Chen Liwei is a member of the Chinese Writers Association, and Vice Chair of the Tianjin Writers Association. He is one of the five leaders of the Tianjin Publicity and Culture System, and was Editor-in-Chief and Senior Editor of a special edition on Chinese New Economic Literature for Bincheng Times. Chen is the author of the novels People of the Development Zone《开发区人》and Tianjin Love《天津爱情》as well as a monograph on literary theory titled ‘An Introduction to Chinese New Economic Literature’. He has published the contemporary poetry collections ‘Cuckoo in the City’《城市里的布谷鸟》, ‘The Crazy Tower’《疯塔》, ‘Dreaming About Red Lips’《梦里红唇》, ‘Life is Beautiful《本命芳菲》, and ‘Remote Sounds of Xiao’ 《箫声悠悠》, a volume of classical verse titled ‘The House on Zhen River’, and the prose collection ‘Watering Dried Flowers’《给枯干的花浇水》. In March 2016, a seminar on his work was held at the China Museum of Modern Literature.
Frog Sounds
Frog sounds – a liquid that’s deeper than a river,
blending into one as they rise and fall.
We all remember the suffocation of childhood.
For me, it was the umbrella of the moon on a summer night.
Open it when you want to hear; close it when you don’t.
Tonight I’m walking through the rugged foreign land of middle age.
I hear the sound of laughing frogs from the water,
like passing someone in another country with an accent that’s familiar.
Ask me how far away my youth is; ask me how far away my hometown is.
Ask me how far away my lover is; ask me how far is the other shore.
I have tried to answer with several books’ worth of words.
Suddenly, I realize what I’ve got in return for my efforts:
a frog jumping into the water with a plop;
frog sounds, like night. The years are as long as ever.
蛙声
蛙声是比河水要深远的液体
当它们汪洋成一片，此起彼伏
整个世界都感到童年没顶的窒息
小时候，它是夏夜月光的伞
想听时就打开，不想听时就合上
今夜我走在异乡崎岖的中年
所有水面都传来谈笑般的蛙声
像在他乡遇到的口音相似的路人
问我青春多远，问我故乡多远
问我爱人多远，问我彼岸多远
我曾尝试用几部书的文字努力回答
忽然发现，自己的努力，换来的
不过一只青蛙跃水的一声“扑通”
接下来，蛙声如夜，岁月如旧
~
Willow Flute
Playing it takes me back to childhood; I travel back to ancient times.
The wilderness strikes up a symphony of spring.
Birds lead the song; the river is the chorus; the sea is an echo.
The mountains, trees, and flowers dance together.
The sound is green, with tender buds
like golden light dancing between the conductor’s fingers.
The whole world is illuminated! The present, the past,
the world of youth, old age, and a blurred middle age.
As long as it is spring, as long as there are willows,
just a hint of long, shiny hair is enough.
柳笛
吹一声就穿越到童年，穿越回古代
整个原野马上奏响春天的交响乐
鸟儿领唱，河水合唱，大海回声
群山和所有的树木、花朵一起伴舞
这声音是绿色的，是带着嫩芽的
像是指挥家指间舞动的那一道道金光
整个世界被照亮！现在的，过去的
青年、老年、以及模糊的中年的世界
只要是春天，只要是柳树，只要
油亮的一丝丝长发，就足够了
~
Thinking About the Afterlife
However many people you meet, you will forget them all.
However many cities you visit, you will leave them all.
What most people want is a regular life, not positions of power;
generations have fought for it – a fight without swords.
Plant a flower and let it bloom as it should;
write a word, and make it clear,
for in the long afterlife, with no end in sight
you won’t necessarily plant or write
So if you get to know just a few people, you’ll remember the ones you meet;
If you visit just a few cities, you’ll fall in love with their streets.
想到来生
认识多少人，就要忘记多少人
走过几座城，就要告别几座城
人生的座位比龙椅还要抢手
一代代的争夺根本用不着刀兵
种一朵花，就让它开得干干净净
写一个字，就把它写得清清楚楚
因为在漫长的没有终点的来生
你不一定找到种花、写字的工作
因此认识几个人，就记住几个人
走过几座城，也就爱上几座城
~
Falling Leaves
You take a step and a leaf falls.
Each step you take is a gust of autumn wind.
The spring that you walked through that year has disappeared;
I went back several times but couldn’t find it.
The autumn mountain that I asked you about that year has grown old;
The inscriptions on the cliff walls have long since been stained and weathered.
From ancient times to the present, leaves have fallen all over the world –
sometimes as fast as a gust of wind;
sometimes as slow as a drop of spring water.
I came on a leaf of emerald;
I left on a leaf of gold.
落叶
你一步一片落叶
你一步一片秋风
那年走过的春天已经消失
好几次回去也没有找到
那年问过的秋山已经老去
丹崖绝壁的刻字早斑驳风化
从古至今，整个世界有落叶在飞
有时像一阵狂风那样急促
有时像一滴泉水那样缓慢
我乘一片翡翠的叶子而来
我乘一片黄金的叶子离去
~
Ironing
If you don’t iron your clothes, they’ll be full of mountains and rivers.
There are no such mountains on mine.
When I first bought this garment, it was like a newly built city:
the houses were in order, the streets were straight and clean.
Not even in the field, when it was still a skein of cotton,
did it look so pure in the autumn wind.
When do the wrinkles appear? When you’re stuck in traffic,
with the passage of time, or tangling and jostling in the washing machine…
Sometimes, with just a single glance back,
the old city collapses, taking everything with it.
With the heat of the iron, with the comfort of the steam,
the wrinkles are forced to give themselves up, or forget themselves.
Ironed clothes are smooth on the body; the mountains and rivers are flat.
The invisible bumps, only it knows.
熨衣
不熨，衣服上的山川就不平
可衣服上本来没有这些山川
刚买回时没有，那时它像一座新建的城池
房舍错落有序，街道笔直井井有条
在田野时也没有，那时它只是几朵棉花
在秋天的风中一不留神暴露了纯洁
皱褶出现在什么时候呢？路途的拥挤
时光的积压，洗衣机里纠缠、扭打……
有时，仅仅是一回眸的瞬间
曾经的城池就坍塌了，连同一切
在熨斗的高温下，在水雾的安慰下
皱褶被迫放弃自己，或主动忘却自己
熨后的衣服穿在身上山川平整
那看不见的坎坷，只有它自己知道