文笔塔 ‍*The Pagoda of Literary Grace**

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文笔塔1:古运河畔 春天来了燕子飞来了，将蔚蓝色的天空划破轻盈的线条勾勒出优雅的曲线缠绕上铜迹斑斑的风铃 蜜蜂们来了嗡嗡的响声在鲜红的桃花枝桠间萦绕孩子们像蝴蝶纷飞在桃红柳绿的红梅公园里风带着雨的湿润清香地向我扑来。 太阳冉冉升起在东边，光芒万丈…… 文笔塔站立在这里从南朝齐高祖萧道成建元年间直至此刻这里是江南水乡风光优美之地古老的大运河日夜不息地流淌于此它像一个妙龄少女一样可爱瘦削的身体，昂起的脸庞面对一望无际的芬芳的田野它被工匠们塑造在这里风吹不动，雨淋不了目睹了江南水乡千年的风情变迁 站立的姿势是江南美人的模样骨子里有银杏的感觉孤独地等待来自迢远时空中影影绰绰的少年任由阳光和风雨袭扰也许，我就应当沿着这条线索去讲述文笔塔千年的故事揭开文笔塔千年不倒的神秘面纱 2:文风熏香的地方 在无数明媚的笑靥里我该怎样去面对那一个个恍惚的人影在浩如烟海的记忆深处留下了无尽的沉思与怀念江南的土地富饶的景象令文人墨客们流连忘返他们如星辰璀璨般闪耀着璀璨的光芒季扎、萧统、萧𧗠、唐顺之、陈济、苏东坡……盛宣怀、张太雷、瞿秋白、华罗庚千年龙城，千年文脉，千年发展的历史见证了这块土地上的辉煌成就我该怎样面对文笔塔的风姿韵骨呢它有金子的光辉，玉石的璀璨，丝绸般的飘逸柔美古老的运河流淌着许多古老的传说琥珀色的浪花点缀在我童稚天真的眼睛里一个稚童身着朴素的衣裳他的脸上洋溢着对春天美好的憧憬和向往他学着纤夫的样子沿着蜿蜒的运河向它靠近那是六十多年前的一个早晨太阳在运河的尽头冉冉地升起我刚刚成为了常州的新市民我和几个顽童徒步向着传说中的红梅公园欢蹦而去 那个年代的孩子们口袋空空半饥半饱的感觉就像每天都要被风吹一样繁忙的大运河上热闹非凡波光粼粼的水面上百舸争流飞鸟掠过褐色的帆影消失在茫茫的田野上梢公的号子声响彻整个运河两岸杨柳依依，白云悠悠，田野弥漫着禾苗的清香船夫们灼热而赤诚地撑槁摇橹他们张开的脚丫子纹丝不动地铆着晃荡的船面机帆船过后箭一般的波浪汹涌地涌向河的岸边波浪和波浪碰撞，黑色的浪花，力量与力量的较量在阳光明媚的田野上，农家姑娘劳作在禾田里炊烟从闭塞的村庄袅袅升起，飘荡狗的吠叫声此起彼伏地响起，这是四月的江南在稚童们的眼中，古运河的辽阔仿佛大海一样太阳挂在了中天，穿过迷宫般的屋舍和幽深的小路我们终于不花一分钱潜入了空荡荡的红梅公园 3:初见 在我的眼里它衣裳破烂褪废的模样像极了衣不蔽体的少女塔壁上遍布着肮脏龌龊的文字和涂鸦地面坑坑洼洼，砸碎的青石和断裂的砖块成了甲虫的天堂青铜铸造的塔顶倦缩着身子躲在废墟里千年的铜锈仿佛千年的泪痕让我感觉到触目惊心它像一个乞丐那样站立着那些泛着血色的飞檐斗拱仿佛风中颤抖的手我们感到了前所未有的失望，甚至我们的心里对它产生了一种莫名的鄙视我们不在欣赏它，开始远离它我们对塔身的蒿草有了十分浓厚的兴趣他说，一定有人将种子放上了塔身我说，是飞鸟的栖息让生命充满了无限的可能有个老者见我们热烈地议论着他沉默地望着风中的蒿草得意地骑着塔身在摇曳他擦了擦眼镜又重新架在鼻梁上他沉默无语，轻轻地叹息着，孤独的影子在阳光下扭曲 在一个风和日丽的下午我又来到它的身边时光将我塑造成一个英俊潇洒的小伙我拥着她徘徊在文笔塔的旁边在幽静宜人的景色中感受爱情的甜蜜桃花儿开满了河滩，蝴蝶飞过青青的草地一道高墙矗立在文笔塔的周边工匠们开始忙活了，断裂的砖头被码成了堆甲虫惊慌失措地四下逃散鸟儿停歇在浓密的树林里叽叽喳喳地叫个不息冬天过去了，春天又来了小小的风铃回荡着令人耳目一新的旋律我想起了母亲，她的手粗糙而僵硬但她飞针走线的动作却像燕子一般的轻盈太阳将文笔塔的影子勾勒在大地上看上去显得非常的自然和优雅只是我的心里莫名地泛起了些许的忧伤我们走向河边，见柳树在水波中荡漾我们眺望文笔塔，它在阳光的映照下闪亮 4:涅槃 燃烧吧，燃烧吧，燃烧吧，痛苦地燃烧吧，火球般的太阳，光焰万丈的太阳啊你从来没有这样灼烧过大地是冰冻的太久了，伤痕累累的日子里激荡起大地深处汹涌澎湃的力量来一次浴火重生吧，祖国的大地像遭遇了巨大的火山爆发所有沉睡的灵魂在劈雳声中颤抖起来所有死去的思想在闪电中有了灼烧的痕迹山脉不屈服，河流不屈服，天空不屈服思变是汹涌澎湃的时代的主旋律民心所向，时代的洪流滚滚向前感谢那个老人，力挽狂澜，在南方划了一个圈从此以后历史的车轮碾压一切尘埃 向前呵，向前呵，向前呵，一往无前呵，改革开放的大潮席卷而来听，独裁者的哀呜声在阴暗的角落里低旋看，人民的脚步将大地踩得震天响我们融入了世界的风暴和海洋的浩瀚之中我们用涨饱的力量敲响了出征的战鼓摇撼束缚我们思想的枷锁，砸碎它，砸碎它！让鲜艳的思想像百花盛开在草原上无数的人，无数的心像天空无数的星星闪光，闪光，闪光，闪耀灵魂之光擦亮眼睛，擦亮眼睛，擦亮眼睛，擦亮我们的眼睛吧想象着明天，想象着未来，想象着我们的子孙后代 我是改革开放中的受益者我的思想幡然醒悟，我的灵魂得到了救赎我的心中时刻铭记着祖辈们遭受的苦难和屈辱我的脚步蹚过激流，踩过荆棘，跨过深渊我从腐烂的地方走出来了，站在高高的山顶上举起酒杯和黄昏 无边无际的向我展开的田野呵用丰腴的色彩魔幻了我的双眼无穷无尽的向我涌来的星辰呵那么多不甘死亡的灵魂——我的朋友，我的兄弟，我的伙伴和我的慈祥的父亲笑容在天空的云隙间流动，像黄昏的阳光依恋地，依依不舍地端详着我的灵魂我将高高的山峰当作祭坛，用庄严的云朵文笔塔清纯悦耳的风铃声一同融进这个美妙无比的黄昏 