英文诗歌野草（中英文双语诗歌我的丘陵）
英文诗歌野草（中英文双语诗歌我的丘陵）密集的区域隆起一丛活跃的汉字古老的亚洲板块彷如一部无言的史书某个章节断层，突然
我的丘陵，带有祖先的颜色（组诗）
文/音 岚（安徽）
大别山的余脉，向东延伸，便成了我高低起伏的分行文字。
——题记
古老的亚洲板块
彷如一部无言的史书
某个章节断层，突然
隆起一丛活跃的汉字
密集的区域
就是大别山
向东分行排列
便是我的丘陵
零散地 成了诗行
发表在当今的某个诗刊上
带有黄土的粘稠
和祖先沧桑的容颜
每个村落
就是一个标题
或者是一面旗帜
标明 这是我的版权
剽窃者 望而却步
我的丘陵
我的祖先 把沟壑纵横的皱纹
连同佝偻的背影
种在这里
不知从哪一辈开始
也不知这里属于哪个州县
我的祖先 用粗壮的胳膊
和原始的歌喉
在这片平平仄仄的黄土地上
匍匐 耕耘 牧歌
我是丘陵的儿子
除了忠诚于我的丘陵
我也学着祖先
用自己低沉的嗓子
写下一串文字
像脚下分水岭一样
排成行 向东延伸
一直漫延到远方
回归亚洲板块。
向大别山靠拢。
六安皖西大裂谷
小城 我用脚步丈量你的每一寸月光
大城市 月光显得胆怯
总有一些角落
丢在月光里
我的县城 是大城市的子民
勤勤恳恳
常在不太亮堂的夜晚
放出一束月光
彷如娘的针线
在我的贴心衬衣上镶边
一丝一缕 勾纳出
小城的模样
这样的情愫
适合慢慢地融合
于是，我用脚步
去丈量每一寸月光
一枚调皮的星子
落进路边摆摊女孩的口袋里
羞得女孩
低头数落月光的多情
趁着浅浅的月色
赶紧收摊
哦 小城
我用脚步
去丈量你的每一寸月光
用月光
去轻扣每一扇紧闭的心窗
又 到 插 秧 时
我的分水岭 每到这个季节
家家户户 就陆续进入农忙
从谷雨开始 一直到霜降。
青蒿 马儿菜 以及分水岭的植物们
纷纷攘攘 结满了一季的种子
此时 大板秧田的一丛丛秧苗
已蓊郁葱茏 就像等待出阁的邻家小妹
心思重重的样子
让宠护她的每一家农户
你追我赶地 又到插秧时
母亲 姐姐 甚至是每一个当家的男人
都是插秧的能手
女的也能犁田耙地 男的可弯腰撅屁股地插秧
而且 那行云流水的架势
比我写几行分行文字漂亮多了
母亲 把日子攥在手心里
把希望和青春 种在父亲刚刚平整好的水田里
姐姐 把长发挽起 美丽的容颜
在水田里激起朵朵涟漪
父亲 那一记响亮的牛鞭
在半空中绕了一圈
被一曲娴熟的口哨声截住 彷如
给埋头耙地的黑犍牛伴奏
一副忙忙碌碌的农耕图 瞬间
在我的分水岭铺展开来
而今 我的分水岭
再也找不出一只牛蹄印 耳畔
机声隆隆 淹没了祖辈们的刀耕火种
只有那面朝黄土背朝天的剪影
依旧叩拜匍匐在水田里
敏捷地布满整个五月
季节 只有在我的分水岭
才能显得棱角分明
城市里 季节更替在每个人的衣着上
甚至在姑娘们性感的口红里
只有在乡下 季节躺在黄土地上
在我的分水岭上
又到插秧时
你才能见到斗笠蓑衣
和那一片被蛙声隐去的一季春光
水田里 阿妈抬起头
笑眯眯地 看着被远远甩在前面的闺女
哦 我的分水岭
又到插秧时
My hills are ancestral colors.
Wen / Sound mist (Anhui)
the remaining pulse of the Dabie Mountains extends eastward and becomes the branch language of my ups and downs.
