment,
unless I disappear or die.
◎Cold, oh, not cold at all
Cold, oh, not cold at all,
Sharp, oh, not sharp at all,
The high ground of your thinking thoughts
And the half-baked thoughts I said belong to you,
And when I took it back, it was even colder
And sharper, if I shatter
Every ice needle of illusion that has been thought over and over.
When I get an idea from you, (you have thrown it away)
How I rub that smooth skin
Know a The dream will make it dark,
At the same time, the taut strings and some metal dolls
are ravaged and broken,
How did I Licking and kissing, when the doll says "Master," her mouth is full of sawdust
And her tongue, lo and behold, falls off
,
It fell down,
It is so sweet that I can't help but want to understand it thoroughly.
But Creator, you can’t leave me;
Oh no, my thoughts are your purgatory;
You can’t leave unless I want to
My thoughts flow so hard
For them, the sea is far from being measured,
There are waves pressing against the waves everywhere,
Such a huge energy must have won
the specific meaning it contains.
You wish to stay in my prison
Shut up in the cells of your secret thoughts,
And I, your plunderer, use me Surrounded by love
so that you cannot fly away.