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ARTS AND CULTURE

Four Chinese poems

  • 27 November 2012

On a certain afternoon

On a certain afternoonI, on a sudden, actually smelt somethingLike a ratFrom the fifth collection of poetryBy a poetI had been passionately in love with

On a certain afternoonA mass poetry magazine, just boughtWas ripped to pieces by meAnd a newspaper, known to all, that had just arrivedWas carried by me to the toilet

On a certain afternoonI chewed eight bad-quality candiesAnd wrote an oral poemThat was more poetryThan the poems written on an exercise book several years ago

On a certain afternoonA lead bullet, as rumour would have itWas shotExcitedly from an air gunThat hit the swaying plumpnessOf the hips of a woman in front of me

On a certain afternoonI saw myself walking on a streetAnd being crowded about for a whileStill, I did not know what I was going to doSo I came home in dejectionOn a certain afternoonThere were no programs on TVAnd when you listened carefullyTo a dry speech end itselfYou quite enjoyed yourselfAs if you were listening to a report about an air crash

On a certain afternoonYou went to sleepBut found you couldn'tStaring, as you were, at the top of the bedAnd, later, in a dream, you clenched your teethYour ears ringingFeeling as if the heaven were turningAs you fell on a deserted ridgeReminding yourself thatThis was the consequence of writingAnd that you had to go and buy some medications again

On a certain afternoonA very ordinary one 

Yang Xie

 

I saw

Today I sawA rich manI knew not what his brains and intestinesWere likeAll I knew wasHe had a potbelly and his face, oily shinyRight, there was something importantI, on a sudden, was able to tellWhich hand was his leftAnd which, his right

Today I sawA womanA ghastly paperBehind her heavily made-up maskSomething that might breakAt the merest touchAnd her breasts, highly bundled upOne taller than the otherAnd her peach-red laced briefPut on the wrong way in a hurryShowed through underneath her near-transparent skirt

Today I sawAn old manOlder than my dadI saw himOne hand holding an old bagAnd the other, pressed on his upper abdomenHe looked paleHis head covered in sweat|And the corner of his mouthIt kept quivering 

Yang Xie

 

 

Song of failure

The body, via loveleaves the life right before the eye while loveis making a comeback to the world via body

The sky is so blueit does not allow people to be too greedy— meanwhile the clouds pile uplike the flesh that grows in the body

Crossing over and standing thereis easy