北岛·《古寺》英译

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Bei Dao

Faded chimes

Woven into cobwebs

       through the columns’ crevices,

Have proliferated into innumerable year-rings

Without memories, the stones

Transmit echoes in the valley;

The stones are without memories.

When the footpath wound away from here

The dragons and strange birds also flew,

Bearing the mute bells from the eaves

The weeds grow year by year,

Indifferent, careless whether they submit

To monks’ cloth shoes

Or the wind.

The broken steles and their worn legends

Are decipherable as if only in a consuming fire.

perhaps a glance from the living will bring

The turtles back to life

And, bearing their heavy load of secrets,

They will crawl out across the threshold.