The Source Material of Poetry
Ye Shengtao文章源自英文巴士-https://www.en84.com/10800.html
文章源自英文巴士-https://www.en84.com/10800.html
Early this morning, I went to the park. Drawn by a waft of fragrant scent, I quickened my steps towards the lotus pond. Many of the plants had begun to bloom: white flowers rose above an expanse of closely-knit disc-like leaves with dark green top sides and light green undersides; some were fully open, revealing the tender yellow seedpods in the middle; some had only two or three petals spread out; others were still in bud, looking so full that I was afraid they were going to burst at any moment.文章源自英文巴士-https://www.en84.com/10800.html
文章源自英文巴士-https://www.en84.com/10800.html
Of all the white lotus flowers here, did any two hold the same posture? No, each was different from the others, yet each looked as beautiful as any other, all just waiting to be painted. As I remember, on the wall of my neighbor’s house hung four ink wash paintings of lotus flowers by Qi Baishi. I once counted the flowers in them: there were altogether fifteen of them, each delightful and charming in its own way. If I regard the sight unrolling before me as a living lotus painting, it would certainly outshine Qi’s works. But who is the painter?文章源自英文巴士-https://www.en84.com/10800.html
文章源自英文巴士-https://www.en84.com/10800.html
I am suddenly seized by a vision: I become a lotus flower. I am clad in snow-white from head to toe, giving off a faint scent. Bathed in the sunlight, I unbutton my clothes and release myself, lost in ecstasy. As a gust of wind happens to blow my way, I greet it with a dance, my white dress fluttering in the air. I am not alone; all the other flowers join me, a vivid replica of the ensemble dance scene in Swan Lake. The wind ceases, I stand there, quiet and still. A dragonfly flies by, telling me about this happy morning flight. A small fish swims underneath, telling me about the pleasant dream he had last night…文章源自英文巴士-https://www.en84.com/10800.html
文章源自英文巴士-https://www.en84.com/10800.html
My thoughts were interrupted when my friends called me from the other side of the pond. I was myself again, no longer a lotus flower.文章源自英文巴士-https://www.en84.com/10800.html
文章源自英文巴士-https://www.en84.com/10800.html
Such illusions of becoming something other than myself are not new to me. I have had similar experiences before. One morning, I was watching morning glories on campus. The blossoms opened as big as rice bowls, and had a bright purple color with white edges. I got so enchanted with their beauty I felt I had become one of them, giving a round-faced smile to the sun. Another time, watching golden fish in a park, I also had the fantasy that I became a fish, my breast fins waving like small fans and my tail fluttering softly as silk. In the water there was no sound, all was hushed, silence prevailed…
I believe such illusions are the source material of poetry. Yes, I will try my hand at one or two poems, but of course, only after I give the matter more thought.
（李运兴 译）
