A Cold December Night

A Cold December Night

Mu Dan, 1941

tr. Huiwen Zhang, 2010

A cold December night, the wind sweeps the northern plains,

The northern fields wither; wheat and corn are wheeled into the village,

Months and years end, mules and oxen fall asleep, the river outside the village freezes,

On the ancient road, amid the field’s crossing patterns, a lamp sparkles,

A thick, wrinkled face,

Thinking what? Doing what?

On this trusted road, pressed to death under the groaning wheels.

The wind blows to the east, the wind blows to the south, the wind swirls over the sunken narrow streets,

The paper pane of the wooden lattice window piled with sand, we sleep calmly under the muddy grass roof,

Whose boy is crying out in fear? wa—wu—wu—, roof to roof,

He is about to grow up and, with time, just like us, lie down, just like us, snore

Roof to roof, the wind

So wide and months and years so long,

We cannot hear, we cannot hear.

Is the fire out? Is the red coal flame quenched? A voice:

Our ancestors are already asleep, somewhere close to us,

All the stories are already told, only ashes left behind,

In our disconsolate dreams, once they’ve come and gone,

At the gate those tired-out scythes,

Hoes, yokes, millstones, and carts

Quiet, treasuring snowflowers as they fall.