translated by deepseek from 鱼水之欢—爱情序章☆巫山云雨—生命礼赞
https://goofegg.github.io/content.html?id=629
Poems of Carnal Joy - A Love Prologue
by goofegg
1
Whenever your fingers casually glide across my body,
It's like a meteor trailing brilliant flames across the sky—
That radiance, distant yet yearned for, spreads over me,
And my nerves unfurl, following each of your gentle caresses.
I am drunk on your tender touch and answer with my warmth;
The frenzy in my heart is like roaring, churning lava.
I fondle your meadows and your silken hills,
While my swelling volcano yearns to fill your ravines.
Each time we entwine, I treat it as a pilgrimage—
Our bodies fit as mountains pressing upon mountains.
I am spellbound by your gentle gaze and the tight, warm clasp—
There, in your sanctuary at the world's core, I grow dizzy.
Watching you, lost in rapture, your jaw clenched tight,
You bite me fiercely, with tremors that never cease;
Suddenly your eyes flash with light, then grow bewildered—
You melt like honey, pouring over my vast highlands.
December 3, 2021
2
Ah, your heat pours down on me like sweet rain,
Slowly seeping, eroding the highest peak ringed by mountains.
Magma surges in waves as the earth convulses violently—
I want to thrust you swiftly toward the higher clouds.
You sprawl upon me, already drunk, like a limp curtain;
Your eyes closed, breath soft and slow, yet my greed knows no rest.
You let me manipulate you, turning you with care—
You are the earth, and I gaze down on this exquisite scroll.
I cup your cheeks in both palms and stare into your eyes with depth;
Where my hands pass, you shiver and twitch gently.
I love you, my goddess—your forest leading to the source of life,
And your fertile bounty, the scars left by our children.
You lie flat, resisting weakly, yet awaiting my invasion—
Again I slip in smoothly, soul against soul.
Two great mountains embrace once more, leaving no crevice,
Now slow, now fierce, awaiting our shared ecstasy.
December 4, 2021
3
Ah, what sound echoes through our mountains and rivers?
Is it my drill bit pounding in your mine shaft?
I dive deep, longing to reach your very core—
You shrink back, then meet my next thrust.
We grind against each other, wanting to melt completely,
To absorb each other through every pore—
Not only our bodies, but our souls as well;
The whole world drowns, as if only you and I remain.
What kind of sea is that, carrying me as I swim through?
I am like a small boat, feeling the jolt of your waves;
Your surf pounds my hull, lifting and dropping me,
Suddenly hurling me from the deep valley to the peak.
I revel in the surge that makes me dizzy and breathless;
Your gentle current is like a vortex at the sea's heart—
No matter how fiercely I press, you take me deep;
Your spiral center drags me down and swallows me in.
Suddenly I tremble, as if crossing time and space—
In that instant, everything comes to a standstill.
The vortex dissolves, and the seawater heaves me up;
Your rising tide climbs like a highland swelling fast.
Ah, you rolling sea, you spirit of the deep—
Your wet, phantom body swiftly boards my deck;
In bewilderment, I find you have become my passenger,
And together we race toward the sea of stars.
Like a planet's birth, yet with power to destroy,
We cling tight, two flying fish fleeing the waves;
Bursting hot seawater and magma assail us both—
I flare with greater fire, to pierce the atmospheric barrier.
Our pores open, breathing in one shared rhythm;
Our ears catch the wind we jointly blow;
Our heat fuses, moistening cloud-crystals into rain;
Our lightning flashes freely as we pierce the clouds.
The sky's turbulence matches our bodies' wild tremors—
My firmness, your delicacy, intertwined against separation;
We break free of gravity, thanks to our united force—
It's your joyful cries and murmurs, answering me from within.
Freed from the bond of gravity, we drift through the cosmos—
The vast silence, with only our breath and whispers;
The tide slowly ebbs, the waves gradually calm;
A golden eagle cries and circles the gilded peak emerging from the tide.
In a daze, once this world held only you and me in endless love—
No moral fetters between spouses, but the highest bliss;
Like a rocket shedding its useless weight as it rises,
Only then can our flesh and souls entwine unhindered.
The receding tide washes the world like a baptism;
Though weary, our eyes still mirror each other's glow;
From the mortal realm, the sacred temple bells toll again—
And we, full of anticipation, book our next pilgrimage.
June 15, 2022
4
Ah, now your body is so plump, your figure so graceful,
And my body can make you feel its strength and power.
Watching you tidy the house and bustle in the kitchen,
I want to wrap my arms around you from behind and offer myself to you.