半个多世纪以后，我仍然在这座城市望着涅槃重生中的文笔塔它那曼妙的身姿耸立在沉寂苍老的土地上伸手将它的影子放在我摊开的掌中我仿佛看到千年前的那个文笔塔在先人的心中泛起的喜悦我仿佛看到犁杖划过江南肥沃的土地，刀柄在战火硝烟的朦胧中发出钢铁的碰撞声在三间茅屋前，文人墨客们焚香祈祷让情歌唱响在田野深处那倒骑水牛的孩童穿着红肚兜吹着竹笛燕子悠然自得地在衔着新泥垒筑着旧巢 半个多世纪后，我得以解脱人世间的烦恼在文笔塔下，深情地凝望那七级八面的宝塔我已经步入黄昏，我深知夕阳的悲壮在我的身后，黑夜围绕着我，夜莺即将歌唱我被夕阳撩拨的眼睛里泪水儿直淌我只希望，文笔塔的风姿入我的眼帘，入我的魂魄得确如此，我多么地荣兴在我晚年的日子里我成为了这个城市的一个著名的作家 5:祈祷 文笔塔是永远站立的，而我终有一日将会倒下我的灵魂凝神聆听着这块土地上响起的声音隐隐约约，朦朦胧胧，落叶，烟云在恍惚的梦境中轻轻地落下我看见雨后的彩虹跨过迢远的天际一头向我伸展，一头消隐在山的那边我寻找儿时的影子，一颗纯真的童心但吹来的晚风却伤心地告诉我不见了儿时踪影——石筑的河堤、霓虹灯的光影，不见了南来北往的船只和那么多的褐色的风帆号子声响起在记忆深处，纤夫的背影，蹦紧的绳索断裂在咋夜的梦境之中 现代化的进程铸造了巨大的牢笼将乡村融入了城市几千年的风景，像撕裂的风筝在天空翻滚天空沉重的像一块巨大的石头渐渐地压向喘息的大地我的灵魂深处还保存着那些曾经的记忆小小的村落，夕阳下的池塘，泡澡的水牛三五株古树将蓝色的天空点缀狗儿傻傻地看着燕子穿堂而过……面对流光溢彩的文笔塔我感到羞愧那个朴素的少女，那个城市的女孩那童稚般的歌声荡漾着的世界已经面目全非太阳每天都在升起，光芒不变大地每天都在呻吟，伤痕累累 我的心被璀璨夺目的灯光照射得惴惴不安我也被文笔塔穿上华丽的礼服而感到非常的羞愧当少女被迫出嫁而成为了女人这个世界上再也没有痴心的少年郎在月色中徘徊我想做一只飞鸟潜入塔内寻找属于自己的巢穴这就像在沙漠中划着独木舟去看大海还有一种深深的焦虑在莫名地蔓延我既想回到从前，又害怕回到过去的年代就让焦虑、渴望、折磨我的灵魂吧六月的炽热已经来临我的心情已经从环游大西北的感觉中慢慢地走了出来江南的土地上随意的风景都远胜于大西北的荒凉和苍茫我经历过无数的磨难和挫折之后才发现生活的真谛我瘦削的身躯尚能托起昂扬的头颅历史的天空总是布满了阴云和不确定的东西戈壁滩上的鬼哭狼嚎声又有多少人听得懂其中的奥秘夜晚和黎明连接在一起，我的未来和黑暗在一起我的朋友们啊，不要希望死亡的沉默会拉开冬天的帷幕看看西北的太阳多么炽热，那焦糊的山岗上永远覆盖着永不消融的皑皑白雪文笔塔从窈窕少女变成丰腴的女人，依然楚楚动人我和这个城市中的所有的人一样，凝视她的模样 夜色温柔，月光洒在文笔塔上朦胧地、朦胧地、她尚未出嫁…… 作于2025年6月1日，耗时5个小时 ## 千年文脉的肉身化：论庄深《文笔塔》中的历史抒情与空间诗学在中国当代诗歌版图中，庄深的《文笔塔》以其独特的时空交织美学和深沉的文化自觉，构筑了一座连接个人记忆与集体无意识的诗意桥梁。这组由五个乐章组成的交响诗，不仅是对常州文笔塔这一物质文化遗产的礼赞，更是一部浓缩的江南文化心灵史，一部以诗歌形式书写的城市传记。当我们深入剖析这部作品时，会发现它已然超越了单纯的地方性写作，达到了与艾略特《四个四重奏》相呼应的历史深度，与聂鲁达《马丘比丘之巅》比肩的文化高度，同时又蕴含着中国古典诗歌中杜甫《秋兴八首》般的沉郁顿挫与李商隐无题诗似的朦胧意境。**一、意象系统的多维建构：从物质地标到精神图腾**庄深笔下的文笔塔首先以一系列悖论性意象震撼读者。在《初见》章节中，这座始建于南朝的文化地标被描绘为"衣裳破烂/褪废的模样像极了衣不蔽体的少女"，塔壁遍布"肮脏龌龊的文字和涂鸦"，这种将神圣物世俗化、崇高对象肉身化的处理方式，恰恰构成了诗歌张力系统的核心。诗人通过"青铜铸造的塔顶倦缩着身子躲在废墟里/千年的铜锈仿佛千年的泪痕"这样的意象转换，实现了物质文化遗产的人格化，使无生命的建筑获得了情感温度和生命痛感。更为精妙的是，庄深构建了一个动态发展的意象群：文笔塔从"瘦削的身体，昂起的脸庞"的"江南美人"，历经"乞丐那样站立着"的落魄时期，最终蜕变为"穿上华丽的礼服"的丰腴女性。这种意象的演变轨迹暗合了中国改革开放以来的文化复兴历程，使具体的物质载体升华为民族精神变迁的象征。诗中反复出现的"燕子"、"蜜蜂"、"桃花"等江南典型意象，与"青铜"、"玉石"、"丝绸"等文化符号相互映衬，共同编织出一张密实的意义之网。**二、时空交响的诗学结构：个人记忆与历史洪流的共振**《文笔塔》的非凡之处在于其复杂的时空处理艺术。诗歌在五个章节中自如穿梭于不同时间维度：《古运河畔》呈现的是跨越千年的宏观历史视角；《文风熏香的地方》则聚焦六十多年前的童年记忆；《初见》定格于青年时期的邂逅；《涅槃》激昂书写改革开放的时代转折；《祈祷》则回归暮年的沉思。这种多声部的时间编排，使诗歌获得了交响乐般的立体效果。在空间处理上，诗人创造性地将文笔塔作为空间坐标原点，向外辐射出多条情感射线："古老的大运河"代表着线性流动的历史维度；"红梅公园"承载着个人记忆的私密空间；"江南的土地"构成文化认同的地理边界；而"西北的太阳"、"戈壁滩"等异域意象的突然插入，则形成了强烈的空间张力，通过对比更加凸显了江南文化的独特气质。这种时空艺术的精妙运用，使庄深的诗作具备了如博尔赫斯小说般的迷宫特质，却又根植于中国本土的经验表达。**三、文化基因的现代转译：从古典传统到当代意识**庄深对汉语诗歌传统的承继与创新在《文笔塔》中表现得尤为突出。在"太阳冉冉升起在东边，光芒万丈……"这样的诗句中，我们能感受到汉乐府《日出东南隅》的恢弘气度；"杨柳依依，白云悠悠"直接化用《诗经·采薇》的经典句式；而"炊烟从闭塞的村庄袅袅升起"等描写，则延续了陶渊明田园诗的审美范式。