Tsai, Tze-Min: The Smoke of Our Old Home Rises Curly

I squatted down in front of my grandfather.
My grandfather was using that burning red hot iron
To brand marks on the herds.
Every wrinkle on his face, and the white hair atop his head
Clearly visible.
I asked him
Why is that place where smoke spirals at the foot of the mountain
No longer our home?
It was converted into an enemy barrack.
He shook his head
A gleam of wry smile flickered across his lips.
He pointed to the grass way down the hill
surrounded by the lakeshore below the valley
Like a carpet dotted with colored flowers.
It did not miss any terrain
It did not stop in front of the lion's heels.
The view had been extended to the door of our home--
The home we will never go back to again.
Although the mountain lives without us
Those hidden rough stones on the road
And the cold spring water
Forge my strong physical strength
and I will drink the cold spring
Even though my throat has long forgotten
the sweet taste of jujube.
I can’t return to our old home
And ignite a thriving kitchen fire,
I ride on horseback,
Lead the bow toward the sky
Attempt to shoot down
The brightest star in the sky

Kľakol som si pred mojím starým otcom.
žeravým žezlom pečiatkoval dobytok.
Každá vráska na tvári
a všetky šedé vlasy
na hlave sú mu jasne viditeľné.
Spýtal som sa ho:
Prečo toto miesto na úpätí hory
– z ktorého sa valí dym –
už nie je našim domom?
“To sa zmenilo v nepriateľské kasárne.“
Zavrtel hlavou,
keď na jeho perách zasvietil úsmev.
Ukázal trávu na kopci,
obkľúčenom malým jazerom.
Ako koberec zdobený farebnými kvetmi
pokryla celý povrch.
Neodstúpila od levích podpätkov,
natiahnutá na dvere nášho domu –
ktorému sa už nikdy nevrátime.
Hora žije bez nás.
Cesta dláždená hrubým kameňom
a studená pramenitá voda
tvoria mi telesnú silu.
ústa mi už dávno zabudli
na sladkú chuť jahôd.
Nemôžem sa vrátiť do nášho starého domu
a páliť staroveký oheň v kuchyni.

Jazdím na koni
a mierim šíp do neba
s úmyslom prestreliť
najjasnejšiu hviezdu.