With you, there is cleanliness, comfort, and warmth at home;
Even the children's mischief you bear with great patience.
The daily rush wears us both down with fatigue—
Only our sleeping bed cradles our bodies and souls.
As we slowly age, our flesh no longer full and rich,
No gentle stimulus can stir my body's urge;
Our rough hands caress each other's bodies with utmost tenderness—
Melancholy memories of the joy we once gave each other.
Our aging bodies still house fresh souls,
Each still bearing the startled heart of first sight.
I recall carrying you to bed after your bath, as if on pilgrimage—
Just like the homeland we return to at birth and death.
August 4, 2022
Poems of Cloud and Rain over Mount Wu - A Hymn to Life
by goofegg
1
What man does not dream of passion with his goddess?
What woman does not long for the one she admires to plow her field?
What happy life is not born of a parent's complete love?
All of this springs from that primal burst of creation.
Two spirits gave all their passion;
The world's most mysterious realm lit up warm in that instant—
The darkest, most hidden place gave birth to light,
Opening a door for the drifting soul in chaos to escape.
This gate of life and death opens through long or fleeting time—
Like magma wrapping rock, trying to fuse as one.
In those cracks, their friction unleashes lightning,
And provokes the walls to release more and hotter lava.
Like Mount Wu reaching the clouds, receiving rain's moisture—
It is not just rain, but a baptism of scalding magma.
In this topsy-turvy world, you are the sky covering me;
To your heat, I respond with even fiercer fire.
2
I am like a fully drawn bow, ready to loose the arrow—
Within the gate about to open, eager soldiers mass;
A billion souls gather in every swimming fish,
Waiting, when the birth-gate opens, to surge into the molten sea.
At the end of the lava lies a pure bud, waiting to bloom—
The aspiration of every soldier, every fish.
The pilgrimage toward it is brief yet endlessly long,
Littered with gulfs and ravines that bury bones.
It comes with earthquakes and tsunamis wrought by the creators—
Tides born from the gripping contractions of our ecstasy—
And multiple surges from the emptying of all we have;
Every wraith through the magma tunnel swims with all its might.
On that brief yet long journey, thanks to the creators' love,
The passage is especially smooth, the voyage fortunate.
A few lucky ones reach the pure one they long for—
She has waited quietly in her warm chamber all along.
3
How eagerly they explore around their beloved,
Fearing another may find the key to union first.
The bud's heart is ardent, yet reserved—for it opens but once—
Having itself endured a trial within the creatress's womb.
Mankind kindles torches in the darkest recesses to conceive light—
Starting from that tiny instant of opening and swift closing.
The pure, tender one opens her heart and shuts it fast—
Because she can take but one soul, she snips the tail.
The closing of the heart also seals the death of many suitors;
The lucky one is no longer free—becomes a captive prey.
He gladly offers himself to the factory awaiting his work,
For his pure one has likewise offered herself.
Though neither remains themselves, they were eager for this union—
The factory starts work the moment they come together.
Their creators do not know the linked chain of production—
A higher law guides the factory in making wondrous light.
Mysterious palace—every man's center of the world—
Unknowingly, such miracles occur beneath his toil.
The goddess with dazed eyes knows not her own body's change—
Still like waterweed, she clings to the drowning fish she loves.
That unborn ear may hear the roar and rumble of the waves,
Feel the friction of rock walls unleashing lava's eruption,
Sense its creator's impact on the palace gates,
And the tunnel's involuntary clench and the gate's opening.
The bud, having taken in its soul, splits and swells with haste,
Yet has not firmly nested in the womb to draw its nourishment.
The most wondrous union of man and woman is unforgettable—
All tragedy comes from such indulgence or ignorance.
All worldly happiness springs from the love of man and woman,
And from the responsibility of knowing that love's fruit begins.
Though the entering and receiving are sweeter than heaven, truly addictive,
Nothing surpasses the careful hope for their joint creation.
In those quiet days, they listen and wait together—
Though separated by membranes, they sense lively movement.
That joy is no less than hurling a boat from valley to sky;
Lying entwined, they still recall the weightless drift in space.
After implantation, the goddess and child share a stronger bond—
Two hearts pulse in mutual response through the same blood.
The poor soul who cast his seed, now outside, can only watch—
Guarding the tiny sprout as it draws nourishment and swells.
Lovely goddess—once so graceful, now greatly transformed—
Her taut belly now bulges wildly and sways, ready to fall;
The gate that rules life, death, and ecstasy has lost its appetite—
And the shocking stretch marks form prison-like bars.