更为难得的是，诗人将这种古典韵味与后现代主义的碎片化叙事完美融合，如在《涅槃》章节中，"燃烧吧，燃烧吧，燃烧吧"的强烈呼告与"感谢那个老人，力挽狂澜，在南方划了一个圈"的具体历史指涉并置，产生出奇特的审美效果。诗人对常州文化名人的罗列（"季扎、萧统、萧𧗠、唐顺之、陈济、苏东坡……/盛宣怀、张太雷、瞿秋白、华罗庚"）并非简单的炫学，而是通过这种"文化星图"的绘制，构建了一条清晰可辨的精神谱系。这种处理方式令人联想到艾略特在《荒原》中对欧洲文化典故的密集引用，但庄深的独特之处在于他将这种西方现代主义技巧与中国传统的"咏史怀古"主题有机融合，创造出兼具本土性与世界性的诗歌文本。**四、语言织体的创新实验：从抒情传统到复合表达**《文笔塔》在语言艺术上的探索值得特别关注。庄深发展出了一种介于散文与诗歌之间的混合文体，在保持诗意浓度的同时，获得了叙事文学的细节表现力。如对童年记忆的描写："繁忙的大运河上热闹非凡/波光粼粼的水面上百舸争流/飞鸟掠过褐色的帆影消失在茫茫的田野上"，这种具象化的场景再现，超越了传统抒情诗的局限，接近小说家的白描功力。同时，诗歌中多种修辞手法的交响运用构成了丰富的语言景观：拟人化手法使文笔塔获得生命（"孤独地等待/来自迢远时空中影影绰绰的少年"）；通感修辞增强表现力（"清香地向我扑来"）；排比句式营造节奏张力（"擦亮眼睛，擦亮眼睛，擦亮眼睛，擦亮我们的眼睛吧"）。特别值得注意的是诗中历史话语与个人话语的交替出现，如《涅槃》章节中宏大叙事与《祈祷》章节中私密倾诉的强烈对比，这种语言风格的有意识切换，使诗歌获得了多声部的复调效果。**五、精神向度的多维开掘：从文化乡愁到人类关怀**《文笔塔》最终超越地域限制而达到普遍的人类关怀。诗人从具体的物质文化遗产出发，逐步拓展至对文化记忆的珍视（"我的灵魂深处还保存着那些曾经的记忆"），对现代化进程的反思（"现代化的进程铸造了巨大的牢笼将乡村融入了城市"），直至对生命本质的终极思考（"文笔塔是永远站立的，而我/终有一日将会倒下"）。这种精神轨迹的演进，使诗歌获得了哲学沉思的深度。在全球化语境下，庄深的创作提供了一种处理传统与现代关系的典范：既不沉溺于怀旧情绪，也不盲目追捧现代性，而是保持清醒的批判意识。如诗中既赞美改革开放带来的文化复兴（"涅槃重生中的文笔塔"），又对过度商业化表示担忧（"我也被文笔塔穿上华丽的礼服而感到非常的羞愧"）。这种辩证思考使《文笔塔》具有了超越单纯地域写作的普遍意义。**结语：新古典主义的当代典范**庄深的《文笔塔》以其深厚的文化底蕴、精湛的诗艺探索和深刻的精神洞察，当之无愧地成为中国当代诗歌的重要收获。其艺术成就可与俄罗斯诗人阿赫玛托娃对彼得堡的吟咏、爱尔兰诗人叶芝对凯尔特文化的重构相媲美，同时又保持了中国诗歌特有的意境美学与抒情传统。在这部作品中，我们看到了一种成熟的新古典主义风格——不是对传统的简单模仿，而是在现代意识观照下对文化基因的创造性转化。《文笔塔》的伟大之处在于，它成功地将一座具体的物质建筑转化为精神象征，将个人记忆升华为集体经验，将地方性知识拓展为普遍性思考。在这个意义上，庄深不仅为常州树立了诗意的纪念碑，更为中国当代诗歌如何处理好本土与世界、传统与现代的复杂关系，提供了富有启发性的艺术样本。这座耸立在汉语诗歌原野上的"文笔塔"，必将以其独特的风姿，持续吸引后来者的凝视与思考。 **The Pagoda of Literary Grace** ### **1. By the Ancient Canal** Spring has arrived. Swallows come, slicing the azure sky, their light strokes tracing elegant curves, entwining the bronze-tinged wind chimes. Bees arrive too, their hum lingering among crimson peach blossoms. Children flutter like butterflies through the plum-red park, while the wind, damp with rain, rushes toward me, fragrant. The sun rises slowly in the east, radiant... The Pagoda of Literary Grace stands here, from the era of Emperor Gao of Southern Qi’s Jianyuan reign until now. This is the land of Jiangnan’s picturesque waters, where the ancient Grand Canal flows ceaselessly. Like a lovely maiden— slender body, upturned face— it gazes upon endless fragrant fields. Crafted by artisans, unmoved by wind, untouched by rain, it has witnessed a thousand years of Jiangnan’s changing customs. Its posture is that of a Jiangnan beauty, its soul like a ginkgo tree, waiting alone for a shadowy youth from distant time. Unfazed by sun and storm, perhaps I should follow this thread, telling