——Inscription
Ancient Asian plate
It's like a silent history book.
A chapter a fault suddenly
An active Chinese character.
Intensive area
The Dabie Mountains.
Arrange East Branch
It's my hill.
Scattered into poetry.
Published in a contemporary poetry magazine.
Sticky loess
The face of ancestors and vicissitudes
Banjar
It's a title.
Or a flag.
This is my copyright.
Plagiarism flinch.
My hills
Rivers and forests
Sunset and birdsong
Wetlands with luxuriant grass
There are winding hills.
Or a ballad full of light dust.
My ancestors had wrinkled ravines.
With the back of the rickets.
It's here.
I don't know which generation to start.
I don't know which county it belongs to.
My ancestors used strong arms.
And the original singing voice.
On this flat loess land
Creeping tillage pastoral songs
I am the son of the hill.
Except for my hills
I also learned my ancestors.
With his low voice
Write down a string of characters.
Like a watershed at the foot.
Rows of rows extend eastward.
It has been spreading far away.
Return to the Asian plate.
Close to the Dabie Mountains.
Small town I measured every inch of moonlight with your footsteps.
Moonlight in big cities looks timid.
There are always some corners.
Lost in the moonlight
My county town is the people of big cities.
Work diligently and conscientiously
Often in a rather bright night.
Let out a beam of moonlight.
Like a mother's needle and thread
Frill on my intimate shirt.
A hint of thread came out.
The appearance of a small town
Such feelings
Suitable for gradual integration
So I use my footsteps.
To measure every inch of moonlight.
A naughty star
Fall into the roadside stall the girl's pocket.
A girl with shame
Bow down the moonlight
Taking advantage of the shallow moonlight
Hurry up
Oh little town
I use my footsteps
To measure every inch of your moon
Use the moonlight
To fasten every tightly closed heart window.
When I was planting rice again
My watershed every season.
Every household entered the busy farming season one after another.
From grain rain to frost.
Artemisia and horse food and the plants in the watershed.
The seeds were full of seeds.
At this time a bunch of seedlings on the big plate seedling field.
It's like a neighbor's little sister waiting to go out.
A heavy heart
Let every household care for her.
Catching up with each other and going to transplanting rice seedlings
Mother sister and even every man in charge.
They are all experts in transplanting rice seedlings.
Women can plow their fields and harrow men.
And the calm and flowing attitude.
It's much better than writing a few lines of text.
Mother holds her days in her hands.
Hope and youth are planted in the paddy field that father has just completed.
My sister put up her long hair to make her face look beautiful.
Ripples in the paddy field
Father's loud bullwhip
Circled around in mid air.
Intercepted by a skilled whistle.
To accompany a black Bullock with a rake in the ground.
A busy farming schedule.
Spread out in my watershed
Now my watershed
I can never find another cow's ear.
The sound of the machine drowned the slash and burn of our forefathers.
Only the silhouette of the Loess facing the sky.
Still kowtow and crawl in the paddy field.
Agile throughout the May.
The season is only in my watershed.
It can be seen clearly.
The seasons in cities change on everyone's clothes.
Even in girls' sexy lipsticks.
Only in the countryside season lying on the loess ground.
On my watershed
When I was planting rice again
You can see the raincoat.
And a season of spring away from the frog's voice.
In the paddy field aunt looked up.
Smiling at the girl who was left far behind.
Oh my watershed.
When I was planting rice again
Editor in chief: Zhang Tonghui
作者简介
音岚，男，微名老鹰。肥东县。中学时代开始诗歌写作，早年有散文和诗歌作品散见于安徽人民广播电台、《新华日报》副刊、《合肥晚报》副刊、《黄河诗报》、民办《淮风》诗刊、《镇江日报》副刊等媒体，近期作品多活跃于纯文学网落微刊。崇尚简约，喜欢在走心的文字里浅吟凝眸，喜欢在淡淡的墨香里临砚读贴。个人诗观:朴素地生长，朴素地和世界对话。