The once pure flame within her womb now nurtures another fire;
Her once radiant face now sacrifices itself for another.
All this she willingly, from the heart, desires—
Both await the sunlight cradled in that gate of life and death.
4
Ah, poor soul—as much joy as before, now as much pain—
The same heavy sweat and weak convulsions mark this hour.
What was once received with wholehearted openness is now pushed out—
The narrow passage tears open a road for life's arrival.
What heart of stone would not be moved by this miracle?
Who would not pity this fragile one who so gladly sacrifices?
The greatest happiness is that he is there waiting—
And busily rekindles the ashes of this life-creating wonder.
Not every new fire burns quietly in a greenhouse,
With rich fare to make life's flame burn brighter.
How many ashes in this world relight for that new flame—
Even in deepest darkness and frailty, never yielding to the cold.
Whoever reads this—who was not once carefully nurtured?
Otherwise, how could they understand this miracle of creation?
Who is not ordinary, once the hoped-for light cradled in the womb?
They too can create and guard new light in the ordinary.
February 3, 2025
Afterword:
As a companion piece to the "Poems of Carnal Joy," this set has long been on my mind. After discovering the marvel of DeepSeek, I fed it the "Carnal Joy" poems and asked it to compose this "Cloud and Rain over Mount Wu" series. Though what DeepSeek produced was striking, it was not what I wanted. Seizing today, when my wife and children are away, with a whole day free, I wrote this set and added the subtitle "A Hymn to Life" to it, just as I added "A Love Prologue" to the earlier cycle.
I once wrote an essay on the highest realm of poetry. If I were to critique DeepSeek's version of "Cloud and Rain," I would say that—because it draws on humanity's collective knowledge, coupled with broad associations and leaps—it produced a work that by current standards many poets would consider superior. Yet it is not to my taste. Many contemporary poets excel in this style: they may begin with a grand blueprint, tear it into fragments, hurl them skyward, and then embed those fragments into their voluminous works. The weak connections between fragments invite free-floating associations.
I am not skilled in nor fond of this approach. I prefer to forge strong connections among fragments, presenting scenes and images with clearer definition.
This is not to say weak associations and indeterminate imagination are bad—who knows, perhaps I too may one day move toward that weaker path.
February 3, 2025
https://goofegg.github.io/content.html?id=678
translated by deepseek from 鱼水之欢—爱情序章☆巫山云雨—生命礼赞
https://goofegg.github.io/content.html?id=629
Poems of Carnal Joy - A Love Prologue
by goofegg
1
Whenever your fingers casually glide across my body,
It's like a meteor trailing brilliant flames across the sky—
That radiance, distant yet yearned for, spreads over me,
And my nerves unfurl, following each of your gentle caresses.
I am drunk on your tender touch and answer with my warmth;
The frenzy in my heart is like roaring, churning lava.
I fondle your meadows and your silken hills,
While my swelling volcano yearns to fill your ravines.
Each time we entwine, I treat it as a pilgrimage—
Our bodies fit as mountains pressing upon mountains.
I am spellbound by your gentle gaze and the tight, warm clasp—
There, in your sanctuary at the world's core, I grow dizzy.
Watching you, lost in rapture, your jaw clenched tight,
You bite me fiercely, with tremors that never cease;
Suddenly your eyes flash with light, then grow bewildered—
You melt like honey, pouring over my vast highlands.
December 3, 2021
2
Ah, your heat pours down on me like sweet rain,
Slowly seeping, eroding the highest peak ringed by mountains.
Magma surges in waves as the earth convulses violently—
I want to thrust you swiftly toward the higher clouds.
You sprawl upon me, already drunk, like a limp curtain;
Your eyes closed, breath soft and slow, yet my greed knows no rest.
You let me manipulate you, turning you with care—
You are the earth, and I gaze down on this exquisite scroll.
I cup your cheeks in both palms and stare into your eyes with depth;
Where my hands pass, you shiver and twitch gently.
I love you, my goddess—your forest leading to the source of life,
And your fertile bounty, the scars left by our children.
You lie flat, resisting weakly, yet awaiting my invasion—
Again I slip in smoothly, soul against soul.
Two great mountains embrace once more, leaving no crevice,
Now slow, now fierce, awaiting our shared ecstasy.
December 4, 2021
3
Ah, what sound echoes through our mountains and rivers?
Is it my drill bit pounding in your mine shaft?
I dive deep, longing to reach your very core—
You shrink back, then meet my next thrust.
We grind against each other, wanting to melt completely,
To absorb each other through every pore—
Not only our bodies, but our souls as well;
The whole world drowns, as if only you and I remain.
