“Your position now is prisoners of war
Not our guests!
And due to your wanton bombings,
There was a loss
in the supply of food on the battlefield
Our soldiers are willing to eat sorghum,
To make sure you get to eat pancakes made of flour
Sir, please think carefully -
If we exchanged our positions,
Would you also be willing to sacrifice yourself
Would you treat your prisoners of
war with such fairness?
For example: This is similar to Moses in Exodus
Where the Lord gave the people of Israel ‘manna’
Only by eating it, did
they walk to the Canaan border.”
Even of dearest fellowship, once
Parted, that ripped away two melodious lives;
and In the twilight of dawn，barely tend to imagine
That dusk faded far, and thin.
Even rippling by your reflection of my memory lake,
Beneath a tree your voice I could seek,
Yet sundown's cloud
Of the transformation of your silhouette;
But trees clouds merely show me
The strange of foreign lands.
---- Tang Qi
The way of love-talkers through the smokes
Of the battles was a long trip
War smokes swallowed the last ray of the sundown,
Over the mountains' dim rose up a moon;
A sounding stream
Was flowing along a valley bottom, wherein
The craters everywhere made waters running
As groaning and as crying;
Shocked the souls of a hillside village evasively let
Their minds’ eye on their beds upset.
There were barks beyond distance;
Behind that independent house but fallen down
There was a Chinese red pine forest, within
It, the twinkling light was sometimes to be seen:
A Chinese Army-cultural Troupe was just performing
A show, a chorus of soft female voicing
In the air with the melody of a violin:
Under the greenish of the foothill,
The flatland broad
Covered with Blossom and
Sweet richness stretches;
Branches of the drooping willows
Swaying while the cropped soil shoot
Another wild-bud to a young heart
The well waters clear-rippling,
The streams running with its' murmuring;
This is my hometown, my dearest,
Three young actresses, three white-skirts
Dancing with the rhythms Of a song of spring,
And nimbly grace is the voice in the greeting.
In the heel of the multivariate melody,
The stage was changed with its different scenes.
Played in a happy and graceful dance
There were Korea children and Chinese soldiers;
Then suddenly through a cascade of snowflake
A sled moved on the field from an icy brook,
A wounded soldier with a blood-stained face
Lay being held in the arms of Amani.
Then the harsh tones of enemy planes in the air
Shocked all audiences' soft conch-like ears…
This is a living Newspaper melt in within war reality,
An art of being true to life—just come to see indeed!
Female soloist Du Juan was singing now on stage,
Like a young sister of Yang Yi-yun, the voice
Well-tuned so sweet made
A song “nearby the fountain”with
Pearly smoothness echoed:
“We are carrying the water baskets
While coming near to the fountain,
Seeing a back of the soldier in
Washing his clothes
We cast a glimpse of eyes over him,
Ou, he seemed shy but what his
Botched- up washing was?
Even we are so shy outhouse & home,
But have to tell my soldiers
Let me help you wash your clothes
Let me give you hands.
We are carrying the water baskets
While coming near to the fountain;
Row by row, lined up, our dearest ones,
Ready to go to the war fields.
People come run near with a flower and
Give it pinched on his front of a garment
Shyly but the fairy words from a heart:
After the victory, you must
Come back home, coming near the fountain
To see our girls singing a song.
A few trunks of trees had walled
Up the show-stage,
Sit on the surrounding grassy-field
Korea villagers and our wounded soldiers
While we clapping our hands
The sound of which covered the cracks
Of coastal artillery. Beyond the front line the night
Was enveloped with hypnotizing silver mist,
All laments sorrows of the long-lasting of war-day
So far were being sunken in the ephemeral sound
Of the strings twanged.
There is a valley-land around hills and mountains,
Before war having her soundless earth with
Buds and mysterious stealth; its vassal streams
Run by the pine-trees, the jagged grey-black peaks
Twisting off into the distance; clouds drifting waves.
The path along the river snaked in darkness.
