Old Village Dreams
There are two sounds in the little village Both equally lonesome: The fortune teller’s gong in the daytime, And the watchman’s rattle at night.
Unable to shatter their slumber, the blind man walks upon the street as if dreaming himself, one step after the other. He knows what brick is lower, which cobblestone is raised, what age is which family’s daughter.
After shattering their sleep, the watchman walks upon the street as if dreaming himself, one step after the other. He knows which brick is lower, what cobblestone is raised, which house has the door closed tightest.
“It’s past midnight, hark, father wherever you are, your babe is keeping others awake, always crying in his dreams, how ‘bout getting his fortune told tomorrow?”
It is late night, and also the crisp afternoon: the rattler crosses the bridge, the gonger follows, the stream under trickles without cease.
-Forest of Jade
古镇上有两种声音 一样的寂寥： 白天是算命锣， 夜里是梆子。
敲不破别人的梦， 做着梦似的 瞎子在街上走， 一步又一步。 他知道哪一块石头低， 哪一块石头高， 哪一家姑娘有多大年纪。
敲沉了别人的梦， 做着梦似的 更夫在街上走， 一步又一步。 他知道哪一块石头低， 哪一块石头高， 哪一家门户关得最严密
“三更了，你听哪， 毛儿的爸爸， 这小子吵得人睡不成觉， 老在梦里哭， 明天替他算算命吧？”
是深夜， 又是清冷的下午： 敲梆的过桥， 敲锣的又过桥， 不断的是桥下流水的声音。
-卞之琳
