英译杜绿绿诗两首

Many Years Later

Trees redden outside my window, tomorrow autumn will end. The wind makes the last fine view shiver and my heart low.

Long travels make me pine away. Seeing falling leaves drift gives no joy.

I’m not standing under any trees. Banishing the self to chaos is a virtue one is unable to explain.

Let’s glaze the landscape, bring clarity back to the clear and sublimate the glassy crystal into mist to caress the dying

red leaves.

Great Fog

He in a light-colored coat walked on an unknown foggy day. In a random direction. Where to go didn't matter, he didn't care. He walked past the ash trees when he remembered an ash wood casket is better than one made of pine or cypress.

Wanting to cut one for himself, he quickened his steps. The shops along the street were closed and the chainsaw was in a show window. He looked at it for a moment (with a Cezannean gaze), sketched its serrations in his eyes, then turned and walked on.

Obviously, the fog fell upon him only. He walked for a long time, yet saw no human nor a dog.

Before leaving the street, he hugged the nearest ash tree and imagined himself turning into a live chainsaw.

Just a chainsaw. Neither a dog, nor another person.