屏蔽 ||| |
Crack up primeval rock and soil,
There glistening black gold we find;
Preserved in such fine sunny warmth
In Nature’s breast deep and kind.
A little fire oft makes one feel
What Spring’s expansive breaths incite,
And a burning furnace could break up
The densest darkness of the night.
Bronze tripods and wine-vessels1 ’re shaped
By its vital power and energy,
And melt iron retains on it
Its posthumous felicity.
So long as all God’s children be
Relieved from hunger, free from cold,
It cares not if, from wooded mountains
It comes to vast sufferings untold.
1. Bronze tripods and wine-vessels (the ding and the yi) were symbols of state power in feudal China.
Cut open the ground
And out comes black, black gold,
One chunk of blackness
And spring sunshine returns.
A stove glows bright,
Bronze tripods are born with your help,
Wine cups are born with your help,
And the steel you helped make
Keeps the virtue of your denial of self:
Let people be well cared for
And what do you care
If you are dug up from the earth
Through so many hardships.