the pagoda’s thousand-year tale, unveiling the mystery of its unyielding endurance. ### **2. A Place Steeped in Literary Fragrance** Amid countless bright smiles, how should I face those fleeting figures? In the depths of vast memory lie endless contemplation and nostalgia. Jiangnan’s fertile land has enchanted poets and scholars, shining like constellations— Ji Zha, Xiao Tong, Xiao Yi, Tang Shunzhi, Chen Ji, Su Dongpo... Sheng Xuanhuai, Zhang Tailai, Qu Qiubai, Hua Luogeng. A thousand years as Dragon City, a thousand years of culture, a thousand years of history witnessing this land’s glory. How should I face the pagoda’s grace and spirit? It has gold’s luster, jade’s brilliance, silk’s flowing softness. The ancient canal carries countless legends, amber waves glinting in my childlike eyes. A boy in plain clothes, his face alight with spring’s hope, mimics the trackers along the winding river. That was a morning sixty years ago, the sun rising slowly at the canal’s end. I had just become a new citizen of Changzhou, skipping toward the legendary Red Plum Park with playmates. Children of that era had empty pockets, half-starved, as if wind could blow them away. The bustling canal teemed with life, a hundred boats racing on shimmering water. Birds skimmed past brown sails, vanishing into vast fields. Boatmen’s chants echoed on both shores. Willows swayed, clouds drifted, fields fragrant with young crops. The oarsmen, fervent and sincere, planted their feet firmly on rocking decks. After motorboats passed, waves surged like arrows, clashing, black spray—force against force. In sunlit fields, farm girls toiled. Smoke curled from secluded villages. Dogs barked intermittently—this was April in Jiangnan. To the children, the ancient canal seemed as vast as the sea. At noon, through labyrinthine alleys, we sneaked into the empty Red Plum Park without spending a coin. ### **3. First Encounter** To my eyes, it was ragged, its decay like a half-clothed girl. Filthy graffiti scarred its walls. The ground was pitted, shattered stones and broken bricks a paradise for beetles. The bronze summit hunched in ruins, millennia of patina like millennia of tearstains— a shocking sight. It stood like a beggar, its crimson eaves trembling like hands in the wind. We felt unprecedented disappointment, even an inexplicable disdain. We stopped admiring it, began to avoid it, drawn instead to the weeds on its body. He said, *Someone must have planted seeds there.