英語渣，押韻不會(huì)。亂寫的。

現(xiàn)代漢語寫詩不知道怎么寫。沒讀過現(xiàn)代文的詩人。所以是寫的英語。

Ode to Suika (Gathering Scent), a Japanese goblin 萃香への頌歌

Not exactly an ode in its original sense as I was incapable of writing one with an elaborate structure like that.

東方projectの「伊吹萃香」という小鬼っ子のための英語詩です。

鬼たちの市場(chǎng) the Goblin-Market — Ode to Suika

To Suika 萃香 (gathering scent) — 水化、醉稼、砕香、彗華、翠蛾、壽衣か、衰火、西貨。(changed water,drunken crops,broken scent,comet flower,jaden moth, be it burial shroud? declining fire, foreign coin)

（翻譯過來是水的化，醉了的谷物，破碎的香味，彗星上的花，翡翠蛾，是壽衣嗎？衰弱的火。異國的錢幣。這些都是萃香在日文上的同音字）

(水化、醉稼、砕香、彗華、翠蛾、壽衣か、衰火、西貨 can all be read as Suika in Japanese.)

(This is a story about what happened after eastern goblins trying to found a prosperous market…

and through the guidance of Wise Sage they were able to make a market of…

…lymph

…liver

and bad liqueur.)

これは鬼たちが仙人の導(dǎo)くに従って、鬼たちの栄える市場(chǎng)を作った後の出來事の物語です。

そのよくできた市場(chǎng)で売っているのは

リンパ

肝

そして悪いの薬草酒

（這是在仙人的帶領(lǐng)下，鬼建立了一個(gè)繁榮的集市的后天的故事。

在那個(gè)有秩序的市里賣的商品是

淋巴

真心

還有壞的藥酒)

It is Tau!

A wise sage, pondering in his mountainous heaven profound,

Upon sixty-four years of change, has decided among ogres of the mountain to found：

A goblin market.

“Wise is your love, and with it wisely you have played”

“Wiser is the love under Will, and Wisest is when Love is the Law”

“Goblins, be thyself, but found thee a market”

“Play in the mud as you will, but learn to make sake”

So wise is the Hermet in his schemes for life’s prolongation,

That he founds truly a goblins’ market, a Freelove’s State.

“Rejoice, you still love as you will, but now

You have the juice of poppy to find more love in stranded heavens”

This juice of poppy that is his riddle,

Clever craft, innovative calculations,

That balances itself like a turret (tower? house?manse?turret?obelisk?monument?) of most black jade

and erects itself neither upwards nor downwards.

Motionless against the world of three shifting wonders,

Learnt they have, with labourless labour (effortless work) to create sacred liqueurs, of supernal taste.

All goblins from all nations, satisfied!

drunk, carousing, laying waste but in silent repose they find peace.

and their sleep is blessed by the harmony of threefold universe.

Yet, soon it is a wake

Once was joyful, blessed, and free to love as they will

but shortly in deepest despair find they themselves, and lost all Arcadian grace.

Wise Sage has left them, said: “Well, Now do as thou wilt”

Disappeared He, a mystic, a magician.

And the ogres will now shed tears, but they do not know tears and how

Asked I, “O Troubled kin, What ails Thee?”

She, who once was a smug, a shorty, a brat general:

now a sadder and wiser goblin,

“Oi- there Friend, stay and hear our woes,

I am whose head is dense, and sometimes too light but often surprisingly wise:

Being drunk now with this luxuriant taste,

and all the halos that linger upon the tongue

through all this luscious lapping of this Truth’s font.

in this sated and blissful spirit, and filled with heavenly grace.

I have for a moment rejoiced, and for a moment found my repose

— but in my newly found self-knowledge and manly virtues

where has gone the goblin I, unenlightened, artless and brutal

who have played in the muddy pond in the field, and with that dirty hand wiped the sweats from my brows,

ignorant of sweeter sorrow or more bitter joy?”

She says:

“(the scent that gathers implying the scent has once lingered.)

…and drink the opaque and coarse, the changed lymphy juice of the seeds from muddy rice paddy?

and in the lacquered wooden goblet with a grin, seeing so darkly foreboding shadows on the surface of the sake, some unknown light illuming

taste is bad, taste is fine, our taste is plain like much diluted yellow-wine.

taste is nothing, against the aeons that dull and refine all that is left. But in some merciful oblivion can mayhap forget.”

She says:

“ (the scent that lingers implying the scent once was One that gathers).

He said: ‘taste the spirit, not the wine.’

but is it not better if I taste more

if there is better than either, what is more? NEITHER!

where can I again find the joy,

not in the pond, nor in the sweat, nor in the sake.

but in the unquellable thirst that drove me to being

and being in and towards all things philosophically thirsty.

Being an ogre, I know not the taste of true wine,

Though through this opaque mirror I quenched my thirst

more than what I can drink through this newly found sight clearer and more roseate”

“It is not that ogres do not love, or do not know How.

(Mighty and black the alien and alienating Tau!)

Our love is too great to build equally a Temple from clay

(All pervasive, all permissive, all defying and denying!)

Are we ogres the pariah races? Or are we the superior?

(Tau, whose truths whomsoever in three-thousand-cosmoses can prevent?)

But all beings existing in the three-thousand-cosmoses,

(Even Budda, in shame, hides his blush in this one dark Atom-and-Aphorism,)

Even if you know to love and love to know, and love you may have known:

(Formless, Formed and eternal Forms that says “Love is vain”)

Do you know MY love, not even hidden in my closed palm?

Does the clay mean much hate, is love impossible in the clay?

But being born in the clay, borne from clay, and holding the clay with a muddy hand.

I know those who only laboured and did not play, would not know.

The grave and bountiful love,

concealed in the light and flat chest of a boy.”

….

The liquors of Man perhaps lacks a little bit potency,

to us, the philosophical and naive tribe (most times being complete idiots)

of the eastern ogres, though under the yoke of foreign Forms.

Perhaps with some redder wine, browner mead or more crystal nectar

But moreso with the dull, the foul and the yellow sake.

Make haste with all that are joyful in life,

Inebriated with the summer heat of a distant and mysterious Xanadu.

— ever summery and pretentious, Capital of the wise-bearded and gentle yet cruel Khublah-Khan

that may never know the Truth of the coming all-mighty and grave Winter.

(O Orient!)

A humble feast in some self-righteous pride,

to drink the flesh, blood and seeds of life

Observed and served in an obedient funeral procession

through the venerable ancestral fanes made of bluepaint porcelain

that were shrouded in the rising amber smoke of glowing brazen incense

— worshiping spiritless eternal spirits, sireless great-grandsires and clanless immortal kings.

with their nameless names written cursive and illegible on the name-plates old and crumbled,

in blackest & most vicious ink.

Laid in orderless order upon rotting and moudly shelves, precarious but never fell.

(Tau!)

and eat the river that flows from some hidden cavernous heavens

— that connects with ‘some cool and sunless sea.’

under which burns quietly the black coal

of the fading memories of smothered jaden moths

who were made drunk from the scent of some felled black and olden trees

Ancient and mortal is the music that were played,

from curiously shaped oblong lyres, end-blown pipes, and fish-like drums

made from curiously scented darkly mossy bamboo.

The scent that has gathered, lingers and scatters away.

But the scent was once one, running its course subtly, vicious and brown.?

(Pray, it does not join the river of the black and mighty Tau!)