At that moment，Evening wind blew the sounds
Of music of the CACT over the thatch-eaves；
Nearby the mud walls
Tumbled, the wounded sighed.
After the pine-tree-show ended
All audiences gone as the low-flying bats
Into the soft-lifted dark hill-land.
Meanwhile of the CACT the members
Picked up the stage properties, in happy-mood,
Yang Yi-ping changed her show-dress and with
Her female comrades
Went towards the river-side.
Held a palm of cool water
Washing away from the oil-painting on the face
And with the weary of the US warplanes
Bomb-threatening in mind, that before was
Getting used to it, but, tonight seemingly was
As the exception.
Looked at the reflection in the water
Yang sighed in muse:
The fourth campaign had finished and
The time of being parted with him
Had already been six months.
When every time read the articles on the Army-Press
Written by Cao Mu-yun—the name as
A magnet brought her some kind of fairy fancy,
Within the endless longing from
The poem “Wait to me”
“Sweet love！Though with magical charm but pity
of nesting on the heart so short to be，
That the endless longing for it
In the sweet and bitter.
You say in your letter to me:
The conspiring mankind’s long miseries
Of the evil war of death and horror;
The men in heart bearing the loneness
Need the music round and laughter.
Like you rescue us the wounded in the battlefield,
Like a moss'd cottage-tree with apple bend;
The love-warmth shines on the audience’s heart.”
Fair dusk was nearing and then
Its evening clouds with rosy hue shone
Over the tips of the low trees;
From the hills high run down the stream waters,
On the ripples of it, the sunset played
A wavy flow, it's gold-colored.
With a patient look, in peace or in war
While chilling days withdraw,
Time runs in a muse. By the levees
Green has been turning all the willows;
Jindal flowers in full bloom now at the rice field.
With the approach of Dragon Boat Festival by stealth;
That day when we f in the Korea people not
To paddle a dragon boat but to play the swings in
A rhythmic motion，over and over as the sort of fun.
In the hollow of the valleys
There were a few burned cottages，
In front of their fallen earthen-walls
Beneath the burned timber-beams
There was a swing made of a few logs.
The lovely little girl Mu GU Xi-Gab and
Her companion nice-dressed played
On the swing; the long skirt fluttered
In the air, like the danced butterflies
Dancing within spring wind,
In spite of the frontline just
Beyond the mountains, somewhere
Was the drumming from went off bombs.
Yet children still sang aloud on swings
As winged fancies.
The war evil with evil killing hands never
Has relish in the faery power of to slaughter
Of beauty the humans' Nature.
Came actress Du-Juan
After taking her make-up off in a hurry
To planting the green vegetables
Of a love-mission of the earth with
Amani, like a pair of mother-daughter;
Not far away on the balk along the river,
An older Korean village held a line in hand
With a yellow cow on the way home:
A straw hat with straw sandals at ease;
Ding-dongs of neck copper bells of the cow.
Wounded and been recovered,
Then hastened back to his pen in the war-field;
Then, wrote down many articles with a smoking gun.
Today Cao back from a company paid
To Yong Yi-ping a visit on the way.
Long- saddened missing each other
Of the pair of lovers,
Hand in hand now rather love kissing more;
Sitting on the edge of rocks over a stream
Like a lovers ‘statue, by their feet there were
The red- Jindal flowers in blossom,
Bespreading, as red-fired clouds coming near.
Whilst the cries of partridge on the spray of elm,
The sounding of the stream moving over
Shingles and stones beneath the rocks.
At that moment on the rural road
Hearing someone shouted their language
In fury, and soon from the far side
Of the road a line of stranger soldiers come near:
Two of our comrades and
Three US prisoners of war,
Who hummed broadly some sort of melody?
Cao jumped on his feet and hurried on the road
To see what was happened.
One as the monitor with his soldier
Of our Red-4 company of 226th regiment,
Carried an order from their division to take
three US prisoners captured in the frontline
of Han-Tan-river into custody,
in the first CA-PC in Bi-Dong，
But the three showed
Their dismay for the lunch-food and announced
A fast, and also refused
To keep going on the journey.The monitor said:
“These Americans, after dropped their guns,
Show up being spoon-fed in their life, nothing else.