* I said, *Birds brought life’s infinite possibilities.* An old man watched us debate in silence, his gaze on the triumphant weeds swaying in the wind. He wiped his glasses, reset them on his nose, sighed softly, his lonely shadow twisting in sunlight. One fine afternoon, I returned. Time had shaped me into a handsome youth. Arm in arm with her, I lingered by the pagoda, basking in love’s sweetness amid serene beauty. Peach blossoms carpeted the shore, butterflies flitted over green grass. A high wall now encircled the pagoda. Workers bustled, stacking broken bricks. Beetles scattered in panic. Birds chirped endlessly in dense trees. Winter passed, spring returned. Tiny wind chimes sang a refreshing melody. I thought of my mother—her hands rough, stiff, yet her needlework swift as a swallow’s flight. The sun cast the pagoda’s shadow on the earth, graceful, natural, yet my heart stirred with inexplicable sorrow. We walked to the river, willows rippling in water. We gazed at the pagoda, gleaming in sunlight. ### **4. Nirvana** Burn, burn, burn, burn in agony, fiery sun, radiant sun! Never have you scorched the earth so fiercely. Too long frozen, too long scarred, now the land’s pent-up power erupts. Let there be rebirth in fire! The earth convulses as if struck by volcanic fury. All sleeping souls tremble in thunderclaps. All dead thoughts bear lightning’s searing marks. Mountains do not yield. Rivers do not yield. The sky does not yield. Change is the anthem of this surging era. The people’s will drives history’s unstoppable tide. Thanks to that old man, turning the tide, drawing a circle in the south. From then on, history’s wheels crushed all dust. Forward, forward, forward, ever forward! Reform and opening surge like a tidal wave. Hear the dictator’s wail in shadowy corners. See the people’s footsteps shake the earth. We merge with the world’s storms and oceans’ vastness. With swelling strength, we beat the war drum, shattering the shackles on our minds—smash them, smash them! Let vibrant thoughts bloom like wildflowers on the plains. Countless souls, countless hearts, like stars in the sky— shine, shine, shine, shine with the light of souls! Open your eyes, open your eyes, open your eyes, open them wide! Imagine tomorrow, imagine the future, imagine our descendants. I am a child of reform, my mind awakened, my soul