Sue Zhu( 淑文), New Zealand-Chinese poet and painter.
She used to be TV presenter in1. To My Daughter
In one afternoon
I wrote a long letter and sent a gift to You, my daughter
who are far away from me and just turned 16 years old
The choice apples throughout the ages
with their origins marked out one by one
One is from the distant
And a golden apple burning in a wedding banquet
Still another one handed into the dwarf’s window by an old lady
There is one that once appeared in Socrates’ class
There is also an imaginary one set by Fromm’s goal that he was to try to jump up to reach
There is still another one discarded away by the careless Charlie,
just waking up
Besides there is one that once went across the
Another one is a token of love under the apple tree outside the fence in 1942
And there is still one more from the garden, which we have been cultivating together
Those apples have their own aromas
which can be made into a uniquely flavored jam
Accompanying you for your whole life
Have a good journey
2. Each
snowflake is accompanied by a metaphor
I don't think this a dream that
the cicadas singing around the red cherry
tree,
A cloud of white butterflies
Stopping and then gliding down.
It's an unexpected moment
an unexpected meeting with no reason.
For a long time, the idea of writing has
been just raised up
Its silhouette merged into the light
source in the distance,
Then quickly disappeared
Oh, a small white butterfly
that has a noble rich past life,
flying out of slender river in this life
Cross the sea, bring it's own mission.
For the sky
For the earth
Or just for one person
A big snow falls deeply in his heart.
3. Starlight
In the day
You are silent
as same as those lamps
But night time
you were lighted up by darkness
Just like me, withered
Complete the bloom
A few snowflakes moved ahead towards
JiangCheng*
Gently touched down on the shore,
Until end of the year
They were kidnaped by the cruel cold
wind
Recruited frantically the
soldiers
And prepared horses to raid the
city.
Everything was targeted
And no one was to escape
Now each object is covered with
pale-whiteness
All faces, even doors and windows are
masked
The lockdowns have locked the
towns
Horror prevailed over plains and
plateaus
From the Yangtze to the farthest end
of the globe
Across the four oceans
From one season to another, there is a
dance of death.
At the daytime snow seem soft and
sporadic
But at night it is as hard as an iron
block
I hear squeaking sounds of the
branches and eaves being crushed
I hear some noises of avalanches at
the distance.
Are they still those elegant elves?
Sobering at midnight, counting the
Sheep, stars and days in silence
Peaceful holy moonlight
Shines on the white sheets and
walls
with unlimited mercy and grace
People in sleepless plight struggle to
pray
Long for the sooner
“The rooster crow louder at dawn…
"*
(English Translator: Jimmy Wei (
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