Original Chinese Version 4

The Graveyard on Penghu 1

/by Sejo Pan

Now we are done with dying.
Now we are living in oblivion.
On this island at the edge of the continent,
Our minds
More difficult to feel
Than the deep undercurrent in the ocean.

We are all putting down our roots.
With the spring breeze sweeping by
We stare seaward together.
Now we no longer have names
But our tombstones do.

After Ts'ing-Ming 2, we yearn for the rain and dew.
Then the wild chrysanthemums will bloom in the fields.
The mounds of grass, with their terrifying green
Have not frightened us for a long time. Still
We are sensitive enough to tell
How every night the moonlight is subtly different.

Already there is no such thing as loneliness,
No such thing as destiny.
After the heart died it escaped into the openness ÁV
Could be heaven, could be earth.
Now we have known it all.
We are living in waiting.

And every stormy winter night, this island is
Starless, godless, so unmoored.
The living need alcohol,
Need the warmth of flesh;
We have gotten used to the cold, we are just tired.
So the tides will rock the island like a cradle,
The wind will blow the tombstones like a sail,
Singing alone with the waves crashing the shore,
"Close your eyesØ go to sleepØ let goØ"
Now we have finally understood,
Every flowering of the waves is just in vain.

1. Or The Pescadores. A chain of islets in the Taiwan Strait, about midway between Taiwan and China.
2. The starting day of one of the twenty-four seasons of the lunar calendar. Also called Tomb-sweeping Day. It usually falls in April when the weather is turning warm and the rainy season starts in Taiwan.