In the morning not washed their faces
Because of the water
Chill, belched when given the cooked millet rather
In self-suffering hunger”. The soldier
Alongside his monitor opened his haversack:
“You Americans, do open your eyes have a look
At what we eat!
This is the cooked cold ball of jowar rice
But given you the white powder pancakes.”
After knowing what was happening, English
Speaking Cao told those American-soldiers:
“Your position now is prisoners Of war
Not our guests!
And due to your wanton bombings,
There was a loss in the supply of food
On the battlefield.
Our soldiers are willing to eat sorghum to make sure
You get to eat pancakes made of our flour.
Sir, please think carefully
If we exchanged our positions,
Would you also be willing to sacrifice
Yourself for others?
Would you treat your prisoners
Of war with such fairness?
For example, this is similar to Moses in Exodus
Where the Lord gave the people of Israel ‘manna’
Only by eating it, did they walk
To the Canaan border.”
These words put Weights on those Americans' nerves
And bent it, as they stretched out their hands,
Gripping the cakes, sitting on the rocks of road-side,
Dispiritingly just ate it.
While the dusk shadows
Thickening, three US-Starfighters
Swooped in behind wind-driven clouds
And with shooting dropped down bombs
On the road then droned away. .
The three Americans lay flat
Under the rocks, shivering and trembled
And then shouted something to selves，
As if they were unhappy for their blinded airplanes.
Monitor and his comrade held their carbines
Pointed to the field that just being bombed:
“you！Looked what bloody things
You Americans have done right now! Just
The fresh evil things and new crimes!
Counting the evidence! How many new dead bodies
Lying down here they shall be alive.
You say the mouthful- words of the peace
And come here from hundred thousand miles away
Just for the genocide of our people.
Shame all of you US”.
He had given the order to them go-go forwards,
And, the three US soldiers
With their vacant faces
Followed behind, no delay.
The time it was a mountain-dusk,
The Sitting sun was
Behind the purpled peak.
Lay on the ground the burn-out swings,
The little girl Mu-Gu-xi-ga lost her legs.
And the Du-Juan who A few hours
Ago sang the song “beside the fountain”
Had her chest Bloody-opened,
Blood soaked the earth of the vegetable garden.
Nearby the swing also one Korea Amani lay dead.
The pulse of the village wearied ceased
Tears run down and echoes of the cry in their world
This day it was so-being happy yet
Had been blown away as a cold mist.
Wonder there was any on earth…kind
Of human emotions could like
The Peace and The War carved
On the human-hearts forever.
Yang Yi-ping and her comrades
Built-up a grave of dear azalea sister,
That was made of the earth and stones;
But in their mind-eyes
The sorrow tears flew that couldn't be stopped:
“Azalea little sister, I know there
Are so many fairy fancies of your youth-vision there
That wait to be true, now you lay down under
The other land dead white
And what could make your soul in peace?”
Beneath the dark sky, this man Cao watched，
Silently at the people standing helpless;
He was no longer a fresh young soldier but
A wise man of living and death through the field.
This day was the one of Dragon Boat Festival 1951,
An uncommon day of an ordinary village of North Korea;
Many innocent bodies buried in hurry, left
Their souls wandering around the wild vale.
These men should harvest corncobs in autumn,and
Those too, who were longing wintry lightning and
Summer thunderstorms now lying long under
The shadowy blown earth. But
Those figures from another side shore
Of the Pacific Ocean played for their Jesus Christ,
Now giving up the hopes of the Miracles as
An atheist did：Waves break loud
On the Pacific seashores.
Shrinks of hearts push wide in their social tides;
Be envious and in deep worries as
Dark wings across the damaged valleys.
The negotiation of war-ending would open in Kaesong,
But without any self-accusation and The Confession.
Where the kindness and the broad-minded?
So many harmless people had been killed;
It was a shame that the US deserved.
For a wrong epoch and
A bloody wrong war