What kind of sea is that, carrying me as I swim through?
I am like a small boat, feeling the jolt of your waves;
Your surf pounds my hull, lifting and dropping me,
Suddenly hurling me from the deep valley to the peak.
I revel in the surge that makes me dizzy and breathless;
Your gentle current is like a vortex at the sea's heart—
No matter how fiercely I press, you take me deep;
Your spiral center drags me down and swallows me in.
Suddenly I tremble, as if crossing time and space—
In that instant, everything comes to a standstill.
The vortex dissolves, and the seawater heaves me up;
Your rising tide climbs like a highland swelling fast.
Ah, you rolling sea, you spirit of the deep—
Your wet, phantom body swiftly boards my deck;
In bewilderment, I find you have become my passenger,
And together we race toward the sea of stars.
Like a planet's birth, yet with power to destroy,
We cling tight, two flying fish fleeing the waves;
Bursting hot seawater and magma assail us both—
I flare with greater fire, to pierce the atmospheric barrier.
Our pores open, breathing in one shared rhythm;
Our ears catch the wind we jointly blow;
Our heat fuses, moistening cloud-crystals into rain;
Our lightning flashes freely as we pierce the clouds.
The sky's turbulence matches our bodies' wild tremors—
My firmness, your delicacy, intertwined against separation;
We break free of gravity, thanks to our united force—
It's your joyful cries and murmurs, answering me from within.
Freed from the bond of gravity, we drift through the cosmos—
The vast silence, with only our breath and whispers;
The tide slowly ebbs, the waves gradually calm;
A golden eagle cries and circles the gilded peak emerging from the tide.
In a daze, once this world held only you and me in endless love—
No moral fetters between spouses, but the highest bliss;
Like a rocket shedding its useless weight as it rises,
Only then can our flesh and souls entwine unhindered.
The receding tide washes the world like a baptism;
Though weary, our eyes still mirror each other's glow;
From the mortal realm, the sacred temple bells toll again—
And we, full of anticipation, book our next pilgrimage.
June 15, 2022
4
Ah, now your body is so plump, your figure so graceful,
And my body can make you feel its strength and power.
Watching you tidy the house and bustle in the kitchen,
I want to wrap my arms around you from behind and offer myself to you.
With you, there is cleanliness, comfort, and warmth at home;
Even the children's mischief you bear with great patience.
The daily rush wears us both down with fatigue—
Only our sleeping bed cradles our bodies and souls.
As we slowly age, our flesh no longer full and rich,
No gentle stimulus can stir my body's urge;
Our rough hands caress each other's bodies with utmost tenderness—
Melancholy memories of the joy we once gave each other.
Our aging bodies still house fresh souls,
Each still bearing the startled heart of first sight.
I recall carrying you to bed after your bath, as if on pilgrimage—
Just like the homeland we return to at birth and death.
August 4, 2022
Poems of Cloud and Rain over Mount Wu - A Hymn to Life
by goofegg
1
What man does not dream of passion with his goddess?
What woman does not long for the one she admires to plow her field?
What happy life is not born of a parent's complete love?
All of this springs from that primal burst of creation.
Two spirits gave all their passion;
The world's most mysterious realm lit up warm in that instant—
The darkest, most hidden place gave birth to light,
Opening a door for the drifting soul in chaos to escape.
This gate of life and death opens through long or fleeting time—
Like magma wrapping rock, trying to fuse as one.
In those cracks, their friction unleashes lightning,
And provokes the walls to release more and hotter lava.
Like Mount Wu reaching the clouds, receiving rain's moisture—
It is not just rain, but a baptism of scalding magma.
In this topsy-turvy world, you are the sky covering me;
To your heat, I respond with even fiercer fire.
2
I am like a fully drawn bow, ready to loose the arrow—
Within the gate about to open, eager soldiers mass;
A billion souls gather in every swimming fish,
Waiting, when the birth-gate opens, to surge into the molten sea.
At the end of the lava lies a pure bud, waiting to bloom—
The aspiration of every soldier, every fish.
The pilgrimage toward it is brief yet endlessly long,
Littered with gulfs and ravines that bury bones.
It comes with earthquakes and tsunamis wrought by the creators—
Tides born from the gripping contractions of our ecstasy—
And multiple surges from the emptying of all we have;
Every wraith through the magma tunnel swims with all its might.
On that brief yet long journey, thanks to the creators' love,
The passage is especially smooth, the voyage fortunate.
A few lucky ones reach the pure one they long for—
She has waited quietly in her warm chamber all along.
