墨湾客的诗词《补天者》（后面有 英语版和英语解析）Mowank's poem 《The Sky-Mender》
(Bilingual and English readers: see the English version and English analysis below)
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补天者
作者: 墨湾客
她蹲在河岸上
挑拣石头。
火要烧七天七夜
灰要冷九十九年。
那些熔过的
重新硬了——
青的、赤的、白的，
每一块都带着
手指的凹痕。
天裂开的时候
没有雷声。
只是蓝
一点一点
漏下去。
她把石头举过头顶。
石头很重，
重得像
从未裂过。
后来的人
仰头看见云，
看见云后面
那道细细的缝——
像谁缝过的
针脚。
她没走。
她蹲在
每一块石头的
沉默里，
等天
再一次
不够蓝的时候，
伸出手。
——————
The Sky-Mender
By Mowanke
She squats on the riverbank
sorting stones.
The fire must burn seven days and nights,
the ash must cool ninety-nine years.
Those that were melted
have hardened again—
blue ones, red ones, white ones,
each bearing
the hollow of fingers.
When the sky cracked open
there was no thunder.
Only the blue
leaking down
bit by bit.
She lifts the stones above her head.
The stones are heavy,
heavy as
never having cracked.
People of later times
look up and see clouds,
see behind the clouds
that thin seam—
like stitches
someone sewed.
She hasn't left.
She squats
in the silence
of every stone,
waiting for the sky
to once again
not be blue enough,
and reach out her hand.
——————
Poetry Analysis
"The Sky-Mender"
The Surface Story
The poem retells the myth of Nüwa (女娲), the Chinese goddess who repaired the broken sky. But it strips away the grand, cosmic scale of the legend and makes it intimate, physical, and quiet.
Key Layers of Meaning
1. Creation as Quiet Labor
"She squats on the riverbank / sorting stones."
Nüwa is not depicted as a towering deity but as someone crouching, doing patient, manual work. The "seven days and nights" of fire and "ninety-nine years" of cooling ash suggest that creation is slow, repetitive, and unglamorous — not a single heroic act but endurance.
2. The Marks of Touch
"each bearing / the hollow of fingers"
The stones carry fingerprints — evidence that the world was shaped by hands, by care, by someone who held each piece. This is a meditation on craftsmanship and intimacy in creation: the universe is not machine-made but hand-made, flawed and human.
3. The Crack Is Quiet
"When the sky cracked open / there was no thunder. / Only the blue / leaking down."
Catastrophe here is not dramatic — it's silent, gradual. The "blue leaking down" is a haunting image: the sky's essence (color, emptiness, possibility) is draining away without anyone noticing. This can be read as a metaphor for quiet loss — of meaning, of wonder, of the sacred — that happens without alarm.
4. The Weight of Wholeness
"The stones are heavy, / heavy as / never having cracked."
This is the poem's most striking paradox. The stones are heavy not because of damage but because of the burden of restoring wholeness. To fix something broken is to carry the weight of what it was before — the memory of integrity. Repair is heavier than catastrophe.
5. The Seam We Can't Quite See
"see behind the clouds / that thin seam— / like stitches / someone sewed."
The repaired sky still shows a scar — a "thin seam" like stitching. The poem suggests that healing leaves traces, and that's okay. The world is not restored to seamless perfection; it is mended, and the mend is visible. There is beauty and honesty in the scar.
6. She Never Leaves
"She hasn't left. / She squats / in the silence / of every stone, / waiting for the sky / to once again / not be blue enough"
The ending is the heart of the poem. Nüwa is not a distant myth — she is immanent, present in every stone, in silence, waiting. The sky will crack again ("not be blue enough"), and she will be there. This is a statement about ongoing care: the sacred is not a one-time event but a continuous, watchful presence in the ordinary world.
Overall Reading
The poem is a meditation on quiet, persistent care — the kind of labor that mends what is broken, carries the weight of wholeness, and never fully finishes. It takes a grand myth and makes it small, tactile, and tender, suggesting that:
· Creation and repair are handwork, not spectacle.
· Catastrophe is often silent, and so is healing.
· The sacred is not above us but crouching beside us, in the stones, waiting.
· Wholeness is heavy, and the seam remains — but that's what mending looks like.
It's a poem about the feminine, the patient, the enduring — and about who picks up the pieces when the sky falls, again and again, without thunder.
——————
炼石河干手印存，补天缝处线犹温。
苍穹纵有重开日，仍在水边弥旧痕。
Stones refined by the riverbed, her fingerprints remain,
The seam she mended in the sky still holds her warmth's stain.
Though the heavens may crack open once again someday,
She'll stay beside the water still, to mend the old decay.
——————
作者简介：卢英杰，笔名 墨湾客，美国，理学博士，终身教授。诗词和译作发表在多个电子版刊 和纸刊，诗词选集,《CCTV爱华春晚》，和《人民日报海外版》等。
The Poem's Author Bio: Lu Yingjie, pen name Mowanke, Ph.D. ，a chemist, poet, translator, tenured professor in the U.S.. His poems and translations have been published in numerous electronic and print journals, poetry anthologies, the CCTV “Aihua” Spring Festival Gala, and the People's Daily (Overseas Edition), among others.