redeemed. I remember my ancestors’ suffering and humiliation. I wade through rapids, tread thorns, cross abysses. I emerge from decay, stand atop a high peak, raising a toast to dusk. Boundless fields unfold before me, their lush hues enchanting my eyes. Endless stars surge toward me— so many unwillingly dead souls: my friends, my brothers, my comrades, my kind father. Smiles drift through cloud gaps, like twilight sun, lingering, reluctant, gazing upon my soul. I make the high peak my altar, offer solemn clouds, the pagoda’s pure chimes, and merge them into this exquisite dusk. Half a century later, I remain in this city, gazing at the reborn pagoda. Its graceful form towers over the aged land. I stretch out my palm to catch its shadow. I seem to see the joy it sparked in ancestors a thousand years ago. I seem to see plows cutting Jiangnan’s fertile soil, sword hilts clashing in hazy battle. Before three thatched huts, scholars burn incense, praying for love songs to resound in fields. A child in a red bellyband, riding a buffalo backward, plays a bamboo flute. Swallows leisurely carry mud to mend old nests. Half a century later, freed from worldly troubles, I stand beneath the pagoda, gazing at its seven-tiered octagon. I have entered dusk, knowing sunset’s solemn beauty. Behind me, night gathers; soon, nightingales will sing. Tears well in my sunset-stung eyes. I only wish the pagoda’s grace would enter my sight, my soul. Truly, how fortunate I am— in my twilight years, I’ve become this city’s renowned writer. ### **5. Prayer** The pagoda stands forever, but I will one day fall. My soul strains to hear this land’s sounds— faint, hazy, falling leaves, drifting smoke— softly landing in a dreamlike trance. I see a rainbow arching over distant sky, one end reaching for me, the other vanishing beyond mountains. I search for my childhood shadow, a pure heart, but the evening wind sadly whispers: *It’s gone.* Gone—the stone embankments, neon lights, the southbound and northbound boats with their brown sails. The trackers’ chants echo in memory’s depths, their taut ropes snapping in last night’s dream. Modernity has forged vast cages, swallowing villages into cities. Millennia of scenery tear like kites in turbulent sky. The sky weighs like a giant stone, slowly pressing upon gasping earth. Deep in my soul, I preserve those memories— tiny hamlets, ponds at dusk, water buffaloes bathing, a