Whether the Dandelion Flies

Version 1: Here I try to imitate the unadorned and unpunctuated narration style of poets like W.S. Merwin.

My whole life grows on a dandelion
growing bewilderment and smallness growing
ignorance and helplessness growing
meekness and hurt
some of it fallen and wasted grows all which-ways

of course there are also dreams and great laughter
these fuzzy things should grow on the very top
waiting for the wind when the wind comes bowing to ask the part below

dandelion will you fly

Version 2: *Here I try another even more raw and directly confessional style

My whole life is rooted in a dandelion.
It grows confusion, grows a tiny frame,
grows not knowing what to do, grows no one coming,
grows being nobody, grows a bruise.
The fallen parts, the wasted bits, grow jagged.

But yes, there's dreaming, there's the belly-laugh.
These fuzzy things get the topmost spot.
They wait for the wind. Then they bend low and ask the rest of it—

the hurt, the mess, the whole damn thing—
"Okay, dandelion. Your turn. Do we fly?"

Original Poem:

蒲公英飞不飞

我的一生长在蒲公英上

长着迷茫和弱小，长着

无知和无助，长着

卑微和伤痛

一些跌倒的和荒废的长得横七竖八

当然还有梦和大笑

这些毛茸茸的应该长在最上面

等风，风来时低头问下面的

蒲公英，你飞不飞？