Moments when unscrambling the footprints rich left
On the rough road, hence let me recognize you; that
has trampled on the unusual pain burst of my heart.
Like a dream, an adventure
Under the triumphal arch
Long shared the emotions and sufferings
That in difficulties to show up all the details
Of the Korea War, more than half a century has passed
Trace those men, who held high their red flags and
Carried explosive cartridges; those men who looked
Forward to lightning and thunders, and those soldiers
Crawled back from piles of dead and those
Lions that plotted and enjoyed the war. Where
They have gone to what they have left to the world?
(Who had plotted the Korea War? The answers
Are still on people's lips. Today, through Russia's
Deciphering documentary evidence:
Kim Il Sung had cooperated with their master Stalin）
The experienced report Cao Mu-yun and
I, as a self-styled “sea-watching poet “,
Were the sworn friends in the Korea War.
Barely forget those blood-smelling days
When in windy-snow and in the suffering of hunger,
And, the love and death
Soaked up friendship of revolutionary.
Now the aged report was telling me how
Should-be-dead fellow in his Europe trip.
A summer night,
In the air blue fireflies waved,
To and fro, dimly floating;
A moment when lightning flashed
Over Alpine cracked rocks, deadly tiring,
I fell down in its glen, soft and
New the green was. Stretching
The shadows beneath tall beeches
And sweet-smelling undergrowth
Bent embraced my body.
Lay on the wild field, on the foreign land,
Frightened, wearied with vast and haze,
As autumn leaves downward
On dark waters, Melancholy,
The soul left shell Flew up high and
Overlooked the top of Pennies.
There is the Grossglockner sister-peak
Erect as the eternal sculpture of their ice-crowns.
Along the stream-flowing, the longing bonfires roared,
And like a sun the stars shine on the night sky with
The snowlines decorated. There is an age-old
Question from the human-conscience:
“Who could understand the meaning beyond the Time?”
Barely prayed for forgiveness
Of my fortune, just letting the meek
Of Alpine, like hyacinths, act
Through the flying snowflakes, melt
The hardened griefs in my heart
And then congealed it.
Beyond the coldness and warmth
Fly high the souls from its icy-cold shells.
The old continent, it was boundless—
Europe, where a huge practice
Now as a splendid storm carries
Along with a fresh avalanche.
I see the boundary monuments had disappeared
On the border among their mountain and valleys
EU, with its every crouching hollow in unbroken, as
The modern and still classical casts its glimpse
On the thunders of blood-and-fire melted
In my east poems.
Leap over dusk clouds the sounds
Of complin-bells, the stars
In sky light up as by our lamps.
I do not attempt to go after our predecessors
Back to the City of Music in a dream
To show the reverence of a pilgrim.
Towering on a slope Austria Palace
In eternal morning or careless of the tempests
Lives a life bewildered of an ancient city.
Up the evening sky; A group of marble statues
Elegant around a murmuring fountain; against
The watering fogs and white blossoms
Spout of the fountain the familiar figure of Mozart
Dimly comes forth.
Along the unexpected blue of the Danube River
I had roved about the majestic Alps.
That night when rest on of Germany and Austria border,
Gazing of picturesque Swan Lake the still scenes,
My heart was full of thoughts, as the fit took me.
Days now after a half-century had gone,
On the skies of Vienna and Paris,
The spouted peaceful fireworks party-colored,
Arced gracefully in flower -styles
Ones must die died many years ago;
Ones in living very wish to revive. Yet who
Should and would remember again those black smokes
Clinging subtly at crags and chasms, its death-smells,
Echoing the flying bombshells in Korea War?
Yesterday has been thrown to a corner of history
And yet the history revives within bewildered today.
Mysterious Talisman and Cryptolalia had driven
Me into a mysterious dream;
While I had loitered along Avenue des Champs –Elysées
Against a golden sunset
Of Paris Arc de Triophe,
An Asian-like gentleman in running almost
Collided with me in stumble:
“Hi, reporter Cao, my old partner,
Following you staring at you,
I couldn’t believe my eyes
To the paces of you!
Is it really you! ”
As if time turned backward now, with
A muffled call of ‘Open Sesame”;
I rubbed my eyes in wonder, gazing the man’s face
Being lost so long in a dream,
Felt some trepidation
And tense close to joy.
“Hi, Qi Chang! It’s you,
My old partner,
I recognize you!
I couldn't believe my eye!
How many years
I’ve been looking for you!
Some said you died in piles
Of our martyrs, in fighting fields
But we never found any trace of your dead body.
“I have written down about you a report,
And as one of our heroes of Army-fighting Models
You, you, now still alive but
The one as if Death had taken away from us.”
It wasn’t me! It wasn’t me at all!
Don’t let me stain a hero’s name.
A black seal marked
On the forehead of a man
Was released by the US
Army in the war；captivity to captivity…
That afternoon, In Avenue des champs – Elysées,
In an open coffee shop at a street corner.
Sunshine shone on two men face-wearied,
Who sat by a coffee-table, quietly talking about
Those days with their fellowship over death-hollows.
The breeze blew the pale hair of Qi-Chang and
Of Cao Mu-yun grayish-white the sideburns.
“Never forget that summer battle that shocked
The world when withdrew as a field-report I was that
Time. After your spear-head battalion had done it,
The bridge then went in the air, but soon the mad
Enemy counterattacked to surround our troop …”
May. The rainy within thunders of days and nights
In Korea while burning the incendiary bomb's fires
Over rocks, woods, villages:-of the cries of death
Rose up everywhere .chased the enemy on
A large scale as well as withdrawing soon on it.
Our soldiers of the spear-head battalion on
The way piercing through with new order to burst
A bridge; then being cut off from each other
Through the howitzer fire
And shells of artillery fought
And run, like wasps in woods lost nest,
Of both sides of the soldiers. Tanks rumbled
And vehicles with the dust spuming from their tracks.
In order to cover the withdrawal of the main force.
To the Bao-Chuan region, defended its hill pass.
A surprise raid on the Chinese.
The right side
Of the main peak of the Zhuling mountain range.
Trees in the fire,
The napalms and bombs dropped like claps of thunders,
The earth shook, skies darkened,
Gunfire and mortars swept the valleys,
Rocks broken, as if in an evil boiler metals melted.
Time seemed to come to stand
Still in the valleys,
Of it Life became the failed fragments.
Its left side the hills collapsed with
The land sunken.
Along the deep channel between sandbanks ran
With rolling stones, timbers, bamboo poles,
And carcasses, the muddy Imjin boomed
Curving through the barren valleys and along levees.
The incendiary bomb's fire burning and
Deaths run among the burning smoke.
Crawling out from a pile of the US corpses,
Uniform burned-out, the black wounds congealed like
The burning soul made his face smile like
A monster and want to stand up crying into the air.
The girder of the Imjin River Bridge lay, twisted.
Enveloped the peaks far of the mountains death and
He got up and fell, tumbled, and again falling
With the numb feelings
0f hunger and pain, He was thirsting
For the next main counteroffensive of letting
The bugles and whistles sound among
The mountains, even for a while. Collapsed
On the ground under the death of black thick wings,
He was waiting to be buried.
The fog and mist sky blanketed all dreams,
The side Of Riverbanks reeked of gasoline,
And Gun smokes with the whistling of a nameless
Sigh of the wind and burning flesh.
A red fox survived in the bushes
Run out in hurry as a flash to the shady woods.
A rosy sunset of survival was eyeing the footprints
Of a lone survivor kept on the earth beneath.