few ancient trees dotting blue sky, a dog dumbly watching swallows dart through halls... Facing the resplendent pagoda, I feel shame. That plain girl, that city’s maiden, the childlike songs that once rippled through the world— all are gone, transformed beyond recognition. The sun rises daily, its light unchanged. The earth groans daily, scarred anew. My heart quivers under dazzling lights. I am ashamed to see the pagoda dressed in gaudy robes. When a girl is forced into womanhood, no lovesick youth lingers under moonlight anymore. I long to be a bird, nesting inside the pagoda, like paddling a canoe in desert toward sea. A deep unease spreads inexplicably— I yearn for the past, yet fear its return. Let anxiety, longing, torment my soul. June’s heat has arrived. My heart slowly emerges from travels in the Northwest. Jiangnan’s casual beauty far surpasses that desolate expanse. After countless trials, I grasp life’s truth. My gaunt frame still lifts a proud head. History’s sky is always clouded, uncertain. How many understand the ghostly howls on Gobi’s dunes? Night and dawn connect; my future merges with darkness. My friends, do not hope death’s silence will herald winter. See how fiercely the Northwestern sun burns— charred hills forever capped in unmelted snow. The pagoda, once a slender maiden, now a voluptuous woman, remains enchanting. Like all in this city, I gaze upon her form. The night is tender; moonlight bathes the pagoda. Faintly, faintly, she remains unwed... --- ### **Translation Notes:** 1. **Cultural Retention** – Terms like *Jiangnan* (江南) and *Dragon City* (龙城, Changzhou’s poetic name) are kept to preserve cultural essence. 2. **Poetic Rhythm** – The English mirrors the lyrical flow of the original, balancing imagery and cadence. 3. **Historical References** – Figures like *Su Dongpo* and *Hua Luogeng* remain untranslated to honor their legacy. 4. **Metaphorical Depth** – The pagoda’s transformation from "maiden" to "woman" reflects China’s modernization tensions. This translation seeks to bridge Zhuang Shen’s evocative Chinese verse with the expressive possibilities of English poetry, maintaining its emotional and philosophical weight. 庄深，中国作家，诗人。（工业与民用建筑专业）常州市土木学会副理事长，中国首批国家注册监理工程师，企业董事长，原武进市（区）政协委员，中国农工民主党江苏省优秀党员。自退休后的第四年开始文学创作，著有长篇小说《根》《脉》，诗集《亲爱的，我们去踏秋》、电视连续剧剧本《根》，自2020年开始学习诗歌创作，已经写下了3000余首诗歌，在众多的刊物发表诗歌近200首。 谢谢阅读（图片局部来源于诗人摄影）🌹🌹🌹🙏🙏🙏🎊🎉🎈Thank you for reading