3
How eagerly they explore around their beloved,
Fearing another may find the key to union first.
The bud's heart is ardent, yet reserved—for it opens but once—
Having itself endured a trial within the creatress's womb.
Mankind kindles torches in the darkest recesses to conceive light—
Starting from that tiny instant of opening and swift closing.
The pure, tender one opens her heart and shuts it fast—
Because she can take but one soul, she snips the tail.
The closing of the heart also seals the death of many suitors;
The lucky one is no longer free—becomes a captive prey.
He gladly offers himself to the factory awaiting his work,
For his pure one has likewise offered herself.
Though neither remains themselves, they were eager for this union—
The factory starts work the moment they come together.
Their creators do not know the linked chain of production—
A higher law guides the factory in making wondrous light.
Mysterious palace—every man's center of the world—
Unknowingly, such miracles occur beneath his toil.
The goddess with dazed eyes knows not her own body's change—
Still like waterweed, she clings to the drowning fish she loves.
That unborn ear may hear the roar and rumble of the waves,
Feel the friction of rock walls unleashing lava's eruption,
Sense its creator's impact on the palace gates,
And the tunnel's involuntary clench and the gate's opening.
The bud, having taken in its soul, splits and swells with haste,
Yet has not firmly nested in the womb to draw its nourishment.
The most wondrous union of man and woman is unforgettable—
All tragedy comes from such indulgence or ignorance.
All worldly happiness springs from the love of man and woman,
And from the responsibility of knowing that love's fruit begins.
Though the entering and receiving are sweeter than heaven, truly addictive,
Nothing surpasses the careful hope for their joint creation.
In those quiet days, they listen and wait together—
Though separated by membranes, they sense lively movement.
That joy is no less than hurling a boat from valley to sky;
Lying entwined, they still recall the weightless drift in space.
After implantation, the goddess and child share a stronger bond—
Two hearts pulse in mutual response through the same blood.
The poor soul who cast his seed, now outside, can only watch—
Guarding the tiny sprout as it draws nourishment and swells.
Lovely goddess—once so graceful, now greatly transformed—
Her taut belly now bulges wildly and sways, ready to fall;
The gate that rules life, death, and ecstasy has lost its appetite—
And the shocking stretch marks form prison-like bars.
The once pure flame within her womb now nurtures another fire;
Her once radiant face now sacrifices itself for another.
All this she willingly, from the heart, desires—
Both await the sunlight cradled in that gate of life and death.
4
Ah, poor soul—as much joy as before, now as much pain—
The same heavy sweat and weak convulsions mark this hour.
What was once received with wholehearted openness is now pushed out—
The narrow passage tears open a road for life's arrival.
What heart of stone would not be moved by this miracle?
Who would not pity this fragile one who so gladly sacrifices?
The greatest happiness is that he is there waiting—
And busily rekindles the ashes of this life-creating wonder.
Not every new fire burns quietly in a greenhouse,
With rich fare to make life's flame burn brighter.
How many ashes in this world relight for that new flame—
Even in deepest darkness and frailty, never yielding to the cold.
Whoever reads this—who was not once carefully nurtured?
Otherwise, how could they understand this miracle of creation?
Who is not ordinary, once the hoped-for light cradled in the womb?
They too can create and guard new light in the ordinary.
February 3, 2025
Afterword:
As a companion piece to the "Poems of Carnal Joy," this set has long been on my mind. After discovering the marvel of DeepSeek, I fed it the "Carnal Joy" poems and asked it to compose this "Cloud and Rain over Mount Wu" series. Though what DeepSeek produced was striking, it was not what I wanted. Seizing today, when my wife and children are away, with a whole day free, I wrote this set and added the subtitle "A Hymn to Life" to it, just as I added "A Love Prologue" to the earlier cycle.
I once wrote an essay on the highest realm of poetry. If I were to critique DeepSeek's version of "Cloud and Rain," I would say that—because it draws on humanity's collective knowledge, coupled with broad associations and leaps—it produced a work that by current standards many poets would consider superior. Yet it is not to my taste. Many contemporary poets excel in this style: they may begin with a grand blueprint, tear it into fragments, hurl them skyward, and then embed those fragments into their voluminous works. The weak connections between fragments invite free-floating associations.
I am not skilled in nor fond of this approach. I prefer to forge strong connections among fragments, presenting scenes and images with clearer definition.
This is not to say weak associations and indeterminate imagination are bad—who knows, perhaps I too may one day move toward that weaker path.
February 3, 2025
https://goofegg.github.io/content.html?id=678